#we love challenger in this household
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poggersbastard · 2 years ago
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PERSONIFYING LOCATIONS CSMP EDITION
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icannotgetoverbirds · 3 months ago
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i just did so many dishes and it was so fun peace and love on planet earth YIPPEE!!!!!!
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ronancebyler · 7 months ago
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Ronance headcanons?
oh my goodness of course i do hehehehe (if you cant tell I love them)
i am ignoring the canon plot and using the bits that are convenient to me because I do what I want
Before Robin realized she liked Nancy, she truly didn't understand the deep level of fury she felt against Jonathan. It made no sense because they were friends and she had so much fun with him! Except whenever him and Nancy were together suddenly she had the urge to rip her hair out
Nancy figured her feelings out before Robin did. I know this is controversial and I do agree Robin fell first Nancy fell harder. However, I think the fear of falling for someone who she loves and cares for very much who if Nancy finds out Robin could lose her both from being a lesbian and for being in love with her, just manifests in denial. This is also compounded by the fact that she's convinced she likes Vickie who conveniently is out of reach and (presumed) straight, so if Vickie wasn't into her she wouldn't be risking as much since she's not planning to confess in the first place
Nancy on the other hand very quickly figured it out. After losing Barb, her fear manifested less in denial and more as an overdrive of all her emotions because if she doesn't figure it out quickly she might lose Robin before she could even say a word, so the moment she falls she figured it out then and there. She doesn't want another situation where she didn't tell a person she loves how much they mean to her
that night she had a panic attack that was BRUTAL like she sobbed for hours realizing she's probably going to have to choose between being true to herself and a relationship with her parents. she already knew she liked girls, she figured it out after barb's death, but liking someone new felt so tangible. robin heard her crying and didn't ask, just sat with her for the rest of the night tracing her thumb in circles on her palm
A fluffier one: Nancy plans to confess but Robin does it before she does on accident. Like she's just talking about journalism and how much she enjoys investigative journalism and Robin is just like "I'm in love with you." My assumption is that Robin had already come out to her beforehand but she was just horrified. Nancy was shocked but then was like "you beat me to it <3"
Nancy had not come out to Robin yet, she was planning to do it with her confession, and she had already talked to Eddie (platonic soulmates edancy lover till I die) and talked to Steve so she was prepared but Robin was just FLABBERGASTED
this girl has the most godawful gaydar known to mankind so despite nancy staring at her with heart eyes on a daily basis she was in shock
hAND KISSES I WILL NOT STOP WITH THE NANCY GIVING HAND KISSES HC
wrist kisses too her favorite thing to do is hold robin's fingers or pulse against her lips and just feel her warmth
robin is really warm, unreasonably so, and nancy is really cold
they both love shoving their noses into each others neck and just breathing in each others smells
robin loves rubbing the fact that she's dating nancy fucking wheeler into people's faces
"you're better at me then this???? well I pulled nancy wheeler stevie!! and I actually kept her unlike you so shut up"
her and eddie are constantly at war at who her favorite person is
"you already have stevie this is MY emotional support comphet fruit"
robin hangs over her shoulders while she writes and just reads her words
there was a solid bit of time that robin thought eddie and nancy were together. she accidentally asked them and triggered the longest giggle battle she has ever seen seen
bisexual nancy or lesbian nancy, she's filled with so much comphet
fully convinced that romantic feelings for guys and platonic feelings for girls felt the same
sometimes she feels guilty and feels like she's 'replacing' barb but the feeling lessens by the day
robin gets anxiety attacks every once in a while and nancy knowing exactly what to do when it happens really calms her down. like it reminds her that the person she loves is the most capable ever
robin loves nuzzling herself into nancy's stomach because cold and nice
poor, poor steve. the amount of rants he's heard from both sides
"nancy is so amazing and cool!" "robin is so pretty when she talks <3"
Mostly Robin for obvious reasons but jfc it's concerning at this point
that poor man needs to start charging per hour at this point
I will never shut up if I keep going so I'll cut it off right here.
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namelessnekomata · 2 years ago
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Pride Pallette Challenge Day 6- Bi Lesbian
Character is @enby-catgirl 's Ember
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rurpleplayssims · 6 months ago
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laesas · 2 years ago
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KenBig and KenVegas for the ask memes 😶‍🌫️
KENBIG: SHIP
1 . What made you ship them?
It was something in particular about how in the BTS character story Perth said Ken always calls Big "P'Big" wheras Ken is always "Ai'Ken" to Big that really. OOF. Also the way they come as a little duo 90% of the time (do not separate them)
Also just look at them theyre so pretty
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2 . What are your favourite things about the ship
The unevenness of it all. Ken being the more outspoken and physical and confidant one but Big being his senior and superior (a dynamic that sticks even when Ken becomes Kinn's head bodyguard)
Big still being in love with Kinn. Ken's name being just similar enough if its whispered between the sheets. I just. God. THEY. It's the fact they're best friends, they're kind-of eachothers only real friends but even by the first time we ever see them Ken has been betraying the main family for a long time already and Big would never forgive him if he knew. It's Ken resenting Kinn because he knows Big is in love with him. That's not why he's the mole, thats not the whole reason. But it was the seed of resentment that gave Vegas the "in".
Oh and it's Nodt saying he's glad Big died before finding out Ken was the mole. FML.
3 . Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship
I think my actually controversial opinion is that it's one of, if not *the* best ship in KinnPorsche. On the fact that it has Pining and unrequited love, and they were roommates, and doomed from the start, and proxyfucking, and friends with benefits, and friends to lovers, and and and and. It's everything. Also Perth and Nodt hot. I rest my case.
KENVEGAS: SHIP
1 . What made you start shipping them?
Listen. Between the ring (matching Tawans, matching Kinns' boys too) and Gun saying "What the fuck were you doing with Vegas?" I knoW it happened. I KNOW.
2. What are your favourite things about the ship
I really enjoy Vegas' use of english to like exclude or lie or create this sense of insular separation between him and others. And I think it would be incredibly interesting to watch Ken get lulled into a sense of security by that. To immediately feel like he was on the inside of an inside joke with Vegas and develop a carefully manufactured closeness in a way he never could with Kinn.
Again I feel like I'm running into a worrying theme of "I just love their deeply fucked up dynamic" but I love the idea of Ken having a bit of a god complex over the fact that he "has" Vegas. As we know with Tawan and Porsche, Vegas is so incredibly good at showing the side of himself that's most endearing to his mark. To Tawan it was the promise of a soft and equal love and devotion, to Porsche it was that he was a plucky underdog "just like him" and to Ken it has to be that Vegas "loves" Ken more than Ken loves him. Of course he does. Ken is better than Big. It's easy for him. Mafia heirs fall at his feet and he's not smug about it he's not, he's not thinking about Big no he isnt! he isn't he isn't he isn't.
3 . Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship
KEN SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN A FLASHBACK. Also I think that Ken still being in love with Big while fucking Vegas "because he can" is the stuff dreams are made of.
💌 Lets chat ship! Send me a ship and I’ll give my honest opinions on it ✨
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simstoryu · 2 years ago
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blossoming romance
koby has been pretty forward in pursuing galeria. after she came over to introduce herself, he asked her out several times just to get to know her more. they became good friends quickly but koby (and galeria) wanted to be closer. they went on a bunch a dates from roller skating to fancy dinners. koby felt like it was finally time to ask her out officially but galeria beat him to the punch.
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peapod20001 · 1 year ago
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I actually do have very complex thoughts about many different things, it’s just a bit challenging to connect the inner voice to the outer voice sometimes </3
#random post#I have SO many thoughts and ideas. I love to create and I love to build on what I have and I like to connect to existing things#there is lots of oc lore in my brain! it graces my blog sometimes. not always. it’s hard to put abstract feeling and thought into words#and it’s challenging trying to find the best place to start talking about things yknow? like I as the creator of this whole unique universe#pretty much already know how things end up. how they’re going. how it started. some are easier to know than others. but that doesn’t stop me#from trying create for it. or searching for the missing piece to start the domino effect of development and fulfillment#it’s hard to see where the pieces fit sometimes. but getting a new angle or changing something about the piece can make finding where it#belongs easier. this is what I mean when I say I have very intricate and complicated thoughts. not spending too long writing my sentences or#overthinking them helps to keep things as they are in my head. since I’m not filtering them into something almost unrecognizable#writing a paper in a single sitting in a set time really helps me produce a unified and intricate product. I’ve been told I write well#which I find mildly humorous. I’ve never been a writer by choice really. I’m an artist that works with a physical visual piece rather than#letters that convey meaning. I’m more of a thinker than a writer. but in some instances they’re one in the same. I’m rambling but y’all know#that about me by now I’m sure hahagahaha. yea. my OCD makes me spend too long on words and that’s why I always talk in a short way#a more simplistic way. leaves less room for the mind to pick out flaws if everything is flawed on purpose yknow? haha yea. I like me yknow?#and other people like me too! that will never cease to surprise and amaze me haha. I’m one of those people that has an easier time with#people different from themselves. the people I’ve known and spoke to throughout my life are so very different from me. but they all feel#comfortable to share their experience with me. a lot of these people on paper would be ones I’d try to avoid I guess. differing opinions and#world views yknow? but the way I am. gives people comfort I’ve found. I’m not bragging about that it’s just interesting. it’s the same with#my whole household like we meet people that are like. idk a good descriptor but they’re very set in a specific way. and then we just?? they#like us?? idk it’s just funny to think about my dad getting along with legit crazy people or my mom being the person who’s the favorite of#the least liked / polite person in the office. or my brother and sister being very well liked in their schools but are just average students#who aren’t trying to be more than kind. or when I as myself. with the thoughts and opinions I have. am able to get along with anyone I#come across. I’m really not trying to be bright about that I’m just an. empath? I guess? I’m just very nice to people and meet them at their#level and don’t try steering the conversation to smth bad or controversial. but even then people will still talk to me and like me cus I’m#not putting them down or hating on them for how they think and feel. I listen. I can understand them. not agreeing with their views doesn’t#mean I can’t get why people think or feel how they do. I try to not be biased or entirely antagonist to things different than me#I’ve gone my whole life not understanding a lot of things. and over time I’ve learned them. I go into experiences with people like that#I may not understand yet. but I’ll learn to. that’s probably the main reason why people feel comfortable around me. that and also I have#a smile pretty much always lol. I’m small and non threatening lookin with a single dimple on the cheek and eyes so dark you could see the#faintest light reflected in them. anyways I have gone into several different directions with this and kinda lost the main point I was making
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helpmohammedfamily · 1 month ago
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"Support Mohammed's Family: A Beacon of Hope Amidst Hardship"
In one of the afflicted corners of Gaza, Mohamed Al-Khaldi, a man in his twenties, took his heavy steps amidst the chaos of life. Mohamed, known for his resilience and patience, worked as a freelancer, spending long nights behind his computer screen, striving to ensure a decent life for himself and his small family.
Before the war, his life was filled with challenges, but he never knew despair. He began saving to cover the costs of his apartment with great difficulty, and his joy was indescribable when he finally got married after a bitter struggle. His wife, whom he loved deeply, was always his support, encouraging him every time he felt the burden was heavier than he could bear.
But the war... that merciless war turned everything upside down. The early days were filled with fear and anxiety, and Mohamed struggled to provide for his simple household amidst the shelling and explosions. One day, while he was trying to bring some basic necessities for his family, a missile fell nearby, and he was hit by shrapnel in his head.
Mohamed was transported to the hospital amidst sounds of crying and prayers. In those tense moments, he thought only of his wife, who was expecting their first child, and the home he had built with his patience and struggle. The pain was intense, but the fear for his loved ones was even greater.
Despite everything, Mohamed slowly recovered. A scar remained on his head, a witness to those difficult moments, but it was also a testament to his resilience. After returning home, he saw his wife with a smile that wiped away all her sorrows. She held a picture of the ultrasound showing their upcoming child and said to him:
"Mohamed, we are stronger than anything, and this child will be a symbol of the life they couldn’t destroy."
On that day, Mohamed realized that despite all the hardships he had gone through, life is worth living, and no matter how harsh the war is, love and hope are stronger.
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Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #57 )
and@paliLiberation , my number verified on the list is ( #197 )
Donation link for Mohammed 👇
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ilions-end · 4 months ago
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i'm listening to the elizabeth vandiver great courses lectures (my comfort audios <3) and i'm currently on her series on the odyssey. i love whenever she points out assumptions a modern reader might unknowingly bring with them when engaging with ancient texts.
one of her examples is how challenging it is in modernity to fully grasp how impossible penelope's position is. she's a good, dutiful woman with a husband who is M.I.A, but has no way of knowing odysseus' status, or which duties she's obligated to pursue. if her husband is currently alive, she has an absolute duty to preserve his household and herself until he returns. if odysseus is dead, she has an equally absolute duty to swiftly remarry and dedicate herself to a new household. she doesn't live in a society where she can live alone as a widow (or potential widow), only as a wife of someone living.
and i'm thinking about how our perception of her situation is also shaped by how we know odysseus is alive and will return. there's also the fact that the suitors are rude and dangerous -- we certainly don't want her to end up with any of them. so the trickery with the weaving of the shroud comes across as ingenious and morally justified to us... but penelope can't be sure. if odysseus had been dead, the shroud trick would be doubly damning on a societal and moral level -- both for delaying her sacred obligation to form a new family, and for using her feminine skills and resources on her "previous" family (since the shroud was made for laertes).
penelope is trapped in moral limbo throughout most of the odyssey, where every action she takes (or doesn't take) is either absolutely correct and conscientious OR horrifically immoral and shameful, and the key piece that determines which is which is lost at sea somewhere.
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harryslittlefreakk · 1 year ago
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the pact
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summary: you and harry made a childhood pact to marry if you were both still single when he reached 30. now that his big birthday is approaching, you find out whether your friendship (and your pact) have stood the test of time
warnings: mostly fluff, some smut :)
wordcount: 6k
a/n: i actually really like this one. it’s not proofread yet as i was so eager to get it up lol. hope you enjoy!
my masterlist can be found here! happy reading 🫶🏼
From the second you’d received the invitation, you were buzzing with a giddy nervousness. It had been years since you’d seen Harry, though Anne and Gemma were always so quick to share what he was up to. You’d followed his career silently for 13 years, still bumping into him every few years when Anne hosted Boxing Day, or he happened to be in town for your family’s annual summer barbecues. In your mind, he was still the cheeky, dimpled little lad you’d hide under the dining room table with, imagining you were explorers of far away lands.
But Harry wasn’t the young boy you’d chased after in your childhood anymore, the teenager you looked out for when you stuck your head over the garden fence to call your sister home. He wasn’t the handsome young man you’d spent countless hours swooning over with your friends in the bakery after school. Harry was a global sensation, the world’s sweetheart. You weren’t sure he’d even recognise you, a forgotten reminder of much simpler days.
Growing up next door to Harry hadn’t come without its challenges. You’d lost your childhood best friend seemingly overnight once One Direction formed, his life suddenly busy with meetings, tours and interviews. Anne still welcomed you with open arms, but her house felt a little too cold for you with his presence haunting the walls, memories etched into every surface of the house. You’d still hang out in his bedroom sometimes, his band posters and drawings left collecting dust in a lifeless room. When girls from school learned of your connection to him, they’d befriend you and treat you like the hottest new thing until you refused to give over any information. He was your Harry, your long-gone games and silly memories something you held close to your heart. It soon seemed easier to let him go altogether, move on to a new chapter, stop waiting for your best friend to appear again.
Still, you were glad to be able to support Gemma on one of her biggest days. She’d become such a regular feature in your household, she felt like family herself. Your parents had been more overjoyed at the news of her impending nuptials than any of yours or your sister’s recent achievements. They loved Gemma like their own, their ‘extra daughter’, as your dad called her. You knew this was as big a moment for them as it was for Anne, having watched Gemma grow from the tiny dark-haired girl your sister had raved about on her first day of school, to a woman about to become a wife.
Standing outside of the venue now, a beautiful old church overlooking the peaceful tides below, yours and Harry’s childhood pact suddenly hit you. You were laying on a blanket in your garden, tops of your heads pressed together as you made out shapes in the clouds above. “I will never get married,” you told Harry. Your parents had had their wedding album out that day, sharing stories with Anne and Robin. You squirmed and grimaced every time they spoke about it, never understanding how any girl would willingly share their life with a boy. “Yuck,” he squeaked from next to you. “Me either. I don’t ever want to live with a stinky girl!” You giggled together, the cool evening breeze washing over you. “Maybe, maybe I might one day though. When I’m really old and lonely.”
“Old like my parents?” you asked him. “Even olderer than that. Like 30.” You gasped, quickly trying to count on your fingers. “That’s really really old. Maybe we can be married when we’re 30.” Harry ran inside when you said this, leaving you chasing after him once again. He grabbed a napkin from the kitchen counter and scribbled on it in felt tip,
‘I ____ will marry Harry when we’re really super old’
“You have to put your name on that line or it’s not real,” Harry told you, handing the blue felt tip to you. You both signed your initials underneath, and proudly went to show your parents. They’d fallen about in laughter when you told them, promising to hold you to your pact. You hadn’t seen the napkin since that day, and you were sure it was long forgotten by everybody, especially Harry. You felt a small twinge in your chest at this, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here.
“Hey Boo, you okay? Anne wants to get some pictures of us all together before the ceremony,” your dad told you, leading you through the crowd of guests. Boo was the only nickname that had ever stuck for you, starting when you and Harry decided to go as Boo and Sully from Monsters Inc. one Halloween. You’d originally wanted to be Mike, but with your big brown eyes shielded by little bangs and your signature pigtails, everyone persuaded you to be Boo. You’d outgrown almost everything else from childhood, but Boo was stuck with you for life.
“Oh Y/N, you look lovely darling,” Anne cooed as you came into her sight. She pulled you in for a hug, kissing your cheek as she pulled away. You had to admit, you did scrub up well. It was a long time since you’d really made the effort to look properly nice, still caught in the comfort of your pandemic wardrobe of leggings and sweatshirts. The olive-green maxi dress you’d settled on hugged your body in all the right places, a thick band of material draping over your chest and the tops of your arms, showcasing your toned shoulders. You’d always weirdly liked your shoulders and neck, an odd area to be proud of but it was by far your favourite part of your body. Your hair was scraped back in a sleek bun, tiny wisps framing your fresh face. “Gem and Sophia are still inside, they’ll be out in a minute. Gem’s so excited to see you, it’s been so long since we’ve all been together,” Anne gushed, running a hand up the outside of your arm.
She had such a delicate, warm presence, it was no wonder she’d raised two children as incredible as Harry and Gemma. Anne had been an extension of your own mum as you grew up, small traces of her as much as part of you as they were her own kids. She’d talked you through boys and heartbreaks, been there to wave you off to your school prom, one of the proudest faces in the crowd when you graduated university. She’d been stationed on the garden patio alongside your mum at every birthday party, the two women nattering away as they guarded the wine.
Gemma stepped out of the door, pulling you out of your daydream down memory lane. Your jaw went slack when you saw her, she was positively radiant. Her dress was a dainty satin, huge bishop sleeves adorning her arms and a beautiful full skirt, flowing around her petite frame in the gentle seaside breeze. Your mum rushed over to her first, smoothing a loving hand down the front of her skirt. “You look beautiful Gem,” she told her, tears glistening on her bottom eyelashes. Hugs and pleasantries were exchanged throughout the group, shoulders bumping gaily as you moved around. One thing was still missing though - Harry. You knew he’d never miss his sisters wedding, though he was absolutely nowhere to be seen. Just as you were about to ask, you saw him. With a deep brown suit jacket draped across his body, matching slacks hanging loose on his muscular thighs. A white vest hung low on his chest, his inked swallows sitting pretty on tanned skin.
You knew how good he looked these days, of course. Your tiktok had been full of videos of him performing, Anne’s house littered with framed photos. But seeing him in real life lit a fire in your belly. He’d always been pretty, green eyes and curls enough to charm any woman, but now he was hot. A great, big hunk of sexy man. He approached your parents first, laughing as your dad chose to forgo Harry’s outstretched hand, pulling him into a hug instead. “Here’s our not-so-little superstar,” he smiled, ruffling Harry’s messy curls. Harry pressed a kiss into your mums cheek, exchanging a quick but heartfelt hello. His eyes caught on yours as he glanced across the courtyard, your brown eyes still crinkled as you smiled, in exactly the same way they had when you were younger. “Little Boo!” he chuckled, striding towards you. His strong arms wrapped you into a firm cuddle, his musky scent spilling into your pores. “You look incredible,” he whispered into your ear, voice raspy and low. It wasn’t long before Anne was ushering you all into place to take some pictures, cutting yours and Harry’s catch up short. “Come and find me later,” he told you as you beamed for the camera.
With the ceremony long-finished, the party had spilled out of the church hall and onto the grounds outside. You’d danced, mingled and laughed for as long as you could before needing a minute of quiet. Brushing your hand across your mum’s back, you told her you were going for a little walk and would be back soon. You slipped out of the open doors, yanking your heels off in search of some quick relief. You spotted a little wooden bench overlooking the sea, a little way away from the other guests. A great oak tree shielded it from the warm evening sun, providing you just the right amount of peace.
“Thought you were gonna find me,” a voice suddenly came from behind you. You turned around to see Harry approaching your private spot, a sparkling glass in each hand. “Hey,” you smiled. “Just needed a little bit of quiet. Come sit,” you patted the bench beside you. Harry handed you one of the glasses as he sat down, murmuring, “saw you heading over here. Thought I’d bring you a little tipple.” You cheersed, the clinking of glasses cutting through a heavy silence. “How have you been?” he asked you, shifting his body slightly to face you.
“Been good, H. Thank you for asking. Work’s going well, was a bit slow with the pandemic and all but life’s been kind to me recently. I don’t really need to ask you, do I?” you laughed, suddenly shy in his presence. “No, I guess not,” he answered, smiling kindly at you. You settled back into an uncomfortable silence, not really sure how to talk to one another anymore.
“Mum told me you moved to London,” Harry said, seemingly desperate to pierce the awkwardness hanging over you both. “Yeah, I did,” you told him, explaining how Holmes Chapel had started to feel just a little too small, a little too cut off from the rest of the world. “I can understand that,” he told you, chuckling. You ran through the usual questions, telling him about your work as an illustrator, your little flat off of Finchley high road, the couple of girls from school you’d kept in touch with. “I can’t believe you live so close to me,” he gasped. “Mum could never remember what area you lived in, if I’d known you were only down the road we could have reconnected long before now,” Harry told you. You let out an involuntary scoff at this, telling him, “you know where to find me, H. You know your mum has my number, you know where I’ll be every Christmas and birthday. If you really wanted to reconnect it would have happened long before now.” Your words tumbled out, years of one-sided hurt and rejection suddenly pushing to the surface. Harry took a big sip of his drink, placing his hand over yours. “I’ve been shit, I know. Got caught up in everything and barely looked back. Wanted to reach out a long time before now but I couldn’t bring myself,” he told you. “Felt so bad for how I just disappeared and didn’t want to face it.”
You looked at him with sad eyes, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. “I get it, H. I’m really happy for you, I am. You had all your dreams come true, it’s amazing,” you set your glass down beside you and held your other hand over his. “Just feel sad that I lost my best friend overnight.” Your eyes welled up as you spoke, a combination of the free-flowing prosecco, the beautiful ceremony, and facing your hurt with the man who caused it. “Never had a friend who got me like you did,” you chuckled bitterly. Harry pulled his hands from yours and snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. “I’m sorry, little Boo, I swear.”
The pair of you stayed that way for a while, soaking in each other’s words and the idyllic setting. Just being close to each other for the first time in almost a decade, having said what you both needed to, was bliss. “I thought about you a lot, y’know,” Harry told you suddenly, the words bursting out as if he’d been biting them back for a while. “Yeah?” you asked him, sitting up straighter to look at him again. He nodded, cheeks twinged slightly pink. You weren’t sure if it was the booze or his confession. “All my big moments, always wished you were there.”
“You know I would’ve been if I knew you wanted me to, Harry.”
“I know,” he mumbled, watching his own trainer-clad feet kicking little rocks around. “My mum and dad went to a few of your shows with Anne, watched the Brits and the Grammys every year you were nominated.” You swallowed thickly, before continuing, “I’m really proud of you, we all are.”
Harry turned his head slightly to the sound of music blaring from inside, before asking you, “dance with me?” He extended a hand to help you up, placing his glass down before wrapping an arm around your waist. You stepped together slowly, bodies moving in unison with your head rested softly against his chest. The skies had gotten gradually darker as you’d spoken, closing in around you until only a faint glow seeped out from the open church doors. Harry pushed you out, spinning you around before tugging you back into him. You smacked against his chest with a little ‘umph’, the wind knocked out of you. Your eyes met his, a little dazed, and all you could do was stare.
It felt like a betrayal of your childhood self to find him so attractive now. He was your best friend, your first friend, the only one to ever understand you fully. He’d guided you through your awkward pre-teen stage, the extra years he had on you put to good use when he showed you cool bands and songs to make boys like you. But now, you wanted him to be the boy that liked you. You were so flustered under his gaze, heat tearing through your body. “Let’s head back in,” you told Harry, words shaky. He kept an arm tight around your shoulder, shaking you about as you approached the church. ‘I’ve got my little Boo back’ he laughed in a sing-song tune. You could feel the happiness radiating off his body, knowing without even looking that his toothy grin would be firmly nestled between two deep dimples.
Your parents were sat around a table with Anne, Michal and Gemma still doing the rounds. You could tell they were drunk from a mile away - your dads cheeks stained red with merriment and Anne’s hands gesturing wildly as your mum roared with laughter. You’d missed this. You still went home as often as you could, never missing an opportunity to enjoy time with your loved ones, but before seeing Harry today it always felt different. Gemma, your sister, and Harry had all moved on, never fully present. But being the youngest, you were the one left behind. Harry pulled around two chairs for you both, plopping down between you and his mum. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. “My special boy, where have you been?” she slurred.
“Been catching up,” Harry told her, a blush creeping up his cheeks as she looked between the two of you before winking at him. She was far from subtle before getting wine drunk, so now her entire head moved with her wink. She highlighted it with a loud “wink, wink” in Harry’s direction. “Anne!” you spluttered, choking out a laugh. Your dad reached over to snatch the two empty glasses from in front of you and Harry, promising to fill them to the brim so you could ‘get on their bloody level’.
The evening continued like that, the 5 of you drinking and laughing, reminiscing on your younger days. Your parents and Anne managing to bring up enough embarrassing stories about you both to put you off ever speaking to them again. “I think it’s time we all go to bed,” Harry started, holding his hands up. “Because we’re all fucking PISSED!”, he continued, yelling at the table. You banged on the table in hysterics, eyes screwed up tight as you and Anne fell into each other in laughter. Most of the venue had cleared out by now, guests dropping by your table to congratulate Anne on their way out. You’d barely seen Gemma all night, so content in her little love bubble that she’d spent the majority of the evening alone with Michal, feeding each other cake and slow-dancing.
“Come on, you big lump,” you tugged at your dad’s wrists who in turn pulled at your mum to stand up. Your dad swung his arms around you both, Harry and Anne joining onto the end, and you stumbled towards the exit in a fit of laughter. Harry tried to start a can-can line, kicking one big foot up into the air, but the 5 of you put together had far less coordination than even one sober person, so the idea was quickly abandoned.
The church had a converted barn outside, with rooms purpose-built for immediate family and friends to stay in. You hugged and kissed your goodnights to your parents and Anne, making sure they all got into bed without mischief. Now it was only you and Harry left, buzzed but significantly less drunk than your elders. “Care for one last round?” Harry asked you, slipping a little hip flask out from his blazer pocket. You knew this was a bad idea, a drunken evening alone with the man you’d been lusting after all day. But you certainly wouldn’t make the first move, and you were almost sure he didn’t think of you as anything other than the little girl who used to run around with him.
You followed him into his room, laughing to drown out the alarm bells ringing in your head. Once you saw the empty bed in front of you, you couldn’t help but just flop down on it, suddenly needing to be as comfortable as you could. The room was aged and rustic, but the bed was far more comfortable than it looked. Harry sat against the pillows beside you, long legs stretched out before him as he took a swig from the flask.
For the first time that day, the silence around you was peaceful. Just two old friends enjoying each others presence. Harry watched you as you took the flask from him, grimacing as the liquor went down with a burn. His green eyes were studying every little line on your face, every freckle dotted across your bare shoulders. There was so much new about you, so many little details and marks you’d gained as you grew older, all the little telltale signs of the years he’d missed. What he’d said to you earlier was true, he’d missed you with his whole heart from the second he’d left you behind, spent so many lonely nights wishing he had you by his side. He thought he’d outgrown you, his new-found fame taking precedence over the little girl he’d shared his dreams and aspirations with. But sitting here now with you, he knew you’d grown with him, no matter how far removed your life had become from his. “‘M nearly 30, you know,” he drawled, voice hoarse from the singing and the sting of alcohol in his throat.
“Huh?” you turned to him confused. “I’m 30 next year,” he told you. “Yeah I know, H. What does that have to do with anything?” you laughed, poking at the side of his head. “Means we have to get married next year,” he grinned. You gasped, remembering the pact you’d thought about earlier in the day, “you didn’t forget!” you laughed, sitting up against the soft pillows.
“Can’t do it next year though, two weddings in a year would send our parents insane,” you told him. “‘M finished with my tour now. Got nothing on next year,” Harry shrugged, a familiar cheeky smirk sitting pretty between his dimpled cheeks. You felt something shift in the air as he spoke, and he seemed to feel it too, edging closer to you until his face was only centimetres away from yours. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he cooed, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. His touch shot electricity through your core, a tingling sensation starting where his fingers touched you before washing over your whole body. You shook your head lightly, eyes fixed on him. He leaned in at this, his parted lips meeting yours. The beginnings of a moustache tickled your upper lip, his hot breath flowing into your mouth with every lick of his tongue. You shifted your body towards him as the kiss deepened, four legs and the now-crumpled duvet tangling together as you rushed to close the distance between your bodies. Harry licked into your mouth with the passion of a million years of unspoken longing, his movements saying more than he ever could with words. It was the kind of kiss you’d expect from someone who’d loved you for a lifetime, who wanted to love you for a lifetime, your tongues working alongside each other like this was routine, like you’d done it a thousand times before.
“Harry,” you whispered, hands pushing his blazer from his shoulders. He let you pull it off him, then stroked a hand up your thigh as you admired his upper body. One arm was littered in patchwork tattoos, though all you could focus on was his muscles, illuminated beautifully in the evening light. “Let me get you out of this,” he rasped, twisting your shoulders around to access the zip running down the back of your dress. He smoothed his fingers down your waist and to your hips before unzipping you, your body dwarfed by his strong hands. Harry pressed a kiss into the top of your back, then kissed up and down your spine, hungry for a taste of you as he unveiled more of your skin. You stood up to help him pull your dress down, resting one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you stepped out of it, leaving it discarded on the floor. “Matches my eyes,” he smiled. His gaze trailed from your toes, up to your knees, to where your panties wrapped around your hips, and higher still. Up your tanned abdomen to your bare breasts where your rosebud nipples sat perky, to your neck, and finally his gaze rested on your eyes. “Y’so beautiful,” he groaned, running a soft touch along the curve of your neck.
Harry pulled his tank top over his head, stepping out of his slacks as they collapsed at his feet. His body was unbelievable. So tanned and toned, firm in all the right places yet soft in the best ones. You could see the outline of his hard shaft through the thin fabric of his boxers, an almost silent moan slipping out as you took in the sight before you.
He stepped closer to you, backing you up until the side of the bed hit the back of your knees, then held a hand to your back to guide you down onto it. His hot, drunken breath washed over you as he climbed on top of you, one hand balancing his body as the other explored you. His fingers groped your breast firmly, mouth finding the opposite nipple, sucking it into his lips in one quick movement. Your back arched off the bed, pleasure so built up that it only took one touch to send you into a frenzy. Harry licked a circle around your areola, chuckling against your skin as you writhed under his touch. “Barely even started yet, little Boo,” he drawled, moving upwards to kiss along your clenched jaw.
His fingers danced down your body, smoothing over your mound as you gasped and groaned. They slipped under the soft material of your panties, blissfully cold against the heat of your entrance. You were already soaked through, much to his surprise, so he swiped a finger through your folds to collect your juices before landing straight on your clit. Harry rubbed you in circles, the friction leaving you a panting mess under him, head jutting out to press open-mouthed kisses on his throat.
He pulled your panties down your thighs tenderly, kissing every inch of skin they passed over. In the dim light of the room, mouth moving up and down your body, he’d never looked so handsome. His cock brushed against you as he moved back up your body to focus again on your folds, your juices spread across your mound in a mess. Two long fingers dived straight in, his rings leaving a harsh chill against your sensitive skin. The stretch of his fingers alone had you panting, a familiar burning starting in your core. Harry found your sweet spot insanely fast, fingers moving in a perfect beckoning motion just as you liked. He navigated your body like you’d done this before, like the muscle memory just guided him to what he knew made you feel good. “I want more, want you inside of me,” you whined, hips bucking towards Harry’s groin as he silenced you with a deep kiss. “Got to get you ready for me first, Boo”, he told you. You winced as he used your nickname, knowing you’d never be able to hear your dad call you that without thinking of this night.
Harry’s mouth found your breast again, sucking deep purple bruises onto the gentle skin as you whimpered beneath him. He smacked at your pussy as your moans got louder, causing your eyes to shoot up to meet his. “Gotta keep the noise down, sweet girl.” You nodded in response, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to keep yourself as quiet as you could be. The second his tongue found your nipple, you felt your orgasm bubbling up in your core. Harry noticed the way your head lulled back, slipping a third finger inside of you and using his thumb to brush against your clit. It was like the holy trinity of foreplay, his skilled tongue and fingers hitting your three most pleasurable zones at once. Your climax hit quickly, walls tightening around his digits as you clamped your forearm across your mouth, desperately trying not to scream his name. He peppered kisses down your throat as his fingers rode you through your high, only pulling them away when you went limp under him. Harry held his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick off every trace of your creamy come.
He backed off you to kick his boxers down his legs, stroking his erection as it oozed precum. He found his wallet, pulling out a condom and rolling it down the length of his cock. “How do you want me, sweet girl?” he asked you, cock twitching in his hand. “Wanna go on top,” you told him, suddenly eager to impress. If his cock was anywhere near as good to you as his hands and mouth had been, you couldn’t only have him once. You needed to show him how good your pretty pussy could take him, make him want to come back for more.
Harry rolled onto the centre of the bed, hands guiding your hips down over his groin. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you towards him for a sloppy kiss. His mouth tasted of you, the familiar tingle of juices on his tongue. You stroked his member up and down quickly, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing yourself down onto his tip. “Fuck, H. You’re so big,” you whined, thighs burning as you hovered above him. He used his hands to move you up, then down, down, down, helping you to take him fully. The burn was like nothing you’d experienced before, his girthy cock crammed into every corner of your pussy. You stilled for a moment, hands resting against his butterfly tattoo, chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to push past the ache. He held a thumb under your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “You ok, pet?” he asked, needing to be sure before you continued. You nodded, moving one arm to pull his finger into your mouth. You licked circles around his fingertip, sucking it in down to his knuckle before releasing with it a pop.
Harry’s hands guided your hips to grind against him, helping you until you found your rhythm. He pulled them away, one landing with a loud smack on your ass cheek as the other crept up the front of your body, resting at your throat. He squeezed lightly, the sensation only spurring you on to bounce up and down on him, the combination of your juices squelching as your cheeks slapped against his groin. It was the kind of hot, dirty sex you’d only ever dreamed of, and it had you falling apart on top of him. You cried out a strangled moan, expletives falling out of both of your mouths. “Feel so good around me,” Harry groaned, “so fucking wet. S’that all for me?”
“All for you, H. M’all yours,” you whimpered. His hips bucked against you as you told him you were his, fingers pulling away from your supple ass. He spat on them before dancing them back across your asscheek and smoothing the spit around your second hole, eyes fixed on your pussy bouncing on his cock. “Can I?” he asked you. “Please, H.”
He pushed a finger into your tightness, filling you up so well. You felt so full you could burst. His eyes were clouded over with lust, tiny hairs slick to his forehead with sweat. He looked feral, and you loved it. He repositioned his feet to where they were flat against the bed, hips knocking into you as you moved up and down his cock, his thrusts sending him deeper and deeper inside of you. You were both panting now, barely able to contain your highs for a second longer. “Come with me, come with me please,” you begged him, your second orgasm of the night starting to rise through your core. His thrusts got faster and sloppier, obscene sounds echoing around the room, a clear sign of what you were doing to anyone who could hear you right now. Your orgasm crept up on you quickly, thanks to Harry tightening his grip around your neck and pushing his finger further into your tight hole. Your head was thrown back as you came, back arched making his cock feel as though it could burst through your belly button. Harry moaned loudly, hips jutting one last time as he flooded the condom with his come. You collapsed in a sweaty heap, totally unable to hold yourself up any longer.
“Took me so well, angel girl,” Harry drawled as he pulled out of you, padding across the room to toss the condom and rinse his hands. You lay there in total bliss, comfortable in the knowledge that your friendship was long gone.
“Let me go first and you can come after,” you told Harry, holding a finger up to shush him when he started to laugh. “We’re grown adults, Y/N, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees us come out together.”
“I don’t write songs about sex and drugs. My body is still untouched in my parents eyes,” you told him, hand slipping from the doorknob as he pulled you in for another kiss. “Just don’t come until you hear me leaving.”
You crept out of the room as silently as you could, heels and dress bundled under one arm. You’d heard Anne, your parents and Gemma head out to the courtyard already, so there was no danger of being caught by prying eyes - or so you thought. As you were padding across the hallway to your room, Anne appeared round the corner. “I was just coming to see if you were awake,” she told you, eyes sparkling with glee. “No wonder your mum said your bed was untouched.” She knocked on Harry’s door with a tight-lipped smile lighting up her face. He opened the door wide-eyed as Anne pulled him into a firm hug, pressing a sticky lipgloss kiss to his cheek. “I always hoped you two would get together.” She disappeared back down the hall as quickly as she appeared, leaving you and Harry blushing.
You decided to make your way outside together, knowing it wouldn’t be long before your parents put two and two together anyway. Plus, you knew Anne wouldn’t be able to resist telling your mum and Gemma what she saw.
You decided to spend the day on the beach, you and Harry with your parents and Anne, since Gemma and Michal had already left for their honeymoon. It was a perfect summers day, the sun warm enough to enjoy but not hot enough to irritate you, the gentle sea breeze cooling you down as it washed over you. Your mum and Anne were sprawled across a linen blanket, two bottles of wine stood in the sand next to their feet. They called you over, instant dread washing over you as Anne excitedly shouted your name. “Do you have anything to tell us?” she asked you, and you were sure there would be mischief glinting in her eyes under her big sunglasses. They sat up and scooted over on their blanket, leaving space for you to slot in between. “Nothing that I’m sure you don’t already know,” you smirked, a deep blush creeping up your cheeks. Your mum looked between Anne and you, gasping as she swatted at your leg. “So it’s true! You dirty little minx.”
You held your head in your hands, mortified that your parents knew you’d slept with Harry. “Oh relax,” your mum told you. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” she smirked, throwing herself towards Anne as they howled in laughter. Anne stopped suddenly, her hand tapping at your mum’s thigh incessantly. “If they get married, we’ll be real family!” she gasped, face pink with joy. “Well, the pact is what got us there in the first place,” Harry told them, sitting down next to you and snaking a hand around your waist.
“I forgot all about that,” your mum’s jaw went slack. “Do you still have it?” she asked Anne. “Of course I do. Kept it safe to show them when they found their way back to each other, always knew this day would come.”
part two
taglist: @sleutherclaw @harrysolaf @slutforcoffein
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meazalykov · 27 days ago
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oberdorf's daughter
lena oberdorf x reader x daughter!oc
summary: the daughter who carries on the legacy of you and lena
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meadow oberdorf stood in the center of the pitch, her heart pounding against her ribcage as the floodlights of the stadium illuminated the field.
the semis of the 2047 world cup—the biggest moment of her life. 
the german crowd roared around her, their cheers deafening, their chants reverberating through the air as if they were singing her name. she wore the number six jersey, the same number lena had worn during her legendary career. 
it was a badge of honor and an unspoken challenge, one she accepted with pride. she was lena’s daughter, after all, but she was also yours. 
you sat in the stands, leaning forward as you gripped lena’s hand tightly. her palm was as clammy as yours. she was nervous; you both were. this was no ordinary match, not for meadow, not for you. it was germany versus the united states. the weight of that alone pressed down on your chest. 
it was the two nations that defined your family—the one you were born into and the one you’d chosen through love and marriage.
your daughter’s dark brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, identical to lena’s signature style during her playing days. when meadow turned her head, her sharp features, the strong jawline, the defined cheekbones.. it reminded you of lena at her peak. 
as much as meadow looked like lena, her fire, her stubborn determination, and her unwavering ability to push through the toughest of situations? that was you. that was all you.
meadow hadn’t slept much the night before the match. her mind was racing as she replayed years of memories. she’d grown up watching clips of you as a 17-year-old prodigy in 2019, scoring the winning goal in the final against the netherlands. 
your fiery passion on the field had always inspired her. she remembered the stories lena told her about the infamous 2027 final—germany versus the united states, where you and lena faced off in what the press had called the “battle of the greatest countries in women’s football.” 
you scored two goals that final, leading the 2-0 u.s. victory, and lena still joked about how it took her weeks to forgive you, despite you going to her doorstep every morning to give her forgiveness flowers.
growing up in a household where both parents were icons of the sport wasn’t easy, but meadow thrived under the weight of expectation. she learned tactics and strength from lena, who taught her how to read the game and control the midfield with calm precision. 
from you, she inherited creativity, speed, and the ability to turn a match on its head with a single moment of brilliance.
still, nothing could have prepared her for this—facing the united states in the world cup semifinals. it wasn’t just any team. it was your team, the one that had shaped you, molded you, and catapulted you into football history. 
“don’t think about that,” you told her the night before the match, sitting beside her on the couch in the team hotel. you visited her specifically when she asked to talk with you, and you alone without her other mama.
meadow leaned into your side, seeking comfort like she always did when the pressure became too much. 
“focus on your game. don’t play for obi or for me. play for yourself. that’s all that matters.”
meadow didn’t say much. she simply nodded, her dark eyes focused on the floor. but you knew her well enough to see the conflict raging inside her. she wanted to make you proud, but how could she when you were american? how could she look you in the eyes if her goal meant eliminating the country you’d once captained?
“listen to me,” you whispered, turning her face to look at you. 
“you don’t owe me or mama lena anything, okay? you’re already everything we could’ve dreamed of. tomorrow, no matter what happens, i’ll be rooting for you. nobody else. you.”
tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “thanks, mama.”
as the match progressed, you watched meadow closely. her every movement was deliberate and purposeful. she covered the midfield with ease, combining lena’s physicality with your tactical awareness. 
when the united states launched an attack, meadow was there, intercepting a pass with a perfectly timed slide tackle. lena jumped to her feet beside you, clapping and cheering loudly, her pride unmistakable.
the u.s. defense was solid, and germany struggled to break through. the scoreline remained 0-0, and as the minutes ticked by, the tension in the stadium grew thicker. meadow’s face was a mask of focus, but you knew her well enough to see the frustration building.
 
in the 89th minute, the ball found its way to meadow at the edge of the box. her teammate had passed it to her under pressure, and meadow had seconds—maybe less—to make a decision. time seemed to slow as she took a single touch to control the ball, her head lifting to scan the goal. 
the american goalkeeper was positioned well, but meadow didn’t hesitate. 
with a sharp pivot and a quick shift of her body weight, she struck the ball with her right foot. the shot was a rocket, curving through the air like it had a mind of its own. it sailed past the outstretched hands of the goalkeeper and crashed into the top corner of the net.
the stadium erupted.
meadow stood frozen for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. then, as the roar of the crowd washed over her, she turned and ran toward the corner flag, her hands outstretched, her face lit up with pure joy. mea’s german teammates swarmed her, piling on top of her in celebration. 
you and lena were on your feet, shouting and cheering. your heart felt like it might burst from your chest as you watched meadow step out of the huddle, pointing at the german badge on her chest. she looked straight at the stands, her eyes searching until they found you.
she mouthed something—"this is for you"—and you felt your throat tighten with emotion.
lena pulled you into a tight hug, her own tears streaming down her face. “that’s our girl,” she whispered, her voice trembling with pride. 
“our daughter.”
after the final whistle, germany’s victory was sealed, and meadow’s goal became the defining
moment of the match. as the players celebrated on the field, meadow broke away and sprinted toward the stands where you and lena were. 
security let her through, and before you knew it, she was in your arms, her jersey damp with sweat, her face flushed with exertion and happiness.
“i did it, mama,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. 
“i did it.”
you cupped her face in your hands, your own tears finally spilling over. 
“you were incredible. absolutely incredible.”
lena joined the embrace, wrapping both of you in her arms. “we’re so proud of you, mein schatz,” she said, kissing the top of meadow’s head. 
meadow pulled back slightly, looking at you with a wide grin. 
“you don’t think i’m a traitor, right? for knocking out the u.s.?”
you laughed, shaking your head. 
“are you kidding me? that was one of the best goals i’ve ever seen. and trust me, i’ve seen a lot.”
“probably better than your second goal against us back in 2027..” 
“hey!” you gasped in fake offensiveness.
“i’m kidding! besides meadow,” lena added with a smirk, “you’ve always been german anyways.”
meadow smiled, her eyes shining with pride and relief. 
“i couldn’t have done it without you guys. without everything you’ve taught me.”
you hugged her again, holding her tightly. 
“you didn’t just make us proud tonight, meadow. you made yourself proud.”
masterlist
authors note: this wasn't in wip since I typed this up in the middle of the night (couldn't sleep and thought this was a cute idea that I couldn't forget about). enjoy the two fics in one day :)
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igotanidea · 7 months ago
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The little bean: Anthony Bridgerton x pregnant!wife!reader
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A/N: So..... After my "Too much" series I've been asked to do something with Antony and pregnancy trope. And since 1) I got baby fever and 2) Bridgertons are back, there is no better time than now.
***
“Y/N, my love, what are you doing?”
“I’m holding a book…?”
Ever since Y/N found out she was pregnant with the heir (which she would rather address as her precious little baby, instead of giving him titles before he or she was even born) Anthony entered right into an overprotective mood. If anything he would just keep her home, away from any prying eyes, that – in his opinion – might somehow take a look inside, at his baby and perhaps, see the little one before it came into the view of a proud viscount father.
Y/N could barely walk around the Bridgerton household, let alone the garden, without her husband chasing after her with a very concerned look, ready to carry her wherever she wished, just so that her feet wouldn’t touch the ground.
There were so many dangers on the way after all.
Wild animals. (i.e. bees, dogs and strays cats)
Speeding carriages.
Stones on which she might trip and fall.
Too much sun.
Too little sun.
And worst of all-
Members of the ton.
It was merely the first trimester and viscountess was torn between calming Anthony down (tactfully avoiding the information that the next months will be much more challenging) or just rushing away to her mother-in-law (yet, again) to seek aid in keeping him in check.
And just when she thought the oldest Bridgerton could not get any more obsessive, he took the lecture she was reading out of her hands.
“My dear, you cannot carry such weights. It’s straining and I am to protect you from threats.”
“It’s a book…” she frowned a little, but not without a hint of amusement in her voice
“It’s heavy.”  
“It's a 200 page novel…”
“It’s heavy.” Anthony’s voice was gentle, but firm. Both demanding and pleading.
“Anthony…”
“Y/N.”
“I can hold my own book.”
“We got servants for that.  In fact – let me call upon your maid and –“ he started walking towards the door in sheer purpose to liberate his dearest wife from the unnecessary burden.
Nonetheless his dearest wife had quite a different plan, reaching to grab his hand and stopping him in his tracks.
“My love. Please, come. Let us sit.” She guided him to the ottoman, still keeping the soft touch that was grounding to him.
Much to her surprise Anthony rushed to the furniture first, fixing pillows and blankets so Y/N could sit comfortably. And apparently that word, in his language, meant sitting half a meter in the air, covered from head to toe, regardless of the perfect spring weather outside.
“Here. Perfect.” He flashed a perfect smile, content with the spot he made for her.
“Anthony…”
“Yes, my love?” as he spun around meeting with her desperate look, the smile slowly disappeared from his face. “Y/N? Are you not feeling well?” Anthony grabbed both her hands in his, searching her face for any symptoms of malaise, dizziness, nausea. “Do you need some water? Or-“
“No, no, Anthony, please just listen to me for a moment-“
“Perhaps I should call upon Daphne, she already had a child of her own and she would be of help. Or maybe my mother could-“
“Anthony!” she laughed whole-heartedly at his  feverishness “I am not going to give birth in the fourth month of pregnancy! Please just calm down.”
“Just say a word and I’ll call for a medic immediately. Do not fret my dearest, I will take the best care of you. I swear on my life that-“
At that moment Y/N used the most effective way to stop his blubbering in the form of putting his hand on her slightly rounded belly in which their baby was healthily growing.
“Shh.” She whispered, putting her own palm on top of Anthony's, calming him down, letting him caress the stomach in hope to make him calm down. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I don’t need medic. Nor your mother. And certainly not your younger sister. I am feeling good and the only thing that concerns me is my husband's distress over nothing.”
“Nothing? You are carrying our baby!”
“And our baby needs his father to stop fretting.”
“But-“
“Here!” her eyes grew wide as she guided his hand to another place “did you feel it?”
“Was it--?” Anthony’s face expression mirrored the one of his wife.
“It kicked…” she whispered as their gazes met and for a second that extended into eternity, they just kept looking into each other’s eyes expressing so many feelings.
And then, almost as if in a dream, Anthony fell to his knees in front of Y/N, pressing his head into her belly.
“Our baby.” He whispered, kissing her body through the material of the dress. “our little baby.” He wrapped arms around her midsection with his ear pressed to the home of the child, almost hoping to hear him or her inside.
“Our baby…” she repeated with tears in her eyes. Despite knowing and obviously – feeling the imminent arrival of the new family member it was the first time she actually felt and knew. And it was beautiful. Her little bean was really there. Growing and waiting for the right moment to appear in the world, landing right into the waiting, safe arms of loving mother and father.      
“Do you think it can hear us?” Anthony pressed one ear to her stomach, his entire face lighting up at the possibility.
“Depends.” She chuckled
“On what?” his eyes travelled up to meet hers.
“If I say yes, will that mean you start talking to my insides?”
Anthony smirked.
“I will do that, even if you say no.”
“Then why the question?”
“Testing your knowledge.”
“I am not a doctor, Anthony. My expertise in the area might be a little limited.”
“Very well. Then give me an answer as a mother, not a medic.”
“Yes. Yes, I think it can hear us.” She cupped Anthony’s cheek in the affectionate gesture. There was something utterly heartening in seeing him like this. Holding her (and/or the baby) like she was the most precious thing in the world, needing the assurance that his child was already reaching to him.
That it could hear him, even if it wasn’t even born yet. Hoping for the love of the Lord that it was truly happening. That in a few months, that were going to pass by with extraordinary speed, the little one, a girl or a boy, would take a corporal form. That the viscount would not only be a noble and a husband but would also take on the new role – a father. A protector. Caregiver. A teacher, guardian and a guide. That somehow – his life would be complete. He’ll have his own little family. Something that was nearly impossible to him a few years prior.
And now-
“Anthony…” Y/N whispered, wiping a single tear from his eyes. “Sweetheart, what is wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing is wrong, love. It’s all perfect.”
“Then why are you-?”
“I’m not.” He cleared his throat and gathered himself.
“Of course not.” She laughed softly brushing his hair. “But if you’d want to actually talk to the baby, that would stay in this little circle.”
Anthony smiled lovingly, grateful for having his miracle of a woman in his life. She understood him so perfectly well.
“We’re waiting for you, little one.” He whispered against her attire, with a little muffled voice, be it from emotions or closeness of his lips on her body. “You are already loved by two people, with more to come.”
‘You can say it Anthony…” Y/N whispered, knowing what he was holding back.
“I love you my little one.” The viscount whispered with the softest voice, caressing the place where the kick was previously felt.
And they stood like that for a while longer, enjoying that moment of joy and thinking about the future that looked quite bright. 
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strawberriesforcait · 2 years ago
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Okay but why he kinda....
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claramelooo · 16 days ago
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Heyy! My dear! I'm so excited for the Christmas! So, leave in the comments (or send me an anon quest, if you feel more confortable) any scenes, moments or something you really want to see between Wanda and R. Maybe Santa will realizes your desires...
MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT
Warning: +18, NFSW, Blood
Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat fem reader
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Summary: Being at Wanda's home can be very...intense.
Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On Your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb
VELVET CHAINS
Pure Crimson
It was a sunny afternoon, so hot that you could see the heat haze blurring the landscape. You were at Wanda's house while your parents were in Greece. Not that you minded staying away from them—you had been distant for so long that you'd forgotten what the word "family" even meant.
The days at the Maximoff household had been an emotional rollercoaster. The environment was both warm and intimidating, and you were still adjusting to the unique dynamics of that family.
Your relationship with Billy and Tommy started off hesitantly, like strangers crossing paths in neutral territory. On the first day, while Wanda was busy in the kitchen and Vision was lost in his own thoughts, you sat on the living room couch, trying to look casual as the boys played with Lego pieces scattered across the floor.
Billy was the first to break the ice, shy but curious. “Do you like Star Wars?” he asked, holding up a small Lego spaceship, waiting for a response that might bridge the gap.
“I do! But I don’t really understand spaceships. Do you?” you replied, leaning forward with genuine interest.
His face lit up with the kind of enthusiasm only kids can show. “I’m the best spaceship builder in the galaxy!” He started explaining in detail how he had constructed each part, and soon Tommy joined in, adding comments about the spaceship's imaginary speed.
The initial connection was timid but quickly grew over the following days. You realized the way to earn the twins’ trust was to genuinely care about what they loved. They didn’t need grand promises or long speeches—just someone who truly wanted to spend time with them.
On the second day, Tommy challenged you to a video game match. “Bet you can’t beat me,” he teased with a mischievous grin. You accepted the challenge, and even though you weren’t very skilled, you played with enthusiasm. Tommy laughed so hard when you pressed the wrong button and sent your character tumbling off a cliff that tears rolled down his cheeks.
“You’re terrible at this!” he exclaimed, but there was no cruelty, only joy. And when you finally managed to win a round—by sheer luck—the two boys cheered for you like you had just won a trophy.
That same day, while Wanda was baking strawberry pie in the kitchen, you decided to help Billy with a school art project about national folklore figures. He was frustrated that his drawing wasn’t coming out the way he wanted. “I’m never going to get this right,” he grumbled, nearly crumpling the paper.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect; it can be unique,” you said, picking up the pencil and showing him how to add simple details to turn what seemed like a mistake into something creative. “See? It’s all about perspective.” You gave him a bright smile, and he looked at you with genuine admiration.
A particularly vulnerable moment sealed their trust. Tommy had hurt his knee playing soccer in the backyard—a nasty scrape. While Wanda was busy elsewhere, you cleaned his wound carefully, speaking soothing words. “You’re a warrior, Tommy. This is nothing for someone as strong as you.” He smiled through his tears and held your hand as if finding strength in it.
That night, as you were getting ready for bed, Billy called out to you. “Y/n, you’re like the big sister we never had.” Tommy agreed, and the two hugged you tightly before heading to their room.
From that moment on, it was as if an invisible bond connected you to them. They sought you out for everything—from playing games to asking for advice. More than that, they embraced you as part of their lives, and you realized that, in some way, you needed them as much as they seemed to need you.
Vision, however, was a different challenge. Always polite and courteous, but there was something about his demeanor, the way his eyes seemed to analyze your every move, that left you uneasy. Perhaps it was the contrast with Wanda, whose gaze seemed to devour you, while Vision’s felt like judgment.
One afternoon, you found him in the kitchen, organizing documents in a folder while sipping coffee. When you walked in, he glanced up briefly, offering a polite but cold smile.
“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice controlled.
“Good afternoon,” you replied, unsure.
Silence quickly settled, heavy and awkward. You searched for something to say, anything to break the invisible wall.
“The boys are excited about tonight’s dinner,” you commented, referring to Billy and Tommy, who had insisted you help pick the menu.
Vision simply nodded, his expression unchanged. “They grow attached easily,” he remarked, emotionless. “Especially to people… different.”
You felt the insinuation but had no time to respond before the sound of Tommy and Billy’s hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.
“Y/n!” Billy exclaimed, running up to you with a huge smile. “Look what we made!”
He showed you a colorful drawing of you, him, Tommy, and even Wanda sitting around a large dinner table. In the corner of the paper, Vision was there too, but noticeably outside the circle.
“You’re part of our family now!” Tommy said, laughing as he clung to your side.
You couldn’t help but smile. “I love it, Billy. It’s amazing!”
“It really is,” Wanda said, walking into the kitchen with an amused expression as she looked at the drawing. “It seems you’re stealing their hearts.”
Tommy hugged your waist, looking at Vision with a mischievous grin. “We love you. Are you going to live with us now?” the boy asked, his eyes sparkling.
“Tommy,” Vision said firmly.
“What?” the boy asked innocently.
You crouched down to Tommy’s height, a gentle smile on your face. “I can’t, sweetheart. I already have a home...” you replied, awkwardly trying not to stumble over your words under Vision’s intense gaze.
Tommy pouted, but Billy quickly approached with another drawing in hand. This one showed you holding what seemed to be a tray of cookies, surrounded by the twins. “This is you, taking care of us. Because you make the best gingerbread cookies in the world.”
“Billy, I just helped! You guys made the cookies,” you laughed, knowing it wasn’t true—you had done everything from the dough to the baking. The twins had only decorated, but you’d say anything to see their smiles.
“It doesn’t matter! You’re the best helper,” he declared confidently, as if it were a universal fact.
Across the room, Wanda watched the scene with a soft smile. Her eyes shifted between the twins and you, as if capturing every detail of the moment.
“It’s true, Y/n,” Wanda said warmly. “You have a way with them that even I can’t compete with.”
Tommy quickly shot back, “Of course not, Mom! We love you too. But it’s different.”
Wanda raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as if feigning offense. “Different how, exactly?”
Billy was quick to defend. “You’re the boss of us! But Y/n makes things feel more fun.”
Wanda’s laughter filled the room, a carefree sound that seemed to brighten the entire atmosphere. She glanced at you, her eyes a mix of amusement and admiration.
Vision, however, seemed out of place. He cleared his throat, drawing the twins’ attention. “Boys, you know family is a... fixed concept. One shouldn’t create expectations based on...”
“Don’t start, Dad,” Tommy interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically.
“Yeah, we know how we feel,” Billy added firmly.
You looked at Wanda, expecting a more severe reaction, but instead, she was smiling indulgently. “They have strong opinions, Vision. Perhaps we should accept that Y/n is important to them.”
Vision hesitated, his discomfort clear, but he didn’t respond.
Tommy took the opportunity to hug you again. “So that’s it. You’re part of our family now.”
You laughed, touched by his sincerity, and looked at Wanda, who gave a small nod, as if silently confirming what Tommy had said. The warmth in your chest at that moment was indescribable but undeniably real.
Billy grabbed your hand, pulling you along. “Come on! Let’s play!”
You didn’t have a chance to resist as he and Tommy led you to the living room, leaving Vision and Wanda behind.
In the living room, the boys showed you their game cards, taught you crazy rules only they understood, and laughed until they fell over as you tried to keep up with their energy.
In the middle of the game, Tommy flopped onto the couch, tired, and looked at you with shining eyes. “You’re not leaving, right?”
“Not anytime soon,” you said, ruffling his hair.
Billy approached and gently took your hand, his expression unusually serious. “Mom has never seemed this happy before,” he said quietly.
The words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken weight. You looked at him and then at Tommy, your heart tightening in your chest. They were such sweet kids, their affection for you so pure and genuine that it stirred something deep within you—a mix of gratitude and protectiveness.
Moments later, Wanda appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. Her presence filled the room effortlessly, and when your eyes met hers, there was an intensity in her gaze, a possessiveness barely masked by her enigmatic smile.
“It’s good to see you all getting along so well,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made your stomach flutter.
“She’s the best!” Tommy blurted out enthusiastically, and Billy nodded in earnest agreement.
“Yeah. She really is,” Wanda echoed, her words laced with an edge of certainty as her eyes lingered on you. Her smile deepened, enigmatic and knowing, as though she saw something in you that even you hadn’t recognized yet.
You couldn’t help but laugh, a light, genuine sound that filled the room. A warmth spread through your chest, a comforting sense of belonging. For the first time in days, amidst all the uncertainties, it felt like you’d found your place—at least with the twins. And, perhaps, with Wanda too.
[...]
The house was silent, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall in the living room. Wanda lay on the bed, but sleep felt like an ever more distant possibility. Vision’s steady, peaceful breathing beside her only highlighted the contrast with the storm raging in her mind.
You were there. In the room next door. So close that she could almost feel your presence, like an electric current humming through the walls.
For the third time, Wanda rolled over, burying her face into the pillow, trying to convince herself not to think about you. But the harder she tried to push the thoughts away, the more vivid they became.
She could recall every detail—how you bit your lower lip in concentration while helping the boys with their homework, the laugh that made warmth bloom in her chest, the shy way your eyes met hers when you tried to mask your nervousness. It was unbearable how much you had invaded her thoughts, staking a claim on every corner of her mind as if it all belonged to you.
Wanda sighed, feeling her heartbeat quicken. This wasn’t just desire; it was something deeper, something that made her feel both vulnerable and invincible. It was a sweet yet corrosive obsession.
“Why do you do this to me?” she murmured into the darkness, her voice a whisper tinged with frustration.
Her fingers clenched the sheet as a dangerous idea began to take shape in her mind. It wasn’t unreasonable, she tried to convince herself. Just a quick check to make sure you were okay. That was perfectly justifiable, wasn’t it?
But deep down, she knew it was a lie. The truth was, your proximity was driving her mad. Every second without seeing you felt like torture. The image of you, likely curled up under the blankets, your face serene in peaceful sleep, was almost irresistible.
With a sudden motion, Wanda sat up in bed, sharp enough that Vision mumbled something incoherent in his sleep. She cast a quick glance at him, but he remained in a deep slumber. Perfect.
She knew this was dangerous, that it crossed any reasonable boundary. But you were so close, and Wanda couldn’t fight the pull anymore. Not when the thought of having you felt so… inevitable.
Quietly, she slipped out of the bedroom, her bare feet making barely a sound against the floor. She hesitated for a brief moment in front of your door, her hand hovering over the handle as anticipation and longing swirled in her chest.
When she finally opened the door, a soft, almost predatory smile played on her lips as her eyes found you.
“Wanda?” your voice was lower than you intended, almost a whisper.
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she moved closer, each step heightening the tension in the room. When she reached your bedside, she leaned down, her face coming so close to yours that you could feel the warmth radiating from her.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, almost a groan.
You swallowed hard, struggling to find the right response. Wanda’s smile deepened, but there was a hunger in it, something that made your breath catch. Before you could think, she leaned closer still, her lips brushing against yours so lightly it was almost imperceptible.
“You’re in my head,” she whispered against your mouth, her breath warm and intoxicating. “Your scent is everywhere in this house.”
The air between you felt heavy, charged with an unspoken intensity. And in that moment, everything else faded away.
Your heart raced, and you tried to say something, but the words caught in your throat. Wanda didn’t wait. Her lips pressed against yours—firm, demanding—and you felt the full force of her presence in that kiss.
There was urgency in her touch, a hunger that had clearly been restrained for far too long. Her hands rose to cradle your face, holding you exactly where she wanted.
You felt trapped, but it wasn’t a trap you wanted to escape. When she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, the intensity in her eyes sent a shiver racing down your spine.
“I needed that,” she murmured, her lips still so close to yours that it was hard to breathe.
“Wanda…” you began, but she silenced you with a finger against your lips. “Vision is in the next room,”
“Shh,” she whispered. “Tomorrow, you can think about whatever you want. But right now… right now, you’re mine.”
Before you could respond, she kissed you again, and all the tension, all the air seemed to vanish from the room.
Her lips were warm and soft, but there was more—something raw, a palpable hunger, a need that felt as if it might consume you whole. The kiss started firm but quickly deepened, turning more explorative. Her tongue brushed against yours, pulling a sigh from your throat, a sound that seemed to ignite something primal in her.
Wanda’s hands slid from your face to your waist, her fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your clothes. Your body responded instinctively, every nerve tuned to her presence. Heat pulsed through you, mingling with the adrenaline that made your heart pound in your chest.
She pulled you closer, so close you could no longer tell where you ended and she began. The urgency in her movements was intoxicating, yet there was a tenderness, a sense of restraint as if she were testing the limits.
Your hesitant hands rose to her shoulders, clutching the soft fabric of her pajamas. Wanda let out a low sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and the sheer intensity of it left your legs feeling weak, even though you were lying down.
When she finally pulled back, it was only far enough for you to catch your breath. Her eyes remained locked on yours, dark and glowing with a mix of desire and an unshakable sense of control.
You tried to speak, but your voice failed, your mind still spinning from the sensations. Wanda tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips, as if she understood exactly what she was doing to you.
“You feel it, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice low and husky, sending shivers cascading through you.
Before you could respond, she kissed you again, slower this time, almost reverent. It was as though she were leaving an imprint, marking every part of you, making herself impossible to forget.
She’s undeniably beautiful.
"Take off your clothes." She demands, and you're jolted back to reality. Her eyes pierce into yours, holding a glimmer of something you can’t quite place. You want to know more about her; you feel so off-balance. To avoid a disapproving look, you immediately take off the nightgown and wait for further instructions as she slowly walks around you.
The way the woman moves, the way she looks at you, reminds you of a panther stalking its prey. Wanda eyes you from head to toe, assessing you. She's behind you, and you can feel her gaze roaming over your body. Chills run up your arms in anticipation of what’s coming next, and the urge to turn around and face her is hard to suppress. "Lie down, Dekta. Mommy's going to take care of this."
You shiver at how close the words are whispered against your neck, internally chastising yourself as heat builds in your core. It feels like you're waiting for your own demise as her green eyes scrutinize you once more. You’ve never felt more like prey.
You hate how passive it feels. Your body is tense with the uncertainties this night will bring, not going unnoticed by the older woman. "Sweetheart…" now her voice is soft, just like the Wanda from earlier. "You're so tense." She brushes your face with her fingertips, noticing your shivers.
"I… I've never done this." you murmur softly—a mix of fear and shame. Wanda feels weak seeing you so vulnerable. Giving you a calm smile, she lowers her hands to stroke your forearm—a soothing gesture. "I know, my sweet. We don't have to do anything you don't want." Wanda lies on top of you, resting her head in the curve of your neck—her breath tickling your ear. "I just want to show you… how good this can feel."
She leaves a trail of kisses on your jaw, down your neck, to your collarbone—making you let out a shaky breath. “Do you trust me?” And there it was, that question again. “I do, Mommy.”
Wanda's hands take on a life of their own—stroking you, squeezing and massaging your curves, making you need her more and more. Needed for your touch.
She wanted you to get used to being touched like this, she wanted to get you ready to beg for her and for her hands.
Wanda's mouth and hands leave you inert—all the stimuli she was presenting to you took you to another dimension. Your pussy hurt, and you started to feel the need to ease it.
“Wands…” your voice came out shrill, as if you were slowly dying. The woman's warm lips worked on the back of his neck, biting and sucking passionately on the spot. “Hmm, what’s up, little girl? Do you want to say anything to mommy?”
Wanda moves away from your neck to look at you—making you miss the heat applied to the area. As you look at her, your heart skips a beat to see the expression of pleasure on the woman's delicate face—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and her bangs were messy—sexy and even wild.
With a little courage, you steal Wanda's lips for yourself—surprising the woman who decides to let you command the kiss, encouraging her confidence to blossom in her personality, like a flower that grows with the help of the sun.
Wanda would be your sun.
“H-it hurts.” you confess softly, with a husky voice—throwing your hips up, making your hot core rub against Wanda's thigh.
“I know, Dekta. I know… “ she murmured with difficulty, feeling the stickiness of your precious pussy sliding down her thigh with ease. “Mommy will make it go away, yes?” Wanda felt insane, at that moment, she would give you anything you wanted.
“Mommy…” you mumbled, equally crazy.
The woman, upon hearing this delicious title, began to lower her body until she was face to face with her sweet pussy. It was possible to see the stain of her juices wetting her panties. Letting out a shaky, excited breath, Wanda leans in closer to smell him—sweet and spicy, like sandalwood flower.
Wanda's few sexual experiences were never intense, always filled with normality. She hadn't married as a virgin, but still, all the men that came into her life didn't do justice to you.
The woman's unsteady hands cling to her thighs, squeezing for some comfort—she had never done this, after all. When the bittersweet taste reaches the taste buds of her tongue, Wanda moans and pushes her head against her pussy.
“Mmm…” She moans with her mouth working on her clit. Wanda seemed to have discovered a new world, one she didn't want to leave.
“Oh, please…” The enveloping tongue made circular movements, making you reach the edge, perhaps faster than normal. "Mommy!"
You shouted, making Wanda give you a dirty look.
“Be quiet!” She slaps your cheek, which tingles all over your face, warming you up even more—and which makes you push even harder against Wanda, offering yourself to her like a flower in full bloom.
“It’s hard… It’s so good.” your rolling eyes only showed Wanda how much of a stupid little bitch you were who couldn't follow a simple command. “I need… more!” His voice came out in a drawn out, needy whine.
Wanda growls against his sex, her focus never wavering. “What else, little one? More of Mommy’s tongue, sucking and licking that needy little bud of yours until you cry?” she asks, her voice muffled by her flesh.
“Or maybe it’s Mommy’s fingers you’re craving, plunging deep into that tight virgin pussy.” The woman's broken voice brought words that provoked you in a way that made you reach levels of pleasure you never imagined.
“Tell mommy what you need to scream her name like the stupid slut you are.” You roll your eyes when you hear such degrading words.
“I don’t know… it’s weird, but it’s so gooood!” Your only reaction—or instinct, is to rub himself against her even more. In cruel sadism, Wanda stops the stimuli abruptly, making you let out a frustrated groan.
“Ask, pet. If you want to get what you want, learn to ask for it…” she hummed, as if it was just a game for her.
You huffed, no patience for games.
“Your fingers, I want your fingers inside me.” His honesty hit the woman like a punch. And certainly witnessing Wanda falter at just his words did things to your ego.
Wanda positions her finger well, first, massaging, making you feel it. As soon as her middle finger finds your entrance, you tense against her.
“Shhh, dekta, it’s okay” she whispers against his forehead, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Will it hurt a lot?” Her lower lip trembles, her tone seems to seek a reassurance that only Wanda could offer.
“Just a little…” She promises you, looking deep into your eyes, and you nod, giving permission.
At first glance, the finger inside you seemed to burn, tearing you open and opening you up for Wanda to use that little hole as she pleased. You heard the woman growl against your mouth, then kiss you savagely.
Wanda, as excited as you, begins to rub herself against your sex while still thrusting inside you and feeling your finger being chewed completely by your hot flesh.
“So tight,” she growled, as she ground against you and bit your lip.
“Greedy little girl. Do you want mommy’s pussy?” You nodded without thinking twice. “You’re a vessel for my pleasure, a stupid little toy for me to use and abuse… and you love every moment of it, don’t you, little slut?” The woman's words dripped with promises of a corrosive, dangerous, dark desire.
You nod and push your hips even further—both for the friction of your pussies, but for Wanda's finger that is sinking even deeper into you.
“Mmm, yes… just like that, you filthy slut.” The woman's nails dug into her waist, creating half-moon marks. “Oh. Honey, mommy is almost there…” She moans wildly, taking her finger out of you—bringing you a feeling of emptiness.
The pussy rubbing was genuinely delicious. A unique place in the world that you two never wanted to leave. But it's when Wanda bites your nipple that makes you moan loudly and come hard—so hard that Wanda can swear when she feels your pussy tremble against hers.
Wanda falls on her side, desperately searching for breath. You think it's funny and laugh softly. The woman just arches her eyebrow.
“The problem is… I’m already an old lady. I don’t have much energy left!” Wanda’s excuse only made her seem even more adorable in your eyes.
“You’re beautiful.” You kissed her nose, letting your affection flow through the small gesture, offering her as much comfort as you could muster.
Wanda exhaled, a sound somewhere between exhaustion and contentment, as she shifted in bed to face you. Her hair was messy, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glimmered with a warmth that made your heart melt.
“Beautiful, huh?” she repeated, a soft smile curving her lips. “I think you’re just buttering me up so I’ll bake you more cookies.”
You laughed, finding her pout irresistibly cute.
“I’m not buttering you up; I’m just being honest,” you replied, your tone steady but tender.
She shook her head, a quiet laugh escaping her as she slid her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Your bodies fit together so naturally, as though you were crafted for this moment, for each other.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” Wanda murmured, her voice tinged with humor and a depth of affection so profound it made your eyes sting slightly.
“Good trouble or bad trouble?” you teased, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her shoulder.
“Good,” she answered without hesitation, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Too good.”
For a while, silence settled between you, a comfortable stillness broken only by the steady rhythm of your breaths. You took in every detail of her: the elegant curve of her jawline, the gentle slope of her lips, and the way her lashes brushed against her cheeks like delicate whispers of her exhaustion.
“It’s all okay, you know?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost a whisper.
Wanda’s brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”
“With us,” you clarified, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to overthink or worry. I’m here. With you.”
Your words seemed to catch Wanda off guard, her smile softening into something vulnerable and raw. She looked at you as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, she cupped your face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks, her touch impossibly tender.
“You have no idea what that means to me,” Wanda finally said, her voice low and brimming with emotion.
“Then show me,” you whispered, leaning in to meet her lips once again, this time in a kiss so calm and intimate that it felt like sealing an unspoken promise between you.
When you finally broke apart, Wanda let out a deep sigh, as though releasing a weight she had carried for far too long. She drew you into her chest, her arms wrapping around you protectively, as though she wanted to keep you there forever.
“Sleep now, my angel,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your forehead as she held you even closer.
And so, you closed your eyes, your heart warm and full, certain that, in this moment, you were everything Wanda needed.
But as she watched your lashes flutter closed, her gaze shifted. Her hand, once tenderly cradling your face, now caught her attention—a deep crimson stain painting her fingertips. Blood. Your blood. Your purity.
Something primal and dark ignited within Wanda—a force that she couldn’t resist. Slowly, obsessively, she brought her fingers to her lips, tasting every drop as though savoring a forbidden fruit.
The warm, metallic tang of blood spread across her tongue, and instead of disgust, a raw, guttural moan escaped her lips. It was pleasure, unadulterated and feral, coursing through her with an intensity that made her tremble.
Her eyes glowed faintly, a flicker of something inhuman breaking through the surface. It wasn’t just about the taste or the act—it was about possession, about the irrevocable claim she had laid upon you.
The room was cloaked in silence, save for the sound of her labored breathing, low and almost animalistic. Her fingers, still stained red, moved over her lips, cleaning away every last trace. Her body quaked, not from fear but from the euphoria of knowing you were irrevocably hers.
Wanda leaned over you, her eyes tracing your serene features. You looked angelic, but to her, you were an angel wrapped in shadows—a contradiction so alluring it drove her to madness.
With trembling fingers, she gently touched your lips, the faintest smear of crimson left behind. Her touch was tender, reverent, yet stained by the chaos swirling within her.
“You don’t even know, do you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible but laced with a dangerous kind of adoration.
And as the night deepened, Wanda’s obsession with you solidified into something unyielding, something that would burn brightly, consuming everything in its wake.
Mine,” she whispered, the sound barely coming out but carrying a possessiveness that made the air in the room feel heavier. “You are mine now. In every way.”
~*~
Wanda got more intense after watching Twillinght New Moon....
UNREVISED CHAPTER
Tag List <3
@trindad2k @vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @trying-to-do-good @bees-for-brains
@eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @jazzyxqzl @sheriffhaughtearp @i-luv-w1men
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tender-rosiey · 2 years ago
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Hello. Can I ask imagine (or headcannons, if it would be more convenient for you) for Mori Ogai, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol (separately) and their fem!s/o? Their child is jealous of his mother (s/o) to his father and tries to take all the attention of his mother to himself. Please.
“PAPA GET AWAY FROM MAMA!”
— your child being jealous of dazai, fyodor, chuuya, nikolai and kunikida
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a/n: I do hope that this is what you wanted and that you like it <;33
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DAZAI OSAMU:
dazai never thought he would be bestowed the blessing or the bliss of having a family, but here he is. he has you wrapped in his arms and he is certain that nothing could feel better than this.
however, it is eerily quiet in this household and osamu guesses it’s because the little devil is asleep, the little devil being his son.
his son looks exactly like you, but my god if the kid doesn’t have the same amount of love dazai has for you then dazai doesn’t know what does he have.
the kid never lets him have his time alone with you and for some reason is genuinely upset whenever you and dazai hug or kiss.
that’s why dazai is making the most out of his time today.
he starts pressing kisses to your shoulder, “it’s been a while, right, belladonna?” your fingers find their way through his hair and dazai smiles instantly, “my pretty wife.”
alas, good things don’t last because the both of your are snapped from your sweet moment by the offended and sob-filled screech of your son.
the kid is balling his eyes out at the scene and starts screaming, “GET AWAY FROM MOMMY!”
dazai’s eyes widen; however, before he responds, you push him away and run to your son to coddle him and calm him down.
dazai pouts but lets it go because his son probably needs the hug.
but, what dazai didn’t expect was that his son would grin and stick his tongue out at his dad.
dazai is flabbergasted, but smiles back.
“she was and is my wife before being your mom,” he whispers and winks pointing at the ring on his finger.
your son frowns and simply huffs, assuming that you’re clueless to what the heck is happening while you’re hugging him.
your, petty, husband also believes that this banter would go unnoticed by you so he sticks his tongue out at his son and his son gasps quietly.
well, they’re both equally stupid cause you obviously know, but oh well.
FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY:
never in a million years did he imagine that the person who would challenge him in everything would be his own daughter, his way too smart for a 7 year old, daughter.
today, she saw him hugging you from the back while you were cooking and decided that it’s enough time with you for him.
“father,” she calls out and he hums in response.
“that’s enough time with mom; get away,” she says calmly and he doesn’t look at her and instead tightens his hold on you and whispers, “milaya, you look breathtaking, today.”
you shake your head with a smile and a small, rare chuckle escapes fyodor.
“father, please distance yourself from mother,” she says one last time, patience running out.
fyodor looks at her, “and if I don’t, dear?”
she blinks up at him then kicks him in the shins. he staggers, surprising both himself and you. he looks at his daughter with a frown, “how courageous of you, my dear daughter.”
“cry me a river; we agreed that we each get one hour with mom!” and there comes out the you in her. she smiles the moment you pat her head, signaling for her to go wait for you at the couch.
she bolts there and leaves you and your husband to be. fyodor finally stands up and looks at you with a barely visible pout that has increased in appearances since you gave birth to your dear daughter, “y/n.”
“yes, fedya?”
“our daughter kicked me in the shins.”
you raise an eyebrow, “and you didn’t guess she would?”
“of course, I did,” he looks at her, and somehow your husband who often is known for his intelligence seems like some jealous baby, “but I thought she wouldn’t do it in front of you, at least.”
“well, I didn’t see anything,” you sing and he smirks lightly.
“teaming up on me, are you?”
you shrug, “how can I ever?”
“what a cruel wife you are,” he mumbles right beside your ear and you merely roll your eyes.
NAKAHARA CHUUYA:
sometimes, you feel like you’re a rope being tugged between your son and husband. they are both equally possessive and both have quite the tempers and you have to act like the peace keeper most of the time.
today was no different; however, you have decided to simply watch from the sidelines this time.
“dad! I am gonna marry mom! don’t fight me about it!” your son says confidently.
your husband feels a vein pop, “you little— you can’t marry her! she’s already married to me!”
“no she isn’t!”
“yes she is!”
“what’s your proof?” your son says with a smirk that he definitely inherited from his father, but who’s counting.
your husband narrows his eyes at him and huffs and goes to your shared bedroom. your son giggles and runs towards you, “finally! mom, can I have a hug please?”
you open your arms and your son wastes no time jumping into your embrace making you smile and pat his back. you’re kind of surprised that chuuya didn’t fight back as hard today; maybe you guessed today’s outcome wrong—
you’re quickly proven to have indeed guessed it right as your chuuya appears in all his glory holding your wedding photo, the marriage certificate, and proudly showing off his ring.
your son’s eyes widen, “what is this?”
“the proof that me and y/n are married,” he replied smugly and you sigh.
“w-well, she doesn’t have the same ring as yours!” your son stammers and your husband simply smirks and points at your left hand.
you’ve never heard your son screech so loudly in all his 6 years of living as his eyes lay on your ring.
he jumps away from you, clutching his heart, “mom, what is the meaning of this?!”
“of what exactly?”
“YOU’RE MARRIED TO DAD??” he gasps and you chuckle lightly because if you were to roll your eyes then this house will be turned into ruins.
“honey, I had to marry dad so we can have you,” you smile and chuuya looks as offended as your son.
“HAD TO??”
you side-eye him and he quickly zips his mouth shut and looks away but not without grumbling a couple of curses.
“but that means that I can’t marry you cause you’re already married,” your son says defeatedly as he sits on the floor.
“EXACTLY SO LET US BE!” your husband shouts confidently.
tears well up in your son’s eyes and he bursts into a wail that has your house flooding in a couple of seconds.
you simply look at chuuya, “way to go my dear husband.”
KUNIKIDA DOPPO:
most of the time, your daughter was a daddy’s girl. she always listens to him and a grin is automatically plastered on her face once she sees him.
you can never blame her though cause you have the same reaction whenever you see your lovely husband.
your daughter turned out to be an exact copy of you and both of you share the insane amount of love you have for kunikida.
but there are times where your daughter just wants time with her mama not her dad.
for example, today, you and kunikida were cuddling in the bed, slowly drifting off to sleep. his arms are wrapped around you as he strokes your hair and you feel him press a kiss to your forehead making you nuzzle into his chest.
you feel him smile and you close your eyes to welcome sleep, but you hear a couple of knocks on the door.
your husband sighs softly before sitting up and putting his glasses on, “come in, d/n.”
she slowly opens the door and peaks in, “sorry pa.”
he adjusts his glasses and shakes his head with a smile, “it’s okay; did you have a nightmare?”
she nods softly and perks up at her dad patting the bed. she walks to you two and climbs up the bed, which is quite the travail for her.
most of the time, when she has a nightmare, she squeezes herself between you both to have ‘best of both worlds’ as you say.
so kunikida expects her to sleep between you both like usual, but instead she pushes him away, albeit gently, and sleeps right next you —where he once was— and cuddles close to you.
you pat her head and pull her closer with a smile.
you look up at your husband who had his spot taken from him and giggle at the sight of his small pout.
kunikida watches you guys cuddle and then decides to just lay back down and simply wrap his arms around both of you at the same time. he didn’t train all of that time for nothing.
your daughter whines jokingly, “paaa, I want to be with mom.”
he raises an eyebrow, “is that so?”
she nods and starts squealing and laughing when her father squeezes you guys in a tight hug. both your laughters fill the room and kunikida smiles before saying, “do you not want papa anymore?”
“no no! I want you; please mercy!” she pleads making both you and kunikida chuckle before he finally relaxes his hold and kisses both your and her cheek and the three of you finally succumb to sleep.
NIKOLAI GOGOL:
“quiz time! guess who had his share of y/n today?”
you deadpan, “kolya, I am not a pie.”
“well, you’re certainly as sweet as one,” your husband grins, but both you and your son just gag at the terrible pick up line.
you’ve long got used to his theatrics, after all. your son, though, calls bs on everything his dad does.
“not me,” your son replied with a grin and holds you tighter, sticking his tongue out at nikolai.
“AHAHA! you’re as funny as me, s/n,” nikolai cackles, and you’re sure he is keen on throwing your son off of you any time now.
“but dad, I can’t be funny as you,” your son says dejectedly and nikolai’s eyebrow rises.
“why is that?”
your son smiles, a closed eye smile, before replying, “you’re not funny at all; that’s an insult to me.”
nikolai doesn’t say anything as he pulls your screaming son off you, after quite the struggle.
he walks to the garden and throws him there, “go play with a frog or something; I will have y/n all to myself for the rest of the day. thank you!”
your husband smiles victoriously and is about to throw himself into your embrace until his son reappears right beside you and the boy has a frown that only means one thing.
chaos is about to ensue.
your son starts throwing a tantrum and yelling, “I WANT TO CUDDLE MOM!!”
“no can do, young man,” your husband says shaking his head, “you already got your fair share of mama per the agreement.”
“what agreement?” your son asks, tears still streaming down his face.
your husband puts his hand in his coat and gets out a contract.
the contract reads that your son will only have 2 hours of your attention and time while your husband gets the rest.
“b-but these types of papers need to have signatures of both sides!”
your husband giggles, “your signature is right here, my dear son.”
your son gasps but quickly composed himself.
“oh whatever shall you do now? I rightfully deserve all of y/n’s time—AHHHHH WHAT THE HELL?!”
you come back —after leaving to get yourself a cup of coffee cause this is way too much for you— and find that your son has effectively set the contract on fire.
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