#and then to have the words to talk about and discuss it

[mariasont]

Art of Losing Control - A.H

summary: sweetheart!reader is uesd to following orders, but she's never questioned why, until now. when hotch turns an academic discussion into something personal. too personal

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader

warnings: dbf!hotch, pyschological tension perhaps??, discussion of power dyanmics, dom/sub undertones, age gap, suggestive themes 4 sure, hotch lowkey putting r through an accidental bdsm awakening

wc: 2.7k

The glass was arguably frigid beneath the pads of your fingers, but it was a biting type that worked its way into your skin before your brain could catch up. You recoiled instinctively, rubbing your hand against your sleeve in a futile attempt to chase away the lingering feeling. That was pointless. The cold had already burrowed itself in. 

You were sure that was the point. Uncomfortable people bred sloppy mistakes. But from the way the woman sat inside the room, the way she barely seemed to notice, you weren't sure exactly how effective said method was.

If the cold affected her, she didn't so much as blink. She leaned forward, elbows sinking into the scuffed metal of the table, her fingers hovering just above, twitching, like they wanted to move but hadn't yet been given permission. Impulse warring with... restraint? Maybe.

At first, you chalked it up to nerves, a subconscious tick, the body's way of trying too hard to stay still. But the longer you watched, the more convinced you became that it was something else.

She looked far too at ease for someone who'd just been arrested. No tension in her shoulders, no fight in her posture, like this was casual small talk over a morning coffee instead of answering for a crime. Her head dipped slightly, her eyes lingering on Morgan as if his words were little more than passing curiosities.

You inched closer to the glass, shifting focus to Morgan. He kept his voice perfectly tuned, soft enough to seem non-threatening, firm enough to demand attention. He was letting the conversation unfold at its own pace, drawing her in without forcing it. It reminded you of a hunter scattering bait, waiting for the trap to spring shut.

You were trying to study it, the pick apart the mechanics of it all—the inflection in his voice, the way he leaned back at just the right moments, how he allowed the silence to work for him rather than rush to fill it.

You used to think it was instinct, just something they (the best, brightest and more experienced of the BAU) had, something that can't be learned. But the longer you were here, the more you saw it for what it really was—craft, skill, an art so finely tuned it just looked like instinct.

When you looked back to the woman, you noticed it, the way she lingered on her words, shaping them slowly, like she was tasting each one before decided if it was worth sharing. 

"She's enjoying this." The words slipped out quietly, almost like an afterthought, your eyes still fixed on the suspect.

The sound behind you—low, contemplative—made you turn before you could think about turning.

Too fast. Too reactive. And suddenly, you weren't just turning you were colliding, your shoulder pressing something solid. Firm. Hotch. His chest absorbed the impact.

It sent a strange disconnect between knowing this is your boss and whatever ridiculous reaction your body had decided to have about it.

If he noticed your flustered reaction, he gave no indication, just took control of it—turning you back to the glass, his palm settled between your shoulder blades.

"Tell me why you think that."

Your heart stuttered. Slamming against bone, thrumming under skin, knocking around like it didn't belong to you anymore. Heat licked up your neck, pressing at the back of your ears.

And Hotch, well, Hotch was just watching, waiting, looking at you like he expected something useful to come out of your mouth. 

Your tongue flicked across lips that felt too dry, but that didn't fix the problem.

"She's keeping the pauses in conversation long—," You exhaled, tried to make it sound normal. "Like she wants him to say more. Like she's giving him the space to take the lead."

Hotch barely tils his head. His version of a nudge. "And?"

You swallowed. He did this sometimes, gave you just enough room to think, to fumble, to find an answer on your own instead of handing it to you. It wasn't impatience, not exactly. It was how he worked, specifically how he worked you. Letting you step forward, letting you find the edge of your own thought before deciding whether or not to pull you back.

You leaned closer to the glass, tracking every detail, letting yourself see her the way he would.

"She keeps touching her lips. Not absentmindedly, but... like she wants to draw attention to them." Hotch said nothing, so you keep going. "She tilts her head, too, just a little—lets her neck show when she laughs."

"Good."

It was just one word. Barely even a murmur. Almost nothing. But it still gets in, slipping into that deep, secret part of you where validation and want blur together, where approval doesn't need to be loud to matter.

And it's not even praise exactly, but it's close enough. And that's all it takes, just that tiny, electric satisfaction sparking along your spine, pulling you upright, nudging your chin a fraction higher. Like something inside of your had been set right without you even realizing.

Then, his voice again. "What else?"

You hesitate, not because you don't know what you're looking for, but because you're trying to separate what you see from what it means.

Your eyes flick lower, and you see the way she presses her thighs together, holds, then releases. It was hardly there, like she was just getting comfortable in the chair. But she does it again, right after Morgan leans forward, his voice dropping, guiding the conversation exactly where he wants it.

You roll the scene over in your mind, trying to pin down exactly what you're seeing, trying to slot it into something else. Engagement. Focus. Attentiveness. It could be any of those things. It could be nothing.

But her lips part—not to speak, not to react, but to breathe. It��s so slight, just enough to let in more air, just enough to give away what she’s feeling. You might have missed it if you hadn't been looking for something, but now it's all you can see.

You swallow, and now not only are your lips dry, but your mouth is too, because you know what you're looking at now.

And you should say it, because that is what profiling is, isn't it? Identifying behavior, understanding it, giving it a name.

But you hesitate, because where you grew up, girls didn't talk about this.

They didn't acknowledge it, didn't name it, didn't let it exist in spaces where they were allowed to be seen. You were raised to be polished, poised, proper. To sit with your legs crossed, to smile without showing too much, and certainly to ignore the things that weren't mean to be spoked aloud.

"She's reacting to him," you say finally, fingers catching on the necklace at your collarbone, rolling it between your thumb and forefinger. You took the cowardly way out. "To the way he talks. She likes that he’s leading.”

You don't wait for Hotch to confirm your words, because the question is already pressing forward, unfiltered.

"But if she's not in control," you say, almost to yourself. "Wouldn't that make her less interested?"

"Not necessarily." Hotch shakes his head. "Interest is subjective. Sometimes it increases when control is taken out of their hands."

"She's aroused." Hotch continues, completely detached, "because she enjoys the feeling of someone else guiding the interaction. It changes the way she experiences the conversation. Instead of leading, she's reacting. Instead of deciding, she's anticipating. That shift can heighten emotional and physical response."

Your body freezes. It shouldn't, but it does. Because he says it so plainly, so unbothered. Aroused. Just another word, just another observation. He could be talking about stress responses, about interview techniques, about anything other than this. But it feels different. Sounds different, slipping from his mouth in that low, even tone of his. 

And maybe that's why your jacket feels too heavy now, why your face feels too warm, why his hand at the top of your spine feels less stable and more like something you can't bring yourself to move from.

She likes giving up control.

That's what he said. That's what makes this work for her. And you hear it, you process it, but you don't get. Not in the way you should. She enjoys it, but how? You've spent your whole life gripping control with both hands, holding it tight enough to leave imprints on your skin.

Growing up, your parents had been distant in different ways—your mother preoccupied with appearances, your father preoccupied with, well, everything else. So, you handled things yourself. Your grades. Your future. Your emotions. You made the decisions, because no one else would make them for you.

But Hotch. Hotch was different.

Your trust in him didn't require thought, didn't need justification. It just was. You listen when he speaks. You follow his orders before you've even processed them. You let him decide things for you, choices you hadn't even realized you wanted made. When he told you to slow down, you did. When he told you to push harder, you gave more. You want his approval, but it’s deeper than that.

You didn't just follow him, you let him lead you. And that should feel strange. It should make you second-guess yourself, make you want to push back. But you don't. You never have.

And that feels like something you should've noticed sooner, a part that you don't quite know what to do with.

You open your mouth. Then shut it.

It's a stupid question, it must be. Because he just explained it, because it's obvious, because she enjoys it, because that's just how some people are.

And still, Hotch, who hasn’t even looked at you, hasn’t moved an inch, somehow notices. Somehow knows. "You don't have to filter your thoughts."

You pause for just a second, lips pressing together, trying to gauge whether this is a question worth asking. It feels too big. Or maybe too personal. Like voicing it might crack something open that you haven’t even looked at yet. But you can’t stop it now.

"Why do people like that?"

"Because for some people, control is synonymous with stress," Hotch says. "It's a constant demand, predicting outcomes, making the right decisions, managing not just their own expectations, but those of everyone around them. Being able to defer that to someone else, to trust that another person will handle it, removes the weight of responsibility."

You shouldn’t be applying this to yourself. Shouldn’t be peeling apart his words and trying to fit them around something  familiar. But you are.

"So, if someone's always been in control, they start to..." You hesitate, grasping for something else, some other explanation. "What? Get tired of it?"

"It's not uncommon. If control has always been a requirement, not a choice, then relinquishing it—at least in certain aspects—can feel like a sort of freedom for them."

You press your teeth into the inside of your cheek, but it does nothing to slow your thoughts.

"And this kind of thing, it doesn't just appear out of nowhere, right? It has to come from somewhere?"

Hotch nods. "Most behavioral patterns do. Sometimes it's environmental, sometimes it's developed naturally. Sometimes it's learned through relationships. And sometimes, it’s an adaptation. A response to an environment where they had no choice but to take care of themselves. Where emotional needs were ignored or never considered at all."

Your breathing quickens. Not in a bad way. Not exactly.

It's just strange, hearing something you've never put into words, something you've never even considered, be said so matter-of-factly. There was something unnerving about hearing your life, your past experiences boiled down into a single sentence.

It makes you feel exposed. Which is ridiculous, he wasn't talking to you. It's just behavior. It's just patterns. It's just psychology. It's not personal. It's not.

"But why would someone be... aroused by that?"

You barely recognize your own voice. The words came out too fast, too eager, and the second they hit the air, you regret them. You weren't supposed to ask that, weren't supposed to say that and certainly weren’t supposed to let it sound like something you needed an answer to.

But the word was out now and the world didn’t seem to collapse around you.

Hotch doesn't even blink. "The connection between submission and arousal is well-documented. Less control means less overthinking. Less overthinking means more sensation. More sensation leads to a heightened response.”

You shift slightly. His hand feels like it was burning through the layers of your jacket.

"And it's not something you should hesitate to discuss." He glances to you, his voice doesn't change, doesn't dip into anything resembling awkwardness, and somehow that only intensifies the heat pressing against your skin. "You can't be afraid of conversations like this. Understanding human behavior means understanding all of it. Power, desire, submission, these things drive people as much as fear or anger. If you hesitate to recognize them, you won't see them when it matters."

You hate that you reacted in the first place. Hate that he noticed. Hate that now, whether you like it or not, there’s something you feel the need to prove—to fix.

"I wasn't—," You exhale sharply, shaking your head as if that would rewind the last ten minutes. "I just—I didn't mean to sound like that. I know it's important. I—" Another sharp inhale. "Sorry. I don't know—,"

You turn, just barely, and it’s a mistake. Immediate. Total. Because now you’re looking at him—fully, completely—and something inside you tilts like gravity just shifted.

Your body brushes his, and somehow, somehow, he still feels bigger than he should be. Like he takes up too much space, like if you moved an inch closer, you'd disappear into him completely.

He hasn't moved. That's the worst part. He hasn't adjusted, hasn't shifted, hasn't done a thing except exist, and yet, he's there, encompassing and suffocating in a way you don't hate. Your breath catches and you know he hears it.

For a second, just a second (maybe even a millisecond), so brief it could be imagined, his lashes dipped before lifting again. You think his fingers twitch at his side. Maybe. But then, it's gone, erased before you could be sure.

"I'm not criticizing you," Hotch says, and you believe him. "You don't need to apologize or justify yourself to me. You're still learning, and I want you to be able to recognize things like this without hesitating. That's all."

You nod, but it's not fully a nod, more like the start of one before you think better of it. 

"I'm sorry," you say instantly, the words automatic, before you can think about them. "I don't want you to think I'm not taking this seriously."

Hotch doesn't sigh, doesn't scold, doesn't soften. He just looks at you, giving you a beat, like he's waiting to see if you'll realize what you just did—if you’ll take back the apology yourself.

When you don’t, he says simply, "That's not what I said. I know you take this seriously. I wouldn't be having this conversation with you if I thought otherwise."

You should move. You need to move.

Your brain fires off the warning like an emergency flare, but your body stays put. You know you should step back, break the tension, say something that makes this feel normal again.

But Hotch hasn't moved either. Hasn't stepped away, hasn't broken his gaze, hasn't done anything but watch you.

Your lips part, a breath catching on the back of your throat. You don't know what you're about to say, maybe something stupid, maybe something honest, maybe something you wouldn't even understand until it was too late.

Before you can, the door opens.

"Hotch?"

The moment snaps. Shatters. Like glass under pressure, breaking apart before you even get the chance to understand what you were standing in. Whatever was there—if there was anything—vanishes in an instant.

Emily stands at the door, her expression unreadable.

"Rossi's asking for you."

Hotch steps away, and the moment his hand leaves you, the cold rushes in like a shock to your system. You don't realize how warm you'd been until it's gone. Until you're left with this.

You don't move. Not right away. Because for a second, you feel off-balance, like stepping away will make something shift, something collapse, but that's ridiculous. Irrational, even. You shake it off, press your lips together, fingers moving before you shove them back to your sleeves. Back to the cold you should have never stopped noticing.

It was always freezing in here. That was the point. Uncomfortable people bred sloppy mistakes.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[endykelopaedia]

This does still ignore that we don't have to choose one avenue or another when it comes to the intersectionality of this topic.

This post is about misandry being a bad "avenue" for sociopolitical analysis, not about "choosing one." you'd know that if you read the post.

I recognize in my experience as a latino that latina women don't experience the demonization that i do simply because of my gender.

and thats your fucking problem. First Of All you aren't even black so why are you here on my post on anti-blackness like this (and i did notice how you replaced all discussion of black people and anti-blackness with "poc" to get your nasty foot in). And second of yall YES THEY FUCKING DO. You really think being a woman of colour saves you from the racism you experience for their race in any meaningful way? You obviously a misogynist but you might actually be stupid too. Idk how long u lived as a woman or man but maybe go ask your grandma or sumn if being a woman made being latine easier. My exact problem w this misandry shit is how easily it becomes for you people to simply not think abt the women in your community and how obviously misogynistic it is to think their experiences of discrimination and violence must be softer than yours bc shes not a man. choke. moving on.

The darker you are, the more pronounced the fear surrounding you becomes, but it is also amplified by how masculine or feminine your gender expression is. I don't quite agree that "projected hypermasculinity" is the only cause of this.

i think its awesome that this non-black dude thinks he's in the position to explain colourism to me now. Also, I didn't say it was. You'd know that if you Read The Post.

for many poc, they are often in the cross hairs of white-enforced gender binaries. Many people in positions of power [even other poc] will use gender as a violent means to police us, often seeking to turn our own expression of gender against us.

you ever notice how in turning our gender expressions against us, there might be a pattern of projecting violence and aggression (traditionally masculine traits often praised in non-black people), that isnt actually there? This is masculinisation. This is racism. You'd know that, if you read. the post.

This intersection is important to acknowledge and I think very overlooked when poc trans macs like myself have been begging people to listen to us.

Ok. I'm a black i mean poc transmasc. Listen To Me! you are actively talking over what im sayin and barely listening bc it challenges the validity of misandry, a word that has apparently done soooo much for you, and me too obviously, given the nature of this post that you definitely read.

Also the section on adultification is sound. But very strange claim that "black people aren't actually masculine!"

Didn't say this. In fact i also very explicitly said black i mean poc adults also experience adultification. Try reading the post again, and applying my logic that you say is so sound.

Like???????? What about those who are? I have black transmasc friends who have extremely different experiences than my black trans femme friends and I can tell you that it absolutely is about gender there.

thats crazy. you're gonna bring black i mean poc transfemmes into this when the murder statistics for black transfemmes look like this? i wonder what happened there... i thought femininity was supposed to protect femmes from racislised violence...

Everything intersects with race in these conversations of course but there are those of us who are trying to communicate more nuanced experiences.

so sick of yalls "but my unique experiences!!" whinging. fuckin grow up n read a book. you arent the main characters. there are socio-political forces above you shaping our oppression and i am talking about those! i'm not your mother!!! think abt society outside of your feelings for 5 seconds n then get back to me!!!

ALL men benefit from patriarchy just as ALL white people benefit from white supremacy just as ALL cis people benefit from cisnormativity just as ALL rich people benefit from poverty. you think you're being intersectional but you aren't! you're just absolving your ability to perpetuate or benefit from a certain system in your own mind because you too are marginalised. being a man does not create a unique intersection with your race because men, unilaterally, are not oppressed for being men, no, not even sometimes, no, not even when you're black i mean poc or gay or broke or trans. and you can still benefit from misogyny against the women who are just like you.

Masculinity does not equal power.

Yeah ok. neither does whiteness or cisness or money or nun. nothing equals power cuz anyone can be oppressed for any reason. get fucking real.

There is the similarity of not equating feminity with powerlessness.

erm actually... you're the real misogynist for noticing how women are systemically disempowered by men instead of uplifting femininity (by refusing to acknowledge that women are systemically empowered by men) I Am Very Smart.

And Finally, lets talk about these tags a mo.

"white" "american" and i am very explicitly neither white or american. easy to guess from the way i write this post. easier to confirm from looking at my god damn bio. and thats how i know you arent serious bc you really think only white americans utilise male privilege as a concept? yk the feminist you haphazardly snatched "intersectionality" from was a black woman explicitly naming the way that the misogyny she experienced from black i mean poc men and the racism she experienced from white women was rendered invisible by both groups failing to acknowledge the intersection she had of being both black and a woman? of course not. you're an idiot.

"black people are seen as hyper-masculine and face a lot of violence for it, so yes you can be oppressed for seeming or being masculine"

AHT!! lets talk! black people are not actually hyper-masculine. hyper-masculinity is a projection by people trying to justify anti-black fear and violence. it is not a true and then demonised observation about black existence. the hyperfocus on the masculinity of black people is itself racism!

when you call this issue of racism anti-masculinity or misandry or whatever, you are obfuscating the bigotry at play. ESPECIALLY given that it is overwhelmingly just white women's fear about black people's supposed hyper-masculinity that actually gets listened to & acted upon.

in addition, there are other addendums people tack onto their anti-blackness that completely cause this logic to fall apart when applied. Namely, adultification! black people, black children get adultified by white society.

We are assumed to be older & more independent, and thus less in need of the safety, care, sensitivity, accommodation one would give to a child, and this results in violence and neglect. it is directly observable in the way black children are more likely to get detention, suspended or expelled for the same behaviour as their white peers, s/a rates for black youth, and the arguments that 40 y/o cops give for brutalising & murdering black 20, 16, 12, 8 year olds who so much as breathe in their line of sight.

Given this then, following the misandry logic, we can say being recognised as older or as an adult is a form of oppression.

"black people are seen as older/more mature and face a lot of violence for it, so yes, you can be oppressed for seeming like or being an adult"

we can for the sake of this post name this oppression adultery.

i kid. but do you see the problem. being recognised as an adult is obviously, not itself a form of oppression, in fact quite the opposite, being recognised as adult can grant you a lot of privileges that children do not have.

and black kids are evidently, not adults or people who act like adults. they dont mature faster. black 18 y/os will also face the problem of adultification to justify violence against them. black maturity is not a true and then demonised observation about black existence. the form of oppression is racism, and adultification is the deployed means of enacting racism.

the means of combatting the adultification of black people would not come in creating adult positivity or "advocating" for adults or telling children not to fear adults. it comes in the form of learning about anti-blackness, unlearning anti-blackness, and actually directly combatting anti-blackness.

similarly the means of combatting the hyper-masculinisation of black people comes in the form of learning about anti-blackness, unlearning anti-blackness, and actually directly combatting anti-blackness.

Racism explains both of this phenomena far better than "misandry" ever could.

[pyract0]

Random thoughts with hsr men: Parental edition

☪Includes: Jing yuan, Blade, Sunday, Boothill, Dr Ratio ☪No defined pronouns/ anatomy specifics for reader, adoptive children (specified to each character), mention of loss of loved ones. ☪Extra note: Accepting requests! Wanting to get back into writing but I tend to struggle thinking of new ideas- tend to lean towards certain characters that I have a better understanding of their personality but open to anything! ♡

-`♡´-Jing yuan who names your adoptive daughter Mimi after his beloved companion . -`♡´-Jing yuan who juggles being a father and a father figure between your sweet girl and Yanqing. -`♡´-Jing yuan who goes out of his way to include the boy under his guidance into your little family, with you both treating him as you would your own child. -`♡´-Jing yuan who brings your daughter with him anywhere he can, making sure she's treated with more respect than anyone on the Lufou. -`♡´-Jing yuan who shows off his daughter to all his closest friends, with Fu xuan having a soft spot towards the little girl, not that she'd willingly admit to it. -`♡´-Jing yuan who's nickname for your toddler is "snowy" to match her name and it's origins.

♱✮��� Blade who often forgets about your son, leaving him under the care of silverwolf when you're both busy with missions. ♱✮♱ Blade who spends most of the time just sitting near the child, making sure he causes no trouble with minimal interference. ♱✮♱ Blade who despite how he portrays himself, cares for the toddler beyond belief, willing to draw his blade at any malicious attempt directed towards the young child. ♱✮♱ Blade who would lay with your child for hours at a time, letting him sleep without disturbance while he contemplates life. ♱✮♱ Blade who has part of him that wishes you both would have entered his life earlier, before the mara took root in his body and not being cursed with immortality, inevitably knowing he'd lose you both one day. ♱✮♱ Blade who nicknames your boy "gremlin", often using it more than his actual name

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sunday who heavily relies on Robin for help with your daughter when he's unavailable as head of the family. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sunday who spends all his free time that he can with the both of you, walking around the dreamscape or relaxing together in your shared home. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sunday who has learnt to be careful around the little girl, having had his wings locked in her iron grasp on multiple occasions, needing to wait for you to pry her hands open. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sunday who holds your daughter in his arms as she dozes off after a long day, taking a moment to let himself rest while you preen his scuffed up feathers. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sunday who let's your daughter hang off him, adding hair clip after hair clip to his now mangled grey hair. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sunday who often calls your small toddler "angel", though he begins to question how fitting it is with her mischievous habits.

• ➵ ✩ Boothill who dedicates his whole being to protecting your daughter, unwilling to even consider the possibility of losing another one of his babies. • ➵ ✩ Boothill who talks about his little girl to your toddler, including her in your family even if it's only in spirit, always mentioning his two baby girls when family discussions occur. • ➵ ✩ Boothill who accidently teaches your child his censored version of any and every curse word in his vocabulary, panicking when she runs up to you shouting them. • ➵ ✩ Boothill who never takes his family time for granted, spending as much time playing with your child and showering you with affection before he's sent on a new mission after another target. • ➵ ✩ Boothill who was stuck digging pieces of crayon that melted together after your daughter shoved them in the holes of his metal plating when he was asleep, having little help from you who couldn't contain your laughter. • ➵ ✩ Boothill who often just calls your little girl sweetheart or honey, finding the simplicity more endearing.

・✎・Dr Ratio who despite his blunt personality, manages to be a good father to your son, with you both providing what you can for the young child. ・✎・Dr Ratio who sometimes forgets the mental capacity of a younger being, trying to teach him how to play chess so he has a partner for the game. ・✎・Dr Ratio who occasionally brings your sons to lectures, finding amusement in the child laughing when he insults one of his students. ・✎・Dr Ratio who maintains your child a safe distance from anything he deems could harm him, including his colleagues at work, especially a certain gambler who just adores the boy. ・✎・Dr Ratio who spends any free moment at home with the both of you, helping you around the house and being present whenever your child calls for him. ・✎・Dr Ratio who prides himself in his sons intelligence, calling him his "little genius" even if he's currently a little behind.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 7

Ch 8 is done, working on Ch9 so here is ch7! Enjoy and check the end notes for a bit of explanation(?) 🫠

The action is starting soon- I'm buzzing with the need to finally get into the Viltrumite plot but it still will take a bit, haste spoils the work, and all that.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 7 >>next

In the week that it took to get all documents done and over with, you and the Graysons grew closer and closer, specifically you and your brother, both of you seemed to sink your claws into each other, acting more like twins in sync than an older and younger sibling duo.

If Mark wanted to go somewhere and Nolan wasn’t around. You’d fly him there, if you wanted something and were too shy or nervous to ask his parents for it, he’d ask for it and give it to you later. And, while you both had bedrooms, every other night there was a sleepover in the others one room, always ending up with you two sleeping under a pillow fort, being kids, having fun.

You loved Debbie, and Nolan was okay even when he was clingy and talking nonsense about training you to conquer words. You were quite sure he was joking, the face he made right after saying things like that reassured you that wasn’t quite what he wanted to say- or it wasn’t how he felt anymore.

It was easy to see that you preferred Debbie, no matter how much Nolan tried to spend time with you, or how close you were to Mark, your priority was always Debbie. You weren’t calling her mom, it felt too soon for you, you weren’t ready, but you were a mama’s girl. You were the first to greet her, the first to offer to help her cook and clean, the first to go shopping with her, even the first to shyly ask her to paint your nails or to just spend time together.

It was so long since you went physically into a shop, even after leaving the Waynes you stuck to online shopping, and the first time you did it was with Debra, your hand shaking in hers as you stuck close to her, quieter than usual. The traffic of the store clearly made you nervous, so the woman made sure to always have a reassuring hand on you if she couldn’t hold your hand. With time you didn’t need to hold onto her anymore. Debbie almost cried when she realized that soon you wouldn’t need her at all.

And then the discussion of school came up. You could have lied, told them that you haven’t gone to school since your mom died- but you didn’t want to be like Bruce, all secrets and lies, you were already keeping quite the secret by not telling them about who your biological father is. So, you told them everything about you skipping grades, showing the diplomas and online school you’ve still worked on.

Neither of the adults seemed happy about you being stuck with online class, and honestly, neither were you. When your question about maybe joining the same grade as Markus, to keep close to him and meet other children your age, seemed to make both as happy as you were when they approved.

Now, it was easy to get you in, you even met William, Mark’s friend, but keeping yourself from correcting the teachers was another thing. You understood to a degree that the curriculum was different, that you were still kids and maybe learning about genocides wasn’t ideal- but when so many of your peers are willing to throw slurs left and right like 4Chan degenerates you were sure they could take the reality of what actually happened in history.  

Then the math teacher accused you of having an answer book, of cheating, of using a calculator when you were told not to- you may have snapped and yelled at him to give you an equation, any equation that was taught in the older grades, and if you could complete it in front of everyone, on the board, he’ll have to shut up about you.

That’s how you ended up seeing the principal, not because of your outburst, but because the teacher decided you were wasting your potential sitting around with the others when you could be in a grade that fulfilled your needs and developed you further. The principal agreed, and he was tired of the other teachers complaining, so you and your guardians were given an option of either taking a test to assess what grade you should be put in- or expulsion due to the many complaints against you.

You took the test. That way you could at least still be in the same building as Mark, and could still socialize, even if the idea of the older kids made you anxious- the high school themed movies didn’t help your expectations. The girls that you hung around in your new class, however, were quite nice, saw you as a little sister, including you in their study sessions and girl talk, braiding your hair. The boys mostly ignored you, and in return you ignored them. It was nice.

Debbie always worried about the older kids, and while Nolan did too, he was more enthusiastic about you being in school for one year instead of the other 4 or 5, after all, surely, you’ll want to help dad with hero work instead of going to college… Right?... Well, no. Your sight was set on the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, their art programs making you go rabid with need- so many options, so many possibilities, you couldn’t decide on what you wanted to apply for. If you had eternity on your side, you’d apply for all of them, not like Bruce will need the money.

The year you spent at school, actually at school, was as fun as it was exhausting. You never realized how much energy it takes to wake up at a specific hour every day, to socialize, to take tests with about 30 other students- It sometimes overstimulated you, making you miss online schooling to a degree. Still, you found solace in your visual arts class.

The teacher loved you, not many other students were that interested in drawing, let alone actually learning and painting on canvases. So, you coming in with sheets of paper as tall as you were, with paints and canvases, with charcoal and markers- oh she could almost cry of happiness. She wasn’t a mean teacher, or eccentric like in the movies, but she wasn’t a pushover either. If you wanted a grade in her classroom, you had better have something to show for it, and you had plenty.

While the others had a theme to follow due to them not taking the class for love of the arts but because they thought it would be easy work, she gave you freedom, so you took it. Your first drawings were of Lady Gotham, racking your brain to remember the stories the kids told you every night of her, not wanting to forget them or where you came from. Your teacher didn’t comment on the small figures you sometimes added sitting on her shoulder.

While you stuck to painting her statue in classes, your sketchbook was full of the many variants of her, everyone seemed to see a loved one in her face, but the only common thing was the long hair tied into a nice Edwardian or Victorian crown-bun, and her dark grey, fancy dress and pale, clawed hands.

If you were to ask the teacher which one was her favorite, she’d say it was your depiction of Death in the first painting you did in her class. It also depicted Morpheus, both of them standing over a bundled-up child trying to find some warmth in the corner of an alley as the God-like entities melted with the shadows, though the one of Persephone lounging with Cerberus and Hades was a close second. To her it was poetic, to you, it was a reality you didn’t want to duel on for any longer.

Time has never flown this fast for you, it was like you blinked and the year was over, finals and graduation looming close. You’ve grown closer to the Graysons, slipped once or twice and even called Debbie “mom”, got quite comfortable being close to Nolan, fell asleep on him a few times as he made for a nice furnace after training, and you and Mark were as inseparable as ever.

This was everything you wanted, more than you could ever dream of. Your eyes sparkled in tempo with the shines of the stars as you lied on your back on the roof. You missed your friends in Gotham, there will always be love for them in your heart- but this isn’t something you’ll be willing to give up without a fight, not when you were getting more and more powerful with each month.

Your hands moved in a similar manner to Atom Eve’s over your day clothes while you got up, making them shine a bright neon green, the color diming down and revealing pajamas once you set foot back in your bedroom.

You’ve learned- you know better now. You’re more than willing to eliminate any threat before they get the chance to do so, to take another loved one from you.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami

Notes: The green color of her powers is more a nod to the Lazarus water, it can be easily changed in y'alls mind but I think it's an important tiny detail. The reader's powers developed, but she still uses other's heroes moves to use them. And Nolan's training and words have felt a mark on batsis.

Hope I'm not forgetting anything else- 😬

[cordycepsfem]

I’m so fucking done with these people. Hey, @ablednt - you don’t want to hear the word “woman”? Stay home. Don’t go outside. Hide in your little echo chamber.

But fuck off from telling women how to discuss themselves. Learn to spell “misogyny” - hint, the root is talking about women. Women are an oppressed class around the world but I’m sorry it makes some males and some women who don’t wanna call themselves women feel sad. We’re gonna keep saying “women.” It’s a class that by nature excludes people. That’s not a reason to stop saying it. It would be just as dumb for you to say “ummm could you stop saying Black?” or “ummm could you stop saying disabled?”

Looking forward to your “don’t say ‘men’” post that I’m sure is never coming.

Women in Afghanistan are not allowed to speak in public. I will continue to say “women” and “woman” as loudly as I can, because people like you think there’s oppression in having your feelings hurt.

I need cis women to limit their use of the word "women" as much as possible tbh

When you make posts that use the word women/woman for people who experience misogony you're excluding all the trans and nonbinary people who experience misogony, you're telling us that to have access to feminism and activist communities that we have to label ourselves women even if we don't.

And then if you use the word women to talk about body functions such as menstruation you're also excluding trans women who don't experience those things.

Please find alternative language when you aren't referring to yourself or specific people because it's really tiring being misgendered because cis people won't think things through.

Every one who falls short of cis men experiences some level of gender discrimination based in misogony. Gender discrimination will never be simple enough to fit into a binary so you need to take that into account when you interact with gender related activism and justice.

(Cis people can reblog but no arguments please)

[fictionalsweethearts]

A CHILD FOR ZAUN | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: Under pressure from the Council and with a heavy responsibility on her shoulders, Sevika decides to have a child with her wife to show her commitment with the cause. However, indirect methods are too risky and she ends up choosing the traditional way, being an equal part spectator and participant.

Contains: mention of pregnancy, threesome, male participation, voyeurism, breeding kink, wife!Sevika, dirty talking, jealousy (I could keep going).

MINORS DNI

Note: Alright, so this is some kinky ass shit, I admit, so if you're not into male participation you can enjoy my other works on my masterlist. If you're staying... enjoy.

“A child?” Sevika asked, her eyebrows knitting together at Shoola’s sudden proposition. The councilor had waited until the session had adjourned and the rest of the councilors had left to discuss this with Sevika.

The work at the council seemed endless; since the war with Noxus and all the havoc it caused—from half of Piltover in ruins, to hundreds of casualties, widowed wives an husbands, orphaned children, and protests and riots on the bridge due to Zaun’s refusal to actively collaborate with the other side of the bridge—Sevika had barely had time to make amends and command a plan of action to favor Zaun in this whole mess. She was chosen by her people to represent a city whose fate hung in the balance. There were internal disputes, the districts seemed to want to take sides in the war and attack Piltover now that it has weakened, but Sevika knew that this would cost her authority and the promise to finally include Zaun in the Council's plans and stop being marginalized from public discussion. There were sessions and sessions of disputes and long speeches, where Sevika was ignored or the problems she brought up were disregarded by the rest of the members; by everyone of course, except for Shoola and Caitlyn. Both knew the importance of including Zaun, of making its needs known, even if in the past Sevika had been the enemy, or vice versa.

"A child," Shoola insisted, professional as ever. "You're in a difficult position, you don't yet have the trust nor approval of the rest of the Council. They don't know who they're dealing with."

"How a child would make them see me differently?" Inquired Sevika, both hands on the table before her.

"You must understand that you are rare case by being on the Council and being a Zaunite," Shoola explained. "In the eyes of the others, you are still a threat. The others do not trust you to have a say in matters on this side of the bridge, because they do not know what you are putting at stake."

Sevika clenched her jaw. She was a Zaunite at Piltover's council table, a fish out of water in a world of politics and alliances.

"My loyalty lies with my city, not this side of the bridge."

"Your loyalty will bear no fruit if you are not listened to. You must prove that you are not a mere visitor, Sevika. Committing to the cause means having something to risk."

"And what do you suggest, Shoola? A Zaunite child to hold as a bargaining chip? A token that ensures our cooperation?"

"Not a token, but a proof. A proof that you're not just advocating for your own interests..." she said, her tone growing more serious. "But for those of someone you care about, and the Council can see that you do so."

"Isn't the whole city of Zaun proof enough?" She inquired.

"It's about making yourself seen, Sevika," Shoola insisted. "The rest of the Councillors have entire nations behind them; children, parents, countrymen, enemies and allies. Yet you show up here without the full backing of your people, only a small portion who are not related to you in any way other than mere conviction and ideology."

Sevika looked away, Shoola's speech seemwd to acquire more sense with every word. "Besides... a child of your own will keep you grounded, it's a reminder of why you're here and what you're fighting for." She added.

Sevika knew Shoola had a point, no matter how much she hated to admit it. She was a lone wolf in a pack of powerful families and nations, at a disadvantage before an entire lineage of renowned nobles and politicians.

"I understand the need for solidarity," she said through gritted teeth. "But a child isn't a toy to be used for political gain. I won't endanger a child just to prove a point."

Shoola's expression softened, she interlaced her fingers. "It's a necessary decision, Sevika; causes require sacrifices," she said. "There are children waiting for a change there, using one could help dozens, hundreds. You can't keep arguing with a wall."

Sevika stood there in tense silence for a long moment after Shoola left. The room felt more empty than ever. Her mind raced with the idea of being responsible for a child, of being held accountable for their well-being. With a frustrated growl, she slammed her fist down hard onto the table, the sound of her prosthetic arm hitting the wooden top echoed in the room.

"How long am I gonna fight against this?"

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

"Margot won't allow it." Mumbled Sevika under her breath, letting out a heavy sigh.

Sevika took another drink, stamping the glass on the desk before looking back at the map hanging on the wall. She had been in a resounding silence for twenty minutes, interrupted by her own murmurs and growls. The plan to reduce the coverage of the red light district to favor the construction of hospitals seemed more like a fantasy than a plan, taking into account the powerful influence that brothels and sexual services had in Zaun. Sevika knew that truncating that specific area would be liquidating much of the city's income; she herself, when she used to be a regular customer, could realize how essential the business was.

Suddenly, a couple of arms wrapped around her chest, the softness of your cheek against her back and your smell interrupting Sevika's thoughts.

"You're going to pierce the map if you stare at it for so long, wifey." You purred.

Unconsciously, Sevika's shoulders relaxed as she heard your voice behind her. "It's called strategizing." she said with a half smile.

"What's the deal this time?" You inquired, peeking from your wife's wide back to take a look of the map too.

Sevika's grip on the edge of the desk tightened as her gaze traveled over the map pinned to the wall. She seemed to be studying the layout, her mind working through the challenges and options.

"The Rapturewalk," she replied. "It's becoming problematic. Profits are up, but the city needs hospitals, not more entertainment venues."

"Margot won't allow it." You said, just like Sevika thought before.

She sighed loudly. "I know. But the needs of Zaun are not being met. We're prioritizing profit over basic necessities. People are suffering while Margot makes money."

You ran your hands over her shoulders, your eyes sharpening at the markings on the map before you. "Keeping Rapturewalk is your best card, actually."

"How so?"

"It's a constant and safe source of income, after Shimmer's factories." You argued, crossing your arms as you looked at the map. "Let's say that whores are the economic basis of Zaun, whether you like it or not. And the best way to generate reserves to allocate them to other projects is to take advantage of the profits of the red light district."

It was not the first time you had helped Sevika to unravel a problem of this nature. She used to pay attention to your judgment as much as the councilmen's and she trusted your vision as much as her own.

Between pouts, jokes and a kiss on her cheek, you proposed possible solutions. Sevika responded with a grunt, dragging on her cigarette before looking at the map again. "I've only been on the Council for three months… and I'm going crazy already."

"Take the mining and taxes thing as advice only," you said. "I'm just the wife, the final decision is up to you."

"Don't say that." she said firmly, walking up to you and gently grasping your arm. "You're my partner, in every sense of the word." she stated, placing a kiss on your forehead.

And the truth is that your role in Sevika's life was not limited to just being a wife. From the beginning you were a pillar for her when she didn't believe in pillars or in the need to seek support from other people, you showed her that asking for help was not a sign of weakness but of strength, although to this day it was still a bad habit of hers to swallow her problems until she vomited them out between complaints and a few days of drunkenness. That night was no exception, and as soon as you moved away from her, you noticed her staring at your abdomen longer than usual.

"Is something wrong?" you asked.

"No, nothing's wrong." she grunted, knowing she was lying.

"You sure?"

Sevika remained silent for a moment, her tone sobering. "How does children sound to you?"

You seemed speechless for a moment.

You raised your eyebrows and a flash of excitement crossed your face before you turned serious. “Sounds like something we never considered possible…”

"I know we've never discussed it. But the thought has crossed my mind a few times... I never thought it would be an option, given our circumstances. But then again, I never thought we could have a life together in a room above a poker den either."

"I, uh..." you stuttered. "It's a sort of fantasy of mine, actually." you admitted. "You always said you weren't interested in children, and I respect it."

"Well, things has changed, haven't they?" Sevika took a step closer. "We've changed."

But something wasn't fitting, and you sensed it. "Sev. Why are you suggesting this all of sudden?"

She took a deep breath, her hand dropping back to her side.

"The Council has been... making suggestions," she said. "They think it would be a... symbolic gesture. A way to bridge the gap between Zaun and Piltover."

And all clicked.

"So you want a heir, not a son." you stated.

"No, I want what's best for Zaun. And if having a child serves a greater purpose, then that's what I must do."

"A child for a purpose? A symbol." you spat, crossing your arms as the anger began blooming. "Are you trying to please those snobs? Who made you think a heir would change their vision towards you, or towards Zaun?"

"It's about making them respect us. Showing them that Zaun can play the game they set and still come out on top. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good."

"Haven't you done enough sacrifices?" you insisted. "Following Vander, then Silco's cause, then Jinx. You've sacrificed what you are every damn time and they still believe it's not enough?"

"What choice do I have?" she snapped back. "If I don't show them, if I don't do something significant, they'll continue to disregard Zaun."

"And using a child is the proper way to earn approval?"

"Babe, it's about respect!" she snapped at you, followed by a sigh when she noticed you flinched.

Silence, thick as fog, settled in the room. Sevika looked not only exhausted, but hopeless. She was making drastic decisions and she knew it. "Love… I don't expect your approval in this, just your support."

You reached out, cupping her cheek as she looked into your eyes, speaking with them. You couldn't stand against that look, you never could. "I'll think about it." you whispered. "But I want you to understand that if we have a child, I will treat him as a son first and as a political tool second."

"I understand." she nodded. "I swear I do."

As the days went by, while the Council gave no respite and neither did Zaun, Sevika planted the seed of a child in your mind frequently. She would talk to you about adoption processes when you were cooking, accompanied by a well-placed caress on your back and a kiss on your neck, and then, after making love, she would talk to you about the possibilities of testing fertilization in a laboratory. Usually you limited yourself to nodding or emitting an "mhm", still questioning the changes that a child would mean, not only as a political symbol, but as an addition to the family.

Sevika would be a good mother, no doubt. She took care of Isha for a whole month without even mentioning she cared for her, but she still came to Jinx's lair with treats and toys or gadgets that she bought at the market. She asked you to cook an extra portion for dinner and whenever you asked her why, it was because "she got hungrier lately", knowing well that it was for Isha. And when she finally admitted her affection towards the blue-haired girl, she passed away.

Sevika remained strong for Jinx and for herself, but you found her asleep in the bathtub the day she found out, her eyes swollen and stinking to whiskey.

"I loved that kid," she admitted later, once you were able to get her out of the tub. "Why is everything dying around me, babe?"

That day you promised yourself to be Sevika's anchor, and bring more joy than worries to her life.

“Baby?” you whispered after Sevika turned around. “Do you think we could visit that doctor you mentioned the other day?”

"Dr. Allard? Yeah, we can. Why?"

"We could ask for advice... about the fertilization process."

Sevika rolled over, her eyes pierced into yours. "Do you wanna... try?"

"Yes, I-" you said before Sevika swallowed your words with a kiss.

And she kissed you later that day, as you two waited for the test results. Fertilization using hextech was still in the experimental phase and was certainly based more on theories than successful cases, but you still hoped you were a suitable candidate for the procedure. Sevika held your hand as the doctor entered, her solemn face not indicating good news.

"The preliminary tests show that your body's response to the hextech fertilization process is not as strong as we would have expected. The success rates will be much lower than we had originally suggested..."

It was the formal way of announcing that achieving a baby by that means was not feasible. And Sevika read your disappointed expression while the woman continued explaining technical details that you stopped listening to. Your wife squeezed your hand and wiped the hint of a tear from your eye. "We'll find a way."

And frustration was beginning to overwhelm you and Sevika. You drank at breakfast and dinner, ruminating on the possibilities and pressuring the Zaun orphanage just to find out there wasn't a goddamn orphanage in the first place. A month of arguments, tears and breakdowns went by. The Council gave no respite, Sevika was on the verge of collapse balanced by two cities that refused to cooperate, drowning her anguish in whiskey and smoking her worries, sleeping barely a few hours and giving up her intimacy and quality time with you. You watched Sevika fall into a cycle of slavering work from which you could not get her out until you found her unconscious in the living room, passed out from exhaustion and alcohol.

And that was the last straw.

"I'll look for candidates," you said in bed, after having fed Sevika a substantial dinner and a spoonful of Shimmer. "You can choose the one you like the most."

"And if I say no?" she dared to argue.

"Then you'll quit the Council."

She was silent for a moment, too weak to argue and too tired to find another solution. She couldn't believe she would consent this.

"Fine," she said grudgingly. "You can look."

It took you no more than a week, spreading out a series of files on the living room table and asking Sevika to study each one carefully. The process took barely an hour.

"This one," she said finally, laying the sheet on the table. "It's the most suitable.

You kind of expected it, Misk. A thirty-three-year-old Zaunite in impeccable health; a rarity in a city like ours. He was an athletic man who was both handsome and noble. He was known to run a humanitarian business, providing beds, food, education, and health. A true symbol of the spark of humanity struggling to survive in the city and an indirect ally of Sevika, if she could put it that way. The file was accompanied by a photo of the man in question. He had tanned skin, pale, slanted eyes, a straight nose, and generous lips. His black hair, usually tied back in a half ponytail, was dazzling with silvery glints and vitiligo had paled half of his face, spreading across his left arm and left pectoral. You knew Sevika had chosen him for his unusual features, she had a thing for Zaun's genetic diversity.

"Did you find him handsome?" you dared to tease her.

"Qualified." grunted Sevika. "I could never call a man handsome."

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

"I won't repeat myself," Sevika said firmly. "We bought your silence, you keep your mouth shut. Whatever happens in this room, stays in this room."

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, an olive-colored robe as your only garment, your hair loose and your skin soft and smooth from the scented bath you took earlier. The room smelled of floral, penetrating honey, while the lights were dim and invited to retreat and intimacy.

You had prepared the room in advance for the special night; cigars lay on the coffee table in front of the wide bed with silky damask sheets. Three glasses of whiskey with ice, a jug of water, poppy oil beside the bed, aromatic herbs hung from the ceiling and a series of candles spread across the furniture and the windowsill, through which the silver bath of moonlight filtered in. You looked at Sevika, clad in a wine-colored kimono, revealing a glimpse of her bare chest and long, shapely legs. Her hair loose and her mechanical arm gleaming with Shimmer. Certainly her feminine energy was taking more prominence tonight, and you couldn't help but finding her even more beautiful.

Sitting on the couch, Misk watched Sevika intently, sipping whiskey and taking orders with the abnegation of a soldier. He had a robe on and his hair tied in a ponytail. He was more handsome in person and when Sevika first watched him walk in, she let out a chuckle. "He looks like a puppy."

"Sevika."

"He'll act like a puppy, alright."

Misk greeted you and your wife cordially, acknowledging the reasons why he was there and taking a seat on the sofa.

"This is not about your pleasure, but about the purpose. You will do as I say." continued Sevika. "You will touch my wife only when I allow it, and you will not speak unless spoken to. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"C'mere." she commanded, watching Misk stand up and come closer.

Sevika wrinkled her nose, blowing smoke into Misk's face as she studied his bearing, his face, and his scent. She parted his lips with her fingers, taking a look of his teeth and then his eyeballs, looking for any indication that would cast doubt on his medical certificate. He smelled healthy. "You're in good shape," she said, cupping the young man's jaw to look at his angles as if he was a rare animal.

Certainly for Sevika he was, she only adresses men for gambling, business or brawls. The sole thought of sharing a bed with him was uncanny still. "My wife chose well."

She ran her hand down his throat, feeling his pulse, which felt strong and steady. "Have you been in a threesome before, young man?" inquired Sevika with a dark grin.

"I have." nodded Misk.

"Good, I'm not into teaching men what they have to do." said Sevika, letting his throat go. "No funny business or I'll rip your cock off."

"Sevi." you protested from the bed.

Sevika grinned, her eyes flickering to you. "My wife seems to have a soft spot for you," she said. "Don't push your luck, then."

Misk nodded, his expression serious. "I understand."

"You're scaring him, babe." you insisted.

"He has no reason to be scared," she said shortly. "If he behaves, he'll be rewarded. If he doesn't, he'll remember it for a long time. He also signed a contract, remember? He knows what's he getting into."

Just then, Sevika seemed convinced enought to start.

“Take a seat and watch,” Sevika ordered, leaning over to stub out her cigarette in the ashtray. “You’ll join when I say so.”

You stood up, ready and eager as Sevika approached you with confident steps. She caressed your cheek. "Are you sure you're okay with him watching?" you whispered softly. "He can enter later."

"Let him stay. He can learn a thing ot two."

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

You squeezed your tits between your fingers, Sevika gave you a slow and methodical oral, she ate you out with all her heart and her whole face, diving between your legs and moaning against your pussy. She took all the time in the world on it, making you shudder and whimper for relief, only for your wife to straddle you on her thigh and order you to ride her as soon as you reached your first orgasm. You refused her nothing, even when Misk was on the couch watching everything and made you shy for a moment. But Sevika gave two shits about his presence, urgently kissing your mouth, whispering obscenities that only she was capable of saying and pinching your nipples between her fingers.

Misk realized that he was in front of an experienced couple, totally in tune.

"Don't look at him," she murmured. "Eyes on me, baby. I'm the one you're riding right now."

Sevika kissed you hard, filling all your senses so that you wouldn't even consider looking at a man while you were with her. She didn't take pleasure in letting a man possess you, not now or ever, but she couldn't deny that she was attracted to your pitiful moans and the way your lips would part when Misk fucked you. Sevika knew that this encounter wasn't just for a particular purpose, it was pleasurable in equal parts and she was certainly spoiling you by consenting to it.

"Admit it." whispered Sevika. "Admit that you're dying for him to fuck you. That you're dying to be the center of attention."

"No, Sev..." you whimpered.

Sevika grabbed your throat and looked into your eyes. "You're an attention seeker, even in three years of marriage that hasn't changed. And I love how desperate you are."

"Ah." that's all you could do, pant. "Ah, ah..." and your eyes softened before Sevika let your throat go and you cried your orgasm out.

You fell on top of her. Sevika cupped your neck with a tenderness she only stored for you and placed a kiss on the top of your head. "You're not allowed to be tired," she whispered to you. "Misk is still watching."

You asked for water, Misk was the one who handed you the glass and while you drank, Sevika drew circles on your back. She looked at Misk with analytical, wary eyes, knowing that the unpostponable could not be postponed.

With a kiss on the top of your head, she made you descend from her lap and wait on the bed, still a little shaken by the two previous orgasms. Misk remained in place, Sevika reached for a cigarette on the coffee table and lit it solemnly.

"Misk." she said. "Take good care of her."

You swallowed, still not believing that Sevika was giving you over to a man. A rush of adrenaline and anticipation ran through your body when Misk nodded, looking at you lying on the bed. You stood up, bare and glowing still, allowing him to come closer.

"Can I…?" he asked, clearly afraid of angering Sevika with the slightest contact on your body.

"Yes." you whispered, allowing him to wrap his hands around your waist and kiss you.

Sevika drowned her jealousy in her cigarette, watching as Misk laid you down on the bed and ventured into your skin, your breasts and your abdomen. His touch was gentle, you appreciated it since your wife had left you quite sensitive after her intervention, but you couldn't stop looking at her while he rubbed you between your legs.

You needed her close, not to be removed from the equation.

Sevika read your thoughts clearly, sitting on the couch, the tip of her cigarette glowing with each drag before she placed it on the ashtray. “Stand up,” she ordered, to which Misk seemed to back away. “I didn’t say you were leaving.”

Misk seemed to understand, allowing Sevika to position herself behind you, cupping your breasts in both hands as she began to kiss your neck. You greeted Misk with another long kiss, feeling more secure with your wife’s close supervision. Only then you moaned opnely with pleasure, parting your legs so Misk could once again rub a sensitive but so wet pussy that it left his fingers with a wet sheen.

With your wife's intervention, the evening flowed (very) well. You were already sitting on the bed, leaning against your wife's chest who was already easing a couple of fingers in you, while Misk was busy pleasing your nipples with his tongue. You moaned, looking at your wife and giving her a short kiss before looking at Misk again. The man seemed engrossed in his task, his robe sliding enought to reveal his chest and the paleness of the vitiligo. You thought he was handsome, an ideal candidate for a beautiful baby.

However, you didn't allow yourself to look at him for too long, knowing that provoking Sevika's jealousy would probably end with a dead man in the room.

"I wanna eat you out." you whined then, cupping your wife's cheek.

"Aren't you busy enough?" she teased.

"Please..."

Sevika wasn't going to deny you anything either, she loved to indulge you in everything. Not in vain she was allowing a man on her bed. Still, she hadn't pay attention to him, much less touched him; he was there as a mere tool, she insisted. Sevika tangled her fingers in your hair, her palm firm on the back of your neck as she watched you trail kisses from her chest to her pubis. She hissed, Misk kneeling behind you and kissing your spine slowly. She felt the urge to break his nose with a punch, but you kept her busy with your mouth between her legs.

“Fuck.” She growled, looking at you. “If it wasn’t for you…” she added in a whisper.

"Mhm." you moaned, venturing to ease a finger into her. And Sevika's anger was soon replaced by a stronger feeling.

You gasped, noticing the presence of his phallus, hard and wet against your entrance. Your body bristled in anticipation, believing yourself ready to receive Misk. Sevika frowned, her hand between your locks clenching tightly. Her blood boiled.

"You hurt her and I swear I'll rip your cock off," she threatened, not caring if she was ruining the mood or not. She only cared to know that her wife was willing to continue.

"It's fine." you purred, pulling back to look at Sevika. "I'm... I'm ready."

Your hands on either side of her hips, you watched Sevika the entire time. You didn’t look away from her grey eyes, not when Misk rubbed against you, not when you arched your back to allow him in. Sevika sucked in a breath between her teeth, holding your chin when your lips parted in a shaky moan.

“Fuck.” you breathed out, kissing your wife as Misk buried himself in you.

And you were embarrassed by how fucking horny you were.

You didn't know how to put your pleasure into anything but moans, words fell short. The feeling of kissing your wife, her hand around your throat while you were being fucked was delicious. Being the center of attention turned you on like nothing else, the moans, the grunts, the obscenities that reached your ears and made you smile. You soon agreed with what Sevika had said before; you love attention. The clash of skin on skin filled the room, Misk held your waist and squeezed your skin while Sevika caressed your lower lip, watching you, almost admiring you.

"Seems you're having fun." she said against your mouth. "Breaking into moans for a man, aren't you ashamed?"

"So ashamed." you whined before Misk leaned to place a kiss on your shoulder and you read Sevika's jealousy in her eyes. "But you love watching."

"I love you." she whispered, only your ears catching such strong phrase.

You lost count of how many times you gasped, or how many times Misk made you shiver with a precise thrust. Your wife watched everything, absolutely everything, scolded and admired you in equal parts, finished smoking her cigarette and gave you a tobacco-flavored kiss before forcing you upright.

"You're already all wasted, I thought I taught you better than that." she said, gripping your chin as your eyes fluttered with exhaustation. Misk had a firm hand on your shoulder, making slower but deeper thrusts. You felt him fill you again and again, causing a slight numbing sensation in your pussy.

You were reaching your limit.

Misk let out a groan, his breathing becoming irregular and noisy. "I take this is how men let you know they're about to cum?" asked Sevika with a raised eyebrow.

"Sev." you whimpered. "I'm..."

You didn't know if you were about to cum or faint, whichever came first, but it worried Sevika. You weren't used to this amount of stimulation and Misk seemed insatiably focused on his task. It was then that Sevika kissed you and left the bed. Your chest hit the mattress, Misk growled against your ear and his hips moved incessantly, to the point that you felt imprisoned by his body. You wanted to cry, it was an unknown pleasure and your body gave signs of wanting to give up.

Until you felt it, like a warm, wet torrent that made its way inside you and filled your insides. It was then that you stifled a cry into the pillow, Misk didn't seem to stop.

"I told you to take care of her, son of a bitch," Sevika said.

Misk stopped dead at the cold touch of a cannon against his temple. "You get away from her right now or I'll shoot you in the balls, you hear?"

You didn't see Misk leave the room, but you heard him. You were lying on that bed, your legs shaking, a thread of his seed seeping between your legs. Until Sevika made you close them.

"Relax, it's all over now…" your wife whispered, sitting next to you and placing a kiss on your shoulder. "I shouldn't have agreed to this in the first place."

"I'm fine…" you murmured. Exhausted and sore, you couldn't deny that you'd never felt this pleased in bed. It wasn't Misk the important addition, it was the dynamic of being watched by your wife and realizing the desire that prevailed in her gaze.

Well, desire until she seemed to kill Misk at the last minute very appealing.

"Keep them closed, sweetheart. I won't let this happen again, either you get pregnant or I set the Council on fire. You won't go through this again."

You looked up, glancing at Sevika beside you on the bed. She covered you with her kimono, tracing circles on your lower back before frowning. “Tell me the truth.”

“Mhm?”

“You fancy Misk, don’t you?”

“You already said it, Sev. It’s suitable, but I don’t like him.” you smiled despite your exhaustion, leaning over to place a hand on your wife’s knee. “I just want to give you a child, Sevika. I want to be and make you a mother.”

“You’ll look beautiful pregnant.” Sevika whispered. "So damn beautiful, round and glowing. I wonder how I got myself such gorgeous wife."

"I wonder the same..." you smiled and Sevika leaned down to give you a kiss before patting your bottom lovingly.

“I’ll run you a bath and dinner, okay? Get some rest.”

You nodded, rolling over to lean back on the soft pillows of your bed as you watched Sevika get dressed.

"Are you gonna kill him?" you asked after a moment.

"I wanted to." she admitted. "But I have too many things to attend to add murder to the list. As long as he doesn't cross my path on the street, I won't try anything."

"Okay..." you mumbled, watching Sevika leave the room. "Love you."

"Love you more."

You sighed, tired and sore, barely processing the situation that took place in that same bed you were laying on. You had never been in a threesome, and it was a good but unrepeatable experience. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, wishing with all your might that this method would work and that you could have a child for Zaun.

But above all, a child for your wife Sevika.

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae <3 if you’re open to it, would you write Spencer reassuring shy reader or reader who is still in grad school and is feeling insecure about her intelligence compared to him/the rest of the team. anyway I love how you write Spencer tytyty <3

Thanks for requesting gorgeous <3

cw: vague discussion of homicide crime scene, reader is a bit intellectually insecure, written with a fem reader in mind

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 754 words

You’re talking to yourself. You do this, sometimes, Spencer doesn’t think you even really mean to. It’ll just be a word here or there, a murmured maybe as you ponder a case or shit when you fill out a form wrong and have to get another. You’d done it in front of Derek once, and even he’d had the good sense not to tease you about it; you’re too green, still, too nervous for good-natured joking. 

The police station is mostly empty, the rest of the team having called it a night except for you and Spencer. In the past twenty minutes, as you’ve swivel in your chair and peered at the board with hawk-like intensity, it’s been no, but if…, and unless? Spencer tries not to let it distract him, but it is cute, the way you seem to be talking yourself in and out of theories, using yourself as your own sounding board. He’s never met an intern—a student, nonetheless—less eager to get to their FBI-bankrolled hotel room. 

It’s when you shake your head at yourself, seemingly dismissing an idea, and mutter stupid, that’s when Spencer steps in. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

You jolt and turn your head like you’d forgotten he was there. “Huh?” 

“You seem like you have an idea.” 

“Oh, I was…it wasn’t anything.” You have one foot on the ground, the other pulled up onto your chair with you, and you’re using it to swivel your seat back and forth restlessly. It’s almost funny; Spencer doesn’t understand how anyone could ever be nervous around him, but you are. You are around the whole team. You’re quiet most of the time, looking at them all with wide eyes and palpable awe while they analyze and ideate. It’s sweet, but also baffling, considering you’re fiercely intelligent yourself. 

Spencer smiles at you. Your lips curve in kind, like they’re not entirely sure why but are relieved to do it. 

“I’d still like to hear it,” he says. 

You visibly shrink, leg pulling closer to you in your seat. “I was just, um, starting to think that maybe the way he laid out the second victim could be a sign of remorse, but then I realized it couldn’t be, because of—”

“The dump site,” Spencer finishes with you. 

You nod, looking abashed. “Right. So, obviously not.” 

“That’s not obvious,” Spencer says. He looks at the board, tapping his thumb on his jaw. “We haven’t been looking at the way the second victim was positioned, there could be something to that.” 

You blink. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I—well, sorry. I just didn’t think there was anything to say. I didn’t want to sound dumb.” 

You cringe like you hadn’t meant to say it. Spencer feels his brows twitch together, though it’s not like the explicit admission surprises him when you’ve effectively been saying it in a thousand implicit ways since he met you. He has the strange urge to reach over and put a hand on your shoulder. It's not like him, so he doesn’t. 

“We all have theories that don’t pan out,” he says, “all the time. We just bounce them off the team anyway in case it leads to another idea.” 

Your smile is almost rueful. “You don’t.” 

Spencer actually laughs. “I do. It’s possible you just haven’t been around long enough to notice.” 

Your head tilts sideways as though contemplating this. It makes your body list slightly in the chair, your leg resting against the cushioned arm. You look more at ease than you did a minute before, softer, the furrow of concentration easing from between your brows. Spencer’s chest feels light and airy without reason.

“It’s not dumb, to have an idea that doesn’t turn into anything,” he tells you gently. “No one in our team would think that.” 

“I know,” you say, sheepish now. “You guys just know so much, I don’t know how to contribute.”

“It comes with experience,” Spencer assures you. “You’ll pick it up quickly, I can tell. You already are.” 

You smile again. It’s more relaxed than before, a bashful pride shining in your eyes. Spencer props his cheek on his fist, mirroring it thoughtlessly. You look tired, though no less pretty for it, the beckoning of sleep gentle in your features. If Spencer was less selfish he’d probably tell you to go back to the hotel, but normally he’s the only one who never manages to use his room during these trips. He finds he really enjoys the company.

[starcurtain]

A Closer Look at the Phaidei Memory

I've seen so many people talking about this scene with Phainon and Mydei and making fun of how blatantly obvious Phainon is about his... respect for Mydei's... conspicuous body, but one thing I feel like a lot of people missed (or at least I haven't seen anyone discussing) is that this memory seems to come from very early on in their acquaintance.

Looking at it closely, it's clear that the two aren't particularly familiar with each other yet in this memory sequence. For one, Phainon questions things that he should easily know if he was well-acquainted with Mydei already.

First, very comically: "Do you even bathe, bro?"

And second, Phainon questions why Mydei isn't immune to the black tide:

This suggests that, up to the point of this memory, Phainon had not been in enough battles with Mydei (or at least close enough to Mydei) to see him be affected by the black tide. Apparently, this memory-Phainon-and-Mydei don't have years of rushing into battle side-by-side to defend Okhema yet.

It's also hilariously clear that the Phainon in this memory has absolutely no idea how to talk to Mydei.

Breaking this scene down, it's literally Phainon just trying really hard to strike up conversation, doing his best to try to crack the tough exterior and get Mydei to actually interact with him. He jumps around through topics rapidly--the baths, the black tide, their personal sparring--looking for anything that will catch Mydei's attention.

Meanwhile, we can tell that Mydei is not particularly familiar or comfortable with Phainon yet because his dialogue is so different from any of his other scenes in the game. Although Mydei is obviously not the game's biggest yapper, he does always have full sentences to contribute to other conversations and banters readily with Phainon whenever he's baited into it.

In this memory, he instead starts off polite but also completely aloof:

This is the exact sort of response you'd have to a vague acquaintance coming up and trying to talk to you like you're best friends. Phainon skipped at least four steps of familiarity here, and Mydei is obviously at a loss for why the conversation is even happening.

He responds by blatantly stonewalling, answering Phainon's (slightly pathetic) attempts to start an actual conversation in nothing but single word answers:

You can even see Phainon recognize how bad he's failing half way through the conversation, which prompts him to vocally declare that he's going to make a complete topic switch:

And this time, it works!

When Phainon brings up their personal duel or spar, whichever it was, finally, finally Mydei caves and engages in the conversation with him:

Which prompts Phainon to laugh (in relief? lol) and flat out crow about how he's finally cracked the code and figured out how to get Mydei to notice him:

Poor Mydei, however, did not seem to realize his slight display of interest was going to lead him into a full conversation, and he responds to Phainon's blatant invitation to keep talking with a confused:

Witness Mydei accidentally turning down Phainon's request for a date in real time.

The only thing that complicates the situation is what Phainon says late in the memory: that they've battled "all this time." However, looking at his earlier comments, this last statement may just be in a general sense, as in "two Chrysos Heirs who have been fighting the titans for years," especially as the rest of the line "How do you train? Would you consider teaching me?" once again indicates a lack of close familiarity.

(It's also possible this line is just poorly translated in English, and was actually meant to refer to their legendary ten-day-long duel: "We battled all that time, yet I never saw you fatigued." Given the rest of the lines in the memory, I think "dodgy translation" honestly makes the most sense here, and would also just have really funny implications: Phainon and Mydei didn't fall in love at first sight; they fell in comically-long-duel at first sight. Okay, maybe for Phainon it was both.)

Phainon's earlier statements in the memory make it clear that he isn't very experienced with fighting Mydei specifically, with the overall implication of the dialogue being that they've just had their first duel against each other recently:

So anyway, where I am going with all this?

I know a lot of people got distracted by Phainon's (accidental?) pass at Mydei in the first line, but I think taking a step back and looking at the scene as a whole, in context, makes it even more hilarious and off-the-cuff:

Phainon and Mydei aren't well-acquainted in this scene.

Phainon literally walked up on a guy he barely knows and the first words that fell out of his mouth were "Dan Nicky your bobbies." "I would know that body anywhere."

Even Mydei was weirded out at first!

Like, Phainon has absolute foot-in-mouth syndrome around his new "friend." He spends the whole conversation narrating his own attempts to communicate ("Ah, I see I am unwanted. Instead of leaving, I shall try another tactic. Is it working yet?" and "Yes, yes, yes, it worked!") like this is a remotely normal thing to do around a person you're not even close with yet.

You can see his puppy tail wagging. He wants to be friends with Mydei so bad.

He is actively making up excuses to try to get Mydei to spend time with him here--first the comment about "Yay, you're here!" at the baths like he expects them to bathe together, then the whole "Why don't we go somewhere and have a long conversation about the insights we gained from rolling around in the dirt together?" to finally just flat out asking Mydei to train with him.

It's so charmingly earnest, straightforward, and even a bit awkward that I think this scene is really under-rated by the fans. It's not just another example of Phainon commenting on Mydei's muscles--it's a glimpse into what they were like before they were close and just how much Phainon wanted to connect to Mydei, how willing he was to explore to discover exactly what Mydei would be interested in so that he could seize that common ground between them.

Really a masterclass in showing us fans characterization right on the cusp of changing, and for showcasing both Phainon's charming audacity and Mydei's surprisingly-reserved-around-strangers behavior.

And, since we know the future that memory-Phainon-and-Mydei are headed toward... we also know it worked! Mydei is smiling by the end of the conversation! He and Phainon are going to become vitriolic best buds--er, rivals--and Phainon is going to get all the spars he wants.

Persistence pays off!

[boybandbaby]

Team Work (Evan Buckley x SingleMom!Reader)

word count: 1444

warnings/tags: Buck with a child 🥹, as always please lmk if I missed anything

note: I tried to do some light research about Girl Scouts I’m sorry for any inaccuracies I never got to be a GS

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Your daughter Evie had just gotten back from her Girl Scout meeting, the one where she gets all her materials to start selling cookies.

Last year, she hadn’t sold too many cookies as it was only her first year. This year, the prize for selling the most cookies was a ticket to Universal Studios.

You had never taken her before despite living in LA. As you and Buck ate dinner, you watched on as she excitedly ignored her food to discuss her plans to sell as many cookies as she can.

“And- and if I win I can go to Universal Studios and see Gru and the minions!” She screeched.

“How about you eat dinner first and then we can talk about when to start selling?” You suggest.

“Okay but I want Buck to help me.” She huffs. You roll your eyes while Buck grins at you.

She wanted Buck’s help and boy did he show up and show out.

“How many boxes for you Chim?” Buck holds a clip board with an order sheet.

“Oh no, clipboard Buck is back.” Hen nudges Eddie.

Buck ignores the comment, writing down 3 boxes of thin mints and 3 caramel delites. 6 boxes on top of what he already forced Maddie to buy.

“And for the Diazes?” Buck turns to Eddie.

“Give me a box of thin mints and a box of s’mores.” Eddie states.

“Okay, so what I heard was 5 boxes of thin mints and 5 boxes of s’mores.” Buck writes down. He looks up to see Eddie looking at him confused. “Give some to your Tia and Abuela.” He shrugs.

“Hen! Hen..” He smiles, opening his arms for a hug. “How many for the Wilson’s? You’ve got a family of 4, I’m thinking 3 boxes each?”

“Are you nuts?” She looks at him then to Chim and Hen.

“No, I’m determined. I’ve gotta help Evie sell these, she’s asked me to be her business partner and I’m taking it very seriously.”

Hen sighs, “fine, give me 2 lemonades, 2 thin mints, 2 trefoils, and 1- don’t look at me like that. 1 tagalong.”

Buck shakes his head before writing her order down. “Thank you for doing business.” He smiles before heading up to the loft to harass some of the other firefighters.

“He should try asking all his exes and ex hookups, he’d sell out in no time.” Hen says to Chimney.

“I heard that!” Buck shouts back, voice drifting away.

The next shift, Ravi is his next victim. Buck gets him in the locker room but is surprised when Ravi buys 3 boxes of every kind.

“I admire Girl Scouts and what they are doing to shape the youth of America. I’ll gladly support Evie.” Ravi smiles and earns a high five from Buck.

“I knew you were my favorite for a reason.”

“I thought I was your favorite?” Chim scoffs, offended.

“Yeah, after me.” Eddie grins.

“My favorite is whoever buys the most boxes.” Buck winks and exits the locker room.

The next day when he has a day off and Evie doesn’t have school, he spends the day with her in front of a grocery store. He’s her personal assistant, bagging the boxes and handing them to the customers as she practices how to count money and make change.

You park in front of the store with two bags of lunch for Buck and Evie, and to give Buck a bit of a break. You can’t help but laugh as Buck has purchased a matching brown vest and beret to look just like a scout himself.

“Hi babe,” you kiss Evie’s cheek and then Buck’s. “Working hard?”

“Always, we’ve already sold 92 boxes today. We’re almost running out. Did you bring the two boxes I left by the door?”

“Yes, they’re in my trunk. Sit, eat, take a break.” You urge. “I’ll get them.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll grab ‘em.” He smiles and puts his hand out for keys. You hand him your keys and watch as he practically skips to grab the last two boxes.

“Mommy, Buck is helping me sell so many cookies!” She squeals. “He’s so cool.”

You laugh and watch Buck balance the box on top of the other. “Oh, Bobby wants you to stop by his after you’re done here. Says Athena and Harry wants some more of the toffee ones.”

“I’ll save them a few boxes then.” He sets the boxes down behind the table.

“You look really cute in your getup.” You snicker.

“Yeah? You like?” He grins.

“Mommy, don’t be gross.” Evie remarks causing Buck to laugh.

“I’m not being gross, he looks so handsome.” You throw your hands up.

She gags as a few more customers come up to the table.

Later that night, you drive the two of them to Bobby and Athena’s. You’d already sent the team a picture of Buck in his vest and beret and Bobby said he wouldn’t buy any more cookies unless he came wearing them. You stand behind as Buck and Evie knock on the door. Bobby and Athena open up with their cameras out.

“Well, look at you!” Athena teases.

“Hey, I’ll do what I have to, to help my girl get the big prize.” Buck nudges Evie’s side causing her to stumble over.

Your heart swells when he says that. Buck has never made a big deal out of you having a daughter. He welcomed her with open arms when you’d told him on your third date that you had a daughter.

Buck brings her out of her shell and makes her life better. She’s told you so countless times. Even though he’s not her father, he’s stepped up to take on some of the role.

Watching Buck with your little girl makes you love him even more.

As the cookie season comes to a close and it’s announced that your daughter has won second place, Buck has to comfort her and apologize for not selling more.

You and Buck had already had a discussion that you didn’t want to get her hopes up in case this exact situation happened. You both wrestled with the idea that if she doesn’t win, you’d take her to Universal Studios anyways for her hard work but would let her know sometimes these things happen and you can’t get discouraged.

“Listen, we did the best we could. That’s all that counts okay?” Buck kneels down to hug her, rubbing her back. “We were the best team and I loved hanging out with you.”

She nods and steps back, wiping her cheeks. “I had fun with you.”

“Yeah? Do you wanna do something else fun with me and mom?”

“Like what?” She sniffles.

“Well, because you worked so hard and we’re so proud of you, we’ll still take you to Universal Studios.” You caress her cheek.

“Really?” She giggles, jumping up and down. She then starts crying again.

You kneel down to hug her and she cries into your shoulder. “Don’t cry, babe. We’re gonna have so much fun! Buck can be your ride buddy.”

“Yeah, I’ll ride all the rides as long as you hold my hand when I get scared.”

“You’re too old to get scared!” Evie laughs and pokes Buck’s cheek.

“I’m not old!” Buck gasps, tickling her tummy. “Say it!”

“No!” She tries to get away from him. “Mommy, help me!”

“No, Buck’s your best friend now you gotta deal with him.” You poke her belly and stand up. “Did you give him his gift for helping you?”

“Oh!” She runs to her bag. Buck stands up.

“You got me something?” She nods before holding her hand out. Buck takes the brown and gold pin from her.

“It’s the Brownie Entrepreneur family pin! Because you helped me!”

“But it’s yours.” Buck says softly, you can hear it in his voice that he’s getting emotional.

“I have so many, this one’s for you.” She shrugs, wrapping her arms around his legs. “You can put it on your vest.”

“Will you help me?”

“Yes!” She cheers before running to grab his vest from the back of the couch.

Buck slips the vest on and take the safety back off the pin, “here, put it on for me.”

He kneels down as she carefully puts the pin on his vest. “Now you look like me!”

“So if I look like you, that means you’re old too!” He jokes.

You shake your head and make your way to the kitchen to start on some lunch. You can hear Buck blowing raspberries into her cheek and her loud screams of joy as she calls him an “old man.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[nylonsking]

I’ll never forget the day that auntie asked me if I wanted to touch her feet. My mom was going away for the weekend and I was to be dropped off at my aunts when we arrived auntie was wearing sexy heels and nylon stockings fully fashioned. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Mom and aunt Betty spent about three hours catching up while Ikind of just sat there listening and stealing glances at my aunts feet, she kept dangling her heels and every once in a while, she would shoot me a stare she knew I was looking whenever she caught me my face would burn red embarrassment when mom left my aunt told me to bring my bag upstairs to the spare room were I would be staying. When I came back downstairs she had brought on of the kitchen chairs into the living room and was sitting there with her legs crossed dangling her right heel. She told me that I should sit on the floor in front of her, that there was a couple of things she needed to discuss. I sat down couldn’t keep my eyes off her feet. The first words out of her mouth were auntie knows your had a dirty little secret. I started to feel really embarrassed, and I could tell she was enjoying it. I didn’t know what to say. What secret auntie I don’t have any dirty secrets.. just then her heel fell to the floor, and her foot was there and she was spreading her toes. I felt dizzy. She asked me to come closer to her. I could smell the musty smell from her feet it was mixed with perfume and leather my dick began to grow harder. She slipped her shoe back on. Why do you always stare at auntie‘s feet? Do you like them I didn’t know what to say. Burning red with embarrassment but my cock just got harder.. She took off her shoe and handed it to me. My hands were trembling. As I took hold of her hi heel Is it these heels that you like? I want you to put your hand inside of my shoe. I slowly slid my hand into a sexy leather pumps. I could feel the sweat from her feet.. tell auntie how you feel when you touch your shoes I didn’t know what to say. They feel nice auntie the soft leather.. that’s not what auntie‘s talking about. Why don’t you put your nose into my shoe and tell me if auntie has smelly feet I did what I was told. It took a deep breath and through my nose. I had never smelled anything so erotic it was pungent but I could also smell the leather and the perfume she wore I thought I was gonna come in my pants. Aunt Betty then asked if I thought her shoes smell terrible and I answered no they don’t smell. Do you like the smell of my shoes? I didn’t know what to say. Auntie thinks that you do. She then asked that I slip her shoe back on to her foot for her She then told me to stand up. I didn’t know what to do. I had such a Boner in my pants. I didn’t want to stand up now young man I am telling you to stand up. I reluctantly stood up with my hands in my pockets trying to hide my erection but by this time, there was a spot of pre-come soaking through my sweatpants. Take your hands out of your pockets and stand up straight. My face was burning, red and I was completely embarrassed,  I felt dizzy. I took my hands out of my pockets and stood up straight. It was obvious my cock was rock hard, and there was a wet stain right at the tip, she smiled, and I burned with embarrassment. I look like you really like my shoes and my foot order. To be continued

[lvrgirl-inc]

Breakfast

&

୨ৎ Head ୨ৎ

pair. Gamer Husband!Satoru x m!reader

wc. 2.6k

genres. House husband, comfort(?), eating “motivation”, edging, whiny reader + Toru, “thank you for the meal” backshots, domestic, soft—mostly, finale. [I suggest a slight content warning given the eating discussion, though it’s not dark, I did want to give the disclaimer..!]

Gamer Husband!Satoru mlist

𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵

Gamer Husband!Satoru who’s missed breakfast more times than you can count. Constantly with the, “I’ll make some cereal later”, “It’s not that late yet—in a bit, babe.” that would earn a lecture of varying lengths from you each time.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you’d actually had to sit down and talk to about this bad habit of skipping meals. Hand over his in a sit-down at the dinner table after you’d gotten home from work late one evening. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who was simply over the moon for your return—treating every “Honey, I’m home” as if you’d just come back from war. Only to find out that he was, in fact, not getting that oh-so syrupy love talk that you shower him….but another lecture on his worrying eating habits.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who—if he had ears and tail—almost looked like a kicked puppy when you’d expressed your concerns. A gentle, “I know you tend to…forget. But, my love, the gas station is not a valuable source of nutrients.” Damn. Following that, he might as well have whined

Gamer Husband!Satoru who just might’ve if it weren’t for the security of your fingers giving his hand a gentle squeeze. The look of endearment he gave you wasn’t even voluntary but instinctual for whenever he caught you sticking up for him—even if it was often against his own uprooting of his complete success.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who looks at you through those snowy lashes, batting them twice, thrice in your direction before officially meeting your firm gaze. He knows you’re serious about this and that only spurs on a stronger protrusion of his bottom lip. A mumbled, “You..usually do all the cooking. I don’t really…like eating without you,” and you knew it was true. “Makes the food taste bland, every chew seems to take forever and on because all I can think about is…how you’re not there.”

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you think might have heard the way your heart skipped a beat at those honest words. Sure, you two were only talking about eating properly and not stocking up on too many empty calories, but with how he phrased it—the tender on his slight lilt as he peered in a bit closer to you—it felt like..everything.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who took his hand up from both of yours, brushing back the tresses to settle behind your ear, letting his fingers linger there before sliding them along the crest of your jaw. A dreamy breath resting on his lips as he tried his best not to just stare at you for God knows how long. It was something he did often—just observing you in complete silence. Oh, you’re inquiring the reason? 

Because your presence was loud enough to him.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who has you flush-faced and swallowing down nervously amid a reluctant, faint smile. “.. ‘Toru…you’re not focused…” you rationalized, even as your eyes were unable to keep off his. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who gives you the doofiest quirk of his mouth corner, smiling at the obvious effect he was already having on you. “Me? Not focused? Come onnn, that doesn’t even sound like me…” he’d purr, leaning in to steal a kiss, only for his lips to make contact with the palm of your hand instead. Did he really think he was getting off that easy?

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you’d had to eventually have another, deeper conversation about the matter—or went over negations more like—winding up with the following arrangement: If he could manage to fill in the rest of the meals for himself, you’d make a point to share at least one with him.

Gamer Husband!Satoru whose idea of compromise concluded with a morning that you’d never soon forget—nor really wanted to. Sunlight dashing the bed as you lazily and groggily woke up beside your husband for once, having convinced him to sleep in with you since he typically ran off..what? Four hours? Yeah. 

  Gamer Husband!Satoru whose fluffy platinum white ruffles were always fun to scan your fingers through in such peaceful scenery. Eventually, you got up, letting your deep sleeping beauty catch an hour or two. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who didn’t stir even as you climbed out of bed, stretching your limbs and yawning quietly before rubbing tired eyes on the way to the bathroom. From there, doing the basic cleaning routine, you made your way to the kitchen. It wouldn’t be too bad to have your first day of the deal be breakfast. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you eventually decided would benefit from it anyhow and then went on to unpack varying ingredients out of the fridge to prep a perfect meal to start off the day. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who always goes for sweets. Call it fast metabolism, workout routine or what—that man could eat. So, you, as his all-knowing spouse went ahead to make him a guilty pleasure of puffy pancakes, sidelined by a tropical fruit assortment, diced nicely. Humming sleepily and waking up as you went, you prepared that, along with a small smoothie from whatever didn’t make it into the mix.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you, after a while, assumed would be up since it’d been a tad since you started the cooking process. Easily assembling the plate that you two were inevitably going to share and deftly cleaning up behind yourself as quietly as possible just to be sure that you wouldn’t wake him if he was still asleep.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who actually had just been joining consciousness when you walked in, feeling around the empty space beside him before seeing your face and caught the aroma wafting off the tray. “You..spoil me too much..” a half-awake Satoru mumbled in that slight snag that came with his morning voice.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who definitely didn’t expect this when you’d replied to that with, “Let me spoil you some more, then.” This, referring to being leaned up on the headboard, shakily holding his fork up to his mouth, sliding the plump, syrup-coated batter off the metal with his teeth. All the while with you just underneath the sheets with a mouth stuffed full of him.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who can feel how your lips stretch around his shaft, working hard to keep up the pace that was making that delicious, wet, slurping along his throbbing shaft. Making breathy moans fall from his lips in between his chewing. “F-fuck, babe..~”

Gamer Husband!Satoru whose shirt you pushed your fingers under, splaying them out across the smooth expanse. You could feel how his stomach was fluttering in time with how he throbbed on your tongue. Mumbled carefully, pulling your hair back a bit to look up at him—cheeks still stuffed full of him in the most erotic sight he’d ever seen, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ‘Toru..~”

Gamer Husband!Satoru who can’t do anything but whine at your muffled gibe, mostly because your moans and voice created such sweet vibrations around his already-dripping cockhead from the back of your throat. He knows you were quite literally being a hypocrite, seeing as. Not a complaint fell though. All he could do is grip the sheets that lay beside him, trying his best to stay focused on the delectable meal and not the delicious feeling of your tongue becoming reacquainted with the powerful throb that now distracted him as he picked at his food some more. Eating was clearly the last thing on his mind.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who gets a bit too close, a bit too fast. Easily leaving you to pull off with a wet pop! When you felt the telltale way his balls started to draw up close to his body, how the stream of pre had only gotten more coarse when you started to deepthroat him properly. Poor thing, he was just simply shivering from your ministrations, obviously pouting strongly when the sensation had been lost just as he was inching his way closer to an orgasm. Only for you to take his cock up into your hand, giving it lazy strokes that were a glide, thanks to the efforts of your trachea. It was so nasty. So loud. Sticky shluck, shluck, over and over as the ring you’d created with your index and thumb ran from his tip to base in that agonizingly slow pace. “Ah, ahh. Come on, ‘Toruuu..y’know you’ve gotta finish your food before you can try to get any type of reward.”

Gamer Husband!Satoru who noted your emphasis on ‘any’ from a mile away. It was a double-edged sword, referring to the actual dessert that you’d had made and well…being able to cum. But oh when he rushed to finish, swallow down the last bite and lick the plate clean—that, he held your eye contact for—all while your fingers kneaded his swollen sac in one hand and the other was still pumping in earnest as you watched him. Though, maybe you should’ve been working more on getting him to calm down from his previous denial because boy did the payback hit different when he finally set the dish down on the sheets and proudly announced, “Alll donee.”

Gamer Husband!Satoru who decided to thank you for the meal in one of the best ways he knew how—gifting you with a niiice arch in your spine, pillow prince treatment and the good length of his dick sunk into your tight heat as you needlessly poured out his name over and over. Oh my, if you had predicted he’d treat it this way, you probably would have just microwaved a corndog or something. Though, you had much bigger ‘n better things on your mind right now. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who felt like he got bigger every time you fucked him. He didn’t but damn. With your own recoil and how you were being fucked stupid just from him leaning back a bit and pulling you back to meet his hips each time. Slick of lube dripping and making a spread between the fronts of his meaty thighs and the backs of yours, you didn’t even know what to do with yourself. And especially not when he was leaning down to press his sweaty chest against the similarity of your back.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who changed up his thrusts for a bit, driving you wild as a hand came up from your navel, past your chest and up to your throat—not choking, no, just holding you there and lifting your face up out of the silk pillowcases. Moaning into your ear, rutting into you with a deeeep grind against your prostate that had you gritting your teeth and shuddering whenever he hit it just right. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who’s never been afraid to show his gratitude nor his submissive side. Borderline fighting for his breath as his cock took its sweet time mapping out your ridged insides in a way that had you breathless, scratching down at sheets with broken pitches. He was just so grateful for you. For making him food, for motivating him to eat properly, for taking him sooo well. Oh, he just simply adored you. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who hasn’t shied away from talking you through it, licking a stripe up the column of your neck as he continued that sensual grind that had you seeing stars in no time. “Haah, thas’ it..uhuuuh..f-fuck, mhn..” groaned out between his thrusts in an effort to encourage you the best that he could. “My sweet fuckin’ hubby, makin’ me such..mmf- goood food to wake up, lettin’ me fuck this even sweeter ass..fuck…” the last lament before he was speeding up his pace again.

Gamer Husband!Satoru whose balls slapped up against your taint at a quicker pace as he worked you both toward climax. “T-there you go, yeahhh, yeahh, that’s the spot? Mhm? Oh, I knoww, baby..” he’d coo along, feeling how you tightened up noticeably around his cock when the crown of it swiveled its way right into your sweet spot repetitively, seemingly aiming for it. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who most likely doesn’t even know the effect that he has on you, how he made your knees buckle and your jaw go slack, teetering on the edge of a shaking orgasm as you let out little “Right there”s and “I’m so close, so close”s. That was all the motivation that he really needed, that he’d ever really need from you to do anything. But right now, he took it as a sign to use his free hand to wrap around your underside, stroking your neglected, weeping cock in time with his thrusts that were becoming erratic and uncoordinated as his own release fast-approached.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who always likes finishing inside and who knows you love it just as much as him. Something about marking you up from the inside out that got him going real bad. So he made no effort to try and pull out, driving it home as he was ravaging your narrow channel with wild abandon, pounding you straight into the mattress and into climax. “.. ‘Toruuu, fuckin’ guh-! Cumming, ‘m fuckin’...mhn..!” weakly mewled out as your body finally tensed up, a few full-body quakes before you were finally spilling your load out over the sheets without a care in the world for the mess that you would have to clean up afterward.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who took the feeling of your cum spurting from your swollen tip as a sign that he could follow suit, going as far as to push you from a doggy position and down into a full prone bone. Completely seating himself in your boycunt as he let himself reach that pinnacle of pleasure inside.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who ground his pelvis down into you, furthering the intensity of your own ongoing climax as your fingers got a claw on the sheets beside your head. There would’ve been cartoonish swirls in your eyes had this not been your reality, so instead, they fell at a cross before rolling up and to a close.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who’s just so generously dumping ounce after ounce of his foamy strands into you, hips stuttering as he leaned his head back, letting the relief fully wash over him.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who got to listen to your needy whining come up as breathless and airy successions that gradually calmed down. Then came his least and most favorite part about your coupling—pulling out. Softened cock sliding inch by inch out of your sore hole before finally breaking away, dragging a connecting string of cum along with.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who’s just marveling at you, to which you pipe up. “Are we gonna..haah…do this every time..?” somewhere between a genuine question and a rhetorical at the same time.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who cocked his head off to the side, casting you an impish grin as he came to lay down next to you. Leaning in to kiss up on your neck, shoulders, all the way down your arm and stopping at your hand. More specifically, your ring. Placing rows of the tender contacts to the precious stone that adorned your finger.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who finally gives up an answer, “If anything, this arrangement would be sooo much better if we ate afterward. How do you feel about me cooking dinner tomorrow night?” a hopeful smile accompanying the innuendo that was too tempting to let up.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who winds up laughing in a small victory upon your murmured agreement, tugging you into his arms and peppering your face with even more kisses.

A little sweet tooth pampering got you far. Having a husband who would die for you twice over doesn’t hurt, either. At least you know he won’t be skipping any meals after this…

𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵

A/N: Hiya, this has been pretty fun to debut with, lol. Satoru is a personal favorite, obvi but I’m so dearly excited for the next after a hiatus. Head over to this guy @lvrboy-inc , heard he’s crawling out from the ground to deliver some more fetching works while I take to B.T.S. ‘Till next time~

[itsnesss]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

OO1. OO2.

summary | you struggle with your feelings for minho, knowing he's in a relationship with stella. after an intense conversation about your kiss, you decide to distance yourself, despite the undeniable connection between you two

warnings | emotional distress, relationship complications, heartbreak, mentions of kissing

word count | 1.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The way back to the cabin felt endless. You wrapped the towel around your body so tightly that your fingers hurt, trying to keep your breathing steady. Min Ho's kiss still burned on your lips, like an impossible-to-ignore burn.

When you entered the room where you were sleeping with Yuri and Juliana, they were both fast asleep. You climbed under the blankets, but sleep didn’t come. Only the memory of Min Ho, his intense gaze, his voice whispering words that should never have been said.

"What about what I feel? Or what you feel?"

You squeezed your eyes shut. None of that mattered. It couldn’t matter.

...

The first rays of light filtered through the windows when you finally decided to get up. You went downstairs to the kitchen and found your friends already gathered. Yuri and Juliana were serving themselves coffee, Q and Dae were discussing a board game, and Stella was hugging Min Ho, resting her head on his shoulder as she looked at her phone.

Your stomach twisted.

"Look who decided to show up!" Yuri exclaimed with a smile. "We almost let you sleep, but Min Ho insisted we wake you up."

Your eyes quickly went to him, and you found him staring at you intently. He didn’t say anything, but there was something unsettling in his expression.

"Thanks for the gesture," you responded, pretending indifference as you grabbed a cup of coffee.

You tried to stay occupied during breakfast, participating in the conversation as little as possible. However, every time you looked up, you found Min Ho watching you, even when Stella was talking to him.

And then, Stella spoke.

"Since the snowstorm has passed, we could take a walk to the lake," she suggested excitedly. "It’s not too cold, and the view must be incredible with all the snow piled up."

"Sounds like a great idea," Q said, stretching.

"Hope you all have good shoes," Dae joked. "I don’t want to be the one carrying anyone if they slip."

"You say that as if you won’t be the first one to fall," Juliana retorted with a smile.

Amidst laughter, the group prepared to leave.

You tried to convince yourself that it was just a walk. There was nothing wrong with that.

Except Min Ho was there. Except every time Stella held his hand, your chest tightened.

The path was beautiful, surrounded by snow-covered trees. The cold air helped clear your mind a little, but not enough.

Min Ho walked ahead, alongside Stella. She was animatedly talking about something on her phone, while he simply nodded, not too interested.

"He’s looking at you again," Yuri whispered beside you.

"What?"

"Min Ho. He hasn’t stopped looking at you since we left the cabin."

You quickly shook your head. "That’s your imagination."

"Uh-huh." Yuri gave you a look of *don’t lie to me*. "Something happened last night in the hot tub, right?"

You almost choked on the air. "No! Why would you say that?"

"Because I know you. And because he looks at you like you’ve killed his dog and at the same time like he wants to kiss you again."

"Yuri," you warned, feeling your cheeks burn.

"I won’t say anything," she promised with a mischievous grin. "But you have to tell me later."

Before you could respond, Min Ho stopped and announced:

"I’m going to look for more firewood for the bonfire tonight."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Stella asked.

"No, stay here. It won’t take long."

Your heart stopped for a second.

"I’ll... take a walk," you said to Yuri and Juliana, quickly walking away before anyone could ask questions.

You followed the path Min Ho had taken, the sound of snow crunching under your boots. You found him a few minutes later, picking up some fallen branches.

When he saw you, he dropped the firewood and crossed his arms.

"I knew you’d come."

You rolled your eyes. "Don’t think you’re that important."

Min Ho let out a low laugh, but his gaze was serious.

"Are you going to keep pretending nothing happened?"

You took a breath. "I don’t want to talk about it."

"Well, I do."

His tone was different. It wasn’t the usual arrogance, nor his playful tone. It was deeper. More real.

"You kissed me last night," he said firmly.

You clenched your jaw. "It was a mistake."

"It wasn’t."

"Yes, it was," you insisted, your chest burning.

Min Ho took a step toward you. "Tell me you didn’t feel anything."

"Min Ho…"

"Say it."

You clenched your fists. You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell him that because it would be a lie.

"You have a girlfriend," you reminded him.

"I know."

"Then this is over."

He took a deep breath. "I’m going to break up with Stella."

Your eyes widened with surprise and fear.

"You can’t do that."

"Why not?"

"Because she doesn’t deserve that," you said, your voice trembling. "I don’t want to be the reason for that."

Min Ho ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "You’re not."

"Of course I am," you insisted. "If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be thinking about this."

Min Ho shook his head. "No. This was happening before. Stella is amazing, but she’s not…"

He stopped, but you understood what he didn’t say.

"She’s not you."

Your chest ached.

"Min Ho, don’t do this. Don’t complicate things more than they already are."

"And what do you want me to do? Stay with her just because it’s the right thing?"

"Yes," you said, even though every part of you screamed no.

He stood in silence, watching you.

"Leave me alone, Min Ho."

The words came out before you could stop them.

Min Ho blinked, as if you had slapped him.

"Is that what you want?"

You nodded, your heart breaking in your chest.

He pressed his lips together, then nodded stiffly.

"I understand," he murmured.

He picked up the firewood and started walking back to the cabin without looking back.

You stood there, with the snow gently falling around you, feeling like you had just lost something you would never have again.

tags | @msromanreigns2023 @imagineme2you @yuwaimo @cassiewritessalot @lavnderluv

[libraford]

Fact checking this lady at the town hall last night, where we were discussing the conversion therapy ban.

"You mean you want parents to have ZERO say in whether their kids take puberty blockers before they're even in puberty???"

No, we want to ban certain practices in therapy that seek to change a person's sexuality or gender.

"You mean you want to take our rights away as parents!?"

No, unless your 'right as a parent' involves abusing your child into conforming into strict gender roles. Technically, we can't enforce what goes on inside the home, so you're off the hook. We're focusing on counseling centers and clinics.

"You're saying that a doctor or a therapist cannot speak to children about the dangers of puberty blockers!?"

Puberty blockers are typically not prescribed to children under the age of 14 for gender affirming care and only so with at least one year's consistent therapy- wherein all the risks must be assessed.

"Puberty Blockers cause medical castration"

They don't.

"It causes cancer"

They can increase risk of cancer, which is not the same as causing cancer.

"It causes diseases."

Please name the diseases.

"Can I come into your home and tell YOU how to raise your children?"

Once again- this would ban conversion therapy as it operates through medical and mental health professionals.

"You want to talk about bringing illegal immigrants into our city? Fine! Bring them in! But lets get a sheet of paper with every single one of your addresses and phone numbers so that when people are looking for a place to stay, they can stay in your backyard!"

??? I thought we were talking about gender affirming care.

"Quit telling us how to do our jobs as parents. I have a friend that is transgender. I tried to get him to come tonight, but he was shy. The havoc that the hormones have wreaked on his body. He's had a full mastectomy. He's had a hysterectomy."

Hormones do not cause mastectomies or hysterectomies, and these are things that cisgender persons can also have or want.

"But you know what, he didn't get these things until after a year of counseling. A year of counseling. One year. And he was 22 years old."

Yes, that is the typical amount of time required before they allow you to go through surgery for gender affirming care.

"But the key word once again is children. Leave our children alone. I don't care if you wanna be a cat and pee in a litterbox and take a dump in a litterbox every day."

But you do, I suppose, care if someone wants gender affirming care. Which again, is not anything that's changing. All of these things are staying the same. What is being debated is whether or not a medical professional can try to change a child's sexuality or gender without consequences.

"But we are the parents. You have no rights here. We have the rights. I spend (Large number) on property taxes each year and you wanna take my rights away, is that how its going to be? As a parent and as a grandparent- NO."

Ma'am, are you a medical care professional that's seeking to change the gender or sexuality of children under the age of 18?

[earthchica]

Sweetest Devotion

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

summary: Your and Terry's son started preschool, and you and Terry continued discussing having another baby with you.

warnings: explicit smut 18+, oral (m & f ), unprotected sex, dirty talking, dilf! terry, daddy kink, breeding kink, baby fever, ovulating, fluff, five-year-old son, domestic life, angst, fainting, use of y/n, nicknames [ baby, sweetheart, baby girl & more ] words: 7k

note: I really love writing for this story, it has to be my fav. Please enjoy, but there may be some errors.

sequel to { funny how time flies } mini-series masterlist one { everything I ever wanted } two { make it right } three { you are my joy }

The preschool orientation came around, and you still danced around this baby topic. Elijah happily chatted about his new friends and couldn’t wait to learn with them.

It was Elijah’s first day, and you and Terry took off work to share in the excitement. You took many pictures before heading out, once at the preschool.

You watched as Elijah walked confidently into his new class, waving goodbye and not even glancing back. You turned to Terry, chuckling nervously.

“Well, that was…weird,” you pouted. “Thought he’d at least cry a little or something.”

Terry smirked, wrapping his arm around your waist. “He’s got your confidence. Eli is a natural.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him. “Yeah, yeah. Still, I thought I’d at least get a dramatic goodbye. Maybe a tear or two. Guess I’m not as essential as I thought.”

“Oh, you’re essential, alright,” Terry said, squeezing your shoulder.

“But he’s just ready to take on the world. He’s a big boy.”

You lingered there momentarily, watching the classroom door as if expecting Elijah to burst out, realizing he’d forgotten something—or someone.

But the door remained closed, the faint sound of children laughing and teachers guiding them filtering through. You sighed, a mix of pride and wistfulness swirling in your chest.

Terry nudged you gently, his smirk softening into a smile. “Come on,” he said, tugging you down the hallway, but you heard a familiar voice calling out behind you.

“Daddy! Mama!”

You spun around to see Elijah running toward you, his little legs pumping furiously, his face full of excitement, his hazel eyes shining like twin suns.

You dropped to one knee instinctively, arms open wide, and he barreled into you with all the force of a tiny hurricane.

“Elijah!” you exclaimed, wrapping him in a tight hug, your heart swelling with relief and joy.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? Did you forget something?” you asked changing to curious and worried.

Elijah shook his head, “No!” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you with a serious expression.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ll miss you! And… and I’ll be brave!”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you cupped his face. “Oh, Elijah,” you said, your voice trembling.

“You’re already so brave. We’re so proud of you.”

Terry knelt down beside you, caressing Elijah's head. “Yeah, little man,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re going to do great. And we’ll be here waiting for you when school ends.”

Elijah nodded solemnly, then leaned in to hug Terry quickly before returning to you.

“I Love you, Mama,” he said, kissing your cheek sloppy.

“I Love you too, my sweet baby,” you replied, giving him one last squeeze before standing up.

With a final wave, Elijah turned and ran back toward his classroom, where the teacher was waiting for him, his small frame disappearing through the door once more.

You stood there momentarily, watching the space where he had been, feeling the weight of his absence settle in your chest. Terry’s arm found its way around your shoulders again, pulling you close.

“He’s going to be fine,” Terry said softly, his voice reassuring. “And so are we.”

You nodded, leaning into him. “I know. It’s just… it’s a big step, you know? Our little boy is growing up.”

Terry chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, he is. But he’s still our little boy. Always will be.”

You sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I guess we’ve got some time to ourselves now,” you said, glancing up at him.

“What should we do?”

Terry’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, we could go get some coffee. Or… we could finally have that conversation about whether or not we’re ready for another little one.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the familiar mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling up inside you.

“You really want to talk about it now?” you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Terry shrugged, his expression softening. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready,” he said, his tone gentle.

You hesitated, the weight of his words pressing against your chest like a stone.

The thought of another child—another tiny heartbeat to care for, another soul to mold and guide—felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

You glanced at Terry, his eyes warm and patient, waiting for your response. His hand still rested on your shoulder, steadying you.

“I… I don’t know,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Elijah’s still so little, and there’s so much to consider. Can we enjoy this?”

Terry nodded, his thumb brushing against your arm in a soothing rhythm.

“I get it,” he said softly. “It’s a big decision. And you’re right—Elijah’s still our whole world. We don’t have to rush anything.”

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“I just want to make sure we’re doing it for the right reasons,” you admitted, looking up at him. "It has to feel… right.”

“Sure,” Terry said firmly, his gaze unwavering.

“And when it does feel right—whenever that is—we’ll know. ” He gave your shoulder a final squeeze before letting his hand drop.

“For now, let’s just enjoy this day. Coffee, maybe a walk, and then we’ll pick up our little man later. Sound good?” Terry added.

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the uncertainty. “Sounds perfect.”

-

As the weeks pass, you and Terry settle into a new routine. The days were filled with Elijah's laughter and stories about his friends at preschool, and the nights were spent in silent companionship.

You noticed the tiny distance between you and Terry - he was still the fantastic dad and husband he was, but there was a distance between you regarding intimacy.

The two of you haven't had sex in two weeks only because you haven't been in the mood, but a few days have gonna by. You were practically throwing yourself at Terry.

One evening, as you sat on the couch scrolling through your phone, Elijah was at preschool, and Terry was off work.

Instead of spending time with you. “Hey, baby! Heading into the garage for a bit,” Terry said casually.

“Gotta keep up with this routine.”

You paused, your heart skipping a beat.

Something about how he said it—so nonchalant, so routine—made you wonder if there was more to it.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “Can I join you this time?”

Terry’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he nodded after a moment.

“Sure. If you want.”

You hurried upstairs to change, your mind racing.

You slipped into a form-fitting workout outfit, a tight sports bra that gave a good view of your breasts, and leggings that hugged your thick curves just enough to remind him of what he’d been missing.

The fabric clung to you in all the right places, and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You bit your lip with a spark of determination in your eyes.

When you descended the stairs, Terry was waiting by the door, looking sexy. His eyes flickered over you, and briefly, you saw something flicker in his gaze—something warm, familiar.

But just as quickly, it was replaced by his usual demeanor. “Ready?” he asked, holding the door open for you. You nodded, following him out into the cool evening air.

The walk to the garage was short but filled with tension. You could feel the space between you, charged with heat and desire. Once inside.

Terry started setting up his weights while you lingered near the thick yoga mat, stretching casually but deliberately. As you bent forward, your box braids falling over your shoulders, you caught Terry glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

You held the pose a little longer than necessary, feeling a thrill when he quickly looked away. You moved through a series of stretches, each designed to highlight your figure more.

You could feel his gaze flickering back to you occasionally, sending you a little satisfaction. You decided to take it further, letting your movements flow with a fluid grace that you knew would be hard for him to ignore.

You sank into a deep lunge, arching your back slightly so the curve of your ass became more pronounced.

"Terry," you called out softly, your voice carrying a teasing lilt. "Can you give me a hand with this pose? I think my form might be off."

He hesitated momentarily, clearly trying to stay focused on his routine, but eventually, he set down the dumbbell he was holding and walked over.

"Sure," he said, his tone neutral but his eyes lingering just a beat too long on your body. "What do you need?"

"Just guide my hips a little," you said innocently, looking up at him through your lashes. "I want to make sure I’m aligned properly."

Terry’s hands hovered uncertainly for a moment before settling on your hips.

His touch was tentative at first, but his grip tightened ever so slightly as he adjusted your stance. You could feel the warmth of his palms through the thin fabric of your leggings, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Like this?" Terry asked, his voice low and a little strained.

"Almost," you murmured, shifting your weight subtly so your ass brushed against his crotch. You felt him stiffen, but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, his hands lingered, fingers pressing into your hips with a barely restrained intensity. You arched your back just a little more, letting the curve of your spine draw his gaze downward.

“There,” you said softly, your voice like honey. “That feels perfect.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with tension, electric, and undeniable. You could hear the faintest hitch in his breath, the way it caught in his throat as his eyes traced the line of your body.

Then, slowly, you rose from the lunge, turning to face him. Your breasts pressed against his chest, and you tilted your head up ever so slightly, your lips parted just enough to be inviting.

“Thanks, baby, you’re the best,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but heavy with meaning. You stepped back, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“I think I’ve got it now.”

Terry’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as they met yours. He didn’t say anything, but how he looked at you—like he was teetering on the edge of something—was enough to make your heart race.

You knew you had him right where you wanted him, and the power of that knowledge sent a thrill coursing through your veins. You turned away from him with a sly smile, swaying your hips just enough to keep him hooked.

"Alright then," you said, your tone light but laced with intention. "Guess I’ll get back to it."

You moved away from him, putting just enough distance between you two to make him ache. Then, without warning, you dropped into a quick set of jumping jacks.

Your arms swung wide, and your breasts bounced rhythmically with each motion, drawing his gaze like a magnet. You could feel his eyes on you, hot and heavy, but you didn’t look back. Instead, you kept going, letting the rhythm of your movement amplify the tension in the room.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, low enough that he probably thought you couldn’t hear it. But you did, and it only fueled your fire.

"Somethin’ wrong, Terry?" you called out between breaths, your voice dripping with feigned innocence as you continued your exercise.

"You lookin’ a little… distracted over there."

He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

"Nah," he said gruffly, his voice rough like gravel.

"Just makin’ sure you keeping that form tight. Can’t have you slacking now.” But the way his eyes stayed glued to your body betrayed him—his words were weak, and you both knew it.

You slowed, letting your arms fall to your sides as you turned to face him again. Sweat glistened on your skin, and you licked your lips slowly, deliberately, watching his gaze follow the movement.

“Oh, I ain’t slacking, baby,” you purred, stepping closer to him with a sway in your hips that made his breath hitch. “You the one lookin’ all kinds of tense over there. Maybe you need some… loosening up.”

His jaw clenched, and you could see the muscle ticking in his cheek as he fought to keep control. But you weren’t about to let him off that easy.

You closed the distance between you, standing so close that your breasts brushed against his chest again with every breath. Your hand reached up, fingers trailing lightly along the curve of his jaw before sliding down to rest on his chest.

You could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm, and it only made you smirk.

“You like what you see?” you whispered. Your voice was low and sultry, dripping with confidence, making Terry’s breath catch in his throat. "Do you want me right now?

His chest rose and fell faster now, his eyes locked on yours like he was trying to figure out if you were playing or serious. But you weren’t playing.

Not this time.

“You know I do,” he finally replied, his voice deep and low. His hand grabbed your wrist lightly but didn’t pull it away. Instead, he pressed your palm firmer against his chest, letting you feel the heat of him, the way his heart was pounding like a drumbeat just for you.

“You know I always want you.”

You tilted your head, your lips curling into a sly smile as you leaned in closer, your breath brushing against his ear.

“Then why you have been actin’ like you don’t?” you murmured, your voice honey-sweet but cutting straight to the point.

“Why have you been keeping your distance, Terry? You ain’t been touching me like you used to. Ain’t been lookin’ at me like you need me.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on your wrist tightening just a fraction. His tone steady but laced with something raw, something unspoken.

“I have been respecting your wishes, baby. You said you haven't been in the mood, so I wasn't gonna push.” His voice dropped lower, a growl that sent shivers down your spine.

“But don’t for a second think I don’t want you every damn day.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your fingers trailing down his chest, over the hard planes of his abs, until they rested just above the waistband of his shorts.

“Respecting my wishes, huh?” you teased, your voice dripping with a playful challenge.

“That’s cute, Terry. That's really sweet of you. I'm sorry…that's on me, but I am in the mood now, fuck me, please, I need you, Daddy” Your fingers dipped lower, brushing against the bulge in his shorts, and you felt him twitch beneath your touch.

“You have been holding back on me, and it’s been driving’ me crazy. I like it when you’re all over me, even if I say I’m not in the mood.”

Terry’s breath hitched, his hands moving to your hips, gripping you with a possessiveness that made your knees weak.

“Fuck” he growled, his voice low, and his eyes were dark, intense, and filled with a hunger that made your heart race.

“Let’s fix it,” he said, his voice firm. “Right now.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, claiming you with a desperation that took your breath away. It wasn’t soft or gentle; it was raw and consuming like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d been distant.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

“I miss your touch, Daddy,” You moaned, taking his tank off, went to caress his erection through his shorts, and got on your knees while looking up at him.

Terry’s breath hitched as your fingers traced his outline through the fabric, his hands instinctively finding their way to your shoulders.

“Baby…” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His fingers tightened slightly, grounding himself as you looked up at him with those big doe eyes that always seemed to see straight through him.

You didn’t waste any time, tugging at the waistband of his shorts until they slid down his hips, freeing him. The sight of him—hard and ready for you—sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before letting your tongue trace a slow, deliberate path along his length. His hips jerked involuntarily, and you could feel the tension in his body as he fought to keep himself still.

“Damn, girl,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained. His hands moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your braids as you took him deeper into your mouth.

Your rhythm was slow and deliberate, each movement designed to drive him wild. He let out a low growl, his grip tightening just enough to let you know he was barely holding it together.

But you weren’t done yet.

You pulled back slightly, teasing him with the tip of your tongue before taking him in again, this time deeper, your lips wrapping around him with practiced ease.

Terry’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to maintain control. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he muttered, his voice shaking with need.

Your hands moved to his hips, anchoring him as you continued to work him with your mouth, each stroke drawing out more of those delicious sounds from him.

You could feel the tension coiling in his body, the way his muscles tightened beneath your touch. Knowing you had this kind of power over him was intoxicating, knowing you could bring him to the edge so effortlessly.

But you wanted more than just his pleasure. You wanted to see him unravel completely, to hear every filthy word spill from those lips as he lost himself in you.

Pulling back with a slow, deliberate drag of your tongue, you looked up at him, your lips glistening, your eyes heavy with desire. “You wanna feel how much I’ve been missing you, Daddy?” you purred, your voice dripping with honeyed temptation.

Your hands slid up his thighs, nails digging lightly into his skin as you teased him with your words. “You wanna know how much I’ve been dreaming about this? ‘Bout you?”

Terry’s jaw clenched, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his eyes burning with a fire that made your entire body ache. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“You been dreaming ‘bout me, baby? ‘Bout what I’d do to you?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Dreaming ‘bout how you’d stretch me out, fill me up, make me scream your name ‘til the neighbors call the cops.”

You licked your lips, your eyes locking with his, unflinching. “Dreaming’ ‘bout how you’d hold me down, make me take every inch of you ‘til I’m begging for mercy. Dreaming ‘bout how you’d make me yours—all over again.”

Terry let out a guttural groan, his free hand gripping your hair tighter as he pulled you closer to him. “Mmm...let me make that dream come true, would you like that?” he growled, his voice dark and dangerous.

“Yes, let me finish,” you said, your voice sultry and defiant. You leaned in again, taking him into your mouth once more, this time with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

Your tongue swirled around him, your lips working him with a rhythm that had his legs trembling beneath him. You could feel the way his body tensed, the way he fought to keep himself from thrusting too hard.

“Shit,” he hissed, his head falling back as he let out a string of curses that only spurred you on. “You gon’ make me lose it, girl. Fuck, you got me ready to bust, and you ain’t even let me touch you yet.”

His voice was raw and ragged like it was being ripped from his chest. “You think you can handle all this pent-up tension? You think you can take what I got for you?”

You pulled back just enough to let him see the wicked grin on your lips, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Daddy, yes, give me all that you got,” you purred, your voice smoky and full of promise.

“I have been waiting for this, waiting for you.”

Terry’s laugh was low and throaty, but it didn’t mask the hunger in his eyes. He reached down, gripped your braids, and guided you back to him.

“You talkin’ like that you didn't have me waiting for it first,” he murmured, his voice dripping with menace. “But Imma give you exactly what you've been asking’ for.”

His grip tightened as he pressed himself more profoundly into your mouth, a groan rumbling in his chest.

“Shit, baby! You're so good at this—like you were born just to suck me off,” Terry growled, his voice thick with lust. He pulled you up suddenly, his hands rough and possessive as they roamed your body.

“But I’mma need more than that pretty pussy right now. I miss it.” Terry said, dragging you across the room, his movements urgent and commanding.

Your heart raced as he tossed you onto a thick, plush mat on the floor, the friction of the fabric against your skin sending shivers down your spine.

Terry loomed over you, his eyes blazing with hunger, and you knew there was no escaping what was coming next. “On all fours,” he ordered, his voice low and gravelly, leaving no room for argument.

You obeyed instantly, your body trembling with anticipation as you positioned yourself on your hands and knees. Terry knelt behind you, his hands gripping your hips with a dominance that made your breath hitch.

Terry ripped a hole in your leggings, the sound of fabric tearing echoing through the room. "Oh baby," he muttered, his voice dripping with approval as he exposed your ass.

He smacked it hard, the sharp sting making you gasp and arch your back. "You been walking’ around like this, all this ass out here tempting me? You knew what you were doing!"

Terry growled, his voice thick with desire. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, sending shivers through your body as he leaned down, his breath hot against your skin.

“You have done it now. You got me all worked up, and I ain’t letting you off easy.”

His tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive skin at the small of your back before trailing lower, leaving a wet, hot path that made you shudder.

“Fuck, Terry,” you moaned, your voice trembling as his hands spread you open wider. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin as his tongue dipped lower, brushing against the folds of your pussy with a teasing flick.

“Damn, baby,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he pressed his face deeper between your ass cheeks.

“You taste so fuckin’ good. Like sweet candy—I could eat this pussy all day.” His tongue swirled around your clit, slow and deliberate, drawing a whimper from your lips.

“You like that? You like how Daddy’s taking care of you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your hands clawing at the mat beneath you as his tongue worked you like a damn masterpiece. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered, your voice shaking with need.

“Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He growled against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. “You beggin’ already?” he teased, pulling back just enough to make you ache.

“Nah, baby.....” His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he leaned back, his dick hard and heavy against your ass.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he traced a finger down the curve of your spine. “All this ass up in the air, just begging for me to ruin you.”

He smacked your ass again, harder this time, the sting making you cry out and push back against him instinctively. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said, his voice dripping with approval.

“Show me how bad you want it.”

“Please, Terry,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation as you rocked back against him. “I need it—I need you inside me. Fuck me, please, big daddy.”

Terry chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his dick teasing your slick folds.

"You sure, baby?" Terry murmured his voice a low growl that made your stomach tighten.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you pushed back against him, trying to take him in. "Please, Daddy—I need it. I need you so bad."

"Alright," Terry said, his voice thick with approval as he gripped your hips and slammed into you in one smooth, brutal stroke. The air left your lungs in a rush, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as he filled you, stretching you most deliciously.

"Fuck," Terry groaned, his voice strained as he paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the feel of him. "Pussy always gotta gripping’ me like it ain’t never letting go."

"Don’t stop," you begged, your voice shaking as you clenched around him, your body already craving more. "Please—fuck me."

"Shit," Terry muttered, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled out almost entirely before slamming back in, the force of it making your breath hitch.

"You feel that, baby? That’s all me, stretching’ you out, makin’ this pussy mine." His thrusts were relentless, each one deeper and harder than the last, and you could feel the heat building in your core with every movement.

"Damn, you take it so well," Terry growled, his voice rough and raw with need. "This pussy was made for me and only me—you hear me? Made. For. Me."

"Y-yes, Terry," you stammered, your voice breaking as he hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

"All yours—only yours." Your hands clawed at the mat beneath you, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucked you senseless, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

"That’s right," Terry said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he leaned over you, one hand sliding up to grip your throat just enough to make your pulse race.

"You’re the best wife, Y/N the best thing that's ever happened to me. I’m so grateful to call you mine,” he added.

“Oh, Terry, yes,” you moaned, feeling grabbed your breasts through your sports bra.

“Fuck…always takin’ this dick like a champ—like you were born for it. Turn around for me, and let me see your face and those tits."

You whimpered at his command, your body trembling as you turned to lay on your back as he slides his dick deep inside you. The movement made you gasp, the fullness of him sending a jolt of pleasure through your core.

Terry’s dark eyes locked onto yours, his gaze hungry and predatory as he hovered over you, his hands moving to tear off your sports bra swiftly.

Your breasts spilled free, and he groaned low in his throat, his eyes taking over your exposed skin like he was devouring you whole. Terry growled, his voice thick with lust as he palmed your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples.

“Look at you—fuckin’ perfect. These tits? Mine. This pussy? Mine. All of you—mine.” Terry leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he rolled the other between his fingers.

The dual sensation made you arch into him, a desperate moan escaping your lips as he teased and tormented you.

“Terry, please,” you begged, your hands tangling in his hair as he continued to feast on you. “I need you to keep going…fuck me more, please.”

Terry pulled back with a wet pop, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he looked down at you. "No need to beg, baby," he said, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine.

"You already know I’m gon’ give you what you need." His hands slid down your body, rough and wild, gripping your hips as he pulled out slowly, teasing you with the drag of his dick before slamming back in with a force that made you cry out.

"Fuck, Terry!" you screamed, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set a brutal pace, each thrust driving more profound, more challenging, until you felt like he was everywhere—filling you, owning you, consuming you.

"Y-you feel so good—so damn good!" you moaned. "Yes, do you feel that? Feel how deep I’m in you? Huh?" Terry asked.

"Yes, I feel it!" you cried out, your back arching off the mat as he pounded into you with a ferocity that left you breathless.

"You’re so deep—oh, you’re everywhere! Terry, please—I need more! Fuck another baby in me, please!"

"Are you sure?" Terry growled, his eyes dark with hunger as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same intensity as his dick was ravaging your core.

"Because I’ll give you what you want. You want me to put another baby in you? Huh? Are you ready for that?"

"Yes, please, yes!" you moaned into his mouth, your hands moving to grip his ass, pulling him deeper still.

"Fuck, you beg so pretty," Terry snarled, his voice dripping with raw desire as he slammed into you again, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room.

"You hear that? That sound your pussy makin’ when I hit it? That’s what I wanna hear every damn night. You gon’ give me that, huh? Gon’ let me wreck this pussy whenever I want?"

"Yes, Terry—oh fuck, yes!" you cried out, your body trembling as he drove into you with relentless force. His words were filthy, dripping with a hunger that matched his movements, and they only made you want him more.

"Wreck me—fuck me however you want! I’m yours—all yours, fuck another baby into me please!"

Terry’s hands tightened around your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he leaned back slightly, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You want another baby? Huh? You want me to fill you up, plant my seed deep in you, and watch you grow with another child inside you?”

“Yes!” you screamed, your voice hoarse from the relentless pleasure as you clawed at his chest, your nails raking down his skin. “I want it—I want you to fill me! I need it, Terry—please!”

Terry growled low, the sound primal, as he thrust into you harder, faster, each stroke more punishing than the last.

The garage was filled with the raw, wet sounds of your bodies colliding, the slapping of skin against skin, and the desperate, breathless moans spilling from your lips.

“Say it again,” Terry demanded, his voice rough and guttural, his grip on your hips bordering on painful as he pulled you into him with every brutal stroke.

“Say you want me to come inside you, to make another baby. Say it.”

“I want it! I want you to come inside me—oh, Terry, please! I need it—I need you to fill me up!”

“Fuck,” Terry cursed, his face twisted in a mixture of pleasure and raw, animalistic need. “You’re such a good girl, takin’ this dick like you were made for it. My girl, my wife, my everything.”

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you slightly as he pounded into you, each thrust lifting you off the mat.

The world around you blurred, the only focus the relentless drive of his hips, the heat building in your core, and the raw, unfiltered pleasure coursing through every nerve in your body.

“Come on, baby,” Terry growled, his voice strained as he leaned over you again, his mouth brushing against your ear.

“I feel you squeezing me, but don’t you dare come yet. You hear me? You wait for me. We come together.”

“T-Terry, please—I—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, your breath catching as he hit that perfect spot again, your body trembling on the edge of release.

“Not yet,” Terry snapped, his thrusts becoming erratic, wild, as he chased his own climax. “Hold on, baby—hold on for me!”

Your hands clawed at his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him deeper, your body desperate for more. The heat inside you was building, coiling tighter and tighter until it became almost unbearable.

“Let me see your face,” Terry growled, lifting his head to lock his eyes with yours. “I want to see you when you cum. I want to see my baby full of my dick, takin’ every inch like the good girl you are.”

The words sent a shiver through you, and you could feel the dam breaking. “Terry—I can’t—oh fuck—”

“Now,” he barked, his voice harsh as he slammed into you one final, brutal time. “Cum now, sweetheart”

Your body obeyed, the release tearing through you like a freight train as you screamed, the sound raw and guttural. Terry wasn’t far behind, his growl deep and primal as he buried himself inside you, his hips jerking as he emptied himself into you, hot and thick.

For a moment, time stood still as the two of you rode the wave of your climaxes; the only sound was your ragged breathing and the pounding of your heart.

Then, slowly, Terry collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mat as he buried his face in your neck, his chest heaving with exertion.

Terry flips off of you and lies there; his breath slowly steadies, and he turns his head to gaze into your eyes, the intensity still burning within them.

Terry brushed a braid from your face, his touch tender yet charged with the remnants of their passion. "Fuck...I love you," he whispered, his voice still husky.

"I love you too, Terry." You smiled weakly, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of their climax. Terry shifted slightly, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you like a shield.

The garage was quiet now, the only sound the soft hum of the world outside, a stark contrast to the raw energy that had filled the space just moments before.

As you lay there, the weight of Terry's words settled over you. The want for another child, for the expansion of your family, lingered in the air.

You thought about the future, about the possibilities, and how this moment might be the beginning of something new. Terry's hand drifted to your belly, his fingers tracing gentle circles as if envisioning the life that might soon grow there.

"We'll see," he murmured, a soft smile on his lips. "We'll see."

-

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks slipped into a month, then more. Life fell into its familiar rhythm, but something felt different.

At first, it was just a faint morning nausea, a queasiness that lingered long after breakfast. You brushed it off as a stomach bug, something that would pass.

But as the days went on, the sickness persisted, and with it came a weariness that clung to you like a second skin. You were always tired, no matter how much you slept, and the smell of the simplest meals could send you running for the bathroom.

Terry noticed first, of course. He always did. He’d watch you with that sharp, observant gaze, his brow furrowing when you pushed food around your plate or excused yourself again to be sick.

“You should go to the doctor,” Terry said one morning as you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.

“You’ve been feeling like shit for weeks. It’s probably just a bug, but you must ensure it’s not something more serious. You might be pregnant; we've been trying.”

But you were stubborn, not thinking you were pregnant just yet, even if you two were trying. You shook your head, insisting you were okay, that it was just stress or something you’d eaten.

Terry sighed and dropped it, but he wasn’t convinced. Then came the day at the zoo. Elijah was bouncing with excitement, his tiny hands clutching the map as he dragged Terry toward the lion enclosure.

You trailed behind, the sun beating down on you, making your head swim. The air was thick with the smells of popcorn and sweat, and your stomach churned in protest.

You paused and took a breath while leaning against a railing as the world spun around you. “Mama! Mama, look! The lions are eating!” Elijah’s voice carried back to you, distant but clear.

You tried to smile, to wave, but your vision blurred at the edges. Terry turned, his expression shifting from amusement to concern in an instant.

“Hey,” Terry said, stepping closer. “You good you look-.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, but your voice wavered.

"Sweetheart, you know it's me you're talking...I know when something is wrong," Terry said, but the ground tipped beneath your feet, and everything went black before you could stop it.

-

"Daddy, I think she's waking up," you heard a familiar voice as you opened your eyes and lay in a clinic bed.

Terry’s face was etched with worry, and Elijah sat in a chair beside him, his small face drawn.

“Thank God,” Terry whispered, his voice cracking as he took your hand.

"What happened?" You whispered.

“You fainted, scared the hell out of us, baby.”

You tried to speak again, but your throat was dry. A nurse bustled in, smiling warmly, and handed you a cup of water.

“Take small sips,” she said. “You’ve been out for 20 mintues.”

As you drank, the doctor came in, clipboard in hand. “Good to see you’re awake, Mrs. Richmond,” he said.

“You fainted at the zoo; your husband brought you in. We ran some tests." The doctor’s voice was calm and reassuring, but you could sense a hint of excitement beneath his professional demeanor.

“You fainted due to a combination of dehydration and low blood sugar, but…” The doctor paused, glancing at Terry and Elijah before returning to you.

“We also found something else during the tests.”

Terry’s hand tightened around yours, his eyes narrowing slightly as if bracing for news. Elijah, oblivious to the tension, leaned forward, his curiosity piqued.

“What is it?” Elijah asked, his tiny voice breaking the silence. The doctor smiled a small smile that put you at ease. “It seems you’re going to be a family of four soon. You’re pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like a whispered secret, their weight settling over you like a soft blanket. You blinked, your mind racing. Pregnant?

Terry gave you a *I told ya so* look and you should've known, and the nausea, the fatigue, it all made sense. A small, incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat, but it caught there, leaving you breathless.

Terry’s face transformed in an instant. His initial shock melted into a vast, radiant smile, and he squeezed your hand so hard it almost hurt.

“Really?” Terry asked, his voice trembling with hope. “Are you sure?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, very sure. She's about eight weeks along. Everything looks healthy. You just need to stay hydrated, Mrs. Richmond, take it easy for a while, and come in for regular check-ups.”

Elijah, who had been quietly processing this information, suddenly jumped.

“We’re gonna have a baby!” Elijah exclaimed, his voice ringing. He jumped on the bed and threw his arms around your neck, almost knocking over the water cup on the bedside table.

“I’m gonna be a big brother! I’m gonna teach them everything!”

You laughed then, the sound breaking free from your chest. It was a shaky, half-tearful laugh, but it felt good. Terry leaned over, kissing your forehead, his eyes shining with unspoken promises.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Terry whispered. “We’re gonna be great.”

The doctor smiled again, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” he said, stepping out of the room.

“We’ll set you up with an appointment with your preferred OBGYN for a follow-up, and I’ll send in a nurse with more information.”

As the door closed behind him, you looked at Terry and Elijah, your heart swelling with love and gratitude.

“I’m gonna be a big brother,” Elijah repeated with a giggle. He pressed a small, earnest kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll take care of the baby, Mama. I promise.”

Terry chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “I think we’re all going to take care of the baby,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“Together.”

You leaned into him, feeling his warmth, his strength, and let the happiness wash over you.

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[fratttymatty]

The Prank

(All characters are 18+)

Once upon a time in a quiet town, there lived an 18-year-old high school boy named Oliver Miller. Oliver was the type of person who spent most of his free time reading up on current events, science fiction novels, and philosophical articles. His friends often referred to him as a "nerd" in the kindest way possible, and he wore the label with pride. He had big glasses, messy brown hair, and a wardrobe that consisted mostly of graphic tees and flannel shirts. Oliver was liberal-minded, with a passion for environmental issues and social justice causes, and he often spent his weekends volunteering for local initiatives. He was a kind-hearted, introspective soul, and despite his awkwardness, he knew what he wanted from life.

Then there was Lily Harris, a girl he had met online just a few months ago. She was smart, funny, and just as passionate about politics as Oliver was. They bonded over late-night conversations about the issues that mattered to them — climate change, social inequality, and the importance of standing up for what's right. Lily, like Oliver, was a nerd through and through. She loved indie films, debated comic book lore, and was just as comfortable discussing quantum physics as she was talking about her favourite dystopian novels. She was liberal, she was strong-minded, and she was everything Oliver admired.

One Tuesday evening, after hours of exchanging memes and debating the latest political scandals, Oliver and Lily decided it was finally time to meet in person. They had spent weeks talking about how much they clicked, how their shared values and interests made them feel like kindred spirits. So, on that Tuesday, they agreed that Friday would be the day. They would meet at the local park, where they’d talked about all the things they wanted to do in the future — from travelling together to marching for causes they cared about. It would be the start of something beautiful, or so they thought.

Little did Oliver know, everything was about to change in ways he could never have imagined.

The very next day, Wednesday, Lily’s life took an unexpected turn. Her brother, Kyle, had always been a prankster, but this time, he was up to something more sinister than just stealing her favourite hoodie. Kyle had recently stumbled upon an ancient, arcane spellbook he'd found in the attic. He had no idea how it worked, but curiosity got the best of him.

Sitting in his room, Kyle began reading the incantations out loud, unaware of their potency. As the words left his lips, Lily, who had been browsing through her phone on the couch, suddenly felt a strange sensation washing over her. She looked down at her hands, watching them shrink and soften. Her body seemed to change in real-time, becoming more... feminine... and less of the confident, intellectual woman she had once been. Her long, curly brown hair turned platinum blonde, and her once thoughtful eyes now sparkled with a shallow, distracted energy.

In a matter of moments, Lily stood up, feeling like an entirely different person. Gone were her thoughtful expressions, her sharp intellect, and her love for deep conversations. In their place, she felt an overpowering urge to talk in valley girl slang. “Like, oh my God!” she said, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. Her voice was higher pitched, and she felt a strange, dizzying sense of joy, as though she'd suddenly adopted a new identity. Her glasses were gone, replaced by oversized, trendy sunglasses, and she had to admit, she kind of liked how she looked now. She was, after all, totally hot.

“Ugh, Kyle, like, what did you do to me?” she asked, but it didn’t sound like her at all. Her voice was laced with a giggly, ditzy tone she never thought she could produce. Kyle, smirking, leaned against the doorframe. “You’ll thank me later, Lil. Trust me.”

Later that night, Lily couldn’t stop texting Oliver, trying to keep up the appearance of the thoughtful, political girl he had fallen for. But every text she sent felt more and more difficult to write. By the end of the evening, she simply couldn’t resist the urge to call him, feeling an odd excitement to speak to him as the new version of herself.

Thursday came, and the transformation continued. At dawn, something strange happened. Lily, in her new bubbly, cheerleader-like state, felt a sudden compulsion to call Oliver. She wasn’t sure why, but the impulse was too strong to ignore.

On the other end of the phone, Oliver picked up the call, his voice soft and curious. “Hey, Lily, what’s up?”

“Like, heyyy, Oliver!” Lily cooed, the valley girl persona pouring out. “I, like, totes can’t wait for us to, like, meet tomorrow. It’s gonna be soooo fun, you know?”

Oliver blinked in confusion. “Wait… what happened to you, Lily? You sound... different.”

“Oh my God, babe, like, nothing happened,” Lily replied, tossing her hair back and giggling. “I’m just super excited, that’s all.”

Then, with a sudden flash, a strange energy washed over Oliver. He felt his body tense up, as if he was being pulled from within. His nerdy, liberal self was slowly slipping away. His posture straightened, his muscles began to grow, and before he could even process what was happening, he felt like a completely different person. His hair shortened into a messy, yet perfectly styled bro cut, and his glasses vanished. His clothes magically changed into a fitted, athletic tee, and his once soft, geeky demeanour now turned into a dominating, cocky confidence. He felt like he could rule the world.

“Bro,” Oliver muttered to himself in awe, looking at his reflection. His voice was deeper, more assertive. “What the hell just happened?”

Across the phone, Lily’s new voice came through again, teasing. “Babe, like, you’re gonna love the new you, trust me. You’re totes hot now. Like, you’re an alpha, and it’s gonna be, like, amazing when we meet.”

By Friday, both Oliver and Lily were standing at the local park, not as the people they once were, but as someone completely different. Oliver, now a jock with a cocky grin, and Lily, a cheerleader who looked like she had stepped out of a reality TV show, locked eyes and felt a magnetic pull.

“Hey, like, Eric,” Lily said with a laugh, addressing him with his new name. The transformation had been so complete that the name “Oliver” felt foreign now.

Eric—he didn’t even remember the person he had been—looked at her with a grin that could melt hearts. “Cassie, babe, you look amazing,” he said, his deep voice dripping with confidence. He was tall, athletic, and ridiculously good-looking now.

Cassie flipped her new blonde hair and giggled. “Totes. You look, like, way hotter than I imagined. I, like, can’t wait to see what happens between us.”

Eric smirked. “Just so you know, I’m gonna be, like, a really bad boyfriend. I mean, I’m toxic, and I’m all about the bro life. I’m not gonna be super caring and stuff.”

Cassie’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and she didn’t hesitate for a second. “Like, that’s totally fine. I’m, like, soooo down with it. You’re, like, hot, and that’s all that matters, babe.”

Eric, feeling a little bewildered by her nonchalant attitude, leaned in closer, his arms circling her waist. “You sure?”

Cassie giggled, pulling him in closer. “Like, for sure. Let’s just have fun, Eric. I’m, like, totes happy with who we are now.”

And just like that, their personalities had merged in a way neither of them could have predicted. They were no longer the nerdy, liberal-minded teenagers who had spent hours debating the world’s problems. Now, they were Cassie and Eric, a power couple made for the jock-queen lifestyle, and neither of them cared about going back.

They kissed, their new identities solidifying as they embraced who they were now, not caring about the people they had been before. For the first time, they were truly happy — they were confident, carefree, and together. The world felt like their playground, and they didn’t need to look back.

As they walked off into the sunset, hand in hand, they knew there was no going back. And, honestly, they didn’t want to.

And so, Cassie and Eric’s new lives began — full of confidence, laughter, and a whole lot of valley girl slang. They were the perfect couple, living for the moment, and completely happy in their new skin.

[paci-papa]

This was your chance. After weeks spent trapped in Papa's basement nursery, spent being slowly conditioned to become his perfect baby doll, he was finally taking you out of the house.

Strapped in a stroller in a distressingly wet and messy diaper, Papa had decided it was finally time for a walk to 'show you off to the neighbors.'

It didn't take long before you came across your first potential saviors, a pair of old women on their morning walk. You waived at them desperately from where you sat restrained, trying futily to cry for help behind your paci-gag.

"Oh, you're excited to see me, cutie? Yes you are!" One of the old women moaned as she bent down and pinched your cheek, "You caught a real talker here!"

Papa just smiled and talked to his neighbors about you as if you weren't there. The whole time, you struggled to try and get out words.

Unfortunately, as you attempted to get your plight recognized by the seemingly kind old ladies, the worst case scenario occurred.

Your nerves and Papa's conditioning, plus the large bowl of oatmeal he fed you this morning, conspired against you. You pushed a monster load of mush into the back of your diaper, causing a horrid smell.

Not one to be easily deterred, you continued your attempt to be recognized by the old women until, finally, one of them bends down and unties your gag.

"You gotsa helps me. I notta baby!" You lisp out frantically, your tongue atrophied after says spent compressed by the rubber nipple of your paci.

The woman leans in close, presses her palm to the front of your diaper, and speaks to you condescendingly.

"Sweetie, this icky diaper says something very different. Now, stop complaining. You've got a very nice Papa, but when I babysit you next week, we'll have to have a discussion about what happens to naughty babies who think they are bigger than they actually are."

Your face flushes and you involuntarily release a hot stream of urine into your diaper as the truth hits you. There is no escape. You're fated to forever be nothing more than Papa's pathetic little baby.