#reminder to take off your binder!

[dcxdpdabbles]

I really want to see what happens next in cave boy. How fast do they build a ship to take Danny home, and how embarrassed is Connie about his mistake

"Take care of yourself," Bruce says, smiling down at him. Danny offers back a grin, making sure to include all of the other Waynes. They surround the ship that has pre-program coordination to his home dimension.

All he would need to do was turn it on and fly it through the portal the Justice League had brought to the Batcave for him. Apparently, it was built a few missions ago for other dimension traveling allies.

The magic users have formed some kind of cult in Bruce's front yard but that wasn't Danny's problem. He got tired to explaining that he was plain old Danny Fenton, a halfa that got lost.

Apparently, a few demi-gods, Wonder Something and Captain Something (Danny stayed true to what he told the Bats. He doesn't want to be involved in their heroes' business. He wasn't paying attention when they introduced themselves) had gone around telling people that he was a god and to show him proper resepct. That just drove even more colorful charaters to camp out in Bruce's yard.

It looked like a music festival out there—the ones his parents claim they couldn't remember despite spending an entire weekend at. Sometimes, Danny is violently reminded that his parents were a lot more party animals than Dan, Jazz, Dani, or he turned out to be.

Thankfully, not everyone was acting weird around him; many heroes coming and going to help set up the final steps. Tim spearheaded the effort, and after building the ship for him, everything was finally ready.

Danny was finally going home.

All his things were packed and on board, waiting for Danny to take off. He was surprised the Waynes were willing to let him take everything they had bought or sent to him by fans. It wasn't worth millions, but it was a generous amount.

He will miss them after all the lies and theft that he done, Danny had spent a long time with the Waynes. He still wasn't entirely sure he and Bruce were the same person just a counter part of one another but they were so sure he was willing to let them think that.

"Thank you for everything," Danny tells the group, allowing Dick and Steph to step in for a hug.

"Thank you for allowing us to see Bruce as a child," Cass counters patting Danny's head around Dick's body. "You were entertaining."

Tim clears his throat, stepping forward with a binder. Dick and Steph detach themselves from Danny but not before giving him michvious smiles that make him slightly worried. If they were ghosts, Danny would think that they were planning on attacking him in the middle of class on purpose.

"I'm sorry about the way I treated you, Brucie." Tim starts twisting the binder a little before holding it out. "I figured you should have this."

"What is it?"

"The contingency plans I wrote about you. In case I had to neutralize you. All ninety-seven of them," Tim says, if that's even remotely normal. Danny is even more unsettled at Jason's smile of approval or Babarba's little coo as if she were watching toddlers play make-believe.

Is showing each other contingency plans a form of love for these people? Ancients Danny enjoyed his time with them but can't wait to get home.

"Eh, thank you." Danny manages to say, curling the binder to his chest. Tim's face explodes into a beam of pure unadulterated joy.

"You're welcome! If you ever come back, we can compare notes. I honestly think plan number fifty-two will give you a run for your money."

".....I'm a civilian, remember? Punching me would be enough to beat me."

Tim waves his hand in dismisal, before leaning in for own farewell hug as Damian scoffs. "We both know that's a lie, even without your god-hood."

"Father, did he fight off suitors since he was a child," Damian raises his chin, standing up straighter in pride. He's not quite puffing out his chest, but it's a darn close thing. He doesn't seem to mind when Danny wraps one arm aorund his shoulder is a makeshift hug. "You like will have the same suitors."

"Okay."

"Goodbye, Young Master Danny," Alfred says next, straightening his hair and shirt with a bittersweet gleam in his eye. "I will forever cherish your time spent with us."

"Bye Alfred."

Jason clapped a hand on Danny's shoulder, giving it a rough push. "Don't forget about us brat. We may not be able to follow you to your dimension, but once our worlds' divide stabilizes, you better come over for dinner."

The halfa shurgs not committing to anything. The way the Flash explained their worlds was that due to how similar their two dimesions were, having someone from either place visting for two long was cutting away at the diviation that seperated them.

If that fell, the two worlds would collide and rip each other's realities apart.

They would need to allow it to heal before any visitation could be done. Sadly, the divide would have to be healed naturally. It could be days, or it could be decades.

This may be the last time Danny would see them for a long time. Stupidly, tears start to well up in his eyes, at the thought. Duke punches his shoulder gentely, not calling him out on them when the other also has some tears.

In fact, the only dry eye in the cave right now belongs to Alfred, Bruce, and Cass. What a strange little family this was.

Danny bites his lip while gesturing to the ship that hums with power. "I better get going."

"Yes," Bruce says. "You have family waiting for you. Remember to cherish them"

Danny freezes from where he climbs into the ship hatchet door. He looks over his shoulder at the gathered group and suddenly realizes something. He can see the similarities between Bruce and Dan even if he has doubts. "I will. And maybe in a few years, I'll met the versions of you and have a even bigger family. Cherish your children Bruce."

The man offers him the softest smile he has seen grace Bruce's face. "I already do."

His children swing wild, crazed eyes at him. Danny can practically see the fines in the white of their eyes, and Dick climbs over a table so he can lean into Bruce's personal space. Batman leans away from his eldest son, looking honestly stricken.

Danny laughs, closing the door. He quickly settles into the lush seats, feeling the material of the cushion creak under his weight. The familiar hum of advance technology welcomes him with open arms as he wraps his hands on the steering wheel.

For a still moment, Danny wonders what he will do if this false, and he stuck here forever. A familair ache grows in the center of his chest at the thought of never seeing his family- his real one- again but with one deep breath he forces himself to press the on switch.

The portal blares to life in front of him- white and bright, unlike the Fenton Portal- and with a loud woosh, it rips open. He can see the front of his house, and it's like a physcial blow of happniess.

He slams his foot on the gas, flying out of the cave with a wave of laughter, feeling light for the first time in over a year. The bight clear sky of Amity Park, rains sunshine down on him as he crashes against a few parked cars.

The Wayne Tech holds true not allowing him to get any damage as it stumbles to a stop in a ironic perfect parallel parking spot right in front of his house. Danny is laughing so hard, so utterly free, that he feels mad with it, as stares out the window of his home.

He is home.

The last thing he hears of the Waynes is Alfred's calm voice in the communicator as it loses connection. The portal seals shut, self-mending the air as if though it was never there.

"Thank you, Master Danny, for allowing this old man to relive a memory."

The front door of Fenton Works is thrown open, a teenager with long red hair stumbles out of it, staring at the ship. She makes eye contact with the driver and then a scream of glee fills the air.

"Danny!" She runs as fast as her legs can carry her down the driveway, and Danny quickly fumbles out of his seat, desperate to get outside. They met halfway, arms encasing each other in desperate hugs as the to sob.

"Danny! Danny! You're back" Jazz babbles through her tears. Behind her Jack and Maddie are running toward them yelling and crying, and so utterly despreate to hold their boy.

The teenagers fall to their knees from the impact of their parents, and first the frist time in over a year, Danny can fianlly breath easily.

"I'm home," He whispers, pressing himself against his family.

[honeytonedhottie]

how to keep going⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀

just. keep. showing. up. even if u don’t look the way that you wanna look, or u don’t have the aesthetic that u wanna have, doesn’t mean that u won’t get there. 

it’s normal to get discouraged sometimes but don’t let that discouragement take u off track for your goals. you will get to where u wanna get, you will excel but in order to get to that place you MUST keep going. 

track your progress ; when you feel like you discouraged it’s easy to forget what you’ve done to get to the spot that ur at today. 

track your progress in your journal or on your notion or in a binder, that way when u have days when it feels hard to keep going, you have a resource that can prove to you that you ARE competent and you CAN do it. 

take a break and reflect ; this is when it’s time to whip out the progress binder and remind yourself of how good that ur doing. 

reflect on if ur harboring something that is serving or hurting you and if it’s the latter how will you go about it. remember to let yourself take a breather. but whats important to note is that dont let this "breather" be something that moves u backwards. a breather should move you forward a little bit, and if it can't, then at least stay where u are for a little, but never go backwards.

you are doing GREAT and ur doing so well, just keep showing up even tho it feels like u don’t see movement, or you feel as though ur not moving forward. YOU ARE MOVING FORWARD. u just need to keep going 

[archangeldyke-all]

little fucker being like elementary school age and asking sevika to take her to the daddy daughter dance at school? 🥺

ooooh my god 🥹 (inspo pics for little fucker's dress and sevika's suit)

men and minors dni

your daughter's been quiet all evening.

when she got home from school, instead of rushing to the couch to watch tv or outside to play in the yard, she just sat down and got to work on her homework. usually, you have to remind her to do her work a million times.

when sevika got home from work, instead running and jumping in her mom's arms as a welcome home greeting, giggling as sevika pretends to throw her back out; little fucker just waved from her spot working at the table.

when you made your baby's favorite meal for dinner and she didn't even smile; you knew something was off.

little fucker's eight now, one of the smartest third graders in her class. you've noticed the very beginning signs of a pre-teen's attitude growing in your daughter: a little more sassy back talk that usual, more frequent mood swings; but this seems different than all of that.

still. your girl takes after sevika, and as much as you want to pry and ask her what's wrong: you know she'll come to you when she finds her words and is ready to talk.

she's quiet when you tuck her into bed.

when you and sevika finally settle in to sleep, she turns on her side with a worried expression.

"she say anything to you?" your wife asks. you shake your head no, pouting.

"poor baby."

sevika sighs, and pulls you into her chest.

an hour later, you're woken up by your daughter crawling into bed between the two of you.

"baby?" you mumble, shifting to make room for your girl. little fucker sighs as she crawls under the blankets. on her other side, sevika grunts in her sleep, subconsciously reaching out to pull her baby to her chest.

"hi ma..." little fucker mumbles. you reach out in the darkness, finding your daughters head and starting to scratch her scalp.

"what's goin' on, kiddo?" you whisper.

she sighs. "there's a daddy-daughter dance happening at school next week."

"oh." you whisper.

you've always known that having two moms makes your daughter a bit different from most of the kids she knows. since she was a baby, you and sevika have done your best to explain things to her in a way she can understand: that your family looks a bit different than others, that there are people out there who won't understand that, and that those facts don't make the love in your family any different or less than the love in every other family in the world.

still. your heart breaks a bit in moments like these, when your baby so clearly feels excluded.

you reach forward and kiss your girl's head, trying to find words to comfort her.

you don't have to-- little fucker speaks again before you can start fussing.

"ma, do you think..." she trails off. you kiss her head again to let her know you're listening. "do you think mommy would take me?" she whispers.

your heart swells with pride and you nearly burst into tears. "oh, my sweet, smart, beautiful girl." little fucker giggles as you pepper her head with kisses. "of course she would."

you actually do cry the next morning watching your daughter ask your wife to the daddy-daughter dance over breakfast; shyly handing her mom the flier she'd put in her school binder, asking if sevika'd go with her.

sevika holds it together enough to say yes, hug your baby, and send her off to catch her school bus. when the front door slams, sevika turns around with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"oh, baby." you coo, wrapping your wife up in a hug. sevika sobs in your shoulder and you laugh-- your wife's only ever this weepy about her girl.

"she's so fucking sweet." sevika cries. "where the fuck did she get that from?" she asks.

you pinch her ass and tsk. "uh, she got it from me, you ass."

sevika chuckles a snotty laugh against your shoulder, and you kiss her head.

you take your girls outfit shopping that weekend. little fucker's giddy the entire time, trying on dresses and modeling each one for you and sev: her catwalks down the dressing-room hall getting increasingly ridiculous as she tries to make you guys laugh.

she falls in love with a beautiful light blue dress, a ribbon around the waist separating the simple tank-like top from the flouncy, fluffy skirt of tulle.

"you look like cinderella!" you gasp. your daughter grins, twirling around and giggling as the skirts spin with her.

"i'm a princess!"

sevika's a much less enthusiastic shopper, but with her daughter there to encourage her, and a soft cinnamon pretzel shoved in her hands, she manages to find a suit that matches her baby's dress.

the night before the dance, you catch little fucker in her dress in her room, practicing her dancing with her big teddy bear.

that night when you and sevika are tucking her in, she asks for you to stay behind for a while. sevika shoots you a look and you shrug, just as confused by your daughter's request.

when the door clicks shut behind her mom, little fucker reaches out and holds your hand. "what happens if they don't let mommy in?" she asks. you should be saddened by the fact that your daughter has to worry about bullshit like this so young. but you can't hold in your cackle at your baby's question. "what?" she asks, scowling at you. "what's so funny?"

"oh baby." you giggle, trying to collect yourself and wiping tears from your cheeks. it's moments like this when you remember that your daughter knows a completely different sevika than you do: she only ever sees sevika's soft adoring smile, only ever hears 'yes' from her mom's lips. she's got no idea that her mom is scary to most people. "your mom's not gonna let anybody ruin your night, sweet girl. i think she's more excited than even you are." you promise her.

and you're right. when you slip back into your bedroom after kissing your baby goodnight again, you catch your wife in her suit, watching a youtube tutorial on how to slow dance.

you take about a million pictures of your girls the next night. little fucker's decked out in all her shiniest dress-up jewelry, a white sequined purse hanging off her tiny wrist. (containing one mini bag of cheetos, sevika's tube of brown lipstick, and a sheet of reptile stickers.)

sevika's on the brink of tears the entire time they pose in her little garden out back, blinking down at your kid adoringly. you know exactly what she's thinking the entire time: little fucker is growing up way too fast.

"you gonna be able to keep it together tonight?" you tease as you hug your wife goodbye. she chuckles.

behind her, little fucker's squirming with excitement as she waits on the front porch for you two to finish talking.

"i'll be fine. will you?" she asks. "all alone without your babies to keep you company?"

little fucker starts tugging on sevika's hand, trying to drag her to the car. "mom."

you snort. "i'm thinking i'll take a nice, long, quiet bubble bath. haven't had one of those since the shithead was born."

"mommy." little fucker groans.

"send pictures." sevika says with a wink. you snort.

"mom, let's go already!" your daughter whines.

you let the pair of them go, choking back tears as you wave goodbye.

throughout the night, sevika sends you a million pictures. from the looks of things, little fucker and all her friends had way too much fruit punch and cake, all dancing their tiny butts off-- sweating and giggling and high on a sugar buzz.

when they get home both of them are exhausted and grinning, little fucker rambling on and on about how much fun she had. "i had three pieces of cake, ma! and they were huge! and one was chocolate! and me and cindy taught mommy and cindy's dad how to do the floss!" she says, demonstrating the dance move. you cackle, then turn to sevika with a raised eyebrow, wanting to see the new skill she's learnt. she glares at you. but the second little fucker tugs her hand and giggles a "c'mon mommy!" she starts doing the dance in sync with her baby.

that night, after little fucker crashes in her bed with her dress still on and you and sevika crawl into bed, you get a text from one of the dad's you're on the pta with.

it's a picture of sevika and little fucker (your daughter clearly rambling about something as sevika listens with a fond smile) wrapped in each other's arms, slow dancing.

you make the picture your phone's background.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob

[yawujin]

Hello

So I don't know if you're opposed to writing for the v2 boys but if you aren't

Could you please write v2 boys x s/o who is very hard working so when they get focused they forget to eat or drink water a lot &(if you're comfy trans male reader) they forget to take their binder off and rest.

Thxxxxxxxx

ofc i'll write the sdr2 boys i love them

request | sdr2 boys x an S/O who is hard working

type | react , light hearted , non killing game , established relationship , trans male reader

hajime hinata ♡

respects you for working so hard

always reminding you to take a break

hajime's a good listener so you can go to him to talk about work troubles you have

he secretly daydreams of another life where you two can just relax 24/7 so you do not have to worry so much about work

admires and appreciates all that you do

gets really excited when you finally finish your work for the day

kazuichi souda ♡

he gets it

relates to you bc he has had to stay up late working and fixing things

he learned the hard way that he must always keep water or something to hydrate himself while working

he's lowkey the type to ask "have you eaten yet?"

he cares sm about you

even though sometimes he also forgets to pack some lunch for himself for work lol

you two look out for each other always <3

fuyuhiko kuzuryu ♡

you already know he's the type to text you constantly throughout the day

"you're going to eat right?" "there has to be something in the vending machines there you can buy."

angry texts when you say all you had so far was some crappy instant coffee

even angrier texts when you tell him you're working after hours

always insistant on you taking a break (even if you just started working on something)

"i love you so much and if somehow someday you collapse while working i'll never forgive myself"

gundham tanaka ♡

orders you to stop working and take a break

no seriously, he orders you to take some time off

"the supreme overlord of ice commands you to STOP!"

he demands you come to bed and keep him warm

but first he reminds you to take off your armor (referring to your binder)

you still had it on oops

you just laugh a little bit and change

finally, you both can get some rest after a long day

nekomaru nidai ♡

he reminds you not to push yourself too hard

"it's kind of like training, you must know your limits!"

is willing to make a list for with designated times for breaks in your schedule

gets hyped up when you have a day off so you two can finally have a date/datenight

has a whole lot of respect for you and your ability to push through especially hard days

"just keep it in the back of your mind that i'll always be here if you need me for something, got it?"

ultimate imposter ♡

brings food to you

gently urges you to take a break

hugs from behind while you work

prefers it when you work from home

picks you up from work whenever he can

teruteru hanamura ♡

when you come home, the first thing he does is feed you

he makes all your favorite dishes ofc

he can always tell if you neglected yourself during work hours

"can't fool me, as your boyfriend i know what you need!"

keeps track of your days off incase you try to get a head start in working on something new

"nope sorry! can't have that today. you and i are due for a date at the diner"

sends you positive and encouraging and rather suggestive messages while you are at work

nagito komaeda ♡

very persuasive when he's trying to get you to rest after a long work day

you finally choose rest and nagito over more paperwork you need to sort out

"tomorrow's always there" he reassures you

"oh and, make sure to take that off" he says, looking at your binder

you almost finished changing without doing so

nagito gives you some affirmations while you drift off to sleep

"you work too hard..." he sighs sadly. "goodnight~"

⋆ ˚｡⋆ my ao3

[asuyaka]

Worst Gen. trio (+ Ace) with a transmasc reader!

★ - Absolutely frothin at the mouth ab Corazon n Law guys,,

☆ - Trafalgar D. Water Law, Eustass "Captain" Kidd, Monkey D. Luffy, and Portgas D. Ace x TM! Reader.

♡ - Reader has space-manipulation devil fruit powers! (❁´◡`❁) (only brought up like,, twice... oopsie!!)

— TRAFALGAR D. WATER LAW.

Law is a doctor, so of course he knows what to do when it comes to his boyfriend!

Always reminds you ta take off your binder if he notices that you've had it on for too long, and makes sure you take your T-shots on time!

If you've already had top surgery, your scars are somethin he's absolutely smitten over.

Genuinely, when you two getting ready for bed he always prefers you with your shirt off because something about your scars (or your body in general) s'so attractive ta him ??

Bein a doctor, he's always available ta do any surgery you want him to, as long as he knows the safest way to do it so you don't get hurt!

Law sat at his desk, a cup of coffee next to a pile of books with a lamp close by to illuminate what he was reading. He grumbles slightly, rubbing his eyes and taking a sip of his coffee.

You walk out of the bathroom with one of Law's button-ups and shorts, lazily rubbing your eyes and walking up to where your boyfriend is.

"You're a doctor and still won't go to sleep early?" You mumble into his neck as your arms wrap around his shoulder. He takes a deep sigh and lets his book down, bringing his hands up to rub against your arms.

Before you know it you've switched places with the book he was reading, now on his desk with a slightly confused expression, slowly turning into one of worry when you're finally able to see your boyfriend's face.

His eye bags have gotten worse and his posture makes him look like he's a shrimp. "Law..." You mumble worrily. He interrupts you with a hug, burying his head right underneath your surgery scars (that he did for you).

With a sigh, you pull him closer and rub his hair gently, feeling all the stress leaving his body. Law has always been one to overwork himself and not know when to stop, especially before letting go of his ties to Doflamingo.

"Do you want me to ask the others to get you tea?" You ask tentatively, keeping your voice soft just in case he's close to falling asleep.

He just grumbles and squeezes you closer, his tattooed fingers drawing air images on your pecs. "...warm..."

Giggling at Law's words, you press a kiss on his head and wrap your legs around his torso. The two of you stay together in comfortable silence until you feel his hands slowly fall from your chest and his breathing even out.

With a tiny smile, you use your devil fruit abilities to gently move the two of you onto the bed, situating yourselves so you don't wake Law up.

As you place the blankets over your bodies, you hear Law mumble something about a person named 'Corazon' and how the person was meeting his boyfriend—you— for the first time.

You place a soft kiss on his forehead, letting out a small giggle as he instantly squeezes you closer and buries his face in your chest.

No one would've thought the 'Surgeon of Death' Trafalgar D. Law was a cuddle bug at night.

Except you, of course.

— EUSTASS "CAPTAIN" KIDD. | DISCLAIMER: mentions of periods/mainly about gettin your period unexpectedly 'round Kidd, might be triggers f'some transmascs !! ヾ(＠⌒︶⌒＠)ノ

He genuinely doesn't care/didn't know that you're trans,,?

Tha first time he saw you with a binder on/saw your top surgery scars he didn't think much of it, genuinely thought they were battle scars.

It was only when he told Killer about them that his first mate told him in the most deadpanned and serious tone that they weren't battle scars.

n'he's so confused like ??? what are they then ???

After Killer explains what those scars mean he just,, doesn't care ?? All he came up with was that they're still battle scars, just not the same kind of battle.

His view of you doesn't change in the slightest, in his eyes you're still his boyfriend just with added customizations.

"Bath's fuckin hot," Eustass grumbled behind you, his metal arm wrapped around your waist as the scent of marshmallows wafted through the bathroom.

You relax into Eustass' boobs chest with a content sigh, letting all the tension in your body wash away with the bath. Through your daze, you hear Eustass grumble about how he forgot to bring his nail polish close so he could do his nails while resting.

With small movements of your finger, the bottle drops on your boyfriend's head, causing him to wince. "Fuck you." He mutters under his breath as he splashes some water in your direction, narrowly avoiding your face. "Love you too, captain."

You're sure Eustass rolls his eyes at that, mumbling something about how insufferable you were as he no doubt made a metal structure to help paint his nails as his other hand was occupied with holding his boyfriend.

Either you blacked out or took a small nap because before you knew what was happening, Eustass was shaking you awake with slight anger in his eyes, though you can easily make it it's all a facade because that's how he looks when you're hurt during missions. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt? You're fuckin bleeding everywhere."

Not all the way there yet, you look around trying to find the spot you're bleeding from because you don't remember getting any injuries that could cause bleeding to worry Eustass. He's gotten and seen his fair share of wounds anyway.

That's when you notice the blood is coming from between your legs, staining your previously relaxing shower with red. Embarrassment floods your mind as you shift away from him so the blood doesn't get everywhere.

""[Name]? You alright? If it hurts that bad I could call Killer or somethin—"

"No!" You say instinctively as your mind wracks to figure out a way to sort this out. "I'm okay, can you just... leave me alone for a few minutes?"

Eustass stares at you as if you've got two heads. "While you're bleedin' out? Just tell me what's wrong, maybe I can help, yanno?"

Your lips stay shut as more wetness flows down your thigh. You've dated Eustass for a while now, it's just the first time you've openly had your period around him—which shouldn't have happened in the first place since it's two days early.

Kidd is a naturally perceptive person around you. He likes knowing what things to avoid and never bring up, and what things you could talk about for hours, so he's made sort of a guess as to what's happening, but he doesn't want to bring it up in case you were uncomfortable.

Either way, though, you looked as if you were going to explode even if he left, so he decided to take the gamble anyway. "Is it that thing where you're like,, shedding?"

You turn to stare at Eustass with a blank face. "...Shedding?"

"You know! Like the thing where like you're ready to get pregnant and shit— I don't fuckin know what it's called!" The man grumbles, trying his best to push aside his embarrassment to make sure you're okay. "Still, don't you gotta get cleaned up and shit? Not sure it's healthy to stay in a bath of your own blood."

"All the more reason you should leave, Eustass." You mumble under your breath, yelping slightly when he lifts you up and lets all the water drain out, turning on the shower to help you get clean. "Naw, think I'm good here. Wouldn't be a very good boyfriend if I left, would I?"

Realizing nothing you'd do or say was going to let him leave, you let him do whatever it was he needed to do that made him a 'good boyfriend'.

He took a shower with you, practically not letting you move a muscle until he was sure all the blood was off you. When you two were done, he tossed an extra big towel on your head before leaving to go get a few things from the kitchen.

You quickly got situated, putting on your clothes and other needed accessories before landing on Eustass' bed, hands over your tummy as pain surged from your lower half.

You hoped that sleep would get its grubby hands on you quickly so you wouldn't have to deal with it alone. As if it was mocking you, a harsher tingle worked its way up your body, eliciting a small whimper out of you.

A few minutes later, Eustass walks in with a cup of hot tea and other snacks. "Dunno what you wanted so I grabbed anythin'. You alright?"

You nod, even though you know you aren't; and by the look on your captain's face, he knows you're lying too. He doesn't pry though, only sets your body between his legs and your head on his chest, handing you the cup. "Careful, s'hot."

"Killer said I'm supposed to make sure you're well hydrated and shit, so you don't die."

You sip down the tea gingerly, stifling a giggle. "I'm not sure I'll die from cramps, Kidd."

"It's what he said! I don't know how this shit works." Eustass rolls his eyes and pulls you closer, using all the metal in his room to make a miniature version of himself and you for entertainment.

With a small content smile, you relax against your boyfriend, holding the arm he had on the lower half of your stomach. "I think whatever it is you're doing is working just fine, Kidd. Thank you."

His cheeks turn as red as his signature lipstick, rolling his eyes and trying to play it off. "Whatever, it's the least I could do for you. Even if you're annoying."

"Mhmm, I love you too Eustass."

— MONKEY D. LUFFY.

Almost like Eustass, but 10x worse.

If you wear a binder and he sees it, he's like "why do you have two shirts on ????"

And if you have surgery scars, he thinks it's the best thing ever that you two have matching (not really) torso scars!

When he asks Chopper why you suddenly get sick every month, the doctor looks at him with wide eyes,, he doesn't know ???

Chopper, just tells him to ask Robin, who tells him with a kind face to ask someone else.

Ends up asking the entire crew as his frown slowly gets deeper because why is everyone keeping a secret about you—his husband (you two aren't engaged at all)— from him ?!?!?

Demands Sanji to tell him after running around the Sunny for the tenth time, and he's just like... "Ohhhhh! Wait, why was everyone hiding that from me?????"

He just realizes you're like Yamato but the only difference s'that you two are dating!

The place smelled like a hospital, your brain foggy as you try to feel your surroundings.

Your eyes slowly open as you try to sit up—a stinging pain from your chest sending electricity through your body. "Oh, you're awake! Has everything settled down yet?" A voice asks from a chair nearby, though all you can make out from the shape is a comically large blue hat and a pair of antlers, right beside another comically large hat with black spots dotted around it.

Groggily, your eyes trail down to look at yourself, trying to find the source of the pain flowing through your body. That's when you see the bandages around your chest with tubes underneath them.

The realization hits you like a brick. Your surgery, the days spent stressing as the date got closer, the surgery. "Chopper? Is it— did the surgery go okay?"

The reindeer smiles and it feels contagious. Law stands up with a huff, throwing a mask in the bin and using his devil fruit to replace himself with Luffy.

Luffy looks a bit disoriented for a bit, relaxing when he realizes where he is. Then, he locks eyes with you and you think he cracked the biggest smile you've ever seen on his face. "[Name]!"

Before he gets the chance to throw his body at you, Chopper switches to Human Point to punch him in the head, quickly reverting back to look at you with serious eyes. "Yes, the surgery went well, but there are some things you can't do for a while."

You nod your head feverishly, gripping the sheets as you try not to squeal from excitement.

Chopper explains how you should avoid doing any strenuous activity, like fighting and training. Making an extra point to tell you not to let Luffy drag you into dangerous situations. He says that you still have to do mild exercising, i.e moving around and maybe going on slight jogs but nothing too over the top like Zoro's training.

Finally, he gives you and Luffy time alone; excusing himself to go talk with Law about some doctor-thing you couldn't give two shits about.

When the door clicks shut, Luffy sits in front of you— his expression blank but his eyes focused on the bandages around your chest. "This means you don't have to do the binding thing anymore, right?"

You nod.

"And, you're happy about it?"

You nod again.

Luffy stares at it for a bit longer, raising up a finger to poke it slightly. A small wince forces its way out of your mouth. The wounds were still fresh after all, it hurt like a bitch. Luffy apologizes with a small peck as his usual happy-go-lucky expression forms on his face. "Wanna know what I just thought of?"

You can't help the grin that forms on your face, cocking your head playfully. "What did you think of, Luffy?"

"We have matching scars now! Shishishishi!" Luffy smiles even wider (if that's possible) and grabs your hands to hold it against his. You notice that he isn't as hyper as he is normally, and in the back of your mind, a fondness spreads through you when you realize it's because of Chopper's warnings.

"You're still so pretty, you know?" Luffy whispers, as he cautiously climbs on top of your body, stating himself so he stays clear of your chest, as much as he wants to lie down and rest his head there.

A warm flush spreads across your face as your fingers comb through Luffy's hair. He shifts up and presses a quick peck on your lips, giggling as he does it again but on your cheek. "My husband is soo handsome!"

"Lu.." You trail on, giggling as you rest your hands on top of his. "We aren't even married—"

"Yet!" He interrupts sharply. "We aren't married yet! And when we do, we'll have a big wedding and invite everyone! Oh, oh, and we'll have Sanji cook meat! With a meat cake, and meat wedding rings, and meat desserts, and meat—"

You interrupt him with a kiss, running your hand through the back of his head as your fingers slightly brush against the straws of his hat. You pull away with a dopey grin on your face and Luffy stares back at you with one equally as dorky. "Just promise you'll marry me soon, okay, Luffy?"

"Shishishi, of course, I will!"

—PORTGAS D. ACE. | DISCLAIMER: mentions of period cramps and [NAME] thinking that period cramps doesn't make him a man anymore ! (>'-'&lt;)

He's surprisingly quick to figure it out!

From the random getting "sick" moments every month, to the refusal to let him hug you from behind, he pieced everything together easily.

After all, he grew up around Izo and a very supporting crew!

The first person he asked about it was his pops. He didn't know if he was supposed ta tell you up front or let you tell him yourself!

Dunno what he thought was gunna happen, Whitebeard jus sent him off to Marco or fuckin Teach. Whitebeard might be good at a buncha things, but anything romantic was not his strong suit.

After a bunch of nothing from Marco, and actual advice from Izo, he figured out how he'd do it.

Ace had his hat resting on his nape, yawning as he walked into the room he shared with his boyfriend. "Love? Are you in here?"

He notices the top of your head from under the covers but you're hunched up, curled into the sheets, and cuddling a pillow for dear life. Worrily, he climbs into the bed with you and holds your shoulder. "Love? Are you sick again?"

Meekly, you nod. Trying to keep your discomfort under wraps. Ace already had things to deal with trying to become 2nd Division Commander, he didn't need his boyfriend annoying him about cramps.

Not that Ace knew you were trans—or at least you hoped he didn't know. You don't even know if he would accept you. After all, men don't get period cramps.

You sniffle, trying to keep those thoughts out of your head, but you can't help it. What if Ace finds out and decides you're too disgusting to be near him? What if he doesn't think you're a real man? Would he be angry that you deceived him? That you made him live a lie for the past three years?

The thoughts don't feel like they're stopping now—it's already gone out of hand. What if he told Whitebeard and he decided to throw you overboard for making a lie out of his son?

Not that Whitebeard would ever call you that, you aren't even sure if you are a man.

"...Love, love can you look at me? You're hyperventilating right now, do I need to call Marco?"

You quickly shake your head, trying to stop the tears from flowing but everything feels like it's too much, or like you're overstimulated. The cramps hurt and your mind won't shut up about lying to Ace about three years, three years of hurt, love, and everything in between, wasted because you couldn't tell him something with your chest.

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry Ace!" You sob, instinctively curling into his warm chest and trying to stop being a crybaby. Ace has dealt with more serious things, having been the son of Gol D. Roger and struggling to find out if he deserves to live.

You being whiny over something that was entirely your fault wasn't something you wanted to bother him with, but it doesn't look like you have much of a choice. "What is it? C'mon love, deep breaths okay? Breathe with me, inhale..."

Your lungs expand as you take a deep breath in, following Ace's instructions. You try to focus on something else, the warmth of his body, how his hands are slightly dry from his devil fruit, the soft waves hitting the ship in a soft ambiance, anything to stop thinking of those unsavory thoughts.

When Ace notices you've calmed down, he places you in the middle of his legs, his hands resting on the lower half of your tummy as he rubs gently; the heat adds an extra layer of comfort, even if he wasn't aware of it. "Do you wanna talk about it, Love? We can just go to sleep and cuddle, if you want."

Ace is worried, obviously so. You rarely have breakdowns like that and a part of him thinks it's his fault. "I'm not a man..." He hears you coarsely whisper as your bloodshot eyes stare into the bedsheets.

"What do you mean, love?"

He watches you sniffle, trying to recollect yourself before you start speaking again. "I was, born a woman. And as much as I tell myself, real men don't get periods, they don't have breasts and they don't have—"

"But... you think of yourself as a man, do you not?" The man behind you asks softly as he spreads his fingers against your tummy.

A nod.

"Then that's what you are. No more of this 'real man' shit, if you say you're a man, then that's who you are. Izo's a man, and he had periods before... well, before doing whatever it was Marco did to him, but no one out and started calling him a girl anytime he did get them, right?"

You feel your chest start to tighten again, but you nod. Albeit shakily.

Ace intertwines one of your hands together, lifting you up so you're resting in his lap and pressing his cheek against yours. "Then why would I not love you, even if you were trans? I fell in love with you, because you're you. For fucks sake, you could be a cat and I'd still love you; but then I'd have to be a cat too so we could be cat boyfriends... Yeah, we'd definitely be boyfriends in every universe— imagine it!" He says excitedly as stars practically shine in his eyes.

"We could be um... birds, cats, dogs, the sun, and the moon! Ooo, we could be food too! Like salt and pepper, or—"

"You'd still... love me? No matter what I was?" You ask shyly, craning your neck so you could look him in the eyes.

He cocks his head. "Did you not just hear me say I'd love you even if you were a pepper shaker? Dummy, you've gotta get your hearing checked!" He presses a plethora of kisses on your cheek, only pulling away when you've been turned into a blushing and giggling mess.

"Yes, I'd love you no matter what you were. You'll be my boyfriend forever, you know? Never gettin' rid of me, love!"

You giggle, letting Ace continue his kiss attack on your face. "Like anyone could get rid of the infamous 'fire-fist Ace'."

He grins, one so bright it makes you remember why you fell in love with him in the first place. "Got that right! Now c'mon, let's cuddle and think about each other as cat boyfriends in our dreams, I've gotta fight Marco tomorrow to decide who's the better fire user!"

You shake your head. "Ace, love of my life, Marco is a phoenix, not a fire user."

"Ah, tomato, tomatoe, who cares!" He blows a raspberry, taking off his hat and placing it on the bedside table, not letting go of his hold on you once. He shifts the position so he's spooning you, his warm hand still on the spot your cramps hurt the most.

He presses a kiss to the back of your head. "Night, Love."

And before you can say goodnight back, Ace is already snoring asleep beside you.

[anniebeemine]

It Takes A Village- Part One

Girl Dad!Spencer, they chant with fists in the air.

Summary: Spencer Reid had given up on finding love and having a family. His life is turned upside down when Naomi appears.

Age: 0-4

The fluorescent lights of the BAU flickered softly, casting a familiar, sterile glow over the desks as Spencer Reid made his way into the bullpen. The day had been long, the case grueling, and all he wanted was to drop off his paperwork, head home, and maybe find solace in a good book. His mind was already wandering toward the stacks of unread novels in his apartment when something unusual caught his eye.

A baby carrier.

It was perched right on his desk, nestled among his neatly stacked files and the coffee cup he’d left behind that morning. Spencer frowned, confusion knitting his brow. The sight was so out of place that Spencer's tired brain struggled to make sense of it. The BAU wasn’t a place where one typically found baby carriers, and certainly not on his desk. He glanced around, expecting to see one of his colleagues hovering nearby, but the room was nearly empty, save for a few agents buried in their own work.

He hesitated, his eyes darting back to the carrier. Maybe someone had left it there by mistake? As he approached, he noticed something else—a small, pink bundle inside the carrier, shifting slightly. His breath caught in his throat. There was a baby in there.

His first instinct was to look for a note, something that would explain why a baby was on his desk. But there was nothing in sight, just the carrier and the tiny life nestled inside it. A wave of panic surged through him, his mind racing through possibilities. He had no idea who this child was or why she was there. Was it a joke? A mistake?

His hands trembled slightly as he reached out, pulling back the soft blanket to reveal a tiny face, delicate and serene in sleep. The baby—she couldn’t have been more than a few months old—had dark curls that reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t place who just yet.

As the initial shock wore off, Spencer’s gaze fell on a folded piece of paper, partially hidden beneath one of his files. He snatched it up, unfolding it quickly. The handwriting was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. His heart thudded in his chest as he began to read.

Spencer,

I know this is probably the last thing you expected to find on your desk today. The last thing you’d ever expect from me. But I didn’t know where else to turn. This is Naomi. She’s your daughter.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want to complicate your life, especially with the kind of work you do. But I can’t take care of her anymore, and she deserves a chance at a good life with a parent who can provide for her. I’m leaving her with you because I know you’ll give her that. Please don’t try to find me. I can’t be part of her life—or yours—anymore.

I’m sorry, Spencer. I hope you can forgive me one day.

The letter ended there, signed simply with the name of an old fling—someone Spencer had barely thought of in months. He sank into his chair, the letter clutched in his hands as the reality of the situation began to sink in. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t someone else’s child. Naomi was his daughter.

Spencer's hands shook as he gently set the letter aside and scanned his desk. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and concern, trying to process the shocking revelation that Naomi was his daughter. The small, pink bundle in the carrier shifted slightly, a soft, comforting sound from the baby breaking through the fog of his thoughts.

As he tried to steady himself, his eyes fell on a manila folder that had been tucked inside a binder, partially hidden behind a stack of case files. With a sense of urgency, he pulled the folder free and opened it, hoping for more information that might help him understand what to do next.

The folder was surprisingly organized. Inside, there were several neatly arranged documents. Spencer's heart raced as he flipped through them, each page providing a window into Naomi’s short life. The first section was a detailed medical history: her birth date, weight, and height, followed by her immunization records and a note about her recent check-up.

One particular page caught his eye—a list of formula brands with notes on her reactions. Some formulas had caused gas and discomfort, while others seemed to be well-tolerated. A section marked "Allergies" revealed a startling detail: Naomi was allergic to the same medication that he was. Spencer’s breath hitched; it was an eerie coincidence, but it also made him feel a strange sense of connection.

The next few pages included a list of essential baby supplies and instructions for her care, along with tips for calming her when she was fussy. There were notes on her sleeping patterns, preferences for certain types of lullabies, and even a small section detailing how to manage colic—a challenge he was unfamiliar with but was now keenly aware of.

Spencer was overwhelmed, but the structure of the folder gave him a small sense of control. It was clear that whoever had left this for him had done so with great care, ensuring that he had everything he needed to provide for Naomi.

Panic clawed at his chest. What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t prepared for this—didn’t know the first thing about being a father. The thought of trying to raise a child, especially on his own, was terrifying. And yet, as he looked down at Naomi’s peaceful face, something else stirred in him too. A fierce, protective instinct, one that told him he couldn’t just turn away from this.

But he couldn’t do this alone. He needed help.

Spencer pushed himself up from his chair, the letter still in his hand as he made his way to his  boss’s office.  His heart pounded erratically in his chest as he stumbled toward Hotch’s office, the world feeling like it was closing in on him. Each step felt like an effort, his legs heavy with a mix of fear and disbelief. The letter, a stark reminder of the life-altering revelation he had just uncovered, seemed to weigh him down more with every stride. Hotch was seated at his desk, the glow of his computer screen casting a shadow over his face as he looked up at Spencer’s sudden entrance.

Spencer’s face was flushed, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Panic was evident in his strained breaths, which came out in short, ragged gasps. He could barely catch his breath, his chest tightening as he tried to speak.

“Hotch…” Spencer’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blur of tears that threatened to spill over. “I—I need your help. I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

“Reid?” Hotch’s voice was calm, but Spencer could see the concern in his eyes as he noticed the expression on his face. “What’s going on?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. Instead, he handed the letter to Hotch, who took it with a frown. As Hotch began to read, Spencer’s gaze drifted back toward the bullpen, where he could still see the baby carrier sitting on his desk. Hotch’s eyes widened as he took the letter from Spencer’s trembling hand, his gaze shifting between the letter and Spencer’s distressed face. He glanced up at Spencer, his expression a mixture of concern and empathy. Spencer collapsed into the chair, his breath still coming in shallow, uneven bursts. He buried his face in his hands, trying to regain his composure. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on him, making it difficult to think clearly.

When Hotch finally looked up, his expression was unreadable. “She just left her here?”

Spencer nodded, his throat tight. “I don’t know what to do, Hotch. She’s my daughter. But I… I don’t know how to take care of a baby. She’s only six weeks old.” 

Hotch leaned back in his chair, considering the situation. “Did anyone see her come in?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admitted. “She must have come in while we were still out on the case.”

Hotch stood up, moving toward the door. “Let’s check with security. See if we can figure out how she got in without anyone noticing.”

The two of them made their way to the security office, where the footage from the building’s cameras was stored. It didn’t take long to find the moment when the woman had entered the building, a hood pulled low over her face as she carried the baby carrier inside. She moved quickly, her face never clearly visible on any of the cameras. It was as if she had planned it that way—leaving no trace of herself behind, except for the baby she left in Spencer’s care.

Hotch frowned as they watched the footage. “We might not be able to find her,” he said quietly. “She knew what she was doing.”

Spencer’s heart sank.  He had hoped, against hope, that there might be some clue, some lead that would help him understand why she had left Naomi in his care. But it seemed she had taken every precaution to ensure she wouldn’t be found. The reality of her disappearance was setting in, and with it, the gravity of the situation.

He stared at the blank screen, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. He had so many questions—about her motives, about the timing, about everything. But as he considered the implications of forcing her to confront her decision, a realization began to form. She deserved privacy, even if he didn’t understand or agree with her choices. It wasn’t fair to drag her back into this, to force her to be a mother if she wasn’t prepared to be one. And on the other hand, it wasn’t fair for him to be forced into the role of a father without warning or preparation.

Spencer took a deep breath, letting go of the need for answers. He would respect her choice, even if it left him grappling with the unexpected responsibility. With a heavy heart, he nodded at Hotch, signaling that he was ready to move on.

“Alright,” Spencer said quietly. “I’ll respect her decision. I won’t go looking for her.”

Hotch gave him a supportive nod, understanding the weight of Spencer’s decision. “Let’s go back and check on Naomi.”

They walked back to the bullpen, where the baby carrier still sat on Spencer’s desk. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Spencer’s steps were slow and deliberate as he approached the carrier.

Hotch gently pulled the blanket away from Naomi, revealing her tiny, sleeping form. The sudden exposure to the cooler air made the baby shiver slightly, her delicate lips smacking in a tired, reflexive gesture. Hotch’s face softened with empathy as he quickly reached for a pacifier from the nearby supply of baby items.

He placed the pacifier gently in Naomi’s mouth. The moment the pacifier touched her lips, she instinctively began to suckle, her tiny gums working at the soft object. The soothing motion seemed to calm her immediately, and she settled into a more relaxed state, the shivering subsiding as the warmth of the pacifier brought her comfort.

“So what happens now?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch turned to him, his expression serious. “Legally, we have to report this. The child would either go into the system until we can locate the birth mother or any other relatives. But given the circumstances…” He paused, studying Spencer carefully. “You could take her home, Reid. She’s your daughter. If you’re willing to step up, she doesn’t have to go into the system.”

Spencer’s mind raced. Take Naomi home? It seemed impossible, overwhelming. But as he thought about it, he knew he couldn’t let her be taken away. She was his responsibility now, whether he felt ready for it or not. He had always been the type to analyze every detail, to consider every consequence, and now he found himself grappling with the gravity of his situation. The thought of Naomi being taken into the system filled him with a deep sense of dread. 

He knew all too well what could happen to children in the system. The stories he had encountered through his work were a grim reminder of the horrors that could await them. He had seen the psychological scars that children carried with them, the way their trust could be shattered and their sense of security upended. He had witnessed the impact of neglect, abuse, and the cold indifference of a system that, while well-intentioned, often failed to provide the warmth and stability that children desperately needed. The cases he had worked on had exposed him to the darkest aspects of human nature. He had seen the way people could exploit, harm, and exploit vulnerable children, their lives twisted into a series of traumas that were nearly impossible to undo. He had heard the stories of children who grew up in foster care, their experiences marked by a constant struggle for belonging, love, and safety. Each story had left a mark on him, a reminder of the fragility of childhood and the need for protection.

As he looked at Naomi, so small and innocent in her carrier, a surge of protectiveness washed over him. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being subjected to the same horrors that he had seen, of her becoming another statistic in a system that could not always safeguard its most vulnerable. He knew the emotional and psychological toll that could result from being shuffled from one place to another, from feeling like an outsider in a world that should have been a place of comfort and care.

“I’ll take her home,” Spencer said, the words coming out with more certainty than he felt. “I’ll figure it out. I can’t let her go into the system, Hotch.”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening slightly. “You won’t be alone in this, Reid. We’re all here to help. Let’s get the paperwork started.”

Spencer felt a mixture of fear and determination settle in his chest. His mind raced with questions and uncertainties about how he would manage this new responsibility. He still didn’t know how he was going to do this—how he was going to be a father to this tiny, innocent life that had been suddenly thrust into his world. But as he looked down at Naomi, still asleep in her carrier, he knew one thing for sure.

He was going to do everything in his power to give her the life she deserved.

Spencer’s hands shook slightly as he tried to figure out how to strap Naomi’s car seat into the back of his car. The piece of durable plastic seemed to mock him with its complexity. He had read countless books on a wide range of topics, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of trying to secure a car seat. The instructions that came with the seat might as well have been written in a foreign language, and the diagrams didn’t help much either.

He fumbled with the straps, his frustration growing with each passing minute. Naomi stirred in her carrier, making a small sound that tugged at his heart. He couldn’t help but feel like he was already failing her, and they hadn’t even left the parking lot yet.

After several more attempts to secure the seat, Spencer sighed in defeat and pulled out his phone. A quick search led him to a video tutorial, and he followed along step by step. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to get the seat installed correctly. He double-checked it, tugging on the straps to make sure everything was secure, then let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

He glanced back at Naomi, who was still fast asleep, her tiny fingers curled into a fist as she slept. He could see her eyes moving beneath her eyelids, soft whimpers escaping her lips as she dreamed. It was all so surreal. Spencer had barely wrapped his mind around the fact that he had a daughter, and now he was taking her home.

The drive back to his apartment was nerve-wracking. Every little sound Naomi made caused Spencer’s heart to race, and he found himself constantly checking the rearview mirror to make sure she was okay. Each sound, whether it was a slight shift or a soft sigh, felt magnified in the quiet of the car, adding to his growing anxiety. His mind raced with an endless stream of questions and concerns. What did he need to do now? How would he manage this new responsibility?

When they finally arrived at his apartment, Spencer carefully unbuckled the car seat and carried Naomi inside. The place suddenly felt too small, too quiet, as if it wasn’t ready to accommodate a baby. He had no crib, no bassinet—nothing to make sure she could sleep safely. He’d never had a reason to prepare for this, and now he was scrambling to figure out what to do.

Spencer set Naomi’s carrier down in the living room, looking around as if the answer might be hidden in the furniture. The apartment, usually so orderly and familiar, seemed suddenly alien and inadequate. His gaze settled on his bed, and he remembered something he had read in one of his many parenting books about co-sleeping being risky. But at the same time, he couldn’t exactly leave her in the carrier all night. She needed somewhere safe to sleep, and he had to act quickly. He scanned the room again, his mind racing for a solution. It wasn’t long before an idea struck him. 

e gathered some blankets and a large laundry basket from the closet, hoping they might serve as a temporary solution. With quick, determined movements, he lined the basket with the softest blankets he could find, making sure to tuck in the edges to create a snug and secure space for Naomi.

It wasn’t an ideal setup, but it would keep Naomi safe for the night. He knew he’d need to find a more permanent solution soon, but for now, this would have to do.

Exhausted, Spencer collapsed onto the couch, watching Naomi sleep. He felt like he was in over his head, but he knew he couldn’t afford to fall apart now. He needed to be strong for her, to figure out how to give her everything she needed. Hours passed, and Spencer found himself dozing off, but the sound of Naomi’s cries jolted him awake. The tiny wails filled the apartment, growing louder by the second. Panic surged through him as he tried to remember everything he had read about calming a crying baby.

“Okay, okay, it’s alright,” he murmured, lifting Naomi out of the basket and cradling her in his arms. She continued to cry, her face scrunched up in distress. Spencer’s heart ached at the sound, desperate to do something—anything—to make it stop.

He checked her diaper and found that it was wet, so he quickly changed it, hoping that would soothe her. But Naomi’s cries only grew more frantic. Spencer then tried feeding her, but she only took a few sips from the bottle before pushing it away and continuing to cry. He bounced her gently, tried burping her, even sang softly to her, but nothing seemed to work. Spencer was at a loss, his own eyes burning with unshed tears. He felt utterly helpless, the weight of his new reality crashing down on him.

After what felt like an eternity, Spencer realized he couldn’t do this alone. With shaky hands, he reached for his phone and dialed JJ’s number. She answered on the third ring, her voice groggy with sleep.

“Spence? What’s going on?” she asked, concern creeping into her tone.

“JJ,” Spencer’s voice cracked, tears spilling over as he spoke. “I need your help. I— I have a baby, JJ. She’s my daughter, and I… I don’t know what to do.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Did I hear you right? You have a baby?”

“Yes,” Spencer choked out, cradling Naomi closer as she continued to cry. “Please, JJ, I need you to come over. I can’t— I don’t know how to calm her down. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” JJ said, her voice firm with determination. “Hang in there, Spence. I’m on my way.”

Spencer hung up, relief flooding through him as he clung to the hope that JJ would know what to do. He tried to soothe Naomi as best as he could, whispering soft words of comfort, but her cries didn’t ease. He paced as he waited, sniffling as he failed to soothe her. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he held her against his shoulder. 

True to her word, JJ arrived in record time, letting herself in with the spare key Spencer had given her years ago. She rushed over to where Spencer sat on the couch, Naomi still wailing in his arms.

“Let me see her,” JJ said gently, holding out her hands. Spencer passed Naomi to her, his heart heavy with guilt and worry. JJ held Naomi close, rocking her back and forth with a practiced ease. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Aunt JJ’s here.” She hummed softly, swaying from side to side, and within minutes, Naomi’s cries began to quiet.

Spencer watched in amazement as JJ soothed Naomi, the baby’s wails gradually turning into soft whimpers. “How did you do that?”

JJ smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It’s not your fault, Spence. You’re doing your best. Babies just have a way of knowing when someone’s scared, and she can probably sense that you’re nervous. You just need to be patient with yourself—and with her.”

Spencer nodded, wiping his eyes as he took a deep breath. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this, JJ. I don’t know anything about being a father.”

JJ placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to learn, just like every new parent does. And you’re not alone. You’ve got us—me, the team, everyone who cares about you. We’ll help you get through this.” She chuckled as she placed Naomi in the laundry basket. “Raising babies takes a village, and you have one of the best out there.”

Sure enough, Spencer had all the support he needed. JJ had gone home in the morning after helping him calm Naomi, but she returned a few hours later with Will and Henry in tow. The sight of them brought Spencer a sense of comfort, like a lifeline had been extended just when he needed it most. Will carried in Henry’s old crib and JJ had a large bag filled with baby items slung over her shoulder.

“We figured you might need some of Henry’s old things to get you by,” JJ said, setting the bag down and giving Spencer a warm smile. “We’ve got more at home, but this should be a good start.”

Spencer was beyond grateful. He hadn’t even had the chance to think about where Naomi would sleep beyond the makeshift solution he’d created last night. Now, with a crib being set up in his bedroom, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

As Will assembled the crib, Henry sat on the floor beside Naomi, who was now lying on a blanket JJ had spread out. He was curious, poking gently at Naomi’s cheeks as she slept. “She’s so small,” Henry whispered, his eyes wide with wonder.

“She is,” Spencer agreed, watching the interaction with a soft smile. Despite most of the items being “boy things”—like blue onesies and trucks—Spencer was immensely grateful. The practicality and sentiment behind each item were what mattered most, and Spencer couldn’t thank them enough.

Henry gazed down at Naomi, his curiosity and fascination evident in his wide eyes. He studied her delicate features, her tiny fingers curled into soft fists, and her peaceful, sleepy expression. Spencer watched the scene unfold, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions—gratitude, awe, and a deep, newfound love for the little girl lying before him. After a moment, Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small toy car, one that was clearly well-loved. The paint was slightly chipped, and the wheels had been rolled over countless surfaces, but it was still in good shape. Henry hesitated for a second, glancing up at his father and then at Spencer before turning his attention back to Naomi.

“This is my favorite car,” Henry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at the car in his hand, then gently placed it on the blanket beside Naomi, close to her tiny hand. “But Naomi can have it. I think she’ll like it.”

The simple, selfless gesture brought tears to Spencer’s eyes. He wasn’t expecting it—hadn’t prepared himself for the emotional impact of watching Henry, so young and yet so full of love, offer his favorite toy to Naomi without hesitation. Spencer blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but a few escaped and slid down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself, but the overwhelming emotion was too much to contain.

“Henry,” Spencer said, his voice thick with emotion, “that’s… that’s incredibly kind of you. Thank you.”

Hotch, understanding the gravity of Spencer’s situation, had already granted him a few weeks of leave to adjust to his new role as a father. It was a small relief, but a vital one. Spencer knew that taking time off was the only way he’d be able to navigate the challenges of his new reality.

The team visited separately over the next few days, each of them bringing something unique to help Spencer and Naomi. Emily arrived with a large box of clothes for a baby girl, ranging from newborn to a few months old. “You’re going to need these sooner than you think,” she said with a grin, pulling out a tiny pink dress. “This one’s my favorite.” 

When Spencer looked exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open, Emily offered to watch Naomi so he could get a few hours of much-needed sleep. “Go on, I’ve got this,” she insisted, and Spencer, though hesitant at first, eventually relented. The nap was one of the deepest sleeps he’d had in days.

Penelope arrived a few days later, her arms full of bags containing frozen dinners. “I know you’re probably too tired to cook, so I made sure your freezer is stocked,” she explained, stacking the meals carefully. “Just pop them in the oven, and you’re good to go.”

Upon inspection, she had written the instructions on each lid along with an inspirational note. 

Derek came by with a stack of children’s books in his arms. “You’re never too young for a good story,” he said, placing the books on Spencer’s coffee table. “These are some of my favorites from when I was a kid. I figured you’s start reading to Naomi now—she’ll love hearing your voice.”

Rossi’s visit was a bit different. He brought an assortment of girly items—bows, ribbons, and even a small, plush pink blanket. “Every little girl needs a bit of flair,” he joked, showing Spencer how to tie one of the bows in Naomi’s fine hair.

When Hotch came by, he brought a few books he’d found helpful when Jack was born. “It’s a lot to take in,” Hotch said as they sat down in Spencer’s living room. “But you’ll get the hang of it. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and parenting is something you’ll learn, just like everything else.”

It was then that the overwhelming weight of everything finally hit Spencer. He had been holding it all together, trying to stay strong for Naomi, but the fear and uncertainty were still bubbling under the surface. Hotch had always been someone he looked up to, someone who had managed to balance fatherhood and the demands of their job with grace.

Spencer’s composure broke, and tears filled his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this, Hotch,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I’m so scared that I’m going to mess this up. Naomi… she deserves better than someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Hotch placed a reassuring hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Spencer, every parent feels that way at some point. It’s normal to be scared, especially when everything is so new. But you’re not alone in this. You have a team of people who care about you and Naomi, and we’re all here to help. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

Spencer nodded, wiping away the tears that had spilled over. “It just feels like there’s so much I don’t know. Every time she cries, I’m terrified that I won’t be able to figure out what she needs.”

Aaron gave him a small, understanding smile. “You’ll learn, Spencer. And Naomi already has everything she needs—she has you. You’re doing your best, and that’s what matters. The rest will come with time.”

Spencer looked over at Naomi, who was nestled in the crib that Will had set up. Her tiny chest rose and fell with each breath, and a sense of awe washed over him once more. He was still scared, but Hotch’s words gave him a sense of reassurance that he desperately needed.

For the first time since Naomi had come into his life, Spencer allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he could do this. It wouldn’t be easy, but with the support of his friends and his determination to give Naomi the best life possible, he knew he had a fighting chance.

The next year unfolded like a beautifully chaotic whirlwind for Spencer and Naomi. The early days were filled with sleepless nights, diaper changes, and countless moments of doubt. But there were also countless moments of joy, wonder, and discovery as Naomi grew and began to show more of her personality.

By the time Naomi was a little over a year old, she was walking—wobbling at first, but quickly gaining confidence with each step. Her laughter filled their home as she toddled around, exploring every corner with boundless curiosity. Spencer’s heart swelled with pride every time she reached a new milestone, no matter how small.

Their mornings settled into a comfortable routine. Spencer would wake up early, usually to the sound of Naomi babbling in her crib. He would scoop her up, her tiny hands reaching out for him, and they’d head to the kitchen together. Breakfast was always a shared bowl of oatmeal, something Spencer had learned Naomi enjoyed from their earliest days together. He’d feed her small spoonfuls, making sure it was just the right temperature, and she’d giggle or babble happily between bites. Spencer would carefully spoon out the oatmeal, blowing on it to cool it before offering a bite to Naomi. She would eagerly open her mouth, sometimes making a mess, but always with a smile or a babble of excitement. The sight of her chubby cheeks and bright eyes, so engaged in the simple pleasure of breakfast, made Spencer’s heart ache with a fierce, protective love.

After breakfast, it was time to get ready for the day. Spencer had developed a surprising skill in doing Naomi’s hair, carefully parting and brushing her soft curls before securing them with colorful clips or tiny bows that Emily and Penelope had gifted her. Naomi would sit patiently, sometimes holding a brush of her own, as Spencer fussed over her hair. He always made sure to give her choices in what she’d like to wear—holding up two outfits and watching as she pointed to the one she preferred, her brow furrowed in concentration.

As Naomi grew, so did her curiosity. She was always on the move, exploring every inch of their small apartment with relentless energy. Spencer found himself marveling at how quickly she learned and adapted, often trailing behind her as she ventured into new areas of their home. He would follow her, ready to ensure she stayed safe while encouraging her independence.

The days were filled with laughter and learning. Whether it was playing with toys, reading picture books, or taking walks to the park, each moment was an opportunity for Spencer to bond with Naomi and witness her development. The challenges of parenthood were many, but the rewards were even greater. Spencer felt a profound sense of fulfillment in watching Naomi grow, knowing he was providing her with a loving and supportive environment.

Reading became their favorite activity, a habit Spencer encouraged at every opportunity. He read to her during meals, while she played, and especially before bed. Naomi had her favorites—books with bright colors and simple stories—and she would hand them to Spencer with an expectant look, knowing he would happily oblige. It became their special time, a moment of calm before she drifted off to sleep. Spencer’s voice would grow softer as he read, his fingers gently brushing through her curls, and soon enough, she would be fast asleep, her tiny hand clutching a stuffed animal close to her chest.

The team remained an ever-present force in their lives, each member growing attached to Naomi in their own way. Emily was the fun aunt who always brought new clothes and toys. Penelope, who couldn't resist showering Naomi with love, would often arrive with new books or stuffed animals. Derek played the role of the cool uncle, bringing Naomi toy cars and balls to play with. He taught her how to roll them across the floor, and Spencer would often find her giggling as she tried to mimic him. Rossi spoiled her with little trinkets and treats, calling her “principessa” and telling her stories about his adventures. He’d bought a gold plated bracelet for her, her name engraved on the outside. Spencer refused it at first, but Rossi insisted. “It’s already engraved,” he said. Naomi never wanted to take it off. Hotch, always thoughtful, would visit with Jack, and the two children would play together under Spencer’s watchful eye.

The team would drop by often, sometimes just to spend time with Naomi and give Spencer a bit of a break. They celebrated her first birthday together, throwing a small party in Spencer’s apartment. Naomi had a cake—pink frosting smeared all over her face as she tried to eat it with her tiny hands. Everyone had laughed, and Spencer had taken so many pictures he’d lost count. Spencer had decorated the apartment with pastel streamers and balloons, transforming the living room into a vibrant, festive space. Naomi’s excitement was palpable as she waddled around, her giggles echoing through the apartment. Her outfit—a frilly pink dress and matching headband—made her look like a miniature princess.

 Naomi was thrilled to see familiar faces. JJ, Emily, and Penelope were among the first to show up, each bringing a thoughtful gift and a warm smile. JJ had a colorful stack of board books, Emily brought a plush toy that Naomi immediately hugged close, and Penelope had a small, handmade quilt that she had been working on for weeks.

As the team settled in, Naomi’s eyes widened with delight when she saw Henry and Jack. Though they were much older, the two boys had always been fond of her. They were enthusiastic participants in her birthday festivities, eager to play with their tiny friend. Henry and Jack took turns pushing Naomi in a toy car, their laughter blending with hers as they navigated the apartment. Naomi’s face lit up with pure joy as she played, her tiny hands clapping and her laughter ringing out each time they went around the room.

As the months passed, Spencer found that his life, once so carefully ordered and solitary, had become fuller, richer, and more chaotic than he could have ever imagined. Naomi brought light into his world, a light that radiated out and touched everyone around them.

And every night, after Naomi had fallen asleep and the apartment was quiet, Spencer would sit beside her crib, sometimes reading one last book just for himself. He’d look down at his daughter—his beautiful, strong, spirited daughter—and feel a deep sense of peace. Life had changed in ways he couldn’t have predicted, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Naomi was his world, and he was hers.

The years with Naomi seemed to fly by, each one filled with memories that Spencer held close to his heart. By the time she turned four, she had blossomed into a bright, lively little girl with an insatiable curiosity and a contagious laugh. She had inherited Spencer's sharp mind, often surprising him with the things she picked up and remembered. But more than anything, she had retained the pure, innocent joy of being a child—a joy that brought so much light into Spencer’s life.

Today, they were playing hide and seek, a favorite game of Naomi's. Spencer was “it,” walking slowly through their apartment, calling out playfully as he searched for his daughter. Naomi’s giggles echoed faintly from somewhere nearby, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile.

As he looked for her, he found himself stumbling across small reminders of the years they had spent together. Bending down to peek under the bed, he found a tiny newborn sock, no bigger than his palm. He picked it up, marveling at how small she had been once. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet also like it was just yesterday. Next, he checked in the kitchen, opening a cabinet where Naomi liked to hide sometimes. Inside, tucked in the back, he found an old baby bottle, its lid slightly askew. He remembered the nights he had spent in this very kitchen, warming milk for her when she was just a baby, pacing the floor as he tried to soothe her back to sleep.

Smiling to himself, Spencer moved on to his office. He didn’t expect her to be in here—Naomi knew it was a space her dad liked to keep neat and organized—but he checked anyway. Opening a drawer, he found a pacifier, one of Naomi’s old binkies, hidden away from when he was trying to wean her off of them. She had cried for it at first, but eventually, she had adjusted, like she always did.

Each of these small items served as a poignant reminder of their journey—of the sleepless nights, the first steps, the first words. They were memories of challenges and triumphs, of moments where Spencer had doubted himself but had found a way through, often with Naomi’s innocent determination leading the charge.

Finally, Spencer made his way back to the bedroom. He scanned the room and saw a suspicious lump beneath the blankets of his unmade bed. Smiling to himself, he called out, “Okay, Naomi, I give up! I can’t find you anywhere!”

He waited, expecting her to pop out from under the blankets with a triumphant cry. But instead, he heard a burst of giggles behind him. Spencer turned around just in time to see Naomi leap out from a laundry basket, her eyes shining with mischief.

“I win, Daddy! I win!” she chanted, bouncing up and down with excitement.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, his heart swelling with love and pride. “Yes, you win,” he agreed, scooping her up into his arms. Naomi squealed with delight, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

As he held her close, Spencer realized that it didn’t matter who won or lost their little games. In the grand scheme of things, he felt like the true winner every day. He had Naomi—his daughter, his light, his reason for everything. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he cherished every moment, every memory they created together.

He looked into her bright eyes and smiled, knowing that no matter where life took them, they would always have each other. And that, more than anything else, was what made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

-

Part Two

[twospiritstooprideful]

Daily reminder to all tboys!!!!!

Take off your binders

[ratunderneathahat]

Okay but transmasc selfshipers imagine your f/o sitting down with you and helping you cut your hair, imagine them reminding you to take your binder off before you break a fucking rib, imagine if they have money then paying to get you gender affirming care, imagine them making sure everyone respects your name and pronouns (or else they get knifed) fucking imagineee

‼️I AM PROSHIP ANTIS FUCK OFF‼️

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

To Love and To Cherish (II)

Part 10 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Warnings: CNC, oral (f), knife play (he fucks her with the hilt of his knife), bondage, threats, chasing, creepy phonecalls, mild mirror sex, somnophilia, anxiety, fear, angst, cliffhanger.

A/N: Please keep in mind that though this is dark play, everything has been discussed and even practised in advance and is fully consensual.

Hehe

@icannotbetrustedalone 😘

A late lunch is brought to your door after you wake up. You have no idea how Sam knew you were awake, perhaps she'd timed your jet lag that well.

She tells you to enjoy, that her team will be here around dusk to get you dressed for your date.

You smile at that word, knowing that she had no real clue what your husband was really up to.

Later in the day, there’s a knock on your door.

You open it to Sam, with her binder, looking eager.

“Are you ready?” She asks with a smile.

When you nod and open the door wider, she turns her head and nods too, and you blink in surprise when four other women follow her into your room with a lot of different things in hand.

You spot a garment bag, and a makeup kit, another bag has a hair curler sticking out.

They introduce themselves, their specialties are in hairstyles, makeup and nails.

You're out of your depth and you say so, glancing over at Sam for some kind of help.

“Don't worry, we already know what to do based off your preferences.” She explains, “You just have to sit back and enjoy being pampered.”

You guess you could try.

When they're done, you're surprised to see so much of yourself there.

There's a lovely little tiara on your head, your hair in a delicate updo with strands framing your face. The dress- is beyond beautiful, white shimmering fabric, an off shoulder design that makes you feel like a princess.

Your fingers and toes are freshly done in a dark red like you'd requested, so that they can match the red on your lips.

There's a small heel on your silver shoes- safe to run in while still being pretty.

“You guys are amazing.” You say in wonder as you fully assess yourself.

They laugh, happy that you're satisfied.

Sam presents one final thing to you, the one odd thing you'd asked for that wasn't in your binder.

You grin at her, ducking into the ensuite bathroom and tugging the garter out of the box, sliding it on. 

There's a small knife attached to it, and you make sure it's concealed, and easily reachable through the slit in your dress before you step out again.

When they’re finished with some last minute makeup retouches, Sam smiles proudly, and wishes you a very good night, letting you know that they’ll all be leaving you soon, here alone with your husband. 

You can’t help the excited pulse your nether regions give at the reminder, dressed pristinely from head to toe, all for Billy to tear off.

You grin at Sam, walking the small group of women to the door, listening quietly to their plans for the night, encouraging and enjoying their banter, sending them off with a wave into a car waiting for them.

The heavy wooden door closes with a dull sound that echoes through the castle, emphasising your desolation.

You turn, leaning against the door in your shimmery dress, taking in the quiet silence of the place.

There’s a little bit of fear tingling down your spine, the feeling of being truly alone in such a big place, not really knowing where you are, with no means of escape.

You find that it turns you on.

All dressed up, all for him, and you can’t even really leave, a headiness to the realisation, your fear is an aphrodisiac all on its own.

You bite down on the corner of your lip, smiling, pushing yourself away from the door, and decidedly picking a direction to begin your exploration.

You touch everything you see, trailing your freshly done fingertips over every item, examining the feel, appreciating the textures.

The curtains, the lighting fixtures, you examine all of it, a crown on your head that makes you almost feel like you own it all.

You get into the fantasy he’s weaved, becoming the role of the princess he’s cast you in.

You find the throne room first, a flourish of plum and golds, a large red carpet leading to the thrones in question- two- sitting side by side, beckoning you closer. 

You squint, looking up at the massive chandelier that sits in the middle of the room, with little pieces of glass that if cleaned properly, would probably reflect little shards of light. 

You pick the chair on the right, and settle yourself onto it, sighing happily at how comfortable it is, relaxing for a moment, before standing to continue your exploration.

You’re passing the dining room when a phone begins to ring in the distance.

It sends a shiver of fear over you, the dated sound echoing through the halls. You begin searching for it, following the rings of what you assume is an old era phone.

You find the phone on a table at the bottom of the staircase, ruby red, sitting beside a marble statue of a woman, posed with her hand in the air as if to block the light from her eyes.

It keeps ringing until you tentatively pick it up, bringing it to your ear.

“Hello?” You say softly into it.

There’s a voice on the other end, modulated to be unrecognizeable to you, but even that sends a shiver of excitement through you.

“Princess.” The voice says calmly.

You swallow.

“Who is this?”

The voice is deep, each grovel is a tremor in your body.

“I’m just a nightmare, sweetheart. I hope you’re ready for me.”

You shudder, shaking your head.

“Ready for what?”

He doesn’t answer your question.

“You look gorgeous. Prettier than I expected. It’s making me… want.”

You stiffen, taking a breath and looking around, searching the shadows for some sign of a man, lurking in the darkness.

“You can see me?” You ask in a soft whisper, laying the fear on thickly.

“Of course, princess. I’ll be inside soon, we’ll get a nice, long introduction to each other.”

You gasp in surprise, dropping the phone and moving quickly to the doors you passed during your exploration, making sure that they’re locked.

Your hand is on the door separating the kitchen from the gardens- when the lights go out.

You hear your own breath of surprise, your heart pattering in your chest, real fear being awakened inside of you when you realise that this is actually happening.

Everything is still, you’re afraid to move, the darkness becoming honey thick all around you.

Eventually, being still is too much, and you have to force your body to break the stillness around you.

There’s barely a sliver of light, the moon, casting pale streams through the windows. Instinct tells you to stay where you can see, your body backed against the window, eyes peering into the darkness as if it’s alive and coming for you.

You glance down when something shimmery catches your eye, gasping, you realise that the moonlight makes you a bigger target, your dress reflecting its beams in every direction.

It leaves you no choice but to step into the darkness.

You wonder where he is, if hands will just reach out and grab you at any given moment.

It makes your stomach tight, that what you’ve been yearning for is almost within reach.

“Hello?” You call out shyly, voice shaking just a little. You walk softly out of the kitchen, one hand against the wall to guide you, unsure of exactly where you’re going.

Suddenly, a chill runs over the back of your neck, like a soft breath from someone standing just behind you. You turn, waving your hand into the darkness, and finding nothing but air.

You feel so much like prey in that moment, searching for a predator with hunting skills beyond your comprehension.

You’re passing the dining room when your heart freezes in your chest. In the corner of your eye, you can see the silhouette of a dark figure, standing in the moonlit window.

Your breath halts in your throat, turning to face him, the swishing of your dress is louder in your ears.

The mask is- terrifying- white, with the appearance of fractured glass across it, some pieces missing over the cheek area, his real face peeking through.

He raises a hand, and presses a gloved finger to the mouth of the mask.

You turn, and run.

Fuck, this was it, it was really happening. He was here, and he was going to do all the things he promised he would, all the things you’d practised together so that he was sure you were always one hundred percent safe and comfortable.

You’re not very fast, the dress and heels slowing you down

He grabs you at the very moment the lights flick on.

It takes a moment for your eyes to get adjusted, and then you gasp when your back is slammed to a wooden wall behind you, the intricate carvings pressing uncomfortably to your spine.

His hands are on your shoulders, keeping you in place as you look up at him with fear in your eyes.

You finally get a chance to see him fully, all masked up, covered from head to toe in what can only be the most mouth watering look on the planet.

Sure, his suits were divine, but seeing him dressed down like this was a cherry on top of a malevolent cake.

It clings to his skin, the cut of his chest and arms showing through the tight, long- sleeved shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of navy combat pants, and further into boots.

It’s much easier to note where you can see his skin- on his wrists between the sleeve and the glove, his neck, and parts of his face that show through the fractured pieces of his mask.

He’s a work of devastating art, lust incarnate, bringing forth so much delight that you struggle to hide it.

“Please,” you whisper shakily, getting into character, feeling it spark arousal, “Don't hurt me.”

You watch the darkness clouds his eyes, a predator, hidden beneath layers of humanity, finally being set free.

“Oh, princess,” he whispers, leaning in, trailing his gloved thumb over your jaw and cheekbone lovingly, “I am definitely going to hurt you.” 

You gasp at his words, reaching for the weapon strapped to your thigh. It was your turn to give him a surprise.

The dagger is sharp, you made sure of it, wanted it to be real, you wanted to see a genuine look of surprise in his eyes when you finally pressed it to his neck.

Except, he doesn't look surprised at all.

“Leave.” You say, with so much command in your voice that you almost believe you have the power to say something like that to him.

He studies you for a lengthy moment, before he tilts his head back and lets out a deep laugh, and even that, works to seduce you.

His hold is an iron grip on your wrist, and it was a mistake letting him grab you, he’s too strong, and no matter how hard you struggle, you can’t get your hand back.

“This knife is pathetic, princess.” He grabs the hilt, twisting it so that you’re forced to release it or have your wrist twisted too, it clatters loudly in the empty space.

“Is that all you have to fight me off with? No wonder this is so easy.”

You exhale angrily, trying to push him away, your freshly done nails digging into his arms.

He grips your hands, pulling them above your head and pinning them there with one of his.

A soft sound of distress leaves your lips, struggling to get away but your dress is too much of a hindrance, keeping your legs pressed in one place when he moves closer.

“Here, why don’t I show you mine?” He murmurs, reaching with his free hand to pull a significantly larger knife out of his boot.

You gulp, eyeing it wearily as he rubs the handle roughly against your cheek, the hilt is coated in a rubber, with indents to help with grip. He slides it around till it’s pressed to your lips, smearing your lipstick, you angle your head away to avoid it.

“I’m going to fuck you with this,” He promises, leaning in till the mouth of his mask is on your ear,  “Gonna use it to get you ready for my cock.”

“No.” you murmur weakly.

“No?” He teases, “Well why don’t you try stopping me then?” He murmurs, pulling back a little to free you from his hold.

You’re surprised to be free, knowing that it’s just a trick, knowing that he wants to chase you. 

You keep your eyes on his form, watching him observe you as you slowly back away.

“Go on, princess,” He says in such a condescending tone that your knees wobble, “Run away from me.”

When you're far enough away that you know he won't grab you, you turn, pulling your skirts up a little so that you can run.

Heart pounding in your chest you have no idea where you're going or what your plan is beyond running away. You couldn't very well hide in a dress that glimmers when you breathe, you couldn't fight- all you really had in your arsenal was your capacity to get him angrier.

With that in mind, you grab the first heavy thing you can find- the telephone directory- turning and chucking it in his approximate vicinity.

It doesn't slow him down at all, because he grabs your wrist in the next second, pulling you into him.

“No!” You exclaim, swiping your nails across his mask, knocking it askew so that he can't see.

You’re not proud of how hard you stomp his foot next, watching him double over with a low grunt, allowing you to get some distance. 

The phone, you decide, angling your run to get you to the base of the main stairs.

You just make it to the phone- grabbing the glossy handset and raising it to your ear- before he grabs it roughly from you, reaching behind to rip all the important wires out of the back.

You almost can’t do it, wanting to drop to your knees right there and beg him to take you- but you know that deep down you had to see this fantasy fully play out.

He’s angry now, and he shows it by grabbing the entire phone and slamming it to the floor while you watch, backing away in horror, his sleek boot slamming the broken pieces until it’s nothing but ruby shards.

“Who were you going to call, princess? You don’t even know where you are.”

Jesus, you think, helplessly aroused.

The next time you turn away, he wraps an arm around your waist and picks you up.

You kick your feet in protest, scratching at his arms, trying to pry his iron grip off of you but it’s no help, you grunt, and you kick and you wriggle and still he drags your body wherever.

He drops you below the chandelier of the throne room. 

It glitters in your eyes as you try to catch your bearings, sitting up you watch him grab a length of rope from his belt.

You try to scramble back but your dress catches under your feet, making you slip, falling back even more.

He grips one of your wrists while you’re disoriented, and you feel the rope wrap tightly around it. You try to push him off, but he just catches your other hand, wrapping them securely in front of you, knotting them easily.

He stands, and with a strong arm, throws the other end of the rope through a support rung of the chandelier, catching it as it swings toward him.

Then, he pulls, forcing you up onto your knees, your hands suspended in the air, as he moves to secure the rope to the throne nearby.

You struggle, trying to tug your way out, your legs tangled in your dress, stopping you from standing.

“I wouldn’t.” He warns softly, “Pull too hard and it might fall, carving up that pretty body before I’m done.”

He kneels beside you, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

“That would make me, real upset.” He breathes through the mask.

“P-lease.” You beg, turning your head to look at him, relaxing when you realise there was no escaping without hurting yourself.

“God, you're so pretty.” He trails a gloved hand over your cheek, down your chest, the leather is smooth on your skin, you shiver when his hand reaches the top of your dress.

“I almost don't want to hurt you.” his hand smooths over the front of the dress, slipping lower to gently untangle the skirts from your legs, you adjust to let him do so, thinking that it will allow you to stand up.

You turn your head to look at him, examining his eyes through the mask, the way they linger on your body, you don’t even realise what’s been done until you feel his gloved hand slip under your panties and press right to your clit.

The friction is delicious, the smooth leather providing an interesting feel between your thighs. You look down, realising he’s used the high slit of your dress to get under your skirts easily.

“Don’t.” You beg, trying to inch away, “Please.”

“I don’t fucking care what you want, princess.” He grits out harshly, his finger pressing down more firmly, slipping from side to side, the pleasure, trying to force you to shut down your resistance.

“I’m here to steal from you, and I’m going to take everything I want.”

Your breaths become shallow when his finger starts circling your aching bud, you’ve been denying yourself for so long that you feel the sweet burn of pleasure the longer he does it.

You can even feel how wet you are, in the fluidness of his movements. He breathes into your ear, and you find yourself leaning into him to take the weight off of your knees.

“Don’t do this,” You murmur weakly, “Please I’ll do anything.”

He laughs in your ear, slowing his movements to torment you.

“I’m doing you a favour, sweetheart, you should be grateful. At least I have the decency to let you cum before I fuck you with my knife.”

You make a sound of protest, angling away from him.

“No!” You cry.

He doesn’t let you move far, gripping the back of your head, till it’s tilted back, hands suspended above you, his fingers resume their fast movement on your clit.

He’s dextrous, even with gloves on, you can feel the micromovements that succeed in bringing you right up to that edge even faster.

Your eyes roll back in your head, surprised that he’s got you right on edge so soon, though you know you shouldn’t be, this is your husband after all, he knows exactly how to get you off.

The weeks of denial burn, your body not accustomed to orgasm needs an extra push getting there, he presses down even firmer, speeding up.

You groan, unable to stop it, or resist it, your stomach clenched tight with nothing in sight but the precipice of orgasm.

Don’t stop, you beg internally, please don’t stop.

It’s a hollow thing, but strong nonetheless. You breathe shallowly through gritted teeth as you reach your peak, thighs trembling, as you rut yourself helplessly on his gloved fingers.

Too good, needing just a little bit more, thighs sticky with your orgasm, his fingers growing even more messy as you come.

Your vision whites out for a moment, senses evaporating temporarily, you come back to the sound of your own panting, heavy in the room.

You don’t get a chance to look over at him with desperate eyes, he pulls his hand from between your thighs and promptly shoves his drenched fingers into your mouth.

You hum in protest, trying to pull away, but he’s still got that iron grip on the back of your head.

“Taste that slutty little cunt, princess. Remember how wet you get for me when you’re begging me to stop later.”

You can only grunt your denial, with his fingers in your mouth, the taste of leather and your arousal making its point on your tongue.

When he draws his hand back, they come out with heavy strings of saliva that cling to your bottom lip.

“You’ll pay for this.” You whisper hoarsely, your head hanging low. Your arms start to ache a little from the way they’re held above your head.

It’s the wrong thing to say, he grips your hair once more, tugging your head back to an almost uncomfortable position.

“What was that?”

You make a little sound at the way he manhandles you, tilting your head, you look him in the face.

“I said, ‘You'll pay for this.”

He studies you slowly, you watch his eyes flicker as he studies your face. You curl your hands into fists, hoping he lets you down soon.

His laughter doesn't surprise you, but it does make your stomach twist.

“Yeah? Who’s gonna make me pay? You?” He says between small sounds of amusement, reaching back, he pulls the knife from before out of his pocket.

You eye it warily, as he brings the blade up to your line of sight, you swallow, trying to breathe as you examine the wicked edge of the serrated blade.

You go perfectly still when the cool metal of the blade touches your cheek.

“You might be a pretty little thing, but you have no power to make me pay. You’re all mine to do what I want. You can’t stop me.”

You whine pitifully, knowing that his words were true.

He reaches up, cutting the rope and guiding your hands into your lap. By now, they tingle, almost numb but not quite, you sigh in relief, watching him quietly squeeze your arms.

“Don’t be scared,” He says, surprisingly soft for someone who was just running the sharp edge of a knife over your cheek, “I'm sure you'll learn to love taking my cock. Maybe with time, you'll beg me for it.”

“Go to hell.” You utter with as much venom as you can muster.

Behind the mask, you hear his laugh, watching the way he lowers his hand, flipping the knife around so that the hilt points toward you.

You lean away, your dress glittering as you move, feeble bound arms raising to push his hand back as he draws closer.

You don’t get far in stopping him, and in the next moment, you feel the hilt of his blade pressed between your thighs.

Fuck, this was too good.

Your head tips back in bliss, torn between fighting him and begging him to just take you in any way he wanted.

Your husband, the man you loved with almost every atom in your body.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You whisper on a shaky breath, turning to look at him.

Behind the mask, he huffs, the hand in your hair wraps neatly around your throat.

Pulling you close, looking into your eyes, you can hear his angry breaths behind his mask.

He wriggles the hilt of his knife against your cunt, pleasure swelling in your head at the very touch.

He stands suddenly, sheathing his knife, grips your arm to haul you up. Your legs wobble, almost giving out beneath you before he’s wrapping his hands around your hips to lift you.

With your hands tied together, there’s nothing more you can do than wiggle, shifting your body this way and that, but he doesn’t say a word, dropping you onto one of the thrones in the next moment.

He grabs the rope that's tied to the throne- the one that had been used to pull you onto your knees just moments before- and uses it to secure each hand to either side of you.

You kick your foot out at him, and he simply grabs your ankle, gloved hand trailing up to your thigh for a moment before he bends your knee, pulling your leg over the arm of the throne, and securing your ankle to a point somewhere between the base and the foot that you can't really see.

From there, it's over for you, your other foot is caught just as swiftly, and the next thing you know, you’re tied securely to the throne with your legs opened wide, draped across the arms of the intricately carved seat.

He's silent for a moment, appreciating his work, you tug at the restraints to further reinforce his satisfaction that you can't move.

“Damn. You look like a work of art.”

You frown up at him.

He leans over you, and you finally understand the versatility he has with you in this position. He could fuck your cunt, or your mouth, or even your breasts if he so wanted and you couldn't do a damn thing.

He grips your jaw with one hand, tilting your head up, coming closer, pressing a knee into the open space between your thighs for balance. When he gets close enough, he covers your eyes, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours.

It gives you butterflies, the way he presses in firmly, taking with his mouth, his beard scratching softly at your chin and lips. You hum against his mouth, feeling his hold on your jaw tighten for a second before he's shoving his tongue past your lips.

Like he owns you, his kiss consumes your senses, your bound fingers curling into little fists as you enjoy kissing him for a few moments more.

Before you bite down harshly on his tongue.

He pulls away in a split second, back to you as he presses his hand to his mouth. You grin in victory as he tugs the mask sitting on his head back down to his face before turning to face you angrily.

He's slow when he approaches, predatory with his long legs and his cocky attitude.

He drops to one knee in front of you, tilts his head, leaning in.

You hear the loud thud of his hand slamming into the space beside your head long before you've registered what's happened.

It makes you flinch in surprise, despite the fact that he'd practised it with you before. It seems way more sinister now, with his masked persona feeling like a different person altogether.

Naturally, the fear spinning inside of you, only succeeds in making you more aroused. 

“You're such a brat, I almost want to fuck you right now with no prep.” He presses his thumb between your spread legs, ambling slowly over your clothed clit, “I bet I'd make that little cunt cry with how much I stretch her.”

You suck in a slow breath.

“Please don't.”

He pulls his knife out again.

“You don’t really have a choice.” He answers, carefully angling the cool blade between the seam of your panties.

“Don’t move, little girl, or I might accidentally hurt you- on purpose.” He teases, tugging the knife toward him so that your panties are cut through with zero effort.

You sigh in relief when your cunt is finally exposed to the cool air, sticky with arousal, you groan when he tugs your undergarment free.

“Look at that weepy little hole princess- fuck- she’s so empty, isn’t she?”

“Noo” You hum softly, clenching around nothing as he studies your most delicate area.

He moves slowly, almost reverent in his actions, notching the tip of his hilt against your entrance, you feel your lungs seize as the pleasure hits you.

You hiss when he presses in, the ridged hilt stretching you open, not as big as his cock, but certainly larger than his fingers.

You take it as best as you can, relaxing, eyes watering with an abundance of pleasure.

He tilts his head, makes a single click of his tongue.

“She’s so greedy,” He says breathlessly, “Look at that.” He sinks more of the hilt in.

You bite your lip, moaning when he pulls slowly out, pushing in again.

He starts slow, moving softly until you can take all of the hilt. He grips the blade, you wonder if the glove protects him from the sharp edge.

You want to say his name, but he hasn’t given it, so you settle for sniffling, your bottom lip wobbling wetly as he takes his time.

“Stop.” You mewl, trying to stay in character, looking at his masked face, watching his dark eyes look back.

“No, sweetheart,” He says evenly, “I’m going to play with you, until I’m done.”

You suck in a deep breath, holding it.

He quickens his pace just a little, and before you know it, your cunt has locked tight around the hilt of his knife, every blunted ridge of it being imprinted into your head as you see stars.

It’s unexpected, you hadn’t meant to cum, your body jerking helplessly against the restraints, you pant, unable to see straight for a few moments.

You gulp in air, coming back to your senses. He waits patiently for your orgasm to subside, your body to relax before he works the hilt out of your eager cunt.

“You’re so pretty when you do that.” He says, tucking his knife back into his belt, studying you for a moment before reaching up to shove two of his fingers past your lips.

You can’t go anywhere, simply forced to feel him carefully push and pull his fingers in and out of your mouth, the weight on your tongue encouraging your brain to surrender to him.

When he determines his fingers are wet enough, he glides them down your chest, and tugs at the front of your dress.

It takes a little work before his thumb and index find your pert nipple.

A breath of air leaves you, and your back arches involuntarily, begging for more of his touch.

“You like it, huh? Kinda pathetic.”

“Rot in- f- hell.” You grunt, eyes rolling back as pleasure swims in your head from the way he takes his time to play with your nipples.

You feel his hand, drag over your stomach as he chuckles, the rushing sound as he disturbs the fabric of your skirts. Deft fingers rub circles into your inner thigh before a lone finger slips under the silky elastic garter that was holding your little knife.

You watch him assess you, bound arms and spread thighs and his masked face tilts as his eyes meet your centre.

“So pretty.” He mumbles, before he leans in, lifts his mask to the top of his head and lays a gentle lick to the seam of your cunt.

You gasp in surprise, unable to see his face with the mask atop his head, all you can do is feel- the way he licks gently at you, softly, the need burning white hot with each moment he teases. His tongue trails up to your clit, offers you a preview of the pleasure he can give, before placing slow swipes of his tongue over you.

You sigh, the fight leaves your limbs, you feel like jelly above him, with a tongue that can only be described as godly.

There’s no way you can continue fighting past this, his tongue pulls obedience from you, compliance, it makes you willing and eager to let him do whatever he wanted, helpless for your perfect husband.

You let out a slow moan, head tipping back, thighs trembling with the way his tongue moves, gliding over your clit, showing you exactly what he was capable of without ever actually giving you anything.

“Please,” You simper, unable to resist, with the tongue of such a dextrous man working on you.

If he wants to ask you about where your fight went, he doesn’t bother, merely laughing into your heated cunt, the fractures of his pale mask staring back at you.

Almost there, your fingers curl tight, nails pressed to the flesh of your palms as your breathing hastens. 

There’s a rushing in your head, pressure all over, threatening to make you burst apart.

You’re not sure if he knows or cares, his mask moving slightly when his head does, when his tongue, the raving appendage it is, delves through you.

Faster and yet faster, slippery tongue gliding over you, aimed at your oversensitive bundle of nerves, delicate movements of his tongue that are going to unravel you.

His beard rough against your thighs, a wet smacking sound, warm air brushing over you as he exhales, the reminder that he's there, enjoying his time on his knees, unwilling to stop until you've hit that peak.

He presses in closer, his grip on your thighs tightening, firm in their reminder that he’s there- as if you could forget. Your body shakes, soft whines leave your throat, his tongue harsher on your clit.

“I-” You try to say, but your body decides that you’ve spoken enough, you bite down on your bottom lip, every muscle in your body pulled tight.

The first thing you do when your orgasm hits, is tremble.

A sweet fire erupts inside of you, an insurmountable amount of pleasure spreading over you. Your breathing is harsh, heaving, his soft tongue licks you through it, gentle now and soothing between your thighs, no doubt drinking deep of your orgasm.

You press your hips into his face, unable to stop yourself, and he rewards the movement with more careful touches of his tongue.

The rope holding your arms and legs down chafes slightly, protesting your movement, and after a minute, you slump into the chair, boneless and sated.

Your breathing remains harsh, lips wet from being trapped between your teeth, your face is hot, you can feel each time the blood reaches your cheeks, each time your heart contracts in your chest.

You can't hold yourself up and you know it. If you weren't tied up you'd be in a boneless pile.

“Not bad, princess.” He says, warm breath on your thighs. He raises his body to be in your line of sight, the mask still covering his face. 

You feel your nipples tingle, excitement stiffening them as he hovers above you.

He tilts his head to study you, his gloved finger tapping the tip of your nose, sliding down to your parted lips.

“You look real pretty when you come. Your mouth opens and your eyes roll back sometimes- makes me want to do it again and again so I can memorise the way you look.”

It's hard to respond, brain hazy with post-orgasmic bliss, but you have to- you need to.

“Please,” You whisper, “You're not the first man to make me come, and you won't be the last.”

You know you're in real trouble when his hand wraps around your throat.

Your eyes widen, he squeezes hard for a moment, which only succeeds in filling your brain with mindless pleasure. You don't bother trying to breathe, waiting till his grip loosens to take a small breath.

“If you think,” He grunts angrily, leaning in till he hovers over you, “that another man is ever going to touch you, you're more delusional than I thought, princess.”

You can only make a small grunt of protest, gazing angrily up at him.

“And maybe I can't control who touched you before I met you, but I can still gift you their heads.”

It makes your breath stutter in shock.

He releases your throat, pressing the tip of his gloved finger to your bottom lip.

“Tug this off. I want to really touch you now.”

You hold his eyes while your teeth sink into the tip of his glove, biting down on his finger too. He pulls down, dislodging his finger from the glove. You release it, and repeat the process with all five of his fingers, and finally, when they're all loose, you clamp your teeth down on the middle finger of his glove and he pulls his hand free easily.

 It smears your lipstick no doubt, and you probably look quite messy by now, no doubt your hair is askew as well.

He reaches down after he makes you help with his other glove, and you hear the slow drag of his zipper. Nothing has ever sounded so euphoric.

You look up at him with wide eyes to find that he's already looking at you.

His eyes terrify you, so much darkness in them, you wonder how you'd never seen it before.

“Don't do this.” You beg, startling when you feel his hot cock brush your inner thigh.

At the same time, the main lights flicker off, only the small auxiliary lights on the walls glow softly.

The darkness in his eyes grow, until it becomes an extension of the room.

“Just breathe, princess, this is going to hurt.”

It does at first.

Even though you've come three times so far, and he's used the hilt of his knife on you, and also his tongue to help further your wetness, his size still pinches. 

It's been a while, and you feel it in the way he stretches you open, going slow because he knows he's not an easy man to take.

But God, he feels so good.

The pain comes with double the pleasure, that makes your eyes roll back in your head, bound hands curling into fists, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to process the feeling.

He pushes the tip of his cock in, works carefully to fill you, slows down when he encounters resistance.

You take a shallow breath, coming back to your senses a little, looking up at him as he works himself into you.

He rocks his hips, encouraging your body to feel him, to welcome him in, and you have no control over it, surrendering to him easily.

He's so deep you feel it in your throat, a shuddering mess as he bottoms out, you feel tears spring to your eyes, a fullness you've been craving.

Your lips tremble, watery vision glued to the mask, you couldn't look away if you wanted to.

“Should I stop?” He asks, a minuscule tremor of his voice that gives away that he's not as unaffected as he seems.

You can't say the words, the lie too big to be voiced, but you want to keep playing despite how desperately you need him.

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding softly.

He blinks behind the mask, a tilt of his head to study you. 

Arms braced on either side of you, he leans in till the mask touches your cheek.

“That's too bad.” He murmurs.

Then, he draws out, before pressing into you once more.

You make a small sound, and then another when he does it again, the slow drag of his cock is torture, but that's the best part.

You whine, unable to speak, or voice your frustrations, but he chuckles above you, already knowing that he's not giving you what you need.

It's slow, so fucking slow and yet deep enough to create spots of black in your vision. 

He grunts above you, and the sound goes right down to your cunt, clamping around him for a second before releasing.

“Fuck.” He growls, “You're so tight. I'm going to love coming in you.”

This was it, time to be the best actress possible.

“N-no, you can't! I'm- I'm not-”

His laugh is so dark it sends shivers down your spine.

Deep and low, devastatingly malicious.

“I can’t?” He teases.

You shake your head no quickly, eyes wide in shock and fear.

He pauses his slow movements to look down at you, too enraptured to focus on two things at once.

“Who’s going to stop me, princess? You?”

You struggle against your bindings helplessly.

“It's okay, we both know you'll learn to like it.”

With those words, he resumes his slow pace.

It's not fair, barely realistic you've never had an orgasm creep up on you like this.

You don't understand, his cock is moving slow, and yet all your pleasure spots are sparking. Is it his size? Or maybe he just knows your body so well that he can force an orgasm so sweet out of you that it almost hurts.

But you can feel every spark, every short circuit of your brain, your toes curl, and your back stiffens, and the dangerous man above you draws it out, wringing each drop of pleasure before moving to the next.

“Perfect.” He whispers, almost sounding out of breath, and when your chest begins to burn, he delivers one harsh thrust of his cock that makes you topple like a house of cards.

A moan leaves your mouth on every other breath, unable to control your vocalisations, or even your breathing, clamped so tightly around him that he makes a low grunt before you feel him spill inside of you. It makes it that much better, knowing that he's hit his peak at the same time you have.

You come back to your senses slowly, his mask coming into focus.

Each breath eases the burning pleasure, replacing it with sweet euphoria, a drug like never before.

He’s panting too, trembling a little, no doubt struggling to stay upright after his first orgasm in six weeks.

And here you are, about to taunt him for it.

“Is that it?” You ask softly.

You’re a little unprepared for the way his eyes scald you.

“Is my cunt that good?” You continue to tease.

He closes his eyes, takes a slow breath to calm himself.

When he looks at you again, you know you're in a lot of trouble.

He leans away, reaches for his knife before slowly cutting the ropes free from around your ankles.

You hiss when he frees your arms, noticing that there's the impression of the rope on your wrists, you rub them as you right your legs, moving them from their previously spread state.

He watches you, and you do the same warily.

“Stand up.”

You gulp, pushing yourself onto wobbly legs, you sway for a moment, before looking over at him expectantly.

He’s still wearing the mask, but by now you’re aching to see his face, you wanted to see your husband while he did these wicked things to you.

He tilts his head toward the door, and your eyes follow the motion, not understanding until he speaks.

“Get out.”

Your head swivels back to him.

“Go, before I change my mind.”

This was another game, you realise, you’d made him mad, and he was going to show you exactly how helpless you were.

You back away, like always, keeping your eyes on his. You can feel his cum, smearing the inside of your thighs as you move. It only makes you more aroused.

You smooth your dress out anxiously, looking down at the shimmery material, and then back up at him, slowly backing away until you’re far enough that he won’t grab you from behind.

When you make it to the door, he’s still standing where he was, looking at you in the dimly lit room.

You can feel your heart in your throat with the fear of everything around you, a sinister ambience, the thrill of being chased.

Outside is dim as well.

The main lights are off. All you have to go on are the smaller lights along the walls.

You don’t get too far from the throne room before all the auxiliary lights flicker off as well.

The darkness squeezes at your heart, a shiver going down your spine. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the distinct nothingness.

The room is still, quiet around you but you can feel him everywhere. It’s like he’s the darkness surrounding you, touching your skin, depriving you of everything except himself.

It’s why you’re not surprised when you feel him at your back.

His hand reaches around, grips your throat and uses the leverage to pull you back. He isn’t gentle, squeezing at the sides harshly to ensure you’re paying attention to him, as if you could ever be distracted.

His bare hand, warm, coarse, thumb and middle finger pressed to either side of your neck. You go lightheaded at the sensation.

You feel his nose press into your hair, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear and you realise he’s taken his mask off.

“I change my mind.” He whispers darkly, laughs when you struggle.

You pull out of his grip, and you run as fast as your legs can take you.

He doesn’t chase, and you make it a good distance away, tucking your body behind a wall to catch your breath. You don’t know where you are, but you assume it’s somewhere near the front doors. The pins in your hair are uncomfortable, and you take your time tugging the little tiara out of your hair, dropping it to the floor.

You can feel his cum, making an even bigger mess, and the implications of that only succeed in heightening your arousal.

The sound of his knife, dragging against the wooden panels on the walls catch your attention. You lift your head, a tug of desire pulls below your navel.

“You know, the first time I met you, really met you, I couldn't believe you were real.” He says, his voice carrying through the quiet hallway.

“You looked at me, and you listened, and all I could think about was how to get you alone, away from that useless boyfriend of yours.”

Your lips part, head pressed to the wall, eager to hear his words, your heart drumming in your chest.

“And when you left me that night, I went back to my lonely apartment, and I found out everything I could about you. I didn’t sleep. I needed to find something to hate- something that would help me stop obsessing over a girl I’d met one time.”

His voice gets closer and you know you have to move, or else he was going to find you. 

Quietly, you kick your shoes off, abandoning them so that your steps can be quieter, you lift your skirts slowly, trying to stop the swishing sound it makes.

“You know what I found? Nothing. Nothing could make me hate you, nothing could stop what you started when you smiled at me, all of it made me want you.”

Your heart hammers even more with his words.

“And while I was trying to come up with a plan to make you mine, I’d been yours for ages.”

You stop, turning to his voice as he says that last part, wanting to go to him, to hold him, to tell him the secret you’d been keeping for weeks- that you were his too.

“Don’t fret too much about it though, princess. There’s no need to worry, I’ll feel all better once you come on my cock.”

You gasp, backing away, one hand behind you to stop you from bumping into anything. He was absolutely insane in the best way.

You can’t see a damn thing, feeling your way around to find the entrance you’d come through, your breathing is loud in your ears, you’re sure he can hear you.

You were conflicted. You wanted to run towards the scary man hiding in the darkness, though you know it would be worth your while to run away.

“You want me so bad?” You taunt into the darkness, “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Skirts in hand, you follow the first light you see- the moonlight streaming through the kitchen windows, the feel of the carpet runner helps you move in a straight line, and the next thing you know is that you’re at the foot of the stairs.

You look back, trying to make shapes out of the darkness, but there’s nothing there, you turn and begin your ascent.

You don’t know where he is, he could be two feet or two inches behind you and you wouldn’t know.

Your body is warm from the adrenaline, the dress constricts your breathing.

You stop for a second time when you find what you think is a tea room.

There’s a large wooden table sitting in front of an equally large window, the moonlight streaming in allows you to see that there’s a wall of mirrors on one side of the room. On the other side, is a smaller round table with a porcelain teapot, and other matching dishes.

“Surprise.” He says from right behind you, and you swear your heart jumps right out of your chest.

Before you can turn to look at him, your cheek is pressed to the large table, one hand behind your neck, the other pulls your skirts up.

When he has your ass exposed, his hand comes down hard on your soft flesh. You cry out.

“That’s for all your mouthing back.” He grunts, before spanking you again.

It hurts, stings so sweetly, you try to rise but his hand is firm on the spot between your neck and shoulder.

When he’s satisfied, he reaches down between your legs.

He clicks his tongue, his fingers swiping through the mess between your thighs.

“Look at the mess you made. Don't you have any kind of consideration for how hard I worked to put my cum in you?”

You feel him move, you assume to take his cock out. Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel him kick your legs wider, pressing his tip to your entrance.

You mewl helplessly when he enters you.

Stretched once more, he feels bigger in this position, his pace is harsh, fucking into you meaningfully, your eyes roll back in your head, spit slipping from past your lips as your face is kept pressed to the table.

You feel a sharp tug and your dress loosens, too pleasure drunk to figure out why.

The glide of his cock quells your urge to fight, your body sparking, electrified at the feeling of him.

He pulls you upwards, and the front of the dress sags, exposing your front to the air.

“Look at us.” He growls into your ear, turning your head to the mirror, you see your bodies reflecting back. Him, in his tight shirt and open pants, you with your beautiful shimmering dress caught between your bodies and hanging off your shoulders. It’s the first time for the night that you see his face, and your eyes are locked on how handsome he looks, hair askew, filling you with his magnificent erection.

He’d cut the back of your dress, you realise absentmindedly, your full breasts on display for him because of that, a small sound leaving your chest as he enters you again.

“We’re perfect together.” He acknowledges, you internally agree.

He presses his lips to your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror, his teeth flashing for a second before he bites you.

You cry out, the sweet burn of it only succeeds in making you want him more and more.

He doesn’t stop when you come, only slows for a moment to help you catch your breath before he continues.

“All mine now, princess.” He affirms, his hips slapping against yours, filling you till your vision blurs.

Deeper than ever, you feel his cock press securely to your cervix, eager to have him fill you with his cum.

You take a shuddering breath, so close to another orgasm, unable to think about anything with the way he feels.

Your nails claw at the table, willing your body to take him, your perfect husband, giving you just what you need. He groans above you, enjoying you almost as much as you enjoy him.

The pleasure builds, swimming in your head, worsening with each move of his cock inside of you. He holds nothing back, all of his energy is focused on filling you as hard and as fast as he can, leaving nothing behind but hot, near blistering, rapture.

You cry out when you come, body shuddering, a loud roaring in your head. He grunts loudly, following you over the edge, filling you with even more of his hot cum.

After a moment, he draws out of you, helping you stand, he gently pulls your dress off, discarding it on the ground, he reaches to scoop your swaying body into his arms.

You’re sated, unable to lift your head. You feel him rest you gently on a soft, cool bed.

The sheets are amazing on your overstimulated skin, and you peek your eyes open to watch him pull his tight fitting shirt over his head.

In the low light, your eyes find his tattoo, you smile softly as it ripples, watching him kick his shoes and pants off too, until he’s hovering above you, naked.

“You’re so gorgeous.” You whisper dreamily, raising a hand to press it to his cheek.

He lets out an air of amusement, he reaches around, gripping one of your legs to wrap it around his hip.

“Only the best for you, princess.” He hums, before you feel him push his cock into you once more.

You fall asleep to him fucking you, your adrenaline crashes after countless orgasms, and before you know it you’re out. You wake a few hours later to find him inside you once more.

You moan his name, your body still eager and receptive to him, having craved this side of him for so long.

“Messy pile of wife.” He grunts into your ear mid-thrust, “Just like I promised.”

There’s so much of his cum slipping out, you can feel it, you can’t wait for him to top you up with more.

He kisses your cheek, licks a stripe through the tears slipping from the corner of your eyes.

“Cum for me. One more time, baby.”

You gasp, nodding, head filled with cotton, floating in the clouds, lost in his essence.

You blink hazily after you feel the smooth metal plug slip in, soothing you with its coolness, arousing you with the reminder that he’s filled you to the brim.

You’re pressed against him, his hand wrapped securely around you. He stretches to reach something on the bedside table.

You’re almost asleep when you feel him slip your ring back onto your finger.

It makes you complete, eases any lingering worry.

“I love you, Billy.” You murmur, before you finally let sleep take you.

.

It wakes him up.

He blinks in shock, turning to look at you.

You’ve already fallen asleep, breaths even with your left hand pressed to his chest.

Had you really just said what he thinks you just said?

He considers shaking you awake, desperate to hear you say it again. To tell him what he’s been dreaming of for years.

What if it was a mistake? His mind asks.

His stomach drops.

What if you didn’t really mean it?

He swears he breaks his own heart in the moments after you say those four words.

He stays awake for a while, trying to memorise your words, the way you said them, the way they made him feel. He tries to learn the hour and the minute and the position of the moon in the sky at the very moment the words left your mouth.

He wonders if he’ll ever hear them again, wonders if this would be the only time in his life that you say these words to him.

If this is all he gets, he decides he’s going to cherish it.

“I love you too.” He whispers, with everything he has.

.

You’re curled up against him the next morning having breakfast when you finally take the time to examine your ring.

Your body is sore, having been fucked thoroughly, but you were a little proud to see the litany of scratches over the expanse of Billy’s back. You weren’t the only one marked last night.

You raise your hand to offer him a piece of your buttered croissant, he eagerly takes a bite.

“My ring looks the same. What did you change?” You ask, reaching for more jam.

“The inside.” He says with his mouth full.

You smile, pulling it off your finger to see what’s there. On the silver surface on the inside, you can see something engraved. At first you think it’s words, but as you bring the ring closer to your face you realise it’s numbers.

“I’m still confused.” You state.

He makes a little hum, having just swallowed his food.

“If you go to my bank, and show them this ring, and give them your fingerprint, you can withdraw from any of my personal accounts.”

You blink, your eyebrows drawing together.

After a moment you give him a confused look.

He chuckles, reaching up to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing over your tense eyebrows, encouraging them to relax.

“Any amount, little wife, any time.” He elaborates.

You blink in shock.

He was… giving you access to his money?

“Is that safe?” You ask warily.

“Planning to take all my money?” He teases.

“No! But- what if someone steals the ring… or… kidnaps me and forces me to take it?”

“That will never happen.” He promises, his fingers tightening on your cheek to reinforce his words, “As long as I’m breathing, and even if I’m not, you will always be safe.”

“You can’t stop breathing,” You fight back, leaning in to wrap your arms around him, “I won’t let you.” The words are muffled against his shirt.

He laughs.

“Noted.”

.

He grunts, his fingers curling over yours as they grip the back of the soft couch.

“Hold on.” He commands, just as he slides his amazing cock into your body.

You make a soft sound of delight, tipping your head back to rest on his chest. He groans into your ear, fucking up into you slowly and thoroughly.

His skin is hot, having spent the morning of the second day exploring the gardens outside, only to come back in and ravish you on the sitting room couch.

His left hand drops down, thick fingers find your swollen clit.

“Sing for me. Let me hear you, wife.”

You whine, the sensation of his fingers rolling over your clit makes your legs shake.

“Gonna take my cum like a good girl?” He grovels in your ear.

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding, seeing stars as he rubs your clit with more fervour.

“Fucking perfect.” He moans, and the words go right to your cunt, setting you off.

He growls in your ear when you clench around him, it only makes your orgasm last that much longer, eager to have him cum, you roll your hips on his cock.

It succeeds in working him into a frenzy, and you’re face down, with your ass in the air in the next moment.

He licks your slit harshly before his cock slides right back in, moving faster, his hips set a brutal pace, your next orgasm is like a gunshot.

He falls beside you after he comes, out of breath with a dopey grin on his face.

“What is it?” You ask curiously.

“Nothing really,” He gasps, “I just feel really fucking good.”

You smile shyly, leaning up to kiss him.

.

You’re whisking eggs for french toast when his arms wrap around you.

He presses his nose into your hair, breathing in your soft smell.

“Morning.” He grovels into your ear, feels your body shiver.

“Hello Mister Russo. Sleep okay?’

He chuckles, remembering the feel of your lips around his cock as he came last night. Fuck, you were delightfully insatiable.

“Like a rock,” He confirms, “Join me for a bath?”

“Yeah,” You agree, “Let me finish this batch and I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, little wife.” He whispers as he pulls back, reaches for an apple sitting in the basket nearby, taking a slow bite.

“I won’t. Love you.” You say absentmindedly.

Billy stops.

He turns to stare at your back in shock. You continue moving as if you haven’t said anything strange.

“What was that?” He asks.

You raise your head to glance at him.

“I’ll be right there.”

“No, the last part.”

You blink, a look of confusion on your face.

“I… love you?” 

The room goes still, the only sound is the french toast as it sizzles.

“You love me?” He asks, his heart getting heavier and lighter at an alarming rate.

“Yeah? I-I said it to you on our first night. You- you said it back.”

He did remember saying it back.

“I thought you said it accidentally.”

You pause, reaching to turn the stove off, before facing him.

“You thought my tongue slipped and I told you I loved you without meaning it?”

Billy swallows.

“I thought the number of orgasms had gotten to your head and you were saying things that might not be totally true.”

Your eyebrows raise in realisation.

“It was true. I’ve been… feeling like that for a while.”

“Like you love me.” He says dumbly.

You nod your head.

“Like I love you.” You confirm.

This wasn’t an outcome Billy had ever seen coming. Sure, he’d been hoping for fondness, that he could give you a comfortable life and you could be content by his side.

But love?

Unthought of.

“Why the fuck would you love me?” He whispers, horrified.

He’d done so many bad things, ruined your life in so many ways.

You take a careful step in his direction.

“What’s not to love? You’re smart, and strong and you go after what you want-”

“-One of those things was you.” He argues.

You laugh. He wasn’t joking.

“Yeah, how I got here wasn’t the best, but, I’m glad I am, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He takes a step toward you, and then another, and then his arms are pulling you into a soul crushing hug.

“You love me.” He murmurs into the top of your head.

“Yes,” You reply, holding him just as tightly, “I do.”

.

“Where are we anyway?” You ask on the fourth night.

He raises his head from between your thighs.

“Europe.” He answers vaguely, before dropping his head to lap gently at your clit once more.

You smile happily, leaning back against the library desk.

“Billy?”

“Mmm?” He hums from between your thighs.

“I love you.”

You feel the breath he lets out before he pulls back. 

He kisses you, lips wet with your arousal, a tart taste on your tongue that makes you smile when he pulls away.

“I’ll show you how much I love you.” He mumbles, dropping to his knees once more.

.

Coming back to his apartment after that had felt surreal.

Like it was all a dream, the fucking best dream you’d ever had.

You’d been given a letter from your mother at the front desk, and you’d happily dropped it to the floor the minute Billy had pulled you into his arms for a slow kiss.

It was… magical, your fingers glazing through his beard, gripping his hair, the next thing you know you’re being lifted and taken to his bedroom.

The fire hadn’t left either of you, burning, sizzling sparks each time you touched, each time you held his hand or kissed his cheek.

He was all over you, inside and out, claiming you in a way you knew deep down would never be done by another.

“My wife.” He groans into your ear when he comes. 

You pant, reaching up to kiss him, legs wrapped tightly around his hips to keep him inside of you for as long as possible.

Your husband.

.

He leaves you in the early morning of the next day. It’s training day and he wants to get there early to get a jump on what he’s missed.

He kisses a path between the valley of your breasts down to your womb before he leaves, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit. You grin happily as you fall back asleep.

Later, when it’s time for you to leave for work, you find that manila envelope your mom had sent you sitting on the kitchen counter. Billy had probably picked it up from the floor where you had left it yesterday when he was leaving for work earlier.

You reach for it after you’re done hopping around to tug your heel on.

It’s unopened, so you take your time peeling it open, wondering what it was. Last time it had been a bunch of recoloured family photos, you assumed this was probably more of the same.

It’s not, it’s a stack of papers. At first, it’s odd things like flyers for bikes, and a bouncy castle rental ad. You flip through, a little concerned that your mother might be losing her mind.

Your face falls when you flip another page, and find what’s really been sent.

SUPREME COURT OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK

You could feel your heart turn to ice.

You see your name printed under Plaintiff, and under Defendant, is Billy’s. Most of your information has been filled out, including your fucking social security number. Most of Billy’s information is missing, only his real name is there.

Then you see it.

‘The grounds for dissolution of the marriage are as follows:’

Divorce papers.

These were divorce papers.

.

.

.

A/N: DON'T HURT ME THANKS

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hey gator, can you make a fic of Homelander dating a trans reader?

(Also you’re doing amazing, I’m so proud of you, and you’re flipping cool :D)

John Gillman/Homelander x ftm reader

Headcanons

Im gonna ignore the fact that Homelander would definitely be transphobic in canon, and write this in my canon where I make the rules.

John probably wouldn’t get it in the beginning, as he was definitely raised not being told about the LGBTQ community by vought, outside of the fact that it didn’t meet Americas standards. So, imagine his surprise when he starts having feelings for you, a man.

You weren’t even another hero, you were just a member of the marketing team who worked closer to The Seven than the rest. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t fawn over them or fear them, or how you didn’t seem to put up with their shit when they made impossible demands.

The only one you seemed to get along with in the beginning was Black Noir and Starlight, as they were both polite in their own ways.

John couldn’t figure out what it was about you, and it would take some time before he realized you were trans, which he’s able to figure out pretty quickly with his x-ray vision. Whether you wear a binder, have top and bottom surgery, or a third thing, he can spot it, since you would look different than cis guys.

He doesn’t know what to do with that information, especially since he’s already attracted to you and has tried to woo you in his own, showboaty way. Its kinda like watching a peacock strutting around trying to attract a mate.

Homelander is very bad at it though, and is kinda obvious about it too, maybe only to you though. Hes cute in his own way though, as he reminds you of a puppy at times, a very dangerous puppy with laser eyes, so in the end you make take the step and ask him out.

John would sputter and blush, but agree to go on a date. Hes never been one for privacy, so expect a lot of questions about being trans, even very intimate ones that you wouldn’t normally ask a stranger.

I can’t say hed be a great boyfriend, but that’s not because you are trans or anything. It’s mainly because he’s just not a good person in general, and he’s very busy as the leader of The Seven and keeping up his ratings.

But if your fine with both of you having busy schedules, him breaking into your apartment at any time of the day, and him not being public about your relationship as it would ruin his ratings, then I say go for it.

I don’t think he would go out of his way to research the trans experience, as he has you to answer all his questions if he has any. John doesn’t end up caring much about gender as a whole, but he will finance any surgeries or treatment if you want any, because he loves you and shows it through pampering you any chance he gets.

If you have breasts though, he would mourn if you got top surgery, since hed want them in his mouth all the time. But just give him something else to fixate on, and he will be fine. Be it your fingers or your next chest, or something third.

If you just wear a binder, expect him to keep a very close eye on your ribcage with his x-ray vision, and expect to be scolded if you wear it for too long, or if he can see it damaging your ribs. He would probably go out of his way to rip it right off you If you have worn it too long, he will just buy you a new one anyways.

All in all, he’s supportive in his own ways, even though those ways can be… questionable at times. He never actually questions if you are a man or not, and never misgenders you, and lashes out as anyone who does, but he does lack behind in certain areas. John does his best with what he’s got though.

[l0starl]

Could you do some 1610 Miles Morales fluff where he and his girlfriend are at his parents apartment and Miles wants attention/affection that he resorts to basically begging her stop studying and cuddle him “cause he can’t nap without her”? Bonus if you get his parents reaction to it

Thanks for requesting anon!

(🕸️) — Atsv Taglist ; @adorefavv @adorinjae @daydreaming-en-pointe

(✏️) — TAGLIST ; fill it out to be apart of it!

”Come on miles! I’m trying to studying, we can do whatever you want later.” You groaned in frustration, it’s been 15 minutes since you’ve been trying to study for your upcoming test, but he wouldn’t quit trying to get your attention.“You can study later guapa!” Miles frowned, learning his head on your shoulder.

“No miles, this test is 60% of my grade” I groaned, bringing home a test you failed would only earn you a disappointing look from your parents, only imagining your father’s disappointment makes your eyes water “i promise you’ll have my full attention and love later” you gave a reassuring smile

“Come on! Can’t you just take a break? Your being to hard on yourself!” He questioned, wrapping his arms around your waist, using your shoulder as a pillow.

“Alright, Alright! You win miles!” You sighed, closing your binder. “Well? You have my full attention now miles” you crossed your arms impatiently

“Come take a nap with me” He muttered under his breath. “Well I can’t hear you miles, your gonna have to say it louder” you teased, with a grin

“Come take a nap with me!” He said a bit louder, with a hint of embarrassment

“Alright then, move over!” You chuckled

soon later you were both knocked out, review papers scattered on the bed, miles sleeping soundly on the other hand while your on the opposite side with an arm hanging off the bed

“Miles! I told you to fold up the cloth in the dryer” Rio shouted as she opened the door her eyes soften as she smiles when she sees the two of you exhausted in bed

“I’ll go remind him later” she muttered to herself as she left the room. Leaving the door open an inch.

[literary-motif]

I'm Not Open To New Ideas

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

You find Isaac drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

Warnings: drinking

The hesitant knock on the closed door of the study tore him out of his thoughts. Isaac scowled. Had he not told you to leave him alone? Had he not given you the evening off to bury your nose in one of the books of the library and leave him alone?

He clicked his tongue, swirling the whiskey in his tumbler. “What?” he snapped. 

You creaked open the door, poking your head inside the dimly lit study. Your gaze immediately fell to the desk where Isaac had toiled away for the better part of the day and — in true insomnia fashion — most of the night. The massive dark wood struck an imposing image that suited the subtle feeling of grandeur of the room. It was filled with papers, the large shelf behind it containing countless binders and occasionally a loose beige folder of what you supposed were files of particular cases. 

The large black leather chair behind it was empty. You frowned, gaze sweeping over the cabinets full of more papers and bottles of golden liquor you knew to be whiskey — Hibiki Suntory Japanese Whiskey, to be exact — before settling on him.

Isaac sat on the couch at the other end of the room, a half-empty bottle of blended whiskey on the coffee table in front of him. His suit jacket lay discarded on the arm of the couch, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and tie loosened. He looked disheveled, black strands of hair falling into his eyes and projecting such a striking contrast to the put-together man you had viewed previously. 

His appearance made you freeze, second-guessing your intentions. Perhaps it was best to leave him be. Your acquaintance was new, and pushing him in this state seemed like a highway back onto the streets. 

His gaze was dark as he looked at you. “What do you want?” he asked. 

You swallowed, lingering in the doorway as you suddenly felt very out of place. “I—uh—” you stuttered, his eyes boring into you making you lose your train of thought. This had been a horrible idea. You should have listened to him when he said to take the evening for yourself and not bother him. 

His eyes narrowed in annoyance, the displeasure on his face making your heartbeat quicken. The light of the shielded lamp next to him caught on the glass in his hand, giving the whiskey an almost ethereal glow as he emptied his glass for the umpteenth time that evening.

“I wanted— I made dinner,” you said, stumbling over your words. “I found a cookbook in the library and tried the Curry Rice. Would you—?”

“No,” he said. His voice was cold, chilling you to the core. Isaac leaned forward, snatching the bottle from the table to pour himself a healthy amount again. 

You swallowed the disappointment at his harsh dismissal, eyeing his actions wearily. It would be best not to push, you reasoned. Isaac was in a precarious state. Something told you he was half-drunk, trying to bury whatever turned his gaze so vacant when he looked outside and made him bury himself in work until three in the morning. 

Some things weighed heavily on the mind, you knew. Some things were too heavy for a heart to handle. Some things drove a usually composed man to seek refuge at the bottom of a bottle. 

“I made it for you,” you admitted quietly, shifting your weight awkwardly and gathering the courage to face him again. “I saw a note on the page where—”

“Don’t.”

“I can prepare you a plate,” you offered, a hint of desperation creeping into your tone. You knew you shouldn’t care so much, but it was more than you could take watching the man who saved your life drowning in his sorrows. You were his housekeeper — part of you liked to believe you were his friend as well. “We don’t need to eat dinner together, I can bring it here instead. I just want you to—”

Isaac held up a hand to silence you. His expression reminded you of a black sky before a hazardous thunderstorm. You could feel the tension in the air. Any minute, a clap of thunder would ring through the atmosphere, paralyzing the world around you in sudden shock. He picked up his drink. “Get out.” 

“Isaac,” you tried, disregarding the warning look he shot your way. You were pushing too far, but you did not care. It felt wrong to leave him alone with his vice now that you could offer him an alternative. 

Perhaps you had not won his complete trust yet — still in the dark about the demons that plagued him — but you did not need to know his life’s story to care about him. 

“I’m trying to show you that there are other ways. You aren’t alone any—”

“Listen,” he snapped, cutting you off immediately. “I don’t need your company. I don’t need your pity. I have all I want” — he raised his glass, making the whiskey swirl dangerously close to the edge — “right here. So kindly: Get. Out.”

You stepped back, the bitterness in his voice catching you off guard. 

His gaze was trained on you as he took another generous gulp of whiskey. 

Your disappointment hung heavy in the air, but you kept your mouth shut. Taking the handle, you paused in the doorway. “I’ll leave it in the oven if you change your mind,” you muttered, not bothering to turn around and face the expression of searing apathy you knew you would find on his face. “Goodnight, Isaac.”

Whatever things he was washing away with his whiskey must have been stronger than he anticipated. In the morning you got up early as usual, finding him passed out on the couch in the living room, the cookbook you had leafed through the evening prior cradled against his chest, open on the page of the Curry Rice. 

As you looked closer, you found little wet spots on the note you had followed in your recipe. ‘Add extra honey, little Isaac’s favorite’ it read, the neat cursive now smeared from the droplets of tears that had been shed on it. 

In the kitchen, a serving of Curry Rice was missing.

[stinkywritin]

All That Remains of the Day

Synopsis: movie night with Lixie

Warnings: MDNI established relationship, bf!felix, service top Felix, bottom ftm!reader, soft couch head with stoned bf while watching movies, mentions of weed (use responsibly/with trusted individuals), no proofreading we die like men

While most of your other friends who were in relationships were out enjoying the crisp fall air and general fall vibes, you and your boyfriend Felix were cuddled up under a blanket on the couch watching Corpse Bride. It had been a pretty shitty morning, not only did you wake up late for work but you couldn’t find your chest binder in time, meaning you booked it to your shift at the convenience store in a tight sports bra and an oversized t-shirt layered over a long sleeve. While you probably didn’t look all that different from your usual self, the nagging feeling of dysphoria kept reminding you throughout the day of your not-super-flat chest. It resulted in a slightly sour mood for your entire shift, the constant distraction from your brain causing a few slip ups at work, resulting in an earful from your boss.

The cherry on top truly was missing your bus home and almost getting hit by a cyclist who didn’t understand the concept of a bike lane, instead choosing to speed down the sidewalk and nearly crashing into you. Luckily the universe decided to show you some mercy and the next bus came on time, even if you still had to walk back to your apartment in the dark.

The cyclist might’ve narrowly missed you but your boyfriend didn’t, practically throwing his body into you the second you open the front door and koala hugging your figure. His arms pulled you into his chest, essentially engulfing you with his upper body before closing the front door behind you. “Y/n you’re cold, come on!” Felix whined in between pecks to your forehead.

There’s a brief moment where he pulls back to peel off your backpack and jacket, turning to hang them up while you toe off your sneakers. A second barely passes before he’s wrapped you back up into his chest again, guiding you into your living room and pushing your frame down to sit on the couch. “I’m gonna go get you some pjs, you sit here and pick a movie”, he ends with a kiss to your cheek before taking off in the direction of your shared bedroom.

You spend a few moments scrolling before ending on Corpse Bride, spending a few seconds selecting the film and pressing start. Felix is back just as the movie finishes loading, handing you a pair of sweatpants and a random T-shirt. While you’re changing out of your — probably horrific smelling — work clothes, Felix brings out a rectangular tray and starts rolling a joint he intends to share. You take a few steps to throw your work clothes into the laundry hamper (pls omg be clean don’t leave ur shit on the floor bro), then hurriedly flopping back onto the couch. Felix hands you his joint and a lighter, “You have the honors.”

You take the newly rolled joint between your lips, lighting the end and taking a deep inhale. As the smoke leaves your mouth when you exhale, you can feel the worries escape with it. It certainly helps that Felix is soothingly running his hand along your back, plucking the joint from your fingers while encouraging you to tell him the shitty details of your day. You pass the joint between each other as the opening sequence starts playing, Felix calmly listening and even massaging any knots in your shoulders he comes across. Your voice echoes over the film as you spill out all the frustrations of that day, trying to get your eyes to stop welling up but the weed in your system making it harder to hide any emotion, getting high with Felix meant wearing your emotions on your sleeves. The joint is long gone and the movie is a quarter way through when you finish recounting your day, fully leaning your upper half onto your boyfriend’s frame with his arms wrapped around you.

“I’m sorry my love,” Felix pecks your forehead before lifting your chin to make eye contact, “can I do anything else for you.”

You nod your head in a sideways motion before whispering, “being with you is making my day less shitty already.”

You hear his giggle before he’s pulling you in for a kiss, disregarding the movie and softly pushing you back to lay flat on the couch. He’s holding you so tenderly, pouring his love into the kiss. The fogginess in your head lets you forget the day’s events easier and focus solely on your boyfriend whose hands are traveling down to the waistband of your sweats. “Let me do more for you angel”

Being high with Felix usually meant his horniness became more apparent, his hands were always on your body and his lips were always placing kisses on you. You whimper when you feel him tug down your sweats and start to feel up on your core, earning a chuckle from him while he pulls your boxers down. You feel his hands traveling to grip the underside of your thighs, the band on his pinky reminding you of the promise ring you got him and then never took off. You can feel the cold metal on your thighs as he pulls them apart to slot his head in between.

He hears your gasps and hums out, “let all your worries leave that pretty head of yours okay” before licking a stripe up your core. He pulls your swollen tdick into his mouth and starts running circles over it with his tongue, letting out a muffled groan when your hands fly down to grip his hair and pull him closer. It’s embarrassing how quickly you start to approach your orgasm, you partly blame the weed for making your body so sensitive but you mostly blame Felix for learning how to please you in every possible way. It’s insane how quickly he learned your body, how to make you twitch and squirm or cry out in pleasure. He’s switching between licking and sucking your nerve when you feel his index finger start to prod at your entrance, slowly slipping in and curling up towards your stomach.

Your body erupts in goosebumps when his finger grazes a certain spot, you can almost feel his grin when he feels the bumps start to pebble your skin. He’s moaning into your tdick, his eyelids opening to meet your gaze and you can see the devilish joy he takes in making you fall apart on his mouth and fingers. He adds in a second finger as he releases your clit with an obscenely loud ‘pop’ before flicking it back and forth with his tongue, he’s absorbed in your facial expressions and sounds.

He can feel you getting close to your release, his fingers curling into you faster as he takes your clit back in his mouth. The added stimulation of his mouth back on you is what sends you over the edge, cumming over his fingers and tightening your grip on his hair. “Such a pretty boy,” he hums out while taking long licks of your release, “my handsome man.”

You’re panting harder than when you ran to catch the bus earlier in the day, your orgasm ripping through your body and leaving your knees feeling like jello. Felix meets you in a soft kiss, you can taste yourself on his tongue but you’re too fucked out to really care. The familiar sound of the end credits starts to play through your living room, catching both of you off guard since it meant you both completely forgot about the movie playing on the screen.

You’re both giggling as you tighten your hold on Felix, your boyfriend lowering himself to rest on top of you and nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck. You both fall asleep in that position, you carding your fingers through his hair and mumbling praises into his ear.

A/N: can’t sleep here’s some filth because my dorm mates can’t let me sleep :)))) I’m not internally screamcrying I swear -V

[stormyelliotwritez]

Hello! okay so like poolverine helping autistic ftm reader come to terms with being okay being trans and helping them feel more masc and comfortable in their masculinity please and thank you!

YES YES ONE HUNDRED TIMES YES

im gonna make this a headcanony thing coz ive done all the other ones this vibe as headcanons and theyre fun!

tw: mentions of dysphoria

Dating them as autistic ftm!reader learning to be okay with being trans

They’re both supportive and they want to help you in anyway they can

Logan doesn’t want to be too forward and scare you off so he just leaves his clothes around and tells you how good you look when you wear them

Wade’s more forward so he buys you a binder

They both do research into what you could be feeling and what would make you feel better

Wade picks your outfits for you when you’re feeling dysphoric or just bleh and he always makes them very masc

Logan will always listen to you ramble about your gender and how you feel

They get you stim toys that are catered towards boys like dinosaur stuff

Wade buys you stereotypical boy toys like Hot Wheels (which are so good for stimming) and Logan’ll play with them with you two sometimes

Logan calls you his boy and his man depending on how ya feel and makes sure to not use pet names that sound girly and Wade calls you handsome and pretty boy

Logan reminds you to take binder breaks so you don’t get overstimulated and he assures you that they don’t see you as a girl just because you aren’t binding

You get cuddled all the time and their hands stay below your chest or above it if you get dysphoric so they don’t touch your chest

Wade throws his jumpers at you like how he threw the jacket at Logan in Dp&W when he sees you starting to feel dysphoric

Logan makes damn sure to mention to everyone how amazing both his boyfriends are and if anyone is a little shit to you or Wade, he threatens them

If you hadn’t picked out a name, Logan goes through a baby book with you and Wade just shouts out random names like Fred and Maverick

They’re literally the best boyfriends ever

[leifbuggleboy]

sdv boys with a transmasc!reader as their partner :)

sfw! includes shane being a flirt, alex being actually competent, harvey being very doctor, sebastian being very proud, sam being a puppy, elliot being a hopeless romantic ❤️

shane ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

when you come out, he’s a bit surprised and asks a few questions (he lives under a rock) but once you answer them he obliges and respects you

he’ll probably forget to call you your preferred pronouns and you’ll have to correct him, but when you do he goes “oh crap sorry, i meant…” and he’ll go on

he loves watching you put on your binder for some unknown reason. “what?” you ask him when you catch him staring as you slip the binder over your head. he exhales through his nose with that stupid smile that obviously means he loves you. “you’re just so handsome,” he replies then pulls you into a kiss.

if you’re on t he’ll ask you if you need any help on your shot days. he forgets your days a lot and when you remind him that it’s your day he’s like “oh!” and helps you with whatever you need :)

alex ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

when you come out he’s lowkey excited. he’s never met a trans person before and his first reaction is “woah that’s so cool!” and he’ll obviously have so many questions

i choose to believe he’s at a decent height above you so he often calls you his short king

he definitely goes out to zuzu city and gets you however many binders you need in whatever size you need, it really doesn’t matter to him

whenever you feel dysphoric he’ll let you borrow a shirt or sweater of his and he’ll sit down with you and watch a show or whatever with you while calling you his pretty boy or handsome boy or any affirmative name you like

if you’re on t he’ll INSIST on doing the shot for you. he’s a bit scared of needles but he needs to tough it out in order to be your big strong bf. there’ll be a few times where he gets too scared so you just have to do it but then he feels super bad for not being able to do it for you :( but you just grab his face in yours hands and tell him he’s strong anyways :3

harvey *ೃ༄

he’s a doctor, he knows what it means so he has not questions other than what he can do to help you out

he’s very strict with your binder. he has a timer set for when you have to take it off after 8 hours and when it goes off he’s all like “my love, you have to take your binder off now! i’ll lend you one of my sweaters that you can wear if you don’t feel good without it.” he so loving 😭❤️

if you’re feeling dysphoric he’ll hug you tightly and rub your back while whispering “you’re so handsome, my darling. the most beautiful boy i’ve ever laid eyes on.”

if you’re on t, much like alex, he insists on doing it for you. but he wont get disgusted or scared. he’ll do all the right procedures and does it very securely and quickly. it’ll be like a little prick through your skin but then he’ll go “all done!” like it never even happened

sebastian ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

he’s kind neutral about it, like “…okay.” and then he asks your pronouns and stuff like that.

doesn’t mess up your pronouns ONCE. in fact he’ll use them a bit too much when talking to other people. he’ll go “oh yeah my BOYfriend is a great cook. HE makes an amazing salmon. HE also catches HIS own fish.” you catch my drift? he kinda rubs it into other peoples faces

he likes to watch you wearing a sweater over just your binder with shorts or sweats, speshly while going to bed. “you’re super cute, by the way,” he’ll say but that’s obviously an understatement coming from him.

if you’re on t he will not help you (im sorry)!!! he’ll like sit and watch you give it to yourself. he’ll take notes and stuff yk? but if you ask him to help you out he’ll do it, but i think he might get queasy at needles

sam ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

when you come out to him he’ll be like “oh that’s cool!” and have no questions, he gets the gist

sometimes he’ll slip up you’re pronouns but then he apologizes and corrects himself immediately

he’s moderately taller than you, so he likes to ruffle your hair and pick you up in his semi-strong arms

he likes to go through your closet and see what sizes most of your favorite shirts are so he knows how to make you feel comfortable in your body

if you’re on t he’ll help you all you want! he’s a bit goofy around needles and shots but for you he puts on his big boy panties and toughens up :)

he’ll randomly come up behind you and tell you how handsome or masculine you look today, he’ll be like “just wanna let you know how beautiful you are, baby boy” and “love having a boyfriend as amazing as you”

elliot ੈ✩‧₊˚

i’m gonna be honest… i don’t think he’d understand fully at first but he’s open to learning. after a few days or weeks of trying really hard it’ll burn itself into his brain

he loves to twirl his fingers with yours, admiring how big his are compared to yours. “you’re so handsome,” he mutters in your ear. “you fit so perfectly with me, no matter what you are.”

he gets you everything you need. all your binders are in the wash? bam, he makes one out of a corset. oh you’re late on t? pow, it’s already done. your hair’s getting too long? this man can STYLE and CUT. i mean look at him.

he talks about you very poetically. you’ve definitely found little notes about you in his drawers - “my boyfriend is so beautiful. he is the most amazing man i’ve ever met. i love him so much. his smile is the moon that gives my ocean its waves. i’d follow him to hell and back if it meant seeing him every minute of every day.” when you confront him about it he’ll get kind of nervous but he’ll tell you: “all of that is true. you are my god.”

[reorientation]

Condition me to find playing with my breasts relaxing. Start by massaging them along with my back after I come home from a long day, while talking softly to me, reassuring me that you'll always help me through rough times. 'It feels good, doesn't it?' Then slowly transition to making me do it myself, you'll take care of my back and shoulders, and I'll handle my breasts. This is something I can do any time I'm stressed out, any time I have a private moment. It's ok, I don't have to think of this as feminizing, its just basic bio-chemistry. Breast massages cause a release of oxytocin, one of the feel good hormones. Lie to me when I notice my breasts start getting bigger. Just buy me better, more restrictive binders as gifts. When I start lactating, comfort me, and shower me with adoration and appreciation. Buy me a breast pump, so that I can empty my tits before work every morning, it would be embarrassing for me to leak at the office, wouldn't it? Hold my hand as you guide me into this spiraling catch 22. I need to milk myself to pass at work -> milking increases my milk production -> I have to milk myself more and more in order to squeeze into my binders. What a cruel cycle you've tricked me into. -sleepy anon

I wouldn't be a good partner if I didn't do my best to help you relax. Before even suggesting the breast massages - knowing that they might make you dysphoric - I'd have already gotten you some herbal supplements to help with anxiety. You know, chamomile, fenugreek, blessed thistle, that kind of thing.

Once they started, though, I'd be sure that we made it a habit. It would be so kind of me to set aside part of every day to massage your back (is it feeling a little more strained than it used to?) as you took care of the parts you could reach. And I'd remind you that you needed to do that, to help your body relax after you were wearing a binder all day - so many people hurt themselves with those.

I hope it would be during one of those sessions that you got the first drops. I'd be there to reassure you, to comfort you, to take your mind off of it by fucking you full of cum (when did I get so hard?), and to lovingly lick the milk off of you so that you didn't feel like your new bodily functions made you undesirable.

From there... It would be simple, wouldn't it? You just need to pump more. A girl AFAB person can only produce so much milk, you know - you just have to get it all out. I'd support you with the logistics. I'd buy you new binders... or nursing bras, but only because it'll make things easier for you at work, babe. I'd be so supportive, compassionate, loving.

I'd even try to stifle a laugh when you leaked milk from your swollen teats as you came on my cock.