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23victoria · 1 year ago

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“P1 BABY!!”

lewis hamilton x wife!reader

wc: 1.2k

warnings: smut

authors note: HE FUCKING WONN!!! SO SO SO HAPPY FOR HIM!! IVE BEEN CRYING ALL DAY!! I LOVE HIM SO MICH HE DESERVES IT!! GOAT OF F1! ❤️

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f1 masterlist

y/nhamilton

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell, sza, georgerussell, mercedesamgf1, charlesleclerc, oscar piastri, and 4,444,444 others

P1 for my baby at Silverstone!!! I am beyond proud and amazed by this man everyday. His dedication, determination, grace, courage, and love for this sport and his fans is beautiful to see and experience! Thank you to the fans for all your support and love!! Seeing you guys out there today was beautiful! Such an emotional day for us all! I never gave up on him no matter how many times he gave up on himself, I believed in him and so did you. Today was proof that he is and will always be the Greatest Of All Time in F1! Lewis, I love you forever and always ❤️! Still We Rise!! 🙌🏾🫶🏾❤️🥹

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lewishamilton i love you so much my love 🫶🏾❤️

landonorris congrats to lewis!!

sebastianvettel goat! congrats lewis!! 🤍

hamazinglew so proud of him!!

username22 it’s been so long!!

username16 he was crying, i was crying, we all crode 🥹

username1 love you lewis!!

username9 lh44 forever!!

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You can hardly contain your excitement as you stand amidst the roaring crowd at Silverstone, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. The air vibrates with the sound of engines and the fervent cheers of fans, all eyes on the track. You’re right there in the thick of it, feeling every heartbeat, every surge of adrenaline as the race unfolds.

Lewis Hamilton, your hero, your partner, is in the lead. You clutch the edge of your seat, your breath hitching with every turn he takes. The final lap approaches, and the world seems to hold its breath. The finish line is in sight, and when Lewis crosses it, a wave of euphoria sweeps over the grandstands. He’s done it. He’s won!

Tears blur your vision as you leap to your feet, joining the chorus of ecstatic fans. The noise is deafening, but all you can think about is getting to him. You push through the crowd, your heart pounding in time with the chants of his name. When he steps out of the car, the expression on his face is pure joy.

You break into a run, the world around you a blur, and before you know it, you’re in his arms. He lifts you off your feet, holding you tight as both of you cry tears of happiness.

“I knew you could do it,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “You’re so talented, and this is just the beginning. There’s so much more to come.”

He kisses you deeply, and the world fades away until it’s just the two of you, lost in the moment. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips.

“I love you too,” you reply, feeling a surge of pride and love swell in your chest.

Lewis makes his way to the podium, and you watch him, your heart swelling with pride. The cheers of the crowd wash over you as he lifts the trophy, the culmination of all his hard work and dedication.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ☆ .*₊ .• ☆.°.• .

The evening finds you both at a club, the celebration in full swing. The music is loud, the lights are bright, and the energy is contagious. You dance and drink, savoring every moment. You’re surrounded by friends and fans, all celebrating Lewis’s incredible victory.

With a bottle of Almave in hand, you toast to the night, to the future, to love and success. The two of you dance like there’s no tomorrow, feeling the warmth and comfort of being together. The music fades into the background as you lose yourselves in the moment, simply enjoying being with one another

The celebration at the club has left you both exhilarated and slightly tipsy, the world a delightful blur of lights and music. Now, as you step into the quiet sanctity of your bedroom, the atmosphere shifts, becoming charged with a different kind of energy.

Lewis looks at you, his eyes dark with desire and affection. You smile, stepping closer to him, your fingers lightly grazing his arm. “Tonight is about you,” you whisper, your voice soft but filled with intent.

You begin with a slow, lingering kiss, your lips exploring his with a gentle but growing hunger. He responds in kind, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer. You can feel the heat of his body through your clothes, the anticipation building with every heartbeat.

You guide him to the bed, your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the taut muscles beneath. You lift the fabric, exposing his chest, and he helps you by raising his arms, letting you pull the shirt over his head. You take a moment to admire him, his skin gleaming in the soft light.

You push him gently onto the bed, straddling him. Your hands explore his body, fingers tracing the lines of his abs, the contours of his chest. You kiss your way down his neck, savoring the taste of his skin. He moans softly, his hands on your hips, guiding you closer.

Your lips continue their journey downward, kissing, licking, teasing. When you reach the waistband of his pants, you pause, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. He meets your gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of love and lust.

Slowly, you undo his belt, the sound of the buckle hitting the floor loud in the quiet room. You slide his pants down, revealing the growing bulge in his boxers. You kiss along the line of his hip, teasing him, making him wait. His breath hitches, his hands clenching the sheets.

Finally, you remove his boxers, freeing his cock. You take him in your hand, stroking him gently, your eyes never leaving his. You lean down, your lips brushing against the tip, tasting him. His reaction is immediate, a groan of pleasure escaping his lips.

You take your time, teasing him with your mouth, your tongue, until he’s trembling beneath you, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Just when he thinks he can’t take any more, you stop, moving back up to kiss him deeply.

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, his voice hoarse with need.

You smile, positioning yourself over him, guiding him inside you. The sensation is intense, both of you gasping as you begin to move together. The rhythm is slow at first, building gradually, each movement bringing you closer.

As the passion builds, he flips you over, positioning you on your stomach. His hands grip your hips, pulling you up so you're on your knees. You feel his fingers tangle in your hair, giving a gentle but firm tug as he thrusts into you from behind. The intensity of the angle makes you cry out in pleasure, the sensation overwhelming.

He continues to thrust in and out of you, the pace quickening, each movement more powerful than the last. You feel yourself tightening around him, the tension building as his name falls from your lips in a breathless moan. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling your head back slightly, exposing the curve of your neck. He leans forward, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers words of love and desire.

Feeling the edge approaching, he slows down, pulling out and flipping you onto your back again. He positions himself between your legs, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder, deepening the angle. His eyes lock onto yours, the connection between you electric as he thrusts in and out of you.

The intensity is almost too much to bear, every thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You reach up, your hands gripping his arms, feeling the muscles tense and flex with each powerful thrust. The look in his eyes is one of pure adoration, mixed with a raw, primal desire that sends shivers down your spine.

“Lewis,” you moan, your voice trembling with pleasure. “I’m so close.”

He responds with a deep, passionate kiss, his thrusts becoming faster, driving you both to the brink. The tension inside you finally snaps, your body arching as you come, a cry of ecstasy escaping your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Lewis follows moments later, his release spilling into you as he groans your name, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

You collapse into each other, spent but utterly content. Your bodies are still tangled together, the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you both. You lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading away, leaving just the two of you, basking in the warmth of your love and the triumph of the day.

✿ .° • everything taglist • °. ✿ : @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164

✿ .° • lewis taglist • °. ✿ : @yoncesgroove @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality

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drewswife · 5 months ago

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Labor

summary: y/n went into labor and gave birth to her baby girl and Rafe cried for the first time in a while

contains: mentions of childbirth and blood, Rafe and y/n crying

A/n: I hope it is good but thanks for requesting! anon

The gush was sudden, jolting me awake. I scrambled out of bed, heart pounding. It wasn't a leak, a trickle, or even a slow flow. It was a torrent, soaking through my pajamas and pooling on the floor. "Rafe!" I yelled, my voice hoarse with panic.

He stumbled in, sleep still clinging to his eyes. "What? What is it?"

"My water broke!" I gasped, pointing to the growing puddle around my feet. "It's everywhere!"

Rafe's eyes widened. "Oh my god. Okay, okay, stay calm. I'll call the hospital. Did you pack the bag?"

"I think so," I mumbled, already feeling the contractions starting, each one a sharp, insistent wave.

He dialed the hospital, his voice a low rumble of concern. "Yes, she's having contractions now. ... Yes, we're on our way. ... Okay, thank you." He hung up, his gaze fixed on me. "Time to go. Can you walk?"

I nodded, each step a challenge against the growing intensity of the contractions. Rafe rushed around, grabbing the diaper bag, my phone, and a blanket. We raced out the door, locking the house behind us.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Rafe drove like a madman, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I gripped the seat, moaning through each contraction. The world outside the car windows was a kaleidoscope of flashing lights and blurred buildings.

We arrived at the hospital, breathless and disheveled. The nurses rushed us to a delivery room, their faces a mixture of concern and excitement. They hooked me up to monitors, checked my dilation, and prepared me for the long haul.

Hours passed, each contraction more excruciating than the last. I cried out, my voice raw with pain. Rafe held my hand, his grip steady and reassuring. He whispered words of encouragement, his eyes filled with love and worry.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I felt the urge to push. I strained, my muscles burning, my body shaking. With each push, I felt a surge of hope, a flicker of anticipation.

Then, it happened. A sudden rush of pressure, followed by a feeling of release. I heard a cry, a tiny, mewling sound that filled the room with joy.

"It's a girl!" the nurse announced, handing me my baby.

I looked down at her, my heart overflowing. She was perfect, tiny and pink, with a mop of my dark curls. And rafe blue eyes I brought her to my chest, tears streaming down my face.

Rafe leaned over, his eyes shining with tears. "She's beautiful," he whispered.

“What should we name her” i whispered back

Rafe looked at her for a while “sage”

We spent the next few hours in a haze of euphoria. We marveled at our daughter, her tiny fingers and toes, her delicate features. We took turns holding her, our hearts overflowing with love.

As the hours passed, the initial shock of childbirth gave way to a sense of peace. I looked at Rafe, his face etched with exhaustion but also with an indescribable joy. We had done it. We had brought a new life into the world, together.

The next morning, we were discharged from the hospital. As we walked out the door, hand in hand, I felt a wave of emotion wash over me. We had faced a challenge together, and we had come out stronger, our bond deepened by the shared experience.

We walked down the street, our daughter sleeping peacefully in her car seat. Rafe smiled at me, his eyes twinkling. "We did it," he said, his voice filled with wonder.

I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes. We had done it. We had faced the unknown, embraced the pain, and emerged on the other side, changed forever. And as we walked down the street, our hearts filled with love and hope, I knew this was just the beginning of our adventure.

taglist:@chrislilcumslvt @drewstarkeyzwhore

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its-avalon-08 · 1 year ago

Note

Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me any driver but this vibe!

the alchemy (mv1)

✦ pairing - max verstappen x female!reader

✦ genre - just plain ol'fluff

The roar of the crowd at Yas Marina Circuit was deafening. Max Verstappen, helmet still on, emerged from his Red Bull, a champion for the first time. Relief, exhaustion, and pure, unadulterated joy warred on his face. He bypassed the waiting media scrum, his eyes scanning the jubilant throngs of orange. There, amidst the sea of ecstatic fans, stood Y/N, his rock, his sunshine.

where's the trophy?

"Max! Max! Max!" David Croft's voice boomed over the international broadcast. "He's forgoing the initial interview! Looks like the celebrations are starting a little early!"

he just comes running over to me

Max sprinted towards her, a wide grin splitting his face. He reached her, engulfed her in a bone-crushing hug, and spun her around like a jubilant ballerina. Y/N, tears welling in her eyes, clung to him, her laughter echoing in the cacophony.

He finally stopped, cupping her face, his blue eyes shimmering with emotion. "We did it, Y/N! We fucking did it!"

"We did, Max," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You were incredible out there!"

Max pulled her in again, burying his face in her hair. The roar of the crowd seemed to fade into the background as he whispered, "I couldn't have done it without you. You believed in me when I doubted myself, pushed me when I wanted to quit, and loved me even when I was a grumpy mess after a bad race."

Y/N tilted her head up, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Hey, that's part of the package, Champion," she teased. "But seriously, Max, I'm so incredibly proud of you. You've worked so hard for this moment."

Max gazed at her, his eyes filled with adoration. "You mean everything to me, Y/N. You're my best friend, my confidante, my biggest supporter. This championship, it's ours."

Croft's voice cut back in, tinged with amusement. "And there you have it, folks! Max Verstappen with a very emotional message for his girlfriend, Y/N. It seems the celebrations are truly personal tonight!"

Max chuckled, brushing a stray tear from Y/N's cheek. "Come on," he said, taking her hand. "Let's celebrate with the team. They deserve this as much as we do."

He led her through the throngs of ecstatic Red Bull personnel, who whooped and cheered, showering them with confetti and champagne. Y/N, her arm linked with Max's, felt a surge of pure happiness. This championship wasn't just his; it was a testament to the unwavering support of a team, a family, and the love of a remarkable woman. As they joined the celebrations, Y/N knew this was just the beginning of their incredible journey together.

max's pov

The champagne shower was a glorious, stinging euphoria. Confetti rained down, a kaleidoscope of orange and white mirroring the elation that bubbled in my chest. The podium lights felt unnaturally bright, but the cheers of the crowd were a warm, intoxicating wave. I was a champion. Formula One World Champion.

But amidst the cacophony, my vision cut through the noise, drawn to the familiar splash of sunshine yellow in the crowd. Y/N. There she was, a beacon amidst the sea of orange. Her hair, usually pulled back in a practical braid, cascaded down her shoulders in the humid Abu Dhabi night, windblown and free. Her face, usually reserved and composed when I was in the car, was a mask of pure, unadulterated joy. Tears welled in her eyes, sparkling like tiny diamonds under the floodlights.

Time seemed to slow. The roar of the crowd faded, replaced by the frantic pounding of my heart. A wide grin stretched across my face, mirroring the one I knew was mirrored on hers. We locked eyes for a fleeting moment, an unspoken conversation passing between us. Her lips moved, forming the words that had echoed in my head all season, the fuel that had propelled me through every grueling race, every nerve-wracking qualifying session.

"I love you."

The sound didn't reach me, drowned out by the cheers, but I knew. I knew with a certainty that transcended words. It was in the glistening tears, the trembling smile, the way her entire being radiated pure, unadulterated pride. This wasn't just my victory. It was ours.

As Christian Horner sprayed me with champagne, the sting a welcome reminder of the moment, my gaze never left her. She was my rock, my anchor, the sunshine that chased away the storm clouds of doubt. This championship trophy, held aloft in my numb fingers, was as much hers as it was mine. It was a symbol of our journey, a testament to the unwavering support that had carried me across the finish line.

The podium celebrations blurred into a whirlwind of handshakes, interviews, and backslaps. But through it all, her image remained etched in my mind, a beacon of love and pride. And when I finally found myself back at the team motorhome, the echoes of the celebration fading, I knew exactly where I needed to be. With her.

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nayziiz · 1 year ago

Text

Winner | CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader (she/her)

Warnings: Smut, fluff, praise kink, size kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

Carlos's heart pounded with adrenaline as he surged ahead, the roar of the engine drowning out the crowd's cheers. He had waited for this moment, trained for it relentlessly, and now, as he soared past the faltering leader, the taste of victory was tantalizingly close.

But even in the midst of his triumph, a small voice of caution whispered in his mind. He knew all too well the unpredictable nature of motorsport, the countless variables that could turn a seemingly certain win into bitter disappointment. It was this awareness, this ability to remain rational in the face of intense emotion, that had often set him apart on the track.

As he navigated the twists and turns of the circuit, his mind raced along with his car. He analyzed every corner, every potential pitfall, constantly adjusting his strategy to stay ahead of the competition. Despite his hot-headed nature, there was a methodical precision to his driving, a calculated aggression that made him a force to be reckoned with.

But then, just as victory seemed within his grasp, disaster struck. A sudden jolt, a grinding noise from the engine, and Carlos's heart sank. The mechanical gremlins that had plagued the previous leader had now found their way into his own car, threatening to derail his dreams.

In that moment, the fiery temper that lay dormant beneath Carlos's cool exterior flared to life. Frustration and anger bubbled up within him, threatening to consume his rationality. He pounded his fists against the steering wheel, cursing the cruel twist of fate that had robbed him of his chance at glory.

But even as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him, a calm resolve settled over Carlos. He knew that losing his temper now would only compound his misfortune. With steely determination, he forced himself to focus, to push aside the frustration and channel his energy into finding a solution.

With a series of quick adjustments and some expertly timed maneuvers, Carlos managed to nurse his ailing car across the finish line, clinching victory by the narrowest of margins. As he stepped out of the cockpit to the deafening roar of the crowd, there was no trace of the anger that had threatened to consume him moments before. Instead, there was only the triumphant smile of a racer who had faced adversity head-on and emerged victorious.

As she stood in the garage, eyes fixed on the screen displaying the unfolding drama on the track, a sense of déjà vu washed over her. It was as if time had folded back upon itself, transporting her to another moment, another race, another victory.

Singapore. The memory flooded her mind with vivid clarity. The thrill of watching Carlos tear through the night, the elation as he crossed the finish line first, the overwhelming rush of emotion that had followed. She could still feel the electricity in the air, the palpable excitement that had enveloped them all as they celebrated his triumph.

And now, as she watched him once again poised on the brink of victory, that same sense of anticipation crackled in the air. If this race unfolded as she hoped, if Carlos once again emerged triumphant, she would gladly join him in releasing that pent-up adrenaline, in reveling in the euphoria of success.

She could already imagine the scene: the champagne spraying, the cheers ringing out, the infectious joy radiating from Carlos as he basked in the glow of his accomplishment. And she would be right there beside him, sharing in his moment of glory, savoring every second of the celebration.

As the final moments of the race ticked away, her heart raced in time with the cars on the screen. Victory was tantalizingly close now, just within reach. And if history repeated itself, if Carlos crossed that finish line first once again, she would be ready to join him in letting loose the floodgates of exhilaration, to savor the sweet taste of success together.

As Carlos basked in the glow of his first win of the season, the atmosphere in the paddock crackled with excitement and jubilation. Cheers echoed through the air, champagne flowed freely, and the buzz of media activity filled every corner.

But amidst the celebrations and post-race obligations, Carlos couldn't shake the longing to find her, to share this moment of triumph with the one person who mattered most to him. After his fleeting moment on the podium, he sought her out, eager to revel in their victory together.

With the door securely locked behind them, Carlos felt the weight of anticipation settle in the air like a charged current. He stood for a moment, savoring the thrill of the moment, the hunger building within him like a predator poised to strike.

In the dim light of the driver's room, he could see her silhouette, a tantalizing figure bathed in the soft glow of victory. He could almost taste the adrenaline that lingered on her skin, mingling with the heady scent of his own cologne, sweat, and the remnants of champagne from their celebration.

She remained still, a silent beacon drawing him closer with each passing moment. There was a knowing in her stance, a silent invitation for him to take the lead, to guide their movements with a primal urgency that mirrored the intensity of their shared desire.

With a predatory grace, Carlos closed the distance between them, his movements deliberate and purposeful. There was no need for words in this moment, no need for hesitation. They both understood the silent language of desire, the unspoken connection that bound them together in this private sanctuary of intimacy.

As he reached her side, he allowed himself to drink in the sight of her, to revel in the magnetic pull that drew them together. And then, with a hunger that bordered on desperation, he claimed her neck in a searing kiss, igniting a firestorm of passion that consumed them both in its fierce embrace.

“Hands behind your back, baby,” Carlos directed her, his words laced with a raw intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Without hesitation, she complied, clasping her hands behind her back as he had instructed. As she surrendered to his command, he couldn't help but feel a surge of power coursing through him. There was something undeniably intoxicating about the way she willingly relinquished control, placing her trust entirely in his hands.

He watched her closely, his gaze lingering on the sight of her bound wrists, a potent symbol of her submission to his desires. It was a rare and beautiful sight, seeing her yield so completely to him, allowing him to take the reins and guide their shared passion to new heights.

“You did so well, baby,” she murmured, her voice finally finding its way through the haze of desire that enveloped them.

“I know,” he replied with a cocky smirk, his confidence radiating like a palpable force. “Turn around, cariño.”

Without a moment's hesitation, she acquiesced, turning to face him with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. As she shifted, she felt the heat of his body pressing against hers, his hands finding purchase at her waist before trailing down to her hips, pulling her irresistibly closer to him.

With each breath, the air between them crackled with electricity, a potent mixture of desire and anticipation that seemed to hang in the air like a tangible force. She could feel the heat of his gaze boring into her, igniting a fierce firestorm of longing deep within her core.

As their bodies melded together, every touch, every caress sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins, setting her aflame with a need that bordered on desperation. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, locked in a passionate embrace that transcended time and space.

With a soft gasp, she leaned into him, her body arching against his in silent invitation. And as their lips met in a searing kiss, she knew with a certainty that bordered on certainty that this moment, this connection, was something truly special

“Keep your hands back there, okay?” Carlos reminded her, his voice low and commanding.

“Yes, baby,” she responded obediently, her breath hitching with anticipation.

With deliberate care, Carlos knelt before her, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached for the zipper of her black satin skirt. His touch was gentle, reverent almost, as he teased the fabric apart, inch by tantalizing inch.

Normally, in the heat of the moment, Carlos's passion could sometimes lead to clothing casualties—ripped zippers, broken buttons—but tonight was different. Tonight, he took his time, savoring the thrill of anticipation as he slowly undid the fastenings, each movement a delicious torment that left her trembling with desire.

As the fabric pooled at her feet, he looked up at her with a hunger that mirrored her own, his eyes dark with desire.

“You're going to be quiet, right, cariño?” Carlos's voice held a hint of playful warning, his gaze locking with hers.

“I'll try but I make no promises,” she replied, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. A smirk tugged at the corners of Carlos's lips as he heard her response.

“That's right, you love making noise for me, don't you?” He teased, his tone laced with a mixture of amusement and desire. Her breath caught in her throat at his words, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she nodded in agreement.

“Yes, baby,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breathless murmur.

“Then let's see just how quiet you can be, shall we?” Carlos leaned in closer, his lips grazing her ear as he whispered.

As her underwear slipped down her legs and pooled at her ankles, Carlos wasted no time in discarding them entirely, his focus solely on the woman before him. With a hunger that burned bright in his eyes, he trailed soft, featherlight kisses along the tender flesh of her thighs, each caress igniting a firestorm of sensation that raced through her veins.

The gentle touch of his lips against her skin was enough to elicit a shiver of pleasure, her breath hitching in her throat as she surrendered to the exquisite torture of his ministrations. Without conscious thought, she spread her legs ever so slightly, a silent invitation for him to explore further.

His hands, warm and possessive, roamed freely over the smooth expanse of her thighs, tracing delicate patterns that sent ripples of pleasure coursing through her body. A soft moan escaped her lips as she threw her head back, lost in the intoxicating sensation of his touch.

“You remember the safe word?” Carlos's voice was firm, tinged with concern as he sought reassurance.

“Yes, baby,” she replied, her tone steady and unwavering.

“And, you'll stop me if it gets too much,” he pressed, his gaze searching hers for any hint of hesitation.

“Yes, baby,” she affirmed, her voice carrying a note of confidence.

“Are you certain?” His question hung in the air, a final plea for confirmation.

“You know what I like and I know my limits,” she assured him, her conviction unwavering.

“What's the safe word, baby?” Carlos's voice softened slightly, a gentle reminder of the trust that bound them together.

“Chili,” she replied without hesitation, her voice steady and sure.

“Good girl,” Carlos murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he leaned in to press a tender kiss against her thigh.

The subtle defiance in her backchat ignited a primal fire within Carlos, fueling his desire to possess her completely. With each playful exchange, his arousal surged, his cock growing harder with each passing moment.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Carlos teased her with the lightest touch of his index finger, tracing delicate patterns along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He reveled in the way her breath hitched in response, her body responding eagerly to his every touch.

Despite the lingering soreness from their passionate encounter the night before, she was still wet and ready for him, her arousal evident in the way her slickness coated his fingers. He savored the sensation, his cock throbbing with anticipation as he explored the depths of her desire.

“You'll stop me, cariño?” Carlos's voice held a note of urgency, his gaze locked with hers as he sought confirmation of her consent.

Though she struggled to find her voice amidst the onslaught of pleasure coursing through her, she made sure to meet his gaze with a firm nod, her eyes speaking volumes where words failed her.

Encouraged by her silent affirmation, Carlos continued his ministrations, teasing her entrance with his finger before pressing into her with deliberate intent. A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips at the exquisite sensation of him filling her, her body responding eagerly to his touch.

Despite their previous escapades, she remained wonderfully tight, her arousal evident in the way she welcomed him with a fierce hunger that matched his own. With practiced skill, he found her clit with his thumb, the throbbing bundle of nerves already swollen and sensitive under his touch.

As he began to rub circles over her clit, her breath caught in her throat, her body arching instinctively towards him in silent plea for more. With each tantalizing stroke, he felt her arousal building, her desire spiraling higher and higher until she teetered on the edge of ecstasy, on the brink of surrendering herself entirely to the pleasure he offered.

Feeling her hands instinctively reaching out to him, Carlos paused his motions, a subtle reminder of the boundaries they had agreed upon. With a firm but gentle tone, he issued his command once more.

“Hands behind your back,” he instructed, his voice laced with authority as he sought to regain control of the situation.

Despite the surge of desire coursing through him, Carlos remained steadfast in his resolve, determined to honor the trust she had placed in him. He watched closely as she complied, her movements slow and deliberate as she obeyed his command.

As her hands found their place behind her back once more, he felt a surge of pride swell within him, a testament to the strength of their connection and the unwavering trust they shared. And with a renewed sense of purpose, Carlos resumed his motions, his touch igniting a fierce firestorm of pleasure that consumed them both in its fiery embrace.

As she gulped, a sense of frustration mingled with anticipation washed over her, the memory of her orders echoing in her mind. The desire to reach out and touch him, to feel his warmth beneath her fingertips, burned fiercely within her, but she knew that patience was key.

With each passing moment, the longing to feel his touch, to intertwine their bodies in a symphony of passion, intensified. But she held firm, reminding herself of the promise that lay just beyond her restraint.

She knew that eventually, he would grant her permission to touch him, to explore every inch of his skin with the same fervor that he showed her. And when that moment came, when she felt his hands upon her once more, she knew that it would all be worth it—the frustration, the restraint, the anticipation—everything would pale in comparison to the ecstasy of their shared embrace.

As Carlos continued his relentless assault on her clit, his movements alternating between teasing and pumping, she felt her arousal building to dizzying heights. With each stroke, each thrust of his fingers inside her, she surrendered herself completely to the pleasure, her body responding with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

Her thighs quivered with the intensity of her arousal, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she teetered on the edge of ecstasy. It wasn't long before she felt herself stretching to accommodate a second finger, the sensation pushing her even closer to the brink of release.

But even as pleasure threatened to overwhelm her, she couldn't shake the feeling of being overstimulated, of being pushed to her limits by the intensity of their encounter. It was as if something in the air, something in the very essence of Australia itself, had ignited a primal fire within them both, driving them to new heights of passion and desire.

As Carlos continued his relentless assault on her senses, her moans grew shallower, each breathy gasp a testament to the ecstasy that threatened to consume her entirely. She chased her high with single-minded determination, her body trembling with the intensity of her arousal.

“That's good, baby,” Carlos murmured, his voice a soothing presence amidst the whirlwind of sensation. “Keep your voice low.”

His words were a gentle reminder of the need for discretion, a silent agreement between them to keep their passion contained within the confines of their private sanctuary. And as she struggled to comply, to stifle the cries of pleasure threatening to spill from her lips, she felt a surge of arousal coursing through her veins, driving her ever closer to the brink of release.

Sensing her arousal reaching a fever pitch, Carlos knew that she was on the brink of release. With a mix of restraint and desire, he withdrew his fingers, a sudden absence of his touch leaving her gasping for more.

The abrupt lack of sensation sent a jolt of longing coursing through her body, her hips instinctively arching towards him in search of the pleasure she so desperately craved. She whimpered softly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to cope with the sudden emptiness inside her.

“Baby,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a potent mix of desire and need.

With a reassuring smile, Carlos met her gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“Don't worry, cariño,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the ache of longing that pulsed through her veins. “I'm not done with you yet.”

As Carlos stood before her, shedding his race suit and fireproofs with deliberate precision, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight of him. With each movement, his toned muscles flexed and rippled beneath his skin, his body a testament to the physical demands of their sport.

Her breath caught in her throat as his cock sprang free, solid and throbbing with arousal, the sight of him sending a jolt of desire coursing through her veins. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry with anticipation, knowing all too well the intensity of his desire to claim her.

This was what she had been expecting when he took the lead of the race—the raw, primal need that burned bright in his eyes, the insatiable hunger that drove him to seek out her touch with a desperation that bordered on madness.

With deliberate care, Carlos pulled her up onto the massage table, positioning himself between her legs with a primal hunger burning in his eyes. He kissed her with a tender urgency, savoring the taste of her lips against his own, before slowly entering her, inch by agonizing inch.

As he filled her, stretching her to accommodate his size, he could feel her walls clenching around him, her body instinctively adjusting to the intimate intrusion. Sensing her need for a moment to acclimate, he paused, his gaze locked with hers as he watched the myriad of emotions flicker across her face.

Her eyes were closed in blissful surrender, her lips parted in a silent plea for more. And in that moment, Carlos felt a surge of pride and desire swell within him, completely infatuated by the woman who had offered herself so completely to him.

With a smirk of satisfaction, he resumed his slow, steady thrusts, each movement driving them both closer to the edge of ecstasy. In this intimate dance of passion, there was no need for words—their bodies spoke a language of their own, a symphony of pleasure and desire that echoed through the dimly lit room.

“Carlos, baby, you need to move, please,” she pleaded, her voice laced with urgency as she yearned for the friction and rhythm only he could provide.

“So desperate for me, huh?” Carlos teased, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he reveled in the intensity of her need.

“I need it, baby. Please,” she implored, her words a desperate plea for release as her body thrummed with anticipation.

Carlos's breathy chuckle mingled with the symphony of their shared passion as he began to move, his movements slow and deliberate at first, building momentum with each thrust. He could feel her body responding eagerly to his touch, her moans growing louder with each passing moment.

As she fought to contain her urges, to resist the overwhelming need to grasp him and hold him close, Carlos felt a surge of arousal stir in his groin. The sound of her moans, the sight of her writhing beneath him in pleasure, ignited a primal fire within him, driving him to new heights of desire.

With each increase in speed, he felt himself completely filling her up, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony as they surrendered themselves to the ecstasy of the moment.

Feeling her hands being guided beneath her belly button, she opened her eyes, curiosity flickering in their depths as she glanced down to see what Carlos was doing. As he pressed her hands into her lower abdomen, she felt a slight movement beneath her fingertips, a sensation that sent a shiver of pleasure coursing through her body.

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp as she adjusted to the feeling, her senses overwhelmed by the intimate connection between them.

“You feel that?” His words hung in the air between them, heavy with raw desire and a primal intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Yeah,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, her body quivering with pleasure at the sensation of him deep inside her.

“That's me fucking deep inside you,” Carlos murmured, his voice thick with arousal as he reveled in the intimate connection they shared.

As Carlos positioned her hands on his shoulders, a surge of anticipation raced through her veins, her body trembling with the intensity of their shared desire. With a primal urgency, he began to thrust, each movement hard and rapid, driving her to the brink of ecstasy with each powerful motion.

Some of his thrusts caused her to flinch, the sensation of him filling her completely both thrilling and overwhelming. She could feel herself bruising all over again, the reminder of their previous night's passion adding to the intensity of the moment. Yet despite the ache, despite the slight sting of pain, it all felt too good to resist.

And then, as pleasure surged through her body like a tidal wave, she came undone, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of her release. Her body shook with the force of her climax, every nerve ending alight with ecstasy as she surrendered herself completely to the pleasure coursing through her veins.

Her hands searched for some grip on his skin, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as she held on for dear life, leaving scratches in her wake. And as she reached the peak of her pleasure, she felt Carlos tensing beneath her, his own release imminent.

With one final, primal cry, he came inside her, his body shuddering with the force of his release as they rode out the waves of pleasure together.

As Carlos continued to thrust through her orgasm, a primal need drove him to push their pleasure to new heights. With a surge of determination, he pulled out and spun her around, his movements swift and purposeful as he positioned her upper body onto the massage table and spread her legs wide.

She clung to the table for support, her body trembling with a heady mix of pleasure and anticipation as Carlos resumed his thrusts. With each powerful motion, she fought to keep her legs steady, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their shared desire.

But as pleasure built once more, she began to feel a twinge of pain, a nagging ache that tugged at the edges of her consciousness. Unsure whether it was the position or if her body had reached its limits, she pushed through, determined to chase her pleasure to its ultimate climax.

And then, just as she felt a second orgasm approaching, Carlos hit a particular spot that sent a jolt of pain shooting through her body, causing her legs to wobble beneath her. In that moment, she realized that her body had reached its breaking point, her pleasure giving way to the sharp sting of discomfort.

As she whispered the safe word, “Chili,” her voice barely above a breathless murmur, Carlos's movements faltered, a flicker of concern crossing his features. But with the intensity of their passion clouding his senses, her words went unheard as he continued thrusting, lost in the heat of the moment.

“Chili, chili,” she repeated, her voice growing slightly louder in a desperate plea for him to stop.

Sensing her distress, Carlos's instincts kicked in, and almost immediately, he ceased his movements and pulled out, his expression shifting from desire to concern. With the cum oozing out of her, a silent testament to their shared pleasure, Carlos turned her around and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to steady her trembling form.

“Are you okay, cariño?” Carlos's voice was filled with concern as he held her close, his arms a comforting presence around her trembling form.

She didn't answer immediately, her mind still reeling from the shock of having to use the safe word for the first time. She had never asked him to stop before, but the pain had become too much to bear.

“I'm fine, it just hurt a bit,” she finally replied, her voice soft and slightly strained as she tried to downplay the discomfort she was feeling.

Carlos's expression softened with understanding as he held her tighter, his heart aching at the thought of causing her any pain. With gentle hands, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch a silent apology for pushing her beyond her limits.

“I'm sorry, cariño,” he murmured, his voice filled with regret. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Carlos fetched a towel and gently cleaned her up, his heart weighed heavy with guilt for pushing her past her limits. With each tender touch, he was careful not to overstimulate her further, his movements slow and deliberate as he wiped away the remnants of their passion.

Once she was cleaned up, he helped her back onto the massage table, his touch gentle and reassuring as he helped her put her panties and skirt back on. She was exhausted from the episode, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of their encounter, and he could see the fatigue etched into her features.

With a pang of remorse, Carlos watched as she lay down, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she tried to regain her composure. He knew that she needed time to rest and recuperate, to recover from the intensity of their shared experience.

He cleaned himself up and changed into his casual clothes and kept stealing glances at her, his heart heavy with worry. But with each reassuring word she spoke, each gentle touch she offered, he felt a small measure of relief wash over him.

She was fine. She reassured him of that fact time and time again. And as he settled down beside her, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close, he knew that he was the one person she trusted more than anyone else in the world.

Carlos kissed her gently, his touch a soothing balm against the ache of her body and soul, she felt a sense of safety and comfort wash over her. In his arms, she found solace from the storm of emotions that had threatened to overwhelm her, her fears and doubts melting away beneath the warmth of his love.

With each caress of her cheek, each tender gesture, Carlos reaffirmed his devotion to her, his love a beacon of light in the darkness of their shared struggles. She knew that despite the momentary pain, she was safe with him, cherished and adored beyond measure.

Wrapped in his embrace, she felt a sense of peace settle over her, a quiet calm that whispered of better days to come. For in his arms, she found not only love, but strength—the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that together, they could overcome anything.

She was and always would be addicted to him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. But she also knew her limits, understood the importance of self-care and self-preservation. And as she nestled closer to him, surrendering herself to the warmth of his embrace, she knew that no matter what trials they faced, they would face them together, bound by a love that knew no bounds.

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caitified · 8 months ago

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on stage

kate martin x reader

warnings:none

the sun dipped low over coachella, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as you prepared for your performance. the anticipation was palpable, your heart racing not just from the excitement of the stage but also from the thought of kate watching you. after years of dating since college, she had become your rock, always cheering you on.

backstage, the atmosphere buzzed with energy. you could hear the distant thrum of the crowd, their excitement echoing in your chest. as you stepped out onto the stage, the lights blazed down, illuminating the sea of faces eager to see you. and there, right at the front, was kate, her infectious smile shining brighter than all the stage lights combined.

your set began with an upbeat anthem that had the crowd dancing, and you felt the rush of adrenaline as you performed. but in the moments between songs, your eyes were constantly drawn to kate. she was swaying to the music, completely in her element, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for having her by your side through it all.

as you transitioned into a slower, heartfelt ballad, you locked eyes with her, and time seemed to stand still. the song was a love letter, each note infused with the memories you had created together. as the lyrics flowed from your lips, you could see her emotions reflecting back at you—pride, love, and a hint of nostalgia.

after the final note echoed into silence, the crowd erupted into cheers, but all you could focus on was getting to kate. backstage, adrenaline pulsed through your veins as you rushed to find her. she was waiting, arms wide open.

“you were amazing!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace. the warmth of her body felt like home, grounding you in a whirlwind of lights and noise.

“thank you for being here,” you replied, your voice muffled against her shoulder. “it means everything to me.”

“of course! i wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, pulling back to look into your eyes. “you’re incredible, and you deserve all of this.”

her gaze held a mixture of admiration and love that made your heart swell. “i’m just glad you’re here to share it with me,” you said, your heart racing with joy.

“let’s celebrate,” you suggested, the thrill of the night still coursing through you. “just the two of us.”

“i love that idea,” she grinned, her eyes sparkling like the stars above. you intertwined your fingers and led her away from the bustling backstage, heading toward a quieter area where the sounds of the festival faded into the background.

you found a cozy little spot beneath a tree, the warm glow of string lights creating an intimate atmosphere. as you settled down, you couldn’t shake the feeling of euphoria. this was your moment, and kate was right there beside you.

“so, what’s next for the famous singer?” she teased, her playful tone making you laugh.

“i don’t know,” you replied, smirking. “maybe a duet with a certain basketball star?”

“is that so?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “i might just be up for the challenge.”

you both laughed, the sound light and carefree. as the conversation flowed, you shared stories and dreams, relishing the connection that had grown deeper through the years.

in that moment, surrounded by the soft sounds of the festival and the warmth of each other’s presence, you realized how much you cherished your journey together. you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against hers in a sweet kiss that left you both breathless.

“here’s to us,” you whispered, your forehead resting against hers.

“and to whatever adventures come next,” she replied softly, her smile brightening the darkness around you.

#kate martin x reader #kate martin #wnba x reader #wnba imagine #wbb x reader #iowa wbb #wbb imagine #las vegas aces #lv aces

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mariacallous · 11 days ago

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Jules Gill-Peterson is speaking to me from the future. She’s 11 hours ahead of me when I reach her over Zoom. While I’m sniffling and congested on a rainy Wednesday evening on my side of the screen in Brooklyn, Jules is welcoming the sun on a beautiful Thursday morning, the bright blue sky of Bangkok peeking in from the window behind her.

The Baltimore-based trans studies scholar is known for her work on the history of medical transition, specifically the history of how trans kids have attempted to access such forms of health care. In 2018, a time when US lawmakers were only just beginning to target gender-affirming care for minors—that is, puberty blockers, hormones, and surgery—she published her first book on the subject, Histories of the Transgender Child, a groundbreaking work that presaged the wave of health care bans that roughly two dozen states have since signed into law, not to mention President Trump’s various executive orders that have sought to further undermine access to such care at the national level.

Seven years later, the fight over access to these treatments has reached the Supreme Court with United States v. Skrmetti, a challenge to a Tennessee ban on health care for transgender youth, the ruling for which is expected to be issued later this month. Gill-Peterson, along with several other experts in the field, coauthored an amicus brief for the court explaining how trans kids have existed long before contemporary medical science and that they’ve been transitioning, medically or otherwise, far longer than the “irreversible damages” crowd would claim. Whether or not the justices heed their expertise, the Supreme Court decision will have a major impact on the future of not only youth access to gender-affirming care in the US but trans American life writ large.

Beyond the legal brief, when she’s just speaking to me one-on-one, Gill-Peterson admits that she doesn’t personally love the term “gender-affirming care,” as she finds the neologism to be too euphemistic. She prefers instead to speak plainly about what’s actually at stake: hormones and surgery, not something abstract or intangible like affirmation or validation. She’s similarly specific when she explains why she’s in Thailand: She’s recovering from a “sex-change surgery,” a vaginoplasty to be exact, one that has neither “affirmed” her gender nor even “confirmed” it. Her linguistic tastes are not merely a matter of aesthetics but a choice that reflects her politics, which prioritize addressing and meeting trans people’s material needs, especially in this moment when we’re increasingly under attack.

“We don’t need any more disgusting ‘trans joy,’” Gill-Peterson says. “We don’t need any more ‘gender euphoria.’ Let’s just get rid of all that and spend our time delivering real things that matter to people, things like hormones and sex changes and surgeries.”

It’s fitting, I tell her, that a trans historian like herself would now be traveling around the world for a surgical procedure, given the rich history of transsexual medical tourism that dates back generations. Entertainer and World War II veteran Christine Jorgensen was quite famously cornered into becoming a public figure after the New York Daily News made tabloid fodder out of her early 1950s sojourn to Copenhagen; Janet Mock recounted her own journey to Bangkok in 2014’s best-selling Redefining Realness. “Every single woman that made her whole life about getting this surgery by any means necessary,” Gill-Peterson says, “those women are absolutely my heroes. I feel lucky in some sense, if only sentimentally, to be retracing their itineraries.”

Gill-Peterson’s experience in Bangkok has also proven instructive. An associate professor in the Department of History at Johns Hopkins University since 2021 and the author of two books, most recently 2024’s A Short History of Trans Misogyny, she spent five years trying “relentlessly” to obtain this particular surgery before being told last fall that she’d have to wait at least another year. “Despite having a PhD for studying this stuff, I’ve repeatedly failed to obtain this surgery myself,” she says. Changing jobs, switching insurance plans, moving between states—something always held up the process, even when she had explicit legal protections against health care discrimination based on where she lived and was working for an employer that “would’ve paid for something like 95 percent of the cost.”

“I just couldn’t deal with the American system of ‘gender-affirming care,’ even when it was nominally working for me at its absolute, pinnacle best,” she continues. “It’s one of my immediate takeaways after having surgery in Bangkok. Having a good surgeon with a positive experience—like, wow! If only we put the resources behind it so it could be like this for everyone.”

Instead, the Canadian academic’s adoptive home has done the opposite, passing health care bans in just about one out of every two states that prohibit minors from medically transitioning through all but underground means. Meanwhile, lawmakers at the national level are taking steps to prevent Medicaid recipients of any age—a quarter-million of whom are trans, according to a 2022 report from the Williams Institute—from using their insurance to cover puberty blockers, hormones, or surgery, as they are currently permitted to do in much of the country. Trump’s “One Big, Beautiful Bill Act,” which would do precisely that, has already passed the House and, as of this writing, is on its way to the Republican-controlled Senate. Should it succeed there as well, all it would need to then become law would be a signature from the president.

Given the situation, Gill-Peterson yearns for a reality check among the “Love Is Love” platitude-spouters, should they ever hope to pose any sort of meaningful challenge.

“All of these push factors are impolite to acknowledge in progressive liberal circles,” Gill-Peterson says. “They’d rather plug their ears than admit that health care is a material need. It’s not a slogan. It’s not, like, a thing you support in your heart. It’s an urgent, lifesaving need,” one that’s never been totally secure, though Gill-Peterson is taking action to change that.

Having grown up in Vancouver, British Columbia, Gill-Peterson’s academic trajectory took her from the University of Ottawa to Rutgers University, where she received her PhD in American Studies in 2015. Later that year, she accepted a teaching position at the University of Pittsburgh, where she began work on what would later become Histories of the Transgender Child, which won the Lambda Literary Award for best transgender nonfiction book in 2019.

A response, in part, to the post–“Tipping Point” narrative that would frame transness as a novel phenomenon (“Trans people are in a constant state of being discovered,” as filmmaker and historian Morgan M. Page once wrote), Gill-Peterson’s book examined how youth have medically altered their sex as far back as the early 20th century, decades before most of the loudest anti-trans mouthpieces in Congress were even born. As lawmakers have banned trans health care for minors, even criminalized its provision in a handful of states, often on the grounds of its being “experimental,” as Missouri attorney general Andrew Bailey claimed in 2023, the research undergirding Histories of the Transgender Child has only proven more vital, and its thesis more eerily prescient.

“While most academics aim to make small discursive interventions, Jules Gill-Peterson has paradigm-shifted the field of trans studies multiple times,” says Charlie Markbreiter, an academic and organizer with Writers Against the War on Gaza whose next book, Rapid Onset, will examine how trans people became a political scapegoat. Histories of the Transgender Child “destroyed the myth that trans kids were ‘just invented,’” he adds, noting that her scholarship is “historically grounded, accessible to nonacademic audiences, and useful to movement struggles. [She’s] easily the most important trans studies scholar working today. It’s not even close.”

Not long after publishing her first book, Gill-Peterson began dating Kadji Amin, author of 2017’s Disturbing Attachments and an associate professor of Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies at Emory University. “My thinking owes a lot to our relationship,” she says of her boyfriend, who accompanied her to Bangkok and has been caring for her during her recovery.

As Gill-Peterson has achieved recognition for her work, to a degree “unprecedented for a transsexual woman of color in the academy,” she says that she has also experienced harassment and bigotry, even from her colleagues. “Kadji’s unabashed insistence on the importance of loving and caring for me, which includes standing up for me in our profession and telling the truth about how transsexual women are treated by people who claim to be their allies, has been instrumental to me carrying on with my research and work as the political situation worsens in this country.”

Having gotten together at the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, the two found themselves alone and isolated at home like so many other new couples at the time. But instead of passing the hours by making sourdough starters or going full Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? on each other and imploding by summer’s end, the pair developed a collaborative working relationship, one that helped them clarify their political aims and creative ambitions.

“We got to spend a lot of time together, working from home and contemplating the practical value of academic research and writing in crisis,” Gill-Peterson continues. “For us, the bottom line was that we had to learn how to tell urgent and basic truths that academics are loath to admit. We spent a lot of time exploring the condescending elitism, anti-transsexualism, and misogyny of middle-class transgender thought and politics, which we both had sensed internally for years but had been strongly discouraged from critiquing.”

These lines of critique are blisteringly evident in her second book, A Short History of Trans Misogyny, which Verso published last year. A vital new contribution to a lineage of transfeminist scholarship that includes the work of Julia Serano and Viviane K. Namaste, among others, the text interrogates how seemingly progressive neoliberal politics make trans people into assimilable subjects only through the exclusion of transsexual women, particularly those who are poor, Black, brown, sex workers, or immigrants.

No moment encapsulates this dynamic to me as clearly as when Jennicet Gutiérrez, a longtime organizer for queer and trans immigrants’ rights, staged a protest at a White House Pride Month reception in 2015, two days before the Supreme Court ruled in favor of same-sex marriage. Gutiérrez was there to demand that President Obama stop the abuse of trans people in Immigration and Customs detention centers and release all LGBTQ+ detainees. Attendees—themselves a mix of activists, journalists, and other leaders from within the community—shushed her as she spoke, cheered loudly when Obama upbraided Gutiérrez for interrupting him, and booed as she continued to speak, eventually breaking out into applause after she was escorted out.

Additionally, Gill-Peterson’s book charts how this dynamic of transsexual exclusion stems from centuries of Euro-American colonial violence, spanning centuries and continents—and an expansive bibliography—while remaining succinct and unthinkably readable.

“I’ve found Jules to have an essential perspective and one that challenges me and how I do this work of ‘trans activism,’” Gillian Branstetter says via email. Branstetter is a communications strategist at the American Civil Liberties Union, the legal nonprofit helping to represent the trans teenagers and their families in the Skrmetti case.

Gill-Peterson’s work has illustrated for Branstetter the narrowing effect that identity-first politics can have at a time when “we need solidarity across difference,” she says. “Not just because my day job is almost by definition identity-first, but also because, as Jules’ work shows, identity itself is something we are often forced to shape for ourselves from what violent systems have left for us.”

Over the years, Gill-Peterson’s work—which, in addition to both of her books, also includes her editorial duties at Trans Studies Quarterly and her cohosting duties on the Death Panel podcast—has shifted focus toward constructing trans histories that lie beyond the research of American medical institutions. Her next book, Transgender Liberalism, forthcoming from Harvard University Press, will further shift that focus, presenting a “history of class differences between trans people and the ways in which the state and, by extension, medical institutions have served to not only delineate but intensify those differences,” she says.

The project began as a history of DIY transition, medical or otherwise, but reoriented over the course of her research as she realized how divergent our histories of the subject are. “Trans women and trans men’s transition practices are basically completely separate until the last 40 or so years,” Gill-Peterson says, adding that the latter group has historically experienced upward mobility even without hormones while the former group has not.

One of Transgender Liberalism’s main arguments, she tells me, is that trans health care in the US was formed to specifically address one group of people: poor trans women, who, despite sometimes being fixtures of certain queer neighborhoods, had become largely locked out of the labor market by the middle of the 20th century, with their lives and livelihoods criminalized and policed.

“The entertainers, the sex workers, the girls on the stroll—they were important culturally but living in extreme poverty for the era, not experiencing the same rise in income and wealth that others, specifically white Americans, were experiencing after World War II,” Gill-Peterson says. “The gender clinic was created to coercively rehabilitate them,” or at least some of them, “into working women and get them back into the economy.”

This month, the Supreme Court is expected to issue its ruling in United States v. Skrmetti, a landmark case examining the constitutionality of Tennessee’s ban on gender-affirming care for trans youth. It’s possible that the court will strike it down on the grounds that it’s discriminatory on the basis of sex, thereby giving the ACLU the legal precedent it needs to challenge similar laws in more than 20 other states, or at least the ability to return to the lower court that upheld Tennessee’s ban in the first place.

Such victories are unlikely, however, given the bench’s conservative majority. As to what the worst-case scenario might look like, “the worst-case scenario would be that things stay the same,” as Branstetter told me in a recent interview for Dazed. For the trans kids and their families who live in those states that have restricted youth access to lifesaving health care, “the world has already ended.”

Still, as Gill-Peterson makes sure to note, the mere existence of a law that grants people “the right to change sex,” as the Pulitzer Prize–winning critic Andrea Long Chu once termed it, does not in and of itself make it possible for a person to do so. Therefore, she says, fighting for the freedom to medically transition demands a more comprehensive strategy than focusing on one single court ruling. “It demands a bread-and-butter approach,” one that prioritizes economic security and adequate resources for all, she says.

“One of the big findings I’ve taken away from this research [for Transgender Liberalism] is just how much the cost of medical transition has skyrocketed since the 1960s” when “transsexual women faced an average cost of $3,500 total for psychiatric evaluation, ancillary care, and surgeries at a gender clinic,” which translates to about $35,000 today. By the 1990s, that amount had doubled. A trans man’s phalloplasty, on the other hand, nearly quadrupled in price over that same time frame, totaling just over $200,000 by century’s end, when adjusted for inflation, which is “out of reach on a practical level for most people,” says Gill-Peterson, stating the obvious.

In this sense, she continues—if you remove all of the various health care reforms that have greatly expanded coverage options for trans people in the US over the past two decades, as countless lawmakers are hell-bent on doing—it is empirically harder to medically transition now than it was in the 1960s. This, she believes, “is the real political crisis—the real panic when it comes to transition, not the moral panic that we’re told exists.” The American health care system hasn’t made it too easy to transition; it has made it too hard, and she has the data to prove it.

When Gill-Peterson was invited to coauthor an amicus brief for the Skrmetti case, she was ready. For years, she’d anticipated that the Supreme Court would rule on precisely this subject—trans kids’ access to health care—and, as not only one of the very few trans historians in the academy but a leading researcher on the history of children seeking medical transition, she knew she’d eventually get the call to share her expertise.

“Around 2019, I started keeping a separate file for evidence I’d found over the course of my research that demonstrated the longevity, the reality, and the banality of medical transition in this country,” she says. “All good historians are just kind of pack rats.” Tennessee’s law and the arguments in favor of it allege that the basic forms of what we call gender-affirming care—that is, blockers, hormones, and surgery—are “novel” and “experimental” and therefore too dangerous to be made accessible to minors. Gill-Peterson’s brief debunks those claims, detailing at length that “gender dysphoria and these treatments” are deeply historically rooted.

“I’m not a lawyer,” she continues. “I’m not a legal scholar. But I am an empiricist,” which essentially makes her a textual originalist’s worst nightmare, textual originalism being the right’s legal analytical framework of choice that has proven quite strategic in their war on civil rights and abortion access. “This is an important moment for historians to weigh in,” she adds. “The Skrmetti case frames this kind of care in an ahistorical, even anti-historical, kind of way.”

Like the legal experts I’ve interviewed in the past, Gill-Peterson didn’t express any great optimism as to the impending Supreme Court decision. Nevertheless, she is no defeatist. Every case spawns new opportunities in and out of the courtroom, she tells me. “Rather than viewing this as proof that the tide has risen too high and we’re about to be overwhelmed, we have to have clarity about the wide array of places where politics can be done and material change is possible,” from state and local elections to workplace organizing, from the building of mutual aid networks to things I can’t legally advocate in writing. Regardless of how Skrmetti shakes out, Gill-Peterson believes that what happens after the ruling matters more than the ruling itself.

“When the battle’s playing out on a hundred fronts at once, we have to remember that there’s no single court ruling, no existential moment, no single referendum on ‘transgender rights’ that’ll decide how this struggle will go,” she says. “There has to be a constant sense that we’re building momentum for those of us seeking wonderful things. Things like unrestricted medical transition, sex changes, surgery—”

She reaches offscreen to grab her drink.

“—and iced coffee in Thailand! The girls love it.”

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lxndonorris · 1 year ago

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racing hearts - lestappen

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smutish, Teasing, Touching tension rises during the pre-season testing, a sign of what's to come throughout the year x word count: 1600+ taglist: @game-set-canet I just needed this little interlude ;P

Max breathes in the familiar scent of adrenaline and burning rubber as he steps out of the sleek Red Bull racing car, his heart still pounding from the exhilarating test session. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the paddock, and Max can't help but feel a surge of contentment wash over him.

The first official testing for the upcoming season has just begun, and it is a moment he has been eagerly anticipating. Max glances down at his new Red Bull racing suit, the iconic logo emblazoned across the chest. He looks so good. As he adjusts his helmet, he can't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling within him.

He had pushed the car to its limits, weaving through corners with precision, and clocked some impressive lap times. With a radiant smile spreading across his face, he takes his helmet off and leaves the Red Bull garage to take a break inside his motorhome.

The rush of adrenaline still courses through his veins, leaving him feeling alive and invigorated. It had been far too long since he had experienced the thrill of racing, and now that he is back behind the wheel, every fiber of his being thrums with pure pleasure.

As he peels off his racing gloves, Max can't help but revel in the sensation of racing lingering inside him as he walks through the paddock, basking in the afterglow of a successful test session. His body hums with energy, every muscle taut and coiled with tension.

With each step he takes, Max feels the tension inside his body and the subtle flexing of his muscles as he moves with purpose and grace. The sheer joy of being back on track is written across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and his chest swelling with pride.

Max can't shake the feeling of euphoria that pulses through him. Racing is more than just a sport to him; it is a way of life, a passion that burned deep within his soul.

As he strolls through the bustling paddock, a sense of nostalgia washes over him, mingling with the thrill of anticipation for the upcoming season. Memories of the previous season flood his mind, each one punctuated by the exhilarating rush of adrenaline and the sweet taste of victory. It had felt incredible to stand on top of the podium and hold the trophy up in the air, knowing all his hard work had paid off.

Then he reaches the familiar haven of his motorhome, and a smile plays at the corner of his lips. Max opens the door, steps inside, and begins to peel off his racing gear, the fabric clinging to his skin with a mixture of sweat and triumph.

Before he can pull the zipper down in its entirety, a familiar voice cuts through the air, causing him to pause mid-motion.

"Max""

Turning, Max's grin widens as he spots Charles, his childhood rival and now his secret lover. Despite their fierce competition on track, their relationship off it is one of mutual respect and passion.

Charles stands leaning against the side of the motorhome, his red racing suit unzipped and hanging around his waist, accentuating every curve and contour of his athletic frame. The dimming light of the evening sun casts a golden hue over him, highlighting the allure that seems to radiate from every pore.

"Hey Charlie!" Max greets him, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and intrigue. "How was your session?"

Charles smirks, his gaze raking over Max's form with a hunger that sends shivers down Max's spine. "Not bad. But I think I left you some big shoes to fill out there."

Max chuckles, unable to tear his eyes away from Charles' captivating gaze. The tension between them is palpable—a dance of desire and competition that has ignited since the end of the last season.

It started innocently enough—a shared moment of camaraderie that blossomed into something much deeper. And now, as they stand face-to-face, the air crackles with the electricity of their secretive romance.

Charles takes a step closer into the motorhome, his movements oozing with self-confidence and a lingering desire that sends Max's heart racing faster than any of their race cars. "You know, it's going to be much harder for you to become a world champion with me on your tail."

Max feels a thrill run down his spine at the challenge in Charles' words. Leaning in closer, he brushed his lips against Charles' while closing the door behind him. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Charles tilts his head slightly, his hands moving to rest gently on Max's chest, fingers tracing slow circles across his frim muscles. The touch ignites a fire within him that burns hotter with each passing moment.

"I missed fighting you on track," he murmurs, his voice low and husky with desire. "Those battles during testing were...so much fun."

Max lets out a deep, rumbling growl in response, relishing the feel of Charles's hands exploring his body. He leans into his touch, his own hands coming to rest on Charles's waist, pulling him closer.

Max's gaze drifts downward, lingering on the tantalizing sight of their bodies mere inches apart. Despite the close proximity, the space between them seems charged with tension, each breath they take heavy with desire.

His eyes trace the contours of Charles's athletic frame, admiring the way his racing suit hugs every curve and muscle with precision.

A low, primal sound rumbles in Max's throat as he licks his lips, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight before him. The sleek fabric of these red fireproofs clings to Charles's skin, leaving little to the imagination and sparking a fierce hunger within Max. He can't help but marvel at how effortlessly Charles wears the suit, exuding confidence and allure with every moment.

The sight of his boyfriend in his racing gear never fails to stir something primal within him, awakening a need that only Charles could satisfy.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Max teases, "Admit it, you're showing off your tight fireproofs to mess with me."

Charles smirks, his gaze smoldering with lust. "Maybe I am," he admits, not bothering to hide the truth. Instead, he leans closer, his lips brushing against Max's ear. "But seeing the way you react to them...just makes me hard."

Max's breath catches in his throat at the confession, his heart pounding in his chest. The thought of Charles intentionally teasing him, of knowing the effect it has on Max, only fuels the fire between them.

With a low growl, Max surges forward, capturing Charles's lips in a fierce kiss, his fingers trailing lightly over the smooth fabric of Charles's undergarments. His touch is electric, sending sparks flying between them as their bodies press together, molding into one another with a sense of urgency and longing.

Charles pulls away for a moment, meeting Max's longing gaze with a playful smirk. He teases Max further, his fingers tracing the zipper of his racing suit, Max's breath hitches in excitement.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Charles begins to unzip his suit, the fabric parting to reveal the tantalizing glimpse of Max's muscles bulging through his fireproofs.

Max's heart races as Charles's hand slips inside, his touch sending waves of pleasure cascading through him. The sensation of his fingers stroking Max's chest is tingling, each caress leaving him craving more. He leans into the touch, his own hands moving to trace the contours of Charles's body, reveling in the feel of his boyfriend's warmth beneath his fingertips.

Both of their bodies, all of their muscles are hard as rock as more tension builds up inside them.

"I can't wait to fight on the track again," Charles murmurs again. "And this time, I will be on top."

Max lets out a low groan once Charles's hand reaches his crotch; all of this teasing causes his member to grow and bulge inside his tight suit.

He knows Charles is a formidable opponent, one who pushes him to his limits both on and off the racetrack. The thought of facing him on the track once more fills Max with a heady mix of lust and desire.

"We will see about that," Max whispers, playing with Charles's nipples, desperately trying to pierce his shirt.

With a chuckle, Charles reluctantly pulls away from Max, his fingers lingering on the zipper of his racing suit for a moment longer. He can't resist stealing one last admiring glance at Max's physique—his chest so firm and his length tenting visibly—his gaze lingering on the alluring sight of his unzipped suit.

"You know," Charles smirks, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "I won't be able to hide this." He grabs himself through his suit and fondles with his own member. Max bites his lower lip, touching himself as well.

"All I want is to battle you and win." Charles's smirk grows wider while he runs a hand along his length and up his chest to his neck, stroking himself again and again.

Max's heart skips a beat at the declaration, his own desire echoing his sentiments. He knows their battles on track are more than just a competition; they are a test of skill, determination, and passion.

With a shy smirk, Max steps closer to Charles, their bodies still tingling with the heat of their shared desire. "Bring it on," he replies, his voice filled with confidence.

As Charles turns to leave, Max can't help but admire the grace and strength in his stride. Their love may be a secret, but the fire that burns between them is undeniable.

Max watches Charles leave, his heart heavy with longing, feeling a pang of disappointment that their time together was cut short. The sight of Charles stroking himself before turning back for one last look will linger in Max's mind.

With a sigh, Max gets back into his motorhome, resting for the upcoming race next week.

#lestappen #lestappen fic #lestappen fanfiction #lestappen smut #max verstappen x charles leclerc #max x charles #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smut #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #lestappen imagine

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nightmaresanskin · 1 month ago

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Dark Dream sans

more like Hopeless

In a multiverse where Nightmare holds immense power and positivity is nearly extinguished, Dream weak and struggling must embrace more hedonistic and unconventional sources of happiness he would normally avoid, just to survive and restore balance to the multiverse.

Dream can draw energy from all forms of happiness—so he does.

To fight back, he begins to farm what he calls dark joy. Drugs can bring massive joy for a short time, and he feeds off that energy. He sets up “pleasure dens” across the multiverse to cultivate more of it for himself, as fuel to resist Nightmare’s growing empire.

He doesn’t discourage drug abuse, he incourages overconsumption, excessive partying—even if it means indulging in bad habits, gluttony, or escapism.

This surge of short-lived but powerful happiness becomes his shield. It allows him to push forward in battle even wehn it also makes him feel empty. But it also means he's dependent on these highs to recharge, both emotionally and magically and that hes losing himself.

He becomes like a drug himself to those under his realm offering euphoria, escape, and indulgence. He genuinely cares about his followers, but knows he’s not good for them. Still, he can’t back away anymore. They’re addicted and so is he.

On bad days, Dream either immerses himself in the dens, fulfilling everyone's desires to satisfie them, or escapes to a Lusttale a place to relax.(i think Lusttale is safe for Dream becourse Nightmare avoids it in my opinion) There, he might share a drink with Lust or Papyrus. someone he genuinely adores, someone who still tries to make their world a better place.

This version of Dream would have a strained relationship with Ink.

Instead of being close to Swap, Someone he cant look in the eyes anymore scared that he would also become addicted.

He might have formed an alliance with Fresh.

Fresh is one of the few who can freely enjoy Dream’s parties being immune to his aura and able to easily swap hosts. (Btw Fresh still hates Drugs in this and brings others to indulge in more healthy ways) (both to have a better host and for Dream to like him more)

Dream allows Fresh’s presence, as long as he doesn’t interfere with other guests and truly adds to the fun. To Dream, it’s a lesser evil (letting Fresh find a host then forcing them under his influence forever)

Over time, Dream sacrifices his morals just to keep fighting. In doing so, he becomes a manipulator himself, refusing to let Nightmare win at any cost.

I could even imagine a toxic Dream x Fresh dynamic as in

Fresh constantly encouraging Dream to keep going, while Dream slowly loses himself. To Dream, Fresh becomes the only one who isn’t fake his one constistency his light house, which makes him dangerously dependent.

Cross could also be deeply addicted to Dream not just emotionally, but in a way that borders on obsession. Cross, desperate and hopeless, clings to Dream to help him, to feel close to him. In return, Dream clings to Cross to avoid feeling alone. Both are broken, and their connection makes them worse. (I like Cream so angst Cream is always something in the back of my head)

Maybe Cross ends up affected like in that AU where Cross and Killer become blissed-out, happy zombies under Dream’s influence. (Does anyone remember the name of that AU? I can’t recall it)

Also planing on Designing this Dream

Likr a Circus Direktor/ Animator /Performer but im not happy with waht i got yet so just writing the idear out of my head

#undertale au #sans undertale #ink sans #dream sans #dark dream #Ink sans #fresh sans #swap sans #cross sans #dream au

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wolven91 · 2 years ago

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Cooking For Humans

Nepeltor loved cooking.

As an esquinine, she was drawn to the more pleasant hobbies in life, both for her own happiness and other people's, more so than the average being. She found great joy in being able to provide a service to others that caused such a positive emotional surge. As a strong natural psychic, she had the ability to 'sip' at strong emotions and enjoy them as a one would a drink.

For the unshielded, she was exposed to all emotions, but it was the greater ones, or those felt more strongly that she recognised above the usual din.

Anger, frustration, disgust, or hatred were the ones she avoided where she could, instead deliberately seeking out positive ones instead.

A favoured pass time was lingering near spaceport greeting lounges where long lost partners, families or friends would meet again, rush into one another's arms and embrace with an outpouring of love, joy and relief. It was like standing just off from a planet's coast, until the water reached her shoulders. The ebb and flow of the water would rock her back and forth. Likewise, the relief of seeing one that you had missed was enough for her to physically waver, stood in the middle of the expansive room.

That was until she happened to be in the same café as a human when they got their meal. The creature was one of the new additions, and seemingly was mentally grumbling that they had not eaten anything other than nutrient cubes for a while. Nepeltor grimaced herself, she'd lived off nutrient cubes once; tasteless, boring and a chore to eat. No wonder the human relished the middling quality meal as if it was fine dining.

The esquinine telepath had met no other race in the cosmos that seemed to have such a reaction to their meal.

Even before they started on their plate, the anticipation bled into her readily. When the first bite was taken, she was glad she was seated as the sheer, unadulterated, euphoria that washed over her and hit like a tidal wave. Each bite blinded her like no other. Not even the ursidains could match the depths of the emotion's the human was feeling at this second.

It was the very next day, Nepeltor applied for her culinary licence.

Just short of a year later, she applied for a location for a new food stall on the station. Directly next to the new arrivals exit.

She didn't need much, in the end just space for 5 or so mid-sized creatures... 'humans' she hoped. They were rare, but she noticed a steady appearance of one or two as they made their way across. This station must have been one of the secretive layovers for the valuable species.

Her stall was barely more than a hot plate and space for her ingredients behind the counter, with a bench in front and an eating shelf for the customers.

Perhaps it would be frowned upon to have stolen an idea from the human. Perhaps they would have agreed to give their permission if she had asked, but in the end, Nepeltor made a new meal that was a human specialty in the hope it would lure the new species in with tastes of their former home. 'Noodles', chives, meat and an egg. Throw in some other bits and bats before serving with a smile.

It was several weeks before the first human appeared. By then she was fully invested in her work and had been forced to plan a handful of other stalls opening, manned by hires. The human 'noodles' were a hit, a brand new taste sensation in a galaxy that had tried 'everything' already.

The esquinine at this point wasn't thinking that a human would arrive, instead focusing on her work of slicing vegetables ready for the next fresh pot. She had served the two newcomers as she had anyone else, with barely a thought thanks to the rush.

"God I'm starving!"

"I know, can't get a good meal anywhere here, did that guy genuinely suggest we eat rocks?"

The first voice replied but was muffled as he slurped a heaping of noodles into his mouth.

"At least this place has normal foo-" His dramatic halt gave pause for the other human, before the one that had taken a bite 'mm'd in pleasure as he immediately began eating with gusto.

Nepeltor however, was rocked out of her zen 'flow' state of working and knew instantly that she had done well. From a gnawing hunger radiating from the other side of the counter, like a grenade exploding right in front of her face; a mixture of desire, greed, pleasure and even love bloomed in front of her until she stumbled and had to lean against her counter just to stop her knees from buckling.

What was interesting was that over time, one by one, each human ended up emitting the same few handfuls of emotions, which was an experience every time and not only did they love her food, there was a hint that they had associated her with her food and she herself was the target of their outpouring of positive emotions. It was directed at her, rather than just passive.

In the end she became famous amongst humans traveling that route.

She had the opportunity to expand, become an administrator, be rich and never have to work again with her stalls setting up shop everywhere, but she would lose access to be there when they took that first bite with ecstasy. Not to mention, if she expanded too much, she would be less likely to see the humans if they weren't forced to come see her and her stall specifically.

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #haso #hfy #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #esquinine #horse

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mpreglover225 · 2 years ago

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Cristian, an 8-month pregnant man with a sculpted, beefy physique, was enjoying his babymoon in the breathtaking paradise of Maui. Accompanied by his baby daddy, Callan, whom he had met at the gym and with whom he had shared a steamy hookup turned love affair, Cristian was indulging in the beauty of the island before their lives would be forever changed by the arrival of their bundle of joy.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow across the ocean, Cristian watched with admiration as Callan emerged from the water, his muscular frame glistening with droplets of saltwater. With a cocktail in hand, Callan strolled back toward their oceanfront patio, a contented smile on his face.

Feeling a surge of desire, Cristian's hand instinctively caressed his swollen belly as he gazed at Callan's captivating presence. The combination of the serene sunset, the ocean breeze, and the undeniable attraction between them filled the air with a palpable erotic tension.

Without a second thought, Cristian rose from his seat and followed Callan onto the patio, where a plush couch awaited them. As Callan settled himself onto the cushions, Cristian approached him, his heart pounding with anticipation. The sound of crashing waves and the distant songs of tropical birds provided a seductive backdrop to their intimate moment.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Cristian knelt between Callan's legs, his hands gently caressing Callan's thighs. The scent of the ocean mingled with the musky aroma of their desire, creating an intoxicating atmosphere.

"You've been such a good daddy-to-be," Cristian purred, his voice laced with desire. "Let me show you how much I appreciate you."

Callan's eyes widened with anticipation as Cristian unzipped his shorts, revealing his prominent erection. The sight of him, strong and virile, combined with the knowledge of their impending parenthood, ignited a fire within Cristian that could not be contained.

With delicate yet purposeful movements, Cristian took Callan's throbbing cock into his mouth, enveloping it with warmth and wetness. The taste of salt lingered on his tongue as he eagerly pleasured his lover, their moans blending with the crashing waves.

The couch became a sanctuary of pleasure and connection as Cristian's skilled mouth worked its magic, taking Callan to the edge of ecstasy. With each flick of his tongue and gentle suction, Cristian brought Callan closer to release, his own desire growing with every passing second.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a final burst of fiery hues across the sky, Callan's body tensed, his grip on the cocktail tightening. With a primal grunt, he surrendered to the euphoria coursing through his veins, releasing his essence into Cristian's eager mouth.

Cristian, still hungry for more, savored every drop, his own arousal pushing him to new heights. The taste of his lover's pleasure mingled with the salty air as he swallowed, a satisfied smile playing upon his lips.

#male pregnancy #mpreg #mpreg belly #mpreg birth #mpreg kink #pregnantman

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andy-15-07 · 5 months ago

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heyyy, what about a PaulxActressReader where she just opens a play on Broadway and him and her family are at the show and he’s just so proud?!🤭

The Overture

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 857 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The roar of the crowd was deafening. A cacophony of excited chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the hushed anticipation that always preceded the rising of the curtain. You, backstage, felt a familiar knot of nerves tighten in your stomach. Years of training, countless hours of rehearsal, all culminating in this single moment.

A hand, warm and strong, settled on your shoulder. "You've got this, darling," your mum whispered, her eyes shining with pride.

Beside her, your dad gave you a reassuring squeeze. "Break a leg, kiddo."

And then there was him. Paul. Standing a little apart, his gaze unwavering, a mixture of awe and apprehension etched on his face. He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jawline. "You're going to be incredible," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

You offered him a shaky smile, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "I hope so."

Taking a deep breath, you turned and walked towards the stage. The spotlight, blindingly bright, hit you as you stepped into the light. The roar of the crowd intensified, a wave of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

The play was a modern reimagining of a classic Greek tragedy, a dark and intense exploration of love, loss, and the human condition. You played the lead, a complex and challenging role that pushed you to your limits.

As the first act unfolded, you lost yourself in the character, in the emotions, in the story. The world around you faded away, replaced by the raw intensity of the performance. You felt a surge of power, of vulnerability, of pure joy.

Backstage, the atmosphere was a mix of nervous energy and excited whispers. Your family, their faces a mixture of awe and disbelief, watched intently from the wings. Paul, his eyes glued to the stage, was completely captivated.

During the intermission, you rushed backstage, gasping for breath. You saw your family immediately, their faces beaming.

"You were magnificent!" your mum exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Absolutely stunning," your dad added, his voice thick with emotion.

"I… I don't know what to say," you stammered, still reeling from the intensity of the performance.

Paul stepped forward, his eyes sparkling. "You were breathtaking," he said, his voice low and husky. "I've never seen anything like it."

He pulled you close, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with adoration, with pride, with a love that transcended words.

The second act was even more demanding, more emotionally draining. You poured your heart and soul into the role, pushing yourself beyond your limits. You felt the raw, unfiltered emotions of your character, the pain, the anger, the despair.

As the final scene played out, a hush fell over the audience. You delivered your final lines, your voice trembling with emotion. The lights dimmed, the stage went dark.

A wave of applause erupted, thunderous and prolonged. You bowed, again and again, the cheers washing over you. You could see your family in the audience, their faces alight with pride. And then, you saw him. Paul, standing amidst the crowd, his eyes filled with tears.

Backstage, the euphoria was palpable. Champagne flowed, laughter filled the air. Your family showered you with praise, their faces beaming with pride.

"I can't believe it," your mum said, shaking her head in disbelief. "My daughter, a Broadway star."

"You were born for this," your dad declared, beaming.

Paul, his eyes still a little damp, pulled you close. "I'm so incredibly proud of you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You were absolutely phenomenal."

"Thank you," you whispered back, your voice hoarse with emotion. "Thank you for being here. For supporting me."

He held you close, his arms a comforting shield against the post-show adrenaline. "Always," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As the night wore on, the celebrations continued. You mingled with the cast and crew, basking in the afterglow of the triumphant performance. But throughout it all, your eyes kept returning to Paul. He watched you with an intensity that made your heart melt. He saw you, truly saw you, in all your glory.

Later that night, as you lay in bed, exhausted but exhilarated, you thought about the day. It had been a whirlwind, a dream come true. But it was his pride, his unwavering belief in you, that meant the most.

He had seen you at your worst, at your most vulnerable. He had been there through the late-night rehearsals, the self-doubt, the moments of despair. And through it all, his love had been your anchor, his unwavering support your guiding light.

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. You had achieved your dreams, but more importantly, you had found love, a love that was stronger than any stage, more enduring than any applause.

And as you slept, you knew, with a certainty that settled deep within your soul, that this was just the beginning. The beginning of a beautiful story, a love story, a story that would continue to unfold, one act at a time.

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pumperpup · 1 year ago

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In the shadowed corners of a bustling science convention, Dr. Felix Morveau adjusted his glasses, eyeing his next unwitting participant. He had set up a modest booth, misleadingly titled “The Future of Physical Fitness,” where his device, the Morpho Modulator, was hidden beneath a table draped in velvet. The device resembled a vintage radio, complete with dials and a large antenna, but its purpose was far from simple communication.

As the crowd thinned, a young scholar named Ethan approached, drawn by curiosity. He was slender, his body more accustomed to the rigors of academic marathons than physical ones. “What’s this about then?” Ethan asked, skepticism laced in his tone.

“Oh, just a small demonstration of potential,” Dr. Morveau replied with a sly smile. “Would you care to volunteer? It’s completely harmless, I assure you.”

Ethan hesitated but nodded, intrigued despite himself. Dr. Morveau gestured for him to stand on a marked spot in front of the device. “Just relax,” Felix advised as he adjusted the dials, the machine humming to life with a soft, electric purr.

Ethan felt a light tingling that seemed harmless, even ticklish. But as the machine's hum deepened, that tingling escalated into a potent, all-consuming buzz that coursed through his body. The sensation was both unsettling and enthralling. His muscles began to respond—first tightening, then expanding, growing visibly with each passing second. As the transformation gained momentum, Ethan’s discomfort mingled with an unexpected rush of exhilaration. “I—I think that’s enough,” he stammered, but his voice was drowned out by the escalating whir of the machine.

Dr. Morveau, his eyes alight with the thrill of experimentation, barely nodded at Ethan’s concern. “Just a bit more, let’s push the boundaries,” he murmured to himself more than to Ethan, and with that, he turned the dial up dramatically.

The effect was instantaneous. Ethan felt a powerful surge within him as his muscles expanded at an even faster rate. His biceps swelled, stretching the fabric of his sleeves to a near breaking point. His chest broadened, each new muscle fiber knitting together with astonishing speed and definition.

Overwhelmed by the intensity, Ethan closed his eyes, a deep moan escaping him as he surrendered to the transformation. The growth was rapid, each second adding layers of muscle that Ethan had never possessed nor imagined. His back widened, shoulders ballooning as they packed on mass. The euphoria of the transformation, fueled by the sudden acceleration, was profound—his body was not just growing, it was being sculpted into something formidable, powerful beyond his wildest understanding.

“Marvelous! Look at the definition, the symmetry!” Dr. Morveau exclaimed, utterly captivated by the sight. He observed every detail with the fascination of a scientist witnessing a great discovery, oblivious to the ethical boundaries he was overstepping.

Ethan, still with eyes closed, felt every fiber of his being stretched and expanded. The growth was exhilarating, a primal joy in gaining strength so rapidly, yet it was also terrifying—his own body becoming unfamiliar under the relentless expansion of muscle.

With a loud crack and a burst of sparks, the Morpho Modulator exploded, smoke billowing around Felix. The transformation halted abruptly, leaving Ethan massively muscled and towering, stuck in a state of shock and disbelief.

Felix, face blackened with soot but unharmed, looked at the remnants of his machine, then at Ethan, and finally at the shocked audience. "It appears we've discovered his limit," he remarked dryly.

#ai generated #ai #body expansion #musclegrowth #male muscle growth #muscle expansion #muscle inflation #ai muscle growth #muscle growth story

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violetduchess · 2 years ago

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|Senses|

Summary: Gojo loving all of you.

Warnings: slight nsfw and implied sexual content

Touch

When his fingertips first make contact with your skin, there's a surge of excitement. His heart quickens, and he can't help but smile, knowing that this touch is the beginning of something incredible. As his touch deepens, the heat between you intensifies. He feels a magnetic pull, a longing to explore every inch of your body. His desire grows with each caress, each stolen kiss, making him yearn for more. Gojo can't help but admire every detail of you. He thinks about how beautiful you are, both inside and out, and how lucky he is to have you close.

His touches become gentle, reverent, as if he's tracing the contours of a masterpiece With every touch, Gojo feels a profound connection to you. It's as if he can sense your thoughts and emotions through your skin. Your presence brings him comfort, and he's reminded that he's not alone in this world. A surge of protectiveness washes over him as he touches you. He wants to shield you from any harm, be your shelter in the storm. And there's a possessiveness, too, a desire to mark you as his own. Gojo revels in the sensuality of the moment. He thinks about how your bodies fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle. The intimacy between you is a treasure, and he cherishes it.

Above all, Gojo feels love. In those moments of touch, he's vulnerable, his walls down. He thinks about how you've touched not only his body but also his heart and soul. He's in awe of the depth of his emotions for you. The outside world seems to fade away when he touches you. Time loses its meaning, and all that matters is the euphoria of being close to you. In those moments, everything is perfect.

Occasionally, there's a flicker of insecurity. Gojo wonders if he's good enough for you, if he can truly make you happy. But those doubts are quickly banished by the overwhelming love and desire he feels.

Ultimately, as he continues to touch you, Gojo's thoughts are filled with gratitude. He's grateful for your presence in his life, for the love you share, and for the incredible moments you create together. In your arms, he finds contentment, and there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

Smell

When Gojo Satoru catches your scent, his thoughts take an intoxicating journey through a realm of desire and connection. The fragrance of you envelops him, and he can't help but become ensnared by the sensations it evokes.

The moment he detects your scent, his senses snap to attention. His heart quickens, and his body responds with a surge of arousal. There's no mistaking your unique aroma, and it sends a jolt of desire straight to his core. Your scent brings a deep sense of comfort and familiarity. It's a reminder that he's close to you, in your presence, and that thought alone soothes his soul. Your scent is like a warm embrace, drawing him closer to you.

He recalls the moments you've shared, from tender kisses to passionate embraces. It's as if your scent holds a library of your shared experiences, and he revels in revisiting them. You're like a magnetic force, pulling him in closer. It's a reminder of the irresistible attraction he feels for you, a constant reminder of the desire that burns between you.

You're a symbol of trust and security. When he's close enough to smell you, he knows he's in a safe space, protected and loved. Your scent is his refuge, and he can let his guard down in its presence. Gojo's thoughts turn sensual as he savors your scent. It's an aphrodisiac, stirring his deepest cravings. He yearns to explore every inch of your body, to taste and touch every part of you.

Above all, your scent is a reminder of the profound love he feels for you. It's a testament to the bond you share, a fragrant declaration of his devotion. He can't help but smile, knowing that you're the one who fills his senses with such joy. If he's apart from you and catches your scent on an article of clothing or in an empty room, it stirs a longing within him. He aches to be near you, to feel your presence in a tangible way, and he counts the moments until he can hold you again.

Your scent is entirely unique, and he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. It's a reminder that there's no one else like you, and he treasures every facet of your being. Ultimately, when he's enveloped in your scent, Gojo's thoughts are consumed by euphoria. It's a blissful reminder that you are his, and he is yours. In those moments, everything else fades away, and all that matters is the intoxicating essence of you.

You smell like home.

Hear

When Gojo Satoru hears your voice, his thoughts become a symphony of emotions, each note a testament to the profound impact you have on his life. Your voice is a melody that resonates deep within him, and it elicits a range of feelings and thoughts:

The first thing that crosses Gojo's mind when he hears your voice is recognition. It's a sound that's etched into his heart, and it brings an instant sense of comfort. Your voice is a constant in his life, a reminder of your presence. Your voice wraps around him like a warm embrace. It's familiar in a way that makes him feel at home, no matter where he is. The cadence of your words and the lilt in your tone are like a cozy blanket on a chilly day.

Your voice is a source of happiness for Gojo. It brightens his day, lifts his spirits, and makes him smile. Just hearing you speak can turn a mundane moment into a joyful one. There's an undeniable allure to your voice that Gojo can't ignore. It's as if each word carries a subtle hint of seduction, and it stirs his desire for you. Hearing you speak, especially when it's whispered in the quiet of the night, ignites a passionate fire within him.

Your voice has the power to calm the chaos within Gojo's mind. When he hears you, he feels a sense of tranquility washing over him, and the worries of the world seem to fade into the background and for a moment he's just a man in love. Your voice is a bridge that connects Gojo to you on a deeper level. It's a reminder of the intimacy you share, the conversations you've had, and the emotions you've expressed through words. Hearing your voice is like a private, cherished moment between the two of you.

The sound of your laughter is a treasure to Gojo. It's infectious, and he can't help but join in. Your playful banter and shared jokes create a sense of camaraderie that he cherishes. Hearing you speak, especially when you share your thoughts and feelings, is a reminder of the trust you've placed in him. It's a testament to the vulnerability you share, and Gojo holds your words close to his heart.

Whenever he hears your voice, Gojo is filled with gratitude. He admires your intelligence, your wit, and the way you express yourself. You are a constant source of inspiration for him. Above all, when Gojo hears your voice, his thoughts are consumed by love. Your voice is a reflection of the love he feels for you, a reminder of the deep connection that binds you together. It's a sound he never wants to be without, a melody that will forever play in the background of his life.

Sight

When Gojo Satoru lays eyes on you, his thoughts become a vibrant tapestry of emotions, desires, and profound connections. Your presence is a masterpiece that captivates his senses, and every glance at you elicits a cascade of thoughts and feelings:

The first emotion that sweeps over Gojo is sheer awe. His eyes drink in the sight of you, and he's reminded of just how breathtakingly beautiful you are. He's captivated by your every feature and movement, and he can't help but admire your radiance. Desire courses through his veins as he looks at you. He's drawn to you like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the magnetic pull. His longing to touch, to kiss, to hold you close intensifies with each passing moment.

The sight of you brings an instant smile to Gojo's face. He can't help but feel joy welling up within him. Your presence has the power to brighten even his darkest days, and he's grateful for the happiness you bring into his life. There's a profound sense of peace that washes over him when he sees you. It's as if all the chaos and turmoil in the world fades into the background, and in that moment, everything is perfect.

Your presence reminds Gojo of the deep connection and intimacy you share. He thinks about the moments you've shared, the secrets you've confided, and the love you've expressed. He's grateful for the unique bond you both have. As he looks at you, there's a surge of protectiveness that washes over him. He wants to shield you from any harm, to be your guardian in a world that can be harsh. Your well-being is his top priority.

The sight of you often brings out his playful side. He can't resist teasing you or engaging in light-hearted banter. Your shared laughter is like a melody that makes his heart sing. He's acutely aware of the trust you've placed in him, and he sees it in the way you look at him. Your eyes are windows to your soul, and he knows he's privileged to have a glimpse into your deepest thoughts and feelings.

Gojo is filled with gratitude when he sees you. He appreciates your presence in his life, the way you've touched his heart, and the love you've given him. He never takes your existence for granted. When Gojo sees you, his thoughts are consumed by love. He loves you more deeply than words can express, and seeing you reaffirms his commitment to you. You are the center of his universe, and he can't imagine a life without you in it.

In every look, every gaze, Gojo Satoru is reminded of the incredible impact you have on his life, and he treasures each moment he gets to see you.

Taste

It's the subtle taste of your chapstick after a series of light kisses followed by warm gazes and half lidded eyes.

It's the taste of your skin when he leaves gentle kisses heading from your neck to your chest, his tongue leaving a trail across your heated skin.

It's the soft cries that leave your mouth after he gently bites down on your breast. One of his hands at your waist, the other on your chest.

It's the pants and pleas that leave your soft lips when he goes lower.

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nayziiz · 1 year ago

Text

Bubbles | OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Author's note: Again, shorter than I intended. Please send through your thoughts, suggestions, and requests!

Masterlist

She and Oscar attend Lando’s lavish New Year’s Eve party. Before the clock strikes midnight, Lando shoves a bottle into your hand and one into Oscar’s hand. When the clock does strike midnight, they kiss and then blow bubbles like the little kids they are. Oscar simply smiles at her as she goes around blowing bubbles at everyone.

The grandeur of the occasion was palpable from the moment they stepped foot into Lando's Monte Carlo apartment. Every detail was meticulously planned, from the shimmering decorations adorning the walls to the exquisite floral arrangements that adorned every corner. The air was filled with the tinkling of champagne glasses and the lively chatter of the guests, all dressed to the nines in their most glamorous attire.

As they made their way through the throng of partygoers, she couldn't help but be captivated by the sheer splendour of it all. The room seemed to sparkle with an infectious energy, and she felt herself swept up in the excitement of the festivities.

Oscar, ever the charming companion, guided her through the crowd with ease.

As they navigated through the bustling crowd, Oscar's shy smile was a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere surrounding them. He made a concerted effort to find a quieter corner where they could relax and settle in for the evening. Among the sea of guests, Lando's vibrant presence stood out like a beacon, effortlessly gliding through the party, engaging with one person after another.

Suddenly, Lando's trajectory shifted as he caught sight of Oscar and his girlfriend. With an exuberant grin, he veered towards them, his energy infectious as he enveloped Oscar in a jovial embrace.

“Ah, you came!” Lando exclaimed, his voice carrying over the din of the party as he wrapped an arm around Oscar's shoulder. Oscar, slightly flustered by the sudden attention, chuckled softly before introducing her to Lando.

“This is Y/N,” he said, his voice tinged with warmth. She smiled politely, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at the introduction.

“We’ve met, Osc, multiple times,” Lando cackled, his laughter ringing out before he was pulled away by another guest, leaving Oscar and her to exchange amused glances.

Despite the brief interaction, she couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with Lando, his infectious laughter lingering in the air even as he disappeared into the crowd once more. And as she turned to Oscar, she couldn't suppress a smile, grateful to be sharing this moment with him amidst the whirlwind of Lando's lavish New Year's Eve party.

As the final moments of the year dwindled away, Lando, the consummate host, embarked on another circuit of his lavish apartment, ensuring that every guest was ready to welcome the new year in style. It was during this round that he once again found himself in the company of Oscar and his girlfriend.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Lando produced two bottles of soapy liquid, the promise of joy and whimsy evident in their frothy contents. Handing one to each of them, he grinned expectantly before drifting off to spread his infectious enthusiasm elsewhere.

As the countdown to midnight commenced, Oscar pulled her closer, the anticipation of the impending moment palpable in the air. The room buzzed with excitement as the seconds ticked away, each one bringing them closer to the dawn of a new year.

And then, amidst the collective cheers and jubilation of the crowd, the clock struck twelve, marking the birth of a new beginning. In that fleeting moment, enveloped in a shimmering cascade of bubbles and the warmth of each other's embrace, they shared a tender kiss—a silent vow to greet the future hand in hand, come what may.

As the euphoria of the midnight kiss subsided, she felt a surge of playful energy coursing through her veins, ignited by the bubbles clutched in her hands. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she pulled away from Oscar's embrace, embarking on a whimsical journey that carried her through the labyrinthine corridors of Lando's opulent apartment.

With each exhalation, she released a flurry of iridescent bubbles into the air, their delicate forms dancing on invisible currents, casting prisms of light across the room. And to her delight, she found herself accompanied by a merry band of fellow revellers, their laughter mingling with the soft pop of bursting bubbles as they joined her in this impromptu escapade.

Oscar watched on, his smug smile betraying a sense of pride as he witnessed her unbridled joy, her laughter echoing like music in the air. Amidst the throng of guests, she moved with an effortless grace, her infectious enthusiasm drawing others into her orbit, if only for a fleeting moment.

And as she laughed and chatted with her newfound companions, Oscar couldn't help but marvel at the way she effortlessly embraced the spirit of the evening, allowing her inner child to roam free in a world of bubbles and laughter. In that moment, surrounded by the shimmering spectacle of Lando's lavish party, they shared a silent understanding—a reminder that sometimes, the simplest moments hold the most profound beauty.

“I like her,” Lando commented. “Keep her around. She’s good for you.”

Lando's words cut through the festive din, his voice carrying a sincerity that resonated deeply with Oscar. Pausing for a moment to take in the scene unfolding before them, he nodded in silent agreement, a sense of gratitude swelling within him.

“Yeah,” Oscar replied, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched her twirl amidst the bubbles, her laughter like a beacon of light in the darkness. “I think I'll keep her.”

There was a warmth in his voice, a certainty born from the knowledge that he had found something truly special in her. And as he turned his gaze back to Lando, he couldn't help but feel a surge of appreciation for the unwavering support of his friend.

“I think you're right. She's more than just good for me—she's everything I never knew I needed,” he said, his words laced with genuine emotion.

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