genre(s) - one-shot, fluff, established relationship
description - coming home from another long shift, your aching body is wondering how much more it can take. luckily for you, your sweet wife is always around to serve you if needed.
my letter 💌 - based on this request, i don’t write about pregnancy but i wanted to try, it’s such a cute idea. song: the lady of my life by michael jackson.
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STEPPING INSIDE, YOUR FINGERS grip the doorknob as you shut and lock it behind you. Huffing a little, the ten-hour shift starts to catch up on you, your ankles burning and feet swollen. From the living room, muffled sounds coming from the TV make your ears perk up, blinking slowly and yawning, you push up off the front door and walk over to the living room.
Parker’s head turns your way, and a faint smile appears on her face, her locs in a bonnet, and she wears a white tank top with black shorts.
Her tatted arm rests on the back of the sofa, her hand stretching out for you to take it.
“Hey, baby.” Parker rasps, exhaustion evident in her tone, eyes droopy, and her eye bags a little more prominent. Her smile, so wide and only for you, the light from the TV catches the glisten in her eyes as she stares up at you.
You try to smile but struggle, intertwining your fingers with hers. Parker brings your hand up to her lips, pressing her lips on your skin carefully.
“Come rest, you had a long day.” She begs, you stand behind the couch, contemplating.
“It’s okay, baby. How was your day?” You question, resting your hand on your belly, your breasts feeling tense, and your ribs hurting a little. You breathe out of your mouth, seeing Parker raise a brow.
She stands and comes behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder and planting her hands on your stomach, massaging the tense areas. “Come on, sweet girl, you need to relax. How long have you been moving all day, hm?” You stay quiet, not wanting to admit it, and let her be right.
“I’m fine, I promise.” You whisper, a shaky sigh coming from your lips as Parker’s lips brush against your neck, careful as she brings her kisses down to your collarbone.
Her hands slide up to your ribs, the tips of her fingers gently rub your skin through your scrubs.
“I need you to be more than fine.” She whispers, moving her lips back up to your neck. Her caress is so kind, you feel your legs giving in. “Parker.” You warn, she ignores you, and helps you walk around the couch.
“I just need my baby to be okay. Can I make you feel better? You’ve had such a long day, I can only imagine.” Parker states as she helps you sit down on the couch, placing a pillow behind your back.
You observe as she squats down in front of you, untying your shoelaces, you hold in a smile and shake your head. “I cooked you your favorite.” She goes on, eyes on your shoes as she takes the left shoelace off, then goes to the right shoelace.
“You didn’t sleep at all today?” You mutter, and a heavy, satisfied sigh leaves you as both shoes are off, and Parker takes your socks off. You spread your toes open, finally getting to relax your muscles.
Parker shrugs and flexes her biceps as she stands, hovering over you, she picks up the throw blanket that is on the back of the couch, opening it and laying it on your lap.
“I got some sleep, then I woke up and made you dinner.” Parker leans down to you, her hand coming under your chin as you pucker your lips, feeling hers. It’s a quick peck, but it makes you feel less stressed in seconds.
You watch her move back from you, now leaving your sight as she steps into the kitchen, hearing her move around the room.
You yawn and lean your head back, “You know I could do that.” You express, Parker looks back at you, and hums. “Why should you when I’m here?”
Your words get stuck in your throat, and she nods, “Thought so.” Going back to making your plate, she gets a bit of everything for you. Your favorite cup is on the counter by the sink, once she places the plate by it.
“You and our baby need all the energy you guys can get.” Parker rambles, her thoughts getting caught up in the idea of her making breakfast for you and your baby.
She wonders if the baby will have your smile or your eyes; she’s thought about it a lot, something that helps her sleep at night beside the scent of you.
You take your pants off and toss them on the ground, feeling hot and overstimulated from wearing them for so long.
Having the blanket to cover you, you sigh happily and continue to watch the show. Parker comes back to you, your cup in her left hand with ice and juice in it, and a plate with your favorite meal.
You look at it and smile, “Aw, honey.” You pout and glance up at her, “Love you.” You whisper, Parker smiles and kisses your forehead before handing you your plate and placing a pillow over your lap.
Sitting beside you, she places your cup on the counter, ready for you to attempt to grab it, only for her to do it for you.
A part of her knows it’s selfish to see you struggle just a little with small things, but she finds it cute; everything you do is cute to her, adding to the fact that your belly gives you a waddle.
Parker keeps her eyes on you, instead of the show, enjoying the sight of you eating. Seeing the way you relax even more, you swallow your food and look back at her.
“I swear you cook better than the last time, every time.” You let out, Parker laughs and looks down at the ground, trying her best to hide the smile. You like it when she gets flustered by your compliments; it feels like a small win every time.
“Thanks, baby, figured you would like it after a long day.” She shrugs, trying to be nonchalant but failing, horribly.
Your giggles echo through the room and find a place in her heart. Parker picks her head up and stares at you. Your body jerks as you laugh, your lips wide, and the plate of your food shakes with you a little.
“Mmh, still, you’re too kind.” You shrug and go back to eating. Parker bites her bottom lip from smiling so hard; her cheeks hurt.
Moving her warm hand to your ankles, you flinch as she begins rubbing the ache out. “Keep it, baby, I got you.” She mumbles, her eyes on the TV.
You listen and continue to eat, leaning on the couch and letting your feet rest on her lap instead of pushing into her thigh.
“I love you,” Parker says, seriously, looking back at you. You smile and look at her, “I love you back.” Your baby kicks your belly, and you laugh at the feeling.
“Guess someone has something to say.” You tell Parker. Parker brings her hand up to your belly and rubs it, easing your pain.
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hey butches and femmes of tumblr! if you are looking for butch and femme reading recs, i have reading lists available on my website!
most of the books listed i have as pdfs in my digital butch/femme library accessible here 💕
if you have questions or know of books/articles you’d like to see added, dm me! it’s more important than ever to learn our history and protect our community 🩷
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History of Black Lesbian identities in traditionally white queer & sapphic spaces.
There is a lot of misinformation and false narratives being pushed on the history behind the term “Stud” and rather or not black, bipoc, latinx, and other lesbians of color have historically been accepted in “white queer & sapphic” spaces. Let’s get into it.
Tw: Racism, discrimination, inequality, systemic prejudices, and opression.
“In the 1920s, around 1919-1921, “bulldyking’ and bulldyke, both of which are considered to be dyke’s predecessor was heard and noted down by white professors to be AAVE, specifically used by black women with the first woman to use dyking around being a (black) woman from a Harlem prison. However, bulldyke has been recorded far earlier than that in the black community with Harvey Neal as it was their nickname and was mentioned in the 1890s as a woman won their affections.
In 1926, Nigger Heaven was released and written by a white man based around the black people of Harlem, specifically around the Harlem Renaissance and was the first time Dyke as a term was used to mean lesbian, coming from the shortening of bulldyke or more particularly, BD Woman (bulldyke woman). This was the true first instance of dyke ever being used to mean lesbian in any instance.
It was then recorded in the 1930s in the American Slang Dictonary as an alternate term for lesbian and during that era, wasn’t even considered a slur but simply black people slang.
Dyke became a slur during the fifties when white people and this unfortunately includes white sapphics of that era began using it as a slur against black lesbians (and other lower class lesbians but this often again mostly is black people of that era) and in the 60s, was used against all lesbians because of association of black masculinity and then merged to lesbianism as a whole.
It was ”“reclaimed”“ in the 1980s but with reclamation, came erasure. Most non-black sapphics in that era simply refused to acknowledge its history if they were aware and any connections we had as black lesbians were lost outside the black community because it meant acknowledging the origins. This is where the alternate etymologies began showing up.” - @bodiesbodiesbodiesx3
Throughout the period of slavery from approximately 1619 to 1865, black individuals were often dehumanized and compared to animals. Those who were taller and stronger were frequently chosen for labor-intensive roles due to their physical capabilities.
In the southern United States, this comparison was particularly evident, as black men were referred to as "studs," akin to male horses, while women faced the label of "stallions."
As we move to more contemporary history, it wasn't until the mid-1960s that black women began to gain access to the working class. Prior to this shift, many black women took significant risks to provide for their families by taking on jobs traditionally reserved for men. To navigate these spaces, they would disguise their femininity by binding their chests, donning more masculine clothing, and concealing their hair.
Unfortunately, black women continued to be subjected to comparisons with animals, with white cisgender heterosexual men often perceiving their features as overly masculine. This led to some black women managing to navigate male-dominated workplaces more easily. Black men within their communities were aware of these women's disguises and offered support, accepting them as they sought to forge their paths.
When suspicions arose regarding a woman's identity, black men would humorously dismiss the allegations by stating, “that’s a stud.” This became a shared understanding within the black community, acknowledging the deeper historical significance of the term "stud" and its origins.
Today, black lesbian women and nonbinary individuals from diverse backgrounds have embraced the term "stud" as a way to reclaim their identities. This reclamation is rooted in both a historical context of being marginalized within predominantly white queer spaces and a desire to define an identity that is unique and affirming to their experiences as black people.
In conclusion, it is important to recognize that while many individuals have the best intentions in creating inclusive safe spaces, the language often reflects the experiences of white queer individuals. This can undermine the goal of true inclusivity. To genuinely welcome all voices and embrace the richness of intersectionality, it is essential to deeply understand the historical context of the terms we use today.
