#male!vag

[teddys-shion]

[missmisandrytabletalk]

I'm sure every woman in her lifetime must have wondered atleast for once about how most of these cuss words are associated with women and animals. I did too. Countless times actually. Even felt guilty about the times I blurted those words out loud in frustration. Contemplated but then spiraled back into uttering it involuntarily as a teen. It's like we are programmed by patriarchy to correlate women and animals with being useless, easy to tame and discipline. How we are made to refer women in a condescending tone as she is some sort of a male's property that got vandalised so now every other male deems her as a corrupted and vile woman. The ownership and control these moids boast about having over women and their bodies is disgusting. These moids need to keep the mothers and daughters out of their filthy mouths. And bitch which is literally a female dog I mean are we kidding? The dogs got more dignity than these degenerates. "You're such a cunt!" "Oh don't be a pussy!" Well bold of you to assume I'm not. The same degenerates of fucking mistakes who were pushed out of their mum's vagina still want to have a conversation about what's tougher??? the balls or the vags? The audacity to include divine and nurturing beings like mothers in your cuss words should be an abomination in itself.

Various studies show that males indulge in way more profanity than women. When they have no point to prove, they resort to profanity. When they want to demean someone, they resort to cussing. Male humour practically revolves around who will cuss out more slurs. They find out ways to mock women and make them feel like sex toys. The topic of discussion for males always remains the same. A dad who meets up with his childhood homies, a brother who invites his friends over to a sleepover, a son chatting with his college pals on the phone, a husband throwing a party for his male colleagues. They will unabashedly continue to uphold this status quo since it brews a sense of power in their heads. The idea of having power over women excites them.

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 2

tw: explicit content. 5k+ words. yuta/reader. female!alpha!reader, alpha!yuta, reader has a knot but also a vag. very barely dubcon, masturbation, fingering. mostly lots of pining. also light curse!rika/reader, but no monsterfucking (yet. curse!rika would 1000% hit it tho)

listen... it's not very smutty but read the fic. just read the fic. you're a tsundere and yuta and his curse girlfriend are smitten with you. it's really cute i promise.

Prompt: An Alpha finds themselves exhibiting omega traits in front of a stronger alpha.

Female alphas were less common than male ones, but they were common enough for there to be stereotypes about them.

Scary girls. Big girls. Strong independent women who didn’t need no men, ate pretty omega boys for breakfast.

There was a certain type of alpha – exclusively male, sometimes beta men were like this too – that saw a kind of challenge to it.

These sorts of dudes were obsessed with ‘alpha pussy’, swore it was tighter and hotter than any omega hole ever could be.

Never mind that there were some omegas who couldn’t take large knots without training, and anyone who wasn’t an omega needed a lot of practice before trying to take any knot at all.

It wasn’t about realism with these assholes. It was some weird, self-fellating bullshit about having made another alpha their bitch, being the alpha to another alpha.

Asshole alphas, that’s a good way to put it. A bunch of fuckwads who thought only with their knots and their egos.

Each and every one of them thought they were god’s gift to creation because they were alphas, born special and better than everyone else, all that garbage.

Yuta isn’t an asshole, but he is, shockingly enough, an alpha.

He’s a nice boy – maybe the nicest alpha you’ve ever met.

Makes it all the funnier that you get paired up with him on missions so often; the scary alpha girl and the gentle alpha boy.

You’d doubt his identity, too, if you didn’t know better. But you can smell it on him all the same. Unmistakable. Alpha.

And he’s strong, really strong, probably stronger than you, though the thought rankles.

Special grade, you’d heard – mostly because of the cursed spirit that hangs out with him.

But it’s not the spirit you smell when you sneak a discreet whiff of the scarf he’d left on the bench this one time. It���s an alpha, through and through.

It’s not the spirit that darts into the field on missions before you can, places himself between you and danger without even thinking about it.

Carves destruction with a graceful, brutal blade and then turns back to you with a sheepish smile asking if you’re all right.

He’s so… gentle. Careful. You’re not even sure he can get angry.

The closest you’d ever seen him to it was when a curse popped up behind you on a mission, while he was occupied with a special grade of his own on the other side of the room.

You’d seen a barrier appear in an instant, which must have been his domain expansion, and only a few seconds later the curse he’d been fighting was gone and the curse that ambushed you was impaled on his blade.

Even with blood on his face, he’d smiled at you.

Eyes shut, voice warm with sincerity, but the air was filled with a tense note of danger, barely constrained threat… just not towards you.

Somehow, you want to see more.

-

Prodding at Yuta Okkotsu is no easy task.

He’s about the most mild-mannered person you’ve ever met, and half-terrified that someone mistreating him would get on the bad side of the cursed spirit who hangs around him.

But you’re determined, and there’s not a lot that can stop you when you put your mind to it.

Alphas had a personal bubble – just like everyone else – and when another alpha gets into it, it usually sets them off.

You start to invade Yuta’s space; first, in small ways.

Leaning in when you hand him a soda, sitting a touch too close on a bench, lingering whenever one of you pins the other during sparring.

There’s a flush on his darling face, a tightening of his features as you see him catch your scent and react to your proximity before he represses the reaction completely.

But soon enough, that doesn’t phase him at all.

You've gotta hand it to him. That's some real control.

Soon he’s touching your hand when you pass him things, you can lean against him while you sit next to each other and he doesn’t bat an eye.

Neither does that supposedly scary curse of his, for that matter.

You see her, once, on a mission. A curse sneaking up behind you (it wouldn’t have been able to hurt you anyways) and you catch her, the curse Yuta normally keeps so carefully hidden.

Massive. Magnificent.

It’s not something you’d normally say about a curse but Rika comes with a scent all her own, fresh and woodsy pine, pricking at your senses while a gaping maw of sharp teeth closes around some pitiful lesser creature.

The blood splatters, on the floor, on her ‘face’. She has no eyes you can see, but you feel her gaze on you anyways. Heavy in the midst of the silence, until Yuta’s panicked voice rings out, and she disappears completely.

Pine lingers in your senses.

That’s not what Yuta smells like, though.

He smells so little, actually, so heavily repressed that you’re not surprised most people think he’s a beta. But your senses are better than most, and you can detect it.

Faint. Warm. Almost… oily? Like olive oil, maybe, something humble and smooth, but unexpectedly decadent.

Like the scent of a lone burning candle in an old shrine, not quite dusty, but with a book-like scent that came with ink and paper.

It’s hard to detect. You need to get closer to really pin it down.

Yuta’s physical abilities are weak, after all, so it’s easy to make up excuses to spar with him. More and more, since you can tell he’s no longer uncomfortable with you in his space.

One fine winter morning, you catch the opportunity you want.

A tumble on the ground (he was always so afraid of Rika coming out, but she never did when he fought you), a little scuffle that leaves the adorable gentleman alpha flushed and flustered, and you manage to snag his scarf off of him.

In the pocket of his jacket you leave him something in return; a band not quite large enough to be a scarf that you’d used to tie your hair.

It should have plenty of your scent on it, enough to make him sniff the air once or twice before he figured out it was there.

The thought pleases you. Like you can tease him a little bit at some random moment throughout the day, without even being there.

It’s five whole days before Yuta returns it to you.

His face a touch bashful, even though he must have known full well that you’d slipped it into his coat yourself. Eyes downcast, as if afraid to meet yours; Yuta Okkotsu, the special-grade terror.

He doesn’t ever ask for the scarf back.

Not that you remember it. It’s just sitting on your desk. You barely think about it.

It just happens that it still has his scent on it, but that makes sense.

It would have been in contact with his scent glands every day, wrapped around his neck like a collar. Like a warm embrace.

You don’t touch it, so it still smells like him. Warm and welcoming.

He’s really not much of an alpha.

After you spar, he always compliments you, careful to note any potential weaknesses between bits of lavish praise. His shadowed, dark eyes sparkle a touch when he tells you, a warm smile on his lips.

Yuta’s always doing that, complimenting people. You’ve never known him to disparage anyone. Never a bad word for a single person you’d met.

So kind. What kind of alpha is this sweet?

Somewhere deep down, though, you know. A real leader, someone people trust and rely on, a friend who would cross oceans for you, move mountains, if it would help you out even a little.

Sweet boy, like cotton candy. Comforting like a warm candle on a cold winter night.

So bright even thought Yuta looks like the gloomiest boy alive. Sometimes when you think of him your tongue runs over your lips, like you’re hungry for more.

You push him further.

You don’t avoid him when you’re close to your rut. In fact you make a point to be near him, get into his space.

Sure, you’d invaded it plenty now, but with your scent oozing out of you, pheromones heavy in the air screaming breed, breed, breed, and you figure something in Yuta will crack.

You never stop to think about whether or not you want it to.

-

It’s on a nice, sunny day that it happens. The most embarrassing moment of your entire existence.

Pre-rut is a bit brutal but you’re down to tough it out. Sparring with Yuta always helps, anyways.

You’re especially snarky, too, like you get during your rut, eager to taunt, to get more out of him.

“C’mon Yuta, that’s not all you’ve got, right? Ask your curse girlfriend for help, I’ll bet she knows how to lay it out.” Adrenaline fuels your heated banter as you watch Yuta pointedly avert his gaze, “You’re flinching and I’m barely hitting you.”

“I can do it,” He almost grumbles, but you think you see a shadow behind him, or maybe you just imagine it, lurking and eager to jump out, “And she woul- Rika is strong.”

The hormones are bad, though. Getting your body heavy with sweat and panting, moving around, lashing out at him, striking, grappling…

“That’s more like it!”

“You can take this much? Then - I’ll do even more!”

Who the fuck are you kidding. It’s the most fun you’ve had in weeks.

Yuta’s strong, stronger than almost anyone you know, he’s right in front of you, so close you can smell you can touch you get your hands on him and he on you and you’re rolling, rolling through the grass –

Yuta pins you, heavy breaths breezing over you, carrying the warm rich smell of him in your senses.

Sweat dripping down his forehead, mouth wide open, you can almost taste it (taste what?).

His eyes are dark and deep and beautiful and they look down at you like –

He’s looking at you like –

His lips curl upwards into the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen, your heart skips ten beats and you – you just feel so warm –

underneath him – the comforting weight of his body against yours – that delectable smell dripping over you – his arms around you, holding you –

You cough out a noise you think is a laugh. Yuta tilts his head to the side with fondness written all over his face.

“That was a pretty heavy bout – good job!” He beams down at you, voice is full of praise pouring over you like liquid gold, “Are you alright?”

You open your mouth to tell him you are, and to your horror, you realize the noise you make. You’re purring.

Instantly your face is set on fire.

“I.” oh god. What. What the fuck, “I’m…” Your voice breaks in a rumble.

Oh god this is so weird, alphas don’t purr at other alphas, what’s wrong with you – “Yeah! Fine!”

You say it too loudly and it shows. Yuta’s so close to you there’s no way he can’t tell what’s happening.

Even otherwise, your voice is cracking like some kind of hormonal teenage boy and you just.

Evacuate. Evacuate immediately.

Your hands fly up to Yuta’s chest and you try desperately not to notice how surprisingly well-built he is as you shove him up and off you.

He offers no resistance, stepping up and offering you a hand which you ignore in favor of sprinting off, like a guilty person would do.

Seriously? Seriously? This would go down in history as the day your dignity died.  

Where was your pride as an alpha? Where was your – your anything, to be honest.

Why the fuck had you just?? Gone so completely gooey and melty underneath him when he smiled at you like that?

Even thinking back on it heats your face. Then again, the whole thing was super embarrassing, so your face was hot anyways.

It occurs to you, walking back to your room in great shame, that you weren’t actually worried about anyone finding out about this, just that it had happened.

Alphas don’t usually purr unless they’ve just knotted someone and they want them to feel good.

And omegas would typically only purr at close family members or intended mates; a lazy sign of comfort and peace, and very occasionally, a come-hither-I’m-feeling-frisky signal to their alpha.

Whatever conclusion could be made about you purring at Yuta from underneath him… there was no option that wasn’t utterly humiliating.

But you only had to worry about what Yuta would think.

You knew Yuta wouldn’t breathe a word about this. Probably not even if someone held a knife to his throat (not that they could… special grade and all).

…you start to feel kinda bad now, actually.

No matter how you’d poked or prodded, Yuta Okkotsu hadn’t snapped at you.

Unflinching in his kindness. Eager to help always, with a hand or some friendly advice. Protective and powerful, never hesitating to put himself between you and danger.

You’d been inching into his space. Stealing his things. Taunting him during practice.

Honestly, if someone else acted like this to you, you’d call them a pest. You wouldn’t smile at them. Not like that.

Yuta must’ve been some kind of saint in a past life, if nothing you’ve done bothers him at all.

It’s weird. It’s all weird. Alphas aren’t like this, neither of you should be like this.

-

It gets worse. It all gets worse, so much worse.

Your rut is in full swing now, burning through you, searing holes in every ounce of sanity you ever thought you had. Nothing is sacred anymore, nothing is off-limits. There’s no shame left and no restraint.

The most heinous ideas flit through your mind, little flashes, lewd imagery of holes to fuck into and knots to squeeze, the tight press of flesh on flesh and dark eyes and lips that curve so gently upwards.

A scent that flutters just at the edge of your senses like the well-worn pages of familiar book.

The best you can do is stop yourself from crying out. The images get clearer, until there’s no denying what they are.

Yuta, on his hands and knees.

All spread apart.

Above you.

Below.

Smiling gently. Whispering words into your ear.

His lean form, the sleek musculature you know from so many fits of sparring, finally bared for you to feast your eyes. “Do you like it, alpha?”

Yes. Yes yes yes yes. Every fiber of your being cries out. The throbbing between your legs is unbearable.

“Do you want it?”

Never wanted anything more.

“You’re such a good alpha. I’m glad.”

Just the thought of the words, in his voice, draws a moan from your lips.

You want him. Want want want want WANT you NEED him where is he where can you find him? You’re going to hunt him down and –

The last remaining threads of your sanity grant you a burst of intuition.

A detail you’d never really forgotten:

The scarf on your desk. The one you hadn’t touched, hadn’t made smell like you. It should still smell like him.

Wait. Wait. What are you, some omega jerking off to the scent of your fucking crush –

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Crush. Okkotsu.

But you can’t get yourself to think about how that’s wrong, can’t convince yourself to deny anything when a pulsing, throbbing sensation between your legs screams mate mate my mate all mine –

Stumbling, staggering, all the way to the desk. Arm reaching out while you’re bent over and panting and nearly whining in your need.

Fuck. Pathetic, so pathetic.

And then you hold the scarf to your face, clutched in your hand like a lifeline. The scent of it is faint and inexplicably cozy, pure relief flooding through you.

It brings you to your knees. The ache between your legs demands attention and your other hand rushes to meet it, jerking and rubbing against your sexes while you sniffle and tear up.

Ruts suck when you spend them alone but this is better and worse than anything you’d ever experienced.

Bucking up into your hands, breathing in his scent like you can fill him in your lungs, inhale him like a cigarette and finally get rid of the pounding demand in your brain.

Every breath feels shallow, every grind against your hand only seems to make you hotter and hotter.

The ache in your core feels like being tugged around, demanding jerks of painful pleasure that don’t get you there, don’t get you what you need.

It’s all you can do to whimper and nuzzle into his scarf.

The primitive side of you urges you to pull it between your legs leg him take care of you, good mate, good alpha, let him feel you there, but your arm locks in place so you can keep breathing the scent like a lifeline.

When you finally do cum, you’re more exhausted than anything, spurting pitifully out over your hands and knees, knot bulging uselessly against your lower belly.

It leaks, slowly, painfully, as if to give you time to think about what you’ve done.

You decide you’d really rather not. Sliding a drawer open to pull out a toy, another toy, three of them, even – enough to overstimulate yourself to high hell, to keep every thought of Yuta and his scent out of your brain.

A vibrator in any hole you could fit it in, against anything that throbbed or ached. A fleshlight to fuck into, one a size too small just to make it hurt more.

Way less lubricant than you could have used, but somehow, your cunt leaks more than enough for all of it.

All to just barely stop the fantasies of a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy with a smile and a scent like the sun.

Without a doubt it’s the most miserable rut you’ve ever had.

You’re raw, red, and sore by the end of it and all you can feel is barely concealed rage at your own self for putting you through this shit.

You don’t even know if you’re mad that you fucked up, or that you’re crushing this fucking hard on a really nice dude you’ve been antagonizing for weeks.  

As soon as your rut ends, you steal another one of Yuta’s scarves.

You don’t give him anything in return this time.

-

Yuta likes women; this is something he’s known for a while.

It’s not until recently that he’s come to terms with the fact that he exclusively likes alpha women. He has you and Maki to thank for that.

In retrospect, considering his first love was a strong-willed young girl who proposed to him, it should probably have been more obvious.

Lucky for him, Rika also has a taste for alpha women, and she likes you much better than she liked Maki.

To be perfectly honest, it was Rika who liked you first.

The Rika he knew had passed on. The Rika beside him now is a curse that grew alongside him; in the image of his loved one, distorted and massive in all its malevolent glory.

She listened to him, for the most part, but perhaps because of some baser instincts of his – or perhaps some left-over preferences from Rika herself – she treats you with a particular affection.

You offer him a drink, moving just a touch too close to hand it over, and he feels Rika hum in approval.

His eyes glance over you unwillingly, your scent faint in his nose. It’s not as harsh as another alpha’s scent normally would be, either, which should have been his first warning.

Whenever you get close – too close, so much that it has to be on purpose – it’s almost overwhelming, so many emotions fluttering through him that he swears he can hear Rika giggling.

She likes it, too. You’re like fresh soil, like morning dew, the rainfall on a summer’s day.

He can tell, after one day he catches you right before your rut, wrestling with him, pinned underneath him and purring; you like him, too.

And then, he fucks it all up.

“Hey,” He calls you out by name and you turn back, meeting his eyes and walking back up to him.

The immediate response causes something dark and warm to burst in his chest; Rika purrs invisibly in his mind.

You try not to show it but you’re pleased when he calls out to you. He can smell it on you, happy pheromones that let him know you’re pleased he’s asked for you.

Not unlike an omega, and that thought really sets him going.

All this time you spent playing coy. Teasing him then running away, even from your own feelings.

You want him so bad but you’re so nervous, and seeing someone so strong and beautiful be so anxious about your want for him drives him completely and utterly insane.

It’s not like you’re cowardly, like he could be, sometimes.

You’re strong, you always give him a fight when you spar, you take the losses like a champ –

You would take his knot so so well RIKA PLEASE STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.

Now you’re staring at him, blushing like a schoolgirl, waiting for him to speak to you. So cute. So cute.

He’d caught you stealing his scarf again, you never gave any of it back. Are you building a nest? Do you like his scent like he likes yours?

Licking his lips, Yuta asks, “You’re – you’re an alpha, right?”

Oh. Oh, he should not have said that.

The surprise that flits across your face, and then the outrage, they tell him the same thing –

But his body receives a very different message, cock jumping in his pants at the scent.

All those times you’d sparred with him had trained him to get hard when you got in his space like this. Your scent wasn’t a threat, but a delicacy, and in his chest a rumble stuttered along with Rika.

“What the fuck are you trying to say, Okkotsu?”

Oh. Family name. You were really mad.

He could tell his face had already fallen by how you looked torn between pity and anger.

An apology lurched to stutter out through his lips, but instead –

Instead –

On the tip of his tongue, the edge of his senses –

“Are you… wet?” It sounds like a question, but that’s sheer politeness on his part.

He can smell it on betas as well as omegas, so it made sense that he could smell it on a female alpha, too.

Your face is hot, bright red, and so, so darling.

He can tell Rika is as thrilled to see it as he is, that she longs to reach out with one of her massive claws and clutch around your shapely waist, hold you in place for him to –

“What the fuck? Okkotsu?!”

Oh no. No no no no no no no. No! “Rika! Rika, don’t hurt her!”

She’s not hurting you. She would never hurt you.

This is probably worse.

“Hurt me? Fucking – ff – hng,” Yuta can’t stop the lurch in his gut, the wave of pure arousal that washes over him at the sound you make, “Get her off me, Okkotsu, you – ”

Your face is so red. Your scent. Your scent. It’s perfuse, a strong, tangy thing, delicious, he’d grown addicted to it and wasn’t that your fault?

Didn’t you do this to him, on purpose? Don’t you want him like this?

Slipping him little tastes here and there, shoving it in his face all the time.

Passing him a sample while you sneakily stole his scarf, hoarding his scent like a needy little omega?

Teasing him, getting in his face while you were in rut?

Purring at him when he pinned you underneath him?

Flushing when he called out to you, looking back, running up to him eagerly like an obedient, darling thing?

Yuta thought he liked alpha women, and he does.

But it looks like he especially likes alpha women who go all soft and squishy for him without saying as much, squirming and blustering and making faces like they’d like to eat him as soon as they thought he wasn’t looking.

“Don’t be upset.” His hands roam down to your sides. He doesn’t miss how you jerk at the contact. “I asked so I could help. Are you wet?” He says your name, a dark fire in his eyes.

You watch his tongue dark between his lips. Bite back a whimper. “Help me how? What’s – what’s she doing?”

“Helping me help you.” If you don’t want to tell, he’ll just check for himself.

His hands are cold, though, and you can’t stop the high gasp that escapes you when his hands dig under your waistband.

He murmurs a soft apology and the curse behind you chitters, chilled claws carefully wrapped around your torso.

Yuta drags your shorts and panties down in one motion, cooing softly at you when you shriek, one hand caressing your shoulder while Rika purrs, pressing herself up against your back.

Filling your senses with pine and Yuta’s oil, a scent like fire that burns to behold.

Warms you like sunlight.

“Yuta-” Even you weren’t sure what you were going to say, but his fingers between your legs send your brain for a complete loop. “I – what are you – we’re in – ”

“I put up a veil,” Yuta says, like (he knows) that was your only real objection.

Or maybe he’s lying. Yuta could tell you he was wearing Ryomen Sukuna’s underwear and you’d believe him, as long as he looked at you like that.

The smile you love so much is hungry, now, with those eyes dark with desire, with a curse clawing at you tenderly, like she just can’t let you go for even a second. Churning pleased little noises with every press and flex of her massive fingers around you.

Fingers darting to spread open your folds, even as you squirm. Bared in broad daylight with Yuta right in front of you.

Circling your hole while he looks you in the eyes, pressed close enough to hear you whine.

“I knew you were wet,” He murmurs, in a soft voice that sends liquid heat dripping down your legs, “Could smell it.”

Yuta leans in. He’s so pretty, so handsome, such a dark and darling thing with those heavy, soulful eyes.

He’s so close that when he whispers your name, you feel it on your lips. “You smell so good.”

He didn’t sound this hot even in your daydreams. He’s so close. So close. His breath ghosts over you like a curse hanging on your shoulder.

Your mouth falls open. Watering, like your cunt. Desperate for a taste.

And maybe you’re still an alpha after all, because finally, finally, you dive in and take what you want.

He tastes as rich on your lips as he’s smelled, soft and oiled and coating your senses. Blotting out everything until all you know is him.

Him, teasing over your clit with careful strokes. Growling into the kiss like he’s warning you not to pull back, Rika pressing you forward like you’re two dolls she can’t wait to smash together.

Arms dart out to his shoulders to steady yourself as he dips his fingertips into your entrance. Generous, broad strokes over your folds he spreads your arousal all over, returning to rub at your clit as he pulls away.

It’s good. So good. The oncoming pleasure builds and builds slowly with his ministrations, pooling heavily in your lower half. The urge to buck into it overtakes you, writhing for more friction as sparks begin to fly against your clit, closer, closer –

And then it’s you who can’t look away, locked in place under his gaze. “You’re going to cum for me? Do you want to?”

God it’s so fucking close, tears blot your eyes as you jerk into his fingers, and Yuta doesn’t even try to deny you.

He smiles at you, carefree. He already has his prey in front of him, unable to escape, uninterested in even trying.

You give him a feverish nod. “Will you tell me so? I want to hear you.”

Just a little faster, just a little more, more, “More please, please, make me cum –”

An exhale of a breath you hadn’t known he was holding, diving in towards your neck, nuzzling against your scent. Burying your face in his shoulder where his own was strongest.

It’s that breath that puts you over the edge, fast strokes of his fingers finally igniting the heavy pleasure pent up in your lower belly, the scent of him pouring over you.

You cum with a cry, mouthing at his neck just to soothe yourself, to taste him.

You feel the wetness of his tongue on your own scent glands. Hot. Drooling. He suckles at your taste, soft lips pressed to bare, vulnerable skin, and you let your head roll to the side to give him more.

All you can feel now is warmth. Warmth and Yuta’s familiar scent that makes your insides twist, the aftershocks still shuddering through you, twitching in his hold like some pitiful creature.

Every muscle in your body relaxes, and it’s only Rika’s grasp on you keeping you up. Fortunately, she’s strong. So strong.

Her head nestles into your shoulder, scenting you. Sweet, chilling pine on your sweaty skin. She purrs you through the bliss, cool against your body caught against Yuta’s own.

There’s a hilariously awkward moment where the two of you start catching your breath. Yuta looks flushed, handsome, as lovely as ever.

Still, his eyes find yours. He smiles. He’s always smiling at you, you’ve started to realize.

The thought makes you happy.

You like it. You like it a lot. Like him.

He’s even better than the fantasies.

“I’m going into rut,” Yuta says. “Because of… this.”

You swallow. “Oh. Okay.”

It’s hard to think too much about it, when the heat in your core is still dissipating, face burning up while you have yet to regain control of your limps

And between the two of you, Yuta must be the real alpha, because he’s the one who goes and just says it already.

“Will you spend it with me?”

“Your… your rut?”

“Yes. I want you to spend it with me.” He’s so close. You can feel the heat of his breath between you. "If you want."

A pause. You try, oh lord, do you try, to gather your thoughts for just one moment. “Are you going to try and mark me?”

“Can I?” His eyes are too light, too eager, the words too quick to fall from his lips.

Alphas don’t ask for permission like puppies begging for treats. But Yuta, your Yuta, he’s already pleading with his eyes.

“Maybe you should be more worried about me marking you.”

“Would you?” Barely contained excitement oozes from him, from his pheromones to his bright expression.

You think you hear Rika giggle behind you. Pleased. Razor teeth ghosting over your ear in a little kiss, as if to urge you forth.

It’s working. If you fuck this boy, you’re gonna bite him.

You’re going to sink your teeth into him the first chance you get, make him yours yours all yours forever and have him every way he can bend, mark him up until he fucks you back into submission.

You’ll fuck him and fuck his curse girlfriend, too.

But it would be weird to just say it, right?

“Maybe.”

He laughs at that.

Oh. Yuta’s always been pretty good at reading between the lines, hasn’t he?

Or, you think as he leans in for a kiss, forehead pressed to yours – maybe he was just good at reading you.

[bleghcourse]

I haven't met a single "gay male radfem ally" (man TERF) who doesn't make my skin crawl. It's always some spineless nicefem with dysphoria (a self-hating transgirl) drunk on feminist apologetica or a transmisandrist who couldn't give less of a fuck about women's rights and just wants to gatekeep homosexuality and engage in body-shaming and ableism.

"Straight male radfem allies" make sense on some level because some men are down bad, but it's another level of pathetic if you're not even in it for the lackluster vag.

"Gender traitor" doesn't really do justice to how little I think of these slimeballs. There is a special place in hell for men who would throw other men under the bus for the validation of mediocre women who hate them.

[tai0miemi]

For you, my favorite moralists♡

Caution! The topic of dark content, transophobia (as it seems to some), double standards and hypocrisy

English is not my native language, I express myself as best I can, OK?

This post is dedicated to all the freaking moralists who, because of fake characters, bully real writers and people who read what they like.

Are you worried that a child/teenager will see inc*st/r*pe topics, but for some reason you think it's okay not to put tags in works where there are trans people?

The authors of dark content set an age limit in bold text, write a bunch of tags and warnings so that your delicate brain does not deteriorate, at the same time as the authors writing about trans!reader × character or trance!character does not put anything at all most often.

I'm tired of you. I don't want to read the work and in the middle realize that a female reader has a d*ck. I don't want to read a work where a biologically male character turns out to have a vag*na. PUT IT DOWN. FUCKING. TAGS. So that people can just block you and not read it.

I'm not opposed to your writing, I just don't like it and that's okay. We're all different people and we like different things. However, I am fed up with moralists that in every tag that they do not like they make a tragedy of universal scale and then humiliate the authors who write it while they do not care about such a topic with trances. Seriously? Do you think that if a child sees these works, then it's ok? If you're against it, then you're fucking hypocrites. Leave the authors of dark content alone.

And here's another thing. I really "like" when they write "mention of female anatomy" in job warnings. Hmm, I wonder who it is? I don't even know if this creature is called a WOMAN. And leave your comments about the sex change, an artificial hole between the legs is not a biological vag*na, OK?

Do not write comments, do not like or reblog. This post was made with the sole purpose of attracting attention and adding kirosine to the fire♡

UPD: Thank you all for promoting the discussion, thanks to you, as many people as possible will see the post!

UPD2: You can call me transophobic all you want, but your brain missed the point of this post. No matter what you say, you have no right to poison other people just because you personally don't like something. Trans people is a specially chosen topic so that you can look at yourself from the outside, how stupid you sound from the outside. Congratulations you got caught :P

UPD3: For fans of protecting trans people: Do you think that no one has an injury related to this? Maybe a person made a sex change and regretted it, maybe someone was raped by a trans person and for them this is content that they want to avoid. However, you protect some, and wish death to others.

You are shifting responsibility for the crimes to the authors. Much more innocent things can encourage a person to commit crimes.

I sincerely believe that no matter what dirt a person writes, if it does not go beyond fan fiction, then everything is fine. The harassment of authors is much worse than any violence in literature!!

[edensdahlia]

༊*·˚ Next Door Slut

CHARACTERS: Simon Riley x F! Reader (M! Reader here)

RATING: NSFW

CONTENTS: Civilian reader, male masturbation, slightly possessive + jealous Simon, he’s your neighbor, mentions of smoking, reader is implied to have slept around, may be tense issues in the writing, protected sex (stay safe y’all), vag. fingering, oral (f! receiving), multiple orgasms, biting, brief mention of blood, praise, nicknames used: love, sweetheart

ೃ⁀➷ WORD COUNT: 2.4K

Simon was trying to sleep- truly he was. Perhaps one of the least odd facts about the man concerned his sleeping schedule, particularly his fondness of early bedtimes. Maybe it was the remnants of being forced awake at ungodly hours of the morning or something simpler like the comfort found in routine. Regardless, it didn’t change the fact that it was you who was disturbing his much-needed rest- you and whatever guy you’d managed to pick up this time.

The apartment walls were made of shitty drywall and thin enough that they left no room for the imagination as your headboard banged noisily against the wall parallel to his bed. There was no rhythm to it, just sloppy, stuttering, sounds that matched the cadence of your moans. They were cheap, spilling from you easily with a pitch that was too high. Too fake. He could recognize the underlying falsity in them but that didn’t stop his shorts from tenting. His body acted before his mind could stamp down the rush of heat. It was annoying how easily you could rile him up without even trying; without knowing.

Simon ran a hand reluctantly over his arousal, hissing quietly. You let out another moan, this one higher than the last, a choking gasp of a name. From the sound of it, your voice was being muffled by pillows- and Simon could almost imagine it, the arch of your back, your mouth hanging open- and god it wasn’t fair. The way these men got to have you. You with your bright eyes and teasing smile.

This hadn’t been the first time you’d brought someone back to your apartment. Far from it in fact. He’d grown almost used to the sound of you lost in your pleasures, except he knew you didn’t take enjoyment in it. The moans you uttered now were only for the sake of the man above you, nothing like the ones you made when you were by yourself. When you thought no one could hear. But he did. Oh, Simon heard it every time, and without fail it landed him where he was now.

Hand fisting his cock, slick sounds joining with your moans. For a moment Simon let himself imagine it was him drawing those noises from you. Imagined it was him above you fucking you into the mattress, with nothing on your lips except his name. There was an added feeling lurking in his stomach, one that wasn’t spurred on by his overwhelming need to get off. One which he didn’t want to admit the existence of. 

After all, you were just his neighbor who he occasionally spoke to. It was already embarrassing enough that he was sitting here stroking one out to you, he didn’t need his mind plagued by jealous thoughts of how much better he could treat you.

Simon shifted, his body burning as he dug his heels into his mattress and pressed his nail into his slit. It drew a strange guttural sound from him, one you mimicked in the form of a shaking whine as you came. Or pretended to at least. It wasn't fair. His hips canted upwards, and he came with a muffled groan, his spend coating his hand and the lower half of his shirt.

On the other side of the wall, it fell silent. Exhausted Simon used his shirt to clean his hand and then he pulled the material up and over his head, tossing it to the other side of his room. His head hit his pillows and it didn’t take long before his breathing went ragged and then slowed. The last thought on his mind was of your face twisted in pleasure below him.

♡ 。

There was a light breeze blowing through the compound and on any other day, it would have felt nice except it was hindering Simon’s ability to get his lighter to fucking work. Frustrated he thumbed the serrated metal wheel, hand cupped cautiously around the non-existent flame until finally, it sputtered to life catching the butt end of his cigarette. 

Satisfied Simon drew in a long breath relaxing as he felt the first hit settle the restless jitter that seemed to reside deep in his bones. Exhaling slowly he began sorting through his mail, smoke curling lazily above his head. 

“Late morning?”

The sound of your voice so close behind him had Simon tensing memories of last night flooding back to him full force. It hit like a punch to the stomach and had he been a lesser man he would’ve grimaced in shame from the knowledge of what he’d done. Instead, he flicked his gaze to you watching from the corner of his eye as you jammed your key into the mailbox next to his and turned it. 

“You were loud last night. Could hear you through the damn walls.” Simon grunted returning his wandering gaze back to his mail but not before he saw the mortified look that passed your face. It satisfied something within him that he couldn’t put a name on. Your embarrassment at being caught tasted sweet in his mouth, like a reward. 

Your mailbox slammed closed hurriedly the metallic bang! filling the silence momentarily. “I’m sorry- I didn’t realize.”  You choked out. He watched as you retreated quickly your footsteps hurried. 

Simon wasn’t sure what possessed him- maybe it was the unsatisfied feeling his orgasm had left him with or the building sense of jealousy he was finally admitting may be there- but he turned dropping the cig and stomping it out. His voice called after you in a low growl. “If it was me you wouldn’t have to pretend love.” 

He watched as you stalled, shoulders hunching upwards towards your ears and then lowering just slightly. For a moment Simon thought you would run away but you turned gaze meeting his. “Who says I was pretending?” Your tone bordered on defensive, but there was a challenge hidden behind them. Lurking beneath the surface. 

Simon’s mouth twitched the barest hint of a smile forming. That was the woman he knew. Your embarrassment was delightful but the fire was what he longed for. He sought after the bite in your words if only so he could imagine smothering them with his mouth. Soothing away the edge in your voice with his skin pressed to every inch of you. 

Every thought in his mind was consumed with the idea of ruining you and they only got worse as he approached, his face a portrait of lust. He stopped when you two stood side by side, arms just barely brushing, the warmth enough to send shivers up your spine. 

“Prove it.” 

The words were barely there, a low whisper that could have easily been mistaken for the wind. You shivered again but this time for a different reason as Simon continued past you, not even sparing a glance back. His words lingered in the empty space he had left behind; an open invitation to learn more about the man who until presently had been nothing more than a quick conversation. 

♡ 。

Getting to his bedroom was a lot harder than Simon had initially expected. From the moment the door had closed behind you your mouth had been on him as if you were starving and he was the only thing that could satiate your hunger. 

Simon would make sure that he was. 

He couldn’t stand the idea of someone else having you like this and hated the thought that some had. It made his hands itch, burning with the need to have them around something- the trigger of a gun, or the handle of a knife- anything to bring him that familiar sense of control. Neither were near so he dug them into the fat of your hips instead. 

You stumbled through the hallway together teeth knocking as you kissed, fingers bruising skin from where you pulled at each other as if you both were trying to tear the other apart at the seams. Halfway through the door to his bedroom, your clothes were discarded, pulled off in a blur of wandering hands and impatient touches. 

Simon pushed you back onto his bed so that your legs dangled just over the edge. It seemed almost perverse to think about how only mere hours ago he had laid there getting himself off to the sound of your moans. But God, he’d be lying if it didn’t get him harder still, especially when you were looking at him in a way that could only be described as sinful- mouth parted and swollen, eyes half-lidded as if he’d done more than kiss you stupid. 

Everything you did was maddening. Terribly maddening. Simon rested his hands on either side of your face, his body bent over yours. Slowly he lowered himself down to his elbows. His tongue traced over the corner of your mouth, cleaning away a smear of blood that had found its way there, most likely his own doing. “I am going to ruin you.” 

His mouth descended lower burning hot against your already flushed skin and you writhed as sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of your chest, his canines piercing the skin and coming away red. He licked them clean and you watched the slow bob of his Adam's apple. Your voice shook just slightly, “Is that a promise?” He nipped at your hip, hand sliding beneath the band of your underwear and slipping them down past your thighs. 

Simon smiled against your skin. “I can promise that once I’m done with you no man will be able to satisfy you like me.” His voice was a low husk against the inner skin of your thigh, his eyes heady as they took in the sight of your dripping hole. 

Slowly, experimentally he pushed a finger into you and then a second picking up in pace as he fucked them into you. You squirmed as his mouth found your clit but he held you steady, his other hand pressed down on you with an almost unnatural amount of strength. 

“Simon-“ You huffed the stimulation growing to be too much. It’d been far too long since you’d had this kind of focus on you and it made your legs shake. Your orgasm was fast approaching and it seemed that it was his goal to get you there. He twisted his fingers in just the right way that had your head slamming back against the mattress a broken moan being ripped from your chest.

Despite your weak protests, Simon pulled away just slightly smiling victoriously, his mouth covered in your slick. Not that he seemed to mind. 

“Now that was real sweetheart- and I didn’t even have to use my cock.” He swiped his thumb across your clit watching the way you twitched around his fingers, head falling to the side as you let out a small whimper in response. “God you’re breathtaking. How could those tossers not want this?”

“Most of them were drunk-“ You hedged, unsure why you were attempting to defend them. Simon wasn’t having that though. His mouth latched back onto you and any thoughts of those other men died at the way his fingers began to work you open again. 

It didn’t take long after that to reach your high. You came with a wrecked gasp of his name, grip tightening around the blonde curls on top of his head holding him in place. Simon gave you a minute to ride it out fingers fucking into you still albeit at a slower pace. Eventually, you relaxed your legs falling around his shoulders loosely, eyes fluttering closed.

The sound of tinfoil being ripped open brought your eyes back to his and then down to where he was rolling the condom onto himself. You held your breath at the sight. He was big. Bigger than you had expected. 

Simon’s gaze was locked on yours as he resumed his earlier position bent over you. “You okay there sweetheart?” He asked teasingly, using one hand to push your leg up towards your chest and the other to guide himself slowly towards your entrance. You nodded, exhaling slowly.

“There you go love, breathe. I’ll go easy on you.” Simon murmured pushing forward his cock stretching you painfully as he entered inch by inch. He ran his nails up your side soothingly, occasionally stopping to trace over the already bruising bite marks he had left against your skin. His gaze seemed almost affectionate as he admired them. 

Once he was sure you had adjusted to the size of him Simon pulled back dragging himself out of you slowly. It took everything in you not to sob as he slammed back into you, picking up a brutal pace that contradicted his earlier words and had you digging your nails into his bicep.

“You’re doing so well sweetheart-” Simon grunted pushing your leg down further against your chest, stretching it in a way that made it ache. His gaze tracked each expression on your face, each twitch of your walls around him. Enthralled with the way your moans spilled from your chest wrecked and shuddering- as if you couldn’t hold them in but were desperately trying to. If you would have opened your eyes you would have seen the almost affectionate look that crossed his face. 

As it was you didn’t notice- far too consumed with the feeling of him hitting all the right spots in you and your all too quickly approaching orgasm. And then he pushed your other leg up, joining your first one, and the new angle forced you over the edge. Almost blindingly quick your second orgasm took you, and you sobbed as Simon pressed his face into your neck and continued his rough pace. 

He could feel your pretty cunt squeezing him, sucking him in. It was driving him crazy. He groaned lowly as you tugged at his hair forcing his gaze to your fucked out expression. “Cum f’me Simon.” You pleaded and who was he to deny you when you asked so sweetly? His hips stuttered against yours, his moan smothered against your mouth as he finally let himself tip over into bliss. 

A minute passed and Simon removed himself from you slowly, leaving to toss the condom and returning with a wash rag. He wiped your flushed body down as best he could making sure to be gentle around the bitemarks littering your skin.

“Well?” You murmured as he swiped the rag across your stomach. 

“Well, what?”

“Do you think I was pretending with those guys?” 

He hummed resuming his cleaning. 

“I’m not sure. I think we’ll have to do this again.” 

A/N: I just know my notes app is absolutely sick of me- the amount of drafts it has for this fic alone... I have no clue why but I just can’t stay in one document while writing :,) Anyway, if you got to this point thank you for taking the time to read this! Have a wonderful day! (≧∇≦)/ ♡

[gynoids-over-androids]

I'm working on this project with some people who are all libfems TRAs (save me) and what really strikes even though we talked abt it on tumblr already, they REALLY think that misogyny *alone* isn't that important and that it's too like.. old fashioned ig? As if it was already solved and it's basically beating an old horse, nothing subversive?

For example one of the enbies of the group told me one could think my work is transphobic bc I use yonic imagery a LOT in my art abt women, female robots etc. I said I do it bc I like pussy and what, should we stick dicks everywhere in order to not be transphobic? But she was like oh I'm just tired of genitals everywhere, blabla. It was subversive to examine ur vag in the 70s but now now, etc. As if rn yonic art is dépassé and some old ass white feminist thing.

(yet you do not accuse the gay male of the group to only care abt cisgay masculinity, why's that)

My sister in Christ, you can't even accept ur proper womanhood 🤣🫵 the majority of the population finds vulvas yucky and not deserving to be powerful in a museum setting. The majority mainly sees it displayed, transformed, tortured in PORN! Vulvas/vaginas are STILL shaved, lasered, waxed, plucked, bleached, cut, sewn, stitched together, removed. I'd even argue that it's WORSE than in the 70s. Mainstream population is NOT ur libfem acc who's selling clit merchandise; how many women again don't even know they have a clit, ovaries, etc?!

Vulvas/vaginas in their natural state are NOT palatable to the general population and they're NOT palatable to the "" "progressive" "crowd either since you have to put one million disclaimers to depict them.

This is why I think that yes, yonic imagery especially hairy vulvas, is subversive and powerful.

No ONE is saying shit like this to gay or TIMs in arts I can guarantee you that!

[were--ralph]

I could've sworn you were a binary trans guy. I have memories of you posting about your pussy and wanting bottom surgery. did I hallucinate all of this? lmao

it's a weird situation i guess, idk if there's a name for it or not honestly

im amab, i'm fine with male and they pronouns and even she pronouns i don't really mind, BUT i prefer they/them and im used to he/him because i've been that for like 30 years or something

but i DO want a vagina i really don't care for my penis anymore (it's a fantastic penis though) since i've had mine for 30 years and i don't really feel connected to it much anymore. Ideally my genital situation would be a vag and i keep my balls but i don't know how feasible that is and it's been this way for like most of my life

but at the same time i don't feel female or really any gender i just kind of exist in a liminal space. I also don't really like. label it or anything. like if i were a guy with a vagina that's fine, that's awesome we love it, but i don't really feel trans because i don't identify as female

[bpsmuts]

Truth or Dare - Rose [PART 1]

Rose x Male Reader

Words: 1.036

Summary: Your Childhood friend Rose and you spent the night at her place and decide to play truth or dare...

"Come on, be a little more daring!" Rose yells at you after you've picked truth for the 3rd time in a row. "Fine. Dare" you give in. "Finally, I thought I was gonna be stuck asking about your boring sex life all night" Rose replied.

Using her opportunity she finds a good dare. "I dare you to kiss me!" she says. "On the mouth" she adds before you could protest. "Really Rose? I've known you since Elementary School" You try to protest without luck.

"You've also seen me in underwear a dozen times, hell I've changed in front of you... and you're scared to kiss me?" Rose mocks you. "Yeah but that's different" You try to protest once more. "Okay fine, if you don't wanna do it its fine... didn't take you for such a chicken" Rose teases again.

You typically didn't let stuff like that get to you, especially if it came from Rose, but at that point you knew you had to prove her wrong. You stood up so fast that you practically leaped onto her, making her fall over, before planting your lips on hers for a full 10 seconds.

"Am I still a chicken now?" You ask as you move off Rosie and both of you sit back up. "No, but I hope this isn't the furthest you'll go"- You knew Rose was just saying these things to get into your head and you knew that it was also working perfectly, but you didn't care, you wanted to prove yourself to her.

"Okay your turn!" Rose tells you in her cute New Zealand accent. "Truth or Dare Rosie?" you ask her. "Unlike you, I'm not a pussy... Dare!". "I dare you to touch your boobs for 1 full round" You say confidently. "Touch my boobs? Seriously? I'd do that if you ask nicely, give me a real dare Y/N" Rose shatters your idea.

"A real dare?" You ask surprised. "Okay, I dare you to... uhh.. let me take off your panties and keep them!". "See now that's a proper dare" Rose happily replies as she gets up from the floor.

You slip your arms underneath her skirt and slowly pull down a pair of red lacy panties. "Red huh?" you ask her intrigued. "Had to match the skirt Mr. I have no idea how fashion works" Rose responds mockingly.

"Dare!" You tell Rose, before she could even ask you. "I dare you to kiss my lips" Rosie responds with a smile on her face. "Again?" you ask while moving closer to her face. As your lips are about to reach hers Rosie however intervenes "Stop! Not those lips" Rose tells you with your lips just inches away.

You freeze and think for a second before Rose whispers "My Vagina" She slides back "You want me to kiss your vag-..." you abruptly end your sentence as you've already been picked on too many times by her this evening and instead comply and move towards her crotch.

"And Y/N, French Kiss please!" Rose adds as she opens her legs, revealing her slightly wet pussy to you. You've never seen it before, even though Rosie has changed in front of you a couple times... You've just never been interested in her the way you are now.

As you get closer to her core, you can feel the warmth radiating from her and you even pick up a sweet smell coming from her folds directly.

Right as you are about to start your dare, you realize that this is the time, you can prove Rose wrong once and for all. She's teased you for so long, calling you a chicken and even though it was just friendly banter, you wanted to show her your other side.

You start by kissing her inner thighs, to bait out a witty comment from her, which worked perfectly. "You know that isn't my vaginAaahh" Rose can't fully finish since she felt your warm tongue hitting her clit right as she finished her sentence.

You grab her by the hips and start making circular motions around her clit with your tongue, making Rose moan loudly for you. "AAahh Y/N, you were supposed to kiss it!" She moans, but you're not stopping.

You've made it your mission to show her how wrong she was about you. Your tongue briefly moves to her opening, getting it wet, before returning to her clit and your right index finger teasing her hole.

After teasing her hole, you slowly push in your index finger, making her squeal. As you look up, you can see that Rose has started to support her upper body with her hands and her head hanging back all the way as you continue to pleasure her.

"Oh god Y/N. P-Please add another one" Rose stutters in between her moans. Her wish being your command, you quickly pull out, lick your index and middle fingers until they're nice and wet, before slowly inserting them back into her pussy.

"A little further d-down, y-y-yeah a tiny bit lower" Rose guided you towards her g-spot. Hitting hit resulted in loud screams of pleasure from her. "AAAAHHH FUCK, RIGHT THERE Y/N!!".

You continued with the same pace and it didn't take long for Rose to get close to her orgasm. "Y/N.. Y/N I'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me cum Y/N. Oh my god, this feels so good." Rose's moans get louder and louder as she reaches her climax.

You can feel her legs shake as her upper body falls onto the ground, her arms not being able to support her anymore. You let her ride out the orgasm, removing your fingers, but gently licking her pussy.

"Oh my god that was good Y/N" Rose stammers, while she drags herself to her bed for support.

"Well.. I dare you to return the favor" you tell her with a massive smile on your face.

"Is it okay if I return the favor tomorrow morning?" Rose asks sheepishly, still shaking a little. "I don't think I have any energy left in me after what just happened."

"Sure, but I want a little extra for the delay" You answer with a smirk.

[writterings]

i went in for a physical and my doctor asked if i needed her to look at my vag because my insurance won't cover me going to the gyno anymore because i'm legally listed as male. then minutes later she asked if i had a family history of prostate cancer and then skipped over the questions about pregnancy and ovarian cancer, saying "being a woman is so hard, good thing you don't need to worry about these things." the cognitive dissonance is hilarious.

[spacelazarwolf]

lmao an ugly fat het hag like you will find it hard to even pull the most desperate straight male let alone a bi one. and ofc no gay male would poke your ilk with a stick, even if you were the last remaining person on earth no exclusively male-attracted aka gay man would sleep with you - a delusional hideous woman who larps as a gay man in the most deranged homophobic manner. even if you did 'pass' on any level, you're still a female and hence entirely unattractive to gay males with your enlarged hairy vagina. and whichever fungal infection you call 'a bottom growth' you've got going on on your vag, you should have it checked with your gyno not brag about it online ew. you're just a deviant aggressively homophobic het fruit fly fujo who daydreams about 'correctively' r*ping gay men. you are the worst kind of homophobes alongside 'transbians' and every actual gay person despises you for your conversion rhetoric and your ugly het/ fake gay selves trying to ruin our reputation and succeeding. you freaks will never be forgiven, never

this is so funny.

[safije]

Any dumbass who can afford a microphone is making podcasts these days. I saw that guy from the Whatever podcast say women are privileged because we get asked out and complimented more..

No Kevin, I don't think the heroin addict and the guy who smells like pee at the bus stop asking for my number is a privilege. A lot of the attention women get is UNWANTED and I know that's hard for you males to believe because many of you would jump at every chance to stick your willy in any vag!na, but we prefer to be more selective because we just aren't that horny.

[nightcolorz]

In addition to your repost about sa

Amc does have a strong s**ual focus on women. For example, the difference in the duration and staging of erotic scenes. There are quite a few scenes like this in The Witches of Mayfair and these scenes are quite detailed as opposed to what we see in Iwtv. When it comes to male love, we aren't shown anything even close to this. The most is conversations and two naked men pressing against each other, and the rest is left to our imagination.

this is probably bcus of our larger cultural issue of being vastly more comfortable with female sexuality in tv then male sexuality. For example, how it’s incredibly average to see breasts and even vag on ur screen but dick and balls r next to nothing. This is def bcus women are culturally seen as sex objects a lot of the time and the men in charge of tv and movies r more comfortable with putting a woman on display sexually for viewers than a man. In a show like iwtv, that is about queer men and male sexuality, it sticks out like a sore thumb when the women r more sexually displayed than the men. But I don’t think it’s an amc issue, it’s a cultural issue that’s glaring in this example.

But when it comes to sa, amc iwtv def has an issue where they r much more comfortable with violence against women then they should be 😭 (which is also a cultural issue)

[raybug-theradfem]

Okay I know I’ve already written about periods BUT I’m a girl okay? this is what happens to my body almost every month. When I say almost I mean that my period is irregular (an irregular period can mean many things; debilitating cramps, throwing up, very heavy bleeding and in my case, an unpredictable cycle!) and loves to show up randomly but of course I must be antagonized first, cramps and headaches are just two of the things I deal with as a girl. One thing I’ve noticed though is the fact that being in pain as a woman is normal. No one worries when I say that I can’t stand. No one thinks twice about the fact that I leak even with the largest, most bulky and thick pad I have access to. All of that is “normal” but is it? When a man says he has some kind of ache or ailment, pain or problem, he is instantly treated no questions asked. When a woman has any of the former she is asked “is it your time of the month?” “Is Aunt Flo visiting?” First of all, call it what it is. You should say “are you on your period” “are you menstruating?” Why beat around the bush? Are you scared of the blood coming out of my vag mister? Is my body just a specimen to you? Just something you read about not talk about or see? Just to use for yourself? I’ll never understand male logic as it is illogical. You wanna use a body part but you’re grossed out by its functions. Odd. One thing I will never do is keep my period a secret. As long as boys can tell a teacher to her face “I wish you were my step mom” cuz he finds her hot, I will say “I’m gonna take longer out of class I need to grab a pad from my locker”. It just pisses me off that it’s so taboo for me to have a bodily function and men can just say whatever they want and conduct themselves however they want but I have to keep my legs together, make sure I don’t say anything “that’s what a man would say”, just respect him, let him do what he wants he’s just playing then he’s gonna hear that I need a pad or I have cramps or that I need to sit because I can’t move.

Thanks for coming to my Ray Rant.

[headfullofpresley]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 7K

Summary: Even though you worked as a music journalist, you weren't familiar with America's newest heartthrob in the same way his fangirls were but Elvis makes sure to give you an interview (and night) you won't forget.

Warnings: 50s!Elvis, slight age difference (only 4 years, reader is older), alcohol consumption if you squint, smut; oral (f. receiving), vag penetration, unprotected sex, one night stand, creampie, no use of dom/sub dynamics.

A/N: after dying over elvis flirting with a reporter with @woundmetender, i just knew i had to write something about it (this one's for you, my baby belle ♡). also this means that yes, some of this dialogue actually came out of this mf's mouth and no, i'm still not over it. also, kinda thinking about turning this into a mini series? decisions, decisions...

masterlist

Never in your life had you been this nervous to interview anyone.

Being fairly new to the Modern Teen team, the list wasn’t extremely long yet but you’d often boast to your friends about how The Everly Brothers let you play on their guitar a little in their dressing room even though you barely knew how to hold a guitar and how what was supposed to be a fifteen minute interview with Pat Boone turned into a full day because you two shared mutual interests.

The fact that he slipped you his phone number was something you kept to yourself, though. You were not planning on losing your job; being a journalist was your dream job and although you were sure you weren’t going to be working for Modern Teen your entire life, you did enjoy it.

Your co-workers were nice and you got to meet the famous people that were surprisingly more human than one might expect. That part of them also showed in your interviews, as you did not ask them questions that had nothing to do with them, such as politics and whatnot. The magazine you worked for catered to mostly teenagers and all they wanted was a fun story and some nice photos to go along with it.

The person you were assigned to get a story from today wasn’t as easy to sit down as The Everly Brothers or Pat Boone. You truly believed you could’ve gotten an interview with Marlon Brando quicker than you could with Elvis Presley, but you and your co-worker managed to get into the Shrine Auditorium in LA where the superstar would be performing tonight – you had to convince the men at the door, who simply could not believe you were who you said you were or were not interested in having two girls from the press come inside, but as a ginger haired man around your age busted through the entrance doors and saw you in a discussion with one of the guys, he told them it was fine and he’d handle it.

It being you and your co-worker.

Before you even realised it, you were being led into the building by the guy who introduced himself as Red and handed you and Lori, your co-worker, two backstage passes.

“Wait here, ladies. I’ll be right back,” Red said, shooting a quick wink Lori’s way before disappearing into a dressing room and leaving you two behind in the hallway, among other reporters which were mostly male.

Your nerves were growing and growing. You partly blamed it on the exciting rumble of people entering the auditorium, and maybe also the fact that you knew absolutely nothing about Elvis Presley.

You had heard his music on the radio and you knew that a lot of people weren’t happy with the effects he seemed to have on young people, but you never took the time to sit down and give your undevoted attention to the newfound rockstar that was sweeping not only the nation, but the world.

“I should’ve prepared better,” you mumbled in frustration as you leaned against the wall and flipped through your little notebook. Suddenly all the questions you and Lori had come up with sounded stupid and you wouldn’t be surprised if Elvis would kick you out of his dressing room after asking the first question. Lori held onto her camera and recorder and placed her free hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Y/N, you’ve been asked to do this interview because you’re good at it. People love your presence and your charisma.. I mean, c’mon, what other journalist gets a personal invite from Pat Boone?” she kept her voice low, not wanting any of the other reporters to hear the conversation. “If you weren’t good at what you did, Mr. Kimzey would’ve fired you already,”

You widened your eyes at the grinning blonde next to you, making her laugh as she patted your shoulder and leaned against the wall next to you. You knew she was right though; your boss was a business man through and through and he had no problems firing people if they wouldn’t do their job well. He had only ever been nice to you, feeding your ego with compliments, so you figured you were doing something right.

“I bet he’s arrogant,” you whispered with a soft laugh, shifting the topic back to Elvis, nudging your shoulder against Lori’s. She giggled along, leaning in a little closer to you before she spoke.

“If he’s anything like that guy from before, I bet he is,” she whispered, hiding her mouth behind her hand as the both of you laughed together, getting some annoyed glances from older reporters that were waiting out in the hall, hoping they’d be let in the dressing room before the two of you.

 

It felt like hours before Red came out of the room and as he did, you and Lori were immediately disappointed when he announced Elvis wouldn’t be doing any more interviews seeing he had to go on stage in thirty minutes. Honestly, you wouldn’t mind to interview him after the show, but you had no idea what Elvis’ after show routine was and if he’d stick around or not.

If you wanted a good story, and hopefully a promotion from Mr. Kimzey, you had to do this interview now.

Red watched as most reporters wandered down the hallway with annoyed grumbles and disappointed sighs, and before you and Lori could walk away too, he grabbed Lori’s arm.

“He wants to speak to you two. Modern Teen, right?”

You immediately nodded, standing up straight as you showed him the pass of your company that hung on a lanyard around your neck. He nodded and let go of Lori’s arm as he gestured for you to follow him.

“We don’t have much time, though. I’m sure you can do your thing in ten minutes,” he said, making you raise your eyebrows at the back of his head as a comment was already burning on your tongue but Lori made you swallow it as she nudged her elbow in your side, quickly tugging you along into the dressing room.

There were more guys in the dressing room but other than looking up to see who entered the room, they didn’t give you and Lori any further attention and went back to doing their own thing. The person you came here to see was standing by the vanity table that was perched up against the wall, fixing his tie in the mirror.

Clothed in an all black suit, the red tie was the only thing that popped some color in the whole get up. His dark blonde locks seemed almost a shade of darker brown or even black with the amount of product he had slicked it back with and as his eyes found yours through the mirror, you didn’t miss how blue they were. You suddenly felt as if your flats were glued to the floor, standing there and staring at him like one of his lovesick teenage fans.

You were a twenty five year old woman; you were not a crazed fan, especially not of someone a few years younger than you.

You barely knew the man.

But as his plumb lips raised in a smirk and he turned around to look at you in the flesh, your breath hitched in your throat.

Elvis Presley was a gorgeous being of a man.

“Get these girls somethin’ to drink, Red,” Elvis said, looking back down to his tie to fumble some more with it. He wasn’t doing too well and your fingers were itching to do it for him; as if he was some kind of mind reader, he looked up, his eyes finding yours again.

“Do one of you ladies know how to do this? Can’t get the damn thing right,” he chuckled softly, not waiting for an answer as he already made his way over to you and stopped right in front of you. Red handed Lori a bottle of Pepsi, putting yours on the small coffee table by the lounging area of the room because he knew Elvis well enough to sense what kind of situation this was.

Fixing an artist’s tie wasn’t exactly in your job description, but neither was spending an entire day with Pat freaking Boone. “I’m no expert, Mr. Presley, so please don’t blame me if it falls off in the middle of your show,”

He laughed softly, raising his chin a little to give you enough space to fix his tie. “Call me Elvis, honey. And you ain’t got to worry, it’ll probably be ripped apart by the end of the show,”

You couldn’t imagine yourself in his shoes, screaming girls touching you and pulling at you every place you went, but from what you had seen outside the auditorium you realised those girls wouldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way of them and Elvis. Laughing softly at his words, you made sure his tie wasn’t too tight and took a step back when you were done, clearing your throat a little.

“Do a lot of your clothes get ripped?” you asked, shamelessly clicking out your pen and opening your notebook. It wasn’t even a question you wrote down, but you were curious. Lori quickly followed your lead as she turned the recorder on.

Elvis sat down on the couch and you and Lori followed, only you sat down on the edge of the coffee table.

Nobody in the room cared about you doing so, so you stayed seated.

“I lost my entire pants one day,” he stated casually with a soft chuckle, leaning back on the couch. With the way you were right opposite him, he could see your hands shaking a little as you scribbled down something in your little notebook. He had no idea why you even had a notebook since Lori was recording the conversation and his curiosity got the best of him.

You seemed interesting, different; while he was sure the entire auditorium was filled with girls wearing dresses and skirts and tops that would most definitely show off things they weren’t supposed to show off, you were dressed in a pair of black pants and a black blouse that was similar to his, only you had the first few buttons opened and the sleeves rolled up. Equally as black leather flats with a little bow on top adorned your feet and he found himself wondering what color pedicure you could have.

You were beautiful, but not in a typical way most girls that he met were. You intrigued him.

“Why do you write everything down?” he questioned you and your writing came to a halt, exchanging a quick look with Lori who sat on the couch next to Elvis before turning to look at the man in front of you. You let out a small laugh, crossing your legs.

“I believe I’m the person who’s supposed to be asking the questions, Elvis,” you said playfully, not wanting to offend him in any way or whatsoever.

Mr. Kimzey would have your head.

Instead of being offended, which you had feared for a quick second, Elvis threw his head back with a laugh and nodded. His laugh was contagious and you couldn’t help but laugh along a little, gently taking the recorder out of Lori’s hand and putting your notebook down on the table. “But I don’t have to write if you don’t want me to, we can do it like this,”

You leaned your arm on your knee, holding the recorder in between you and Elvis. He looked at you and grinned, shamelessly keeping eye contact. You’d be lying if you’d say it didn’t have any effect on you, because it did; up to the point of your heart skipping a beat and a faint blush coloring your cheeks. Still, you acted as professional and perhaps a little casual as you could, not wanting him to see how he was making you feel. But this man had the eyes of a hawk, ofcourse he noticed, and he wasn’t going to give up the opportunity to tease you a little.

“Let’s do it like this. You got pretty eyes, I wanna look into ‘em when we talk,”

He smirked at the way you blinked a few times, letting out a nervous laugh before clearing your throat. You were glad for Lori when she quickly asked if she could take pictures of him during the interview and he agreed; you tried to compose yourself as much as you could, slowly but surely falling back into your reporter role and asking him questions about his music and shows.

Your questions weren’t bad and Elvis liked them, because he liked talking about his music, and even though the ten minutes Red had given you had almost passed, Elvis did not seem to be in any rush. Even though you were very aware that Elvis Presley was a bit of a flirt, he was also good at keeping up a conversation. He was quick with his answers, polite but playful, and the Southern drawl that laced his tongue definitely added to his charm.

Despite your nerves not being completely gone, you did feel a bit more comfortable than a few minutes ago and Lori seemed to feel the same. Figuring she had taken enough pictures for now, her attention shifted to Red and you didn’t mind it all too much.

“When will you be on tv next?” you asked him, taking a quick sip from your untouched bottle of Pepsi.

“September the 9th, for the Ed Sullivan show,”

“How do you see your future in rock and roll music?”

He smiled softly at your questions. Rather than feeling like he had to think of something smart to say or be extremely polite, he let the conversation flow on its own. He provided you with honest answers, not really caring if the entire story would make it into the article or not because he liked you. He liked that talking to you seemed somewhat of a normal conversation between two young people, between friends.

“I wish I knew,” he told you, shrugging his shoulders a little as he leaned forward. He made sure to keep enough distance from the recorder so you’d still have a good tape to listen back to but he also made sure his knees were nearly touching yours. Your legs were still crossed and your foot was currently pressed against the side of his calf. Neither of you moved away, nor broke eye contact. “I do hope I can continue makin’ music for a long time to entertain people and give the kids an outlet for their energy they can’t let out anywhere else,”

“How does it feel to be up there on that stage?” another question you had not written down, but with the way he was speaking, you were craving for more.

“It’s.. somethin’ out of this world. I met people who get nervous before going on stage and I get nervous too, but once I’m up there, it’s like.. like.. like I’m being transported to another planet or somethin’, you know? I get chills- no, can’t even call ‘em chills… it’s like electricity rushing down my spine. It’s a rush, honey, it’s better than making love,”

All you could do was stare at him. You had no idea what he meant because you had never been on a stage to perform in front of so many people. But he seemed passionate when he was talking about it and even though you could never call yourself a proper fan of Elvis Presley before, you realised that might change after today.

You were already starting to become a fan of his personality, and you couldn’t wait to see him doing his thing on that stage.

“That’s beautiful, Elvis,” you told him honestly, your smile widening a little as you couldn’t even look away from him even if you wanted to. You were drawn to those eyes, drawn to him. “I wish you the best of luck with your music and everything you’ll achieve with it. You touch a lot of people’s hearts, Elvis, so on behalf of your loyal fans; thank you,”

You didn’t want to end the interview, but you knew the minutes on the clock were ticking by and your time here was almost up. Elvis felt the same, but unlike you, he did not seemed to care much about the time.

“Thank you, honey, that’s real nice of you. And don’t be so nervous,” he told you, a grin tugging at his lips as he felt your foot swaying back and forth against his leg. You were still nervous, he got that right, but not because you were in the presence of someone famous or afraid about not doing a good job. You had become nervous because of him; because of the scent of his cologne being so prominent in your aura and those blue orbs looking so deeply into yours. “I’m not gonna bite you,”

You should’ve known that he was going to make a comment like that, but it caught you off guard just a little. Enough to make your cheeks flush and for you to let out a little giggle, making you sound as if you were one of those girls in the auditorium. Still, you weren’t exactly a shy person – you couldn’t afford to be in your line of work – and you didn’t want him to think you’d throw yourself at his feet the way he was used to.

But, you liked the shift in the conversation. It wasn’t the first time a celebrity flirted with you during your work, but it was the first time you actually flirted back.

“Well, I ran all over the city of Los Angeles, looking for good rockin’ tonight,” you grinned at him, feeding him a little lie since you were from Los Angeles and the only place you ran was from the office to the auditorium. Well… you ran for the bus that took you here.

He didn’t care about the details, your comment making excitement tingle in his chest as he leaned his arm on the arm rest of the couch, his head leaning in the palm of his hand. He stretched his right leg out a little, nearly trapping you in your spot with his long limbs while he just casually sat there, smirking.

“Is that right?”

He was giving you the opportunity to take back your words, but with Lori still being occupied with getting her own flirt on, you threw all caution to the wind. Just because you were working, didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun.

“I sure did,” you hummed, nodding your head as you gave him a flirty smile.

“Well, why don’t you come down to my house and I’ll give it to ya?”

You had expected yourself to be taken back by his words more. Never in your short career had you met a male that was so upfront, so unfiltered. Not even Dean Martin. But God, did you like it and you couldn’t help but be pulled into the moment by him. Thinking about the amount of girls that would kill to be in your spot right now, you laughed softly, tugging a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I would love to,” you told him confidently, the little flirty smile never fading off your face. “Where are you from?”

“Memphis, Tennessee,”

“Memphis,” you repeated with a slight nod. “And how old are you?”

“Twenty one,” he grinned, shooting his answers back at you as quick as you asked them while his leg was pressing firmer against yours. You had to fight the urge to look down at your legs nearly tangled together, or to touch him.

He on the other hand didn’t hold back as your next question flew off your tongue, leaning forward to let his fingertips draw small circles on your knee. “Still out looking for a girl?”

“I think I found her,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow at you as he tapped his finger on your knee. “You,”

You raised your eyebrows, letting out an amused laugh. “Is that so?”

“Definitely,”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Elvis,” you promised, noticing Red signing for you to wrap up from the corner of your eye. Looking at Elvis, you chuckled softly and he went as far as to engulf your knee with his large palm, slipping it a little further up your leg to squeeze your thigh.

“Thank you so much, honey, and don’t be so nervous. Honestly, there’s nothing to it,”

Another squeeze, his teeth tugging at his lower lip a little though he hadn’t stopped grinning and looking at you with those bedroom eyes the entire time.

“Nothing to it? I think I could’ve gotten an interview with the president quicker than I could with you,” you winked at him, laughing softly. He chuckled, answering you as if you and him were having nothing but an interview, as if his hand wasn’t creeping higher and higher up your thigh.

“I’ve enjoyed talking to you, honey, and I’ll see you again and we’ll talk some more,”

You knew you couldn’t put this in your article and you didn’t want to. Ofcourse, you were not the first girl he flirted with like this, but it was a moment you did not want to share with his fans. You didn’t want to share it with anyone other than Elvis and the people in the room right now, although you doubted anyone was paying attention to the both of you.

You cut off the recorder and smiled at him, neither of you moving an inch until Red suddely stood next to you, telling Elvis he had five minutes until show time. He immediately removed his hand from your thigh and you shot up from the table, gathering your things in your arms.

“You’re stayin’ for the show, right?”

You looked at Elvis as you stood up straight, Lori immediately agreeing as she appeared next to you. The two of you weren’t planning on staying, but right now it felt like the right thing to do. You didn’t want to leave Elvis, wanted to spend more time with him, and you were curious about seeing him perform.

Seeing how Lori and Red were looking at each other, you grinned. You weren’t about to cock block your co-worker and friend.

“We’ll stay and watch the show,” you told Elvis with a smile, which he returned. He also pulled you into a hug, acting as if he had known you for years already as he squeezed you firmly in his embrace before getting ready to go on stage.

 

You and Lori had the best spot in the entire auditorium, standing on the side of the stage, hidden away from the audience. Red and some of the other guys that were in the dressing room earlier were standing alongside you, but Red was too busy with Lori and the other guys didn’t pay you much attention.

You didn’t mind it, your eyes glued on Elvis with every move he made. You had heard the stories about his shows, but experiencing it live and from this up close yourself, you were slowly starting to understand what he was talking about earlier and why people were so crazy about him.

He never lost one second of attention from the screaming crowd, giving them the attention right back as he dragged the microphone stand across the floor, lowering himself to the floor. The screams were getting louder and louder as he let people touch him and tug on him and his clothes. It was crazy, exciting and even a little scary at some times.

It was a rush; it was electrifying.

 

The red tie had survived until the end of the show and as Elvis ran toward you and the others, he took off his jacket and threw it in Red’s arms. He pulled his tie off, hanging it around your neck with a laugh before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You didn’t even have time to say anything or ask where you were going as you and Lori didn’t have a choice but to follow the guys when they pulled you along.

You found yourself waiting outside of the men bathrooms for a few minutes with the others, where Elvis splashed some water in his face and ran his wet hands through his hair until it was completely soaked. Instead of going back to the dressing room, you and Lori were ushered into a car by the guys, Red rushing to get behind the wheel.

“Are you kidnapping me, Elvis Presley?”

He laughed, his arm still resting around your shoulder as he breathed heavily, still high on adrenaline. “I’m not- wait, I don’t even know your name, honey,”

That was right. You had never given him your name, because you were pretty much starstruck the second you walked into his dressing room and he made you fix his tie.

“It’s Y/N, and that’s Lori,” you giggled, pointing at your friend that was in between Red and another guy at the front of the Cadillac you found yourself in. Elvis quickly introduced himself to her before he turned back to you, his breath warm on your face because you were pressed up against each other in the tight space of a full backseat.

“Sorry for rushin’ you outta there so soon, Y/N. I wanted to spend some more time with you but we usually go right back to the motel after a show. Hope you don’t mind?”

At least now you knew where you were going. It made your heart leap pathetically in your chest, but you managed to keep yourself cool, looking casual; just because he was taking you back to his motel didn’t mean something had to happen. You were sure other girls had been in your spot before and you really weren’t interested to be used for pleasure and then be tossed aside like garbage.

But looking at him now, smiling down at you so confidently and looking so disheveled but delicious, you didn’t know if you could keep the promise you made to yourself of not becoming one of those girls.

“I don’t mind, as long as you give us a ride back home,” you grinned and he immediately nodded as he promised you he would.

 

Everyone gathered in Elvis’ room to enjoy room service and good conversations. You learned that aside from a few beers, Elvis and his friends didn’t indulge in a lot of alcoholic beverages, but rather a lot of food. While Lori didn’t turn down a beer as she sat at Red’s side, you were perfectly fine sipping on a Pepsi and you were glad Elvis didn’t pressure you to have something stronger either. You figured it’d be best to stay sober if you wanted to survive this night.

Adrenaline was still rushing through Elvis’ veins as he was talking to everyone in the room, talking about the show and the people in the crowd. He was happy with how the show went and his smile widened even more as you complimented him on his performance.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, you were just amazing, Elvis!” you gushed happily, the others going back to their own conversations and the food as you and Elvis sat closely together on the edge of his bed. “That electricity you were talking about… I didn’t understand it at first, but seeing you up there, it felt like I was experiencing what you were experiencing. It’s.. it’s crazy!”

He was laughing at your enthusiasm and the way you were talking got his energy even higher, happy that you were so excited. “Was that enough rockin’ for you, honey?”

Not missing the playful tone in his voice, you grinned at him and gave him a soft shove by bumping your shoulder against his. “Well, maybe, unless those hips need to release a little more tension,”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and although he laughed at your words, it made blood rush down to his cock. He wasn’t the type to sleep around with girls without getting to know them first; he wasn’t a one night stand kind of guy. But he was going to the next city tomorrow and he had no idea when, or even if, he was going to see you again. It was no lie that he was attracted to you, both physically and mentally.

He liked you and although he would not mind to spend the night just talking, he was craving to taste you.

Craving to be balls deep inside of you, to be completely fair.

“Maybe they do,” he whispered, sitting so close to you that your shoulders were pressed up against each other, his eyes wandering over your face to drink in every detail. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered at your lips a little longer than necessary and you had to fight the urge to kiss him, because you were still surrounded by his friends and Lori.

“At least your tie survived,” you said, laughing sheepishly as you broke the tension between you two, lifting the tie that was still around your neck. He looked down at the fabric, chuckling softly as he bumped his shoulder against yours, taking a sip of his beer.

 

Lori seemed to be starstruck as well, only not by Elvis, but by his friend Red. You were surprised when she pulled you aside and asked if you’d mind if she stayed the night in Red’s room – pleasantly surprised. You were too weak to tell Elvis no and when he asked you to stay the night earlier, you were a little nervous about talking about it to Lori, though now that she had the same plans as you and was the one bringing up the subject herself, you were thankful you didn’t have to do so.

Elvis swiftly but nonchalantly announced that he was tired, getting everyone out the room. You hugged Lori, wishing her a good night and telling her you’d see her tomorrow – she told you to be careful, giving you a wiggle of her eyebrows before she ran after Red with a giggle.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Elvis told you, before he disappeared into the bathroom once you gave him a nod. Not long after the shower turned on, there was a knock on the door and as you peeped through the little hole, you opened it to greet Red once more. He gave you a little bag of toiletries Elvis asked him to get from the vending machine in the lobby and you waved him off again, though not after telling him to treat Lori well. He gave you a knowing smile as he agreed.

Elvis came out of the bathroom a few minutes later with a pair or fresh boxershorts on and a simple white shirt. He put the clothes he wore earlier tonight in what you assumed was one of the laundry suitcases, before he opened another one and grabbed a button up out of it.

“It’s clean,” he assured with a soft laugh as he handed you the piece of clothing, to which you nodded and walked into the bathroom.

 

Locking the door behind you, you moved around the small bathroom in a hurry. You were excited to spend the night with Elvis Presley, but also nervous. No one could ever know about this other than the people involved, because you could definitely lose your job over this. But you had come too far to back out now; you were standing in your underwear in Elvis’ bathroom, freshening yourself up a little and brushing your teeth as quick as you could. You’d always like to think you were hard to get, wanting to make men really work for your attention, but the truth was.. when it came to Elvis, it seemed as if your body was on automatic pilot.

You’d act before you’d think.

After applying some lipbalm to your lips and slipping into the shirt Elvis gave you, you fixed your hair a little and folded your clothes, walking out of the bathroom with your flats dangling from your  fingertips. Putting your clothes on the couch, along with the red tie, and placing your shoes on the floor, you turned to Elvis and smiled.

He patted the empty spot in bed next to him and you bit your lip to stop your smile from aching your cheeks, walking over to him and slipping into his bed. It felt a little awkward to lay there next to a man you did not even know, but as the both of you rolled onto your sides to face each other and look into each others’ eyes, he didn’t feel as the electrifying superstar anymore. Sure, he still had that flirty aura around him, but that cocky smirk had turned into a small, genuine smile.

He felt like a normal person.

He felt human.

“I don’t usually do this,” he whispered, reaching out his hand to play with a lock of your hair.

“Sleeping with reporters, or girls in general?”

“Both,” he admitted and you laughed, obviously not believing him. He propped his elbow into his pillow, leaning his head in his hand.

“I’m bein’ serious, Y/N. I don’t sleep around, don’t have a new girl in my bed in every next town,”

He sounded serious and as you rolled onto your stomach and looked at him, you believed him. Though perhaps it were your own insecurities hiding under the surface that still made you a little doubtful, and Elvis was quick to caught onto this.

“You’re a real pretty lady, honey, and I’d like to make love to you but we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he assured you, smiling as his fingers were still running through your hair, playing with it.

“Well, I don’t usually do this either so please don’t think I’m some kind of… floozy. I think you’re sweet, Elvis,” you told him, leaning into his touch a little as his hand moved down to cup your cheek. “Why don’t you kiss me first before we get to the love making?”

You didn’t have to ask him twice; the both of you laughed softly as he leaned down and carefully closed the gap between you. The kiss was slow and gentle at first, but the longer you were taking each others’ breath away, the deeper and more lustful the kiss became. In the heat of the moment, you found yourself laying on your back with him on top of you, his hands exploring your body the same way yours explored his.

With his cock so tight in the confinements of his underwear, he didn’t have enough control to stop anymore either. As he realised you wanted this just as much as he did, he didn’t hold back. Taking off his own shirt and unbottoning yours, he was quick to plant sloppy open mouthed kisses all over your chest, moans leaving you as he sucked, licked and nipped at your hardened nipples. Your hands tangled in his hair, legs wrapped around him to keep him close against you; you felt as if you could come undone from his attention to your chest alone, that’s how turned on you were. Releasing the tension of your legs around him, he kissed his way lower as his hands caressed down your thighs before one of his hands made its way into your panties, his fingertips slipping through the slick of your arousal.

 

He assured you he’d stop whenever you wanted him, but it was like you had lost all self control. Feeling him so up close to you, his soft lips kissing your face and neck and his hands fondling your breasts underneath the shirt you were wearing, your entire body was practically tingling with arousal. For someone who said he didn’t sleep around often, he sure knew what to do.

“You’re so wet,” he hummed, that small smirk tugging at his lips again. It had you moaning softly, biting your lip as your hips moved along to the rhythm of his fingers that found your clit. “You wanna stop, honey?”

“N-No, Elvis,” you whispered, shaking your head as your eyes met his. “Please don’t stop,”

He smiled, moving his fingers lower to slip one of them into you. He pushed it knuckle deep inside of you, curling his finger a little to hear you moan louder than before. The sound made a chill run down his spine and he didn’t waste any more time, getting comfortable in between your legs after he had taken your panties off and threw them over his shoulder.

If anyone would’ve told you this morning that Elvis Presley would have his face in between your legs by the end of the day, eating you out as if you were one of the best meals he had ever had, you would’ve told the person to get their head checked. But here you were, a moaning mess as Elvis grunted into your folds, his tongue slurping up your arousal while he was looking up at you through half lidded bedroom eyes.

You were happy that he was confident enough to eat you out above the blankets, because this was a sight you wouldn’t want to have missed out on.

 

The twenty one year old gave you a delicious orgasm that had your thighs shaking like leaves and your walls contrasting harshly. You were more than willing to return the favor, but the only thing he allowed you to do was give him a quick handjob.

“I wanna be inside of you.. Can’t wait any longer,” he croaked out as he was kissing you again, situating himself in between your legs with his boxershorts loosely hanging around his ankles. You cupped his face, nodding as you planted kisses along his jawline and in his neck as he aligned himself at your entrance.

He wasn’t going to tell you a blowjob would have him cum in only a matter of a few minutes, like a pathetical school boy.

Perhaps naive, but you weren’t worried about the lack of a condom; you believed Elvis when he said he didn’t do this often, and you were on the pill. Bringing up the subject of a condom right now would bring the mood down and that was the last thing you wanted.

You hid your face in his neck as he pushed himself inside of you, the both of you moaning in unison when he bottomed out, his lips finding yours again to kiss you. It took a few seconds for the both of you to get used to the feeling of your bodies connecting together so closely, but once you told him to move, he immediately started thrusting into you.

His pace picked up every few seconds and when he was literally fucking you into the mattress with his hands pressed firmly on the pillow on either side of your head, you couldn’t keep yourself quiet. Neither could he, moans and deep grunts rolling off his tongue as he couldn’t look away from your bouncing breasts underneath him. The both of you were so lost in the moment and so high on sex that neither of you heard the moans and creaks of the bed coming from the room next door where Red stayed.

Seemed like you and Elvis hadn’t been the only ones that gave in to the temptations.

With your legs wrapped firmly around him and your hands grabbing onto his arms, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the man above you. His hair looked even more messy than it did after his performance tonight and this time, you knew it was because of your hands that had been running through it. He allowed you to touch him anywhere you wanted and when he announced he was close to climaxing, you moved your hands down to his ass to keep him in place instead of pulling out which he was planning to do.

“R-Really?” he questioned, making sure you were okay with this. You frantically nodded your head as you moaned, biting his shoulder softly which got his eyes rolling into the back of his head and thrusting into you even harder, chasing his orgasm. It came within a few seconds after you gave him permission, and he painted your walls white with a long, deep moan followed by a grunt right into your ear as he hid his face in your neck.

 

“I think all tension’s outta my hips,” he laughed after the both of you cleaned yourselves up again and you laid in his arms in the bed. Giggling, you raised your head to look at him and he leaned down to quickly peck your lips.

“I’m glad,” you smiled, tracing his jawline with your nails. “I’ll make sure to write up a real good article,” you teased him, wiggling your eyebrows and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, as well as his legs as he wiggled you from left to right in his grip.

“Interview me again when we wake up. I’d like this one to stay private,”

You looked at him as he stopped messing around with you and you stopped laughing, nodding your head. “I’d like that too, Elvis,”

He smiled at you, pushing your hair out of your face before he took your face in his hands and kissed your lips a few times.

“How can you come to Memphis for some real good rockin’ if you get fired?” he teased with a smile on his face, nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours.

“I think we did a pretty good job at that tonight,”

He looked down at you as you giggled, squeezing your face in his hands a little as he let out a mysterious laugh, pressing a harsh long kiss on your squished lips before he wrapped his arms around your shoulders again.

“Oh honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,”

 

You had no idea if you’d ever see him again after this little rendezvous, but his words still got you excited. If Elvis Presley ever wanted you in his bed again, you sure as hell weren’t going to decline.

[ckret2]

Everyone always asks about what if Goldie had a child so I feel okay asking this but how do the shapes have kids? Like, is it like a seahorse where the “male” (The shape) carry’s the child or are we just gonna go with a 2D stork delivering the kids.

If this was explained before I missed it but like, I was thinking about shape genetics, and that led me here.

It has been asked, and so far I've decided not to come up with an answer because I don't like any of the available options. They're either too simple/humanoid for my tastes, or too complex for a fic that isn't about alien worldbuilding for my tastes, and I haven't found any middle ground solution that satisfies me; plus none of the solutions really look good from an aesthetic perspective to me.

There's only one thing I've decided; and it's that, like starfish, polygons' bodies demonstrate radial symmetry. And you know what THAT means: matching junk on each of their sides. ("why would you do that?" because it's a lil bit horrible innit)

I'm DEFINITELY avoiding the seahorse route, though. If I did THAT people would go "ohhh, so now it makes sense that Bill was given a human body with a vag—it's basically equivalent to what he had as a shape." I want no reason for people to think that his human body is in any way "basically equivalent" to his real body and no reason for people to think this body's anatomy is an accurate reflection of some part of Bill's natural biology. It's not supposed to make sense. It's supposed to read as arbitrary.

One of the reasons I stuck him in the body I did is because fans are so used to defaulting to seeing Bill as masculine that if I'd given his humansona a dick and flat pecs, nobody would have stopped ONCE to think about how that reflects on his gender. By putting him in the body I did, readers automatically and instinctively think "wait, Bill's mind doesn't match his body"—which makes it easier for me to guide them over to "you're right, but it's not because he's a guy in a girl body; it's because he's a shape in a human body."

"Guess what! Bill was the baby-carrying sex all along!" would instantly undermine that. It would make readers go "oh, so the writer stuck him with that anatomy not to call attention to the mismatch between his body and mind; it was because the writer headcanons that does match his body!" Get outta here. I'm not doing that.

So somehow lines are squeezing out little hexagons and we'll all just have to live with it.