#Sensitive to hormonal cues

[cxpperhead]

Due to his serpent physiology, Copperhead has an exceptionally keen sense of smell. He's able to detect even subtle changes in the air using his tongue, making it a tough endeavour to get the drop on him. This can be as much of a boon as it is a hindrance however - Gotham doesn't have the most pleasant smells, especially the sewers and having such a powerful sense of taste can be awkward depending on how good his relationship with certain people are.

[ovaryacted]

I think Leon (4make specifically) fucking away those awful period cramps is hot ngl. He's a babygirl like that and literally anything to make his baby feel better.

Like, i think he'd suggest or heck if asked he's just there wanting to make sure you're alright and comfy first and foremost but boy does he deliver. I love him what else can i say

MDNI/18+. NSFW. | cw: discussions of menstruation & period sex note: not everyone's menstrual cycles are the same or behave the same, some people have very harsh and violent periods and others can manage their cycles better. everyone is different and that is okay, and if this doesn't apply to your situation that is okay as well. this is merely a generalization of having intimacy during that time of the month. 🫶

PERIOD SEX YEAHHHHHHHHH. But yes anon, I love him too. I feel like obviously, Leon would be attentive and soft when it comes to comforting you on your cycle, but if the horny monster sneaks up on you he won't deny it. If anything, I think he'll be the one to try to suggest it or ease you into the idea because it could help you feel better. He only does things based off of your comfort level, so unless your cramps are really pissing you off, he'll leave you alone.

Leon is much more gentle and considerate when you're on your period, a bit less handsy, and pays more attention to reading your body cues. You don't have to ask him to do anything, he's already doing it before you have to open your mouth.

You're cold? He's getting you a blanket and wrapping it around you. Your cramps are beating your ass? He comes in with a bottle of Tylenol, a heating pad, and some tea sweetened just the way you like. You're hungry or you want some food? He'll get you whatever you want or cook something if you really ask for it. Your boobs are feeling sore? He's pushing your shirt up over your chest and using his strong hands to knead at your swollen skin until you feel better.

Whatever you want, you get, even if you're not entirely sure how to vocalize the things you need at the moment.

What you hate the most about your cycle is how badly you want to be near Leon, rubbing up against his firm chest and having his hands over you. The comforting touches turn into heavy petting as you bring your lips to his own, softly grinding into his pelvis and running your fingers through his hair. You can feel him get hard against you, your body more sensitive and on edge, the ache in your gut meshing in with the light cramping.

You want more, of course you do. You're practically vibrating over Leon's lap and he can feel it from the way you shift against him. But it looked like a massacre between your legs, and the last thing you wanted was to come off as an insane horndog. Pulling away from Leon's lips, you sigh in defeat as your hormones go haywire, about to move off of him completely before his hands keep you planted on top of him.

"You don't have to stop if you don't want to, I don't mind", he tells you with plump lips, caressing your cheek with one hand and the other touching your hip under your T-shirt.

"I know but...we can't do much anyways. It feels nice just kissing you", you said with a shrug, leaning forward to kiss him again and exhale a breath through your nose.

"Says who? If you want to mess around, we can you know? It's just me", Leon gives you a lopsided grin in reassurance.

"Leon, that kind of stuff...it's weird and gross, and messy...", you were giving him excuses, looking away from him bashfully but you couldn't ignore the way his words made your body warm up at the suggestion.

"Some people like doing things while they're on their cycles, something about it helping their cramps. I read it in a study a while ago", he said as if this was the easiest thing for him to imply. He did read a study that said something about sex helping diminish cramps, and he may or may not have asked Claire for tips on how to make you feel more comfortable on your cycle.

But period sex with your loving boyfriend? That seemed too farfetched and too much to ask for.

"If you want me to help you out that way, all you have to do is ask me. I won't judge you sweetheart", Leon cupped your face with both hands, looking at you with intense blue eyes. You looked into his gaze to find any sense of deceit, but all you found was his desire.

"You sure you won't find it gross?", your voice was more curious now, the arousal you felt earlier coming back stronger.

"You're talking to someone who kills monsters for a living, blood would be the last thing that bothers me", he chuckled, giving you one final kiss on your lips and rubbing the tip of his nose against your own.

"Want me to make you feel better?", he asked you gently, and the moment you nodded at him he wrapped his arms around you to mesh your body with his own.

He's still gentle as he has you with your back pressed into the mattress, a towel underneath you and your legs wrapped around his slim waist. Leon was fucking into you at an even pace, taking it slow and focusing on the way you tightened around him every time he pushed back inside you. With every swivel of his hips, he fills you up entirely before pulling his hips back, doing it again and again as he leaves kisses all over your neck.

Your body was more responsive to him, every nerve lit like a match and burning over like melting wax. You could feel him, smell him, not wanting to part from him for one second as you whined into his shoulder.

"Feel so damn hot, so good for me baby", Leon grunts against you, nipping at your chin and hitting that spot tucked inside you. You cried out underneath him, thighs beginning to shake as you felt your release building with every thrust he gave you.

Everything felt good, better than good, your body wound tight from the pleasure that made you roll your eyes and focus on Leon's cock filling you the way you craved. You didn't know if you should be thanking him or the study he read, but turns out they were right. This was much better than taking multiple Tylenol pills at a time, and as you came hard around him, your cramps were the last thing on your mind.

[cleverstudentcheesecake]

I just really want to see pregnant Shen Yuan who is a huge cry baby and super sensitive during his pregnancy.

Just imagine Binghe starts crying for attention. Binghe's tantrum along with Shen Yuan's pregnancy hormones provokes Shen Yuan to feel guilty about mistreating Binghe again, so he starts bawling his eyes out.

Now, Binghe, who has been disarmed by his own technique, is at complete loss of thought of what he should be doing to calm his Shizun.

HIS SHIZUN IS CRYING!!!!!

HE IS SUCH A BEAST!!!!

HE MADE SHIZUN CRY AGAIN!!!!

SHIZUN IS GOING TO LEAVE HIM!!!!

In conclusion, he starts to cry even more, begging Shen Yuan to not leave him. This in turn makes Shen Yuan bawl harder which further provokes Binghe.

Cue... Airplane enters the Bamboo Hut to assess how much baby proofing the hut needs and witnessess his 'Son' and his Bro entangled together, engaged in the biggest cry fest known to man and demon kind.

He just huffs and leaves Bingqiu be themselves to resolve whatever issue they have.

My man already has too much on his plate for this kind of bullshit.

[yorshie]

Twitterpaited

Hey, These are my Springtime Headcanons!

That's right, we all know that I'm talking about mating season. I tried to not go explicit with these but by the vey nature of these headcanons they are adults doing adult things, so read at your own discretion. There’s cussing and mentions/alludes to adult activities. Set in 2023 so turtles are 24-25

Spring starts slow, creeping up like an itch on their carapace and a skin sensitivity. It hits them all in slightly different degrees of uncomfortableness, but by the end of the roughly two weeks they’re all done with each other and their own instincts. Splinter caught on to the signs of encroaching puberty in their early teenage years. When they were younger, all it amounted to was shedding shells and outbursts of manic emotion and moodiness, but by the time the the turtles are in their twenties it’s a full hormonal raging see-saw. He nopes out to Casey’s and April’s apartment every year by then. They make up the guest room for him and he turns off his phone for the duration. His sons are adults, they can figure out their own shit, and in his older age he values his peace and quiet. And the Lair in springtime is anything but that.

Everything comes out of left field and sucker punches the turtles every year. The human friends of the bale might have picked up on cues to determine when the craziness is gonna start, but to the turtles it feels like nothing is amiss until they’re in the thick of it nine miles behind enemy lines, ass deep in cleaning supplies, snack food, and suddenly unable to stand the sight or smell of each other.

Territorial out the wazoo, and that’s an understatement. They’ll get pissy over someone wiping their feet on the wrong shower rug. Everything in their space must be clean, must be straight, orderly and neat. For Leo this is no problem, but Raphael and Mikey spend a good day or two cleaning out their rooms because their turtle brains can stand the ‘pigsty’ all of a sudden and they can’t find the one object they need that they haven’t thought about all year. One year for Raph it was a particular pair of boxing gloves and he didn’t sleep for three days straight trying to find them. The compulsion to have a clean space drives Donnie up the wall the most, because the poor turtle will never have a clean Lab, no matter how hard he tries. The good side of that is, no one runs into hormonal Donnie as long as they stay away from the Lab- which is a good thing since he discovered years ago caffeine makes everything worse. Just imagine, hormonal Donnie with no caffeine. shudder.

One time Casey nipped down to grab something Splinter forgot, and when he came back home April Frebreeze-ed him outside the apartment before he was allowed to enter. The turtles stink during their springtime, especially with only rival males around to interact with. It’s like they’re each putting out ‘fuck you and fuck off’ stench and it permeates the air. Casey said it smells like a musky skunk, and April swears it smells like a boy’s locker room when she got a whiff of it second handed off Casey. Splinter shocked them both by mumbling into his tea “It smells like they’re horny and pissy.” Raph is the worst at this, but Leo is a close second. Every time poor Mikey sticks his nose outside his bedroom all he can smell is ‘fuck you and the horse you rode in on’ from his elder two brothers and being the smallest and youngest, his turtle senses equate it to ‘I’m gonna get my ass kicked if I leave this room’. 

Despite everyone being frustrated and pissy about it, there’s not a lot of fist fights going on. It’s more subtle postering than anything overt, and it’s mostly between Leo and Raph. Whenever they clock the other in their peripheral, they start up a warning rumble that, in Raph’s case, will shake the furniture in the room if he puts effort into it. At most it’ll escalate into huffing and flexing their arms and chests, but it’s likely to scare the shit out of anyone watching. Every once in a while Mikey will be feeling his oats and will rumble back, and it’s usually enough to shock the shit out of his bigger brothers and they’ll stop for a bit. Leo absolutely hates it. He’s the leader, but come Springtime everyone seems to forget that, and for him it feels like every time he sees Raphael he’s in a power struggle for the mantle. Raph is just pissed he has to see Leo's ugly mug and judgmental eye rolls when he’d rather just get his food and get the fuck back to watching tv in his room with his door locked. 

The one thing that will cause them to stop in their tracks, however, is the discovery of anything smol.  Raph turns on his tv and sees baby animals by accident? Bawls for hours. Families or small children running around exploring on Mikey’s instagram reel feed? Turtle is hit in the chest with the thought that he will likely never be a father. Leo finds old photos of when they were toddlers while cleaning his room?He’ll avoid everyone for the rest of the day, chest tight at the thought of little faces that resemble his own. Donnie finds all the parenting books he downloaded over the hope of ‘what if’? He’ll throw them in the trash and then dig them out hours later in a silent apology to whatever kernel of hope he has.

Now as the turtles get older, there’s always the chance they have an s/o during their Springtime. They learned the hard way that things can get really weird, really quickly, when one year April hugged Raph goodbye after a game night in March and she said “wow you smell really good for some reason”- cue the turtles locking eyes in dawning horror and scuttling out of the room like their pants are literally on fire, and April disgustedly cussing Raph out over the phone once she figured out what exactly was happening. So, needless to say, if the turtles do have an s/o during these two weeks, there is a strict order to stay away from the Lair. If the relationship is far along enough, the turtle could join their s/o at their place, provided they can take the whole two weeks and then some off work, because there is no way any of the turtles could chill enough to let their s/o leave the safety of the nest until turtle.exe stops hogging the brain console and logic comes back online. Even if their s/o leaves just to run errands, they’ll likely come home to find a stressed turtle panic cleaning and vibrating off the walls, rumbling every time they hear footsteps outside in the hall… Maybe it’s better just to leave him in the Lair to preserve his poor blood pressure.

Courtship behavior, however, comes out as well in the Springtime, and it’s something to contend with if either the warning isn’t heeded or the turtle heads aboveground. During the other months of the year, the turtles are more into romancing their s/o’s in a more ‘normal’ manner, but during those two weeks the little voice that warns them humans won’t really ‘get’ all the turtle-y interactions goes suspiciously quiet. Actions such as kissing, hand holding, and personal bubble space go right out the proverbial window, and in their place pop up some more hindbrain postering that, well to be honest, can be downright confusing

One of the most obvious courtships traits is dogging their s/o’s footsteps. It’s a shadowing instinct, made ten times worse by their ninja training and their ability to move silently, and nine times out of ten they don’t even realize they’re doing it until their s/o turns and runs into them. They’re always in the way, always underfoot, and if they can’t physically follow they’ll track with their gaze. It gets worse if the other turtles are around, to the point where their s/o might feel like they’re being stalked by a particularly rumbly bodyguard that covers their back at all times. Surprisingly (sarcasm), Mikey is the worst offender. Leo is the best at keeping himself to only following with his eyes, but eventually they’ll all break and find themselves one step from being up against their chosen partner.

Another turtle-y interaction that grips them hard is the need to provide. He notices his s/o hasn’t eaten in a few hours? He’ll make a point to get them to eat or to bring them snacks. The room’s too cold or there’s too few blankets to cuddle up in? He’ll bring the covers from the bed if he can’t get away with just relocating to the  bedroom, but no matter what he’s getting some article of his ill-fitting clothing on his s/o. It’s a ‘kill two birds with one stone’ technique that soothes the itch in his snout that absolutely freaks him out when he realizes his s/o doesn’t smell like him.

The turtles also turn handsy overnight. Their s/o better be prepared for casual touch at any open opportunity, because the turtles will not waste it. Everything from a hand on the small of their s/o’s back, to touching any bare skin, to fluttering their fingers against their s/o’s face. The latter happens the least, and only when no one else is around to witness it. If their s/o ever tries to turn the tables and return the favor around others, it quickly becomes apparent by the sputtering and coughing from the other brothers that they might not understand all the connotations associated with the action. Cue their turtle getting flustered and all but ducking their head into their shell in embarrassment over being propositioned in front of his family.

Cuddle time dissolves into massages as an excuse to rub up against their s/o, to the point that the s/o might have to point out that massages are usually done with hands and not by just bumping and rubbing a turtle snout over any body part they can reach, which will only be answered with annoyed grumbling and insistence that they ‘aren’t’ doing that… while not stopping doing exactly that. There is also no such thing as personal space while cuddling- if their s/o doesn’t want a heavy ass turtle in their lap, they better nab that spot first or risk being squashed.

Speaking of turtle rumbles, those aren’t the only sounds that come out with a vengeance during springtime. The turtles all churr more readily, chirp and click to get each others and their s/o’s attention, but when they’re alone with their s/o it ramps up, to the point where they’ll forgo words all together. Donnie is the worst offender as he’s battling not only hormones but also caffeine withdrawals, and as such he tends to only hiss at his brothers when they stick their heads into his lab to make sure he’s still alive. With their s/o's however, it's all rumbles deep in their chest and churrs that are likely to rattle the breath in their chests. Raph has the lowest auditory range with his rumbles while Mikey sounds the sweetest.

[apenitentialprayer]

Women Are Physiologically Primed for Parenthood (And So Are Men)

In 2017 The New York Times published a short piece called "The Birth of a Mother." It explored something anthropologists have termed matrescence, or the process of becoming a female parent. The writer noted: "[T]his transition is also significant for fathers . . . , but women who go through the hormonal changes of pregnancy may have a specific neurobiological experience." The nod to fathers is cursory. The "but" that follows makes the sentence's point: that women are the sex hormonally primed for parenthood. This notion is so generally accepted that it escaped the fact-checker's scrutiny. Like most of the conventional wisdom about the hard-core nature of maternal versus paternal parenting, it's also misleading. Men undergo their own neurobiological experience as their babies-to-be gestate. Throughout the prenatal period, men in close contact with pregnant partners are physiologically primed to care for infants. Expectant fathers experience a rise in the levels of the pregnancy-related hormones prolactin, cortisol, and estrogen in proportion to that of their baby's mother. Additionally, testosterone, associated with competition for mates, declines. Second-time fathers produce even more prolactin and less testosterone in the company of a pregnant partner than do first-timers. [...] Throughout their children's lives, involved fathers continue to experience hormonal changes. In North America, men in long-term relationships like marriage and fatherhood almost uniformly have lower testosterone levels than their single and childless counterparts. [...] As anthropologist Sarah Hrdy observes in Mothers and Others: "Men are physiologically altered just from spending time in intimate association with pregnant mothers and new babies. To me, this implies that care by males has been an integral part of human adaptation for a long time. Male nurturing potentials are there, encoded in the DNA of our species. [...] [In the late '70s], psychologist Ross Parke and colleagues studied fathers of newborns in maternity wards. For most of the behaviors his team measured, fathers and mothers hardly differed. Men spoke to babies in high-pitched voices and responded with sensitivity to infant cues during feeding. They also exhibited patterns similar to their wives when holding their children. The major difference Parke observed was that fathers, unlike mothers, took a step back from their child's care in the presence of their spouse. [...] In a study that measured response times and hormone levels in parents listening to infant cries, mothers and fathers were equally reactive to wails of distress (recordings of baby boys being circumcised). When the cries were fussy rather than pained, mothers' physiological responses and then also their reaction times were a little quicker than fathers', though fathers' responses were quicker than those of childless adults.

- Darcy Lockman (All the Rage: Mothers, Fathers, and the Myth of Equal Partnership, pages 82-83, 83, 84, 85, 86)

[uchihaharlot]

Question: how do you feel about male lactation? Also Shisui coming home to Itachi hit with a jutsu that has him lactating and Shisui offers to relieve him of it. Leads to some…snu-snu

Took me a minute to understand. I was googling like a wild beast. Not even Reddit yielded the results I wanted, but alas I figured out that there was an unfortunate accident.

NSFW; how Uchiha Itachi unfortunately became Shisui’s dairy farm for the day; what in tartnation; blatant coercion with the threat of Kotoamatsukami; kinda laughing but in a good way; my followers are going to be screaming at me.

Poor Itachi. 😂😂😂

Hadn’t realized until he was about halfway home that something dire was wrong. His chest was..crying? No, leaking. Dripping through his undershirt, or so it felt like. Emotionally, he was someone who carried a level head. Strategic as all hell. But this…this he could not wrap his head around. What a foul and pathetic way to disarm your opponent by using a forbidden jutsu on them.

How even more embarrassing it became when Shisui, uninvited and usually showed up at the most inopportune of moments. Busted his happy self into Itachi’s house. Skipping his way to Itachi, who was shirtless, and standing in front of the mirror. Helplessly looking at his leaking nipples.

‘Congrats!’ The pat to his back from Shisui had Itachi shooting an icy glare at him. ‘You’re a mommy, and where is our son?’

‘…Shisui. This isn’t a good time.’ No it wasn’t, but when did Shisui ever not pester Itachi when he least liked it. Never. He was a menace on a good day and a fucking fire ant in his ass on a bad day.

‘Why are you rubbing them like that…?’ Shisui cocks his head, trying not to laugh.

‘…I think I’m engorged or backed up.…I don’t know what actually.’ A boisterous laugh as Shisui flicked one of his sensitive nipples and Itachi was more than livid. ‘That fucking hurt.’

‘I’m feeling thirsty all of a sudden.’ Shisui smirks, a lurid glint in his eye.

‘No you’re not, Shisui. You’re being disrespectful, to me and yourself.’ Pffffttttt, from Shisui.

‘You act as if I haven’t sucked on them before. This time, they’re just a bit wet and soggy.…’ Shisui luridly licks at Itachi’s chest, batting his beautiful eyelashes and whispering lowly. ‘You need to be…relieved.’

If the gods were actually watching, they would curse Itachi’s eyes and spite his soul. The arousal from the increase in hormones for his pectorals to lacate and even produce breast milk was formidable. He wouldn’t even wish this on his own enemies. His pecs hurt, felt unbearably full and looked swollen.

He did need to be relieved. Grumbling, Itachi spoke below a whisper, ‘don’t get too fucking weird. It’s just a jutsu….’

The smile that spead Shisui’s face was contagious or cancerous, maybe somewhere in the middle. It reeked of malicious intent and Itachi was already regretting agreeing to this as Shisui led him out of the bathroom and onto the bed.

‘…take your pants off.’ Itachi shook his head, and on cue for motioning his appeal, Shisui spun the kaleidoscope behind red eyes with an unholy grin.

‘You wouldn’t.’ Itachi’s eyes narrowed, Kotoamatsukami was not a play thing. You did not use it to threaten your lover with salacious intent.

‘For this I would. Now, undress.’ He wouldn’t question it further, even if Itachi wanted, and he couldn’t either way. Tsukuyomi, while artificial in its own way, would not counteract the unrelenting force of Shisui’s ultimate wrath. So as the good boy he was, and the one with the ailing unfortunate ability to produce breast milk at this time. Itachi did as prescribed. Fully undressing himself as Shisui did too.

He could blame the hormones, or his own brain cells that lusted after it. Shisui delicately nipping and suckling from his chest, eliciting an unfamiliar tingle as the milk spilled from him. It was unnerving how much and quickly Itachi enjoyed it. The hard latch of Shisui’s lips to his flesh, tongue swirling and lapping, skimming his hand over the plain of his abdomen to stroke his hardened length.

‘It’s sweet..’ the soft murmur as Shisui trailed kisses from one pert nipple to the next. Parting Itachi’s legs, and tapping at his entrance as he spread spit on himself.

Pressing just the tip, stroking his shaft softly and moaning around Itachi’s nipple as the fluids filled his mouth. Nothing what an actual producing mother would make, but enough for Shisui to get off on. Enough for Itachi to scoot himself further on Shisui’s length. Rolling them over and fully impaling himself on the entirety of Shisui’s cock. Both shuddering from it. Shisui still suckling like a little babe unable to wean off his mommy. Rocking his hips to match Itachi’s downward thrust, and reclaiming that gorgeous cock with a hurried stroke.

Though by this point, Itachi’s milk has waned. Physically Shisui can’t think of anything else but how deliriously taut Itachi’s tight little hole feels when it grips his aching and pulsing length. Holding his hips and watching at how delicious his cock disappeared and then reappeared with each deep thrust. The tight muscles flexing around him, the soft beat of Itachi’s own climax catching the better of the two.

Shisui doubled his efforts when Itachi whimpered he was cumming. Quickly spitting in his hand and fervently drawing it back over Itachi’s throbbing cock. Working Itachi as he came hard, all over Shisui’s chest. It slung up to his neck, and Shisui yanked him by his silky hair into a heated kiss as his own orgasm rocked through him.

Panting softly as their increasingly passionate encounter wore out. Shisui planted kisses along Itachi’s defined jaw, over his throat and nipped at his collarbone. Slipping out, Shisui elected to be the little spoon, a small compromise to pay for getting your way more often than not.

No one. Not a single soul could hold a torch to the unadulterated heat and flame an Uchiha radiates.

[gagmebucky]

you know the drill.. unedited and all that

“Oh, you look like an angel but you aren’t acting like one,” he says with a laugh and a growl. “You left me on my birthday to lock yourself in my bathroom and fuck your fingers so I don’t want to hear anything except those sexy moans and your wet cunt doing just that. You get me?”

in which your best friend walks in on you masturbating and decides to lend a hand. (includes best friends to lovers, dirty talk, masturbation, voyeurism and exhibitionism, reader receiving oral, mild overstimulation.) 

—

Sometimes it just gets to be too much. 

The purr of your name, his filthy drawl of each letter—his big hands casually squeezing your hips, pulling you to and fro—when he presses into your back and coils around you like a lion laying claim—dark blue depths always pinning your visage in perverse approval—sinful lips twisting on the cue of his silver tongue, at the expense of your poor libido, on the intention of terrorizing your sensitivity. 

That man, your best fucking friend, is the devil behind thick dark waves of hair, a sharp jawline and broad physique; facial features a masculine cut like a juxtaposed angel. He’s always in your ear, whispering something caustic and obscene; shrugging it off like innocence with a pretty smile. But you feel it, spiking your temperature degree by degree. 

Today being his birthday, you’d think—you did think—he’d be caught up in the celebration. His apartment is a lavish slosh of liquor and music, friends and tag-alongs snagging his attention left and right. You expected as much, braced yourself to remain in the background. 

Which is difficult already, because you’re, well, a glutton and developed this voracious need to soak up all of his attention. And you’re reining that in, but he’s intent on driving you insane. 

Every time you’re on the cusp of cooling down from his previous encounter, he’s popping up to further ruin your panties and leave you aching in his wake. It’s impressive, really: his timing and effectiveness, the way it’s almost effortless. 

The worst part about it? You like it. 

The lovesick, masochistic side of you thrives on the sticky cling of your gusset, and the need that thrums between your legs. But you haven’t masturbated recently, and this attack (as it can only be categorized as such) on your overly responsive sex drive is really getting to you. 

You can’t stop squirming, subtly rubbing your thighs together like it’ll help, but it’s only making it worse. The ache just thrums and thrums, and no matter how many times you berate yourself, it won’t bat down. You feel like a teenager unable to control their hormones. 

It’s going to become unbearable. That’s a guarantee where he’s concerned. You’re slowly succumbing to the fate that if you don’t receive some sort of relief, you’ll have a full-on meltdown. Dramatic, yes, but God, you need an orgasm. 

It wouldn’t take long, either. No one would notice, you bet, if you slipped out. Your sensitivity has reached a hair-trigger, and given a minute or so alone, the blaze of your inner heath would be quelled. 

Taking a sly survey of your surroundings, all of your friends and others are preoccupied. You managed to slip out of a conversation on an excuse to get a drink. Your hand is enclosed around a beer bottle, but the cold condensation does not help with your fever like you hoped. 

You don’t bother drinking and set it down, knowing alcohol will worsen your problem, loosen your inhibitions and take you to a whole other wanton level. Fine! You’ve gotta do this. After a committed gander, you whirl around and march toward the privacy of the bathroom. 

Or you intend to since your body immediately collides with a wall instead. And, by wall, you mean the hard panels of your best friend’s chest, warmth radiating through a black t-shirt, spring fresh soap and his cologne swarming your senses. Contact alone sends a jolt through your nerves. 

You instinctively jerk, and his arms snaking around your waist yank you right back. A breath catches in your throat as your front molds to his, and he swiftly swings you into an one-eighty. Your hands splay against his pectorals, and you blink up at him, unnecessarily winded and unfocused, trying your earnest not to writhe into his embrace. 

“Now where do you think you’re goin’?” He cocks a brow. “You disappeared and have been over here by your lonesome, lookin’ all suspicious. Cute as always, but suspicious.” His head tilts and runs his gaze over you carefully. “What are you up to, gorgeous, and why haven’t you included me?” 

His sensory awareness is inhuman. It’s unfair, and you want to gawk at the uncanniness but you should be used to it by now. 

“I—uhm…” You can’t exactly tell him you’re sneaking off to masturbate, and you wrack your brain for an alternative explanation. “I’m just gonna… gonna check on my makeup! It’s been awhile since my last touch up, so I figure it’s about time. I know I look like a mess right now.”

He laughs. “Oh, let me save you the trip. You’re still lookin’ every bit of a sexy angel. No touch up necessary.” His hands slide down and squeeze your ass with one, and slaps it with the other, making you yelp and him grin. “Got the ass of one, too.”

“Ow!” You have an excuse to extract yourself from his embrace, and thank God because the sting goes straight to your clit. You shoot him a glare and rub the offended area, ignoring an urge to ask him to do it again, bastardizing the knowledge that he would be more than happy to. “That hurt!” 

He rolls his eyes. “It did not, you crybaby.” One arm loops around your waist, scooping you flush once again, and he’s edging toward your behind. “You better get used to it. I still have a lotta birthday licks left.” 

Your jaw drops. “It’s your birthday! You’re the one who’s supposed to get birthday licks.” 

“So you wanna lick me?” His sly smile does flip flops in your belly. He drops his head, and his voice is a purr in your ear: “What a coincidence. I wanna lick you, too.” 

You shiver, teeth puncturing your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste of crimson is worth preventing a moan from spilling out. Okay, this is fucking torture. You subconsciously lean into him before snapping back to reality and just about jump out of your skin. 

“A - and wash my hands!” you hastily add onto your earlier answer. “I - I was gonna touch up my makeup and wash my hands.” 

The suddenness surprises him. His baby blues blink at you, then there goes that inquisitive furrow of his brow. “Didn’t you already?” 

Yes, you did. In fact, the scented lotion you used afterwards is still fresh on your skin. 

“Um, yeah. But they’re bringing your cake out soon,” you say, slowly circling around inch-by-inch and backpedaling away, trying to look as relaxed as you don’t feel. “And thought I might as well before they do.”

“Huh.” He looks like he has to consider your words but can’t find anything odd. It makes sense, even in your awkward delivery, and maybe you can relax. “But you do know the kitchen’s back there.” He nods the entryway you passed. 

“Oh, right,” you say quite intelligently, following his line of sight. “Well, they’re preparing the cake, and I - I didn't want to get in the way.” It rolls off your tongue casually—believably. “So I figured I’d just use the sink in the bathroom.” 

“Oh, okay.” The answer satisfies his third-degree, and you suppress a sigh of relief. “Why don’t you use the one in my bedroom? I think someone’s in the one in the other.” 

“Perfect! Thanks.” You flash a smile, and he seems to let you escape. Then the faintest glint of suspicion suddenly flits across his face as he observes your winded breaths and the way you stumble off. Best not to give him another chance to interrogate you further. “I’ll be right back!”  

Then you turn, righting your movements in the process, and head for the hallway. It’s a straight shot past the guest bathroom and a turn of a corner to his bedroom. Luckily, in the packed space of his spacious apartment, that area is sectioned off. 

With excuse me’s and halfhearted hey’s, you wade through the herd and cross wood floors with quickened strides. You nearly trip on your heels, four-inch high mimic of gladiator sandals, laced up your calves, but you think you play it off well. Okay, probably not, but you make it out of sight seeming normal enough.

His bedroom is substantially quieter and cooler. That breeze does help with your heated skin, but the environment is inherently him so it cancels each other out. Closing that door, you’re already unzipping the cinch of your skirt and clamoring to the luxurious partition of his bathroom. 

It’s gorgeous inside. You’ve told him that a million times, and you’ve been here a million times but seriously—a wide granite countertop and waterfall faucet, walk-in shower and claw foot tub, you can’t get over it. He keeps it immaculate so you have no issue with letting your skirt halo to the gleaming tile ground. 

Unsurprisingly, your panties are ruined. The material clings like a second skin, sodden through and smeared on your inner thighs. It’s obscene, and you’d demand he pay for your dry cleaning, if he wasn’t already doing the majority of your laundry. 

You waste no time wriggling them down your hips, looping around the bend of your knees as you hop onto the counter and spread your legs. There’s an audible moan when your hand delves between your center, slick coating your fingers soft. A full bodied shudder slips down your spine, and your head falls back, jostling the mirror in the process. 

Oh, this is fucking good.

You find the angle and seize it in slippery circles. Even with your sloppy movements, everything falls aligned, and you’re seeing stars; not yet imploding but well on its way. The build-up on your own is never this quick. You wish you could experience it under ideal circumstances, draw it out, but a part of you thinks that’s what makes it so good. 

You know you shouldn’t be masturbating in your best friend’s bathroom, that it’s wrong, and you can get caught at any minute, but it’s those very illicit factors that run your libido wild, unearthing moans you mean to suppress. 

You compensate by shoving your shirt above your tits and biting down on the hemline. It’s one of those bustier camisoles so you didn’t bother with a bra. The air invokes a shiver, and you shiver again when your palm caresses a tit and rolls a hard peak between your fingers. 

The orgasm approaches like a roar, knocking in rapid succession, louder and louder than the last. It’s a hum, a vibration inside your head, reaching your ears all husky-like. Being in his bathroom, the lingering scent of his aftershave, and his interactions invoking your overall state, you swear you hear his voice. 

“O - oh.” Your moan is a whisper, falling above the wet squelch of your fingers by a decibel, and your toes curl on the precipice of hot-blooded relief. “Fuck, yes—”

Before the train plunges off the track into bliss, you realize that the knocking is not metaphorical and his voice isn’t simply an echo inside your head; but rather knuckles on the door and him repeatedly asking if you were okay on the other side.

“Okay, I’m coming in,” your best friend is saying before you fully process the past minute, aside from what was going to be a mindblowing orgasm. The knob twists (since, you know, you were too busy with your sex to lock it). “You got me worried, and I couldn’t hear what you were…”

The door opens fully, and his eyes widen as your compromised state centers to view. Your brain short circuits at the shock rippling underneath your skin, freezing you in place as if doused in ice water and undercutting the instinct to shutter, which unintentionally awards him a nice eyeful. 

You, perched on his sink counter, debauched and exposed, face sheened lightly in doe-eyed desperation. The hem of your white camisole ruffles above your braless tits, palming one of the hardened peaks. Your other hand is wedged between your spread thighs, pressing into your center with your underwear bunched below your knees. 

It’s a long moment, it feels like with his gaze running over every detail, before the shock snaps into mortification, and sense kicks in. 

The shirt drops from your teeth, and your legs clamp around your wrist in a poor effort to cover yourself. All the blood drains from your face as you try to think of some excuse, some recourse, or anything to make this be anything other than it is. 

“I - I can explain—” you start shakily, but the expression on his face shuts you up. 

His jaw clenches, and those friendly moonstone orbs narrow into dark slits, looking more severe than you’ve ever seen. He steps in and shuts the door behind him. Unlike you, he makes sure to latch the lock before stalking forward, and like a skittish cat, you watch his every move. 

He comes to a still in front of you. His hands grab each thigh and pries them open, to your gasp of surprise. “Keep going.” It’s an order, but he doesn’t give you a moment to obey, or even a second to recover from the shock, before dropping to his knees and pulling yours wider. 

Your hands fly to either side of the counter to stabilize yourself, unintentionally but consequently revealing your most intimate part to his equally prying eyes. Naturally, you try to shut your legs, but his hands have wrapped around your calves. The only way to compensate is to shove a shielding palm between your thighs, a hitched sound expelling through your teeth, literally sensitive to the touch. 

He shoots you a look but allows the action. His interest falls to your underwear still strained around your knees, and he tugs them down your legs. Your embarrassment burns hot in your cheeks as he examines the wetness heavying the fabric; his thumb drags across the gusset, your essence coating him in an obscene trail of stickiness.

There’s a slick pop, and you whimper when he sucks it clean of your taste. His eyes snap up at the sound, and he makes a dastardly show of doing it again. To further fuck with you, he takes it a step further and licks a slow, broad stripe through the center, a groan rumbling through his chest and lids fluttering shut as if savoring it. 

Your muscles twitch with a tremor, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to retrain another whine; but it doesn’t matter because those dilated pupils pin on you like a glare. “Keep going,” he repeats, gritting it out like he shouldn’t have to, or, like he’s barely keeping himself from doing it himself. 

The adrenaline pumping through your veins has you woozy, heart thundering, and though he’s said it twice, you don’t think you heard him correctly. “B - but—”

“Oh, you look like an angel but you aren’t acting like one,” he says with a laugh and a growl. “You left me on my birthday to lock yourself in my bathroom and fuck your fingers so I don’t want to hear anything except those sexy moans and your wet cunt doing just that. You get me?”

That gets through your head like a shot of the best liquor you’ve ever tasted. Maybe you should recoil in shock; at the very least, question this shift in your relationship boundaries, but you don’t. All this mania whirling inside you because of him, for him, it doesn’t even occur to you. 

Incisors fixing into your bottom lip, you nod, albeit shyly. “Y - yeah,” you breathe, adjusting your weight as best as you can without exciting your libido just yet. “I got you.”

So, with his eyes on you like a hawk, your tentative fingers find your clit. Your heavy lids fall onto him watching you, transfixed by the microexpressions filtering across his face. You wonder if this’ll affect him in a similar way he affected you; God, you hope so.

The first touch is a spark to a flame, a simmering speed kickstarted into high gear. The seamless way you fall into rhythm, jittery as you are, flurry of emotion and sensation, is shameless. You promised yourself a reckoning, and your body is primed for it. 

A palm grasps the edge of the counter while you swirl something wild on your slick bundle of nerves. There’s a slight tremor in your arm muscles; call it a symptom of performance anxiety because he’s utterly captivated. You work harder, picking up the pace as you shudder out moans. 

His blessing, your need to obey, the sounds bounce free in the echo of his bathroom. Initially low and breathy, bashful to be heard, you’re crescendoing into full, wanton moans now, and he loves it, spurring you on more. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he whispers, pupils blown wide, dark and dangerous, obsession ping-ponging between your hand and your face. “Look at you. Pretty baby, I knew your pussy would be just as pretty. All fucking soaked, wet to your fucking knees. Keep moving your fingers like that. Does it feel good?” 

Your head bobbles, lashes fluttering heavy. “It - it does,” you say with an impending climax on the tips of your fervid fingers, voice an airy quiver with the addendum: “It feels really, really good.”

The grip on your calves tighten, then slide up to your knees. His thumbs stroke circles on the sensitive skin on the inside, mimicking your own movements and somehow falling in sync, becoming increasingly sloppy and frantic. 

“Yeah, you’re good at this. You do this a lot, don’t you, angel?” There’s a flushed sheen on his cheeks and knowingness in his blue pools, further confirmed by your hitched breath. “Y’gonna cum then?” he asks, though the answer is clear. “Think you’ve been good enough to?” 

The threat of another denial makes you groan, weaning into a whimper. “I need to.” 

“Oh, angel, I can tell,” he says with a click of sympathy, mimicking your pout. “But you look so cute when you’re desperate, and you know I love it when you beg. Go on, and give me a little first. Show me how good of a girl you are.” 

“P - please,” you moan immediately, “please, James.” 

“Fuck, you know I’ll give you anything.” He pushes to his feet as his hand shoots out and covers yours, guiding you fast-paced into the throes of an orgasm. “I’ll give you everything. Now show me how pretty you are when you cum.” 

That's all you need. With a sharp moan of his name, the dam breaks, and it feels like you’re floating. Hot-blooded relief ripples through your system and has you quaking. Wave after wave works through you, and every second is well worth the wait. 

Your muscles are straining, and you’re panting by the time it subsides. All the while, he’s locked onto you, eating it up, crooning encouragement and praises; ravenous eyes and husky voice, it’s almost enough to set you off a second time. 

His other hand catches you by the jaw, a pinched grip keeps your face angled on him while his strokes slow. “Oh, you’re fucking gorgeous. Always have been, always will, but when you’re coming and moaning my name…” he says with a groan, “you’re a real life fucking dream.”

He sucks your arousal off his fingers, and you moan at the sight. It takes a moment to overcome your panting, only able to manage a, “That felt s - so good.” That was your best orgasm to date, and it was his hand in this situation that caused that outcome.

“Just what you needed.” His thumb traces your bottom lip, dark eyes enthralled by your unruly come down, laying in wait. “You satisfied, angel?” he says, a rhetorical fluctuation that fans over your sensitive skin. “Lying to me, leaving—”

“It’s not my fault!” you blurt out before he can finish listing your sins, making him cock an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have—I would’ve waited—I wanted to wait, but you - you kept saying things and touching me, and… and… I just couldn’t help it. I’m sorry!” 

He looks astounded, at a loss for words momentarily. “So you’re blaming me?” is the implication you’re giving, and he’s getting. “I talked to you and barely touched you, but that got you so worked up that you had to lock yourself in my bathroom and masturbate—in the middle of my birthday party?” 

That sounds maybe not the best way to put it, but it's also entirely accurate. “Well, um…” You can’t think of a nicer, less accusatory manner of phrasing. “Y - yes?” 

There’s a second of silence before both of his hands grasp your face with a groan of, “That’s so fucking cute.” 

Then he’s reeling you into a heady kiss. Tongue deep but slow, and you melt into him like butter on a skillet. It’s better than you imagined—and, boy, you have imagined it; like him, controlled but not overbearing, gentle with a pulsing, singing heat. 

Parting is reluctant, and he nuzzles his lips over yours before starting a trail down your neck. His hands fall to your thighs when you tilt your head to the side for easier access, sliding upward with his thumbs kneading circles into your muscles. 

You gasp, then moan at the influx of stimulation, not a direct barrage on your center but resonates there, anyway. Your knees instinctively lock around his waist as he finds his way to your chest, dipping below the ruffle of your shirt and taking a hard peek into his mouth. 

“F - fuck.” You shudder against him, into him, the current of electricity sparking in your bones, burying your hands in his hair.

“My sexy little angel and her needy cunt,” he purrs and gives you a peck before dropping to his knees again, eyes hungry as he pulls you to the counter edge, legs spread. “I’ll make it all better.”

Even with the lull, with your libido, tormented something grand, the aftershocks still tremor within your muscles. A drop of pain with every shot of pleasure; the former spikes sky-high as his mouth melds to the bare sensitivity of your sex. 

A sharp sound escapes you, jolting entirely against a barrage of smarting sensations. Your legs end up over his shoulders, heels grazing the flex of his shoulder blades as another tremor lulls through your body. 

“I - I think I’m too sensitive—“ 

“No, no,” he says, insistent, pulling away for only a second, “it’s okay. I got you. You just enjoy the ride ‘cause I know I am.” 

Then he hunkers down and delves in like a starved man getting his fill. His strong arms encircle your thighs, bulging muscles and veins as he keeps you spread and vulnerable, laid out with your legs propped over his shoulders.

The wet warmth of his mouth forms a seal around you, tongue flattening against your clit and cheeks hollowing with suction. A squeal escapes your throat as your nerves fray, and your body jerks, but it doesn’t do much against his ironclad grip. 

You feel him grin, his dilated pupils a gleam of mischief; so you retaliate by burying your hands in his hair and yanking at the roots, hard. A groan rumbles through his throat, and his eyes roll back, shutting, then reopening with a distinctly primal intensity reflecting up at you. 

With a growl, he does it, again, swathing the sensitive bud in raw sensation until you’re grappling his thick locks; which only makes him groan in delight and nuzzle his face deeper. He spreads your outer lips with his thumb and forefinger while he laps at your center like a bear would to honey. 

“O - oh, God—fuck!” you gasp and moan. “You’re so good at this—h - how are you so good at this?” 

His other hand slides underneath and finds your entrance. His middle finger pushes through your folds knuckle-deep, and your silk walls contract around the sudden intrusion. The rough pad crooks into your sweet spot and drags over it as he sets a determined pace. 

It’s a practiced attack with his tongue coddling your bundle of nerves, and his dexterity stroking you into oblivion. You think you’re going to lose your mind (if you haven’t already). The intensity makes you woozy, a James-induced high, and the only thing your vision can focus on is him. 

The room is a hybrid of your desperate moans and his hungry groans; the messy smack of his mouth on you, your sex squelching around his long, thick digit. It’s pornographic and so fucking hot, the perfect soundtrack for another orgasm to roll in—

And two loud knocks bang against the door and startle you both. 

“B, will you come on?!” his sister’s voice shouts through the door—thankfully, no tonal hints being privy to what was happening inside—and you hear her impatient foot tapping on the other side. “We’re ready to cut the cake!” 

James’ eyes cloud with agitation, a growl in his throat as he has to detach himself from you and bites out, “Then cut it!” 

She huffs. “It’s your birthday! I told you, we can’t cut it without you.”

“Fine!” he snaps. “I'll be there in five minutes.” 

“You had five minutes ten minutes ago. You have two.” Her footsteps start to fade, then stop as she adds, “And I don’t know where your best friend is but she better come in the next two minutes, or we’re cutting the cake without her!” There’s a door slam, confirming her egress from his bedroom.

“Oh, she’ll come in the next two minutes,” he murmurs, a devilish smile glittering up at you. “You’re gonna come real hard.”

And you do. 

His middle finger thrusts inside you and curls into your g-spot, using the very tip to repeatedly rasp pressure over it. In tandem, his mouth once more claims your molten core for his own and his taste buds bully your clit. It has you pulling his hair, and when he makes that feral growl, baby blues alight, you don’t really have any other choice than to crumble. 

You come with a cry. His name a curse and blessing—James—on your lips as your muscles cramp up, and your inner muscles clamp down. Everything shakes, rattled to the very core, your leg trembling over his shoulders and unintentionally digging your heels into his back. 

Your bones liquefy. The rush of euphoria breaks you apart in the most exquisite way possible and turns you into mush. The grip on his hair loosens as the arch in your spine relaxes, but your hips continue to writhe as his tongue tracks your plummet. 

“B - Bucky,” you whimper pitiful, smarting shocks chopping at your overworked nerves. “T - too much.” 

He hums, and you whimper again, which convinces him— despite his reluctance—to ease his onslaught. “Alright, if you insist,” he says and licks his lips glossy with your essence. “But I told you I’d get my birthday licks, and I’ve only gotten started.” 

He stands up and grabs your skirt off the ground. His shoulders square as he slips the waistband around your ankles, and you take the hint to slide off the counter so he can hoist it around your hips. Your legs are jelly, but you stay upright all the same, flattening your clutches into his shirt. 

“So, when this party ends, I’m going to taste you for hours,” he tells you and unfurls your top to its rightful place over your tits and stomach, smoothing out the additional ruffles. “My tongue is gonna fuck you right here…”  His hand sinks under your open zipper and pets your bare sex, index finger tracing your slit. ”…until you’ve cum so many times you go numb from it all.” 

He places a chaste kiss on your temple when you whine, dropping his lips to your ear. “Then I’m gonna keep going ‘cause you taste too fucking good to stop.”

[maaarine]

This Is Your Brain on Birth Control: The Surprising Science of Women, Hormones, and the Law of Unintended Consequences (Sarah Hill, 2019)

"Although it may seem a little surprising that your sense of smell is influenced by sex hormones (whether your own or those in the pill), it actually makes a lot of sense when we think about what your different sensory systems do.

A major charge of these systems (which includes your sense not only of smell but also sound, sight, and taste) is to notice and discriminate between things in the environment so that you can parse the world into meaningful categories, like good/bad, hot/not, and approach/avoid.

The sharper your senses are, the better you are at discriminating between things that co-reside in the same stimulus category.

For example, if you have a sensitive palate, you are better able to discriminate between the taste of a cabernet sauvignon and a cabernet franc.

If you have a good sense of hearing, you can tell the difference between the music notes C and D (and the difference between an A-sharp and an A-flat).

Now, given what sensory systems do, it makes good sense for these systems to be sensitive to the presence of sex hormones.

Because relatively high levels of estrogen tell the body that it’s running the “conception is possible” software program, it makes good sense for the brain to throw all its efforts behind increasing our sensory system’s ability to discriminate between high- and low-quality men at this time. (…)

Experiencing increased sensitivity to sensory cues at high fertility is the sort of thing that would have offered women a distinct mating advantage, helping them separate the men from the boys.

And given the research demonstrating cycle-based changes in women’s preference for both vocal and facial masculinity, it’s likely that we’ll soon find women’s sex hormones increase their sensitivity to sights and sounds, too. (…)

So, although it is possible that pill-taking women simply care less about the cues to high genetic quality than naturally cycling women do (valuing, instead, cues to earning potential, caregiving, or witty conversation), it’s also possible that pill-taking women simply don’t notice the difference between men who have these good genes markers and those who do not (or both!).

And because they don’t notice them, they don’t exhibit a preference for them.

Because pill-taking women’s brains are in a perpetual state of hormonal winter, their sensory acuity may not be attuned to genetic quality and compatibility cues in the same way that naturally cycling women’s brains are.

Regardless of the reasons, these differences can potentially mean trouble for women if they choose their partners while on the pill and then go off it."

[shmothman]

In regards to the next fic I’m working on… Here are some notes on my interpretation of the plantussy. Featuring a lot of biology, flower talk, and… uh. slugs. 🤞🤞🤞

Very Nsfw below the cut.

(Note: I am not an artist)

For the base structure, I obviously took most of my inspiration from flowers. The Plants (in stampede, at least) have very floral elements, and my personal headcanon is that they have some analogous structures—products of convergent evolution to incredibly different circumstances. (Though don’t get me started on my headcanons vis a vis the genetic engineering that went into Vash and Knives being so human-looking, at least on the outside.) If the (capital P) Plants are (lowercase p) plant-like, they could certainly have analogous reproductive structures. Five petal-like labia that lie mostly flat against the skin ‘bloom’ when aroused due to increased blood flow—filling with fluid and expanding due to turgor pressure. (Main inspiration for the petals: cherry blossom flowers, though something… fleshier than I’m able to draw 🤣) The reproductive structures are contained within, shielded by the petals unless sufficiently aroused. Within the outer layer of petals is an inner layer, which also lies flat until aroused, at which point they twist together to form something analogous to a penis. The way the petals twist together leaves distinct grooves spiraling along its length, which conduct fluid that comes from the interior of the dick—though the internal structure below it that would be analogous to a vagina also produces fluid, which is slightly thicker and stickier than a human’s would be. (There is a LOT of fluid.) (Note: the petals that make up the dick can be separated even if aroused, but the interior is incredibly sensitive, and Vash is prone to overstimulation even if he isn’t touched there.) (Main inspiration: morning glory bud, also the Aelit dildo by Strange Bedfellas.)

There are two smaller interior petals that don’t make up the dick, and instead act as labia around the vagina-analogue. (Main inspiration: orchid.) Surrounding the dick, there are several independently-mobile tendril-like structures ending in small bulbs; these serve as hormonal transfer sites—detail below. The center of the ‘flower’ is a dark pink, which lightens to flesh tone at the edges of the petals, though the interior petals are fully dark pink. Maybe with a bit of blue bioluminescence. (They made the man glow in Stampede; what do they expect me to do? NOT make his dick glow too??)

Alright! Now we’re going to talk about invertebrate reproduction! (You come to the invertebrate biologist and don’t expect to get a little bit of a lecture?)

Firstly: Rotifers. Most Rotifers belong to Class Monogononta, and Monogonant Rotifers have a unique reproductive pattern.

Typically, they reproduce asexually, via parthenogenesis, making, by definition, only diploid females. However, when conditions are right (the chemical cues seem to come from crowding, when a population of monogonants gets too high, but it occurs relatively rarely) the usually amicitic (‘not mixing,’ referring to the production of eggs without the mixing in of other genetic material) females will lay eggs that become micitic females. These micitic females produce eggs via meiosis, not mitosis as in parthenogenesis. These eggs are, by definition, haploid. In the absence of fertilization, these eggs develop into males, which are able to fertilize other haploid eggs, creating a new diploid generation which continues to reproduce via parthenogenesis once again. This haplodiploid sex determination system also occurs in many insects, but no other organisms seem to exhibit this pattern of many amicitic generations followed by one micitic generation. This is my headcanon for the way Plants reproduce. It doesn’t have anything to do with how his junk looks but I wanted to talk about it.

Secondly: Terrestrial Gastropods. If you know anything about slug sex, you know it gets pretty fuckin wild. As a self-proclaimed monster dong connoisseur, I would be remiss to not take ideas from them; namely, in this case, love darts. Now, in actual gastropods, love darts are sharp, calcareous or chitinous spines produced by the snail that are coated in mucus that contains an allomone, a pheromone-like compound, that increases the likelihood of successful fertilization. They’re essentially shot into the body of the snail’s mate. Taking the basic idea, though, I’ve mixed that with flower reproductive anatomy to arrive at… uh, I mean. I really need to find a better term but. Love tendrils? Love… stamens? I’ll workshop it. REGARDLESS. They’re essentially independently-moving tendrils with a glandular bud at the end, the purpose of which are to secrete hormones that aid in copulation—essentially oxytocin and dopamine, which then can be absorbed through the skin, giving his partner a… boost.

And that’s my inspiration for Vash’s pussy!! 🤞🤞🤞

[sebsxphia]

Thinking about your first trip with one of the boys (your choice but I personally think of Bob) after the baby and you hear a random babh crying, triggering your milk letdown. Your sore and uncomfortable and leakinf everywhere. Cue them offering to 'help' and pulling you into the nearest bathroom to suck on your tits to give you some release, rutting into you for a bit before fucking you dumb while still sucking on your milk

yeah babey these are the lactation kink thots i like!!!!!!!!!!! especially with bobby omg omg omg

it’s your first trip without your baby. it happens while you wait in line at the gas station on route to the hotel bob has booked for the long weekend. a baby crying behind you makes you grab onto your breasts and go wide eyed at bob. he rushes to pay for the petrol and sweets you picked up, hastily asking for the key for the side bathroom in tow.

he hurries you into the bathroom and you strip yourself of your t-shirt and bra. you go to grab some tissue but bob pulls your chest towards him. “no, fuck. come here. let me help, darlin’.” he practically growls with a hunger in his eyes. he dampens his bottom lip with his tongue and dips his head down to press his lips flush against your breast.

bob has you pressed up against the flimsy sink counter top with his tongue running soothing circles around your nipple, every so often grazing his teeth along the soft flesh to release the milk. he alternates between each breast and you’re letting out whines with your hands buried in his hair and tugging on it. he’s rutting his hips into you and you can feel his semi growing. it’s making you both embarrassingly turned on and the hormones only cause more milk to build up.

bob hoists you onto the sink counter and slips your skirt up your thighs and brings his aching cock out of his trousers. he parts his mouth from you as he sinks into you with a heavy groan. the milk dribbles out and he licks it up eagerly before latching back on. the sensation of the feeling of release, bob’s mouth working over your sensitive nipples and the feeling of his cock hitting the sweet spot inside of you causes your body to go limp. a string of moans leave your lips as you come around him for the second time in an embarrassing amount of time. the overstimulation of bob still sucking on your milk driving you both feral.

fuck fuck fuck this has awoken something sooooo deep in me 😵‍💫🥴 thank you so much for this insane thot my dear anon!! 💌

[honeeslust]

Satoru Gojo | Sweets

To the people he works with, he's a perfect asshole. They hate his confidence. They hate that he doesn't hesitate to say what's on his mind. He doesn't respect schedules or authority. He can even come off as a little selfish.

Women swoon whenever he walks into a room and it’s not from much effort on his part. It's because he is him. And women just know. Who wouldn't want the honored ones cum oozing down their throat as he curses and growls your name.

Sorry.. that last part might have been a little too much. But I can't help it, the flashbacks and my hormones are making me crazy.

It's moments like this when l'm barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, making his favorite sweets before he gets home. Papa loves his sweets and I can't wait to give them to him

As if on cue, I feel him before I see him.

🔞‼️‼️🔞‼️🔞‼️🔞‼️‼️🔞

Satoru pushes himself against me and hugs me from behind. “Mmmm, how are my sweethearts?”

“We’re feeling good today. I actually had enough energy to put up the crib.”

His hands slipped over my belly and a warmth started to spread from where he touched me. He kisses the top of my head before turning to wash his hands.

He groans being his dramatic self, “You did it without me?”

“I never know when you’ll be back. Why are you even here now? You know they said—“

The blue eyed giant shifted his glasses down to look at me.

“Right! you don’t give a fuck”

I smile and shake my head as I return to cutting his lemon bars. “How do people deal with you?”

Satoru dries his hands and returns to me. He places his hands on my waist and squeezes me gently. He lowers his head and whispers into my neck. “Can I taste?”

My stomach does the butterfly thing and I sigh knowing he’s not talking about the lemony dessert I’ve made for him.

His long fingers rest on my hips as he uses his thumbs to massage some of the tension from my lower back. His massive hands always feel so good on me. I moan and turn around to face him.

His lips are on mine before I can even speak. He bends to slip his hands under my thighs and Carefully he lifts me and sets me on the kitchen island.

He drops to his knees in front of me and slips the silk gown out of his way so he can kiss my thighs. He adds his tongue, whispering how he couldn’t wait to get back to his sweets but I knew better.

The first trimester was hard. I was constantly sick and almost never in the mood. I know he missed me. And I missed him.

His tongue does everything right. My belly stops me from seeing him but my memory fills in the blanks as my eyes close and my head falls back. I picture the vibrant shades of blue that almost seemed to sparkle everytime I whimpered his name.

He eats my swollen pussy so good that I actually start to feel sorry for those women who swoon. They would never know what it feels like to have his honored tongue circling around their sensitive clit. They would never know how good it feels to have his slender fingers pulsing inside you while he called you so sweet for being so wet for him. They would never know how hard you can come from the way his tongue flicks back forth over the tender bundle of nerves making your entire body go stiff…..

“Fuuu—ck Toru!”

He stands licking his pretty pink lips and presses his soft mouth to mine, kissing me like he’s yearned for me since the dawn of time.

And again I almost feel sorry.

He helps me down and I stand shakily. A strong hand clasps over the small of my back and I finally open my eyes.

“See how sweet you are?” He says with his impossibly dazzling smile.

He bends again to kiss my belly and there was a small nudge where he placed his lips. Satoru smiles as he stands again and takes my hand.

“Let’s go see if it's true that I can rock her to sleep.”

I smile and happily follow him.

No one will even know him the way I do. Nor would he let them. Those women try. They really fucking be trying.

But hey…. If I were you, I’d wanna be me too..

[trying414]

Maribat Prompt

This was titled post-idea, and i literally just copy-pasted my note, so thats why theres the crying prompt thing at the bottom.

Also, none of this is meant to be offensive or anything. I wholly support all genders/sexualities. And I'm pro-choice. So if this is offensive, I'm so sorry, and please let me know (gently, im sensitive) so I can try to correct myself ❤️

Damian ladybug, Marinette black cat

"Father, I have acquired a kitten. I'm keeping her. She's MINE." (Stake his claim so no adoption occurs. But also the kitten joke because he loves animals.)

"Holy shit, it's hereditary." (I've definitely seen this line with Mari being a cat, but she's always with a bird. Not a bug. Which is fun for the cat-who-got-the-canary plays, but not what I'm going for with this idea.)

He can become red bird or something, I don't know. He can't be ladybird. I know that would relate, but he's not a lady.

Unless 

Maybe he does it just to spite people

And take down sexist, discriminating assholes

He might

His brothers would laugh, but they would get behind the cause

It would seem so out of character

But he would enjoy trolling people

Maybe the bats mention ladybird strategically

People are looking for a female

And then as soon as one starts talking shit, BAM!

LADYBIRD IS A DUDE WTF

STAB STAB STAB

OW OW OW

(Those two lines were a reference to a play I was in when I was in high school and they fit perfectly 😂)

😘 drink your respect women juice, kids

And accept all.

Oh my God, though.

I know this started as damian, but could you imagine dick or Jason? Maybe even Tim. I feel like damian is just the least likely to pull this shit.

"Ladybird is a dude wtf"

Cue fake tears "I'm TRANS you PRICK"

he's not, but he supports whole heartedly and that will teach them not to assume one's gender

Suddenly, gothamites have united for Trans rights. Pride month is bigger than before. And gothamites protect their own. Someone says shit about their "Trans" bat? Oh FUCK no. And all the Trans gothamites finally feel represented. Whichever batbro is playing that part takes pride in helping them feel represented. He may not be Trans himself. But he knows how important it is to feel like you matter.

Bonus if it's Jason because he lived on the streets. He knows what being Trans and unaccepted can do to people, whether it be murder or suicide or rape. He's seen them turn to "hormone therapies" found on the street because they can't afford proper medical help or their family doesn't support it and the drugs are a bad batch or laced with something or not even the correct drug at all, and the next thing he knows, they're addicts or dead. Fuck yes he's going to represent.

Give him a more tragic backstory. Maybe he had a trans friend on the street that wasn't accepted by their family. Maybe he tried to help them get the drugs or tried to talk them out of it (having seen his own mother). And they died for it. So when he has the opportunity to represent, he takes it. No one knows if he's mtf or ftm. Maybe he's nonbinary or genderfluid (though I'm pretty sure that's not trans? I could be wrong. And if I am, please gently correct me. I want to learn, not be attacked.) Hell, maybe he's nb or genderfluid outside of the mask. I don't know. I don't think he would be trans, if I'm being honest. The only one I think I could really see as trans is Tim. Though, I'm sure there are great ways to spin Jason as trans, and no hate on that. Just not for this au (though if someone wants to run with this idea and make him trans, I have no problem with that, and I will happily read it 😊)

Fuck, I just wrote a whole goddamn prompt 😭

[pcosdiva123]

How to Lose Weight with PCOS: 8 Helpful Tips

Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) affects millions of women worldwide, and one of its most challenging symptoms is weight gain. The hormonal imbalances associated with PCOS can make losing weight particularly difficult. However, with the right approach, achieving and maintaining a healthy weight is possible. Here are eight helpful tips for losing weight with PCOS.

Focus on a Low Glycemic Index (GI) Diet

Women with PCOS often have insulin resistance, which can lead to weight gain. A low GI diet can help manage insulin levels and reduce cravings:

Choose complex carbohydrates like whole grains, legumes, and vegetables

Avoid processed foods and sugary snacks

Include protein and healthy fats with each meal to slow down sugar absorption

Example meal: Grilled chicken breast with quinoa and roasted vegetables.

2. Increase Protein Intake

Protein is crucial for weight loss, especially for women with PCOS:

Helps you feel fuller for longer

Supports muscle mass, which boosts metabolism

Aids in balancing blood sugar levels

Aim for lean protein sources like fish, poultry, tofu, or legumes at each meal.

3. Incorporate Regular Exercise

Physical activity is essential for managing PCOS symptoms and promoting weight loss:

Aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate-intensity exercise per week

Include both cardio and strength training in your routine

Try activities like brisk walking, swimming, or cycling

Consider HIIT (High-Intensity Interval Training) for efficient fat burning

Remember, consistency is key. Find activities you enjoy to make exercise a sustainable habit.

4. Manage Stress Levels

Chronic stress can worsen PCOS symptoms and make weight loss more challenging:

Practice stress-reduction techniques like meditation or yoga

Prioritize self-care and relaxation time

Consider talking to a therapist or counselor for additional support

Reducing stress can help balance hormones and reduce stress-related eating.

5. Prioritize Sleep

Adequate sleep is crucial for weight management and hormone balance:

Aim for 7-9 hours of quality sleep each night

Establish a consistent sleep schedule

Create a relaxing bedtime routine

Avoid screens before bed

Good sleep hygiene can improve insulin sensitivity and reduce cravings.

6. Stay Hydrated

Proper hydration is often overlooked but is essential for weight loss:

Drink at least 8 glasses of water daily

Replace sugary drinks with water or herbal teas

Consume water-rich foods like cucumbers and watermelon

Staying hydrated can help reduce false hunger cues and support overall health.

7. Consider Supplements

Some supplements may aid in PCOS management and weight loss:

Inositol: May improve insulin sensitivity and ovulation

Omega-3 fatty acids: Can reduce inflammation and support hormone balance

Vitamin D: Often deficient in women with PCOS and important for overall health

Always consult with your healthcare provider before starting any new supplements.

8. Practice Mindful Eating

Mindful eating can help you develop a healthier relationship with food:

Eat slowly and without distractions

Pay attention to hunger and fullness cues

Choose nutrient-dense foods that nourish your body

Avoid restrictive diets that may lead to binge eating

Mindful eating can help prevent overeating and promote a balanced approach to nutrition.

Conclusion:

Losing weight with PCOS can be challenging, but it's not impossible. By focusing on a low GI diet, increasing protein intake, exercising regularly, managing stress, prioritizing sleep, staying hydrated, considering appropriate supplements, and practicing mindful eating, you can create a sustainable approach to weight loss.

Remember that everyone's journey is different, and it's essential to be patient and kind to yourself. Small, consistent changes often lead to the most sustainable results. If you're struggling with weight loss or PCOS management, don't hesitate to reach out to a healthcare provider or a registered dietitian who specializes in PCOS for personalized advice and support.

With dedication and the right strategies, you can achieve your weight loss goals and improve your overall health while managing PCOS. Stay positive, stay consistent, and celebrate every small victory along the way!

[badbishop999]

How Do Wildebeest Know When to Start Their Migration?

The Great Wildebeest Migration is a mesmerizing natural phenomenon that sees millions of wildebeest, accompanied by zebras and gazelles, traverse the plains of East Africa in search of greener pastures. One of the most intriguing aspects of this migration is how these animals seem to know exactly when and where to move, despite covering vast distances and facing numerous challenges along the way. So, how do wildebeest know when to start their migration? Let's delve into the fascinating world of animal instincts and environmental cues.

1. Seasonal Changes and Rainfall Patterns

Wildebeest migration is closely linked to seasonal changes and rainfall patterns in East Africa. During the dry season, which typically lasts from June to October, the grazing lands in the southern Serengeti and Ngorongoro Conservation Area become depleted. As the dry season progresses, food and water become scarcer, prompting the wildebeest to start moving northward in search of greener pastures and water sources that are replenished by seasonal rains.

2. Sensitivity to Photoperiod (Day Length)

Animals, including wildebeest, have internal biological clocks that are sensitive to changes in day length, also known as photoperiod. As the days grow shorter towards the end of the dry season, it triggers hormonal changes in wildebeest and prompts them to start their migration. This sensitivity to photoperiod serves as a reliable cue for the timing of the migration, ensuring that the animals move at the optimal time to find food and water resources.

3. Past Experience and Collective Memory

Wildebeest herds consist of animals of varying ages, from newborn calves to older individuals who have experienced multiple migrations. Older individuals within the herd pass down knowledge and migration routes to younger generations through collective memory. This accumulated wisdom ensures that the entire herd benefits from the experience of past migrations, enabling them to navigate familiar routes and anticipate challenges along the way.

4. Availability of Nutrient-Rich Grasses

The timing of wildebeest migration also corresponds with the availability of nutrient-rich grasses in different parts of their range. Following the rains, new grasses sprout in the northern Serengeti and Masai Mara regions, providing an abundant food source that sustains the migrating herds. Wildebeest are selective grazers and prefer young, tender grass shoots, making the timing of their migration critical to accessing these nutrient-rich resources.

5. Social Dynamics and Herd Behavior

Wildebeest are social animals that typically migrate in large herds, which can number in the hundreds of thousands. This collective behavior serves several purposes, including protection against predators and sharing of knowledge about migration routes and timing. Social cues within the herd, such as increased restlessness and movement among individuals, often indicate the imminent start of migration, signaling to the entire herd that it's time to move.

6. Adaptation to Environmental Changes

Through millennia of adaptation and natural selection, wildebeest have evolved to synchronize their migration with the changing environmental conditions of East Africa. This adaptability ensures their survival in a dynamic and often harsh landscape, where the availability of food and water fluctuates seasonally. By timing their migration to coincide with periods of abundant resources, wildebeest maximize their chances of survival and reproductive success.

Conclusion

The timing of the Great Wildebeest Migration is a testament to the remarkable instincts and adaptations of these iconic African herbivores. By responding to environmental cues, including seasonal changes, rainfall patterns, and social dynamics within the herd, wildebeest ensure that they migrate at precisely the right time to sustain themselves and their offspring. This annual spectacle not only showcases the beauty of nature but also underscores the intricate ways in which animals have evolved to thrive in their natural habitats.

[tea-and-secrets]

// long post, lotta highly suggestive stuff (nothing outright explicit), typing this with a tomato red face rn

im over here watching the occasional robotfucker post cross my dash. and ooough. in a kinda gender way too i guess. want to be both sides

im ace publicly speaking but im actually aego. (so like, i find these really spicy but the moment i myself or other real people enter the equation its no. bad. just dont want to deal with explaining this, n others possibly seeing me in a sexual light makes me uncomfortable af. i dont experience any attraction to people i meet, or machines for that matter. sorry my objectum brothers i aroaced too close to the sun ig. i will admit to having fun times(tm) to some, uh, stuff, but im always removed to some degree from it. sure as hell dont want a second person in here, which is a bit of a problem bc i also want stuff done to me, yknow? wonder if it has any to do w my (regular human) gender dysphoria but fixing that wouldnt change the situation much imo

cue in me getting hit by the extra horny hormones for some reason?? my meat body is betraying me what the fuck. im sex repulsed unless very specific situations (imagining it. aha) so i know this desire isnt like. mine. its horribly disgusting. for the love of god one thing is choosing to be horny in a controlled manner and the other is your own damn vessel influencing your thoughts in that direction. listen process manipulation is good as hell any other day but I DID NOT CONSENT TO YOU, PITUITARY GLAND??? or wherever it is we produce those stupid hormones (which are doing the exact opposite of gender affirming too, fun stuff) idfk anymore

catch me doing nasty stuff in my brain anytime but why does it all gotta happen in the squishy downstairs man. i dont like going there, but unfortunately, thats as close as it gets to having a cable jammed into your circuits sloppy style (which should be way up near the head really, but i aint got any sensitive as shit nerves there)

rant over, send help please /sarc

all us inexplicably horny anons should form a union at this point lmao

.

[websteradventures]

Autism & ADHD

I don’t even know where to begin, but I guess I’ll start with yesterday.

Yesterday, I had Leo’s feedback session after being evaluated last month for autism, ADHD, and dyslexia (unofficial evaluation- will explain more.). Leo is our youngest son and third to have a diagnosis. Leo has been diagnosed with ADHD and is on the cusp of dyslexia. It is recommended that he has outpatient therapy for his ADHD and an intensive therapy with a reading interventionist.

Leo has always been this fun, quick whit, energetic kid, but deep down I knew there was something more. I love this kid so much and yet every day it feels like I am in a battle with him. The constant playing referee between him and his brothers, constantly having to keep him busy, constantly feeling like a broken record because he does not listen at all. I AM EXHAUSTED.

Yet, these traits aren’t the only reason why I decided it was best to get him evaluated, it was actually his oldest brother, Adonis, that was the catalyst of having his younger brothers evaluated.

Adonis is our oldest, and the reason why I started this blog (Raising Baby Boy) 15 years ago when I was pregnant with him. Wow, typing that really made me gasp aloud. Yikes.

Anyhow, Adonis was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder in June of 2023. After years of fighting and advocating for him, I finally was able to get answers, but getting my answer wasn’t the relief I had I hoped for. Adonis struggles with his diagnosis, and we have been struggling with navigating his diagnosis as well as navigating teenage hormones. Adonis struggled a lot with getting along with his brothers— more so with Leo and that’s been the case since Leo was a toddler. Adonis is sensitive to noise, doesn’t like music with lyrics, sometimes has a hard time with non verbal cues and socializing. He loves to build with Legos, play Geometry Dash, and adores cats. Adonis is a smart kid who sees the world black and white so sometimes navigating the gray area of life pose as a challenge for him. He’s still figuring it all out, as he should as an almost 14 year old boy though. I love him and although this journey is difficult right now, I have faith he will grow to accept this special part of him, and come to some understanding of his challenges so he may grow to advocate for himself.

After going through the evaluation with Adonis though, some of the questions in the evaluation made me think of Luca and after talking with a few close friends about Luca’s history of developmental delays and other signs I requested he be evaluated. In February of this year, Luca was evaluated and diagnosed with Level 1 Autism Spectrum disorder. I actually kind of took Luca’s diagnosis a bit hard because during the evaluation process I was second guessing myself, and I guess subconsciously prepared myself to hear that he wasn’t on the spectrum, so when I was presented with the results it felt like a punch in the gut. Not because of the diagnosis, because I questioned my gut feeling. I felt guilty for missing some of the signs and what I could’ve done better to be more attentive to his needs.

Luca is going to be 12 this year. I really don’t have anyone around me who’s had their children diagnosed with Autism in the preteen/teen stage, and in the grand scheme of things it’s not that big of deal but this feels hard navigating three new diagnosis at once. I have been playing referee with three very different personalities for such a long time without context that I feel like I need to start from scratch. I have lost my patience over the years and as much as my husband tries, I feel like I’m navigating this alone for the most part.

I love my boys so much- their quirks and all. I wouldn’t change them in the slightest; they are each special in their own right. I just don’t want to fail them as their mother. I want to parent more with patience and understanding. Meet them where they’re at.

So here we go, my journey as a Mama who struggles with ADHD herself parenting three awesome kids with their unique set of challenges.

Xoxo,

Mama Webster