#if i feel like being thin feminizes me

[ignatius-pennyfeather-ix]

🗯

[slimnotsorry]

“Men prefer curves!!!11!11!!!”

Has only ever been said to me by fat women. Usually after insulting my body by insinuating that I look like a boy, a child, or any other comparison meant to invalidate my femininity. This very long post sums up my thoughts about this “men prefer curves” sentiment.

First of fucking all. These are the same cunts that screech about feminism and “women supporting women” that are the QUICKEST to police my appearance in the name of appeasing the Straight Male Gaze™. Which I’ve never given a shit about. Every man on the planet could find me repulsive and I’d be relieved, not upset. Seems like the same women always preaching online about how happy and beautiful they are care a lot about what hetero men think of them.

Secondly, this is not a “hUmBLe bRaG” because I, again, genuinely couldn’t care less if men find me attractive or not. I have a sixteen inch difference between my waist and hips. I gave up on pants a good 7 years ago. I have a true hourglass figure naturally, regardless of my weight. A wide-ass pelvis which gives me a thigh gap at any weight/size. People are constantly pointing out my ass and how disproportionate it looks to my body. Which I don’t appreciate. I don’t appreciate any random body related comments. Point is, my body type is what almost anyone with functional eyeballs would call curvy. I have a lower waist-to-hip ratio than Beyoncé for fucks sake.

But apparently my body doesn’t count as curvy to these brainless asshats because my body fat percentage isn’t high enough (???) As if someone’s huge gut spilling over their sweatpants, shrouding whatever bone structure they may have underneath is the only thing that counts as “curves” 💀

Third, I have been fighting off men with a proverbial stick my whole adulthood and most of my adolescence because of the way I look. I’m hit on and leered at every time I leave the house. Sometimes I cannot make it to the end of my driveway without strange men pulling over in their cars and rolling down the window to ask for (or demand) my number (I wish I was exaggerating, this happening more than once is what prompted me to put another camera on the side of the house). If I’m having a particularly irritating day, I wear giant over-the-head earphones and dark sunglasses to discourage suitors from interrupting my day. Sometimes this isn’t enough. Boys as young as 12 and men as old as 70 approach me regularly and make comments about my body and proposition me for dates/sex/whatever. Occasionally women approach me to ask for my number too. It might sound really strange but I have spent years dressing down and wishing that I looked more average or invisible. Wishing for a more peaceful life and to be left alone. I’m not the type of person that’s ever enjoyed receiving any attention, especially from people I don’t know. It makes me anxious and puts me on edge. I want nothing more than to blend into the background and to not stand out.

So obviously when an overweight woman brazenly utters the phrase “men prefer curves” to my face in an attempt to put me down and imply that I’m unattractive, it’s clearly coming from a place of insecurity. I find it pathetic that so many women operate under the assumption that every woman who’s not overweight must be taking drastic and dangerous measures to keep thin with the goal of being more attractive to men. Which by the way, I strongly hold the belief that MOST straight men simply prefer whoever has the largest ass and breasts, which typically is overweight women (or surgically enhanced women). So I don’t even fully disagree with the underlying message of those words in and of themselves. It’s the context in which they are said to me which is so backwards it’s laughable.

God, if only they knew how badly I want to be left the fuck alone by men and the general public. To be able to move through life undisturbed. To not be viewed as a piece of meat that lacks autonomy and humanity by both men and women. If I could suddenly overnight put on 100 pounds and be invisible to society, I’d be crying with joy and relief.  I DREAM of the day when I’m finally considered “old” looking enough to no longer be conventionally attractive. Fuck, what a heavenly, PEACEFUL existence that must be. It’s really not the soul-crushing bingo they think it is to imply that men won’t want to fuck me because I’m too thin. It’s just a toxic, vain, contemptuous lashing-out from people who are desperate for male validation.

[inkskinned]

we heard that you were very disappointed in us both as a generation and specifically as a generation of women (emphasis yours), how we had let ourselves go and now we were slutty and ill-tempered and holding onto notions of feminism like "having a savings account" and "equality."

we were very sorry about it, we didn't realize. it is very hard for you, in your life, because your entire definition was centered around the word providing, and that's a really vague and undulating word. it is hard to be a provider. for your purposes, the word provider here can be defined as "having a job", although it sometimes also extends to "doing yard work", "grilling on occasion," and "knowing basic car anatomy."

we had to do some reading but we divided it out. do not worry. high-value women will fill in the rest of the gaps of your life - all those silly feminine things like doing the dishes. we didn't realize we had asked too much when we asked you to pick up after yourself. we did not realize you were rendered small and scared and crying about the possibility of doing the laundry. here is a joke to lighten the sentiment: a man that listens when you talk to him.

we heard about how we had fallen from glory and it sickened us and made us very, very sad. lindsey had to cut all her hair off and tara threw up. we lit one million candles and we are going to have a vigil about it tonight. all of the people in this world that you do not approve of are going to be there and we will all be in mourning colors because we have lost your respect which is of course the only thing that any of us were looking for.

we searched around our bedrooms and our closets and for some of us it took a while but we all found the pricetag that we were originally born with, the one that gave our listing offer, the one that smells like rot and pine needles. we were horrified because many of us had taken deductions and hadn't realized it. i had scraped my knees and decided to be a lesbian so they had to take my voicebox out so i could never call home again. janice had been with too many people overall so we had to put her into the big squisher that will hopefully collapse her walls so that when you're with her, you'll feel so big and powerful. it will be like you're conquering something instead of being close with someone.

we are all going to the funeral of feminism and we will tear at our bodies and fall over ourselves. we will invite you onstage for a live recording of your podcast about the occasional minor inconvenience of self-reflection. you will talk about how we have targeted you and made you feel the sweat slick down your back, and we will teach you basic self-defense out of solidarity.

do not worry, we are seeing to all the outliers. taylor asked to be taken seriously so we have shipped her off to prison. laura asked you to accept her femininity regardless of her presentation. you will be happy to hear all women are now and forever going to have to be small and thin and pretty and white and ablebodied and quiet and unassuming and ladylike, which is different than how society has previously told us to act.

i am going to have to shave off my jawline, which is a little masculine, and they are going to have to reshape my hands, which are very square and thick - all the work i've done with them has made their veins stand out, so we're just going to have to exsanguinate me. i am horrified to have been out in public like this.

we are going to sit around the campfire and we will talk about being weird little girls that made potions in pink teacups. we will talk about the first time we made a difference. we will talk about the private lives of crickets, and then, at the stroke of three in the morning (the witching hour, obviously) - we will all promptly shut up.

and this will be your beautiful world. this silence that spans every corner of every street and every zoom meeting and every alley. i do not think you'll notice at first - it will be the same as every television show and movie and book. we will all just simply sit there in our doll dresses and smile blithely at your advances and none of us will do you the dishonor of answering and none of us will appear to be in distress and none of us will nag you or make a fuss or get hysterical about it. it will just be quiet, and you will say finally, some peace for once! and we will smell of smoke and our teeth will be white and the next day will come.

tonight we are going to bury the last little bits of our humanity. you are not invited. it is going to be ugly.

[mysicklove]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

DAY 7: FEMINIZATION

With: Yuuji Itadori

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: sub! yuuji, gn! reader, men in skirts/feminine clothing, yuuji being shy and embaressed the entire time, teasing reader, praise, reader refers to him as a "she" and "her" throughout the entire thing, handjob

A/N: In my head i see yuuji to be very shy when it comes to sex. ppl most likely dont see him this way, so it may be ooc of him. idk u tell me.

“Is this really necessary?” 

You grin, freaking out on the inside, but trying to hold your composure. Dark eyes flicker to yours, and he pouts, tugging at the fabric with nerves.

You managed to convince Itadori into wearing the cutest pink short skirt, so short that his tip peeks out from below the fabric, and he's uselessly pulling it down to try to cover it. He wears a white v-neck tank top, that slightly exposes his chest due to the lack of cleavage he possesses. And finally, you convinced him to wear white frilly thigh highs. 

His face matches the skirt, and he's gulping under your gaze. “Its embarrassing,” he complains lowly, padding his way over to you. He stands in front of you while you sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. Your hands drag over the soft fabric, admiring the texture, and rubbing it between your thumb and pointer finger.

“Soft,” You mumble, leaning forward and resting your head on his hip. He jumps slightly when he feels you just graze his groin. The boy reaches his hand down and rests it on your head, petting it with a blush on his face.

“My pretty girl.”

He uses the other hand to cover his eyes, a wobbly smile on his face. “I’m not a girl,” Yuuji replies, looking away from you as his body begins to heat up.

You grin at him, and move backward on the bed, pulling him forward toward you. You rest your back against the headboard and pat your lap, signalling for him to sit on it. He pauses, and then shakes his head.  “Cmon, sit Yuuji.”

“I'm too heavy,” He replies, playing with his hands a little nervously.

You grab them and pull them forward, sending him stumbling forward and into your lap. He quickly maneuvers himself to straddle you, not letting his entire weight on you. He didn't mind having to hold himself just slightly up, he rather that then to be nervous of him accidentally hurting you. “Aw, you are showing,” You say, smiling at his lap.

The skirt must have flipped upward with his movements, because now his cock is on full display. It's hard, and throbbing against the pink fabric. He pulls the skirt down immediately, hands moving to cover it as quickly as possible. 

You pout at him, hands moving on top of his. “Wanna see your pretty cock. Bet it will look so cute with your outfit,” You murmur, pressing your lips to his chest, covered by the thin tank top.

His ears burn, and his eyes flicker to yours. “You're being so weird,” He half-heartedly complains, gulping when he feels your mouth bite one of his nipples. 

“Can't help but be a perv to my cute little girlfriend.”

He lets out a small whine, arm raising to cover his face. It's so rare for him to be flustered, usually pretty confident in his position in bed, but the second he tries something new he seems to crumble under your gaze. It was cute, watching your usual puppy like boyfriend turn shy. “B-Boyfriend…And I'm not cute, nor little,” He uselessly reasons to you, fidgeting with anything his hands can find.

You pull back his skirt before he could process your movements. Yuuji lets out a small yelp, and tries to cover himself, but you move his hands away. “Hmmm, don't know, your girl cock seems to get excited whenever I mention the word girlfriend,” You tease, rubbing a finger up his shaft, as his face heats up.

“G-Girl cock? Stop it,” he whines, gripping onto your waist with a pout. It gives you a view of his chest, and you hum, dragging your finger over his right nipple. He doesn't say anything, letting you do what you want, even if he jumps lightly from when you gently pinch him.

Eventually when you grow bored, and his cocks begins to leak, you move your hand to his mouth. He makes eyecontact with you, asking for confirmation, so you nod, and he moves himself toward the cupped palm and spits in it. 

You coo at him, and he shakes his head, pulling away from the hand, and watching as you move it down to his dick. Your now wet hand begins to stroke him off, him twitching in your hold, trying not to get too excited and blow his load too fast. 

“Look Yuuji, you are so wet.”

He sighs, and without realizing the meaning behind it, nods at your words. You in return kiss his cheek, using your other hand to rub your hands up and down his chest. “Such pretty tits. So big.”

“B-Been working on my chest for a bit,” He whispers and you can't help but laugh. He wasn't lying though, over the years you've known him, his frame has gotten bigger, and with it, his pectoral muscles. 

He groans, eyes falling shut, and unconsciously leaning deeper into you. More of his weight falls on your lap, but you don't mind, focusing solely on your hands traveling his body. “Is it okay if I cum?”

You chuckle at him, teasingly pinching one of his nipples. “So soon?”

He whines at the words, feeling the familiar blush creep upon him. No matter how many times you've done it, he always gets uncharacteristically shy, and way too excited. It was like you were fucking a virgin, but you always found it cute, how the second the two of you fall into bed he can barely look at you. “Sorry.”

Your hand picks up the pace, and he slumps against you, eyes hazy as he approaches his high. “It's alright. You feeling good, pretty?”

He begins to pant into your neck, his breath warm, and his pink hair brushing against your shoulder. “Mhmmm. W-Wanna cum, please.”

You nibble on his ear, and whisper, “Tell me about how pretty you are.”

His first reaction is to shake his head and deny you, embarrassed by this entire thing, but he knows that he will cum better with your approval. So he gulps, and nods, before mumbling a weak, “I think I am pretty.”

You run a hand through his pink hair. “What is pretty about you?”

He whines your name, eyes traveling up to meet yours. Itadori continues to frown, even with his breathy moans from the stroke of your hand. You focus on the tip, rubbing your thumb around his slit, and he gasps, eyes slightly rolling back. “My–My….Body?”

You pull down his tank top, kissing his chest, and then his neck. “Super pretty. Looks so good in the cute clothing, right?” He nods, mostly out of habit, but you don't say anything, just humming for him to continue.

It's getting harder for him to think, but he needs to go quickly, because he is getting closer to cumming with each passing second. His hips begin to rock into your hand. “Um…My face?”

"One of the reasons that you are so loveable," You compliment, planting a kiss to his lips, and when you pull away, he tries to follow, looking away with a red face when you snicker at him. “One more, then you can cum.”

He tries to think about something, but the sound of your hand squelching up and down his cock is getting him distracted. He begins to stare at himself getting stroked, panting from directly above it. He grips onto the fabric of the pink skirt, and then looks back at you. “My dick?”

“She is so pretty. And look at all the attention she is getting.” Referring to his cock as a “she” makes him twitch, and he wants to hide his face again. Some part of him feels humiliated by it, and with the humiliation, came arousal. 

“Y-Yeah. Um, can I now? I’m really really close,” Yuuji pleads, making eye contact with you, and leans in so close that his lips just graze your own. 

You nod at him, smiling. “Go ahead lovely.”

He nods, pressing his lips to yours for about ten more seconds until his breaths become heavier, and his orgasm hits him. He trembles, pulling away from your mouth to bury his fingers into his skirt. Small moans are released, and you stroke him through it all, watching as the white liquid stains the pink fabric. “Good girl. Doing so well,” You coo through it all, and he tries to nod, but fails.

A couple seconds go by, and he's come down from his high, trying to catch his breath. You wipe away his cum with a rag, smiling when his body jerks slightly from overstimulation. “That was…Nice.”

“Yeah? You seemed to be pretty embaressed.”

He laughs lightly. “No, I definitely was. Being called a girl feels…weird. No offense to girls!  I like girls a lot! Just I am a boy, so it's just–weird!” He stammers out, returning back to his usual chatty and upbeat behavior. 

You laugh at him and he grins at you. “But I didnt mind it…It was fun.”

“Next time we should put you in makeup and panties,” You say, raising your eyebrows suggestively.

His eyes widen and his ears burn with embarrassment. “Panties? H-How? I am a guy, I can't wear girls underwear!” He exclaims, grabbing onto your shoulder lightly to get his point across.

You chuckle at him. “I know plenty of guys who wear girls underwear,” You lie, knowing that it will trigger some sort of reaction.

And you were right, he immediately finds himself feeling jealous. “What? You have seen guys in panties? Why havent you told me about this. You can't just say that! Who have you seen?”

You play into the joke, pushing him off of you with a grin, and turning over, looking at the opposite wall. “Can't tell you. It's a secret.”

He shakes your body to try to get you to look at him, “Secret? Hey! Don't go to sleep, this is important!” 

And by the end of it all, you convinced him to wear panties under his skirt next time.

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[androgynealienfemme]

"Yes, it's true: I was the type of young femme who managed the girls basketball team in high school, just to be able to take in the sight of all those butches parading their muscles up and down the court. I found Girl Scout camp to be femme heaven and reveled in being able to explore my athletic self and still maintain my femmeness. And, to my horror, I have to admit pushing Tina away from my breasts in the back seat of a Buick while attending Mount Saint Mary Seminary. And then there was feminism... Although I came out as a "gay" woman before reading The Feminine Mystique, the seventies brand of white feminism had me trimming my nails and cutting off my hair. Soon I was outfitted in farmer jeans and high tops. And still I was told by my "sisters" that I didn't "look like a dyke" (read: I didn't look butch). I began to lead two lives- one as an outrageous, skirted, lipsticked femme while I worked in and traveled with carnivals, and another as an imitation butch back home in the women's community. Eventually, I pulled the pieces of my being back together and proclaimed boldly, "I am a working-class lesbian femme." So I had maybe six years reveling in unleashing my seductive femme self when, as lives go, mine changed: slowly at first and then more dramatically. Recurring back pain and limited range of mobility were finally diagnosed. Soon after came decreased mobility. No more mountain climbing. No long mall walks in search of the perfect piece of sleaze. No more standing against kitchen walls being gloriously fucked by some handsome butch. I stopped using alcohol and drugs, became ill with what is now known as CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome), and began to use a three-wheeled power chair. The more disabled I became, the more I mourned the ways my sexual femme self had manifested through the nondisabled me: cruising at the local lezzie bar, picking up a dyke whose eyes refuse to stray from mine, dancing seductively, moving all of me for all of her. Cooking: love and suggestion neatly tucked into the folds of a broccoli quiche. Serving my date in varying, sleazy clothing, removing layers as the meal and our passion progressed. And making love... feeling only pleasure as my hips rose and fell under the weight of her. Accomplishment and pride smirked across my face as her wrists finally submitted to the pressure of strong persistent hands. There are the ways I knew to be femme, to be the essence of me.

It's been five years now since I began using my wheelchair. I am just awakening to a new reclamation of femme. Yes. I still grieve the way I was, am still often unsure how this femme with disabilities will act out her seduction scenes. I still marvel when women find passion amidst the chrome and rubber that is now a part of me.

There have been numerous dates, lovers, relationships, sexual partners, and fliterations along the way. Cindy, Jenny, Ellie, Emma, Diane, Dorothy, Gail, June, Clove, Lenny, Cherry, Diana, Sarah I, and Sarah II. You have all reminded me in your own subtle or overt, quit or wild ways that I am desirable, passionate, exciting, wanted.

Yes I am an incredibly sexual being. An outrageous, loud mouthed femme who's learning to dress, dance, cook, and seduce on wheels; finding new ways to be gloriously fucked by handsome butches and aggressive femmes. I hang out with more sexual outlaws now- you know, the motorcycle lesbians who see wheels and chrome between your legs as something exciting, the leather women whose vision of passion and sexuality doesn't exclude fat, disabled me.

Ableism tells us that lesbians with disability are asexual. (When was the last time you dated a dyke who uses a wheelchair?) Fat oppression insists that thin is in and round is repulsive. At times, these voices become very loud, and my femme, she hid quietly amidts the lists.

Now my femme is rising again. The time of doubt, fear, and retreat has passed. I have found my way out of the lies and oppression and have moved into a space of loving and honoring the new femme who has emerged. This lesbian femme with disabilities is wise, wild, wet, and wanting. Watch out.

-"Reclaiming femme... Yet again" Mary Francis Platt, The Persistent Desire (Edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)

[genderkoolaid]

the reason a lot of transmascs experience some level of regret/depression after medical transitioning is, imo, the exact reverse of the reason TERFs think we transition in the first place.

TERF beliefs are generally that transmascs dysphoria is actually a natural uncomfortableness with how misogynistic society defines women, and that our transition is an attempt to conform to the idea that being nonfeminine means you aren't a "real" woman, instead of realizing that we only hate ourselves because society tells us women like us shouldn't exist, and actually radical feminism is the real liberation.

but for example: when i first starting on T, every change was 100% pure joy. i was so ecstatic, everything was amazing and wonderful. i truly loved everything.

but then the longer I was on it, the more transandrophobia I encountered because I was on T. I started feeling more and more ashamed of having hair on my arms, my thin facial hair, my "tranny voice". Things that made me really excited before starting making me a little bit uncomfortable because of how society treated it. It was literally like Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria but exactly the opposite.

Now this wasn't and isn't as strong as the gender euphoria T has brought me, and it hasn't caused me a lot of real "oh no do I regret this" distress because I have been able to immediately recognize that I am only uncomfortable because of how people started treating me differently. But especially for transmascs without support systems, without understanding our own internalized transphobia, can very easily feel a lot of trauma associated with transitioning because of the way that society treats trans men. when every change of your body is met with mockery and scorn and disgust, its natural to get affected.

and this is why its so fucked up when other trans people share stuff about how "soo many trans men are gonna regret T because they're all stupid little girls who think T is gonna make them sexy yaoi boys, since they all have no idea what it's like to really be men and just fetishize gayness!" because you are literally the reason. People mock and shame trans men, they make spaces hostile for anyone with a testosterone-dominant body, they act hostile to trans men and our experiences constantly. and then when trans men internalize that disgust and blame ourselves for how other people treat us because of our transition, those same people turn around and use that as a way to further mock us.

[applesooyoung]

sub!ricky in lacey thigh highs *drools* it would be such a pretty sight

DOLLED UP — S.QR

Genre: Smut !! | Wc: 1.472k | AFAB!Reader

Contains: sub sugar daddy!Ricky x dom sugar baby!Reader, Ricky wears vibrators out in public oohlala, Brat Ricky, petnames (reader calls Ricky "Angel", "Kitten and "Kitty"), mommy kink, lowkey petplay cuz Ricky dresses up as a pretty kitty, dress up, slightly Ricky feminization if you squint (just a teensy bit), fingering, finger sucking, gagballs cuz we spicy LMK IF I MISSED ANYTHING! ^^

A/N: I fucking love you for sending this ask jas, Istg ilysm that I turned your random Ricky hard thought into a full blown fic cuz I gotta make up for my absence and as a good friend, it is my job to relieve your Ricky brainrot, girlie 🤭 Hope u enjoyed this one~!

[Now playing: Kiss — NCT DOJAEJUNG]

꒷︶🖇 ̇ ̟ ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿💭 ‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ︶꒷

Shopping has always been a thing and a little bonding time for you and Ricky, and he absolutely loved spoiling you. Oftentimes enough, people assume that just because he's your sugar daddy, he definitely takes on more of a leading role in a relationship—a provider, perhaps.

But who would've thought that this aloof and intimidating aura was just a facade?

Just like your typical Friday shopping spree with Ricky (as if it's not a shopping spree every day with Ricky's money, but please, I beg to differ) when a bunch of girls stared at him as he's stunning, from his Khaki Ralph Lauren pants to his gold Rolex watch—he's a gold digger's wet dream.

As he pays for all of your stuff, you can see the cashier hitting on him, and being the little bratty shit he is, of course he entertained the woman and flirted back. The cashier compliments him on his physique and asks if he'd like to go out with her sometime. Ricky smirks, flirting right back with a wink and a suggestive tone in his voice.

This made your eye twitch, as he always loves to get on your nerves, especially when you're seeing it in real time. So in return, you put his vibrator on its max setting. He flinched a bit, but probably not enough to concern the cashier that he was flirting with, he felt a sudden surge of pleasure as the vibrator is turned on and placed at maximum speed. He gasps, then laughs nervously as he tries to regain his composure. "What was that, mommy?" 

To mask your jealousy and annoyance, you smiled at the cashier, walking away with your hands on his beautiful waist to show that Ricky only belongs to you and ONLY YOU. Oh, that confusion and disdain on the cashier's face made your ego grow tenfold.

"You sure do like pissing the shit out of me, don't you, Ricky?" you said with an innocent tone as you tossed all your purchases into the backseat of the car before taking the driver's seat. He raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What are you talking about, mommy?" He chuckles, knowing fully well that he loves getting a reaction out of you. He reaches over to place a hand on your thigh, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your skin. 

"You're on thin ice, Ricky, thin ice," you said before parking your car in the garage. You got outside of the car, letting Ricky carry all of your stuff, and of course, that's not it! No, no, no, no, no! As your bratty boy carries all of the stacks of shoes and dresses you bought, you play with the vibrator's speed. He tried to keep it in, but he failed. He could feel his cock throb with the sudden highs and lows of the vibrator stuck to his pathetic cock. All he can do is keep his whimpers on and carry all of your stuff.

As the night deepens, you continue to give him the silent treatment. Despite his attempts to make you talk to him with those gentle neck kisses and honey-coated words, you remain silent in your space. But he had an idea; he's so sure that once you lay your eyes on him, you won't be able to keep your hands off him. He wanted your attention, and what Ricky wants, Ricky gets.

You notice Ricky enter his closet; his unusual behavior catches your eye as he gets your attention away from your laptop, but you just brush it off as you're aware that he's trying to get your attention. "Mommy~" he sang in almost a whisper, "I know you're upset with me, mommy, and I came here to apologize." 

That sounded new, Ricky Shen. Apologizing for being a brat? No fucking way.

As you shifted your eyes from your laptop, your eyes glimmered. "As you're buying your red bottoms earlier, I was buying these thigh highs, and I thought you would like them on me. What do you think, Mommy?" He was all dolled up. His luscious strawberry lip gloss complemented his favorite strawberry lotion. He wore a simple white t-shirt, but he made it more slutty by wearing his cat ears decorated with cat bells. And of course, the highlight of his show was his new lacey thigh highs.

He was so pretty, you just wanted to devour him right then and there. "Come here." You wriggled your fingers as you signed him to come close to you, and he obediently complied. "You look so pretty, angel. Is this your little show for mommy?" He beams with pride at your compliment and nods. He was pleased that he'd managed to capture your gaze. Ricky steps closer, letting the material of his new clothes brush against your arm. 

"You get me every time, kitty," you whisper to him before placing kisses all over his body, irking him to let out a soft and breathy moan. A shiver runs down his spine. He's caught off guard by the sudden show of affection and feels a warmth spread through him. "Thank you, Mommy." 

You could see his visible erection in his lace pants that matched his lovely thigh highs. "All that ignoring made you this hard, huh?" you softly mumbled before latching on his lips while stroking his now-exposed sex. His cheeks flush red at the sight of your gaze on his lace panties, and he can't help but feel a little embarrassed, yet all of the pleasure overrides any embarrassment as you stroke him through the silky fabric. "Hey, careful now..."

"Shh, I'll make sure you get what pretty little brats like you deserve." You traced your fingers on his jaw to his elegant collarbones. You got his gagball from the box inside your dresser and put it on him. Ricky's eyes widen in surprise as he feels the gag ball press against his lips, cutting off his words. He looks at you with a mix of desire and submission, intrigued by what's happening. "Mmmph," he mumbles around the gag, his eyes locked on yours; he was a sight to see.

 

"You asked for my attention, didn't you?" You let out a quiet, sadistic chuckle before bending him over your lap and starting to finger him. He gasped softly as he felt your fingers go in and out of him; his cheeks burned with embarrassment, but his cock twitched with each stroke of your fingers. You fastened the pace even more. His cock is rock hard and leaking all over with his precum.

You removed his gag to reveal all of his drool; he was so fucking into it. You tentatively took it off and made him suck your fingers while you stuck the vibrator on his filthy length and uttered, "Suck." Together with his hazy eyes, his mouth eagerly obeyed your commands and sucked your fingers. His body rocks with each thrust, his cries growing louder and more desperate. He's completely under your control, his mind and body consumed by pleasure. "Oh, f-fuck, mommy, more!" His cock is throbbing, the vibrations making him squirm with need.

 

Still thrusting your fingers, you leave kisses all over his back and his neck. This gave him shivers, adding more to his sensory overload; his body tenses, on the brink of release. They were so intense, and the feeling of your fingers inside him is almost too much. Everything about your room right now is so slutty; the moans of the pretty boy across your lap, infused with the tinkling noise of his cat bells, are enough to make you go crazy.

You remove your fingers from his mouth before putting the gag back into his mouth. You finger him faster, and unsurprisingly, this action made him cum in seconds, his orgasm tears through him. His beautiful brown eyes rolled back in his head as he released himself onto the bed and vibrator, you removed his gag. "God, mommy, you ruined me." He managed to make you chuckle even in his messed-up state. 

 

You leave a kiss on his cheek as he collapses on your shared bed. Catching his breath as he desperately gasps for air, "You did so well, Kitty," you cooed as he leaned and indulged in your touch. "Really?" He then looks up at you with a mix of awe and disbelief in his eyes, his usual smug demeanor replaced with a raw vulnerability.

"Get up," you said in a commanding manner as Ricky looked at you with his tired and hazy eyes. The shift in your demeanor was so sudden that all he could do was obey. "Yes, Mommy," he manages to croak out in a weak voice, still reeling from the intense pleasure you just gave him. You put him in place, aligning him with your strap. "We're just getting started, kitten."

© applesooyoung

[tornapartbythorns]

Choice feminism really is encouraging the deterioration of women's rationality and critical thinking. My younger sister is 15 and she's really into stick-on acrylic nails at the moment.

We were sitting in the living room the other day, and she was ranting to me about how damaged her actual nails are. Apparently, sometimes her fake nails fall off prematurely and it rips the top layer of her actual nails off. So her actual nails are super thin and they hurt because of it. So I asked her "why don't you just stop wearing fake nails?"

She just stared at me and proceeded to say "I like them." Like.... your ACTUAL nails are being damaged routinely and you're in pain, but you're not even going to let them heal because your fake nails are the priority. So I had to tell her again "Your nails are being damaged. Leave them alone and just stop wearing the fake nails." She told me no and flipped me off (jokingly).

Just because you like something doesn't mean it's good for you. Acrylic nails serve absolutely no purpose; they're a waste of money and they're inconvenient. Yeah they might look pretty, but *why* are you so hell-bent on wearing them, especially when they're hurting you? Are you doing it because you actually want to? Do you *actually* like doing it? Or are you doing it to compensate for something? To feel included or trendy? To impress others?

Choice feminism truly is a baby blanket for women's insecurities and for business exploit them. It's completely erased any true feminist analysis or belief about the female body (that our natural bodies are fine and shall never need to be modified). I'm hoping my sister will snap our of it and realize that her fake nails are unnecessary. But with the vice grip that "choice" has over young girls now, I severely doubt it.

[exeggcute]

well it's been almost six months which I think is long enough to break my posting embargo, so, uh: guess what! I got liposuction lol. specifically hip/thigh lipo to quell some pretty wicked dysphoria that stemmed from having such a feminine silhouette… and I have to say I'm really, really pleased with the results.

tbh my initial plan was to keep things under wraps for good which is why I haven't said anything about it yet (and even as I'm typing this up I keep debating whether to post it or trash it)—partly because I was/am worried people might Act Weird about it and partly because I get a little embarrassed talking about bodygendershit in general. but here we are. one reason I do feel compelled to finally share, other than being super happy about how everything went, is that I haven't encountered a lot of discussions about body sculpting as a possible avenue of gender-affirming care (although, to be fair, maybe I just haven't been looking in the right places) and I figured at least one person out there would be interested to learn about what I did and where I've ended up so far.

anyway. pics/details under the cut—nothing even remotely risqué (or yucky), I just know that body image stuff is fraught + not everyone is eager to hear surgery talk.

to be precise: I got tumescent liposuction of the inner and outer thigh, plus this ultrasound thing to help the skin shrink. a different surgeon who I consulted (but ultimately did not go with for a number of reasons) said that even if I got the results I wanted from lipo, which he claimed was unlikely, the affected skin would look loose/baggy/weird forever... and that surgeon was wrong on both counts lol. my elasticity was great bitch!!!!

they didn't take out that much fat overall, only eight pounds or so, but it's way more about the Where than the How Much. my actual surgeon (who kicks ass btw) said lipo isn't that great for weight loss per se, and what it's really good for is sculpting targeted areas—so basically exactly what I did. six months post-op I actually weigh about the same as what I did pre-op, but the distribution has held steady; more weight goes to my stomach now and less, proportionally, goes to my hips since there are fewer fat cells in that area now. so my silhouette retains its new shape!

the overall change is admittedly on the subtle side, since I'm pretty short and have wide hip bones (and you can't change your literal skeleton) but it's still gone a looooooong way. the main thing I requested from my surgeon was "I want to fit in men's pants" and boy did he deliver.

also a good place to note that if you're in the las vegas area looking for a plastic and/or cosmetic surgeon—this guy is board-certified in both btw—then I absolutely have the guy for you. feel free to DM me for details. lipo is clearly his specialty (and it shows!) but he also does a lot of breast revisions/mastopexy (i.e., fixing implants that other surgeons did a bad job putting in), regular implants, and face work (particularly facial feminization surgery). one thing that sold me on this guy was an enthusiastic yelp review from a local stripper who said he hid the incisions for her breast lift in her armpits so none of her clients would notice that she'd had work done... a true master of his craft

okay you've scrolled enough so I'll give you what you're here for lol. I don't have many pre-op pics because I was obviously unhappy with how I looked and was not taking full-body selfies on a regular basis, but here's a few I took ~2 weeks beforehand:

these super thin men's joggers were my go-to dysphoria pants, to the point where I bought five pairs in different colors, but now they're so baggy on me that they have the opposite effect and make it look like I have wider hips than I do. so I retired them from my wardrobe...

...except not immediately because I had to wear compression garments 24/7 for the first three months post-op and these joggers were just loose enough to comfortably wear a medical girdle underneath them at all times, 110° degree temperatures be damned. (not that I was going out much for the first month since I was soooooooooooo fucking bruised and sore lol.) here's a few post-op pics in the same style pants:

(first pic is less than 24 hours post-op, about to go to my follow-up appointment, looking greasy as fuck because I wasn't allowed to shower yet; second pic two days post-op and also post-shower, thankfully; third pic is about a month post-op.)

so, like, CLEAR improvement already. I will not be posting pictures of my black-and-blue-and-swollen-all-over legs but considering how puffy I was from getting internally pummeled with a cannula it's wild that I still saw improvement literally as soon as I came home.

recovery was obviously not a blast in the moment but I got off easy, all things considered. I was supposed to get drains put in and was Not looking forward to that at all lol. the first thing I asked when I woke up after surgery was "how many drains?" because they weren't sure if I'd end up needing two or four, but it turned out the answer was zero. no drains!!!

I did have to lie with my feet elevated for the first two weeks straight, and had major bruising that receded over the first month (you could barely see my regular skin underneath all the mottled spots), but little to no nerve pain, no weird complications, and I was more or less back to normal after six weeks. also noelle took very very good care of me and was brave about injecting me with blood thinners so I wouldn't get clots and die :)

when I went into it I was fully expecting to get huge vertical scars up and down the sides of my legs (and had made peace with it!) but instead I wound up with four tiny incisions like this, each less than two inches long:

what's totally crazy is that the scars are basically Gone now. like even when I'm trying to find them I struggle to locate the ones in the front. I joked to noelle that if someone did an autopsy on me they might not figure out that I'd had cosmetic surgery, especially since the skin on my thighs is back to its normal color and texture. (in this scenario I like to imagine that it's dana scully giving me the autopsy and I'm in an x-files plot where instead of regular lipo I got alien lipo and mulder figures it out purely by accident.)

with lipo it can take up to a year to see the full results but I already feel so much fucking better in my body that seeing old pre-op pics throws me for a loop. and I can absolutely wear men's pants now—pants for short and stocky men, to be fair, but actual regular men's pants and not exclusively Pants For Men With Huge Butts And Legs. which is the only style I could even hope to fit in before. and even then it was a stretch.

big pic dump of shitty mirror selfies taken over the last few months:

:)

(also I really debated sharing this one but I already included it in the yelp review I left my surgeon so fuck it: here's a tasteful before-and-after in my undies where you can see my bare legs for easier comparison. left pic is one week pre-op, right pic is about five months post-op. including it as a link instead of embedding it in the post in case your boss happens to be reading over your shoulder at this very moment. also this is the one and only time you will ever see me stripped down on tumblr dot com so don't get used to it lol.)

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon Prompt 2

Pairing: ShigaDabi

Rating: Explicit

Prompt: Hypno with dead dove elements, humiliation, forced feminization, and yandere!Shigaraki.

Contents: Rape/Non-con, hypnosis, humiliation, forced feminization, cock cages, anal fingering, anal sex, yandere!Shigaraki, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Dabi doesn’t know why he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his nerves high, and a shaky tension ringing throughout his entire body. He doesn’t know why he’s staring at the door into his room, expecting something to happen. It’s the kind of paranoid anticipation that usually would have him just throwing the lock shut and reminding himself that if someone wants to get to him here, they would have to go through an army first. But he is waiting and he can’t make himself go lock the door. 

It opens without any fanfare, and Shigaraki steps inside. He didn’t knock, he doesn’t have any reason to be in his room, and Dabi doesn’t understand why his entire body goes hot and squirming with embarrassment. 

“Duster, what the hell? Knock–” 

“You were very bad today, baby girl.” Shigaraki says, starting to cross the room with slow, even steps, his hand moving up to his tie to start to pull it loose. 

Dabi’s entire face goes hot. “What the fuck? Get out of my room, and don’t fucking call me that! I’m not a girl!” 

“Don’t talk back to me, princess.” 

Dabi’s entire mind goes fuzzy, a high whine of panic going through him as he suddenly feels like he’s been locked out of his own body. He doesn’t know what is happening to him, but there is an echo going through his mind that he can’t place, that he doesn’t understand as it rings around in his skull. 

Good girls don’t talk back. 

He shuts his mouth and Shigaraki has reached the bed. Tossing his tie and suit jacket to the foot. “Did you like having their eyes on you all day?” 

“No, Sir.” His mouth moves without him telling it to, and Dabi feels the heat across his face go even warmer. Shig reaches for his chin, four fingers against his skin, and Dabi moves with him, looking up at him. He hopes he can see the confusion on his face, his indignation, because otherwise he knows the only thing that the other will find is fear and his shame at being… puppeteered. 

It’s only when he meets Duster’s eyes that he sees the iris is ringed with glowing pink. A new quirk. It must be. He’s making Dabi do these things, and the second that he loses focus of it, Dabi is going to burn him alive. 

Good girls only want attention from Sir. 

“I don’t want anyone else to look. I just want you, Sir.” Dabi tells him, each word feeling dragged out of him. 

“Is that right, baby girl? Then show me that you were being good all day.” Shigaraki takes up the space on the bed when Dabi’s body moves, far too easily given how hard he is trying to fight it and reach for his quirk instead, standing so that he can hook his fingers under the waistband of his pajama bottoms. 

He pulls them down and his face would blanch if he weren’t blushing so badly. He has been wearing his normal boxer briefs all day. That’s what he remembers putting on after his shower, that’s what he remembers seeing whenever he used the bathroom. But that is not what he’s wearing right now. No. Right now he’s wearing a cute lacy set of pale pink panties that do nothing to hide the fact that his cock is locked away in a small pink silicone cage beneath them. 

Good girls are always pretty for Sir.

“Very good, princess.” Tomura praises, crooking a finger so that he has to move closer. Hearing that word again makes Dabi’s body start to heat. He doesn’t want it to, he isn’t a girl, he doesn’t want Shigaraki to touch him, but there isn’t any way to deny the arousal that is starting to thread through his body. “You look so pretty like this.” His hand moves over Dabi’s hip, thumb skimming beneath the thin fabric. “Always look even prettier on your back. Lay down and spread your legs.” 

No. Dabi’s body doesn’t listen to his desires though. He gets onto the bed, spreading his legs wide so that Shigaraki can move between them. 

Good girls always do what Sir wants.

Tomura’s hands catch the edge of the panties and he pulls them down, leaving him completely exposed. “Such a pretty thing, aren’t you, baby girl? It’s no wonder that all of the recruits want to steal you for themselves. But they can’t have you, can they? You’re my princess, aren’t you?” 

He’s not even touching his caged cock. His hands are on his thighs, closer to his knees than anywhere sensitive, and he doesn’t want this, but his body doesn’t care. Dabi moans softly as he hears that word again, his cock trying to fill with blood that is choked away and making him heat elsewhere as his arousal builds. 

Good girls belong to Sir.

“Yours, Sir.” He tells Shigaraki immediately, his voice sounding shaky. 

“Yes you are,” The other purrs, his hand moving up to between his legs. “My needy little girl.” Dabi’s body can’t tense, but he wants to when his fingers reach back towards his hole. He expects pain, he doesn’t expect Shigaraki’s fingers to rub against him and for him to be wet. “With his pretty drippy cunt and cute soft clit.” 

Good girls make their bodies perfect for Sir.

Dabi doesn’t know if he’s ever felt the cocktail of humiliation and helpless fury in his veins as he does now as Shigaraki forces another wave of pleasure to push through him as he rubs his fingers around his hole, teasing his nerves and waking them up. He sinks two fingers inside so easily, squelching through lube that Dabi doesn’t remember using, moving too easily inside of him for him to not have already stretched himself in anticipation of having more. He doesn’t want to moan again, doesn’t want to rock back, really, really doesn’t want to say, 

“Ah, Sir, please, missed having your cock in my pussy all day.” 

Good girls always want Sir’s cock.

“Yeah, princess?” Tomura is smiling at him, that pink glow getting brighter around the edges of his irises. “That’s good, because I missed having you just like this. It makes me so sad that you can’t be this way all the time. But I know that you want to be independent. You can keep working as long as you’re always such a good girl when I come to see you at night.” 

“Thank you, Sir,” he can barely get the words out, his face burning as he trembles on the bed. Shigaraki has three fingers inside of him, and he already feels so worked up. He can’t remember ever being so aroused without being able to get hard, and his cock–Good girls have soft clits– is aching so badly in the cage. 

Good girls forget when Sir leaves.

Shigaraki strips out of the rest of his clothes while Dabi’s body pants and whimpers on the bed, keeping his legs spread wide for him, and by the time his cock is sinking inside of his body, Dabi has tears trickling over his temples as he moans.

Good girls will forget until they learn to love Sir as much as he loves them. 

Dabi will be a good girl for Sir soon. 

Thanks for participating! If you'd like to join in, check out this post here!

[possiblyunhinged]

Right... here is an undercooked opinion on feminism nobody fucking asked for...

No one can convince me colour analysis 'experts' online aren't the biggest dweebs in the world. Wear what you fucking like. Develop a personal style separate from glorified pyramid scheme workers known as influencers. We are just being sold shit all the fucking time, and our lives are being reduced now to being consumers twenty-four hours a day.

You don't need a skort from fucking TikTok shop or grease paint shovelled into a cute little package mislabeled as a foundation. You don't need a coffee cup from Temu with a matching straw because some woman online who is now 95% human hair extensions and glue has one. Just because Hailey Bieber puts a lip balm in a phone case doesn't mean you need to have one as well.

Misogyny is tightening its chokehold. Meanwhile, some women appear more concerned with working out if they're a deep autumn or which of Taylor Swift's exes to send hate comments to. Now, I wouldn't care if they didn't hide behind a thin veneer of feminism to avoid criticism, but they do. So fuck 'em.

You can't get through a day without seeing a news story of a woman murdered by a man...

BUT IS RED MY COLOUR?! I NEED TO KNOW IF IT MAKES MY SKIN LOOK SALLOW, I DON'T KNOW WHY, BUT IT FEELS IMPORTANT.

And I will not get started on grown-ass women saying 'girl code'... just say the most exciting part of your life is waiting for a mid-man to text you... please, get a hobby and stop wielding feminism exclusively in times you need to justify being a bellend... I realise the irony of me calling somebody else a bellend as I write this with venom pouring out of my fingers.

With peace and love, pls get a fucking grip.

Love from,

Undoubtedly a massive hypocrite, but a very tired one xoxo

[bullet-prooflove]

Show Me: David Hale x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hatersaremymotivators @bennykk @kelpies-shed

Companion piece to Graffiti, Crime Wave, Distraction Art School, Girl With The Crooked Smile & Feminism

It’s raining when David picks you up from the art studio. Your hair falls across your face in wet waves as you climb inside his jeep in a thin camel coloured overcoat, a long black skirt and Doc Martens.

Even soaking wet, with mascara running down your cheeks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He tells you that just to see you blush. He loves seeing the pink creep across your cheeks, the way your face lights up.

He realised early on that you enjoy being complimented. The men before him never knew how to cherish you, he thinks it’s a God damn shame.

It turns into praise in the bedroom, sweet nothings whispered against your skin as he tells you how good you make him feel, how pretty you look, how he loves the sound you make when you come and he makes you come a lot. Your pleasure is paramount to him, if you’re not having fun then neither is he. He gets off on getting you off.

“You have fuck me eyes right now.” You tell him as he angles the heater towards you and it’s his turn to blush because he’s always so damn transparent when it comes to his feelings for you.

“I was thinking about what I’m going to do once I get you out of those wet clothes.” He tells you, glancing into his mirrors before he pulls away from the curb.

“Why wait?” You ask him as you begin unbuttoning your white shirt. There’s a peek of black lace and he’s hard already, his cock straining against the confines of his uniform. “Find a place to pull over and show me.”

Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

My Unpopular Hobie Brown Opinions (& Headcanons) - [Part 1/??????]

Excuse me excuse me i got some shit to say that needs to be said cause this just what i be thinking when i be thinking too hard cause i be doing that sometimes (photo is of me when i be thinking cause i be doing that)

_______________________________________________________

First of all - Hobie doesn't have a smart phone.

Those little fake text yall be making? Where Hobie has a blue bubble? Nah bro not happening.

You think Hobie Brown is walking around with Siri in his pocket?? Siri who listens in on you and responds to the things you're saying while storing your info?

He isn't.

And he's not on twitter either so you can put those fake tweets in the basket too

He's not scrolling on the bird app giving Elon Musk revenue and engagement

Hobie seem like the type to walk in your house and start bad mouthing your Alexa. Be in your kitchen like 'Hey Google, kill yourself'

He has never opened or witnessed Tiktok and he never will

AT MOST he has a burner flip phone like a plug. And even then you have to pray he buys minutes. Voicemail? FULL.

Hobie is not a player.

He's from the 70's - the strongest time for HARDCORE second-wave feminism. Like bra-burning. Plus he's in the punk scene. He knows better than to say some slick shit or pull anything

BUT if ya'll make it clear it's casual and you catch feelings.. damn that sucks for you

Also, Hobie Brown doesn't get jealous. Lets stop the cap right now.

Mans doesn't even believe in private property and you think he'd feel comfortable being possessive over his partner

ESPECIALLY if they're a woman?

And secondly what insecurities does he even have to make him jealous? Can YOU , right now ,even imagine a man that would make Hobie Brown insecure/jealous?

I'll wait.

Realistically speaking, if you're not punk he's not into you most likely.

You don't have to listen to the music or 'dress the part' he doesn't care about that i mean like politically if you aren't in the movement good luck

Like if you turn down going to protests, or organizing,

or you don't wanna do community service with him he's not gonna feel it.

And he'd most likely be into people educated and into thinks like communism, socialism, anarchism, etc. If you can't hold a conversation about the immoralism behind being a landlord, then yeah there might be some awkward silences

Also can't believe I have to say this but ACAB and I mean that.

If you fuck with cops, Hobie doesn't fuck with you. Unless they're your family and even then they're on thin fucking ice.

Hobie has one-on-one interacts with fascists cops on the regular. The actively know who Spider-man is and target him.

Of course he's gonna hate them, or vent about them. The same way his one good experience with Gwen doesnt make him like the Society, having one good theoretical experience with a cop wouldn't make Hobie not hate cops.

In addition, Hobie has canonically killed people and is willing to kill again any day of the week if he has to. He stays ready.

He's done it with his guitar and he'll probably do it again in the future

And if you're with him you'd genuinely have to be comfortable and okay with that.

What are you gonna do? Defend a fascist? Exactly

So if he comes home with blood on him that isn't his, how you react is on you-

He's still gonna sleep good as hell at night

Hobie isn't very romantic. Like at all.

He's not buying you flowers - that's a sexist trope. He's not taking you to the movies because fuck the studio execs. He's not celebrating Valentine's Day because it's literally made up and he'll only celebrate anniversaries if you REALLY want to

He probably isn't chivalrous at all because he doesn't think to be - it's outplayed. So he's not opening doors and pulling out chairs or nothing

I feel like he's the type that if you got mad about it he'd be genuinely surprised because it just doesn't occur to him to be romantic

He'd be like 'why the fuck do you need roses?? i mean i love you i can knick you some if u want??'

He'd probably feel like all that is superficial as hell, and show his love in other ways

like stressing that you text him when you get home or always asking if you've eaten

he'd be like 'had any scran' or 'you've eaten right?' and if you havent hed immediately turn and go looking for the nearest food to give you (food insecurity does that to you)

Oh and he is not getting married not even a hippie wedding

cause Hobies not buying a ring (gold mining causes suffering anyway) and he's not proposing and if his partner proposed I feel like he'd be shocked in a slightly uncomfortable way

I could absolutely see him being poly. Like either being in a thruple, but most likely just having multiple seperate partners who also have partners

i can see Hobie being a baby daddy. Not in the bad way. In the good way. But not in the Peter B. way.

Not elaborating on that last part it just is what it is

----------------------------------------------------------

okay ill leave this here before it gets long also no proofreading oop - but tell me what you think id love to hear your thoughts! What you agree with or disagree with and why :) im chill and nice and not a twitter person i promise lol

but also, I said what I said <3

[kyber-crystal]

midnight rain || benji dunn

summary: 4 times you realize you love benji dunn and 1 time you finally told him you loved him (it’s him, it’s always been him, and it always will be him)

words: ~2.4k

warnings: angst, mentions of violence, did i mention angst. but there's a happy ending i promise. also a fair amount of crying cause we love a reader who’s not afraid of being vulnerable in front of the man she cares about. feminism Yes

a/n: can you tell this is literally my favorite trope ever. also this is my first ever full length mission impossible oneshot…so if benji seems ooc then pls keep that in mind LOL. i promise i’ll get better w the more i write. i tried my best :) anyway enjoyyy

dedicated to @the-multiverse-of-fandoms who wanted basically anything benji/imf team related, i hope this did your wish justice!! & to @ilsastrenchcoat for giving me that lil push to branch out & write something new :)

i. what happens in budapest stays in budapest

“So when are you going to tell him?” Luther’s voice cuts through the buzz of static.

You flinched, with your earpiece nearly falling out at the sudden motion. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She knows what I’m talking about. Right, Ilsa?”

“What? That she’s in love with Benji?” Ilsa laughed in reply. “Oh. Of course she does. I thought everyone knew.”

“Can it,” you snapped, face feeling red-hot. “Last I checked, we were trying to track down an arms dealer. This isn’t the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.”

“London,” Luther corrected. You could practically hear him smirking. “This is burning slower than that damn White Barn candle I got on sale two years ago.”

You rolled your eyes and slid your gun back into its holster. Children. You worked with children.

But you knew they were right. They always were, but you would carry that admission with you to the grave if you had to. They knew you had fallen long before you did yourself—eight months ago when you were crammed into a tiny motel room in Budapest for a layover. The walls were so paper thin that you could hear Ethan snoring on the other side, and there was only enough room for one measly bed.

“I think the springs are broken,” Benji had pointed out.

“Very broken.”

“Did they forget to give us another pillow?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, you can take the pillow. I don’t need it anyway.”

“Benji, just take the damn pillow.”

“No, you take it. I don’t want you to complain in the morning that you don’t feel well rested.”

“…Fine.”

Just as you were about to drift off, you felt a warm hand squeeze yours and a familiar voice whisper “Sleep tight, I’ll bomb all the bed bugs and bad dreams for you.”

That ended up being the first nightmare-free, peaceful sleep you had in eleven years.

ii. home is where the heart is

Marrakesh right after sunset was unusually peaceful. The lively chatter of the bazaar below was calming down; and the weather wasn’t too hot nor too cold.

You had never seen so many stars like this in your entire life.

“You’re telling me that in all these years of living, you’ve never seen a sky full of stars?” Benji had asked you one evening during a team camping trip. “That’s not called living, it’s called dying.”

“I grew up in a big city, Dunn,” you sighed. “I would do anything for an unpolluted sky.”

“Benji’s inside, if you were wondering,” Ethan explained as he pulled out a seat next to you. “He just got back a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He exhales and gives you a knowing look. “How long?”

“Ethan, you know I can’t…”

“What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know, the weight of the world, maybe?” you guessed. “And when you’re constantly moving from place to place it’s hard to settle down and tell someone how you feel. It’s hard to find the perfect time…”

“There’s no such thing as the ‘perfect’ time, Y/N. You just need to find the right time.”

“But I don’t understand. It’s…for the first time in my life, I finally feel like I’m home…he makes me feel at home. But I can’t even say it. What if he doesn’t get it?”

“He will know. Trust me.”

“Who will know what?”

It’s impossible for Ethan to miss the way your face lights up as Benji steps out onto the balcony. He takes this as the opportunity to quietly step away, leaving you two to yourselves.

“Hi,” you say shyly, hands in your pockets.

“Hey, yourself,” he replies.

You step towards him and lean your forehead against his shoulder. He’s surprised at the sudden action but wraps his arms around you anyway, feeling grateful for your presence.

“Thank you,” you mumble against his shirt, though he’s not sure what exactly you’re thanking him for.

“Anytime.”

iii. he definitely is a fallen angel, right?

God, he had to be unreal, you thought as the Seoul skyline reflected off his face and washed him in a glowing gold. He could have just gone through hell and back and still look as if he had descended straight from the heavens.

You couldn’t look away. It was damn near impossible for you to.

You weren’t sure what you did to deserve him; he was far too precious for this cruel world. You walked through the doors of the IMF with eleven passports and a knife tucked against your thigh, not knowing what your future held. Benji, on the other hand, strolled in with the widest grin known to man on his face and eyes sparkling as if he had discovered the eighth wonder of the world. Polar opposites, and yet you’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Benji’s brows furrowed in concern. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking…I really need a drink.”

“Nonsense, you can’t even walk straight,” he stated as he glanced down at your ankle, which had been wrapped up in bandages. “You don’t need the soju to be walking around like a madman.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I…”Letting out a shaky sigh, you bite the inside of your cheek until you could taste blood. “They almost got away. I almost jeopardized everyone’s safety and ruined the whole damn operation.”

“No, you didn’t,” he reassured you, “they didn’t get away. And besides…I think you did pretty damn great out there. Taking names, kicking ass, beating that one dude to death with the butt of your pistol…”

Your eyes shone with tears as you glanced over at him, a small smile now on your face. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” he said softly as he brought a hand up to your cheek. You lean in to his touch and try to ignore the sparks that ignite as his skin brushes against yours. “I really think so. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“I think this calls for a celebration. How does charcoal-grilled KBBQ sound? Then we…we can go to that super cool design plaza north of the Han River and we’ll pretend we’re in another dimension. One where the IMF isn’t sending us on death-defying missions in which bad guys are out for our blood.”

The crinkles around your eyes make their first appearance in what seems like forever, and Benji’s heart warms. “You know me so well.”

“Well, of course. I’ve been trying to.”

He shrugs his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders before pulling you close. You sink into him even deeper, and for a moment, you can pretend that everything is right with the world.

iv. as the world caves in

You don’t think you’ve ever cried in your life. Not even once.

Okay, maybe once. Twice. The first time was when you passed the field exam and you were so happy that you shed a few tears of joy.

The second time was right now: you watched as a strung-out Benji fought for his life in the hospital. You don't know how long it’s been since you got here, and all you could do now was pray to God that he would wake up.

You felt someone put a soft hand on your shoulder. “Sweetheart, you’ve been here for ages.”

Luther gave you a sad smile as he sat next to you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and closed your eyes.

“Why did it have to be him?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “but he’s going to be fine. He always is.”

“I hope…”

“Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll let you know when he wakes up,” he offered. He could tell you desperately needed sleep. “Try to relax.”

“Okay…”

It’s a solid four hours later when Benji finally stirs awake.

He blinks and rubs his eyes. “Luther…? Hey.”

“You’re awake, that’s good,” he stated. “Your blood pressure has gone up a lot since Y/N gave you her blood. If she didn’t, we’d be shipping your ass off to the funeral home.”

“She did what now?”

“She gave you her blood. Doc asked around but none of our types matched yours, except hers.”

“Oh.”

“I told her she’d pass out if she kept crying after the blood transfusion, but she cried the whole day. She first cried when you didn’t wake up. And now she’s going to start crying because you woke up. She worries about you a lot, you know. So much so that she often neglects her own well-being.”

A strange feeling works its way through Benji’s system. You cared… “Can you tell her I want to see her now?”

“Sure.”

A few moments later, you walk through the door—obvious tear tracks on your face—and sit by his bedside. “Benjamin Dunn, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t. Sorry…”

“You almost died.” You looked away and hastily wiped at your eyes. It didn’t help. “I watched you bleed out on the pavement and almost lose your life.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, so he simply reaches out and intertwines your fingers together, squeezing tight. More tears slip down your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re not in a body bag,” you choked out. “I’m just really glad you’re not dead.”

“Me too. Now come here,” Benji says, and he moves over on his bed to make room for you. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, and he drapes an arm across your waist. “Thank you for waiting.”

You end up falling asleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

+i (v). it's always been you

It's hot as hell outside, your clothes are sticking to your skin, and you're sure that one hit would set you on fire.

“Why did we have to go into the middle of the damn Arabian desert?” Benji yells over the howling winds into his comm. He coughs as some sand gets into his mouth. “You can’t even build a sandcastle with this crap. I regret everything I said about disliking being in the van.”

“No idea!” you yell back. You wrap your protective scarves tighter around your head and mouth, and adjust your goggles. A loud bang! makes you flinch, causing you to quickly whip around and pull out your gun.

“Woah there, it's just me,” Ethan raised his hands in surrender. You slowly lowered your weapon. “Did you get the flashdrive?”

You nodded and quickly handed him the small piece of metal. He stores it away in his pocket before zipping it up. “Let's go.”

It takes another hour and a half to round up the whole team and escape safely. The sandstorm was worsening by the second and you would be incredibly lucky to escape relatively unscathed.

You’re breathing heavily as you board the helicopter and take off your equipment, leaning against the wall. You could still feel the man’s hands around your throat, trying to squeeze the life out of you.

The look of fury in Benji’s eyes as he pulled the trigger was permanently burned into the back of your mind. You’d never seen him that angry before—he was nowhere near what you’d call short-tempered. The most upset you’d ever seen him was when Ethan ate the last of his favorite potato chips a month ago. And even then, he didn’t raise his voice.

Benji crouches down in front of you and brings a cold towel to your face. It comes away stained a light crimson, and he tries not to panic. “Are…are you okay?”

“I'm okay,” you exhale. “Thanks for saving my ass out there. If you hadn't gotten there in time…"

“You're welcome,” he replies. “Why is it that we always take turns saving each other from near death experiences?”

“It's all part of the job,” you crack a grin. “Welcome to the IMF, where you go on suicide missions all the time but you're not allowed die. Pretty ironic if you ask me.”

“I know, right?” He sounds like he's going to say something else, but then pauses. Upon peering closer, he sees a series of blue and purple handprint splotches on the sides of your neck. “Y/N…”

“I'm okay, I promise,” you say quickly. “Don't worry about me.”

“I don't get how you can stay so calm in situations like this,” he says, exasperated. “You scare me sometimes.”

“It's no big deal, really.” But your voice cracks, and that's when you finally break down and burst into tears. “I’m used to danger. I just—”

“Hey hey hey, it's going to be alright,” he murmurs as he moves closer to bring you in for a hug, arms snaking around you and holding on as tight as he possibly could. Your tears slowly begin to stain his shirt with dark spots, but he couldn't care less. “You're safe and you're going to be okay. You are going to be okay because I'll be here for you. Always.”

“You promise?”

“Pinky promise.” He holds his pinky out, and you wrap your finger around his. “I swear on my life. I’m here to stay whether you like it or not.”

The words slip out before you could even realize what you were saying.

“God, I love you,” you mumbled against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. “More than anything. I should’ve…I really should’ve told you a long time ago. I don’t know why I waited so long to tell you. You felt like home to me and I found comfort in that and I loved you so much for it, Benji. I still do.”

The air suddenly feels heavy and that’s when the weight of what you had said finally sinks in. It feels like an eternity of awkward, strained silence all around before he opens his mouth to reply.

“I love you too,” he says, “Always have.”

And as your lips touch, all the aches and pains and barely-recovering broken bones seem to disappear. You can’t even remember why you were so upset in the first place because you’re safe here with him and he’s finally, finally kissing you, and all you really need to think about is the fact that the man you truly loved and needed more than anything had been right here all along and it was perfect.

The ride home is a long one, so you allow yourself to relax in his comforting arms and drift away to a distant dreamland. Ethan gently nudges Luther in the shoulder, motioning for him to take a glance back at the sight.

“You owe me twenty,” he reminds him with a toothy grin.

tags, including ppl who may be interested (lmk if you'd like to be added, or you can add yourself via this form!): @kenobismullet @voguesir @fl0ating @lady-elena-adeline

once again, my taglist has not been updated in a hot second, so i'm not sure which users are still active/if they've switched to another url. i apologize for any potential inconveniences !!

[knoxmares]

housewife in the making - mozus trein x dom top amab reader

MINORS DNI

tags: feminization, breeding kink, alcohol mention

“What’s wrong, love?” you allow your fingertips to span across Trein’s exposed chest, holding him close to you as you teasingly whisper in his ear. “You act like you’ve never poured wine before despite doing it for the better part of two decades.” your eyes focus on his quivering hand that hesitates in lifting the bottle. 

“Forgive me if I hesitate in this particular circumstance” a breathy exhale escapes him, hole clenching around your length, which is buried inside him. He might as well not be wearing anything at all with the way you have his thin silk robe gathered at his waist, lapels pulled widely apart. “You mustn’t move.” He orders gently. “It’s expensive wine.”

“So… I shouldn’t do this?” you slowly yet forcefully roll your hips into him, rubbing his prostate. Your hands rise with his quick intake of breath, and his hands grip the counter.

“No you shouldn’t” his exhale comes in the form of a low chuckle, a grace the strict man would never give to anyone else so froward. “You are so insatiable tonight, requiring me to present you with both a late night refreshment and myself” fond amusement overlays his words, one hand now affectionately laying atop your own. Fingertips dig into your skin as you begin to move again, your gentle thrusts bringing on a wave of pleasure. 

“Yet I know how eager you are to satisfy me, Mozus.” He lets out a soft moan, tilting his head backwards. “You’re like my perfect little housewife” your hand not held in his tight grasp slowly trails down his abdomen. “I should buy you one of those frilly aprons, so you’re always ready and exposed for me” his cock twitches at your slight touch, fingertips grazing the underside of his erect shaft. 

“Please” he begs barely above a whisper. The sound of his cute whining soon punctuates his shallow breaths as your hand wraps around him, stroking him slowly. 

“You sound so pretty when you beg, baby.” You can’t help but speed up the movement of your hips. “Makes me wanna fill you up” he moans your name loudly in response. “You like the sound of that, do you? Love the idea of having my babies?” Your balls slap against him as you thrust into him deeper, not slowing down. His cock is so slick with precum it glides easily in your hand as he’s pushed forward from the force of your thrusts. 

“That’s it. You feel so good clenching around me. I can tell you’re close, so go ahead and cum with me, baby” his body shakes, a high pitched moan being ripped from his throat as he finishes in your hand and you spill your release into him. You hold him flush up against you as you both come down from your highs, pressing a kiss to his shoulder that is revealed now that his robe has slipped off of it. 

“Okay, I’ll let you pour the wine. I really am famished now” you attempt to swipe a cracker with your clean hand, but Trein pulls it back against his chest. 

“You go get yourself cleaned up and wait for me. I’ll tidy up myself and take care of things here. Better to avoid any further distractions” he pats your hand and glances back at you pointedly. 

“Whatever you say, darling.”

[transmascpetewentz]

A Rant About Masculinity, Cisnormativity, And Cis Gay Men

I was going to write a longer post about my ex-mutual, but I feel no need to put him specifically on the spot here because the issue is so much larger than just him, and because I really hold no ill will against him that I don't hold against all the TEHMs that reblog from him in complete support of what he says despite him claiming to be a trans ally. I think that there are two main things that contribute to the existence of a blogger like him, those being the intersection of how society feminizes both gay & trans men, and how a lot of cis gay men will perform trans allyship to make themselves feel better while still participating in a deeply transphobic culture and taking no action that targets cisnormativity in the gay community.

This ex-mutual is a person whose opinions, actions, and activism (or lack thereof) exist in a weird position. He often goes between fetishizing trans men to erasing us, to policing how we talk about our history. When I asked him whether he was transphobic, he replied talking about how he wanted to have sex with trans men, but I saw that he also made a post around the same time where he tried to "call out" a gay trans man for "fetishizing trans men" by... replying to several photos of trans men with "they're just some guys."

As you can clearly tell by now, he seems to be far more interested in feeling right and in trying to find problematic subtext in the words and actions of gay trans men than he is actually protecting us and being an ally. This is quite common amongst cis gay men who want to be progressive while not taking a stance against the TEHMism and toxic masculinity that poisons the community. And the reason behind this pattern of behavior is really simple: these men, due to their relative privileges not just for being cis but often for things like being white, thin, and perisex, oftentimes have other friends with those privileges, and if you have a large group of privileged people with relatively few people who do not have those privileges, you will likely develop bigotry. So the simple reason that these types of cis gay men do not want to confront their transphobia is because they are surrounded by others who have fallen further down the transphobia pipeline who may abandon them if they call it out.

While things like cisnormativity and toxic masculinity among cis gay men definitely do them a lot more harm than good, many will still uphold these ideas due to the way that cisnormativity benefits them relative to trans men and their lack of exposure to intersectional queer liberation movements. In my opinion, this phenomenon is what is behind cis gay men's performative allyship. They'll go on and on about how valuable gay trans men are to gay culture, but will be actively hostile to gay culture that first developed among gay trans men. They'll go on long rants about how the "toothpaste flag" is the worst thing to happen to the gay community. They'll distance themselves from gay trans men in any way they can when we're real people and not just words on a screen.

And due to many cis gay men's performative allyship clashing with their personal interest in upholding cisnormativity, they'll try to compensate for that by policing gay trans men. They'll accuse us of being the real transphobes if we step out of line or if we tell them that they're being transphobic for using obvious dogwhistles. They'll call a vague group of gay trans men "women" and call us the real transphobes for "hearing someone say 'women' and thinking 'trans men.'"

This brings me to my next point. Due to a lot of cis gay men (especially mascs/gender conforming, though fem/gnc cis gay men aren't entirely exempt) feeling hostile to the idea of having their masculinity challenged, they may contribute to feminizing other gay men who they perceive not to be as masculine as them for any number of reasons. One of these reasons being transness. Not to vaguepost about my ex-mutual even more, but he literally made a post saying "isn't it annoying when women will comment under a picture of any man saying that he's trans and gay?" This guy literally calls himself a trans ally.

I don't think that headcanoning someone as gay and trans is particularly female behavior, [redacted]. but again, this isn't a callout post of my ex-mutual. This is merely an example of something I've seen quite a lot of. This is exactly the reason behind my statement "the transandrophobe/femphobe/misogynist venn diagram of cis gay men is a circle." Because it truly is a circle. Toxic masculinity and misogyny lead to wanting to separate oneself from women, which causes one to see trans men as potential women necessary to separate oneself from. And, many times, this will lead to a hatred of feminine men, as the misogynistic gay man will see feminine men as being like women.

I don't know if I'm onto something about there being something to do with severe, collective trauma in the gay community causing a sort of "crisis of masculinity" within the community. But as I keep thinking about this, I think I am realizing that there is a lot more to this issue than at first meets the eye. Something to think about.