#Responding to Dyke Night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hiskillingjar · 1 month

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Please plspls write sexed up abusive lesbians law x strade 🤞🤞

sorry lesbians, sorry dykes, this is a post for fucked up transfems and quasi-chasers now. sorry :(

4000+ words, cw for slurs, they are the worst grindr hookup in the world and i'm obsessed with themmmmm (this may have a part 2 if the people don't execute me)

also crossposted on ao3 give me attentionnnnnuh

"hey cutie, having a good night?"

Lawrence almost flinched after hearing the foreign notification ‘blllip’ on their phone.

It was late, they had just gotten home from work and they were sifting through their saved videos (car crashes, open-faced surgery, execution porn and the like) to get to sleep, their body heavy on the mattress, their head heavier with drugged intoxication from a short smoking circle at the warehouse before they left.

They blinked sleepy grey (dead) eyes as they opened the app with a slide of their thumb, the orange-and-black interface unfamiliar, they used it so little.

Right. They downloaded this to buy weed from the new guy at work, didn’t they?

Did they even have a profile set up? Apparently so, if someone nearby had found them.

They let out a short sigh through their nose, moving onto their back under the heavy, weighted blankets as they typed out a reply to ‘strade 36 verse’.

‘Verse’. What did that even mean?

"Hi."

Lawrence barely had time to rub their eyes before the orange bubble was typing again.

"hi!"

An instant reply. ‘Strade 36 verse’ must have been online then.

They sat up with another sigh and their lips pursed in a thoughtful pout, wondering if they should respond further, and what to say if they did.

They didn’t really know the etiquette of most social media, after all. The most exposure they’d had to it was a Tumblr account that was quickly taken down when they posted an especially gory work-in-progress photo of a new sculpture (for “violating community guidelines’ they said when they’d asked), and they’d left it at that, so this was new to them.

It wasn't like they’d been on something as casual as a dating app before, so they had no prior experience or point of reference on how these kinds of interactions generally played out.

So, in place of another message, they decided to wait for ‘Strade 36 verse’ to reply again, to send the dreaded ‘double text’ or lose interest in their flaky response, before they did anything on their own.

They wouldn’t have to wait long for that, though.

"nice pics, you’re very, very cute." He praised, sending through a winking-face emoji and a blonde angel emoji, referencing the badly taken, but well-cropped mirror selfies on their profile, just so the weed guy knew who they were when they messaged. "are you down for anything tonight?"

Lawrence frowned, idly worrying their bottom lip between their crooked teeth as they pushed a hand into their greasy hair. They’d shower before work tomorrow. Or not.

They weren't entirely sure what ‘down for anything’ meant and weren't sure if they necessarily wanted to know either.

"Thank you.” They typed, well-trained to be polite to compliments. “Down for anything like what, exactly?"

"lol, you're adorable"

"like hooking up? lol"

Lawrence nearly dropped their phone at that.

Their face burned a hot red as they sat upright quickly, pushing aside their weighted blankets and ruminating in silence for several long moments on how to respond to Strade’s outright forwardness.

Was everyone on this app like this?

"I don't know you.” They wrote with another deep frown. “I only really use this app to buy weed. What do you want from me?"

"haha that's hilarious!" Strade wrote back quickly with a series of laughing emojis, which just made Lawrence frown even more. What did he find so funny? "cute pics for a burner account tho. what's that for?~"

They felt their face burning hotter and hotter as they stared at Strade's response, dumbfounded at his capacity to play along with such unwilling prey, before setting the phone down in their lap and pressing the heels of both hands to their eyes, too tired and (frankly) too high to make sense of what this guy was trying to do to them.

‘...cute pics...?’

They took a breath and picked up their phone again, trying to respond as normally as they could without cussing the guy out.

"What do you mean cute? It's just my face."

"it’s a cute face," He sent with a virtual wink.

They took another short moment, trying to collect themself, long, trembling fingers hovering over the keyboard on their phone, before they typed out another response.

"I don't know about cute...but thanks, I think."

"you're so welcome~"

There was a pause as Strade typed another string of words, punctuated by an orange bubble and animated ellipses.

"if you're not here to hook up, maybe we could just exchange pics hm?"

"Pictures of...what exactly?"

"i'll show you mine if you show me yours," He wrote, punctuated by an eggplant emoji, a peach emoji and…a water spray emoji.

Lawrence didn’t need to be a genius in social media lingo to know exactly what that meant.

They tried to swallow the growing lump in their throat before reluctantly replying.

"What makes you think I'd send you a picture like that? I don't even know what you look like."

"i have a profile pic sweetheart," He wrote with another winking emoji, making Lawrence flush that they hadn’t even taken the time to look at Strade’s profile before they started talking to him. "but fair point! wanna make sure i’m not a catfish, huh?"

'Sweetheart...'

The nickname sent a little chill down Lawrence’s spine, but…not in a wholly unpleasant way.

It might have even been kind of nice to be called that, even if it was from a stranger on a dating app of all places.

There were a few moments of ‘silence’ before their phone ‘blllipped’ with a notification that Strade had sent them a picture, which they quickly opened.

He looked like...well, he looked like a totally normal guy in his thirties, relaxing on a couch as if he’d just gotten home from work after a hard day. Tan skin, dark stubble, a handsome smile, everything people liked in a man. He was shirtless, showing off a soft chest and the beginnings of a slightly softer stomach, but that was probably the nature of the app.

"You're...very good-looking. Nice muscles." Lawrence typed honestly, a little hesitantly, staring at the picture for a prolonged moment before swapping back to the chat.

"thanks cutie," He wrote with a beating heart emoji, making Lawrence’s own heart tighten in their chest. "how are you looking right now?"

They idly chewed the inside of their cheek and looked down at themself.

They weren’t anything special and never considered themself to be, wearing a pair of tattered pyjama pants and a loose-fitting top printed with the warehouse’s logo.

That probably wasn’t the vibe for this interaction, was it?

"I mean, not good like you. I'm wearing pyjamas right now."

"maybe i'll decide what looks good, hm?"

"send me something."

They felt their face flush hotter when the second message popped up, bringing the edge of their phone to their mouth with a shuddering little sigh that fogged up the cracked glass.

This was getting pretty embarrassing, but, at the same time, it was...kind of exciting.

They’d never done anything like this before, certainly not with a stranger, and…Strade had such an authoritative vibe about him without even being in the room.

They felt almost compelled to obey him, even if there was no side effect to not.

Lawrence shifted over the side of the bed and reluctantly lifted the phone for a selfie, reaching up with their other hand to cover their mouth and most of their jaw, keeping the focus on their messy hair, their sleepy eyes, their slender neck, their collar bone, the low collar of their shirt…things that they guessed Strade might like in a conversation partner.

Once they had taken the picture, they sent it over quickly before they could think too long and change their mind.

Strade responded almost immediately.

"awwww~" He wrote, with a heart eyes emoji and another angel emoji. "very cute!"

Oh God, they really weren’t used to being called cute this much.

Their heart was racing as they read the short string of messages, their pale cheeks flushing and their dead eyes fluttering a little as their thighs pressed together tightly.

"You...really think so?"

"i know so~" He complimented again. "you’re such a good girl for listening to me too <3"

'Good girl-!?'

Lawrence's heart was beating even faster now, just from that one little compliment, and they found themself sinking back against the bed and staring at the popcorn, mould-dotted ceiling, feeling all the heat in their body rush right down to their cock.

It seemed kind of...demeaning to be called a 'good girl' in this scenario, but at the same time, it felt...so amazing.

They just hoped that Strade wasn’t getting the wrong idea.

“Thank you…but I’m not a girl though.” They typed when their brain started working again, resting their phone on their chest, their legs trembling and bopping up and down, nervously.

"oh no? apologies for assuming but you do have trans stuff in your bio lol"

"you look pretty enough to be a girl. figuring stuff out?"

The instinct to cringe subsided quickly when they clicked on their profile, noticing the absence of the gender marker that Strade had (‘M’), and their pronouns (‘they/them, any/all’) listed along with their location, the only information they had provided the app, barring their picture.

"That was an accident...I didn't know what it was asking me." They typed out, explaining their mix-up.

‘Pretty enough to be a girl...’

They suddenly found themself feeling…warm all over as those words repeated in their head, feeling the sincerity behind them, the authenticity behind them.

Maybe they weren’t a girl, at least, not a girl they had ever been close to before, but there was the…well, the fact that Strade had assumed their gender incorrectly several times now, and they had done nothing to correct him.

"happy accidents, eh?" Strade replied quickly with another laughing emoji, though this one felt more fond and affectionate than the others had been. "do you like being a good girl, law?"

They swallowed tightly and managed to type out a response, their hands trembling with excitement.

"Yeah…I mean, yeah I think I do."

"thought so." Another virtual wink. This guy used a lot of emojis. "can i see something else now, angel?" He wrote, like no part of that conversation happened, and even though it was phrased like a question, Lawrence had that good sense that it was not to be taken as one.

They felt their face burning hotter than ever as they typed out a response.

"What do you want me to show you…?”

"show me your body.”

“do you have a mirror so i can see all of you?"

Lawrence had to stop and close their eyes, knees tightly pressed together as they tried to collect themself and slow the pounding of their racing heart.

They’d never felt like this before. It felt good.

It felt good.

Why weren’t they used to feeling good?

They took in a deep breath, trying to calm themself down, before they got to their feet and walked over to their bathroom, hesitantly taking a full-body (or, well, as close to full-body as they could manage) picture in the bathroom cabinet mirror, using the phone to cover their face and focus on their body.

They looked so…boring in the reflection, wearing that old, baggy top and those loose-fitting pants.

Strade can’t really be that interested in them, can he?

"aw, you're so little. like you wouldn't be able to fight me off if i pinned you down <3"

Those immediate words set butterflies fluttering around in their stomach.

They were definitely not tiny by any metric, standing at almost six foot and easily taller than most of the guys in the warehouse, but the idea of being...pinned down by a stranger of all people, was making their brain short circuit.

And fine, they weren’t sure if Strade meant it in an affectionate way or…a creepy way, talking about their body like it was a piece of meat and he was an animal feeding on them, but Lawrence couldn’t think of a reason to be scared of the obvious red flags coming out of their conversation.

They swallowed past the ever-growing lump in their throat as they paced back to their bed, sitting down and trying their best to keep their responses coherent as they typed out another anxious reply.

"Oh yeah..? Think so?"

"i know so..."

God, he was quick.

"mind pulling those pants down?"

They chewed the inside of their cheek again, hesitating for maybe a moment before they began to slowly pull their pyjama bottoms down their skinny hips, exposing their boxer briefs and the bulge of their cock.

They felt so exposed, like someone could just walk in and see them right now, and yet...

They took another picture and sent it to Strade without a word, feeling the flush spread across their face as they did so.

"those look pretty tight, baby," He wrote after a pause. "like that cute girlcock is desperate for something its not gonna get. too cute <3"

What the fuck, girlcock-?!

Every word of the message made them shiver more and more, making the aching feeling in their chest that much more intense and tight, so tight it was almost painful.

God, they couldn’t even begin to describe how this fucking stranger was making them feel.

They were starting to feel desperate, like he said they were, their girlcock stirring and pressing even tighter against the taut fabric of their briefs, denying them anything close to relief.

They swallowed again, their tongue poking out to wet their dry lips as they typed a needy response.

"Please…just keep talking to me like that…”

"you're such a good girl," Strade continued to praise with another beating heart emoji. "spread your legs, make those panties nice and tight for me so i can see your girlcock press up there…"

They had to close their eyes momentarily and take in a deep, shaky breath to calm themself before they even attempted a response.

It was almost hard to type with how worked up they were, how much their fucking girlcock was stirring, how much their hands were shaking. They felt so submissive and helpless, like they wouldn’t even be able to think without Strade telling them to.

They just wanted to do whatever he told them to do.

Their legs parted as far as they could (while still framed nicely in the camera) and they jutted their hips slightly, making the thick bulge of their cock the focus of the picture. Light blonde hair covered their tummy and thighs, and they almost felt self-conscious about it, for the first time in their life.

A girl shouldn’t have that there…at least, not a good girl.

"fuck, you're killing me," He wrote with that angel emoji again. "you little tease. what i wouldn't give to have you here now."

Lawrence closed their eyes with a soft moan as they held the pose, trying to imagine what it would be like if he was here instead of just ordering them around over the phone.

They were still trembling but they couldn’t help but smile coyly to themself as they thought out another response.

"What would you do to me if I was there right now?"

"you really want to know, sweetheart?"

They swallowed hard, their grey eyes wide and unnervingly alive, and replied, almost without a thought.

"Yes. Tell me please…I want to know."

…

"i wouldn't let anyone else even get the chance to look at you, let alone touch you, before i’m through with you, lawrence"

"i'd take you down in my basement and make you scream. hurt you. cut you. fuck you even if you fought me back. ruin that cute little body and torture your girlcock until you begged me to stop."

"and i wouldn't stop <3 even if you screamed and cried and behaved like suuuuch a good girl for me, angel <3"

…

"You’d do that to me…?"

…

"yeah. i like ruining pretty things." He wrote. "and you're the prettiest thing i've seen in weeks."

Lawrence could feel themself almost trembling as they stared at their phone, their hands shaking.

They managed to type out a response, each letter in their reply feeling like a tremendous amount of effort when their fingers were shaking like jelly, just holding onto the phone.

"You really think I’m…pretty…?"

Their heart was pounding as they waited for a reply, waited for those tell-tale orange dots to move again, their once-dead eyes wide and alive and ready for more as their head spun behind them.

It was like they were experiencing an entirely new high, one more dangerous and more pleasurable than any drug could give them.

They could see themself getting quickly addicted to it, and knew that this addiction was sure to kill them faster than any other vice would.

“haha you're kind of a freak law," Strade seemed to tease when his reply finally popped up, though it was lacking the emojis that typically gave his teasing nature away. "i like that a lot. pretty girls are never usually as filthy as you~"

Their head canted slightly as they read the message, wetting their lips again as they reached down and idly palmed their cock, feeling the hard flesh between their long fingers and wishing that Strade was the one doing the touching instead.

Freak. Filth. Words growing on them like mould grew on spoiled food.

They were gradually getting infected by whatever disease Strade must have had to enjoy this, and they couldn’t have been happier

They flopped back heavily on the bed with a shaky exhale, that same feeling of twisted pride they got when he called them a “good girl” washing over them.

They managed to respond with one hand occupied (still squeezing their rotten cock that was enjoying every moment of this), their fingers still trembling.

"Yeah, I’m kind of a freak I guess…”

A pretty freak…a pretty girl…

Their cock pulsed hotter.

"yeah.”

“even the most poorly-adjusted tranny has the self-respect not to put up with all of this. what's the matter, law, you don't have any of that?"

They whimpered softly and bit their lip hard (so hard, they could practically taste blood), before rolling onto their side and bringing their knees up to their heaving chest as their cock twitched incessantly between their trembling legs, their slack body shivering all over as they squeezed their thighs tightly together.

Fuck, this was so awful. So, so fucking awful.

Then why was their head pounding, their chest heaving, their cock throbbing harder and harder (and harder and harder), the worse it got?

They swallowed hard, the lump in their throat almost painful to gulp past, as they read the message again, and despite themself, they reached down and started tugging on their cock as they typed, their heart continuing to race at an impossible pace from the mix of excitement and dread at feeling so vulnerable and exposed to this man.

"Why would I want self-respect if it means I can’t talk to you…?”

"good answer <3"

They couldn’t help but smile upon reading the new text, cradling the phone to their shuddering chest with one hand, as the other tightened the hold on their cock, the veins in their wrist pulsating as it jerked up and down their length.

God, they were just completely hooked on this fucking stranger, addicted to his praise, his threats, his dirty talk (if it could even be called that).

They lay there for a moment, just jerking themself off with wet gasps and shifting skin on skin, trying to even think of what to do next.

Their mind was so fuzzy and filled with thoughts of Strade, Strade, Strade that they could hardly concentrate, even without the initial fuzz the weed had given them.

It was a perfect sensation.

"what are you doing now, law?"

“I’m…touching myself.”

“show me.”

Like everything else with Strade, it was phrased like a question but Lawrence knew that they didn’t have the luxury of disagreeing with him.

Like they even wanted that luxury to begin with.

They obediently moved backwards, up their bed, lying flat on their back (belly up, like a prey animal offering itself to a rightful predator) and parting their trembling thighs again, wrenching their briefs all the down their legs and taking an awkward picture of their cock in hand, the flushed head and firm length framed by the thin, milky white pillars of their scarred thighs.

They were just glad that this app didn’t have access to their storage and that any pictures exchanged in the chat wouldn’t be saved.

That would have been incredibly fucking embarrassing.

"haha wtf you're fucking huge," Strade quickly wrote back in response, making fun of them, though, again, the message was lacking his usual emojis (as had many of the previous messages, actually). "talk about wasted potential, eh, law?"

“What do you mean, wasted potential…”

“it means when i fuck you,” When, not if, when, NOT IF. “i'm not letting you top for a single day of the rest of your wretched, little life”

They licked their lips hungrily, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Is…is that a threat…or a promise…?”

"both <3"

God.

GOD.

They felt like they were going insane.

They just wanted more and more of his words, wanted to take everything this man was saying to them and amplify it, make it worse, make it despicable, diabolical, disgusting, more, more, more-

“God, I hope so…” They typed, the jerking of their wrist faster as heat coiled up, hot and tight, in their belly. “You make me feel like I’m losing my mind…”

"won't need a mind for what i'm planning for you, sweetheart"

“Fuck…” They stammered softly to themself, words falling past their parted lips in a helpless whimper, as they squeezed their cock harder, a thick bead of pre-cum drooling over their bony knuckles. They didn’t touch themself that often, all of their saved videos were no longer able to scratch the itch of their deadened arousal, but now, they were feeling it, so close, so desperate-

“i want you to stop touching yourself now, law”

Their hand stilled instantly, their pale brows knitting together as another typing bubble popped up.

“you don’t work weekends, do you?”

They swallowed hard, typing out a reply while anticipating the next message.

“No, not usually…why?”

“you know the braying mule in town? just next to that new whole foods?” Donkey emoji, beer glass emoji, wilting leaf emoji.

Lawrence took a moment to think about the spot Strade was describing.

It wasn’t too far from the warehouse, now that they were thinking about it, in a slightly sketchier place in town that was facing a wave of gentrification (hence the Whole Foods that they, unfortunately, did frequent for tea ingredients and discount granola).

“Yeah…?”

“are you gonna meet me there next saturday?”

Once again, phrased like a question but Lawrence knew there was no option to say no.

Like they would have said no.

“I guess I am.”

“good girl.” Angel emoji, beating heart emoji. “and are you going to give yourself anyyyy relief before then?”

He was teasing again, and the praise and indirect order was enough to send another pulse of heat to their cock, making it that much more painful and unsatisfying when they let go of it and lay back on the bed.

“I…guess I’m not.”

“she’s smart for a poorly-adjusted faggot, isn’t she?”

God, he was just so demeaning, and they were absolutely obsessed with it.

That warm, fluttery feeling in the pit of their stomach was back, and it felt even stronger than before.

They almost had to resist the urge to bite their bottom lip and start jerking off again…and they could only muster the shakiest of responses.

“Yeah…she is.”

“such a good girl, law.” He wrote, and Lawrence could practically see the shit-eating grin on his handsome face. “i’m looking forward to meeting you <3”

“Me too…”

#lawrence oleander #lawrence btd #strade btd #strade ykmet #lawrence x strade #stradelaw #qs #fics #*gia gunn voice* does he worship the dollsssssuhhhh

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shoujo-wizard · 1 month

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love love platonic stobin w all my heart 💖 just have preferences tht I don't often see in fics, like I get why ppl write Robin as not wanting to know abt Steve's sex life & vice-versa but idc I love a stobin tht have so few boundaries they might as well have none at all, the codependency is very real

this got quite long so it's all under the read more, also it got kinda horny at the end

they share the same piece of gum till it runs out of flavor

stobin switch name tags at work often & will only respond to the name tag they wear tht day

they coordinate a normal & sexy costume for Halloween (Steve always wears the sexy one)

they share (clean) underwear

when Robin gets a new swimsuit Steve gets a coordinated speedo/swim shorts

they regularly & will shower together naked style

they get matching booty gym shorts with writing on the ass, they own many pairs of these type of shorts all say different things, their favorite pairs say: you will live to see man-made horrors beyond your comprehension, the hat man owes me money, menace to society, pretty boy, better gay than grumpy, and queers who riot

Steve taught Robin how to kiss

when Steve got constipation Robin bought the laxatives & held his hand in the bathroom

one of the kids calls for Steve in the other room, Robin walks in to answer

when they go out to eat they'll order different things but will freely eat/try things from eachothers plate

pool parties at Steve's involve a game of chicken tht they ALWAYS team up for & they win 9 times out of 10 bc they use underhanded tactics

in this vein whenever the Party decides to play a board game or card game stobin r on a team together even if the game doesn't call for teams (the only reason they even try dnd is bc Eddie caves & lets them play as one character)

they have keys to the others house but both prefer climbing in thru the window

stobin go to a gay bar in Indianapolis together semi regularly: Robin gets very consensually groped by dykes tht buy her virgin cocktails as Steve makes out w & humps older daddy material men on the dance floor, while Robin gets eaten out by one of the dykes in the bar bathroom Steve is getting face fucked by a daddy of his choice in the other bathroom, at the end of the night/early the next morning they go get burgers from a diner they found by following a herd of drag queens

when Steve & Eddie finally kiss & say they're boyfriend Steve immediately gets up, fully leaves the room, & calls Robin to tell her

when Robin & Chrissy finally kiss & say they're girlfriend Robin does the same to call Steve

stobin bring their partners to above gay bar: Chrissy & Robin make out at the bar then fuck in the bathroom as a few of Robin’s former dykes watch & maybe join in, meanwhile Eddie lets Steve dance with a daddy they choose together & watches as Steve makes out w & humps said daddy before he has both men follow to the other bathroom where he takes out the butt plug Steve had been wearing all night, fucks Steve raw before letting the daddy wear a condom & fuck Steve too

the 4 of them get burgers together afterwards

I'm deeply inspired by this post

#shoujo says #stranger things #platonic stobin #steddie #buckingham

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ezgee-badally · 1 year

Text

“Break Me Please”

A softer story to cleanse my palate a bit. This started as a short post but I am a writer so it turned into this lol.

18+ Trigger Warning: Light Homophobic language

Original Post: I Need some overzealous politically active uppity dyke in my town to discover my small but growing kink blog and try to blackmail me….

She and I have been fighting over the right way to respond to hate speech at pride events. I wanted to get the input of the community first, organize counter protesters and arrange for security and safe rides home. You wanted to act right away. Go get some people together and slash their tires and graffiti their homes. You’re mad at me after a debate between the two of us got particularly vicious. You search and dig for anything you can use to get me to back down, and you hit the Jackpot.

While rubbing yourself and going through your sapphic porn blogs before bed one night you go to block some dykebreaking blog that ended up in your feed. But the writing looks so familiar. You read a few more of my posts and start to DM me. After a few days you offer “Talking to you has been really fucking hot, if you tell me your name I’ll record myself screaming it out while I cum.”

I give you a fake name.

You start to lose it. “Cut the shit I know who you Fucking are I have your number in my phone.”

“Then text me.” I say.

You prove who you are and that you know who I am. I refuse to talk about it anymore through DM. You invite me to your place to discuss terms.

“Shut it down and quit volunteering. If I hear you’re trying to break any dykes ever again I’ll expose you for the pig you are.” She says as I scan the area. Nice house, if a little messy.

“No.” I say, and I stand up. “In fact I think I know why you didn’t just tell everyone in the first place whore.”

You instinctively back up a pace. “What are you talking about?”

You pull out your phone. You prepare a quick email and show your thumb hovering over the button. “Touch me and I’ll hit send.”

I walk towards you slowly, I grab your wrists and push you against the wall, your phone drops from your hand and clatters to the ground. I stare deeply into your eyes for a long moment before kissing you deeply and passionately. You kiss back surprising me. And we have a long, near-violent make out session. When I pull away to bite and kiss your neck I can hear the mixture of animal lust and self loathing in the soft involuntary moans between breaths. I can feel your body cede control to me and you stop resisting me pinning you to the wall. I release one of your hands from my grip and go to gently fondle your breasts, then move to start tracing my fingers around your areolae before pinching and tweaking your nipple with my finger. “Fuck you have nice tits dyke.” I say in a breathy whisper.

You push me away and slap me, it’s like you came out of a trance. “Fucking pig, get away from me. I like girls, you can’t turn me.”

I look you up and down with an animal lust in my eyes. “Then stop me. Say no, do something about it.” And I kiss you again, you can’t help but think about how my rough thick tongue would feel against your clit… you pull away and spit in my face resisting your own primal urges. “Pig, I’ll never let you fuck me.”

I wipe the spit from my face, and I shove my hand down your pants with one hand. You move to stop me but it’s too late, I’m already prodding and exploring your already wet little pussy with my finger. You gasp as I do and squirm a little in embarrassment. “You like being choked whore?” I whisper as I nibble your earlobe. You moan gently and nod affirmatively. I wrap my free hand around your throat. You grab my wrist but you don’t pull away you push my hand harder against your throat. “I don’t want to turn you. I want to break you, I want you to know for a fact your gay when I finally break you on my hot pulsing misogynist dykebreaking cock.” As I plunge a second finger inside you, pushing and wriggling and exploring. After savouring your each and every moan and movement, I use my finger to search for your swollen clit and gently prod it. Your leg twitches involuntarily as I do.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it. It’s been long enough it doesn’t even matter what you want, your body is telling you what you want.”

Your heart is thumping, your body hot with shame and desire. Your breathing is heavy as I continue running my finger around your clit, you start to feel something stirring inside you. My pace changes and I start to find a steady rhythm. The muscles in your back twitch and you let out a loud “Fuuuuuck yessss, keep going.”

I struggle to maintain my position as your body writhes in pleasure. “Dont. Stop.” You whisper as you prepare yourself. And I stop. I pull my fingers from you and remove my hand from your throat. You are practically vibrating with built up tension and you collapse, but the lack of release causes something to bubble up inside you….

“What the fuck?” You say, still breathing heavily. Frustrated. Unzip my pants and pull out my hot, stiff and throbbing. You look at it almost mesmerized. “Dykes only get to cum after I’m done with them.” As I let my cock fall on your face with a satisfying *slap*.

“I don’t suck cock.” You say looking at me defiantly.

I get on the floor with you, then I put my hand down your pants again and start fingering you furiously. “Does the good little dyke want to cum?” You gasp and try to contain yourself, but after mere moments you find yourself saying “Please let me cum.” Then I pull out of you and say “Then suck cock like a good little lesbian.”

You hesitate as I press the tip of my cock against your pretty lips. I grab your short hair as I push my cock slowly into your mouth you begin bobbing your head as I make demands. “Watch your fuckin teeth.”

“Deeper” “Faster” “Use your tongue.” In frustration I grab the back of your head and start fucking your face for a short period. I grunt and moan in pleasure as I do. You tolerate it briefly before pulling away, coughing and choking on spit and pre-cum.

“God you’re shit at sucking cock. I was gonna let you get away without taking away your gold star… but it looks like I’m gonna have to break you in after all.”

I roll you onto your back and pull off your pants. Kissing your body and neck, drawing my tongue down your torso and along your hip bones. I move back up and give you one more passionate sensual kiss as I position the head of my thick cock at the entrance to your pussy. As I start to push inside inch by inch, you start to gasp and moan and writhe in a mixture of pleasure and light pain as my cock stretches you. I accidentally go too deep and hit your cervix, you wince in pain. I start to slowly pump myself in and out, careful not to go too deep. As I do you feel this ache inside you. “Ah! Faster” you moan. I pick up the pace and start angling myself to find the perfect position. You start to buck your hips and eventually match the rhythm of my thrusts. Moaning like a beast in heat, I lick my finger and begin searching for your clit. I prod draw my finger around it for a moment and enjoy your now loud ravenous moaning before remembering the correct motion. As I find it, I hear a brief “Ah! Fuck”.

I whisper in your ear as you start to build up to an orgasm once more. “Are you gonna be a good dyke and cum on my cock?” A flash of defiance hits your face before I thrust into you again and you give in. “Yes, make me cum on your dykebreaking cock please!” Instead of stopping I continue, I wrap my free hand around your throat again while trying to maintain my position through your body’s spasms of ecstasy. “Fuckyes Fuckyes Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

And I feel it start to hit you. My cock thrust into you as my finger rubs your clit and your body explodes with violent waves of pleasure. Your eyes roll back into your head and you relax and let wave after wave hit you. As I release my grip on your neck and the blood rushes back to your brain you briefly black out.

When you come to, you’re on the couch with a blanket over you. I’m making tea in your kitchen. I bring a cup over to you and I ask “So, still going to expose me?”

You look up at me as if seeing me for the first time all over again. “No. Thank you, I needed that. I think… I think I’m starting to understand now.”

We still argue and fight all the time of course, but now you just take all that pent up frustration and let me fuck it out of you. Nothing has changed really, except now the butchest dyke in town is nothing but a whore for my cock.

#lgetsd #orientation play #dykebreaking

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ask-spider-punk-13666 · 2 days

Text

Bloodletting

Continued from here Wordcount: ~900 CW: internalized homophobia, references to period-typical homophobia, slurs used for self-identification

⛧ ────── ⟨ ⚛ ⟩ ────── ⛧

Tommy wipes his palms on his pant legs for the fourth time in as many minutes, gritting his teeth in frustration. Why is this so hard? Either she'll take it well, or she won't, but not knowing is worse, and he's never going to know anything if he just keeps sitting here without saying it.

"Gwyn, there's something I need to tell you," he says. He can't look at her, though, so he stares at his shoes instead. The sole is starting to come loose, but he can't afford a new pair.

"Of course, babe. You can tell me anything."

Tommy doesn't wince at the endearment, too used to Gwyn's casual affection, but it chafes at him, somewhere deep below the surface.

"I'm not who you think I am. I've been lying to you, to my Uncle, to everyone, and I'm tired. I can't keep hiding from you, Gwyn. You're my best friend," he says, hating how his voice is getting tight, or how he keeps babbling instead of getting to the fucking point.

"Tommy..." she says gently, mattress sinking when she sits down next to him. "It's okay. I already know."

...what?

Tommy’s blood runs cold. Had he been so obvious, even before he figured it out for himself? His thoughts are racing, wondering if she’d noticed how focused he’d been when they watched John Travolta prance around a Ford De Luxe on movie night, or maybe she’d seen how his eyes had lingered a little too long when Harry Osborn climbed the rope in gym class. Have other people noticed? How long until he stopped knowing even a minute of peace? Until even the adults who tolerated him left him for the wolves? What about his uncle?

"What? What do you mean, 'you know?'"

"The lying, the missed practices, the bruises. You're Spider-Punk. I've known for a while."

Yeah, Tommy definitely missed something.

He gapes, for a moment, mouth opening and closing a few times without a sound before he manages to find his words—

"What? No."

—and then they just don't stop.

"I mean, yeah. We can do that too, while we're at it, but that's not— that's not what I meant. Well, I would have told you, right after this, even, but that isn’t what I was trying to say. I am Spider-Punk, but that's— it's not—"

Apparently, his confusion is letting him skip right over the panic of Gwyn somehow knowing his secret identity, but not letting him find the right words to say what he actually wants to. He just keeps babbling.

"Tommy, honey, take a breath. What's this about?"

Fuck it. Who cares whether they're the "right" words?

"I'm gay, Gwyn," he blurts, and everything goes silent, like even the shitty pipes are too scared to break the tension with their usual clanging.

"What?"

"I'm gay," he says again, and it comes out easier, even if it hurts more. "I'm queer. A fairy. A fucking faggot, if you prefer." He spits the words like a curse. It definitely feels like one.

Why me? Isn't my life hard enough!?

His eyes are burning and Gwyn is still just staring at him. She doesn't look disgusted, but maybe she’s just in shock, processing this huge bombshell.

"Say something," he rasps, "please?"

She doesn't respond, not with words, anyway. Instead, she surges forward, wrapping her arms around him and tucking her face into the crook of his neck. It takes him painfully long to reciprocate, movements halting and awkward with surprise. This has to be a good sign. Right?

They stay like that for a long moment, with only the sound of shaky breathing and the background hum of the heater to fill the silence. Eventually, though, Gwyn is the first to pull away. She doesn’t go far, just enough so they're face to face. Her eyes are just as damp as his own.

"Me too," she confesses.

"What?"

"I'm gay. More of a dyke than a fairy, actually. Men? Not really my thing."

Oh.

Tommy doesn't know how to respond to that, other than to pull her back into a hug, burying his own face in her shoulder. It's probably for the best, because he starts to bawl like a baby, choking on the overwhelming mix of emotions that crashes over him. It's almost too much to parse and he feels like he's drowning, pulled under a riptide of relief-joy-trust.

He's mourning a bit, too. Grieving for the normal life he could have had— that they could have had. It’s one thing to admit such things to himself, but admitting it to another person— to Gwyn— makes it all the more real.

And it hurts. Each strangled sob is soothing agony— like the gangrenous decay of fear-shame-isolation being cut from healthy flesh. He hadn’t realized he was suffocating until he could finally breathe again.

He can’t stop crying and Gwyn's not doing much better, if the wetness of Tommy's collar or her shaking shoulders are anything to go by. She’s clutching onto him like a lifeline and Tommy? Tommy is independent. He stands on his own because he’s never had a choice, so it’s… terrifying to rely on others for support, but he’s holding onto her just as fiercely. Sharing the burden instead of stumbling under the weight of everything. It’s indescribable.

Tommy doesn't think he's ever connected with anyone the way he does with Gwyn.

#story post #copper standard #gwyn stacy #identity reveal #coming out #gay #lesbian

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maybeimamuppet · 2 years

Note

"For the record this is self-destructive/ For the record I'm aware of that" w rejanis

send me a song lyric and a ship and i’ll write something based off it!!

tw for self harm/scars

mentioned outing/general homophobia

“I need a second before we go in, I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you inside,” Janis says just before she and Damian enter the doors for Spring Fling.

“Ew,” Damian eloquently responds before he shoves her off in that direction and goes parading through the double doors. Janis rolls her eyes and clunks her way down the hallway towards the ladies’ room.

It’s kind of weird, being somewhere she’s been so many times before this late at night. She can hear the music from the gym thumping all the way down the hall, and all the lights but one are out. Almost like she’s in another dimension.

The one constant in every dimension is Regina George.

Janis is reminded of this as the blonde steps out from the stall furthest away from her and struts up to the mirror. She’s still unfairly gorgeous even in that spinal halo.

Janis tries not to let her shoulders tense as she pointedly refuses to acknowledge Regina’s presence. She touches up her dark lipstick, combs through the ends of her straightened hair.

“Janis,” Regina says, sounding almost surprised. Janis sags against the sink a little. Shit.

“Hey.”

Regina pulls a tube of glittery lip gloss out of her purse. She puts the tube in between her lips to unscrew it and swipes it on that way. She’s put her lip gloss on like that since they were in sixth grade. It’s almost comforting to know that some little details of her former best friend are still in there. It’s muffled around the tube when she says, “You look nice.”

Janis blinks in shock. Did-did Regina George just compliment her?

“Seriously?”

“I just said so, don’t be thirsty,” Regina tuts. So Plastic Regina is still there too.

“No, I mean- thanks, I guess,” Janis says. “But after everything you’ve done you’re just gonna say that like… nothing ever happened?”

“Yeah,” Regina shrugs. Well, as best she can with the halo. “Look, I know I have to change. I know I’ve been a bitch-”

“You can say that again.”

“But how am I supposed to start?” Regina says softly. “Unless it’s with you. I’m also, like, off my face right now, so I don’t really have a filter and now felt like a good time.”

Janis blinks at the pink-tiled wall behind her. Someone has brilliantly sharpied ur fuckin gay across it. And in a strange way, it makes Janis smile.

Because she is fuckin’ gay, and she’s proud of it now. And all it took was… the worst experience of her entire life, and the girl in front of her.

“You never cared,” Regina continues softly, knocking Janis out of her trance and back to the gross bathroom they’re in. “About anything I did to you.”

“What?” Janis says, unable to contain a dark laugh. “You seriously think I didn’t care? Did you miss the part where I tried to kill myself and was out of school for a year?”

“…You what?” Regina asks.

Janis shakes her head and undoes the buttons on the cuff of her navy blue sleeve. As she rolls it up she sighs, “Unbelievable.”

Regina reaches out a tender, immaculately manicured finger to run over the white, raised scar tissue permanently etched into Janis’ flesh. Space dyke. Cut as deep as the words did.

“That’s why you were in art therapy,” Regina says. Janis looks at her in confusion when she notices her voice is thick with emotion and sees tears rolling slowly down her face. “And I made fun of you for it.”

“Yeah,” Janis agrees softly. She feels like she’s dunked her head in a bucket of ice. Regina George is touching her scars. Janis hasn’t even let Damian touch them.

“I loved you too,” Regina says suddenly. “I-I panicked when you told me you liked me. You were so brave, and I’ve always been… such a coward. And I took all of it out on you. And you never deserved any of it. I’ve always loved you. And-and I still do.”

“I have too,” Janis says softly. Regina looks at her, icy blue eyes reddened by tears and probably a significant amount of painkillers. “Do you have any idea how fucking irritating it is to still be in love with the girl who ruined your life?”

“No,” Regina says. “But I know how much it hurts to hurt the one you love.”

“Then why did you keep doing this?”

“I couldn’t stop,” Regina says. “I got… hooked.”

“For the record, that’s self destructive.”

“For the record, I’m aware of that, thank you very much,” Regina huffs. “You’re a fucking boss, Janis Sarkisian.”

“You’re high,” Janis scoffs.

“Hohoooo, yeah,” Regina agrees with a goofy huffed laugh. “But I’m serious, too. You’re a fucking phoenix. You rose above everything I ever did to you, and now look at you.”

Janis does, turning to look at herself in the mirror. She can’t really see in the weird lighting, but she… likes what she sees looking back. She hasn’t felt that in a long time. Since the before time. “Phoenix.”

“And I wish I wasn’t the one that set you on fire, but I’m glad it made you who you are now,” Regina continues. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Janis says. “For everything Cady and I did this year. I know Cady’s been eating herself up about it, too.”

“Does that girl ever sleep?” Regina chuckles.

“I don’t think so,” Janis laughs back. “But hey, first apologies for both of us are done. Makes letting her apologize easier.”

“True,” Regina says softly. “Can we be okay?”

Janis is quiet. She’s hit with wave after wave of memories and feels like she might drown. She looks in front of her and sees a life preserver.

She surges forward and kisses her. Regina gasps, but carefully maneuvers the halo to a good place to kiss her back.

“I think we can be okay. If we work on it,” Janis gasps when they break apart.

“For the record, this is self destructive,” Regina teases.

“For the record, I’m aware of that.”

But I don’t think it is.

#FINALLY GETTTING TO THESE WHOOPSIES #also i didn’t proofread these #and sleepy ezzy really likes italics apparently so sorry not sorry #anyway thanks nonnie!!#entropy with ezzy #swear tw #mean girls #mean girls the musical #rejanis #also sorry this is p long

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juuls · 2 years

Text

Juulna’s 2021 Multi-Fandom Fanfiction Rec List - Part Two

(Yes, I realize this is a year late, but this year's been a bit nuts. I still hope you enjoy these fics anyway!)

Based only on what I’ve read with my own eyes this year!

Follow me on my journey into what, at times, was…

…actually rather calming! Perhaps you can find some comfort and entertainment, fluff and angst and romance and friendship, smut and a distinct lack of it, space adventures and fantasy and modern adventures, serial killers and good guys, redemption and reconciliation and learning to become someone completely different — there is so much here I read that stuck with me over the past year, and the 2021 Fanfic Reading Challenge ( @fanfic-reading-challenge ) allowed me a new way to keep track of all of my favourites. So props to that event! Definitely participating again (considering I run the event, yeah, that's probably a given lol, but full disclosure).

Without further ado, here were my 2021 fic favourites!

Fandom: Marvel (Comics & MCU)

Stony, Polyvengers:

you great unfinished symphony (you sent for me) by @ketchupcrisp

The last thing Steve Rogers ever expected to see on a Wednesday afternoon was his (their) dead submissive tumbling out of a portal and practically into Phil’s lap, very much alive and frantic about Soul Stones and timelines and some other version of the team.

Avengers Family:

Of Spectrums and Spoons by @calloftherunningtide

Natasha had been taught to pretend – to act and respond just like she was supposed to act and respond - from an early age.

Things You Learn In the Kitchen at Night by @buzzcat

When Darcy went into the kitchen that night, she didn't expect to meet her platonic soul mate or Tony Stark, let alone have them be one and the same person.

Iron Family (typically very Civil War Team Iron Man):

Second Chances by @izazov

Tony Stark is in love with Steve Rogers. Also, he is dying. There is no direct correlation between those two facts. But there is also the matter of Steve Rogers having no idea about Tony’s feelings.

And all that's best of dark and bright by @kaaterinapetrova

When Steve Rogers leaves her to die in Siberia, Toni Stark hacks her soulmark apart, tears the flesh and veins until she is blinded with pain, and waits to die. Up above, somewhere in the universe, something fractures.

Trigger warning for cutting, suicidal thoughts, breakdown.

Siren by @tsuki-chibi

When the exvengers were granted pardons, they return to the Compound. Steve was prepared to fight an uphill battle, but not for the biggest change of all:a clone of Peggy Carter, who is already at the Compound and acting as the newest Avenger. Determined to see everything go back to the way it was, Steve, Wanda and Clint become obsessed with figuring out a way to upstage the New Avengers and prove that the Accords are unnecessary.

Spoiler: their plan doesn't work.

Basic Rules by @striving-artist

It said something about Toni’s life that she had an established system in case of kidnapping and torture, and while there had been tweaks, it was still basically the same as from when she was a kid.

1. Let them underestimate you. 2. Don’t fight back until you have an exit. 3. Lie from the start. 4. Protect what matters. 5. Assume no one is coming to help.

you want a war? (you don't know what you're asking for) by @dyke-yoonji

“And now? Now you’ve all betrayed,” Steve flinched at the choice of words, “Stark, and Potts and Rhodes are not going to sit and take it.”

Natasha frowned at the phone. “What does this mean for us?”

Fury laughed - an ugly laugh with no myrth in it. “It means that Potts or Rhodes are the ones who sent me this phone because they wanted me to contact you. They wanted me - and you - to know that they are with Stark, that they are the line of defence between him and us.” “It means that they just declared war. God have mercy on your souls.”

Tony Stark is Not a Supervillain (But his Poker Group All Are) by DaughteroftheSilverMoon

A superhero walks into a room full of villains- and they play poker and give him a drink. After all, it's the polite thing to do. Only then they get to liking him, and all of a sudden they're slaying dragons for the good guys. It's very disconcerting, but kind of nice.

The Worst Job by @thealextheshipper

Jessica is assigned as the Rogue Avengers Accords delegate upon their return to the US, on the plus side she befriends Tony Stark, on the down side she has to deal with PR nightmare Steve Rogers, and his best friend PR nightmare Clint Barton.

DomesticIronHawk: (Laura/Clint/Tony)

Set On Fire by @allthemarvelousrage

She's not sure if she forgot to take her suppressants, or if something Wanda did screwed with her meds, but her world is on fire for the first time in years, and there's no one to help her through it... until there is.

IronMarvel:

Keep Me in Your Orbit by @moonlitmidnight-1

A post Civil War AU in which Toni knew Carol during the events of Captain Marvel, and was the person she gave the pager to.

IronStrange:

ARC I: An Infinity In The Wings by @bad-days-and-beautiful-nights

Stephen and Toni met just before she's kidnapped. They spent the night together and when she returns, they strike up an easy friendship. Soon enough, Stephen falls in love with her, but by the time he realizes, it's too late. Hoping she never finds out, he gracefully steps back, trusting Captain America to be the right man for his best friend. But when Steve surprises everyone and Toni ends up at death's door for the fourth time, Stephen has to re-evaluate his life's choices.

IronTaser:

Disinformed by Del_Rion

It’s time to come clean about Phil Coulson’s death. Out of all the Avengers, Tony’s reaction is the most surprising, and Phil must investigate it further.

Maria Hill/Sif:

Diplomatic Relations and Intelligence Failures by @scifigrl47

Maria Hill would like a night off, and maybe a date. She's not likely to get either one of them, so she's pretty resigned to long nights of protecting the world from behind the scenes. It's very satisfying, but not quite in the way she's hoping for.

Most people who know Maria are far too intimidated to make a pass. Luckily, the Lady Sif doesn't have that problem.

Phlint:

SHIELD Has Paperwork for Everything by @scifigrl47

Clint Barton knows where his loyalties lie, and they have more to do with his handler than his employer. Phil Coulson takes his responsibilities seriously, and a big part of his job is protecting the agent in his care from any threat to his well-being.

At this rate, neither of them is going to get a date. Natasha Romanov has other ideas, and the only side she's on is her own.

Stucky:

Reputation by @cpt-winniethepooh

Captain America is a hero to the nation, but an uncomfortable cage for Steve Rogers. He is confined by his reputation as the boring Avenger, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes, and has long given up on hope to change his public image.

Then he meets James Barnes, the infamous assassin also known as the Winter Soldier, who recently switched sides and is now working for the US instead of Russia. Barnes is tall, dark and handsome with his man-bun and eyeliner, and everything Steve shouldn’t want but does.

But just as there is more to Steve than Cap, there is more to Barnes than the Soldier - but will they be able to see that and find happiness?

An albumfic about finding love through the noise, set to the tune and narrative of Taylor Swift’s Reputation.

Steve Rogers at 100: Celebrating Captain America on Film by @hellotailor, @alwaysalreadyangry, eleveninches, febricant, @morgan-leigh

“Heil Hydra,” the enemy agent shouts.

“Heil this, motherfucker,” says Captain America, shooting off a rocket.

Steve and Bucky find out Hollywood has been busy since they went away. A historical survey, including but not limited to: one set of exploded genitals, a brief interlude in France, Mel Gibson and other masterworks of casting, eight Academy awards, several dinosaurs, and something Tony Stark has ominously dubbed “the masterpiece.” Art included.

Steve Rogers and the minefields of social media by @cpt-winniethepooh

Steve gets a Twitter account, then an Instagram one, then he gets Bucky back, too.

ThunderIron:

King Of Hearts, Queen Of . . . Nothing by ThatDamnKennedyKid

He was sure that she didn't remember, not with the way she had cried herself into drunken slumber in his arms. That did not mean he forgot. Not anything - not the painful slurs from her father that lingered in her mind, the barely visible scars across her arms and thighs from jumping into adulthood alone before she was no longer a child, how she had blubbered the name Yinsen over and over again like a regret.

I don't Want the World to See Me by @outercorner

Tony has a secret, one that is harder and harder to keep from observant teammates.

WinterIron:

Lines by @treesramblings

“If you want—and feel free to say no, everyone and their mothers know that I’m the queen of offering too much where I’m not wanted—but, if you want…” Toni hesitates, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, and then continues, “well, that’s the longest period of uninterrupted sleep I’ve had since last week, which was also with you, and—twice is a coincidence, but maybe we could test to see, uh, see if it’s a pattern? Only if you want; I’m not trying to guilt you into it. In fact, forget I said anything. This is a horrible idea. I’m just going to leave—”

She’s stopped by his fingers slipping into her palm as he's suddenly standing in front of her. “Okay,” he whispers.

The tension that had built up in her body releases all at once and she looks up into his eyes, the ever present churn of emotion swirling enchantingly, tenderly.

“Okay,” she responds, and his hand glides from hers as he turns away. She aches with the missing weight.

Watercolour Scars by ThatDamnKennedy

Despite fighting against Iron Man, Bucky didn't actually know Tony. Even then, he didn't know how he was the only one starstruck. He couldn't imagine the kind of miracles she must have pulled off before for the team to not even thank her.

Our Shattered Past by Elenduen

Bucky survives the snap, survives to see two-thirds of the universe die, half turning to ash, the others killed because those others turned to ash. He follows Steve back to America and the Avengers compound struggling to try and make sense of everything that has happened. Then Tony Stark returns to earth, broken, sick, desolate. Bucky feels he owes Tony for what he did to his parents, he wants to find a way to make amends and the only way he think to do that is to act as protection for Tony while he slowly recovers from his time in space.

Tony couldn't care less what happens to him now. He failed, Peter is gone, two-thirds of the Universe is gone, why should he care if he lives or dies now? he is determined to help others while he can though and if that means Barnes is following him around then he can help too.

What neither expect is a relationship to blossom between them or the family that blooms out of the ashes of their shattered pasts.

721 Fifth Avenue by Skarla

Tony Stark is a man of many faces; stressed, a little manic, overly fond of smoothies and kinder than anyone Bucky has ever met, although he hides it well. He's not quite sure why no one else is providing the support and companionship that the man is quietly desperate for, but it's no hardship to step up to the plate. He's always had a thing for scrappy underdogs after all.

The Evidence by @striving-artist

Didn’t notice. Right. Sure. Two brilliant minds, two super spies, and a god didn’t notice when the chattiest man they knew stopped making sound. They just seemed happier than before. Brighter and more cheerful than before. They just seemed like they were more comfortable with him around when he was stone silent.

Fuck it.

He knew they noticed.

And he knew they liked him better this way.

ShieldShock:

MARRY, FUCK, KILL by @sevensneakyfoxes

"Actually, you know, I get it. Rogers would be an excellent MARRY choice. You know that he'd never leave the toilet seat up, would never drink the last of the milk, and would clean the rain gutters without prompting," Darcy says. She's never really considered Steve as anything other than Captain America who is impossibly unapproachable; weirdly enough, the things she finds intimidating about him as a person oddly work for her in a domestic setting. "Ugh, plus you just KNOW Barton would be the type of fucker that would eat the last oreo and then shove the empty box back into the cupboard."

"So what's your list then, Darcy?" Jane asks, turning back to look at the mold, which has done exactly fuck all in the last half-hour.

"Don't rush me! I need to make an informed, calculated choice."

Darcy looks down at her pad, then back up at Natasha. She purses her lips in thought. "You've fucked Barnes, right? How dexterous is that metal hand?"

The ladies of SHIELD play a mass game of MARRY FUCK KILL, Avengers edition.

Wherein everyone marries Steve, kills Tony, Jane betrays science and Darcy hypothetically turns Thor into a llama.

WinterShock:

Black Holes and Revelations by @amidtheflowers

The Winter Soldier doesn’t like her much. It doesn’t help when they get thrown in a black hole together.

WinterShieldShock:

Upon A Hill, Across a Blue Lake by @i-mushi

Fluffy ABO - Darcy has a few run-ins with the police and a couple Alpha Avengers show up to help. She /really/ should have specified to Jane not to send her crushes when she called for help. Steve/Darcy/Bucky Alpha!Steve, Alpha!Bucky, Omega!Darcy

WinterWidowIronShield:

my body is not their bed by @deathsweetqueen

In 1995, the Engineer and the Winter Soldier escape HYDRA and end up, bleeding, on Peggy Carter's doorstep.

This is their journey after. This is the story of their victory march.

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indecentpause · 2 years

Text

Heads Up 7-Up

jumping on an open tag from @winterandwords! thank!

from The Black & Blues:

cw: homophobia, threatened violence, homophobic slurs both reclaimed and not, swearing

He doesn’t respond because there’s no way he could have heard you. There’s no way you can explain this as anything other than what it is if some asshole decides to insert themself into your business. But you’re so tired of hiding. You don’t want to make an announcement onstage. You don’t want to come out in an interview. You just want to exist as you are without having to make excuses and hide and lie. You just want to exist as you are without having to be afraid all the time.

You just want peace in your soul, just for a while.

Josselin loosely lets go of you and turns around when Frankie tugs on his shirt. You lean over to look around him.

It’s the guy who accidentally put his fist in your face [in the mosh pit].

“Hey,” he says, “I just wanted to…” He sees your hand on Josselin’s waist and frowns. “Am I interrupting something?”

The sneer in his voice is unmistakable.

Josselin shrinks back a little closer to you.

“No,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Whatever,” the guy says. “I was coming to check on you but I guess I did the world a favor, fag.”

“Fuck you.” It comes out calm. Like you’re reading your horoscope in the paper.

Frankie stands up so fast her chair nearly ends up on the floor. “If you’re gonna be a dick, just get out of here. No one wants an asshole at their show.”

“No one wants a faggot at their show, either,” the guy snaps. He’s big. Bigger than you. Skinhead. You could probably only take him if you got the element of surprise.

And the look on his face says he knows it.

“That’s not what your dad said the other night,” you snap. It’s stupid and juvenile, but then, so is name-calling.

“Hey, fuck you!”

“Fuck you!” You snap back. You stand, pushing Josselin behind you. “You think you’re tough shit because you’re bigger than me? The thing people like you don’t get about fags and dykes is that we’ve been fighting our whole fucking lives and we are not afraid of assholes like you!”

I’m gonna leave this tag open to share seven sentences or paragraphs because I don’t know what people would be okay with me tagging them in this specific bit? but tag me if you do it so I can see!

#my writing #writeblr #heads up 7 up #writeblr tag games #tag games #excerpt #wip #the black and blues #meara ryanne #josselin clearwater #frankie moore

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tothedarkdarkseas · 1 year

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Hello i have read your entire collection of fics and i gotta say. Wow . what a Talent for the Grime. im not a 2doc girlie unfortunately but I've been softened. won over. I can now see 2doc and go "well that's very interesting. I wanna see where this author goes w it" instead of the general feeling of he would Not fucking say that. bc the truth isthat maybe he would . say those things he says in your fics etc. You understand. Most of all i have an appetite for grime and i have had it Saciated. i saved the plastic beach fics for the end bc i knew they'd be the ones id be more predisposed 2wards and while i was right i will say -> paula fic sweep. i love ms cracker she's such a cunt. as a dyke well all i can say is come 2 bed sweetheart your horrible mean gross standoffish attitude is wasted on a rockstar like stuart. I haven't read a hotter woman in a while Congrats. um but yeah also the plastic beach fics i left some comments bc oysters got to me Bad i never fully felt the impact of plastic beach from a murdoc perspective w such INCISIVENESS and POWER just the fucking spiraling horror of putting yourself in that position out of desperation and PRIDE??? god. GOD. and then the fic you have pinned. the fic that.made me check out your ao3. god . ive been in bad relationships that hurt me greatly and i had to keep seeing the.person. It was So cathartic. the mixing of 2ds identity w murdocs the enmeshment the. The

sorry 4.the.long ask im a little drunk but you HAVE to know you have got a NEW BIG FAN

i wanna see.more of your noodle and cyborg noodle :( noodlez mean so much 2me and 2d and noodle in seething coast got to me so fucking bad. russ' small role also got me weeping but not as much as 2d and bday girl noodle ending did. your 2d is perhaps the most interesting read ive seen on the character so far .

This message brought so much joy to my night, as did your comments on AO3! I apologize for my lateness; I absolutely intend to respond to them over there (as far as my intentions go for the foreseeable future I will always respond to comments or asks, so long as anyone is kind enough to stop by! It just takes a few days sometimes, whoops) but I'm so enchanted by the ephemeral nature of the drunk message, I've got to let you know I've seen it, haha.

I love the sentence "unfortunately, I am not a 2Doc girlie" as it feels quite backwards from the other side of it. I would say, being someone who has written exclusively 2Doc stories for their fanfiction career and runs a bizarrely devoted 2Doc blog years longer than they ought to have, being a 2Doc girlie is an unfortunate thing to be. I wouldn't blame you having apprehensions! If you can believe it, when I got into Gorillaz I would avoid the shipping element altogether and skip past any 2Doc that popped up along my way; I also felt a sense of... neutrality to profound disinterest toward it, and had things gone differently after I may have bowed out without any lasting words exchanged and moved forward along the fandom line, as so many do. I felt some sense of shame, I think, to admit I was reshaping the characters by my own wants, but I accept now that this is what Gorillaz fandom is; the nearer to canon one can go in tone, the better, but there's a point where the road forks (splinters into four forks, and four more further down, really) and for the sake of your own stability and consistency, you have to make a decision about that character's path. Anyway, sorry, I'm rambling! Hopefully that doesn't bore you to tears, but your message made me think about it all again, and I enjoy doing so!

Thank you for reading everything, good gravy, it's a tall order and I'm just-- I am beyond flattered. I am beyond humbled. I am moderately embarrassed by some of the early writing, but I'm incredibly touched nonetheless. I am especially grateful for Paula to make her way into a loving home, biting and spitting all the way. Stuart is not and will never be equipped for the job. ("It's rotten work, especially if it's you," only Paula's not asking him to do it and she's sure as shit not offering it in return. God, I love that woman.)

Thank you. I don't know if it's too sappy and too sincere to say, but I think we grow in sincerity, I think we are emotionally and mentally fed by honesty even to a degree of discomfort, and so I swallow that embarrassment and say... you naming those stories, sharing your thoughts, sharing with me a connection and a sense of caring for Oysters, Ampersands, Seething Coast-- the stories that I cared most for, stories that drew the most from myself even when I tried to obscure it, stories that still sit close to the breast-- that is special. That really means more to me than a comical reply can express. I'm really glad that these scenes meant something to you and that they get to live in another person. That's the horror and the prize of writing, it's the thing you dread doing wrong and losing in the void; but to hear months or years later that it's found someone, and they felt something for it, and they're not embarrassed for you that you've stumbled through making something like this from these characters, that's all you can dream of. That's everything. It matters very much. I can't say I have anything new on the horizon for Noodle (...and I can't say what I have done in the past few months is anywhere near cresting the horizon) but this message gets my heart thu-thumping and has me mulling her over. Maybe one day we can revisit the mess again. If you'd like to listen, this song always makes me think of Stu and Noodle, specifically on that illusion of solid ground in the years after Plastic Beach. I listened to it sometimes to get in the mood to write them.

youtube

#<3

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sierrale8ne · 21 days

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more smut with black reader but like jealous paige maybe?

paige bueckers x black!fem!reader

chat, the ellie williams fics was getting to me bc this one is a tad freaky not gonna yie!

nsfw // porn no plot, dom!paige, bratty!sub!reader, strap-on sex, strap sucking (for the dyke culture🙂‍↕️), sex tape, daddy kink, spit kink, degradation, humiliation if you squint, dacryphilia, squirting.

“We’re not togther, Paige! Quit fucking bitchin’ at me.”

Your words rang through Paige’s mind the entire drive to your apartment from the bar the two of you had gone to. You were right, there was no official title on what you and Paige were, but she thought there was at least a mutual understanding that you both weren’t to be seeing anyone else.

Apparently not though, because not only did Paige catch sight of you getting drinks from and flirting with quite a few girls throughout the night, she also watched as you dance on and exchange numbers with a girl that looked a little to too similar to herself.

“Shut the fuck up, bro. I’m not playin’ wit’ you.” She shook her head, forcing you to your knees as she sat on your couch. She had already threw off the black shirt she wore, as well as her sweats leaving her in just her boxers and nike sports bra. A strap you hadn’t seen before fit onto her hips.

She didn’t care a single bit about the pain that shot through your knees when you hit the ground, or the fact that the rubbing of your jean skirt against your thighs felt like a rope burn.

She gripped the girth in her hand, slightly slapping the side of your face with it before pushing the tip to your lips. “Get it wet for me. C’mon.” She instructed. Paige’s free hand sunk into your nicely styled hair, pulling you closer to her cock as you opened her mouth and let her slip it inside.

The silicone sat heavily on your tongue as your mouth attempted to get accustomed to the stretch. You placed your hands on Paige’s thighs, trying to set a rhythm but she didn’t like that one bit.

She sunk her hand deeper into your hair, tugging the roots and pushing your head down until you gagged.

“Keep fuckin’ playing with me.” She muttered. Paige leaned back against the couch cushions, watching you as you gagged, spit dribbling down your chin. “You’re never gon’ disrespect me like that again. You hear me?”

You were still pissed off. And your lack of muffled response let the blonde know that everything she was saying was going in one ear and out the other.

She pushed your head further, finding a pace she liked and making you suck her cock until your nose nestled against the base of the harness. You scratched at her thighs, eyes watering until they spilled over and tears stained your cheeks. The strapless top you wore now was for sure ruined, Paige didn’t even bother to pull it off you and now here you sat with saliva covering your favorite going out top.

Paige pulled you back, letting you catch your breath as you whined and tried to fight her grip on your hair. She leaned towards you, with your mouth wide she gathered her own saliva before spitting it into your mouth. She smiled at the way your eyes fluttered shut before opening again for more.

“On your back right here, baby. Hurry up.” She instructed, finally letting go of your hair. But here you were, disobeying yet again. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, frowning when you looked down at your shirt.

“Paige!” You whined. “Look at what you did.” You spoke, attempting to salvage what was left of the dirty lace material.

Paige responded with your name, she was very stern not finding you funny at the moment. “I’m tryna be nice to you right now, and you wanna piss me off. I don’t care about the fuckin’ shirt. Lay back.” She spoke through gritted teeth. Her hand gripped your arm, dragging you to where she sat on the couch and pinning you to it.

Her hands just barely rucked up your skirt, it still sat uncomfortably on your hips, but it gave her just the right amount of freedom to get a look at the crotchless panties you wore. “You were gonna let her see you like this? Gonna give my pussy away to some girl who don’t even know you like me?”

“You’re just mad because I’m right. We’re not together and that’s why— fuck!” Your sentence was cut off by the feeling of her cock slipping into you.

The size was so foreign, making your eyes go wide and your mouth fall slack. Your legs began to close and Paige pushed them open. “I’m mad at you, ‘cause you’re a fuckin’ whore.” She grunted, pushing her hips into you faster, forcing you to take every inch of the lengthy silicone.

“Wait, P. Fuck!” You moaned, reaching a hand down to her abs and she slapped it away.

She nearly laughed at you, “Nah take it, mama.” Her voice rang through your ears as she literally split you open, your legs stretched wide until you swore you could feel her hitting past your stomach. “You wanna act like a slut, you get fucked like one.

Everytime you and Paige got intimate she was so dedicated to making it a good time for the both of you, she loved being able to reach that high simultaneously. But with the way she was fucking you right now, she didn’t care. Your brattiness had been on a different level tonight and she was so angry with everything that went down, that she didn’t even think about her own pleasure.

“You’re mine. I don’t give a fuck about if it’s official or not.”

“Fuck you.”

You had effectively hammered the nail in the coffin with that one. Her cock slipped into you deeper, moans and cries of her name slipping past your lips jumbled together. Your head fell back onto the pillow behind it, attempting to claw at her nearby hand.

Paige reached for your phone by your head, effortlessly unlocking it and pressing the camera app. The flash that came from your phone illuminated your brown skin in a beautiful light. The sheen of sweat on your collarbones and an old faded hickey from a few nights before.

Her free hand abandoned your leg, heading for your shirt that you had seemingly forgotten about and tugging it to reveal your breasts.

“Look at them pretty fuckin’ titties. Play with ‘em for me.” She demanded.

For the first time tonight you quickly obeyed her commands, your hands moving to fondle your tits as an alternative to soothing the ache between your legs. Paige dropped her hand back to your knee, pushing it back slightly to give herself and the camera a much needed view of your cunt taking every inch of her lengthy strap.

“Who’s fucking you, ma?”

“You!” You cried out, gasping for something to fill your lungs and bring you back to reality. Tears slipped past your eyes and stained your cheeks. “You, daddy. Aww, fuck! I’m sorry!” You apologized, hoping that would ease her continued assault on your sopping wet pussy.

Paige laughed for real this time. The laugh so authentic and audible through the speakers of your phone. “No you’re not. You just want me to treat you like my girl again. Right? You want me to fuck you like you’re my baby, and not like the whore you decided to be tonight.”

“Mm gonna cum, Paige. That’s my spot— gonna cum!” You hiccuped.

Her thumb shamelessly zoomed in to where you covered the clear strap-on in a sheen of your cream. “You better hold that shit. I’m not playing.” She followed up her words with slowing down her insanely fast thrusts, stroking your pussy slow and deep as she gripped your chin in her hand.

“Tell the camera whose pussy this is.” She ordered. Your phone case came to view and you were nearly blinded by the light it shone in your face. “I swear to God I’ll make sure you don’t come for weeks.” She threatened. Paige knew you would struggle, in fact she was counting on it.

Your cries nearly drowned out your attempts to speak. You couldn’t focus with how slowly she was fucking you, your clit burned from lack of stimulation, and your were so embarrassed to be in this position in the first place.

“Yours, P.” You finally got out.

“Who? Say it again.”

You took a deep breath, feeling your orgasm approach fast. “Paige! Paige, it’s yours!” Your eyes rolled back and you attempted to push her off of you. She sat back a little, wrapping your legs around her waist.

Paige sped up just barely. Her focus was catching how you look on camera, just as much as she wanted to make you finish. Her hand dropped to apply pressure to your clit.

“Let me cum. Please.” Your voice came out in a hoarse whine as your covered your face in embarrassment. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll let you cum, ma. Let me see your face.” Paige’s tone was probably the nicest it had been all night. She was so turned on with the sight of your tits and your tears and the drool off your lips. She wanted to get it on camera so she could spend road trips touching herself to it. She needed it. “Fuckin’ cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

Your cum nearly shot out of you like a sprinkler, a loud moan of her name leaving your lips that you could only imagine the neighbors would hate you come morning. You wet her abs with how hard you came, the lewd sound of you squirting was picked up by your phone, even reaching the camera lens.

“Oh my God, Paige.” You breathed out, falling weakly against the couch.

She cut the video and dropped the phone, reminding herself to send it to her phone later. Paige pulled out of you gently, trying not to hurt you with how wide she just split you. The inevitable squelch it left you with made her laugh her way into your neck.

“Play with me again and I’ll send that shit to the next bitch who thinks it’s cute to buy you drinks.”

A breathy chuckle left your lips, knowing that she was joking but not knowing how much of it was really a joke. Even through your laughs, you still were focused on the cause of your argument in the first place.

“Ask me to be your girl first.”

author’s note pls enjoy this shorter post and don’t comment on any typos and shit bc i do NOT be revising… sorry 😅. got hella requests coming out so be ready guys ;)

#kalena’s works ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅#sierrale8ne #uconn wbb #paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut #lesbian #wlw smut #oneshots ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡#rqs 🐆

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mvnvgedmischief · 1 year

Text

evergreen chapter 2

Marlene had been thinking about that stranger for days. She had been wondering why they never introduced themselves to each other, why it felt so familiar kissing her, and why she couldn’t get this woman out of her head. It was just another night at Gateway. It shouldn’t have felt so spectacularly different. Yet, it did. She was working underneath another car, changing the oil on a Ford Escort, when she heard Tony call out for her.

“McKinnon, you know how to do bikes, right?”

Marlene groaned, wheeling herself out from under the car, and approaching the front desk. There she was, the woman from the other night. “Didn’t peg you for a gear head,” She chuckled, before turning to Tony. “Yeah, I’ve got it. You wanna finish the escort? Needs a new valve on the oil tank.”

“Alright, but you’re buying me a pint for finishing up your work.”

“Go cry about it to Mac, maybe then she’ll teach you to fix a bike.”

She turned back towards the other woman, who was looking at her with something between confusion and abject horror. Marlene didn’t know what to do, so she cuts the tension with a joke.

“Shit, you thought I was joking about the mechanic thing.” Her tone was questioning, like she didn’t understand the look on the other woman’s face. Something was different than her other escapades, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Why was the other woman looking at her like that?

“Marlene?” Dorcas responded, eyes wide and questioning. For an instant, Marlene was lost. How does she know her name? But then she takes a look at the bike, and recognizes it as Sirius’s, and it all starts to click into place. It should have been familiar enough, kissing Dorcas. She only spent the better part of ten years being in lover with her. However, she never thought she’d see Dorcas again. Seven years, and they both had changed so much. Marlene didn’t consider this as even a possibility. She had already spent so much time seeing Dorcas in the face of every stranger, so she never anticipated seeing her again and thinking twice about that. Shit. She made out with DORCAS at a muggle club. SHE MADE OUT WITH DORCAS. Preventing her own anxiety from bubbling up was becoming more and more challenging, but there was nothing she could do. She was at work, and she was going to have to work on this bike.

“Dorcas?” Her voice sounded small, not very becoming for a butch like herself. She cleared her throat, in hopes of going back to her gravely, natural cadence. Not that it would work, considering how small she felt at this moment. This is the exact same girl she ran away from. Sure, in seven years, she had changed a lot. She was more fit than ever, she did her makeup differently than she had in their Hogwarts days, and she had a new hairstyle. She had creases next to her eyes, presumably from years of laughing at jokes Marlene wasn’t around for. But that didn’t make Marlene feel any less stupid for not recognizing her. On the other hand, she didn’t blame Dorcas for not recognizing her. She had changed so much, from her haircut to her personality, and why would either of them expect to see the other at a muggle lesbian bar?

“What the fuck, McKinnon!” Dorcas shouts, only for Marlene to start shushing her. She definitely didn’t want Tony, a straight man, to think she had done something to offend the femme. That would only ever lead to violence, and it was already so difficult for Mac to find guys to hire. It wasn’t like people were clamoring to work at London’s own Dyke Shop. It didn’t matter that Mac was a transmission whisperer, or that Marlene could get a tire rotation and an oil change done in the time it took one guy to change a flat. They were dykes, and working at their shop was seen as inferior. Tony only worked here because his old shop threw him out. There were a couple other guys, but none of them had enough experience to get hired anywhere else. And no one in all of London was going to take their cars to a shop that had too many dykes working at it.

“Dorcas don’t yell like that. You’re gonna get me killed!” She whisper-shouted. The desperation was high, of course. It didn’t matter what was happening, an onlooker could decide that she was a predator harassing Dorcas. That was the last thing she needed. It didn’t matter that they were childhood friends, or that Dorcas was yelling about something entirely unrelated, anyone looking on at the wrong moment would take this and run with it. Marlene loathed the idea of being the victim of a gay-bashing.

“You could take a couple Muggles. If I remember correctly, you wanted to be an Auror for Merlin’s sake!” Dorcas responded, whisper-shouting in kind. She wasn’t about to break the statute of secrecy, even if she desperately wanted to threaten Marlene with her wand to her throat. How dare she kiss her at that bar, how dare she not tell her who she was, how dare she ABANDON HER!

“I work here, Dorcas. I can’t just bust out my wand to fend them off.” She explains, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to….” She paused, thinking it over, “and I don’t have my wand.”

If nothing else convinced Dorcas she didn’t miss her magical life, Marlene was sure not having a wand would do it. For most of her former friends, a wand was like an extension of their hands, leaving it behind was unheard of. Living an entire life without one was the biggest statement she could have made about leaving magic behind. Perhaps that was why Dorcas looked so horrified.

“How did you find me?” Marlene asked, looking down at her watch. She was almost off of work anyways, she’d just have to fix up this bike.

“Asked around about the Lesbian Mechanic. Found Mac’s shop as being the place with the lesbians, so I assumed you must work here. If you didn’t I’d probably just keep showing up to Gateway until I found you.”

Marlene nodded at that, unable to prevent the smirk from breaking out across her face. She had made such an impression that Dorcas would’ve looked all over the city for her. That was something that she never anticipated, because it was exactly the type of thing she would have done if she had anything to go off of. If she knew it was Dorcas, and that Dorcas wanted her, Marlene would raze the city to the ground. She didn’t know it was an option for her, which was why she never did.

“Didn’t realize I made such an impression,” she chuckled, shit eating grin crossing her face. There was a time when these type of sarcastic barbs were commonplace between them. Making them felt like putting on an old, worn in hoodie. Comfortable, easy, and soft. Yet, she knew the ease of the comment wouldn’t last. “And the bike?” Marlene asked, “how’d you get Sirius to lend you his bike?”

Dorcas’s face softened into a small smile, because at least Marlene remembered them all. She hadn’t forgotten in all of her time away. “I told him there was a fit bloke that I met at a muggle bar and he worked at an auto shop. He was happy to help.”

Marlene nods, glad she could maintain her secrecy from the old friend group. She didn’t want any of them knowing where she was, let alone that she was a lesbian. It would be too painful to know they were out there, knowing about her. She couldn’t handle it.

“Where are you living now?” Dorcas asked, a bit of hope in her eyes. Marlene definitely didn’t want to crush that, so wrote down her address on a post it note. Before she could think the better of it, Dorcas was snatching the paper out of her hand and putting it into her purse.

“Does the bike actually have any problems, or was it just a ploy to come talk to me?” Marlene smirks, glancing over to the bike.

“Sirius said it could use a tune up. I assume that shouldn’t be too hard for a girl that helped build it,” Dorcas smiled at her.

“She. A bike’s not an it, cars, bikes, and boats are all she.” Marlene chuckled, “You could at least pretend to know some of this stuff if you want to maintain that whole I know what I’m doing here facade.”

“What does it matter?” Dorcas chuckled in response, “I got you to talk to me didn’t I?”

Marlene was glad that Dorcas still regarded her with a wistful joyousness. She didn’t want to be a sore spot in Dorcas’s history, and she always worried that was what she became. At least right now, it seemed as though Dorcas didn’t think of her as a painful part of her past.

The sound of timberlands on concrete signified that Tony was approaching, and even though they weren’t doing anything wrong, Marlene still felt her heart begin to race. Tony leaned up against one of the cars resting on a jack, and Marlene could hear herself beginning to cringe.

“This dyke bothering you, beautiful?” He asked, shooting a glare towards Marlene. Marlene glared back, feeling just slightly sick to her stomach. She feared what Dorcas would say in response. In their youth, it was not as though the other woman had any discretion. Luckily for Marlene, in those seven years Dorcas had done a lot of growing up as well.

“No sir, just telling me about my boyfriend’s bike!” She smiled, twirling a braid between her fingers. It was smart, Marlene would give her that. Keep the boys at bay by claiming to have a boyfriend, keep the friends at bay the same way. The imaginary boyfriend was the get out of jail free card of the femme lesbian, and Dorcas used it with ease.

“Lucky bloke,” Tony muttered, finding his way back to the Ford Escort. Marlene appreciated the expertise with which Dorcas handled this problem, and wondered how many times she had done this before. She had always looked at femmes with awe and wonder, and that had only increased tenfold when it came to Dorcas. She had the discretion of a wizard in the muggle world, and a femme in the company of a straight man.

“Should be about forty five minutes to an hour.” Marlene stated, looking down at the bike.

“Come on Marls, can’t you do it faster than that?” Marlene knew what Dorcas was asking, even though she couldn’t say it out loud. She wanted Marlene to use magic to tune up the bike, which could probably be done pretty quickly if two things weren’t variables at play. She had barely used magic in seven years, so her ability to do some kind of charm would be highly limited, and therefore wouldn’t work on the meticulously charmed bike, a tune up to a motorbike; however, that was entirely in her wheelhouse. Additionally, she wouldn’t be caught dead using magic in front of anyone, let alone Tony. He would use any reason to oust her from the garage, she was sure about it. He hated that she, a woman, was more senior than him in the shop. Obviously that was never going to fly as a reason to get rid of Marlene, so anything would be worthwhile to him.

“Sorry, no can do, Dorky.” Marlene grinned, grabbing a wrench from the desk. Dorcas looked taken aback by the nickname, and in an instant Marlene feels guilty.

“Don’t call me that,” She mumbled, and Marlene obliged. She didn’t realize the nickname would overstep a boundary, but she felt like an idiot for not realizing it. Of course it did. They haven’t seen each other in seven years, there were bound to be consequences to that.

“Sorry– I–” Marlene began, but she didn’t know how to say ‘ sorry leaving made a childhood nickname too painful to hear,’ so instead she glanced at Dorcas empathetically.

“So it should be finished in an hour or so, but we’re closed then, so either of you can come pick it up tomorrow.”

“‘Kay, I’ll come get it tomorrow morning.” Dorcas smiled, turning on her heel and walking out of the garage. Marlene couldn’t help but stare at her as she left, her heart beating faster in her chest. To be honest, she can’t believe that just happened. She wanted desperately to run to Mac and Nancy and tell them, but then she would have to explain how they knew each other. Marlene didn’t really know how to explain. She had told them that she had no one when she first moved in, and following that they never really asked again.

Marlene worked on the bike diligently. She didn’t want Sirius to think she had done a shoddy job, even if he thought that she was some stupid muggle bloke Dorcas had a crush on. Her time estimate was pretty on par, and forty minutes later she clocked out and started her walk home. She popped her headphones on, and listened to her walkman as she walked. It was something she had saved up for it, and listening to the Indigo Girls on her way home was something freeing. It made her feel like the main character of a movie.

When she arrived home, she saw an owl sitting on her window sill, holding a letter. She wanted to get right in the shower, but she wasn’t exactly going to leave this owl all night to starve. She opened the letter, and saw Dorcas’s bubbly familiar handwriting.

Marlene,

Hey. This is kind of weird for me, because I’ve never done it before, but I think we have some catching up to do. I think you owe me that much… I want to know how you’ve been, and what you’ve been up to.

Can you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron?

–♡ Dorcas

Marlene smiled at the note, glad that Dorcas still signed her notes with a heart. She liked that there were things about Dorcas that she remembered distinctly. She loved that there was still so much to learn, but so much she already knew.

She hopped in the shower, washing the dirt and grime of the shop off of her. She wasn’t about to show up to meet Dorcas looking like a grease monkey. She was more sophisticated than that. Or at least, she hoped she was. She washed her short hair, and scrubbed the grease out of the platinum blonde strands. When she was satisfied with her hygiene, she stepped out of the shower, and immediately sprayed herself with her cologne. In the seven years since she left Hogwarts, she hadn’t actually changed the way she smelled. Something about having a signature cologne felt so affirming, even when she was just a baby butch. Maybe it was because in her deepest fantasies, Dorcas’s amortentia smelled like her cologne. Regardless, she fluffed up her hair with some pomade, and put on her basic uniform of a too tight jogbra, a heavyweight white t-shirt, a pair of worn blue jeans, and a pair of work boots. She made her way to the night stand, and pulled out an old, worn box with Olivander’s emblazoned in gold across it. It had been a long time since she had opened that box. She was lucky that her ex-girlfriend never regarded it as anything worth noting. Otherwise, the jig may have been up for her.

When she picked up the wand, golden light streamed around her, much like it had the first time she held it. She chuckled to herself, muttering “dramatic little thing,” before apparating into the bustling center of Wizarding London. She wished she had worn something more inconspicuous, but she didn’t have the money to just casually purchase a robe, and she didn’t intend to stay long.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She couldn’t believe Dorcas Meadowes had asked her to meet up. Despite their closeness in childhood, she couldn’t believe Dorcas had an interest in her.

‘Take a deep breath, Marlene,’ She thought to herself, standing outside the pub. With two steps into that pub, her entire life had the potential to change. Getting to know Dorcas again seemed like a noble cause to risk everything.

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mediocre-knight · 1 year

Note

If youre attracted to trans men you aren’t a lesbian. That’s just rebranded transphobia and calling us women.

Hey, I appreciate you sending me this, and I'm sorry that I bothered you. This is something I think about a lot, actually.

Ever since I was really little, I made a point of dressing in "boy" clothing and cutting my hair short. When I was 5, I asked a girl if I could be her boyfriend. I grew up in a small town in Alabama, and they didn't really know about trans people, so everyone called me a lesbian and a dyke. This may not be the most accurate label, and it's something I'm working on figuring out, but after considering myself a lesbian for most of my life and relating to that community, it's really hard to let go. Lesbianism made me feel safe and heard during a time in my life in which those feelings were very rare. However, that's no excuse for misgendering others.

I've dated/had sexual relationships with 4 trans men so far, and all 4 had been comfortable with me identifying as a lesbian. I had lots of conversations with each of them about the issue. As a transmasc myself, I've never felt uncomfortable about someone I'm with referring to themselves as a lesbian. You're actually the first person to tell me they had a problem with it, but that does not mean that you are the only person who's had a problem with it. I'm sure others have and they didn't feel comfortable enough to say anything to me about it. So thank you for talking to me about this.

I'm still working on figuring out a proper label for myself. Maybe I don't even need one. I'm not sure. I feel like there's a huge overlap between butch, nonbinary, and transmasc identities, and it's been something really difficult for me to navigate.

If you want to keep talking about this, feel free to DM me or send another anon if that makes you feel more comfortable. Or, if you've said all that you need to say to me, feel free to just not respond. You don't owe me anything.

Once again, thank you for talking to me about this, and I'm sorry for offending you. That wasn't okay. I hope you have a good day/night.

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migleefulmoments · 5 years

Text

The ccers are just like the gop

Watching the Impeachment testimony today it’s a nightmare for the gop and Trump. Ambassador Sondland has admitted everything we knew was true using the words “Quid Pro Quo” and admitting that everyone in Trump’s administration knew. Watching the gop then try to defend Trump is a disaster or outrageous lies, conspiracy theories, and distraction.

Reading this thread from the cc coven, I’m reminded of how similar their tactics are to the gop’s. This thread is full of lies and conspiracy theories that have been duped and yet these people- like Nunes, Jordan, and Stipanik- clearly believe the lies they share. The two groups have built their knowledge bases on these lies. These faulty foundations don’t hold up to even the smallest of scrutiny. People living in reality can see the faults, but sadly ccers and the gop don’t see reality and live in an imaginary world where they are always right.

ajw720 answered:

It is hard to me to select the one thing that i find the most offensive, there are just so many. They have also named at least 2 drinks based on breast size, Good Rak (I forget the exact name) and R2DD2. you know reducing women to their body parts. And of course the one called C3PHO that is implying that women should be called whores if they decide to exercise their sexual freedom. And we are even touching on the innuendo which maybe isn’t offensive, but is extraordinarily immature. Or the fact that they have naked women gyrating on the bar and simulating sex with teddy bears in a PIANO BAR where on a different night you can sing d/isney tunes! (Abby refuses to understand that the drink names are NOT to belittle women but to take ownership of the words away from those who use them against us. She has been told this but she needs to be angry at Mia so she refuses to even think about it=faulty foundation)

But hey, according to her stans, I am closed minded and they are progressive. (yep! That’s true). You know what it reminds me of? The individuals watching the impeachment trials and daring to say that these upstanding, career public servants, many of whom serve both democrats and republicans, are liars because they refuse to admit the bigot in the WH is a criminal. (Nice try but no, you honey, you are those people. Faulty foundations)

D looked really drained to me last night, and we know he is PBB free in NYC. I have to imagine the way the are smearing his name constantly is weighing heavily on his soul. My heart hurts for him. (In fact, 3 of the 6 people in at least one of the photos has the same neutral face. Other photos, released later that night show a gleefully happy Darren=faulty foundations. Photos at the end.)

ajw720 Can I just add one thing? The “marriage” was forced by D’s team, and this includes his extremely powerful PR agency. (NOT TRUE= faulty foundations) Why are they not reading and reviewing everything posted by that offensive institute prior to its release? (Because Darren controls his own life and his business is not part of what Sunshine Sachs does for Darren). That would be working FOR THEIR CLIENT. Instead, they are allowing that bar to actively harm his character. (Such a stupid argument. Why would Darren continue to pay them if they were actively harming him? Abby this one is so stupid you need to stop=faulty foundations)

I hope that there is a time D can sue them for defamation, I really do, because to me, this is an absolute outrage. (Well we are a decade in, when you believe that could happen, Abby? Ya know ....using your legal knowledge?)

This flannel shirt theme stunt has made my blood boil more than most. (This just pisses me off. My daughter read this post, called herself a dyke and said.“I just wish I could go.” She was wearing a flannel shirt)

notes-from-nowhere My question is: why M has been forced to drop “s/unsetstrippa” (and f/etus but, let’s leave one of the sock account behind for a moment)? (Fetus IS NOT MIA. OMG THIS IS SO STUPID=Faulty Foundations) That was not her decision.(WTF? Of course, it is=faulty foundations) So, why? I’ll tell you why: given that the plan was to make her relevant for everybody besides for her nanny, it was embarrassing for D (and his team) to have her tagged by colleagues and various celebrities with that childish nickname. Do not even try to tell me this is not the reason (Faulty Foundations).

So why isn’t the same level of “courtesy” reserved for your establishment? Quite frankly “s/unsetstrippa” was far less offensive than what happens constantly in&out of that place. When will we see day D will be treated with the respect that a man in his position should have by default? And above all, when his team will accept that they are no longer managing a teenage dream? Controversy as a way to make someone famous it doesn’t work as a shortcut if there is nothing behind that people might like. (I honestly don’t understand this sentence so I have no good debunk...Darren was never marketed as “teenage dream” and he certainly currently isn’t= Faulty Foundations)

It’s time to remove D from the TS/G narrative once and for all. M dropped this place a long time ago and it has no meaning for D’s career, let alone finantial reasons since he is just the piano man and not the owner. (Well “finantial” reasons aside, Darren and Mia own the bar. They don’t work there. -=Faulty Foundations).

ajw720

Sadly she dropped that for another made up name that they have used to mock D. It is unfathomable the way D is being treated.

And honestly, I don’t know why more people aren’t screaming about this bar and how people don’t see or ignore how offensive it is. (Because only someone who refuses to live in reality actually sees the bar as problematic. It’s a queer-safe space that celebrates the LGBTQ community in ways that MAKE SENSE TO THE LGBTQ Community. Just because Abby doesn’t understand it doesn’t make it wrong= Faulty Foundations). D does his best to distance himself, but it is his name front and certain in every article about the place and he is the one on TV naming it repeatedly (I love this nonsense..so is he distancing himself or is he the name that is connected often?)

Where are the people protecting the actual marketable commodity’s interest? The person with talent that is at the top of his game? I have never seen anything like this. (Its all made up in your head=Faulty Foundations)

notes-from-nowhere You know one of the reason his team keeps ignoring things like this bar is because people bring gifts to M. (OMG...this is just a stupid thing to say) Because even if these people know everything about t his place, how rude the staff is, how undrinkable and overpriced the drinks are, how annoying and out of place “certain activities” inside of it are, they swallow their beliefs and words to go there and have a picture with D to post on their social media (This is all conspiracy theory and absolutely Faulty Foundations. This is exactly like Nunes repeating all the conspiracy theories tied to Trump this morning. I’ve looked at these and most -if not all- of these are not real.)

As long as there will be people that put their interests ahead of D’s wellbeing and public image, his team will keep to ignore how hurtful behaviors and bar are. They will buy an article on a random magazine that will praise the bar, D will be forced to publicly say the its name and so on. (Faulty Foundations)

D’s team is not protecting an investment, they are making money out of people. And people is allowing them to do so.

leka-1998 Yesterday someone asked me why I keep being angry at the things they do or don’t do, at what’s going on at that bar that screams M. Why I even had to point out that flannel theme. Because I shouldn’t be surprised at all. And I’m really not, but the way they are destroying D’s character really gets me. He’s currently getting more attention due to M/idway and AB, two great projects. Both are/will be seen by a new audience. I’m sure HW will be big too. A competent and well-meaning team would care how D looks, what he’s associated with. They don’t. And no one can tell me that’s not wrong. (The idea that Darren can’t take control of his own life is pretty gross. Nobody lives this life they imagine- it’s outrageous. Faulty Foundations)

ajw720 Obviously everything annoys me about the circus that surrounds him. But I can mostly laugh about the Halloween BS or and the excessive praise she receives as none of that ultimately affects D’s character and his reputation. But this bar, it is so harmful and it potentially could be so damaging. Imagine a theater goer looking up D after AB and finding their IG full of discriminatory themes/drinks and extremely immature innuendo. And D’s name is what that bar is associate with, not his “bride” as she doesn’t do anything, but D who is the one promoting it the media regularly. He has not promoted anything in his life more than the bar over the past 2 years. Not even his fake nuptials. (Yes, Imagine what it looks like that Darren’s bar is a queer safe space. OMG How horrific!!!!!!! How doe he live with himself? The ONLY People who are upset that TSG has LGBTQ programming most nights but Disney on other nights are those who are homophobic!!!!!!!!!!!)

And I truly do not understand how anyone dismisses this stuff or says we are the ones who are wrong. Some of the marketing ploys are blatantly and clearly offensive. And yet it continues and no one seems to care that D is the only one that could potentially be hurt by this as it is his career that they are jeopardizing. And M is praised as a role model for disparaging women and members of the LGBT+ community. (YOU are literally claiming that the gay women who runs Dyke Night doesn’t know anything about-or respect - her own community... but YOU do. SHUT THE FUCK UP ABBY)

It is revolting (yes you are) and it is really important that we document it and discuss it and continue to highlight it and I don’t care how much hate i get for doing so, people need to realize what they are doing. (The “hate” should be a HUGE WARNING SIGN Abby. But you see EVERYTHING as proof you are right and it doesn’t matter how hard it is to get to “I’m right”, how much you have to twist the truth or makeup stories about Darren's lack of personal agency, it’s all confirmation bias for you. YOU ARE WRONG and these comments are homophobic). And maybe it won’t be today, but at some point he will get free from his tormentors who are hell bent on destroying him and we will have the public record of everything they did to actively harm him. Faulty Foundations).

klaineownsmysoul This is precisely the kind of place that a real pr/management team would work overtime to keep their client away from instead of pushing it relentlessly as a point of pride. There’s nothing remotely redeeming about it and like that farce of a wedding, nothing that reflects D’s personality. It’s beyond tacky and juvenile and straight out of the wheelhouse of a 20 year old frat boy. You expect me to believe that the same person who wrote beautiful songs like “Not Alone” or “TDTDIO” also decided to name a drink period sex? (Yes!!!!!! because people are complex animals. But also because that same person wrote “Me and MY Dick” =Faulty Foundations). the words of Trevor Noah, get the fuck out of here. But I’d expect nothing less from his team at this point: a group of people who think class and notoriety are equal. I live for the day when he gets a team to actually support him instead of trying to further themselves through him. (His team by law has to support him but also WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE STICK WIT HTHEM If they weren’t helping him? He’s not a moron=Faulty Foundations) No one goes to events hoping to see D’s manager on the drums. There are actual musicians out there who are more than qualified. (And yet Darren chose Ricky to play drums for him=Faulty Foundations). Go do your actual job for a change.

#cc #ccer #cc fandom #crisscolfer #darren criss #tsg #mia swier #mia criss #debunking cc lies #homophobia #Responding to Dyke Night

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tonyspank · 2 years

Text

Dinner?

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: fluff, kissing, and some bad writing on my end

A/N: sorry for the long wait! i hope you're all doing well.

series masterlist | main masterlist

It's been a week since Wanda came over to watch The Dick Van Dyke Show with you. If she was being honest with herself, she couldn't get you out of her mind. She fancied your company and little did she know you fancied hers.

She wanted to spend more time with you, as shocking as it sounded. Before Wanda was a closed-off person, someone who kept to herself. Being closed off didn't mean she was a huge asshole to everyone she met, it solely meant if you really wanted to know Wanda you'd have to make an effort to do so.

You weren't going to make an effort anytime soon. The new feeling frightened you. Your heart raced, and your stomach always had a fluttery feeling at the thought of Wanda. Your life was quite boring before a week ago even if you can release energy from your eyes in the form of heat, light, or concussive force and could fly 850 miles per hour... it got pretty boring.

You'd do the same thing every day. Wake up at seven o'clock, cook yourself breakfast, read almost any book you could get your hands on, eat lunch, come home and write about everything that happened in your day. You seemed to forget many things that happened earlier in your life, and you didn't want that to happen as you got older.

What is astonishing is that you didn't write about that night with Wanda. You didn't write about that day at all. You knew you wouldn't forget her, who could ever forget about someone like Wanda?

When you looked into Wanda's eyes you noticed she has seen both happiness and suffering, good and bad, light and dark, you saw there was a story to be told with her, and you wanted to know all of it. Every detail.

Wanda liked how welcoming you were with her, how well-mannered you were, how you listened to what she had to say, and god, don't her started on your laugh. When you laughed, you would always slightly throw your head back, how your eyes closed with a nose scrunch, and that smile wouldn't leave your face until the joke was fully over.

By the time it was noon Wanda had decided to build up enough courage to ask you to dinner, a friendly dinner, or a romantic dinner? She didn't know, to be completely honest any type of dinner with you would be okay with her.

Wanda had clouded your thoughts, badly. You stayed up all night thinking about her, even today when you were cooking your breakfast you found yourself daydreaming of her. Those beautiful green eyes that glowed when she got too focused on the television screen, those alluring pink lips that—

Your toast was more than burnt this morning, if anyone tried to take a bite their teeth would crack most likely. You couldn't make a new slice because you had run out of bread.

So you decided after reading a few chapters in your book you'd go by to the shop for bread and lunch until you only made it through ten pages. Again, due to the fact, that a certain Sokovian was on your mind.

After getting nowhere in your book, you got dressed and ready to leave the house. Once you opened the door your heart dropped.

Wanda awkwardly smiled at your shocked face, "Sorry... is it a bad time?"

You immediately shake your head no, "No— no not at all! I was just heading to the store, what's up?" You smile, trying to reassure her that she wasn't bothering you, she couldn't even if she tried. She nodded to herself as she played with the rings on her fingers, "I was wondering if you'd to have dinner with me tonight?"

You couldn't help but think about how adorable the woman in front of you was, how she came out of her way to ask you for dinner, and you'd taken notice of how nervous she was, yet here she was fighting back that feeling to ask you for a good time.

Wanda's nerves increased when you hadn't responded after a few seconds, so she decided to take it in herself to read your mind. She didn't know if her choice was good or bad. Because it only left her blushing furiously, all because you found her adorable.

"I'd love to have dinner with you, Wanda." A large smile appeared on her face as she released a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

"Does six work for you?" She asked, hopeful. Even if it didn't she'd be more than able to reschedule, she wasn't as busy as you'd expect.

"Six is great." Wanda nods and you follow, a silence falling off you. You and Wanda meet each other's gaze, holding the look. Your eyes saying more than words could ever say.

You clear your throat, breaking the silence along with the shared gaze.

"If you want you could come to the store with me?" You suggested, Wanda moved a bit to the side so you had room to step out and lock your door. "Sure. I don't see why not."

You turned back around with a smile on your face, "Cool."

The walk to the supermarket was short and entertaining, Wanda had been telling you what she's been up to last week. She had almost admitted that she was thinking about you the entire week, but caught herself just in time.

You loved hearing Wanda talk. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about something passionate, like cooking. Or, how her smile would increase once she got a good reaction from you. She could talk about the most boring subject in the world and you'd still wanna hear every word of it, not once getting distracted or losing interest.

"So what are we here to get chef?" You raise a brow at her choice of words. "Chef? Do you not remember me telling you I'm here due to the fact I burnt my last two pieces of toast?"

Wanda giggles as you grab a basket, "Oh! About dinner. Are we going out or?"

"Out. I found this great restaurant not too far from my place." You nod, walking towards the bread aisle.

Wanda sets herself in front of the bread loaves. "Are you a wheat or white bread kind of person?"

"How about both?" She throws you a playful look which you return as she grabs the bread placing them in the cart. "Such a daredevil," You laugh as you take the bread from her hand, placing it into the basket.

The rest of the shopping was fun, you got everything you needed and enjoyed your time with Wanda. She was like a breath of fresh air. Wanda was everything you didn't know you needed.

After walking Wanda back to her place and then arriving to your own, you freaked. Was this a date? Or was this a way of Wanda repaying you for letting her watch her favorite sitcom with you? What were you supposed to wear?

Quickly putting up your groceries you run towards your closet, swiftly moving the obviously bad options out of the way, and throwing the decent options on your bed.

Now here you were hands on your hips, furrowed eyebrows, and over one-thousand outfit patterns going throughout your head.

While on Wanda's side she was on her couch, eating ice cream to buy away time. Her outfit had already been picked out from the previous night, a simple black dress to go along with her black heels.

Very simple, but cute.

She was taking you to a seafood place she had accidentally found a few nights ago. But, she hasn't gotten the chance to ask if you like seafood, it'll be a horrible date if you ended up being allergic.

Maybe that's why Wanda was eating a tub of strawberry ice cream, eating away her stress.

Back on your end you finally decided on an outfit. Black slacks with a clean white button-up. You cannot believe you've been stressing over an outfit just to end up being happy with something so simple. But at least you got it out of your way.

Now it was time to practice what you were going to say on your friendly dinner date.

After hours of stress from both you and Wanda, it was finally six o'clock. Wanda was on her way to your house while you were running around it shoving mints and your mouth and putting on perfume/cologne.

To be fair you weren't exactly late getting dressed. You were already dressed and ready but then you noticed a stain on your shirt so you had to find a new one, but that one ended up being too small.

Then you proceeded to run to the store with a shirt that was way too small for you and buy one that was your size. Talk about commitment.

Wanda knocked on your and then proceeded to take a step back, patiently waiting for you. She couldn't help but smile as she imagined how tonight might go.

Once you heard Wanda knock on your door you quickly ran to a mirror, fixing your hair a bit and checking if your breath was okay. Everything was fine, you looked good, you had your wallet, you had your cellphone, and you knew your lines.

You quickly walk to your door, grabbing a coat from the rack before opening it.

Wanda looked downright jaw-dropping. She actually took your breath away, and the more steps you took towards her felt as if you were getting closer to heaven. The redhead finally noticed you, showing you her picture-perfect smile, which you reciprocated.

"Wow, Wanda you look... stunning." If it was possible, her smile widen. "Likewise." A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you both examined each other.

"Shall we get going?" You nod, "Of course. Lead the way," Wanda interlocked her arm with yours, walking in the direction of the restaurant. During the walk, you kept asking where you were going but as expected Wanda didn't spill anything. The smile hadn't left your face since you left the house widened, you hadn't used any of the cliché lines you had been practicing.

Your connection with Wanda was just so natural.

"Oh, this place looks fancy," Your eyes roamed around the outside of the seafood restaurant. "Right? I was passing by and knew I had to give it a try."

"I'm glad you invited me." Wanda sent a small smile your way before the two of you made your way into the restaurant. You guys were seated in the back of the restaurant, most of the people were seated near the front. The hostess handed you both a menu and let you know a waiter will be over soon.

"Squid? Never tried that before." Wanda mumbles making you let out a chuckle, "It's not that bad, kind of tastes like a sweeter lobster." Wanda's brows furrow, "Sweet?"

"Not sweet, sweet, but almost like.. less of a seafood taste to it. You should try it!"

"Maybe next time." You smile as your eyes scan the menu once again.

"We should order an appetizer first, I still don't know what I want as my main meal yet." Wanda says, "Yeah, let's do that. I was-" You're interrupted by the waiter, "Hello! Welcome to Gamba, what can I get started for you today?"

"Hi, we're still kind of glancing over the menu, could we order an appetizer first?" Wanda asks the waiter, who smiles nodding. "Of course!"

"I'd like a California roll.." The waiter's eyes move towards you, "Umm.. I'll have a Dragon roll." You read off before lifting your eyes to smile back at the waiter.

"Any drinks?" You flip the menu over and just decide on something simple. "Water is fine."

"Water for me as well." "Alrighty, your food and drinks will be out shortly." You both say "Thank you," before moving into your own conversation.

Wanda felt as if she could talk about anything with you. No matter how stupid or how serious. She felt comfortable around you, and she wanted to show you who she truly was. Inside and out, she wanted to let you know every little detail about her, she even wanted you to know about her powers. Something that she felt so ashamed and embarrassed of. But, there was that voice in her head telling her to tell you, saying "They wouldn't care!"

The last remaining bit of the date was wonderful. Wanda got to know you better and you got to know her better as well. Yet, the two of you didn't tell each other about your powers. Wanda knew soon or later you'd find out on your own, especially if you checked the news about New York.

You and Wanda were again walking on the sidewalk, arms interlocked as you talked about complete nonsense. You stopped walking accidentally pulling Wanda back, who looked at you confused. "Sorry," You mumble out, "I just wanted to thank you for tonight. It's the most fun I've had in a while."

Her green eyes stare into yours as she smiles, her trademark smile playing across her lips. "Thank you for agreeing to come with me. I really like being around you," You smile back at the redhead. And that same comfortable silence fills the air. Yet this time it's different, with more tension. You don't notice Wanda leaning in until the last second, that's when you turn your head moving in closer.

Suddenly, your lips met. As you held onto Wanda's waist, her arms interlocked behind your neck. Everything with Wanda was natural, including the kiss. Your strong desire for each other had finally subsided. As you pull apart, you search for Wanda's expression of regret, but all you see is adoration.

You kiss her more intensely this time, grasping her cheeks with your hands. A moan escaped Wanda as you slid your tongue inside her mouth. Her hands were gripping your jacket so tight her knuckles were turning white, before moving them to roam around your body. You could feel the goosebumps rising from where her hands lingered.

You had forgotten all of your worries, any reason to pull apart was out of the widow. This kiss, this night, and this girl couldn't get any more perfect.

taglist- @justaproudslytherpuff

#wanda maximoff #wanda fanfic #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda mcu #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x gender neutral reader #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x you

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stonebutchstories · 3 years

Text

Good Talk

stone butch top/stone butch bottom

Characters use she/her

(cw: sexual language, fully clothed, character is somewhat nonverbal, physical contact, limited skin-to-skin touching, sex toys, mild dominance with commands. a character implies a nonspecific past history of being SA)

L has forgotten how to talk about sex, or how to even enjoy it. Mac, ever the expert, is eager to try with her sweet butch.

When Mac told me she was stone too, I was a bit devastated. I really thought that was the end of it, I wasn’t sure what we could get up to. Of course, she’s always been the adventurous one.

We’d both been exclusively the top in our respective sex lives until then, and even though she made me crazy just seeing her, I could never tell quite what that pit in my stomach was pushing me to do. I’d never had an urge to bottom the way I’d seen it done, after a lifetime of watching how my other partners would go about it. I couldn’t picture myself so bare, making those type noises, letting anybody touch me so directly. It was pretty much off the table. Obviously, though, there were some little things on the outskirts of my awareness. Out for drinks when Mac and I were ‘buddies’ and she’d pull me around by the bicep, and I couldn’t just blame the flush on the liquor. Well, I knew there was more to it all, somewhere tangled in with those firm boundaries and others’ expectations too deeply to examine. It seemed so rigid- to be Stone or not. What did it even mean to me, particularly? I couldn’t unpack it after everything that had happened, so I never tried to.

But I didn’t want it to end with her, just as much as I didn’t want to fold to my own pressures anymore. So I said to Mac, one night after making dinner at my place, that I wanted to talk. We sat farther apart than normal, I was trying to stick to my guns, because I knew if she had her hands out anywhere I could see them I’d chicken out. Really, I can’t remember too well what I told her, it all kind of tumbled out of me. I remember how she softened in reassurance, though.

“L, you know we… you know there’s no wrong way to fuck, right?”

That threw me for one. I mean, literally I was aware of that- being a lesbian, you’re already fucking ‘wrong’ even if you’re with a femme, so at some point you accept it. But being stone is even worse. When it’s two stone butches, it’s not even something you could find most places if you went out looking for it. What does it even mean, two tomboys who don’t like to be touched, where do you start? So, yeah, I knew she was right, but I’d never really believed it, I think. She watches me have this revelation for a moment before interjecting.

“What do you actually like? I mean, what parts of sex feel good? Why do you do it?”

It takes me too long to think of something to respond with, and she gets more concerned.

“We don’t have to, L. If you don’t like.”

I stammer. “I-I do! I like parts of it. I like some parts.”

I’m staring at the floor, working up the courage to say exactly which parts those were. I think she realizes Im getting ashamed of myself, so she stands up to do some tidying and give me a break from scrutiny. Mac’s been ‘around’ a lot more than me, and in a lot more intense scenes. Part of that is the leather and the chains and the fucking, but part of it is knowing how to talk about this stuff before you do it. I’m grateful one of us knows how. The faucet squeaks on.

“You can keep going, I’m listening.”

The sink faced away from where we had been sitting, so I can see her and she can’t see me. It gives me a nice view of her hands, moving confidently from task to task, slick with soap. She’s in a pair of jeans from her work that set pretty low with her leather belt. The legs of them are stiff with starch, but her ass fills out the seat without leaving anything to the imagination. I suspect when she makes a house call to some sweetheart dyke with a wiring issue, it must be a nice surprise. This time. It’s not a surprise- it’s an intentional view, for me, and I like that it’s on purpose. All of the wanting in the room obliterates my fear.

“I like it when I keep my clothes on. When both of us do. Not just for comfort reasons. I like the clothes.”

Mac shifts her weight, purposefully showing off a little more.

“You like a dyke in a uniform.”

She’s lucky she wasn’t facing me, I just turned the reddest I’ve ever been. I go on, stammering still.

“I don’t like being touched uh, below the belt. In the genital area. God, that sounds gross. And uhm, I don’t like swearing. Or even just aggressive or loud talking. Anything angry. I do like feeling your packer, even if you don’t want me to touch it. Just against me when we’re close. I like that, the touching with bodies, but not grabbing. Chest-to-back. You know already, that handsy stuff.”

“No hands?” I look at her soapy hands and forearms getting to work on a stuck on spot, firm and slick, and, yeah, like I said, she has me rethinking.

“W-well- it’s just- certain kinds of touch.”

“Okay. Say more.”

“Like um, I don’t like sudden yanking or grabbing, or tracing around with your fingers… anything too delicate or too rough… I don’t like that. I do like seeing your hands. I like that a LOT. I just prefer they stay put if you’re touching my body. And that they stay where I can see them. It makes me feel anxious otherwise.”

She places a plate on the drying rack. “Understood. Anything else?”

“Um… not that I can think of.”

“Okay. This is an open list, then. Add to it when you need.”

I nod, before realizing she can’t see. “Okay.”

She finishes up the last dish she was working on, considering something before asking again.

“One more thing. You didn’t mention- do you like to cum?”

I’m staring at the floor again.

“Ah… yeah.”

She turns on her heel, leaning back against the countertop and wiping her hands on her pants pockets. “Just checking. A lotta of stones don’t. And I thought maybe…Do you not normally, when you’re having sex with other people?”

Always on the money. “Is it that obvious?”

Mac walks over, carding her damp hand through my grown-in buzzcut, how she had been doing since even before we were together. She keeps her hand still once it sets there this time, and I’m silently grateful not to feel the awful crawling feeling I normally get. I let out a tense exhale I wasn’t aware of holding in.

She smiles apologetically. “Yeahhh, a little. It’s a shame you feel like you can’t ask. I mean, I’ve met stone butches who get off topping, and a lot who find it unpleasant. All of them still like sex within their boundaries. Easy to see why your heart’s not in it if your partners don’t care.”

“It’s not that they don’t care, usually. I stopped bringing it up. It’s unreasonable to expect that of them.”

“Unreasonable?” She can’t stifle her reaction to that one. “Baby. I get difficult, but how is it unreasonable to expect your partner to make an attempt to please you?”

I pause. “I just mean it’s hard to get there when you can’t LET people touch you.”

She softens. It’s kind of the crux of it, right? Being stone sometimes means being misunderstood by partners. People hear ‘no receiving’ and have different assumptions. I wouldn’t let a partner do a lot of things, but I don’t object to all receiving. Sometimes you want it, and they only know one way to give it. Sometimes they don’t believe you when you say your limits. Sometimes they think they know better. Mac knows I’ll get mad if I feel like she’s pitying me, so she reroutes.

“ There’s other ways, though, L. Like I said. No wrong way if it works for you.”

“I haven’t found a way with a partner yet.” I look at the floor, starting to get washed up in shame.

She grasps, cautiously, at what little there is of my hair, tilting my head back to look up at her.

“You let YOU touch yourself, though. Does that make you cum?”

Fuck. Steaming heat off her eyes tunnels down into me like a hot iron bearing dropped on ice. She was staring into me now, and with my mouth hanging delicately open I might have made a sound, some pathetic gasp, if my pulse wasn’t thrumming loudly in my ears over all noise.

“Y-yes.”

She hums and nods, feigning unaffectedness. She does not remove her hand.

“I overheard you the other day.”

I restrain a grimace. I had thought I played it off well, when she visited me out of the blue and I had to rush to meet her at the door. I guess not. I try not to think about the fact that I was moaning her name through the perilously thin walls of my apartment.

She lets go, which sends my head bobbing forward stupidly. Im mesmerized. She swings herself over me in a smooth motion, careful not to touch, just to loom above me. I notice (I might have sooner if I hadn’t been staring at the ground so long) that some time between dinner and this conversation, she had swapped in her hard packer.

“How do you like to do it?”

I lean forward.

“I can show you.”

She’s pleased by my forwardness, by me displaying that my eagerness is genuine and insatiable, but not inconsiderate enough to entertain it without discussing.

“You know I’d like that very much. But don’t rush yourself for me. Let’s talk a little more.”

I pause, cause I want to do it right now, but I know she’s right and if I push through that dizziness Id snap back to awareness in a few minutes and need to step away.

“To start maybe… maybe we could just sit. Touching. Get a little acclimated first? And then I show you.”

She smiles, sitting back on her hips. I take a deep breath, and the clouds in my head started to part. I wonder, for a moment, how I could have ever thought stone-butch-on-stone-butch made no sense. We’d never been ‘together’ like that, and maybe never would, but she knew right off what was ok.

“So we get close, chest to back, and then sit till we’re ready. And then you show me how you like to touch yourself. I keep my hands off, where you can see. And you can let me know if any of that needs to change.”

I get a shiver. She’s methodical, but the words are still putting a heat in my ears. I’m glad shes doing this, I wouldn’t have thought to.

“You can put your hands around my waist if you keep them still.” I stammer, desire freezing me up. My voice is getting smaller and smaller in my throat. “I might ask you to, uh, help out.”

She looks me up and down, turning stern. She stays gentle, seeing it would be hard for me to specify out loud. “And you’ll let me know how you want me to do that?”

I nod, too embarrassed to speak. My thoughts are racing so fast that they aren’t even words any more. Just feelings and noises and giddy anticipations. She’s casual, and it lets me feel like this is normal. I can do this, because it’s normal. I chant it to myself.

“It seems like you’re having a hard time talking, baby. Are you ok? You still here?”

I cant meet her eyes, but I’m here with her. I nod overenthusiastically, trying to compensate for my sudden silence.

“It’s okay. It happens to a lot of people. I can take a turn talking, if you’d like. Can I tell you what I need?”

I nod again, happy that I’m not the only one with needs and demands, not ruining her good time. She breathes a sigh of relief seeing me smile.

“Okay. For me, being stone is no direct contact with anything under my underwear and bra. I still negotiate it beforehand if it’s over clothes, so tonight I would prefer if you didn’t touch there. I don’t have any hangups with orgasming, but I only like to as a result of touching my partner. I don’t like the attention on me. I am strictly a top and I feel very unsafe with partners trying to switch on me. I don’t like biting. I don’t want to be called anything but Mac this time, ‘cause I dont like people dropping titles out of nowhere. Don’t push my knees around too much, they get sore sometimes after sex.”

She looks me up and down. Mac knows this speech like the back of her hand- she’s more concerned with whether I do. I give another feeble nod to indicate I got it all.

“…Okay. These are the big ones, but I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. And, L- I need to know how you’ll let me know if there’s a problem. Do you feel like you’ll be able to say no verbally?”

It’s a good question. I cant even do it now. I shrug, then noncommittally shake my head.

She looks me over. “Could you use a nonverbal cue?”

I consider it. My head has stopped swimming enough to speak up.

“Two taps?” I croak.

She chuckles. She used to do wrestling in highschool.

“Okay. Can you show me?”

I pat her bicep twice.

“Very good.” Shes doling on the praise on purpose. What a tease. “I think we’re all clear. You can tap out if you want a break or to ask a question, too, okay? For any reason.” She gives this safety speech like she’s the instructor on a zip lining tour. It shouldn’t be sexy, but both ideas make my adrenaline rush the same way.

“One more thing. Um… L or baby for me.” I add. “Not as a title or anything. I just… like it.”

She leans forward and kisses my forehead, how she usually does.

“Course you do, baby.”

She stood up, taking a seat at the other end of the couch for more space. She patted her lap gently, but I hesitated.

“Should I… go get my stuff first?”

She raises her eyebrows, but nods affirmatively.

I was incredibly wobbly on my way up to my room. My thoughts were still occupied by the conversation, and what was going to happen, even though I knew it was going to be slow. Maybe the slowness of it was a piece of the thrill, like when I went up these stairs again it’d be much, much later, and I’d have maybe done something I’d never done before, and at the very least I was getting fucked by a very very hot dyke. Very very slowly, to boot.

I hurried back down the stairs two at a time after grabbing the necessities, sheepishly realizing halfway down and slowing my pace to seem less eager.

She smiled when she saw me, the easy one that started at one end of her mouth. She might have laughed, on any other day. She gave me a hard time a lot when we were just friends; she’s the kind of butch who’s always making jabs. It’s funny when it’s funny, but she knows now’s not the time. She’s being incredibly careful with me, speaking with flat words and no implications. I don’t even know what I’m asking for, and she’s making a point not to try and tell me what she thinks I’m supposed to want. She’s being very cuddly, very entry level. I’m learning to do this all over again, so I appreciate the approach. I’ve never had anyone care like that, and it reminds me why I love her so much.

She opens her arms. “C’mere.”

I situate myself with my back to her chest, pressed flush. I get nervous some times about things brushing my back, sneaking up on me. It’s one of those things that happen to you after something happens to you. So it’s nice to feel something solid. Mac already knows this and I don’t have to say anything. She breathes, and I rise and fall.

She seatbelts her arms around my waist, clasping her hands and then leaving them still, where I can see them. It makes flashes of excitement polka dot me all over. Her hands are rough from work today, and in the low light from the kitchen stove (she turned off the overhead while I was upstairs) her veins and knuckles make her look confident, seasoned. Very butch, in the way I like being and the way love seeing. I’m a little obsessed with her hands, as much as I worry about what they can do. But right now, I know they’re only going where I say. We sit like that, secure and warm, for a long while. It was a long day, and easing into each other feels so nice, but the energy of our previous conversation means neither of us feel like sleeping.

I can see out of the corner of my eye that she’s eyeing the tote bag I brought down with me. I was vague enough that I know she’s wondering what it is. She shifts in her seat subtly and clears her throat, and I realize abruptly that I’ve probably been pushing that hard packer into her with the way I’m positioned. I start thinking about grinding down into her while we do what we’re about to do, if I could even make her cum like that. I know she doesn’t want us to focus on just her, but honestly, grinding my ass into her packer like that would probably make me cum faster than it would her. I shift a bit more upright, as our postures had slumped into half-sleep. It grinds on her and It takes her by surprise enough that she moans before she catches herself, and then it breaks into a chuckle.

“You ready?”

I nod. I try leaning over her clasped arms to grab my bag, but she beats me to it and places it in my lap gently. She’s eager.

I fish out my vibrator- it’s the hitachi magic wand kind, but with a wireless rechargeable battery- and a condom. It’s been plugged in for a good portion of the day, since I rarely let the battery die. I unzip and shove the vibrating end between my jeans and boxers, sticking the handle out from my fly. I button over top of it, securing it in the zipper like I do with my strap. Mac’s eyes are hot on me as the gears start turning in her head.

“Oh.” She says, pleasantly stunned.

My hands are shaking as I take out the condom. I roll it over the exposed handle and charging port, sliding it over the buttons carefully. I paw at my side for the bottle of lube, but it’s fallen back behind us. She retrieves it, and I hold out my hand for her to give it to me. Instead, she uncaps it and squeezes some into my open palm.

I hold the vibrator firmly at the base, keeping it steady and hard against my clit. With my other hand, the one Mac lubed up, I start stroking the handle. Mac whistles low.

“That’s hot. Im gonna have to try that.” She moves behind me to get a better look, and I feel her packing heavy against my ass. “This how you always do it, baby?”

Im breathing very carefully, trying not to get ahead of myself. “It’s my favorite way. It k-kinda makes a mess, so I don’t do it every time.” I stumble over my phrasing, accidentally tugging it in a way that makes my hips raise.

She hums. “Feel free to make a mess.” She returns her hands to where they were, safely on display. My waist is bare there, from pulling my shirt up to unbutton. Her hands are warm, and I’m not scared, I’m hungry for them.

I take some time warming up, getting used to the feeling in my hands. There’s a mental step between it being a toy and it becoming an extension of myself, one I have to do slowly. The vibration hasn’t been turned on yet, to keep in this moment with myself, and this time, with Mac. I get into a comfortable rhythm, thrusting up into my hand and sweeping the base up and down underneath my clothes. Mac swallows hard, and I feel a twitch run through me that jerks the piece in my hand. I tentatively grind down on her.

“This good?”

She smiles, I can feel it without seeing. I can hear the lust in her voice when she says, “Yes, baby.”

It makes me squirm. Mac always calls me baby, since we’ve been together. Even sometimes before we were. I like thinking about it, how even before she asked me, the way she felt would poke out in odd spots, moments where she loved me too much to remember she wasn’t supposed to. I could listen to it all day.

“Um. Mac. Could you… help out?”

“Ohhh. I see.” She says with surprise. “Would you like me to touch it?” She asks, dripping sweetness.

“My cock.” I correct her, gently.

“Of course.” Mac kisses me at the base of my neck. She readjusts flawlessly. “Can I please stroke your cock for you, L?” She whispers it huskily into my skin.

“Please. Ah, please-“ I can barely wait for her to finish her sentence to start breaking into pleas. For all the permission she has to request, I’m the one who’s begging. I love how she knows how to ask, how she lets me feel in control like that. She knows that I need it, because she knows everything. But I know that she does it for herself as much as it’s for me. She gets her satisfaction from a job well done. She needs to be wanted, and I need to be understood. That’s how this works, and we both enjoy each other’s enthusiasm.

She wraps her hand around it, slowly to make sure I get a good look at her hands. Her fist closes tight around the shaft and she tugs up on it, pulling against my own hand steadying it at the base. I use my free hand to get some more lube for her.

Once she’s got her fisted hand all lubed up, she moves down my shaft slowly but forcefully.

My moan hovers in the space between soft and obscene, the kind of noise you make when you step into an ice bath. She bucks her hips slightly upwards, thrusting me up into her hand. I grab onto her belt loop with my other hand, trying to pull myself further into her. I can hear her keys softly clinking when she does it again, and the sound makes me whimper.

“C-can I tell you if I like something?”

“Of course, baby. Is it the hips?” She rolls them again, and I bite my lip at the feeling, but mostly at the sound of her.

“A-Ah, yeah, but… the keys.”

She does her best to downplay the pause she takes, cautious to make me go shy again. She decides to risk it, laughing sweet and dark. Her arm holds me a little tighter across the waist.

“God, you’re adorable, L. I like yours, too.”

The more gentle praise, the more I wanna say. She doesn’t need to coax it out, I want her to know.

“A-and I like you being so nice and not using bad language. Being so quiet. And when you use my name. I-it just- feels so good, Mac. You feel so good on me. Oh, please, yes-“

I’m whimpering my way through these confessions, most of which are a little too clunky to be effective dirty talk. But Mac really likes instructions. She exhales a rumbling groan that travels up my back.

My hips are starting to get twitchy, moving side to side in her lap, to delicious effect. She likes the way it makes her packer feel. She flips her hand upside down and starts stroking upwards, flicking and curling her pinky finger over the head. She slides upwards, arcing across the top as each finger traps the head in between ash she swoops her hand over. In between moves, she’s just plain stroking it every so often, pushing a little extra hard on the way down to make it hit my clit just right. My eyes are transfixed, and I can literally feel every move because of the toy, and even the special attention she’s giving the head, somehow. It’s making me throb.

“O-o-oh my goodness-“ I gasp out. My back is arching against her.

“ So sweet for me, L. You gonna cum?”

“Not yet, but-ohhh wow.”

She gives me a peck on the back of the head, into that hair she cant seem to keep her hands out of. I cant really separate at this point what’s getting me hot and what’s making me feel loved. It’s all just good feelings.

“C-can you turn it on, please?” I bob the base of my cock against myself.

She hums affirmatively, looking forward to this as much as me. She slips the condom upward surreptitiously, not wanting to snap me out of this immersion. She feels up the buttons, a little unsure of the settings.

“The bottom one.” I pant

“Thank you, baby.” She clicks it on.

Already, I’m feeling like I might faint. The vibrations slam into me, bending me into arches. At first I don’t make a noise, just open my mouth and shake. Then a choked grunt punches through me, and the pace of my moans kicks up. The first setting is a pulse, and I prefer to use it for all activities. I like the ebb and flow, how it gives you a rhythm and directive. Once I start to adjust, I notice Mac had let go of my cock. I lean back into her, and it stirs her back into the moment.

“Sorry, baby. You’re so pretty, I was watching.”

She reaches back and continues. I’m dizzily aware of her hand being at my waist, with fingers too close to my skin for comfort. I feel so good, but I know I’d feel better if she kept them where I could see them… where I could REALLY see them. I feel a little too heady to express it, so I tap at her wrists.

She sits up a little, putting her hands on either side of me on the couch. “You ok baby? Want me to turn it off?”

I shake my head, swallowing a pant. It’s hard to speak again. “Ah- K-keep going. Hands-“ I grab at her wrists. Mac flips her hands palms-up in response, receptive.

“Where do you want em?”

I pull them over and onto my cock, which is bobbing low from the strain on my zipper fly.

“I wanna watch.”

She smiles, and begins gripping and pumping again with the same fervor as before. She’s got me back into it, even more passionate than before. The vibrations are subtle under the dampening fabrics, especially on this setting, but it’s enough. Mac’s handjob skills are impeccable for some reason, and every move she tries is making my jaw hinge open and shut in disbelief. As she keeps working my cock, she notices the lube has started to dry up. She peeks around her, realizing the lube bottle has fallen again somewhere. Instead, she reflexively holds her open palm to me.

“Spit.”

It drives a spike of hot pleasure into me. I know Mac is sweet on me, but that little command, sweet but firm, was an exhilarating peek at her other side. I dont hesitate to obey.

The interaction only lasts a second, and I can feel her registering it after happens, clearly stunned at herself and me.

“Was.. that okay, baby?”

It was very ok. I turn to look at her, purposefully making eye contact and nodding. I want her to see in my eyes how much I liked it. I lean in so I’m glancing down at her lips over the bridge of her nose.

“Yea, Mac. That was hot.” I say it, and it sounds like my voice. “Tell me to do it again.”

She does, but this time it’s barely a stuttered whisper, and her eyes are wide. I don’t break eye contact while I do it.

She looks me over, shifting from dumbstruck to smiley. I guess I know what to say to put her at ease, too. We press our foreheads together and she mouths “kiss me?”. And then we do.

She returns her hand to me, slathering my own spit on my cock. It’s so hot.

“Ah-“ I gasp into her mouth. “The middle button, please.”

She smiles, and does just that. The vibration pattern on this setting is even more rapid fire pulses, which makes my knees pinch together. My reaction is not as explosive as the first setting was, but our faces are flush as shes kissing me, and we’re passing moans and thrusts between each others kisses. Mac’s reaction, however, is electrified. She’s moving faster, following the pulses at tempo. Every sound out of her is a savoring groan or word of praise for me, clearly enjoying having me in her arms like this. The vibrating end is starting to slip up and down in my pants, half because my grip is shaky, and half because my boxers are getting soaked. I open my legs further, careful to avoid Mac’s knees, and I’m not putting on a show when I say I get loud. Mac resumes her upward thrusting, in sync with how she’s stroking my cock. Her keyring chimes with every buck of her hips. Mac is starting to l gasp louder, synchronized to every bump or slide I can feel her packer make between us. It makes me smile through my next few moans. I get greedy and grab with both hands at the base, shoving it roughly against myself and throwing my head backwards over her shoulder.

“K-keep going, oh-“

“Faster, L?”

“Please. Please, I-“ I’m interrupted by my own moan as she starts to move as fast as she can. “Oh my- ah, Mac!”

Her hands make obscene sounds slipping up and down, and I feel everything. I respond in turn, grinding down hard into her, so hard I can feel her packer moving up and down with us both. Her movements stutter a little, and I notice how hard her panting has gotten. She must be wet, too. The thought turns me on even more.

“Gonna cum, baby?”

I whimper. “Yeah, you?”

She swallows her words, struggling to breathe. “Yes. Oh, god- L-“

I click the button one more time, putting myself right on the edge. This setting is the highest intensity, so my voice gets extra high pitched. I try my best to grind into her and take her with me. The couch is squeaking under us.

“Mac, I’m c-“

I don’t even get the sentence out before I cum hard. I jerk open and splay my legs far out over her, thrusting my chest out and head back. She cums right along with me, squeezing me back into her with one strong arm around me. She holds me tight while she cums, still thrusting. She’s fumbling her way through prayerlike moans, muttering variations of “yes, baby, so good, yes, good for me baby-“ I’m still rigid and cumming silently. She finishes out with a few jerky thrusts to my ass, going from taut to soft against me. I finally release the breath caught in my body, and it comes out in a dirty extended moan. I drop.

We pant, lying down now and slumped together. She clicks off the vibrator sluggishly.

“How was that?” She offers.

“Oh my goodness.” It’s all I can say.

She smiles, eyelids getting droopy. I know I sound silly, but she likes it. “I love you.”

Neither of us have the presence of mind to find that corny. We smile and keep trying to catch our breaths.

“Mac.” I say it just to hear it.

She drags her limp arm away from the vibrator, careful even in this state not to move the way I don’t like. She brings a finger to her mouth and sucks it intently.

“Mhhm. Your cum tastes so good, baby.”

I cant tell if the throb I feel is aftershocks or not, but I love it when she talks about it like it’s real. It’s got me ready to go again. Even still, I have to smirk.

“It’s strawberry flavored.”

I can hear the finger pop out of her mouth. I sit up on one elbow, looking dizzy and stupid. We look at each other, suppressing giggles. We give up and break into peals of laughter. She tugs me in close while we’re still laughing, and I lean my head into her chest and feel it pitch me up and down. We quiet down and I close my eyes.

“Thanks, Mac.” Here I go, saying her name again.

“What? Thank YOU, dude. That was so good, what the fuck?” She sounds like herself again, and it makes me feel ease. Like I know the person I just let touch me like that is the same one who loves me and cares for me so much, every day. “Best time I’ve had in a while.”

I kiss her neck softly where I can reach, still feeling the hot flush on her skin.

“Me too.”

We lie still a very long time, till it’s clear we’ll fall asleep there if we don’t get up and clean off. She helps me to my wobbly feet, and we get to it.

#butch4butch #stone butch #my text #butch lesbian #nervous to post this but I think it’s important #idc if anybody else reads it I just. think I have a lot to process and this is how I’m doing it I guess #that’s cool if you like it though! I’d b happy to hear other ppl connect with my writing

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gatheringbones · 3 years

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["At the end of August in 1981, I found myself in a small town in Arkansas, where I knew no Lesbians other than my new lover, Lynn. I wanted it that way. We were living in hiding from my armed and vengeful ex-lover who had abused me for four years and had threatened both of us with deadly harm. This was five years before the publication of Kerry Lobel's ground-breaking book, Naming the Violence: Speaking Out About Lesbian Battering. I knew I had been battered, but I did not understand how deeply I had been injured.

I only knew that I seemed to have saved my life at the cost of my sanity. I jumped at loud and not-so-loud noises. A frown from a stranger could reduce me to tears. I was afraid to bathe if I was alone in the apartment. I relived every word of every fight in relentless flashbacks. I had blocked much of the unbearable pain of the previous four years out of my consciousness at the time, in order to cope with immediate danger. Now that I was "safe" it all came flooding back. To escape, I watched TV compulsively, avoiding anything violent—nature shows were my favorites—and I read science fiction. Having lost faith in women as well as men, I was a serious candidate for a species-change operation.

Luckily, at some point in that bleak winter, I read a magazine article on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in Vietnam Vets, and I recognized all my symptoms. I had a name for my suffering, and 1 knew I was not "crazy." I'd felt so much guilt and anger towards myself for not being okay, that is, my old self, since I was "free." Now I knew healing would take time and effort, and I gave myself permission to not be normal right away. Also, seeing how much my condition resembled that of war survivors helped break down some of my denial about the hell I'd been through.

Still, I had no guidance on how to recover from PTSD. I followed only the dimmest instincts. First, I began to read accounts by survivors of any serious trauma. These people became my invisible support group. I found myself drawn especially to stories of political prisoners and concentration camp survivors. Although my experience was not like theirs, these were the people I felt would understand how my will had been sapped and my strengths twisted, how the smallest acts of resistance and mere endurance had needed all my wits and courage. Bruno Bettleheim in his chapters called "Behavior in Extreme Situations" (The Informed Heart) finally answered the question I'd put to myself every 44 hour since my escape: "How could I have been so stupid?" He made me realize that under abuse, especially the combination of intermittent threats, unpredictable violence and constant psychological torture, everyone responds differently, but everyone changes fundamentally, and everyone has their breaking point.

One day as I sat reading at the kitchen table, I looked out the window at the small yard beside our duplex apartment, and I began to imagine growing a garden there in the spring. It seemed like a highly improbable idea: the area was very small, steep, bare of everything but gray shale and orange clay, and the house shaded it part of the day. But the notion of a garden took root strongly. For the first time in several years I had something pleasant to anticipate.

I wrangled my landlady's permission to put in a garden. Then I mailed off postcards for seed catalogs. I persuaded an acquaintance who owned a truck to bring me a load of cedar slabs discarded by a local sawmill, and I used these to construct two frames, about four feet by six feet, and two even smaller ones, just three feet by four feet. By this time Lynn and I had saved enough money to buy a very old VW bug, so we drove to a nearby creekbank and filled bushel baskets with rich bottom dirt, which we dumped into the frames to make raised beds about four inches deep.

To supplement the tiny growing space, Lynn scavenged large cans from the cafeteria of the hospital where she worked. I painted them a hopeful green, filled them with soil and placed them along the sidewalk below our porch. Old-timey "Corn-row Beans," originally bred to tolerate the shade of cornfields, grew up strings tied to the roof and bore prolifically.

I didn't have much money from my SSI income to spend on garden gadgets, so I made do. I wove a trellis for my peas from six-pack rings liberated from a liquor store trash bin. (I can testify that this plastic never biodegrades—the pea fence survives to this day.) I got some more bushel baskets from the local grocery, painted them with non-toxic preservative and lined them with garbage bags after snipping a few drainage holes in the bottom. Placed around a small stone patio above the garden, these became containers for large plants.

The garden rewarded me before the first mouthful of early spinach was harvested. It moved me out of the gloomy apartment and into the sunshine, watering can in hand. It motivated me to interact with people and to occasionally risk asking for help. I found out they would usually say yes. My attention was now focused on the future, not the bitter, unchangeable past. At night when the flashbacks threatened to roll, when I dreaded the dreams I might have, I put myself to sleep with 45 detailed plans of my next crop rotation. I found out I could learn a major new skill, a little at a time. I could do things right, even come up with ingenious solutions to seemingly impossible difficulties. And when I did things wrong, plants were most often forgiving. The plants themselves were a tremendous source of inspiration. Talk about survivors! They defied every book written about their needs, often thriving with too little sun, too little water, and too little soil. At the end of a year, I could easily stick my shovel in the dirt up to the hilt, where only four inches of top soil had previously existed; compost and the action of the roots had created friable loam out of shale and clay.

When I experienced failure with gardening, it was never the kind of disaster I'd grown to associate with mistakes. We didn't go hungry, because other crops outstripped our expectations. My lover didn't beat or berate me, but sympathized and helped. The garden was important to us economically, because we'd both lost almost everything we owned in our escape. Luckily, in southern Arkansas, it's possible to garden yearround. The garden gave me precious, desperately needed tastes of success. Disabled, unemployed, I still felt like an important contributor to the household. I even had food to give away sometimes, and that was a delicious feeling.

Gardening was not the only factor in my recovery, but it was an important one. I didn't grow up with abuse, but battering and similar traumas can expand minutes into hours, years into decades, until four years feel like most of a lifetime. At the end of a year and a half of gardening, I no longer felt as if I'd spent the majority of my life in a battering situation. Healing had acquired a new definition for me: I didn't insist on having the old me back; I'd mourned her long and well. I accepted the fact that some injuries are too severe to be made whole, that I might never be the same again. But I began to actually like and trust the me I am now, scars and all. As my garden taught me, I must make do with what I am. I have discovered that my flaws are not fatal and my successes are greater than I'd hoped for. So far I have not gone hungry, and I even have something to offer."]

Amy Edgington, Gaining Ground, from Garden Variety Dykes: Lesbian Traditions In Gardening, Herbooks, 1994

#amy edgington #lesbian literature #terra preta #cw abuse #you are a goddamn tree stump with leaves sprouting out

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