#it looked like she went full gay | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themidnightcrimson · 28 days

Text

skirt ࿏ wm

summary: in which wanda gets a little too handsy during a small party.

words: 4.5k

warnings: top!wanda, fingering (r receiving), semi-public sex, severely gay ogling, reader being a fuckin simp

this fic is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

Steve had unfortunately complained to Tony that the parties he always held in his huge, modern, techno mansion were not intimate enough. Tony, always ready to take complaints from Steve with a cheeky attitude, passed the message along to Pepper who decided to truly make something cozier for everyone.

Tony’s parties were pretty much bi-weekly at this point, every other Friday night. The team almost always showed up in entirety, and the regularity of it was becoming sentimental to some of you. Even Tony was starting to plan them: “You guys gotta try this whiskey. I’ll bring it next Friday” or “I swear, Cap, I’m gonna put you in a suit on Friday and shoot you up to Mars.” It was cute.

Tonight, instead of drinking and playing poker around Tony’s in-house bar room, Pepper had set up something beautiful outside. You’d arrived at the party with Nat, stepping through the back patio of Tony’ mansion and seeing something set up in his backyard. Tied between two trees was a large white screen, and several yards in front of it was a projector mounted onto the roof of the patio, pointed right towards the screen.

In front of the screen, on the lush, freshly-trimmed grass yard, was a whole bunch of pillowy chairs with blankets cast over them, set up like little cots. To the side of the arena was a little hot dog stand that also had a big red and golden popcorn machine currently popping popcorn attached to its hip, as well as a large futuristic-looking cooler full of ice and bottled drinks. There was even an attachment on the front of the hot dog stand with an array of candy bars.

Strung above the entire arena were strings of fairy lights going in every direction, tied between trees and the railing of the patio porch. The sun hadn’t quite set yet, but they were already turned on, providing cute little lights above the cozy scene. It was the homiest thing you’d ever seen at Tony’s home.

“My god,” Nat remarked as she looked around, looking as shocked as you. “It looks like Tony’s planning on proposing to all of us at the same time tonight.”

“I would say yes,” Banner said, coming up beside you and gawking up at the lights. He ran down the steps of the patio and towards one of the fluffy chairs made of pillow, throwing himself down on it and squishing it to the ground. You could hear his sigh of comfort from the patio.

“Do you guys like it?” Pepper asked, coming out of the house. “There’s more food and snacks inside if you guys want anything that’s not out there.”

“I feel like I’m experiencing my first American sleepover,” Nat said, turning to Pepper. “It’s great, really!”

It was cute seeing Nat get so excited like that. Steve showed up behind Pepper and had the same reaction as everyone else, even tearing up a little bit. When Tony reluctantly entered the patio, Steve gave him a slap on the shoulder. “This is really great, Tony. Really great.”

Tony tightly smiled and quickly went back into the house to avoid any more sentiment.

Since the few of you were the first to arrive, you all stayed on the porch and made conversation while waiting for everyone else to show up. It was a chilly spring night, the wind picking up and every once in a while catching the black skirt you were wearing. It was that annoying time of year, of course, where you would have been sweating during the day but now you were shivering at night. You wished you had worn pants instead of a skirt. You didn’t know you’d be thanking yourself later for the opposite.

You had been discreetly waiting for someone the entire time. As more people lingered through the back door into the backyard, you nervously glanced at each figure and hoped it’d be the one you wanted it to be, but it never was.

And then you knew. You didn’t see her, or hear her name, or any other evidence that she was there other than the fact that the pit in your stomach grew and there was a tingling sensation across your nerve endings. The witch always had that affect on you. You didn’t know if it was a spell or something, or maybe you were just acting like a crush-stricken schoolgirl, but you had a habit of always knowing when Wanda entered a room.

Surely enough, through the tinted windows lining the back porch, you could see a flash of red hair making its way towards the back door, that smile you had memorized greeting people as she stepped between them. A shiver crawled its way up your lower spine as the door opened and that face stepped through, the one you’ve been dreaming about, the one that haunts you, the one that twists your stomach into knots when you see it because it makes you think of all the times you’ve touched yourself with that face in mind.

Wanda stepped onto the porch, her hair in wavy locks down her shoulders. She was wearing a soft, light pink sweater that probably looked like off-white to everyone else in the dusk light, but you paid enough attention to know it was pink. It matched the gentle pink in her cheeks, and in her lips…

You and Wanda’s…”situation” was only just blossoming. After months and months of tense friendship and subtle flirting, you’d finally broken the ice when you’d shared a drunken makeout session at one of the parties. You found Wanda to be much bolder than you’d expected her to be, but it invigorated you so. She knew how to keep you on the edge but give you enough to keep you satisfied. She hadn’t fucked you yet, though she’s gotten close. You’ve felt her mouth, and her thigh, but she hadn’t touched you with her hands yet. Her hands.

It was embarrassing when Nat had to snap you out of it. You’d been staring at Wanda since she’d entered the backyard space and got caught up in a conversation with someone else on her way to greet you. You weren’t even sure if she’d seen you yet, but with how sly the witch was, you were sure she was fully aware of everything.

“Hey, you’ve got a little drool there,” Nat said, motioning to her own chin while looking at yours. You blushed and rolled your eyes, taking a deep breath and turning your back on Wanda. Even though she still hadn’t looked at you, you swore you could feel her eyes burning into your back.

“Shut up,” you whispered, crossing your arms and shivering slightly in the cold.

Like clockwork, you suddenly felt a warm arm wrap itself around your shoulders. God, you even recognized her touch now.

Looking up, you saw Wanda appear beside you, her arm slung over your shoulder and pulling you into her gently. You felt the softness of her sweater and her hair against your arm as you were overcome with her cologne. It was sweet but deep, and it made you melt every time you smelled it because it reminded you of all your moments with her.

Wanda smiled down at you, and you half-expected her to lean down for a kiss, but she didn’t. You weren’t public yet, though Nat knew the extent of it, and everyone else had just assumed. They all thought that if you weren’t fucking, it was at least obvious that Wanda wanted to, and no one would dare get in the way of that. This was all without your knowledge, of course, because you were innocent and naïve and thought that no one had any clue about it except for Nat. That was one thing that Wanda liked about you.

“Hey there,” Wanda smoothly said in almost a whisper. Every time you get close to her for the first time, you feel like you’re seeing her for the first time all over again. Her sparkling green eyes, soft lips turned in a self-assured smile, structured cheekbones, her cute little nose. It all made you swoon like a schoolgirl.

“Hi,” you squeaked, feeling your face get hot all over.

Wanda gave a breathy chuckle, obviously picking up on your little squeak. She gave a little space between you for a moment to let her eyes rake down over your figure. They landed at your hips, and her smile faded, turning almost crooked for a moment before she licked her lips and pursed them. “Hmmmm,” she hummed, pulling you into her again, a little tighter now. “You look so fucking good,” she hissed, leaning down towards your ear. You felt her breath fan against your ear, and then her lips grazed it, before she turned away, stiffening as if trying to hold something in. You watched her jaw flex, the muscles straining in her swan neck as she inhaled deeply.

You weren’t sure what exactly was going through the witch’s mind, but your body was burning all over. It almost pained you how you always had such a physical reaction to Wanda.

Wanda did not let go of you. Even as she lingered around the patio, even as people came up and made conversation, she kept you under her arm like her own pet bunny. You felt safe like that, tucked into Wanda, letting her lead the conversations while you just leaned against her soft sweater and inhaled her sweet perfume. The duality of Wanda’s gentle physique but domineering nature made your head dizzy.

Wanda was like a bee to honey to you for the entire time that you and everyone else waited for the party’s population to be dense enough to start a movie on the large projector screen. Finally, once the sun had set and only left an orange streak at the bottom of the sky, Tony came back out onto the patio and, fully equipped in his suit, stuck his hands out to the side and levitated up towards the projector. Halting mid-air, the face of the suit flipped away to reveal Tony’s face.

“Greetings and welcome to the lamest party Tony Stark has ever thrown,” Tony announced, earning several laughs throughout the small crowd of people before flipping the projector on and flying away.

Light illuminated onto the screen, and an old black-and-white Hollywood movie began playing on the screen. People made their way over to the little cots set out on the lawn, while some stayed on the patio pretending to be the adult part of the crowd.

“Want some snacks?” Wanda whispered in your ear, to which you gave a dumb nod, too focused on the way her hand slid down to your waist and gripped it.

Wanda led you over the little hot dog stand that shone like a beacon in the darkening lawn, apart from the light from the movie. You were about to tell Wanda that you wanted popcorn and Skittles, but she somehow beat you to it. “A bag of popcorn and some Skittles,” she told the guy behind the stand. Nodding, he began to load up a bag of buttery popcorn as you looked up at Wanda in confusion to how she knew what you wanted.

Mind-reading can be useful in many ways, kitten.

You thought Wanda had spoken, since you had heard her voice, but her lips didn’t even move and her voice sounded like it was behind you. Your eyes widened in realization that Wanda was using mind-reading on you for the first time—though it actually was about the hundredth time that she’d pried in on your cerebral. It was the telepathic communication that was happening for the first time, but she thought your confusion on the terms was cute.

“Thanks,” Wanda told the guy as he handed you the warm bag of popcorn. She took a bag of Skittles and two bottles of soda and placed her hand on your lower back, her warm palm ushering you towards a cot in front of the screen.

She decided to choose one a little off to the side, spaced out more from any others. It was a double, basically a large pillow in the shape of a chair that could hold two people.

“This is so fun!” you exclaimed, hopping down on the cot and sighing at how soft it was, understanding now why Banner was so relaxed when he had jumped onto one. There was even a little basket beside the chair that held a large, fluffy blanket folded up. Pepper had truly gone all out.

Wanda plopped down beside you, her warm body instantly melting into yours as her weight into the pillowy chair dipped you down closer to her. The redistribution of weight had moved you in a way that your skirt hiked up your legs.

Wanda’s eyes flickered to your skirt, her pupils swarming. You blushed and pulled your skirt down to cover yourself, discreetly watching Wanda blink and force herself to look away. She leaned back in the chair, snaking her arm behind you and curling it around your waist, which only deepened the blush on your cheeks.

Reaching towards your lap, Wanda took a piece of popcorn from the bag you held between your legs and popped it into her mouth. You took a piece and moved it towards your mouth, but suddenly her hand stopped you.

“Nuh uh,” she said quietly, taking the popcorn from between your fingers. “Let me do it.”

You froze, staring at her face that was so close. It was illuminated by the projection on the screen, her green eyes darker than usual.

“Open your mouth,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to your lips. There was a hunger in her eyes as she watched you hesitate before slowly opening your lips, your heart beating twice faster in your chest. Wanda brought the popcorn to your mouth, letting your tongue take it. You were surprised when, as you felt the texture of the popcorn on your tongue and the butter flooded your taste buds, the tips of Wanda’s fingers lingered in your mouth. As you attempted to close your lips, they only closed around her fingers, tasting the extra salt left behind on them. Your face grew red and hot as you watched Wanda smirk, pushing her fingers in just a miniscule bit further, her own lips parting in infatuation as she watched your lips suction around her fingers.

“Good girl,” she whispered, slowly dragging her fingers out of your mouth.

As if nothing happened, as if you weren’t sitting there blushing and sweating and feeling the space between your legs get warm, she went back to simply eating the popcorn and staring up at the screen.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to stop staring at this blasted woman who just teased you so easily and tried to focus on the movie.

Wanda’s handsy-ness wasn’t too extreme during the first half of the movie. It was only her arm around your waist, her hand rubbing your back sensually, her fingers softly combing through your hair and pulling on it hard once or twice just to get a squeak out of you, to which she pressed a discreet kiss to your neck. It was like she was just playing with you. It was like she was just playing with her food.

It wasn’t until halfway through the movie, when there was no sight of any sunlight in the dark night sky, that Wanda strengthened her moves on you.

Under the pretty fairy lights, as everyone else started to calm down and really settle into the movie, a chilly night breeze sewed itself through the air. It flittered over your exposed legs, causing you to shiver. Wanda, who’d been trying not to ogle your thighs all night, couldn’t help but see the goosebumps on your tender skin.

“You cold?” she asked in a soft, sweet tone. When you nodded, she reached over to the basket and brought out the large, thick blanket, draping it over the both of your laps. The warm, soft blanket was such a relief to your cold legs, and with Wanda’s body also available to you as a heater, you felt so cozy and safe.

Then Wanda’s hand reached under the blanket and rested on your thigh, her palm curving around it. The action made you stiffen, your skin growing exponentially warmer where her hand touched. The intimacy of the action sent shimmers through you, and you tried to beat back the little smile on your face.

Wanda, on the other hand, was trying not to smirk. She was more purposeful than you gave her credit for, but again, your naivety was what fueled her to see just how much she could get away with.

You were trying your hardest to ignore her hand on your thigh until it suddenly shifted upwards, pushing your skirt up with it. You gasped quietly. Her hand was all the way up your thigh now, gripping your flesh firmly. Her fingers were wrapped into the inner most tender part of your thigh, pressing into the soft skin there.

The heat between your legs amplified with how close Wanda was to it. You couldn’t help but nervously glance around, afraid that somehow someone had seen her hand grab your thigh under the thick blankets. Luckily, no one was looking. The closest person to you was Nat, but she was watching the film with her head tilted and arms crossed, obviously trying to analyze it like she did with most films.

“Wanda,” you whispered, glancing up at her to see that she was already staring at you darkly.

“What, princess?” she asked innocently.

The name struck you like a bullet of white hot fire in the pit of your stomach. She watched you seriously, a smirk twitching the corners of her lips, as she tightened her grip on your thigh. It stung a little, her fingertips digging so hard into that sensitive inner flesh of your thigh, that you almost squeaked.

“If you want to make noises for me, then do it, babygirl,” she lilted, and you almost gasped when her hand slipped fully under your skirt. You squirmed a little, but she looked at you threateningly. “Don’t move.”

Your breathing grew heavy as you looked around again, feeling that for sure someone was looking this time. No one was.

No one will see, detka.

Wanda’s voice was in your head again. You sharply turned to look at her, but she was staring at the screen now.

Suddenly, you felt something under the covers spreading your thighs open. You hadn’t even realized you’d been squeezing them together, but as you looked down at the blanket, you saw a hint of red glaring through it as your legs spread themselves wide open. She was using magic to open you up for her. Out of impulse, you tried to slam them shut, but her magic held you there, the red glare dissipating so as to not draw attention to what was happening beneath the blanket.

Be still.

You bit your lip as you felt Wanda’s hand cup you under your skirt, her palm pressing into your fabric-covered core. Your breath quivered out of both nervousness and pleasure when she found your clit through your panties and slowly rubbed it.

I can feel how wet you are through your panties, princess. Her voice was even husky in your head.

You tried to keep still as Wanda rubbed your sensitive nub, looking around again to see that still no one was looking at you. But the fact that anyone could look over at the wrong moment, see part of Wanda’s arm stretched towards your lap under the blanket, seeing shapes inappropriately moving under the fabric, instilled a sense of fear into you that seemed to propel your desire.

Good girl, just keep being still for me. I know how bad you’ve been wanting this. You’ve dreamed so much of my fingers.

God, how did she know? Had she been spying on you?

Her fingers dipped down your fabric-covered slit, tickling there for a moment and feeling the wet spot forming on your panties. You were soaking by now, you could feel it, and it only got worse when Wanda started to push your panties to the side.

You started to open your mouth to tell her no, that she shouldn’t do that in front of everyone at a party, that anyone could look over and see and that it’d be so embarrassing, but her voice was quick to reprimand you.

So what if someone sees? I’ll let anyone know that you’re all mine.

With that, her fingers successfully slipped under the thin, stretchy fabric of your panties and met your soaking cunt. You heard Wanda let out a tense breath as she seeped her fingers through your sopping folds, her jaw flexing again.

You’re so fucking wet, babygirl. Her voice growled within your head, dizzying you.

You glanced around nervously, almost thinking someone was looking at you, but finding that no one was still. You felt so nervous about it, so paranoid, but your feverishness was mostly just from Wanda’s fingers rubbing your bare clit now, moving your wetness all around.

I’ve been wanting to feel your pretty cunt for so long. You just had to wear this slutty little skirt tonight, hmm?

Heat burned throughout you as Wanda’s fingers moved towards your entrance, circling it. You stiffened a little, not knowing exactly what to expect from her. You had to force yourself to not gyrate against her hand, to not turn to her and beg for her to just do it, to not moan out loud. It was especially hard not to do the last thing when Wanda’s fingers thrusted inside you.

“Oh—” you started, until Wanda’s magic snapped your mouth shut. Wanda went completely still, freezing completely. You took a blushing, nervous glance around and nearly died when your eyes made contact with Nat’s eyes.

You froze like a deer in headlights. Nat was staring at you while Wanda’s fingers were inside you for the first time. You were looking her in the eye while your walls clenched around Wanda. You wanted to set yourself on fire.

Fortunately, Nat only gave a casual little head nod and a smile and then turned back to the movie. You knew Nat well enough to know that she wasn’t just pretending that she didn’t see anything. Luckily for you, she really had not noticed anything unusual other than your usual awkwardness around Wanda.

Close call, princess. You almost got found out for being a slut for me.

Taking a shaky breath, your hand crawled around until it found Wanda’s knee under the blanket and gripped it for dear life as she started thrusting her fingers inside you. You tried not to whine at the stretch—it’d been a while for you.

You’re so fucking tight, baby. Wanda’s voice was breathy in your head.

You threw your head back a little as Wanda’s fingers pumped in and out of you, and you could even hear the faint wet sounds coming from under the blanket. It made you feel so dirty, getting fingered like that in front of everyone, and being so wet for it, too.

I knew you were such a slut for me. What if I rip the blanket off right now, hmm? Expose you for spreading your legs for me even in public like a whore?

Gritting your teeth together, you felt Wanda’s two fingers hitting a sweet spot inside you. It was so hard to not buck your hips, to not squirm or moan or do anything but etch claw marks into Wanda’s knee.

And then you felt a more noticeable stretch. Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt Wanda force a third finger into you. This time you couldn’t help it. You threw your head to the side and buried it in Wanda’s chest, letting out a mix between a quiet moan and a sigh that luckily was muffled by Wanda’s sweater. Keeping as still as possible, you inhaled Wanda’s perfume and scratched the fuck out of her knee as she pumped three fingers inside your cunt at an agonizingly slow speed. You knew she would’ve fucked you a lot harder if it weren’t for the sake of being discreet.

“Wanda,” you murmured into her chest, feeling the valley of her breasts from beneath her sweater cushioning your face. “Wanda, I’m close.”

Her fingers were hitting so deep inside you. They were so long, and she was curling them, and she was hitting your sweet spot deep inside, and you could feel your juices dripping down yourself.

Hold it. She commanded.

You didn’t even realize it, but you clamped your teeth around a chunk of her sweater, biting down hard on the thick cable-knit fabric as the woman’s fingers plundered you at a steady pace. You didn’t even know if anyone was looking at you now, and you didn’t even care because your body was starting to tremble as you struggled to not cum all over her fingers.

Finally, when you begged again, she acquiesced with Cum for me, princess.

It took all of your power to not moan out loud as you orgasmed with Wanda’s fingers lodged deep inside you, your walls spasming around them and your hips trembling. She nuzzled her nose against the top of your head and hissed when you bit down on her sweater again and accidentally bit into her breast. She held you still with her spare arm, her fingers deep in you, as you came down from the blinding high.

“That’s it,” she whispered into your hair. “Good girl, just breathe.” You were breathing very hard to make up for not being able to moan. “You were such a good, quiet girl for me, angel.” The praise landed over you like soft kisses until you realized she was also pressing soft kisses to the top of your head.

It didn’t help that, when you had finally calmed down and Wanda pulled her shiny fingers out of you, she popped them into her mouth and sucked off all of your cum. You blushed and dug your face into her chest again, this time purposefully biting her breast which made her hiss again and then giggle evilly.

Luckily, no one had seen you get fingered by Wanda, at least not to your knowledge. Nothing had ever come out of it, at least, except that Tony spread a rumor that you had peed yourself during the party because when you stood up from the chair at the end of the night, there was a wet spot right under where you had been sitting.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #lesbian #marvel #lgbt #wanda maximoff x f!reader

1K notes · View notes

1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt · 9 months

Text

Sexism in TOS: Worst Offender, or Progressive in Retrospect in Comparison?

I see a lot of folks claim that TOS was the most sexist of the Star Trek shows by a landslide -- and while I agree that it definitely suffered from the sexism of the times, I also have other perspectives to share to give some food for thought.

I am of course not insinuating that TOS isn't sexist -- it is, but I have to ask folks to consider the breadth and depth of Berman's sexism in his run and ask yourself: Was Gene Roddenberry genuinely more sexist in his storytelling and delivery than Rick Berman?

I'm not telling you to feel one way or the other, but all I ask is that you hear me out and consider some perspectives and make your own balanced assessments. Nobody is obligated to share my opinion, but it means a lot just to have folks hear it and see their thoughts on the subject. So here is what I was originally responding to:

Someone's response to this photo:

"Devil's advocate. This was a part of the popular form of cardio during the production time of TNG. Yes, it was heavily sexualised by men, but so is literally every other way women work out. Men have been caught taking pictures of women while trying to do dead lifts, running on tracks and working on sled machines. They post them online to share too. The fact is, there is no way a woman can be shown working out without it going there. And yeah,t hat includes the combat forms of workout they do in Star Trek. Just look at how Dax dresses when she spars with Worf. Yes, they're dating, but still, same goes when 7 does and any other female.

Aerobics routines like this were made dirty and cringy. This was what women wore then by and large. This is how the workout was done. We make it cringy."

My response to them:

"I respect your take, but I disagree on a few fronts.

The miniskirt was chosen by the TOS female cast, not the male cast, specifically requested by Grace LW and affirmed by Nichelle and Majel who would go on to vehemently defend the miniskirt over the years as comfortable and embraced by them.

Grace said it was comfortable and seen as a symbol of female sexual empowerment during the 60s and thought it would be a progressive garment (and turns out that it was, as it was later adapted and worn by male crew as a skant on TNG) -- FYI those were designed by a gay man and Gene approved them.

This was also supposed to be Spock's TMP outfit:

Literally lingerie.

We saw both Uhura (who saves Kirk in from Marlena Mirror Mirror) and Yeoman Landon (the first to initiate combat with a classic Kirk-esque kick to help the Captain being attacked in The Apple) carry out their combat training in their Starfleet uniforms without ever being made to change into any ridiculous workout gear.

In fact, I'd argue Jim Kirk was sexualized even more than the ladies of the week on the show and I saw his naked body more than anyone else's on a fairly regular basis. He wore red yoga tights while topless in Charlie X while the women wore full length gymnastic suits that covered their entire body. If anything, it went out of its way to avoid sexualizing women practicing fitness in those scenes and instead focused on Kirk.

Gene confessed that he asked to have Shatner filmed in suggestive/provocative ways to "give something to the ladies", so he -- as he said -- liked to "film him walking away" or have him conveniently busting out of his shirts in just about every episode as it were, because Shatner apparently had great assets. LOL

Gene made an effort to at least sexualize both if he was going to sexualize one, and he carried that attitude forward in wanting the m/m and f/f scenes in the background on Risa for TNG. He also insisted that the men and women wear skimpy outfits on THAT TNG planet. You know the one. LOL I mean the dudes even had on less than the women:

Gene also gave permission to K/S shippers to have their conventions back in the 70s when he was asked for permission. Gene and Nimoy felt with all the skimpy outfits they had the ladies wear, why not let the ladies and gay men have their fun, too? It's how we ended up with moments like this:

Yes, those are two people dressed up as Kirk and Spock's penises doing interpretive dance. Gene didn't give two damns. LOL

In my eyes, that was a very progressive take on Gene's part for the 60s. It was actually PARAMOUNT STUDIOS who had the big problem with K/S stories and vehemently tried to shut them down. Gene literally hired slash authors on his payroll and even had several slash stories/writers published in his official Star Trek books (The New Voyages & The New Voyages II).

I feel I saw Uhura and women in TOS engaged in more physical combat/altercations defending themselves that Troi or Bev were shown holding their own.

In fact, Kirk used to get furious when someone would "dress up" his female crew members without their consent (Trelane episode, Shore Leave episode) because like his male crew members, he wanted them to be treated professionally and to also have his male crew act professionally.

Berman brought some of his own personal biases into Star Trek that in some ways regressed it. While TOS had blatant sexism and was called on it time and again, that show was made in the 60s -- a solid 21 years before TNG. We as a modern audience understood why some of it was cringe/sexist due to the time period -- look at any other media coming out in the 60s and Star Trek was miles ahead of what other shows were doing.

Compare that to Berman who was churning sexist stuff out when women like Starbuck and Scully were simultaneously on screen on other programs airing, and we had already had Sigourney Weaver and other strong women in Holywood playing respectful roles.

In my eyes, there was no need of the sexism seen in TNG but especially VOY and ENT. There was no excuse for it when other shows were writing women far better and a number of those weren't even set in the future like Trek was, making it age even faster due to having those dated perspectives frequently highlighted.

In the Center Seat documentary as well as "The Fifty Year Mission" book you will find cast members, writers and other studio alumni who attest to this. Some discussions from "The Fifty Year Mission":

"First, Berman was supposed to have been a real sleaze ball . . . According to Terry Farrel, he would go on constantly about how her breasts weren't big enough, how she should do something about it, and how his secretary was a good example to follow as she had huge breasts. She even had to have fittings to get larger bras, and that was all done at his behest.

Later Berman and Braga developed a name for Jeri Ryan's character prior Seven of Nine. They originally called the character "perineum" which if you look it up it is the area between the anus and the scrotum. Later they floated the name "6 of 9". I mean, what does it tell you about where these two were coming from in the development of this character if they had names like that put forward in all seriousness for her?"

Gene Roddenberry also had some of his own more progressive ideas for TNG cut or watered down by Berman. Roddenberry agreed TNG should have homosexual relationships and representation at a con in the 80s and insisted on it in a meeting with his writers -- something Berman later would not honor. Gene wanted the AIDS episode, showing m/m and f/f in the Riza scenes -- these were some of Roddenberry's requests to include in TNG that Berman later stonewalled.

Berman's era was sadly dated by his own misogynist bias, IMO, to the point that it can somewhat hurt the shows he worked on through his cringe egoism and blatant disrespect toward his female cast.

There is a reason why Gene could keep female actresses working with him and Berman had a revolving door of women that he couldn't seem to keep working for him -- he was abhorrent to women, on and off set. Gene wasn't perfect at all, he had a lot of issues himself -- but Berman was a whole other level. Just look at what he did to poor Jolene Blalock, Marina Sirtis and his toxic commenting on her body weight which exacerbated her struggles with eating disorders, or how he treated and talked to Terry Farrell.

Anyway, just some food for thought. I'm not saying anyone is wrong regarding a take like that, but there are a variety of ways to look at this. Gene Roddenberry isn't a saint by any means, but it definitely bothers me how folks will tote the Berman era as if it were the lesser of two evils or the more progressive depiction of women when I felt there were far more concerning portrayals of women in his era with far less justification.

(P.S: I don't event want to go near the sheer amount of "creepy old dude/villain preys on innocent/naïve/scared young woman or little girl" stories there were in Berman's era, either. But that's a whole other can of worms I can write about in a part 2.)

3K notes · View notes

steddiealltheway · 11 months

Text

It's a random Wednesday night, and Steve is hanging out with Eddie Munson. Not that that's exactly a weird thing anymore since the world went to shit and Eddie had this whole "you saved my life and I'm going to annoy you for the rest of yours to show my gratitude" type of thing going on. (And yes, he had said those exact words so many times that Steve had memorized them).

But tonight, they kind of just... sit. Not that Steve is complaining. He hates being alone, and always has, so just having someone next to him is nice.

He glances over at Eddie whose eyes are shut, so Steve allows himself to really look.

He had always prided himself in knowing he was comfortable enough in his masculinity to notice when men were attractive. And Eddie certainly was very very attractive. And strangely... pretty.

He has those nice big eyes that make Steve wonder if it makes girls feel all tingly when Eddie looks at them. If they notice the way he's not afraid to make eye contact and lean into it until it feels like he's got their soul on display and memorized it.

He wonders if the girls stare at his full lips and if their hearts flutter when he runs his tongue over his top lip. If they feel all warm and flushed when they imagine what it would be like to feel their lips against his.

Steve nearly groans at the thought for some reason. He wonders if Eddie would kiss a girl gently as if she were fragile or if he would be rough and enthusiastic with the same energy he usually has buzzing around him whenever he walks into a room. He wonders if the girl would run her hand through his hair, and if it's as soft as it looks or if her fingers would get tangled and pull-

"You've gotta stop looking at me like that," Eddie says, startling Steve out of his thoughts as he notices his eyes are now open and on him.

He takes a moment to collect himself and process what he just said. "Like what?"

Eddie looks at him and turns his head away, and Steve tries not to get lost in his profile and the slope of his nose-

Eddie sighs and shakes his head, muttering something like I guess now is the time under his breath, and Steve has no idea what that means. "I mean," Eddie starts and glances at Steve nervously, "You have to stop looking at me with that Harrington look. The one that charms all those girls out of their pants."

Steve scoffs, "I don't have a look."

"You do," Eddie insists as his hand comes up to fiddle with his rings.

Steve looks at Eddie's hands and pulls his eyes away before his thoughts run a mile a minute. "Okay, so maybe I do, but why can't I look at you like that?" As soon as Steve asks, he knows it's a stupid question, but he hopes Eddie gets what he means.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him and shakes his head. His mouth opens and closes and he groans, leaning over to grab his beer and chug half of it in one go. Steve tries not to look at the tendons in his neck as he swallows.

"Because I'm not those girls," Eddie says as he puts his can back down, "But I certainly think like them."

Steve tilts his head a little and knows that Robin would laugh at him for doing the golden retriever look as she puts it, but he's confused. He guesses by Eddie's sigh that the metalhead can tell he needs more explanation.

Eddie's knees come up to his chest as he turns towards Steve. "Just don't... punch me, okay?"

Steve nods and wonders what that means.

Eddie takes a deep breath and his damn tongue worries his top lip, and it's almost so distracting that Steve almost doesn't hear him say, "I'm gay."

It takes Steve a while to process, and he feels like for some reason his whole view of Eddie changes but... in an exciting way. Almost anticipatory. But he's also still so Eddie that Steve just kind of shrugs.

Apparently, his reaction is a little too late because Eddie is rambling as if he needs to defend himself as he explains, "At first I thought I was maybe bisexual or something, and I held out hope that maybe some girl would come along and I would be wooed or whatever, but then I realized all these crushes I had on girls were kind of just friend crushes and I didn't want to kiss them but-"

"What's bisexual?" Steve asks and continues, "Like what does that mean?"

"It's when a person like girls and boys," Eddie explains and continues on.

But Steve hears nothing else Eddie rambles on about because all that's happening in his head is little flashes of memories of all these men he's found attractive, and how he thought it was normal for men to feel all fluttery when they see another attractive man. Especially one like Eddie who makes Steve feel like his heart is about to rip out of his chest, but he just thought that's how Eddie makes people feel... especially girls.

Or maybe especially guys. Especially guys like Steve.

Shit. Holy shit.

"Steve?" Eddie asks gently, "Are you okay?"

Steve glances back at Eddie and looks at him. Like really really looks at him. And then he focuses on how he feels.

Like maybe... maybe the girls he always wonders about... maybe they're him. Maybe he wants to know what it's like to kiss Eddie and run his hands through his hair. Maybe he's...

"There's that look again," Eddie teases lightly but Steve can see the thin veil of terror he's trying to hide in his features.

"What was that word again?" Steve asks sounding more breathless than he realized he was.

Eddie furrows his brow and shakes his head.

"The bi... the bicycle type word," Steve explains hoping that'll work well enough since he can't properly say the definition right now.

"Bisexual?" Eddie tries.

Steve nods and mumbles, "Bisexual." It feels... weird. But it feels right. But it also feels almost shameful? And how the hell did he not realize this until now?

"Steve," Eddie says and lays his hand over Steve's. His rings are cold against Steve's hand.

"Eddie, what if?" Steve takes a deep breath and tries again, "What if that was me?"

Eddie stares at him for a moment and just nods slowly looking deeply lost in thought until he suddenly clears his throat and asks, "Have you ever felt... attracted to a man or wanted to kiss one?"

Steve can't help but have his eyes flicker down to Eddie's lips. "Yes," he says without thinking too hard about it.

Eddie's eyes flicker to Steve's lips as he practically whispers, "I told you, you got to stop with that look."

"Is it working?" Steve asks as he leans in.

He doesn't expect the hand to his chest as he's shoved back lightly but firmly. "You just figured out what bisexuality is, you can't just..." Eddie's hands flap about as he gestures between them.

"Says who?" Steve asks and Eddie just gestures more and mumbles some incoherent phrases. Steve gently grabs his hands and holds them still. "Eddie, I really want to kiss you."

Eddie's eyes widen as he mutters out, "The speed at which you're bypassing this gay panic is alarmingly fast."

"Bisexual panic," Steve corrects trying the word out again to make sure he got it right plus to tease Eddie who huffs. "If you don't want to kiss me, you can just say it," Steve says, thinking that's maybe the problem.

Eddie shakes his head and rambles out, "I've wanted to kiss you since you ripped that damn bat's head off, Christ." He flails back and runs his hands over his face before turning back to Steve and inching closer to him. "Just... promise you won't punch me if you hate this?"

"Promise," Steve says with a wide smile as he cups Eddie's face.

"Holy shit, I'm about to kiss Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington is about to kiss m-"

"Eddie?"

Eddie hums in response.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," Steve says, trying not to laugh as Eddie seems to be panicking about this way more than he is.

Eddie nods and leans forward along with Steve.

Their lips meet and Steve can't help but smile slightly against his lips as Eddie treats him like Steve had half imagined - sweet and gentle as if Steve were the most fragile thing in the world. Then, the kiss shifts as Eddie's lips move roughly against his, using that same frantic, manic energy he always has as his hands come up to tug Steve's hair.

Steve groans and realizes he can do that too, and Eddie's hair is just as soft as he imagined, but then Eddie's pulling away and Steve is chasing after his lips before he notices the look Eddie is giving him. Is this okay?

"Definitely bisexual," Steve announces before pulling Eddie back in and kissing him again.

He's going to have a field day telling Robin later.

AO3 Link :)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet

4K notes · View notes

merakidoll · 3 months

Text

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 | Toji. F & Sukuna. R

- Toji and Sukuna, the no good rockstar boys, who you just so happened to have a sick obsession to. and luckily you finally got to get your wish.

warnings : black chubby! reader. the boys are gay ( we love ). anal, alluding to ass eating but not descriptive. vaginal penetration, double stuffed hehe, hard drug usage. toji has a play boy belly piercing but they both have many tattoos and piercings! neck biting, blood drinking. veryyyy little plot.

mirah note. : i got a littleeee carried away but it’s all good. i don’t think i like this very much either 🧍🏾‍♀️

the nasty boys is what the media referred to the two men as. they’re real, raw, and very uncut with their fans about everything. from their terrible drug usage, to their love of sharing, toji and sukuna made it known that they weren’t men you should settle with, but steer clear from. yet, you just never listened. you knew you weren’t doing a very good job at stalking. you knew - that they knew - you followed them everywhere. fancy dinner, concert, every fan sign. so they decided to give you exactly what you wanted.

looking into the mirror toji carefully- but messily put on the dark eyeliner. he used the tips of his fingers to smudge it in giving it a messy affect that he knew the pretty ladies in the crowd would love. he ignored the moans and gritted teeth words from his bandmate, picking up the rolled crisp 100 dollar bill and sniffing the grimy white substance that was in a line. “mm good shit” he threw his head back, the feeling of his nose burning making his cock harder. andrinline pushing through his bones as he finally got up. one final wink in the mirror

you wish you could have taken a picture of how sexy toji looked standing above you. cropped graphic muscles shirt, with tight leather slacks that didn’t do well at hiding the big dick print. his belly button piercing glistened from the yellow dressing room light, the play boy bunny dangling at every step he took closer. your mouth moved to say something but a loud whine came.

sukuna bucking up into your tightness. he could tell anal was foreign to you, your pretty hole so tight that it wrapped around his tongue, fingers, and now cock so well. “our little stalker needs to be extra- mmm” he paused moaning as his cock let out pre cum inside of you. “full hm?” toji eyes followed the trail of her pretty little body. thick thighs, big breast, love handles, and his favorite- stretch marks.

sukuna had her thick legs up in the air the mini skirt pushed back with no sort of under garment underneath. the view of his cock stuffing her made toji’s dick jerk, her head was leaning onto his shoulder pussy jucies trailing down her leg slowly, as if teasing him. taking a huge breath toji got closer. he pulled his pants just enough for his cock to spring out. his fingers slyly moving to her cunt and sliding through her fat lips, slick forming around him. “p-please” she desperately moaned as he began to rub her clit.

“mm, a slut huh?” she looked up bitting her lip. her pussy ached, sukuna not doing anything to please her but making her feel stuffed and more needy. “where do you want me baby?” grabbing his wrist she brought his fingers to her seeping hole, she didn’t wait for him pushing the two digits in herself. sounds of her wetness breaking out through the room. toji couldn’t contain the moan, dick jumping as tingles went throughout his body. he gently removed his hands bringing the digits to his mouth sucking on her flavor. with eyes rolling to the back of his head he moaned indulging in the savory sweetness. “what a sweet girl” he smirked alighting his cock to her entrance.

moving his eyes from her to sukuna they shared a secret conversation. the two had always had some sort of desire for one another, they never hid it. kissing on stage and taking very sexual instagram photos together. toji could see that him teasing the women had some effect on his mate. “you like it too huh?” pumping his full length in one good time, the women screamed out cumming while toji pressed his lips against the other man’s lips.

“hnguh” moaning against his mouth, sukuna also came letting a load out in the tight ass that only seemed to squeeze him harder. as toji moved back, digging his chipped painted nails into the leather couch, he pumped into her hard. her body moved, creating another friction with the cock in her other hole. making her scramble to grab ahold of something, her body feeling as tho she could faint. “you got it” she heard a whisper from behind her. her eyes were closed but she could feel toji’s hot breath fanning against her ear, his mumbles of how she was the best pussy he ever had making her tighten around him.

“uhhh” throwing his head back sukuna blissed in the way his cock was being milked. toji took that as an opportunity to kiss his tattooed neck, trailing his tongue against his adams apple, then to the right side before bitting down feeling the women below him squeeze down onto him while squirting. “OHMYGODDDD” she had finally spoken words, voice high over the loud chants of the two men’s name from the crowd that had been waiting.

the men shared a moment, the matalic taste of sukunas blood on toji’s tongue making him press his forehead against his shoulder, finally filling her to the brim. while sukuna came from the bite, his body not feeling pain but so much pleasure. sitting still for a moment they all had their eyes closed taking deep heavy breaths.

what threw everyone out of the trance was a giggle. a tired giggle passed her lips that caused everyone to laugh. toji pulling out and bitting his lip when his cum came out of her. using the same two fingers he stuffed all of it back inside. “don’t let it come out.” he said sternly. “if it stays in the entire concert we’ll have more fun after” and with a promising smile he kissed her cheek walking away.

869 notes · View notes

redcoralpot · 6 months

Text

U Malatu - Mike Schmidt x M! Reader

Summary: Mike gets a call back on the ad he had sent out for a new babysitter for Abby. While they were interested in the job, Mike was more than interested in them.

Warnings: NSFW content (masturbation), and mentions of murder.

Word Count: 1.55K

Notes: Consider this a gift for the gay Mike simps!!

Mike had expected nothing of it, really. He had paid a newspaper company a few dollars to display ads for a babysitter in their daily papers; a last ditch attempt before starting his new job at a local pizzeria. He was working the night shifts, and with his office being in the middle of a highly dangerous, abandoned building, he hesitated in bringing his little sister along. Abby was only ten years old– who knows what she would get into?

So, when his phone rang with a call from an unknown number, Mike immediately answered, “Hello?”

Radio silence from the other end. His mother always had warned him about spam.

His finger hovered over a red button, ready to end the call, when a noise froze any movement, “Um… are you Mike Schmidt?”

“Yeah, this is him.”

The caller cleared their throat, “Okay, so, I’m calling about a babysitting ad I saw at a local diner; I’m interested. Is it possible for us to meet there to discuss details?”

“Woah, hold on. What’s your name?” Mike questioned, folding his jacket over a chair.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll meet you outside of Sparky’s at four o’clock. I’m looking forward to it!”

“Wait–” That was the only thing he could respond with before the line cut out, and his home screen went back to normal.

Suspicious. Maybe he should have gone a different route than dropping the opportunity of watching over a vulnerable child into just anyone’s hands, but it was too late to turn back now. Sparky’s was a public place, at least, so this person would not be able to hurt Mike without getting caught. If he got any weird feelings from them, he’d immediately call it off and go home.

Mike glanced at the oven clock, ticking away at time like it was nothing. Currently, it was only three, and the drive to the popular diner was only fifteen minutes away. Well, shit. He was too desperate to pass this up, not with the court constantly watching his back. Mike groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, dreading his first shift already.

He ended up needing that extra time to get Abby comfortable enough for him to leave, and oh, how stubborn she was. Mike had to carry her over his shoulder just to get her into her bedroom, where she had plenty of sensory toys and items to occupy herself with. Additionally, Mike had put extra care into making sure she had the opposite too, such as noise canceling headphones in case the neighbor decided to mow his lawn again. The last time he saw her, she was huddled up on her desk again, using crayons to draw scribbly pictures of her imaginary friends. Yeah, imaginary. They weren’t real, as much as Abby claimed they were.

By the time he had gotten in the car, started it, and driven to Sparky’s, he was five minutes late. Yet, from his windshield, he could see a man in a quirky uniform sitting outside the main doors. Mike couldn’t see the details of the stranger– he needed to get his eyes checked– but he witnessed them flinch at the sound of his car door slamming. As he approached, the man jumped up with a sparkle in their eye, and held out a hand.

“Mike Schmidt?”

He didn’t shake it, causing the hand to fall awkwardly to your side, “Yeah.”

“Uh, anyways, I saw your ad. The diner hands out a paper full of ads with their menus, you see, and yours caught my eye.”

“You mentioned that.”

The man had a lopsided grin on his face, and you chuckled; the sound sent a spark up Mike’s spine, “Yes, yes I did. I make decent money, but I’m also looking for a bit of a side job too. Babysitting was on the top of my list, ‘cause I love kids.”

“Do you have any actual experience with it?”

“I was a babysitter for my first job in highschool,” he rambled, “my favorite kid was a little boy from a local daycare. His mom said he got diagnosed with autism and she needed extra help taking care of him during the evenings. He was a delight!”

“Why did you stop?”

“Ah, it’s a shame. Fritz, the little guy, was one of the kids that went missing at a pizzeria a while back. His mom was never the same after that, and I felt guilty that I wasn’t there.” You shuffled closer to the doors, shoulders tense.

“A pizzeria?”

You shrugged, “It got shut down soon after that. I guess when a couple of kids disappear into thin air in a restaurant, parents aren’t keen on bringing their children there anymore.”

Mike opened his mouth, ready to ask another question, but you stopped him, “Listen, I gotta go, this was my break. You have my number, right?”

He nodded, and you replied with your pinky and thumb sticking out of a fist, held to your ear. Mike watched as you disappeared into the diner, curiosity and another, more unknown feeling creeping up his chest. He remembered it so well, looking back on it.

Nowadays, Abby loves you. Mike could lean on the doorway, and a smile would tug on the corners of his lips as he watched you make shapes with your hands. A light was set in her room specifically for this purpose, as the shadows cast would mimic whole storylines. His little sister would view it in glee; the tales always accompanied by voice acting, your doing. Mike even started, in the back of his mind, to prefer the idea of spending the night like that instead of in front of a collection of security cameras. He observed your hands, how your body moved, your face, and more embarrassingly, your lips.

Mike studied how gentle and sickeningly sweet your voice was when you praised Abby, but also the stern expression that played in your eyes when she misbehaved. You would glance up at him sometimes, the manner still stained, and a heady feeling would slam into his brain. The experience always only lasted a few seconds, when his little sister would grumble again, and you were pulled back towards her. Frankly, there were times when Mike wished you would continue, though he’d never admit it. He pushed it down with everything else.

Alas, that can only work for so long– a man has needs. Those needs surface at the worst possible time, and for Mike, that was on his endless night shift at the pizzeria. He cursed under his breath, feeling his dick straining against his jeans. The feeling of your hand manhandling him out of his own front door was imprinted on his shoulder, even if his uniform vest covered it. Just thinking about it sent a shiver down his spine, and he closed his eyes as his eyebrows scrunched together.

“F-fuck.” He whispered.

His seat shook as Mike shifted in it, fidgeting, unable to focus on the bright screens on his desk. The more he tried ignoring it, the more depraved thoughts infected his head. A finger trailed up the seam of his pants, his breath hitching, where it finally landed on the button holding it all together. Mike bit his lip and unbuttoned it, a whine escaping him as he palmed himself.

He imagined it was you that was doing it, your strong palm cupping his crotch as easily as you did a mug at home. He snaked fingers into his boxers, sliding himself out of the top, and rested his forehead against the wood under the cameras. His dick twitched at the movement, and he brushed against the tip. Mike huffed as he slid his hand down, and then up, repeating; spreading precum as it came out. What else could you do with that strength?

Could you manhandle him on his hands and knees? You could, he knew, and you would trail your hands down his body. So very gentle, so very kind, for what you were about to do. You could hold his hips still to prevent him from thrusting up into your hand, as he whimpered in complaint. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he felt the stickiness grow in his hand; you could call him the most pathetic things and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. A pet, a slut, a little whore.

Mike let out a quiet moan, “Please…”

He’d face away from you as you thrust your own against his cock, not even earning the privilege to look at you. You would treat him as only a toy to use, whenever, and however you wanted. His ass would be red from how hard your skin slapped against his; the sting only sending down zaps of pleasure. You wouldn’t even bother taking off your own clothes, only his.

“That’s it, that’s a good boy,” you’d grunt.

That same heady feeling slammed into Mike again, but this time was different– this time it was accompanied by a white flash in front of his eyes. His body seized upwards, drool smearing against the desktop. The guard felt warmth drip down his palm, onto his pants and the floor. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a deep, shaky breath.

The stain was going to be hard to explain.

#x male reader #male reader #male y/n #gay #fnaf movie #fnaf #michael afton #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x male reader #bottom character #top male reader #dom male reader #x dom male reader

1K notes · View notes

sp0o0kylights · 6 months

Text

I saw a video today that said, “It’s very uncomfortable as an adult when your friend starts to date somebody who sucks, and you’re all looking at each other going ‘Guys, if this is the person who makes them happy…I think collectively as a unit we can agree that we would rather see them sad. So what's the plan?’”

And immediately went: modern Steddie AU were Steve dates his high school friend Tommy and everyone is tearing their hair out over how awful he’s being treated.

Ft. the Party, led by Dustin, hounding Eddie “I could get a man in a SECOND, I just CHOOSE not to date” Munson for help

However:

Eddie is mostly thinking the entire thing is a joke (King Steve and Tommy Hagan? Gay? Together?? Nice try Henderson.) until he runs into Robin. She laments that yeah, they’re bi, but more importantly, Tommy is fucking awful and Steve refuses to see it.

2. Eddie, maybe, kind of, still has a crush on Steve ("Stop laughing Gareth, everyone has--had! Had a crush on him!") and the guy was never THAT bad in high school---but Tommy Hagan definitely was and a little revenge would be fun.

and finally;

3. Instead of going with the kids' well intentioned but very misguided “Let’s get Eddie to Steal Steve” plan, Eddie meets up with the Robin/Nancy/Jonathan/Argyle/Chrissy dream team to figure out how to prove to Steve that Tommy is horrible.

Bonus: Robin and Nancy come up with a full proof multi step plan that involves Eddie pissing off Tommy in ways that look completely innocent. The hope is that Steve will see how controlling and unreasonable Tommy is, and break it off.

This hurts no one and just highlights to Steve Tommy's behavior.

Of course, Eddie goes off the rails immediately upon meeting Steve.

Instead of following The Plan, he, with the kids permission and help, gets Tommy to get blow up about THEM.

This is far more successful.

Bonus x2: A large amount of shenanigan's with the kids vs Tommy are involved. As is a scene were Steve breaks down and admits he knows Tommy is terrible, but Tommy puts up with him and Steve "knows how he is."

Eddie goes home, prints out a picture of Tommy and throws cheap ren fair daggers at it for at least three solid hours while he tries to think up ways to prove to Steve Harrington that his parents are wrong, hes very lovable actually.

In fact Eddie would very much like a shot at trying it out, thanks!

(It is also, inevitably, successful.)

#steddie #modern meet cute #SOMEONE TAKE IT FROM ME I CANT HAVE ANOTHER WIP #also I personally am very picky about fake dating tropes or “stealing” tropes #cause you cant steal a person #but also #the trope is naturally exploitative and thats hard to do right #not to say I havent seen people do it WELL cause I have #just that its a hard one for me personally #anyway #Eddie munson #steve harrington #tommy hagan #stranger things #Eddie is a gremlin whose been on all of two dates and had three hookups but hes never telling the children that #angsty #so desperate for love Ill take any scraps I can get Steve Harrington #is a personal favorite of mine #and not in that whiny way #I mean in a realistic way #homeboy out here knowing that half of what he says is stupid but he believes it anyway and has a lot of issues from his parents #so you have to DRAG this shit out of him #or if youre Robin you dont HAVE too but Steves excellent at dodging #excuse making #and generally making everyone think hes making sane decisions #he is not #eddie clocks this instantly lol

2K notes · View notes

humansofnewyork · 1 year

Photo

“I knew if they ever found out about me, I’d end up like Johnny Yablonsky. Johnny was soft, he was feminine, he was clearly gay. The neighborhood guys would make him blow them; then beat the shit out of him. He always had a lot of bruises, and absenteeism. He was so defeated. I’ve always assumed he killed himself. And I didn’t want the same thing to happen to me. It was a lot of fear, and shame. The fucking shame. I participated in my own self-negation. I laughed at all the jokes. I tried to tighten up on the masculine stuff. I’d stand in front of the mirror. I’d practice my walk, my diction, the movement of my hands. Somehow I managed to make it out of that town alive. During our first Christmas break at college, I went with my friend Howie to visit his family in Long Island. Afterward he dropped me off at the airport. He thought I was flying home. But I caught the Greyhound Bus to New York City. I put all my stuff in a luggage locker and started walking down 5th Avenue. It was night. It wasn’t lit up like today. All the storefronts were dark; it was like lyric poetry to me. Unopened boxes full of mystery. All I knew was I had to get to Greenwich Village. I kept asking people—is this the village, is this the village? They kept saying: further south, further south. Finally I get to the corner of 8th Street and 6th Avenue, and I’m waiting for the light to change. And this guy starts hitting on me. A few years older than me, good looking. His name was Charlie. And he put a spell on me immediately. From the very first moment, I had a hard-on for Charlie Bacchus. I felt safe with him. He took me to my first gay bar. Then afterward we went to his mom’s loft apartment on Washington Square. She happened to be in Rome. So it was just me and Charlie Bacchus, in this gorgeous apartment, with the door closed, cut off from the rest of the world. There was sex, beautiful sex. First time I’d ever had sex with my shoes off. The next morning I came out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around me. Charlie said: ‘What are you doing? Take that off. You’re beautiful.’ He said it so gently, like someone looking at a painting. And it was my first profound lesson in shedding shame.”

7K notes · View notes

beautifulhigh · 7 months

Text

The smallest of looks is the loudest moment in the room

Just a little one from me to save me from going insane and to sate my followers...

ZAHRA: How long has this been going on?

Alex is focused on Zahra, Henry is staring off into the middle distance until Alex answers her.

ALEX: Since New Year's.

And it's that Henry reacts to. Have a close up.

Henry's gaze flicks to Alex. In this exact moment (1 hour, 5 minutes, and 41 seconds), he looks at Alex for a few seconds.

This is the moment Alex has put a start date on this thing between them.

It's a little more certain here than it is in the book:

"How long has this been happening?" "Since, um, New Year's." (page 233)

The placement of that "um" holds meaning for me - in the book Alex is hesitating before he pins a start date on him and Henry. He's trying to figure it out and that's what he goes for. Because how long has it been going on? Since they started sharing intimate thoughts and fears? Since they increased the benefits they had added to their friendship? Since the Red Room?

Nope. Alex goes for the moment when the possibility between them changed and he completely ignores the weeks of silence that happened straight after. The period of time in which Henry was full of fear over what he'd done, what Alex might do. In the book we know he runs scared, going on a public date and being photographed.

If there was a prince, and he was gay, and he kissed someone, and maybe it mattered, that prince might have to run a little bit of interference. (page 125)

We don't have anything like that in the movie but we do have the silence. We see Henry's fear when he comes into the Red Room. Not just because of the line he crossed with Alex but because he has exposed himself and his most closely guarded secret, a glimpse of his true self.

He will know that Alex isn't going to out him - they've spent long enough talking and getting to know each other for that to not be Henry's fear. And if he was then it would have happened long before the State Dinner. Henry's fear is about losing Alex, losing the friendship, losing that connection with the boy he's wanted since the Olympics/Climate Conference.

I'd put money on Henry promising himself, once upon a time, that he would never do anything to risk losing what small pieces of Alex he could have in his life. And when they start up this thing he goes in thinking that this is all he can have, all he will get.

"I thought I could have some part of you, and just never say [I love you], and you'd never have to know, and one day you'd get tired of me and leave, because I'm--" (Page 272)

Henry didn't think he would have all of Alex, at least not anything of import, that Alex wouldn't be as far in as Henry is. And yet here he is in this hotel room, declaring they have been this thing since that kiss. Since before they properly made out in the Red Room, went down on each other in Alex's bedroom, talked about "keeping things casual" before embarking on the most insanely devoted shag fest known to mankind.

Alex has been in since New Year's and he tells Zahra just that.

In the movie he is more decisive. (Just like the instant "No" when Zahra asks if it would make a difference if she asked them to stop.)

Since New Year's. Since the moment Henry kissed me and I became unable to think about anything else except doing it again. And doing other stuff.

And even though Henry ghosted him right after, even though the next thing Henry said to Alex after his apology and disappearance into the night was another apology for his behaviour, Alex has labelled that moment, that kiss, as their start.

The moment when Henry was brave.

And in the movie we get to see Henry's reaction to that. They've been discovered, things are about to blow up in a way they can't control, and Alex says that as far as he's concerned this thing between them has been going on all year.

Before the emails. Before Paris. Before the State Dinner. Alex has been Henry's since New Year's and this is the moment he finds that out.

#overthinking jen is overthinking #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #prince henry of wales #red white and royal blue #rwrb #book to movie #this was supposed to be much shorter #oh well #otp: history huh

884 notes · View notes

roboticchibitan · 1 year

Text

I remember when same sex marriage was legized in my state (3 years before obergefel vs Hodges which legalized it nationwide). It won by a very narrow margin.

People who had taken care of me when I was young, people who were like second parents to me, (along with half the other people I knew) were saying it was the end times because I could now get married. And I couldn't help but wonder... would those people have protected me, cared for me, let me play with their children, if they had known I would grow up to be queer?

I came out in 2011. I was lucky. My parents were accepting. My mom was clearly uncomfortable at first but she made it clear she loved me no matter what.

Except.

My dad didn't care if I was queer and assured me that didn't mean there was anything wrong with me (in a speech I didn't need to hear but I think he needed to say). But he still said "that's gay" and "that's faggy" anytime my little brother showed vulnerability.

And I was a lucky one. My father used homophobic slurs around me regularly. He turned the word gay into a slur with his homophobic mouth. And I was a lucky one.

When I came out publicly, my grandmother stopped speaking to me for a while. I'm lucky that she changed her mind. I'm lucky that my grandparents let me bring my girlfriend with me when I went to visit them in October. October of 2022 and I still consider myself lucky that my grandparents let my queer partner into their house. My other grandma likewise visited with us, and was polite and friendly, but she still refused to call my gf anything other than "your friend." Still lucky. Incredibly lucky.

People don't understand just how bad things were as much as ten years ago. When I came out at school, I was lucky. No one bullied me. No one shoved me into lockers or called me slurs. They all just stopped talking to me. I became invisible. I went to a small school. I was the only person who was out. Exactly one person talked to me the rest of the year. And I was a lucky one.

When I was in middle and highschool, the go to insult was "that's gay." I heard it constantly. Every day. Sometimes people said it to me to insult me, long before I even knew I was queer.

I was lucky because the worst that happened to me was social isolation and people using slurs around me or turning my identity into a slur. No one called ME faggy. No one beat me up behind the school bleachers. I was incredibly lucky.

I have experienced the word "gay" used as a slur far more than I ever heard the word "queer" used as a slur. Young "queer is a slur and only a slur" people need to know the world you live in is not the world the rest of us live in. Why is "queer" a slur but "gay" isn't? My homophobic father thought the word "gay" conveyed just as much offense and disgust as the word "faggot." So why is queer the horrible word that can never be reclaimed but people say "that's gay" as a compliment now? The loneliest I have ever felt was in a room full of teenagers who thought my identity was the height of insults. So why is gay fine but queer isn't?

I am a fat butch queer and I do not hide that. My shoes have a pride flag on them. I have a masculine haircut and wear men's clothes. I look queer.

And I am afraid. I dress like this anyway, because I want other queer folks to know I am a safe person. I dress how I do partially because I like it but also partially so any queer person in the room, no matter now closeted, can see me and feel a little bit safer. Because I will protect other queer people with my life if need be.

Because I am openly and visibly queer and live in a world where being queer can get you killed. Because it can. Gay bashings still happen. The alt right are getting bolder in their violence, and that includes homophobic/transphobic violence. There are organizations in the US that are actively pushing to make homosexuality punishable by death in Africa. They know they could never accomplish that here. But they would if they could. People want us dead.

Young people need to understand that. And they need to understand that the people who did the most work to free us from criminalization were queer. They identified as queer. And they weren't the perfect law abiding queers toeing the line of what's acceptible. Because being queer itself was illegal. You could end up on the sex offender registry for being gay. In fact, there are queer people who are STILL registered as sex offenders just because they were queer in 2001. Pride wasn't a permitted parade with wells Fargo floats. It was angry queers illegally marching down the streets, screaming "We're here. We're queer. Get used to it."

Being openly queer is a radical act. It is still a radical act.

I did not live through Windsor vs the united states, the referendum 74 debate, my father punishing my brother for being human with homophobic slurs, and the pearl clutching fearmongering about "the gay agenda" (that was a go to phrase for 2012 homophobes) for some LGBT kid to come at me with TERF bullshit they got off tiktok about how my identity is a slur and I'm a horrible person for using it.

I was a lucky one and I'm still saying "no, absolutely not" to this bullshit.

Queer is more inclusive. Queer accounts for any possible fluidity because people change. Identities change. Queer is there for people who know they're Something Different but are not sure of the details yet. Queer is intentionally vague. When you're young you want everyone to know exactly who you are but as you get older you realize actually my identity is none of your business. In fact, sometimes when you tell someone your identity, you're handing them a bludgeon for them to hurt you with.

If you have trans classmates, you do not understand the world the rest of us grew up in. Trans people were not a public topic. They were not even acknowledged as existing by most people. I didn't know what being trans was until I was like 17. I'm nonbinary now and consider myself trans 10 years later.

And I didn't even have it that bad. But you know what? It still sucked and it was still hard and I can't imagine what it was like to grow up a decade before I did. I had it easy compared to most people.

If you can jokingly say "that's gay" when someone expresses queer love, then you can fucking handle people using the word queer as their identity.

The infighting and policing each other has to stop. You're oppressing queer people with this bullshit. It does not matter what words queer people use to describe themselves when there are people actively killing us. What are you doing? For fucks sake look at the bigger picture. Direct all that rage at our oppressors and the people who mean us harm. Queer people and he/him lesbians and bi lesbians and people who use neo pronouns and whoever else is the discourse of the day do not deserve this kind of treatment. Punch a homophobe and maybe you'll feel better.

#tw homophobia #had to go on a rant because I was thinking about how trapped and afraid I felt during the referendum 74 debate #nothing was safe #no one was safe #we are still not safe #discourse

3K notes · View notes

hundredandsix · 11 months

Text

loser!ellie headcanons

✩ I haven't been able to get loser!ellie out of my head so...here we go. I love that this is basically the same thing as canon!ellie. Slutty thoughts at the end so mdni (18+) ✩

✩ I don't think she would be the first to make a move. She would do little, very subtle things like hold the door open for you and then panic because oh no that was too much! You're going to know!

✩ She would think she's being obvious, and she is, but not for the reasons she believes. Let's just say her brushing her hand against yours is not nearly as obvious as the way she follows you around and the way your smile makes her face turn red all the way to her ears.

✩ Speaking of her following your around, she is so unintentionally clingy, even before you get together. You would get up to go to the bathroom and when she realizes where you're going, she tries to play it off like she wasn't about to trail after you. When you bring it up to her, she's genuinely confused because no, she is not following you around on purpose. She would never do that.

✩ It would take her forever to realize you're into her, but when she finally picks up on it, that confirmation gives her confidence. She wouldn't be as afraid to make her feelings more apparent.

✩ Has such terrible rizz that it somehow comes full circle and makes her even more charming.

✩ She LOVES bossy, confident women. Ellie is not afraid to ask for what she wants, and she is definitely not the type of girl that would have you ask the waitress questions for her. But there's something about a woman that could put her in her place that she loves.

✩ At first, Ellie is always rubbing the back of her neck or playing with her fingers when she talks to you. She doesn't want to look like a dork, but she can't help it because you make her so nervous.

✩ She's literally the definition of a golden retriever masc. She's got the beat-up truck (that's actually Joel’s, but you don't have to know that), an outrageous amount of flannels, and carabiners to provide it.

✩ When she gets really excited about something, her brain moves faster than her mouth. She'll fumble her words and stutter. She gets really annoyed when this happens and has to take a deep breath and start over.

✩ She loves to rant about her interests to you. Don't you dare seem like you're not listening because she'll get really quiet and upset.

✩ I could see her having issues with being treated like "the man" in past relationships. It confuses her at first because she wants to protect her partner and care for them, but she also wants to feel that same love and desire toward her. She would be so drawn to you if you don't treat her any differently because of the way she dresses or presents herself. Obviously, she presents as more masculine, but she still wants to be treated like a woman.

✩ She has sooo many playlists. There are some about you of course but she also has some that are so highly specific. When you go on your first date, she has a playlist for picking you up and two different ones for dropping your off, depending on how it went. She definitely has the classic "depressed gay longing" playlist.

✩ She has exactly two pictures on her Instagram. One is her and Joel on his birthday and the other is a selfie she uses as her profile pic for everything.

✩ When you follow her back on Instagram, she loses her shit and starts fantasizing about what it would be like to be with you. She's screenshotting every selfie you put on your story and thinking about them in ways that are not very appropriate.

✩ She's the queen of "this reminded me of you" and will bring you literal rocks because "it looks like the whale from the aquarium we saw last week." Whether it's modern!ellie buying you little trinkets or jackson!ellie bringing you things from her patrols, she loves seeing you in all parts of her life. Even if you're not physically there with her.

✩ I love the pages of her journal we get to see in the game because they show us peeks at her internal monologue. They show us she is still very much the eccentric, starry-eyed girl we see in the first game. She's learned to hide it. Maybe to fit in or maybe because she's learned that wearing your heart on your sleeve can hurt. It's literally canon that she writes about her romantic feelings in her journal, so I think she would have little drawings and blurbs about you. She for sure has a stupid grin on her freckled face as she draws the highlights of your eyes and maybe even the dip of your hips. It's the only way she can think of to get you out of her head.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

✩ She's an ass girl. She loves every part of you and will literally kiss your eyelashes if you let her, but she has to physically hold herself back when you bend over.

✩ I can't think of who posted it, but I remember reading something about Ellie fake fucking you when you're bent over and she would totally do that at the absolute worst times. You'd swat her away and look at her with a raised eyebrow, but there's no stopping her because she thinks it's the funniest thing ever.

✩ The first time you kiss is an out-of-body experience for her. She's panicking because she didn't think she'd ever get this far. She wants to touch you but she doesn't know where or what you would like, so her arms are stuck at her sides. She's 🧍until you grab her hands and move them to your waist.

✩ Has a huge obsession with your neck. Loves to leave marks if you'll let her. Will come up behind you and wrap her arms around your waist while leaving wet kisses all down your neck.

✩ I could see her wanting to be both the big and little spoon. It depends on the day and the context. When she's the big spoon she'll jokingly hug you so tight you can barely breathe and wrap all of her limbs around you like she's trying to suffocate you. When she's the little spoon, she likes it when you play with her hair.

✩ Is an absolute slut for you playing with her hair. She's an insomniac and it helps her fall asleep. When you're arm gets tired and you want to stop, she'll whine and pull your hands back to her head.

✩ She would be more comfortable topping and doesn't want to admit that she likes to bottom just as much. She's a service top that would do anything to make you feel good.

✩ Girly is so shy when she bottoms. She'll get all blushy and tries to cover her face with her hands/arms. She loves it, but it feels so foreign to her to have someone's sole focus be on her.

✩ Loves eye contact, especially when your mouth is on her. If you look up at her from between her legs while giving her head, she has trouble thinking straight.

✩ Likes it when you pull her hair during sex and will groan for you to pull harder. Just move her wherever you want her because she thinks it's the hottest thing ever.

✩ I think she'd use a strap if you wanted her to, but it's not her instinct to grab for that. She rather you come apart on her fingers or mouth.

✩ If you wanted to use a strap on her, I think she would let you, but again, it's not something she would ask for. To Ellie, It would be more about pleasing you than her.

✩ Absolutely passes tf out after sex. She always tries to stay awake, but as soon as both of you are cleaned up, she's dozing off and letting out cute little snores.

✩ In summary, Ellie is the switchiest switch to ever exist and I will be taking no criticism on this

#hundredandsix #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams #ellie williams x female reader #lesbian #tlou #tlou smut #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie x y/n #jackson ellie #bottom!ellie #switch!ellie #loser!ellie

2K notes · View notes

girlgenius1111 · 5 months

Text

do you want my attention?

R and Mapi decide to fuck around at the club and make their respective girlfriends jealous. It ends... exactly how R wants.

Smut! This is not proofread [if you see errors no you didn't]. It's also pretty rough smut. Please enjoy :)

You had arrived at the club, a gay bar in the heart of the city, dragging a still somewhat reluctant Alexia in with you. You'd barely greeted the rest of the girls before Mapi was dragging you off to the bar with you to get everyone drinks. Once you were out of earshot, she turned to you with her signature smirk, and told you her idea.

You were on board with the idea the minute the words left Mapi's mouth. The team had a rare weekend off, playing on Friday and not playing again until the following weekend. You had all convinced your captains [Alexia more than the others], that a night out would be good for everyone. You were excited; it had been too long since either you or Alexia had the energy to do something together other than attend practice, or lay exhausted on the couch together.

It had also been a while since you and Alexia had gotten up to... other activities. Alexia specifically had been so drained that you guys had only the energy for soft, sensual sex, and even that was happening infrequently. Which you definitely enjoyed, but you also really, really loved it when Alexia got rough with you. And it seemed like Mapi's idea would be your best bet to getting Alexia to fall back into her more dominant role. You deduced that Mapi was after the same thing you were. Judging by the way Ingrid's sharp gaze raked over Mapi's outfit, black leather pants and a tight maroon corset top, you figured she already had a pretty good start.

You also knew you had Alexia's eyes on you, in the possessive and protective way she watched you whenever you guys went out. She was a worrier, and she was also deeply territorial. You were surprised she had let you walk away with Mapi, considering how full of gay women the club was, and the way your tits were framed by the top you were wearing- lacy, kind of see through, and decidedly too small for your chest. Alexia didn't look bad herself, wearing a tight, short, black dress that was completely open in the back, forcibly reminding you that she was not wearing a bra.

It didn't take long before you found yourself on the dance floor with Mapi, ready to put the plan in place.

"Ready?" She asked.

"Si, as ready as I'll ever be," you replied, well aware of what consequences you would be facing in the coming hours.

Your teammates were spread throughout the club, some dancing, and some not. You had left Alexia standing at a table with Ingrid, Caro, and Patri, who were not dancers, slipping away with Mapi before your girlfriend could object. You had both made sure you were in view of the little group.

You and Mapi took it slow at first, dancing a safe distance away from each other. After a few pop songs had played, a slower, much sexier song came on. You felt Mapi's hands land on your hips, pulling you back slightly into her, dancing against you. You didn't really enjoy it- you were truly only interested in having Alexia's hands on you. You could tell Mapi felt the same way about Ingrid, because her movements were slightly hesitant and stiff. Still, you both pushed through, getting into a rhythm and dancing up against each other to the slow beat of the song.

"She's already staring, chica," Mapi spoke softly into your ear, pressing her head against yours, giving the look of a much more sexual comment. You brought a hand up to press hold Mapi's head where it was, peeking over at your girlfriend. Mapi was right, Alexia was staring. Maybe glaring would have been a better word. Her green eyes held a dark look, and you noticed her hands clenched on the edge of the table. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, as she shook her head at you, a clear warning on her face. You had to fight a smile at your success.

Maintaining eye contact, you grinded back into Mapi, pressing your ass up against her front. Her hands tightened on your hips, moving in sync with you. Alexia's expression hardened, and she took a long sip of her drink; it looked like it was alcohol, which was alarming consideing Alexia normally didn't drink during the season. If this was an indication of how jealous you'd made her, you suddenly had a few regrets. Sober Alexia was possessive, and she could be rough when she wanted you. Drunk Alexia would fuck you into the mattress until you could barely move.

You and Mapi continued to dance on each other, bodies swaying to the beat of the music. You looked briefly at Ingrid, suddenly worried you'd make her mad at you, but her eyes were locked on her girlfriend, making a face very similar to Alexia. Deciding to egg them on even more, you placed one hand over Mapi's, moving it tantalizingly slowly up your body, until her thumb was grazing your breast. You closed your eyes, ignoring the burning gaze of Alexia, and leaned your head back to rest on Mapi's shoulder.

"Shit. Incoming," she whispered in your ear, "that didn't take long."

You opened your eyes to see Alexia making her way through the crowd toward you, eyes locked not on your face, but on Mapi's hand resting at your chest. Ingrid was following not far behind her. You braced yourself, knowing Alexia would be pissed. You knew both her and Ingrid would clock what you and Mapi were up to immediately, but just because they knew you both were fucking around, you knew you'd both still be in trouble. Mapi seemed to have the same thought because you felt her suck in a deep breath as your girlfriends arrived at your side. You weren't done acting like a brat, though, and you were determined to drag Mapi down with you.

"Come to dance?" You asked the girls standing opposite you, allowing your lips to curl into the smile you'd been fighting all night. You were met with the hardened gaze of Alexia. The way she stared at you... you knew you were wet already, just from that.

"I think we've had enough dancing," Alexia spoke through clenched teeth, hand came to latch onto your wrist, grip tight, as she yanked you away from Mapi and into her side. She began to pull you away from the dance floor, and you let her, glancing back at Mapi to throw her a smile. She stood completely still, seemingly paralyzed by the way Ingrid was silently looking at her. You hoped they wouldn't do it in the bathroom of the bar again, but the look on both of their faces told you that it was unlikely they'd make it all the way home.

Alexia, however, dragged you right out the door, not stopping to say goodbye to anyone. She pushed you up against the side of the bar, her arms coming up to rest on either side of your head, blocking you in.

"Why are we leaving? I was having fun," you pouted. You knew you were pushing her, but you couldn't seem to stop yourself.

She moved her to press her lips against your ear, blonde hair falling into your face. It smelled like coconut, and the light contact of her lips on you had you completely distracted from the world around you.

"Fun," she murmured, her voice raspy enough to know that she had been drinking, and that she was turned on," I don't know that I would call that fun." She pulled back, fixing you with a harsh stare. Her hands fell from the wall to rest against your side, touch featherlight.

"What? We were just dancing." You really should stop, but the urge to play dumb was too strong.

"Dancing, si, but dancing like you wanted to fuck her? Not so fun, cariño." Her voice was sweet, but there was a sharp undertone to it that had you shivering with excitement.

"Well you wouldn't dance with me..." you responded, letting your gaze fall to the ground. Suddenly, you were feeling incredibly insecure. the thoughts that had been swirling around in your head recently came to the forefront. What if she hadn't been tired, and she just didn't want you anymore? Her hand came up, catching your chin almost instantly, and guiding it back up until you were making eye contact with her again. Her gaze had softened slightly, and you knew she had realized that she'd been distant recently, that your actions tonight were not entirely unprompted.

"Have you been feeling needy bebé?" Her tone was soft, and you leaned into her touch, nodding. "What are you supposed to do when you are feeling needy?" She asked, clearly awaiting a response.

"Ask for what I want..." you responded, still slightly self conscious.

"For what you want?" She questioned.

You sighed, knowing what she was looking for. "For what I need, Ale."

"Si. You're supposed to tell me when you need me. Not go around dancing like a whore with your friends, trying to make me jealous." You blushed, suddenly aware that you were still in public. Alexia didn't stop there though, leaning closer until her lips were almost brushing yours. "If you wanted it rough, amor, you could have asked. You'll get it rough, I'll give you what you want, mi niña bonita, but only if you listen to me." You nodded eagerly at her words, and she smiled down at you, pecking your lips quickly, before turning around, grabbing your hand, and beginning the walk back to your apartment.

-----

You expected her to be all over you the minute you both walked into the apartment, but she casually walked into the kitchen, hand still intertwined with yours. She pulled out a bar stool from the counter, dropping your hand, and pointing for you to sit. You were confused. And horny. But you weren't feeling like a little brat anymore, you just wanted to do what Alexia wanted you to do, so you sat, waiting patiently for her as she rifled through a cabinet. She returned to your side with a glass of water wordlessly placing it down in front of you, leaning against the counter next to you and running her fingers through your hair. You looked at her, raising your eyebrows in confusion.

She smiled at you innocently. "I want you hydrated. You're going to need the energy," she said casually, still gently untangling your hair with her fingers. You almost chugged the water in an effort to move things along. You were almost done when she pulled your hair into her hands, smoothing it back into a ponytail. You felt goosebumps raising on your neck, highly anticipating what was coming. Alexia liked your hair down, and she only tied it back for specific reasons. You liked these reasons.

"Bien?" she asked, ever the attentive girlfriend, even when it was clear that she was about to wreck you. You nodded your head. She grabbed your hand again, leading you back into the bedroom. She sat you on the edge of the bed, looking down at you. "You know what to do if you need to stop, si?" You told her you did, and she smiled, satisfied, before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving you sitting on the bed. Not really knowing what she wanted you to do, you opted to sit and wait. She returned a couple minutes later, and your jaw dropped at the sight of her.

Alexia was completely naked, muscular body on full display, with an enormous dildo strapped to her waist. It wasn't one you'd seen before you and you wondered briefly if she'd spent the last few weeks waiting for you to act in a way that would warrant the use of this new toy. She crossed the room quickly, placing her hands on your shirt. Instead of taking it off, as you'd expected, she tore the fabric easily, tossing the two pieces behind her, eyes fixed on your chest, expression completely blank. You gasped, slightly indignant because you really liked that shirt, but then her hand was wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, but enough that every thought in your brain promptly fell out.

"Something to say bonita," she purred.

"N-no." you responded, voice slightly choked, but not from the hand on your neck.

"Good," she replied, "now take your pants off and get on your knees."

You rushed to obey, almost tripping as you stumbled out of your pants and underwear. She reached a hand out to steady you, before pulling it back, deciding that now wasn't the time to be nice. You kneeled down then, on the carpet at the foot of the bed, and looked up at her.

She looked beautiful. She always did, always took your breath away, but something about looking up at her when you were on your knees at her feet filled you with desire. Her blonde hair fell loose around her shoulder, and you desperately wanted to run your fingers through it. Her eyes looked dark in the dim light of your bedroom, and you felt yourself get even wetter. You were dripping, and she hadn't touched you. She grabbed the back of your head then, pulling your forward, and guiding you to take the strap into your mouth.

"Suck," she commanded, and you did. You ran your tongue across the tip, taking more and more of it into your mouth. It was big, bigger than anything you'd taken before. You hollowed out your cheeks, bobbing your head back and forth, raising your eyes to look up at Alexia. She must have liked that, because suddenly she was pulling the strap out of your mouth and bending down to kiss you.

It was a rough kiss, not needing any time to warm up. Her tongue was in your mouth instantly, pressing insistently against yours as her hands gripped the sides of your face. You moaned into the kiss, feeling yourself growing unsteady on your knees. You weren't going to move though, not when she'd put you there.

Alexia pulled back, grabbing the dildo and put it back into your mouth, thrusting in and out roughly. She'd never really done this before, fucked your face with the strap, and you could see her eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, even as she licked her lips at the sight of you, brows furrowed. You grabbed the back of her thighs, attempting to encourage her, even as you gagged against the strap, saliva running down your chin.

"Look at you, taking it so good. If only you'd been this good all night, hmm?" her words were slightly shaky, and you knew she wasn't as affected as she was pretending. She kept going for a few more minutes, only stopping when your eyes really began to water, and you started to sway, clearly losing feeling in your lower legs. She pulled you to your feet, supporting your weight, and pushed you back onto the bed, until you were laying with your legs hanging off the end. She remained standing at the foot of it though, and she nudged your knees apart, looking intently at your core.

"You're dripping, cariño. Is it for me? Or is it for her?" her voice was dripping with jealousy, and you knew then just how much your actions at the club had affected her.

"You, Ale, only for you," you gasped.

"I don't know if I believe you. You're going to have to prove it to me," she stated, and you nodded eagerly.

"Anything, Alexia, anything you want." She raised her eyebrows at you, a predatory grin spreading across her face.

"Anything I want?" She questioned, voice dangerously soft. You nodded in response. You thought she was going to touch you, finally, but instead she pulled away, walking across the room to sit on the couch. She reclined, relaxed, legs spread, fake dick sitting obscenely between her legs. You whined quietly, leaning up onto your elbows to look at her.

"I want to watch you fuck yourself." She said, and you frowned, entirely uninterested in that request. "Now," she said, her words leaving no room for debate. You sighed, scooting back up to rest against the headboard, spreading your legs. You brought one hand up to play with your nipple, allowing the other to drift over your stomach, slowly moving down to your center. You were incredibly turned on, and you let out a keening whine the minute your fingers brushed over your clit, unable to control yourself. You began circled the bundle of nerves, closing your eyes and falling into the movements. You got worked up fast, your hips moving in sync with your hand as you grinded against it.

"Can I put my fingers inside?" you asked, desperate for more stimulation.

"No." she responded, and your eyes snapped open to look at her. She was still sitting on the couch, except a large smile now adorned her face. "Come for me like this, and then you can use your fingers." You groaned, but began to move faster against yourself, fingers circling frantically as you neared the edge. You kept your movements going until your hand was aching and your hips were jerking up into your hand. You fell over the edge with a moan, eyes falling shut. It was not satisfying, no where near what you wanted, but you still pulled your hand away, not wanting to overstimulate yourself already.

You were planning on taking a minute to catch your breath, but Alexia spoke only seconds after you came.

"Inside now. Come again and then I'll touch you." You sighed again, wishing for her hands against you now, but did as she said, dragging your fingers through your folds, gathering the abundant wetness, before sliding two fingers into yourself. You didn't need to start with one, so wet you were already craving a third.

You moved your fingers in and out of yourself, curling them to brush against your spot just right. You were so wet, every movement of your hand made a sound. You continued to pump your fingers in and out, of yourself, bringing your other hand to rub at your clit, quickly approaching your orgasm again. You normally didn't come this fast, but the feeling of Alexia's eyes on you, knowing that once you finished, she'd touch you, was sending you hurtling towards the end.

You sped your fingers up, fucking them so hard your hand made a loud sound when it met your body, opening your eyes to make eye contact with Alexia. She was rubbing her thumb over one of her nipples, eyes focused on your core. They moved to meet yours as you came again, letting out a loud moan of her name. Again, it wasn't as satisfying as it could have been, and you just wanted Alexia to fuck you. You fell limp against the bed, closing your eyes briefly as you quickly returned to the present. You didn't notice your girlfriend standing from her seat and making her way over to you.

Again, Alexia didn't allow you much of a break, grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed roughly. You opened your eyes, looking up at her and she looked down at you, a hungry look in her eyes.

"Flip over." She said, her voice once again commanding. You did as she asked, rolling onto your stomach. She pulled your hips up so your ass was in the air, and without any warning, brought her hand to slap roughly against your ass. You gasped, jerking forward into the mattress. She smacked you again, and again, setting a rhythm. Her hand landed on you at least 15 times, and you were moaning without shame by the end of it. Alexia knew how much this turned you on, and she was apparently trying to get you as worked up as possible before she fucked you.

She stopped then, running her hands gently over the red skin. You were desperate, pushing your self back into her, overcome with need for her to touch you.

"What do you want, bonita?" she cooed, still not touching you where you wanted her.

"You, Ale, your mouth, your cock, anything, just please touch me" you begged, breathless.

Suddenly, her mouth was on you, hands spreading your cheeks apart, and her tongue was running through your folds, mouth lapping at the slick there. You whimpered into the mattress, pushing back against her face. She brought a hand around, pinching your clit between her fingers harshly, while moving her tongue in and out of your entrance. Her mouth moved fast in tandem with her hand, and you neared your 3rd orgasm quickly, letting out cries of her name as you got closer.

"Fuck. Gonna come, baby." You figured you should warn her, thinking she'd probably stop. She didn't, though, speeding up her movements even more, sending you over the edge for the 3rd time. Pleasure rolled over you in waves, but suddenly her mouth was gone, and she was pushing the strap into you slowly. You gasped, sucking in air, feeling the dick stretch you. Even after 3 orgasms it was still tight, and you appreciated that she was letting you get used to it.

Just as you'd had that thought, she bottomed out in you, and you tried to relax, getting used to the size, before she was pulling all the way out and thrusting back into you. Her hands moved your hips back against her, and you cried out at the feeling of being completely filled.

"That's it, hermosa, just take it. So good for me." You moaned at her words, and she took a hand away from your hips to land another smack on your ass. You rocked back against her, burying your face in the mattress as you gasped with each thrust. The filthy sound of her hips meeting yours filled the room, as did the wet sounds of the dildo pulling in and out. She kept fucking you, bring a foot up to rest on the bed, allowing her a deeper angle, and she sped up, frantically thrusting in and out of you.

"Come again. Now" She said through gritted teeth, and you knew she was feeling pleasure from the strap rubbing against her with every thrust. At her words, you fell over the edge again, not even aware that you'd really been close. Apparently, you came when she told you to now. She moaned when she realized this, her pace only slowing slightly. You whined, really and truly overstimulated at this point.

"Shhh, come on, amor, you can give me one more." she spoke gently, flipping you back onto your back without pulling out. She leaned over you, pressing her forehead to yours as she sped up again. You let out another whimper, not sure if you could take another orgasm. Your legs were shaking, wrapped around Alexia's back, and you felt all fuzzy. You felt yourself getting worked up again though, her words enough to get you going.

"I know, bebé," she murmured, "you can take it though, be a good girl and give me another one," she slowed down slightly despite her words, and you brought a hand around to grip at her ass, encouraging her to go faster as you nodded desperately against her. She sped up again, pressing a deep kiss to your lips, before pulling back. She lifted your legs up to rest on either shoulder, absolutely railing you. She'd never fucked you this hard before, and the sounds you let out were completely filthy.

"Shit. Fuck- ple-please don't stop, so close, so fucking close" you managed to gasp out. She brought her hand to rub at your clit again, fingers moving so fast it was almost painful. The pleasure was rising again inside of you, but it felt different this time, more intense. You knew what was coming before it happened, but ti still surprised you. Your hands gripped the sheets as you felt yourself come again, the force of it pushing the dildo out of you, liquid squirting out of you onto Alexia.

"Fuck bebé, so fucking good for me," Alexia said, continuing to rub her fingers over your clit, coaxing another splash of liquid out of you. You pushed her hand away, whole body shaking as you curled up on your side, face pressed into the mattress. You felt brainless, completely fuzzy. You weren't really sure if you were even conscious, body completely overwhelmed from all of the stimulation.

You felt Alexia's gentle hands on yours, pulling them away from your face. You wanted to open your eyes and look at her, but you were so exhausted, so out of it, that you kept them closed. You heard her speaking to you, but it didn't really sound like words. One of her hands stroked your cheek softly, and you forced yourself to open your eyes, recognizing a slightly panicked tone in her voice.

You focused on her, laying with her face only inches from yours. Her eyes were wide, and you realized she'd asked you a question.

"Hmm?" You managed to ask.

"Are you okay? Was that too much mi amor?" She sounded a little frantic, and you forced yourself to respond, and ease her worries.

"So good, Ale. God. I can barely think." She didn't look particularly reassured at your words.

"But are you okay?" Gone was dominant Alexia who had just literally fucked every thought out of your brain, replaced by concerned soft Alexia who looked like she'd do just about anything to make you feel okay.

"Si, I'm good, promise." You stated even as your eyes started to drift shut. She smiled in relief, moving forward to pull you against her chest. You relaxed against her, so sleepy, so comfortable, and she rubbed your back softly.

"Te quiero, mi bebé perfecto, te quiero mucho." She whispered the words into your hair, and you snuggled closer to her, barely mumbling a "te quiero, Ale" in response against her chest. She chuckled at your sleepy state, and you felt it more than heard it.

"Rest, mi niña, I'll clean you up in a bit, vale?" You nodded against her, immensely glad you'd followed Mapi's plan.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

826 notes · View notes

themidnightcrimson · 11 months

Text

palette ࿏ wm

summary: in which your mother commissions a renowned painter to paint your portrait.

words: 6.0K

warnings: top!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), lots of tense gay ogling, so much sexual tension, minor use of paint in sex, very victorian era girlie themed, mentions of men (scary!)

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

Your mother was being incredulous about the situation. Time and time again, you tried to convince her that you were not the marrying type, that she need not go to her extreme ends to find you a husband. Whether it was showing you off like show cattle at parties, offering to pay men to marry you with money or titles, or throwing you at the nearest man around, which one time ended up being the innocent post boy, she was relentless in marrying you off.

Any time a man did take an interest in you, which was not unreasonable due to your fair beauty and youth, you hated and despised him and dwindled down his integrity until he ran away like a dog clutching the remnants of his masculinity between his legs. Relief was momentary, for once you ran one off, she only brought around another.

Her new tactic that she invented in that stubborn little head of hers was to commission a renowned painter to paint your portrait to be hung in the halls of your wealthy home. With all the parties and dinners she hosted so desperately often to cling to her respected name in society, she thought that surely a young man would see the portrait of her jeweled and beautiful daughter and demand to own her. Of course, your mother demanded the best, so she hired the infamous Maximoff artist to paint your portrait.

“He will be here any minute,” she whispered behind you as she violently tightened the strings of your corset until you felt your stomach was tucked inside your ribcage.

Taking a shallow breath, the deepest one you could breathe, you looked down at the emerald green dress. It was a beautiful dress, sure. Gold lace crawled over the green corset at your waist, and the green parted at a low point in your bosom, opening wide to reveal your entire chest, metal wires ensuring that your breasts were pushed up and on full display. One thing about your mother was that she hid no tricks. You were her trick, and you were sure she would have you painted naked like a whore if it meant having a son-in-law and grandchildren.

“Mother,” you gasped when she tightened the corset even further, struggling to breathe. “Do you not expect a common man to want a wife who breathes?”

“Hush,” she snapped as she tied off the strings at your back. The dress’s intricate under-weavings made sure that your hips looked wider than your own intellect. Most of the time, you liked to prance around in delicate underdresses in which you could breathe and move freely. This dress, with its constricting corset and heavy hips and layers upon layers of white underskirts, made you feel like you were standing with your head in a noose.

“If he’s such an excellent painter, can’t he just use his own imagination about what I’m wearing? That’s what most men do in their heads, anyway.”

“Mr. Maximoff is the most respected artist in the country,” she breathed, circling you to look you once over. Her hands went to the breast of the corset, trying to lower it down even more.

“Mother!” you shrieked, widening your eyes at her and tugging the fabric back up. “Why are you trying to make me look like a whore in front of who you say is the most respected artist in the country?!”

“He’s Sokovian,” she argued. “They’re exotic.”

You rolled your eyes at her bitter distaste for foreigners, and if you could breathe, you would have let the venomous words roll off your tongue.

“Besides, even if he doesn’t paint you as a doable wife, perhaps he would graciously take you himself.” Her eyes flickered up to your hair which was swooped high up on your head, a few curls of your hair hanging over your cheeks. The earrings on your ears were heavy, and the jewels on your neck were even heavier. You felt like your outer bearings weighed a thousand pounds and were crushing your frail body with every passing second. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to die in that moment, you certainly did, but you would be damned if it was in such a ridiculous outfit.

A housemaid rushed into the room suddenly and declared, “The painter has arrived.”

Your mother nearly slapped you across the face with how fast her hands went to fixing your hair. “Send him in!”

There was a hesitant look on the maid’s face, but she left with her hands fumbling together. Your mother turned your shoulders towards the door, harshly slapping your lower back to make your back straighten. You sighed, feeling anxious at how little you could breathe. You grabbed at your neck as if that would help you breathe, but your mother slapped your hand away. “Don’t fidget.”

She stood next to you, her hands posed at her front, a wide smile on her face. You were pretty sure that she wanted her men to desire herself as much as they desired you, and sometimes you wondered if you might marry a man just so he could fuck your mother and get her out of your own ass.

“Smile,” she whispered, but that was one thing she would have to slap across your face before you ever would.

The door to the library opened slowly, and you could feel your mother’s excited breaths beside you. A booted foot stepped into the room first, your eyes following the body that stepped through. A leg clothed in wide grey trousers, a frilly cream blouse tucked into the pants. You were offput by a mane of long, wavy brunette hair, though your first instinct was maybe Sokovian men donned long hair as a cultural preference. But when you saw the face that glowed into the room, those viridescent eyes, sharp cheekbones with a feminine curve, supple pink lips, your own lips fell open as you realized that Mr. Maximoff was, in fact, a woman.

You thought your mother was going to spontaneously combust in a theatrical display of steaming, rageful sparks. You looked over at her—her eyes were glancing down the woman over and over again, trying to figure out how in the world this person could possibly be a woman, this person who she had built up to the be the key to breeding her own daughter.

You couldn’t help but gleam at the impossibly devastated look on her face. This painter was a woman standing here in pants, holding an easel with a canvas under one strong arm and a bag full of paints in the other.

“Mr. Maximoff?” your mother gasped stupidly.

By the look on the woman’s face, you could tell this wasn’t the first time. “Ms. Maximoff. Wanda.” She stepped forward, setting her supplies down on the floor. “It is a pleasure to meet you and have the honor of being commissioned by your name.” Her Sokovian accent was thick and velvety. She came closer, holding out a hand to your mother. She eyed it like it was a snake, but took it, and Wanda shook her hand like a man.

Her snakelike eyes flickered to you. “I presume this is your daughter—my subject?”

“Uh…” Your mother began, her eyes focused on the shape of Wanda’s breasts under her shirt as if in disbelief. “Yes, this is my daughter, y/n.”

Your eyes were trained on Wanda’s. They were looking at you pointedly, a little wide, soaking up every inch of your presence as if you were the only source of light in the room. Her lips curved into a coy smirk. “Pleasure,” she gently spoke, reaching for your hand. You gave it to her, expecting her to shake it, but she gently turned your palm over, her thumb tracing the soft skin on the back of your hand, before she lowered down and pressed her lips there.

It became even harder to breathe as the woman rose back up, the feeling of her lips still tingling on the skin of your hand. “You are as beautiful as your mother spoke of you.”

For once, you actually smiled without your mother forcing you to. Wanda stepped away, looking between you and your mother expectantly. “Well, shall I get to work? I do charge by the hour.”

Your mother was in some sort of trance. “Oh, um… Sure—well, you see Mr.—Ms. Maximoff—”

“Wanda.”

“… Wanda. I was, admittedly, under the impression that the painter I commissioned to paint my daughter’s portrait would be a man. Are you sure that you do not have a father or brother by the same name, or even a husband, who can come instead? You see, this portrait is going to be very important to me. I intend to show my daughter’s beauty and wealth so that I can find her a proper husband, and given that is such an important cause, I need a painter with the highest skill and artistry to do it properly.”

Wanda only blinked. “There is no other Maximoff but myself. I understand your concern about this portrait, but I ensure you that my skill and artistry will serve the best purpose for your daughter, though her beauty so obvious that even a street painter could convey it.” Her eyes flickered to you again, drawing up another smile on your face. It was funny how she was painting your face without even holding a brush.

Your mother’s eyes danced around uncomfortably. “Well…” She paused, looking over Wanda once again. “Alright.”

“Shall we do it here?” Wanda asked, pointing towards a sofa that sat in the corner of the library against a beautifully wallpapered wall.

“Alright,” your mother said reluctantly. Wanda instantly went to work, setting up her easel and canvas in front of the sofa. She then turned to you, holding out her hand with that sort of smirk on her face. “Come.”

Hesitating, you stepped forward, sliding your hand into her soft, gentle one. She led you over to the sofa, gesturing you to sit, holding your hand until you were fully seated. You squirmed a little as she looked down at you, her eyes appearing darker now that she was turned away from your mother who stood watching with nervous eyes and fidgeting hands. Wanda was staring down at you with an unreadable expression, and when your mother cleared her throat in the silence, it seemed she almost forgot she was there.

Wanda turned to look at your mother, clasping her hands behind her back and taking a few steps towards her.

“My lady, I do find my creative focus more intent when in the presence of only my muse and myself,” Wanda spoke confidently. Your mother was obviously taken aback by this, as if she had expected to watch the entire process, her hand of control over every little thing. She liked to think she was God, or at least God of your world and everything that had to do with you.

“Oh—are you sure?”

Wanda smiled graciously and nodded.

Your mother looked between Wanda and you reluctantly before finally nodding and stepping away. “Well, if you need me, you can ring the bell for the maid.” She paused again, waiting to be told to stay, but Wanda only stared at her, so finally she left, closing the door gently behind her.

You could breathe a little easier now that your mother wasn’t in the room. Wanda sighed and turned on her heel to face you. Your back straightened instinctively under her prolonged stare, your eyebrows creasing to try and figure out why she was staring at you with her head tilted as if you were already a painting hung in a gallery.

“Confusion doesn’t look good on you, darling, and it surprises me so that anything could not look good on you,” she smoothly murmured, taking slow steps parallel from you. She disappeared behind the easel before reappearing on the other side of it, her eyes still trained on you.

You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “You’re staring at me.”

She blinked, a smile widening on her face. “I’m supposed to paint you. How can I do that without ever looking at you?”

Your face warmed a little, eyes darting down to the floor. She made a noise with her tongue before she went over to the large window of the grand library, pulling on a chain to close the thick, heavy curtains until the room was blanketed in darkness. You could hardly see anything now—you heard the fumbling of things and the striking of a match before a golden light emanated from the table nearby. Wanda had lit a candle, bringing the match near her lips and blowing on it to put it out.

“What are you doing?”

She walked to the other side of the sofa where another smaller table was and lit a candle there too, so that now you were blanketed in a soft, orange huge.

“This painting is to attract men to you for the purpose of marriage, correct?” she asked as she blew the second match out. “What’s more attractive than dim lighting under the intimate glow of candles?” Her eyes, darker now, flickered to you as she walked back to her easel, dragging a nearby stool to the easel and lighting one last candle there so that she could see her work.

“How sensual,” you remarked, to which a hidden smile curled on her lips, shadowed by her hair.

Wanda reached into her bag and brought out a palette, a tin can of brushes, a jug of water, and several bottles of paint, placing them all on the stool beside the easel. You expected her to just be quiet and start painting, but she walked towards you. Your chin rose to keep your eyes on hers as she neared you, looking down at you analytically.

“Sit back a little,” she said softly, “So your back is against the cushion.” You did as she said, scooting back until you could sit up straight with the support of the cushion. “Good. Now, your hands…” She looked at where you had placed them, lying mindlessly on either side of your lap. “What are we going to about those?” She smirked again.

“What do you mean?”

“Hands are as integral part of a portrait as is the face,” she tilted her head and leaned back, imagining your visage as a whole. “Cross them over your lap.”

You plopped them over each other on your knees, expecting that to be good enough, but when you glanced back at her, she was trying not to laugh. “What?” you asked defensively.

“Nothing,” she said, her Sokovian accent edged with amusement. “Here.” She knelt down in front of you, gently taking your wrists into her hands. You held your breath as she positioned them very particularly over your lap, trying to ignore the way her fingertips grazed the fabric of your skirt and left wrinkles in the fabric there, indentions of her touch. Her hands touching yours so delicately was sending jolts of electricity up your spine. You blasphemed yourself for being so shy of a simple touch, from a girl, nonetheless.

Once she had your hands positioned the way she wanted, she stood back up and assessed your top half. You caught the way her eyes fed upon your chest for a brief, startling moment before she looked up to your face. “Sit up a little straighter.” She put her hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you to sit up, her fingertips sliding to your upper back. You grew bothered at how handsy she was being. Her hands moved to your face, adjusting the curls of hair that were left out of your updo. Her face was close to yours now, her cool breath fanning across your mouth and leaving you no room to breathe, a heat forming under the skin of your face.

You recoiled suddenly, and she looked at you with unnerved eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

Her sudden change of confidence at the thought of somehow paining you by moving your hair eased your discomfort a little. “You’re reminding me of my mother. Always picking at me, fixing me.”

Her lips pursed together. “Your mother fixes you to her liking. I’m fixing you to yours.”

You eyed her suspiciously. “I haven’t said a word to you about any of my likings.” You noticed how quiet you were speaking, how quiet the room was, how close you were together in the corner of the large room.

“You don’t have to. I can tell,” she whispered with a crawling smile, adjusting your hair one last time before finally moving away from you. “Now, just sit.”

“Seems simple enough,” you breathed once she was finally behind her easel, trying your best to stay still.

She picked up her palette and started mixing paints and water, tussling through some brushes before finding one she wanted, and you finally heard the scraping of her brush on the canvas. You would have much rather been behind the easel with her, watching with as much curiosity and intrigue as you had then as she worked, than be sitting still like a lifeless doll as her eyes stared at you.

After several minutes of having her look between you and the easel, you started to get uncomfortable. The corset was still restricting your breath, and it felt impossible to keep your hands completely still. The dress was making your back hurt, and the painful silence and the feeling of Wanda’s eyes constantly on yours was enough to make you go mad. You hadn’t even realized that you were starting to squirm, accidentally moving your hands and your position.

You heard a sigh which led you to look back up at Wanda. She set the palette down, along with her brush, and stepped out from behind the easel, pacing back and forth with her eyes set upon you in a sort of disappointed and confused stare.

“What?” you blurted, feeling offended that somehow she thought you couldn’t even just sit to her liking. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re fidgeting,” she said with more seriousness, her artistic focus shining through.

You looked down and realized that somehow over the course of a few minutes you had completely lost the original position she had you in. You sighed, deflating as sharp pains ran up your torso. “I’ve never been painted before.”

“Well, it’s an honor to take your portrait virginity,” she countered with a little smirk, ceasing her pacing to stand staring at you with a tilted head.

A searing hot blush fled to your cheeks. “You speak like a man.”

“You’re sitting like one.”

You realized you were lounging disgracefully on the sofa with your back hunched and legs open. Snapping your legs shut, you groaned and laid back on the sofa dramatically. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t want to be painted?”

“No! And I don’t want to be married off to some bastard and bred like swine until I die. I cannot breathe without her trying to stuff me into a man’s side like an armpiece. I cannot breathe with her constantly in my ear speaking to me how I should talk better, walk better, sit better, stand better, look better. I cannot breathe—I just cannot breathe!” You leaned forward suddenly, feeling faint and gasping for air, clawing helplessly at the front of your corset whose fabric was stuck to your skin.

Wanda neared you calmly, holding out a hand in front of your face. Still gasping, you looked up at her, eyes falling to her hand. Feeling helpless, you slid your hand into yours and stood to face her. You realized then suddenly just how beautiful she was, with her full mouth and sharp eyes that were always piercing into you. Without speaking, her hands slid over your shoulders and smoothly turned you around. You froze, confused about what she was doing until you felt her fingers at your back and the sound of strings being undone.

“What are you doing?!” you exclaimed, knowing how long it took your mother to zip you up in that dreadful thing and how, if she knew you had undone it, she would tie it up even tighter.

“I cannot paint you like this,” her husky voice spoke close behind you. “You look dead in this dress.”

“God,” you breathed as she tugged at the strings, causing your body to move with her force. “That’s an interesting way to call someone ugly.”

“You are not alive like this,” she explained, “I can tell that this is not you. This is only a shell, a makeup of your mother. I am not here to paint your mother—I am here to paint you. My muse has to be completely herself, with no facades or lies. I need to see you as you are, truly and honestly. And also, you do look two heartbeats away from death by asphyxiation in this damned thing.” With a forceful tug, she ripped the back of the corset open so forcefully that your body was yanked backwards towards her, but she caught you, hands firmly on your waist.

You gasped in a full breath of air, and although it was a dusty library, it was the freshest breath of air you had ever taken. You were leaning back against her chest now, strands of her brown hair over your chest. Her hands holding your waist slid upwards a little, your body shivering at the feeling.

Her mouth was close to your ear as she whispered, “I’m going to undress you as gently as I can…” As her breath fanned against your ear, alighting all kinds of nerves in your spine that you’d never felt before, her hands slid around the front of your abdomen. “But forgive me if my creative expressions make me a little…forceful.”

She punctuated her words with an aggressive tug on your corset, which made you gasp sharply. She peeled it off your upper body, grabbing at the hips of the dress and tugging it down, also, bending and pulling all the green off your body until it was pooled at your ankles in a pathetic lump of fabric. You turned your head, looking down at Wanda who was crouched at your calves and staring up at you with parted lips and seductive eyes.

Wanda’s hand snaked around your smooth ankle first, cupping your shin as she started to rise, moving back around to behind your knees, lifting up your layers of underskirts as she went. She rose up behind you now, dragging her hand all the way up your leg under your skirt until it was on your hip, centimeters away from your bum.

Your heart was beating fast in your body that was growing warmer even without the top layer of clothing now. All that was left was the white slip that covered your body and the second underskirt.

“I need to see the real you, detka,” she spoke, Sokovian accent think and sensual in your ear.

You could smell her strong perfume of fig, her soft hair tickling your shoulders. You couldn’t believe that this woman had just ripped your dress from you and had you standing in barely any clothing that you wouldn’t even let your mother see you in.

“How can I convey you on canvas if I don’t know you?” She whispered, and the slightest graze of her lips against your ear sent a jolt down your body.

Her fingertips went to your shoulders, tickling your skin as she guided the thin strap of your slip down your shoulders, bringing you to shiver.

“Wanda,” you breathed, unsure of what you wanted to say. Sliding her hands over your skin, keeping her touch on you, she circled you, coming in front of you to look into your eyes.

“Trust me, detka,” she whispered, “I’m a master of the arts. I know what I am doing.”

That she did, with a smirk as she slowly pulled your slip down. You tried to stand confidently under her gaze and touch, but when you felt the silky fabric catch over your breasts and then fall below to reveal them, you gasped desperately for air. Her eyes flickered down, feasting upon the sight of you with utter desire and sensuality. Her mouth was open, lip nearly trembling as she pulled the slip down over your intimate stomach, and then pushed it along with the second skirt off your hips so that you were standing bare and entirely naked in front of her.

“Beautiful,” she breathed with ragged voice. “So… fucking beautiful.”

The vulgar word pierced your spine and made your body heat even more. Your skin was flush and pink under the close, golden hue of the flickering candles, that same unsteady light revealing Wanda’s bulging pupils and darkened irises. She was devouring you with her eyes, and through the lust you saw the creative plates molding perfectly together in her mind.

“Lay down,” she said with faltering voice, clearing her throat as she guided you to the sofa.

No one had ever seen you naked before, and you kept that thought in mind as you carefully climbed onto the sofa, her hand on your lower back leading the way. “On your back,” she demanded, but suddenly she caught you before you laid down, reaching into your hair and undoing it with one pull of a pin. Your hair flooded down your shoulders messily, and you gasped, knowing just how undone you looked. Was she going to paint you like this? In the nude? You knew that was far from what your mother wanted in the portrait, but your mother was even farther away from your thoughts as the Sokovian artist’s hands guided you to lay on the sofa.

“Move on your side slightly,” she instructed, voice taught with many different emotions you couldn’t completely discern. You were halfway on your back and halfway on your side, some of your hair over your chest and some of it cascading down the arm of the sofa above your head.

Finally, she stepped away from you, and you thought you would feel cold without her touch, but her eyes were enough to keep the fire broiling in your stomach alive.

You were sprawled out on the couch like a whore. One leg reaching over the other end of the sofa, the other one halfway off the edge of the cushion. One arm laying on the cushion lifeless, the other one reaching across the top of the sofa. You were wearing nothing but the thick jewels on your upper chest and the earrings hidden behind your hair except for a few twinkles where the light shone through the strands. The golden light of the candles sparkled on the erected rosy peaks of your breasts, flickered off the skin of your stomach.

“Perfect,” Wanda said, grabbing a towel that she had laid on the stool and casting it over her shoulder, her ravenous eyes not leaving yours as she picked up the palette and brush, beginning to scratch across the canvas madly, hardly tearing her eyes from yours.

Your chest rose up and down with the tension in your lungs. Something within you was throbbing at being laid out like this, having this sensual woman tear you apart with her eyes as she painted your likeness on the canvas.

The tension did not die with the silent minutes. It grew and built with every stroke of Wanda’s brush, with her every darting, overfilling look, with your every weak breath and throb of the multiple heartbeats throughout your body. It grew to a head until you felt like you were going to burn right through the cushions of the sofa like a soaring comet.

Every time her hand left the canvas to roll her brush into the pools of paint on the palette, her rings sparkled under the candlelight. There was a gleam on her skin, a craze in her eyes, a moistness to her lips that she repeatedly licked and bit. She was driving you mad without even touching you, and you could tell that you were doing the same to her with the way she painted the canvas so hard that it trembled on the easel.

Finally, without you having to even say anything, she dropped the palette and brush on the stool and dragged the towel away from her shoulder, eyes trained on your body. She had painted so wildly that there were smudges of color on the white sleeves of her blouse and covering her hands. She came to you so quickly that you didn’t even know she was there until she was knelt beside the sofa, placing a hand on your lower stomach.

Her hand sent a streak of color up your skin as she slowly slid it up your abdomen. Red, yellow, green, blue, all streaked together from her hands as she touched the smooth expanse of your skin.

“When I first came in,” she began in a tremulous whisper, “I knew it would be impossible to hold my focus while I painted your portrait.” Her hand swiftly curved around your breast and cupped it, relishing in the supple feeling of your flesh. Your eyes fluttered closed, legs mindlessly moving as she touched you shamelessly, and you let her. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I don’t even have to paint you to make you a walking piece of art.”

You didn’t know what to say as her compliments landed on your skin like warm raindrops and evaporated into your pores, seeping into you and imbuing you with warmth. She bit her lip as she looked down to your breasts which she fondled, rolling her thumb over your hardened nipples. Your skin there was covered in her paint now, colors mixing and melting on the warmth of your skin.

“Is this your creative expressions speaking?” you whispered to her, and she smirked and tilted her head.

“No, it’s just me.” Her eyes flickered to your lips, and without hesitance she leaned forward and kissed you hungrily. You moaned, and with your lips parted she dove her tongue into your mouth. Her other hand found your delicate neck and squeezed it, the cold paint smearing on your skin as her tongue explored your mouth with utter force and desperation, like she needed to know every single corner and texture of your mouth and tongue.

She clambered on top of you, pinning you down on the sofa beneath. Her hands went mad across your body, squeezing and rubbing you everywhere she could, memorizing every single curve and sweet spot that made you arch up against her. Her kisses trailed down your skin, sucking and biting harshly until she made bright red and purple spots that blended in with the paint she had already left there. She made a painted mess of you right there on those cushions, mercilessly sucking on your nipples and pinching them until you were squirming beneath you with desperate need, grabbing at her soft hair and shoulders.

“Wanda,” you moaned as she lowered down your body, leaving wet kisses down your painted stomach until she was at your hips. She growled, glancing up at your bare, marked body before her, lowering herself down between your legs.

“You’re the sort of art that needs to be worshipped,” she grunted as she ran her hand over your thigh, swiveling around it to yank it up over her shoulder. Crouched down, she parted your legs open, moaning at the sight between your legs. She had dwindled you down into a wet mess, and the feeling of her warm breaths fanning against you there did no good for how much you wanted her to touch you.

Most of the paint that was on her hands had been transferred to your body, so she brought her fingers to your slippery folds, groaning at how soft and wet you were. “No one has touched you before?”

“No one,” you whispered, looking down at the lewd sight of this woman between your legs, even her slight touch on your folds making you jolt.

“Let me be the first.”

“Please.”

She wasted no time in lowering her head down and placing her mouth over your slit, running her tongue up your folds and to your clit, circling it with exact pressure. The moan that escaped your mouth was foul, and you bucked your hips towards her face as she started to lap at your clit, pausing every now and then to purse her lips and suckle at it.

“Oh, Wanda!” you exclaimed, forgetting that your mother could be right outside.

Reaching her hand up your belly, she clasped it over your mouth to silence your moans. You held her wrist, nails sinking into her skin as you trembled beneath her.

“You must be quiet, detka. What happens between an artist and her muse, stays there,” she whispered thickly, her mouth glistening with your own juices. She brought her fingers to your clit, pushing into it before lowering them down to your slick entrance. She watched your every expression and movement of your body as she slid two of her fingers inside you slowly, stretching your virgin hole around their length and width.

Your muffled moans were under her hand as she pumped her fingers deep inside you, curling them to graze the inner sweet spots inside you. Your hips jerked as she lowered her mouth again to suckle at your clit while her fingers thrusted into you.

“You’re just as perfect inside as you are on the outside,” she moaned into your clit as she spread her fingers inside you, moving them more to just feel you than to pleasure you, but it certainly pleasured you all the same.

“Fuck, Wanda,” you cursed under her hand, feeling a coil spring tight in your lower belly. She trailed her kisses over that part of your belly, as if she could feel the tension there.

“You’re being such a good muse, such a good girl for me,” she whispered, rubbing your clit with her thumb as she squeezed a third finger inside you. “I’m inclined to take you away with me and make you the muse for all my work. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Living with me, a slave to my touch and my kiss, a wet little hole for me to fuck when I’m creatively and sexually frustrated. Wouldn’t you?”

Her thrusts were hard now, her voice snaky and thick. You whined and moaned pathetically under her hands, bucking your hips wildly off the sofa. You nodded to her question, burning at the way she laughed. “My little whore, letting me fuck her right here on the sofa, all naked and covered in paint.”

Wanda’s words twisted in your ears and wound you up even tighter, your inner walls squeezing around her fingers that pushed through them. She bit the skin of your belly hard, and with a few more pumps of her fingers, she wound you so tight that you snapped, the coil in your stomach breaking and unleashing screams and shivers of climactic pleasure and euphoria that blinded you. She talked you through it, praising you for being such a good muse, kissing your stomach and rocking her fingers more gently inside you.

You finally came down from your orgasmic high, knees trembling around her shoulders as she crawled up you, giving you a multitude of calming kisses all over your face. You sighed and looked at her with a shy smile, still struggling to catch your breath.

Grinning, she stepped back and looked at you. Your face was bright red with pleasure, a gleam shining off your skin, your body looking even more relaxed with the post-fuck glow that she had been craving to carve out of you from the very beginning. Grabbing her palette and brush, she eyed you from behind the easel, smirking under the candlelight that remarked her viridescent eyes.

“Stay just like that.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #lgbt #lesbian #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x y/n

1K notes · View notes