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teeth-farie · 11 months

Text

Forty Year Old Virgin

Johnathon Ohnn/GN Reader

Notes: virginity, null spot, hole fingering, dry humping, clothed sex, kinda tribadism, spit, alcohol, spot being pathetic, 3.5k

☞. . . Seems like I’m back from my little hiatus!! I actually started writing this fic yesterday and it’s the FASTEST I’ve ever finished one. I blame the spot server I’m in

Johnathon Ohnn is thirty-eight years old. He knows this because he always liked celebrating his birthday, even if they got less eventful over the years. He still enjoyed the candles and the cake, he still enjoyed how his family would come together to sing for him and how his coworkers would sign a group card.

Johnathon was thirty-seven when the collider exploded. He didn’t realize his birthday had passed until he looked at a calendar. And really, how pitiful was that? No candles, no cake, not even a sloppily signed card. It wasn’t until now that he realized how much he craved normality.

It wasn’t long after that he met you, significantly younger and full of spunk. It made him feel a little youthful again, like he was back in that old dorm room at the shiny age of twenty. Admittedly he didn’t do as many fun things as you did at his age, he mostly studied and contemplated taking Adderall to get through his finals, but he digressed.

But observing you made him realize just how many things he missed out on during his youth. Sure, he sneaked a couple of his dad's beers as a teen and broke some college lab equipment he wasn’t supposed to be touching, rebellious things like that, but that wasn’t truly living.

Before, he thought his accomplishments would speak for him; his doctorates and files of studies, his collider. But now, as he watches and listens to the dramatic reenactments of your late teenage hood and early adult life, Johnathon begins to realize maybe science isn’t the end all be all of his life. He realizes that he never went to any parties in college, he never had a quarrel-filled romance his parents disapproved of, he never traveled outside of the country aside from work—and as his eyeless gaze flits downwards, taking in the sight that is you in incredibly short shorts, he realizes another thing.

He’s never had sex, either.

It’s not that he didn’t want to have sex, because he really desperately did, it’s more like he never got the chance. Between his academics that shot straight to the workforce and his lack of genuine attraction to anyone around him, it got put on the back burner.

But now it’s all he can think about.

He thinks about it when he watches your hands gesture wildly, the way they look so agile yet sturdy. He thinks about it when your shirts are low cut or rising up your midriff. He thinks about it when you stand close to him and all he can smell is you. He thinks about it when your hips shimmy to a song you like. He thinks about it when-

Ahem.

He thinks. A lot.

Johnathon has never had a quiet mind, that much is true. He’s never figured out whether or not it was a good thing, but considering how much material his brain has given him for lonely nights, it can’t all be bad.

Well. That was before the collider blew his dick clean off too. Which was another thing on his long long list of ‘Is living still worth it? I’m not too sure.’ (Except now he finally has a pro on that list, thanks to you.)

He can’t help but feel a tad bit jealous, however, hearing you talk briefly about past flings and relationships. Although he couldn’t exactly distinguish whether or not he felt jealous of your experience, or jealous of the men in your stories. He knows he could be better, even if he had virtually no experience to go off of. Despite it all, he still thinks to himself that he could make himself into someone you wanted, someone good for you. (Though he does also wonder if that’s perhaps his newly inflated ego talking.)

Johnathon sighs and holds his head in his hands. His hand briefly falls through the hole in his face and comes out of his thigh. Regardless of what he thinks could happen and what could be, he knows deep down that you couldn’t possibly be attracted to him. Still, a man is allowed to dream, right?

…

As it turns out, dreams do come true.

Or at least a drunk, sloppy version of them.

To be fair, Johnathon didn't think he still could get drunk, so it wasn't his fault that he was a bit heavy-handed with the bottle. It didn’t help that you were so influencing either, all too eager to dump the rest of your bottle down the hole in his face just to see where it’d go. Apparently, liquids dissolved down quickly in his voided body before they could emerge out of another hole. So, he drank. He drank because it was the first time he could feel any kind of normalcy, he could feel like he was human again. Unfortunately for him, he's still just as loose-lipped when drunk as he was before the collider incident.

You swirl the foamy remnants of beer in your bottle, watching it swirl through the brown glass before swallowing it down with a tip of your head. Johnathon watches the way your throat bobs as you swallow, entranced. You breathe out, satisfied, and set the bottle down on the coffee table amongst all the others.

“Y’know,” You begin, leaning back against the couch cushions, legs curled up comfortably to your chest. “You’re not as bad looking as you think.” You’re squinting your eyes a little at him, as if you were examining his body. “Lotsa people are into your kinda thing.”

Johnathon’s face hole constricts a little as if he were narrowing his eyes. “My kinda thing? What’s that supposed t’mean?”

“You know! Like…like not human looking.” You’re still looking at him, grinning, fingers picking at the hem of your pajama pants.

He makes a sound like a scoff. “That’s not really a compliment…”

You whine in subtle frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that! I meant like, you have different kinds of qualities. Good qualities.” You poke your finger out at him, jabbing his chest. Your fingertip sinks into one of his inkblot holes and it gives Johnathon a feeling that he knows he’ll be thinking about later tonight when he's all alone. You replace your finger to actually poke his chest now, the smooth, almost rubbery skin of him. He shivers a little nonetheless.

“What…” he swallows thickly. “What kind of qualities?”

You continue to idly run circles over his chest with your index finger, humming softly to yourself. “I know the regular things, like how much of a good listener and talker you are. You know lots about stuff. And you also are like, super eager to please. That’s gotta be a good quality too.”

Johnathon looks down at your hand, his black little heart thumping in his chest. It’s almost too intimate for him to bear.

“Oh! And your holes!”

“My…my holes?”

“Yeah, I bet you can do some crazy things with them.”

“Oh god–” He nearly chokes at the thought running in his head.

“Yeah,” you continue, pulling your hand back to yourself. Johnathon hates how it makes him feel lonely. “I once met a guy who had crazy holes, haha, you could fit a whole fist in ther–”

“OH wow, really?” He quickly cuts you off, his paper-white face flushing a dull blue. He flaps his hands a little, as if it could cool down both his flustering and spiking jealousy. “I don’t think you should k-kiss and tell, right? Isn’t that a thing we’re not supposed to do? Kissing and…telling?” God, he really wants to know what it’s like to kiss you.

“Oh, c’mon! I know there has to be at least something you’ve done that you just gotta talk about. What is it, huh? Weird partner? Did they have a weird fetish?” You gasp suddenly. “Oh god, a pregnancy scare maybe?…pregnancy fetish?”

“No, no, none of that!” Johnathon waves his hands out in front of him rapidly, hoping to quell your questioning. “I’ve never uh- never really–”

“What, are you vanilla? Usually, nerds are like, SUPER kinky–”

“I’ve never had sex!” Curse him and his loose lips.

The air goes still amongst the sudden silence and Johnathon begins to regret ever speaking. Actually, scrap that, he regrets ever being born. Well, it’s actually not like he really had a choice in the matter, but that's beside the point.

Then, you snort a little. “You’ve gotta be joking, right? Aren’t you like, forty?”

His face hole shrinks down nearly to the side of a pinhole in both embarrassment and frustration. “I-I’m not forty! I’m thirty-eight! A-and besides, lots of people don’t have sex until they’re older! Or at all!”

“Oh my god, this is like that one movie, what’s it called, uhh,”

You tap your chin, completely ignoring him.

“I should have never said anything, I’m such an idiot—“

“No, don’t say that!” You poke his chest again, whining when he recoils from your touch. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make fun of you, I’m sorry.”

Johnathon huffs, grabbing one of the half-full bottles and dumping it down his face hole. It scrunches slightly in what you’ve begun to assume is swallowing. You pout and scoot up closer to him. “Johnny…”

He chokes a little, his gangly body going stiff. “Y-yeah?”

You grab his face, fingers pressing against his pale, rubbery cheeks. “You wanna do it?”

For a moment, Johnathon feels like the world has gone still. Everything is muffled and slow as the realization dawns on him. “Wuh-what?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You repeat, squishing his cheeks after each word like you were making him say them too.

“Yes! I-I mean, I would really like to, you’re so pretty, b-but uh, I’m a little, hah, how do you say it, ohmygosh this is harder than I thought it’d be! Uhm!” He flusters and rambles, hands flapping in front of his chest, and you’re just waiting. You’re looking at him with lidded, bedroom eyes, and Johnathon thinks he finally understands the meaning of that word.

“I don’t have, I don’t have a penis!”

A beat goes by, and then another, and he begins to feel like he blew his only shot with you.

“Do you have a vagina? It’s not an issue for me, I wanna fuck you either way.”

Jesus Christ, you are going to kill him.

“I mean, I don’t have anything.” He breathes out, shoulders deflating. “The uh, the whole collider thing got rid of it all.”

“Oh man, that’s awful.” You pat his shoulder, looking at him with sympathetic eyes. “But, y’know, the offer still stands…maybe we can get a little science-y and figure out how to get you off, eh?”

Johnathon lifts his head and finds you grinning at him. “Science-y?” He repeats, his face hole crinkling like a smile.

“Yeah, dude! Science-y! Hypothesis! Theories! Quantum holes! Your holes!”

He snorts and it leads into a laugh, a deep belly laugh that he hasn’t been able to do in a while. And really, why the hell not?

His laugh dies down when you get closer, straddling his thighs and seating yourself down in his lap—and god, he can feel those short shorts he loves riding up your thighs and wrinkling against his skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” You croon, leaning in and nudging your nose under his chin. If Johnathon still had a dick, that would have sent blood right down to it.

His inkblot holes quiver amongst his body, undulating and jumping across his skin like microscopic particles, bouncing against each other under a microscope. Your face gets closer to his, lips hovering over the entrance of his face. Gently, curiously, you purse your lips and kiss the voided space. It’s almost as if there’s a thin membrane separating the outside world from the inside of him, cool to the touch and like bubblegum stretched thin. The membrane melds against your lips like it’s kissing you back and when Johnathon shivers, it puckers and purses.

His hands tremble, hovering above your hips and thighs, as if it’d burn him to touch you properly, despite how much he craves it.

Your tongue drags over the edge of his face hole and Johnathon practically whimpers. You’re humming softly, one hand idly stroking his arm as the other feels up his chest. He used to be a tad bit insecure about his pudgy torso, but with so many spots, he had other things to outweigh the worry. But now he can’t help but hold his breath, waiting for your approval of his body, the kind he so desperately needs.

“Cute.” You say mostly to yourself, dipping your fingers into a hole in his chest. He sighs out heavily in relief and pleasure, his head thumping back against the edge of the couch.

“How’s this feel?” You poke and prod into the hole, pressing past the same kind of membrane as his face. Vaguely, you feel your fingertips come back out of another hole, but you don’t focus as much on that part.

“Good,” Jonathan answers curtly, sucking a breath through his nonexistent teeth. When he exhales, it's shuddery and almost pitiful. “It’s good, it’s like- like there but not,”

“So you can feel it? What if I do something like this?” Curiously, you curl your fingers in the empty space, and a fuzzy feeling coats your skin as if your fingers were pruning yet stayed completely dry. He yelps loudly, his body lurching and he finally grabs onto you. His fingers dig into your thighs on their own accord and you are absolutely delighted with it.

“Oh god!” He cries, his thighs shifting and squirming under your lap, and you start to feel something poking at your ass. You give a confused hum, lift your hips and look down. Nope, he still doesn't have a dick, but the empty space between his legs has seemingly swollen into a small, adorable bulge. Johnathon breathes out heavily and follows your gaze.

“Wow, that’s so cool…” You reach down between your laps and grind the heel of your palm against the bulge.

He gasps sharply. “Oh, fuck me!”

“Yeah, that’s what I'm trying to do.” You snicker impishly. You observe the way the squishy bulge flushes with color around the surface, almost like a blush. “I bet that feels really good, huh? It’s kinda like you have a really big clit. Sorta” You squish it in your hands and he shudders, shoulders tensing and inkblot shrinking. “Hey, you know what would be fun?”

Johnathon feels a little loopy, his stomach filled with butterflies and his brain thoroughly mush. He considers this endeavor so far to be successful considering the fact he didn't think he still could feel pleasure. But here you are, proving him wrong once again.

“Wh-what would?” He finds himself asking, rutting his hips up into your hand like a depraved little thing.

You don’t answer verbally yet, just sit back down on his lap and rock your hips against his. “If you fucked yourself like this.” Your fingers curl back into one of his holes, running up and down the edge of it. Johnathon melts, blubbering out nearly unintelligible pleas.

“You can do it, right? I’ll keep fingering you if you hump me like a dirty dog.”

And oh, that does things to him. He’ll…have to address that new kink later.

“Yes,” he gasps, grabbing on tightly to your hips and canting his hips up, grinding his bulge against your sex. “Yessss!” He can’t help but cry it out, his smooth head burrowing itself in the crook of your neck from the sheer intensity of it all. The heat of you is almost unbearable on his body, inside his holes. And he really is panting like a dog, he’s humping you like he actually has a dick to work with, like you could grab him and stroke him until he was a weeping mess.

“That’s it, you don’t wanna be a virgin anymore, right? C’mon, show me what you’re made of, you little nerd.” You’re cooing to him like it’s praise, and with the way you’re stroking the inside of him, pressing your fingers past that membrane and curling until the fuzziness is almost unbearable, you might as well be.

Johnathon moans wetly against your neck, legs widening and hands holding your hips down firmly as he ruts. He grinds his aching core against you, practically delirious and melting with every saccharine whisper in his ear.

“I’m gonna cum,” you hear him say, muffled against your skin and devious delight spreads through your entire being. You hook your fingers into the hole of his face and he cries out, a debauched “Ah! Ah!” as you lift his head up. His inkblot holes shiver violently, and you hold his face in your hands like he’s your entire world, like he’s the only thing that matters to you.

And then you lean in, holding his face so carefully—

And spit.

The man below you gurgles, your spit falling down the hole in his face as a viscous glob tasting faintly of beer. Johnathon thrusts his hips up once, twice, and he’s cumming. Nothing comes out of him, but you swear you can see the holes of him drooling, dripping liquid dark matter that hurts your eyes a little to stare at too long. Pleasure blooms in you at the sight and feeling of his incessant rutting, your hands petting his head as his first orgasm in so long washes over him.

And finally, he slumps back against the couch, trembling under you, the surface of his face flushed with color. You lift yourself off his lap, your shorts still wet with your own arousal, but you’re not done with him yet.

“It’s no good to leave your partner high and dry, you know?” You tease him, and the realization dawns on his faceless face.

“O-OH! Oh, I’m so so sorry! I-I didn’t mean- that wasn’t my intention at all! Wh-what should I do? What do you like? Oh god, I’m so sorry—“

You quiet him by lifting his gangly legs up, exposing him even further. “Don't worry about it, it’s your first time! That just means I’ll have to use you.” That evil little grin is back as you brace one foot on the floor and the other on the couch cushions, slotting your hips against his. Poor Johnathon is practically folded in half, one leg hanging over your shoulder and the other dangling uselessly to the side.

You don’t waste any time either, you get right to it, hips thrusting quick and hard against his over sensitive bulge. And oh, how he squeals. He’s always been a talkative man, but he never could have anticipated being this vocal.

“Uhgn! Hah! Mmm-mmph! I-I can’t! S’too much, too much!” He babbles on, sights locked on how your hips connect with his, ruthlessly grinding and rutting and it reminds him of some kind of wild animal.

“You can, huff, take it. Jus’ a lil more,'' your head hangs low between your shoulders, arousal twining together deep in your gut. Johnathon feels it too, and he feels it tenfold. His body feels like it’s on fire, steadily submerged in pleasure until he’s burning alive in it. He can’t take how you look above him either, so goddamn ethereal, the dim overcast of the tv lighting you from behind like a digital halo, as if you were an angel sent to soothe him after such chaos. Johnathon was never a religious man, but for you, he thinks he could be.

It only takes you a little longer, already so wound tight from before. He’s dangling on the precipice of release again, delirious with lust, clinging onto the back of your neck and tugging you in.

You find your face inside of him when you cum, and somehow the deprivation of sensory makes it all the better, colors popping up in your vision like synesthesia. You can feel his thighs tighten around you with his budding climax, but you can’t see, and you already know how you regret that. You suppose you’ll just have to overstimulate him again one day when he can’t hide himself from your view.

Johnathon goes limp and you’re finally able to pull your face from the inside of his, the dark matter sliding free from your skin like an unsticky slime. It’s weird, but oddly refreshing.

Cum stains the inside of your shorts but it’s the last thing on your mind when you take in the visual that is Johnathon. He practically glows with post coital bliss, seeped back into couch cushions without the tension you’re so used to.

You let his legs fall back down, slumping into the seat next to him. He hums softly in delight, kinda loopy, entirely pleased.

“So?” You question him, idly stroking his soft chest. It’s sweaty in its own way. “Was that good for your very first time?” You waggle your brows at him and he snorts, albeit a little weakly.

“Incredibly so. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good in my life.”

You clap happily. “And you’re no longer a forty year old virgin!”

“I told you I’m NOT forty!”

#the spot #johnathon ohnn #spicy #sub atsv #the spot x reader

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civilight-eterna · 11 months

Note

Hihi! I would like to request tender chenmiya anal. Maybe with anal beads too? Dealer’s choice

predictably, i spent ages on this,

contains: anal, toys, creative tribadism, ongoing consent, overthinking service-top ch'en

...

Ch'en doesn't have much of a strategy. She's been thinking way too hard about it already, even with Amiya's countless reassurances, her promises that she'll tell her to stop if it's just too much for her.

She's done so much research. She's picked out the best-reviewed lubricant, the most forgiving texture of toy for beginners, and what she thought to be-at the time-a modest size.

Looking at the strand of beads now, feeling the weight of them in her hand, she's suddenly doubtful, suddenly very hot in the face imagining them disappearing one by one into Amiya's body-

Fuck. Fuck.

Amiya is reclined patiently on the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, peeking over the top of it at Ch'en curiously.

While her thoughts spiral, Amiya reaches a hand out, gently tugs at Ch'en's sleeve.

"...Ch'en? Um. I was wondering..."

I'm ruining it, Ch'en thinks immediately, an apology ready on her lips, for even suggesting it in the first place, for getting so nervous now at the idea that it could hurt Amiya-

"...Could we maybe...start with your fingers, first?" Her face is beet red behind the pillow.

Ch'en instantly feels her pulse double in speed.

She's so cute.

"Of course-" Ch'en tries to keep her voice level, "-anything you want. Do you have enough pillows? Are you still comfortable like that? How do you want me to...?"

Amiya nods, nestling closer, her hand trailing down to Ch'en's.

"...Like-like this?" Her fingers wrap around Ch'en's and very slowly drag them between her legs, through the exposed slick of her center. She shudders with a quiet whimper as Ch'en's fingers coax downward, pressing experimentally at the ring of muscle lower down. "A-Aah-just, stay close-"

Her voice is so soft, wavering in little puffs of breath against Ch'en's cheek as they nuzzle close together.

Amiya must see how fervently Ch'en is trying to read her expression, because a moment later, she speaks up again-

"-Y-Yeah, like that-mhh."

-and where Ch'en's fingers have moved further down, Amiya's stay just above, tentatively stroking her fingers through her own folds, an occasional catch in her breath pulling her chest tight.

Ch'en is instantly stricken with affection for her, seeing her like this, so free to enjoy herself, so comfortable, so safe-just seeing her so satisfied is reassuring enough.

So she gathers her courage, and waits for the font of Amiya's arousal to trickle down, and slowly sinks a finger inside to the first knuckle.

"A-Aaaah-" Amiya vocalizes immediately, and her body squeezes, tightly, around her finger. Bleary-eyed and over-sensitive, she drops hold of the pillow and paws at Ch'en's jacket until she can grab hold of a lapel instead, and Ch'en can't help herself-she chases those parted, whimpering lips with her own as she stirs her finger, pumps it slowly back and forth. Only when she's absolutely sure that Amiya is used to how it feels does she begin to add a second finger, the stretch a gradual, slow ache around her. She tamps kisses into the side of Amiya's neck, partly so she can tell her more quickly if she needs to stop, partly to let that sin-sweet voice out just a little louder.

"Amiya-" Ch'en hears herself marvel against Amiya's shoulder, panting, "'Miya..." She murmurs again, completely listless with devotion to her task and fuzzy behind the eyes with how cute she sounds when Ch'en parts her fingers inside, lets the tension in her body close them again.

They never get enough time together. It's hard enough keeping their relationship a secret, and combined with the fact that they're two of the busiest people on the ship at any given time, it leaves very little time for them to relieve any stress the way they'd like to.

It's most certainly why Ch'en feels the additional pressure to make it so good for her. Since she wanted to try something that deviated from the norm of how they spend their precious downtime, she knows she'll feel so much worse if it's painful or uncomfortable for Amiya.

"Ch-Ch'en..." Amiya moans in that particular tone of voice, the one that's bliss wrapped around a warning.

"-Go ahead-" Ch'en breathes out, anchoring the heel of her hand against Amiya's pelvis as she keeps her fingers moving, "-Just like that. Keep going, don't stop, it's okay-" She can feel Amiya's voice buried against her hair as she hugs close, rising in pitch and desperation, "-I've got you. I've got you-" She repeats, coaching her through it, knowing she always responds well to direct instructions, something where she can just turn her brain off for once and do what she's told, freefall for Ch'en to catch her, "-Let it go. Now."

Where Amiya had been suppressing her voice before, it comes out in a sudden, gasping cry, her whole body crumpling against Ch'en like she's her only lifeline. She's soaked, dripping down over Ch'en's fingers, legs trembling so badly that she can't close them through all the spasms.

It's getting easier for Ch'en like this, too-to slip back into a slight, authoritative edge, to let Amiya's tell-and-do attitude foil to her. She rewards her with heaps of praise and long, lingering kisses, parting from her only to unstop the bottle of lube and absolutely flood the toy with it, coating each and every gradually-larger silicone bead. She warms some between her hands and slides it against Amiya for good measure, opening her up again with her fingers, letting it flow inside, stirring it into her.

It looks so obscene, watching the lube soak into her while she whimpers with pliant curiosity. She looks so debauched, so innocently radiant with earthly satisfaction, eyes following Ch'en's every move with equal parts trepidation and anticipation.

Even if Amiya can't bring herself to say it outright, Ch'en will give her everything she wants, without exception.

With everything prepared, Ch'en sidles close beside her again, gently turning her to her stomach, taking her time to kiss her way down Amiya's spine before shifting back to poise the small end of the toy between her legs, prodding it against her well-lubricated entrance.

"It's going to feel different than my fingers," She warns, "but this first one is about as wide."

"Mmhm..." Amiya nods against the sheets, and Ch'en begins to push.

It slips inside much more quickly than she expected, and she waits as Amiya gasps, then settles down, before adding another.

She's quiet until the fourth one pushes against her, and then lets out another crumbled cry of shock.

It's noticeable, by now, that the widening silicone is stretching her to her limits. Ch'en gets the bead to the widest point-and waits, holding it there, letting the stretch linger. Amiya trembles against the bed, knuckles white as she grips the sheets.

Finally, she sends her hips back, slowly, on her own, until the bead slips all the way inside.

"I-Is that, all of them...?"

Pity cools the ardor in Ch'en's chest somewhat-she sounds almost hopeful.

"...There's one more. But don't push yourself. You don't have to have them all-" She leans close and kisses her shoulder, tender and wanting of nothing, "-you never, ever have to do anything that hurts you or worries you, and we can always stop right away if you need to rest-whether that's just for a little, or the rest of the night-whatever you need."

"...Mmhm." Amiya's back is slightly damp with perspiration, her hair blotting to her cheeks. She absorbs the information thoughtfully, then fixes Ch'en with a deep, careful look.

"...I think I can do it. I...I really want to try."

Ch'en can't hide the surprise on her face, because Amiya immediately adds another reassurance.

"I, I promise, I'll tell you-if I need to stop..."

"...Alright. As long as you know your limits."

"Mmhm."

Ch'en unstops the lube once more, coating the last bead liberally.

It's just shy of being twice as large as the second bead was.

She gets it right against the ring of muscle, and Amiya lets out a shaky, deep breath, relaxing her body, letting it in with just a wince of surprise as it sinks in, as the flared handle is all that's left outside of her.

"A-Aah..." She starts squirming, drooling against the sheets, "...Ch-Ch'en...it's, s-so full-"

Her voice is strained, but all Ch'en can hear over again in her head is that last word, and she thinks she might go crazy.

"You're all full." Ch'en crawls over top of her and lowers against her, lining her hips up with the back of the toy so it has nowhere to go. "What do you want me to do about it, Amiya?" She asks sincerely, her heart full to bursting with devotion.

"S-Stay! R-Right there-please-!"

Ch'en's heart slams in her chest against Amiya's back, and she threads the fingers of both of their hands together, lays her full weight on her so she can struggle through it, so she can indulge just that little bit more in the feeling of knowing Ch'en will make her finish again, that she's not going to stop grinding against Amiya until she can't stop cumming.

She's so cute when she begs that it's an outrage. Ch'en grits her teeth and anchors herself hard against the back of Amiya's thighs, and the sounds that come out of her stuffed rabbit can only make her imagine how good the toy feels squirming inside of her.

Amiya calls out for her again. She's so close, so desperate to finish off-

Ch'en can't help herself either. It's too good, too much, and Amiya's voice is melting in her ears. Amiya tries to arch up from beneath Ch'en with a breathless wail, and Ch'en pins her down, latches onto her neck with her teeth, squeezes hard enough to bruise as she rocks her hips tight against her legs, her thighs, and collapses into climax right there with her.

They lay there, silent save for the panting and whimpering mess they've made of each other, and Ch'en forces strength into her arms to help Amiya onto her side, slowly easing the toy out of her bead by bead. It comes out utterly drenched with lube, and the remaining lube that Ch'en had primed Amiya with leaks out of her obscenely.

"Ch...Ch'en..." Amiya can barely move, but she still snuggles into Ch'en's arms once she's turned around again, like a blind, newborn animal. She's breathless, glowing, even with her eyes half-shut; it feels like Ch'en is looking into the sun.

She hoards Amiya close. Amiya's empathy trails into her like drops of rain coalescing on glass, cooling and suffusive.

"Ch'en...I'm so sleepy...It's like I'm going to float away..."

She presses a kiss into the crown of Amiya's head, crimped with the slightest of exhausted smiles.

"Not until we take the longest warm soak together tomorrow morning."

#arknights #amiya #ch'en #otp: i saw the color of her heart #nsft #requests #my writing #ch'en is so soft. okay.#usual disclaimer that i age up amiya for any adult situation #etc.

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dumbgaybrunette · 2 years

Text

Housebroken

Part 2 of the Sloane/Announcer fic

Part 1 Here

Warnings:

Emotional manipulation, indoctrination, coercion, kidnapping, porn with some plot, shameless smut, cunnilingus, tribadism, xenophilia, dubious consent, voyeurism, impact play, implication of amputation (fingers) and implied tooth removal.

Tobby belongs to @6robotmonster6

The Announcer belongs to gatobob

All was still as Sloane heard muffled, drowned out voices on the edge of her consciousness.

She didn’t want to open her eyes, not yet. She was tired.

“…by himself.”

“….good taste.”

“…sleep.”

Whoever was speaking, was opening their mouths a lot without saying much of anything, it all became white noise to Sloane. Her ears rang as she finally decided to blink her eyes open.

Everything was bright, bleary and blurry in front of her. She knew she wasn’t home, only remembering bits and pieces of the gentleman, his bite and how she fell asleep.

She made a small noise as her eyes adjusted to the harsh light of the room she was in.

“She’s awake.”

An unfamiliar voice said.

The voice was gruff and deep, Sloane looked up from where she was seated and found three men in suits and earpieces eyeballing her. She went to get up, but something was holding her arms and legs down.

She began to panic, her eyes going wide as she began to struggle.

This earned a laugh from one of the men,

“Looks like we’ve got a fighter!”

“She’s cute, maybe we’ll see her in a stream.”

“Nah, the boss singled her out himself, she’s not gonna be in a stream.”

The men laughed and jeered amongst themselves, making Sloane’s blood boil.

“What the fuck are you three talking about? Where am I?”

Now wasn’t the time for her usual naïve façade, she had to get the hell out of here. And with her desperation and lack of knowledge, she had every right to be a bitch at the moment.

The men eyed her up and down, not answering her, but choosing to change the subject.

“Don’t thrash around too much, you’ll pop the stitches in your neck. Besides, the boss will be here soon, so we don’t have to tell you jack shit.”

Stitches? Now that he mentioned it, Sloane did feel a dull sting where her neck and shoulder met. So he did bite hard enough to make her bleed…

The memory made Sloane shudder in embarrassment.

After a moment of silence, she heard the door open. The men parted like the Red Sea and looked to their shoes as the gentleman from the night before stepped into the room.

Sloane’s blood ran cold when she saw him. Trim, smug and handsome. She wanted to scream at him until her throat was raw, wanted to tear him to shreds, but fear made a lump in her throat as her limbs quivered beneath their restraints.

“Look who’s finally awake! Did you sleep well, Sloane?”

His voice was much too cheerful for a time like this.

Sloane didn’t say anything, she didn’t want to run the risk of yelling or invoking his ire in any way. She just shook her head.

“Oh, poor thing.”

The gentleman had a cane. He didn’t look like he’d be old enough to have one, Sloane’s guess was that he used it to beat people.

“Let’s go. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

With a wave of his hand, the three men surrounded Sloane as the gentleman watched. They put handcuffs on her wrists and ankles before releasing her.

To Sloane’s surprise, she was dressed to the nines. Louboutin red bottom heels and a black dress that could easily be mistaken for a negligee. She almost smiled to herself until she realized her ribbon wasn’t on her neck.

No…

No!

“Where’s my ribbon?”

Sloane asked, sounding more scared than she’d like. The gentleman cocked an eyebrow.

“It didn’t compliment the clothes I picked. Why? You’re not being ungrateful, are you?”

Her stomach lurched. To them it was just a dumb piece of red ribbon around her neck, but to Sloane it was everything. Her mom, despite shoving her into medical school and subjecting her to a lifetime of pressure, gave Sloane this ribbon when she was young. It was small, menial, there were a hundred ribbons just like it at the craft store-but it was hers.

Sloane wanted to cry, but if he saw her tears, it would mean that he had won. So she swallowed down the lump in her throat and shook her head.

“No, the dress is nice. Thank you.”

“Great!”

The gentleman beamed, beginning to walk out. Sloane followed, the chains binding her jingling as she walked carefully.

The corridor was long, sleek and elegantly decorated. Sloane didn’t have an inkling as to where she was. Why was she even here?

“I run a very tightly-knit business here. You’re lucky it was me who found you instead of one of my employees.”

As they walked, Sloane saw people stop what they were doing to regard her and the gentleman. It was subtle, but she could tell that they were all afraid of him.

“Good evening, Mr. Hana.”

“Excellent choice, Mr. Hana.”

The dickriding was on another level with these people. Then again, Sloane was doing the same just to not get on his bad side.

Mr. Hana.

At least she can put a name to his face now instead of the gentleman or sir.

Sloane stayed quiet the rest of the walk, alone with this Mr. Hana. He then opened a pair of double doors and motioned for her to step inside before him. With a polite nod, she thanked him and walked in as he closed the doors behind him. The room was bare, safe for an area rug, a chair and a surveillance camera in the corner. In the dim light she saw someone else in the room.

He was shorter than her, but taller than the gentleman. His eyes were golden and his hair was dyed blue in some parts. Sloane wasn’t afraid, but something felt off about him. It wasn’t until she got a closer look that she realized his fingers were cut down to the second knuckle, safe for the thumbs.

“I have a proposition for you, Sloane.”

Mr. Hana said as he took his seat, crossing his legs elegantly.

She must have looked confused because he barked out a laugh.

“Work with me as bait for more products, I’ve seen your work and I must say, I’m impressed.”

Sloane looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“And if I refuse?”

Mr. Hana’s grin only widened.

“Then I’ll have Tobby kill you. It’ll save me the trouble of hosting a stream if I record it.”

The man with golden eyes must be Tobby. He didn’t look threatening, if anything, he looked neutral, if not a little mousey. But there was something Sloane just couldn’t put her finger on. He had these strange markings on his cheeks, some sort of fashion choice. The two things more outlandish than that were the cat ears clipped to his head and the large metal collar that embraced his neck.

Was this some weird fetish thing?

Sloane heard of people wearing ears and tails during sex to act like an animal. Apparently it enticed some people. Maybe Mr. Hana was one of these people, she didn’t know!

“Choose wisely.”

Said Mr. Hana, his hand reaching into his pocket to hold a remote which caused Tobby to visibly flinch. In his other hand he held a box and popped it open. There, resting on luxurious red satin were metal claws and what appeared to be pointed bits of titanium, like the ones used for police dogs’ teeth. Then it hit her. These were prosthetics for Tobby. Prosthetics likely used to tear and rend flesh from bone. Sloane swallowed, not having much of a choice.

“I accept. I will work with you.”

With a nod, Mr. Hana waved Tobby over towards him.

“Kneel. Both of you.”

The man did as he was told, Sloane couldn’t help but look as they both got down on their knees. He was pretty well-endowed. His ass was curved perfectly, she wondered how it would look if he was walking away or if she was fucking him from behind. She pushed down the perverted thoughts and almost did a double take when she noticed a bobbed tail. She’d laugh if it wasn’t literally fused to his skin. This was real. This wasn’t a weird fetish thing, he was something inhuman.

Sloane’s pulse quickened. There was no way, this wasn’t supposed to happen. This was all some prank, there’s no way something supernatural was happening while she was getting kidnapped and indoctrinated. Death by Tobby was sounding pretty good right about now, but that was hysteria talking. Sloane had to shake her head to snap herself back into reality. She saw the gentleman slide the titanium fangs into Tobby’s mouth, slotting them perfectly in the soft, vacant spot where it looked like his original canines got pulled out.

For a moment, Mr. Hana gently stroked Tobby’s cheek, smiling softly at him as Sloane awaited further instruction.

“You’re very obedient. And you’re great at what you do, Sloane. But we have a pecking order here.”

Her eyes went between his legs, a tent rising in his trousers.

“This will hurt. You won’t die though, I just wanted my darling cat to have a taste of what I had last night.”

Blood rushed to Sloane’s face as she noticed Tobby’s golden eyes on her. This was just going to be sex. She could deal with being a homewrecker once her survival was a hundred percent guaranteed.

“Kitten, do what you want to her. Nothing fatal, ‘kay?” Mr. Hana winked, Sloane’s head was spinning. What a creep, wanting to watch them. And kitten? Sloane would have giggled if there wasn’t so much tension. Her arms and legs were still bound, and within seconds of the command, Tobby was on her. He was heavy. She could see how toned his arms and legs were and how easily he was pinning her down, it was enough to make her blush harder if such a thing was possible. She must be beet-red with shame and shyness right now.

“You’re soft…”

She almost jumped at the sound of his voice. It was low and husky, but also somehow haunting. He sounded like the autumn wind, like the echo of someone speaking into a hollow gourd. He must have hurt his voice somehow. Tobby reached down and pulled her dress down, causing Sloane’s ample tits to become exposed to the cool air. He gazed at them, giving them a squeeze as she helplessly laid there with bound hands. She couldn’t help but let out a small noise at the sudden attention. His hands roamed her bust, tracing over the curve of each breast, one of his fingers resting on her beauty mark before squeezing once more.

Tobby was rough with his hands, like the men she previously ensnared. But that didn’t mean that Sloane didn’t like a little rough play. She felt his knee go between her legs, parting them as she felt his dress pants brush against her clothed heat. He played with her tits for a good while, twisting her nipples and playfully watching the flesh ripple with the smallest movements of his hands.

With a grin, Tobby slid the dress off Sloane’s curvaceous body, leaving her bare before the two men. Safe for a black thong covering her mons.

“Did she not put up a fight with you too?”

The bobcat asked the man seated in the chair.

“Not at all. She was like a lamb to the slaughter”

Mr. Hana’s sneer made Sloane’s heart ache. She only gave it up because she had a thing for redheads, plus, she knew he had money. But her mind halted at the sound of Tobby unbuckling his pants. Heat crept up her chest and face, complimenting her pale flesh.

“On your knees, slut.”

Sloane arched an eyebrow at that, but did as she was told, struggling a bit with her bound extremities but eventually kneeling before him, arousal pooling between her legs as the thong stuck to her pussy lips. She wondered if he’d be big, if his…ilk had a different cock. If he truly was a cat, the barbs would hurt like a bitch. But her eyes widened to see something she didn’t expect.

Oh.

Tobby’s mons was trimmed, groomed perfectly as his own arousal was making itself known. He was wet, his tdick standing at the ready, pulsing with desire. A perverse part of Sloane wondered how it would feel inside of her, how he’d moan while rutting into her, but now she had to be on her best behavior and not jump his bones.

A hand went to her hair, his cut fingers carding into her auburn locks before balling it into a fist and pulling her in to start sucking. A yelp escaped her, then quickly became muffled as her lips wrapped around him.

He wasn’t tugging to the point where he was ripping her hair out, but it did hurt and it was hard to get comfortable. Sloane’s mouth sucked him in gently, her tongue lapping up his folds and onto the underside of his member. A hiss escaped his lips. He seemed to have liked it, so she hummed against him contentedly-sending vibrations between his thighs. His grip never relented though, and he began to thrust and roll his hips into her mouth as she worked.

She could feel the man in the chair’s eyes burning into her, she might as well give him a show. As she moved her head in tune with his thrusts, she arched her back to make her ass pop out as an invitation. She couldn’t see him, her mouth was occupied and her head was held in place by this guy’s death grip. So she continued to work his little cock as she would any other, this wasn’t the first time she’s eaten pussy, so she wasn’t awful at it, but Tobby would have to be the judge of that. There was a moment of silence until hot, stinging pain cracked against her exposed ass. She jumped, of course, her teeth accidentally grazing Tobby to which he shivered and shoved himself in deeper.

“How many pussies have you eaten to pay rent, Sloane?”

She wanted to yell at him, to give him a smartass response and tell him to mind his own fucking business, but her mouth was occupied.

Another harsh impact, this time on her back. And another, and another. It was hard not to jump, but she steeled herself as she felt the skin on her back, shoulders and ass grow red and irritated, she was fairly certain he was using his cane.

“Keep your posture up, a good whore focuses on the task at hand.”

She shouldn’t be enjoying this, and she’d never admit that she did. She could feel her thong completely soaked, some slick beginning to drip down, threatening to drop onto the floor.

“She likes this, I can tell.” Tobby rasped, rutting into her mouth even wilder now, both his hands behind her head as his ears were flattened against his skull in anticipation.

With a tap between her legs, Sloane let out a squeak and couldn’t help but writhe against the cane for the half-second it was there.

“Well would you look at that?”

Mr. Hana said, showing off his slicked cane to Tobby.

“I’m surprised you’re being so gentle with her. Have you grown soft, pet?”

Sloane could practically hear his eye roll. But she preferred him to have his fun this way as opposed to making her suffer. She’s already been through enough. Tobby was imposing, Sloane may be taller than both men, but he had more weight and muscle than her or sir. She didn’t want to invoke his ire.

Sloane was yanked from her thoughts again as Tobby pulled away from her lips, a string of cunt juice and saliva still connecting her to him.

Her heart fluttered when he ordered her to lie on her back, absentmindedly spreading her legs without even being told to do so. Off went the thong and she was completely bare before the two men spectating.

There was a hand at her throat, then two, she didn’t budge. Then she felt Tobby’s warm, hard cock press against her cunt and she rolled her hips onto him teasingly.

The man tightened his grip around her neck, mirth coursing through Sloane as he rutted against her, air getting trapped in her throat. She was wet, she was ready, she still rubbed herself against him and allowed herself to be used for Mr. Hana’s viewing pleasure. Then with a small movement of his hips, Sloane soundlessly opened her mouth as he pushed himself inside. She’s had bigger in her time, but the way he moves into her had Sloane’s legs shaking almost immediately.

Fuck me.

She could die happy right here, her ample tits bouncing with each thrust, the crushing weight of Tobby’s grip on her neck, it was lust in its truest form. Sick thoughts began to plague her mind as Tobby growled under his breath. He could tear into her neck and rip her throat out, he could cave her skull in by cracking it against the floor, he could beat her until she was unrecognizable. Then Sloane’s vision began to get spotty and her eyes refocused, she was close.

Fuck me.

She thought;

His grip loosened, and Sloane fervently took in gulps of fresh air, trying not to cough. Tobby smirked at that and took her face in his hand, tilting her neck up. There was a brief moment when he locked eyes with Mr. Hana, who nodded at his lover. Without further ado, Tobby leaned in, confusing Sloane, and bit down into the apex where her neck and shoulder met, matching the bite Mr. Hana gave her last night. She couldn’t react to the pain in a proper way, she didn’t scream, didn’t kick or claw at him with her manicured nails. Instead, she surprised the both of them by tightening her legs around Tobby like a vice, her eyes rolling into her skull as she came around him. There was a strangled moan, and a splash of liquid, making a small puddle on the floor. She felt him jolt inside her and huff out a quiet breath as he pumped into her one last time before withdrawing.

Blood ran onto the rug from her neck, getting Sloane’s hair wet as she awaited further instruction.

“You did well.”

She beamed internally, she did good.

Without missing a beat, she gazed up at the redhead and grinned,

She could get used to this line of work.

#this is really smutty and self indulgent #be warned #sloane #oc #tobby #other people’s ocs #nsft #ren hana #tpof spoilers #the announcer #dilf ren #my writing #tpof #tpof announcer

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revelinwritin · 2 years

Text

A Night In [18+]

summary: y/n planned a night out, but natasha had other plans

warnings: smut, strap-on use, bottom!natasha, top!reader, slight choking, tribadism, slight cursing... anything else?

word count: 3.5k

"Should I be worried about you going out with Tony of all people?" asked Natasha as she watched Y/N fix her collar in their ensuite bathroom mirror.

A look of confusion flashed across Y/N’s face before she turned away from the mirror to look at the concerned redhead. "I've been out with Tony before. Plus Steve, Sam, and Bucky will be there as well." Y/N said as she walked forward and placed her hands on her girlfriend's hips.

Natasha tilted her head up a bit considering the small yet noticeable height difference between the two while she placed her hands on Y/N's forearms. "That was before we were dating. Without me there other women won’t know that you belong to me." Her statement caused Y/N's eyebrows to raise.

"Oh? I belong to you?” A smirk found itself on Natasha’s lips before she nodded.

"Yes. Are you going to entertain those other women or do you know your place?" Natasha raised an eyebrow at her girlfriend before detaching herself from Y/N's hold and walking out of the bathroom.

Y/N followed behind Natasha after checking her appearance once more. She knew Natasha was just trying to get a reaction out of her, but Y/N refused to let the redhead get the best of her. "C'mon on honey, you know me better than that." The pet name caused Natasha to smile a bit before Y/N continued. "I only have my eyes on one woman and that's you alright?"

Before she could respond, the sound of Y/N's phone rang throughout the room. "That's my cue. I love you, Natasha." Y/N said before quickly kissing her girlfriend’s lips then moving to grab her phone and coat.

It always brought a smile to her lips and butterflies to her stomach when Y/N would tell her she love her no matter how long they'd been together.

"I love you too, Y/N." The redhead said as she watched her girlfriend leave.

As soon as the door closed, Natasha quickly got up from the bed and started to decide a way to get Y/N home earlier than her girlfriend anticipated. She knew a way to get her home, but she didn't know if it would backfire into a disaster or she would receive the reaction she wanted. In her mind, Natasha believed that if she was careful enough, she could receive the latter and it would be worth all the trouble she'd get into.

- - - - -

Tony, Y/N, and Sam were the first to arrive at the club where the group was meeting. Once they got let in, the three strolled into the club to pass the time.

"If I'm being honest with you Tony, I didn't expect Pepper to let you out of the house so easily." Y/N chuckled before taking a sip of her fruity drink.

"Me? You're in a relationship with 'Miss. World Class Spy' I'm surprised YOU came. Did she not say anything about being out with a bunch of other idiots?" Y/N nodded at her best friend's words causing both Tony and Sam to laugh.

"She's not that bad, I swear," Y/N said.

Tony shook his head as he sat his whiskey down. "Natasha Romanoff has you on a tight leash and that's the tea."

Y/N scoffed at her friend. "First of all, never say 'that's the tea' again and Natasha does not have me--" before she could finish her sentence, her phone vibrated where it sat on the bar in front of her.

"Speak of Romanoff and she shall appear." Sam joked when he saw the messenger's name on his best friend's phone. Y/N nudged him with her shoulder before picking up her phone and unlocking it.

"She's probably just texting to say goodnight." She took a sip of her fruity drink as she opened the text and as she looked at the message, she began choking on the sip she took. Tony and Sam looked at each other before patting her back.

Natasha sent her a picture and instead of it being a cute selfie that she usually would send Y/N to surprise her, it was a picture of Natasha in front of their full-length mirror with nothing on besides a cute, no scratch, that sexy red lingerie number that she knew Y/N loved on her. The straps of her bra hung low off of her shoulders to where one of her nipples could be seen from the top of the cup.

Her soft plump lips were painted red and had a slight pout to them as if someone had taken her favorite toy away. Y/N stood up from her seat at the bar before excusing herself outside to make a call. Once she found herself out on the curb in front of the club, she dialed her girlfriend's number and placed the phone next to her ear.

Natasha answered the phone as if she didn't try to seduce her girlfriend a couple of minutes ago. "Hello?"

"So you're just going to answer the phone as if you didn't just send that picture?" Y/N asked while shaking her head.

"Baby, I don't know what you're talking about?" Natasha said, a smile placed on her lips.

Her statement caused Y/N to roll her eyes. "Whatever Natasha. I know you. I'm calling because this is your only warning."

A sly smirk presented itself on Natasha’s lips replacing her smile as she teased Y/N. "Or what?" The redhead questioned.

A small laugh left the younger woman’s mouth. "I'll just show you when I get home."

After her last statement, Y/N hung up the phone leaving her girlfriend stuck. She walked back into the club and towards her friends. She paid the bill for the first round of drinks and gave them an excuse that Natasha wasn't feeling too well and she needed to go home and take care of her. She received a few groans of protest and a few noises that sounded like a whip before she apologized and exited the club, hailing a cab.

The ride home wasn't long and during the duration of the short ride, Y/N couldn't help herself as she kept looking at the photo Natasha sent earlier. Thinking of all the things she was going to do to the older woman for interrupting her night. She thanked the cab driver and paid him before stepping out and heading inside the house she shared with Natasha. Once inside, she slipped off her shoes and set her keys on the counter. Natasha wasn't in the living room, the guest bathroom, or the kitchen meaning the only other place Y/N could think about her being was their bedroom.

"Nat?" Y/N questioned as she entered their room. Natasha was sat at the vanity mirror that they kept for the redhead to do her make-up and daily facial routines. Y/N took in her appearance, it looked like her girlfriend abandoned the lingerie set that adorned her body earlier and instead replaced it with one of Y/N's t-shirts and some shorts.

"Oh.. you're home early. I wasn't expecting you to--" Natasha began as she stood up from her seat to face Y/N.

"Cut it out, Tasha." Y/N interrupted. "You sent that photo because you knew I would come home." She wanted to sound intimidating, but with one look at her girlfriend's face, she turned into a melted puddle.

Natasha smirked at Y/N's attempt before she started walking towards her slowly. "I mean, my plan worked didn't it?" She trailed her hands down her girlfriend’s chest before they stopped above her waist. The redhead took in the tent in her girlfriend's pants that she wasn’t surprised to see. She moved her hand to cup it gently. "I went to the closet to find my favorite toy and it was gone. I knew the only way to get it back was if my baby came home. I only wanted to play. Don’t be mad at me, love.”

Y/N groaned at the feeling of Natasha’s hand pressing the strap against her center and her eyelids lowered a tad bit. "I was supposed to be having a good night out with the boys and you know it."

Natasha faked a pout. "Would you rather be out with your little friends or fucking your girlfriend senseless?" At her girlfriend’s words, Y/N's eyes shot open. She tried to muster up a sentence but was cut off by the redhead. "I'll just take a wild guess and say you'd rather be fucking me senseless." With that, she rushed forward and captured Y/N's lips with her own.

Y/N was taken aback a little by Natasha’s aggressiveness before she finally checked into what was happening. She quickly swooped down and picked the shorter woman up. Natasha squealed a little bit before she regained her composure and deepened their kiss. Y/N placed Natasha on the bed, breaking off the kiss and reaching to pull the shirt off that was draped across her girlfriend's slim frame.

To her surprise, Natasha hadn't abandoned the lingerie she had on in the picture. The shirt and shorts that once covered the redhead’s body were now on the floor and Y/N looked at her girlfriend who was spread out on the bed panting for air after their heated exchange.

"So you didn't take it off after taking those pictures?" Y/N asked while she began to loosen her tie and unbutton her shirt. Natasha sat up from her position and reached her hands out to help Y/N only for them to be smacked away. "You don't get to touch me, honey. You were bad tonight and bad girls don't get to touch."

A prominent pout was displayed on the redhead’s face after hearing those words. "B-but, I only was bad because I wanted your attention, baby." Natasha tried to explain.

Y/N shrugged before completely taking off her shirt and tie and placing them at the end of the bed. "I believe you baby, but that doesn't excuse your behavior." She then took off the rest of her clothing leaving herself in her boxers and sports bra. "Maybe now, you'll start being a good girl for me. So, turn around on your knees with your hands on the headboard."

Natasha decided her best bet to being allowed to touch Y/N would be to listen to every command she was given, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to tease her girlfriend just a little bit. She turned onto her knees and crawled up towards the headboard as her hips swayed a little giving Y/N a good look at her round ass. Once she was at the top of the bed, she dropped down onto her elbows arching her back the way she knew her girlfriend liked.

"Good girl," Y/N said as she discarded her boxers before she began to climb on the bed taking her position behind the redhead. She let her hands roam over Natasha’s shoulders down the valley of her back to her hips and finally to her plump ass. Natasha couldn't help, but whimper at the slightest touch from her girlfriend.

Y/N let her hands grip and squeeze at the redhead’s ass before she let her hands wander closer to where she knew Natasha needed her the most.

"Baby, please," Natasha whined when she felt the Y/N’s hands trace over her glistening slit. She knew Y/N liked to be begged when it comes to giving Natasha pleasure.

"What was that?" Y/N asked. She had moved to her hand to continuously trace over Natasha’s slit. Taking her juices and moving her digits to spread them over her clit. At the feeling of a little pressure to her clit, Natasha let out a long low moan and tried pushing herself back onto Y/N's fingers.

A swat to her right ass cheek caused a yelp to escape her lips. "Do that again and I will edge you on all night and then not let you cum at all." Y/N threatened.

"N-no baby. I'll be good, just please- please fuck me." Natasha pleaded. Her thighs were trembling with anticipation as the thought of Y/N pounding her from behind or in any position she pleased crossed her mind. The more she thought about it the wetter she became and her juice began to coat the inside of her thighs.

"What do you want me to use; my fingers, my tongue, or my cock? You're already so wet, I don't think there's any need for foreplay baby, but I'll let you decide since you asked so nicely." Y/N let the tip of her index finger trace around Natasha’s slit before dipping it in slightly causing the redhead to let out a hum of pleasure.

"I- mmm... I want your cock please baby." The redhead pleaded. She refrained from pushing her hips back onto Y/N’s fingers that were teasing her drenched cunt with all the strength she had left in her body.

Y/N bit her lip at Natasha’s words as she stroked her strap, getting it slick with her girlfriend’s juices, before lining herself up with Natasha’s glistening center. She placed one of her hands on Natasha’s hips as she slowly pushed the faux cock deep inside of her girlfriend. Both the women let out moans and groans at the feeling and sight of Natasha's cunt swallowing the thick strap.

Natasha’s hands gripped at the sheets above her to prevent herself from reaching out for her girlfriend. The pleasurable stretch she was feeling at the moment made her want to cum instantly, but she knew she wouldn't hear the end of it if she came that quickly.

On the other hand, Y/N was enjoying the pleasure of her girlfriend's tight pussy. She had fucked plenty of women before she initially dated Natasha, but the redhead’s pussy has always been the tightest she's ever had the pleasure of fucking. She seethed her strap deep into her girlfriend and paused to let the redhead adjust to the length and girth. No matter how many times they fucked or made love, Natasha always needed a minute to get used to the feeling of being stretched open by her girlfriend.

During the time she was letting Natasha adjust Y/N leaned over to where her bra-clad chest was pressed against the redhead’s back with her arms wrapped around her girlfriend's front gently kneading her breast.

Without warning, Y/N started pumping her cock in and out of her girlfriend at a slowly increasing pace. Her fingers pinched and pulled at the redhead’s nipples while she left open-mouthed kisses on the parts of her girlfriend’s neck that her mouth could reach at this angle. After a few kisses, she sat up gripping her girlfriend's hips and began pistoling her cock inside Natasha. Short quick thrusts rather than long and deep strokes. Right now wasn't about seeing how long they could last pleasuring each other, they could do that another time. It was about fucking hard because the redhead couldn't be patient enough to wait for her girlfriend to get home.

"F-fuck Y/N. Fuck me just like that!" Natasha moaned before she lifted her head from between her stretched-out arms to look back at her girlfriend her eyes pleading for Y/N to keep fucking her. Y/N reached forward to gently grab Natasha’s arms and pull her to sit up with her back pressed against her chest. This way her thrust hit deeper in the redhead causing her to cry out in pleasure as the tip of Y/N's cock continued to rub against her g-spot.

Y/N's teeth grazed against a spot on her girlfriend’s neck that she knew would cause a shiver to run down Natasha’s back. "You like the way I fuck you Natty?" Y/N asked as she leaned over to bit gently down her girlfriend's earlobe.

"Yes, baby. I l-love the way you fuck me." Natasha whined as her head fell back onto her girlfriend's shoulders. After a few more thrusts with her g spot being brushed up against, a feeling in the bottom of her stomach that she knew all too well began to rise. Y/N knew Natasha was on the verge of coming because every few seconds her girlfriend's walls would clench around her strap making it hard for her thrusts to move.

"Can I cum? Please can I cum baby?" She turned her head to look Y/N in her eyes as she pleaded.

Y/N pressed a soft kiss against her girlfriend's lips before wrapping her arms around Natasha's waist and neck to hold her up. "Cum for me Natty." The moan she let out was loud and long as Y/N’s hand-applied slight pressure to her neck. Natasha’s body shook instantly at her girlfriend’s command. Her walls clenched tight at the faux cock that started to slow down its thrusts in and out of her soaked heat.

Y/N released her girlfriend from her arms as she came down from her high. Natasha turned around to face her girlfriend on shaky knees before she leaned forward, wrapping one of her arms around her Y/N’s shoulders to pull her into a kiss while the other one moved to reach underneath the younger woman’s sports bra. When they pulled away, her hand continued to tweak her girlfriend’s nipples. For a minute Y/N forgot that she wasn't supposed to give up on controlling Natasha’s actions, but all of that faded away when her girlfriend stated the next few words.

Natasha stopped the gentle tweaks she was using to please her girlfriend and began to undo the straps from around Y/N’s hips. "Use me to get off baby. Let me make it up to you.” The slight pout on her face captivated Y/N and with that Natasha knew she could get her to do anything she wanted. Her signature pout worked no matter the situation.

Y/N slipped the harness off of her legs as she instructed Natasha to lay down. She hooked one of Natasha’s legs over hers before aligning their cunts and pressing her hips forward to feel friction against her swollen clit.

A choked gasp left Natasha’s mouth as one of her hands found purchase on Y/N’s hip, guiding her rocking motions before her hips began their slow movements. Instead of fast hard thrusts like earlier, Y/N took her time with Natasha considering that she was still sensitive from her first orgasm and because Y/N felt kind of bad for going so hard.

Both of their hips rocking and meeting at the center, swollen clits bumping against one another. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.” Natasha moaned, head thrown back in pleasure.

Using Natasha’s flexibility to her advantage, Y/N pushed herself closer to her girlfriend and wrapped a hand around her throat, squeezing lightly. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. You look so good like this Natty.”

Natasha’s hand gripped the forearm of the hand that was wrapped around her throat as she began pressing her hips harder against her girlfriend as best as she could. "Cum for me. I want your cum spread all over me. Give it to me, love." At her words, Y/N’s grip tightened slightly as her legs shook with a loud moan leaving her mouth. The redhead bit her lip as her orgasm washed over her. She tried her best not to make a sound, wanting to hear nothing but her girlfriend’s moans.

Once Y/N relaxed and let go of Natasha’s throat, she fell backward laying down with her head towards the end of the bed. Natasha climbed over her girlfriend’s body and began peppering small kisses against her neck before she sat up slightly and carefully not to jostle their sensitive bodies. "I love you, Natasha," Y/N spoke while looking into her girlfriend's eyes.

"And I love you." Natasha smiled before leaning up to peck Y/N's lips.

"But next time let me finish my night out with the boys please?" Y/N asked slightly. It was funny had the roles of tonight's events switched. Y/N begging Natasha instead of the other way around.

Natasha giggled lightly at her girlfriend's words and kissed her nose softly. "Fine... I won't intervene next time." Y/N smiled at her words before wrapping her arms around Natasha pulling her close.

Natasha had no reason not to trust Y/N and vice versa. And they both knew that there was never really a problem with Y/N hanging out with her friends, just like there wasn't one when Natasha went out with a group of hers. They trusted each other enough to know that at the end of the night, neither one of them would do anything to jeopardize their relationship because they loved each other that much. Both of them would rather die than lose the other from a dumb mistake. They wanted to spend the rest of their lives together and start a family whenever they had time to. Nothing and nobody could change the way they felt about one another.

#natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader smut

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little-schonbrunn · 3 years

Text

(Note: I did a post on this scene a while back but I decided to revisit it with additional analyses and the true script pages attached.)

Scene 82 from the original 2004 script for Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette (2006) is one of several that ended up being cut from the film. We know that it was shot thanks to several promotional stills and behind-the-scenes photographs that have surfaced over time (we got the famous photos of Kirsten smoking in costume from the shooting of this scene — one of the first glimpses we got of the production), but, unfortunately, no footage of it has ever been released.

The context of the scene is that it takes place shortly after the accession of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette (1774) and before the visit of MA’s brother, the Emperor Joseph (1777). These years, her early 20s, were marked by a growing sense of confidence, no doubt inspired by her transition from dauphine to queen consort. MA established an intimate circle of her choosing (The Private Society) in defiance of protocol, collaborated with Rose Bertin to produce various styles of dress, all far more adventurous than the traditional court styles, and threw herself into the pleasures of opéra balls, gambling houses, horse races, and the privacy of Trianon, all while attempting to produce her first child with Louis. Words like frenetic, légèreté, and hedonistic typically get thrown around by biographers when discussing MA’s behavior during this period, to highlight a sense that the queen was uncontrollably flighty and inattentive.

There is deep misogyny in the dismissal of MA as simply lightheaded and frivolous during this time. In more fair terms, this is a 20-year-old who had just gone from four years in a new, unwelcoming environment, surrounded by a cast of characters who were not exactly always desirable company, behaving from sunrise to sunset according to famously difficult etiquette practices, finding herself faulted, on a near daily basis, with her failure to conceive, and generally struggling to find her place. Now, with this burst of freedom that has come with becoming a queen consort, she has granted herself the permission to seek amusements (especially in Paris, still a virtually unexplored city to her), to enjoy playing with her appearance on her own terms, and to befriend whom she pleases.

Sofia Coppola does a wonderful job at portraying MA in this light, almost, in a modern sense, as a young girl who has just become an adult and moved out of her parents’ house and is enjoying newfound freedom.

Scene 82 would have followed the Birthday Party sequence that remains in the final cut of the film. Very significantly, it is preceded by a short insert of a pornographic libelle, of the variety that began circulating around this time (1774) that showed MA in a very unflattering light (lavish, lascivious, a tribade, etc.). This was also cut from the film, as were other inserts that show up in the original script. The libelle that the screenplay is referencing here is «Le Lever d’Aurore», which took her innocent sunrise excursion into the gardens of Versailles with friends, chaperoned by the comtesse de Noailles, and corrupted it. What was inspired by the Incan devotion to the sun and conducted in adolescent reverie (and in the film is shown as an after-party to MA’s 18th birthday), became a bacchanalia, showing MA and her friends hiding in the shrubbery of Versailles with a variety of lovers, both male and female. The insert was there to remind the audience that the public and private perceptions of MA’s lifestyle and conduct were of two very different varieties.

The fact that Scene 82 follows the inserts may be intentional, as if to suggest that the scene is not entirely accurate (in the same way that the opening shot of MA reclining in splendor and the “Let them eat cake” line are supposed to be fantasy depictions of the queen, not accurate ones).

As you can see in the script pages, Scene 82 is another gambling party that takes place in the queen’s apartments. But this one is different from the one that comes almost directly before it. The conversation, presented as Polignac entertaining MA with sordid tales of the courtiers present as well as with stories of her own sexual experiences, is much more adult and licentious than the conversation at the 18th birthday party. Louis XVI is present at the opening of the scene but retires quickly, and Lamballe is not featured, only referenced. Tom Hardy’s Rohan (not be confused with the factual cardinal de Rohan), makes an appearance, which would have been his first feature in the film, before his involvement at the later Trianon segment.

The idea here is that this intimate circle, in direct adjacency to MA, is perhaps not the most suitable for her to surround herself with, which was a constant complaint against her by those on the outside. But the sexually explicit conversation, Polignac’s morality, and the looser feeling of this party in comparison to the many others in the film may be interpreted as this scene being presented to the audience as intentionally questionable … Is this another fantasy sequence, a party thrown in as seen from the perspective of the courtiers projecting depraved, adulterous behavior at the queen and her company?

Significantly, MA is very much an observer in this scene, watching and listening but not involving herself in any reproachable behavior, which is an accurate portrayal. During the early years of the reign, she enjoyed the company (in addition to Lamballe, Polignac, and a few of her in-laws) of various older men of the court, almost all foreign and all able storytellers who regaled their young queen with stories of their experiences across the Continent. The baron de Besenval, the princes de Ligne and de Lauzun, the comte d’Esterházy, and the ducs de Coigny and de Guînes were all invited into the queen’s private apartments to entertain her with anecdotes of their travels and conquests, from Hungary to Switzerland and elsewhere through the European courts. None of them were considered suitable to be so intimate with MA according to etiquette, and she was severely faulted for this behavior by the royal court. She did not, however, ever allow herself to pass further than innocent flirtation with these men — Antonia Fraser speaks of the hysteria that MA had around her chastity. She sought the company of amusing, older men, but never in the context of adulterous behavior. They made her laugh and brought her levity, but if any of them ever crossed the line, they were very sharply and publicly reprimanded for their conduct.

One of the promotional stills for Scene 82 shows MA asleep, surrounded on all sides by men of the court, one of whom appears to be touching her. The image is another reason why perhaps this scene is supposed to walk the line between reality and fantasy … MA did surround herself with these men during her gatherings, but the physicality of the tableau suggests a bodily intimacy with these men that is definitely more in agreement with the vicious falsehoods spread by uninvited courtiers rather than historical fact. The scene feels out of place, as if the tone of this party isn’t consistent with the rest of the film — the conversation and behavior is much more extreme than anything else in Marie Antoinette, and this is perhaps intentional.

Why the scene was cut we do not know. It could have been due to pacing issues, since, with its inclusion, there would have then been two gambling parties back-to-back (which, again, may have been intentional — a more factual gambling party followed by a shocking illustration from a libelle, which is then followed by a fantasy gambling party to remark upon the different perceptions of MA’s lifestyle). It could be that the conversation was felt to be too vulgar, or at least vulgar in a way that stands out too much from the rest of the film. Or perhaps another reason entirely.

But the scene is important, as it’s a glimpse into what the public was guided to believe was the typical behavior of the queen of France, encouraged by the hands of the courtiers who were uninvited or ignored by MA.

Hopefully one day we get footage of this scene. I’m also curious if this scene was ever fully edited or if it was cut from the film before post-production was thoroughly on its way.

#Marie Antoinette #Sofia Coppola #Kirsten Dunst

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teratalia · 3 years

Text

Alien girlfriend x reader

I wrote a short little snippet from this writing prompt from the wonderful @monsterkinkmeme and I ended up expanding on it!! Listen, I created this alien girl just for this prompt but now I love her. I love her so much,, constructive criticism and comments are always welcome, it's my first time posting something like this :)

Quick notes: oblivious/dense fem reader, very lemony yet fluffy, let's call it lemon candy? lemon sweets? idk? (fingering, tribadism)

“Aleya? Would you come here for a moment?” you call out. You don’t have to wait long before you’re joined by your new lab partner.

“Yes?” Her voice, quiet and airy, reaches you before she does. She leans over your shoulder, squinting curiously at your workstation with eyes lacking both sclera and pupil, just sky blue irises.

Her midnight blue skin fades to black at her humanoid forearms and shins, and she ties her long purple hair into her usual braid with two out of four arms. White star-like freckles are scattered over her face and body, and she looks like she creates new constellations with every move she makes.

“Sit, sit,“ you urge, patting her back. Aleya hesitates for just a second before doing so.

“Look at the reaction this plant gives.“ Very gently, you stroke it with a gloved hand. Its petals flutter and then open wide, revealing another layer of petals that are closed tight.

“Last time I tried that, the inner part still would not open.“

“Yes, but watch this.”

Carefully, you run your fingertips over certain petals in a sequence that took you hours to find. Finally the inner petals open to reveal a colorful ball-like fruit, not unlike a mandarin, which the flower leans over and gently deposits on the table before sealing up the layers of petals again.

Instead of watching the flower, you watch Aleya’s face. Unlike humans, her kind doesn’t tend to show much by way of facial expressions, but her eyes widen slightly and her braided hair undoes itself and winds around in a twist before untwisting and twisting all over again.

“That’s incredible. We’ve got to study this fruit immediately.“ Her tone also doesn’t change, but you swear you can hear an undercurrent of excitement. “You’ve done a wonderful job.”

“Thanks! But before that, I want to take a break. Care to join me?” You stand, slowly stretching out limbs sore from disuse and discarding your gloves. She agrees, her stocky frame barely reaching your shoulder.

You beam and pat her on the back, running your thumb over the exposed skin there affectionately as you guide her away. She shudders and her braid comes undone just a bit.

“Are you okay?”

Aleya nods jerkily, braid slowly retying itself.

Humans call her people the Astra because of the characteristic star freckles and deep galaxy-colored skin. You're still learning about her, and she about you as well. You could never truly tell if she was happy to work with you or not, but you liked to think she was content. This assignment almost felt like being roommates with a cat that seemed aloof, but would come up to you quietly for affection. Aleya seemed to like the affection, or at least hadn't said anything to the contrary.

Seated in the kitchen, you gather some snacks and munch away. Aleya doesn't need to eat as much as you do, and only eats human food to be polite. For her snack, she grabs a pressurized bottle of hydrogen-helium mix and sips like it's water.

"I am quite pleased with your progress today," she says, almost making you drop your drink. She almost never speaks to you first, so you're eager to keep her talking.

"Did you expect that little fruit?" you reply excitedly. She actually smiles back at you, small lips curving up.

"I did not. Is something wrong?"

"No, no. I didn't think Astra really smiled, is all."

"We do not. I have noticed that it is something you do when you are happy, and assumed it was a human thing. Is it not?"

You blink at her, then beam. "You would be right. I have to say, I'm flattered that you're noticing things about me."

Very briefly, her star freckles on her cheeks turn pale pink, but turn back to white so quickly that you're sure you imagined it.

Aleya tilts her head down, toying with her bottle. "Is it not customary to learn more about one's lab partner?" Her hair falls forward, hiding her face.

"Of course it is! I can't believe how nervous I was when I was assigned to work with you. It's been such a pleasure so far."

Her hair curls up to obscure her face even more, and the exposed freckles on her shoulders turn pink. It might be out of curiosity, to tease her, or a mix of both, but you make a guess out loud.

"You're very cute when you're embarrassed, Aleya. You don't have to be embarrassed."

The pink sparkle brightens and you giggle as her hair nearly cocoons her upper body, hiding her whole face and torso from sight. Only the faint glow of her pale blue eyes and pink freckles shine through.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop. Come on, don't hide." Reaching out, you pat around where the top of her head should be. Her hair slowly unfurls and flows down her back as she glares up at you under your hand.

"Must you make such jokes?" she grumbles quietly.

"Sorry, Aleya. I do mean what I said though. You're very cute."

Sliding your hand down her hair, you pat her back like always. She lets out a shaky sigh, hair twisting around itself and eyes narrowing, hands squeezing around her bottle. Frowning, you snatch your hand away, making her look up at you again.

"I really am sorry," you repeat more slowly. "I don't like making you uncomfortable, and I also don't like the thought that you might be forcing yourself to adjust to human customs."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Humans tend to like physical touch, but I've been so inconsiderate because I don't know if you like it. I never realized how distressed you look when I touch you so casually. I'm sorry. I just, I need a bit."

Discarding the empty food wrappers, you hurry off to your room, dropping down onto the pillows and leaning against the headboard. You can't shake the feeling that you've been royally messing up with Aleya, and maybe she was just pretending to be comfortable around you. If casual touch is something that the Astra don't do, you might have been subjecting her to something really awful. It just made you want to apologize all over again.

A knock on the door draws you out of your spiraling thoughts. When you don't reply, the knock grows louder and more insistent.

"Come in."

Aleya slips into your room and shuts the door behind her. Her hair is curled up as if with giant rollers, huge curls rolling and unrolling in constant, restless motion. Her star freckles are an odd shade of orange that you haven't seen before.

With a sigh, you indicate the rest of the bed next to you. "You can sit, if you want."

Aleya perches on the bed, actively trying to suppress the movement of her hair with two hands. The other two are folded in her lap.

"I need to apologize to you," she starts, holding up one hand when you try to protest. "You deserve to know some truth about Astra. About me. Yes, the touching is quite foreign to me, but it didn't actually make me uncomfortable."

"You're sure?" All that shivering and hair unfurling seemed to indicate otherwise…

"Why do you think I have been wearing a lot of clothing that exposes my back and my shoulders?"

"You weren't just too warm in the lab?" Finally you let yourself relax. The star freckles are no longer that strange orange, but now they’re turning pink. "Is there something else you need to tell me?"

"Touching my back the way you do, it…" The curls in her hair seem to multiply as she struggles to speak.

You take a second to think, and feel your heart nearly stop. "…That wouldn't be an erogenous zone for you, would it?"

Aleya nods jerkily, refusing to make eye contact with you.

The first thing you feel is shock, followed closely by horror and embarrassment. "I'm so, so sorry. I had no idea."

She shakes her head, still silent.

Then you pause. The clothing she wears. Could that possibly be…and if so, did you want…?

You take a deep, shaky breath.

"Maybe I should let you in on a human secret," you say quietly, unable to believe the very words coming out of your mouth. "Different humans may have different erogenous zones, but a common one is the neck. Specifically, if one were to kiss and bite there…" Shrugging off your lab coat and letting it fall to the ground, you tilt your head away from her. Uncertainty practically radiates off Aleya, but slowly, slowly, she leans in and presses her lips to your neck. You sigh contentedly, tension easing out of your body and hers. The wild curls in her hair start to calm, flowing into waves down her back as she backs away and looks up at you.

Placing one hand on her shoulder, you lightly smooth your fingers over her skin, and she smiles a little, pink fading out of her freckles. Emboldened, you lift your other hand as well.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," you murmur, caressing her shoulders, fingers dancing over sparkling purple freckles.

Aleya moans, leaning into your touch. "I-I would like to do this with you. It just feels different…I am not used to such physical expressions. Astra intercourse is more like a melding of minds rather than bodies, and I'd like to share that with you…"

You're not entirely sure what she means, but you nod as she draws closer, wrapping both sets of arms around you, her hair flowing over your shoulders. Locks of her hair caress your cheeks, sliding down over your collarbone, sparking something new deep in your chest. You gasp, feeling this unusual yet intimate warmth within you, realizing that it's her pleasure you're feeling. The more your fingers move over her back, the more the warmth grows.

"Oh, wow," is all you can say.

Aleya giggles. "I think it's easier to tell when you feel good, like so, perhaps…" Leaning forward, she pulls up your shirt and slips her fingers under your bra, cupping your chest. Her fingertips tease over your nipples and you grin, simply tugging your clothing off to allow better access. She just stares at your chest for a moment, eyes wider than usual, before reaching to pinch your nipples. Biting your lip, you discard the rest of your clothes and wait for her to do the same.

Aleya doesn't have much by way of a chest, but her belly protrudes, matching her chubby arms and thick thighs. The star freckles are scattered at random across her skin, some looking like complete connected constellations, some just clusters of stars, all gorgeous.

Clothes finally off, you press her against the headboard and lean forward, giving her plenty of time to turn away. She reaches forward to meet you, kissing you awkwardly. You smile against her lips, guiding her, teaching her how to move her lips, how to avoid clinking teeth. She's a fast learner, because of course she is, and before long you're melting into her kiss, letting out little moans as she holds you close.

It's intoxicating, the way her pleasure matches yours. Her tongue tastes like raspberries, of all things.

Slowly, you slide your hand down her chest, down her belly rolls, finding your goal between her legs. Seems her anatomy is similar to yours, after all. She's already slick, her wetness sucking your fingers in. Aleya trembles, gripping your shoulders and crying out. Some of her freckles turn pink as she presses her lips together.

"God, you're cute." Running your other hand over her shoulders, you thrust your fingers in and out of her heat, craving that sound again. "Don't hold back, I want to hear you."

Looking like she wants to keep quiet, Aleya actually bites her lip. You lightly scratch down her back in retaliation, finally making her shout again. She arches her whole body into yours, moaning with abandon as you add a second and third finger inside her. Your thumb slides up to the top of her seam only to find that she doesn't have a clitoris, but it doesn't matter.

The glowing feelings in your chest swell, threatening to burst.

Aleya gazes up at you through fluttering eyelids, pushing her hips against your hand, silently begging you not to stop. And who are you to deny her release? To deny her anything, really?

You press your lips to her ear, the subtly tart scent of her hair wafting over you, curls tickling your cheek. "You're close, aren't you?" Voice low, almost raspy, just above a whisper yet still enticing. "I can feel it…come for me, Aleya…"

Clutching at you like a lifeline, arching her back, she cries out, walls fluttering around your fingers. Gently you pull your fingers out of that tight heat, whispering soothing words to her as she comes down from the high. The warmth cools down slightly, not fully extinguished just yet.

Aleya pants, staring at you in dazed awe. Impulsively, you bring your still soaking fingers to your lips, tasting raspberry alcohol.

"You taste amazing." You mean it, too.

Narrowing her eyes, she suddenly flips the two of you over, pulling you down to rest on your pillows and straddling your waist.

"Humans can also feel that, right? That release?"

"We call it an orgasm, and yes."

Aleya's grin is devilish. "Then we shall have one together."

One pair of hands plays over your breasts, fondling your nipples, while the other set slides down to pet your thighs. Moving back, she fits herself between your legs and spreads your thighs, looking down to your dripping pussy. You'd almost forgotten your own arousal in favor of hers, but now that all the attention was on it…you squirm, fidgeting under her intense gaze.

"So are you just gonna stare or do you want to try something?" you ask weakly.

"Even now, you still make demands," she giggles. Her upper pair of hands absentmindedly pinches your nipples while she thinks. "This is different. What's this…?"

Aleya circles your clit with one finger, and you moan at the slight friction. "Th-that's called a clitoris, um, it's very sensitive, so please…"

She gently strokes your clit with her thumb, slipping other fingers inside you in the same way you had done for her. Encouraging her with little gasps and moans, you hold onto her upper hands still resting on her breasts.

Silently she pulls her fingers out and other hands away, leaning back and readjusting her legs. Before you can ask what she's doing, she pushes your hips apart a little more, sliding one leg underneath yours and swinging the other leg over your hip.

You freeze, raising your eyebrows. "Huh? Where'd you learn how to do this?"

"Just thought it'd feel nice, and it looks like I'm right, yes?" She pushes her hips against yours, rolling them together. You can't help but agree with a breathy moan, head falling back against the pillows as you clutch fistfuls of the bedsheets.

Her body feels different from yet so similar to a human's, soft skin grinding against yours, long hair cascading down over you, strands caressing your sides. One thick strand pulls your leg up, hooking it over her shoulder.

"H-how are you so good at this?" you groan, closing your eyes, hearing a soft chuckle as the only response.

Aleya pauses her hip movements, making you open your eyes, pout already forming on your lips. She reaches for you with both sets of hands, pulling you up to sit in her lap with your legs still intertwined, lower set of hands sliding down to pull your hips forward to meet hers once more.

"God, yes." Wrapping your hands around her shoulders, you slowly drag your hands down her back, watching as her back arches and her lips part in a silent cry. You pull her closer, closer, hoping to taste raspberries again.

From the warmth growing in your chest and the way Aleya just pants into your open mouth, you can tell she's close, and so are you.

"Together," she gasps, pushing one hand down between your bodies. Her fingers press down on your clit, rubbing quick circles. Bucking your hips, you come undone with a shout, feeling the warmth in your chest swell and burst. All four of Aleya's hands dig into your back as she pulls you close, body trembling, hazy gaze meeting yours.

As one, your bodies crash down onto the bedsheets, limbs and hair tangling. Slowly Aleya shifts you both to face each other, a strand of her hair stroking your cheek as the feeling in your chest fades away, leaving comforting contentment in its wake.

After a moment of watching your face, she says, "Now I wish I had confessed sooner."

Eyebrows shooting up into your hairline, you laugh, whole body shaking. "To be fair, it's not just your fault," you say between giggles. "I should've noticed that something was off. It's fine now, right?"

She smiles softly, star freckles going back to regular white. "Yes, it is."

You bite your lip before adding, "I have to say, now I think there's a certain kind of drink I want to have more often. I should fix myself a raspberry cocktail sometime."

"What does that mean?" Aleya merely blinks at you, sky blue eyes narrowing as you start laughing all over again.

#exophilia #monster girlfriend #my writing #lemon #this is so self indulgent but somehow I'm not sorry #this is also longer than I anticipated whoops #i must warn you...i love commas #while editing i was like. damn sis couldn't you tone down the commas. and then i said no<3 and doubled down lmao

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jewfrogs · 3 years

Note

What was the place of trans people in Ancient Greece? I don’t mean myths, but accounts of irl trans people. I once read something about priests of Aphrodite whose initiation ceremony was castration and wearing women’s clothing, which could be reinterpreted through a modern lens as Ancient Greece’s version of trans women, so to speak. Perhaps even non-binarism, though I don’t believe there was basis for escaping the gender binary and the very much enforced roles in the Greek patriarchy.

this is another great question! i’m going to broaden our scope a little bit to include some discussion of rome as well, because there’s a lot of useful stuff there and the two are interlinked.

discussing trans people in any historical context is difficult, because the framework through which we understand it doesn’t exist. that isn’t to say that people who didn’t conform to their assigned gender didn’t exist (gender variance has been documented for about as long as history), but that applying modern labels and understandings to them doesn’t always work, and there’s a lot of overlap between some categories (e.g. could we understand this individual as a trans woman or as an effeminate [gay] man? what does that mean when neither of those identities are contextual during the individual’s time?). all that to say: there isn’t a lot that directly corresponds to trans people from antiquity, but there’s certainly not nothing.

one reference to trans people in ancient greece comes from lucian’s dialogue of the courtesans (c. 120-190 CE), where the character megilla/us seems to be remarkably like a trans man: “I was born a woman like the rest of you, but I have the mind and the desires and everything else of a man.” this is an excellent post that discusses this passage in depth.

according to pliny the elder, there was a noted phenomenon of women turning into men: “The change of females into males is undoubtedly no fable. We find it stated in the Annals, that, in the consulship of P. Licinius Crassus and C. Cassius Longinus, a girl, who was living at Casinum with her parents, was changed into a boy; and that, by the command of the Aruspices, he was con- veyed away to a desert island. Licinius Mucianus informs us, that he once saw at Argos a person whose name was then Arescon, though he had been formerly called Arescusa: that this person had been married to a man, but that, shortly after, a beard and marks of virility made their appearance, upon which he took to himself a wife. He had also seen a boy at Smyrna, to whom the very same thing had happened. I myself saw in Africa one L. Cossicius, a citizen of Thysdris, who had been changed into a man the very day on which he was married to a husband.” (Plin. Nat. 7.4) it seems likely that this is discussing intersex people, since pliny references them immediately before, but it is interesting to see evidence for at least some form of transition and for the acceptance of said transition—arescon has a wife! that’s pretty neat! these people seem to be fairly well-accepted, which does make one think about how transition in general might have worked or been seen.

with regards to the priests, i haven’t read about anything like that with aphrodite (although i would be remiss not to mention aphroditos here, particularly her mention in macrobius’ saturnalia), but i’m guessing you’re thinking of the galli, priests of cybele (a phrygian goddess, often correlated with rhea and with the intersex deity agdistis) as well as her lover attis (who was castrated as well—catullus 63, which i am going to write something about one day, is a retelling of their myth). they were castrated and generally wore women’s clothing, and many sources refer to them with feminine language. firmicus maternus (c. 4th century AD) said of them negant se viros esse, et non sunt <mulieres>: mulieres se volunt credi (“they deny that they are men, and are not <women>: they want to be believed as women”). there are certainly parallels that can be drawn here!

in addition, there can be a lot of blurred overlap between gay readings and trans readings. in ancient greek & roman thought, the categories of men-who-are-penetrated and women-who-penetrate (or, well... hump, since one of the latin words for these women is tribades, or “rubbers”) are almost genders in their own right, or perhaps the intersection of two genders: men-who-are-penetrated are like women but not, and women-who-penetrate are like men but not. (it can definitely be interpreted, to some extent, that these people want to be read as the opposite binary gender to the one they were assigned—which raises the question of whether we simply don’t know some of these stories because people did pass and therefore it wasn’t outwardly transgressive.)

this is probably best encapsulated by an excerpt from the fables of phaedrus (a first-century CE roman author who is supposedly adapting aesop’s work), where the question tribadas et molles mares quae ratio procreasset (what reason brought [lesbians] and [effeminate men] into existence?) is asked, and this is the answer:

The same Prometheus, creator of the clay crowd (which is broken the moment it offends fortune), had made those parts of nature which decency hides with clothing apart from the rest for the whole day. Just before he could fix the parts to the right bodies, he was suddenly invited to dinner by Liber; when he had watered his veins well with nectar, he returned home late at night on faltering feet. Then, with a half-awake mind and a drunken mistake, he applied maidenhood to a type of man and affixed masculine members to the women; thus desire now enjoys perverse joy.

there are different ways this can be read, because “applicuit virginale generi masculo” and “masculina membra applicuit feminis” can both be taken as an aetiology for either tribades or molles mares. take one: the first line refers to molles mares, making them men in body with women’s spirits, and the second line refers to tribades, making them women in body with men’s spirits. take two: the first line refers to tribades, making them men in spirit with women’s bodies, and the second line refers to molles mares, making them women in spirit with men’s bodies. these are both really interesting readings that both resonate to some extent with transness and specifically with the space in between gayness and transness.

as an example, take the figure agathon (a fictionalized portrayal of a real playwright) from aristophanes’ thesmophorizusae. agathon is notably effeminate—he’s first introduced by a character saying εγώ γαρ ουχ όρω άνδρ’ ουδέν ενθάδ’ όντα, Κυρήνην δ’ όρω (“I see no man, but I see Cyrene”, in reference to, as one commentary puts it, “a dissolute woman of the day”). that is to say: agathon is read as a woman. when another character in the thesmo needs to dress up as a woman, he doesn’t borrow a woman’s clothes—he borrows agathon’s. could we read agathon as a trans figure? perhaps! but his effeminacy is tied to him being, as the greek puts it, ευρύπρωκτος—literally “wide-assed”, but often translated simply as a certain six-letter word that starts with f. agathon isn’t a woman, exactly, but he’s not quite a man either. i wouldn’t necessarily call this in-between space trans, but i don’t know if i could call it cis either.

tl;dr: there are few depictions of people we might call trans as we understand it today from ancient greece, but there are a lot of interesting questions we can ask and consider with regards to gender that touch on transness and antique experiences analogous to modern-day trans ones. also gayness and transness are very much intertwined.

#i didnt include any myths bc this is long enough already and u said not in myth BUT.#mythological depictions do also add another layer to this #bc there are stories like iphis or leucippus or tiresias or hermaphroditus that Smack of transness to varying degrees #ancient greece #classics #anonymous #ask

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cassandra-pentughasst · 3 years

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Nobody Expects the Smutquisition

Now that we can finally reveal ourselves I'm excited to share the things I wrote for @dasmutquisition First up some Josephine/Leliana for @hobo-apostate

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2663

Tags: porn with feelings, vaginal fingering, tribadism, face-sitting, oral sex, cunnilingus, morning sex, morning after, confession.

Summary: Josephine wakes with Leliana beside her in her bed, and in the quiet light of the early morning confessions are made.

------------------------------------ There was a tenderness in Leliana that she had always felt, but never seen.

But even underneath her tenderness, there was steel. A strength forged over the years that she wore like armour.

She supposed she was lucky to consider her a confidant. A friend even.

Luckier still to wake with her beside her in her bed, red hair rumpled and face relaxed in sleep. She was beautiful at rest, the lines on her face relaxed and the pinched expression that was always there gone.

Leliana had come to her the night before as she sat working quietly at her desk, a distraction bearing red wine and a mischievous grin. They had spent the night talking about their pasts, Leliana sharing more with her than Josephine thinks she has with anyone for a very long time. Thoughts of the past lead to hopes for the future, Leliana’s inauguration for Divine fast approaching. Read on Ao3

------------------------------------ And secondly @a-shakespearean-in-paris requested this pairing which I find quite interesting with a prompt I couldn't resist because if there's one thing I love writing its Cassandra, and one thing I love writing even more than that is Cassandra happy in bed with a caring partner.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 3070

Tags: Friends With Benefits, And maybe something more?, Cowgirl Position, Playful Sex, Vaginal Sex, Doggy Style

Summary: Cassandra finds the ruggedly handsome Rylen distracting in more ways than one, but what happens when their sparring takes an unexpected turn one afternoon?

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

The first time she saw him it was at Griffon Wing Keep. The unrelenting desert sun gives him a golden hue, and his rugged good looks snare her attention in ways that she hasn’t felt in a long time.He was chosen by Cullen so she had no doubts about his ability. But she didn’t have time for something as frivolous as attraction. Or the feelings that had decided to come with it.

If there was one thing Cassandra was good at it was clearing her mind from distractions.

She manages. Or she thinks she does. Until he returns to Skyhold, a warm and welcome face within the cold stone walls.

And then there's no denying the fluttering in her chest whenever she hears him speak. The thick brogue, deep and rumbling, did things for she never expected and she found herself seeking out the places he frequented - usually the training yards - just to hear him speak. A fact that she would never admit. Read on Ao3

#my writing #dasmutquisition2021 #cassandra pentaghast #cassandra pentaghast/knight captain rylen #knight captain rylen #leliana #josephine montilyet #josephine montilyet/leliana #smut #lemons

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the-everqueen · 3 years

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why i disliked “the traitor baru cormorant”

so...recently i read Seth Dickinson’s The Traitor Baru Cormorant. i bought it thinking, Cool, an insightful fantasy series for me to get into while i wait to hear whether i passed my qualifying exams! i have some time before the semester starts!

and then i absolutely hated it and spent every minute cataloguing what i thought Dickinson got wrong.

...uh, if you want to get the tl;dr of the liveblog i gave the gf, here’s the top three reasons i disliked this book:

1) not a fan of the “strong female character” trope

yes, Baru doesn’t sling around a sword or shoot arrows better than Anyone In The Whole World. but Dickinson IMMEDIATELY tells us (not shows, tells) that she’s good at math, she’s clever at picking apart strategic scenarios, she’s a savant. (tbh, i don’t love how he shows this, either, with the standard child-prodigy-who-catches-the-attention-of-a-powerful-adult trope.) in Dickinson’s crafted world, her math skills aren’t entirely unusual: women (for...some reason?) are stereotyped as being good at calculations, despite also being aligned with hysteria and too many emotions. this bothers me more than it’s probably supposed to, because the sexism in this novel doesn’t really seem to follow an internal logic. i guess it’s so we can have a woman as the protagonist? also...hoo boy...her “savant” characterization bothers me because...she’s heavily coded as South East Asian (...maaaybe Philippines or Native Hawaii, but as i’ll get to later, Dickinson doesn’t make a huge distinction). uh...model minority stereotypes anyone? yes, within the text, plenty of people associated with the Empire comment that it’s impressive someone of her background got into a position of power so young. at the same time, i’m sure that sounds familiar to so many Asian-identified people! the constant tightrope of being expected to perform to a certain (white, Western) standard while also being Othered. mostly this bothers me because Baru is also characterized as...a sellout for the Empire. sure, her stated goal is to undo the Empire from within, but [MAJOR SPOILERS] in the end it appears that her actual goal was to attain enough power that the Empire would let her be a benevolent dictator over her home island? and it’s only after a major PERSONAL betrayal that she revises this plan? [END SPOILERS] Baru also assimilates without much pain or sacrifice. she hardly ever thinks about her parents or her childhood home. she willingly strips herself of cultural signifiers and adapts to Empire norms (apart from being a closeted lesbian, which...yeah, i’ll get to that, too). and it’s not that Dickinson doesn’t TRY to make her a nuanced character, but...to me, it feels so painfully obvious that this is not his experience. it feels almost...voyeuristic.

...much like his descriptions of wlw desire!

2) we get it, you read Foucault

the categories of sexual deviance are based entirely on a Western Victorian-era medical discourse around non-heterosexual forms of desire, but Dickinson ignores the network of sociocultural, religious, and historical contexts that contributed to that specific kind of discourse. he uses the terms “tribadism” and “sodomy” but those ideas CANNOT EXIST outside a Euro-American Christian context. yes, a huge part of the 19th century involved the pathologization of sexual and romantic desire (or lack thereof). but that in turn goes back to a history of medicine that relied on the “scientific method” as a means of studying and dissecting the human body--and that method in itself is a product of Enlightenment thinking. Theorist Sylvia Wynter (whomst everyone should read, imho) discusses how the Enlightenment attempted to make the Human (represented by a cisgender, heteronormative, white man) an agent of the State economy. every categorization of so-called deviance goes back to white supremacist attempts to define themselves as ‘human’ against a nonwhite, non-Christian Other. and IN TURN that was ultimately founded on anti-Black, anti-Indigenous racism. at this point it’s a meme in academic circles to mention Foucault, because so many scholars don’t go any further in engaging with his ideas or acknowledge their limits. but SERIOUSLY. Dickinson crafts the Masquerade as this psuedo-scientific empire that’s furthering erasure of native cultures, but...where did these ideas come from? who created them? what was the justification that gave them power? [MINOR SPOILER] blaming the Empire’s ideology on a handful of people behind the Mask who crafted this entire system makes me...uncomfortable, to say the least. part of what gives imperialism its power is that a lot of ordinary people buy in to its ideas, because it aligns with dominant belief systems or gives them some sense of advantage.

also speaking of cultural erasure...

3) culture is more than set dressing

again, to reiterate: Baru does NOT think back to her childhood home for longer than a couple passing sentences at various points in the narrative. but even though the early chapters literally take place on her home island, i don’t get a sense of...lived experience. this is true of ALL of the fantasy analogues Dickinson has created in his Empire. i felt uncomfortably aware of the real world counterparts that Dickinson was drawing inspiration from. at the same time...there are basically no details to really breathe life into these various fantasy cultures. i HATE the trope of “fantasy Asia” or “fantasy Africa” or “fantasy Middle East” that’s rampant among white male sff writers. Dickinson does not get points from me for basically just expanding that to “fantasy South East Asia,” “fantasy Mongolia,” “fantasy South America,” and... “fantasy Africa,” plus some European cultures crammed in there. he’s VERY OBVIOUSLY drawing on those languages for names, but otherwise there’s no real sense of their religious practices, the nuances of their cultures, the differences between those cultures (besides physiological, which...oh god). part of that is probably supposed to be justified by “well, the Empire just erased it!!!” but that’s not an excuse imho.

also...in making the Empire the ultimate signifier of the evils of imperialism...Dickinson kind of leans into the “noble savage” stereotype. Baru’s home island is portrayed as this idyllic environment where no one is shamed for who they love and gender doesn’t determine destiny and there are no major conflicts. (there is a minor nod to some infighting, but this is mostly a “weakness” that the Masquerade uses as an excuse to obliterate a whole tribe.) Dickinson justifies young Baru’s immediate assimilation as her attempt to figure out the Masquerade’s power from within, but given that the Masquerade presumably killed one of her dads and her mom maybe advocates a guerilla resistance...it’s weird that Baru basically abandons her family without a second thought. yeah, i get that she’s a kid when the Masquerade takes over the island, but...that’s still a hugely traumatic experience! the layers of trauma and conditioning and violence that go into this level of colonization are almost entirely externalized.

(later it’s implied that Baru might qualify as a psychopath, and tbh that feels like an excuse for why we haven’t gotten any sense of her inner world, not to mention kind of offensive.)

this isn’t exhaustive but...

it’s not that i don’t think white people shouldn’t ever address POC experiences in their books. just...if your entire trilogy is going to revolve around IMPERIALISM IS BAD, ACTUALLY, maybe you should contribute to the discourse that Black, Brown, and Indigenous authors have already done. reading this book made me so, so angry. i did not feel represented! i felt like i was being talked down to, both on a critical theory level AND on a craft level. there are SO MANY books by actual BIPOC and minority authors that have done this better. N.K. Jemisin’s Broken Earth Trilogy and her current Cities series. Nnedi Okorafor’s Binti trilogy. Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House remains one of the more powerful novels i’ve read on how The System Is Out To Destroy You, That Is The Point. (Bardugo is non-practicing Spanish and Moroccan Jewish on one side of her family, and her character Alex is mixed and comes from a Jewish background!)

...

there’s not really a point to this. i get a lot of people have raved about this book. good for them. if that’s you, no judgment. i’m not trying to argue IF YOU LIKED THIS YOU ARE PROBLEMATIC. i’m just kind of enraged that a white dude wrote about a Brown lesbian under a colonial empire and that THIS Brown lesbian under a colonial empire couldn’t even get behind the representation. also kind of annoyed that it’s the Empire of Masks and Dickinson either hasn’t read Fanon or didn’t see fit to slip in a Fanon reference, which like. missed opportunity.

#meta #book review #maybe y'all can get enjoyment from my rage #also i don't want to publish this on like. goodreads.#i'm not out to destroy Seth Dickinson personally #i know this was a highly reviewed book #i just...hated it #and i figured putting the rage on my blog is less harmful #than leaving a one star review #while also maybe giving someone the insight #for why they might not want to read this #the traitor baru cormorant #the masked empire

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tribade-veneration · 9 months

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These pornbots really gotta stop having the absolute best lesbian trauma vent blog names I swear to the Goddesses...

#tribade speaks

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lockewrites · 3 years

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30 Glasses of Spicy Lemonade

Plucked from an astonishing list of 388 options (created here by eliade), I picked 30 that I could find myself writing. Feel free to reblog for your own use, whether to request people send in a number or plan on 30 days of smut! Under the cut for obvious citrusy reasons.

Accidental stimulation (proximity and friction; involuntary arousal; situations of adrenaline and reflexes)

Adrenaline and crises (pre-, mid-, or post-crisis sex; speed-freaks or adrenaline junkies; near-death experiences; the shadow of impending death--hours, minutes, or moments)

Animalistic behaviors and characteristics, dominant (snarling; sniffing; scent-marking or biting; other claiming acts; territoriality; predatory stalking; cuffing; forcing the partner's neck down; claws and other features)

Asphyxiation (asphyxiophilia; autoerotic asphyxiation; scarfing; choking; breath play)

Baths and water (tubs or jacuzzis; hot springs; bath houses or steam rooms; the ocean; swimming pools; see also Washing; Shower sex)

Biting (marking, nipping, chewing)

Biological imperative (pon farr or mating drive; being in heat)

Blow-jobs (oral sex, fellatio, cunnilingus)

Body-painting or inkbrushing on someone's skin

Bonds (telepathic or empathic; psychic links; mating or soul bonds)

Claiming or establishing ownership (private or public; by gesture, word, or ritual; with sex; with a collar and leash; with scent-marking or by biting)

Damsel in distress scenarios (danger and rescue; damsel character need not be female)

Domesticity (moving in together; nesting; shopping; building a family or meeting the family; getting a cat or dog; kidfic)

Exhibitionism (sex in public or semi-public places, public arousal)

Exposure (with or without eroticism; feeling physically exposed, such as with legs open; a woman's shirt being opened to expose her breasts; characters being forced to undress in public; someone opening a door on people having sex)

Finger-fucking (as preparation, foreplay, accompaniment, or main act)

Friction or frottage (naked or clothed; masturbatory or with partner; cocks rubbing together; tribadism; intercrural sex; someone rubbing off on sheets while giving head or being fucked; itchiness and scratching; chafing clothes; friction while on horseback or riding a motorcycle; accidental contact)

Gentleness (tenderness; kindness; concern; gentle natures; characters who display sensitivity to fearful children, animals, the weak, etc; gentle responses at unexpected moments)

Healing or comfort sex (affirming life in the midst of death; captives turning to one another for comfort; one character soothing another who is deeply upset or fearful)

Intoxication and altered states (aphrodisiacs; drugs or alcohol; sex pollen/spores; substances or devices that create arousal, affection, or dependency; speaking or showing the truth while intoxicated; visionary states)

Masturbation (solitary or as performance)

Messiness and markers of arousal (mussed hair; flushed cheeks; swollen mouth; displaying bite marks or hickeys; clothes in disarray; sprawling; come-spattered skin)

Music (singing; playing an instrument such as guitar or piano; composers; rock stars or bands; groupies; song lyrics)

Protectiveness (physically or verbally defending someone; caretaking in general; big guy/little guy pairings; bodyguard scenarios; mysterious benefactors or protectors)

Restraint (pinning someone down; pushing someone's arm up behind their back during sex; covering or clasping someone's hands to prevent movement, handcuffs, leather ties, chains, etc)

Sensory overload or enhancement

Sleep and bedding themes (sharing a bed by necessity, such as in a hotel with only one room left; sharing a sleeping bag for warmth; sex while drowsy or sleeping; sex as a sleep aid; autonomic arousal from proximity; morning wake-up sex, falling asleep against someone's shoulder; watching someone sleep; dreams; nightmares; dream lovers, e.g., succubi; exotic or romantic beds, e.g., canopied; furs as bedding; silk sheets)

Touching (stroking and caressing; cuddling or nuzzling; huddling for warmth; hugging; holding hands in public; touching as UST; brief brushes of contact either deliberate or accidental; PDAs; thighs brushing under a table; comic physical entanglements; someone gripping a wounded character's hand)

Trapped or stranded together (on another world; on a desert island; in a cave-in; in a cabin during a snowstorm; in an elevator)

Voyeurism and vision themes (character A watches character B perform/masturbate; viewing one's beloved in general; taking pictures or video; eye contact, especially as flirting; establishing authority with a look; closing eyes as a trust gesture)

#nsft #spicy lemonade #prompts #ns/fw #fanfiction #whatever I write for this will be tagged 30 glasses of spicy lemonade

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

Note

Thanks for writing DVLA, it was wonderful. I haven’t gotten that absorbed in something in a while, and I read it twice while on a camping trip this weekend. And then spent a lot of time just staring out the window being sad about the Crusades and just these two beautiful queer disasters in general. (A HUNDRED YEARS OF PINING. I LOVED IT). (1/6)

It was everything I wanted, so satisfying, and the thread of Crusades and faith conflicts and the stupid complicated ways humans find to hurt each other was really masterfully woven through. I learned so much; I had a basic idea of the Crusades but you filled everything in and made it come alive. And you got across so well that people across history are just people. (2/6)

Maryam was my favourite, I would read anything with more of her in it as well. The Constantinople section and the way it ended just ripped my heart out. (PHIL.) I was so glad Hippolyta and Rebecca got out safe. But the end to such a lovely sunlit chapter of life was heartwrenching. (3/6)

It means a lot to me, as someone trying to confront her own faith’s and her ancestors’awful actions in the past, to have someone present religious conflict the way you do. Part motivations like conquest and glory and riches, part motivated by faith, and very much something that I or anyone else could fall into just as easily as people in the past did. (4/6)

I graduated three years ago with a minor in history and have done absolutely nothing with it - I was burned out for ages on even reading anything, and I haven’t read anything academically rigorous in so long. This felt like a perfect reintroduction to history, and it made me want to do research and read history again, for the first time in years. (5/6)

I’m noting the resources you’ve recommended to some other folks about medieval queerness and the Crusades, but I was wondering if you also had any recommendations for reading about Julian of Norwich specifically, or queerness in female medieval religious spaces in general? Thank you so much, I’ve followed your blog for a long time and always love reading your posts. (6/6)

Ahh, thanks so much. Once again, I must bow to someone’s superlative tumblr ninjitsu skills both in knowing the number of asks it will take ahead of time and preventing the blue hellsite from eating any of them.

I’ve had so many people say these absolutely lovely things to me about DVLA -- about the history, the religion, the journey, the story, the reactions they had to these themes, how they felt inspired by it -- and I really am truly humbled by it. I think it speaks to the way all of us felt some kind of ownership or reflection or empowerment in Joe and Nicky’s story and the way it unfolds both on screen in the TOG film and our own conceptions and reactions and engagement with it. It’s just one of the best ships I can think of in terms of that, and I’m worried that anything I say will end up sounding trite, but I really do mean that.

As a historian, I am obviously delighted to hear that it made you want to return to or re-engage with the subject in some way, as well as to use it to help think through the religious themes for yourself. Because as I said in my answer to how to deal with the history in a hypothetical Joe/Nicky prequel movie, we can’t just have the easy luxury of being like “oh all the crusaders were clearly religious zealots and we would never be like that and never do anything like that.” Because a) we already do that, and b) it prevents us from assessing ourselves and our own behaviour and our own troubling patterns and habits if we just arrogantly assume that all the people in the past were stupider and/or less enlightened than we were and clearly We Won’t Make Those Mistakes. So we have to see ourselves in them in some way, and to understand they still did those things, they still destroyed a lot of beautiful things in their world for ultimately no good reason at all. We’re doing the same thing, we justify it to ourselves in different ways, and the goals and the stakes are a lot larger in a globalized world, and anything that sets up medieval people (or really any people in the past, but the medieval era is the stick that gets used the most often) as so unlike us and so inferior to us is just genuinely dangerous. So yes. I’m sure you know my feelings on that topic.

Maryam, Rebecca, and Hippolyta have all gotten a lot of love, which I think is great, and it seems to be the consensus that chapter 4 ruined everyone’s lives. This is understandable, since I’ve mentioned the fact that despite the pain, I think it’s possibly my favourite, and I am glad that everyone had the totally normal emotions over the sack of Constantinople that I also had while writing it. Because yes! It is a tragedy the likes of which was still a Thing in the year 2004, the 800th anniversary, when the pope felt moved to apologize for it! The scale of what it destroyed and took away and the way it influenced history afterward (as Joe is thinking at the start of chapter 6) is just MASSIVE, and... yes.

As for reading recs (and again, it delights me that you want to dip your toe back into reading academic history), I don’t have anything about Julian of Norwich specifically (though there’s a LOT about her out there, especially right now, so I’m sure you can nose about and see what turns up). But as for queerness in female medieval religious spaces (with some bonus medieval queer ladies in general):

Sahar Amer, Crossing Borders: Love between Women in Medieval French and Arabic Literatures (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008)

Judith Bennett, ‘ “Lesbian-Like” and the Social History of Lesbianisms,’ Journal of the History of Sexuality, 9 (2000), 9–22.

Marie-Jo Bonnet, ‘Sappho: Or the Importance of Culture in the Language of Love: Tribade, Lesbienne, Homosexuelle’, in Queerly Phrased: Language, Gender, and Sexuality, ed. by Anna Livia and Kira Hall (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 147–66.

Bernadette Brooten, Love Between Women: Early Christian Responses to Female Homoeroticism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996)

Mary Anne Campbell, ‘Redefining Holy Maidenhood: Virginity and Lesbianism in Late Medieval England’, Medieval Feminist Forum, 13 (1992) 14-15.

Carol Lansing, ‘Donna con donna? A 1295 Inquest into Female Sodomy’, Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History, 3 (2005) 109-122.

Kathy Lavezzo, ‘Sobs and Sighs Between Women: The Homoerotics of Compassion in The Book of Margery Kempe.’, in Premodern Sexualities, ed. by Louise Fradenburg and Carla Freccero (New York: Routledge, 1996), pp. 175-198.

E. Ann Matter, ‘My Sister, My Spouse: Woman-Identified Women in Medieval Christianity’, in Weaving the Visions, ed. by Judith Plaskow and Carol P. Christ (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1989), pp. 51–62.

Jacqueline Murray, ‘Twice Marginal and Twice Invisible: Lesbians in the Middle Ages’, in Handbook of Medieval Sexuality, ed. by Vern L. Bullough and James A. Brundage (New York: Garland, 1996), pp. 191–222.

Nancy Sorkin Rabinowitz, Among Women: From the Homosocial to the Homoerotic in the Ancient World. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2002

Susan Schibanoff, ‘Hildegard of Bingen and Richardis of Stade: The Discourse of Desire’, in Same Sex: Love and Desire Among Women in the Middle Ages, ed. by Francesca Canadé Sautman and Pamela Sheingorn (New York: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 49-83.

Have fun!!

#history #medieval history #queer history #greenestcoat #ask #dvla asks

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marnanel · 4 years

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a doctor discovers a queer nightclub in 1894

CW for historical ableism, homophobia, etc

I thought I'd add some more from the 1908 book about "sexual pathology", which involves a doctor being very confused about the existence of gay, bi, lesbian, and trans people.

This bit is about visiting a queer nightclub. When he says "misogynist", he means "gay" (because he assumes gay men dislike women).

The book is "The sexual question" by Auguste Forel; this is from chapter 8.

— Transcript —

Sexual inversion is so widespread that in certain countries, for instance Brazil, and even in some European towns, there are brothels with men instead of women.

I will mention here a very curious case of purely psychical but complete inversion of the sexual personality, combined with complete sexual anaesthesia:

A man, aged 22, the son of an inebriate, with one imbecile sister. Of delicate constitution, but very intelligent, he was possessed since infancy with the idea that he was a girl, although his genital organs were properly formed and were normally developed at puberty. He had a horror of the society of boys, and of all masculine work, while he was quite happy in performing all the household duties of a woman. An irresistible obsession urged him to dress himself as a woman, and neither contempt, ridicule, nor punishment could cure him of it. Attempts to give him employment as a boy in a small town failed completely. His girlish manners made him suspected by the police, who took him for a girl dressed in boy’s clothes, and threatened to arrest him. When he was compelled to put on male attire he consoled himself with wearing a woman’s chemise and corset underneath.

~ I carefully examined this individual and found him affected with complete sexual anesthesia. He had a horror of everything connected with the sexual appetite, but the idea of sexual intercourse with men was still more repugnant than that of normal coitus with women. Although the testicles and penis appeared absolutely normal, he never had erections. His voice was high pitched and his whole manner suggested that of a eunuch.

This case is very instructive, for it clearly shows how the psycho-sexual personality may be predetermined by heredity in the brain alone, independently of the sexual organs, and even act without a trace of sexual sensation or appetite. This was undoubtedly a case of alcoholic blastophthoria and not ordinary heredity.

Krafft-Ebing describes the following scene, taken from a Berlin journal, dated February, 1894, which gives a good idea of the manners and customs of the homosexual fraternity:

“The misogynist’s ball. Almost all the social elements of Berlin have their club or meeting place—the fat, the bald, the bachelors, the widowers—why not the misogynists? This variety of the human species, whose society is hardly edifying, but whose psychology is peculiar, held a fancy dress ball a few days ago. The sale, or rather the distribution of tickets was kept very private. Their meeting place is a well-known dancing hall. We enter the hall about midnight. Dancing is going on to the music of a good orchestra. A thick cloud of smoke obscures the lamps and prevents us at first from distinguishing the details of the scene. It is only during an interval that we can make a closer examination. Most of the people are masked, dress coats and ball dresses are exceptional.

“But what do I see? This lady in rose tarlatan, who has just pirouetted before us has a cigar in her mouth and smokes like a trooper. She has also a small beard, half hidden by paint. And she is now talking to an “angel” in tights, very décolleté, with bare arms crossed behind her, also smoking. They have men’s voices and the conversation is also masculine, for it turns on ‘this cursed tobacco will not draw.’ Two men dressed as women!

“‘A clown in conventional costume leaning against a pillar is speaking tender words to a ballet dancer, with his arm round her waist. She has a Titian head, a fine profile and good figure. Her brilliant earrings, her necklace, her shapely shoulders and arms seem to proclaim her sex, when suddenly disengaging herself from the embracing arm she turns away with a yawn, saying in a bass voice, ‘Emile, why are you so tiresome to-day?’ The novice hardly believes his eyes: the ballet dancer is also a man. :

“Becoming suspicious, we continue our investigations, beginning to think that the world is here upside down. Here is a man who comes tripping along; but no, it cannot be a man, in spite of the small and carefully curled mustache. The dressing of the hair, the powder and paint on the face, the blackened eyebrows, the gold earrings, the bouquet of flowers on the breast and shoulder, the elegant black gown, the gold bracelets, the fan held in a white-gloved hand—none of these things suggest a man. And with what coquetry he fans himself; how he dances and skips about! Nevertheless, Nature has created this doll in the form of a man. He is a salesman in one of the large sweet shops, and the ballet dancer is his colleague!

“At the table in the corner there is a convivial meeting; several elderly gentlemen are gathered round a group of very décolleté ‘ladies’ sitting over a glass of wine and cracking jokes which are anything but delicate. ‘Who are these three ladies?’ ‘Ladies! laughs my better-informed companion; well, the one on the right with the brown hair and short fancy dress is a hairdresser; the second, the blonde with the pearl necklace is known here by the name of Miss Ella, and he is a ladies’ tailor; the third is the celebrated Lottie.’

“But this cannot be a man? The waist, the bust, the delicate arms, the whole appearance is feminine! I am told that Lottie was formerly an accountant. To-day she, or rather he, is simply ‘Lottie,’ and takes pleasure in deceiving men as to his sex as long as possible. At this moment Lottic is singing a song in a contralto voice acquired by prolonged practice, which a female singer might envy. Lottie has also taken female parts on the stage. Nowadays the former accountant is so imbued with his female role that he seldom appears in the street except in woman’s attire, and even wears an embroidered nightdress.

“On closer examination of the persons present, I discovered to my astonishment several acquaintances. My bootmaker, whom I should never have taken for a misogynist, appears to-night as a troubador with sword and plumed cap; and his ‘Leonora,’ in the costume of a bride, generally serves me with Havanas in a cigar store. When Leonora removed her gloves I recognized her at once by her large chilblained hands. Here is my haberdasher promenading in an indelicate costume as Bacchus; also a Diana, dressed up atrociously, who is really a waiter at a café.

“It is impossible to describe the real ‘ladies’ who are at this ball. They only associate with each other and avoid the women-hating men; while the latter also keep to themselves and absolutely ignore the fair sex.’”

B. Feminine Sexual Inversion and Homosexual Love.— Sexual inversion is not rare in women, but manifests itself less publicly than the corresponding masculine inversion. It is called Lesbian love or sapphism; and the women inverts are known as tribades. They are described in history, but may also be ob-served in modern towns. They satisfy their pathological appetite by mutual masturbation, especially by mutual licking of the clitoris (cunnilingus). The feminine invert likes to dress as a man and feels like a man toward other women. She goes in for manly games, wears her hair short, and takes to men’s occupations in general. Her sexual appetite is often much exalted and then she becomes a veritable feminine Don Juan. I have known several women of this kind, who held veritable orgies and induced a whole series of young girls to become their lovers, in the way we have just indicated.

Here again, as in masculine inversion, there is a true irradiated love. Inverts want to marry and swear eternal fidelity; they celebrate their betrothals, even openly, the invert in male attire representing the bridegroom; or sometimes they have secret symbols, such as exchanging rings, etc. These sexual orgies are often seasoned with alcohol.

The excesses of female inverts exceed those of the male. One orgasm succeeds another, night and day, almost without interruption. Jealousy is also as strong as among male inverts. However, these nymphomaniac inverts are not very common.

A characteristic peculiarity of feminine inversion depends on the irradiation of the sexual appetite in woman (vide Chapters IV and V). We have seen that there is much less distinction in woman between love and local sensations of pleasure, and between friendship and love, than in man. When a woman invert wishes to seduce a normal girl, it is easy for her to do so. She first wins her affection by the aid of the caresses of an exalted platonic love, which is not uncommon among women; kisses, embraces, and sleeping in the same bed are much more common among girls than boys, and little by little the invert succeeds in causing voluptuous sensations in her victim. Very often the object of these caresses does not recognize that there is anything abnormal in all this, or gives way to her sensations without reflection, and then becomes amorous in her turn. I will give an example:

A female invert, dressed as a young man, succeeded in winning the love of a normal girl, and was formally betrothed to her. Soon afterwards the woman was unmasked, arrested and sent to an asylum, where she was made to put on woman’s clothes. But the young girl who had been deceived continued to be amorous and visited her “lover,” who embraced her before every one, in a state of voluptuous ecstasy, which I witnessed myself. When this scene was over, I took the young girl aside and expressed my astonishment at seeing her continue to have any regard for the sham “young man” who had deceived her. Her reply was characteristic of a woman: “ Ah! you see, doctor, I love him, and I cannot help it!”

What can one reply to such logic? A psychic love of this kind is hardly possible in man; but if we go to the bottom of the matter and study the nature of woman, we can understand how certain feminine exaltations may be unconsciously trans- formed into love, platonic at first, afterwards sexual. At first, “they understand each other so well,” and have so much mutual sympathy; they give each other pet names, they kiss and embrace, and perform all kinds of tender actions. Finally, a graduated scale of caresses leads almost unconsciously to sexual excitation.

This is how it happens that a normal woman, systematically seduced by an invert, may become madly in love with her and commit sexual excesses with her for years, without being her- self essentially pathological. The case only becomes really pathological when it is definitely fixed by long habit; a thing which easily occurs in woman, owing to the constant and monogamous nature of her love.

#lgbt history #queer history #be gay do crime #cw ableism #cw transphobia #cw homophobia

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gutsymmetry · 4 years

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@swede sent: 1, 10, and 12 for raine!! ✦ lgbtquestions.

what do you label your muse as, and how do they label themselves? is there a difference, and if so, why?

i call raine a “lesbian,” whereas she doesn’t call herself much of anything.

for one, there’s not a huge vocabulary around lesbianism available to her, although the word “tommy,” to mean a masculine lesbian, was definitely around in the english vernacular from like the 18th century on. and there are definitely terms like “sapphist” or “tribade,” etc. but if raine knows them i’m not sure she’d really want to use them anyway. there are probably ways she implies interest in a woman or that other people describe her as lesbian that rely on connotation more than anything--like, probably any/all insults she’s ever received about her being mannish (loud, bossy, aggressive, etc.) were implied references to lesbianism as well

raine generally speaking has a hard time generating a particular label for herself because she doesn’t like. Self-Conceptualize as a Lesbian™ or whatever term you would want to insert there. she definitely knows she likes women and that she doesn’t ever want to be with a man again, but like. it’s a bit hard for her because as far as she is concerned, she’s had multiple relationships/sexual encounters with men that she consented to (that she never enjoyed or really wanted, but, yes, consented to out of a sense of obligation rather than desire), so like. lacking a full frame of reference or really a lot of lesbian presence in her life, where does she begin thinking about herself as Exclusively This or Exclusively That or anything else?

(modern raine, fwiw, is quite different because she’s... in the modern day, and that’s just a completely different environment in terms of lesbian visibility. she does call herself a lesbian and is comfortable with it. but her whole life trajectory is quite different from canon raine’s so)

how does your muse feel about not being cis or straight? are they content with it, proud, ashamed? would the situation be the same if the culture or surrounding support systems were different?

it’s complicated :/ i don’t think she’s perpetually ashamed. i do think she experiences moments of frustration, sadness, and self-doubt, and i think she occasionally--despite everything she’s experienced, and despite all that she’s built upon the idea that women are safer and better apart from men--has a wish to be “normal,” because it’s lonely and dissatisfying being a closeted lesbian in the victorian era fhdfmdgkhgfm. she’s an extremely passionate, feeling person who wants intimate connection very much, and it would just... be easier if she could feel that way toward a man. and i think that it’s actually very hard to fight, to fight all the time, and to like, constantly be pushing back against the world in every aspect of your life. sometimes you kind of just... want to stop fighting, to just relax into the thing you know is going to hurt you, because it’s harder to fight it, right? which i think is a lot of the feeling lesbians use the term “comphet” to describe, today.

the truth is, though, she’d rather be her way and living and loving the way she is than go back to her old life, when she thought she had no other way to be. that was just kind of a half-life for her and she didn’t fully realize it for a long time. so i think she’s more often content, like, at rest with it.

what are your muse’s feelings towards stereotypes relating to their identity? do they affect their self-image, or how they perceive others?

oh she’s definitely affected by lesbian stereotypes, particularly centered around lesbians being freakish and predatory. this is... less about how she feels about herself, and more her fear of how other people will perceive her; she’s very much not out to all the women in the collective because she does not want them to feel preyed upon or suspicious of her. her bond with her women is based on her own, personal experience of the same hardships and losses as they have, and if they learned she was a lesbian it might cast that in a different light, even though it doesn’t actually change the facts of what she went through and the basis of their connection.

#swede #✦ how she came by such stripes ( raine headcanon tag. )#thank you so much for sending these in!!

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phroyd · 5 years

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A Great Actress Leaves Us! - Phroyd

Bibi Andersson, the luminous Swedish actress who personified first purity and youth, then complexity and disillusionment, in 13 midcentury Ingmar Bergman films, died on Sunday in Stockholm. She was 83.

Her death was confirmed by the director Christina Olofson to several Swedish news outlets. Ms. Andersson had a stroke in 2009 and had been hospitalized in France.

Her emotionally complex role in “Persona” (1966), the film that made her acting reputation, was one of the great stereotype reversals in film history, a definite departure for the thirtyish Ms. Andersson, who had begun acting in her teens. Before that film, Bergman had given her roles “symbolizing simple, girlish things,” she told The New York Times in 1977. “I used to be called a ‘professional innocent.’”

Few moviegoers could disagree. In “The Seventh Seal” (1957), Ms. Andersson played a gentle, young medieval-era wife and mother who was part of a traveling acting troupe. Whenever she appeared onscreen — with her long “Alice in Wonderland” blond hair and beatific glow — the sun came out and birds sang.

In “Wild Strawberries” (1957), she was first seen as the protagonist’s turn-of-the-century sweetheart, sitting on the forest ground collecting berries in a tiny basket while wearing a fairy tale maiden’s striped and ruffled dress, her hair in a combination of braids and Victorian ringlets. But in the same film, she also played the brash, short-haired, tomboyish, contemporary teenage hitchhiker, smoking a pipe just because she knew she shouldn’t.

The haircut may have been a catalyst. When she did “Persona,” it was with a close-cropped pixie cut; she played a sensible nurse with reading glasses and a sunny exterior who reveals herself to be both talkative and troubled. The character’s personality then seems to merge with that of her patient (Liv Ullmann), an actress who has had a breakdown and refuses to speak. When the film opened in the United States in 1967, Bosley Crowther of The New York Times called it “a veritable poem of two feminine spirits exchanging their longings, repressions and mental woes.”

Most of Ms. Andersson’s acting honors, like most of her film and stage work, were European. In addition to winning four Guldbagge Awards, the Swedish equivalent of the Oscar, she was named best actress at the Cannes Film Festival in 1958 for “Nara Livet” (“Brink of Life”), sharing the award with three co-stars, and best actress at the Berlin Film Festival in 1963 for the title role in “Alskarinnan” (“The Mistress”). Paradoxically (and surprisingly, to many), neither was a Bergman film.

n the United States, she did win National Society of Film Critics awards twice: as best actress for “Persona” and as best supporting actress for “Scenes From a Marriage” (1974), in which she and Jan Malmsjo played the central couple’s unhappily married, viciously bickering dinner guests. But she never became a full-fledged American star.

Her earliest Hollywood effort, which preceded the American premiere of “Persona” by six months, was “Duel at Diablo” (1966), a forgettable western starring James Garner. Ms. Andersson was an American white man’s wife who had been abducted by Apaches and wanted to go back.

A decade or so later, she played the soft-spoken psychiatrist of a schizophrenic teenager (Kathleen Quinlan) in “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden” (1977) and Steve McQueen’s Norwegian wife in a drama that was an unusual choice for him, “An Enemy of the People” (1978), Henrik Ibsen via Arthur Miller.

She did films for the directors John Huston and Robert Altman. She was Richard Chamberlain’s mother (although Mr. Chamberlain was a year older) in the 1985 mini-series “Wallenberg: A Hero’s Story,” about the Swedish diplomat who saved thousands of Jews from the Nazis. And she made a glamorous cameo appearance as a helpful Stockholm socialite in flashback scenes of “Babette’s Feast” (1987).

Critics were kind. David Thomson, in “Biographical Dictionary of Film,” called her “the warmest, most free-spirited of Bergman’s women.” Bergman, who employed certain actresses in film after film, was notorious for his claustrophobic, almost fetishistic relationships to them during filming. The fact that he and a number of the women also had affairs seemed almost secondary.

When Ms. Andersson made her Broadway debut, in 1973, Clive Barnes of The New York Times praised her “absolutely unforced naturalness.” Derek Malcolm of The Guardian once pronounced a particular screen performance “superb, even by her exalted standards.”

Berit Elisabeth Andersson was born in Stockholm on Nov. 11, 1935, the younger of two daughters of Josef Andersson, a businessman, and the former Karin Mansson, a social worker.

In her teens, determined to become an actress, Berit began taking classes and appearing as an extra in Swedish films. She made her credited movie debut in “Dum-Bom” (1953), a comedy about a mayor whose twin brother is a clown. In 1954, she was accepted into the Royal Dramatic Theater’s prestigious acting school in Stockholm.

Her work with Bergman began earlier, however. She appeared in a commercial for Bris soap, which Bergman had agreed to do because of a 1951 national film-industry strike. Four years later, he cast her in “Smiles of a Summer Night”; her character name was Actress, and she had one scene.

Other Bergman-Andersson projects included “The Devil’s Eye” (1960) in which Satan sends Don Juan back to earth to seduce a young vicar’s daughter; “The Passion of Anna” (1969), in which Ms. Andersson plays a recent widow trying to hold herself together; and “The Touch” (1970), about a married woman having an affair with a neurotic American. The film, Bergman’s first in English, also starred Elliott Gould.

Ms. Andersson’s last films were “The Frost,” a 2009 drama about a couple grieving for their son, and “Arn: The Knight Templar” (2010), originally a mini-series, in which she played an evil mother superior.

She had a long and busy stage career in Sweden, starring in classic works by Molière, Chekhov and Shakespeare, and even appeared twice on Broadway. Both “Full Circle” (1973), a wartime drama, and “The Night of the Tribades” (1977), with her frequent film co-star Max von Sydow, had particularly short New York runs.

After Ms. Andersson’s romantic relationship with Bergman in the 1950s, she married Kjell Grede, a Swedish screenwriter and director, in 1960; they divorced in 1973. Her second husband, from 1979 until their divorce in 1981, was the politician and writer Per Ahlmark. She did not marry again until 2004.

Ms. Andersson was married three times. Her survivors include a daughter, Jenny Grede Dahlstrand, and a sister, Gerd Andersson, a former ballerina with the Royal Opera.

In 1977, looking back on her first two decades of movie acting, Ms. Andersson told American Film magazine that she felt “no connection with what I was doing” in her early screen appearances, even describing them as corny. But there was one exception.

“‘Persona,’ on the other hand, I’m still proud of,” she said. “Each time I see it, I know I accomplished what I set out to do as an actress, that I created a person.”

Phroyd

#bergman #ingmar #aanderson #bibi

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