I want to have a brain blast of making a bunch of fun stuff all week again. And by "stuff" I mean unabashed wlw smut. So I will! Here is the post from the og spndykesexweek, I'll use the same ao3 collection and #spndykesexweek and again, it's a complete free for all as long as it's women having hot sex. or cold sex. you could do some temperature play if you wanted. it's not on the list but you could. as the youth say, 'yo, lo'. anyway! I'm going to start with day 1 this coming monday :)
Day 1: (sac/)religious
Day 2: sharing a body
Day 3: the strappppppp. again. you can't stop me.
Day 4: instructions
Day 5: sugarbaby
Day 6 & 7: Catch-up/free space/free use
You can trans genders you can change contexts you can combine prompts you can have it be a sad ending you can have it be deeply loving and romantic and sweet. and so can I!! Let's fucking go! again!!!!!!!!!!!
You know what I'm going to challenge myself this week starting today as day 1. People can join in if they want, I dunno, I'll use the tag uhhh #spndykesexweek. Smutty femslash with an emphasis on hot dyke sex!!!! Bc I have been entirely too respectable when it comes to the ladies!!!
Day 1: omegaverse
Day 2: threesome
Day 3: the strappppp
Day 4: catgirl
Day 5: Death voyeurism
Day 6 & 7: Catch-up/free space/free use
These might end up with a playful romantic bent but that's just how my smut is so that's okay. Transgender women WILL be getting railed in at least one of these I have been SLACKING. And it'll be any kind of wlw it's not restricted to lesbians it's dykesexweek bc I'm a dyke. Most of these are ones I already had ideas for but haven't written yet. Let's fucking go.
Edit: Here's an Ao3 collection, feel free to add your works to it.
"I love it," she says, tears springing to her eyes to hear her own effortlessly sweet, feminine voice, "I love it so much. Thank you."
It's how you wanted? Mye asks in their mind, and Alice shakes her head with playful exasperation.
"You always know what I want."
Mye takes her hand, and uses it to delicately brush away her tears and gallantly kissing them off her thumb. The tenderness in Mye strikes at Alice's heart, and she presses her other hand to it to cope with it. No one knows how tender Mye can be, how much emotion runs beneath the surface of her being, nobody but Alice. She is trusted, and cherished, and loved.
Through the looking glass, I see you
trans women midam!!! having romantic body sharing sex after Mye magically reforms their body after they get out of the cage <3 they love each otherrrrr
Layla Rourke/Ruby having demonic cult sex in a church 😈
The opening:
"How do you feel?" Ruby asks, while Layla is still swallowing the thick, strange communion wine from the chalice Ruby is tipping into her mouth.
Layla makes a faint sound of approval as she swallows, more liquid going down her throat than she'd have taken herself. Ruby has always been generous with her, too generous, a kindness Layla couldn't hope to pay back over a thousand lifetimes.
When Ruby stops pouring, Layla misses it immediately. The wine spills down Layla's chin and splatters down the ceremonial white dress Ruby had picked out for her. Some lands on her exposed thigh – the dress is short – and it must be the amount of lit candles around and the atmosphere that makes it feel warm on her skin. She's glad for the cold stone of the altar she's sitting on to keep her grounded.
"Feels good," Layla says as soon as she can, panting after drinking so long, and embarrassed to be doing so. With her hands tied behind her back with tassled black rope, her thin, short dress, her deep flush and her panting, she knows she must look...provocative. But it does feel good. It feels amazing.
Bela and Mary have a standing appointment (for Mary to suck on Bela's strap, and for Bela to pretend she's not falling in love).
Untouched (in a good way)
Read the opening below:
The cigarette between Bela's fingers is burning dangerously low. She takes another drag, letting ash fall onto the expensive hotel bedspread, but holds her pose of faux relaxation, elbows on the bed, shaved legs crossed, silk robe open to artfully reveal her black bustier. It isn't comfortable, but it's a dazzling picture of sensual femininity.
Bela doesn't check the time, because she doesn't need to. Mary hasn't missed a rendezvous yet.
Case in point: the door crashes open, to show the harried butch of Bela's dreams, the ragged cut of her hair, the restrained strength of in her shoulders and the purple bruises under her eye. She wears a dark green army surplace jacket over a flannel, thick jeans, and a knife belt, but she doesn't wear them for long, stripping them off perfunctorally before the door had even fully closed behind her.
"Got caught by a werewolf on the way over," Mary explains as she tugs her flannel off roughly, revealing firm arms with more fresh bruises down them, over her network of fine, pale scars. "Had to take care of it."
"Not a satisfactory excuse," Bela replies, "but you're lucky I hadn't finished my cigarette."
Closeted egg stanford era transfem!Dean/Cassie ft. the strap anyone? Anyone? Anybody?
Read the opening under the cut:
It’s one of those long golden summer evenings, the sun making love to the horizon for hours and kissing over Cassie and Dean where they’re laid out on her bed. Dean’s been “rambling on” about his favorite album, Led Zeppelin II, and Cassie is tuned in to the sound of his voice than the words themselves. She likes Dean. She likes him a lot. It’s been kind of freaking her out lately, that they’ve gotten so close so quickly. She’s thought about pumping the brakes a few times, taking a day or two without seeing each other, but then he comes over, and he’s so softly happy to see her that she couldn’t bear telling him to go.
And Dean is soft. He’s sweet. She’s seen him put up the machismo act, and she’s made it known she won’t stand for it when it’s just them together, and he rolled over on it pretty quick - and from how they argue sometimes, that’s notable. It’s like he was waiting for an excuse. He’s talked a bit about his dad, and a lot about his brother, and Cassie’s pretty sure he doesn’t get too many excuses. Call it journalistic intuition. He’s been lonely for a long time. So has she.
There’s not many chances to meet new people in Cape Girardeau, outside of college students, and there’s only so many times Cassie can pretend to be interested in someone’s major. Dean’s been everywhere, seen everything, road tripping with his dad, and while Cassie has no desire to join the Kerouacs of the world, she likes how Dean talks about it. When Dean talks about a place, he talks about the people. He hasn’t bothered with the Grand Canyon, or the Hollywood Sign, or the Hoover Dam, but he can tell you the best burger joint on any given stretch of highway without pause for thought, and which the middle aged waitress gave him an extra set of fries to-go because he reminded her of an old flame.
She wonders how Dean’s going to talk about her when they break up, and she doesn’t like the thought, so she reaches for a distraction.
She kisses him mid-word, and he flusters from it, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck.
“What was that for?”
“You’re cute.”
“I’m not-”
“If you say you’re ‘not cute, you’re handsome’ again, I’m kicking you in the shins. Take a compliment.”
Dean holds his hands up and rolls his eyes, but Cassie can see his shy smile, so she takes it up a notch. She kicks a leg over him, and traces his features as she narrates: “Cute cheeks, cute nose, cute eye-bags.”
Dean snorts. “Who has cute eyebags?”
“You do,” Cassie counters, because she can roll her eyes too, “Now shut up, I’m talking. Cute ears. Beautiful mouth.”
She traces it slowly with her thumb, and presses in when Dean lets it hang open. His eyes go glassy, and Cassie wonders how he’d look sucking on her strap. He looks like he’s going through a religious experience when she lets him eat her out after all, and he doesn’t always look for a return on the favor. Will he get weird about it, if she asks? If they were in front of someone, almost certainly, but they’re not in front of anyone. They’re just Cassie-and-Dean.
“Dean,” she says, and his eyelashes flutter to refocus on her, “If I show you something, can you promise not to get weird about it? It’s a little…out there.”
She presses her thumb down on his tongue for a moment longer, anxious of the answer, but when she lets him go, he says, “Promise,” immediately, then adds as she goes to her bottom drawer, “I’ve seen plenty ‘out there’.”
“Yeah, well,” Cassie says, now kind of wanting to shock him, “You seen this?”
She holds up her harness, and the accompanying deep red dildo, long, with a few fake veins running up the sides. She sticks her chin up, pretending her heart isn’t hammering in her chest from nerves. Dean’s eyes have gone huge, doing a double-take from the dildo to her face and back again. He takes a deep breath, then points at it decisively.
“You are not putting that thing up my ass.”
Cassie scoffs, glad for the diffusion of tension. “I wasn’t offering it up your ass!” She takes it to the bed, and the way Dean can’t stop staring at it with trepidation is a little funny, a little hot. “I was thinking, maybe you lick it a few times.”
Jo/Meg humiliation mommy kink fic anyone? :) Here's the opening:
Blood. Face. Concrete. A combination all too familiar for a hunter of her caliber. Jo grits her teeth and tries to wriggle her way out from under the supernaturally strong hand keeping her cheek to the cold, hard floor, but only succeeds in finding an even more uncomfortable position, her cheekbone digging into the unforgiving surface. It isn't a clean floor: gravel and dirt crowd onto her face, and she had to keep one eye squeezed shut to avoid getting any under the lid.
"Oh sweetie," comes the cooing condescension of her captor, just as humiliating at the easy crouch over Jo's back as she struggles to no avail, "Do you need some help? You know how to ask."
"Screw you," Jo snarls, sharply knocking her shoulder into Meg's backside and hissing at the wrench in her aching muscles.
"Poor little Jo-jo. You know a tantrum like this isn't going to help anything. I'm just trying to help you, baby."
The edge of a sharp fingernail scrapes Jo's cheek, stopping only millimeters below her open eye. Jo huffs out a trembling laugh, then some trembling words: "You think you scare me? Please. I've handled worse than you with both hands tied behind my back."
She crosses her wrists in anticipation, subtly tilted so she could bust out of any rope or zip-tie with a little Houndini-ing, but Meg doesn't take the bait.
"I've told you exactly how to get out of this, Jo-jo. No need for any tricks. I'll do exactly as you please. Are you going to say it?"
"Let me go."
The pressure on Jo's head increases, tight pain starring out from the point of her cheekbone. "No, duckie. Say it properly."
Jo bites the inside of her cheek, holding back a keen at the pain. Meg sighs with affected disappointment. Her hand moves from Jo's head but the pressure doesn't, Meg's demonic power effortlessly taking its place. The snip of scissors and a flash of cold metal at Jo's spine make her freeze stiff, and she feels every smooth slide of the scissors up her spine as Meg cuts her shirt in two.
"Fuck. You." Jo manages to choke out, as Meg cuts through the elastic and straps of her bra without hesitation, despite the clasp being right there.
"Little blue petals," Meg notes, pulling her ruined bra out from under her and holding it up to examine it, then sliding her eyes to Jo's with a sly smirk; "You brought me flowers? You shouldn't have."
two wrongs make a wrong (and there's nothing wrong with that!)
Charlie/Rowena
Charlie needs to dig out a piece of Rowena's liver by hand for a spell while they're working together. She gets a bit too into how painful it is to Rowena 💜
