wotanon | Prompt Meme: NSFW Prompts

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!anon kink meme

Prompt Meme: NSFW Prompts

General Rules:

1. Don’t be a dick.

2. No kink shaming. People like what they like.

Requesting Rules:

1. Submit a prompt here for nsfw fics. You can do this on or off anon.

2. Please include the characters or pairings you want to see in the subject header, as well as a kink or situation.

Example: Pythia/Exael; college roommate AU

3. In the body of the post, you can go more into what you want from the fill, but try to give the writer some wiggle room.

Example: I’d love it if this fic could be fluffy and cute. Bonus points if Exael asks Pythia on a date to the ice-skating rink during the winter holidays!

4. One request per submission, please! If you have more than one request, post them separately.

5. Try to warn for any potentially triggering content.

6. Don’t forget to fill out requests, too!

Filling Rules:

1. Please reply directly to the request with your fill. Fics and art are both okay!

2. Please include the word Fill and the title of your fill in the subject header of the reply. If the fill is multiple parts, indicated the part number.

Example: Fill: And They Were Roommates (1/3)

3. Please warn for any potential triggering content.

4. Try to make sure you’re giving the requester what they wanted. If someone asks for arranged marriage, don’t spring vore on them without warning, and vice versa.

5. If you have a great idea that you really want to run with, but it includes other kinks or situations that were unasked for, you can reply to the person who requested and ask if that’s okay before you start writing.

6. When you’re finished filling, please consider submitting your fic as fanmail to the involved characters!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Any characters, AU if you want, also ok if the fill turns out to be SFW. We keep joking about this in the avante channel might as well at least make it happen here,

take any canon ship and give me some

ROUGH

AND

DIRTY ok maybe not actually dirty. sexy dirty.

One minute, he’d been laughing. The next, Leviathan found his face sandwiched between the grit of the ground and the toe of his Master’s boot.

“M-Master?” Although it was difficult to get a good look at her from his current position, he could just make out from the corner of his eyes the jut of her knee, the projection of thigh—and the lace of panties peeking out from under her skirt. Suddenly he was quite thankful that the sole of her shoe was covering most of his cheek, because he could still feel the burn of it turning pink in spite of the leather biting his flesh.

“What was that, Haku?” His Princess’s voice from high above was light and lofty—not at all like her foot, which she pressed a little harder against his head. “Did you have some other comment to make about my ability to bully you?”

Ah. Was that what this was about? “Because Master is—lf!” Leviathan’s attempt to explain himself became a mouthful of dirt as Hiryuu shifted the position of her foot from his cheek to the back of his head and bore down. Although the pressure before had only been mildly uncomfortable, this was much harder—almost painful, and he found it somewhat difficult to breathe, let alone speak.

“Right, because I’m so kind.” In her mouth, the word kind sound akin to an insult. “I gave you a cheok, and you attempted to take a ri and my dignity along with it. Attempting to humiliate your own princess…” She made a faint clicking noise with her tongue. “It seems you’re due some reeducating.”

Reeducating? What on earth—there was a sound of rustling overhead. Leviathan’s heart began to pound in his chest; the only thing he could see now was his claw and the baby pink sleeve of his uniform, now covered in dirt and dust from being knocked down.

There was a jangle and the sound of something falling; a cold, metal object connected with the side of his cheek and Leviathan flinched—but it was a soft “blow” if one could call it such, and when he opened his eyes found a heart-shaped buckled dangling off a long, leather strip hanging to the side of his face.

Although he attempted to ask “Master, what is that,” what came out of his slightly bruised and definitely mashed lips was “Mathfur wuff thath?”

“Convenient, isn’t it? The one accessory granted to my unit—this belt. … Well. I’m sure it’s not why the <i>Producers</i> gave it to me, but I doubt they’d object to me re-purposing it.”

The bronze clasp swung out of Leviathan’s view as his Master also moved—not off of him, but simply around, so that the shadow of her body now fell across his face and he had a better look at her boot, leg, and—

Leviathan made a pitiful protesting noise as he attempted to warn his Princess that he could see all the way up her skirt to her barely-veiled private places, but it was to no avail. He could not manage to get a single word out, as hard as was pressing his face into the dirt.

“I think… one strike for insulting me, and another three for laughing. Are you prepared, Haku?”

Her weight shifted, becoming more intense on top of his head, and the proud dragon warrior couldn’t help but whimper with pain. Only after he felt her hands at his waist—unbuckling his pants and pulling the back of them down, exposing his bare ass to the whole world (and Imeeji’s many cameras) did Leviathan grasp that she had not only bent over but what she intended to do (or that this entire time he’d had his butt sticking up in the air in a most undignified position). At this point, Levi began to flail both of his arms, and it occurred to him—he really ought to fight back, shouldn’t he? But—no, this was his precious Master. He had defied her authority and humiliated her. And even if not—he couldn’t bear the thought of raising a hand against her. So then what—

Any thought of resisting was struck loose from his head with the first blow. Leviathan wouldn’t have rated the pain of that strike or any of the rest even within the top fifty percent of the most painful blows he’d ever been dealt, but they were a great deal more shocking than any he could remember having experienced. Each stinging snap of the strap hit somewhere new along the crest of his ass, and the needling band of pain left behind made him gasp and blink back involuntary tears. But what was really the most surprising and most confusing thing about it all was that between each of the blows, he could feel his Master’s silk-gloved fingers cool and gentle, caressing the burning bands left behind as she cooed gently, soothingly, only for him to hear.

By the time the fourth blow had landed there was a tightness and discomfort in the way his pants clung to the front of him that had nothing to do with the his pant's waist's distended state. And it was with a strange feeling—was that regret?—that Leviathan suddenly found himself able to lift his head free of the ground. Pebbles and grit stuck to his skin fell away from his mouth and cheek as he did so.

His Master stood in front of him, cheeks slightly flushed and red hair blazing with the sun behind it, one hand at her hip, the other still holding her belt by its buckle. She looked absolutely lovely and just a little bit terrifying as she squinted down at him, her newly dragon-slit eyes piercing him. “Now. What do you have to say for yourself?”

It took Leviathan several moments of empty mouth movements to realize what was expected of him. “I’m—Master, I’m sorry.”

He tried to move his hand and claw ever so slightly to the front of him to obscure his shame. Had she really just touched him like that—in front of everyone? There, behind her, he could see both Lady Meka and Wednesday as well as a few other idols standing, watching. His cheeks <i>burned</i> and his pants felt even tighter as a gentle summer breeze reminded him that he had yet to be able to pull his pants up right.

“That’s better.” Hiryuu reached down with one of her gloved hands (the same hand that had been touching him, he wondered) and stroked his cheek. He swallowed hard as his heart skipped a beat with her next words. “Next time I won’t be so gentle,” she warned him before kissing him gently on the nose.  Then she turned and walking away, a confident strut in her step that said she definitely <i>had</i> touched him like that in front of everyone... and liked it, too.

Edited 2019-09-03 10:29 (UTC)

That's it. Intensity being awesome at "dating" *waggles eyebrows*

BONUS: Blue eyes white dragon is somehow involved.

A threesome with B in the middle

"Volleyball," says Silver, conversationally, "is the greatest game in the world."

He's breathing hard, like he's just played a set. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and his eyes are bright with laughter.

"Exactly," says Gold. "There's nothing like the spring breeze on the court, blowing through the net and tousling your hair." His tone is as dry as a desert. His hair is tousled, as though the spring breeze has indeed been blowing through the court.

Between them, B makes a soft, disgruntled noise. Silver reaches out a hand to pet along his back.

It's a bare back, stretched nearly horizontal between them. The curve of the spine is graceful, and B shivers when warm fingertips trace along it.

Gold reaches out to soothe him, too – only, Gold's hand finds a naked thigh, fingertips trailing up to curl into a loose fist around B's erection. B makes a quiet whine as Gold begins to tug, casual.

"Should we have a match sometime?" says Silver. "I bet we could find enough people to play."

Silver pauses – bites down on his bottom lip as Gold jerks forward, and B moves with him, and the pink lips around Silver's cock come all the way to the base.

"We'd probably get enough takers," says Gold. His hips are moving faster now; the sound of flesh slapping against flesh is loud in the room. "We may as well ask."

Between them, B makes another noise. It's mostly muffled by Silver's cock, but it sounds just shy of desperate.

In reply, Gold redoubles his efforts; the wet squelches of his hand moving are unmistakable.

"Sounds like a plan," Silver manages, but only barely, because B's tongue picks exactly then to do something clever and quite talented. He leans forward, mouth falling open and eyes slipping closed, the muscles in his stomach and thighs going tense as he comes.

"Mm," says Gold. "Yeah. I'll text a couple people tonight."

He slips his other hand around B – uses it to guide B's hips up, adjusting the angle.

All at once, B gives what would probably have been a yelp of pleasure, if his mouth weren't full. He presses back, desperate, into the steady, rocking thrusts, and Gold obliges, stroking him hard and fast.

Silver runs a lazy hand through B's hair before he pulls out; a small trickle of come slips down from the corner of B's mouth, and his eyes are dazed with pleasure.

"Thanks," says Silver, languid and sated. "It's hard, wanting to play when you can't."

He gets down on his knees, then – edges forward, until Gold gets the hint and eases B upward by the shoulders. Gold's hand pulls back, and the brief whimper of disappointment from B is quickly chased away by a gratified moan, as Silver's mouth takes its place.

Gold leans forward, forehead resting in the crook between B's neck and shoulder.

He breathes in, shaky and breathless, and tries to think of something voleyball-related to say. Nothing comes to mind, though – and then B is crying out, whole body going tight with his release, and the clenching warmth around his cock drags Gold over the edge, too.

There's quiet for a long couple of seconds, the room filled with nothing but panted breaths and a soft, wet sound as Gold pulls out.

"You guys have the weirdest kinks," says B, fondly, when he's able to breathe again – and Silver and Gold each reach out a hand to help him to his feet.

Pythia and her underling take the former lord of lust for a spin. Power dynamics are a must; bdsm, breathplay, collars or other marks of ownership, orgasm denial, boot licking, ball-stepping, some voyeuristic or public aspect of all this...these are all bonuses or you can add your own, go wild. Most importantly, everyone involved should know Pythia is powerful enough to make Azzy believe he likes it, whether or not she does.

Seconded!!!

Fill: Mercy (1/1)

(Anonymous) - 2019-08-14 17:35 (UTC) - Expand

op

(Anonymous) - 2019-08-15 07:58 (UTC) - Expand

gold walks in on silver fucking a basketball
horrified, he offers him a better option

Gold came home after a long day of knight stuff. It was hard being so handsome and knightly with great hair and an awesome bod all the time but it was good honest work. Honest, like playing volleyball, which he also loved.

He walked into the room he shared with his brother, Silver, who was not a knight, but still very handsome. This was because they were twins, and Silver also enjoyed volleyballs. What he saw inside shocked him to his very core though. He saw his naked brother with something round and orange in his lap.

"NO!! IT'S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!!" Silver exclaimed, balls deep in... a BASKETBALL.

Gold almost fainted. "BRO..." he said, in despair. "Zetsubou shita..." (A/N: that means "I'm in despair!!" in nippon) Gold pulled a beautiful white volleyball out and silently handed it to Silver.

"Bro," Silver said, tears in his eyes, and tossed the basketball away like the dirty slut it was to take the volleyball in his hands, pure as the driven snow. "I've learned a valuable lesson today. Thank you." Silver cried happy tears as he put the volleyball on his cock.

Gold nodded, pleased that all was right in the world again, and went to go have dinner.

(no subject)

(Anonymous) - 2019-08-16 05:16 (UTC) - Expand

Shrike drinks a sex change potion and lets down her (his?) hair.

Someone (maybe someone who didn't pay her any mind before) accidentally/unexpectedly gets seduced, either by Shrike's hidden confidence OR her gentle irresistible awkwardness (or some combination of the two.)

as if written as self-insert wish fulfillment by an imeeji fan who wants to be swept off her feet. second-person like all those fics they banned from fanfiction.net back in the day.

In private, Nemesis keeps Hurricane as a pet. When he's naughty he has to sleep in the kennel, but when he's good, he gets to sleep on the bed.

++ collars and leashes
+++ petting and tummy rubs
+++++ kemonomimi potions
+++++++ hand feeding
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Hurricane is a very good boy

(deleted comment)

Re: Fill: A Very Good Boy (1/1)

(Anonymous) - 2019-08-21 17:22 (UTC) - Expand

Fill: A Very Good Boy (1/1)

(Anonymous) - 2019-08-29 17:22 (UTC) - Expand

sekhmet decides it's time to make her girlfriends get along. she offers firm encouragement until they do what she asks, which is bang while she watches and sometimes gives instructions. shrike and kohime discover it's not that bad to make nice after all, especially after seeing how hot and bothered it makes sekhmet...

Sekhmet hadn't expected Kohime to agree to this at all, not with the cracks in their relationship so freshly spackled over. It'd been an attempt at lightening the mood and make the suggestion feel less serious, to add that it'd at least be an opportunity for Kohime to bully Shrike a bit. Of course Kohime would pounce on that.

...and Shrike, bless her, wanted to patch things up enough that she agreed immediately, and Sekhmet still hasn't figured out how to tell her what she had been additionally signed up for.

She seems to already have intuited that she's in for trouble, though, stripped down to nothing and sitting very still and quiet at the opposite end of Sekhmet’s bed from Kohime, who's slowly been stretching her legs out to take over every inch of space Shrike hasn't laid claim to.

Sekhmet sighs. "You're both sort of defeating the point, here."

Kohime scowls, and jabs a claw in her direction. "What's the point with you just sitting all the way over there, anyway?"

"I don't want this to be all about me. I'll join in after you two get to know each other a bit first." Seeing the looks both of them are giving her—Kohime mischievous, like she's going to try and tempt her over there, Shrike clearly looking to be saved—she adds, "And not a moment sooner."

Both of them glance at each other, and then look away immediately.

Sekhmet realizes she's got her work cut out for her. She takes her glasses off, polishes them, and puts them back on, putting on a stern face. The glasses and the expression are the only things she's wearing, and what she suspects is keeping Kohime in the room right now. "Just a kiss for starters. Come now, it's not that hard."

Levering herself up by her elbow, Kohime gives a groan and an eyeroll of protest, but still sits up to cross her arms over her knees and glower at Shrike. "C'mon," she says. "Let's get this over with."

Shrike takes a deep breath, and scoots closer, rearranging herself to face Kohime, her hands awkwardly hovering in the air; she's clearly not sure where to put them. "I suppose, um…"

"Come on," Kohime repeats, impatient, and stretches upward to kiss her.

It's a surprisingly tender kiss from Kohime, and Shrike seems taken aback—her eyes widening for a moment before leaning into it and closing her eyes, letting her hands rest on her own knees while Kohime pulls her in, hands wrapping around her back.

Of course Sekhmet only realizes she really should have known—and hears the slight snick of claws being unsheathed—just before Kohime digs them into the pale skin of Shrike's back, deep enough to draw blood.

"Oh—"

Kohime freezes in the middle of a victorious smile at Shrike's breathless, wordless exclamation—not one of pain, or not exactly, and Shrike is flushed, breathing a little heavily, eyelashes fluttering slightly. There's conflict in Kohime's expression, as she looks down at her claws, like: are these working right?

"Well?" says Sekhmet, leaning forward to lean an elbow in her knee, spreading her legs just a little bit to tantalize. "Seems like she likes that. Don't you, Shrike? So why are you stopping?"

"Nngh—" Shrike exhales sharply, and puts a hand over her mouth, looking faintly embarrassed, but she can't find it in herself to protest.

Sekhmet realizes she's going to need a little bit better than that, to make this really go, though, and she silently prays Shrike will forgive her for this. "Shrike?" she calls again, in a lightly teasing lilt. "I didn't hear your answer. Did you like that?"

"Yes."

"What was that…"

"Yes!" Shrike bursts out, and then claps both her hands over her mouth. It might well be the loudest she's ever said anything, and she looks mortified.

Kohime's looking at her with renewed curiosity, though, like she's discovered a new way to chase an old toy and is stalking it. "Really," she drawls. "Then, how do you like this—"

She lunges, locking Shrike into a much harder kiss that goes teeth first, sharps of her canines dragging over Shrike's lower lip. There's mildly bloody intent behind it, but also curiosity—Kohime seeing how far she can push this.

And the answer is pretty far. Shrike melts into it, a muffled yelp escaping the back of her throat before giving way to a long sigh; she doesn't resist when Kohime pushes her back against the headboard, pinning her with one hand over her wrist and one knee between her thighs.

Oh, thinks Sekhmet, feeling warmth spring to her cheeks and also between her legs. Oh, this is good.

"Kinda fucked up, honestly," mutters Kohime, dragging her claws down Shrike's jawline and neck, just hard enough to leave light red lines in their wake. "You look like this—" she glances at the taut form of Shrike's muscles, "and you just let yourself get pushed around like this?" It actually sounds a little admiring, at a time like this.

Her claws scrape over one of Shrike's nipples—now a taut peak—and two voices exclaim at that. Sekhmet realizes, clapping a hand over her mouth, that the second one was her own; the space between her thighs already feels slick.

She presses her thighs together, but Kohime's ears are perking up already, and she grins. "So that's what you really wanted with all this," Kohime says. "A show? Well, I can give you a show."

Kohime looks down at Shrike. "So? Wouldn't you, for your dear darling Sekhmet?" She punctuates this by shoving Shrike's head over to look at Sekhmet, and digging her claws into the tender flesh of Shrike's breast, and Shrike gasps—

—and then grabs a hold of Kohime's mane of hair and pulls her down into another rough kiss.

Sekhmet shoves a knuckle in her mouth and bites down to ground herself—as much as she already wants to touch herself for relief already, it's early yet, and she can't give in on the challenge implicit in Kohime's words.

It's hard to keep her promise to herself, though, when Kohime moves to grind her knee hard against Shrike's sex, one hand pressing Shrike's shoulder against the bed.

Shrike's hands curl clawlike on their own into Kohime's back to instinctively grip her closer, and swears breathlessly as Kohime's claws dig into the flesh of her inner thigh, spreading her legs apart. "Fffuck, I, I—"

Kohime lazily trails her claws down the length of Shrike's thigh, leaning on her other knee, and Sekhmet knows they're both done for. "Oh? You don't want it?"

"Gods, I—" Shrike's panting, her breaths coming low and deep. "K-keep going. I—please."

"I don't know, though," says Kohime, sitting back on her heels. "What have you done for me, lately? For her, sure," she goes on, jerking a thumb at Sekhmet, "but what are you going to do for me?"

Sekhmet's flushed, now, just from watching, and squirms slightly in her chair. Squeezing her thighs together provides a little relief, but not what she aches for. "She—she likes it when you use your tongue, Shrike," she manages.

Shrike looks at Sekhmet, who's clearly half-overcome, herself, and her gaze softens from apprehension into a slight indulgent smile. "She's, hah, really into this, isn't she," she says, to Kohime. "She could have, hah—she could have said."

"Weird, right?" says Kohime, inspecting her claws and flopping back to lounge across the bed. "But, hey, you heard the lady."

Shrike kneels at her feet, and runs her hands over the skin of Kohime's legs toward the V where they meet. Sekhmet can see that Kohime has to suppress at least a little bit of an anticipatory shiver; she makes a good showing of being comfortable and in control at all times, but even she's a little off-balance here, and there's something even more endearing about that.

Here, Shrike leans down, but doesn't immediately set to work with her mouth; one hand dips between Kohime's legs to run a finger across her slit to the mound at the top, feeling out the new territory. She lets out a light humming sound under her breath, and then lowers her head to Kohime's sex, tracing her tongue over the same path her finger just took—but firmer, deeper, dipping between the folds and emerging to circle her clit.

Kohime looks dazed for a moment, a low soft sound of surprise escaping her mouth and Sekhmet really can't help it anymore; her fingers slip between her own legs. She's soaking wet, her folds entirely slick, and her clit feels like it's throbbing as she rubs it in tight circles, transfixed by the scene.

It's not long before Kohime is panting in earnest, head thrown back and claws dug into the sheets so hard Sekhmet knows they'll be shredded before night's end. Kohime disentangles one hand as Shrike takes a breath to push her head back down between her legs—Shrike squirms a little, but resumes, and digs her fingers hard into Kohime's thighs for leverage.

Kohime's obvious when she comes; she's not a quiet bedmate, and even while she's clearly been trying to play it cool and indifferent with Shrike, her panting rises to almost a howl before she slumps back, propping herself up on one elbow. "Wasn't half-bad," she says, her heavy breathing betraying her intended casual manner, as Shrike pulls back and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I guess I can see why she keeps you around."

"And now, hah—time to repay the favor," Sekhmet reminds her. "Shrike's been a very good girl, after all."

Kohime's ears flick a little bit, uncertain, but she catches a glimpse of Sekhmet's hand between her legs. "You really wanna see that, huh…"

"Like I said. I won't join you until you've really gotten to know each other."

Kohime crosses her arms, and grins. "Fine. Then sit on your hands until she's screaming my name."

Sekhmet bites out a noise of protest—

"I'm not kidding."

She sighs, and draws her fingers from between her legs to slide them under her thighs. "There."

"Good girl," says Kohime, but she's turned to Shrike instead, taking her chin in one hand before pushing her back against the wall next to the bed with an audible thud. "You know what, she's right. You have been pretty good. What do you want as a reward?"

Shrike mumbles something under her breath that Sekhmet can't quite hear.

Kohime slides a hand up her thigh, and leans in toward her ear. "Hm? What was that?"

Flushing pink, Shrike grits it out again, this time just audible: "Fuck me."

"Hm? Who should fuck you, though…?" She teases a finger between Shrike's legs, dragging it lightly over the creases while Shrike shudders.

"Nngh—all right, gods, I want you to, please, just—"

"I thought you'd never ask, says Kohime, smiling all teeth, and her fingers press down more firmly over Shrike's clit.

She leans over, half-straddling Shrike, to drag her teeth against Shrike's neck, closing over the skin in the kind of kiss that'll leave marks; Shrike lets out a low hiss that turns into a strangled gasp as Kohime digs her claws into her thigh again. Beads of dark blood well up on her leg, and Sekhmet can see her other fingers drifting lower—

Kohime glances over her shoulder, and fixes Sekhmet with a look. "Remember what the deal is," she says, and Sekhmet sucks in a breath, biting down on the inside of her lower lip to try and distract herself.

A gasp from Shrike as Kohime trails one finger down her slit and then slips it inside with a firm thrust. "Ah—"

"Is that what you want?" drawls Kohime, teasing.

"Fuck. Yes. Please," Shrike manages, in-between Kohime continuing to work her way across her neck and torso with love bites. "Please."

Kohime snorts. "You're so polite, it's disgusting. But can't just leave poor Sekhmet pent up over there forever, right?" She slides another finger in—it goes in easily, with how wet she is—and picks up the pace.

Shrike's hands tangle in Kohime's mane of hair, her labored breathing quickening and rising in pitch. She's going to be a mess of bruises, but if she minds at all, she's clearly stopped paying attention. Clearly on the brink—her eyes are scrunched closed, head tilted back against the wall, hands trembling.

Sekhmet almost can't bear it; being able to watch both of them is unbearably hot. This hadn't even been her plan, it just seemed like a good idea, but now she's so turned on she can barely think.

"K—" Shrike loses her breath halfway through an exclamation; she's shuddering, in the throes of orgasm. "F, fuck, K-kohime—"

Sekhmet stands from the chair, wobbly—she's free. She can't stand it anymore.

But Kohime holds up a hand as she comes closer, still tapering off her thrusts with her other hand as Shrike comes down from it. "Hey, we're not done here."

"But—"

"Besides," says Kohime, tail curling across Shrike's legs. "My toy now."

"H-hey now—"

"Kohime!"

Re: Sharing Lessons (1/1)

(Anonymous) - 2019-09-07 21:44 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Sharing Lessons (1/1)

(Anonymous) - 2019-09-11 06:04 (UTC) - Expand

they do it in a boat

misfire or not I want it now

Gold ties B up and patiently, lovingly shows him that he doesn't mind when he's a horny boy.

Requiem and Nemesis, both in schoolgirl uniforms, get up to creatively teasing each other under the desk, during class, while the teacher's not looking.

It's inappropriate class behavior chicken: first one to tap out loses.

It’s the last period of the day, and Nemesis is bored out of her mind.

Intensity’s okay one-on-one, but he’s kind of a crap teacher. His first mistake is, he has no patience. His second mistake is thinking half the class – or any of the class, really – is into accelerometers and the plesiochronous digital hierarchy as much as he is.

He's been talking for half an hour, non-stop, and the words are mush in her ears by now. She just doesn't care, not even with a test coming up on Friday.

She's not the only one, either.

At the desk next to her, Requiem's propped her chin up on her hand and set her elbow on the desk. She's nodding off; her eyelids keep drooping closed and then fluttering open again. Her chin dips down toward her chest and then jerks up, once, startled back into wakefulness.

If Intensity had noticed, she'd be heading to the principal's office by now, but Intensity's knee deep in the diagram he's putting up on the chalk board, lost in his own world.

There's time, in other words, for Nemesis to save her girlfriend a black mark on the record. All she's got to do is wake her up, some.

She reaches over, casual, and sets her hand on Requiem's thigh. Req starts and glances at her sidelong. By the look on her face, startled and a little flustered, she's suddenly much more awake.

Mission accomplished.

Nemesis slides her hand slowly upward, fingers dipping toward the inner thigh, where the skirt from their school uniform doesn't cover the skin. Requiem stares at her, disbelieving – scratches something out on her notebook, and underlines it: what are you doing???

Nemesis shows her what she's doing. She lets her hand trail up further, fingertips ghosting along Requiem's panties, tracing the shape of what they find there.

With her other hand, she writes in the notebook: 30 min left of class. Gotta keep you awake.

Requiem flushes deeper – glances up at Intensity, his back to the class, lost in the diagram. She glances at the desks around them, all full, the students facing forward, intent and focused. Under the desk, she spreads her legs a little, and Nemesis takes it as an invitation.

She presses her fingers together, forefinger and ring finger, and she drags them up and down the center line of the panties, just enough pressure to tease. When she reaches the clit, she slows enough to get her thumb in on the action, scraping at it gently through the fabric with a fingernail.

Requiem goes very still; Nemesis can hear the sharp intake of air through her nose.

Nemesis is pretty pleased with herself, right up until the flustered expression on Requiem's face is replaced by one of mingled heat and determination, and Req's hand slips beneath the desk, as well.

The first touch comes as a surprise, even though she really ought to know better. Requiem cups her, gently, through the panties – presses in with the flat of her hand and starts to rub.

Nemesis is sure she's bright red; her face is suddenly hot. She's agonizingly aware that, however absorbed Intensity is with the lesson, he could turn around at any second, and her face would probably give them away.

It feels unfair, now that she's the one of the receiving end. Her own fingers pick up the pace, in retaliation.

It doesn't take long before Requiem's panties feel damp, even from the outside. It doesn't take long before Nemesis is sure that hers are wet, too.

Nemesis has never considered the logistics of feeling up her girlfriend in class before; it's surprisingly difficult, to keep it under wraps. She can't move as much as she wants, not unless she means to draw attention to what she's doing. The motion's confined to the subtle up-and-down drag of her fingers.

She's pretty sure Req's having the same problem, because the touches are not quite enough – just enough to rile her up, but not enough to get her to where she wants to be. She shifts in her chair, trying not to squirm – glances at the clock, counting down the minutes.

Intensity's talking about some new topic, saying they'd better pay attention because it'll be on the test, but Nemesis can't bring herself to care. Beside her Requiem bites down on a knuckle to stifle a gasp, and that rachets the heat rolling through her even higher.

Nemesis wants to be home already.

She wants to spread Requiem out on the bed and press her down into the covers, to pull her skirt up and her panties down, and lick until she rakes her nails down Nemesis' back. She wants to be somewhere Requiem doesn't have to muffle any noises.

She's so lost in the fantasy, she barely notices when Requiem nudges Nemesis' panties aside – drags a finger up the slick slit, bare skin on bare skin.

Nemesis shudders, hard. She shoots her girlfriend what's trying to be a glare, but either it falls way short or Requiem doesn't take the hint, because that long, slim finger is slipping inside her, so good it aches.

Nemesis holds onto the edge of her desk with the metal hand, like grounding herself will do anything to stop the rolling waves of heat inside her. Requiem eases the finger in and out a couple of times, teasing, before she pulls it back entirely – trails the still-slick pad of it over her clit, back and forth, short sharp circles that she knows damn well are the fastest way to get Nemesis to finish.

Finishing's off the table right now, though – not in a room with this many people, not with Intensity droning on about some topic they absolutely have to understand, not with her metal fingers leaving indents in the wood of the desk.

"Breathe, Kitty," Requiem whispers, and she's smiling, and Nemesis realizes, belatedly, that at some point her own fingers have stopped moving and she has, in fact, forgotten to breathe.

She sucks in air, two great gulps. Her whole body feels overheated; her thighs feel sticky, and Requiem hasn't stopped, and she's going to –

The bell rings, and they both jerk back, guilty.

Requiem bangs her knuckles on the underside of the desk and yelps; Nemesis snatches her hand back like she's been burned. Intensity has fixed them both with a cool, unimpressed sort of stare, but Nemesis doesn't care. Class is over. Class is over, and as soon as they get home, she's going to press Requiem into the mattress and make every single second of her daydream come true.

When she stands, she's humiliated to realize that she's wet enough for a drop to escape her panties and slip down her thighs, and her face burns; she presses her legs together and hopes that no one notices, then bends to collect her backpack.

"Nemesis," says Intensity, from where he's standing up near the front of the room. "Requiem."

Somehow, Nemesis manages to overcome the embarrassment enough to look up at him. Her face is still hot, and the rest of her feels hotter. She had been right there, teetering on the edge. "Yeah?"

"You two aren't going anywhere," he says.

"What?" says Nemesis.

"Dude," says Requiem. "Didn't you hear the bell? Class is over."

"For those of you who don't have detention, yes. I suppose it is."

Nemesis feels her face go even hotter. "What for?" she says, like a challenge, even though she doesn't really want him to answer that.

He doesn't answer that.

"Two hours ought to suffice, I think," says Intensity.

"What the hell," says Requiem, and draws herself up, like she means to start arguing.

Intensity makes a considering kind of hum. "Make that three."

Her mouth snaps closed with an audible click.

"Now," says Intensity. "Get your things."

Nemesis shares a glance with Requiem, quick and uncertain.

"Not to look a get out of jail free card in the mouth," says Nemesis, "but that can't mean you changed your mind already."

A small smile tugs at the corner of Intensity's mouth. "Of course not," he says. "Since you can't be on your best behavior at the back of the class, the two of you can come sit in the front row, instead. Maybe this time you'll be able to keep your hands to yourselves."

Nemesis shares another look with Requiem, longer this time. Her cheeks are burning.

She reaches, reluctant, to gather up her backpack.

It's going to be a long, long three hours.

Re: Fill: Lessons Learned (1/1)

(Anonymous) - 2019-09-11 08:35 (UTC) - Expand

That's it, that's the prompt. They make actual use of the eggplant during sex.

Camellia and Q accidentally get dosed with something that makes them desperately aroused. They both attempt to seduce Pink, who is sober. When he realizes that their advances are serious, he becomes surprisingly shy and Camellia and Q guide him through it by telling him what to do.

The three of them wind up having a LOT of sex (as a threesome but sometimes with two of them while the third gets themself off while watching) and it's all very sweet and enthusiastic.

Bonus points if prim doms.
Bonus points for aftercare
More bonus points if exhibitionism plays a role somehow

For a few moments, the only sounds that can be heard are her short, soft gasps and the scritch scritch scritch of pencil on paper.

The image on Fox's page is coming along, forming into something easily recognizable: two bodies wrapped up in one another, the boy with the messy hair sprawled on his back while the girl straddles him and holds him down with one hand clasped loosely around his neck. The girl braces herself, fingers curled in the bed sheets underneath them. Her shoulders are hunched, a few strands of curly hair framing her face, but her open mouth is plain to see, and it is Fox's own lack of ability that he doesn't manage to capture how her breath comes out in uneven, needy gasps. That is something he will need to practice, he makes a mental note for himself.

The sound of Joker's low groan makes his hand pause, and his eyes flicker from the image on his page to the sight in front of him, his two lovers on his bed, an image that won't leave his mind anytime soon, not if he can help it. Joker's knees are bent and his hips jerk upwards, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from Prim, her thighs tightening around him. At the angle he's sitting at, Fox can't quite see how Joker's cock slips easily inside her, but he can hear it--wet, hot noises matched with the way their bodies move almost frantically, the impact of Prim's ass hitting the top of his thighs, and at that moment it feels as though the two of them are determined to pull Fox out of his artist's head space and into the physical space between them... but he's determined to focus on art for as long as he can, until the heat and lust coiling in his belly consumes him.

How long he will last, he doesn't know--but he suspects it won't be much longer. He's caught by the sight of Joker's head arching back, showing off the taut muscle in his neck, the beads of sweat forming on his temple, the little knot of tension in his brow that Fox wants so desperately to kiss. He glances back at his sketch and frowns. He hasn't adequately captured the tension in Joker's upper body at all; he almost wants to erase the entire thing and start over again, but he has a limited amount of time to capture this so he has to make do with what he has. His eyes travel from Joker's brow to his wrists, bound above his head with a pair of handcuffs. Yes, the tension in his hands and arms is what drew Fox to start with, and he's pleased with how his sketch looks in that regard. Perhaps if he starts over from there he can--

"Yusuke."

All thoughts suddenly spill out of Fox's mind, and he's forcibly dragged out of his head and into his body, a feeling not unlike being pushed into a pool of ice cold water, only instead his surroundings feel too-warm and languid and sweet, like honey slowly pouring out of a jar. He's not sure who said his name, Prim or Joker, but it doesn't matter because they're both looking at him. Faintly he notes the tremble in Prim's thighs, the way her breasts move as she tries to catch her breath, the shudder in Joker's belly as he nears closer and closer to the edge of bliss. Fox almost whimpers with envy, acutely aware now of how painfully aroused he is, how uncomfortably tight his pants are, and he isn't sure which one of them he'd like to trade places with the most.

He licks his lips, swallowing before speaking. "Yes? What do you need?"

It's Prim who speaks, her voice huskier than normal, but with a wild edge to it. "Are you feeling neglected, Yusuke? I want to see... show me." It's taking a lot of strength to hold herself back from riding Joker into oblivion right now, he can tell. But Fox hesitates, knowing that if he stops his sketch, he won't be able to come back to it. As his eyes roam over Joker and Prim, as he sees the heat in their gaze, he knows he doesn't have a choice--and if he's being honest with himself, it's a relief to put that decision in another person's hands, into the hands of two people he loves and trusts.

"As you wish," he murmurs, his own voice almost hoarse now, and he sets his sketchbook and pencil aside with shaking hands. They don't stop shaking when he unties his hakama and pushes the fabric down to his ankles, followed by his boxer-briefs. Peeling them off is both a torture and a relief, and when he notices how both Prim's and Joker's eyes seem to devour him, he can't help but shudder with a spike of arousal.

Joker lifts his chin in Fox's direction and licks his lips. "Look at you, all wound up and needy. Don't you want to touch yourself? Do it, Yusuke." His voice sounds rough, commanding, almost domineering if not for the breathless edge to it, betraying his own pent-up ache for release.

Prim's fingers around Joker's neck tighten, forcing a low moan out of him. "Who's giving the orders around here, Joker?" He's about to answer but cuts himself off with a soft cry as she starts moving again, more wet noises filling the air. All that comes out of his mouth now are gasps and the occasional low-voiced "fuck" that sends a spark of heat through Fox's veins.

He's completely helpless when it comes to the two of them, Fox thinks faintly as he curls his fingers around himself, stroking his cock slow so as not to give in too soon, but enough to take the edge off. When Prim sees him, she lets out a hungry moan and her hips start moving quicker and quicker, as though she, too, is helpless to the lust-filled miasma that seems to have completely filled the room. "D-don't come until I say so, okay?" she manages to force out of herself before getting too incoherent, before the only thing she can focus on anymore is her own need for release.

Fox can only nod, concentrating on their movements and memorizing the sight of them. Soon, the slick sounds of his hand working himself over match theirs, and when Prim finally comes, her head tossed back with a wail, her hips moving frantically and unsteadily as Joker fucks her through it, Fox has to reign himself in to keep from finishing with her. It's almost painful, but he can only imagine how painful it must be for Joker, who hasn't received the signal yet that he's allowed to come. Every muscle in his body is straining, pulled taut, and Fox wants to kiss every inch of him to soothe that ache. After catching her breath, Prim slowly lifts herself off of Joker, almost collapsing from the strain in her legs, and lays down on her side next to him to catch her breath. Joker's cock is still hard, red and shining and nearly standing upright, and Fox's mouth waters at the thought of finishing him off like that.

He's lost in that thought when suddenly he feels Prim's hand touching his cheek. He glances up and sees her standing in front of him, giving him a sweet, gentle smile that's both mildly exhausted and a little bit mischievous. She strokes her knuckles along his jawline and tilts her head back at the bed, where Joker is squirming. "Why don't you take care of him? But keep your hands off yourself for now." He swallows hard and nods, rising with mildly shaking legs to close the distance between himself and Joker while Prim sits comfortably at Joker's side. Fox situates himself between Joker's legs and takes a moment to just admire the sight before him: the way Joker can't keep himself still, as though if he squirmed enough he could come; the way his erection shines wet with evidence of Prim's orgasm dripping slowly down the side; the bead of come forming at the tip that makes Fox's mouth water even more.

Prim curls up along Joker's side and places a hand in Fox's hair, gently stroking it as she urges him on. "Don't keep him waiting too long, Yusuke. Be a good boy." Her voice is somehow both sweet and commanding at the same time, and Fox lowers his eyes with a subvocal "yes" before letting Joker's waiting cock fill his mouth. The sound of Joker's moaning spurs him on, and he echoes it with a muffled sound of his own as he curls his tongue along the shaft, determined to savor this as much as he can. He wonders for a moment if Joker is using his unit ability on him, and judging from the sharp, hungry grin he can see as he glances up at Joker's face and how that sends another hot swoop of lust in the pit of his stomach, he realizes it's possible--and that only makes him want more.

Fox lets as much of Joker's cock slide into his mouth as he can, until the tip is edging into his throat, and moans around him. He wants to touch himself so badly now, and the feeling of Prim's hand in his hair and the tension in Joker's thighs only makes it worse. But he follows her orders, and hollows his cheeks around Joker, sucking hard before withdrawing for a quick gasp of air. He doesn't have much time to do so, however, because Prim is pushing him back down, forcing him to take Joker's cock as deep as he can and then some, almost to the point of choking. He's breathing out hard through his nose now to compensate for it, his senses completely filled with Joker. He thinks he could do this for hours, reveling in the taste and smell and sound of him panting closer and closer towards his release. Prim's grip in Fox's hair is tight as she lifts him up, and then back down, and then up, and then back down, and Fox eagerly surrenders to it. He loses count of how many times Prim forces him down like that, and only comes back to himself once she hears her murmur, "Okay, you can come now," into Joker's ear, followed by the sound of Joker choking and gasping with relief.

Joker's come floods Fox's mouth at the same time as Prim's grip on his hair tightens almost painfully, and she shoves him down to make sure he swallows all of it. It's a struggle, one that has his every sense heightened. Fox can't help but moan, eager and wanting and desperate for his own release, but it's so satisfying being able to draw pleasure from Joker like this until he's wrung out and exhausted, until all the tension and stress in his body has left him completely, leaving only a pleasantly worn out and boneless Joker behind. Once Prim's hands leave his hair, he withdraws and gasps for air, coughing but determined to swallow every last remnant of Joker's release.

For a few moments, the only sounds that can be heard are Joker's breath coming down from his heightened orgasm, and Fox's ragged gasps as oxygen fills his lungs. Then, the sound of handcuffs being unlocked and set aside next to Fox's sketchbook on the nightstand. As Fox lifts his gaze, he sees Joker giving Prim a fond, loving smile as he rubs his wrists which have some faint red marks on them. She presses closer and kisses him, soft and luxuriating, and he indulgently kisses back, one hand holding the back of her neck. Watching them, Fox is torn between the urge to once again pick up his sketchbook and draw, and the urge to use his hand for other things. Unwillingly a soft whimper escapes his wrecked throat, and Prim and Joker are brought out of their post-coital reverie to glance at him.

Joker chuckles and cups Fox's cheek, thumb pressing at the corner of his lips where a small stray trickle of come remains, and Fox eagerly leans into his touch. "You must be so wound up by now," he says, and suddenly Fox feels heat and need bloom inside him even stronger, and knows for certain Joker is using his ability on him. His entire body shudders and whatever words he was going to say turn into a choked-off plaintive moan. "And you've been so good. Hasn't he been good, Haru?" Fox is nuzzling into Joker's hand when Prim's hand curls along his other cheek, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb.

"Hmm, I think he's been very good," she replies, and Fox wants nothing more than to worship them both if it means being treated like this, being touched so gently and thoroughly and being praised. He feels beyond wrecked, beyond desire now, his entire body filled only with the need to be close and be touched by these two wonderful, beautiful people. It's enough to make him cry, enough to make him beg, and he opens his mouth to plead but before he can, he's being pulled up into Joker's lap, his legs on either side of his hips. Joker's hands run up and down his sides, down to his thighs and Fox lets out a gasp when Joker's nails rake along his skin, leaving red marks in their wake. It makes something in him hum with desire, like his body is an instrument whose strings are being plucked, sound and vibration moving through him, and if he could speak in complete sentences he'd ask Joker to do it again.

"How do you want to come, darling?" Prim asks, almost conversationally, as she pets and strokes Fox's hair and the back of his neck. It's not fair to ask him, Fox thinks, not fair to make him speak when his entire being is filled only with need right now. "Please," he manages to gasp out, "please just--touch me." As soon as he says it he can feel Joker's hands curl around his aching erection, and he almost sobs with how good it feels. Prim hums and sits up so she can kiss his cheek. "Of course we will, Yusuke," she murmurs. "You did so well, just relax and enjoy this." He turns his head to kiss her, uncoordinated and clumsy, yet she meets him with enthusiasm and swallows every plaintive whine that escapes him as Joker leisurely strokes him off.

Joker's gaze seems to capture him like this, and Fox faintly imagines this is how Joker looks when he's about to grab a treasure from the Metaverse, about to claim something as his own. It makes Fox feel dizzy, feel overheated, and he can only continue to rut into Joker's hand while he lets those thoughts overwhelm him. "Next time you should fuck me," Joker purrs. "If you can hold out long enough. Maybe you can fuck both of us, hmm?" He glances at Prim, a sly grin on his lips. "Or maybe we'll take turns using your mouth."

The thought of bringing them pleasure, bringing them both to ecstasy, using his mouth and tongue makes him see white for a moment. He can feel his orgasm building quickly, feel it running through his veins and he tosses his head back with an incoherent cry. That seems to be Joker and Prim's cue, as they double the intensity of their ministrations on him; Joker's wrist twisting with each stroke, his thumb pressing along the underside of the head of Fox's cock, and Prim's mouth on the side of his neck, biting and sucking at his skin in order to leave an angry, visible mark. Fox lets out a sharp cry and a string of pleading, "yes, yes, yes, please, yes--!" for a few excruciating moments before he finally comes, shoots of white hot pleasure coursing through him, inside and out. His vision is unfocused, but dimly he can see streaks of come scattered across Joker's front, and the too-pleased grin on his face. Prim's soft breath echoes in his ear, and he can hear her chuckle.

Fill: Impressions (2/2)

artisticliberty - 2019-08-16 03:32 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Fill: Impressions (2/2)

(Anonymous) - 2019-09-13 20:43 (UTC) - Expand

Persephone shows a nervous and blushing Levi some tricks of the courtesan trade for how he might please his mistress.

Persephone is sitting, prim and proper, on the edge of a beanbag lined with teeth. The ruffles from his dress are smooth and presentable; he holds a tea cup in one delicate hand, and he takes a small sip before setting it back on his saucer.

"It's, ah, all about creating an atmosphere," he says.

Across from him, Leviathan is bright red. He isn't quite looking at Persephone's face. "What kind of atmosphere?" he manages, with effort.

"It depends, ah, what she seems inclined to," says Persephone. He sets his tea aside and reaches over, casual, to begin undoing the buttons of Leviathan's shirt, white against the pastel pink of the fabric. "But above all, you must, ah, relax. You will perform better for her if you are not, ah, quite so nervous."

Leviathan sputters. "How? We're talking about me, and we're talking about Master, and what if – What if –?"

Persephone peels Leviathan's shirt away from his shoulders and guides it down over his arms. When it's free, he deposits it on the beanbag beside him. "What if…?"

In the silence that follows, Persephone begins unbuttoning Leviathan's pants.

"What if I disappoint her," Leviathan manages, all in a rush. The words are a higher pitch than they ought to be. His face is bright red.

"That's, ah, precisely why we're practicing," says Persephone.

Leviathan shifts a little, as Persephone eases the pants down over his hips. He doesn't quite manage to stay still as a graceful hand divests him of his underwear.

"You really think this'll help?" he manages.

"Certainly," says Perspehone. "You're, ah, less likely to be embarrassed during the situation if you have practice in advance, correct?"

"I know," says Leviathan. "I know that."

"Then let me, ah, show you a few pointers. She'll have a better time for the practice."

Leviathan's face is a brilliant red; he won't quite meet Persephone's eyes. He jerks a nod, quick and shaky, and Persephone shifts gracefully from his seat on the beanbag to the floor in front of him.

"Now," says Persephone. "It doesn't do to, ah, dive right in."

His fingers trail over Leviathan's sides; they leave tracks of heat up the outside of his thighs.

"If you intend to set a mood," says Persephone, "you must make her believe she is, ah, treasured. That you have nothing you would rather do than focus on her pleasure."

Persephone leans in to press a kiss to Leviathan's stomach just as he opens his mouth to speak, and whatever he'd planned on saying comes out as a squeak, instead.

One kiss becomes three, and then five, and then twenty, sprinkled across his abdomen and down his thighs. When Persephone pulls away again, Leviathan's eyes are fixed firmly on the floor; his cock is rock hard, the tip damp with precome.

"When she has shown you that she is, ah, ready," says Persephone, and trails a slender finger up the side of Leviathan's cock, "then you may begin in earnest."

Persephone leans forward, slow and deliberate. He parts his lips, and he takes Leviathan's erection into his mouth, one slow inch at a time, right up to the base. Then he ripples his tongue, a wet flutter that draws a groan from the boy above him, and only then does he begin to move in earnest.

He's as graceful in this as in everything he does: precise, and intent, and extremely thorough. His expertise shows in the soft gasps and whimpers that he draws from Leviathan's throat.

It does not take very long at all, before Leviathan groans, low and overwhelmed, and finishes down Persephone's throat.

Persephone eases himself back. He licks at his lips, and he reaches up, absently, to straighten his hair.

"Now," says Persephone. "When you're with a lady, you should be aware that once, ah, may not be enough to satisfy her."

He reaches out toward Leviathan again, hands gentle but sure.

"Wait," says Leviathan, and Perseephone pauses. "Before we go any further, shouldn't I practice what I've already learned?"

There are a long few seconds of silence. Persephone's eyes are calm, and piercing, and inscrutable.

"Yes," says Persephone at last. "I suppose you should."

And he reaches out to rest a hand in Leviathan's hair, to guide him forward.

King, under demonic influences like during the trial, uses his newfound powers to have the best threesome ever. Yugi and Intensity are definitely not into this to start, but eventually King fucks more than just fucks their minds and they become drooling sex addicts by the end.

Fox calls a Live to create his latest masterpiece, using his nude body as the primary brush. He inevitably gets turned on while people watch him, whether he just uses paint or adds come to the mix is up to the author.

Eichi/every member of TRR, or as many as you can get. Bonus points for Shu ntr.

Griffin (accidentally, on purpose, while drunk, on a bet, or multiple of the above) takes a sex change potion again, and Shrike, who realizes that Griffin's pretty hot this way, gives Griffin a few advanced pointers on how to make the most of it.

He looks good like this.

Or rather, she does.

Shrike's four drinks in when she realizes, watching Griffin over the rim of her sake cup.

Griffin makes a handsome woman; there's definition to her arm muscles, and a certain sharpness to the jaw, framed by that shorn silver hair. But more than any of that, she carries herself with confidence. It's devastatingly attractive.

There's something soft about her, too, though – something a little awkward, like she's not entirely sure what to do with herself like this. That, Shrike is starting to realize, is just as attractive.

As she watches, Griffin shifts – takes another sip of her whisky, and shifts again. She's not quite squirming, but it's a near thing.

"Is something the matter?" says Shrike.

Griffin starts, as though guilty – flushes, and glances aside. "Not really," she says. "It's just, you'd think I'd learn to keep my mouth shut."

Shrike observes her for a long moment or two. "No," she allows, at last. "I'm not that surprised at all."

Griffin shoots her a look. It's almost a glare, but it falls short of any actual irritation. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," she says.

"If you weren't willing to take the consequences," says Shrike, reasonable, "you shouldn't have taken the bet.

"Yeah," says Griffin, and shifts again. "Probably not, huh."

It's an awkward motion. Every time Griffin does it, her thighs rub together, under the table. Griffin's face is flushed, her eyes averted.

Ah, thinks Shrike.

"You know," she says, "You'll have this body for a few more hours, at least. The potions last for quite some time."

Griffin groans and rubs at her temples. "Don't remind me."

"I only mean to say," says Shrike, "that you're going to be uncomfortable if you wait that long to relieve your arousal."

She says it very reasonably: calm, and direct, and straightforward.

"What?" yelps Griffin, and nearly falls off the chair.

"It's perfectly natural," says Shrike. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not turned on!" says Griffin, face bright red. "Okay? I'm just weirded out by this. I've got different parts. Of course I'm gonna notice if they feel different."

"Different how?" asks Shrike, curious.

Griffin's face, somehow, grows redder still. "Just – different, okay? My underwear're rubbing kinda weird."

Shrike gives her a long looking over. She finishes the next cup of sake, and she steals her nerve. "I could help with that," she says.

"With my underwear?" Griffin manages, voice somewhat strangled.

"With the rubbing," says Shrike.

Griffin's mouth opens, like she means to say something. No words come out; she only stares.

So Shrike pushes her chair back. She stands and crosses over to where Griffin's sitting, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Shrike sets a hand on each of Griffin's knees. She presses outward, firm but gentle, and the legs fall open. She makes eye contact as she reaches in, and she settles her palm over the crux between Griffin's legs.

Griffin hisses in a soft gasp. She goes even redder, and she glances away.

Shrike presses two fingers to the seam of the pants, and she begins to rub.

It's gratifying, how responsive Griffin is. She tries to muffle the sounds, but she's really quite bad at it. Her body broadcasts her interest, from the way her hips twitch up into the touch to the deep, panted breaths as Shrike continues to work.

"It's better without all the layers in the way," Shrike remarks, calmly.

Griffin hesitates – bites at her lip, and then nods. She undoes her own belt, with shaking hands, and then unfastens the row of tiny buttons on her pants.

"Just relax," says Shrike, and reaches into the newly bared space.

Griffin's wet already – not just wet, but soaking, the fabric of her underwear damp and clinging. Small wonder it was catching and rubbing in all the right places; Shrike wonders how long she's been this riled up, walking around and trying to ignore it.

She presses her index finger and middle finger together, side by side – drags them up the length of Griffin's slit, collecting moisture. When she reaches the top, she presses them to the hood of Griffin's clit and resumes rubbing again, this time in a small circle, the pressure not as firm.

Griffin almost jackknives straight up off the chair. She yelps, and bucks, and tries to spread her legs wider. She's an absolute vision, eyes glazed and lips parted. Shrike can't help it; she leans in to kiss her, slow and exploratory, while her fingers keep working between her legs.

She feels it when Griffin comes – an arch, and a groan half-swallowed by the kiss, and a series of tremors that leave her clutching at Shrike's shoulders like she doesn't know what else to hold onto.

When she's finished with the aftershocks, Shrike pulls back, with a small smile. "Better?"

"Holy shit," says Griffin, shaky.

"A reminder, just in case you've lost sight of the possibilities," says Shrike. "But you don't have to wait for a second round, while you're like this."

"A second round," Griffin echoes, sounding a little lost.

"Yes," says Shrike. "If you'd like there to be one."

Griffin stares up at her, eyes half-lidded, face still flushed with pleasure. For a long couple of seconds, Shrike thinks that perhaps she won't reply. Perhaps she's pushed this too far.

The thought's chased away as Griffin reaches out for her, strong, slender hands taking hold of the lapels of her military jacket to reel her in for another kiss.

Re: Fill: Changes (1/1) - ok for fanmail

(Anonymous) - 2019-08-31 04:31 (UTC) - Expand

Cardigan wants some scars of their own that come from good memories.

Amaranth quirks a brow in skepticism when Cardigan first floats the idea while idly running a hand over her scar, under the covers. "I'm not precisely an artist," she says, brushing stray hairs out of their face. "And certainly not an artist of that kind. Unfortunately I don't have access to your unit's automatic mastery over blades of all kinds."

"I don't mind," says Cardigan, nuzzling deeper into her arms. "Worst comes to worst, we call sensitIV. It's probably not the strangest thing they've been called to deal with."

"I am not having either of my sons be on call for this one," says Amaranth, flatly—but with an undertone of good humor. There's something poetic to the thought, at least, that appeals to her particular sense of romance.

"Shrike's sort-of-girlfriend, then."

"Are you really sure about this?" She runs a hand over the smooth, unmarked skin of Cardigan's arm.

"Positive," says Cardigan, with that characteristic complete confidence. "Even if it doesn't turn out exactly the way you want, it'll still be what I want. The other ones—" they gesture to the faded scars of bullet wounds, "are fine, but I'd prefer to keep a mark from a good memory, made with care."

Amaranth breathes out. "Then," she says, "we'll figure it out."

She really isn't that much of an artist; rather than try and come up with a wholly original design, she pores through library books of artistic designs until she finds a lovely and simple illustration of a camellia flower—tsubaki, the name of her home province.

There's a lot of considerations to make and study to do, to make sure she can do this properly; she makes copy upon practice copy of the flower drawing on paper, then, very carefully, practices her cuts with the special knife acquired for this purpose. Over and over, into the night, until she can cut the paper but not scratch the surface underneath.

"Do you want to ask someone from sensitIV to numb it?" Amaranth asks, while showing Cardigan the design.

"I think I'd rather feel it." Cardigan traces the lines with a finger, arcing across the page. "That's the point."

"All right." Amaranth glances sidelong at her lover. "You know this means we'll need to be careful, for a while. Apparently other worlds have some marvelous bandaging solutions, but the point is to prolong the healing process."

"You'll take good care of me."

It's not a question, but she answers, regardless: "Of course."

Bright light isn't exactly ideal mood lighting, but it's necessary, so Amaranth does her best—arranging her room with glasses full of fresh-cut flowers from the garden, even going so far to buy a little oil diffuser from the points shop to fill the room with a relaxing, lightly floral scent.

Having to lay a bunch of towels on the bed isn't ideal, but, well, no one's perfect, and in some cases she just has to be practical.

Cardigan emerges from the shower, toweling off, and stops in their tracks to stare at the arrangement. "You really went all out," they say, surprise softening into a smile.

"It's about romance, after all," says Amaranth, tilting their chin up with a finger. "Any lover of mine must feel properly swept off their feet at all times."

"You'll never disappoint me." Cardigan grins. "Let's do this."

Laid next to the bed is a scalpel, a felt-tip pen, a little dish filled with a mixture of sesame oil and sugar, and a roll of some plastic medical adhesive—plus a pot of tea. "I needed something to steady my nerves," Amaranth admits, taking a sip from her teacup. "That said, I think I'm prepared as I'll ever be."

Cardigan finishes disrobing, and lays back on the bed, across the towels. A perfect, compact athlete's body, from head to toe. "It's almost a shame to be marking this up," Amaranth notes, running a palm over Cardigan's well-muscled thigh.

"I want to be able to see it and touch it," Cardigan says, propping themselves up on an elbow to shrug. They smirk, slightly. "And you'll get to see it plenty, too."

"That I will." Amaranth uncaps the pen, and starts tracing the design lightly across Cardigan's thigh. It comes easily, now, with all the practice she's done, but she's not about to risk trying to freehand it. "If I ever forget where home is, it'll help me find my way."

"Mm." Cardigan hums at the light touch of the pen, a contented, pleased noise. "Now that's poetry."

Amaranth almost draws a black line across Cardigan's leg from the sudden laugh that escapes her. "No jokes while I've got the knife," she says, mock-stern.

"Yes, ma'am," says Cardigan, and settles back down.

Next comes the truly nerve-wracking part. She sterilized the knife in a flame three extra times, just in case, but there's no making mistakes allowed, at this point. It hovers in her hand, just above skin. "Let me know if I need to pause," she says. "Don't hesitate."

Cardigan takes a deep breath, and nods, and Amaranth lowers knife to skin.

It's a little satisfying, making such a smooth cut through smooth skin, and Amaranth can see, just a bit, the fascination Cardigan has with scars. Cardigan lets out a low hiss of breath, muscles tensing for a moment before they force themselves to relax, stay still.

She waits a moment for Cardigan to settle, and then carries on. The delicate, arcing cuts begin to paint a lovely red flower across their thigh, lines welling up with blood. Cardigan's breathing is heavy, labored, hitching with each new cut. As satisfying it is for Amaranth to see her practice bear fruit into something beautiful and treasured—it seems it bears a different kind of satisfaction for Cardigan, whose breaths have taken on a desperate quality.

Too, Amaranth notes, with some amusement at her front-row-seat view, Cardigan's shaft has begun to harden.

"Did you know that about yourself?" Amaranth asks, idly, only pausing in her work for a brief moment to adjust her grip on the knife.

Cardigan's eyes are slightly glazed, unfocused, but they manage to shake their head. "There's a first time for—for everything," they gasp out, as Amaranth makes another incision. Almost done.

"I had plans to pour you tea, perhaps play some soothing music afterward, of course," Amaranth says, a teasing smile coming to her lips. "But even so with what I said about needing to be careful—I think there still ought to be a few things we can do."

"Good," Cardigan groans, just as Amaranth puts the finishing touch on the flower.

"Just a little longer." It's quick work to clean up with a damp cloth and then paint over the design with brushstrokes of the sesame oil-sugar mixture, to keep the wounds from closing too fast.

Then, the final touch—wrapping it in the clear adhesive bandage. Amaranth takes just as much care with that, applying it slowly to the skin, tracing a fingernail along the edge just a little bit to keep the sensations going. "All done," she says, wiping her hands off on another damp cloth, and coming to perch between Cardigan's spread knees. "I'm sure it still hurts."

Cardigan drapes a hand over their eyes. "So much." Their face is flushed; forehead covered in beads of sweat. They're fully erect now, and beneath, Amaranth can see the wetness of the folds beneath.

"Well," says Amaranth, "I did promise pain along with a good memory, didn't I?"

She leans over to languidly run her fingers upward and downward between Cardigan's legs, slicking them with their moisture.

Cardigan exhales, their breaths heavy. "Oh—oh. Keep going."

"Mm." Amaranth smiles, drawing her fingers upward again, and further, dragging them up Cardigan's shaft to wrap around it. "I'll have to be gentle, you know, so you'll have to be more patient than usual." She starts drawing her hand up and down in idle, easy strokes, and even between their athlete's poise and the pain Cardigan clearly has to work hard not to buck their hips upward to meet the motion.

"Nn—that's good," says Cardigan, in-between panting. "That's—really good, still."

Amaranth increases the pressure and the speed in the slightest of increments, occasionally brushing her thumb across the moistened tip of Cardigan's shaft for good measure, prompting a shudder in her lover—continuing the still measured, patient strokes. Cardigan rocks gently into her palm, until finally a tremor runs through their body head to toe and breathing shakily, they come.

After helping them clean up, Amaranth strips out of her own clothes, feeling overdressed, and nestles into bed beside them. "Worth remembering?" she asks, pushing Cardigan's sweat-soaked bangs back from their face.

"It's worth remembering every time. But—yes. Definitely," they say, adjusting themselves to fold into Amaranth's embrace.

Amaranth runs her fingers lightly over the smooth, soft skin of Cardigan's shoulders, and smiles, softly.

"I'm home," she says.

Re: Tsubaki (1/1) cw uh knife stuff

(Anonymous) - 2019-09-07 21:45 (UTC) - Expand

keep your rival and vague sibling figure so close you're kissing

"AHEM."

Griffin stopped moaning and his eyes popped wide open at sound of someone clearing their voice, loudly. When he realized that Cardigan--and Shrike, and Gold, and Nemesis, and Demon Lord Shishiou were all gathered in the unit's kitchen doorway, a range of expressions (amused to vaguely shocked to nonplussed to disgusted to ... excited shit-lord, is that an emotion?) on their faces--Griffin sprang away from Harpy as though suddenly she was piping hot like the stove burner their pasta dinner was burning on in the background. Much more leisurely, his quasi-not-sister sat up and began adjusting both her bra and underwear in a way that suggested that she was not embarrassed to have their whole family find them with her lings akimbo.

"What the hell are you all doing here," Griffin roared, cheeks burning.

Nemesis pressed her face to her hand and muttered something under her breath. Gold was a little clearer. "It's dinner time," he said with a deadened look on his face. "You said you were cooking." Indeed, he was staring at the table like it was dead to him. Griffin--well. If he wanted to take it out back behind the hotel to burn it, Griffin couldn't say he would object to the destruction of a reminder of this moment.

"You guys <i>do</i> remember that we eat there, right," Nemesis asked, her mouth hitched up in a way that made Griffin want to dig a hole to bury himself in.

"My apologies. It appears Griffin-kun and I lost track of time," Harpy said.

"The hell even happened," Nitro popped off from the back of the pack.

"Well, you see, Griffin-kun likes to season his sauce too much--"

"THE SAUCE SEASONING IS JUST FINE, DAMMIT!" Griffin roared.

"--but he doesn't believe me when I say that I can do it better." Griffin couldn't remember a time when his face had ever felt so hot. Was she even listening to the words she was saying!? Did she know the way they sounded?! (No, of course she wasn't and didn't; he'd fallen in love with a grade-a moron.)

Demon King Shishiou was doubled over with a vicious laughing fit, around which he managed to gasp, "So you were getting ready to taste his sauce then!?"

"You little--"

Before Griffin could get a word further with his threat, Shishiou added, "You should have invited me! I want to taste Tsuba's sauce," he said with a wink. A fine tremor began to overtake Griffin's body as his face turned red, and it was anyone's guess whether he would have an apoplexy or explode first.

"Don't worry about it," Cardigan said with a laugh. "Amaranth and I had sex on the table just last week."

"That's it, I'm out," Nemesis muttered, turning around to leave. "I'm eating at AlcheME! tonight," Gold muttered, hot on her heels.

Griffin buried his face in his hands. He just wanted to have a nice family dinner! Maybe next week...

Medusa is the loyal maid of future is now. Cute skimpy uniform and all. Do whatever you want with this, SFW also fine.

It's a cute dress.

Medusa still has no idea how he became the primary candidate to wear it.

It went from, "wouldn't it be nice if there was someone to pick up around here," to "do you remember the maid dresses from that one game?" with remarkable speed.

Angel and Silence disappeared to AlcheME and back almost before he could even blink.

Now he's trapped standing here with Angel and Silence staring up at him. Angel's eyes are wide and earnest. Silence is cradling the dress with careful hands, as though it is as valuable as her precious Jyanta.

"Please?" says Angel. "I can't wear it. It doesn't fit me."

"AlcheME has the power to shrink objects," Medusa points out, levelly.

"AlcheME was kind enough to lend us the dress," says Silence. "It would be irresponsible to trouble them further."

"It matches your mask," says Angel.

"The living room is in dire need of tidying," says Silence.

"We can help clean," says Angel. "You don't have to do it alone. I just thought you could be our mascot!"

"Jyanta is our mascot," says Silence, then glances at Angel in time to catch the heartbroken expression that flickers across her face. "...but we could have two."

Angel's smile is brighter than the sun.

"See?" says Angel. "You'll be our mascot, and you can clean important things like Intensity's blueprints and my sheep!"

Medusa doesn't know why blueprints need cleaning. For that matter, he doesn't know why sheep do, either. But when he opens his mouth to point this out, he finds that he can't quite bring himself to say it.

Instead, he holds his hand out, expectant.

Silence drapes the dress over his wrist, solemn, almost reverent.

There's nothing to say but, "I'll go get changed."

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