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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!
Amaranth/Cardigan, scarification
(Anonymous) 2019-08-16 06:34 pm (UTC)(link)Tsubaki (1/1) cw uh knife stuff
(Anonymous) 2019-09-06 06:48 am (UTC)(link)"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 09:45 pm (UTC)(link)