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Okay, flist, I'm sorry for spamming you. Last post of "today" I promise. (And wow, I think 5 posts in a day is a personal record.)
I wanted to clear out my requested fics, and then I just couldn't pass up this meme:
Gacked from![[info]](https://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
cornerofmadness.
Give me a kink and a pairing and I'll give you at least a sentence of kink.
I wanted to clear out my requested fics, and then I just couldn't pass up this meme:
Gacked from
cornerofmadness.Give me a kink and a pairing and I'll give you at least a sentence of kink.
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First Milly x Vash....
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*pats* I'm sorry. I know how frustrating it is to not find the fics you want to read.
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Wangst would be those fics where Vash suddenly kills himself for little or no reason, where he's acting like a textbook Weepy Uke hanging over Wolfwood like a 13 year old fangirl or pining over Meryl as if her being gone was the Worst Thing That Could Have Ever Happened. . .
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Then Meryl x Vash......
A Vash tied to her bed was a Vash who wasn’t out wrecking havoc. Really, it was just good business.
And as for the donuts...
Meryl straddled him, balanced over his hips, keeping her quim a teasing fraction above his erect cock. There was donut in her hand, just above where he could reach it.
“I’m very hungry,” he said, gazing at Meryl plaintively. She leaned forward, moving away from his prick but allowing him to nibble at the donut, sugar and cinnamon dusting his lips.
He’d pushed his hips upward in protest as she moved away, and smiling at him, she leaned back again, letting the wet heat between her thighs tease the tip of his erection.
Vash groaned.
Meryl felt a pleased smile stretch across her face. She wondered how long she could string this out, how long before her self control broke and she let him have everything, sweets and her all at once, while the ropes marked his wrists.
Quite a while, she expected, rocking forward and back again, while Vash writhed under her, bedframe groaning as he sought some relief.
She was a very disciplined woman, after all.
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how about Riza/Roy, feathers
Feathers
Sorry this took so long.
~~~
The first thing Roy ever gave her was a pillow.
It was Ishbal, and wartime, but even sunk in his personal morass of depression and self-loathing, he could recognize that the woman who’d kept him alive again and again and again deserved.... Roy couldn’t even start to list the things Riza Hawkeye deserved. He watched her eyes slowly deaden and knowing that there was nothing he could do to save her was exactly as painful as watching block after block go up in flames.
However, if rescuing Riza was an impossible task, giving her what luxury he could was revoltingly easy. He wished it was harder, because Hawkeye was a woman who deserved effort, deserved an offering worthy of her strength. But he’d simply gone to the quartermaster; the man had practically tripped over himself to hand Roy a meager, but fluffy and unstained, feather pillow.
When he gave it to her, Hawkeye acted like he’d gifted her with the Golden Fleece.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “But I really can’t accept.”
Riza’s lips were firm, but her eyes held longing.
Roy stepped past her and replaced the rolled up fatigues at the head of the cot with the pillow.
She looked at him, and if he hadn’t spent a year learning her expressions like the geography of a foreign land, he wouldn’t have seen the softening of the lines around her eyes, or known that it denoted gratitude.
Roy fluffed her pillow and one white feather floated out. He picked it up, twirling it between his fingers. It was the same white as his gloves, and he was struck by the sudden desire to trace her cheek with the feather.
Would she smile if he did so? Could he do what Hughes, with all this loud boisterousness, couldn’t? Roy was struck with the image of Riza sprawled back on her cot, half undressed, coat hanging off her shoulders, shirt untucked and open, pants unzipped, baring sections of pale skin that hadn’t been toasted to a lovely golden color by the sun to his eyes. Could he coax chuckles out of her throat with feathers and fingers? Could he make her laugh and gasp with delight?
Roy stepped back, appalled at the thought.
“Thank you,” Riza said finally, voice low and firm.
Roy still couldn’t believe he’d let himself think of her like that, had touched her with his bloodstained hands, even if it had only been in his mind.
“You’re welcome,” he said hoarsely, turned on his heel, and left.
He didn’t look back and missed the look of happiness that bloomed on Riza’s face as she stroked one hand down the soft pillow.
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This came out well (and I'm writing a piece from her pov that would fit well with this actually)
and don't worry about being late. Don't see me getting mine done either. sheesh. And yeah poor Goku, it's a little hard to take him as a sexual creature sometimes, in spite of his actual advanced age, poor little guy
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So what are you writing? *looks expectently*
You know, I had to look back at your lj to remember what I requested. And then I was like, 'those are good prompts! I can't wait to see what she does with them!' (But no pressure, because as you can see.... it's not like I'm one to talk. And I have one outstanding fic that's... insanely late.)
I remember the first time I actually looked at on of Minukera's drawings of Goku and though, wow, sexy, and thirty seconds later I was like, I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!!!!
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Oh I know. The stupid monkey is the one telling me those 10 cliche stories. It's like I know you're 18 (well 518) but you act 12. This is breaking my brain
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Plus, it's well-nigh impossible for me write original drabbles - all the stories that come into my head are for novels - it's damn frustrating.
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See I'm older than you. Fanfic used to be by mail. I was used to waiting months if at all to hear about a story. I was more motivated to do stuff i could get paid for Though hearing the instant response is lovely
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My problem is I have these novels in my head, and haven't managed to train myself to have the disciple to finish them. I'm getting closer though. And the short stories I write are always a couple thousand words to long to be the prefered short story size, and never depressing enough to make it. I've noticed that most of the fantasy shorts that get published are really freaking depressing.
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Yep I've been writing fanfic since 77 and started exchanging them in 81 or 82
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Wow. You've been writing fanfic longer than I've been alive. *giggles* Should I have not said that?
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and eh, i'm USED to being old enough to be a mom to about a fourth of my flist. I was ten in 77
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Mirrors & Reflections
~~~~
Sarah watched Jareth in the mirror as he laced her up.
She was in her underthings; stockings, corset, knickers, and the filmy underskirt of her gown.
The stays squeezing her ribs were making her lightheaded, and in the mirror her eyes were dark and lips slightly parted. Jareth met her eyes and she felt her skin tingle.
He tied off the lacings, resting his hands on her hips, and through the fabric she could feel the heat of his skin.
Her breath was coming faster with anticipation; he was watching her with a look she recognized well.
“It took twenty minutes to get this far,” she said, voice husky, “I don’t have time for a distraction right now.”
Jareth raised his eyebrow at the challenge. “You say that to me, who controls time itself?”
He bent her forward over the vanity. Sarah stared straight ahead, watching as he unfastened his pants. He didn’t even bother removing her underwear, simply tugging the lacy fabric aside to press into her slick folds.
They watched each other, eyes locked on their reflections, as Jareth thrust and withdrew, as she rocked her hips back to match his motions, as she finally clenched, twisted, and came, her lover following a moment after.
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how?! I blame LJ and the way the comments flood my inbox! but I digress....It is a thing of beauty and I muchly in ♥ with it! Oh yes! Especially Jareth's quip about controlling time! *adores adores adores*
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I'm really glad you loved this. Jareth's quip about controlling time was actually one of the last things that I added, but him having a quippy reply was very needed.
Thanks for the comment!
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Breathplay
That Lust still looked beautiful, squirming under him as he tightened one of her silk gloves around her neck, just proved what an inhuman creature she was.
Her face was pale, unflushed, but sweat stood out against her forehead. Her violet eyes were staring into his, bright with pleasure, even as her heels drummed futilely against the backs of his thighs, even as her nails dug into his back just enough to draw blood. She could have impaled him with her claws, could have ripped him apart for treating her so roughly, and the fact that she didn’t made his lips twist in anger and self-disgust.
Scar tightened his grip.
Lust’s eyes fluttered closed and she suddenly looked like his sister-in-law, face ashy and slick with perspiration yet her fingers still dug into his shoulders with unyielding strength.
Still, as unconsciousness started to take hold, he loosened his grip and tore the fabric away from her neck. Her head lolled, strands of soot-colored hair sticking to her cheeks as she sucked in a breath and climaxed. Her body’s release pulled his own orgasm from him, and as he shuddered, an implacable voice told him that he should have kept on squeezing, should have throttled her until she was truly dead, until her beauty was gone, until he didn’t want her any more.
Instead he cupped her breasts, and bent his head to lick at the sweat moistening the hollow of her throat and slowly drying across her Ouroboros tattoo.
Lust ran her hand through his hair and he knew she smiled.
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Well, the obvious because I have a one-track mind...
Hakkai/Yaone and handcuffs.
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