kink meme 2.0

[astrayed]

By popular demand...

Our Second
Knights of Legend Kink Meme

 

What is a kink meme? Pretty self explanatory, actually. You request a pairing and a prompt/kink anonymously, and someone else (or several someone elses for that matter) will be able to fill that request- also anonymously (unless they choose to do it logged in). Fun way to get fic, fun way to find fic to write, and good if you're embarrassed to post! Fun for the whole fami- oh. Er, maybe not. You know what I mean! (Note that while this is called a kink meme, the rules are pretty fast and loose. Nonexplicit fic is also allowed, but there is generally a focus on kinky stuff or some form of character relationship of a sexual or romantic nature.)

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Rules

♦ Post requests and responses in the comments to this post.
♦ Be respectful.
♦ Both a pairing/character AND a prompt/kink must be posted.
♦ One pairing/prompt per comment please.
♦ You are encouraged to try and write one prompt for every request you make.
♦ We are slash, femslash, het, three-and-moresomes etc. friendly. Also pegging.
♦ No pairing bashing. No need to wank over ships.
♦ Long and short fics (drabbles) welcome. Multiple responses encouraged!
♦ If you are willing to fess up to writing a drabble, you can get 500xp per fic for cashing them in on the xp bank!  You can also do this privately.

Have fun!

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

logan/emma frost; mind games

/starts off really transparent :)

Logan/Emma - Mind Games (or, idk why this is even anon)

[(Anonymous)]

He stopped counting how long it'd been since he'd felt the brush of smooth limbs curled against his a long time ago, but in the muddy awareness of his abstract, formless unconscious, he can feel her, soft and warm beneath palms thick with callouses and permanent oil stains. The pads of his fingertips bear down into those curves, pressing her closer, and he feels the sweep of curls against his chest along with the steady slap of skin as their hips glide together and kiss. She's not just warm anymore, she's a hot, stifling pressure squeezing around him, but he'd blind and dumb and for all his strength, he can do nothing but writhe and groan beneath her, lost to darkness, spirallng.

Logan knows that his dreams—wispy hazes of memory, fog and smoke and gunpowder and pouring rain—stand at odds with the images that come to him when he closes his eyes. This, whatever it is, does not have a place rattling around in the adamantium skull of a unchained animal like him, and he's had just about enough people digging their thumbs into his brain and trying to take hold, stirring around what they can find, that the animal comes out with a growl that rumbles in the base of his chest, bellowed.

It startles him awake, and probably anyone else in the Hoard unlucky enough to be near his room. He throws off the sticky, sweat-drenched top sheet of his bed, leaves the comforter, and pulls on a pair of boxers before he trudges barefoot to the kitchen.

Emma Frost is there in white leather stirring creamer into her coffee.

"If you need help sleeping, Logan dear…" Her remark comes innocently enough as she assesses the state of his appearance, likely disheveled and (as much as anyone can tell) less inclined towards polite conversation than normal. Initially, his only response is to grunt, but he grabs a coffee cup and grabs the coffee pot when she's done with it, the permeating smell as he pours making him feel human again.

"I didn't ask." And he wouldn't, they both knew. Still, Emma arches one cool, manicured eyebrow in a way that damns him to his own suffering from behind the sip she takes from the steaming mug. "What the hell's your excuse?"

"So defensive," She says it like she's chastising him. She says most things like she's chastising him, though, so it (like most things) bounces off. Emma lowers her mug, narrowing her gaze to imitate his glower, then shakes her head and snatches a stack of papers off the countertop where she's left them. "Evaluations, if you must know. The Sydney office called about Julian."

Simultaneously, their gazes drop, but only for an instant. The few squires who had been transferred away from the Boston office were a consistent reason for a silent prayer, a sigh of relief, for they'd been spared what Emma, Nathan, and Logan had seen. What had nearly killed Scott. Curiously, Logan identifies discontentment in the realization that he must be the reason Emma is here, and not in her room—a light would disturb her bed partner. He opens up a cabinet, rifles through it, and cracks a bottle of Bailey's to add to his coffee. He leaves it on the counter when he grabs his coffee and excuses himself.

But they keep coming, the dreams that aren't quite dreams, real and tangible and consequential enough that he believes they might just as easily be memories returned by the Veil, but if there's anything Logan Howlett has learned about amnesia, it's that the good memories never come back, and the bad ones … well, mostly you just wish they wouldn't. But he does more laundry in that month than he has in the past few years combined, so he can't pretend that the dreams, or whatever they are, are entirely unwelcome.

He's bowed over her back when he figures it out, glimpses of pale skin coming to him as the stubble on his mouth catches and drags abrasive burns against her shoulder blades while he searches for further contact, the ache opening up like a void in his gut hungry beyond measure and not satisfied even by the way he bottoms out inside of her, wet heat swallowing him, wringing him out.

It's different every time, but he never gets more than glimpses. This time, when he pushes the back of her neck down and forces her face into the mattress that he has to guess is beneath them somewhere, his hand knots in the long curls that he's felt against him so often, and he sees them pool at the back of her head atop a pillow, white-yellow and wavy and obscuring a face that he doesn't need to see.

He pulls out, and a pale hand darts out for a sheet while she mirrors him, withdrawing quite suddenly with little effort to collect and quiet the images and feelings she'd painted for him. The clothes he bothers to wrestle on are only what's necessary to serve the path he blazes through castle corridors, a pair of jeans and nothing more, and in the middle of the goddamn night, he throws the door of Emma's room in the Fire open with one rough shove.

Neither of them are surprised when Scott doesn't wake up, but Emma leaps out of bed, a thin silk shift separating her from the cold night air, and hold her hands up to placate Logan's temper. It doesn't work, and she doesn't expect it to—she knew the line she was crossing in doing this, of all things, to him when she started. He has more hangups with her ability than anyone; that was part of the game.

So when he tears across the room, grabs her by the shoulder, and slams her into the back wall beside her bed, bodies pressed tightly together, her tremulous exhale is equal parts adrenaline and excitement. When he growls, the open-mouthed smirk curls and grows, and she lifts her chin to expose her throat with a fearless taunt.

"Don't pretend you didn't know exactly what I was doing the whole time." On the one hand, they both know she's justifying herself, but on the other, neither can claim in any honesty that she's wrong. Heat passes between their gaze, between every inch of skin that presses together with the force of his hold on her, anger grinding his molars down while blood pools southward. His mouth closes over hers ferociously, the kind of kiss that claims and dominates and tells her to shut the hell up while he hoists her up around his middle, pinning her to the wall. A heady whine answers him, echoing in the hollow of his mouth from hers, and Emma knocks the lamp on the nightstand over while Logan thrusts into her, the wall trembling under the force of a union that gentle telepathic brushes could not imitate.

[(Anonymous)]

Logan/Nathan, doing it in the back row during the Deadpool movie

[(Anonymous)]

kitty/spike; kitty takes a pass on offers to get her act together and swap sides, but that doesn't preclude the possibility of hate sex

[(Anonymous)]

peter/alex, concert makeouts

[(Anonymous)]

archer/vi; coitus interruptus per elena gilbert, but archer don't curr

[(Anonymous)]

peter/kali/skye netflix and chill

[(Anonymous)]

glasya/sam/skye that car ride goes in a totally different direction

[(Anonymous)]

Dumage/Elena, undercover. or under covers.

[(Anonymous)]

sarkney; convenient veilnesia

[(Anonymous)]

buffy/sam cheating and sneaking around behind rafael's back

[(Anonymous)]

glasya/dean; maybe you're just jealous

[(Anonymous)]

Dean slammed the Impala door so hard, the vibrations set off a chain reaction. A beer bottle fell off the fencepost that he'd parked beside, shattering once it hit the ground, disturbing a snake that had been resting at the foot of the post and sending it slithering off to quieter areas.

And then silence. It was loud enough that when it was broken by the sound of gravel crunching underfoot, each step was as loud as bullets, and Dean treated the intrusion as he would treat a hail of bullets- he pulled his gun and whirled around.

Glasya placed a hand on the bumper of the black car, her fingers trailing the metal and chrome with an almost suggestive level of care. "Put that thing away before you hurt yourself, Dean," she said idly, stepping away from the car to move towards the fence. Dean watched her carefully- the scrutiny, however, meant that it left his eyes inadvertently following the line of every curve the tight outfit she was wearing showed off, made worse when she bent down next to the fencepost and made a series of cooing noises as if luring the snake back like one would a dog.

"If it ain't the Whore of Babylon, herself," Dean growled, moving his eyes to glower at the back of her head, since it seemed the safest place to look. Already, he felt hot under the collar- even a devil spawn skank couldn't shake loose the few bad thoughts that crept into his brain's personal version of Skinemax. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk, Dean." The snake had crawled back, curious, and was currently winding itself up Glasya's arm. She straightened, the adder coming with her. "And I wanted an opportunity to explain myself."

Dean's laugh sounded more like he had coughed up a hairball and was having a hard time working it back up. "You don't got anything to explain to me. I know what you're doing. It's done. How many more times do we have to go through the same shit?"

"I don't know, Dean. Maybe as many times as it takes you to learn?" Glasya raised an eyebrow, turning to face him, while she ran a finger over the adder's head with a serene kind of gentleness that belied everything Dean saw when he looked at her. Really, it was poetic in his mind. Of course she'd pet a snake like it was a goddamned puppy and it was supposed to make her look innocent and trusting. It was another tableau, a trick, a vision of hideousness that's just beautiful enough to believe in. All those things they say of Hell and more.

"All I needed to learn, I learned ages ago- that you can't leave well enough alone and that I can't get rid of you."

"Sam only wants you, Dean. That's all he's ever wanted," Glasya snapped so forcefully that Dean's anger gives way to a sadistic smile. For a split second, he wants to pretend he saw her flinch, as if she'd said something wrong and thought to regret it.

"Oh I get what this is about. Daddy's little hell bitch is jealous." Suddenly emboldened, he took a step towards her. She's almost as tall as he is- with heels any higher and she'd be looking down and not up. Dean thanked her silently for her lack of foresight there too. "What's your angle, Glasya? You hoping to go two for two? One ain't enough for you? Maybe this one'll be different 'cause he's from a different world or something?"

No dice. She was grinning again, almost predatory. "Are you jealous?"

She tried to sashay away, but propelled by nothing but righteous fury and the feeling that he wasn't going to lose the upper hand while he had it, Dean tried to grab her arm and was almost as shocked as she was when he actually caught her by the wrist. It occurred to him a second too late that he should have been more concerned about the snake.

It occurred to him four seconds too late that the snake wasn't the real threat.

She slammed him against the door of the Impala, propelling him back by using his own strength against him. The snake disentangled himself from her arm with a furious hiss and went slinking off again without another worry, leaving the half-devil and the hunter against the Impala with nothing but their breath between them.

Glasya's knee was in his crotch, leaving her balanced on one foot, leaning heavily against him, one sharply-nailed hand pinning his wrist above his head and against the window, while the other knotted in his shirt. Dean waited for her to make a move, and when she didn't, he got his last word in anyway, spit out like an angry curse, "You're the jealous one."

Her knee pressed harder against him and against his own wishes, he was fairly sure he was pressing back. She noticed too. Damn her.

"Well, Dean, if you wanted it so badly..." She purred, though her tone was still dangerous. He was losing his upper hand and she was determined to pretend she hadn't lost control. While she leaned closer as if to steal a kiss, he wrenched his free hand around to grab her by her hair and yank. She broke free almost effortlessly, but he barely had time to consider the victory before she was on him again, and this time their mouths connected with all the force and harshness of a punch. Dean was fairly certain his lips were bleeding. At least he hoped it was his lips.

He pushed her off. She let him. They stared at each other like hungry animals, and for a moment he wondered if that was how to get her vulnerable. That little sex kitten hellion act was hiding the same bullshit daddy issues spoiled princess shit he'd seen a hundred times in a hundred girls. It seemed cruel to those girls and the times he's had to compare them to a devil bitch he was sizing up for the best place to stick a knife, but she brought out the worst in him. After everything, he figured he was allowed some dark, twisted thoughts in her direction.

He ran a hand over his mouth, and noted the blood that came away on his wrist. His. Definitely. He eyed her and she eyed him back- predator and prey, except no one could tell who was which. It probably wouldn't be clear until the dust settled.

She stepped closer. He let her. And this time when his hand reached up to grab her by the hair, he yanked her closer to him, shoving her into another brutalizing kiss that left her breathless and- well, it didn't take much to get her worked up, that was for sure. Maybe he'd spare some jealousy for Sam.

But only a little. He had to look at this methodically- it was one step closer to figuring out how to put an end to this. It meant little, and would require a long hot shower to purge this shit from his body and mind.

The fact that she left him feeling like he was intoxicated was just her being a fucking diabolical bitch and he nearly hit the back of his head against the window to shake his mind clear, while his hands slid up the slit in her skirt to discover there was nothing between her and him. She growled suggestively, and he considered that an open invitation.

By the end of it, he was covered in bruises and Glasya was gone, looking far better than he did. His opportunities to exploit some weakness had gotten lost in the haze and he was left with a sick feeling in his stomach and a shirt that had been shredded and fell off his shoulders in tatters. He'd played a losing hand and goddammit at the time, it was the best thing that could have happened to him.

The thought struck him hard and he fell to his knees and violently retched. Underneath the Impala, the snake observed, and for a brief second his eyes met its just before it slithered away again.

And the unmistakable sensation of being judged settled over Dean.

[(Anonymous)]

isabella/vittorio, aka what isabella has been doing on her vacation

[(Anonymous)]

liam/astrid, inconvenient places to bang in Andres Palace

[(Anonymous)]

rose/keijen, dream invasion

[(Anonymous)]

bo/andrew/steve ; breaking in the new guy

[(Anonymous)]

ella/edain, it's not like she needs to breathe anymore right

[(Anonymous)]

rey/jaina, special training sessions with quasi-incest overtones

[(Anonymous)]

alainn/rose and dean/mark, the wifeswap sadly only worked one way

[(Anonymous)]

Elena/Des "When did you two get so close?"

[(Anonymous)]

sark/audrey peterson, not the conjugal visit she was hoping for

[(Anonymous)]

goldos; this insufficient mortal body has needs

[(Anonymous)]

zero/one, cybersex and technomagic

[(Anonymous)]

lila/willow ; skirts and ladders

[(Anonymous)]

eric/alex, he hasn't stopped thinking about that conversation

[(Anonymous)]

cordy/dante; sorry steve