Kinkbits: SMT and BSG
Or as I like to call it, the "All Kinds of Broken Edition." Six to go. (First part is here.)
Persona 3, DDS, and BSG in this batch. Still around 300 words each except for Kiwi's because Akihiko had more to say. Not worksafe. Read the kink warnings carefully.
For mahokiwi: sensory deprivation, Akihiko. Pregame, minor spoilers through June.
“The Shadows only come out after midnight,” Akihiko says, checking the sports tape wrapped around his wrists. It doesn’t feel loose. “I can’t rely so heavily on my sight when I fight them.”
“So that’s why you dragged me here?” Shinji asks.
“Yeah. Put the blindfold on me, and try not to make a lot of noise when you move. You’ve seen how they slither, right?”
Dimly, he sees Shinji’s hands lowering over his eyes, and then Shinji pulls the blindfold taut and knots it. The wrinkles in the fabric itch his eyelids. “The moon’s still up during the Dark Hour,” Shinji says.
“Not always.” He flexes his hands. He can still feel where his fists are in space, even when he stretches them as far away from his body as they’ll go. His nails bite into the leather of his gloves. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself to relax his hands more-if he punches Shinji with his fists curled up this tightly, he’ll break his fingers.
Akihiko can’t tell if the whispers on the pavement are caused by the wind or by Shinji’s footsteps. He hears-he thinks he hears-something tapping behind him, so he shifts his weight to the left and pivots, tries to connect with a cross.
Only air touches his knuckles. Damn. He tries not to jump at every stray sound and move towards every possible source of noise, but he feels his arms twitch anyway. Why is it so much harder to stay still in the dark? He needs to incorporate more observation into his training: listening to people moving and ambient noises until he can tell the difference between the two. Sweat starts to gather in the gaps between his fingers. He can’t think of when he’ll get the chance to sit back and listen to Shadows, though. He just has to get better, that’s all. He just has to-
There. That has to be Shinji somewhere over his shoulder. Jab, right cross-and someone catches his wrist before he can finish the combination, before he even has the chance to realize that he wasn’t hitting anything at all.
“You’re jumpy tonight, Aki,” Shinji says. “Get some sleep.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not stopping until I’ve made more progress than this.”
“Idiot,” Shinji growls. “You expect me to wait up all night with you?”
“Will you?” Akihiko asks.
“Only if we drop that shit and do this instead,” Shinji says, and those must be his teeth on Akihiko’s ear, his lips, his neck; those must be his fingers digging into Akihiko’s hips-
“But the training,” he manages to say.
“If I see any Shadows, I’ll yank your blindfold off and we can kick their asses. Okay?”
“You want me to leave this on?” he asks. His pulse jumps.
“You were the one who asked me to put it on you in the first place,” Shinji says in his ear.
“All right,” he says, and then Shinji does something else with his hand and he wonders if he’s going to have to train himself to get used to doing this in the dark, too.
For laylah: against a wall, Heat/Sera. Spoilers through the deserted ship in DDS1.
Heat can’t look right at her for a while after that. He wants to, wants to kiss her again and make it bright and burning and beautiful-it should be something like that, he thinks, should have been something like that. But he remembers the water spilling from her eyes, remembers that he really knows what cry means now, and that makes him hot, too, but in another way, in a way that settles in the pit of his stomach and makes him want to curl up against the wall the way Argilla does sometimes. And it might be better if he could hit something, if he could hit Serph, maybe, but he wants to hit himself most of all and he doesn’t think you’re supposed to do that. He leans against the wall and drives his fist as far through it as he can, but that just makes his hand hurt a lot and gets him pissed off and-and more of the stomachache-feeling, too.
“Heat?” Sera holds her hands clasped in front of her and twists them around. “Are you all right?”
“No,” he says, then mutters, “Sorry.”
“No,” Sera says, “I’m sorry, I-I don’t think I should have run away from you like that. Did you hurt your hand?”
“It’s nothing,” he tells her. “It takes more than that to hurt me.”
“Oh.” She looks down. “Do you want me to make sure?”
“…yeah,” he breathes.
Her feet quiver when she stretches up on her toes to kiss his cheek. It’s soft. More, Agni howls. Sera sinks back down and rests her head on his chest, and when he’s here, pinned between the wall and Sera-Agni growls a little deeper, like he’s just eaten a good meal. He slips his fingers in Sera’s hair. She wraps her arms around him, keeping him where he is, but that’s fine, because he doesn’t want to move right now.
For sugared: xeno, Gale. No spoilers (though in my head it takes place during DDS2).
Dyaus is built along pleasant aesthetic lines, Gale thinks; there is a quality to his form that proves pleasing to his vision, a way his wings taper and the crest on his head arches that contents him. He had wondered if it was some sort of residual Charm effect, but since then he has decided some shapes are more pleasant for the eye to behold than others, and Dyaus is composed largely of these forms.
Dyaus doesn’t complain when Gale runs his fingers down his wings. The muscles in his back twitch, but Dyaus says “Dat’s good, dat means you’re doin’ it right,” and Gale is inclined to take him at his word. He bites down gently on Dyaus’s wing-joint, which causes a noticeably larger spasm, so he repeats the experiment with more force. Dyaus lets loose a piercing cry at that; Gale shifts higher on his back, high enough that he can bathe as much of Dyaus’s crest as he can with his tongue, press his lips and teeth to the corners of his eyes, the back of his neck. He tastes of-he does not know what the sky tastes like, but if it has a taste, he imagines it would taste much like Dyaus. There is a current jumping beneath his skin, but it does not hurt Gale to come into contact with it. Vayu initially balks at the sensation but then cries his approval as Dyaus rises from the ground, rocking and chirping to the skies.
For who_shot_kr: sensory deprivation, Leoben. (You can guess who he's paired with.) Spoilers through Flesh and Bone.
A dream, either hers or his. He is aware of himself here, yes, he remembers a certain cycle of events and a certain flow to his thoughts, but whether they are truly fragments of his soul or snippets she has fashioned for him so he may serve some purpose for her-that he cannot say.
He doubts he’d place himself in this position, with a cloth knotted around his eyes, ropes cutting into his wrists, and a gag between his teeth. But only God knows all the facets of his mind; he can tease out patterns, but to see the whole picture he has to be something greater than he is now. Perhaps God is testing him. Perhaps he is testing himself. He’ll find out.
Does this give you pleasure? he would ask Kara if he could speak, but she doesn’t need words to discern his meaning. He gropes for threads in the silence, but they evade his grasp. Water trickles down his brow, his cheek. He half-expects her to submerge him in it soon.
But he feels nothing, nothing save for the knots binding him. He doesn’t bother to test their strength.
His head is wrenched backwards, and now her breath gusts across his face. He breathes her in, imagines how she must be looking at him now. Her grip tightens; darts of red shoot beneath his eyelids, sublime in their own right. His toes curl, his prick stiffens. The world shrinks until it is her hand and her breath and nothing else, all the truth of God and the meaning of life can be found in them, if he knows where to look-and perhaps that’s why he is blindfolded now, because the full vision cannot be his yet.
He waits.
The rest will be up tomorrow. I'm a little behind schedule due to illness and finishing the play, but I'll do my best.
Persona 3, DDS, and BSG in this batch. Still around 300 words each except for Kiwi's because Akihiko had more to say. Not worksafe. Read the kink warnings carefully.
For mahokiwi: sensory deprivation, Akihiko. Pregame, minor spoilers through June.
“The Shadows only come out after midnight,” Akihiko says, checking the sports tape wrapped around his wrists. It doesn’t feel loose. “I can’t rely so heavily on my sight when I fight them.”
“So that’s why you dragged me here?” Shinji asks.
“Yeah. Put the blindfold on me, and try not to make a lot of noise when you move. You’ve seen how they slither, right?”
Dimly, he sees Shinji’s hands lowering over his eyes, and then Shinji pulls the blindfold taut and knots it. The wrinkles in the fabric itch his eyelids. “The moon’s still up during the Dark Hour,” Shinji says.
“Not always.” He flexes his hands. He can still feel where his fists are in space, even when he stretches them as far away from his body as they’ll go. His nails bite into the leather of his gloves. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself to relax his hands more-if he punches Shinji with his fists curled up this tightly, he’ll break his fingers.
Akihiko can’t tell if the whispers on the pavement are caused by the wind or by Shinji’s footsteps. He hears-he thinks he hears-something tapping behind him, so he shifts his weight to the left and pivots, tries to connect with a cross.
Only air touches his knuckles. Damn. He tries not to jump at every stray sound and move towards every possible source of noise, but he feels his arms twitch anyway. Why is it so much harder to stay still in the dark? He needs to incorporate more observation into his training: listening to people moving and ambient noises until he can tell the difference between the two. Sweat starts to gather in the gaps between his fingers. He can’t think of when he’ll get the chance to sit back and listen to Shadows, though. He just has to get better, that’s all. He just has to-
There. That has to be Shinji somewhere over his shoulder. Jab, right cross-and someone catches his wrist before he can finish the combination, before he even has the chance to realize that he wasn’t hitting anything at all.
“You’re jumpy tonight, Aki,” Shinji says. “Get some sleep.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not stopping until I’ve made more progress than this.”
“Idiot,” Shinji growls. “You expect me to wait up all night with you?”
“Will you?” Akihiko asks.
“Only if we drop that shit and do this instead,” Shinji says, and those must be his teeth on Akihiko’s ear, his lips, his neck; those must be his fingers digging into Akihiko’s hips-
“But the training,” he manages to say.
“If I see any Shadows, I’ll yank your blindfold off and we can kick their asses. Okay?”
“You want me to leave this on?” he asks. His pulse jumps.
“You were the one who asked me to put it on you in the first place,” Shinji says in his ear.
“All right,” he says, and then Shinji does something else with his hand and he wonders if he’s going to have to train himself to get used to doing this in the dark, too.
For laylah: against a wall, Heat/Sera. Spoilers through the deserted ship in DDS1.
Heat can’t look right at her for a while after that. He wants to, wants to kiss her again and make it bright and burning and beautiful-it should be something like that, he thinks, should have been something like that. But he remembers the water spilling from her eyes, remembers that he really knows what cry means now, and that makes him hot, too, but in another way, in a way that settles in the pit of his stomach and makes him want to curl up against the wall the way Argilla does sometimes. And it might be better if he could hit something, if he could hit Serph, maybe, but he wants to hit himself most of all and he doesn’t think you’re supposed to do that. He leans against the wall and drives his fist as far through it as he can, but that just makes his hand hurt a lot and gets him pissed off and-and more of the stomachache-feeling, too.
“Heat?” Sera holds her hands clasped in front of her and twists them around. “Are you all right?”
“No,” he says, then mutters, “Sorry.”
“No,” Sera says, “I’m sorry, I-I don’t think I should have run away from you like that. Did you hurt your hand?”
“It’s nothing,” he tells her. “It takes more than that to hurt me.”
“Oh.” She looks down. “Do you want me to make sure?”
“…yeah,” he breathes.
Her feet quiver when she stretches up on her toes to kiss his cheek. It’s soft. More, Agni howls. Sera sinks back down and rests her head on his chest, and when he’s here, pinned between the wall and Sera-Agni growls a little deeper, like he’s just eaten a good meal. He slips his fingers in Sera’s hair. She wraps her arms around him, keeping him where he is, but that’s fine, because he doesn’t want to move right now.
For sugared: xeno, Gale. No spoilers (though in my head it takes place during DDS2).
Dyaus is built along pleasant aesthetic lines, Gale thinks; there is a quality to his form that proves pleasing to his vision, a way his wings taper and the crest on his head arches that contents him. He had wondered if it was some sort of residual Charm effect, but since then he has decided some shapes are more pleasant for the eye to behold than others, and Dyaus is composed largely of these forms.
Dyaus doesn’t complain when Gale runs his fingers down his wings. The muscles in his back twitch, but Dyaus says “Dat’s good, dat means you’re doin’ it right,” and Gale is inclined to take him at his word. He bites down gently on Dyaus’s wing-joint, which causes a noticeably larger spasm, so he repeats the experiment with more force. Dyaus lets loose a piercing cry at that; Gale shifts higher on his back, high enough that he can bathe as much of Dyaus’s crest as he can with his tongue, press his lips and teeth to the corners of his eyes, the back of his neck. He tastes of-he does not know what the sky tastes like, but if it has a taste, he imagines it would taste much like Dyaus. There is a current jumping beneath his skin, but it does not hurt Gale to come into contact with it. Vayu initially balks at the sensation but then cries his approval as Dyaus rises from the ground, rocking and chirping to the skies.
For who_shot_kr: sensory deprivation, Leoben. (You can guess who he's paired with.) Spoilers through Flesh and Bone.
A dream, either hers or his. He is aware of himself here, yes, he remembers a certain cycle of events and a certain flow to his thoughts, but whether they are truly fragments of his soul or snippets she has fashioned for him so he may serve some purpose for her-that he cannot say.
He doubts he’d place himself in this position, with a cloth knotted around his eyes, ropes cutting into his wrists, and a gag between his teeth. But only God knows all the facets of his mind; he can tease out patterns, but to see the whole picture he has to be something greater than he is now. Perhaps God is testing him. Perhaps he is testing himself. He’ll find out.
Does this give you pleasure? he would ask Kara if he could speak, but she doesn’t need words to discern his meaning. He gropes for threads in the silence, but they evade his grasp. Water trickles down his brow, his cheek. He half-expects her to submerge him in it soon.
But he feels nothing, nothing save for the knots binding him. He doesn’t bother to test their strength.
His head is wrenched backwards, and now her breath gusts across his face. He breathes her in, imagines how she must be looking at him now. Her grip tightens; darts of red shoot beneath his eyelids, sublime in their own right. His toes curl, his prick stiffens. The world shrinks until it is her hand and her breath and nothing else, all the truth of God and the meaning of life can be found in them, if he knows where to look-and perhaps that’s why he is blindfolded now, because the full vision cannot be his yet.
He waits.
The rest will be up tomorrow. I'm a little behind schedule due to illness and finishing the play, but I'll do my best.