bucketlist | Homestuck Kink Meme: Act 2

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Homestuck Kink Meme: Act 2

Homestuck Kink Meme

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Both art and fic are welcome and encouraged.

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It's called a kink meme but we welcome non-porn requests too. Just make sure you give anons something to work with beyond just the pairing.

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RULES

Your kink is okay. So is everyone else's. Do not leave prompts or comments that bash characters/pairings or put down somebody's kinks/interests.

If your prompt or fill contains common triggers such as graphic violence, rape/non-con, or abuse, please label it in the comment subject line, e.g.: "Vriska/Tavros [abuse]" or "Gamzee/any [violence]."

Please put the character(s) you're requesting in the comment subject line! That makes it a lot easier for potential fillers to find requests.

Having prompts filled is what makes a kink meme successful! Try to fill a prompt for every handful you leave.

There's a master list of fills in this post. Please link yours when you finish them!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh man, this is beautiful. I love the realistic interpretation of them you've got here. Thanks for sharing!

You're awfully glad the society is open on Saturday, at least for a little while. You don't have to try to call them from work, wondering what Gamzee's destroyed this time. It would be so much easier to contain if you could keep him in his room, or even in his coccoon, but he's too good at breaking down doors to risk it, and... well, locking him in the tiny sleeping space feels so cruel! You've been told that some trolls are cocoon-trained - some people say it's actually healthier to do that, because they actually like small spaces - but you can't bear to do that to Gamzee.

Even so, you've been kept on hold for a very long time, and it's stupid how many people must be calling them first thing Saturday morning! It's not unusual, though, from what you've heard. The society isn't a very popular organization, and they apparently get a lot of hate mail and prank calls. There are a lot of people out there who think that after what the trolls tried to do to humans, being studied and kept as pets and whatever is too good for them - even the little troll-owner memos that you frequent get a lot of flames! But the society keeps going on about research opportunities and the need to study their fascinating social structure and whatnot, and apparently the powers that be still agree with them enough to allow the compromise to keep going, for now.

A lot of them are probably culling requests, too. It's sad, but after some of the stories you've read you can understand why some of them have to be culled. You just hope you can help Gamzee before he's that far gone.

After what feels like forever the music stops, and a perky voice answers the phone. "Good morning, you've reached the Trollian Preservation and Research Society, how can I help you?"

"Yes, hello there!" Whoever this is sounds far too cheerful to be a real person. You wonder if it belongs to an AR. If it is a robot, well, its programing had better be up to date. You hate dealing with the ones that aren't. "My name is Roxy Lalonde and I adopted a troll from your shelter a few months ago - oh, where is that number?" You rummage around a bit in your purse. "Ah!" Finally you pull out a scrap of paper, reading off the half-faded numbers.

"One moment..." There's a pause. Either it is a human, or an AR programmed to pause for as long as a human would. Dirk couldn't have done a better programming job, and that's saying something. "Yes, we have your information here, Ms. Lalonde. This call is relating to Gamzee, indigoblood, six sweeps old, correct?"

"Yes, that's right." Six sweeps? You'd forgotten he was that old! That was nearly a teenager!

"Has he posed a physical danger to yourself or to any other human?"

You guiltily quash the memory of the pet-sitter. "No," you say, "he's just being very destructive of my property. I think it might be separation anxiety."

The voice paused. "What are the outward signs of his anxiety?"

"Well, he's torn up a lot of my furniture and books, and when I'm home he just huddles in the corner. It's like he knows he's done something wrong, but when I'm not here he can't stop himself -"

"Hmm." The voice interrupts you. "Yes, this does sound like separation anxiety. Let me look at Gamzee's records. Please hold."

Again? You're about ready to throw something across the room! You don't, though, if only because it would wake Gamzee. "Yes, thank you."

More music. When it stops again the voice has changed to a timid-sounding young woman. "Um, thank you for waiting, Ms. Lalonde. Um. You were asking for information on Gamzee?"

"Yes, I want to know why he's destroying my house! I do my best to take care of him, but he keeps damaging everything!"

"Yes, er, we believe that it's partially due to a personality change brought on by sopor withdrawal."

"Sopor... what?" you echo. "But he sleeps every night in a whole tank of the stuff!"

"Yes, well... cooking it changes its chemical makeup and has a very strong psychoactive effect. Our bloodwork indicated that he was given high dosages of cooked sopor for an extended period of time before he was captured and taken back to the shelter."

You gape. "But he was fine when I first brought him here! Didn't you clear him for adoption?"

"Being drugged for that long causes personality changes that take some time to fade," the representative answered timidly. "It was all in the liability release paperwork and consents to research that you signed, Ms. Lalonde. I have records of it here, with your signature."

"That's not the point!" you snap, mostly to cover your embarrassment over the fact that you weren't really paying attention at that point; you were just getting through it as quickly as possible so that you could take Gamzee home.

"Well, um, since you signed the release of liability, we can't be held responsible for any damage. But we can send you over some information, um, on how to best deal with the syndrome. And you should probably check his history again and see if there are any triggers for his, um, his destructive behavior -"

"Yeah," you say, resting your head in your hand. "Fine. Send the information to my account address, it's still good."

"Yes, Ms. Lalonde, we will. Um, I'm awfully sorry about this!"

"It's fine," you say, a bit nettled. You can't help yourself, though; under your breath you find yourself muttering. "I liked the AR better," you say.

"Um, Ms. Lalonde, I am a -"

You roll your eyes and hang up before she can finish.

Sopor withdrawal? Really? You guess you had best read those documents that you've ignored for three months, if you can even find them. You think you know where they are, anyway, somewhere in that drawer you reserve for important things.

---

You find the packet of documents after a while, although it's a bit dicey; it had somehow gotten shuffled under a couple years' worth of tax forms and a couple of citations for public intoxication. They gave you your pet's history in a big plain manilla envelope, when it's starting to seem to you that they should have given it to you in a flashing neon red folder with the words "READ ME" written in lime green glitterpen. Not that you would've read it anyway, but at least you might've figured out it was important, and to ignore it at your own risk. And boy, did you ever - maybe if you'd read this earlier your furniture could've been spared.

The notation about the drugging is, in fact, in there, along with a lot of other things. There's a few pages about his first owner, an old fisherman who took Gamzee out on the ocean in his fishing boat and took care of him. Apparently he'd been birthed by a feral mother grub - probably set free with a group of trolls by a well-meaning owner who'd thought that they should be allowed to live free, and who hadn't properly processed the idea that unidentified trolls were usually culled on sight and that identification records were deleted when they were declared permanently lost. The feral children never lasted long, anyway; by the time the old man had found him, most of the others had already died of exposure, and the indigoblood grub was the only one left alive. He'd taken the little guy in, had him registered with the society, and took care of him until he fell ill and died. His family in the city hadn't been interested in keeping a troll, and he'd declined too quickly to make arrangements for Gamzee's care. It was all very sad, you think, what happened to him; you've read that trolls bond to their first caretaker very strongly. That man was practically his father.

Then you turn to the pages about his second owner, the man who rescued him from the shelter after the society reclaimed him, and start reading.

In a few minutes, your blood is practically boiling, and you have to take a break and mix yourself a very dry martini just to get through it. If there hadn't been a note near the end that the man was already dead, well, you'd probably go out there and kill him yourself out of sheer rage. You're barely a troll-owner at all, you've only had one and that was for a few months, and you're still so mad at the guy that if you could get a bead on his skull you'd probably shoot him anyway, even it was just a skull...

You hear a faint honk behind you - the bike-horn you'd bought for your pet in the hopes that he'd destroy them instead of your house, not that it ever helped - and turn around, trying to compose yourself. Gamzee is standing there behind you, dressed only in a pair of boxers with hand-painted smiley-faces on them - your favorites, and you definitely notice that. He looks so forlorn without his makeup, his mouth too small for his face. "Hi," he says, voice quiet all over again.

"Hey, sweetie," you say. "What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" Maybe she needs to look at his sopor mix. They say that the cooler bloods are more prone to nightmares on the memos, and it might be making this whole thing worse.

He shook his head. "I just wanted to try to mo- to make things right," he said, voice rasping. "I know I've been up and doing a lot of horrible things lately."

"Gamzee, I -"

"Naw," he says, interrupting you. "I'm a - a bad troll. And I don't quite know how but I wanna make it up to you somehow, wanna paint a kick-ass picture or something. Something that'll make you smile. You've been so good to me, and I -"

You get up and shoosh him, in a hurry. "Shhh," you say, rubbing his back and looking up at him - it's hard to reconcile him being so tall with these childish moods of his, but you're starting to get used to it. "I'm thinking that we can just talk for a while, okay? That would make me feel better."

"Yeah, sure," he says, with a small closed-mouth grin. "I'm a great listener -"

You shake your head. "I know," you said, "which is why I think it's my turn to listen for a while."

"Your turn?" he says, cocking his head to the side, confused.

"Yeah." You smile, put your hands on his shoulders. "I mean, you never talk about yourself, Gamzee! Maybe I wanna know a little more about you. That's not weird, is it?"

"It ain't something anyone's asked me before," he says, frowning. "I mean, the people at the shelter up and said everything was in that little folder, and I didn't have to tell nobody anything because I didn't want to up and scare 'em away."

"Well, that's over now, right? Because I have you now, and I'm not going to get rid of you." You would've done it after the second destroyed chair, you think to yourself, but you're afraid saying it would hurt his feelings and that's not what you're trying to do here. "So you can go ahead and tell me about your life, and I won't be scared away. I'd be happy you told me, in fact."

"Huh." He smiled a little bit wider - you can see the edges of sharp teeth. "So... I can up and tell you anything? You ain't joking with me and you ain't gonna get mad?"

"Sure ain't!" You hold up your martini glass, even though you're pretty sure he won't get the joke. "Souse's honor."

He actually laughs a little at that, if only because he apparently notices that you're joking and figures that he ought to do something. "Well, ain't that a miraculous thing," he says. "All right. But lemme up and get some proper clothes on, if that's okay? A brother can get real cold in here."

The thought of why he was coming out to talk to you in his boxers in the first place crosses your mind, and you ignore it. You two have some important conversations to have, and you just can't dwell on that right now! "Okay," you say. "I'll meet you in the parlor when you get changed. Oh, and Gamzee - you can swear as much as you want when it's just you and me, okay? I can guarantee you I've heard worse."

"Sounds like a motherfucking sweet plan to me," he says, and he's almost relaxed as he turns away. It's progress.

Anon, I would like to write you this story, but most of the old pulp adventure stories I've read are less about the sexy sexy blackflirting and more about the bosom comrades fighting back to back, then weeping upon each other's wounds and snuggling for warmth in a Canadian shack after confessing their eternal devotion to each other. So I have two questions:

1. Would you be up for roleplay where clean-cut, honorable hero Jake English must team up with mysterious, rakish scoundrel Strider, intsead of hero/villain? (Possibly a story in which Strider's loyalty is questioned because his sister, mad and unpredictable Doctor Roxy, runs the robot death fortress which he unknowingly helped to build...)

2. Alternatively, can you recommend any pulp adventure stories (preferably available on Project Gutenberg, or old radio serials I can download) that do have the sexy sexy blackflirting, so I can, *cough*, study the dynamic properly?

OR WAIT. Have re-read your prompt. Possibly you wanted less plot, more porn! Yeah I might be able to do you that hero/villain-style then. Sorry, I clearly have too many ~feelings~ about Jake English, Adventure Hero.

ORIGINAL ROXY/GAMZEE PROMPTER LOVES THIS AND WOULD LIKE TO SNUGGLE EVERYTHING PLEASE. OMG Roxy you are such a terrible pet owner and yet I want you to keep him forever anyway.

I loved this! Equius is such a good pet.

OP here

Haha, um! I was thinking of porn, but I would absolutely relish an AU or something similarly plotty.

I am actually a big pulp fan and I totally get what you're saying with the lack of villain/hero interaction and more emphasis on heroes having emotions all over the place. I was thinking more along the lines of pulp-descended movie cliches, like James Bond or Indiana Jones, because Jake seems to be all about the action movies. If you want something more literary, Fantômas' frequent kidnapping of Fandor and taunting of Inspector Juve or all the stuff Doctor Fu Manchu does (ONCE YOU SCRAPE OFF THE RACISM I want to stress). Admittedly some of this stuff occurs offscreen or is usually directed at side chracters, but extrapolation! Going further afield, we have Jules Verne's scientist-heroes imprisoned by questionably-mad scientists (20K Leagues Under the Seas, Robur the Conqueror) and even Ganimard and Lupin's friendly rivalry (WHICH I LOVE). I can probably drum up some links/more recs if you want.

Haha this is the least anonymous anon comment ever.

OP

Your first prompt sounds wonderful but also...almost sounds like it's not roleplaying, haha. Like that's much closer to their canon dynamic than hero/villain...which could also be an interesting twist!

Everything this person has said, I second. Fervently.

They are so adorably clueless together! And I apparently cannot resist the combination of Gamzee + fingerpaint murals, I don't even know why it hits me right in the Adorableness Detector so hard, it just does! Gaaah.

Roxy being at wits' end yet never thinking to read the papers... *fights desire to shake her* But I find I can forgive her on the strength of 1. not saying the thing about the second chair, and 2. not giving him back to the shelter. She really has been a recipient of serendipity...

Apologies, OP, this fill is refusing to come to fruition. orz I can't get a steady enough hold on Auto-Responder's voice to comfortably complete this fill, and I didn't want to leave you hanging while I struggled with my inability to wrangle him properly. Hopefully I'll be able to get it down sometime, but... yeah, sorry to get your hopes up. /shot.

OP here, and np! This anon understands things getting in the way of writing. :)

Strider gets doubleteamed and is honestly quite surprised.

Some days, Gamzee doesn't keep too close of an eye on how much sopor he's eating. And while he may have a decent tolerance built up, if he goes too overboard, he's still out like a light. Which leaves plenty of opportunity for someone to take advantage of him...

ughh this please, so sad nobodys filled it :(

Oh anon this is lovely -- heartachy in all the best ways. I am cheering for part 3!

Thank you! :D Part 3 is being proofread right now - I've reached a tough part of the story, and I'm nervous about doing it right, so it might take a little longer!

No, Roxy. Keeping cats does not prepare you for keeping trolls. Trolls are a little bit tougher. XD
Thank you! This grabbed me a few days ago when I saw the prompt and it's so much fun to write.

...yeah, Roxy is one of those pet owners who figures that the magical bond between master and pet will somehow conquer all issues, and it just doesn't work that way! Kind of like those people who think that a dog's dominant behavior means that the dog is warming up to them, when really it means the dog's scared and decides that it needs to be in charge to handle its fear. She's starting to learn a little, though!

Anyway, thank you, and I'm hoping to have more of this up once proofreading is finished!

one of those pet owners who figures that the magical bond between master and pet will somehow conquer all issues

Aaahh, one of THOSE. *facepalms* Having worked in a pet store, a shelter, and a grooming salon, I can safely say that THOSE people are too often lawsuits waiting to happen. Because "don't worry, he won't bite!" is not the correct response to your dog growling at someone; and "oh, that's just what he does!" is even worse. *doublefacepalm*

(And oooooh, the ones who misinterpret dominance as friendliness! Or aggression toward a larger dog as "he doesn't know he's not a big dog, too, haha!"...! But I'll shut up now before this stops being about your awesome story and instead turns into something that belongs on a Retail Job Horror comm.) :D

I was hoping to finish this on 4/13, but it's not going to happen. ;_; Hopefully soon.

i am cheering for yoU! i'm sUre it will be fabUloUs whenever yoU finish!

BE KANAYA >
Your name is KANAYA MARYAM and you are one of, as the literature says, one of the approximately 6% of trolls who are Honeydew Producers.

You wake up and your chest feels heavy and sore. Pulling your sopor-resistant sleep shift over your head carefully, you nevertheless put enough pressure against your breasts to confirm the problem: it’s going to be Honeydew Time.

The 6% number is bandied about often, but you don’t know anyone else who has admitted to it - and for good reason. Sweeps and sweeps ago, you’d have to pull up into your hive, block off the easy entrances, and hopefully have an unusually sensitive moirail that would figure it out and distract others from you as needed, and your black quadrants would be none the wiser. Many an old fashioned troll matespirit story was framed around misunderstood tower-based exile, sorcerous kidnappings, milking dungeons, and/or quadrantmojo all surrounding the sweet, sweet aphrodisiac powers of honeydew.

Now they sell specialty products in glossy boxes telling Honeydew Producers to Take Control Of Their Bodies or something like that, which seems to consist of compression garments and absorbent fiber mats. Or you could sell it yourself, which was another Movement In Honeydew Liberation among certain groups (who often Speak And Type Somewhat Like You Are Prone To, which is how you found out about them in the first place, although it is Illegal and you think it’s A Bit Tawdry Besides.)

Not to mention, you don’t run in the right circles to know a good middletroll, or even someone who mentions it in conversation, except as hyperbole or profanity. Thankfully, that’s rarely face to face, so when Karkat strings it along in the midst of all his other swears, no one can see the blood rush to your face, or the way you bite your lip in consternation.

However, today you have made Terezi an appointment with you, and more importantly, with your fabric samples. After the first incident with a surprisingly terrible to her but visually obscure beige stripe, you insisted she come over and smell them and probably taste them and choose based on her idiosyncratic interpretation of green and red and paisley. Until then, you’d never considered the mouthfeel of fabric. You bind your breasts with something you’ve devised yourself, with clasps and shaping and comfortable straps, swallow a tablet for the ache, and forget about it.

BE TEREZI >

Your name is TEREZI PYROPE and you are overwhelmed by the billowing sheets of color outside Kanaya’s hive. It’s rare you leave the area around your perfectly defensible tree-hive so while you recall the presence of these discordant scents, you are never fully prepared for it. Occasionally you run into a licorice string tethering them down. The wind blows them near and far, left and right, and you navigate between them along the winding sandy path that leads to her hive.

----
Kanaya remembers that when she had vision, Terezi still loved color. Not in any sort of organized way, and if there was a harmony to the combinations she devised then, it was hers and hers alone. Later on, the swatches she provided had acted a sort of training ground, when her smellovision was still fuzzy. But the last time Terezi visited she said it was so overwhelming she could barely make out the edges of anything, and proceeded to nearly fall out the window. A vase got in the way.

Today Kanaya unfolds grey blankets and bits of felt and covers the brightest colors and most jagged patterns. The soft quilt overlaying the comfy pile of pillows is no less inviting for its monotone ripples. Flopping down and napping until Terezi gets here seems absolutely appropriate. Shifting from being awake at day to night is tricky business. She slips a hand inside the collar of her dress and idly pulls a compression garment strap back onto her shoulder. Waiting is also tricky.

The hive front entry doorway notification system buzzes. She stumbles to her feet, to the window, and peers down.

“It’s like I’m buried in a fruit bowl down here!” she shouts up; it echoes a split-second later on the speaker. Kanaya presses the button unlocking the door to her hive.

“A windy fruit bowl,” Terezi repeats, slightly out of breath, when she reaches the central room. “Thanks for muting everything this time.” She prods the floor with her cane, and it clangs against vases and the bottom of the desk. Kanaya stands back, arms relaxed and eyes darting around, ready to catch anything knocked over. She relaxes when Terezi finds the pile of pillows and falls neatly into the spot she just vacated.

“Were you sleeping here? It’s all warm,” she comments. She sniffs. Discarding her cane, she turns her head into the blanket, lifting a section with both hands, and inhales deeply. Her brow wrinkles. “Who the hell slept here, Kanaya?”

“I did indeed fall asleep very temporarily on that pile of pillows, instead of properly in my recuperacoon. I covered it with some dark grey fabric so it would be less distracting to you as I have as of late decided my furnishings should be made of as many diverse colored cushions as possible.”

“No, this smells...” She gestures decisively. “Come over here.”

Kanaya steps delicately over the discarded cane and stands nearby.

She yanks on the hem of her host’s garment. “I’m only getting fake cherry skirt here, come on. I’m exhausted. I hate travelling. I’m not getting up for, like, a bit. Definitely at least ‘a bit’, whatever amount of time that is. Come here.”

Kneeling nearby, Kanaya closes her eyes as the blind troll noisily sniffs. “What’s going on?” She opens her eyes to see an uninterpretable look on Terezi’s face. Light glints off her red glasses. “You usually smell like lawnring and treetops. But there’s something else today.” She takes one more drag of the air near Kanaya; to her, it feels invasive, obscene. “I don’t know what it is, but I don’t remember you smelling this gogdamned delicious.”

“I really do not think this is...I’m sure it is just something I’m wearing. I do not understand how I could possibly change something as basic as my underlying hemoscent. Perhaps reproductive granules from a plant?”

Accusing hands are thrust forward, finding hold of the taller troll’s shoulders. She is pulled forward, off-balance in body and mind. “Naw, it’s not flowers. The skirt’s the same. And not your lipstick.” Her nose lands at the V of her dress. “Oh, gog. It’s here. Wait.” Terezi looks up and grins. Her claws tighten around the other’s arms. “Oh Maryam. Have you been holding out on everyone, or just me?”

She laughs her harsh laugh as Kanaya tries to pull herself backwards. “I do not sell this...fluid,” she nearly spits. “It is merely an inconvenience.” Her claws are like her teeth, she thinks, small and sharp and more intense close-up than one expects from a distance. “I...I know it is illegal.”

“I admire your adherence to the law. Stay down here.”

Terezi’s fingers relax on one side, and Kanaya finds it easier to ease down into the pile than argue or stumble backwards. “That law was made so that trolls with particular genetic mutations, that is to say, trolls like me, would not be treated like moobeasts.” She folds her arms over her chest.

“The letter of the law,” Terezi says, “is that honeydew cannot be sold.” She breathes deeply, opening her mouth with its fearful teeth, and inhaling. “Stolen, or used to drug a troll without his or her consent.”

“Even if I give some to you, which is what I believe you may be suggesting without saying, I can’t imagine what you’d do with it.”

“So uncreative.” She stretches out, folding her arms behind her head. Impressively, she takes up more space despite her physically smaller stature. “Do you even know what it does?”

Kanaya pulls her arms closer around herself.

“I can smell your blood rushing up to your face.”

“It makes you flushed,” she whispers, uncharacteristically terse. Terezi lays a finger on her face, awkwardly close to her eye.

“That is one effect. That is why it is Illegal.” The capitalization of the word is somehow apparent. A second finger is pressed along her cheekbone. “Two, it makes you more psychic. Three, it does not make you insane. This is how it differs from Mind Honey but it’s where it got its name.” She drags her fingers away, down to the collar. “Besides...didn’t you say it was inconvenient for you?”

“You will not let this idea go, will you,” she says after a minute. “It will fester in your thinkpan until you do something devious.”

“Closing arguments, your Honeydewness?” A hand slides slide up and down the diagonal seam, then lingers on the licorice-whip tie that holds the wrap tunic closed.

“But you’ll be...um....”

“Flushed? Sure, while it lasts. It doesn’t mean we’d be matespirits, jegus.” She rolls above with sudden violence, pinning Kanaya down. She leans down and continues in a harsh whisper. “Doesn’t it get boring, being so responsible all the time? Auspisticizing instead of...anything else?”

“I have come to the same conclusion and have made my decision.” One hand flutters under the other’s grasp. “I hazard it will not be as pleasant through my clothes and the elaborate compression harness I’ve designed.”

Terezi leans back, her hands busy now finding the knot at her hip, then flinging ribbon and wrap apart. Her face and hands follow the burnt-rock taste of rubbery straps, searching out a knot or button or clasp and Kanaya watches her become perplexed and then gleeful as she discovers the latching mechanisms. Bits of fabric are pushed aside and beneath, forgotten.

In return, she arches her back, settling her shoulders back into the pillows and closing her eyes and mind to the other’s pointed teeth. Ten fingers encircle her left breast at the base, the long, firm strokes like massaging a bruise, all soreness and the inexplicable rebound sweetness. She looks down and wonders how the honeydew will flow through the tightening peak, her blood rushing, coloring her skin under Terezi’s cool hands. Thin black lips rush forward before she sees the first drops, suck replacing the kneading hands. For the first time since the first time it happened, sweeps ago, she feels the honeydew in her ducts; this time it rushes forward, fast, being drawn instead of seeping.

She becomes greedy, careless with her teeth. Kanaya feels a line inside her, like the liquid is seeping inside her backwards, through her chest and down her spine, through her to the cleft and bone between her legs. It traces a path she did not know existed through her, serpentine and electric, and she knows Terezi feels it too as she writhes in symmetry.

Terezi reels backward. “Everything,” she says, and inhales loudly. “I can see all the things. All of them. Under your dust shrouds.” She leans forward again, her body casting a shadow over the other’s. “You need to join me, Maryam.” Lips, teeth crash as she kisses. A few sweet drops remain under her tongue. When they’re gone she whispers, “I can see beneath all the skirts.”

She curves herself and lifts her hostess’s other breast, stroking one thumb over the dark nipple before descending. Her impatience leaves tiny green marks where her teeth have drawn the flesh into her mouth.

“Tell me what I taste like,” Kanaya says, threading her hands into Terezi’s shaggy black hair. The head shakes ‘no’, mouth unwilling to let go. She sucks hard, almost enough to break the hazy high Kanaya has drifted off into, then breaks off. Her breasts are cool outside the drinking mouth, away from the wet tongue. That tongue finds hers again; she has held a mouthful of honeydew and it coats Kanaya’s throat. It is liquid sunshine, the good kind, the kind only she can tolerate. This is the closest they can ever come. This is better.

Hands in hair drift towards horns, and she closes her eyes, voluntarily blinding herself and now she can see the colors behind her eyes. She can smell herself, new growth and sap, sticky and green and alive, and her cherry skirts, like candy. Nearby is a hand full of berry-tasting blood, tangy. She grasps it and pulls fingertips into her mouth, only a thin consciousness keeping her from sinking her teeth into her wrist and reaching the arterial source. Terezi’s thoughts seem close. Her body is close, and feels right, feels like nearly one perfect circuit, her lips back on her breast, hands finding holds on each other and neither willing to let go. Kanaya’s hand slips down her back, finds purchase on her tingling skin between her shirt and trousers.

Terezi stops suddenly, lifting up but pressing her hips down. “So distracting, Maryam,” she says. “I keep smelling cherry red but all I want is leafy green.”

I want nothing, she thinks, I want nothing because I have everything. She is unsure if she is thinking or speaking, speaking the capital letters about This Feeling and This Colors and Your Small Quick Perfect Hands and Gog Pyrope Hands Anywhere Do Not Leave My Skin.

“This isn’t what you taste like,” says a voice, squeezing her breasts. Terezi’s hand traces the line Kanaya thought she imagined. Fingers hesitate. “I bet you taste better than honeydew.”

She twists up, crying out, and the skirt falls down the stairs.

Kanaya/Rose with seriously toppy Kanaya getting past Rose's cool poise and finding a molten-hot libidinous center. Aphrodisiacs, rainbow drinker mind powers, dom/sub dynamics inducing a needy submissive headspace, any way you want to play it. Just give me blistering hungry passion and Rose's self-control falling apart. unf.

In which Vriska uses her mind control abilities to her advantage.

Pretty much what it says on the tin. I'd like to see fic where the two are asexual, but are interested in seeing what sex is like so they agree to try it with each other. Optional: they enjoy it, they just don't really understand what the fuss is about. (Mostly I just don't want the end result to be "oh well that was terrible" "yeah let's never do that again".)

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Page 10 of 20

Homestuck Kink Meme: Act 2

Re: romantic murder, PM/Bec Noir or just about any ship

Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 2/?)

Re: Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

Re: Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

Re: Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 2/?)

Re: John: be a responsible pet owner, John/Equius, fluffy smut

Re: Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

Re: Dirk/Jake, Roleplay

Re: Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 2/?)

Re: Auto-Responder/Davesprite

Re: Auto-Responder/Davesprite

Jane/Dirk/Jake

Any/Gamzee [noncon, drugs]

Re: Eridan/Gamzee - breathplay, noncon

Re: Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 2/?)

Re: Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 2/?)

Re: Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 2/?)

Re: Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 2/?)

Re: Separation Anxiety (Roxy+Gamzee, AU, ownership, M, 2/?)

Re: Karkat/John, sweet delicious blackrom

Re: Karkat/John, sweet delicious blackrom

Re: For I on honeydew hath fed/and drunk the milk of paradise (Terezi/Kanaya)

Kanaya/Rose dominance play

Vriska/Tavros

John/Rose, asexuality