POKEMON KINK MEME!!

[pokekink_meme]

Hi everyone, welcome to the

POKEMON KINK MEME!

Never seen a kink meme before? It's simple.
Anonymously post a ship or a character, and a kink.
And other anons will write for you!

If you're having trouble deciding what you're looking for or can't decide on a kink, go ahead and give the list of kinks a look over.

Also PLEASE if you make a request, try to fill another, kink memes die so young with only prompts and no fills :(
And feel free to fill any prompts that have already been filled.

Have fun!! If this really gets going I'll try to make an index.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Green/Daisy

Incest is probably enough of a kink on its own, but if you wantto incorporate them trying not to get caught, that's good too.

Dessication

[(Anonymous)]

Desiccation
by #13 – for more information check here ()

He's not quite sure of when it begins. He is only sure of the shape of Daisy's face, the curve of her pink lips, the disappointed brown in her downward eyes, her hands resting on her hips, closed in gentle fists. Green has always liked seeing things for what they are, and Daisy delightful to watch, composed even in her anger. She is the direct opposite to Green and his combustible fits, cool and calm and beautiful. Nowadays, though, Daisy has not been playing the part.

She drops her fork into the dishwasher, closing it with her foot and then her hip, staring absently out the window, into their backyard. Green is still finishing his lunch. That's when she turns to him, hands-on-hips and hazel eyes cool. It takes him a second to realize she is angry, not defying him to do something stupid. He runs his chores over in his head, making sure he's done everything she asked him to.

"Don't you ever get tired of being stuck here?" she asks instead, surprising him (but not really—Green knows his sister well and he knows summer is particularly hard on her). "I mean, when was the last time Red was here?" Green gives her a look, but she doesn't notice, already diving into yet another tirade. "Why does he get to leave you behind? Is that fair for you? Do you think that's fair?" Daisy waves her bare arms around. They are tanned from the time spent in the garden, outside, weeding and cleaning up the rose bushes. In the summer, the splashes of red are sparse. It makes him sad for some reason. "He gets to go anywhere; he gets to live his own life. He drops by whenever it's convenient and – he's … he's …"

"He's a selfish prick," Green supplies.

"He's you," Daisy whispers, letting her arms drop. "Red is you. It was a metaphor."

"Yes," he answers blandly, getting up, neatly lining the silverware on the sink. "I know." Daisy's hand is on his shirt when he turns.

"Why do you keep leaving?" she asks then, under her breath. The kitchen is hot, a slight summer breeze blowing inside and making things even drier. He swallows, taking her hand, looking down at her. Once, she was the taller figure. Once, he was the boy reaching for her skirt, hiding behind her high-school blue plaids when his grandfather received very important people. Now, they are inverted, but not really. Green keeps running away and Daisy keeps holding her ground. He has a feeling it is always going to be this way.

---

He spends the rest of the week in Viridian and returns for the weekend, exhausted. The heat is stifling and the short travel to Pallet spiritually draining. Green notices, with some contempt, that the lawn of their backyard is turning into a revolting shade of yellow, but he doesn't bring it up with Daisy because when he steps inside the house, he finds her lying on the couch. She's awake, and perhaps that's what's so scary; to find her drained and uninterested, when she is the most active and kind person he knows (barring the fits of hyperactivity his grandfather sometimes seems to have, travelling to Johto or Sinnoh just because). His fingers stop at the stripe of uncovered skin between shirt and skirt as he sits down on the floor, leaning his face on the couch's velvety surface. For a moment, Green almost – almost – forgets that she is the older sibling, almost forgets that she was the one who babysat for him when Gramps was out. When Green stops paying attention, Daisy stops being his sister and becomes a girl. When Green stops paying attention, a lot of things slide out of their rails.

She turns, twists to look at him, her hair sliding over her bare shoulder. It's the same chestnut shade of his own; the thought that they are so incredibly similar bothers him far more than it should. "You're home early," she says sleepily. His knuckles drag across her midriff, and Green only realizes he's doing it until a moment later, when her eyes, hazel and warm, meet his, sharp green. "Tough day at work? I know you hate Fridays." Daisy is leaning on her shoulder, now, her freckled nose inches from his own. It would just take a smooth movement—it would just take him a second to lean in and kiss her. He frowns instead, turning his face away, stubborn and frowning, letting go of her skin in one fluid motion. Daisy sighs. Maybe disappointed, maybe aware of what a tense and wrong relationship they've got going on. He doesn't know. "I made chocolate chip cookies." His favorite. She turns away again, and he gets up. "They're on the counter."

Green spends the rest of his afternoon moping in Gramps' lab, and only comes home when he is sure Daisy is already safe asleep in her bedroom.

---

The next morning, he wakes up to pancakes with maple syrup and a note warning him that Gramps is going to Johto for his radio show. His hair is unkempt and he doesn't know where he's put his shirt, but all that pales in comparison when he is confronted with Daisy's sunny smile. She is still wearing her apron, the green knot behind her neck forcing her to tie her long hair, the locks bouncing with the cheerful skip in her step. It's like yesterday afternoon never happened, it's like Green's mouth on hers when he was sixteen never happened—

"Thanks for the meal," he says dryly, rubbing at his eyes with his left hand, picking up the cutlery with his right. She nods at him, and drinks her lemon tea – no sugar with a block of ice, it's summer after all. He pours himself a glass of milk straight out of the fridge, cool enough to wake him up. "Gramps is out of town," he adds, thoughtfully.

"Where to?"

"Goldenrod. They're asking him for a special segment on the Lake of Rage radio waves."

Daisy nods, not particularly interested. She's never really been into pokémon. At least, not in the way he is, not in the way Red and him battle and explore and live and breathe—Daisy makes by with seeing the tangela by the south, or the pidgey that often feed on the crops by southwest. And somehow that is enough for her. Green has always hated not understanding that about his sister.

"What are your plans for the weekend?"

"Shoot the breeze."

"I see," she replies, sitting across from him. Her feet touch his, skin against skin. They're slightly gritty – he assumes she's been tending to her garden barefoot, like always – and Green feels a familiar heat coil in the pit of his stomach. He tells himself how wrong this is. It doesn't help. Not in the least. He supposes his self-berating has never been effective, because Green is ice and Daisy is fire and everyone knows about type differences anyway, so why does he even bother? "We have the house for ourselves, then?"

Green blinks – becomes sixteen and rebellious instead of twenty and disappointed, finding himself in the vast expanse of his memory. In there, it is summer as well, but Daisy is still taller than him, her slender legs free from constraints as she parades in the kitchen in her shirt and jean shorts. She is cooking and he is still bleary-eyed from sparse hours of sleep, the stress of being a gym leader still fresh on his body. Daisy turns on the ball of her feet, greets him good-morning and makes to peck him in the cheek, but Green turns to greet her as well, and their lips crash awkwardly. It's not pleasant, no, not specially, but they still take far more time than they should breaking apart. Daisy's cheeks are as hot as the bacon on the frying pan. He can feel the warmth, because after all they are inches apart, his lips still feeling awkward and slightly wet from hers. A second passes. Then another. Daisy closes her eyes. And Green leans up, his hands on her shoulders, his mouth on hers, experimenting, relishing in the purposeful situation. He wonders, staring at the pancakes on his plate, if she'd taste like maple syrup if he kissed her now. Turning the situation over and over inside his head, he is met with a draw. It's been a long time since then, since they traded awkward kisses in the kitchen (what would their grandfather think if he'd walked in then), and Green is not the uncomfortable kisser he was back then. But neither is Daisy, he supposes.

"We have the house for ourselves," he confirms.

Her fork clatters on her plate when she pulls herself over the table, one of her elbows sustaining her, her other hand fisted in his hair, bringing him forward for a kiss. Lost in the middle of an errant thought about doing laundry and checking up on Red's mom, it takes him more time than he would like to admit to kiss back. Daisy does taste of syrup, but also of green tea and something fresh, like she's just brushed her teeth. There's a sharp, needling pain at the end of his back and the table's digging into his sternum but he is never going to pull apart.

True to his word, Green holds until she breaks the kiss, their gazes meeting levelly despite the high color on her cheeks, despite his disheveled hair. They truly are equal, even in shame; their chiseled jaws, their straight noses, the hollows of their cheeks. How narcissistic of him to think her beautiful. Daisy sits down again, hides her face in her hands, her eyebrows angling up in what is probably anguish. Green doesn't let her sink too deep—he gets up and walks around the table, predatory and commanding like those are the only things that he knows how to be. The kitchen smells of sweet things and dry grass, but Daisy smells of conditioner and lemon, and he finds that hour much prefers her scent over baked goods'. Her hands trail the hard path of his chest while his get lost in her hair, pulling out her scrunchie and sending it somewhere far. She's already half-sitting in the table, her butt propped up against the edge, and he plants his hands on each side of her hips, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her dress. He kisses her and wonders if she'd mind if he hiked it up.

Daisy breaks away with a heart-breaking sigh, leaning her forehead on his shoulder. "This is wrong on so many levels."

"I know," he says, and it's not just to agree, it's because he knows, he knows—Daisy is not just a sister, she is also his makeshift mother, the girl five years older who cooked for him and made his bed and cleaned his room. This is an inversion of roles so sudden. He's not quite sure of how to feel.

So he kisses her again. How can something feel wrong and right at the same time? The paradox fascinates him, but not as much as Daisy, so eventually it is forgotten in favor of slipping his hands up her dress. She is as smooth as he hoped, her sun-kissed skin easy to reach beneath his hands. She gasps and he presses an absent kiss into her neck. It's chaste, just a press, a startling display of innocence. It's funny in a sad way when he's aware that despite the whole easy-going thing they've got going on above, his hands are testing her, curling inside, making her twitch and whisper his name in his ear. Sometimes it's not just his name; sometimes she tells him she'd like if he curled his fingers more to the right, or even incoherent 'right theres' and 'pleases'. Daisy is flushed and slick by the time he's done, her eyes are closed and her mouth is open. Green feels terribly pleased with himself, but the satisfaction is not entirely sweet. He can't put it into words; it's like a sad happiness, a little thing gnawing at his ear, telling him that he excels at making the wrong choice – it's wrong, yes, but at least he's good at it.

They stop before they make any permanent damage (after she closes his legs with a breathy moan), him wiping his fingers on his pajama shorts, she pretending the erection straining against his slacks isn't entirely obvious. Outside, the grass is dry and sprouts in infrequent patches, and Green wants to set the whole thing on fire.

---

Three days later and he's going crazy, avoiding her at every chance he gets. Daisy's schedule is not hard to memorize – mornings for shopping, afternoons for gardening, evening for reading or watching television – and Green's is inflexible. To crash at his gym for a good night's sleep would be the obvious chance, but he hates the drafts in there and he hates knowing that she's sleeping all alone.

He spends the nights up, staring at the ceiling, knowing that Daisy is just on the other side of the wall. He runs every fact he knows about pokémon through his head just so his lap stays unaffected when she taps at his door, calling him for breakfast. It's always a variation of pancakes or waffles, a full-course meal meant to feed the elephant in the room (and its name is you're-not-meant-to-be-in-love). The thing—is it's hard to deal with it when both sides want. It's harder even when they are both aware that it only takes a slight lack of judgment to finish what's started.

The lack of judgment comes then – three days later after the table and the fingers and Daisy whispering his name – when he is sitting outside on the swing, staring at the rose bush. It's empty. Green tells himself that it is just because it's summer, that it doesn't have any special meaning or anything, but he can't help the comparison between Daisy's state of mind with her garden—barren and dry and dying. It's probably that, he assumes, that gets him to bend over to her will.

Daisy's the one pulled into a kiss this time. Green is almost feverish, despite the implications (or because of them, he can't tell). Beside them, the slow burn of the stove bubbles up through the batter. It's going to burn, he thinks, but pushes into her thighs easily enough. She is nothing if responsive, bucking her hips a millisecond after he shifts. The counter doesn't give under her weight, under her shaking hands. They're still half-clothed, her apron and his shirt discarted. Green can see the garden through the window behind them, can see the lawn and the forest behind Pallet. Something lurches in his chest, but Daisy's hands reach for the cord of his pajama pants and Green knows he's got shit to do because it's Wednesday and he's got battles to win—

He would like to say his mind turns blank at the touch of her hands, but it doesn't. He's unable to stop thinking properly, yes, but only because everything floods his brain at the same time—Daisy, the blood they share, a dull memory of a boy next door, the frustrations of being second-place, the thought they are going down fast and there is no safety net. The guilt multiplies when he comes, staining her hands and her knee-length skirt. She looks dirty and embarrassed, so he steps aside and lets her go to the bathroom to wash his come off her arms.

When she returns, she's wearing another skirt and he's gone, swinging in the backyard, hating the yellow shades of their dying garden. She sets her hand on his shoulder, chaste and barely there. "We have to stop doing this."

"You're ignoring the garden, you know. You barely give a shit about it now," he says in reply, bare feet petting the ground. "Look at it. It's a fucking mess. You ruined it."

She says nothing. For a moment, he thinks she is going to tighten her grip on his shoulder, he thinks she is going to play the part of the grieving girl, or maybe the part of the girl who's sorry. Instead, Daisy pulls away, stares into the ledges around them.

"I'll water it tomorrow," she says simply.

"I'm the garden. It was a metaphor," he wants to say, but doesn't.

And she leaves; and he stays (a first).

A/N

[(Anonymous)]

aaand I forgot the link. Great.

Title should be:
Desiccation
by #13 – for more information check here (http://pokeprompts.dreamwidth.org/3067.html)

Re: Dessication

[(Anonymous)]

Dear #13, this was fucking fantastic.

Re: Dessication

[(Anonymous)]

AMAZING. <3