Welll, at least how I write him in this blog he’s a boy and well I don’t think guys can be butch or femme. BUUUTTT if I were write her as a girl, I think she’s be more butch leaning, maybe best described as Futch, mostly cuz she’d be kinda swagless wearing hoodies and dirty sweatpants when not at school lol.
"The dark recedes into the far reaches of the dungeon. Before you, piles of gold coins and bars in different shapes and sizes gleam against your torch. Soon, it's the sharp scales of a dragon that get uncovered by your feeble light."
(self indulgent no plot femcyuri porn. that's all)
Mabel took after something of Yuri's. A few things, really — Yuri herself had osmosified a few of Mabel's traits (the doting, first and foremost) — but one of them often stands out; her attentiveness. Mabel can always tell, notice a change in mood, sense a rising weight in the air around them that wasn't before, spot some silent wanton.
That night, during that little dinner get-together, she could tell. The tracing of Yuri's thumb whenever their hands met, a motion just slightly too careful, as if Yuri was holding herself back. The heat of every breath she let out whenever Mabel laughed at one of Sayori's dumb stories — it prickled subtly against Mabel's earlobe. Yuri shut down so promptly whenever her girlfriend opened her mouth, like she wanted to lose no opportunity to share the air she breathed. Mabel shrugged it away, initially; her dull vocabulary be dammed, she can be imaginative.
During the walk home, there was a weight in the air. Tension. Not apologies left unsaid, not upset wanting to burst through their skin, not hurt feelings licking themselves clean. Want.
The door shut behind them. Relief slowly built, then piqued, when Yuri shed her trenchcoat and pounced onto Mabel against the wall.
Right now, they're exactly here: by the door, pressed together against the wall. Their lips are feverish, grinding together, tongues hot, slipping between and swirling into each other. It's shocking, this synchronicity, a flowstate where their minds seem linked, as if their hormones are bleeding together to form into the same need. Need. Mabel had thought the wrong word.
"Gah, Yuri—"
"Sorry," she breathes.
Mabel, too, takes her moment to inhale, before her hands pull Yuri back in. "Don't be."
Yuri takes this as a request to be bold, yet she still starts tame: her hands fondle the fabric over Mabel's collars, shoulders, her lips slip from Mabel's, upper teeth grazing and briefly pulling on the skin. Then she lowers, kisses jaw, chin, neck, and opens her mouth around the latter. She hesitates, inches back and forth, breath prickling against the skin, then bites.
Mabel moans, hands shooting out to meekly grab Yuri's hips. She rocks herself quietly back and forth, pulling on the meat of Mabel's neck, suckling with a needy mumble, and lets friction separate her lips from her flesh with a smack. Mabel's head is tilted, held against the dull wall, as if for Yuri to continue. No, she just admires her handiwork. The skin of Mabel's neck is flush, marked with teeth-shaped slits in a crooked oval, already on the verge of fading out.
She's snapped out of the reverie by Mabel's voice. "Yuu."
"Yes?" she asks, breathier than she thought she'd be.
"Wall's gonna screw up my back."
"Okay," Yuri says, succinct, nodding as she carefully steps back until Mabel steps forward.
As if to pseudo-tackle her, Mabel wraps her arms around Yuri's midsection and, like a poorly synchronized dance, walks her to the couch. It likely won't be much better for her spine, but they're both far too wobbly and hazy for the stairs.
Time blurs around them by the time the headrest tilts. Hands run like rivulets down Mabel's midsection, coalescing at the hems of her knit sweatshirt and black jeans. Yuri's thumbs betray an anxious indecisiveness, flicking at the rate of her breaths, until she feels a gentle grasp on her forearm, rising up to the joint of her elbow.
Mabel's eyes have always looked so kind, even in moments like this. It makes Yuri weak, such that her knees threaten to wobble between Mabel's hips and make her fall forward. Although, maybe that wouldn't be bad at all.
Yuri leans in, hands sliding back up — now beneath Mabel's top — fingertips trailing over the slopes of her ribcage. Their lips hover close; Mabel briefly leans in by a centimeter, as if expectant, and sheepishly pulls back when their lips don't meet. She's left awkwardly frozen for a moment, until she manages to let her hands hover up, then weakly latch on to Yuri's waist and then the small of her back.
Only then do they kiss again, slow, measured, holding themselves back, parting with a soft, wet click. Yuri's hands keep feeling, circling around the same nondescript spots of warm skin, until her fingertips rise high and bump into hard fabric. She now has something to do.
With a shudder, she slides her hands out, then grabs fistfuls of Mabel's sweatshirt, brusquely pulling it up such that it catches Mabel off guard; her stomach tingles from the sudden breeze, transfiguring into a hot prickle that wriggles its way into her chest, her ears.
Mabel's arms awkwardly rise so she can be freed from her top. Only the sports bra stands in Yuri's way, and she hooks her thumbs beneath to half-heartedly pull it upwards for Mabel's breasts to humbly flop out. She shudders, legs shifting against Yuri's.
Yuri shifts, legs crossing over one of Mabel's so that she can lie beside her rather than straddle. She admires, adores, puffy nipples hardened, and brands a kiss on the meat of one tit. She's praised with a sensitive moan, and so her lips progress, lower, kisses becoming nibbles and bites on the more supple bits of flesh; Mabel's hip, her stomach, her navel.
Yuri wanted so desperately to quietly crawl under that table.
"Don't..." Mabel shudders. "You don't think you're a little overdressed?"
Yuri stops, head rising to stare into her eyes, attempting to find judgment, only to find a stupid smile. "Ah. Yes."
She glances between her previous target — a trail of hairs leading up to a belly button — and Mabel, before sighing and straightening herself enough to reach for her undershirt. A glimpse of Mabel's expectant gaze gives Yuri pause; she'd thought to be quick, but now she figures her beloved would like to watch.
Yuri moves again; this time, she pushes herself off the couch with a light grunt, then stands, the living room light cast slightly behind her like a misplaced halo, and sighs before slipping her hands under the folded hem of her undershirt. She's quiet, gradual, but not theatrical; her hands slide up straightly, stop just under the curve of her bust, fingertips scraping against her bra. A beat. Yuri lets her hands drag up her heft, then let it crash back down.
Mabel's ecstatic sigh feels like a kiss in the back of her neck. It has that same enfeebling effect, and so Yuri soon finds herself in her most natural state — on her knees.
Mabel's eyes look like they could glow and cast a light over Yuri. That gaze nearly makes her heart palpitate; expectant, wanting, loving. She breathes hotly, leaning over, hands rising from the rough fabric on Mabel's knees to slide to the waist of her jeans.
Her hands are steady, as if Yuri is carefully unwrapping a present; the button pops out, the sound sending a tingle through her gut, and down comes the zipper. The sound of jeans sliding down skin fills the room as Yuri sighs, holding back a moan, eyes mulling over the shape sculpted beneath Mabel's boxers.
She leans over, hands now ginger around Mabel's waist, a nose and parted lips ghosting over the tent, the carnal scent barely coming through the pores in the fabric. Yuri shivers at a sudden touch, fingers washing through locks of her hair, ever so slightly damp, warm, the feeling broiling through Yuri's head. Her lips twitch, eyes trailing over to gleaming browns.
"I wanted you horribly, love." Yuri shudders, Mabel's fingers curling slightly, the edges of her fingernails prickling softly against the scalp. "They wouldn't stop talking."
Mabel chuckles out of a sigh. "You sound jealous, babe."
Yuri blinks. Her face somehow manages to feel hotter. "Mm— mm... it's not like that..."
Swiftly, that hand slides, and the pad of a thumb is suddenly pressing Yuri's lip with the gentleness of a falling leaf. Like a puppet pulled by a string, Yuri's good hand slopes over to hook under the hem of Mabel's boxers, hairs prickling the joints of her fingers, and sloppily yanks down until just below her balls.
Yuri's thighs clamp together, eyes trained on Mabel's cock as it springs out to stand straight, tall. Briefly, she loses herself on a gleaming bead hanging from the slit; an impulse pulls her in, lips and then tongue sliding up the shaft. Her mouth, breathy, wraps around the swollen head, jaw gingerly pushing, as if a suckle and a kiss.
Another hand dutifully warms the base, fingers wrapped around, gingerly rubbing up, down, driving her closer, thumbing softly on the core of the vein at the middle. With a suckle, saliva squeezed between cock and lip, Yuri leans further. Mabel chokes out a shudder, then a mewl, and the vein beneath her cockhead thrums lovingly on Yuri's tongue.
With a sort of bounce, Yuri descends, mumbling as her lips stretch ever so slightly around Mabel's girth, tongue twitching and swirling around the curve of the shaft. Another suckle, a wide-mouthed kiss, and Yuri pulls back, softly gasping.
Her eyes are drawn to it again. The top half of Mabel's dick glistens, gleaming with the start of her handiwork, the flesh slightly flush, twitching, wanting. Yuri switches her grip so that her right hand keeps the shaft upright, then wraps her opposite one around the head. Her grasp wavers between squeezing and rubbing, the base of her thumb carressing the girth as the pad of the finger forms crooked circles on the slit, down the vein. Mabel's legs quake, another choked breath and shuddered moan gracing Yuri's ears.
Her movements quicken and her hand strokes Mabel's cock in careful twisting motions, feeling its throb, the warm oozing on her palm, her lover's breaths, heavy, oscillating into panting. The scent of her pleasure grasps Yuri like a tightening leash, and her head lowers so she can savor her again. Deeper and deeper every time, lips squeezing and softening, tongue swirling wildly until she's out of breath. She pulls away, glances up at Mabel, watches her drunken expression of blissful pleasure. More. Her girlfriend deserves more.
Her palms wriggle between Mabel's navel, then hold onto her thighs, and Yuri lets her head sink until she feels the back of her throat be wetly kissed.
Again. She softly gags. Again. She mumbles, thighs rubbing together against her clothed erection. Her eyes roll up to watch again, Mabel's lips parting, going from wide open to bitten, croaky, crooked moans pouring out of them. Beads of saliva slicken her lips, her tongue dribbling, lovely salt filling the gaps inside her mouth...
"Yuri, breathe—"
Yuri freezes suddenly, blinks, and her lips drag away from Mabel's length. She sighs, then breathes, then starts to pant. Her chest had started to tighten. She sighs again, then chuckles, bringing a finger to the corner of her lip.
"I hadn't... I..." Mabel's looking at her with an adorable look of apologetic concern. "I got carried away."
"I noticed." Mabel sighs, almost relieved. Her hand wriggles on her own thigh to slip beneath Yuri's, thumb rubbing the joint of her wrist.
Yuri doesn't stand idle for long; soon, she finds herself grasping Mabel again, dutifully keeping her bloodflow right where it should be. She strokes absently, cheek nestling onto Mabel's thigh.
"You could... um..." Mabel starts, legs shifting quietly.
Yuri shifts her attention. "Yes?" In lieu of a full sentence, she looks for one in Mabel's eyes, that gaze nervously drifting.
"Use your..."
"Mm-hm?"
"... boobs." She almost whispers the word. It's kind of funny and most certainly adorable.
"Yes," Yuri grins.
Time blurs again, Mabel's head slowing its spin. She looks down, and with a click the laced cups covering Yuri's breasts topple over her lap. The edges of splotchy, dark brown areolas glisten subtly, and Yuri slips her hands beneath the meat of each breast, lifts them, carries them to slip Mabel's cock between. They sit, warm over her groin, set like a meal onto a plate. Mabel's eyes rest on a tiny mole on the arch of Yuri's left tit.
She gasps, hips bucking ever so slightly upwards. Yuri's hands are dutiful, manipulating each mound to squeeze and stroke as if they were her own hands; warm, smooth velvet wrapping around her, rising, falling, pressing into her.
Yuri's eyes are trained on her dick, head swollen and thick, pre-ejaculate oozing down the valley of her breasts. Her lips are parted, the tip of her tongue sat just behind, as if she's resisting the urge to sink onto it again. Then their eyes meet, gazes full with a hot tension that seems to melt together, until Yuri leans in, squeezing her tits tight around Mabel's cock, and this time it's Yuri's name that slips from her mouth.
Her name, then a whimper. Her frenulum thrums hot against Yuri's sternum, every other inch warmly, steadily accommodated by the soft meat of each breast. Through her own blurry vision, she can see a familiar, unbridled neediness in Yuri's eyes.
Somehow, it might have been that that made her burst.
Hot, electric pleasure erupts from her core to the tips of her toes, and it's as if Mabel loses control of her lips, slack for every embarrassing noise to dribble out of her. Beneath her own whimpers, she can just barely make out Yuri's ecstatic breathing.
The feeling spreads to her temples until her entire head is submerged in tingles and throbs, as if carressing her brain, and it kisses her on the forehead before ebbing out into bliss.
Her eyes close, a feeling akin to sleepiness fills the backs of her eyes. When they open, the living room light feels too bright. Her bones feel almost gelatinous. Everywhere smells and feels like a hint of sweat. Yuri seems as satiated as Mabel, and they both let out quiet sighs.
Yuri looks... Mabel softly mouths a swear. Semen beads down her chin, the rest — most of it — coalesces in a dribbling puddle in the gap between Yuri's boobs.
"Do you... need me to...?"
"Hhah?" Yuri slurs. "Mm, no, I... came... somehow..."
... clean her. Good grief. She really did need this.
"I'm sorry about the skirt." Mabel slips her hand through Yuri's locks again, feels the warmth of her temple, the slight pulse. Half-lidded, lazy eyes are looking up at Mabel from the head on her thigh, an absent smile shaping glistened lips.
"Thank you, love." That small, quiet tone. For a second, Mabel feels as if she could scoop Yuri up in her hands.
She smiles weakly. "We should go for a bath right now."
Yuri begins to stand. "Yes, agree— eed!" The wobble in her legs betrays her, and she flops onto the cushions. It makes Mabel tense up, but Yuri quickly squirms over to her. They share a deeply idiotic smile, and the cushion soon becomes Mabel's shoulder.
I bet "Afterimage of a Crimson Eye" had a ton of Project Libitina lore. But no. All we got to hear was how well Yuri delivered it. Maybe try paying attention to the MESSAGE, Mabel. Some of us are THEORIZING.
