SJM Sapphic Showdown

In honor of pride month I am posting my last hurrah of gwynerie 🥹 I loved this two so much and I love their dynamic and the possibilities that they have together.

I love my bisexual priestess and my lesbian princess so much!

This was actually for @emerieweekofficial and it was not done in time so then I was gonna use it for @gwynweekofficial but at las things got in the way and I wasn’t able to participate :( but I love them so much anyway.

the following are our top four contestants for the 2026 Carabiner Queen. who do you 🫵 think will take the crown??

In honor of pride month I am posting my last hurrah of gwynerie 🥹 I loved this two so much and I love their dynamic and the possibilities that they have together.

I love my bisexual priestess and my lesbian princess so much!

This was actually for @emerieweekofficial and it was not done in time so then I was gonna use it for @gwynweekofficial but at las things got in the way and I wasn’t able to participate :( but I love them so much anyway.

@sjmsapphic

Merrill and Gwyn fic

Gwyn finally stands up to Merrill, one that leads to steamy confessions

Merrill sat at her desk in her office, writing away when she heard a knock at the door. A few seconds later, the office door opened, revealing Gwyn.

Merrill barely glanced up at her, but it was enough to notice how flushed Gwyn looked.

“What is it now, Gwyn? Have you come to annoy me once again?” Merrill asked, her tone as flat as ever.

Gwyn’s face reddened at the question. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as though debating whether responding was a good idea.

“No. I just came to ask if you needed any help with your research. I did some digging in my spare time and thought I might share my notes with you,” Gwyn said as she moved closer to Merrill’s desk.

Without waiting for an answer, she took a seat directly across from her.

Merrill stopped writing midway through a sentence and fixed Gwyn with a hard, cold stare, silently asking who had given her permission to sit.

Gwyn leaned forward and stared right back into Merrill’s eyes. She pulled out her notes, a book, and a pen.

As she began writing, she asked, “Do you ever get tired of being a cold bitch, Merry?”

A low growl escaped Merrill as she bared her fangs. Rising swiftly from her chair, she moved gracefully toward Gwyn and leaned in until only a few inches separated them.

“I am your superior, not one of your little Valkyrie soldiers. Got it?” Merrill snarled. “And do not call me that ridiculous name ever again.”

Gwyn smiled slowly, her eyes drifting briefly to Merrill’s lips.

“Hmm, I think not, Merry. I think I’ll call you whatever I want, whenever I want. Got it?” Gwyn replied, her tone both challenging and playful.

Merrill gasped as Gwyn stood, bringing them eye to eye.

Gwyn slipped an arm around Merrill’s waist and pulled her closer. Merrill’s body tensed as she searched for words, clearly intending to push her away.

Instead, Gwyn pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

Merrill gasped into the kiss.

For a brief moment, she found herself pulling Gwyn closer, closing the remaining distance between them. Gwyn took advantage of the opportunity, deepening the kiss.

The moment ended when Merrill abruptly pushed Gwyn away, stumbling backward as though she’d been burned.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Gwyn?” Merrill shouted, covering her lips and taking several steps back. “You should know your place!”

Gwyn smirked and followed her until Merrill fell onto the couch in the corner of the office.

Now seated, Merrill glared up at her, her expression a mixture of anger, frustration, and something she refused to name.

Gwyn approached slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“What are you doing, Gwyn?” Merrill asked quietly, unable to look away from Gwyn’s teal eyes.

Gwyn stopped directly in front of her and leaned down.

“I know exactly where I belong,” she whispered.

Merrill’s gaze traveled over Gwyn’s face as silence settled between them.

“I am taking what I want,” Gwyn continued. “And what I want is you, Merrill. So, for once in your life, stop talking and let us have this moment.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then Merrill let out a shaky breath as Gwyn remained close, their foreheads nearly touching.

Gwyn slipping her fingers inside of Merrill tight cunt, feeling her wetness around her fingers. The loud wet gushing sound of Merrill cunt filling the room.

The tension between them stretched tight as a bowstring, neither willing to retreat first.

“Oh, gods, Gwyn…” Merrill whispered.

Gwyn smiled faintly, her hand pumping Merrill’ cunt faster than the last strokes. Gwyn dropping to her knees and spreading Merrill legs apart, lifting her gown up and sliding her panties to the side.

Pushing her tongue deep inside Merrill cunt making her moan out loud, eyes watery from the pleasures Gwyn was giving to her.

Gwyn’s tongue showed no mercy, drinking in every reaction from Merrill as she lost herself in the overwhelming pleasure.

“Mmmmmm, please don’t stop, Gwyn. Yes!” Merrill cried, her voice growing louder by the second.

Fingers pumping faster into Merrill greedy cunt, tongue flicking vigorously over Merrill clit, tongue swirling around the small bud. Seeing stars as Merrill is so close to a sweet release.

She hadn’t expected any of this to happen. Without a second thought, Merrill cast a glamour over the room to keep the sounds from carrying beyond her office. Clotho was certainly going to demand answers later, but at the moment, Merrill couldn’t bring herself to care.

Gwyn’s relentless attention pushed Merrill over the edge once again. Overcome, Merrill grabbed Gwyn and pulled her into a deep kiss. Their tongues tangled as they moaned into each other’s mouths.

Merrill took control of the kiss, refusing to surrender completely.

“I still hate you, and this changes nothing between us,” Merrill said breathlessly, staring into Gwyn’s eyes.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Before Gwyn could answer, Merrill kissed her again.

Gwyn pulled away with a small smile.

“I don’t think you hate me,” she said softly. “I think you like me, and you hate that. I think you want to hate me, but you can’t, so you treat me terribly to make yourself feel better.”

She held Merrill’s gaze without flinching. Gwyn wasn’t entirely sure how long she’d had feelings for Merrill, but there was no pretending otherwise anymore.

To Gwyn’s surprise, Merrill smiled—a genuine, beautiful smile.

“I rebuke that negative energy, little dove,” Merrill replied with a laugh.

Before Gwyn could respond, Merrill flipped them over.

“Lies,” Gwyn muttered, pouting.

Merrill pinned Gwyn’s arms above her head and leaned close to her ear.

“Maybe. Maybe not. The world may never know.”

Gwyn shivered.

“Now lie back and let me take care of you, baby. I want to taste that sweet sweet cunt of yours.”

The words alone drew a moan from Gwyn.

The tension between them finally broke as they gave themselves fully to the moment, neither willing to hold back anymore.

“Gwyn!” Merrill gasped.

Merrill slurps as she sticks her tongue deep inside Gwyn tight rear hole, running the flat of her tongue through Gwyn slit and flicking her tongue slowly, as she plays with Gwyn clit on her tongue.

“Merrill, gods, yes! Don’t stop!” Gwyn cried. Cumming hard and fast, Gwyn fingers digging in Merrill scalp as she pulls her closer in her cunt. Merrill cleaning Gwyn juices up, pulls herself up to kiss Gwyn deeply and slowly.

Gwyn and Merrill continue to pull orgasms out of each other for the next few hours.

Their names became a constant refrain, each lost in the other.

Eventually, they collapsed together, breathless and exhausted.

Gwyn reached up and captured Merrill’s lips in a tender kiss.

“There really is no going back now,” she whispered.

“You ruined me, Merr. You really did.”

Merrill deepened the kiss before resting her forehead against Gwyn’s.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “You ruined me too, little dove.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Merrill smirked.

“We’re not done yet.”

Gwyn groaned and covered her face with both hands.

Merrill laughed.

With a wave of magic, they disappeared from the office and reappeared in Merrill’s room, landing on the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

“Let’s see how much sleep we’re willing to sacrifice tonight,” Merrill teased.

“This time, I’ll glamour the room,” Gwyn replied, laughing despite the blush spreading across her face.

Thinking about the questions they would face tomorrow only made her blush harder.

For now, however, neither of them cared.

I have never written for Ianthe and never thought I would! Thank you so much for this request. Yay for more toxic yuri <3 This made me a bit hot writing it, what is wrong with me 

Please accept this humble offering as a late submission to SJM Sapphic Showdown @sjmsapphic - Day 3: Identity

Punishment

Feyre x Ianthe

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: pwp, this is utter filth—brief mention of Tamlin, degradation, kinda pet play, use of ‘bitch’, boot licking, spanking, leg humping, no aftercare sorry 

Ianthe would do anything to get in Tamlin’s good graces, and Feyre was sick of Ianthe shoving her nose in everywhere. 

Ianthe had been picking apart Feyre since she arrived at the Spring Court. 

What to say, what to wear, how to act… It was exhausting. Gods, she’s been droning on for at least thirty minutes about the type of shoes that would most please Tamlin. 

“You know, Ianthe,” Feyre interrupted with a sickly-sweet smile. “If you really want to impress the High Lord… A good word from me would do wonders in that department.” Every word dripped honey laced with venom. 

“Well, of course, Feyre, but we must present ourselves in the proper manner.”

“Proper manner, you say…” Feyre mused. “In that case, you will refer to me as Mistress from here on out. Now come here.” She beckoned a finger towards Ianthe. 

Ianthe took one wary step. 

“Not like that,” Feyre barked, pointing to the floor. “On your knees, crawl to me.”

Ianthe sunk to the ground, shame blooming in her cheeks. She slowly crawled across the room to where Feyre sat in the plush parlour chair.  Feyre leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, exposing the pale skin of her toned calf. She smiled deviously as the priestess followed her command. 

Ianthe stopped before Feyre’s feet, still on her knees beneath the female. 

“Bow,” Feyre ordered. 

Ianthe lowered her head, looking at the veins of the marble tiles. 

“Lower.”

Ianthe dipped her chin down further.

“Not low enough,” Feyre said. She uncrossed her legs and lifted a heeled foot—heels Ianthe insisted on—placing it on Ianthe’s head. She pressed down until Ianthe’s nose touched the floor, cool marble biting into her skin.

“There’s a good bitch, this is where you belong.” Feyre applied more pressure, and Ianthe whimpered. 

She removed her foot, but the priestess didn’t dare to move her head.

“My shoes are looking a little dirty…” Feyre pondered. “You should clean them for me.”

Ianthe started to rise but was quickly interrupted—“Uh, uh,” Feyre tutted. “Use your tongue.” She shoved her foot under Ianthe’s mouth. 

Hesitantly, Ianthe licks up the shoe, starting at the patent toe. The leather is smooth under her tongue. The act is not as unpleasant as she’d thought, but to lower herself like this…

Feyre reached down, grabbing Ianthe by the hair. She dragged her head up, tongue scraping from her shoe, up her exposed calf. She yanked again—sharp pain shot through Ianthe’s scalp. 

Ianthe yelped. 

“No, no, we can’t have that.” Feyre grinned, her smile not meeting her eyes. “Strip for me,” She ordered.

Ianthe started to object, but her words were halted as Feyre raised one finger in the air. 

“Did I ask for your opinion? Do not speak unless prompted. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mistress,” Ianthe said, eyes still on the floor. 

“I’ll have to teach you a lesson about speaking out of turn… Strip and come here.”

Feyre patted her lap.

Ianthe glanced up—hesitant—but didn’t dare disobey. Layer by layer, Ianthe peeled off her priestess robes. They fell in a pile, blue fabric discarded on the floor. 

Ianthe’s nipples hardened in the chilled air, her skin pebbled with goosebumps. 

Ianthe was not usually one to balk at nudity; the female form was a divine gift from the Mother herself. However, in front of Feyre, like this. Ianthe shied away from her predatory gaze.

“Good, now lie across my lap here,” Feyre demanded.

Ianthe obeyed; she lay down across Feyre’s lap, bare ass in the air. 

“I want you to remember this next time you dare to question me.”

Smack. Ianthe yelped as a biting pain stung her cheeks, the flesh heating as blood rushed to the surface. 

She realised what she’d done, but it was too late to take it back.

“We’re going to count to ten, Ianthe. Do you think you can do that?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” Ianthe struggled to keep the wobble from her voice. 

“Every time you make a sound other than to count, you get an extra one. We’re starting again from one.” 

Another harsh slap found its mark. Ianthe bit down on her lip to muffle any cries. 

“What was that?” Feyre questioned, voice sharp as a blade.

“One,” Ianthe said.

“Good, only nine more to go.”

With each smack, Ianthe got more and more sensitive, and Feyre offered no soothing to the tender flesh. Ianthe knew she’d have trouble sitting for a day or two, but nothing hurt her more than the bruise to her ego.

Smack. “T-ten. Thank you, Mistress.”

Feyre let Ianthe rise to her feet. When she moved, there was a wet mark where Ianthe had lain. 

The slick was pooling between Ianthe’s legs. She tried to rub her thighs together to relieve some of the tension that was building. 

Feyre smiles with feral delight. “So you enjoy being at my mercy?”

Shame coursed through Ianthe’s veins like oil. She looked to the ground once more. “Ye-yes, Mistress.” She stuttered, her desire burning in her stomach despite that oily, slick feeling inside. 

Feyre hummed, “Maybe the lesson will sink in if we add in… a reward.”

Ianthe’s legs trembled; Feyre yanked her forward. “Sit down.”

Feyre grabbed Ianthe by the hips, making her straddle the already slick thigh.

“You may come, only by using my thigh,” Feyre smirked.

“Uh—how, Mistress?”

With bruising fingers on her hips, Feyre moved Ianthe back and forth against her leg. The delicious pressure on her clit caused Ianthe to moan.

Feyre grabbed Ianthe by the chin and squeezed. She leans in close to her face, whispering, “Now, you’re going to hump my leg until you come like a good little bitch; you got that?” 

“Uh, yes, Mistress.” Ianthe rocked her hips back and forth. Gods, she had become so wet already, her cunt glided back and forth with ease.

Ianthe was totally debasing herself, and she couldn’t get enough.

Ianthe came undone with each motion. Pleasure was building and coiling deep within her gut. Sweat glistened on her brow as she kept rocking.  

“Come for me,” Feyre ordered. 

One final rock of her hips and Ianthe’s climax coursed through her. She screamed out in pleasure, hips rolling again, and again, and again.

Slowly, that high subsided, her breathing slowed to heavy pants.

“Good girl… I hope you remember this lesson… I’d hate to have to show you again.”

Yes, that would be terrible 

Ianthe clambered off Feyre. “Yes, Mistress.”

Feyre stood up and looked down at the priestess with disgust. “Now, go clean yourself up.”

how about “avoid” for emerie x merrill (you know that one very pretty priestess) 

MERRILL?? LMFAO i will give it my very best shot

Word Count: 675

Warnings: none, except for canon-typical Merrill slander. idk if Merrill has shooters like that but just in case you've been warned

@sjmsapphic

so feyre owns a studio in place called the rainbow (🏳️‍🌈) and she collaborates with two women, ressina and aranea (insert lesbian flag) so there is definitely something going on there

List (mostly kinda toxic)

Ressina used to date Polina, the dead girl whose house Feyre bought up, lots of angst bc she's still haunted by the death, and yeah Feyre didn't cause it but also grief is illogical

Aranea is over men since her husband died so no she's figuring out she likes women too and it's a mess also bc she's also grieving and maybe she's also upset with Feyre bc she was brought back and Rhys was brought back, why not her husband?

Feyre is extremely guilt laden over the war and destruction and she needs to be comforted but maybe the other two need to express anger or grief? But she can't deal with feeling the guilt and she's their high lady so they have to please her, be happy, be nice and they do love her but how do you love a political persona? Drama

Foresta, Caligo, Marea

feyre x ianthe x stryga, 3.5k words, explicit, more tags on ao3

how about “avoid” for emerie x merrill (you know that one very pretty priestess) 

MERRILL?? LMFAO i will give it my very best shot

Word Count: 675

Warnings: none, except for canon-typical Merrill slander. idk if Merrill has shooters like that but just in case you've been warned

@sjmsapphic

tried my hand at some domestic fluff for these 2

joy | Emerie x Elain for slice of life for @sjmsapphic

When the telltale sound of the cottage front door rattling shut makes its way to through the house, and out back through the open kitchen window, Elain smiles.

“I’m out here, Em,” she calls out. "In the garden."

Moments later, her wife emerges out the back door and through the trellis to where Elain kneels in the dirt.

"How was training?" she asks.

"The usual," Emerie says, working on the straps to loosen the leather cuirass around her chest. "I think I finally mastered that disarming technique."

Elain rises from the garden bed, and wipes the dirt from her hands off on her sundress before taking over cuirass untying duty. "With the longstaff?"

"That's the one," Emerie laughs. "What've you been up to this morning?"

"Transferring seedlings," Elain says. Finished untying the leathers, she wraps her arms around Emerie's waist. "We're going to have a colorful garden this summer."

Emerie holds Elain's face in her hands. "I can't wait."