5 ficlets (Multi-Fandom)
All prompts by blackmamba_esq who dared me to do this while I worked through a spell of writer's block. Thank you. :)
Title: Kinky Boots
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: Will/Kalinda
Rating: PG-13
Words: 224
Prompt: Will/Kalinda, don’t make me wait for you.
Warnings: Language
Summary: Will wonders if he’s done this on purpose.
A/N: My first TGW fic. Oh, and I ship it.
She walks in his office late and unapologetic. Not a hair out place. Will considers a dress down, but just briefly. There’s no time for that or much of anything today, so he rolls his hand, Just get on with it. Yeah, she doesn’t like that. When she finally does speak, her voice is tight, archly formal.
Kalinda makes a production out her anger, back straight, eyes hard, and a rhythmic angry kick of her boots. Will wonders if he’s done this on purpose, just to have a few, private minutes alone with what he’s come to think of as Angry Kalinda. Angry Kalinda glares, flips the page of the file hard enough to slice through skin. The you dick is implied in every sentence, though obviously left unspoken. It’s disrespectful, blatantly insubordinate and he enjoys it way-too-fucking-much.
Will grins, holds out his hand to cut her off. Angry Kalinda slaps the folder against his palm, like a belt or a riding crop to go with those goddamn boots. He drops it on his desk without comment, turns back to his laptop, dismisses her with a royal, That’ll be all. He counts seven clicks of her heels against his floor before adding, “Oh, and Kalinda?”
She spins, looks back at him, “Yes sir?” You dick.
“Don’t make me wait for you.”
Title: Dusk
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Bonnie/Stefan
Rating: PG-13
Words: 208
Prompt: Bonnie/Stefan, did you know witch blood is addictive?
Warnings: Mild blood play
Summary: He’ll drain her if he’s not careful.
A/N: Also written for un_love_you. prompt #09. Link to my table here. Always wondered what this'd be like.
Stefan counts first (one…three…six) because he wants to protect her (it’s been years-too many-not enough). He’ll drain her if he’s not careful. A vampire in Tulsa, a few decades back, killed his wife like that, just woke up one day and emptied her out, snapped her neck in the process. Not that he’d been there, he’d heard… it didn’t matter how true it was anyway, it could happen. They all knew what they were capable of.
Bonnie leans in and cocks her head to the side, presents her neck like a ritual sacrifice. Damon would laugh at this; tell her she’s been watching too many vampire movies. But Stefan finds it sweet, endearing that she trusts him so much. He takes her hand, turns her wrist until her palm is facing up, hovering between them. Her eyes are open now, wide, watching while he brings it to his mouth. He doesn’t bite yet (he’s still counting), just swipes the surface with his tongue. She makes a sound, small, plaintive; definitely not sweet.
Witches blood. It’s been years-no, it’s been decades. Maybe an entire century. “Close your eyes.”
“Will it hurt?”
Just him. He’ll have to stop eventually.
“Only for a little while.”
Nine. Ten.
Title: The Fall of Man
Fandom: X-Men
Pairing: Scott/Emma
Rating: R
Words: 252
Prompt: Scott/Emma, He wants forget who she really is. She wants to ignore who he's become.
Warnings: Sex, language
Summary: He won’t see her coming.
A/N: First X-Men! Well, I tried. LOL.
He won’t see her coming.
The air’s grown humid from anticipation, so he shoves the sheets down, first to his stomach and then completely off his body. She won’t walk through the door or call out to him. That would give intent to the accidental, something they’ll pretend is innocuous, like a slip and fall. It’s her presence invading his space, floating like razor sharp particles overheard, drifting, slowly together until a strand of hair crystallizes, takes shape and gently grazes his cheek. A soft leg slides between his, settles home again. Her nipple is soft at first, pliable against his tongue before it tightens, puckers. She whispers his name.
A slip and fall.
Accidental because she’s not Jean. She’s not what he loves but what he wants. He’s not sure what the hell he is to her. That’s unacknowledged, their day to day exchanges so remote that this, they might as well be a dream. But she feels something.
(hips jerky and erratic, nails ripping bloody tracks down his back)
They ignore each other, argue, battle side by side, but she never looks him in the eye. She has to feel something. He doesn’t love her (she’s not Jean) but he’s not alone in this collision, this self-destruction (this whatever the fuck it is, but it’s not just about sex).
(Scott)
She leaves and he thinks-he swears it’s the last time, they’re both better than this.
(that causes a laugh, a throaty taunting whisper, “Oh sweetie.”)
He never saw her coming.
Title: Immortal Beloved
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Richard, mentions of Jacob and Richard/Isabella.
Rating: PG
Words: 228
Prompt: Richard, unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
Warnings: Spoilers for 6X9 “Ab Aeterno.”
Summary: His blood. Not hers.
It beings adrift, chained and surrounded by grime encrusted faces that float in and out of the darkness (out of the nightmare). The devil is in those shadows, among the demons, waiting for him to die. He thinks he will die here. Alone, at sea with nothing but his fear and Isabella’s blood, caked and peeling from his hands.
His blood. Not hers.
There’s more screaming, more praying, a cloud of death overhead. He thinks, I will die here. He’ll never see her again.
Jacob takes his hand, smiles with golden promises of eternal life. Richard believes. It’s not devotion or reverence, but cowardice. He believes because the alternative is too frightening for him to face.
It ends with moss and dirt jammed beneath his nails, the sweat trailing down his back and neck, prickling like small insects. The cross clutched in his fingers, still cold from being buried. He turns to the devil, embraces him, and thinks, I will die here, finally. This is the end.
There is an uptick of wind, a warm cloud that hovers and settles on the outer edge of his ear along with her forgiveness. There is his faith, his last ditch scramble at redemption and the more tenuous hope of seeing her again. He thinks, I love you, and this is enough. Now he is immortal.
Now he will live forever.
Title: That Kind of Woman
Fandom: Spooks
Pairings: Lucas/Ros
Rating: PG
Words: 200
Prompt: Lucas/Ros, I could break you if I wanted to.
Warnings: Mild series 7 spoilers.
Summary: She’s always been slightly competitive.
The thing is, she’s always been slightly competitive, especially when dealing with men (boys) with too much swagger for her tastes. It’s also a bit comforting, taking them down a peg or two, reminding them that although their penis might give them a wider berth to move around in, it does not, by any means, give them carte blanche to do whatever the hell they want.
Blue eyes, dashing smile, a bad boy, tame me grin. That’s all fine and good, but the fact remains that she’s worked her ass off to get here. She’s sacrificed plenty (and done it without being held in bloody Russia for eight years.) He wears those tattoos like they’re badges, war wounds. All she sees is weakness, someone who, for whatever reason, didn’t get the job done and doesn’t appear all that bothered about the mess he’s left behind.
He says, “You don’t trust me Ros,” as if it’s some great condemnation, a failure of good judgment on her part. This could also be him flirting, though God help him if it is.
She leans in, gives him a wink (her placating pat on the ass).
“Don’t flatter yourself Lucas. I don’t trust anyone.”
Title: Kinky Boots
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: Will/Kalinda
Rating: PG-13
Words: 224
Prompt: Will/Kalinda, don’t make me wait for you.
Warnings: Language
Summary: Will wonders if he’s done this on purpose.
A/N: My first TGW fic. Oh, and I ship it.
She walks in his office late and unapologetic. Not a hair out place. Will considers a dress down, but just briefly. There’s no time for that or much of anything today, so he rolls his hand, Just get on with it. Yeah, she doesn’t like that. When she finally does speak, her voice is tight, archly formal.
Kalinda makes a production out her anger, back straight, eyes hard, and a rhythmic angry kick of her boots. Will wonders if he’s done this on purpose, just to have a few, private minutes alone with what he’s come to think of as Angry Kalinda. Angry Kalinda glares, flips the page of the file hard enough to slice through skin. The you dick is implied in every sentence, though obviously left unspoken. It’s disrespectful, blatantly insubordinate and he enjoys it way-too-fucking-much.
Will grins, holds out his hand to cut her off. Angry Kalinda slaps the folder against his palm, like a belt or a riding crop to go with those goddamn boots. He drops it on his desk without comment, turns back to his laptop, dismisses her with a royal, That’ll be all. He counts seven clicks of her heels against his floor before adding, “Oh, and Kalinda?”
She spins, looks back at him, “Yes sir?” You dick.
“Don’t make me wait for you.”
Title: Dusk
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Bonnie/Stefan
Rating: PG-13
Words: 208
Prompt: Bonnie/Stefan, did you know witch blood is addictive?
Warnings: Mild blood play
Summary: He’ll drain her if he’s not careful.
A/N: Also written for un_love_you. prompt #09. Link to my table here. Always wondered what this'd be like.
Stefan counts first (one…three…six) because he wants to protect her (it’s been years-too many-not enough). He’ll drain her if he’s not careful. A vampire in Tulsa, a few decades back, killed his wife like that, just woke up one day and emptied her out, snapped her neck in the process. Not that he’d been there, he’d heard… it didn’t matter how true it was anyway, it could happen. They all knew what they were capable of.
Bonnie leans in and cocks her head to the side, presents her neck like a ritual sacrifice. Damon would laugh at this; tell her she’s been watching too many vampire movies. But Stefan finds it sweet, endearing that she trusts him so much. He takes her hand, turns her wrist until her palm is facing up, hovering between them. Her eyes are open now, wide, watching while he brings it to his mouth. He doesn’t bite yet (he’s still counting), just swipes the surface with his tongue. She makes a sound, small, plaintive; definitely not sweet.
Witches blood. It’s been years-no, it’s been decades. Maybe an entire century. “Close your eyes.”
“Will it hurt?”
Just him. He’ll have to stop eventually.
“Only for a little while.”
Nine. Ten.
Title: The Fall of Man
Fandom: X-Men
Pairing: Scott/Emma
Rating: R
Words: 252
Prompt: Scott/Emma, He wants forget who she really is. She wants to ignore who he's become.
Warnings: Sex, language
Summary: He won’t see her coming.
A/N: First X-Men! Well, I tried. LOL.
He won’t see her coming.
The air’s grown humid from anticipation, so he shoves the sheets down, first to his stomach and then completely off his body. She won’t walk through the door or call out to him. That would give intent to the accidental, something they’ll pretend is innocuous, like a slip and fall. It’s her presence invading his space, floating like razor sharp particles overheard, drifting, slowly together until a strand of hair crystallizes, takes shape and gently grazes his cheek. A soft leg slides between his, settles home again. Her nipple is soft at first, pliable against his tongue before it tightens, puckers. She whispers his name.
A slip and fall.
Accidental because she’s not Jean. She’s not what he loves but what he wants. He’s not sure what the hell he is to her. That’s unacknowledged, their day to day exchanges so remote that this, they might as well be a dream. But she feels something.
(hips jerky and erratic, nails ripping bloody tracks down his back)
They ignore each other, argue, battle side by side, but she never looks him in the eye. She has to feel something. He doesn’t love her (she’s not Jean) but he’s not alone in this collision, this self-destruction (this whatever the fuck it is, but it’s not just about sex).
(Scott)
She leaves and he thinks-he swears it’s the last time, they’re both better than this.
(that causes a laugh, a throaty taunting whisper, “Oh sweetie.”)
He never saw her coming.
Title: Immortal Beloved
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Richard, mentions of Jacob and Richard/Isabella.
Rating: PG
Words: 228
Prompt: Richard, unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
Warnings: Spoilers for 6X9 “Ab Aeterno.”
Summary: His blood. Not hers.
It beings adrift, chained and surrounded by grime encrusted faces that float in and out of the darkness (out of the nightmare). The devil is in those shadows, among the demons, waiting for him to die. He thinks he will die here. Alone, at sea with nothing but his fear and Isabella’s blood, caked and peeling from his hands.
His blood. Not hers.
There’s more screaming, more praying, a cloud of death overhead. He thinks, I will die here. He’ll never see her again.
Jacob takes his hand, smiles with golden promises of eternal life. Richard believes. It’s not devotion or reverence, but cowardice. He believes because the alternative is too frightening for him to face.
It ends with moss and dirt jammed beneath his nails, the sweat trailing down his back and neck, prickling like small insects. The cross clutched in his fingers, still cold from being buried. He turns to the devil, embraces him, and thinks, I will die here, finally. This is the end.
There is an uptick of wind, a warm cloud that hovers and settles on the outer edge of his ear along with her forgiveness. There is his faith, his last ditch scramble at redemption and the more tenuous hope of seeing her again. He thinks, I love you, and this is enough. Now he is immortal.
Now he will live forever.
Title: That Kind of Woman
Fandom: Spooks
Pairings: Lucas/Ros
Rating: PG
Words: 200
Prompt: Lucas/Ros, I could break you if I wanted to.
Warnings: Mild series 7 spoilers.
Summary: She’s always been slightly competitive.
The thing is, she’s always been slightly competitive, especially when dealing with men (boys) with too much swagger for her tastes. It’s also a bit comforting, taking them down a peg or two, reminding them that although their penis might give them a wider berth to move around in, it does not, by any means, give them carte blanche to do whatever the hell they want.
Blue eyes, dashing smile, a bad boy, tame me grin. That’s all fine and good, but the fact remains that she’s worked her ass off to get here. She’s sacrificed plenty (and done it without being held in bloody Russia for eight years.) He wears those tattoos like they’re badges, war wounds. All she sees is weakness, someone who, for whatever reason, didn’t get the job done and doesn’t appear all that bothered about the mess he’s left behind.
He says, “You don’t trust me Ros,” as if it’s some great condemnation, a failure of good judgment on her part. This could also be him flirting, though God help him if it is.
She leans in, gives him a wink (her placating pat on the ass).
“Don’t flatter yourself Lucas. I don’t trust anyone.”