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#500 words
insanityclause · 30 days
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LONDON, ENGLAND - FEBRUARY 28: Queen Camilla speaks with Tom Hiddleston, Olivia Dean and Hugh Bonneville during a reception for the BBC's 500 Words Finalists at Buckingham Palace on February 28, 2024 in London, England. (Photo by Chris Jackson - Pool/Getty Images)
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five-rivers · 10 months
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Way to Learn
Clockwork kept an ear out as Daniel’s core hummed, chittered, and purred, the tone rising and falling.  When appropriate, he answered it with his own hums and even a few chirps.
After all, to learn a language you needed someone to speak it to you, to speak it with you.  There were certain shortcuts possible with the languages generally known as ‘Ghost Speak’ when compared to living languages, but conversational partners were still a necessity.  
As was, in the case of Daniel and other young ghosts, a period of child-like babble.  Encouraging it helped them learn faster.
However, Daniel didn’t understand Ghost Speak very well, so Clockwork said his next words in English.  
“Daniel.”
“Yeah?” said Daniel, looking up from his math homework.  “What is it?”
“We have an errand to run,” said Clockwork.  
Daniel’s eyebrows flew up.  “You can leave?  I mean, um.  Sorry.  That was rude.”
“I understand your surprise, but rest assured that the Observants do not control me that much.”
“What kind of errand is it?” asked Daniel, putting aside his book and hurrying to Clockwork’s side.  “Bills?  Groceries?  Mail?”
“Closer to groceries than bills,” said Clockwork, “and closer still to mail.  I have some things I need to pick up in person, and the journey might give you some additional insight into ghost culture.”
“Okay,” said Daniel, as they flew out.  “That sounds cool. What kind of insights?”
“You’ll see.”
.
As they flew, Daniel took it upon himself to ask questions about everything that passed by.  Some of those questions, Clockwork knew, were legitimate curiosity.  Others were thinly veiled attempts to get Clockwork to give away something about what was happening in the future, however near it may be.  
However, long before Daniel could wear through Clockwork’s patience - a quality strengthened over many interactions with the Observants - their destination came into sight.  A small island, covered in mist.
“There we are,” said Clockwork.  “Now, you should be aware of two things about this island.”
“Yes?” asked Daniel, eagerly.  
“One is that time runs differently there.  One week within is one hour without, so we may spend more time there than you usually would.”
“Cool,” said Daniel, “is that why you’re coming here?”
“It is one of the reasons.  The other thing you should know is that human languages are not spoken there.”
Daniel, who had been learning about how the Ghost Zone worked, frowned.  “Are not, as in no one speaks them, or as in no one can speak them, even if they learned.”
“The latter,” said Clockwork.
“Oh,” said Daniel, looking at the island with much less enthusiasm.  “Okay.”
“Ghost languages aren’t too terribly difficult.  I’m sure you’ll be able to talk to everyone there before we leave.”
“Sure as in you looked, or just sure?”
“I’m sure,” Clockwork said, without further elaboration.  “Immersion is the best way to learn a language.”
“Do you even have an errand here?” asked Danny.  “Or is this your way of making me learn ghost languages?”
Clockwork smiled.
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rockingrobin69 · 6 months
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Reaching
“Warm, isn’t it,” Malfoy tugged at his collar with half a glance in Harry’s direction. Unnecessary; Harry’s eyes were already glued to him, the impossibly long column of his neck. Pale and glistening like an ice sculpture. Unreachable. “Is something the matter?”
“Hmm?”
Malfoy didn’t dignify that with a response. Leaned closer, one eyebrow hiking—and the haze in Harry’s mind was entirely due to alcohol, thank you very much, and the heat pooling in his belly to do with the club’s oppressive air. Not the tilt of Malfoy’s lips, parted and lovely pink, or his obscenely tight excuse for trousers Harry’s hands kept twitching towards. Definitely wasn’t the little huff of air he let out: ah, just like that, like a promise or a threat.
“Boring,” he said. Took a moment for Harry’s brain to catch up.
“What?”
“Don’t be boring. Dance with me.” Hands coming to rest on Harry’s thighs—when did Malfoy get up? Was he always standing so close? Did he always smell like smoke and sweat and something tangy and sharp—
And the movement, undulating hips against Harry’s legs, head thrown back, throat bared for Harry to—dancing, maybe, grinding to the beat of the music Harry could only barely hear. Couldn’t, think, couldn’t, breathe—his hands firm around Malfoy’s waist, instinctively holding down, crushing closer. Closer, Malfoy hard against him, then this laughter cascading down his entire body.
“Oh,” Malfoy huffed, mad and so close Harry’s mind was melting. “Oh, fuck, you’re—” panting in Harry’s face, eyes blown wide.
“Yeah?” only to hear his voice like that again. Ragged raw.
“You’re everywhere,” the way he blinked, and blinked, tongue darting to wet his lips. Half-unravelled, from this, from nothing. Harry felt lightheaded, drunk on the revelation, fingers still tightening, bruising into his hipbone.
Swallowed a silly spike of fear. With a growl, pulling Malfoy’s head down so their noses were level. Mindlessly brushing a thumb down his bottom lip, delighted to find it cool to the touch. Malfoy’s tongue came out again, a hint of a lick, with that look in his eyes. Harry’s mind snapped.
Kissing him became the only objective. Those little ah, ahs Harry swallowed greedily, forgetting they were in public, forgetting, fuck, Ron and Nev at the bar, forgetting to breathe when Malfoy basically climbed in his lap, pushing his head so far back it ached. Everything did, a little: sparkled, and ached, and burned.
“Come back to my place,” Harry managed to say, commanding and begging into Malfoy’s mouth. “Come home with me.”
Malfoy laughed, a low sound. “Ah,” half-intentional this time. “Not so boring after all.”
Something absurd rushed through him, warm and pinching like affection. “No,” Harry agreed, and traced the sharp line of Malfoy’s jaw. “Not so boring.”
He melted in his arms—kept melting all night long. Harry deliriously lapped him up, and those ah, ahs, and the column of his neck, blooming red and purple under Harry’s careful tongue, reachable and all his.  
(Flufftober day 12. Find the soft AO3 collection here).
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toxicbrothel · 2 months
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POV
Joel got a work call on his day off, and it was at the worst moment. His dick was hard, and you were folding laundry. He was about to walk up and bend you over. After being interrupted, Joel made you come with him to the job site, and he wouldn’t even let you change or put on your shoes first. He put you in the passenger seat of his truck. You let him, like you always do. Right after he started the engine, he took your hand and placed it on the hard bulge in his pants. He didn't mind at all whenever you just stayed put while he fucked you, but your touch always felt so good. At the first stoplight, he unbuttoned his jeans and shoved your hand down his boxers to massage his bare cock. “Yeah, baby. Just like that.”
Then he got another call. His guys didn’t know what to do about a problem he considered easy. He was not happy. Even less so when you paused your hand on his cock. He had no idea why you’d do that. He shot you a look, and you started rubbing him again. But when he hung up the phone, he gave you your hand back and muttered, “We’ll finish this in a minute.” 
You paced around in the dirt outside the construction trailer while Joel chewed out a couple of his men for interrupting him at home for something that could wait. While he was there, they mentioned a storm was coming and they weren’t sure how bad the roof was on the site planning trailer. Last time it rained, there was a minor leak and some construction plans got wet. They didn’t know if it could be worse this time. “Unbelievable,” he grumbled. “Did ya think to go on up there? You two clock out and go home. I’ll handle it.” Joel shook his head in disappointment as the men cowered and walked away. 
“C’mon, baby, let’s see what it’s about.” Not a chance he’d leave you alone for a single minute on a job site. He needed you right there at all times. 
Around the back of the trailer, there was already a ladder up to the roof, but it wasn’t the most sturdy-looking one. 
Joel asked, “Why don’t ya climb on up there, baby? Don’t think it’ll hold my weight.” 
“I don’t have shoes,” you protested. 
“You’ll be alright,” he reassured you. 
“My dress,” you pointed out. 
“It’s just me here, baby.” 
He spotted you with his hands on your hips as you stepped onto the first rung, then his hands supported your ass as you continued upwards. “Doin’ great, sweetheart.”
The wind blew your dress out and began to drop a hand to fix it. “Hands on the ladder,” he insisted. “Don’t want ya to fall, even though I’d catch ya.” He stared up at your ass and your tiny little thong begging to be pulled to the side. You’re so damn sexy.
After you were done inspecting the roof, you were on your way down the ladder and he stopped you before you got off the bottom rung. “Hold it there,” he murmured, and you knew that voice. He jostled with his pants behind you and sighed as he freed his aching manhood. He lifted your dress and felt between your legs. Good to go. Then he notched himself and shoved into you. You held onto the ladder as he fucked you.  
---
THANK YOU for reading. TYSM Aly for the great pics!💕💕
free use!Joel
Making dinner (free use of you)
Picnic table (manhandling)
Bail run (asleep but consensual)
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frankthesnek · 10 months
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Heeey buddy, could you write 30, 21 or 9 for the ask game? The ship being nickroe
Any of them will do it :)
Oh yes I can! For number 21: kiss on a place of insecurity
Don't Flinch
Rated T: Nickroe (Grimm), kisses, implied sex, wesen culture/anatomy, established relationship
It had confused Nick at first, how sensitive Monroe could be about being touched in certain places. 
The way he flinched away, or shook off his hand when Nick touched the back of his neck. Or how he always redirected Nick with a firm hand in his hair if the Grimm tried to kiss or bite along his pulse point.
It wasn't until Nick had tried placing his arm around the other man's waist that he truly realized what the problem was. As his hand settled over Monroe's hip, just on the small of his back, cupping and pulling him close in an intimate gesture, he realized it. They were all places of insecurity for the Blutbad. Natural points of weakness—scruff of the neck, the jugular, the sensitive vulnerable bundle of nerves just below the surface on his back.
Nick didn't want to think it was him causing the flinching. Surely, it was just instinct driving the Blutbad to protect himself from danger, but even that didn't change the fact that all the flinches and gestures of avoidance were slightly hurtful. And every time it happened, a small voice in the back of his head asked, 'Is it because I'm a Grimm?'
**********
It wasn’t until months into their relationship that it first happened. They fell into bed together, and Monroe rolled over for him, showing his back in the traditional Blutbad fashion of asking to be mated. It made Nick's heart pound wildly, made his palms sweat, and body throb. 
He kissed across Monroe's shoulders and brushed fingers down the other man's sides, reveling in the slight bumps of ribs beneath warm skin. Nick traveled down his partner's body worshiping it, showing his appreciation for what Monroe was giving him—he knew it was an unnatural position for the alpha to put himself in. 
When he got to Monroe's lower back, the dimples on the back of his hips he paused. Feather light he brushed his fingers over the vulnerable area. Monroe sucked in a breath, body flinching away from the touch.
"Nick," he said, not angry but almost nervous sounding.
"Monroe," the Grimm replied softly. 
Nick held the other man's hips and leaned down, brushed his lips over the spot; and when Monroe tried to shift away, he held him harder.
"I would never hurt you," he whispered into the skin under his lips. "I would never let anyone hurt you."
This time, when he kissed the sensitive spot, Monroe shuddered. He kissed it again, open mouth and wet. Tongue laving over it, sucking the warm skin in and just barely scraping his teeth over it.
"Nick—"
It was broken and desperate and needy. The simple exchange was the closest they had ever gotten to trading I love yous. 
When Nick took his partner that night, it was with firm hands on his hips, palm curled possessively over that place on Monroe's back. Renaming the vulnerability of it, turning it into a promise of something more. A vow of protection etched into the Blutbad's skin with strong hands and hot lips.
The morning after, when Nick buried his face in Monroe's neck to nip and kiss his nape whispering good morning into his ear—Monroe didn’t flinch away from the touch. He never did again. 
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lumosatnight · 5 months
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Day 29: Edible
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Fleur held the fork up to Hermione’s lips, a gleam in her eye.
@kinktober2023 day 29: Feeding/Stuffing
Fleur/Hermione, M, 500 words
Food Kink, Chocolate-Covered Strawberries, Grinding
For @waxwing-saint, for no other reason than I thought you deserved some Fleurmione with a food kink 😉
“Ma chérie, you must eat. To recover your strength.”
Fleur pushed another bite of bread between Hermione’s lips. Hermione chewed weakly, her cheeks numb from too many pain and healing potions. She had lost track of how many Fleur had shoved down her throat since escaping Malfoy Manor.
“Thanks,” she rasped. She tried again. “I can feed myself. You and Bill have already done so much for me.”
Fleur’s eyes gleamed. It might have been a trick of the light or a strange Veela thing.
“It eez my pleasure, ma chérie.”
-♦️-
“Ma chérie, you are too thin.”
Fleur sat beside her in the Great Hall. They had won the war, but the casualties were many. Hermione looked away as a body with flaming red hair was carried out on a stretcher.
“I’m sorry about Bill,” Hermione said.
Fleur picked at her slice of cake, which the house elves had whipped up as soon as the debris had been cleared from the kitchens.
“It wasn’t real,” she said. “Marrying him allowed me to stay in England without too many questions.”
“But why would you want to stay?” Hermione said, her brow furrowed. It didn’t make sense. Something wasn’t adding up, and she was great at arithmetic.
Fleur held a bite of cake up to Hermione’s lips instead of answering. “Eat, ma chérie.”
-♦️-
“Ma chérie, you look beautiful.”
Fleur took her hand and guided her into the restaurant, Hermione’s dress rustling as she walked. She wasn’t accustomed to wearing so much billowing fabric, but she wanted to look nice for their date.
They had started slow after the war — tentative messages and quiet meetings. It had taken almost a year of Fleur dropping by Grimmauld Place, where Hermione lived with Harry and Ron, with homemade pastries before Hermione had gotten up the courage to ask her out.
When their food arrived — Italian because The French food ‘ere eez terrible — Fleur wrapped her fork in spaghetti and sauce and held it up to Hermione’s lips.
“I can feed myself, you know.”
“I know, ma chérie,” Fleur said, that gleam in her eyes, and she slid the fork past Hermione’s lips.
-♦️-
“Ma chérie, look at you.”
Hermione spread out on the bed, the silk chemise riding up her thighs. Fleur hovered over her, her pale face flushed pink, her blonde hair falling around Hermione like curtains.
She took a chocolate-covered strawberry from the bowl and held it to Hermione’s lips. Hermione parted them easily and bit down, the chocolate melting on her tongue and the red juices dripping down her chin.
Fleur bent down and licked them up — each sugary droplet — slowly and sensually. She followed the trail to Hermione’s mouth, licking inside to taste the chocolate there.
Hermione moaned and spread her legs, allowing Fleur’s body to settle between them. Their hips rubbed together, giving Hermione the much-needed friction against her aching centre.
“Ma chérie, you taste so good. Good enough to eat.”
Hermione looked into her gleaming eyes. “Please.”
Also read it on AO3!
← Day 28 | Masterlist | Day 30 →
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roosterbox · 6 months
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October Almost-Drabbles 10/1: Skeletons
Pairing: Cherik
Word Count: 509
Additional tags: Halloween decorations, mentions of past mpreg, family fluff, Charles being a lil shit
Side note: if it wasn’t obvious, this takes place in my One Big Happy Family universe. Think of it as a sort of side story offshoot.
———
“Daddy!” Wanda called out as she stomped angrily into the room. Pietro wasn’t far behind, though he was decidedly less incensed.
“Hmm? Charles looked up from the pumpkin decoration he was adjusting. Needlessly, if Erik had anything to say about it. He didn’t, though, being more preoccupied with cooking duties at that moment.
“David made us help him with one of the skeletons!”
“Oh? Do you not like skeletons?”
Wanda shook her head. Pietro nodded his.
“They’re gross!”
“They’re cool!”
Both spoke at once. Wanda fixed her twin with a glare.
“They’re GROSS. I hate touching the bones! I never want to touch bones ever again.”
“Well you see, Flower-“ There was a gleam in Charles’ eye that Erik would have recognized if he’d seen it. As it was, their youngest children were oblivious. “That’s rather unfortunate. Can I tell you a secret?”
“Yes!” A dual chorus as both of them leaned closer, smiling.
Whispering conspiratorially, he said, “There’s a skeleton touching you right now, from the inside.”
Wanda shrieked in disgust. Pietro’s eyes got very wide. “Really?” He asked.
“Really.”
“Coooooool.” He looked at his own body in awe, twisting this way and that as if he could somehow see the bones moving under the skin.
Wanda was glaring at hers, and Charles could feel the sensation of BETRAYAL wafting off of her. The unexpected joys of parenting, he thought. He could still recall, quite vividly, how Lorna had reacted to finding out where, exactly, babies came from. The look of offended hurt on Erik’s face after their daughter had smacked his arm, yelling “How could you do that to Daddy?” was a cherished memory, especially during his subsequent pregnancies.
Speaking of Erik, the man himself came out of the kitchen. His apron was flour dusted, as were his hands, and he wore an expression of exasperated fondness. It was as if he knew, without being told, exactly what had occurred. Sometimes Charles wondered who was the psychic one between them.
“Pietro, go see if your Tante Raven needs help with her own decorations.” At the sound of his Papa’s voice, their little spitfire was gone in a flash. There was a lingering thought of Oh boy are there more skeleton bones to touch? that almost had Charles cackling.
“And you,” Erik stooped down to Wanda’s level. She was pouting. “You can come with me to finish the baking.”
Now it was her turn to look at her parent with wide, saucer-like eyes.
“Really? Can I help ice the cookies?”
“Once we wash your hands, Maus, you can even help me knead the dough.”
She let out a cheer and ran into the kitchen ahead of him, gross skeleton fact promptly forgotten.
Before following her, mainly to make sure she actually did wash up before touching any of the food preparations, Erik fixed Charles with a look. On anyone else, it would have been a glare, but there was no actual heat to it.
Charles smiled and shrugged.
Erik rolled his eyes before heading back to his work.
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ei-w · 7 months
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blind for all time always [ao3] (words: 500; tw: physical abuse)
[a short fiction that wanted to write itself today]
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Glass shattered in the quietness, jingling on the ancient tiles. Only a second later did Clockwork recognise the noise could be traced back to their chest construction. Gloved fingers rushed to grip around the frail part to keep it together, retraining it from any further loss.
As they had fallen to the ground, the frame and casket must have been damaged, the vessel over their core crashing on a section, spreading spiderweb fissures through its entirety. The corner didn't exist anymore on the upper right side. Loose shards hung in mere air, not yet developed enough hairlines separating them to join the fallen pieces on the dorm floor. The chest broke, unchangeably. It deformed for eternity.
The Master of All Time halted in recognition of the seriousness of the harm that the sudden strike of power induced on them when roughly pushing them to the floor with a blast. A minute, maybe a second, departed them to end up with an exposed core, with no protection in case of any other assault. They had never experienced such fragility. It was cold and biting -- like death felt, dread overtaking one's existence.
The event shocked them. In an unfortunate moment, Clockwork glanced at their attacker with a hissed sneer, to the figure who towered vastly above their weakened laying body.
Pariah's eyes were burning. His crown and ring glowed threateningly in the faint light of their lair, flaring with power and anger within the dimness of their private dorm.
Their love never behaved like that, yet this treatment was justified. Clockwork knew it was. They went too far this time, and their meddling was revealed for Pariah, too. It was like a stab across a mortal heart. Unforgivable betrayal, a ploy summoned behind the curtains of the commander, as if laughing at his obliviousness…
Ectoplasm dripped next to Clockwork's aching tail that curled on the tiles. The old greyish blueness shone with shiny greenness now, seeming alien against the natural dull colour. Their contour quavered in the shadow of the tyrant. Fear reverberated from their core even though this attack was foreseen for a while. Deep down, Clockwork was struck with the terror of the continuation to unfold.
Still, they knew this moment would eventually come. They had ignored it until this moment, though. They had loved the man, and still would love him after everything, but until now, they hoped their visions were wrong about this day.
This moment had formed in their mind long ago, along with Pariah's first appearance. They had always refused to accept this future -- that everything would be led to the here and now.
The truth was, even after their core was shattered, and a part of it would be ripped out by the one they loved, Clockwork knew they would refuse that this horrific event ever happened. They would forget that they suffered through this harassment by his hand and had survived it -- barely, but they did.
They were blind. Always blind. Blind for Pariah.
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caffeinechic · 2 months
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: 500 Words Challenge, idiots for idiots, ineffable sexytimes, listen they're clowns, but they're our clowns, crowley is bad a feelings, Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing Summary:
All things considered Crowley had assumed that when he and Aziraphale finally figured out which way was up that they’d start at the top. Relationship wise.
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regulus-books · 4 months
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new oneshot coming soon! its very short, and a little smutty. 12:00pm EST
@ashywashy1240 sorry babe you're gonna have to wait a little while
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insanityclause · 21 days
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ashenmind · 5 months
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Decided to detail what Kasen may having been thinking while looking out on those sinister colors.
Felt weirdly compelled to write this odd vignette, for myself, if nothing else.
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rockingrobin69 · 4 months
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DMLE United
“Malfoy!” from across the hall, and the click-clack of his boots. Draco, mortified and a little pleased, slowed his step enough, then halted. Potter appeared before him not two seconds later, handsomely flushed and too-bloody-handsome altogether. “You’re back!”
“Indeed,” Draco allowed graciously. “This is after all my place of work.”
“You’ve not been all week.”
“What, did you miss me?”
Potter’s frown was half-arsed and mostly amused. “No, you prick. It’s only that the inter-departmental meetings drag even longer without you there to supervise, and it’s all so utterly boring, and Smith absolutely crushed me at table Quidditch and, I just notice you.” To the way Draco gulped: “What?”
Heart beating so fast. “Notice me?”
“Yeah? Well. Not like… you notice me too.”
“Obviously I notice you.”
Potter huffed, seemingly and oddly offended. “Why’s that so obvious?”
“Because I’m—” bit his tongue so hard he yelped instead of admitting, madly and stupidly into you and have been for years. “Because you’re—” so infuriatingly, impossibly gorgeous. “I just do, all right?”
Potter took the time of Draco’s self-admonishment to come a step closer. Then another. The air in large sort of vanished, or thickened, or heated, or… Draco closed his eyes.
“Well,” voice low and throaty, “maybe I do too.”
Draco was ridiculous and this was enough to undo him. Knees threateningly weak and chest so tight and, ah, sort of, melted around the edges, his mind smouldering. Potter smelled like the leather of his holster and his lips were dark and, so, close.  
“What,” Draco managed finally. Startled and dizzy with want. Confused and outrageously longing for… “What?”
To the smile, predatory and stunning. “Nothing,” Potter said. “Just happy to see you back, is all.”
“Oh,” with a nod, a step back, fixing the invisible crease in his robes, “yes, well. I suppose, if the meetings do drag on without me.”
For some reason it made Potter’s flush deepen. “Not… just that.”
“Right, the table-Quidditch.”
“Malfoy—” rolling his eyes like Draco was being ridiculous, one hundred percent correct. “Just come to the pub this Friday? Everyone from your team is going. And I’ll be there too.”
The urge to ask a stupid question bubbled in his belly something fierce. “Friday? Ah. I might be available.”
“You will be,” Potter grinned, turning whatever was posing as Draco’s knees to pure jelly.
Last effort at saving himself: “You’ll notice if I’m not, hmm? Is that it?”
“Yep.” And he winked, the absolute gob-smacking arsehole.
There was a whole Ministry around them, important people idling importantly about and many-many pairs of eyes to watch Draco flail. Nothing that could stop him, unfortunately.   
He gave a curt nod with every intention of disappearing into the shadows, only his knees, still half-liquid, wouldn’t budge. Helplessly stuck in the middle of the Atrium. Potter’s smile did something odd, somehow softened.
“Friday.”
A threat and a promise. And a mercy. Potter left, click-clacking his boots, flushed and gorgeous and smiling.
Good to be back.
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whimsicalmeerkat · 1 year
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a tale of two sweaters
On AO3
Derek isn’t blind, OK? He knows how Stiles reacts to his red sweater.
Derek already has one sweater Stiles really likes. Erica gives him a new one.
Written for the @thirty-plus-fanfic December 2022 winter event. (Collection)
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frankthesnek · 10 months
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Prompt 149: Dodge a Bullet
Rated T: Mcshep, near death experience, mild depictions of violence, first kiss
The mission had been hell fire. They had been prepared for it, knew it would be. John and his fellow soldiers decked out in full gear, armed to the teeth with everything they might need. Stealth got them in, bigger and better weaponry got them out. 
They came through the Gate hot. Bullets following them, pinging against the interior of the command room. Thankfully no ricochet injuries were sustained. John's men from the mission were not all as lucky. Medical staff bustled in, taking those that needed care. John stood by watching them work and just breathing, willing his heart rate to slow.
"Sir," Lorne called from his side, and John turned to see the other soldier staring up at his helmet.
John unbuckled it and pulled it off. His throat seized up at what he found. A large bore hole on the back, blown out exit wound on the front. 
"I'll make sure it's decommissioned," John said, dropping it to his side, fingers loosely gripping the chin strap.
Lorne nodded and just looked at him. Neither of them said what they both were thinking. If the helmet had been sitting a little lower on his head, if he'd been turned a little more to the left, if he'd been running a fraction of a second slower—he wouldn't be here. Skull and gray matter scattered across the rock quarry they had been sprinting through, memories and thoughts evicted from his skull like sand poured from an hourglass.
John didn’t turn in the helmet. He took it to his quarters after the debriefing. Setting it in the middle of his desk and he stared at it. John'd had more than one near death experience. Why this one mattered he wasn't sure, but looking at it and seeing how close he'd come and knowing he'd been completely oblivious to it—this one felt different somehow. More organic, more meant to be. Yet here he still was, shell shocked and alive. 
A knock at his door had John jumping in his skin, breath catching in a stuttered gasp. 
"Who is it?"
"Just me," Rodney's voice floated through the door. 
John let him in and the sight of the other man shifted something in his chest. Something long out of place smoothly settling like a key in a lock—click.
"I heard about how bad this one was for you. Your men," Rodney said, wringing his hands, face sullen. "Are you…okay?"
Instead of answering John pointed to his desk, to the helmet. He saw the other man's brow furrow as he looked at it, the meaning of the broken gear not lost on the scientist.
"It's mine. From today."
When Rodney looked back at him, his eyes were wide, a touch of fear darkening their blue depths. 
Two steps closed the distance between them, and John's heart was hammering as hard as it had been during the fire fight. His hands on Rodney's neck and shoulder were not gentle when he tugged him in. Gripping hard with desperation, he pulled Rodney into a kiss. Deep and ungraceful, rushed by adrenaline.
Rodney gripped him back, hands fisting into the material of his shirt sleeves. 
"Why now? Why this time?" The scientist asked.
"I don't know," John answered honestly. Why now? Why when it had been just a bullet and not an explosion, or a hive ship, or a natural disaster. 
John kissed Rodney again and decided the reason didn't matter. 
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talshiargirlfriend · 4 months
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Flash fic and kissing on the brain, so please enjoy 500 words of TnT being pretty and maybe a little sexy. 🔥
She sometimes teases him about his sartorial choices for their mutual amusement, but this shirt is beautiful. It’s a pale blue with the faintest lustre in its subtle geometric pattern when it catches the light. It brings out the twinkle in his eyes.
T’Pol has always thought expressions like achingly beautiful were emotional hyperbole, but seeing him tonight has made her reconsider.
Relaxed, free of the traumas and stresses of recent memory, he looked so young vibrant he seemed to almost glow with happiness. His eyes sparkled with mischief whenever his gaze found her. Looking at him filled her with a profound tenderness, a physical sensation akin to someone reaching into her abdomen and squeezing her heart.
Right now the beautiful shirt is an obstacle. It stands between her hands and the warmth of his skin, the prickle of his chest hair against her fingers, the scent of the base of his throat in her nostrils.
Trip is waging an assault on her senses with his hands and mouth. He’s rubbing her back, her neck, her shoulders. One hand finds a grip in her hair while his lips and tongue continue to move over her ear, her neck, her chest… his kiss finds a particularly agreeable spot just there—
She hears the high breathy sound drawn out of her own mouth and feels him grin against her throat.
She can’t seem to divert sufficient attention to the task of unfastening the buttons beneath her fingers.
Exhaling, she grips one side of the shirt in each hand and pulls.
Threads pop and buttons scatter.
Finally her hands skate across his bare skin.
“You’re eager,” his laugh vibrates through both their bodies.
An old fear rises to the surface. What if she loses herself? What if she is too aggressive, too alien? What if she harms him? She names the emotion and dismisses it, but not before Trip has noticed her pause.
“Hey,” his hands cover hers as he leans back to look at her face, “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just … happy. T’Pol, you are objectively the sexiest person in the known universe and the fact that you want me as much as I want you -well, it… delights me, I guess,” he rambles earnestly. He is so gentle with her, this beautiful man.
“Sorry, there’s probably not enough blood flowing to my brain right now to for me to explain this prop—“
“Trip!” It comes out a little more harshly than intended, so she takes a breath and deliberately softens her tone. “T’hy’la,” she says because she knows he likes it, “thank you, but please stop talking.”
His eyes widen a little and then narrow in mock-offense.
“Aye, Commander,” he says tartly.
Before she can respond he pulls her hips against his forcefully to make his point and leans down to whisper against her ear, “It’s ok. I like it when you’re a little rough with me.”
Higher brain functions are no longer available and she responds instinctively.
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