Flash Fic (Take 11 - Part 2)
May. 9th, 2011 07:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Good evening, friends! Three more flash fiction for you today as promised. Keep in mind that these are unedited (though I tried to catch some mistakes). Enjoy!
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hockeyiris
Prompt: “The Kill”, ShuuheixGrimmjow
Shuuhei and Grimmjow are characters from the anime/manga Bleach. NSFW. Warnings for mentioned kink, intent to slash, and language.
Forttenandayo
Prompt: Ishida/Ichigo, mullet
Ichigo and Uryuu are characters from the anime/manga Bleach. Mild warnings for spoilers and hints of angst.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: TatsukixSoifon, breakfast in bed
Tatsuki and Soifon are characters from the anime/manga Bleach. NSFW. Warnings for implications of lesbian sex, nudity, and language. And possibly spoilers.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
For
hockeyiris Prompt: “The Kill”, ShuuheixGrimmjow
Shuuhei and Grimmjow are characters from the anime/manga Bleach. NSFW. Warnings for mentioned kink, intent to slash, and language.
“Just remember that you asked me for this,” Shuuhei says to the bound Arrancar standing in front of him, arms secured with straps and pulled above his head, out to either side, leaving him utterly defenseless.
Blue eyes watch him, defiant and unafraid, despite the spreader that keeps his legs open and vulnerable. His entire stance is exposed, especially without a scrap of clothing.
“Did ya think I changed my mind or somethin'?” Grimmjow growls, tilting his chin upward in a gesture of defiance, the skin around his eyes twitching in such a manner that says he's getting tired of waiting. They've been over this before, over and over, until Shuuhei's turned blue in the face and Grimmjow's pounced him out of sheer irritation.
This is what Grimmjow wants, and Shuuhei's the one that has to get over his hangups and give it to him. It's the least he can do. And if there's a tiny – but ever growing – part of him that's excited and aroused and terrified by the idea of it, well, that's Shuuhei's burden to bear. It's also the only thing Grimmjow's ever asked of him and the fact that he trusts Shuuhei enough to do so speaks novels about their relationship.
Shuuhei shakes his head. “No. I thought it a courtesy to give you a chance to back out.”
His lover snorts, not moving, not even twitching in his restraints, his reiatsu a wild pulse of anxiety and desire and anticipation and need. “Since when have I ever done that?”
And how often has Shuuhei wished that Grimmjow would learn when it is better to save the fight for another day, rather than returning bloody and bruised and barely alive?
Shuuhei sighs, but more to himself, and steps forward, putting them in close enough proximity that he can feel the heat Grimmjow is radiating. “You've made your point,” Shuuhei says, as gruffly as he can manage, and holds up the gag. “Open.”
There's a moment where Grimmjow stares at him before he licks his lips pointedly than opens his mouth, with enough room for Shuuhei to place the gag properly. Blue eyes lock with Shuuhei's, an intense stare that makes him shiver, as he straps it in place and the chance for conversation is gone.
Shuuhei steps back, reaching for the table, and the first of a line of items that Grimmjow himself had selected. Progressively larger and nastier the further down the table they sit. He picks up the first flog, tests the handle in his grip and then looks back at his lover again, exhaling slowly, eyes roaming over the arousing picture that Grimmjow makes trussed up like that.
Grimmjow has asked Shuuhei to break him and by the gods, that's what Shuuhei is going to do.
Blue eyes watch him, defiant and unafraid, despite the spreader that keeps his legs open and vulnerable. His entire stance is exposed, especially without a scrap of clothing.
“Did ya think I changed my mind or somethin'?” Grimmjow growls, tilting his chin upward in a gesture of defiance, the skin around his eyes twitching in such a manner that says he's getting tired of waiting. They've been over this before, over and over, until Shuuhei's turned blue in the face and Grimmjow's pounced him out of sheer irritation.
This is what Grimmjow wants, and Shuuhei's the one that has to get over his hangups and give it to him. It's the least he can do. And if there's a tiny – but ever growing – part of him that's excited and aroused and terrified by the idea of it, well, that's Shuuhei's burden to bear. It's also the only thing Grimmjow's ever asked of him and the fact that he trusts Shuuhei enough to do so speaks novels about their relationship.
Shuuhei shakes his head. “No. I thought it a courtesy to give you a chance to back out.”
His lover snorts, not moving, not even twitching in his restraints, his reiatsu a wild pulse of anxiety and desire and anticipation and need. “Since when have I ever done that?”
And how often has Shuuhei wished that Grimmjow would learn when it is better to save the fight for another day, rather than returning bloody and bruised and barely alive?
Shuuhei sighs, but more to himself, and steps forward, putting them in close enough proximity that he can feel the heat Grimmjow is radiating. “You've made your point,” Shuuhei says, as gruffly as he can manage, and holds up the gag. “Open.”
There's a moment where Grimmjow stares at him before he licks his lips pointedly than opens his mouth, with enough room for Shuuhei to place the gag properly. Blue eyes lock with Shuuhei's, an intense stare that makes him shiver, as he straps it in place and the chance for conversation is gone.
Shuuhei steps back, reaching for the table, and the first of a line of items that Grimmjow himself had selected. Progressively larger and nastier the further down the table they sit. He picks up the first flog, tests the handle in his grip and then looks back at his lover again, exhaling slowly, eyes roaming over the arousing picture that Grimmjow makes trussed up like that.
Grimmjow has asked Shuuhei to break him and by the gods, that's what Shuuhei is going to do.
For
ttenandayo Prompt: Ishida/Ichigo, mullet
Ichigo and Uryuu are characters from the anime/manga Bleach. Mild warnings for spoilers and hints of angst.
Of all the weapons that have ever been aimed at Ichigo's body – from zanpakutou to kido to cero – the idea of scissors being anywhere near the nape of his neck is what makes him cringe. What makes his shoulders hunch and his body slump in the chair, much to Uryuu's annoyance.
“Sit up,” the Quincy says sharply, his tone of voice making Ichigo do so before he thinks twice about it, and then scowl once he realizes how quickly he obeyed.
The sound of the scissors snipping away makes Ichigo cringe, makes him twitch, his spine twisting with discomfort. He grips the arms of the chair, gritting his teeth.
“And sit still,” Uryuu adds, and there's almost a touch of humor to his voice. He's deriving far too much amusement from this.
“Easier said than done,” Ichigo grits out, and closes his eyes, tries to focus on calm and quiet thoughts. Anything other than the scissors that are close to his ears and his neck and how easily Uryuu could kill him from here, even if Ichigo knows he won't do that. It's a paranoia thing, and after that war and everything else it comprised, Ichigo's not surprised he emerged a lot paranoid.
There's a light clatter as Uryuu sets the scissors down, and then his hands land on Ichigo's shoulders, a gentle and noticeable weight. “You act like I'm forcing you to do this,” he murmurs, fingers kneading and massaging, digging into tense muscle.
Ichigo sighs. “Sorry,” he replies with a wince. And he knows his much longer hair is brushing Uryuu's hands, one of the reason he wants it cut so badly. It's a reminder, a memory, of all the things Ichigo is trying to forget.
Uryuu's the only one he trusts to cut out that memory.
“I know,” Uryuu replies and strokes a finger down the side of Ichigo's neck, an affectionate light touch that makes the tense muscles in Ichigo's body relax by a fraction. “So the sooner you let me get started, the sooner we can finish. Yes?”
“Yes,” Ichigo sighs, and sits up, ears twitching at the sound of the scissors being lifted and taken into skilled, Quincy hands once again. “So don't cut it stupidly, all right?”
Uryuu huffs, in what could be taken as light offense or amusement. “Now what makes you think I'd do something like that?”
“Just a hunch,” Ichigo replies, and tries to relax, tries to let Uryuu's fingers soothe him as he snips and cuts and trims away all evidence of the final battle, returning Ichigo to the much-desired before.
“Sit up,” the Quincy says sharply, his tone of voice making Ichigo do so before he thinks twice about it, and then scowl once he realizes how quickly he obeyed.
The sound of the scissors snipping away makes Ichigo cringe, makes him twitch, his spine twisting with discomfort. He grips the arms of the chair, gritting his teeth.
“And sit still,” Uryuu adds, and there's almost a touch of humor to his voice. He's deriving far too much amusement from this.
“Easier said than done,” Ichigo grits out, and closes his eyes, tries to focus on calm and quiet thoughts. Anything other than the scissors that are close to his ears and his neck and how easily Uryuu could kill him from here, even if Ichigo knows he won't do that. It's a paranoia thing, and after that war and everything else it comprised, Ichigo's not surprised he emerged a lot paranoid.
There's a light clatter as Uryuu sets the scissors down, and then his hands land on Ichigo's shoulders, a gentle and noticeable weight. “You act like I'm forcing you to do this,” he murmurs, fingers kneading and massaging, digging into tense muscle.
Ichigo sighs. “Sorry,” he replies with a wince. And he knows his much longer hair is brushing Uryuu's hands, one of the reason he wants it cut so badly. It's a reminder, a memory, of all the things Ichigo is trying to forget.
Uryuu's the only one he trusts to cut out that memory.
“I know,” Uryuu replies and strokes a finger down the side of Ichigo's neck, an affectionate light touch that makes the tense muscles in Ichigo's body relax by a fraction. “So the sooner you let me get started, the sooner we can finish. Yes?”
“Yes,” Ichigo sighs, and sits up, ears twitching at the sound of the scissors being lifted and taken into skilled, Quincy hands once again. “So don't cut it stupidly, all right?”
Uryuu huffs, in what could be taken as light offense or amusement. “Now what makes you think I'd do something like that?”
“Just a hunch,” Ichigo replies, and tries to relax, tries to let Uryuu's fingers soothe him as he snips and cuts and trims away all evidence of the final battle, returning Ichigo to the much-desired before.
mistress_pirate Prompt: TatsukixSoifon, breakfast in bed
Tatsuki and Soifon are characters from the anime/manga Bleach. NSFW. Warnings for implications of lesbian sex, nudity, and language. And possibly spoilers.
She's tired. More than tired, actually. Every muscle is sore and aching, her eyelids feel heavy. All she wants is to go home, crawl into bed, and get enough sleep to last through her shift tomorrow. The sun is rising on the horizon, a new day beginning, but for Soifon, it's goodnight.
She arrives home and easily slides through the darkened hallways, feeling no need for any light. She knows her home better than her own division, even if the light layer of dust and disuse might prove otherwise.
Suzumebachi finds her home in her cradle, and for once, Soifon doesn't care as she lets her captain's haori slide to the floor, to be picked up much later. She steps into her bedroom, not wanting to bother with the light, when suddenly, it clicks on without her consent, illuminating the room.
Soifon blinks in stunned surprise to find that her futon has been laid out for her, but it's not unoccupied. In fact, her lover is sitting there, grinning up at her, almost-nude if not for the sheer and lacy cloth on her well-muscled frame. It's quite an alluring picture, one Soifon isn't sure how to handle.
“What are you doing?” she asks dumbly, higher brain functions gone on account of no sleep and the thin fabric that doesn't hide a thing.
Tatsuki grins from where she reclines on the pillow. “It's breakfast in bed,” she replies, and one hand slides up her thigh, drawing the black lace up a bit further and revealing a tantalizing strip of pale skin.
Soifon unconsciously licks her lips. “I don't see any food.”
Her lover rises to her knees, scooting to the edge of the futon. “That's because I'm the main dish,” Tatsuki replies and she reaches out, grabbing hold of Soifon's obi and dragging her a few steps closer.
“My poor captain,” she purrs, easily stripping aside Soifon's clothing since she's not putting up much of a protest. “You look exhausted. Maybe it would be better if you just went to sleep.”
Soifon scowls, even as warm hands flatten over her belly and then curve around, fingers pressing against her spine to pull her closer. “Are you implying that I'm too weak.”
“Then you do have the energy?” Tatsuki challenges, looking up at her with dark, desire-drenched eyes.
And somehow, despite herself, Soifon won't say no to that promise.
a/n: Three more to come!She arrives home and easily slides through the darkened hallways, feeling no need for any light. She knows her home better than her own division, even if the light layer of dust and disuse might prove otherwise.
Suzumebachi finds her home in her cradle, and for once, Soifon doesn't care as she lets her captain's haori slide to the floor, to be picked up much later. She steps into her bedroom, not wanting to bother with the light, when suddenly, it clicks on without her consent, illuminating the room.
Soifon blinks in stunned surprise to find that her futon has been laid out for her, but it's not unoccupied. In fact, her lover is sitting there, grinning up at her, almost-nude if not for the sheer and lacy cloth on her well-muscled frame. It's quite an alluring picture, one Soifon isn't sure how to handle.
“What are you doing?” she asks dumbly, higher brain functions gone on account of no sleep and the thin fabric that doesn't hide a thing.
Tatsuki grins from where she reclines on the pillow. “It's breakfast in bed,” she replies, and one hand slides up her thigh, drawing the black lace up a bit further and revealing a tantalizing strip of pale skin.
Soifon unconsciously licks her lips. “I don't see any food.”
Her lover rises to her knees, scooting to the edge of the futon. “That's because I'm the main dish,” Tatsuki replies and she reaches out, grabbing hold of Soifon's obi and dragging her a few steps closer.
“My poor captain,” she purrs, easily stripping aside Soifon's clothing since she's not putting up much of a protest. “You look exhausted. Maybe it would be better if you just went to sleep.”
Soifon scowls, even as warm hands flatten over her belly and then curve around, fingers pressing against her spine to pull her closer. “Are you implying that I'm too weak.”
“Then you do have the energy?” Tatsuki challenges, looking up at her with dark, desire-drenched eyes.
And somehow, despite herself, Soifon won't say no to that promise.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
