Monday - Colors

[galor5.livejournal.com]

Hello I'm galor5 and I'll be your Guest Host for this week. *waves*

Today's theme is COLORS

It doesn't matter what fandom or pairing you choose, so long as the prompt (song lyrics, one word, a picture, whatever) somehow relates to the colors that paint our world.

Please make things easier for the codemonkeys and their pinch-hitters, please code your prompts correctly:

Examples:
~ RPS; Orlando/Jake - Brown eyed boy
~ LOTRIPS; Viggo/Orlando - Old Green truck
~ TW; Jack/Ianto - Black tie

Also, please make sure that you only have one prompt per comment as it makes it easier for everyone and gives you more chance of getting a fic in return for leaving the prompt :)

You can leave and answer as many prompts as you want to, or even write your own.

If you don't see anything that strikes your fancy writing from the prompts left today, feel free to head on over to the Lonely Prompts page and see what fun you can create from them ;)

Comments

[galor5.livejournal.com]

RPS; Orlando/Jake - Brown-eyed boy

[giselleslash.livejournal.com]

"Too bad Van Morrison wasn't gay."

Orlando stopped staring at Jake's lips long enough to answer, "Huh?"

"I said, too bad Van Morrison wasn't gay."

Orlando stretched. Scratched his stomach. "Again I say, huh?"

They were laying on their sides, the warm morning sunlight creeping closer and closer to their bed. Jake reached out and swept his fingers over the path Orlando's had taken on his bare stomach.

"Cos if he was I think that song would've been written just for you."

"You mean Sweet Thing?" Orlando waggled his eyebrows.

"No."

"Tupelo Honey?"

Jake shook his head.

"Village Idiot?"

"Yes. That's the one."

Orlando smiled and turned with Jake as he took him in his arms, pulled him close and started humming Brown-Eyed Girl in his ear.

The vibrations rumbled across Orlando's lips when he placed them in the sleep warmed hollow of Jake's throat.

[galor5.livejournal.com]

LOTRIPS; Viggo/Orlando - Old Green truck

[tularia.livejournal.com]

Orlando's hand slid across the leather surface of the seat cushion until it reached the denim-covered leg. Creeping higher, it massaged its way slowly up to the juncture of thigh and groin, then slid in and down, cupping the bulge that grew as it was petted.

Passion flaring, Viggo pulled the old green truck over to the side of the road, thankful they were far enough in the middle of nowhere that they would be undisturbed. With a grab towards his lover as he shoved the stick into park and set the brake, he caught the back of Orlando's head and pulled him in until their faces met, eyes instantly closing as fevered lips met.

"You are so dangerous," Viggo breathed out.

"You have no idea," Orlando grinned wickedly, his lips already searching for the next kiss.

[galor5.livejournal.com]

TW; Jack/Ianto - Black tie

There aren't any mind controlling alien slugs?

[guiltyreasons.livejournal.com]

It was a black tie event and that meant they had all dawned suits. Now, Ianto had expected Jack be a smart ass, which he always was, and wear his great coat, so imagine his surprise when he turned to see Jack in a tux.

"Holy," Ianto started, but didn't finish the swear. He gulped once and almost fell over as Jack got closer to the SVU where the team was waiting. He refused to show too much outward sign of his arousal, but Jack must have caught on because he was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"Like what you see?" Jack asked straightening his tie.

"A change is always nice," Ianto said trying to keep his voice flat and failing.

"You look great too Ianto," he said turning and Ianto look down at his own slightly more formal than normal suit.

"Nah, you look better."

"Let's call it a draw shall we?" Jack asked than offered his arm to Ianto. Ianto took it suspiciously.

"What did you do?"

"Lied. There is no job at the event. It's a date for you and me," Jack said and Ianto could have killed me.

"There aren't any mind controlling alien slugs spreading their kind around the globe?" Ianto gasped.

"That's actually the plot for Animorphs," Tosh said bashfully from behind him, "Don't be mad."

"Go have fun," Owen said pushing a care package of lube and condoms into his hands.

"Don't do anything Jack would do." Gwen said giving him a smile. "You two make a striking couple."

"Thanks," Ianto said blushing as Jack lead him out. He turned to look at his lover and found the man smiling over at him in a tender, affectionate way that made his heart bounce in his chest. The look said what Jack would rarely said aloud.

I love you

[galor5.livejournal.com]

Lotrips, Orlando/Sean B, Orange Popsicle (or ice cream)

[galor5.livejournal.com]

RPS, Orlando/Eric, purple crayons

[giselleslash.livejournal.com]

"Get away from my purple crayon," Orlando said as he slapped Eric's hand away and continued finding his way through the maze.

"But you always get the purple crayon and then I'm left with orange."

"Orange is a perfectly acceptable color."

"But it's not purple."

Orlando looked up and noticed the frown on Eric's face. For such a giant bugger he really was a bit of a baby at times. Orlando rolled his eyes and pretended to be annoyed with Eric as he pouted a second or two more then got up from the table to go to the bathroom.

Once Eric was gone Orlando signaled the waitress to come over. Like hell if he was going to put up with a pouty Eric all through breakfast. He wanted to enjoy his blueberry pancakes in peace, thank you very much.

Orlando made sure to keep his head down and his eyes focused on his coloring when Eric made his way back to the table but when the table shook from Eric bumping into it as he slid into the booth he had to take a look. Spread across Eric's face was the biggest, goofiest grin ever.

Really, the big dope was too easy to please.

Eric kept grinning as he lined up all his purple crayons in a row in the middle of the table.

"That enough purple crayons for you, big baby that you are?" Orlando asked with feigned disinterest as he solved the riddle in the corner of his place mat.

Eric shrugged, but the corner of his mouth remained quirked up. "Guess so."

"Perfect. Now can I do my connect the dots in peace?"

Eric shook his head yes as he picked up a nice, sharp brand new crayon and went to work on his word search.

Orlando rolled his eyes again. Really. Such a baby.

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Steve, blue eyes

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

Steve's spread out on the bed beneath him; head thrown back, neck exposed, hands grasping at Christian and legs wrapped around his waist, feet crossed at the small of his back.

Christian's pounding into him, hard and fast. They're both trembling, both panting and moaning each other's names. And Christian's lips are over Steve's, tongue seeking entrance, then pulling back, and he's begging Steve to open his eyes.

Steve moans, low and deep, teeth nipping at Christian's lips as he complies, eyes slowly opening.

Their gazes snap to each other, eyes locked blue on blue as they come, clutching desperately at each other.

[ladybubblegum.livejournal.com]

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, indigo child

[ladybubblegum.livejournal.com]

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, rainbow sticker

Bumper sticker

[guiltyreasons.livejournal.com]

"What the hell is that on the back of the SUV?" Owen demanded as he got inside the van. Jack was driving while Ianto had shot gun.

"A rainbow sticker. I didn't think you'd mind," Jack said putting the car in drive.

"It says 'gay pride'. You know I drive this rig too?" Owen demanded. Ianto snickered a bit at the though of it.

"Are you suddenly homophobic? Because I remember a certain time when you-"

"I told you that was once," Owen interrupted, "I'm just saying it's hard to get chicks when all of them thing I prefer dicks."

"How about this, I'll print up a sticker that says just that for you? I mean it rhymed and everything," Ianto suggested.

"This is not amusing."

"I disagree," Jack said rubbing Ianto's head and messing up his hair, "So when did you put the sticker on?"

"Me?" Ianto said slightly shocked, "I thought you did."

"Wasn't me," Jack said than they both took a moment and smirked, "Gwen."

[ladybubblegum.livejournal.com]

Angel the Series, Angel/Spike, gray area

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

Spike knows that he needs this.

It's the only reason he lets him do it.

His sire faces evil every day, faces it without facing it down -- because he has to appear to wear that same very face himself. He can't allow the minions of evil that surround him to see that he's not one of them.

He can't let his friends see that... well... he's not quite one of them anymore, either.

Only with Spike can his two natures mingle and co-exist harmoniously -- with Spike, who has seen him at his best and worst, and knows the complex intermingling of those two natures that makes Angel who he is.

Spike hisses back a cry of pain as Angel thrusts into him and bites into him at the same time, sparing no mercy, deliberately making it hurt.

Because he wants to, and he's tired of pretending not to want to.

Because he can't show this side of himself to anyone else, and if he doesn't let it out, he's afraid the resulting explosion of bloodshed might not be pretty.

Because if he doesn't spread some of the pain, he's afraid it might just kill him.

Again.

And Spike lets him, surrendering freely to it -- because in the midst of the building maelstrom they're facing, it's the one thing he can do for the sire he never stopped loving.

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Hiro/Ando, red string of destiny

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Sylar/Mohinder, it's not so black-and-white

Meet Me Halfway (Warning DubCon sort of)

[daria234.livejournal.com]

"I'm a villain, Mohinder. A monster according to you." Sylar held Mohinder's hands against the headboard and licked a slow line up his spine. "And if you give me everything I want from you, then you're in bed with a monster in more ways than one."
Sylar flipped Mohinder over and so he could run his finger down his sternum, pressing harder than he needed to. "I'll kill Molly. Matt. Peter. Unless you submit to every fantasy that flickers across my twisted monstrous mind." Sylar smiled, then made a tiny motion in the air with his finger, reminding Mohinder that a telekinetic lover could press on anything he wanted to.
"I'm sure you think that makes you a hero. Nobly sacrificing yourself -- your body -- for the greater good." Sylar flipped him back again so he was bent over in front of him. He made a thousand feathers stroke Mohinder's body at the same moment as he roughly grabbed his balls. "But if you enjoy it, if my cruelty makes you come like a rocket, doesn't that make you a monster too?"

"This is not really working for me, Sylar."

"What?" A thousand feathers dropped to the floor.

"No, the feathers are great. But the role-playing. Threatening to kill my loved ones."

"But you wanted to role-play. I'm the cruel, heartless pimp, and you're the sweet young thing I bully into the sex trade."

"Exactly. I don't think a pimp would threaten to cut open people's skulls to steal their powers."

"I would if I were a pimp."

"I'm sure that's true. But the whole point of fantasy is to escape reality."

"So?"

"So you ACTUALLY HAVE tried to kill Molly AND Matt AND Peter MULTIPLE TIMES. It's not good clean dominance-fantasy fun if you're talking about REAL things. If you're role-playing, you have to stick to pure fantasy. No reminders of why we were enemies. No threatening to kill people I care about. No REALITY. Just FANTASY!"

"That's silly, Mohinder. You can't just draw a line between our mortal-enemy relationship and our lovers-role-playing-as-mortal-enemies relationship. Things just aren't so black and white."

Mohinder pouted.

"Fine, I'll only threaten to kill Bennett. Will that make you happy?"

"Like you could kill Bennett even if you wanted to."

Sylar smiled. "You're going to pay for that comment, Mohinder," he said, pinning him against the ceiling.

"I hope so," Mohinder said with a smile.

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Sylar/Luke - a little green (whatever meaning you want that to have)

[vampedvixen.livejournal.com]

"You're looking a little green there, Luke." Sylar's mouth perked up in a sly little smirk as he fished through his latest victim's brain. "You were the one who wanted to learn how to do this-- don't wimp out on me now!"

Luke forced himself to open his eyes, but needed to peek through the slots in between his fingers on his hands. "I know.. I just-- I've never seen a human brain like that before. Are they always this messy?"

“Always. That's what makes my job so damn enjoyable.” He finished the process of stealing the person's ability, then grabbed Luke's hand and shoved it into the left over brain, making him feel it.. squeeze it. “Oh, don't be such a baby.”

It was then that Luke lost his lunch.

[asimaiyat.livejournal.com]

Castle, Kate/Castle, purple prose

[flareonfury.livejournal.com]

First try at Castle fic, so hope you enjoy it anyway.
---
“Is to.”

“Is not!”

“Damn it! Yes it is!”

Javier Esposito laughed lightly as his partner, Kevin Ryan, joined him watching Kate and Castle bicker… again.

“Are they still at it?” Kevin asked with a grin as he took a sip of his coffee. He mentally thanked the writer for the new coffee machine as he savored the heavenly taste.

“Yeah, but this time their on about something called purple prose.” Javier explained, amuzement laced in his voice.

“Damn, they fight like an old married couple, although with a whole lot more passion,” Kevin stated letting out a low laugh so as to not interrupt the writer and their friend.

“Yeah, think we should interrupt? We do have an investigation to do.” Kevin grinned at his friend’s words.

“Yeah, and I know exactly how to shut them up… man, I’ve always wanted to say this.” Kevin stated before moving a bit closer, but not close enough for his fellow dectective to hit him should she feel inclined too (which she most definitely would be). “Hey you two! Get a room already! We have a job to do.”

Richard Castle and Kate Beckett turned around to face him with eyes widened in shock. Rick’s turned instantly turned into a grin while Kate’s turned into an angry glare towards Kevin who smiled innocently.

[ladybubblegum.livejournal.com]

Being Human, George/Mitchell, red

Being Human, George/Mitchell, red

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

It’s everywhere and Mitchell can’t think. Can’t think of anything, anything at all, other than the blood on George’s skin and spilling from the wound. He needs to help. Needs to be helping, needs to step forward and give George the assistance that he needs. It’s deep, maybe dangerous; maybe he should be offering to take him to the hospital instead of looking at the dark red colour that is spreading over their kitchen sink.

“Shit,” George mutters, running his hands beneath the cold water of the tap. It falls down, dying the bright red to pale pink. “Mitchell, pass me that towel.”

It takes an eternity of effort to make himself remove his gaze from the wound George is cleaning. It’s a neat slice straight across the palm of George’s hand. If Mitchell had been paying more attention, had been a little quicker, then maybe he could have stopped it from happening at all. Wouldn’t have been dangerous in any other house. If they were normal, if they were ordinary in the way that George likes to pretend they are, then this would have been fine and George would only have had to wear a bandage for a few days to allow it to heal up.

“Mitchell? Are you okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

That’s the way it’s supposed to work. He’s supposed to be there to look after George, to take care of him because in a way Mitchell feels like he can’t take care of himself, not in the way he should be able to. Right now, though, the scent of blood is so strong and heavy in the air. It’s all he can think about. Reminds him of the night that he first met George. George had been nothing to him then; just a lycan. Just an idiot wolf. The scent of his blood had been nothing. Now it’s more, now it’s deeper, now the sight of that blood touches something within him, touches the instinctual side of the vampire that whispers mine and longs to taste.

“Mitchell? Towel?” George prompts.

Slowly, Mitchell is able to reach to the side to pick it up and pass it over. George removes his hand from under the tap and, hissing in pain, presses the towel against it to stem the bleeding. He looks up, squinting behind his glasses at Mitchell in confusion. “Do you want to leave? You look sort of queasy.”

Normally Mitchell would be able to tease George for suggesting that, but not now. This is the first time that George has cut himself around him in such a long time - and his reaction makes Mitchell worried about what this might mean for the connection between him and the wolf. It’s deeper now than either of them ever bargained for.

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Matt/Mohinder, boys don't wear pink

[saavikam77.livejournal.com]

Mohinder can't help a gasp of surprise when Matt grasps his shoulder with a strong hand and spins him away from the mirror, interrupting his tie-tying mid-adjustment. "Matt, what are you--?"

"Are you seriously wearing a pink tie?" Matt asks incredulously.

"Of course. I understand it compliments my skin tone quite well."

"Mohinder, boys don't wear pink." With that same strong hand, he hooks a finger over the knot of the tie and starts to pull it loose, insisting, "Here, let me take care of that for you."

Shocked into silence, Mohinder gapes at Matt wide-eyed, heat flushing his skin at the unexpected manhandling; his lover's brusqueness has always been such a surprising turn-on. So just as the narrow end of the tie slips from beneath his collar, he can't help himself anymore. Grabbing Matt by his own pale blue shirt collar, he yanks him close and crushes a kiss against his lips.

When he pulls back some time later, tingles of adrenaline curling his toes and heat building low in his gut, he whispers, "If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask."

"Am I that transparent?" Matt chuckles mischievously.

"Like glass. Now finish what you started, or else we'll never get out of here this morning."

Matt's devilish grin and his fingers popping the buttons on his crisp white shirt are the only answer Mohinder needs.

* * *

Lookie! I wrote MattMo! :D Heeheee!!

[elebridith]

RPS, Were!Chris/Wizard!Steve, red
*g*

[havenward.livejournal.com]

:yawns and is amused at today's theme and blinks:

Are you prompting for Elsewhere-verse, or is there another wizard!Steve that I need to kick myself for missing reading? And wow, it's been way too long since I kicked around over there. Ooooops...

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

RPS, any!Chris/any!Steve, seeing red

[charlies_dragon]

Not sure where this one came from, but here ya go.

~~~

It had finally happened. Someone had landed a punch on Chris before he'd been able to land one of his own. Momentarily shocked at the pain lancing through his left cheek, he failed to warn Steve about the beefy biker coming up behind him. Somehow the bikers' chains had become wrapped around Steve's torso and were being pulled tighter and tighter, so tight that Steve could hear his ribs creaking in protest and everything was going grey with black dots dancing around his vision.

Seeing Steve slowly pass out over the other side of the bar from him, and not able to do anything for his best friend and lover, Chris saw red and really let loose with the attacks.

His world was reduced to dodging and weaving, punching and kicking, throwing broken bottles at those who tried to get away from him. All loose limbed movement that'd be graceful if it weren't for the destruction left in his wake.

By the time Chris reached the other side of the bar - mere moments after he saw red but to him, every moment seemed an age where Steve's life was concerned - Steve was slumped over on his left side and was being slowly dragged out the side door by the owner of the chains that were still around his chest. Digging in and crushing his ribs so he could barely breathe. Everyone who'd come up against Chris in his fight to get to Steve was out for the count and in varying degrees of broken. The only two left conscious in the bar were the biker hauling Steve across the beer and peanut covered floor, and Chris.

"Y'gonna hand him over or m'I gonna have t'kick yer butt too?" Chris asked, swaggering over to where big and beefy was holding the side door open.

The biker looked up and realised for the first time that all of his companions were out for the count, all of them taken out by the little cowboy in front of him. Thinking that maybe he should save his own hide and run, the biker threw the ends of the chains at Chris and ran out to his bike.

With the roar of a powerful engine fading into the distance, Chris carefully unwrapped the chains from Steve's body and laid him out on the floor with Chris' jacket under his head.

"I need an ambulance, my fr-lover's not breathin' an' his chest's all crushed up...Address? Yeah, we're at a bar, uh, Harry's on Reddards just outta town. Yeah, that one." Calling for an ambulance never seemed as complicated to Chris as it did now. He wasn't stupid, he knew that Steve more than likely had multiple broken ribs and some of them might even be poking his lungs and shouldn't be moved, but he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Had to re-assure himself that Steve was still alive and with him.

"Stay with me darlin', help's on its way, just don't leave me darlin'. Don't leave me."

[elebridith]

Firefly/Leverage, Kaylee/Hardison, pink paint

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Their laughter echoes, bouncing off Serenity and Leverage's hulls and out into the canyon. No one knows quite what to make of them, or what in hell the two of'm think they're doing. What cause is there for makin' old engine bits pink, anyway?

Hardison lets out another guffaw at somethin' Kaylee says, and she blushes up a storm before flicking paint at his overalls. He flicks paint right back at her, droplets scattering across her cheek and hair. And oh, then it's on. Waves of paint end up bein' throw around by the bucket-fulls, splattering against them and the ships and the canyon alike.

"How'n the hell you plannin' on washin' that off?" Mal grouses, and it isn't clear if he means off the people or off of the hulls.

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Author's choice, black & white

Leverage - Hardison/Parker - Ebony and Ivory

[weesta.livejournal.com]

It had taken Hardison some time to pick up on Parker’s idiosyncrasies; not that he’d figured them all out, not by a long stretch. And sometimes he was convinced she invented new quirks just because she could.

There was this one thing, about touching. When she was awake and active, any kind of touching was fair play – from gentle and teasing to rough and aggressive. But when Parker was sleeping, the gentlest of caresses would set off every proximity alarm she had and resulted in bodily harm. Hardison was lucky she hadn’t given him anything worse than a black eye the night he learned that lesson.

So, when Alec lay awake next to his irresistible, yet slumbering, bedmate, he reached out to her using a firm touch. Sometimes he would trace the planes of her face, so much less guarded in slumber. Most often he ended up like this – twining their limbs together – fascinated by the play of black and white. He loved looking at the deep brown of his splayed fingers against the white plane of her stomach and knowing that while Parker was no stranger to sex, this intimate contact was alien to her.

Humming Ebony and Ivory Hardison drifted off to sleep.

[oteap.livejournal.com]

SPN/Leverage, Dean/Eliot, blue bandana

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

The blue bandana is the only thing Dean can find in Eliot’s bag that will be good to tie of a gunshot wound. He got the bullet out, managed to dig it out with his own fingers, but Eliot’s arm is bleeding like a stuck pig.

Eliot’s trying to slap his hands away, already weak and pale with blood loss, but Dean ignores him.

“Fuckin’ idiot, can’t believe you’d try to distract the trigger-happy asshole with a loaded gun.”

“I thought the safety was still on! The man was a moron, Dean.”

“I don’t care,” Dean growls, pulling the knot tight and squeezing the wound lightly, just a warning. “You’re lucky he couldn’t aim!”

“Ow, fuck, I’m sorry, okay?”

Dean presses his forehead to Eliot’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “Never again. You do that again and I’ll kill you myself.”

“Yeah,” Eliot says. His other hand comes up to rest on the back of Dean’s neck. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

[ladywilde80.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Mohinder/Sylar, 'green eyed monster'

Heroes, Mohinder/Sylar, 'green eyed monster'

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

_{I took the prompt literally, for teh lulz!}

Sylar doesn't breathe, doesn't move, doesn't even flinch when not-Mohinder settles in his lap. Mohinder's face is close enough to his own that he can feel Mohinder's breath on his cheeks: it's cold. Frozen puffs of mist. The room itself is warm and Sylar can tell that something isn't right, but it isn't the breathing that tells him that: it's the eyes.

Mohinder's eyes are usually a soft brown, but not now. In the moonlight that streams through the open window, Sylar can see the vibrant green colour that stares down at him. It's an unnatural colour, one that was never dreamed up by evolution or genetics. The neon green of motel signs pales in comparison to this.

"Mohinder," Sylar says. He speaks slowly; the name is twice as long as it would usually be. With a jerking movement, those eyes meet his gaze and hold it: it holds him in place effortlessly. There is no running now. No escape. No way to fight. "Mohinder, are you in there?"

And he doesn't know what he's asking. He doesn't know what's going on and perhaps he doesn't want to know. His heart is beating with the thumpthumpthump of danger in the same way that it does whenever he faces off against Peter Petrelli or another stronger opponent. That is ridiculous and foolish. This is Mohinder, the most ineffective scientist and man that Sylar has ever come across. He doesn't even have a power, but those eyes… God, those eyes…

"Don't speak," Mohinder whispers. It sounds like him: his voice, his smile, his arrogance. What is not him is the way that his hips rock as he speaks. Sylar can feel the hard press of his erection against him and can't help but respond in kind, moaning though he knows that something is wrong. Mohinder shouldn't even be here. He should be back in New York and should spit at the sound of Sylar's name. That is the natural order of things.

Now Sylar sits up in bed, urging Mohinder closer with a hand at the back of his head, fingers tangling in those dark black curls in the way they've been itching to do since they first met. "What are you?" he demands, lips so close that it's a fight not to crush them against Mohinder's mouth. "Who are you?"

"I told you not to speak," Mohinder hisses, pressing him down firmly against the bed.

With a twist of telekinesis it is no problem to reverse their positions until Sylar is the one that towers over Mohinder. And he really has plans to get to the bottom of this, to find out what sort of monster this is that's haunting him, but then Mohinder's lips crash against his and his plans fade into the distance.

After, he promises himself as he takes what he's always wanted. I'll find out after this.

[ladywilde80.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Elle/Claire, 'red hot burning love'

Heroes, Elle/Claire, 'red hot burning love' - drabble

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

It consumes her. It burns her up from the inside out until all she can think about is Claire, all she wants to think about is Claire. Soft, golden blonde hair haunts her daydreams and in her mind's eye there is a blue gaze settled hungrily upon her. It curls in Elle's belly, an obsession, driving her wild in a way that she hadn't known possible. When Claire is in danger, she tries to save her; when Claire is upset, she tries to please her. She's never felt this way before.

And if this is love, Elle thinks it sucks.

[ladywilde80.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Sylar/Claire, 'black heart'

It got huge...PART ONE

[canadiangoddess.livejournal.com]

((Claire feels no pain, Sylar reads minds, Claire wants to feel again, Sylar just wants to fuck with everyone. Fair warning I have taken liberties with…well with everything))
The last person in the world Sylar ever expected to see darken his doorstep was Claire Bennett. Given everything he had done to her in the last couple of years he figured if she ever came, she’d show up heavily armed with a great deal of angry backup.
Instead she stands alone, wearing some ridiculous pink and white dress and a smile. A fucking smile.
“I don’t know quite what to say.” He said, looking down at her.
“Please, come in would be a start.” Claire replied, ducking under his arm and into the house.
“How did you find me?”
Claire stood in his living room, hands on her hips and an enigmatic half-smile on her face.
“I was babysitting Molly.”
Molly. The girl who could find anyone, anywhere in the world. God he wanted that gift.
“Why come here?” Sylar asked, shutting the door and joining her in the living room. “And why come alone?”
“Who says I’m alone?”
He just cocked one brow, calling her bluff with nothing more than the look on his face.
“Alright, I’m here alone.” Claire admitted grudgingly. “I needed to see you.”
“Why?”
Claire fidgeted now, uncertain if this had really been such a good idea after all.
“Whatever it is, just spit it out already.” Sylar was impatient. He had never liked strangers in his home, and although he and Claire had known each other for some time, theirs was not a comfortable relationship. Bloody and hostile, occasionally lethal, but never comfortable.
“You took away my pain.” She blurted, “you did something to me and now I can’t feel pain.”
Sylar cocked his head, truly confused. If she wanted to thank him she could have sent a damn fruit basket or something.
“You’re welcome?”
Claire growled, fisting her hands in her hair in frustration.
“I’m not here to thank you!” She snarled, “I’m here to make you fix it!”
“Why on earth would you want to feel pain?”
“It’s the only thing that makes me like everyone else.” Claire slumped onto the couch. “I can heal from things that would kill most people, but it always hurts.”
“You enjoy pain?” Sylar sat across from her on the chair, trying to figure out the enigmatic creature before him.
“Of course I don’t enjoy the pain” Claire rolled her eyes, “but I want it back!”
“Why?”
“If I can feel pain again, maybe I can feel other things too.” Her voice was a whisper. “I feel so cold and empty inside and I want to feel like I did before.”
For the first time since she knocked at the door, Sylar actively used his powers to read her mind. Needing to better understand exactly what Claire wanted, and more importantly what the hell she expected him to do about it.
The inside of an eighteen year old girl’s mind was a mess. It took more concentration than he was used to exerting just to get through the first layers of convoluted self-assessment and get to the good stuff.
Oh my.
“Little Claire has needs does she?”
For one moment Claire wished she had brought a weapon of some kind, not to kill Sylar, just to bleed him with a few times. If nothing else it would wipe that smirk off his face and maybe force him to take her seriously for a second.
“That’s my point, I don’t know if I have needs.”
Sylar contemplated this for a moment. Even if he could reverse whatever he had done to Claire, and he wasn’t sure he could, he was relatively certain he didn’t want to. Not without some kind of incentive.
“What’s in it for me?”
“I won’t tell my father’s men where to find you, and I’ll never ask Molly to look for you again.” Claire was prepared for him to demand recompenses, and hoped he would take her word for everything.
“Not what I’m looking for.” Sylar brushed aside the notion of being found, after all, there were a great many things about his position here Claire had no inkling of. “I need something a little more, personal.”
Claire swallowed audibly, bravely, before speaking.
“What do you want?”

[oteap.livejournal.com]

Generation Kill, Ray/Brad, redhead

[oteap.livejournal.com]

SPN, Sam/Dean, pink socks

Pink Socks

[harry-sev4evr.livejournal.com]

Hope this is ok I don't normally write. I'm more of a lurker.

"Sammy." Dean yelled out the door of their latest hotel room. "Sammy, get your bitch ass in here. NOW!!"

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked in the tiny room before replying "It's Sam."

"Fine Sam" he said. "Would you like to explain why all of my socks and underware are now PINK!!" He finished in a yell.

"...Um..." Sam started, blushing up to his ears. "Well, you know that red velvet corset you joked might look good on me. I kinda bought it and it got mixed in with your things at the laundry-mat.

Dean's eyes grew big and then he smirked. "Well let's see if I was right. Go put it on big boy," he finished with a leer.

So I hope this is what you were looking for, I read the promt and it wrote itself in like 10 min.