comment_fic | Viernes

analise010.livejournal.com posting in

Sorry for the late start, everyone. I'm Viernes

Hello, everyone. I’m

analise010 and it's my last day here, so let's end with our favorite things. Prompts can be anything from your favorite fandoms, favorite pairings, hell, even your favorite day of the week. As long as there's a fav involved, go crazy.

The rules still haven't changed:

No more than five prompts in a row.
No more than three prompts in the same fandom.
No spoilers in prompts.
If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space.

Prompts should be formatted as follows:
Fandom, Character+/Character, Prompt

Some examples to get the ball rolling...
+ Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, He should have known that Stiles would smell like his favorite color.
+ X-Men (movies), Logan/Rogue, She was always his favorite.
+ Xena: Warrior Princess, Xena/Gabrielle, any

Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Visit the lonely prompt archive and brighten someone’s day.

Have fun and happy Friday!

tag=favorites

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From:

sharpiesgal.livejournal.com

When is Jim ever gonna learn....lol

From:

sharpiesgal.livejournal.com

That is so Clint.

From:

iantojjackh.livejournal.com

Seven years ago when some would have asked Jack about his favourite position, he would have made a crude comment about his partner being bend over any piece of furniture with their arse in the air, begging for a visit from Captain Jack.

Then one day everything changed when Ianto Jones managed to slip through the tiny cracks in the wall of cement he built around his heart. There was always room for the love of friends and family, but long before Jack became immortal, he dismissed any notion that there was room for true unconditional love. Past experience showed that love always came with a long list of rules and the pleading for Jack to change. None of those are what unconditional love is about. That is why Jack dismissed the idea as some kind of non-existent entity.

From the beginning, Jack knew there was something special about the young Welshman so desperate for a job. He felt it that night in the warehouse when Ianto's body laid on top of his. Their lips less than an centimeter from a kiss and Jack never wanted something so bad before. The only reason he did not claim the prize was because what he felt from Ianto: his heartbeat.

Jack suddenly remembered something his mother once said: Son, everyone's heart beats to a different rhythm except for one other person. When you find the person's whose heart beats the same as yours, you've found the one you are meant to spend forever with.

He only felt the synchronized beating for a few seconds before Ianto pulled away and started to walk out of his life.

"Hey! Report for work first thing tomorrow," Jack said before his brain had time to process the words that escaped his mouth.

Next came the betrayal Jack never saw coming and Jack thought he might have misheard the heartbeat that night. Then the horrible day in Brecon Beacons happened and no one on the team was left unscathed.

Jack knew Ianto still felt like an outsider and severely understated his injuries which was confirmed when he let himself into the young man's flat and found Ianto passed out in his couch with a a mostly empty six pack of beer scattered about the table. He winced upon seeing Ianto's chest and back which resembled a Jackson Pollock painting comprised of bruises.

Ianto hardly stirred when Jack carried him from the couch to the bed, but held with a death grip when Jack tried to let go. The immortal captain acquiesced to the silent request.

Through the night Ianto whimpered and sometimes screamed, but never let go of Jack despite the obvious pain he was in.

During one of the quiet moments was when Jack heard the sound Ianto's heartbeat. It was the same as it had been that night in the warehouse. It was perfectly in synch with his.

That night would be a turning point. The bad times were behind them now and the only place left to go was up.

Tonight Jack was in what had become his favourite position over the last few years: his and Ianto's satiated and sweat soaked bodies tangled together, not knowing where one ended and the other begins.

The sound of two hearts beating as one lulled Jack to a blissful sleep. The last image he saw before sleep claimed him to its comforting embrace was his and Ianto's linked hands. There was something different about them now, last night their hands were bare, but tonight they displayed matching platinum bands.

Favourite position, indeed!

From:

tardisjournal.livejournal.com

OMG! You took what could have been a prompt for some mindless PWP (not that there's anything wrong with that!) and turned it into something deep and powerful. I love how you wove original backstory with the mythical element of the twin heartbeats, and I got all choked up when I got to Jack's "new" favorite position, which really shows how he's evolved since meeting Ianto. <3<3

Fantastic job. Thank you!

From:

iantojjackh.livejournal.com

Thanks.

This even took an u expected turn from what I expected when I started writings this. Thanks for an amazing prompt.

From:

hanorganaas.livejournal.com

WARNING: Dub-Con.

--------------------------

The fact that this is all Agent Clint Barton can think about disgusts him. He is supposed to be healing, trying to make sense of what happened to him. But there is one aspect of those three days in hell, he can't stop thinking of. It isn't the things he done, the innocent people he killed and hurting the people he had grown to care for...like Natasha...it was the feel of his hands.

It was the only time he shut off the mind control. His senses were on overdrive...like the foul taste of the cloth shoved in his mouth and tied at the back of his head, and the razor sharp binds encircling his wrists. He wasn't that alarmed about being bound....more confused. He tried to put the pieces together, the last thing he remembered being in S.H.I.E.L.D, the tesseract reacting and a man with a staff pointing it towards him.

"You're awake," a voice said...it was all too familiar.

Clint raised his head ever so slightly, and there he was...the man with the staff...standing in the doorway.....eyes looking down on him like a predator examining his prey. He began stepping towards him with long strides, and Clint began thrashing in the binds, muffled grunts leaving his lips.

Suddenly he felt the sharp point of the staff under his chin.

"I would stay still," The man said bluntly, "or I can make you hurt that girl you are found of...what's her name." Clint stilled at the threat and the sound of the staff falling to the floor caused him to cringe as the sound rung through his over sensitive ears. The staff was replaced by fingers, long callused fingers touching chin.

He felt the bed sink, causing the muscles to tense. The fingers began to dance down his jaw and over his throat. A soft groan left his lips as he felt his body sinking into the sheets, relaxing.

"Amazing how it works," the man said again hands moving moving over his collarbone and the bare skin of his chest, "a simple threat," he paused to make circles around his nipples with one hand and rubbed his belly, "and you quickly submit."

His head shook softly from side to side, closing his eyes to hide the fear and disgust they bared. He didn't want this. But he didn't want to fight it. It wasn't in fear of the threats on Natasha would follow through. A strong motivation not to do anything, it was the hands. Those long, bold and strong hands and the way they handled him, moving softly across the skin, moving further and further-

Clint is shaken awake. His head turn sharply to see Natasha sitting up next to him. Her hand touching his cheek gently.

"You were having a nightmare," she says.

He breathes deeply in and out through his nose trying calming down and melting into her touch. But then her hand moves to his chest to feel his heartbeat. He bites his lip...it feels wrong.

It isn't her hands he wants....it's his.

From:

tigriswolf

Thank you!

From:

bloodconfetti.livejournal.com

She shows up out of nowhere.

Logan finds her sound asleep on his couch, knees to her chest, and hands curled up in front of her mouth. The light from the hall outside his door casts a triangle casing across her figure, and is the only reason she's still alive. A long day he had thought to be over at last, brings a strange twist to extend it just that much more.

He heaves a sigh, closing the door behind him, and then pads his way through the dark to his bedroom. Peeling off the clean outer layers of blankets, Logan shakes his head, caught between a smile and his perpetual glower. Why couldn't she have at least written a note to hang on the door? Did she want to get attacked?

But she is here. White stripe and all. And he wonders if he'll even get to see her eyes, or if she just needs a place to stay for the night. Logan draws in a deep breath, and then lets his shoulders haunch as he exhales.

Damn kids...

Wrapping the blankets around his arm, Logan steps out of his bedroom where the moon had cast a glow, and back into the living room, completely engulfed in darkness but for a the few cracks of light escaping through the folds of the curtains, drawn. He thinks of telling her she shouldn't be here, if she were awake, that she should've gone to someone else. And then he thinks of her eyes wide and imploring.

She thinks she's so innocent with him...

He spreads the blankets over her, and though there's nothing smooth about them, they cover her well enough. For a moment, Logan turns to go to bed, but then Rogue breathes out a heavy sigh, one that sounds burdened, broken, and his chest weighs fifty more pounds.

"Alright," he murmurs to her, and then sets himself down in the chair perpendicular to her. Props his feet silently upon the coffee table that came furnished with the room. And he stays with her. Only threatening to nod off every once in a while.

The sun is straining to break into the room when Rogue finally blinks open her eyes, looking straight at him. She offers a smile he can only describe as hopeful, but he sees the way her fist tightens, and the fear of rejection radiates off of her.

Logan rubs his palms down the chair arms before standing. He looks down at her, and then there are eggs sizzling in a frying pan and he asks, "One piece of toast, or two?"

And she bravely replies, "Two, please!" An excited gleam in her eyes as she throws back her covers and comes to sit at the table, folded hands resting over her lips as she watches him butter the bread.

He won't ask her how long she's staying. He knows she'll say, 'Not long.' And then there will be mountains of tension, and eventually she'll run away. Which would be the right thing to do.

But Logan knows... It wouldn't make either of them happy.