Five Things

[raeschae]

Yesterday, kiwiana posted this:

Leave a comment saying, "COMMENT" and I will give you five words I associate with you. Then post about what they mean to you, along with this, at your journal.

So, I commented, because I'm kind of curious as to what people think. And she responded with:

Tattoos: My absolute favorite form of self-expression. I love mine, and I love seeing whatever other people have (and especially hearing the stories behind them). They're beautiful, and unique, and yeah . . . I guess my kink for them isn't really a shock, right?

Talent: It's a weird thing, because if you have it and admit it, you sound arrogant. If you have it and you don't admit it, you sound either fake or insecure. *shrugs* I have it, but you probably won't ever hear me talk about it outside of this post.

Passion: In order -
1.) Music - Listening to it, making it, living and breathing it.
2.) People - Family, friends, anybody else that fits into the human category.
3.) Writing - Telling stories that have either never been told before, or just telling them in a way that hasn't been done to death.

Slash: Liberating. I used to kick against it, because it was expected from the bi girl. I gave in, though, and found a whole level of freedom I didn't even know existed in my writing.

Insanity: What I write, what I love, what I'm inexplicably drawn to, and what I will probably be committed for someday. What can I say? I'm a crazy bitch. ;)

So there it is.

And here's the challenge. I'm working on a new fic called Just Talk (Sometimes a Little Dirty) to Me, but it's coming a little slower than some of my other stories do.

In the meantime, I kind of want to challenge myself in a new way. So comment with a one-word prompt, and I will give you a ficlet of 1000 words or less.

Comments

[taintedlove.livejournal.com]

Are you doing this meme? Cause now I'm curious. :D

Also, word. Hmmmm..... Sun.

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Dude, I'm so insulated from most people, that I'm afraid if I do it, I'm not going to know enough about anybody . . . I'm a bad, bad member of fandom. :(

You, though, I can do: music, fun, femslash, Sophia, genuine

Sun? I'm on it.

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

If pressed to admit a less-than-masculine trait, Jensen's first response would not be the kiwi-strawberry moisturizer in his bathroom cabinet or the forty-eight pairs of shoes in his closet at home right now. What? Like he's going to admit to those out loud?

No, if he had to, Jensen would say that the girliest thing about him is his fair skin. He would be wrong, of course. A lot of guys have fair skin. (A lot more than the ones who care about the new Gucci line, at least.) But those guys aren't on television, so they don't have to appear in scenes with Jared 'I can get a tan from the light in the refrigerator' Padalecki.

Jensen's pretty sure that God hates him. There's really no other explanation for the way his life has fallen together. Not only was he given milky white skin and red-tinted hair, but he was then bitten by the illusive “acting bug,” which forced him to move to California, the sunniest place on Earth.

It's virtually impossible for him to spend more than twenty minutes in the sun without either turning pink, or finding sixteen new freckles on his face when he gets back inside. And freckles? Adorable when you're a seven-year-old girl with braided pigtails and two missing front teeth. But as a thirty-two-year-old man who's supposed to convince people he can kick ass and kill the Devil? Not as cute, no matter what his fans might try to tell you.

Shannon used to make him spend a couple of afternoons a week in the tanning bed, just a few minutes at a time, and he still burnt up. Worse than that, he gave her more of those damn freckles to cover up. Eventually, she stopped hounding him about it and accepted the fact that he was just not going to be the golden Adonis that Jared is.

And that's the most infuriating thing of all. Because Jared doesn't even have to think about burning. He steps outside to play with the dogs and comes back a deeper shade of brown than he was when he walked outside. And then he strips his shirt off and walks around the house all bronzed and beautiful and freckle-less, and it's all Jensen can do not to hate him for it.

[nickgregfan.livejournal.com]

ohh one word: tomorrow

:)

*smooshes you*

[nickgregfan.livejournal.com]

and TATOOS....is there a place where you have yours listed and what they mean???

I only have one...and LOVE it....but am in the process of gettign another and can't WAIT. Ifound the design, but am having some changes made to it.

Tomorrow

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

It probably shouldn't be a big deal. It's not like everybody doesn't already know. There's no reason for Jared to be nervous.

So he doesn't really know why there's a ball of nervous energy sitting low in his gut, twisting and turning and making it's present a little more undeniable with every passing tick of the clock.

It's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine.

“Ya know, if it's freaking you out this much, we don't have to do it.”

He turns to find Jensen leaning in the doorway, one ankle crossed over the other, beer bottle dangling between his fingers. Dressed only in a pair of jeans, he's totally at ease. Like tomorrow's not even happening.

“I'm sure your mother would just love that,” Jared shoots back, and even he can admit that it sounds a lot more snide than it's supposed to. It's not Jensen's fault that he's freaking out for no reason. “I'm fine. Just,” he shakes his head and goes back to the book that he's been pretending to read for the last twenty minutes, “Don't worry about it.”

Sarcastically, a small chuckle works it way out of Jensen's throat and he makes his way across the room to stand beside the bed. He sets his bottle on the nightstand and then flops down at Jared's side and steals his book away. Without further explanation, he rests a hand on Jared's thigh and begins working his lips and teeth against his neck.

He's good, Jensen is. Because Jared's brain stops worrying and basically melts inside his skull. “Wh-what're . . . Should . . . Jensen.” The name is growled, and Jared stops wanting to be left alone to his brooding, and starts hoping that Jensen never, ever stops sucking right there.

“My parents already love you,” Jensen whispers before biting down on the lobe of Jared's ear. “My sister adores you. My brother thinks your cool.” He nips at the line of his jaw. “My nephews think you're awesome, man.”

Jared turns his face to capture Jensen's lips in his own, and he forces himself not to consider the fact that, tomorrow, he's not hanging out at Jensen's parents' house as his co-star or his friend. For the first time, they're going to see him as something other than Jensen's “roommate.” And, sure, he's been around them a few times in the last couple of years, and they've always been cool. But he wasn't fucking their son/brother/uncle/grandson back then. Or, if he was, they didn't know it.

This could end very, very badly.

“Hey,” Jensen's voice is rough as gravel and smooth as whiskey against his ear. “Look at me.”

Jared does and when he turns his head, he's kind of blown away. It's weird, the way Jensen can still catch him off-guard with just his presence. It doesn't happen all the time, he's kind of gotten used to the guy he sees more than his own reflection in the mirror some days. But occasionally, he'll turn around and Jensen's just there. And something in his chest just sticks.

“You're gonna be fine. We're gonna be fine.”

There's so much sincerity in his eyes, so much conviction, that Jared can't help believing him. Jensen loves his family, and his family fucking adores him. They're going to love the person that Jensen loves. It's rational and logical and Jared has to choose to believe it or he's going to go out of his fucking mind.

He knows that he's too lost in his own head, in his own swirling thoughts, when Jensen straddles his lap and buries his fingers in his hair, and Jared didn't even notice him moving. He sure as hell notices when he grinds down against Jared, though, and nearly blinds him with that thousand-watt smile.

“How 'bout you stop thinkin' about my mom for a second,” he rolls his hips, hot and hard through his jeans, “And start thinkin' bout what I'm gonna do to you.”

Jared just nods, hands grasping Jensen's ass and forcing him closer.

Fuck tomorrow. This moment, right now, deserves his full and undivided attention.

[gwaeren.livejournal.com]

Thunder! Thunder! Thuuuuunder cats!

Uh, the word is thunder.

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Thunder! I can do that!

Thunder

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Turns out, I can do PWP - when I don't mean to. Hope this is okay!

Jensen's been with guys before, some of them extraordinarily kinky, but never anyone who loves this as much as Jared does.

He's not sure how many times it happened before he clued in to just what was going on, but now that Jensen knows, he's never been happier to live in Vancouver for nine months out of the year. With the exception of a few dry, summer months, it rains like crazy here. And rain, in Jensen's opinion, is about the best form of precipitation there is.

It's early afternoon, the muted gray light outside seeping in under the heavy shades on the bedroom window. Night shoots are the standard, and falling into each other, exhausted, around noon isn't uncommon. They should both be sound asleep, but the dogs have been whining around the halls since they got home. Like they know what's coming, and they know to stay away.

It starts with the light patter of drops against the window pane and Jensen smiles when he feels Jared's fingers crawling over his hip. His thumb circles lightly over the skin there, and he breathes a contended sigh into the base of Jensen's neck. He's not asleep, Jensen knows, but he's close. Another five minutes, and he would have missed this all together.

The rain picks up speed, beating out an angry rhythm and Jared's hand drifts below the waistband of the shorts Jensen is wearing, palming lazily over his cock while his lips and tongue paint abstract designs around the top of his spine. It's dizzying, and Jensen covers Jared's hand with his own just to feel grounded somehow.

Sometimes the thunder comes first, but it's better when it rumbles in the distance, under the steady symphony of rain. That's when Jared pulls Jensen's shorts down and aligns their hips, his cock hard and heavy against Jensen's ass.

Jensen's never asked the origins of this particular habit, and Jared's never offered the information up. The truth is, he doesn't care where it comes from, as long as it never stops.

It's pouring now, and Jensen's pretty sure that Jared sleeps with lube under his pillow, because it's somehow always there in a snap if he needs it. As the first traces of lightning tear through the sky, Jensen's too distracted by the burst of white stars behind his eyelids at the simultaneous sensation of Jared's slick fingers slipping into him and his huge hand squeezing and pumping Jensen's cock.

Jared's growl against the back of his neck echo's the thunder rolling in, closer and closer as Jared adds another finger, and then another, stretching Jensen and nearly sending him over the edge.

“Don't you come yet,” he whispers gruffly against Jensen's jaw when he pulls his fingers away.

He really wants to tell Jared to stop waiting and do something about it. Wants to tell him that this whole 'choreographed with the rain' thing is ridiculous. He would, if he could catch his breath, and if the thunder didn't crack so hard outside the window that the glass rattles. Instead, Jensen yelps in a fashion far less-manly than he wants to admit, and pushes back onto Jared's cock.

This particular storm is louder than the last few they've experienced, and Jensen thinks he might limp tomorrow from the power of the thrusts that Jared matches to the intensity of the weather. Not that he's complaining. Kink or not, he's not objecting to being fucked hard on occasion. As many occasions as Jared would like.

The sound begins to recede, rolling back to wherever it came from, and Jared flexes his fingers and angles his hips perfectly, sending Jensen over the ledge he's been so precariously perched on until now.

By the time Jared follows him, and their breathing returns to normal, the tapping of the drops against the window are fading into stillness. He smiles as Jared's fingers creep lazily back up his stomach and his hand rests on Jensen's hip. With Jared's soft snore at his neck, Jensen casts one last look at the window to see yellow rays streaking the gray light as it fights its way into their room, and then lets his eyes drift closed.

The weather report calls for scattered thunderstorms throughout the day and into the night. He's going to need his rest.

[nightporters.livejournal.com]

Waiting

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Gah! Good one. It's on the list!

Waiting

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

”I'm gonna write a book, and title it 'Waiting on Jared.'” - Jensen Ackles

The first time he said it, Jensen was kidding. It's true that Jared takes an inordinate amount of time to get his shit together and get out the door in the morning, but it's not really that annoying. And it's also true that he always ends up in the car about fifteen minutes before Jared does, but at least it gives him enough time to fall back asleep against the window before they roll out of the driveway.

The thing is, he's patient. Always has been. His father taught him, when he was pretty young, that you don't always get immediate rewards for your actions. All you can do, Son, is work hard, give it your best, and wait to see what happens next.

His grandmother used to call it 'planting seeds.' You plant a seed, Jensen, give it plenty of sunshine and water, but it doesn't become a flower over night. You have to be patient and, in the end, it will be worth it. I promise. She hasn't been wrong yet.

He was acting in Hollywood for nearly ten years before Supernatural came along. Working hard . . . planting seeds . . . whatever. What he's found is that the best things come when you're ready for them, even if it's not when you think you are. He wasn't ready for the level of success that he's achieved when he first got to Hollywood.

Instead of looking at the setbacks, the rejections, as roadblocks on the path to his goals, he tries to remember that they're just detours. And sometimes, when you follow the detours, it takes a little longer, but he knows now that he'll reach the destination eventually, and maybe see something he wasn't expecting along the way.

He certainly wasn't expecting to do another genre show, not after he'd already tucked two of them under his belt in near-rapid succession. And he wasn't expecting to find the best friend he's ever had, and a chemistry that is palpable, en route to his dream of starring in his own project. Least of all, he was absolutely not expecting to fall in love with Jared.

It didn't strike out of nowhere, and it wasn't immediate. But over time, cultivating this relationship with his co-star, he can't deny that it's happened. Sometimes he thinks he should say something about, tell Jared how he feels, plant a seed. But he figured it out on his own, and something keeps telling him that Jared will, too. When he's ready. When they're both ready for it, he's confident that it will happen.

[noxelementalist.livejournal.com]

*makes one word prompt humbly*


puppy?

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Hm . . . puppy. On the list!

[batman-mcghee.livejournal.com]

ok, ok. i got one!

heat

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Hot. Okay, even I can admit that was a terrible pun. it's on the list!

Heat

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

“Why are they doing this again?”

Steve rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from one food to the other as he considers the spectacle before him. “Because their relationship is completely fucking twisted,” is his explanation.

With a roll of her eyes, Danneel sighs and leans her hip against the kitchen counter and taps her acrylic nails against the granite top. “Why are we here for this again?”

“Because they're actors,” Steve intones. “Validation doesn't count if it's not completely external.”

Chris stands at the corner of the kitchen table, Jensen and Jared seated on either side of him. Each of them have a glass of milk and an empty shot glass. Chris twists the lid on the small bottle in his hand and empties half of it into Jared's glass, and the other into Jensen's.

“Don't worry there, Jay-man. I got the chocolate one for ya,” Chris winks as the pair before him stare hesitantly at the dark liquid in their glasses. “Alright, boys, here's the rules. That's one ounce'a CaJohn's infamous Black Mamba Hot Sauce. I had to sign a liability waiver when I bought it, so this here's the dumbest fuckin' thing either one of y'all have ever attempted. There's a good possibility it'll burn yer taste buds right off. Last chance to bow the fuck out.”

Jared raises an eyebrow in Jensen's direction and wonders just how the hell they got here. The betting, the challenges, started small enough. Now they're about to do a shot whose label guarantees the most heat available in a bottle. Chris is right, it's the dumbest fuckin' thing they've attempted.

With a shrug, Jensen reaches for his glass and Jared knows he can't back down. They've been sleeping together for more than a year, but anybody who thinks they're not still uber-competitive, pain-in-the-ass best friends clearly doesn't know them very well.

“Is this one of those guy things that I'll never understand?” Danneel asks from somewhere behind him and Jared's lip just quirks into a half-grin.

Jensen nods and runs his tongue over his bottom lip like he's playing some kind of mind game. Like Jared doesn't know how to block that out by now. “Ready?” he asks, voice Dean-low and graveled.

Finally, Jared wraps his hand around his own glass and nods his head. No time like the present. This can't actually kill them, can it?

“Bottoms up, boys,” Chris waves his arm like he's waving a flag and Jensen tips his glass like it's nothing.

[imaginethehappy.livejournal.com]

1st- :) i'm pretty sure i'm weird cause I think it's beyond cute that she listed 'insanity' for you.

2nd- OoO Your Tats. sound pretteh!

and lastly- my one word to youuuuu
scratch

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Scratch - and now all I can think is dirty thoughts. Ugh. Okay, scratch it is.

Scratch

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

This one almost kicked my ass - I had to work to keep it under 1000 - but I will NOT be defeated. ;)
---

When Jared bought the pool table for the basement game room, Jensen didn't really see the point. Outside of playing on set on occasion, they're not really big on the game at all. Turns out, it's not the worst thing Jared's ever purchased.

They play by only one rule: Anything goes.

Jared's distraction techniques are about as subtle as a stampeding elephant. He starts the game by standing astride his stick, hands stroking it in what can only be described as an 'obscene gesture.' That's only after he strips his tee shirt and throws it at Jensen, smiling like a giant kid when it lands on Jensen's head.

But Jensen's no chump, and they've been doing this long enough for him to develop his own technique, circling the table and brushing against Jared's back when he lines up a shot, managing to avoid getting knocked with Jared's stick in the process. If he grunts a little suggestively at the contact, he's certainly not admitting it.

Where Jensen is echoes of contact, Jared is obvious groping. Jensen is about to sink the seven ball in the corner pocket when he feels one massive hand on his hip, fingers sliding up under his tee shirt while his other hand palms his ass and Jared moans like a fucking porn star.

For Jared's next shot, Jensen circles the table and stops directly behind the pocket. When he bends to line up, Jensen rolls his hips and though Jared doesn't look up, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and arches an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna stand that close?” Jared asks, looking up from under his brow to smirk with a small tilt of his head.

Jensen just stares back and shrugs. “You hit me with the ball and you don't get laid again, like, ever. My suggestion? Don't miss.”

Jared sinks the ball and then pumps his fist in victory, causing Jensen to roll his eyes. Two more, and Jensen's starting to feel the pressure. They're not playing for anything. Not really. But bragging rights are kind of a big deal in this house, and he doesn't want to see Jared win now any more than he does when there's an actual prize on the line.

Subtly, he moves around the room, watching as Jared narrows his eyes and focuses on the ball he's looking to sink next. When he draws back to take the shot, Jensen's there, leaning over to whisper in his ear, “Wanna fuck you on this table.” And when the shot misses by a mile, Jensen's there with a shit-eating grin to meet Jared's pout. “That, my friend, is a scratch.”

[passing-through.livejournal.com]

drips

I can't wait to see pictures of your tats. I have a tiny one on my right ankle that I occasionally forget is there.

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Drips . . . hm . . . I can work with that.

I'm going to have to do the pics of my tats soon . . . I sometimes forget about the one on my back, because honestly? When do I ever see it? But when I think about my ink in general, it's always the first one that jumps to mind.

Drips

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Jensen is thirty-two years old, and understands with complete clarity that it is not particularly strange to get water in his face while standing in the shower. While standing outside of the shower, though? That's a little weird.

The first drip lands on the side of his nose while he's willing his eyes to open at about four thirty in the morning. Give him an entire season of night shoots, and he's happy. Morning are not his friend, no matter how many times his mother tells him that the early bird catches the worm. He's not a bird. He doesn't eat worms. His mother can fuck off.

He thinks maybe it's karma that brings the next drip, smacking his ear while he's thinking evil thoughts about his mother's sage advice, so he wipes it away, says a quick apology to the sky and whomever may be listening there, and then turns to start the shower. As he does, two more droplets fall against his bare shoulder.

“JARED!” he calls, and fuck all if it doesn't tear his throat up. Which only serves to piss him off further.

He hears the heavy footsteps before Jared appears in the doorway. “You bellowed?”

The amused smile on his boyfriend's face only pisses Jensen off more. “It's raining,” he scowls.

“Yeah. Started about twenty minutes ago.”

“No,” Jensen looks up and takes another drop right to the eye. Swatting at his face, he adds, “Inside. It's raining inside.”

Jared holds his hand out and then draws back when the water smacks his palm. “Huh. Must be a leak in the roof.”

“Ya think?”

With a roll of his eyes, he pats Jensen's ass and nods toward the shower. “You might as well go ahead and get ready. I can't call anyone until a little later.”

Jensen stumbles into the shower, grumbles under the stream of steaming water, and tries to convince himself that there will not be a gaping hole in the ceiling when he steps out. He's not going to get just as soaked out there as he is in the shower.

Jared is jumping off of the bathroom counter when Jensen throws the glass door open. “No worries,” he shrugs easily, grabbing a roll of duct tape and twirling it on his finger. “Come on. You're gonna be late.”

Maybe it's the early hour, or just the overwhelming surreality of the morning in general, but Jensen just watches Jared breeze out of the room and then tilts his head to look at the place the water was coming from a few minutes ago. There, over the leaking panel, Jared has taped a long bath towel. It's ridiculous, but effective, and even though Jensen can see the water darkening the terrycloth, it's not falling on his head anymore.

He's not exactly quick-witted first thing in the morning, so it takes Jensen a little while to process everything. When he does, he kind of feels equal parts guilty and stupid for throwing a tantrum and blowing things out of proportion.

Mostly, though, he feels pretty good knowing he has a boyfriend who is willing to take his idiosyncrasies and his random immaturity in stride. Life gets busy, and sometimes it's easy to let the minutia of every day take priority over that.

But then he does something as ridiculous as duct taping a towel to the ceiling so Jensen doesn't get a few sprinkling droplets of water on his head from the leaking roof, and he remembers all over again just way he fell for Jared in the first place.

Even with the debacle in the bathroom, Jensen's still ready and waiting by the front door with the dogs when Jared comes racing down the stairs at five fourteen. His hair is wet and hanging in his eyes, but Jeannie will take care of that when they get to set. Shannon will take care of the puffy eyes and red nose from being caught in the cold morning rain.

But nobody can cover the twinkle in his eyes and the smile that splits his face when Jensen offers him thermos, filled to the brim with the protein shake he made because he knew Jared wouldn't have time.

“Thanks, man,” he nods, and Jensen can tell that he's surprised.

Because he's the kind of guy who doesn't even realize just how awesome he is.

[kiwiana.livejournal.com]

*snuggles*

Your word is... domination

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

I know exactly what to do with this one!

Day late and a dollar short...

[neutraldeviance.livejournal.com]

Hey...Just wanted to say hey, yeah I'm still alive. Lost internet for awhile, but now I'm back. Thought I'd check in on you and see how you are...and I see you're fantastic! Love the prompt, and I know it was from like, last Saturday or whatever but I refuse to be left out so, here's my word!

scrappy

Toss it away, let it inspire you, forget it was ever written...meh. God I feel like I've been in some kind of concentration camp or something. I'm all...RAWR and BLAH! lol

Anyways...hopefully we can talk sometime, yeah? I'd love to catch up and whatnot...

Re: Day late and a dollar short...

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Well, I'm glad you're still alive . . . I was staring to wonder . . .

And I'm adding your word to the next round of prompts - I'm not sure when I'll get to those, being as I have a ton of other shit to write, but I'll make sure you're at the top of the pile then. ;)