#Writing shorts

[stray-kaz]

“No, no, no, no! Oh Rhian, no, stop!” You exclaimed delightedly, pushing your husband’s hand away while he naughtily tickled your knees.

(Give me the first sentence of a fic and I have to write the next five).

“No, no, no, no! Oh Rhian, no, stop!” You exclaimed delightedly, pushing your husband’s hand away while he naughtily tickled your knees.

He grinned and kept on, pushing up your dress until he was tickling your thighs. You giggled and shrieked, wriggling to get out of his grasp, but he just followed, stalking you up the bed until he could pin you down, nosing at your jaw.

"Why?" he murmured, kissing the most sensitive spot on your neck.

"Because", you sighed, squirming, "you're turning me on."

"Since when is that a bad thing?"

[lastinnett-writer]

Here’s your daily dose of cozy fantasy short fiction to warm your day.


In the dimly lit bedroom Jason snuggled next to Marie, watching dawn overtake the city skyline. 
“I wanted to spend my last Earth sunrise with you,” he said. 
“I’m going to miss you while you’re on Mars,” said Marie. 
Jason got up and dug through his pack, pulling out a sheet of plastic stars before standing on the bed.
He placed one on the ceiling and laid beside her. 
“Whenever you gaze up and see that star, know it’s me looking down and watching over you.”

[sylvies-kablooie]

i do unironically think the best artists of our generation are posting to get 20 notes and 3 reblogs btw. that fanfic with like 45 kudos is some of the best stuff ever written. those OCs you carry around have some of the richest backstories and worldbuilding someone has ever seen. please do not think that reaching only a few people when you post means your art isn't worth celebrating.

[sing-you-fools]

me: this is a background character who's in one scene, has two lines, and is completely irrelevant to the rest of the story. i am going to stop obsessing over what to name him and use the random name generator on behindthename.com. i am going to accept the first thing it gives me and move the fuck on.

behindthename.com:

[loveelizabeths]

love elizabeth s.

[lilliesand-valleys]

[chaoticsaltbean]

Muddy Footprints

Prompt: You find strange, muddy footprints leading up to your front door. ( https://www.writtenwordmedia.com/500-writing-prompts-to-help-beat-writers-doubt/#1 )

I felt the ache in my bones from spending my day getting groceries. A necessary evil in life, unfortunately. More so now that I could no longer afford grocery delivery. Everything about the process felt worse. Where before, I used to buy what I felt I needed, now that I spent the evening before price comparing and couponing and rebate fishing and planning out meals and the fastest path from store to store through the city. The next day became the actual task of shopping. Today, it took me five hours to get it all done, and that was with only a brief stop for some coffee. Some coffee I really shouldn’t have splurged on.

And, of course, I struggled with the temptation of picking up food on my way home again. Another splurge I couldn’t actually afford, and so I chose the simple option of not. Which meant on top of the exhaustion and frustration of shopping, I now had to cook for myself. A lunch, and later a dinner. Maybe I could make something extra large and have it carry over for two meals…

I pulled my keys out of my purse as I crawled out of my car. They jingled as I made my way to the front door and attempted to untangle them. How keys got looped through the ring and couldn’t come back out, I have no idea. Yet another unending struggle of life…

I came to a stop at the front door, shaking the keys with unrelented violence to make them undo the mess they got themselves into. It was in that moment I noticed the mud below the step up into the house. I took a small step back to examine it better. It dried at the edges and seemed to leak from beneath the bottom crack of the door. In stepping back, I noticed another spot of mud, also drying at the edges. This one looked like a shoe print, like someone with mud coated shoes carelessly deposited it on my concrete walkway.

I turned, glancing back down the way I’d come, and sure enough, the footprints went all the way from my garden bed to the door. The garden bed I spaded yesterday, no less. Following them, I headed back to the garden bed. I hadn’t watered it since pulling the weeds and spading the soil, nor had it rained. Yet not a single footprint seemed to flatten the soil or make a mark anywhere in the fresh dirt.

No footsteps appeared to originate from anywhere else, either. It seemed like the person mysteriously coated their shoes in mud, then walked along the cement path to my front door. And possibly inside.

I let out a soft sigh as I studied the green door that led into my house. A part of me knew I should call the cops, make sure no one got into my home, but the footsteps went right up to the door. A door I’m confident I locked. So, the logical first step to me was to try to the door.

I made my way toward it, my heart rate speeding up. It pounded as if the force against my chest would keep me from moving. Stopping in front of the door, I attempted the doorknob. It didn’t budge. I pushed against the door. It didn’t budge either. There was no way anyone could have gotten in through the front door.

I glanced down at the mud, now dirt, again and studied it. No one entered the house, at least not this way, but it looked so much like someone did. Maybe they got to the door, failed to get in, and turned away. Whatever it was, I felt safe to enter my house.

I pushed the key, now free from the tangle of others, into the lock on the door and gave it a small twist. The door gave, pushing open some. It creaked as I pushed it further. The door stop made that wobbly-clanging noise at it hit and came back ever so slightly. My keys jangled in the doorknob as I scanned over the floor of the room. No more mud that I could see, which I took to mean that there was no chance anyone got into the house.

Turning to head toward the car so I could retrieve my groceries, a sound came from inside the house. It sounded like the stomping of running feet, but not the feet from an adult. I turned again, just quickly enough to see someone come running toward the door. Their hand outstretched to grab my keys, but I managed to grab their wrist.

The person who stared back at me stood no taller than my hips. He sported a bright red beard and the most brilliant green eyes I had ever seen. They made me think of emeralds and matched the green suit he wore.

“Who the hell are you?” I blurted, before I could stop myself.

The man glared up at me. “Let me go,” he ordered.

“Tell me who you are and I’ll let you go.” I said it before I realized that wasn’t the entire truth. I wanted to know how he got into my house when the door was still locked. Maybe he got in through the back, or in through a window. But the mud disappeared at my door and it didn’t look like anyone backtracked from the front.

A silence fell between us, him glaring at me and me holding his wrist.

I twisted some and pulled my keys from the door and took a few steps back, dragging him with me. Considering his stature, I didn’t feel a need to call the cops. If I got him out of my house, I would just make sure he couldn’t get in through the back again. Or however he came in.

He leaned back. His body went limp, and I felt the full weight of him in my grasp, which tightened to keep ahold of him.

“I’m trying to be nice, but if you don’t get out, I’m calling the cops!”

“The cops’ll do you no good.”

My eyes narrowed, and I resisted the urge to throw him against the wall. An ordinary person would have struck more fear in me, and a part of me said I should still be afraid. A person was a person. They could all be dangerous. But he had made no moves to harm me so far.

“And why is that? You a murderer or something?”

He stood up again as I asked that and stared at me. I paused. He looked at me so confused and I couldn’t understand why. Surely it didn’t hurt his feelings to think he was a murderer or some nefarious person.

“I’m a leprechaun, girl,” he answered. “They’ll just put the cuffs on me and I’ll disappear.”

My brows rose. “Are you serious?” I giggled a little. Points for being creative, but I still didn’t want him in my house.

“I am. And if you let me go, I’ll prove to you. I’ll disappear and you’ll never see me again.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nice try, you lunatic. I’m not letting you go until you’re out of my house.”

“How do you think I got in?”

“Through the back.”

“Through the front. I can phase through walls. You people seem to have forgotten that about us.”

I scoffed. I didn’t know much about leprechaun lore, but I didn’t care right now, either. “You expect me to take you at your word, let you go, and watch you steal my keys and run away? I’m not letting go or taking my eyes off of you, pal.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. His other hand raised up, and I suddenly felt a burning sensation as it seemed to graze my arm. Only it didn’t graze my arm. As I looked to where the burning sensation arose, I noticed three red lines.

“Breaking and entering and assault! You must be best friends with the cops,” I retorted, pulling him closer and leaning down some to get closer to him. “One more strike and it’s over for you. Now let me lead you outside and I’ll let you walk away like you aren’t a jerk!”

He let out a huff and glared at me further before glancing passed me. “Fine, I’ll go with you to the road,” he retorted.

I nodded, thankful to be getting somewhere, finally. By now, my coffee was probably grossly warm and my ice cream melted in my trunk. I turned to walk with him when it felt like my grip loosened. I spun around, afraid he was going to slip out and do exactly what I feared he would. He looked almost see through when I turned, as if whoever I held in my hand was nothing more than a ghost, but he quickly became solid again.

His mouth moved, but whatever he said to me didn’t register. All I could think was how abnormal that was. Maybe I was hallucinating. Did I have lunch? Maybe I didn’t eat. Or maybe I got food poisoning and it was playing tricks on my mind. Whatever it was, I didn’t know how to explain it, and he looked angrier than ever.

“I’ll give you your three wishes then!”

Those words registered in my brain.

“You said leprechaun… not genie…” My thoughts still felt elusive. My brain spun. I’ve seen those social media posts about jinn and ghost and poltergeists and other supernatural entities, but I always thought they were a hoax. Could they be real…?

He scoffed again. “You people really don’t know anything! You get three wishes, or my pot of gold. Unfortunately, my pot of gold is not where I can get it right now, so you get three wishes.” He grinned. “Choose wisely.”

If I knew anything about leprechauns, other than their appearance, it was that any gold of theirs would disappear by morning. So any wish for wealth, I assumed, would turn out the same way. And anything else I thought of—a house, student loans gone, credit card debt gone, affordable anything—all had the same foundation of money. The thought didn’t sit well with me, but it was hard to forget everything in the world now cost money.

I grinned back. “I want you, tomorrow, to give me enough gold to pay off all my debts. That would be two wishes, since I have two things of debt.”

He tilted his head. “You count that as two?”

“Well… isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “If you say so. They’re your wishes.”

Part of me knew I should count it as one; it was my debt that could be consolidated into one. But that wasn’t my point. My point was to stick it to everyone who profited off of these horrible loans and predatory practices. “My third wish is for an extra bit of gold, enough to get me gas and groceries and pay my bills.”

Maybe I should feel bad. After all, the person who would convert the gold to cash for me would be the one to go without once it disappeared. Hopefully, they would have a way to survive without worrying.

The man in front of me shrugged. “So it will be done,” he stated and then glanced at my hand. “Now let go of me.”

I grinned and released him. If I never saw him again, it wouldn’t make any difference. But if I got my three wishes… “Why were you here, anyway?” I asked.

“I was trying to avoid someone looking for my gold,” he answered. This time, without resistance, he headed toward the door. “The gold will be here tomorrow for you.”

“If you ever need a place to hide away again, feel free to come here. I just want some of that gold,” I stated. He passed a glance over his shoulder at me, something much less than grateful, and then disappeared entirely.

Maybe soon I would be debt free, but until then, I needed to rescue my coffee and my ice cream. Disclaimer: Post has been lightly edited. All images used in the photo have been taken from Unsplash.

[delicacysblog]

“what was the most pain you have ever felt”

healing from someone, i once thought i would heal with

[stray-kaz]

“Jes! Jes, did you feel it?” You excitedly asked your husband, your hand holding his larger one against your swelling belly.

(Give me the first sentence of a fic and I have to write the next five).

“Jes! Jes, did you feel it?” you excitedly asked your husband, your hand holding his larger one against your swelling belly.

He stroked his thumb up and down, brown eyes widening in excitement.

"Yes, I felt it! She's getting big, isn't she, love?" he replied, rocking back and forth on his toes.

You nodded, grinning.

"Big and ready to meet her da, Jes."

[theauthorpaula]

MAUDE'S WEDDING

[samaraxmorgan]

Your roommate Sukuna can’t stop staring at your lips. It’s not his fault, he’s never seen you wear lipstick before and now all of a sudden you have this glossy red sheen drawing his eyes to you.

He caught you leaning towards the mirror, mouth open in a small oh as you slowly glided the red gloss over your plush lips, and he just about froze in his tracks. Your eyes lazily half lidded as you focused all your attention onto getting perfectly straight lines, completely zoned in and not even noticing him behind you watching your reflection in awe. And god help him when you smacked your lips together, tacky tinted gloss stringing your top and bottom lips together for hardly a second before snapping away.

And now you’re sitting across from him on the couch, nonchalantly picking at your nails while you tell him… what were you telling him about again? It’s hard to focus when the only thing on his mind is how pretty you look in red. You pucker your lips and push them up underneath your nose, and when you offhandedly mention your lipgloss smelling like cherries he fears he might just faint.

Does it taste like cherries too? Sukuna wants nothing more than to glide his tongue over your lips and find out. To feel your lips stick to his own when he presses them into you, leaving a tacky cherry residue for him to swipe his tongue over. For you to leave a sticky red tinted trail from his mouth to his tattooed jaw. To have that pretty gloss that you carefully perfected end up smudged on the corners of your mouth, swollen red lips wrapped around his-

“Sukuna! You’re not even listening are you?”

He blinks in surprise, his eyes shooting up to meet your narrowed ones, “Huh?”

“I’ll be at work so you’ll need to let the guys in to fix the water heater,” You lean forward and annunciate each syllable with a gentle smack to his chest, “Don’t! For-get! I’m so sick of taking cold showers.”

A cold shower seems to be exactly what Sukuna needs right now.

Your Roommate Sukuna series masterlist here!!

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!! Divider by @adornedwithlight

[mischievous-thunder]

Bonus:

Because when these freaks are gentle their emotional floodgates open

[reidiot]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

[strangelittlestories]

After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.

Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.

The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.

Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.

This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.

"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.

"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.

This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.

Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.

"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."

And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.

Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.

Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.

On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.

As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.

Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.

She always had been a wizard with silk.

---

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[loveelizabeths]

- 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚜.