Tumgik
#tension prompts
avocado-writing · 1 year
Note
For the prompt thing can you do brush with Tangerine in the hospital after Japan
[ BRUSH ] : sender reaches forward to brush a strand of receiver’s hair from their eyes.
tagging: @wanderedaway (lmk if you want to be tagged for these prompts!)
“Twat.”
Tangerine jumps at the sound of your voice. It’s late, and he’s been reading by lamplight - somehow he’s managed to swing getting a hospital room entirely to himself. You’re climbing in through the window, obviously; visiting hours are over. 
He looks like absolute shite. Bruised, grazed, and a huge bandage on his neck. You suck breath in through your teeth at the sight of it. 
“Looks painful.”
“Fucking excellent detective work there, love - hang on, did you just call me a twat?”
“Yeah. Getting into a train crash with a bullet in your neck. Twat move,” you state, crossing over to come and perch on the side of his bed. He puts his paperback down, ready to argue with you as usual… but then the fight seems to be knocked out of him. He does look exhausted. You soften a little. 
“You alright?”
He shrugs. It’s a stupid question. Of course he’s not alright, but of course he’d never admit to it either - not your Tan. 
A lock of hair flops into his eyes. Quite unthinkingly, you reach out to brush it aside, a surprisingly intimate gesture. Your fingers graze his skin, and the two of you freeze. 
A beat. Something shifts between you. 
“You scared me, you know,” you tell him softly. Whispered, like a secret. He covers your hand with his own, and moves to press a kiss to your palm. 
“It won’t happen again.” You trust the steely determination in his voice. “I won’t leave you alone.”
And with a job like the two of you have? Maybe it’s the closest to an admission of love you can get. 
303 notes · View notes
andyy-says · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
Siobhan Thompson tells me to draw and I listen
303 notes · View notes
Text
Y/N, with half-lidded eyes, lips curved into a foxlike smile :
Y/N : I’d say I’m glad to see you, but the last time we were in a room together you tried to kill me.
Y/N, snickers at the memory :
Captain Price, lowkey turned on, tries to hide it with intimidation :
Captain Price : And don’t think I won’t try again.
Y/N, laughs mockingly :
Y/N, gets up close & personal to him :
Y/N, huskily under breath : Oh no, I know you far better than that.
Y/N, whines into his ear : Captainnnnn. 😏
Captain Price, having a hard time composing himself : 😳😶🫠
Gaz, looks back & forth between them :
Gaz, confused : ……Am I missing something here?
🎞Visual🎞
Tumblr media
❤️‍🔥Bonus❤️‍🔥
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
629 notes · View notes
eosofspades · 10 days
Text
godddd thinking about the red war first couple missions and going insane . that was so good and for what
55 notes · View notes
astrobei · 1 year
Note
hey :) so i was wondering if you could incorporate 3, 12 and 50 into a single one shot ? bc that would be Amazing but if you don't want you you can just pick whichever haha
challenge accepted !! this was super fun to write thank you !! :^)
3, 12, and 50 for touch prompts: hiding face in neck + pushing a strand of hair behind their ear + putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up
If you’d asked Mike, a few years ago, how he thought he’d end up dying, he’d have a few different guesses. Clawed to death by monsters, maybe, was up at the top of his list for a while there. Shot to death by government agents also made the top five more than once, which was kind of worrying. And it was probably very concerning that getting stomped on, impaled, or eaten by an alien supermonster hivemind was on there at all.
Suffice it to say that he didn’t die in any of those ways, since Mike is currently, in the present moment, alive. But probably not for long. He’s seen some shit, and he hasn’t even graduated college, and maybe it’s a little bit pathetic that after all of that– the monsters and the Russians and the end of the world– that this is how he really dies: backed up against the wall at some completely questionable house party, being flirted with by Will Byers.
At least, that’s what Mike thinks is going on here. If he’s being totally honest, he doesn’t have all that much experience in the flirting department, considering that the one person he’d ever dated hadn’t done much flirting and the one person he had maybe wanted to flirt with hadn’t–
Well, it doesn’t matter. Said person is doing it now, and for all of Mike’s past reminiscence and speculation on the topic, he didn’t think it would be happening like this.
“You look nice tonight,” Will is saying, barely audible over the low thrum of music in the background. They’re not even somewhere particularly loud– the hallway is a blessed reprieve from the chaos of whatever is happening in the living room, but Will’s voice has dropped into something low and intentional. He smiles. “You should wear more green.”
Oh, god. Mike is going to die.
“Uh. Really?” he says, in what’s definitely not a squeak. It comes out assured and confident and–
Oh, who is he kidding? Will’s smile grows, surely delighted at the unfortunate crack in Mike’s voice. He leans in a bit closer, and it’s barely a few inches, but he might as well have just pushed Mike up against the wall and–
“Yeah,” Will whispers, so soft that Mike has to lean in another inch to hear him. He reaches a hand out and runs a thumb along the hem of Mike’s sweater, the side of his wrist brushing softly against Mike’s collarbone. Mike’s heart stops dead, still and unmoving and seized up, right there in his chest cavity. “It’s definitely your color.”
“Oh,” Mike breathes, and yeah.
So Will might be flirting with him, is the bottom line here, and the issue isn’t so much that it’s unwelcome– the opposite, in fact. Mike feels a little bit like if he weren’t caged in by Will’s arm on one side of his chest and the adjacent wall on the other, then his soul might be just flying right out of his body altogether. It feels like maybe it’s already halfway there, because Will’s gaze is steady, eyes sparkling with amusement even in the dim light of the hallway, and wow, are his hands shaking?
For his own sake, he hopes not. 
And the issue isn’t that it’s unwelcome, but more so that in all his years of existence and all the crazy shit he’s seen, somehow, being flirted with by Will Byers was lower on the list of things Mike thought might happen to him someday than interdimensional portals or his telekinetically gifted ex-girlfriend.
“You look nice too,” Mike gets out, in a surprisingly even voice. Will does look nice, so this isn’t a difficult sentiment to portray by any means. He’s swapped out one of his usual sweaters, big and worn comfortably around the edges and all down the seams, for something a little more fitted. It’s a soft cream color, and Mike doesn’t know where Will got this, because he’s been shopping at the same stores the entire time since they moved here for school and none of them carry clothes like this. Mature, a little grown up, and really, really attractive.
Will lets out a small, pleased noise. “Yeah?”
“How many drinks have you had?” Mike peers suspiciously down at him, because it’s not like Will is an idiot, per se, or super uptight about these sorts of things, but he’s not usually this– this bold. If Mike is going to be blunt about it, Will has never been this bold before and maybe it’s about time, but that doesn’t mean Mike is any more ready for it.
Not that he’s complaining. Oh, god.
“One,” Will grins. “Why? How many have you had?”
Christ. Mike swallows, and says, “Like, half. It was nasty so I just– um. Left it there. Heads up, by the way, don’t drink the jungle juice.”
“Noted,” Will laughs. It does something to Mike’s stomach, watching the way his shoulders relax, like he’s comfortable and at ease here, standing in front of Mike all up close and personal in a dark corner of a dark hallway with– oh, god– no one around.
“Yeah,” Mike says, kind of lamely, and notices belatedly that his gaze has settled somewhere around the general vicinity of Will’s mouth sometime in the last forty seconds or so. Maybe longer, if he’s being totally honest, but who’s counting, right?
(Mike. Mike is counting.)
“So anyway,” Will continues, without missing a beat. “You look really good in green. I don’t know why you never wear colors.”
“It’s not on purpose,” Mike insists, even though it kind of is, because it’s a lot harder to accidentally look like an idiot if all of your clothes match by default. “I don’t know, I just– I don’t have a reason to?”
“Okay, well,” Will starts, and then he moves forward until their chests are almost flush against each other, and Mike is seriously, seriously backed into a corner, even more than he was before. Both metaphorically and extremely literally. “It looks nice with your hair,” Will murmurs, and reaches a hand up to tug lightly at a strand falling loose around Mike’s face.
Will smells really nice, actually, like the good cologne he wears on special occasions, and Mike doesn’t know why he dressed up so nice to go to a party where you have to scoop your drinks out of a bowl with a red plastic cup, but hey. Again, he’s not complaining.
“My– my hair?” Mike asks faintly, because it’s just his hair, and he hasn’t ever given it much thought before now, because it’s only hair. Black and just long enough to land on this side of inconvenient, but suddenly Will has one hand in it and it’s not just hair anymore, but maybe the best thing to ever happen to him.
Will nods. He looks a little pink, which is quite possibly the most endearing thing Mike has ever seen, and it’s also more of a confidence booster than it probably should be, that Will hasn’t turned into a total smooth-talking Casanova out of literally nowhere. That maybe he’s losing his shit just as much as Mike is right now.
“Yeah,” Will says, and yeah, his voice catches just a little bit on the single syllable, and Mike bites back a pleased smile. “It looks really good with your hair,” he says again, then tucks the loose strand carefully behind Mike’s ear. “So that’s one reason.”
“I hardly think that’s good enough reason to redo my entire wardrobe,” Mike says, egged on just a little bit by the way Will is definitely turning more pink by the second.
“It brings out your eyes too,” Will murmurs, looking steadily up at him. It’s hard to tell exactly what he’s thinking– half his face is drowned out in shadow and the proximity is rendering Mike kind of useless altogether– but Mike thinks maybe he has a guess.
He blinks. “My eyes?”
“Mhm.” Will strokes the pad of one thumb over the skin there, just over his cheekbone. Mike instantly forgets how to breathe. Christ. “They’re pretty.”
“I– are you sure you’re not drunk?”
“Stone-cold sober,” Will assures him. “Why? Who’s asking?”
Me, Mike thinks, me, me, me. What he says is, “Um. Someone.”
Will raises an eyebrow, but he keeps his hand right where it is– resting on Mike’s cheek, thumb under his eye, and oh, god. Mike is going to die. 
“Someone?”
“You don’t know him?” Mike tries.
“Shame,” Will says noncommittally, and it sounds like he might be on the verge of laughing again. He steps back, the vacuum-seal proximity between their bodies vanishing in an instant as the air of the room rushes in all at once– stifling, stuffy, a little warm and sweaty and immediately, it’s like the noise in the place has been cranked up to ten.
Was it this loud in here all along?
Mike is going to scream. He’s going to die, right here in the hallway, and then he’s going to scream some more. “Where are you going?” he asks, and it comes out a bit petulant and a bit needy and way, way too thrown off-guard for his liking, but he can’t find it in himself to care. The lingering warmth of Will’s palm against his cheek is something he’s already missing like it’s a physical thing.
“Who’s asking?” Will says again, and dear god, if Mike had known before what it would have been like to be flirted with Will Byers, he would have, like, grabbed a couple witnesses and signed off an early copy of his last will and testament, bequeathed his meager belongings to whomever they may concern, then laid himself down to die in peace.
“Me,” Mike blurts out this time, taking a step forward from the wall and grabbing Will’s wrist. “I’m asking because I think you shouldn’t go and you should just stay here with me and– and flirt with me some more, because, um. That was nice, and I liked that, even if I thought I was going to die for a minute there, and if you go then– um. You can’t flirt with me anymore?”
Will smiles for real this time, wide and shocked and pleased. “Yeah?” And it’s a little shy when he says it, like maybe he didn’t actually expect this to go anywhere, like he didn’t expect Mike to grow a fucking pair and stop melting into the floor long enough to reciprocate.
“Yeah,” Mike whispers, and he’s just started to pull Will back towards him, Will already stumbling a little with the motion, when he hears a voice from around the doorframe they’re currently maybe ten feet away from.
“Mike? Will?”
“Shit,” Will mutters, eyes wide. “What the hell is Max doing here? I thought she was upstairs.”
Mike opens his mouth to answer when a second voice responds, “I swear I saw them go through here,” and it might be Dustin and it might be Lucas but all that’s really important is that whoever it is is close, and Mike doesn’t know if he has the cardiac strength in him to go through all of this again later, and all of his brainpower is currently being used to not pass out on the spot, and–
Lucky for him, Will has his shit marginally more together. “Here,” he’s saying, then there are fingers wrapping around Mike’s forearm and before he can fully process what’s happening, he’s being dragged in the opposite direction. Will throws open a door, then shoves Mike inside.
Mike wrinkles his nose. “It smells like feet in here,” he says, and he can’t see Will’s face because it’s pitch black in– wherever they are– but he’s willing to bet real money that he’s rolling his eyes.
“Coat closet,” Will says simply, “now shut up.”
Okay, yeah, makes sense. There’s something heavy and soft brushing up against Mike’s side, and he takes a couple steps backwards until he can feel the wall behind him. God, okay. This is fine. This is fine. This is–
“You know,” Mike says, as if this will distract him from his unnecessarily sweaty palms, “you didn’t have to ambush–”
Quick as lightning, Will claps a hand over Mike’s mouth. “If you want to kiss me,” Will hisses, and, okay, he’s pressed up against Mike again, which is fine, it’s great, actually– “I’m going to need you to shut up.”
The footsteps come closer. Mike holds his breath. He thinks maybe Will is too because he can’t hear him breathe, and he’s gone tense and still where he’s pressed up against Mike. A voice that’s definitely Dustin’s is grumbling, “Man, if I find them and the taco place down the street is already closed, I’m going to kill him.”
Mike bites back a laugh. The taco place closed twenty minutes ago, which he knows, because he’d been on his way to find Dustin when he’d– when he’d run into Will in the hallway.
Oh, god.
“Are they gone?” Will whispers, as if his hand is not currently over Mike’s mouth. He clears his throat like hello, and Will drops his hand. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”
“Who said I wanted to kiss you,” Mike says hoarsely, and Will’s hand pauses somewhere between his collarbone and sternum.
“Well,” he hears Will say, still entirely invisible in the dark save for a few dots of faint light coming in through the slats in the door. “You don’t have to kiss me. If you don’t want to.”
For the first time all evening, Will sounds a little hesitant. No, Mike thinks. He can’t have that. He shakes his head, even though Will can’t see him. “Let’s not be too hasty here, okay, I didn’t say that.”
A pause. “Yeah?” Will says, a little shy, almost. “You want to kiss me?”
Screw it. 
“I do,” Mike says, as earnestly as he can find in himself to muster up, and he hears Will breathe in sharply somewhere in front of him. “I really, really want to–”
To Will’s credit, kissing in the dark probably wouldn’t work out for anybody. Mike is a few inches taller and the angle is a bit off, and it’s pretty impressive, if he’s being honest, that Will’s mouth lands mostly on his. Which should also not be rendering Mike as totally speechless as it is– being kissed on the corner of his lips in an awkward, clumsily endearing sort of way– but Will has always surprised him. “Shit,” Will says, pulling back slightly, “sorry, I was trying to guess where you were, and I–”
“It’s cool,” Mike hears himself say, and he didn’t mean to say it, but it seems that his brain has sort of kicked itself into autopilot mode, because he’s reaching out before he can really think about what he’s doing. His hand brushes Will’s shoulder, and he moves it up against the side of his neck, and says, hesitating, “Here– let’s try this.”
“Okay,” Will says softly, not even a whisper with how quiet it comes out. Mike drags a hand into Will’s hair, brings the other one to cup his cheek, and slowly, slowly moves forward.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Mike murmurs, tracing a thumb over the curve of Will’s lower lip, grounding himself. “Um. Just so you know that I’m, like, coming in.”
“Okay,” Will says again, and then Mike kisses him.
It’s instantly better this time– so much better, Mike thinks, immediately going lightheaded with the sensation of it. It’s like every other sense is dialed up to eleven in the dark– Will’s hair soft against his hand, the scent of his cologne, the faint taste of orange soda on his lips. The soft, startled noise Will makes in the back of his throat, cut off like it escaped him before he could stop himself, and that thought is enough to make Mike’s stomach swoop in a dizzying sort of way, that Will really wanted to kiss him so badly that he just couldn’t help himself, that maybe he thought about it in all the same ways Mike had. That maybe he came up with a hundred and one ways it might happen and maybe this was a possibility, in Will’s mind– a coat closet in the dark, barely one drink in.
“I can’t see you,” Will says, pulling back so that their lips are just barely brushing against each other. He’s got his hands on either side of Mike’s neck, like he’s anchoring himself lest he drift away entirely in the dark.
Mike lowers his hands, pulls Will in by the waist– the solid planes of his back, the soft fabric of this sweater, this goddamn sweater– and says, “You’re the one that kissed me in the dark, you idiot.”
Will makes a small noise of affront. “You’re the one that asked me to,” he says, a little smugly, which technically isn’t the most true statement, but Mike supposes that he had kind of set himself up to be kissed, so maybe he should let this one slide. And then Will runs a thumb along to his chin, tilts his face down, slowly, slowly, and kisses him again– and Mike can’t remember what exactly it was he was protesting.
Maybe Will had been onto something, because Mike is pretty chuffed about not being able to actually see the person he’s kissing, especially when that person is Will, who Mike spent a disproportionate amount of time wanting to look at even before this whole thing went down, but this is pretty nice for now, he thinks, as Will presses him a little more firmly into the wall. And that’s also nice, because Mike thinks he might be dying, and the solid parallel weights of the wall behind him and Will in front of him might be the only thing keeping him from keeling over entirely.
“Okay,” Mike says, pulling back, which is nowhere close to his top ten most intelligent moments of all time. Or even twenty, maybe. “You–”
The rest of the sentence gets lost to the sands of time, because the door is flying open so fast that Will flinches, and Mike tightens his grip around his waist on instinct. “What–”
“Oh,” Max Mayfield is saying, arms crossed. “This is where you two disappeared to.”
Mike closes his eyes, and prays to whichever higher power might be listening for a rapid, painless death.
Nothing happens. Figures.
“Come on, man,” he hears Dustin say, “we were looking for you guys!”
“We know,” Mike says, and then immediately wants to sink through the floor and disappear at the way his voice cracks, just a little. It’s barely noticeable, really, but his friends are like sharks in blood-infested waters. Lucas’ smug grin grows so wide that Mike considers just leaning over and smacking it off his face.
“Oh,” he says, far too gleefully for Mike’s liking, “so is this what you meant by I’m going to go look for Dustin, Mike?”
“Didn’t realize I took up residence near Will’s tonsils,” Dustin grumbles.
Will groans, dropping his head to Mike’s shoulder. “Never talk about my tonsils again,” he mumbles against Mike’s collarbone, but he’s smiling. Mike can tell, even if he can’t see him.
“Not even if they’re inflamed?”
Will doesn’t pull away, just shakes his head and tightens his arms where they’re wrapped around Mike’s neck. Despite himself, despite the way his face feels about a million degrees warm right now, Mike smiles. “No,” Will says simply. “All of you go away.”
“Yeah, I bet you want us to,” Max says, “but I’m serious. We gotta go. Someone just threw up on the couch and it’s nasty in there.”
Mike wrinkles his nose. “Way to kill the mood.”
“Mission accomplished,” Max says, and wiggles her car keys in the air. “I’m leaving in five, with or without you.”
“I don’t want to stay here with the puke sofa,” Mike admits, pulling away with no small amount of reluctance. “So we should probably–”
“Yeah,” Will agrees, pressing a kiss to Mike’s cheek. “Now come on. I want to be able to see you when I kiss you this time.”
It’s a good thing the hallway is still dark, because Mike goes very, very red.
477 notes · View notes
writingraven · 2 years
Text
Dialogue Prompts
Training with Tension
Warnings: brief sexual references
⇥ “Is that the best you can do?”
⇥ “I won’t go easy on you.”
⇥ “Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you.”
⇥ “Quit going easy on me.”
⇥ “Hit me.”
⇥ “You need to do better than that.”
⇥ “I’ve been wanting to kick your ass all week.”
⇥ “Is this necessary?”
⇥ “Try again.”
⇥ “Pick it up.”
⇥ “You’re pissing me off.”
⇥ “Am I making you angry? Good. Use it.”
⇥ “You’re not that mad, or you’d hit harder.”
⇥ “Let me show you how.”
⇥ “Not bad.”
⇥ “Get off me.”
⇥ “You’re heavy.”
⇥ “Are you okay?”
⇥ “I can’t tell if you want to hit me or kiss me.”
⇥ “Do you like me this close to you?”
⇥ “If you wanted me this close to you, you could have just asked.”
⇥ “Are you that red because you’re out of breath or because you’re flustered?”
⇥ “You can do better than that.”
⇥ “Aw, you’re adorable when you’re mad.”
⇥ “How does it feel getting your ass kicked by someone smaller than you?”
⇥ “I thought this would be more of a challenge.”
⇥ “You talk a lot of shit for someone pinned on their back.”
⇥ “I could get used to seeing you on top of / underneath me.”
⇥ “Is that your weapon or are you just happy to see me?”
⇥ “Go on. Show me what you got.”
2K notes · View notes
navnae · 1 year
Text
Amateur swimmer Eddie who just needs to learn the basics of swimming and not immediately drown after stepping into the pool paired up with advanced swimmer Steve who says he can help Eddie practice. This leads to Steve holding Eddie up in the water by his waist whenever he gets the opportunity too and making Eddie a blushing mess in the process.
177 notes · View notes
leclvrc · 1 year
Note
19. "You're not playing fair." + Lewis 🔥
His eyes are on you. Have been for quite some time now. Since you got here really. Maybe even while he stood on top of the podium, British flag to his back and the biggest trophy clutched in his hands. But back then you were too busy talking to some mechanic. You may or may not have been wanting to rile him up, but this is almost too easy. Having him focussed on you; your body the way it is right now.
And all you had to do is head for the dancefloor. Alone of course.
You're not paying attention to him. At least not the kind of attention he wants you to pay him and it's what gets him like nothing else. Sure, he also enjoys the easy way you move your body to the loud music. How good your curves look in that tight dress he picked out for you just for tonight. But it's the lack of interest that drives him wild.
There's a drink clutched in his hand. Something dark he's taken two sips of all night and you have half a mind to saunter over to him and take a sip out of that same glass. So you do. Making sure to lick your lips after you swallow. His gaze snaps to the movement and you know you've got him where you want him.
Too easy.
One of his wide palms runs over your stomach before slipping around your back. It comes to a stop on its familiar place; just over your ass. There's tension in the air. The smell of sweat too and it's intoxicating. Being looked at like that by Lewis. Like he can't bear to look away.
Heat climbs up the back of your neck as he drinks you in, not touching beyond the hand he's put on you. You want more of course. Always more with him.
"Want to dance?" you ask, leaning in to be heard over the music. His fingers twitch over your back and it makes you grin. You've never felt so powerful before.
But it's when he leans in too, lips brushing over the shell of your ear that some of that power slips. You curve into him, aware of all the ways you'd like to be touched by him right now.
His voice is low as he says it. "You're not playing fair."
Your eyes meet and you know you'll be making a hasty exit by the time you knock his drink back.
210 notes · View notes
berryzxx · 5 months
Text
Dialogue prompt 2
Character A: Are you fucking kidding me?! Who ate my sandwich? 
Character B: *with a straight face* The rat.
Character A: So you mean yourself?
49 notes · View notes
avocado-writing · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Proof everyone in this fandom shares one brain cell lmfao. also I made it angsty sorry 👀 tagging: @lady-jane3 @wanderedaway @venusthepirate
Tumblr media
After Japan the Twins came back changed men. 
For Lemon, he lost some of the sunshine in him; no longer as willing to meet your jokes with a quip of his own. His face was sterner, sadder, and it aches for you to see. He didn’t even fucking mention Thomas any more. 
But Tangerine… Tangerine was haunted. 
It’s understandable. He came back sporting a wound in his neck that would have killed a less fortunate man. You don’t go through something like that and not become irrevocably different. 
Tangerine smokes his third cigarette in about as many minutes, and you sigh.  
“Tan, I can ask for them to give you more time. Call our handler, suggest another week or -”
“No,” he states, stabbing the butt violently out in the ashtray between you. He’s still as stubborn as ever. You’re glad that hasn't changed. 
You sit in silence for a moment, before you close the distance between you. 
You don’t need to undo the clasp on his pendant to slip it over his head, but you like to do it anyway. You enjoy the feeling of your hands brushing against the skin of his neck. It’s intimate. It’s a reminder to him that you’re here. 
So you pick the necklace up off of the table, where he’d been letting it rest along with his rings and bracelet chain, and reach in close to fasten it for him. You avoid touching the nasty scar that’s etched deep into the side of his throat. 
You can feel his breath tickle your skin as you fiddle with the hook and eye. Tangerine would usually tease you about finding a reason to get so close to him, but instead he just stares blankly at the table. 
Oh, Tan. 
When you withdraw he finally looks up. He looks… vulnerable in a way you’re not used to. Your tongue burns with the words you long to say. 
I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. 
Your throat is a furnace as you swallow them down. Instead you force a smile. 
“That’s better.” 
It isn’t.  
223 notes · View notes
cyberllfe · 10 months
Note
I spun the wheel o' doom and got...500 words. YES. In 500 words, perhaps you might describe Nines and Reader on a stakeout. The tension has been ratcheting up between them, and it suddenly breaks...but can they also keep their eyes on the (criminal) prize?
one RK900, packed into his little to-go container. he's only a little spicy. 😏✨ 500 words, rated M.
want a turn? prompt me.
“Is that them?”
“No.”
You sneak a glance at him, but he catches you looking. “And you’re avoiding the question. Are you embarrassed?”
Faking exasperation, you go back to scanning the windows and doors for light and signs of movement.
“I’m fine. It’s just getting warm in here.”
Nines leans marginally closer and for a moment you fool yourself that he’s aiming for a better view of the building.
“The temperature has been stable for the past thirty-six minutes.” You spear him with an annoyed look, undercut by the heat in your cheeks. He’s almost certainly able to spot it; you’re probably glowing in the dark in his vision.
This time when he leans closer, he holds your gaze. You hold your breath. His eyes reflect the distant streetlights as he studies your expression.
“Aren’t you supposed to be watching the building, Nines?”
“I am more than capable of multitasking.” His eyes travel down your face without shame. He’s trying to unnerve you on purpose—of course he’d wait until you were confined somewhere intimate to interrogate you. “Explain for me.”
Where you sit, leaned forward in the front passenger seat, you have a perfect view of the old apartment complex. Nines encroaches a little every time you refuse to answer a question; your space shrinks.
“I think we should focus on the case.”
You’re slowly dragging your gaze across the dark, empty windows when Nines’ fingers grab your jaw and turn you back to face him.
“I think you should focus on me.”
He’s no closer than before, but he’s looming in your view, broad and imposing without even having to move. Your breath has caught, your mind occupied solely with the firm press of his fingertips and the intensity of his attention.
“When you told Officer Chen you knew exactly what you’d do for me, what did you mean, detective?”
“Whatever she told you is an exaggeration,” you breathe, willing your heartbeat to slow. “You know what she’s like, she—”
“I heard you myself.”
“Oh fuck, I—”
“Is that what you had in mind?”
His thumb moves to brush the fullest part of your lips, fingers curling under your chin to tilt it towards him. He’s frustrating, he’s arrogant, but more annoying than that is he’s right.
No fucking way you let him have the last word.
“Put your seat back.”
You’ve lowered your voice and thrown every ounce of confidence you have into it as you stare him down. There’s the faintest curve to his mouth when he watches you, presuming defiance.
“Feeling confined, detective?”
As best you can with his fingers holding your face, you shake your head.
“No.” You take a breath and lean closer, your rush of bravery fuelled by adrenaline. “You want to multitask? Push your chair back. I’ll show you what I had in mind.”
A flash in the window.
Nines’ irritated grunt is sweeter than music, but he doesn’t let go.
“I’ll get my demonstration eventually.”
You grin wide.
“Yes, sir.”
75 notes · View notes
pridoo · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
@stupidfatpenguin asked: " fixing the other’s clothes " !! (which can be interpreted in any direction actually ahem)
AHEM it's good that you added that,, and yeah I said I'd draw something wholesome this time but is it getting hot in this tin can or
Drop me a prompt from this list!
1K notes · View notes
chvrmor · 2 years
Text
The Detective and The Villain
tw: sleep deprivation, mentions of dead family members
The rain poured down way faster than the ten large cups worth of coffee the detective had downed in the span of four hours. Not even the loudest thunder striking right outside could keep them awake. They were hunched over their desk with their head propped up on one hand while they tried to blink some concentration into their vision as they attempted to focus on the case’s twentieth page of disconnected yet supposed evidence.
If they had not been so tired, maybe they would have heard the creek of the window behind them sliding open. Maybe they would have not dismissed a tingling feeling down their side as merely it being the wind.
They could only drown on the papers, pills, and coffee while the gravity of their worries and feelings of inadequacy pushed their head down. Their eyes got teary as they stretched, lifting their arms over their head and angling their body side by side while pulling on their elbows. The detective did this once, and then went for it twice, until they felt a soft caress circling around their waist.
They jumped forward at the startling touch and accidentally knocked over their remaining coffee over a lengthy case report they had been working on for the last three hours. “Shit!” They hurried and tried to save some papers from getting soaked but the majority were done for. They had felt someone touch them, but there was no one. As the remnants of their sanity slipped away, so did they slip to sit on the ground and rest their head against the table’s wooden leg.
Villain stared at them feeling guilty for being the cause of this mess. They didn’t bother owning up to that yet. Besides, they had come here to make a deal with the detective. The smart, hard-working, exhausted and good looking detective whose hair and pouty lips seemed impossibly soft as they sulked due to the mess villain themself had caused.
Villain walked up behind the detective while they came up with at least thirty different terrifying threats, but their resolve fell as they stared at the usually smiley, now brooding detective. They fought against the urge to delicately card their fingers through their hair, but lost against it. The detective sighed at the soothing motion, but the villain could see the furrow of their brows.
I’m losing it, the detective thought.
The villain decided to execute their initial plan before they were accidentally enticed by the detective’s cuteness. How did it go? Oh yea..Threaten and steal.
Now, how could they do that to the overworked, diligent, adorable detective who sighed at their touch? They were heartless enough to drain someone’s entire circulatory system with the flicker of their hand while being invisible, but they were not heartless enough to do that to one of the only uncorrupted people working under the judicial system in this city. That was how villain justified their interest in the detective at least.
The detective felt soft fingers snaking around their chin and propping it to look upwards. For a second or two, they stared confused and scared at absolutely nothing until the villain made themself visible right in front of them. Their eyes widened as they quickly stood up from their kneeling position beside the table and stood up in a dignified yet clearly terrified way.
The detective had heard all about this particular villain. They were the top suspect at various cold blooded murder cases in which witnesses claimed that the victim simply began bleeding out in broad daylight. No poison was found in none of the victims’ system and there was no one to pinpoint this case too, until the detective themself had discovered a pattern.
All of the victims were somehow related to the San Martino case. Whether it be by being a previous business associate or rival. This villain right in front of them, dazzling as they looked in their leather suit, was also responsible for hunting down every single person tied with the case concerning the death of the detective’s parents and older sister.
Now that they had been found, and were the only relative alive, would the villain get rid of them too? Were they after their family’s previous fortune? They didn’t even claim one cent of it in hopes that this wouldn’t happen. They didn’t want the deadly attention and possible death that was to come due to being a San Martino in hiding. The detective couldn’t breathe.
“I can see the gears turning and burning inside of that pretty head of yours.” The villain took one step towards them and they took one step back. “Relax.” Step. “Are you not going to be nice enough to ask what it is that I want?” Step. The detective’s lumbar was now pressed against the edge of their desk. “Are you just going to assume the worst, dear detective?” The villain placed their arms just at the sides of their hips, caging them in between the desk and the villain’s frame.
The detective avoided their burning gaze and finally gathered the courage to ask, “What is it that you want?”
“I want to find the last San Martino.” The villain’s voice was just above a whisper.
“What?” The detective panicked. This must be a joke. A cruel one at that. They had made sure that the San Martino case was assigned to them and them only in order for them to be able to bury their name and all of the traces leading to it. Yes, they knew it was not ethical to sabotage the case assigned by the police captain herself. After all, they had to put a lot of… physical work into getting such a coveted case for whoever cracked it would have also cracked a gold mine. The detective meant to make sure that no one would discover that they were the last holder of their family name. They even made sure to craft an entire fake life story. They wanted a life of their own.
“You were assigned this case, detective.”
“Yes, because it’s a cold one and my boss hates me. Dead ends all around.” They hoped the lie sufficed.
The villain stared at them through narrowed eyes and then moved back. The detective sighed from relief until the villain grabbed the coffee soaked papers from their desk. “I’ll give you a deal, sweetness. If you give me weekly updates on this case, I’ll drain the coffee out of these reports and leave them just as new. As if they had just been written.”
The detective gaped at them. It was a tempting offer. Rewriting those falsified reports would be a hassle. Besides, the police captain needed those by tomorrow and it would help them steer the investigation as far from their name, or rather fake name, as possible.
“Weekly updates then…”
“Yes, over a coffee, because you seem to like it a lot.” The villain said as they threw six empty cups in the bin.
“You didn’t mention that part…”
“Aw you’re scared that you’ll actually grow to like me?”
“It’d be unethical of me to compromise my work and give intel to you of all people.” I’m a hypocrite, the detective thought.
“But aren’t you exhausted from working on these? Imagine having to redo them all. You need your beauty sleep.” In the last minutes of distracted thinking, the detective hadn’t noticed that the villain was once again in their personal space, now tracing their bottom lip with the pad of their thumb. They shuddered, but didn’t move. The villain’s offer, including the unspoken one, were quite tempting.
Alright. I can just continue to falsify the reports. Give villain dead ends too, as I’ll do with boss and steer them both away. It’ll be fine… The detective thought and willed themself to let the words escape their toyed lips.
“I accept your terms, but I can only meet up with you for the weekly intel on Wednesdays…”
The villain gave them a satisfied smirk and patted their cheek twice before backing away and flicking their wrist in a strange circular motion. Slowly but surely, all of the coffee was drained out of the reports, which were then placed into the detective’s hands.
“Water manipulation…” The detective thought out loud and then blushed when they noticed the villain’s intrigued former smirk, now smile.
“I’ll be glad to further amuse you during our little coffee dates.” The detective looked down to hide their blush.
When they looked up, there was nothing left behind but seemingly freshly written reports and the window left wide open.
Some threatening tactic that was..
677 notes · View notes
maybebabyplease · 2 years
Text
for the @wolfstarmicrofic prompt green // very vaguely nsfw
Sirius hated the beach. His pale skin was too susceptible to burning, no matter how often he recast his sun protectant charms. Padfoot loved it, though, gallivanting through the waves. James got a kick out of playing fetch with him. He’d toss the ball into the ocean and Padfoot would bolt after it, getting knocked around but emerging victorious with a robe of green seaweed wrapped around his torso and the ball firmly secured between his teeth.
Today, though, Sirius wanted to sit on the beach with everyone else, pining over Remus as he read his book and got tanner and tanner. Lily had promised to bring him some Muggle potion for his skin that she swore worked better than any charm. 
“Here, you just squeeze it on and rub it in,” Lily said, tossing him the tube. 
Simple enough. He set to work spreading it all over himself.
“Oh, you won’t be able to reach your own back,” Lily said, a terrifying glint in her eyes. “Remus can do it. Remus, come help Sirius put sunscreen on his back!”
“Lily, no,” Sirius said, too late. Remus was already walking over. Sirius gulped.
“I got it, Pads. Lie down on your front,” Remus said, and when Sirius complied, Remus straddled him and squirted a long line of sunscreen down his back.
Sirius thought he was going to die. Remus took his time rubbing in the cream, his big hands making slow circles across Sirius’ shoulders. Remus made his way down, sweeping just under the waistband of Sirius’ swimsuit. And that was a problem, because Sirius’ imagination ran away with the possibility of Remus going further under the swimsuit, maybe even pushing it down. He squirmed, pressing his growing erection into the sand.
Remus leaned over, his mouth so close to Sirius’ ear that Sirius could feel the tickle of his breath. “You all right, Pads?” asked Remus, low and amused. 
He gave Sirius’ hair a light tug and Sirius’ hips jerked forward. Sirius barely managed to bite back a moan.
“I’m great,” he said, about six octaves too high. “I’m just gonna, um. Stay like this for a minute. Tan my back.”
Remus laughed. He rolled his hips against Sirius, and for the first time, Sirius could feel something hard pressed to his back. It felt like…but couldn’t be, could it?
“That’s nice,” said Remus, still slotted against Sirius. “But I think we’ll have more fun if you turn over.”​
314 notes · View notes
ejzah · 4 months
Note
Hey there! I have a prompt request if you’re interested. I’m sorry if I’ve already sent it your way. I’m new to fanfiction and you are one of my favorite writers. I catch myself thinking of prompts randomly and questioning if I should send them your way.
I was rewatching S3E7 Honors and I have always wanted to hear more about the talk radio show conversation. I always felt that Deeks deflected way too easily. Would you write a tag either close to canon or completely AU? Whatever inspires you more.
I appreciate that you keep writing for the show. I always look forward to reading your writing.
A/N: Thank you anon! That is so kind of you. Feel free to send me any prompts that you’d like. Just know that I may not always write for every one or it may be some time before I get around to a particular prompt.
***
What If
“So, what did you say?” Kensi asked a few minutes into their drive back to the mission house.
“What?” Deeks shot her a confused look, and she nodded her head, a smirk playing at her lips.
“On the radio show Callen heard you call in to. What did you say?”
Deeks chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, we did not establish that whomever Callen heard was me,” he evaded evenly.
When Callen first brought it up, Deeks had felt a moment of panic. The call had come during a moment of weakness, when he’d been feeling particularly frustrated and lonely. Deep down, he knew the idea was a terrible one, but he convinced himself that no one would ever find out and it would be a good opportunity to unload on someone he’d never have to talk to again.
“Really? A guy who was confessing his deep, dark feelings for his partner?” Kensi said skeptically, slanting a look his way before she smoothly switched lanes.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that would describe a lot of guys in LA.” Deeks shrugged, putting on a thoughtful face. “And I’m not even sure that Callen said he was talking about a female partner.”
“Deeks, as we established this morning, your voice is unique. I would certainly recognize it anywhere.”
It was Deeks’ turn to raise an eyebrow, and he grinned suggestively. “Oh really?”
The side of Kensi’s right cheek bone flushed under his gaze as she scrambled to defend herself.
“I mean, I spend two-thirds of my life with you, to my deep regret. Of course I would recognize your voice,” she said quickly.
“Uh-huh.” He grinned at her discomfort, settling in his seat as he considered her reaction. He’d seen Kensi flustered a few other times like this, but he’d never pursued it beyond a couple jokes.
There was an extended silence where Kensi resolutely stared directly ahead and Deeks watched her out of the corner of his eye.
“So, hypothetically speaking of course, what would you have done if it was me on that radio show?” he asked casually.
It was a few moments before Kensi spoke, having taken the time to pull into her designated parking spot.
“Well, I would say that you can always talk to me. Even though I tease you a lot, if it was something serious, I wouldn’t betray your trust or make fun of you,” she started, expression surprisingly honest as she eyed him. She dipped her head, focusing on her thumbnail, and added, “And you might be surprised by my response, if you did.”
“I would?” Deeks asked softly.
“Maybe. Hypothetically speaking.”
“Yeah, no, of course.” The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he found himself hesitating.
“We would should probably go inside before Hetty comes looking for us,” Kensi said, and the moment was gone. “No matter how much she might like your “idiosyncrasies”, you know she hates late paperwork.”
“Definitely don’t want to make Hetty mad,” he agreed, getting out of the car and falling into step with Kensi. They didn’t speak again as they walked to the door, but he was aware of every brush of their shoulders.
He wondered what would happen if he was just a little braver.
***
A/N: I hope that was ok.
Thanks for the prompt!
18 notes · View notes
manikas-whims · 1 year
Text
139 notes · View notes