#tension prompts

[avocado-writing]

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. 

#Tangerine x reader #tension prompts

[andyy-says]

Siobhan Thompson tells me to draw and I listen

#I have so much to do so I’m not finishing this right now #but enjoy free drawing prompts #haven’t drawn in so long #mentopolis is bringing me back #I love these two so much #anastasia tension #imelda pulse #mentopolis #dimension 20 #siobhan thompson #danielle radford #hank green #the fix #Freddy Wong #dan fucks #alex song xia #conrad shintz #mike Trapp #hunch curio #dimension 20 mentopolis #my art #original art

[pippytmi]

Your ennemies to lovers prompts make me think so much about kacy during S1. I appreciate all of your Kacy fics and love the emotions you manage to create with your writing. I was wondering if you would be interested in writing a story that combines prompt 4 and 6?

It is an unspoken rule that when the DIA is involved in a case, Lucy needs to be kept far, far away.

At least, that’s how Jesse rationalizes trying to keep Lucy away from DIA Officer Whistler. He cites repeated complaints to Tennant (undeserved ones), numerous whisper-shouting matches in the halls (all Whistler’s fault), and ending in the middle of tense stare-downs more often than not (obviously biased). So really, it’s a no-brainer that Lucy indignantly ignores Jesse’s pleas and makes it her mission to give as good as she gets.

“Good morning, DIA Officer Whistler,” Lucy tells her sweetly this morning, having been waiting outside the elevator just to catch the briefly-perplexed, then immediately-annoyed expression on Whistler’s face.

“Special Agent Tara,” Whistler says curtly. “I was told I would be speaking with Agent Boone today.”

“He’s busy,” Lucy says. “Small mishap with his car.” (She’d let the air out of his tires, actually, just in preparation for today).

Whistler’s expression does not waver. “I’ll speak with Special Agent Tennant, then,” she says.

“Or,” Lucy says, following as Whistler begins to stalk through the bullpen, “you can discuss the case with me. I haven’t actually been briefed on why you’re here, but if you give me two minutes…”

Whistler comes to an abrupt stop, and Lucy nearly knocks them both over; Whistler has to grip Lucy’s arm just to keep her from falling on her face, and when Lucy meets Whistler’s gaze, she sees—strangely—a kind of uncharacteristic apprehension that Whistler never has. Whistler drops Lucy’s arm like she has been burned, and her voice goes quiet when she says, 

“It really would make more sense to discuss clearance with your boss. It’s a time-sensitive matter.”

“Oh.” Lucy tries to hide her confusion, but it’s a halfhearted attempt at best; usually, the back-and-forth with Whistler is inevitable (and maybe even slightly thrilling). Whistler never just…gives up. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Whistler says, already heading towards Jane’s office with renewed intensity. “Excuse me.”

Lucy is practically rooted in her spot, bewildered, and she watches as Tennant beckons Whistler inside before shutting the door. “Huh,” she says aloud. “Weird.”

“What’s weird?” Kai comes in carrying coffee, and he freezes in place as he, too, realizes what Lucy is looking at. “Damn. DIA’s here already? We haven’t even been briefed on the case yet.”

“Apparently it’s ‘time-sensitive’,” Lucy says, complete with air quotes and everything. “Think this means Whistler will actually give us something for once?”

“I’m not holding my breath,” Kai yawns, offering Lucy her cup before he wanders over to his desk. “Hey, where’s Jesse?”

(Lucy decides not to incriminate herself by answering that).

By the time Whistler and Jane emerge, both Kai and Lucy are pretending to be working and Jesse is just barely bursting through the doors. Jane doesn’t comment on either; instead, she waves her arms to get everyone together and begins her spiel about how they need to work with DIA and be a happy team or whatever. Honestly, Lucy is kind of tuning out the pep talk and is instead studying Whistler—everything about her body language screams discomfort, from the stiffness of her shoulders to the sharpness of her set mouth. And when she catches Lucy staring, all she does is quickly look away.

Weird.

Later, after they've been fully briefed and Jane dismisses them to do boring grunt work, Lucy tries to edge closer to Whistler and ask what exactly DIA needs to be here for. But when Whistler sees her coming, she makes a beeline towards Jesse instead, and Lucy is left frowning at their backs.

At first Lucy doesn't think too much of it. Jesse is probably handling the precious, redacted DIA files that point them to the possible suspects in this abduction case. But then, after Lucy is tasked with talking to their kidnapping victim's husband, she tries to be polite and ask Whistler if she wants to sit in. A gesture of goodwill, really, to make Whistler feel like she’s part of the investigation. 

“Hey Whistler, do you want to get in on this?” Lucy waves her case file enticingly when Whistler emerges from the break room. “We can do a good cop/bad cop routine. Obviously we know who's who in that scenario, but if you ask nicely I might consider flipping you for bad cop.”

Whistler blinks at her. “What?”

“I'm going to interview Sergeant Nguyen’s husband,” Lucy clarifies. “Want to help?”

“That's not in my job description,” Whistler says, brow crinkling in deeper confusion. “And I have to go talk to Tennant.”

“Again?” Lucy asks this question to the empty space where Whistler used to be. Except this time, Whistler is not being invited into Jane’s office. No, Whistler is just walking away, and pretending to get a call so she has an excuse to exit the hallway.

In an instant, Lucy is pissed off. Here she is, extending an olive branch, and Whistler is acting like she's too good for it. Fine—if Whistler wants to avoid her, then two can play at that game.

Ernie patiently listens to Lucy explain all of this once the interview with the Sergeant's husband gets them nothing. “So that’s why you're hiding in here,” he guesses. “Because Whistler doesn’t want to fight with you like usual.”

“I'm not hiding,” Lucy scoffs. “I actually came here to discuss…” She lamely grabs the top file on his desk, flipping it open to the first page. “Timothy Summers. Hm. Yeah, I think he's our guy.”

“Great,” Ernie says. “So an arrest is imminent, then?”

“Oh, definitely. That's why I'm here…with you…for our next move.”

“And how does the fact that he's been dead for six months fit into this?”

Lucy pauses. “You couldn’t have just told me that?”

“It’s literally underneath his picture. Deceased.” Ernie jabs at the file with his finger, and Lucy smacks him with it. “Ow! God, you’re mean when you fight with your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Lucy’s voice comes out several octaves higher than it should. “Why would you say that?”

“Uh, lots of reasons.” Ernie pops open a box of candy on his desk, offering Lucy a sympathetic red vine which she numbly accepts. “Everyone can see it. Honestly, I thought you two were going to start going at it on Kai’s desk the other day when Whistler broke the news that we were off the Dominguez case.”

Lucy’s jaw drops. “Because we were arguing?”

“Intensely arguing,” Ernie corrects. “Kai and I placed bets on who would kiss who first.”

“Are you serious? She hates me.” 

“Does she?” Ernie continues chewing on his red vine before whispering conspiringly, “Or does she secretly burn for you?”

Horrified, Lucy ditches the candy; surely, that must be the reason she suddenly feels sick to her stomach. “Forget it. I’m going to hide somewhere else.”

“So you are hiding. I knew it! Hey, can you—”

Whatever Ernie wants, Lucy doesn’t stick around to find out. She decides she’s going to find Kai instead, see if he has any actual leads in the case.

Except she ends up bumping into Whistler again. Full-on body contact this time, even—Whistler jerks backwards, Lucy tries to jump into the wall, and really it's a wonder it doesn't end in catastrophe.

“I'm sorry, I…” Whistler trails off when she sees Lucy. “Um, Tennant said I had to talk to Ernie about Sergeant Nguyen’s finances. Is he here?”

“Yeah, he's in there.” Lucy gestures vaguely over her shoulder. “The tech-nerd talk is all yours. I need to go talk to...other people. About things.”

Whistler nods awkwardly, still waiting, and Lucy belatedly steps out of the doorway in order to head back to the bullpen. Okay, so, Operation Avoid Whistler is officially off to a bad start.

But when she catches up to Kai, he has a much better idea of how to spend their time, and it also guarantees Lucy can avoid Whistler perfectly.

“Sergeant Nguyen was last seen at a Vietnamese restaurant two blocks from here,” Kai says. “Do you want to go check it out? Maybe we'll get something the police didn't.”

Lucy’s spirits are immediately lifted. “Yes. I could go for a banh mi,” she says dreamily. “Ooh, and some spring rolls.”

“I'm…pretty sure we're not allowed to order food from our suspects.”

“We don't know if they're our suspects,” Lucy reminds him. “And besides, spring rolls never kidnapped anyone.” She pats him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

It ends up being closer to twenty minutes to update Jane on their next move, but Jane does give her blessing to investigate (and bring back lunch). Lucy has a pep in her step the entire way out to the parking lot, where…Whistler is standing.

Lucy notices her first; Whistler is facing the ocean, hand cupped above her forehead and frowning at something. She looks so serious—and out of place—that Lucy almost considers asking what’s wrong. Key word almost, because she is still on avoid-Kate-Whistler-mode, and she makes a mad dash to Kai’s car before Whistler can spot her.

Kai yelps when Lucy yanks the door open with, admittedly, a sense of urgency that is a tad unwarranted. “What—?”

“Drive, Kai,” Lucy demands, and he immediately starts up the engine, but he eyes her warily all the same.

(Unfortunately, Lucy makes eye contact with Whistler through the window as the car peels out of the lot, and she groans and sinks low in her seat.)

“What was that?” Kai ventures to ask. “Are you and Whistler fighting?”

“For once, no,” Lucy says. “She’s been avoiding me. So now I’m the one avoiding her.”

“Well did something happen?” The drive is quick, and before they know it, Kai is easing the car into a parking spot. “I know you two get…uh. Really passionate sometimes.”

“Because she hates me,” Lucy reiterates, feeling like a broken record at this point. “So I hate to break it to you, but you and Ernie are not going to collect on any bets related to kissing.”

Kai winces. “You know about that?”

“Yes, Kai, what the hell? I expect this from Ernie, but from you?”

“Any way I can make it up to you?” Kai asks weakly.

“Buy me lunch and we’ll talk,” Lucy says, and Kai—newfound meddler that he has proved to be—can at least follow instructions beautifully.

The restaurant turns out to be a dead-end case wise, but their menu is grand; they order too much food and bring enough lunch for everyone. (Even Whistler).

But when Lucy ever-so-casually mentions this, Jane just shrugs and says,

“I told her to stick around for you two, but she said she had to finalize some reports.”

“Wow,” Ernie says around a mouthful of noodles, “that’s dedication. Turning down free food just for work.” He pointedly raises his eyebrows at Lucy, who in turn tries very hard to glower at him with just her eyes.

“Good for her,” is all Lucy has to say about that. Jane gives her a curious look for the comment, but thankfully doesn’t ask.

“Hey, Lucy,” Ernie says suddenly. “I left my tea in the lair. Can you do me a favor and bring it to me?”

Lucy—still cradling her precious, half-eaten banh mi—has to do an actual double-take. “Why can’t you get it?”

“Because I have a cramp…in my leg…and you love me,” Ernie says. When Lucy stares back at him, unimpressed, he tries again with: “And I’ll owe you?”

“Fine,” Lucy sighs. “But you’re being so weird.” Suspiciously weird, even, but his scheming doesn’t click until Lucy is actually opening Ernie’s door and—“Oh.”

Whistler lifts her head at the intrusion, her stunned expression likely a mirror of Lucy’s. “Special Agent Tara,” she says.

“Whistler,” Lucy says slowly. “What are you doing in here?”

“Ernie said I could borrow his computer,” Whistler says. “DIA wants me here until we get a ransom demand, and I wanted to get some work done.”

“Ernie let you borrow his computer,” Lucy echoes. “Willingly?”

“Yes?” Whistler tilts her head questioningly. “Sorry, did you need something?”

Lucy knows she should be looking for Ernie’s tea. She also knows she should probably ask Whistler about it. But all that comes out is: “You know, we brought lunch for everyone.”

“Thank you, but I had lunch already.” Whistler glances back down at the computer screen, tapping away at its keys in a silent dismissal, and in an instant Lucy has had enough.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

The mechanical typing falters. “I’m not.”

“You’re working with everyone else on my team but me,” Lucy says. “That kind of feels like you’re avoiding me.”

“Maybe I felt like getting actual work done for once.” Whistler looks up again, this time with a deep-set frown on her lips. “And I wasn’t in the mood to fight.”

“Hey, you’re the one who fights with me!”  Lucy argues. “Literally, from day one. You yelled at Jane about me in front of everyone.”

“Because you stole a sensitive report which you had no clearance for!”

“Actually, I read it upside down while you were talking about how I didn’t have clearance for it,” Lucy counters. “No stealing required.”

Whistler’s jaw clenches. “That is not any better.”

“But it means I’m not a thief. I’m just…you know, crafty,” Lucy says. “Come on, haven’t you ever bent the rules a little to break a case?”

“I don't break cases,” Whistler says flatly. “I protect intel.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she snaps, exasperated, “you’re a saint and a better person than I am. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Are you—what is your problem? That is not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” Lucy lets the words hang between them in the ensuing silence. She doesn’t even realize that she has placed her hands on the desk in challenge—barely any space between them now—until Whistler is hastily standing up.

Even as tall as she is, Whistler’s voice comes out incredibly small. “Nothing,” she says finally. “Please forgive my…gross unprofessionalism. Clearly, I have overstayed my welcome.” She steps out from behind the desk without even bothering to close whatever she’d been working on, and Lucy sees red.

“Oh sure, just run away,” Lucy huffs. “Go ahead! Prove you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been—”

“I’m sick of playing this game with you!” Lucy cuts her off.

Whistler doesn’t move an inch. “What game?” 

Dammit. Ernie is most definitely in her head. What the hell; it’s not like Lucy has anything to lose. “The game where we pretend we don't like each other,” she says firmly. “You’re an asshole and I like to piss you off, but obviously there is something else here and I’m not crazy. This is—”

Honestly, in the back of her mind, the most Lucy expects is more denial. At worst, she expects Whistler to march out of the room and report her to Jane again. She certainly does not anticipate Whistler yanking Lucy in to kiss her breathless—just for a brief, dizzying moment—before pulling away.

Whistler tries to apologize, but Lucy doesn’t let her; she is once again determined to give as good as she gets (in a very different context). Lucy pulls Whistler right back in, grasping desperately at her face and stretching as fall as the tips of her toes will allow. 

It seems to reassure Whistler in any case, who eagerly slides her hands along Lucy’s back and melts against her. Maybe it's the months of pent-up aggression between the two of them, or maybe it's the knowledge that Whistler is an actual human being, or maybe it's just the ghost of the faint touch of Whistler's fingertips underneath the hem of Lucy’s shirt, but the kiss gets really intense really fast.

Lucy debates sliding her own hand under Whistler's shirt—see if she is as serious in her bra choices as she is in pantsuits—but then Whistler flicks her tongue into Lucy’s mouth and she cannot possibly be expected to focus. It's intoxicating and exhilarating and…

“Wait, wait,” Lucy regretfully manages to twist away. “We can't do this.”

“Right,” Whistler says, nodding rapidly. “It would be a mistake.” She's clearly trying to school her features into her usual stoic demeanor, but her efforts are completely undermined by her kiss-swollen lips and the obvious flush on her cheeks.

“What? No, I meant, we can't do this here,” Lucy says. “You think it would be a mistake?”

“Not if…you don't,” Kate says, almost like a question.

“Are you seriously going to throw yourself at me but not even say what you feel out loud? I think you're addicted to fighting with me,” Lucy decides.

“I didn't throw myself at you, and—if anything, you're the one trying to fight with me!” Kate exclaims. “Every day I come in, and you're there trying to undermine me. I've been trying to keep my distance for both our sakes. Obviously our working dynamic is…less than ideal, most of the time.”

“I'm not trying to undermine you. I'm just trying to get you to loosen up a little maybe,” Lucy says. “Which…okay, might be annoying. So I get why you're an uptight asshole sometimes. No offense!”

Whistler frowns. “Some offense taken.”

“Oh, it's fine,” Lucy says. “The asshole thing is unfortunately very hot. Ernie may or may not have had a point.”

“What does Ernie have to do with this?” Whistler looks horrified now.

“Not like—Ernie and I don't sit around discussing how hot you are,” Lucy tries to save face. “He just suggested that we might…you know…jump each other at some point.”

“You're not making this any better.”

“Then forget Ernie,” Lucy says. “Take him out of the equation entirely. Do you also find me unfortunately hot?”

“I wouldn’t call it unfortunate,” Whistler says. “But. Yes?”

“Okay, so…” Lucy trails off. “What are we doing here, Whistler? Do you want to walk out of here and pretend this never happened?”

“No.” Whistler steps forward hesitantly. “That’s not what I want. I…I like you, Lucy. And I know this would completely ruin our working relationship, but—”

“Shut up about work,” Lucy says, dragging Whistler back in for another fervorous kiss, delighting in the fact that Whistler certainly isn’t fighting her now.

(Lucy’s phone buzzing, however, does effectively kill the mood.)

“What is that?” Whistler is instantly back into work mode, smoothing her hair haphazardly as if someone is about to walk in any second. “Is it about the case?”

Lucy unlocks her phone with bated breath. “Maybe we finally have a ransom call,” she says, before the familiar face in her text messages proves otherwise. “...nevermind, it’s just Ernie. He wants to know if we’ve ‘kissed and made up’. I’m going to tell him we’re going to have sex in his chair.”

Whistler half-coughs, half-chokes. “Are we?”

“Obviously not,” Lucy says. Then, thoughtfully: “But I’m technically still on lunch. Did you drive here?”

“Yeah, I have a company car,” Whistler says. “Do you have another lead?”

“No, but I do have thirty minutes to spare,” Lucy says cheerfully. “Get your keys. We’re totally going to have sex in your company car.”

Whistler turns very, very red. “I…don’t think my boss would like that.”

“Fine, then we can make out in your company car,” Lucy amends. “But you’re going to have to leave first. Kai and Ernie have a bet going about us, and I don’t want either of them to win.”

“Your team has a strange obsession with your love life,” Whistler tells her matter-of-factly.

“Eh, could be worse,” Lucy says. “Jane could get involved.”

Whistler—marginally disheveled—manages to crack a smile. “Let’s not let it get that far,” she suggests, brushing one final kiss against Lucy’s mouth with a resigned sigh. “So…are we keeping this between us for now?”

“I guess so,” Lucy says begrudgingly. “Think you can keep on fighting me in front of everyone?”

Whistler shrugs. “Are you going to keep being an asshole?”

“Wha—hey, no fair! You’re the asshole. I’m the good-meaning, happy-go-lucky agent who just wants to keep you human,” Lucy says, poking at Whistler’s cheek until her smile grows even more.

“Challenge accepted,” Whistler says, smoothly tucking a strand of hair behind Lucy’s cheek before casually making her exit. 

Lucy places her hands on her hips and wistfully watches her go. This day has gone absolutely nowhere she expected it to, but dammit, she can’t be mad.

(Especially when her phone buzzes again with another text from Ernie. All it says is: NOOOOOO 😭).

#this is essentially a re-imagining of s1 #where kate & lucy first met on the job and just hated each other from day one and ofc the tension is off the charts #kacy #kate x lucy #ncis hawaii #ty for the prompt!! these two in an enemies to lovers scenario 100% eats ngl #i need a fic tag

[saturncodedstarlette]

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🎞

❤️‍🔥Bonus❤️‍🔥

#Cod #Call of duty #Call of duty incorrect quotes #Call of duty x reader #Cod Captain Price #Captain Price #John Price #Captain John Price #Captain Price x male reader #Captain Price x fem reader #Captain Price x gn reader #John Price x you #John Price x reader #John Price x oc #Cod Gaz #Kyle Garrick #kyle gaz garrick #Original : prompts-forthe-soul #original : tumblr #Ooooooo the tension 🫢🫢🫢🫢🫢 #Enemies to Lovers perhaps? #Gaz baby angel it’s better for u to not know #A seductress lover???? 😏😏😏😏❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[eosofspades]

godddd thinking about the red war first couple missions and going insane . that was so good and for what

#im being DERANGED about how tragic the fall of the city was #forget titan nessus io whatever this isnt about that this is about how WELL that campaign intro did TENSION and TRAGEDY #insanely bold move to make the intro the tutorial on how to use the light and then immediately rip it out of you and make your next #30 minutes of gameplay fully lightless in a creepy fucking forest being stalked by the fallen #that was SO!! GOOD!!!! #and everything about the attack on the city makes me YELL #the tension was TENSE the cutscenes were CINEMATIC the light being taken was VISCERAL #i will never ever forget stumbling limping and slowed and dying out of the ruins of the burning city #that in fact was what prompted this post #god red war i miss you please come back #destiny 2 #mine #the red war

[astrobei]

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.

#oh this was so fun #tension my beloved #thank u for this prompt i did giggle like a maniac the entire time i wrote it #the world needs more flirty confident will byers i think #who cares if this is ooc it's MY canon !!! #let mike wheeler be charmed and flustered!!!! #let him be wooed and reduced to a blushing mess!!!! #it's what he deserves!! #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #fic #fun sized fics

[leavemeslowly]

Eddie: *lights a cigar*

Susie: *swoons but in a posh way*

#Eddie x Susie #theo james #kaya scodelario #incorrect quotes #the gentlemen #the gentlemen 2024 #quote #quotes #fanfiction #ff #man #fluff #angst #unresolved tension #ao3 #fanfic #prompt #archive of our own

[writingraven]

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.”

#writing #writing tips #story ideas #fantasy #writing reference #fantasy writing #prompts #prompt list #prompt #writing dialogue #dialogue inspiration #dialogue prompts #training with tension #angst #fluff #reltionships #relationship prompts

[navnae]

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.

#steddie #swimmer Steve is real #cue the tension #prompts #steddie prompt #steddie fanfic #steddie hcs #steddie headcanon #headcanon #hcs #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #idk what else to tag #help lol #please #come on #manifesting #power #so cuuuute #lmaooooooo #that is so funny #wow #hmmmmm #omfg #i know what you are #be for real #duffer brothers i swear #i’m tiiiiiired #i’m a mess

[avocado-writing]

Proof everyone in this fandom shares one brain cell lmfao. also I made it angsty sorry 👀 tagging: @lady-jane3 @wanderedaway @venusthepirate

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.  

#Answered #tangerine x reader #tension prompts

[leclvrc]

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.

#f1 fic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #**mine #tension! the chase! #**prompts

[cyberllfe]

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.”

#misc: flash fic #prompt me #ch: nines rk900 #nines x reader #dbh nines x reader #misc: fan works #asks #shinyportalsandthings #as always thank you for enabling me #😏 #side note: I had a smut version of this prompt but something about it Did Not Fit. I'm going to have to do some practice with v short smut #for now. my second love: tension #which is to say... I just love teasing you 😏

[berryzxx]

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?

#sarcasm obviously #writing prompts #writing prompt #dialogue prompt #prompts #enemies to lovers #tension #romance #cute #yes pls #The sandwich was actually nasty but character ate it to be petty and annoying

[lurafita]

Canon re-write where the downworld of New York takes a stand

Another series rewrite, where NY's downworld took the appointment of Maryse and Robert Lightwood as heads of the institute a bit harder, and cut off all manner of assistence to the NYI as a form of protest. (It doesn't go against the accords, as downworlders aren't slaves, they cannot be forced to help out shadowhunters).

The Clave doesn't reassign leaders of the institute, because most of them are bigoted assholes who think that they don't need the help of filthy downworlders anyway, and Malachi doesn't care about the people who betrayed Valentine's and the circle's values.

The NY downworld leaders have made their position to the Clave quite clear. They don't intend to hold other shadowhunters responsible for the crimes of ex-circle members, but they will not work together with (or worse, for) the very people who have hunted, tortured and killed their kind.

The issue would be easily solved, if the Clave just gave leadership to someone else and actually punished their own accordingly. (When Alec and his siblings bring up the issue of not being able to work with downworlders - like other institutes do - with their parents, Maryse and Robert of course lie about the real reason behind it.) This could mean that shadowhunters aren't able to step foot into Pandemonium (wards that won't let runes pass), (so the circle members also aren't in the club). And when they finally find a way to contact Magnus Bane, the truth about Maryse and Robert's involvement with the circle comes to light earlier.

#magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters tv #malec prompt #downworld actively protesting the clave's idea of “punishment” #tensions are high in new york's shadow world #alec and co learning of their parent's crimes earlier #in this rewrite we do not simply forgive hate crimes

[maybebabyplease]

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.”​

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #sirius black #remus lupin #greenspo #could not resist this prompt #i could have written 50000 words of sunscreen-rubbing #the tension #but alas that is the challenge of micro #and the fun! #em goes micro

[ejzah]

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!

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #pre-densi #post honors #unresolved romantic tension #anonymous prompt #ejzah fanfiction