#Prompt Me

[hederasgarden]

In honour of your newfound love for Clark Kent, can I please ask you about our man in question and his size kink?

Summary: Clark shows you how much he loves you and your body. Pairing: Clark Kent  x Plus Size!F!Reader  Word Count: 800 Warning: 18+ only, explicit sexual content. Unprotected PIV, size kink, discussions of body insecurity, fluff, and mentions of future pregnancy. A/N: Thank you @ryebecca for holding my hand through this! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Tonight Clark has you on your hands and knees while his large hands frame your hips. You drop your head and pant as he slowly works himself inside, anticipation curling in your belly. Every time feels like the first, your body fighting to let him in even when you desperately want him. 

"That's it," he praises, kissing your shoulder. "You're doing so good for me, sweet girl."

You groan in response, fingers grasping the bedsheets desperately until finally, his body is flush with yours. It’s almost too much and you shift back seeking relief, but Clark stills your movement. You glance over your shoulder, with a questioning look. 

"I want you to watch yourself," he whispers.

You freeze, a trickle of unease snaking down your spine. Even though he’s never questioned why you keep the lights low, you know Clark understands the reason. You’re uncomfortable seeing yourself like this; it stirs up long-buried insecurities you’ve never voiced for fear he might finally see all the ugly flaws you try to hide.

His name escapes your lips as a strained plea that he’s quick to answer with a tender, reassuring look. You feel an answering tug in your chest, and your resistance melts away. You’d do anything he asked when he looked at you like that – even this. 

A quiet exhale from you is the sign he needs to guide you to meet his gaze through the full-length mirror in the corner. In the soft, muted light of your bedroom, he seems even larger behind you, the outline of his body merging with the shadows. Your eyes linger on the way his fingertips span the length of your jaw as he cradles your face. 

Before Clark, you never felt small. You were always keenly aware of your weight compared to past boyfriends and how different your body looked from the images in magazines. For years, you hid behind flowing dresses and loose clothing, trying to make yourself less and blend into the background. But now, there’s nowhere to hide. You’re exposed and vulnerable, the layers of your self-protection stripped away.

"I want you to see what I see," Clark continues, wrapping a thick arm around your middle to haul you back against him.

The movement pushes him deeper, and your lashes flutter. A coarse, calloused hand glides down the swell of your stomach, dipping to tease your bundle of nerves, while the other cups one of your breasts. He chains kisses along your throat, and your head lolls to the side, watching the mirror through half-lidded eyes.  

“I love every part of you. From these thick thighs,” he murmurs, gently caressing the expanse of skin, “to your beautiful belly that will carry our child one day.”

“Clark…” You shift in his arms, overwhelmed and embarrassed, but he doesn’t let you move.

He tsks, a warm puff of breath teasing the shell of your ear. “I’m not done.” 

He rocks into you with a shallow thrust. There’s hardly anywhere to go but he manages to find the space, stealing your breath. He continues to speak, his gravelly voice washing over you in waves, while his fingers move in slow, teasing circles over your clit. Pleasure builds at the base of your spine, suffusing your body with warmth and want. 

“I think about this all the time,” he groans, grasping your hips and urging you to move. “You’re built to take me,” he praises. “Don’t you see?”

His words draw your focus back to the mirror. Bathed in the soft, flickering candlelight and enveloped in a haze of desire, you find yourself mesmerized by your reflection and the way Clark moves your body with ease. In his arms, you look delicate and vulnerable — fragile. 

His breath falls hotly against your skin when he speaks. "I love all of this, do you know that?" 

A wave of pleasure surges through you, overwhelming your senses. It’s only Clark’s strong hand on your jaw that keeps you from turning away from the scene before you. He comes first, his pale pink lips parting with a shuddery breath as his hips lose their rhythm. The hot, sweet rush of his release filling you up is enough to tip you over the edge.

You lean back into Clark, feeling the gentle tickle of his chest hairs against your skin. He runs a soothing hand up your side as you work to steady your breathing. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, turning to share a deep, tender kiss. 

He grins, cheeks dimpling. “I love you.”

Send me a request

[cyberllfe]

I got 1300 words! (Which you can absolutely shorten if you don’t feel like writing that much, absolutely understand as a writer.) and I would adore a “Shag me” prompt with Connor 🥴 if you feel up for it. My thoughts on this request (and you can adjust and add to because you’re a great story writer and I trust you) would be a female reader who works as a receptionist at the station (human preferably) and has known Connor since he first came to the department. Soon after his deviancy, they navigate a sort of awkward almost-friends-nearly-more type of relationship and stumble unto a slow romance, until Connor discovers the human emotion horny. It would be amazing if it could be at an awkward time too, like while watching a movie together or at work. I’ve been reading your pieces on AO3 and I truly think you are a talented writer, sending you all my love and inspiration💞💞💞💞

thanks for waiting, anon. connor will see you now. (ao3 link) 1300 words, rated E.

want a turn? prompt me.

It’s been raining all day—classic Detroit November—but all anyone can talk about is the guy who died, his escaped android, and the android investigator in the precinct. You’ve caught a glimpse of him more than once since yesterday, and this time is no different: he comes trotting in after Lieutenant Anderson, covered in glistening droplets of rain and speaking very insistently about something you can’t hear.

“That’s him.”

Your eyes would have slid right past him if not for the intensity in his face. He’s single-minded, emphatic... for all the good it does him. Anderson rolls his eyes and pushes Connor out of his path, leaving him standing there, recalculating. Only then do you notice the LED.

It’s barely two seconds before he’s started after Anderson, calling his name.

“Looks good wet, doesn’t he?”

You don’t offer anything but a soft hum. The thought follows you for the rest of the day.

*

Connor precedes Hank into the building today. He surprises you by speaking to you instead of simply scanning in, and you feel… strange. The look in his eye is so human, almost anxious. With an awkward smile, you offer a reassuring platitude. You’re earnest, but the offer seems to confuse Connor. He thanks you anyway and leaves your desk.

Between jobs, you keep an eye on him. He’s so animated. It’s marked, the difference a handful of days makes—he paces back and forth, oscillating where Hank is static, following his trail of thought as if it were physical.

Neither notices you. The rude FBI agent doesn’t notice you either; too intent on getting into the Captain’s office, he chucks his ID at you with a cursory here you go, sweetheart and goes back to his phone.

The ID is fine. You let the jackass through, and hope he gets shouted down by Fowler, who could probably do with a good outlet for his repressed frustration.

You laugh, later, as two uniforms perform a dramatised version of Anderson’s right hook on Perkins, but it’s brittle. Your eyes are on the news, and the demonstration in the street, and the news anchor’s silent mouth framing the words what do they want? without listening to the answer. Connor had raced out of the station earlier, and caught your eye as he went. You hope he's okay, wherever he is.

*

“Excuse me.”

Brown eyes meet yours, familiar intensity tempered with... caution? Nerves? It’s hard to tell them apart on a face that was built to display but not feel.

Connor wears plain clothes with all the ease of a soldier. There’s no tie to straighten, so he clenches and unclenches his hand and lets his eyes wander. They find you smiling, tentative but warm behind your professional attitude.

“How can I help, Connor?”

He’s clearly unused to the question. It’s endearing, really, to watch him like this—the self-possessed turned self conscious, attempting to hide in the shadow projected by his own image, broadcast endlessly on the new cycles at Markus’ left hand.

“Is Lieutenant Anderson here?”

“No. I don’t think he will be, either. He left about an hour ago.”

When Connor sighs, you wonder if he picked that up to blend in with humans or to help him communicate better with them. Both, probably. His fist coils up again, but he gives you a slight smile as he turns to leave.

“Connor.”

He turns, mildly surprised, to face you when you call his name. His smile is late but warm.

With one hand you reach for his, and with the other you slide a business card into his palm. The touch seems to surprise him further, and he stares at your hand even as you withdraw it.

“If you’re looking for Hank, he’s here. Diner out on the edge of town. I thought you’d come by looking for him.”

You’re glad to notice that he doesn’t look as guarded as before. Connor’s not around every day, not anymore, but you see him often enough to watch him relax into himself—to laugh when you make a self-deprecating joke, or hold the door for Officer Miller’s excitable son. Instead, Connor seems thoughtful, like you handed him something heavier than a wedge of paper with a cartoon burger on it.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

To your surprise, he lingers. Spends enough time to ask you about your family, about the plant you keep on your desk, which you should water, by the way. You talk quietly with him about almost-dead houseplants, why you’re not allowed to play Monopoly at home over the holidays, and show him the family dog. All the while he’s leaning against the counter, one arm crooked atop it and grinning… you’re more than distracted. He leaves the foyer, eventually, but not your thoughts.

*

Laughter covers cheesy Christmas music. You’re wearing half your wine glass in the colour of your cheeks, but Connor thinks the flush becomes you.

You notice when he glances at you, and you smile in that shy, self-conscious way. He returns your smile, adjusting his posture to face you, and you turn away, pretending that you barely noticed, and noticeably trying not to check back. He basks in private amusement.

The party draws on a little long—someone pulls out a bottle of something strong and definitely against regulation, and when Connor leans down to ask you if you’d like another drink, you jump.

You’re never in danger of falling, of course. Inhuman arms encircle you and hold you steady against an equally inhuman body—and for the first time, Connor feels a response that correlates with your change in expression. The slow pull that binds you and builds to something far stronger than he’s felt before until letting you go is unthinkable.

He makes a plausible excuse for you to leave. The charge in the air grows to fevered sharpness, a harmonic buzz that doesn’t break until he has one hand in your hair, the other encircling your waist, and that insatiable need to get closer.

Connor doesn’t leave any of you untouched. When his kisses would deny you air, he leaves them in trails down your neck, then undoes a handful of buttons to continue down your chest, hands restless and hungry, so much warmer than you’d ever imagined, so much more demanding.

When he whispers I don’t want to wait, it’s as if he read your mind. A shiver runs through you when he parts your legs and leans his weight into you, pushing inside with a growl that thrills you.

You tense around him. It’s not intentional, but he grabs your chin and holds you still beneath him, feeling the burning heat of your shaky breath past his thumb. He caresses your lower lip, and when you realise you can’t nod, you whisper please, and reach for him with both hands, in case he doesn’t understand how much you want him.

Connor leans back and pulls out almost all the way. You whine loud, desperate and frustrated, until the hand on your face tightens, cutting off your mumbled demand and making way for the moan he fucks out of you.

His fingers claw your jaw and throat and it’s heaven: the sharpness against your skin, the deep pressure inside you, building with every rock of his hips, chased with a mouth that suffocates and teases you until you’re dizzy.

You feel heavy, waves of sensation breaking over your body with increasing frequency and intensity, and no outlet except your nails in Connor’s back, scratching until he presses in deep again. You tense, on purpose, and half-feel, half-hear the stuttering moan, then the frenzied motion of his body as he pushes himself to the brink and drags you with him, tangled and messy, sharing breaths, but sated at last.

[takaraphoenix]

Stiles Summer Stories 2024!

So I have decided to dedicated my @writersmonth to Stiles. But there is so much I want to write about him and the Hale Pack that it's hard to put it in order and decide, so I am open to suggestions!

Pick a prompt duo from the list that's not crossed out yet and make me a Stiles-centric suggestion:

romantically only: Sterek, Steter, or both in a "Stiles has two hands" sense

platonically, especially anything Hale Pack (Derek, Peter, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Cora, Jackson, I'm throwing Lydia and Danny in there too, and depending on canon divergence also Allison and Scott. Also the sheriff), either the whole pack or any individual dynamic

general Stiles concepts like Pack Mom Stiles, human Alpha Stiles, Spark Stiles, post-nogitsune angst, whatever else you can think of

a combination of any of these

destiny | creek; "Camping & Bonding, Part 1", Sterek Hale Pack fluff

running | penthouse; "Small But Good", Steter post s2 finale h/c

laughter | car; "Camping & Bonding, Part 2", Sterek Hale Pack fluff

fairy | stage; "A Midsummer Night's Mischief"; Sterek fluff

choice | movie set; "Movie Madness"; Sterek jealous!Derek

flame | forest; "Camping & Bonding, Part 3", Sterek Hale Pack fluff

passion | tattoo parlor; "London Calling", post-series Sterek

dawn | castle; "Castle of Glass"; Sterek post pool scene

clock | museum; "Tutoring and Teasing"; Steter single-dad Peter + Malia's tutor Stiles

season | school; "Camping & Bonding, Part 4", Sterek Hale Pack fluff

snow | flower shop; "The Tate Sisters", Stetopher with married Petopher meeting Stiles through their daughters

birds | library; "The Birds and the Wolves", Steter

dark | bakery; "What Kept Me Going", post-Nogitsune h/c Stetopher

lonely | college; "Missing Pack", Stiles-Jackson-Danny

glow | lake; "Camping & Bonding, Part 5", Sterek Hale Pack fluff

ache | ship; "What Lydia Wants (She Gets)", Jackstydia on a cruise

red | kitchen; "My Kitchen, My Rules", Sterek human Alpha Stiles

bell | attic; "Warning Bells", Steter BDSM smut

chess | park; "How Chris and Peter Got a Kitten", Stetopher + Stiles cursed into a kitten

stone | train; "What Lydia Wants (Lydia Gets) II", Jackstydia BDSM smut sequel

wish | hospital; "A Brighter Future", Steter hurt/comfort + Sterica bromance

beast | motel; "Away Game", Stackson 'there is only one bed' during an away lacrosse game

lost | basement; "What Happens in the Basement", Sterek kidnapping

petal | theater; "Twelve Truths (and a Lie)", Stetopher + Stiles being forced by the Seelie Queen to bare twelve truths in front of the pack

faith | bar; "A Selfish Gift", Sterek + a salmon ladder

fur | farm; "Home at the Hale Farm", Stetopher post-Nogitsune h/c

lightning | office; "Guns and Gags", Stetopher + gun shop owner Chris/sex shop owner Peter

sketch | plane; "Sugar for the Secretary", Stetopher sugar daddies Petopher post-series

sense | bus; "Colds and Comfort", Stetopher sick!Stiles getting taken care of

mischief | mountain; "Shot Through the Heart", Stetopher + Chris being really into Stiles being a good shot

double | beach; "Murder Triad", Nogitsune/Steter

[ayotofu]

Saw your ask about prompts-something light with the Leverage OT3?

<3

--

The thing is they try to go on regular dates sometimes.

It's just that Parker gets bored easy and also wants to go to Pizza Inn and eat one of the dessert pizzas by herself and Eliot, apparently, will die if he is within twenty feet of a Pizza Inn. Hardison thinks that if they're going to a pizza place it could at least be a good pizza place but then when he looks up the fancier restaurant Eliot suggests they do not have orange soda on their drink menu.

So eating out is off the table, apparently.

Ice skating gets thrown out, too, because Eliot starts talking about using a toe pick to kill a man and Hardison loves that he's being more open, really, he does, but it also leaves him a little nauseous.

Eliot suggests a picnic, then. Parker loves the idea, except she wants to go cliff diving too. Hardison's not opposed to the idea, as long as he isn't expected to jump, but it's not exactly a regular date when cliff diving gets thrown in.

But, he figures, it's as close as they'll get. None of them suggested anything illegal, so he counts it as normal enough. Regular-adjacent.

(Parker throws him into the water. Of course she does.)

"Okay," Parker says when the food is eaten and Hardison is mostly dry, "we did your boring normal date--"

"I thought it would be fun to try!" Hardison says. "And it was fun!"

"--Yeah, sure, but next date is mine and I want to jump out of a helicopter."

"It was fun, wasn't it Eliot?"

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Yes, Hardison, I had so much fun being your personal chef." He says it like he's lying, but they all know better than that. "And I'll have so much fun being your pilot, too."

"What? No, you can't be the pilot, silly. You're jumping!"

Eliot blinks once. Twice. "No. No I am not."

Hardison closes his eyes and lets the argument wash over him, lips curved in a smile. He likes to try normal, once in a while, he thinks--if only to remember why he likes the weird so much.

[popcorn-plots]

Give me ironstrange and/or wongstrange writing prompts, Thanksgiving break just started and I crave short, fluffy stories

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Okay, I can't focus enough to work on any of the writing I planned on this week, because of, y'know, the existential depression and mild disassociation, but I really want to write and create something (to balance out the aforementioned existential depression and mild disassociation), so if you send me a character/ship and a few words, I'll write you a drabble-ish something.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

If anyone needs a pick me up, I'm taking small prompts in my inbox. I'll do Buddie and BuckTommy, but I won't do Tommy-negative anything. I don't have the strength for negativity right now.

[ladysarai]

Okay, friends. I’m stressed and upset over Real Life bullshit and want to write to escape it. (Now, do I have a zillion WIPs that I should be working on? Of course. And I am. Is that enough? No.)

So, like. Prompt me things to maybe write. Bonus points for sad stuff I can put my sad feels into (but that I can fix because I can’t do sad endings, sorry it’s a personal failing).

Also/alternately, where do people go for photo prompts? Remember those? I miss those. Send me photo prompts if you want, too.

[nocompromise-noregrets]

All right lads, it's @writersmonth's Writers' Pride Month again in a couple of days, and this is my bingo card! I have a few ideas for some of the squares but as is by now customary, I'm looking for prompts again!

coming out - could this be Legolas and Kíli owning up to the rest of the group chat in All I Want Is You-'verse? Or Thranduil and Bard making a public statement in Dancing in the Dark-'verse? Or something else?

pride - I know I mentioned a Pride parade in All I Want Is You-'verse during this event last year, but I'm not sure if it might go here, or under 'flag'; what about pride in oneself and one's identity? Who might that be...?

adoption - I am thinking of Thranduil and Bard adopting each other's kids in All I Want Is You-'verse or of my original character Jack and his friendship with Ivana Cutabitch the drag queen which has been developing over the last couple of Writers' Pride Months here...

queen - this is definitely going to be Ivana - or perhaps Queen Sigrid of Dale and her ace identity again?

flag - is this where the Pride parade comes in for All I Want-'verse? My flag is very definitely the ace one, so perhaps something about that? And/or Jack working through perhaps having a flag of his own, having spent the last couple of Writers' Pride Months figuring himself out?

dreams - no ideas for this one yet

dual identity - I am thinking of Jack again here, and his public/stage persona (obnoxious punk who'll shag anything that moves) versus who he really is (damaged, traumatised, sensitive demi/grey/ace boy who uses his obnoxiousness to keep people away and actually never shags anyone except his oldest friend Hal, which probably ought to tell him something)

fear - not sure about this one yet either

violet/spirit - not sure about this one either - the concept of 'spirit' is unfamiliar to me, in that I'm vaguely aware it's a thing in the US but I've never actually encountered it before. Any and all explanations and ideas very gratefully received!

I haven't had anything come to me for a kiss in the cold and dark-'verse yet, or any of my other 'verses or fandoms - so if there's anything you'd like to see for any of these, do please let me know!

[flyingpotstickers]

List of prompts you can copy/paste into my ask box any time!

Send me a ship/character(s) and a one word prompt and I will write a 5 sentence fic about it.

Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in.

send me a 🎁 and I’ll write five sentences of what I’m working on and share one

Send me a ✒️ and a wip title/code name and I’ll write three sentences on that wip and you get the sentences 

Send me 💯 and I will write 100 words in my current project, and share my favorite sentence/section.

Send me a 🌹 and I will post one random sentence of the WIP I'm working on

[hederasgarden]

Ciao bella!! For your requests...

How's about #8 with Bodyguard Walter Marshall? You know I'm a sucker for those curls. 😘😘

I continue to suck at writing 100 word drabbles so here you go. Enjoy!

Pairing: Walter Marshall x F!Reader  Word Count: 841 Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angsty, violence, whump and soft Walter. A/N: This is my first Walter fic and my first time writing for a Henry Cavill character so be kind! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

The world seems to move in slow motion, every detail sharp and painful. A high-pitched drone rings in your ears while dust chokes your throat, making it difficult to breathe. When you touch your head, your hand comes away bloody and you blink in an attempt to clear your vision. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the wail of sirens. You try to make sense of it all but your mind struggles to hold onto any thought too long. 

Glass crunches under your heels as you take a hesitant step forward. You wobble, pitching toward the ground until a pair of strong arms catch you. You look up and Walter's face comes into focus, his features sharp and concerned despite the surreal blur around you. His lips move under his thick beard, but it sounds like he’s speaking underwater. 

You shake your head and he shifts closer. His warm, calloused hands cup your face and you wince when his thumb presses against the cut on your head. Behind him, you can see what remains of the hallway. There’s a single shoe in the middle of the floor and your stomach lurches, catching sight of a body. 

"Hey. Look at me."

Walter grips your jaw almost painfully and your attention snaps back to him. Suddenly, everything comes rushing back. You were angry, arguing with him and another FBI agent about whether you should testify. They had security concerns but you were determined, it was your only chance to put away your boss —the corrupt DA in the pocket of the mob. That was right before the first bomb exploded. 

"Oh god,” you whisper, horrified.

"It's okay, you're okay," he soothes, his voice calm and steady despite the chaos. "We're going to get out of this, but I need you to listen to me, can you do that?"

"Yes."

"That's good," Walter praises. 

His hands drop to your shoulders and then down your arms, applying careful pressure as he goes. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know he’s checking for injuries but right now all you can focus on is how reassuring his touch feels. If he’s with you, you’re safe. He would never let anything bad happen to you. That thought alone is enough to pull you from the swirling panic that threatens to drown you. 

"We need to check in on the rest of the team," you tell him. Walter's voice is gentle as he says your name, but you shake your head firmly, trying to push past the haze of confusion. ”No, we need to—"

"You're my priority," he interrupts. "I need to get you out. There's no case without you.”

"We can't leave them."

"I'm sorry,” Walter says softly as his thumb brushes away the tears that escape. ”They're gone," 

Your eyes dart behind him and you see the horrific reality you hadn’t fully registered before. Three bodies lay on the floor—your friends and colleagues. The realization feels like a lance through your chest, stealing your breath. You look back at Walter, tears falling silently. 

A distant boom makes both of you flinch. The building shudders violently, sending plaster dust cascading from the ceiling. 

"We need to go."

You nod and Walter wraps an arm around your waist to hold you close as he guides you over the debris. When you try to look back, he places a firm hand on the side of your face, his fingertips brushing against your temple.

"Don't look," he says, urging you to tuck your face into his chest.

Your fingers curl into the soft fabric of his sweater as your body moves on autopilot, guided by him, until you’re finally outside. From there, everything becomes a blur, moments merging into a disjointed sequence—the paramedics stitching you up, the uneasy ride in the back of a strange SUV, and now, this safe house.

You watch Walter pace the living room, his hand resting on his gun as he stops to peer out the curtains. His black curls are still dusted with white plaster.  Every part of you feels grimy and tacky.

"I want to go home," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it catches Walter’s attention. He lets the curtain fall back into place, blocking out the outside world. You wrap your arms around yourself and rock forward.  "Please."

"You know that's not possible.” he reminds you not patiently. “We’re gonna be stuck here for a while."

The floor creaks beneath him as he moves to stand directly in front of you. He touches your shoulder and you look up at him through wet lashes. 

"You should get cleaned up. There's some toiletries and clothes for you in the bathroom." When you don’t move he sighs, touching your chin. “Go on.”

It’s a testament to how exhausted and overwhelmed you are that you follow his gentle command without argument. At the door you pause, looking back at him with a silent question in your eyes. 

“I’ll be here when you get out,” he promises.

Send me a request

[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.”

[scavengerssuccotash]

Dialogue prompts for gifts the team gave Natasha Romanoff their first Christmas as a team circa 2012.

I provide the prompt you decide the gifts!

Tony:

“You know I’m going to tell Pepper about this right?”

“Oh I’m counting on it Miss Rushman.”

Thor

“I-um thanks? This is unexpectedly sweet!”

“Lady Jane helped me pick it out. On Asgard we have a similar festival called Juul.”

Bruce

“How did you know I knew Latin?”

“Tony told me. It’s the language of science after all.”

Clint

“Is there a reason you’re dragging me away from everyone at the party? I wanted to see what Steve got Tony!”

“He got him a hat. Now close your eyes or you’re going to ruin it!”

Steve

“You do remember that I’m Russian right, well was.”

“Well, I might’ve been under the ice for that one but Bruce said it was a draw!”

Feel free to use for your fics, prompts, fan art!

Have fun!

Oh but tag me because I wanna see what y’all come up with!!

((Single-handedly trying to revive the domestic avengers tower fics with this prompt 😭 (such good times!)))

[takaraphoenix]

In regards to the smutty kinky prompt list I reblogged (because I never like putting fandoms/ships onto reblogs like that):

Prompt me! Send me asks with a number and a ship, in case you're unsure about the ship since I've been kinda exploring those lately, here's a list:

Steter

Stetopher

Stargent

Sterek

Stackson

Stydiackson

Stanny

Stalion

Stetalion

[highlyillogicalandroid]

I am in a writing slump. Someone hold me accountable. Send me a prompt and I’ll write you a something or other. Star Trek, Good Omens, Sandman, Dead Boy Detectives, whatever.

[lqtraintracks]

Prompt Me?

I do Get Your Words Out every year and it's come to my attention that if I want to make my 150k goal, I need 9k more words written in December. Now, some of that will be the query letter and synopsis for my novel. But so far this month, I only have Firewhiskey Fic planned for fic writing.

That's where you come in, if you feel like it, that is! I'd love some prompts! I might take one and run with it for 10k or I might take several and do 10 1k fics or somewhere between those two options. I can't guarantee I'll write your pairings or prompts; this is not a gift situation--you'd just be helping me make words. <3

So, that being said, if you'd like to throw me a prompt/prompts for any of the following pairings, I'd really appreciate it!

Harry x Draco Harry x Teddy Harry x Teddy x Draco Ginny x Pansy Charlie x Teddy Draco x Albus Severus Teddy x James James x Al x (Teddy) Sirius x James Sirius x James x Remus Sirius x Harry Sirius x Harry x Remus Hermione x Pansy Hermione x Pansy x Ron You know what I write, and smutty prompts are definitely welcome, but non-smut prompts work too! Or a combo of angst/smut, humor/smut, domestic situations, tropes of all kinds, whatever floats your boat. Send me an Ask! Mix it up! Thanks so much! Happy holidays, y'all! <3