#intimacy prompts

[sensitiveheartless]

16 Dazai and Chuuya having to slow dance. (Bonus if Dazai is flustered about being so close to Chuuya) for the intimacy prompts!

[writingraven]

Prompts

Acts of Intimacy

definition of intimacy: close familiarity or friendship; closeness (not just sexual acts!)

❦

- brushing teeth together

- building a blanket fort

- butterfly kisses

- caressing

- calming each other down

- cleaning together

- compliments

- cooking together

- cuddling

- dancing together

- date nights

- decorating together

- endearing nicknames

- eye contact

- face masks together

- falling asleep on each other

- forehead kisses

- game nights

- gardening together

- gifts

- grocery shopping together

- hand holding

- head-scratches

- hugs from behind

- indulging in guilty pleasures

- inside jokes

- knowing their drink orders

- linking arms

- long drives

- long hugs

- making sure the other ate / drank water

- massages

- meet their friends / family

- movie nights

- nuzzling

- opening up about personal details

- philosophical conversations

- pick up lines

- picnics

- playing with hair

- pranking each other

- ranting to each other

- reaching for the other in their sleep

- reading together

- regularly texting

- routine kisses

- sharing clothes

- sharing food / drinks

- sharing music

- showers / baths

- showing childhood photos

- stargazing

- teaching each other’s hobbies

- telling stories

- tickling

- touching noses

- undressing each other

- vacations

- walks together

- writing love letters

[wolfiemcwolferson]

20 for Carlando!

20 is knowing the sound of their footsteps

Lando kind of hates Monaco race weekend because it means his space is constantly being invaded.

It's a bit impossible to have a schedule in Formula 1, but he tries. He tries to have boundaries and shit like using the same shampoo and conditioner no matter what so he had stability or whatever.

But, when it's the Monaco GP, it's not like any other time he's in Monaco for residency. It's like every single friend he has that travels to Monaco wants to come over and see him, hang out, have him host, and there are too many things to list out about how much he hates it, but the first and last thing on that list is that it totally fucks with how much time he can spend with Carlos.

Carlos who has to pack up his things very carefully, not leaving anything behind and kiss Lando on the cheek once, the nose once, and finally his bottom lip. "I will see you at home, Landito," he says tonight.

And by home, he means Spain. He means they won't see each other until Spain because there are too many people in and out that don't know about them for them to risk it and Lando is so incredibly grumpy about it.

Objectively and historically, the entire weekend could have been worse, but it could have been better. So, when Daniel dumps Lando just inside the front door of his building, Lando gives him a little salute and heads upstairs, preparing himself for whoever he finds upstairs.

His door is locked, which is a great sign that at least it's someone responsible. His phone is long dead though so he has no idea what he's walking into.

It's dark inside, at least. It's dark and quiet and he's shocked, about to call out, but then he hears footsteps down the dark hallway and he knows - he knows Carlos is here because that's the cadence of his footsteps in the hallway and so Lando hits the switch beside the door, illuminating Carlos at the end of the hallway, blinking at Lando. A little drunk. Standing a little sideways.

"Lando," his voice husky and slippery as it wraps itself about Lando's body. "Come to bed, yes?"

Lando blinks at him, waiting for someone else to walk into the main living area and question what Carlos is doing here, but Carlos huffs, reaching out for him.

"Max kicked everyone out. Thought we could use some time."

Lando is like, going to have to give Max tickets to something extravagant and expensive, but that can wait until tomorrow because tonight he's going to tuck himself into Carlos' side.

[allylikethecat]

ugh like picture it.. sitting on your partners lap & falling asleep to their heart beat full of angst/hurt/comfort w matty & george.. dare i’d say you’d win a noble peace prize

Remember when I said this morning I was going to write something from the Sleep Prompts list next? Apparently that was a lie 😂

Also, I apologize that this has taken me literal months to finish! Anon I hope that you're still here and that this was worth at least some of the overly long wait.

I think I was missing working on the A&E fic a little bit... because we have a sick Fictional!Matty in this one... I hope you like it! Thank you so much for sending this prompt in, in the first place! I'm sorry again it took me so long to finish!

This is from the physical intimacy prompts list which can be found here. I am always taking more prompt requests even if it apparently takes me months to finish them - I promise I WILL finish all of them eventually though!! I have a spread sheet!

❤️Ally

Sitting in your partner's lap & Falling asleep to your partner's heartbeat 

George was angry. He was angry at Jamie and the rest of their team for scheduling so many back to back tour stops. He was angry at Matty for hiding how sick he was. But most of all, he was angry at himself for not noticing. He was angry that he hadn’t noticed the way Matty had been turning away from him in bed, desperate to hide his fever and wheezing breath. He was angry that he hadn’t noticed Matty’s shaking hands, and that he was swallowing ibuprofen and tylenol like they were tic-tacs, alternating every three hours. That he hadn’t noticed that Matty wasn’t drinking, that his cough wasn’t the ever present smoker’s rattle from a pack a day, a pack he hadn’t touched in a week, but rather infection settling into his lungs, filling with fluid to drown him on land. 

Matty had stumbled down the hallway as soon as they exited the B stage, the roar of the crowd still echoing in their ears. He had grabbed at his chest, gasping and choking on phlegm, coughing so hard he couldn’t even hope to catch his already short breath, dropping to his knees as his shoulders shook. There was a medic on him instantly, getting him upright, pressing an oxygen mask to his face. George watched in horror, frozen in place, his sweaty shirt clinging to his back, still clutching his drumsticks as Hann nudged him forward, reminding him he should go with Matty as the medic whisked him away. George wondered if they were supposed to tell someone they were leaving as he followed Matty into the back of the ambulance.

George was afraid, curled in on himself, trying to seem smaller and stay out of the way as the medics worked on Matty, listening to his heart, wincing at the crackling in his lungs. He’s not having a heart attack, don’t worry, one of the medics had tried to assure him kindly. George wasn’t sure how that was supposed to help when Matty still couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure when they became old enough for a heart attack to be a valid concern. George squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach flipping as they sped out of the venue and down the congested city streets. The perks of playing in arenas designed for ice hockey, he thought, squeezing Matty’s hand, the ambulance was parked inside the tunnel. 

George ran his hand down Matty’s back, fingers brushing each bump as his spin curved through the opening of his hospital gown. He had lost weight over the course of his illness and George hated that he was just now noticing, not realizing Matty was belting his pants a hole tighter, moving his food around his plate without eating it, nausea churning in his belly. 

Matty had been agitated, shivering with fever and fatigue clinging to George as if he was the only thing tethering him to this earth. The doctor that examined him was shocked that he had made it through a two hour concert with his fever, with his low oxygen levels, with his lungs hitching on every breath, catching against the infected fluid. Not only that he had been able to perform, able to sing, but that it wasn’t the first two hour show he had performed that week. 

The doctor ordered a chest x-ray that led to a pneumonia diagnosis. Matty had coughed, rasping that he wasn’t some sickly Victorian child despite what Twitter might think, that he was going to be fine. George didn’t comment on the fear in his glassy eyes. 

He was started on IV antibiotics and fluids, an oxygen mask fitted over his face to help him breathe easier, even if Matty kept taking it off to cough wetly into his elbow. He spat thick green mucus into a tissue, his nose wrinkling in disgust each time he would weakly toss the tissue into the bin they had placed next to his bed. After a while George started taking the tissues from him, Matty too weak to even lift his head and toss them himself. 

Matty tried to argue that George didn’t have to stay, even though it was clear to George, clear to anyone with eyes, that Matty didn’t want him to leave (not that George would ever leave.) He insisted that he was fine, even as he looked anything but, his cheeks pale and his eyes sunken, his breath shallow as he coughed. He told George to go back to the hotel, told him to go shower and rest. But even as he spoke he kept his fingers tangled in the fabric of Geroge’s stage button down. Even after all these years, Matty didn’t like to let himself need others, he didn’t like to be what he thought of as a burden even though he was anything but. George had just climbed into the hospital bed with him, and pulled him into his lap, assuring him that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Matty had his cheek pressed to George’s chest, the steady beat of his heart, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled, lulling him to sleep like a toddler on a car ride, their legs tangled together on the rough sheets. Matty had fought at first to keep his eyes open, grumbling that he wasn’t tired. But the antibiotics made him woozy as his adrenaline crashed, his body no longer in a desperate survival mode. He started to relax, realizing he was safe now, wrapped in George’s embrace, getting the treatment he needed. George could feel him trembling in his arms, trying to time his own breaths to the beat of George’s heart. 

“Rest Matty,” said George, pressing a kiss to the top of Matty’s head, his sweat damp curls tickling George’s nose, as his breathing slowly evened out. He didn’t get a response, Matty growing heavier in his arms as he finally fell asleep. 

[rmd-writes]

Tarlos + holding hands across the table 💙

TK can’t help but think about another time he’d sat across from his partner in a fancy restaurant and how far he’s come since then. Looking back, he can’t believe he ever thought that Alex was his soulmate.

Of course, he didn’t know Carlos then. He didn’t know what it was like to be loved unconditionally by someone who chose to do so, by someone who makes the conscious decision to love him each and every day. He didn’t know what it was to be loved by someone who loved all of him – not inconsiderable flaws and all.

He knows now though.

Carlos tells him that he’s loved in a thousand different ways every day. He tells him in the way that he cooks him breakfast and makes his coffee, and in the way that he pushes TK to call Cooper when he knows that he can’t give him what he needs in that moment. He tells him when he asks Tia Lucy to make TK’s favourite foods for Sunday lunch and endures the good-natured teasing from his cousins when TK can’t keep his hands off him. He tells him in the gentle kisses he presses to TK’s forehead when he has to leave for a shift while TK is sleeping. He tells him in the not so gentle way he fucks TK into the mattress and in the way he gives up control to let TK take him apart with his fingers and follows them with his tongue. He tells him by never letting them leave for their respective shifts without saying “be safe, I love you” because time has shown them that anything can happen and where TK is concerned, the improbable is far more probable than it should be.

“Babe? Where’d you go?” Carlos asks, running his fingers across TK’s wrist before taking his hand.

TK looks at their hands linked on the table, the contrast of Carlos’ brown skin against his, golden ring glinting in the candle light.

“I’m right here,” TK says, smiling softly. “With my husband.”

[blackandwhiteandrose]

d/p + touching foreheads

The realization is sudden, startling. At thirty(something) years old, David has become acutely aware that he had absolutely no idea what the word “intimacy” really means. Not until perhaps this very moment, with Patrick’s breath puffing against his lips, in short little pants of surprise and desire.

It’s not even been 36 hours since they kissed for the first time. But as he leans back against the wall of the stock room – his heart racing from the truly stellar make-out session that had just come to an abrupt stop because what even is air? – with Patrick’s forehead touching his, he understands.

The proximity of another person and what he’s been willing to do with them, isn’t intimacy.

Patrick’s so close their eyelashes are practically tangling, but it’s everything that he feels in the nearly non-existent space between them that seems heavy and significant.  

Patrick inhales, slow and shaky, and whispers, “Wow.”

David’s pretty sure his knees are about to give out. This is what he wants. More of this – these intimate moments with this incredible man.

[solomon-tozer]

I don’t know if you are still accepting requests from the intimacy prompts, but could I ask for number 6 with Rossier, please?

Here you go anon!

Rossier - 6: sharing drinks

There are servants who could do this, Francis knows, but James insists on making the cocoa himself. He returns, bringing two steaming mugs of it into the drawing room, and presses a hot cup into Francis's hands as he settles next to him on the overly comfortable seat. There is still a winter chill to the air—nothing as bad as in the Polar regions, but still a chill nonetheless—and Francis is grateful for all the things that help chase it away.

"This will help warm you up," James tells him with a confident little smile.

Francis can't help giving a smile of his own in answer. It's the gesture and closeness that warm him more than anything else. "If only you'd put your steward's skills to use out there," he teases. "We'd have been living like kings."

James's laugh is sweeter than anything Francis has ever tasted. "What, and have my secret known by all and sundry?"

His expression softens to a smile, his gaze bright as he regards Francis and gently taps their mugs together. "No," he says softly, leaning in closer. "I serve only you, my love."

There's not much closer he can get, but James leans in anyway, and Francis hums as he accepts the kiss, lost in it.

A splash of fire against his thigh tears him from his comfort. "Damn!" he curses, realising it's his own fault.

James is laughing again.

"I could be grievously injured!" Francis despairs, mopping at the spill that isn't actually all that bad.

"Are you, though?" James grins.

The cocoa was not boiling. Hot, yes, but it was more the shock than any true scalding injury. Francis relents with a sigh. "No."

"Good," James decides, giving Francis another kiss. "Now, how about we enjoy our cocoa, and then head up to bed where we can warm up properly?"

And that, Francis thinks, is the best idea he's ever heard.

[rosedavid]

Comparing hand sizes for intimacy prompts 💙

Thank you so much!!

...

It’s late at night, and David is finishing up bedtime routine while Patrick waits in bed reading one of his books on business. Emerging from the bathroom and now clad in pajamas, David pads over to his side of the bed and sits on the edge. Patrick watches as he starts taking off his engagement rings, one by one, and placing them in their cushioned case. Before David can remove the last one, however, Patrick stops him and tugs his hand in his direction. 

Patrick wiggles the engagement ring off of David’s pointer finger and holds it up briefly, watching as it catches the light before going to slip it on his own finger.

“What are you doing?” David asks, amused. 

“I’ve always wondered what they felt like to wear,” Patrick explains, stretching out his hand to look at the golden ring. “It’s a little tight.”

“That’s because your fingers are bigger! Don’t get it stuck on there.”

“My fingers aren’t bigger.”

“Yes they are. See, here--” David reaches for Patrick’s left hand with his right and presses their palms flat together in between them. Warmth tingles up Patrick’s arm. “Your fingers are longer and wider than mine. Trust me, I know. I’m very familiar with those fingers.”

Patrick lets out a snort of laughter. “You’re ridiculous.” Still, he can feel the blush spreading across his cheeks as he slips David’s ring off his finger and places it in David’s open palm. 

“But I was right.”

“Maybe I should put these fingers to good use,” Patrick teases in a flirtatious tone. “...and reach over to turn off the light so we can go to sleep.”

“Patrick.”

He grins, pressing a kiss to David’s fingertips. “It’s bedtime, David.”

[sensitiveheartless]

DUDE

BRIDAL CARRIES THOUGH

BUT MAKE IT FUNNIER CAUSE I CAN TOTALLY SEE CHUUYA JUST HAULING DAZAI UP FROM THE FLOOR LIKE "What the fuck, can you do ANYTHING without me???" and Dazai's just content to sit there like a cat yearning attention-

Somehow this evolved into a bit more of a hurt/comfort vibe than I intended but I hope this is still sufficiently humorous, anon! :D I had fun drawing noodle Dazai alskdjfjj

[hippolotamus]

Forehead kisses for the intimacy prompts 🥰

I hope you don't mind this platonic show of intimacy between the Rose siblings. 💙🦛

“David?” an unusually quiet, wavering voice says. 

“What?” David barks, spinning around, ready to chastise Alexis for appearing in his walk-in closet uninvited. He’s elbow deep in reorganizing his knits, and she knows never to interrupt. Well, she’s been told anyway. 

Alexis fidgets with her fingers for a moment, biting her lower lip, before backing away and mumbling, “Nevermind.”

Fuck. 

“No, wait. I’m s-sor…” David crosses his arms over his chest, as if to hold in the genuine emotion trying to escape. “What do you need?”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yes! It’s… fine!” 

His sister is fifteen now, younger than him chronologically, but larger than life in so many other ways. He wonders sometimes how her personality lets her fit in this house, despite the ample square footage. She looks small now, arms hugged to her chest and staring a hole in the floor.  

“Um, Tyler broke up with me,” she sniffs and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, tapping her foot. “And I just… it feels different.” 

“What do you mean different? Another loser broke up with you, what’s new?”

“I don’t know, David! Different! It’s not the same as the others. They broke up with me, or I broke up with them, and it was… fine. But this is not fine.”

Oh. It makes sense now. “He broke your heart,” David states simply. 

Her eyes glisten when she meets his gaze, one tear trickling down her cheek, streaking a path through the concealer and blush. He’s not cut out for this part of being a big brother. Regardless, he sighs and closes the distance between them. She wraps her arms around his waist when he pulls her close and tries to think of what Adelina would do. David hesitantly pets her hair with one hand, sweeping the thumb of his other hand over the bony knob at the top of her spine. 

“Do they stop soon?” she asks. “All these feelings?”

“Maybe. Sometimes it’s quick, sometimes it takes a while. Especially the first one.” He spares a thought for his own first heartbreak. After dating exclusively for two months, Eliza fucked him in her parent’s pool. Later that night, I love you’s were exchanged in hushed whispers. A week later she broke up with him for the captain of the football team. 

“Well I hope this one hurries up.”

David gently tilts her head, cradling her face between his hands. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’ll watch trashy movies, order too much pizza and eat ice cream straight from the carton. Yeah?”

Finally, Alexis smiles. Still nothing compared to her usual, but it’s a start. “Okay.”

He kisses her forehead and she snuggles into him again, squeezing tight. 

“Thank you, David.”

David doesn’t reply with words. He holds his little sister, places a light kiss in her hair, and prays to whoever he has to that she didn’t ruin his sweater. 🖤💗

send me a ship + an intimacy prompt!

[ussjellyfish]

rillham + hair-playing!! 🥺

She's acutely aware of her fidgeting. She's cautious in public, almost holding herself artificially still. Early in their relationship, she finds Michael's hair, toying with her braids in bed, rolling them between her fingers. Michael often wakes up with Laira's hands idly in her hair. Michael gets it. Laira's hair is everywhere in bed and Michael can't stop playing with it.

It's negotiations, when Laira's behind her and no one can see her hand on Michael's back, and while her words are precise and measured, her fingers play - gentle, intimate - like no one notices. Such a little thing, like love.

[wolfiemcwolferson]

May i please ask for 14 piarles with a pet cat? 🫣

Hi Anon! I'd be happy to. Here's another thing that maybe you will see again.

He comes highly highly highly recommended to Pierre by every person he asks for a piano teacher and he cannot believe he's driving to bloody Monaco for it, but then he's standing in this hallway of this building and the door opens and -

The first thing that happens is Pierre sees the most gorgeous pair of eyes he's ever seen in his life and the second thing that happens is a cat darts between his legs.

Pierre doesn't think that was supposed to happen and the muttered curse emphasizes that and so gorgeous piano teacher and Pierre exchange a look and then bolt down the hallway after the cat.

"Welcome to your first piano lesson," Charles - the piano teacher that comes highly recommended to Pierre - says through a giggle after he's got an equally beautiful cat squished to his chest.

He's wearing green trousers and a pair of mismatched socks and a soft sweater and black rimmed glasses and he's smiling at Pierre before shuffling closer to Pierre so that Pierre can pet the cat if he wants and Pierre is is...Pierre is spiraling already.

"It is good to meet you," Charles says, lips pursed into a smile. "I know that you were probably expecting someone else? Based on your look of shock."

Pierre wants to wrap his accent around his brain because it's melodic. It's perfection. Coupled with the little quirk of his eyebrow? Pierre is so fucked.

"You are younger than I thought." Pierre settles on.

Charles smile is feline. Pierre thinks that he looks too much like his own cat. "Yes, you are cleaner than I imagined. When Seb convinced me to take you on, he said you were smelly and grungy, but you are not."

It shocks Pierre into laughter. "Okay, I can see how that might be a bit insulting."

Charles turns a delicious shade of red and yeah - f u c k e d. "I am a very good piano teacher, Pierre. Come on. We are wasting lesson time chit chatting in the hallway."

[stereopticons]

d/p + falling asleep to your partner’s heartbeat

David always hated the way he could hear his own heartbeat. It scared him as a child, sure he was dying, until Adelina assured him it was normal. But every time his anxiety made his heart race or skip a beat, he couldn’t help but worry about it. Even when it was steady, it felt like a reminder of his mortality, counting down all the time he was wasting.

It’s surprising to him, then, that he finds the rhythmic beat of Patrick’s heart so soothing. With his ear pressed to Patrick’s bare chest, it doesn’t feel like he’s wasting time. It feels a lot like forever. And the sound of forever doesn’t scare him like it used to.

They should get up, probably, and put their pajamas back on, but David isn’t ready to break this moment. Not when he’s this comfortable, his arm thrown across Patrick’s waist, Patrick’s arm around his shoulders, Patrick’s heartbeat a lullaby in his ear.

In the distant twilight just before he falls asleep, he hears Patrick murmur his name.

“Stay,” is all David can manage to say in response, and he feels Patrick’s lips ghost across his forehead.

“Always.”

[promptrights]

welcome

this blog is literally just a source to keep prompts organised and accessible!

follow my main @temilyrights for actual content :)

tags under the cut

#scenario prompts - e.g. “person a takes care of person b when they’re ill”

#intimacy prompts - e.g. types of kisses

#writing advice - e.g. “how to write an argument”

#quote inspo - e.g. literature quotes

#angst prompts

#dialogue prompts

#jealousy prompts

#writing prompts - other

[rmd-writes]

holding hands during a stressful situation (whatever ship you want!)

He reaches out and grabs Patrick’s hand. They don’t do this often, David knows his hands are in motion too often for them to hold hands, he prefers to dance his fingers across Patrick’s shoulders or down his arms to ground himself instead.

But right now, he needs this. He needs Patrick’s hand solid in his, he needs Patrick using his thumb to quietly soothe David’s knuckles even as their legs and shoulders are pressed together. He squeezes Patrick’s hand, feeling the callouses on his fingertips as he squeezes back.

“David,” Patrick says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “You know how this ends. We’ve seen it at least fifteen times.”

“But Patrick, what if Sandra can’t get the bus across the gap?”

“Okay David,” Patrick says, shaking his head and pressing a kiss to the back of David’s hand.

[blackandwhiteandrose]

How about tummy kisses?

There have been many, many things that Patrick has enjoyed learning about David as they’ve gotten closer. And more naked. He is particularly fond of the dark hair that covers David’s chest and gives way to what he now truly understands is the happiest of trails. He loves the expanse of David’s shoulders, shape of his thighs, and the dip at the small of his back where his hands just gravitate. 

But of all the things he’s been thrilled to discover, none have made him happier than what may actually be one of David’s biggest secrets. 

Patrick is almost sure he may be the only person that knows this particular fact: David is incredibly ticklish. 

It was the slow, soft brush of his fingertips skimming along David’s ribs and down to his hips that had shown him just how delightful it was to watch David curl in on himself, half laughing and half squawking, making a very poor attempt to roll away. 

Patrick attempts to resist the urge as often as possible, but sometimes it’s just too much. He knows David well enough that there are lines and boundaries he has to be careful of and he’s not about to push – so he finds ways to dance up close to them in a way that David might not only allow, but also find some sort of pleasure in.

While David does not necessarily welcome the gentle dig of being tickled, it turns out he’s very amenable to Patrick’s mouth ghosting across his tummy and kisses that drag from hip bone to hip bone. 

Draped across the bed, propped up at just the right angle against his hip, with David’s fingers in his hair, Patrick presses his lips to David’s warm skin, one, two, three times. He’s just getting started.