#fluffied fluff fluff fluff

[frontmansdefender]

[urfriendlywriter]

specific tropes in romance that always heal something in me that it never broke

like, forehead kisses, soft love confessions, peppering kisses all over the lover's face. promises that are kept, hands those are held with a gentle love, and hugs that engulf the heart too.

or when they rest their head on your chest, or lean on you for support.

"your tears kill me," kinda thing. or when a sunshine character finally cries and bawls their entire life's hurt out into their comfort grumpy character (plus point, if the grump feels guilty thinking if they had done something to trigger this emotional outburst)

communication. no matter hard the topic is, how big your differences are.

listening to the other person yap

admiring their facial features and seeing not just the outer structure but the person that they really are.

them getting angry on ur behalf

cradling each other in hugs basically

feeling emotional walls break when you're with that one person particularly

gentle communication. yearning to do more for your lover (!!!!)

affectionate smiles and eyes crinkling with a smile that's directed specially at you.

finding their laugh contagious.

the feeling of being accepted, despite flaws and all

silent domestic acts like being in the kitchen together, dressing up together, them drying ur hair while u sit between their legs

occasionally stolen kisses

or one deep kiss that just lights your world and fulfills your soul and heart.

sleepily nuzzling into each other!!

reaching for each other despite being asleep, with mumbled endearments and whispers of need!!!

laughter coming easily by their side, like happiness is just another day to day thing (this can also be about self love. when u truly love urself and prioritize your own rights and cherish the fact that you're you. happiness becomes beautiful even in solitude)

their fingers buried deep in yo- OOPS.?! :)

[fromdove]

you find him in your apartment. again. window cracked. boots still on. jacket slung over the back of your chair like it belongs there.

he’s sitting on your couch like he owns it, flipping through a half-read paperback he definitely didn’t bring. probably something you left lying around — some crime thriller he’s already tearing apart in his head.

“make yourself at home,” you say, dropping your keys.

he doesn’t look up. “already did. your lock’s still crap, by the way.”

“you say that every time you break in.”

“because it’s still true.” he finally glances at you, eyes tired but sharp. “what if i was someone else?”

“then you’d be bleeding on the floor right now.”

his mouth twitches. “cute.”

you toe off your shoes, drop your bag, move toward the kitchen. “what do you want, jason?”

“wow. straight to the point. no hi jay, how was patrol? want something to drink? here, take my couch and trample my boundaries some more?”

“you don’t drink anything that isn’t ninety percent caffeine or eighty proof.”

“true,” he says, stretching his legs out. “still rude.”

you eye him from the kitchen. his holsters are off, but the rest of the suit’s still there — the compression shirt, scuffed boots, scraped knuckles. he’s vibrating under the surface like he hasn’t slept in two days and isn’t planning to.

“you get hit again?” you ask, softer.

he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “nothing important.”

“so yes.”

“do you want a play-by-play? i can act it out, real dramatic. throw myself against a wall. bleed on your furniture.”

“you already bled on my rug last month.”

“and it really tied the room together.”

you exhale through your nose. grab a glass of water, bring it over. he takes it without comment, drinks half in one go.

“why are you here, jason?”

this time, he doesn’t have a joke ready. his fingers tap the side of the glass, jaw tight.

“quiet,” he mutters. “it’s quiet here.”

you sit beside him. not close. not far.

“you ever gonna just ask to stay?” you ask.

“don’t need to.” he leans his head back, eyes closed now. “you always let me.”

“that’s not the same thing.”

“yeah,” he says, voice rough. “i know.”

the silence stretches. his foot nudges yours, casual, like he didn’t mean to. like he did.

“you gonna yell at me if i fall asleep here?”

“depends.”

“on what?”

“if you do that thing where you mutter weird half-words and twitch like you’re being electrocuted.”

he opens one eye. “that’s called trauma. look it up.”

“ever heard of therapy?”

“yeah. didn’t vibe with being psychoanalyzed by someone who’s never been shot in the face. weird, right?”

you huff a laugh. he shifts a little closer, not quite touching.

“you still smell like gunpowder,” you say.

“better than blood.”

“barely.”

he doesn’t look at you right away. just stares ahead like he’s watching something you can’t see. then, like it costs him, he says,

“couldn’t sleep.”

that’s all he gives you. not can I crash here? not I don’t want to be alone. just that.

but with jason, that’s enough.

you don’t ask. you just nod toward the blanket on the armrest.

“you want that, or are you gonna steal mine like last time?”

“wasn’t stealing. it was strategic heat distribution.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you say that a lot,” he murmurs, already leaning back into the cushions.

and still — he doesn’t leave.

not for hours.

[parkers-gal]

take me home J.B.

pairing: husband!bucky barnes x f!reader

wc: 1.7k

trope: secret wife / secret relationship

warnings: not proof read. rip. i'll edit the mistakes tmr lol. this is another self indulgent piece bye

timeline: idk this is not a canon event but just imagine endgame never happened. i like to imagine him with the metal arm (not the vibranium one) but i think this can be seen with any

summary: the team discovers bucky's relationship with you when bucky searches for you in the hospital after hydra attacks new york

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

“we just got the last of them on the east side. does anyone need backup?” natasha’s voice rings through the comms. tony’s response comes within a few seconds.

“air is neutral up here.”

“we’re just about wrapping up here,” steve adds on. “let’s reconvene on fifth and check in with emergency services.” he glances at bucky who stands on his left, stoically waiting for the next command. bucky nods at steve’s silent question, you ready?

they step over a pile of rubble. bucky reloads his gun, placing it back in its holster and starting a light jog as steve leads them away from the scene behind them. hydra had sent many reinforcements after the team had done a recon mission at an abandoned hydra base that was unknowingly more important to them than the avengers had initially realized. new york came to bear the consequences, just as the city always did. something about high populated cities… or whatever steve told the team as they were gearing up a few hours ago.

they turn the next few blocks and see sam land beside wanda and clint, his wings collapsing into his jet-backpack. tony joins them, already starting his updates.

“nypd called in the national guard to detain as many of the human reinforcements as they could,” he fiddles with some tech on his arm. “emt said graybar, seagram, and chanin had some pretty heavy bombings. victims are being relo-”

“chanin?” bucky cuts in. most of his teammates look at him with shocked faces. “did you say the chanin building?”

“yes, tinman.” tony retorts. “victims are being relocated to the closest hospitals in the area.”

“which ones?”

slightly annoyed, tony turns to look at him. “does it matter?”

bucky’s jaw clenches. “yes. it does.”

sam cuts in.“there’s five hospitals within a mile of here, there’s no way you’re going to know where one person went, bucky.”

“i don’t give a fuck.” he’s definitive and it shuts everyone up. “i want to know which hospitals.”

with a sigh, steve concedes and jogs over to the paramedic perched on the end of an ambulance, assisting a woman with a cut on her eyebrow.

bucky decides to make his way over too, only hearing the tail end of the conversation as steve says ‘thank you.’

“well?”

steve sighs again. “he said lagone is the closest, but frank ross hospital and tisch are taking in some too because the influx is so bad.”

bucky doesn’t even reply, jogging off in the direction of the first hospital and leaving steve in the middle of the road, stunned.

clint breaks the silence. “where is he going?”

“to the hospital, i guess?” steve sounds unsure in his response, still watching as bucky gets smaller and smaller as the distance between them increases. 

“maybe we should go with him.” wanda suggests. “we still need to debrief and do our write ups.”

natasha gives her a side eye and wanda laughs. 

“just following orders.” she exaggerates, teasing natasha and steve for their insistence on following the protocols. 

“alright let’s go, then.” tony thrusts upward, sam following him up as everyone else begins to jog in bucky’s direction.

but bucky is fast. they don’t realize how much until they almost lose him two blocks over. they trail behind him as he bursts through the emergency room, charging towards the front desk. 

“do you have a patient named y/n?” he begins to spell out your name letter by letter until the desk attendant interrupts.

“sir, i need you to step into the waiting room unless you need immediate medical care.” the room around them is a flurry of crying people, overwhelmed nurses, and helpless policeman who try to reorganize the growing number of patients. 

“no, i need you to check if you have a patient under the name of y/-”

the team stands by the entrance, watching the interaction unfold but not quite understanding it.

“who is he looking for?”

everyone turns to steve assuming he knows, but his face shows just as much confusion. “i don’t know.”

“please,” bucky starts again. “do you have a patient register for today’s patients?”

with a click of her tongue, she hands bucky a clipboard with several papers on it. bucky’s eyes scan the names, worry etched on his face when he doesn’t see yours. 

“sorry.” he mumbles, leaving the clipboard on the counter and turning around. he stops when he sees the team, but moves past them when he remembers what he’s doing.

anxiety is gnawing at him as he finds his motorcycle parked by the quinjet a few blocks away. he immediately drives off towards the next hospital, worried as ever that something has happened to you. you aren’t answering his calls, not texting him back, and he can’t find your location on the little app you taught him how to use. he doesn’t know what else to do. 

the team can barely keep up, trying their best to help the people around them as they trail after bucky. they still don’t know what he’s doing or who he’s looking for. 

by the third hospital, bucky is fed up and on the verge of a breakdown. he only has so much patience at this point, and sam is all too familiar with the signs.

“do you have a patient under the name y/n?” it’s the third time in the last hour he’s desperately asked a nurse at a front desk. he does the same thing, spelling out your name letter by letter until the nurse interrupts him. 

“you’ll have to wait to check the registry list after all the patients have been attended to.”

“how long is that going to take?” his voice is laced with attitude, and he almost feels bad if not for the pit of anxiety swelling in his stomach. 

“sir, you’re wasting my time.”

“bucky, c’mon, let’s go.” steve reaches to hold bucky’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off.

“no, goddammit!” he’s fuming, turning back to the nurse. “i need you to tell me if you have a patient, y/n barnes. i��m her next of kin.” he slams his fist on the counter. steve takes a step back towards sam, in shock at the information.

“does he have, like, a niece?” sam asks. “did he tell you anything about his sister? maybe she had a family after-”

“yes, i see her name listed here. only immediate family can see her.”

“i am immediate family!”

“sir, unless you are a parent or her husband, you need to wait until all th-”

“i am her husband!” he slams his ring down on the counter, gripping onto it like he depends on it, because he can’t risk losing you. “take me to see me wife right now.”

with a nod, she leads bucky down a hallway of rooms, turning left into the very first room. she makes her way back towards the front desk where steve has now approached.

“hi, ma’am. would you mind if-” steve gestures towards the room. the nurse’s jaw drops at seeing the vibranium shield, clint’s bow, and tony stark standing there with a partially deconstructed nano-tech suit. 

“go right ahead.” she stutters out, watching the avengers trail after the man with the metal arm. they stop in the doorway, huddled as they watch.

“y/n?” bucky steps towards the hospital bed.

you aren’t even laying in it. you’re sitting on the edge of it staring out a window, back facing the door. at the sound of his voice, you whip around. tear streaks stain your face.

“bucky, oh my god-” you run into his chest, engulfing him in a hug. he sighs into your hair, smelling you and breathing in relief at the sight.

“you’re okay, it’s okay.” he coos, rubbing your back. “what happened? are you hurt?”

you shake your head, still nuzzled into his chest. you peer up at him, “paramedics found me unconscious. it’s just a concussion, but they brought me in anyways. i just have a couple stitches.” you gesture to your calf. “rough fall after i got knocked out, i guess.”

he nods, pulling you in for a kiss. it’s desperate and full of love and every emotion he’d felt in the last two hours.

“i thought- i thou-”

“no.” you cut him off. “i tried to find a phone but nothing was going through. i saw the weird alien dogs coming from a giant truck, and- and the hydra symbol was plastered all along the sides i thought maybe they-” you can’t even finish your sentence, too overwhelmed at the possibility. 

“never.” he kisses your forehead, holding your face in both his hands. “they could never take me from you.”

you rest your forehead against his, inhaling the scent of your husband and gripping onto him because you never want to leave him again. 

“so..” tony cuts in. “wife?”

“tony!” natasha scolds. “get back here!”

clint tries his best not to laugh but he can barely hold it in.

sam is next to join in. “when did this happen?” he looks at steve with a quirked brow. “did you know?”

“i swear i didn’t.”

“a wife.” sam repeats. “you didn’t know your best friend has a wife.”

“he’s a trained spy!”

“and a former soviet asset.” clint confers. “you’d think you would keep more tabs on the guy.”

steve rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to bucky.

“is she really your wife?”

bucky nods reluctantly, a little sheepish as you hold up your left hand to show them your rings. 

“for four years now.”

“FOUR YEARS????” 

“sam-” 

“and you NEVER SAID ANYTHING?”

“guys” nat pays no mind to sam’s ramblings. “i think we can all agree how hard it is to live life as an avenger. it’s not like clint was exactly honest about his family, either.”

“i thought you were on my side!” he huffs.

“whatever.” sam pouts. “i wish i could’ve gone to the wedding.”

“we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” bucky smiles appreciatively at steve, who starts moving back towards the exit. “maybe we can talk about this when everything settles down and she gets out of the hospital.” steve looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time. deep down, he’s glad his best friend found the one thing he’s wanted his whole life. “right bucky?”

bucky nods. 

“okay,” steve smiles understandingly. “debrief is tomorrow at noon. don’t be late.”

bucky turns back to you as the team leaves your hospital room. 

“i guess the secrets out.”

bucky nods in agreement. “i’m really glad you’re okay.”

you kiss him again, “take me home, bucky.”

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

bucky masterlist

part two?

[wishfulsketching]

Oh if only

[celestialwrites]

flirty or threatening? dialogue prompts

@celestialwrites for more!!

“good god, you are a pain.” “then why are you even here?” “maybe i’m a masochist.”

“say that again i dare you.” “what are you going to do about it if i do?”

“your existence unnerves me.” “aw, i’m flattered.”

“hi honey.” “don’t honey me, you just threw a book at me!”

“huh, you know when you’re not scowling at me your eyes look a little more blue than green.”

“what if one day you wandered off a cliff?” “would you join me?”

“sometimes i feel like you want to get hit.” “by you? most certainly.”

“miss me?” “i had wondered where my headache went.”

“you are certainly interesting.” “is that a compliment or are you making fun of me?” “yes.”

“i’m not docile by any means.” “i’ve noticed, i notice everything about you.”

“i need help to bury a body.” “and you thought of me? aw.” “actually, i’m the only one that would miss you if you went to prison.” “you’d miss me?”

“i hate you!” “as long as you feel something towards me.”

“watch it!” “it’s cute how easy i can rile you up.”

“do you truly hate me?” “i wish that was possible.”

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS!!<3

[theorphicangel]

sukuna who swears he would never get married, making this statement even when he was a little kid to his dad and wanting to stay far far away from girls because they were 'gross'

growing into his teens he viewed anything romantic with disgust and couldn't sit through a film, sitcom or advert which displayed any type of romance.

attending college he had his hook ups here and there and it was more than obvious that sukuna ryomen didn't do relationships whatsoever, it was strictly sex and he kept it as that, distancing himself away from anyone who began to show even the littlest emotions towards him

any time people talked about their future around him such as what cars they wanted, what type of house they would like, how many kids and when they would get married, sukuna would always remain quiet never being able to picture that sort of life of him.

being domestic? creating a safe and loving home?

don't make him laugh.

the word husband and marriage barely appealed to him and he would have to try his hardest to even imagine himself making that type of commitment.

at least he used to imagine it until his world was changed upside down and it suddenly became real.

in almost a blink of an eye sukuna found himself in a relationship. long term and serious. suddenly all his thoughts and actions were occupied with nothing but you.

yes, it was scary at first and his coping mechanism was to push you away. but fortunately you know sukuna like the back of your hand and unlike everything else in his life, you stayed.

you stayed to the point where he enjoys coming home early to see you.

you stayed to the point where he likes to sleep in on the weekends, the warm sun rising to greet your bodies wrapped up in the sheets.

you stayed to the point where he tries his hardest to provide for you, making dinner, buying flowers just because or getting that necklace you were searching up in secret online.

you stayed to the point where he introduced you to his family and found out that you fit in perfectly, both his brother and his nephew warming up to you almost immediately.

you stayed to the point where he went out and bought an expensive ass ring, rare in its kind and hid it in the bottom storage cabinet, waiting for the right moment to pop the question.

would you stay with him for the rest of your life?

now he stands in the mirror, all dressed up in a suit. a flower poking out of his chest pocket - this is the smartest he has ever looked in his life. he's already dealt with torment from his father about the gel in his hair and keeping his shirt tucked in.

sukuna would never have anticipated that he would make it to his own wedding day.

he's nervous for some reason, mentally running over his own vows, the palms of his hands sweaty as he practices putting the ring on your finger.

'I'll be right there with you.' you promised a week ago after your rehearsal. you knew how much he hates the public eye on him much less when he's confessing his love out loud to you.

sukuna takes an inhale and judges his own appearance for the nth time, he's scrutinising himself, deep in his thoughts about whether he should have gone for a grey suit instead.

it's only when he feels a tap on his shoulder that he's stirred out of his thoughts.

'hey handsome.'

sukuna turns to find you behind him, dressed in your own wedding attire with a bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand.

'isn't it bad luck for a groom to see his bride?' he frowns.

you almost let out a snort, 'is this the sukuna ryomen believing in superstitions.'

'whatever brat.' he mumbles before his tone turns serious, meeting your eyes. 'you look...beautiful.'

'thank you future husband.'

sukuna's lips twitch into a grin at the name.

husband.

he guesses it has a nice ring to it.

a reminder that you chose to stay with him, wanting nothing more to spend the rest of your life with him.

yeah, maybe he was cut out for this married life after all.

[skyrigel]

Omega!reader making a nest

Simon was flipping a pancake when you came tip toeing, unsure and frowning before rubbing an off white shirt up and down his muscled arms.

“Want pancakes, love ?” He asked, only to find his lovely omega sniffing up the shirt with a hum and going' back to bedroom. He huffed and poured the sizzling batter.

Five more minutes he watched with concerned eyes, while you ignored his many calls to eat something, just looking up with an unsatisfactory glance around, taking discarded socks and even tissues Simon was sure he threw just this morning, picking random objects up and sniffing them before looking at him with glowing eyes and asking him to hold them or rub these things on him.

“What is it baby, huh ?” He asked again, pouring maple syrup and chocolate over the pancakes just as you liked.

This time, you regarded him —“Gimme ya shirt.” And by that, you weren't even asking, straight up demanding with your palm outstretched to ask for the shirt he was wearing.

“Oh.” Simon chuckled, it took him only a moment to unbutton swiftly and hand over the shirt to you. “Need anything more, your highness ?”

“Mmm” You seemed to think for a bit, then without warning pinched out his hair, and with a satisfying smile rushed back to bedroom, unaware of your amused yet stunned alpha.

“Come back here ya lil' sweetie !” Simon called after you, holding up the breakfast plate.

He waited for you to come out again and hope around in for your odyssey but you didn't come out again.

Simon smiled to himself, knowing what you were upto and decided this was getting concerning and needed intervention right now. So he set aside the plate and wandered inside the bedroom.

And there he found his beautiful omega, you were biting your lips and tapping your foot like you always did when anxious, looking at the bed which has been now decorated with many of his clothes, his used cup, and his socks, there was his military gear too, all stacked up beautifully in an clumsy attempt.

Simon's heart welled up with extreme affection, his precious omega was making a nest with his things, everything that smelled like him.

“Babe—” he reached out to you, but your shoulders were already shaking with unshed tears. “This is not good.” You sniffed back as Simon's big hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you until your tears kissed his bare chest.

“It's the most beautiful nest my love. Look at you, my lil’ omega working so hard.” Simon coddled you, his eyes glancing at the bed with heart eyes, there were pillows from the couch he was napping this morning over. The newspaper he was reading was secured too, his mask was tucked in the middle of the headboard. You made it all around him because he was your safe place, your alpha mate.

“Do you like it ?” You looked up with tears stained eyes, honestly it felt like a mess to you, like a cluster of things you'd gathered up and dumped together.

But Simon made you feel safe, you couldn't imagine anything else in your nest except everything that was him.

Simon kissed your forehead first, then a peck to your lips and again, because you were his.

“I love it,” He smiled with bright eyes, “I love you my baby.”

Masterlist

[snail-day]

You can do this, Satoru. It’s just your wedding. Just the day you’ve been dreaming about since the moment she first smiled at you. Just the person you’re terrifyingly in love with. Who’s about to walk down the aisle and change his life forever. A day he's been dreaming since he first met you

He’s standing at the altar, trying to act normal. Cool as a cucumber. Like his knees aren’t locked and his palms aren’t sweating through his white gloves. Fidgeting with the cuffs of his dark tux every two seconds. Trying not to cry. Trying really hard not to cry.

His baby blues are not looking at the double doors. Nope. Not even glancing. He’ll cry if he does. He knows he’ll cry.

And then the music starts.

You appear.

And he’s a goner.

His breath punches out of him like someone knocked the wind from his lungs for the first time. You’re there. Radiant. Soft. Shining in a way he doesn’t even think the sun could compete with. And you’re crying. Oh god, you’re already crying.

He panics. Internally. Loudly.

Don’t cry, baby, please don’t cry, he begs in his mind, like he can will the tears away just by loving you hard enough. Your bottom lip is wobbling. Your hands are clutching the arm of your dad a little too tightly that his poor father-in-law is wincing. You freeze halfway down the aisle. Staring at him, practically on the verge of sobbing.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate.

He moves before anyone can stop him, taking long strides right to where you’re standing, wide-eyed and trembling. The officiant laughs under their breath and says something like, “Looks like the groom’s meeting the bride halfway,” but Satoru barely hears it. His entire world has narrowed down to you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, cupping your face with both hands, his thumbs rapidly brushing your tears away. You sniffle. Nod. Barely.

So, obviously, he does the only thing he knows how to do: he teases.

“Didn’t know I was marrying a crybaby today,” he whispers, smiling crookedly, voice cracking just enough to betray how close he is to sobbing.

You swat his chest, laugh-wheezing through your tears, and he swears his heart nearly gives out. He wants to kiss you so badly, but it’s not time yet. Not technically. So instead, he holds your hands and walks you the rest of the way down the aisle, like maybe if he stays close enough, your nervousness won’t win.

He doesn’t remember the vows.

He doesn't remember the rings, or if his voice shook when he said “I do.”

But he remembers you. Every second of you. The way your fingers squeezed his like you were scared and excited all at once. The small little hi you spoke during the speech about you two coming together. The way your smile finally broke through the nerves when he mouthed mine during the ceremony.

He’s pretty sure he blacked out for the kiss. All he knows is that when it happens, the world goes quiet. All that’s left is you and him and the overwhelming realization that he gets to love you for the rest of his life.

And later, when he’s holding your heels in one hand and you in the other, dancing barefoot on the reception floor under fairy lights, he’s still chanting the same thing in his head he did the moment you walked down the aisle:

Be good. Be good. Don’t cry. Be normal. You’re married now. This is real. Don’t freak her out.

But also?

Holy shit. She’s mine.

[skyland2703]

It’s 3 AM, but fuck it, we’re being domestic | Prompts

Alternatively, just some fluffy domestic romance prompts, but they feel more cute when they’re in the middle of the night because one or both of the ship characters are insomniacs.

Dancing together in the kitchen, in the refrigerator light, and then sitting on the kitchen counter, eating ice-cream directly from the carton.

Walking barefoot on the dew covered grass, hand in hand, under the stars.

Sitting on the floor trying to piece together IKEA furniture because one person got obsessed with finishing it the same day.

Middle of the night cooking, except it’s making the weirdest most absurd dishes imaginable, just for fun.

Making love, except it’s on the bedroom floor.

Cleaning cupboards or attics and finding lpppittle mementos, childhood pictures, etc and talking about memories.

Midnight drives with street food pit-stops and making out with the car radio playing in the background.

Tossing a smiley stress ball around the house watching it knock into furniture— Bonus, if one person is tossing it and another is scrambling around trying to make sure no furniture falls over, causing squabbles.

Gossiping about annoying relatives/friends, parents etc.

Making each other coffee, except the rule is: adding all of the other person’s favorite ingredients PLUS one mystery ingredient which might be good bad or ugly. For funs~

Late night massage sessions because they’re old (they’re not even thirty. Maybe they are.) and their back huuurts.

Ramp Walk/Modelling sessions where one person tries out every single outfit in their closet, and the other one rates or judges them all and gives (mostly useless) opinions.

Doing laundry except they can’t put the clothes out for drying because there’s no sun, so they spread them all over the furniture (only the stuff that doesn’t go bad with the water-) and switch on all the fans.

Weird selfie poses and filming random tiktok dances.

Alternately, sitting side by side on the bed (or the floor—) deleting old pictures from their phones to make storage and laughing about embarrassing old pictures. (A “my phone might die of lack of storage but that super embarrassing picture of yours from six years ago isn’t going anywhere!”)

One of them randomly googling super random shit and telling those facts to the other person, and the other one, super sleepy, just nodding along to everything.

Painting dates where either both of them are amazing artists or neither of them are, (or one is and the other isn’t) and they switch canvases periodically to finish each other’s paintings. (Chaos for the ones who can’t paint, and two beautiful art pieces for the ones who can~)

Alternatively, one is an artist and the other models for them while being utterly sleepy bc Artist has insomnia :D

One is a musician and keeps the other up all night with the music. Or alternately, the partner has insomnia and the sleepy musician plays them something to pass the night (and what if it turns out to be a lullaby-)

Turning the junk, broken and useless stuff in their house into a rage room for the night.

Learning crocheting from YouTube and making each other weird little woollen mementos. (Could go for anything really. Learning shit with esch other in the middle of the night from YouTube—)

Annnnd that’s about all I got :3 I’ll probably be back with more! Prompts welcome~

[mw00nie]

kento absolutely adores the way you take care of yourself.

the way you have a skincare routine so meticulous,it’s practically sacred; double cleanse, toner, serum, moisturizer, sometimes even a face mask if you're feeling indulgent. he watches you sometimes from the doorway, leaning against the frame with soft eyes, mesmerized by the way you take your time with it. by the quiet discipline. the calm focus. how gentle you are with your own face. the same gentleness you extend to others, including him.

he loves how you wake up early on saturday mornings, the sun barely rising, and lay your mat down for yoga before he's even opened his eyes. the quiet sound of your breathing is his favorite way to wake up. peaceful. steady. something about that rhythm inhale, exhale makes him fall in love with you a little more every time.

he even notices the way you almost never reach for greasy foods, no matter how good they smell. how you’ll nibble from his plate but never overdo it, how you’re always trying to stay healthy, in tune with your body. not out of vanity but care.

and god, he loves that. because he knows that for you, wellness isn’t about perfection. it’s about intention.

but lately, you’ve been tired.

he noticed it immediately: in the way your shoulders drooped as you stepped through the door tonight. in how you held him like someone whose bones hurt from just existing. the exhaustion radiating off you in quiet waves.

“hey… rough day?” he asked, already wrapping his arms around your waist, tucking you against his chest like he always does when he knows you're unraveling.

you hummed into his shirt too tired to speak, resting your head above his heart. he held you like that for a while, saying nothing, just gently rubbing circles into your back with his thumbs.

he noticed you hadn’t done your routine the past couple nights. and not because you forgot, but because you didn’t have it in you. and it breaks his heart, quietly, because he knows how much those little things mean to you. he knows how not doing them makes you feel worse.

and more importantly: when you’re upset with yourself, you don’t let him kiss you as easily. you turn away, mumble something about your skin, and that. that’s what hurts the most.

so he came up with a plan. a theory, really.

if he does the routine with you, right beside you, maybe it’ll feel less heavy. more fun. and if your mood lifts, maybe you'll let him kiss you again. win-win.

so when you’re still clinging to him in the dim light of the entryway, he leans down and presses a kiss to your hair.

“how about we do your skincare together tonight?” he murmurs.

you blink up at him. “...together?”

he smiles. “yeah. side by side. me, following your lead. think of it as a little couples activity.”

your eyes narrowed. “you mean you want to use my toner.”

“i mean i want to wash my face beside the love of my life and get kisses after. yes.”

and you’re already laughing, already melting, because you know how stubborn he gets when he’s decided something is the solution.

so you let him pull you to the bathroom, flick the light on, roll up both your sleeves. he puts on one of your spa headbands the one with bunny ears without shame. you grab another one for yourself.

he watches closely as you wet your face. mimics you exactly when you lather up the cleanser.

“gentle circles,” you instruct. “you’re not scrubbing the sink, kento.”

“noted,” he says dryly, but softens his touch.

you rinse together, side by side, making a bit of a mess with the water. he hands you your toner, then pours some into his own palm, copying your dabbing motion.

“is this doing anything?” he asks, and you catch his reflection in the mirror. his usual sharp features a little flushed, damp skin glowing, expression sincere.

“it’s hydrating,” you reply. “and cute. seeing you like this.”

he huffs a soft laugh and bumps your hip with his. “don’t mock me. i’m making an effort.”

you go step by step. serum next, then moisturizer. you guide him through the amounts, the motions, and he listens like it’s the most important meeting of his life.

he’s a little clumsy, a little too focused, but he’s also warm. steady. present. and the bathroom suddenly feels like a sanctuary. not just a space for routine, but for togetherness.

by the time you’re patting the last bit of cream into your skin, your mood has lifted, your body no longer feels so heavy. you turn to him, finally relaxed, and lean in with a smile.

“you did a good job.”

he tilts his head, just slightly. “so... do i get my kiss now?”

you roll your eyes, but your hands are already curling into his shirt pulling him down for a kiss. you kiss him slowly, sweetly, your lips soft and freshly moisturized. he exhales against your mouth, arms circling your waist again, and you feel him smile.

and later that night, tucked into bed with your cheek against his chest and your skin glowing in the soft light, he thinks maybe he’ll start doing skincare with you more often.

not because he needs it, but because you do. and loving you means meeting you in the places where you care for yourself… even if it means wearing bunny ears and dabbing toner like a fool.

he’d do it a thousand times over if it meant you’d smile like that again

[norrisainz33]

crossfire || gr63

summary: max verstappen's little sister has been a staple in the f1 paddock for years and for all of those years he has kept her from dating a driver..... until now that is and it just so happens to be one of his biggest opps

pairing: george russell x verstappen!reader

fc & warnings: poorly translated dutch, sibling fighting, kelly p makes 1 insta comment and some bad language

requested: yesss thank you for requesting!!

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynverstappen has made a post

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, liamlawson30, isackhadjar, olliebearman, georgerussell63, lando, iamrebeccad, dior, and 1,963,340 others

ynverstappen: oh how i love summer 🌞🌊🍷

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user1: oh how i love you

maxverstappen1: could've been enjoying summer with me in st barts but ok

ynverstappen: you just won't let that go huh

maxverstappen1: no! can't believe u chose friends over family

ynverstappen: diva alert

kellypiquet: just ignore him sweetheart

user2: shes got that summer glow fr

yourbff: i'm so jealous of you. mail me that bathing suit NOW!

maxverstappen1: wait are you not with her?

user12: hold on a second... why this seem so fishy and idek whats going on

schecoperez: ☀️🏝️❤️

ynverstappen: 🤍🥰

user63: no y'all don't understand....i'm like 97% sure that is george russells boat in the second slide

user1: ok grandma pack it up

user63: no im serious!! go look at his instagram story and TELL ME those boats don't look identical

f1gossip: you have made a very interesting observance here user63

user5: please just reject me so i can move on

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f1gossip: it's been brought to our attention that it appears like y/n verstappen, sister to our world champion, has been spending some time on george russell's boat after telling her brother max that she'd be spending time with her best friend y/bff/n. i think the only explanation for the deception would be that george and y/n have a secret fling that they very much don't want max to find out about... what do you all think?

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user1: as a resident grussell sprout, i can say with certainty that the first photo from y/n is without a doubt george's boat

user3: my favorite little horse has got to keep himself safe from the verstappen's pls

user2: max is gonna lose it after this. the rb is already causing him pain and now we've got y/n with his enemy

user4: i'd give my left leg to be a fly on the wall of whatever conversation y/n and max have

user5: DEF the same boat in these pictures aint no way

user6: wait y/ngeorge is kinda cute

user7: she should be with meeeeee whyyyyy george of all people

user8: georgie porgie for the WIN

georgerussell63 has posted to his story

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user3: ……. ok well way to rub it in that you’re no longer single. i’ll see myself out

yourbff: george ……. this…….. i can’t keep defending you both

georgerussell63: blimey neither of us are good at this soft launch thing

user4: nah that’s y/n i recognize that sweater and ring

ynverstappen: GOERGE DELTE!! DELETE DELETE DELETE MAX BOUGHT MY THAT RING HE IS GONNA RECOGNIZE IT PLEASE DELETE THUSBGEORGE

georgerussell63: too late….. he saw it

ynverstappen: great!!! i literally just talked him off a ledge 2 days ago and now this

georgerussell63: what kind of brother even buys their sibling custom made jewelery im 😭😭😭😭😭

ynverstappen: THE SWEET AND THOUGHTFUL KIND 😔

georgerussell63: is the sweet and thoughtful one in the room w us rn bc i think we’ve got the crazy and angry version instead

ynverstappen: the sweet and harmless version of him is in there somewhere 😭

georgerussell63: well…….. it’s been nice knowing you my love. i think im not surviving this race weekend

user21: porge why would you do this to me

mercedesamgf1: oh so you wanna soft launch but not tell me with who?

georgerussell63: you’ll find out soon enough admin

user12: don’t be shy tell us who this is

kimi.antonelli: hello???????

georgerussell63: i’ve really enjoyed being your teammate man. you're such a great kid and a very talented driver

kimi.antonelli: ??? are you sick or something

maxverstappen1: that’s my sister. i had that ring custom made for her in italy. i swear to god if one of you doesn’t start explaining im going to run directly into you in turn one and even then i think i still might. it’s about time i go bowling

georgerussell63: hey so…… yes… that’s your sister. there is no denying that. i’m sorry it’s taken us so long to tell you but we were worried about exactly this. max mate i love your sister. more than i’ve ever loved anyone or anything before. i know it’s not exactly ideal and we don’t have to be best mates but can’t we at least try to make it work and not kill each other… at least for y/n/n?

maxverstappen1: i’m sorry… this has been going on for so long that you LOVE her?????

georgerussell63: we’ve been together for almost a year

maxverstappen1: george tell me you’re kidding

georgerussell63: i’m not

✿

after the 15th missed call in the span of ten minutes, you knew there was no more pretending. no more brushing it off, no more acting like the fan pages and your brother hadn’t figured it out. no more hiding.

you groaned and finally hit accept, pressing the phone to your ear. “max emilian, please—”

“do not even start with me,” he snapped, voice already raised. “care to explain yourself?!”

you flinched, pulling the phone away slightly before bringing it back to your ear with a heavy sigh. “george and i are dating,” you said calmly though your stomach was in shambles. “we have been for about a year now and he makes me really happy max.”

there was a beat of silence but it wasn’t relief. it was the kind that comes right before a storm. “are you kidding me?!” max exploded. “how many times have I told you not to get involved with my coworkers?!”

“yeah, you've made that very clear,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “you’ve warned off every single driver who’s ever even looked in my direction.”

“and for good reason!” max yelled. “this world and this paddock are a mess. It’s politics and pressure and cameras everywhere. you don’t need to get dragged into it.”

“i’m already in it max!” you shot back, standing now, unable to sit still. “i was born into it just like you, remember? I’m your sister and jos is my dad too. i know what this world is like just as well as you do! just because i didn't make it to f1 and failed at karting and am not the favorite child prodigy like you, doesn't mean i don't understand.”

“but george?” max interrupted completely glossing over what you had said. “you had to go for my least favorite person in the entire damn paddock? could have at least been like lando or even yuki… hell even liam?!”

“he’s not who you think he is!” you defended without hesitation. “you see him through this stupid grudge you refuse to let go of. but he’s kind, max. he listens. he’s patient. and he’s never made me feel like I had to hide who I was like i have to do with you.”

that last part slipped out before you could stop it.

max went quiet.

“you’ve been so busy controlling everything around me that you didn’t even notice that i’ve been happy. genuinely and truly happy. for the past year. and I kept it from you because I knew you’d react like this like I’d betrayed you somehow.”

“it feels like you did,” he said quietly, all anger in his voice seemingly disappeared. “you’re my sister, my closest friend. and you didn’t trust me with this.”

“i wanted to,” your voice shook as you felt the tears coming on. “but you made it impossible.”

silence again, this time a heavy one.

finally, max sighed on the other end. “so what now?”

“now you have a choice,” you said softly. “you can keep holding on to whatever it is you have against him or you can try to see what I see. i’m not asking for a blessing. just... maybe don’t start a fist fight the next time you see him or cut his break lines or run into him on purpose.”

max let out a dry laugh, and you could practically hear him running a hand down his face. “no promises.”

✿

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f1gossip: good news grusselistas! george appears to have survived his first interaction with max after boatgate (where y/n verstappen and george were spotted on the same yacht and have bee subtly soft launching each other). reports say the conversation started out heated and several folks heard max raising his voice animatedly but in the end the pair hugged it out and even shared a few laughs.

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user1: i'm sorry this set of pictures is sending me. ofc george is diva'ing his way into max's good graces

user2: DIVA ALERT 🚨

user3: no i was genuinely kinda scared for george's safety. max does NOT play about his y/n/n 🤯

user4: thank GOD. russtappen agenda is ALIVE 🤩

user5: WAR IS OVER (i think)

user6: y/n is uniting enemies and squashing beefs. her power is unmatched 😍

user7: god george looks so stupid i love him so much

ynverstappen has made a post

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ynverstappen: the rumors and boatgate are true! i am in love with george william russell!! but i mean look at him... how could i not be??? congrats to george on an incredible drive today. i am so proud of you 🩵🩵

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user1: whoa you in mercedes gear is jarring

sophiekumpen: happy that you're happy my pretty girl

ynverstappen: bedankt mama 🤍[thanks mom]

user4: not the russtappen i was hoping for but seems it is the russtappen that i needed

georgerussell63: i love you to the moon and back y/n/n 🥰

ynverstappen: i love you too my handsome man 🤍

kimi.antonelli: so this is why george was acting like he was going to die and telling me how much he appreciated me

ynverstappen: yes 😔 george was convinced the end was near

georgerussell63: because there was not a 0% chance that it was

mercedesamgf1: we're glad both of our drivers are safe

maxverstappen1: i finally made myself stomach the idea of you with him and now you're wearing mercedes merch? zus, je stelt mijn geduld op de proef. [sister, you are testing my patience]

ynverstappen: kom er al overheen. i wear your merch every other day of the week. [get over it already]

maxverstappen1: fine... but lets keep it to a minimum

user12: i was truthfully unfamiliar with gr's game

lando: it's about time fr (max i didnt know they were official pls don't yell at me)

ynverstappen: hehehehe yes 🤯

maxverstappen1: lando .... what did you know tho? 🤨

lando: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i cant tell you

georgerussell63: lando mate be careful

user21: y/n being with a mercedes man is killing me but if max can let it go... so can i

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georgerussell63: some things are worth the risk. thanks for a great weekend and all of the support at the track! see you all again next sunday

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user9: this is so sweet i love this 🥹

lewishamilton: brave man!

georgerussell63: yes sir!

user55: something about this feels so right 😭

charlesleclerc: let me catch an invite to the next family dinner merci

ynverstappen: only if you bring leo

charlesleclerc: done

user7: y/n is literally glowing. you can like feel her happiness through the screen

ynverstappen: your tenacity, talent and commitment continue to amaze me george. i'm so beyond grateful to share this life with you 🤍

georgerussell63: crikey this is going to make me cry. i am so lucky to have someone like you in my corner 🩵

user44: y/n and george's mom both hugging him... i am certainly not tearing up rn

maxverstappen1: be good to her (this is a threat)

georgerussell63: i will be mate dont worry

user99: i have no one to talk to about this! this is everything!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[monserelates]

Love, Actually

⇨james potter x f!reader

⇨summary: Everyone knows James Potter is hopelessly in love with Y/N. So when he suddenly starts mooning over another girl, the entire school is left confused—including Y/N, who isn’t the type to sit around and cry. She's loud, proud, and absolutely not affected. Until she is.

⇨warnings/notes: stubborn!reader, outspoken!reader, use of y/n, cheeessyyy, fluffy ending, light angst, swearing, emotional angst, mutual pining, jealousy, protective Marauders, happy ending

word count: 1.6k

It starts with confusion.

James Potter has loved Y/N since third year. That’s not an exaggeration, it’s Hogwarts common knowledge. Professors are in on it. First-years whisper about it. There are unofficial bets in three different Houses about when he’ll finally make a move.

So when he shows up at breakfast grinning like a fool and sits beside Eleanor Buckerfield instead of Y/N—everyone pauses.

Then he leans into Eleanor's side and says, “Has anyone ever told you your eyes shine like the color of a summer meadow?”

Sirius chokes on his pumpkin juice.

Peter looks up. "What the bloody hell even is that compliment?"

Remus stares.

Y/N freezes, toast halfway to her mouth.

“What the actual fuck,” she mutters.

“Must’ve bumped his head on a Bludger,” Marlene says under her breath, glaring across the table.

“No,” Lily whispers. “Look at his pupils. Too dilated. Something’s off.”

“Obviously,” Y/N snaps, standing up and throwing her bag over her shoulder like nothing’s wrong. “Potter’s just being a fucking idiot again. What else is new?”

She doesn’t storm off. She walks like she could, but she won’t give anyone the satisfaction.

Not even him.

The worst part? He keeps it up.

All day.

Charms, Herbology, dinner. James follows Eleanor like he’s under a trance. He carries her books. Laughs at her jokes. Brings her a carnation from the greenhouse and tells her, “It matches your lips.”

Y/N doesn’t care. Of course she doesn’t.

She definetly does not want to bang her head into a wall or jump to the black lake.

In fact, it’s not like she ever liked James.

Sure, she used to laugh at his dumb Quidditch metaphors and ruffle his hair when he was pouting and take care of him when he's sick and know his favorite flavor of the Bertie Bott's beans ( Tutti-Frutti ) so whenever Sirius bought some she'd always set them apart for James and pretend not to notice how he stared at her when she wasn’t looking—but that meant nothing.

So when Lily gently says, “Are you okay?” that night in the dorm, Y/N just scoffs.

“Obviously I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be? He can fall in love with whoever he wants. It’s not like I ever gave a cared.”

Dorcas raises an eyebrow. “You just crushed your quill.”

“It was old anyway.”

“You stabbed it clean through the Transfiguration schedule.”

“It was an ugly schedule.”

In the corridor the next day, James walks by with Eleanor, hand in hand.

Y/N doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t say a word.

Just turns to Sirius and says, “That’s not James.”

Sirius frowns. “You think it’s Polyjuice?”

“No,” she says. “It’s him. But it’s not him. You know?”

And Sirius, who knows James better than anyone, nods slowly. “Yeah. I do.”

By Thursday, it’s not funny anymore.

James is paler. Slower. His laugh sounds forced. His eyes are always red-rimmed like he hasn’t slept.

And Eleanor? She’s smug. Too smug. Her hand never leaves his arm.

At dinner, he tries to feed her strawberries.

She giggles.

Y/N drops her spoon.

The clatter is deafening.

James doesn’t look up.

“He’s sick,” Lily says later that night. “You saw the way he stumbled. He didn’t even finish his dessert.”

Marlene nods. “Probably a love potion. But it’s too strong. It’s eating him alive.”

Y/N is silent.

Then: “How do you break a love potion?”

Dorcas looks up. “Depends on the spell. Some wear off. Some need antidotes. The powerful ones?”

She pauses.

“True love’s kiss.”

Y/N rolls her eyes so hard it could crack glass. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Lily pushes.

“Because I’m not the protagonist in a cheesy romance, Lils. He can rot.”

But she doesn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, James faints in the courtyard.

He hits the cobblestone hard, face ashen, lips cracked. Eleanor shrieks and drops him like a sack of potatoes.

Madam Pomfrey is summoned. She takes one look and says, “Someone’s cursed this boy.”

Up at the top of the stone staircase, Y/N stands frozen.

Then she sees Eleanor's—arms crossed, trying too hard to feign shock.

And Y/N snaps.

She storms down the steps, fury radiating off her like wildfire. Her wand is already in her hand before anyone can blink, Peter tries to stop her, but Sirius holds him back. "I've been waiting for this one."

“You,” she hisses.

Eleanor turns, smug until she sees the look in Y/N’s eyes.

“I didn’t— I don’t know what happened—”

“Cut the bullshit.” Y/N’s voice is low, dangerous. “You spiked him. You put him under something, and now he’s dying, you stupid cow.”

“I didn’t mean—he liked me—!”

“No. He never liked you. He barely tolerated you. He’s been in love with me since third year, and everyone knows it—except your delusional ass.”

Eleanor pulls out her wand.

"Talk about delusional, you're just mad little Jamie got over you."

Y/N raises her wand.

“Expelliarmus!”

Eleanor's wand flies out of her robe.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Eleanor stiffens mid-stammer and crashes backward into a bush, frozen.

There’s a beat of silence.

Someone claps.

Sirius mutters, “Hot.”

Remus elbows him.

"She ate that up, to be honest" Marlene said, whispering to Lily who nodded.

Y/N doesn’t wait. She throws her wand back in her pocket and bolts toward the Hospital Wing.

The Hospital Wing smells like mint and moonflower and antiseptic.

Y/N’s hands are cold as she sits beside James, who hasn’t stirred. His skin is too pale. His lips have lost that familiar flush, and his curls—usually a mess of warmth and chaos—are limp against the white pillowcase.

Madam Pomfrey had said the curse needed to be broken willingly. That something true, something pure, had to reach him through the fog.

But Y/N’s not thinking about that.

She leans down.

"James," she whispers. "C’mon. This is ridiculous."

She places a hand on his chest. Feels the irregular thump of his heart.

“You were mine first. Do you hear me? Mine. I’m the one who made you laugh in Potions and the one who goes to your parent's house every christmas break, helping your mother bake cookies—me.”

He doesn’t move.

She swallows. Her voice breaks. “You don’t get to leave me. Not like this. Not when we’ve spent years dancing around this thing like idiots.”

Still nothing.

And then—

It’s not desperate.

It’s gentle. Affectionate

Her lips brush against his like a promise kept, broken. Like she’s daring him to come back to her.

Like she’s always known he would.

It’s not a grand kiss. Not the stuff of legends.

It’s soft.

Warm.

Honest.

Like home.

For a breath, everything is still.

And James gasps.

Eyes flying open.

He stares at her.

“Y/N?”

She hugs him so tight his ribs might crack.

“You absolute dimwit,” she breathes into his shoulder. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

His voice is hoarse. “You were jealous.”

“I was concerned.”

“You kissed me.”

“You were dying.”

“You slapped me.”

“I did not?”

"Oh, that must've been Eleanor then."

"She did what? Does she really want to be hexed again?" You picked up your wand.

"M' just kidding, love. Wait. You hexed her?"

You smile sheepishly. "Maybe."

“I—bloody hell, I think I’m in love with you,” he mumbles, dazed.

Y/N grins, smug as ever, and presses her forehead to his. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I know.”

Meanwhile, in the staffroom…

Professor McGonagall slides a galleon into Professor Sprout’s palm.

Slughorn hums. “Told you the kiss would break it.”

Filius chuckles. “I bed she'd deck him or hex someone. I stand vindicated.”

Binns floats by. “They remind me of a young couple in 1642…”

Everyone ignores him.

Dumbledore walks in, eyebrows raised with amusement. “She hexed Eleanor.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Slughorn beams. “Brilliant, that one.”

Sprout nods thoughtfully. “That spellwork showed real control.”

Filius whistles low. “She managed a silent hex under that much emotional strain? Impressive.”

McGonagall smirks into her tea. “And with excellent aim, I might add.”

Sprout leans forward. “Next wager—when do they finally shag?”

McGonagall sputters mid-sip. “Pomona!”

Slughorn claps. “Put me down for next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Dumbledore smiles, eyes twinkling. “Ah, young love.”

Back in the dorm later that night:

“She kissed him,” Dorcas hisses, dramatically flopping onto her bed like it's breaking news while you laugh.

“Aw, he's like a puppy,” Marlene says through a yawn, “an over-excited one that just found its favorite toy.”

Lily sighs dreamily, arms tucked behind her head. “I’m just glad they finally stopped being so bloody oblivious.”

Dorcas rolls her eyes. “True love’s kiss. Classic.”

Marlene perks up. “And did you hear what Flitwick said on the way out of the Hospital Wing? ‘Pay up, Minerva. I told you she’d crack first.’”

Marlene snorts, then cackles. “I love this school. They should just shag already.”

From the hallway:

“I HEARD THAT!” James’s voice echoes from beyond the dormitory door.

Lily doesn’t even blink. “Good! Tell Y/N to kiss you again so we can start round two!”

Y/N, sitting on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a blanket and holding a mug of cocoa, freezes.

“What?! We’re just—best friends!” she says, way too quickly.

Three heads snap toward her in unison.

Dorcas raises an eyebrow. “You're a dumbass.”

Lily snorts. “You kissed him and hexed a girl for flirting with him.”

Marlene, deadpan: “You called him ‘love.’”

Y/N blinks. “Okay… but like… in a platonic way?”

Dorcas throws a pillow at her. “You’re the spell that needs breaking.”

Marlene leans over, whispering to Lily: “Five sickles says she’ll kiss him again before Friday.”

From the hallway, again:

“MAKE IT TWO!” James yells.

Y/N groans into her cocoa. “I hate all of you.”

Lily just smiles. “No, you don’t. You’re in love.”

[fromdove]

Jason had always been too much.

Too loud, too fast, too stubborn. He could never just be in the way that people seemed to want him to. Even now, years after resurrection, after countless fights and the League’s brutal remaking of his body, after the Pit had burned away all softness, he still caught himself moving like that scrawny, half-starved kid from Crime Alley — slipping between shadows, ducking his head to avoid attention, bracing for the next blow.

But he wasn’t small anymore.

He could see it in the way people looked at him — sidelong glances, half-hidden wariness. He towered now, broad-shouldered and heavy with muscle. A wall of a man. Built like a weapon.

And sometimes he hated it.

There were nights when his body felt like a costume he couldn't take off — too large, too loud even in stillness. He’d lie awake with his hand curled against his ribs, willing his heart to slow, not even sure why he felt so wrong in his own skin.

But not with you.

You didn’t flinch when he brushed past you in tight hallways. You didn’t shrink from his size, or his moods, or his silences. You had a way of just… existing beside him, calm and steady, like the eye of a hurricane.

It was late when it happened. A long patrol, a bruised shoulder, dirt still under his fingernails. He didn’t say much when he walked in, just stripped off the Red Hood armor piece by piece, until he was bare and quiet and aching.

You were already in bed, curled in loose sheets, and when he sank into the mattress beside you, something in him gave out. All that strength, all that careful control — gone in an instant. He reached for you instinctively, spooning behind you like muscle memory, tucking his face against your neck.

But then you turned in his arms.

“No,” you whispered gently, not unkind. Your hands were warm against his chest, guiding him, shifting him — and before he could ask what you were doing, he was the one being cradled.

You pulled him in, let him rest his head on your chest, your arm curling over his wide back like you could hold all of him — and the strangest thing was, you did.

No one had ever held him like that.

Not Bruce. Not Alfred. Not anyone.

He wasn’t a weapon here. Not a soldier, not a ghost, not a lost Robin who had clawed his way back from death. He was just Jason. He was your Jason.

You carded your fingers through his hair, slow and unhurried, and asked softly, “Wanna take a bath with me in the morning?”

He nodded against your collarbone, eyes closed. His breath evened out.

It was the best night of sleep he’d had in months.

He didn’t say it out loud — not yet — but he was possessive. Fiercely, utterly yours. But not in the way people might assume.

He didn’t need to own you.

He needed to belong to you.

Every night he came home and saw the light still on, your smile still waiting, he felt the weight in his chest ease just a little more. He could live with the monster in his mirror, the blood on his gloves, the ache in his bones — if it meant this. If it meant you.

He didn’t care if he was your first. Didn’t care about perfect love stories.

He just wanted to be your last.

And if you’d let him, he’d be yours forever.

[em1i2a3]

If you take requests or suggestions, i believe that you would execute a bob reynolds fic with this plot ✨perfectly✨

I literally LOVE all of your bob fics. They’re my comfort reads before i go to bed at night!

Body Paint

Pairing: Bob.Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You are trying to find the best smudge proof lipstick for the upcoming gala that the team needs to attend tomorrow, and you have found the perfect test subject for the swatches.

Warnings: Pure and utter fluff, and there’s quite a bit of sexual tension. The reader and Bob both have feelings for each other and they’re both well aware of the mutual interest (secretly of course), she takes this as an opportunity to tease.

Author’s Note: I loved this request so much and I immediately started writing it because I was so excited to give it a go! So So Fun! Thank you for the submission! :) (also credit to the artist who made the drawing too because it’s fantastic)

Word Count: 3,362

You gave every drug store lipstick display a run for its money with the collection you had laid out across the bathroom sink. An entire rainbow of tubes was scattered in a controlled type of chaos–organized first by shade, then grouped meticulously by brand. Reds on the left, mauves and berries in the middle, and neutrals off to the right like a little modest army. You had even gone so far as to lay a folded white towel beneath the lineup like a staging mat, saving yourself from scrubbing stains off the marble countertop. The air smelled faintly of your makeup remover wipes–sweet and sterile–and your forearm was streaked with half-dried swatches, but it just wasn’t good enough.

This was all in the name of finding the lipstick. The one that not only matched the dress you were wearing to the PR gala tomorrow, but one that was also smudge-proof. You didn’t want feathering, or fading, and you certainly didn’t want it transferring onto napkins, glasses or people.

You wanted security.

You knew you should’ve started this task earlier in the week, but between back-to-back recon debriefs, endless intel meetings, and mediating three separate team arguments that nearly ended in Walker and Yelena actually strangling each other, the lipstick trials had fallen to the bottom of your to-do list.

Now there was less than twenty-four hours to go, and you were elbows-deep in swatches and stress.

You capped one more tube with a dissatisfied sigh and reached for the next–

Only to pause at the sound of a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Y-Y/N?” Came Bob’s voice–muffled, hesitant and laced with that familiar nervous warmth. “I-I need to come in and get my brush. I forgot it after my s-shower…” You froze, mid-reach, one hand hovering over a berry toned satin finish tube. Your lips curled into a slow smile.

Perfect timing. For you, anyway. For Bob? That remained to be seen. You crossed the small tiled room in a few barefoot steps and swung the door open with a grin.

“Excellent! You’re just who I need.” Bob blinked at you like a deer caught in LED headlights. His shirt–black, baggy, and soft–was damp around the collar, clinging to his skin and chest in a way that made it impossible not to look. His light brown hair curled at in little waves at the ends, still damp from his shower that was still kissing the walls, and the navy sweatpants sitting low on his hips were hugging him far too well for a man who clearly didn’t see himself in the way you were seeing him in.

”…Wh-What?” He asked, brows furrowed, gaze daring from your eyes to the mess of tubes on the counter.

“Come in,” You said smoothly, reaching out and tugging him gently by the wrist, guiding him over the threshold with ease, “Sit on the toilet lid, and hurry up with the hair brushing…I need a test subject.” He obeyed-but only in the way someone might follow a siren calling them to certain doom. He moved like he wasn’t sure if he’d stepped into a trap or a daydream.

”L-Last time I heard the words ‘test s-subject’ I ended up getting injected with a sun god…” He mumbled, grabbing the brush from the hanging organizer on the shower door. You laughed, warm and low at the comment.

“Relax. I’m not injecting you with anything. You’re perfectly safe with me.” Bob sat down slowly, brush limp in his hand as his gaze swept across the counter again, scanning over the contents that you had lined up with such care.

”S-So what is all of t-this?” You turned slightly towards him, unscrewing a velvet-matte red as you spoke.

“I’m trying to find the perfect lipstick for the gala tomorrow,” You said matter-of-factly, swiping the colour gently across your bottom lip, “It has to match my dress and it has to be smudge-proof.”

Bob tilted his head, watching your quick movements intently, “Smudge-proof?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be constantly running to the bathroom to check for fading or fix transfer stains. I want to actually enjoy the night. Have a drink. Maybe dance. You know…Breathe.” He gave a thoughtful little nod, bringing the brush through his damp hair.

”D-Didn’t really think about that, a-actually…” You turned away from your reflection to look at him, a coy smile peeling onto your lips.

“Most guys don’t.” But Bob wasn’t most guys of course, and as expected, a beat later he added to the conversation again…

”…W-Wait…Why does it have to be completely smudge-proof though? I mean if you’re just–“ You shrugged, letting your gaze flick toward the mirror, while your lips pressed together, transferring the color over to the bare one above.

”You never know,” You said casually, “I might be planning on kissing someone.” Bob froze like someone had yanked all the oxygen out of the room. His cheeks–already pink from the post-shower warmth–turned a deeper, rosier red in seconds. It bloomed across his cheekbones, dusting the tips of his ears, and spread like a sunburn. His mouth opened slightly like he meant to say something, but all he managed to get out was:

”O-Oh…” He choked, swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat. The brush in his hand was still mid-motion through his damp locks, but it had stopped moving entirely. You smiled at him.

”Alright,” You started, twisting the lipstick down and putting the cap back on with a soft click, “First one. You ready?” He nodded slowly, like he couldn’t trust his voice. His eyes tracked you as you stepped forward–deliberate and unhurried–until you were standing directly between his legs.

His brush lowered slightly, and then the wave of your scent hit his nose.

Your perfume was warm, and sweet, with a hint of plum riding off of the tail end of each inhale he took. Beneath the main notes there was something tropical–maybe coconut from your makeup remover, or the vanilla-tinged balms you always wore when your lips were bare.

But now your lips weren’t bare at all. They were red, and bold, and smooth, just like fresh velvet. He looked up slowly, through his lashes, and found you were already staring down at him. You tilted your head, smiling, the curve of your mouth smug in a way that made something tighten in his chest.

You didn’t say anything as you reached forward–fingers brushing gently along the side of his jaw, your thumb just beneath the hinge of it. He let you tilt his head more toward you like he was made of clay and you were the ceramicist.

He dropped the brush into his lap, forgetting about it completely.

Your face hovered near his and he could feel his breath hitch audibly. You leaned in slow enough that he swore he could hear his own heartbeat ringing through the room.

Then your lips pressed to his cheek.

Warm, firm and lingering. It wasn’t a quick peck either. Not an innocent brush. It was a kiss.

You lingered just long enough for him to feel the curve of your mouth, and the faint stick of product with the pressure of intention behind it. He could smell the stain now–berries and heat, sharp pigment and your sweet breath that had a faint scent of strawberries from the gum you chewed on. If he was a sailor and you were the siren…He would be dead at sea.

When you pulled away, he swore the room was spinning a little. You cocked your head to the side and looked at the mark you had left just above the apple of his cheek. A bright, undeniable red, plastered on his pale tone.

“Hmm,” You said thoughtfully, “Definitely transferred.” Bob sat in stunned silence, skin still tingling from where your mouth had been–he didn’t know whether it was because he was allergic to the ingredients or because it was just him buzzing from all the adrenaline, though he would find out in due time. You dabbed at your own lips with a tissue saturated in make-up remover, wiping the colour clean.

“Not a keeper,” You mumbled, “It’s a shame–it was a really good match.” He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t find words, nor could he find a way to breathe. He didn’t even know how he was still alive at this point, all he knew was he saw you reach out again.

You selected the next shade carefully.

A sultry plum–deep, and elegant, with just enough bite to stand out. You rolled the colour across your lips in smooth, practiced strokes, then blotted once on a folded tissue before turning back to him.

Bob still hadn’t moved an inch. He was still sitting frozen on the seat, brush limp in his lap, his shimmering blue eyes flickering between your mouth and the floor. The cheek you had kissed was flushed a bit deeper now.

“Test two,” You announced gently, stepping into his space again, until the hem of your t-shirt brushed against his thigh and he had nowhere left to look that wouldn’t betray him in some way. Your hand came up to his jaw again–just two fingers this time, soft and easy, tilting his face the opposite way.

His lashes fluttered under the feeling of your breath brushing over them as you kissed him again. This time it was just below his temple, closer to the hinge of his jaw–closer to where his pulse was throbbing faintly beneath his skin. You pressed a little firmer this time, letting your breath fan against his ear.

Bob inhaled a quiet breath through his nose, attempting to keep himself calm, but in reality he was gripping the fabric of his sweatpants between his fingers like it was the only thing holding him back from collapsing. When you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, you just kept your focus on the mark.

”…Transferred,” You murmured, brushing your thumb lightly over the stain–making sure it was more of a caress than a swipe. You didn’t move back this time, you just grabbed another makeup wipe and removed the color before reaching for another.

It was a dusty rose this time, it was softer, and much more muted than any of the other colors he had seen you in.

Once you had applied it, you leaned in–closer now–and kissed the slope of his cheekbone, just beneath the curve of his eye. Your lips barely grazed the skin there–it was as if you did it to see if he would flinch or move.

Bob’s jaw tensed under your touch, and you were hyper aware of his breath hitting your skin in short, warm bursts, his chest lifting against you. He hadn’t said a word–but his hands had now left his lap and were gripping the edge of the counter, white-knuckled in anticipation.

You reached for the next tube–something far more delicate than the dusty rose before it. A pink so faint it was almost nothing at all. A whisper of colour. You applied it, blotted it, then turned again. Bob had somehow managed to get a handle on his breathing in the moments you were applying the next colour, but it was too controlled. You could practically feel the storm building beneath his skin, golden and humming, and desperate to stay still.

Your thighs brushed the inside of his knees as you tilted his head up to yours again, looking at the way his skin was flushed and warm, beneath the shades of pinks and reds…A gradient of restraint. You leaned in, and this time your kiss landed just beside the corner of his mouth, not touching it, but close enough to tease.

Bob made a sound. It was barely audible. A sof, helpless little nnnnh in the back of his throat–like a gasp that had gotten stuck on the way out. You didn’t say anything. You only bit back a knowing smile, and pretended not to hear it. You just wiped your lips again and moved on to the next shade–a creamy nude gloss, with just a hint of peach.

You came back in and kissed beneath his jaw, where the stubble was soft and patchy and tender. The spot made him twitch, his throat working under the weight of the kiss, like he was trying to swallow air.

His breathing changed then and became heavier and shallower.

And when you came close to him again, in a different shade–this time pressing your lips right onto his Adam’s apple–Bob’s head tipped back instinctively.

Like he was offering himself up to you–surrendering himself completely.

You continued to kiss him, moving progressively lower, marking him up with various shades. Then suddenly you found yourself at the hollow of his throat, just between the lines of his collarbones. His chest was rising faster now, with flush traveling beneath his shirt, like it was echoing the trail your mouth had carved against his skin.

You pulled back slowly, lips hovering about the damp collar of his shirt, bringing your hand up to brush over the fabric.

”Oops…” You murmured softly, putting on a teasing tone beneath your words, “I think I’m running out of room.” Bob looked down at you with eyes that were no longer blue. You hadn’t even noticed he had his eyes closed tightly for the majority of this until now.

There was gold flickering at the edges. Sentry was just barely cresting the surface–quiet, curious, and turned-on by the proximity. He was enamoured by what was happening, and Bob was allowing him to watch through his eyes because he was too focused on trying to keep himself together. The air around Bob was shimmering faintly, vibrating with tension like he was lighting up the room.

The sensation of your lips had done this…You had done this, and you were proud of it.

Your nails dragged gently down the front of his shirt, tracing a circle around the fabric.

”I think you may need to take this off…To give me more space of course.” You whispered, watching as his brain seemed to short-circuit. His eyes were still half-lidded, heavy with heat and something distant and flickering gold. But when they opened fully they met yours with the softest, most terrified kind of care, glancing down at your mouth just as your bottom lip slipped between your teeth…And that’s what did it for him. That was the punch of encouragement to the gut.

He gave you a small nod, then reached for the hem of his shirt. His hands trembled slightly from the kind of overstimulated shyness that lived just under the surface of his flesh, in the space between ‘I want this’ and ‘I don’t know what to do with all of it.’ He peeled the black shirt up slowly, exposing inch after inch of pale skin, dusted with freckles and pure heat. There were a few scars here and there. A mole right near the dip of his sternum. A faint sheen of sweat that bloomed across his chest and shoulders from the heat in the room–or from the heat of your lips…Possibly both.

The fabric came over his head, messing up his semi-brushed hair in the process, and he folded it carefully in his lap like he was going to get up to put it on display or something. You let yourself stare.

At the freckles on his collarbones, the ones on his biceps. The soft stretch marks that feathered under his arms and the little curve of his ribs as they flared gently with each nervous breath he took. You wanted to map everything with your mouth.

So you did.

You leaned in again, with a fresh colour on your lips–deep pink this time, and kissed just beneath his collarbone, then a little to the right, then down the slope of his chest–right over where his heart was pulsating beneath its shield of flesh.

Bob made a quiet sound, something soft and strangled that never made it fully out of his throat. His hands were still in his lap, his thumbs gripping the hem of the shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from grabbing yours. Every part of him was vibrating–his jaw clenched, chest rising, shoulders tense–and still he let you do it, staying perfectly still.

You changed shades, kissing higher, then lower.

A sheer gloss that glimmered under the light as you kissed just below the curve of his pec. A matte brick red as you moved toward the center of his chest. Then you put on something soft again, something nude and barely there, as you pressed your hands against his thighs for a bit of leverage while your lips found the inside slope of his ribcage. You could’ve sworn you felt his knees buckle under your hands.

By the time you reached the underside of his pectoral muscle, you heard the faintest breath catch in his lungs, like he couldn’t even take full breaths anymore. And then you kissed just above it.

One final, perfect kiss.

You pressed your lips down and held them there–longer, slower, firmer–fighting back the urge to mark the skin with something that wasn’t lipstick. You felt the flutter of his pulse beneath it. And when you finally pulled away, you let your lips ghost against him, your eyes trailing down to where you had kissed.

“Ooooh. This one’s good…I think we found it. No transfer!” You announced, looking up at Bob, seeing the ruined look plastered on his face.

His eyes were heavy, shot through with blue and gold. His mouth parted. His skin was flushed a deep red and marked in soft lip stains, all across his chest, neck, jaw, and face. The air shimmered around him like static clinging to the atmosphere, and he was breathless. He let out a sigh.

”P-Perfect,” He whimpered, so dazed his words barely had shape to them. His body shifted, like he was meaning to stand–maybe to retreat, maybe to run cold water over his steaming body, maybe just to breathe–

But you didn’t let him.

Before he could even try to get up, you surged forward and kissed him on the lips. Hungry, wet, and deep. You kissed him like it was the conclusion to a story you had been telling in colour across his skin. Bob let out a muffled, desperate little moan into your mouth, as his hands found your waist, then your back, then your hips–grabbing, pulling, and holding. He crushed you to him, allowing all his restraint to unravel all at once, letting what little control he had slip through his fingers.

You kissed him like you had wanted to from the very start. Like all the kisses around his whole body led to this one final one–this overwhelming, messy, and utterly perfect one.

He kissed you back with awe. With the kind of pressure that said ‘thank you, please don’t stop, I’ve been waiting.’

You pulled back just enough to breathe–barely. Your foreheads bumped, and the air between you was heat, electricity, and trembling silence.

Bob’s lips were swollen now. Kiss-bitten, and wet. But when you looked…

The colour on your lips hadn’t transferred onto his. You smirked, and reached up, gently swiping the faintest trail of spit off his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, tilting your head to the side.

”Fantastic,” You whispered, leaning forward just a bit, “It’s definitely kiss-proof.”

[redpulsive]

SYLUS ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡ Marking him up with lipstick before he takes a shower!

♡──♡──♡──♡──♡──♡──♡──♡

You take an opportunity to tease him before the two of you have a little date night together.

As you get ready for your date with Sylus, you’re finishing up your makeup look in the bathroom by putting on your favorite lipstick. Sylus walks in at the perfect time, clad in nothing but his leisurely robe as he heads to the shower before getting ready. You turn to him and gently grab the fabric that drapes him, stopping him in his tracks. He raises his eyebrow and a flashes you small smirk, slightly confused by your action. “What’s the matter, kitten? Are you going to miss me too much while I’m in the shower? Who knew you could be so clingy.” He teases. You play along with his teasing by requesting a kiss from him before he gets in the shower, which he happily obliges. As he leans in for a smooch, you quickly kiss him on the cheek instead. He looks in the mirror and sees the lipstick mark you gave him before glancing back at you. He feigns disappointment as he addresses your behavior. “Oh, that’s it? Seems like you won’t miss me that much if you’re only giving me a small kiss on the cheek.” You shake your head at his claim, pretending to care as you grab ahold his face and give him a kiss on his other cheek. He lets out a million dollar chuckle as he holds you by your hips and gently pulls you closer to him, begging for more. “Ah, what a little trickster you are. I suppose I can indulge in your game for a short while.” With his permission, you continue to pepper his face with kisses. Leaving marks on corners of his mouth, around his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, everywhere but his lips until his face looks like it’s riddled with a lipstick oriented disease. He keeps his eyes closed, occasionally opening them to see the reflection of the damage you’ve caused in the mirror, smirking to himself as you torture his face with your pretty lips. Eventually he gets a little dazed from the barrage of kisses, rubbing your back to try to get you to relax. “Alright, kitten… we need to-” before he can finish that sentence, you move your kissing assault down to his neck. He lets out a small huff and narrows his eyes, lightly squeezing your hip while his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly at the sensation. “Mm… you really can’t get enough, can you?” You shake your head as you don’t stop, leaving kiss after kiss until his neck is also plagued with the lipstick disease. “Sweetie…” he whines, pleading with you as the two of you share a glance with eachother. You don’t listen to his plea as your mouth starts making its descent to trail kisses down his chest, but you only get a few lipstick marks in before he suddenly cups your chin and stops you. You look a bit surprised as he tilts your head up to face him, giving himself access to plant a single sweet kiss on your lips, making you mark the one spot you purposefully missed. “I beat your game.” He rubs a thumb over your bottom lip as he whispers in your ear, smirking at your sheepish reaction. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it, but perhaps we should continue playing after our date. Then I won’t have a reason to wash off all of your markings until we wake up tomorrow.” He lets go of you and pinches your cheek before looking at himself in the mirror one last time. He’s taking in how much your lips have claimed him before ridding himself of his robe and stepping into the shower to clean your personal canvas for later use.

Aughhh this one was so fun to write!! I’d do anything to be able to kiss this man all over.

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