#6k celly blurbs

[bruisedboys]

peter parker and “is that my shirt?” prompt would be so cute!

congrats on 6k

thank u angel! hope u like this!! join the celebration

tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

Peter’s missed you so much he actually feels kind of sick. He’s practically buzzing as he unlocks the apartment door and lugs his suitcase inside.

“Angel?”

There’s a loud and very cute squeal from down the hall. Rapid footsteps, and then you appear in your pyjamas, beaming bright as the sun, looking like the prettiest thing Peter’s ever seen.

“Peter!” You squeal, a ball of excitement. “Baby. Oh my gosh.” You cross the room and throw your arms around his neck. Peter laughs, his chest flooding with warmth, and hugs you back twice as strong.

“Hi, honey,” he says, lovelorn. You smell amazing. You look like an angel. You’re squeezing him to death. He’s missed you so much he could cry. “Holy moly, I missed you so much.”

You giggle, turn your face into the side of his head and drag your nose along his jaw. “I missed you more,” you say, lips hot on his skin.

A shiver runs down Peter’s spine. He’s only had you back for a half a minute and you’ve already got him shivering? Typical. “Impossible,” he tell you. He runs his hands down your back and up again as if to prove to himself you’re really there.

You laugh and pull back, bouncing on your toes, to look him in the eye. You’re so, so beautiful. Somehow prettier than when he left you, which seemed impossible but apparently isn’t, not for you.

You reach up and push a lock of hair from his eyes. Peter’s hypnotised. He doesn’t get how one girl can be so achingly lovely, so pretty and so sweet, but you manage it. He slides his hands down to your waist, feeling like he might explode if he doesn’t touch every inch of you. It’s then that he recognises the familiar fabric of your shirt. He looks down.

“Hey, is that my shirt?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. He nudges you backwards with his hips to get a better look. It is his shirt. His favourite one, which he didn’t pack for his trip because it suspiciously went missing the day before he left. “It is!” He exclaims, pinching at your side. “You had it this whole time?”

You giggle at his prodding, and try twisting yourself out of the way. Peter keeps a firm grip on you, hand spread over your ribs, his glare full of accusatory heat.

“I’m sorry!” You say, giggling like an idiot when he pinches you some more. “I missed you, okay? Is that such a crime?”

Peter makes a face at you but his heart’s soaring. “Well, if you count theft as crime then yeah, I would say so.”

You huff. “You’re so dramatic!”

“I’m dramatic?” Peter feigns offence, pulling his head back incredulously. “You’re the one who stole my—!”

Your lips land on his before he can finish his sentence. His words are lost to your mouth. You push up into the kiss, fervent and hot. Your fingers curl into his collar and brush over the column of his throat, and Peter forgets everything else. He kisses you back just as hard, one arm hooked around your waist and the other bent between your chests to hold your jaw.

“Never mind,” he says between kisses. “You can keep the shirt, baby.”

You laugh against his mouth.

[bruisedboys]

Congrats on 6k!! Finnick please + ❛ was that your first kiss?❜

thank you angel! hope you like this x join the celebration

finnick odair x shy!fem!reader

Finnick Odair is endlessly sweet on you. You think he might like you, but that could just be your huge, unyielding crush on him talking. It’s why you’re so nervous walking up the path to his house. You really, really hope he’ll like the gift you’re bringing him, because you really, really like him.

Your feet seem to be out of commission, though. They feel heavy as you drag yourself up his steps, as if you’ve got bricks tied to your shoes. You make it to the front door without tripping over, at least.

You knock softly, your heart climbing to your throat. It’s lodged in your airways by the time you hear footsteps from inside the house. Fleetingly, you think about turning tail and running away before he answers the door. You could make it, if you really ran.

Before you can make any move of cowardice the door clicks and then swings open. Finnick appears behind it. Any thoughts of running simply vanish in the wind.

“Well, hello there, sweetheart,” he says, smiling. Two dimples poke into his cheeks, one on each side, and you forget how to breathe. He’s strikingly handsome, especially now, glowing in the last dregs of today’s sunlight. Streaks of gold and orange catch on the ends of his hair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You stare at him for a second too long before remembering your voice. “Finnick,” you manage, already breathless and you’ve only been in his presence all of two seconds. “Hi.”

Finnick’s smile grows. “Hi,” he says back. There’s something like fond amusement in his tone. “You okay?”

“I— yes. I’m okay.” Are you? Not really, not when he’s looking at you like that. “I um, I brought you something.”

Finnick looks at you quizzically. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, can I see it?”

Right. You’re still hiding your gift behind your back. You pull it out with a trembling hand.

“Here,” you say softly.

You hold it out to him. It’s a small woven basket, full to the brim with seashells you’ve collected from the beach. The prettiest ones you could find. You know he loves the sea, anyone with two eyes could see that. Even now, it’s obvious, his hair all curled at the ends from the saltwater, and his skin all lovely and tan from the sun.

Finnick takes the basket from you and doesn’t say anything. You watch his face. He blinks twice. Stares at your gift for a handful of seconds. Then he looks at you. The sun kisses his face and spreads over his cheekbones.

“This is for me?” He asks softly. He’s got something in his eyes that you can’t quite understand, but it makes you hot all over anyway.

“Um,” you stammer, feeling like you might burst into flames on the spot. “Yeah. I collected them for you.” And then he keeps staring at you, with so much intensity it burns, and gosh, maybe you’ve really messed up. “But! But if you don’t like it, I can totally—“

“Honey.” Finnick stops you with a hand on your elbow. You waver. Your skin feels branded by his hand, his touch electric. “I love it,” he says, with so much earnest it’s bruising. “Did you really collect all of these for me?”

Well, when he puts it like that, it makes it very obvious that you like him an inordinate amount. You flush from head to foot. “Yeah ... is that weird?”

Finnick shakes his head vehemently. “No, of course it’s not.” His hand’s still on your arm. He drags it down to your forearm, fingers curling into your skin. His thumb pushes into the inside of your wrist. You hope he can’t feel your racing pulse. “It’s really sweet. They’re so pretty, I love them, honey.”

He gives you a look like you’ve hung the moon for him. You would, if you could.

“I really hoped you would,” you admit, bashful. Something about the way he’s looking at you is unraveling you fast. Any more of this and you’ll be spilling your deepest secrets to him.

“Yeah?” He hums softly. His hand slides back up your arm, all the way up to the slope of your shoulder. You realise, suddenly, how close he is. When did he get this close? He’s over the threshold now and on the doormat with you. So close you can see where the light hits the very tips of his blonde eyelashes.

“Can I give you something now?” He asks in a murmur. He leans down so his face is inches from yours, so he’s all you can see. His strong jaw, his broad shoulders. He’s all-encompassing. “A kiss?”

You feel frozen to your spot. You’ve never been kissed before. You find you want it, though, no matter how scary. All you can do is nod, worried if you open your mouth your heart will jump right out.

You see a flash of Finnick’s kind smile before his mouth is pressed to yours and you’re slamming slam your eyes shut. He’s kissing you. Finnick Odair is kissing you. His hand moves to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his thumb pushing lightly into the back of your neck. You melt, heart thrumming with so many new, lovely feelings. His kiss is warm and soft, kind, like all the things he’s ever been to you.

When he pulls away you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You blink up at him, totally dazed. You might as well be in another world, with the way your head is swimming.

Finnick smiles at you. It’s kind. Though he looks almost as if he’s trying to bite back a bigger smile. “Was that your first kiss?”

Red hot embarrassment creeps up your neck and face. Was it that obvious? “How could you tell?” You ask in a whisper, half mortified.

“Hey, it’s nothing to worry about,” Finnick assures you quickly. “It’s just, you’re really stiff, sweetheart.” He rubs your shoulder firmly. You suppose you are quite stiff. “Loosen up, okay? Do you think I could give you another?”

Another kiss? From him? You can’t think of anything to say other than an anguished sort of plea. “Please.”

He indulges you.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[bruisedboys]

hi!!! i luv your writing, congrats on 6k 🤍 for the celebration can I request the prompt:

❛ was that your first kiss? ❜

w/ steve harrington? 

hi angel thank u so much for your request!

steve harrington x fem!reader

Steve is looking at you like he might kiss you. You desperately want him to.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. His lips move around the words seamlessly. You shouldn’t be watching his mouth so closely, but you are, and you can’t seem to pull your eyes away.

Steve must notice this because he brings a hand to your chin to tilt you up ever so gently. You’re pressed very close to each other, sitting with your legs dangling off the hood of his car. There’s plenty of room up here but Steve’s chosen to sit with his thigh pressed to yours. He looks down at you, something in his eyes that you can’t quite make sense of. The gold from his porch light reflects in his deep brown eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly. “Please?”

You blink up at him. Is he kidding? Maybe you’re dreaming. Your mouth struggles to form sound, your tongue in knots.

“Yeah,” you finally get out, more of a breath than a real word.

Steve looks back at you. His gaze is so intense you feel as though it could set you on fire. “Yeah?” He asks, unwaveringly kind as always. The corner of his mouth twitches with the whisper of a smile. “Are you sure?”

You swallow hard. You really, really want him to kiss you.

“Yes,” you manage to nod and hope you don’t sound too desperate.

Steve smiles, wide and pretty. He’s got such a lovely smile. It’s the last thing you see before your eyelids flutter shut. Half a second later Steve’s mouth is on yours.

It’s wildly different to anything you’ve ever imagined. It’s eons lovelier. Steve’s lips are soft and gentle, his hand at your chin carefully angling you up towards him. Your stomach explodes with butterflies, fluttering madly in your ribcage. Steve tastes like spearmint and raspberry slurpee. His other hand wanders to your hip, fingers brushing a strip of your skin where your shirt tides up. His palm cups your hipbone, a warm, heavy weight.

Being kissed is like touching starlight, you decide. It warms you from the outside in. Burns your fingertips and makes your chest buzz with white hot electricity.

When Steve pulls away, he’s stolen all the air from your lungs. You’re embarrassingly breathless. Steve doesn’t seem to care. His hands stay on you as he tilts his head to one side.

“Was that your first kiss?” He asks quietly.

You know he’s not trying to embarrass you, he never would, but you flush anyway.

“Yeah,” you admit, shy. “Was I bad?”

Steve shakes his head vehemently. His hair flops sideways. “No. No, of course not, sweetheart.” He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, his touch so tender it aches. “You were perfectly fine, honey.”

“Oh,” you say lamely.

Steve smiles at you lopsidedly. He’s so pretty, you think. You hope he wants to kiss you again.

He curls his fingers over your cheek to carefully tuck some of your hair behind your ear. His other hand slides up your side to rest in the dip in your waist. You feel something in your chest that you’ve never felt before. This lovely explosion of brilliant colours at the realisation that Steve really, really likes you. That you’re liked by someone as kind and as pretty as Steve Harrington. That in itself almost feels like a kiss.

Though, Steve must read your mind, because he angles you up again in line with his mouth.

“Since that was your first kiss …” he says slowly. “Would you like me to give you your second?”

All you can do is nod. Steve gives you your second kiss, and many more after that.

[bruisedboys]

❛you got me flowers?❜ + ❛aw, did you miss me?❜ with tasm!peter maybe?

thank you for the request blair!!!!! xx

tasm!peter parker x gn!reader

Peter’s never really been very nimble. Even after becoming SpiderMan, he’s still a little bit of a clutz. He’s lanky and much taller than he thinks he is, so he’s always under-compensating for his size and walking into things.

He makes it through your bedroom window without incident, but then he trips over a book on the floor and can’t catch himself because his hands are full. He goes thudding into the carpet. There’s a pause, and then he hears the shower shut off.

“Hello?” Your voice echoes from the bathroom, much too frightened for Peter’s liking. Whoops.

“It’s me!” He calls out, scrambling to his feet and ditching his effort to surprise you. “It’s Peter, honey, I’m sorry.”

Another pause. Then, “Oh, okay. Just give me a minute!”

Peter’s happy to wait, though he’d go barging into the bathroom if it was up to him. He sits on the end of your bed and brings the bouquet of flowers he’s holding to his lap. It’s a little wilted from his fall, a few petals on the outermost layer crushed. He doesn’t have time to fix them before he hears the bathroom door open and your footsteps down the hall.

“Are you trying to rob me?” You’re saying, amusement clear in your soft voice. “You aren’t very stealthy, Peter.”

You appear in the doorway with a huge smile, a towel wrapped around your otherwise bare body and your skin all dewy and fresh. Peter feels instantly like you’ve put him under a spell.

“I wasn’t trying to rob you,” he argues. His head is swimming. Worse when you cross the room to stand in front of his knees with a sugar sweet smile. He looks up at you, starstruck. “I was trying to surprise you. There’s a difference.”

You raise your eyebrows. Peter’s eyes catch on your bare collarbones. They skip over the dip of your throat, your sternum, the sparkling diamonds of water that cling to your skin.

“Is there?” You ask, amused.

“Uh. Yeah,” Peter says dizzily. He’s completely forgotten what he was just talking about two seconds ago. You smell exquisite. Your skin is smooth and shiny with moisturiser. He might die and you’ll be the culprit. He blinks once, twice, thrice, but his head doesn’t show any signs of clearing.

You giggle at his inadequacy, a sweet, airy sound that has Peter’s heart doing somersaults.

“Aw, Pete,” you say, faking sympathy. You take his face in a soft hand, fingers pushing to the space beneath his ear. “Did you miss me?”

Peter blinks hard. Your fingers set his skin on fire. “What makes you think that?” He asks, aiming for accusatory but landing on clumsy and starstruck.

You burst into laughter. Peter knows very well that you’re laughing at him. He finds he doesn’t care, not when you lean over him and press a kiss to his forehead.

“You’re cute,” you tell him fondly.

Peter blushes all the way up to his ears. Thankfully, you’ve become distracted by the bouquet of flowers in his hands and you don’t notice his very intense blush. He wouldn’t mind if you did, actually. You might call him cute again.

“Oh!” You gasp softly, and lift your eyes to Peter’s. “You got me flowers?”

Peter nods. “Yeah,” he says. Finally, he’s managed to say something without embarrassing himself. “Do you like ‘em?”

You nod vehemently. “They’re lovely, Peter. Let me get dressed, okay? And then we can put them in some water together.”

You touch his cheek and then move away, leaving him in a dizzying cloud of sweetness. He can still smell your moisturiser, still feel the heat of your hand where you’d touched his face.

“Cool,” Peter says, his voice two notches too high. Not his smoothest moment.

[bruisedboys]

congrats on 6k!!! loved the prompts lists you used soooo: sirius black + "you've got me flowers?" i think it would be cute if it was him being gifted the flowers BUT! totally up to you and your creative juicess

hi angel thank u for your request! loved this prompt for sirius!! join the celebration

rockstar!sirius black x fem!reader

Sirius knows you’ll be here soon, but he wishes he didn’t, because he feels a bit nauseous with the prospect of seeing you. You’ve never been to one of his shows before, this is your first. He’s worried you’ll hate it. Worried he’ll mess up his notes or trip over on stage and you’ll never want to see him again.

He’s thinking all this as he sits on a worn sofa backstage, plucking away at his guitar, practicing notes. Well, he’s not really practicing. He’s mostly just playing random chords with no rhyme or reason and thinking about you. He’s about to call you and maybe pretend the show is cancelled when the door opens.

“Hello!”

It’s you. Sirius looks up and finds you in the doorway looking so pretty and so excited to see him it hurts his chest. You’ve got on a lovely dress, and one of his leather jackets he leant you that you never gave back. Sirius thinks he actually might throw up.

“Hey, dove,” Remus says, happily leaning into your one armed hug. “You look nice.”

“Your boyfriend’s stressing,” James supplies unhelpfully, kissing your cheek in greeting.

You laugh and shove James’ curly head (he deserves it, Sirius thinks). Sirius watches, totally transfixed, as you cross the room and move towards him.

“Hi, Siri,” you say happily, coming to a stop in front of his knees. You give him a once over that makes him blush all the way up his neck. “You look killer.”

Sirius grins sheepishly and sets his guitar to the side. His face feels like it’s maybe on fire. You take his cheek in your lovely soft hand and bend at the waist for a kiss. Your perfume washes over Sirius and he thinks, I’m going to die. She’s going to kill me. But then you pull away, and he’s not dead, just very, very lovesick.

“It took me forever to find this place, it’s like, in the middle of nowhere,” you’re saying, apparently oblivious to Sirius’ weird mood. “Oh! I almost forgot-“

You reach into your tote and pull out something crinkly, holding it out to Sirius with a smile that could set him on fire.

“Here. They’re for you.”

Flowers. A huge bouquet of them in buttercup yellow and dusty pink, bursting out of cream tissue paper, tied with a lovely thick pink ribbon. Sirius blinks.

“You got me flowers?”

You giggle. “Well, yeah,” you say, like why wouldn’t I? “To say good luck. And I love you. And I’m so excited to see you play, I was listening to your stuff the whole drive here.”

Sirius thinks his heart bursts. What was he worrying about again? He takes the flowers from you, your fingers brushing his. “I— thank you, doll. That’s really sweet.”

You flush, clearly very pleased. “You’re always getting me flowers, aren’t you?”

“I suppose.” They’ve never seemed as significant as the ones you’ve just gotten him. These feel like pure gold in his hands.

“And I’m serious about being excited,” you say, flopping down onto the couch next to him, your hand moving to squeeze his knee. “You realise you’ve never looked more attractive, right?”

James laughs. Sirius chokes on air.

[bruisedboys]

congrats on 6k again !! can i request a hot chocolate for bodyguard!james potter (protective?) thank u sm <33

thank u sweetheart!! join the celebration

bodyguard!james potter x fem!reader cw for a very very brief mention of mild violence

“You’ve gotta be more careful, honey.”

You shy under James’ hot gaze. He’s mad at you, and you hate it more than anything because he never gets mad at you.

“I’m okay, James. Really,” you tell him, though your heart won’t stop racing. You still remember how the mystery man’s hands had felt on you, how hard he’d grabbed you before James had arrived and swiftly punched him in the nose. From there you don’t remember much, only a lot of voices and James hands on you, and a car ride home where he checked you over about a million times for injuries that weren’t there.

“I know you are,” James hums, tucking your hair behind your ear carefully. He towers over you where you sit on your bed. Usually his size feels comforting, like he could protect you from anything. Now it just feels intimidating. “But it could’ve been so much worse, sweetheart. Especially if I wasn’t there, you know?”

You blink up at him. “You’re always there.”

“I am. But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful.”

You sigh, embarrassed and upset at yourself. “I know.”

James sighs himself, a heavy, tired thing. You can’t help but feel it’s directed at you. It was your fault you almost got hurt tonight, your fault he and your parents are so disappointed with you. The corners of your eyes prickle with heat. Your face crumples.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” James is on you like a hawk, always one to read your expression like you’re an open book. He grabs your face, his big, hot hands pressed to your cheeks. “Don’t cry, sweetness. What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You want to shake your head but James’ hands are holding you still. “No,” you stammer. “I’m just … are you mad at me, James? I’m really sorry.”

James stares at you hard, dark eyebrows pinched in the middle. “Angel,” he says after a moment of this, voice dripping in what you think is pity and an overbearing amount of fondness. He slides his fingers to the space under your ear and shakes his head. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

“But—“

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way,” James says firmly. “But I’m not mad at you, sweet thing. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

A single, hot, tear tracks down your cheek. James swipes at it with his thumb.

“Are you sure?” You ask him quietly.

“I’m sure,” James says, nodding once. He smiles softly. “It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry for being firm with you. I was just so worried.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. You’ve never minded him being firm with you. It’s why you feel so safe with him. You’re so relieved to know he’s not mad at you, it feels like you can breathe again. “Thank you for looking after me.”

James smiles at you, chucks you under the chin and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll always look after you.”

When he says it like that, you know for certain you’re in good hands.

[bruisedboys]

Hi, your celly looks so fun! May I please request candy cane with either Finnick or Steve (whoever you're feeling) and face? I feel like you're so good at those moments of quiet intimacy and would love to see what you do with that. Ofc absolutely no worries if not, love you regardless!

(Also sorry if this sent more than once, my laptop died and I wasn't sure if it went through)

mae!! hi my lovely, I went with finnick for this one because I just couldn’t resist hehe. ily and thank u for the request x

join the celebration

prompt: sender turns receiver's face towards them.

finnick odair x fem!reader

“Let me look at you, honey.”

Finnick takes your face in one hand and turns you carefully to face him, your head propped up on two pillows. You’re feeling rather poorly, and his worried doting is a lot to manage, but you can’t deny that you’re really enjoying being looked after by him.

You meet his eyes over a sea of blankets and he grins, all lopsided and stunningly handsome. “There’s my pretty girl,” he says. “How’re you feeling, sweet thing?”

“Okay,” you say weakly. Better now he’s touching you like you’re made of starlight.

“Yeah?” He strokes your cheek. His fingers feel cool on your hot skin. “How’s your throat?”

“Not very good,” you admit. It aches when you swallow and it hurts to talk. It’s no use downplaying how you feel to Finnick. He knows when you’re lying and he’ll get it out of you in the end, anyway.

Finnick hums sympathetically. “I’m sorry, honey.” His fingers dip below your jaw and he presses gently against the side of your neck, presumably checking for swelling. He must find nothing, because he takes his hand back and smiles at you. His palm rests over your chest, warm and heavy. “Would you like me to make you another lemon and honey drink?”

“Yeah, please,” you nod. His hands feel nice on your aching body. You wonder if you can persuade him into cuddling you for the rest of the day. It wouldn’t be very hard to convince him, you think.

Finnick squeezes your shoulder gently. “Can I get you anything else?”

“A hug would be nice,” you suggest, hopeful in your miserable state.

Finnick visibly melts. He’s a mixture of utterly fond and very pitying when he says, “Of course, sweetheart.”

He bends at the waist to scoop you into a warm hug. You let him do most of the work, his arms working around your upper back to lift you very slightly off the mattress and into his chest. He’s warm, and he smells really nice. You bury your nose in the juncture between his shoulder and neck and breathe him in, wheedle your aching arms around his waist. He rubs your back, your skin prickling from his warmth.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling so awful,” he says softly. “Let me get you that drink, and then I’ll hug you all you want, okay?”

He’s so sweet on you. You wonder vaguely if his overbearing sweetness is what made you sick in the first place. You wouldn’t be surprised.

[bruisedboys]

aaaand for candy cane, how about the cold prompt from the first list with loml steve 🫶🫶 congrats again on 6k mal! u deserve every but and more ily

anna my angel thank u sm!! i love you lots mwah xx

prompt: sender places their jacket over receiver's shoulders.

steve harrington x fem!reader

“You look cold.”

You pull your gaze from the horizon, where the sun’s just dipped below the long stretch of ocean ahead of you. Steve’s standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and one hand cupping the opposite elbow. He’s frowning at you.

“Oh, hi, Steve,” you say, smiling up at him. He’s super tall. And super handsome. “I’m not cold.”

You kind of are. But you don’t want him to worry about you. He’d probably make the kids pack up just so he can take you somewhere warm, and they’re having the time of their lives playing volleyball on the beach right now. You’ve never heard Max laugh so much, and Dustin hasn’t complained about sand in his shoes once. You don’t want to ruin the fun just because you forgot to bring a sweater.

Steve hums in a disbelieving sort of way. You’ve got no escape as he sits down next to you on the log your perched on, stretches his legs out next to yours, and holds out his hands.

“Give me your hands?” He says, palms facing up.

Reluctantly, you put your hands on top of his. His skin is shockingly warm against your cold hands.

“Woah,” Steve says, eyebrows shooting up into his hair. He frowns at you as his thumbs push into the backs of your hands. “What are you, a snowman? You’re cold as ice, honey.”

Honey? You sit there dumbfounded for a moment. Meanwhile, Steve is sandwiching your hands between both of his in an attempt to warm you up, you suppose. It’s working, though you’re pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with his body heat, and everything to do with that fact that you have a schoolgirl crush on him and he’s really, really close right now.

“I’m fine,” you finally manage, a bit strained. It’s hard to think when he’s holding your hands in his, let alone talk.

Steve just frowns at you, disbelieving. “You should’ve said something sooner, babe,” he says. “Here, do you want my jacket?”

“No, Steve, that’s—“

But he’s already releasing you to shed his jacket, sliding it off his arms with ease to reveal a tight polo underneath. The material hugs his biceps, stretches across his lean chest. You’re so busy staring at his arms you forget to protest as he carefully places his jacket over your shoulders.

You’re instantly engulfed in a bubble of warmth. His jacket is a light material but it’s soft on the inside and much, much warmer than your thin t-shirt. Not to mention it smells so much like him it’s almost dizzying.

“There you go,” he’s saying, smoothing the material over your shoulders with his palms. His touching sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold. “Is that any better?”

“I— yeah. Yeah, Steve, thank you,” you stammer. Your heart pitter-patters in your chest. The jacket is nice but his kindness alone is enough to warm you through. “Thanks.”

Steve smiles at you. He doesn’t seem to notice your flustered state, or if he does, he doesn’t mention it.

“No problem,” Steve says, grinning boyishly. He rubs your shoulder one last time before drawing away. “Couldn’t let a pretty girl like you freeze to death.”

You spend the rest of your time at the beach hot as a flame.

[bruisedboys]

Congrats congrats congrats!!! So happy for you!

For the celly: Candy cane with tasm!Peter 

13﹕ sender  takes  a  [ picture / video ]  of  receiver

with Peter taking a picture of reader? Please and thank

hi baby thank you so much!! hope this is okay x

tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

“Y/N,” Peter’s tone is growing more and more impatient by the second, though it’s mostly for dramatics. He’s having fun, you can hear it in his voice, a smile he doesn’t even try to hide. “C’mon, bub. Just let me take one picture of you?”

You bury your hot face further into your hands. You do not want him to take a picture of you. He’s already tortured you with an overbearing amount of compliments and kisses, telling you how your dress makes you look like a princess and your hair is lovely and woah, dove is that glitter on your eyes? You barely tried, only put on the dress in the first place because tonight’s supposed to be a nice date night. But Peter’s spent so long fawning over you that you might miss your dinner reservation.

In any case, you don’t think you can take much more of Peter’s doting. You’re well on your way to becoming a burning flame of a girl.

“No, thank you,” you say primly. “I don’t want my picture taken.”

Peter makes an indignant noise. “But, sweetheart.” His hands grab your knees, hot and firm. “You look so pretty. I just want one.”

“Nope,” you say, stubborn as a rock. You refuse to succumb to his charm.

“Aw, come on, baby.” Peter gets closer. You can’t see him but you can feel his warmth, smell his cologne. His hands slide further up your knees. Your skin prickles. His fingertips slide just under the hem of your dress, nowhere important but high enough to make you want to squirm. He squeezes your upper thighs gently. “Please?”

You know exactly what he’s doing. You’d known he’d do this from the start and still, you’re putty in his hands. You feel his hot hands on you and realise you’d never be able to say no to him.

“Fine,” you mumble. You drop your hands and find Peter closer than you’d thought, smiling at you lopsidedly. He’s really pretty, so pretty it strikes you in the heart like a bullet. “But just one, Pete, I’m serious.”

“Okay,” Peter beams at you, pulling back. “Sure thing, bub.”

You glare at him while he moves back and fiddles with the dials on his camera. You may be acting grumpy about it, but you love him, and you love that he thinks you look nice enough to want a photo of you. He just makes you nervous, is all.

Peter finishes setting up his camera and smiles at you. “Alright, just sit there and look pretty, okay? Should be easy for you.”

“Peter,” you moan, heat crawling up your neck.

Peter just laughs, bringing his camera up to his eyes. “Smile, okay, sweet thing?”

You do as he says. You don’t think you could deny him when he’s talking to you like that.

“Perfect,” he tells you, smiling himself. “Okay, ready? Three, two, one, cheese!” Peter presses down on the button and his camera clicks, the flash blinding you momentarily before the harsh light fades from your vision.

You slide off his bed where he’s seated you as soon as he’s done, glad it’s over. Your peace is short lived, though. As you’re grabbing your purse from the dresser, Peter sneaks another photo of you, the telltale click of the camera shutter giving him away.

“Peter!” You gasp. You shove him in the chest. “You suck! I said only one. I wasn’t ready that time,” you moan.

Peter’s laughing. It doesn’t annoy you as much as it should, not when he looks so happy, not when he grabs your arm and rubs his thumb into your elbow consolingly. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, doll. Y’just looked so pretty, I couldn’t help myself.”

You roll your eyes. He’s going to be the death of you one of these days. “Whatever, Pete. C’mon, or we’ll miss our reservation.”

[bruisedboys]

───── gingerbread house . . . send in a character from the guestlist + a dialogue prompt from this list or this list and I’ll write you a blurb!

'pinky promise?' with finnick??? also congrats on 6k!!! so deserving <3

thank you lovely!! ily 🤍 also this is super short sorry

finnick odair x gn!reader (kind of crybaby!reader? only a little bit)

You have a hard time whenever Finnick has to leave for a Capitol trip. Finnick knows this, expects it and prepares for it, but it doesn’t get any less heartbreaking every time he has to leave you.

“Finnick,” you say, in this awful, aching tone that splits his heart clean in two. You’re wringing your hands in your lap like you do when you’re trying not to cry, and blinking fast. “Please don’t go.”

Finnick kneels in front of you. His limbs feel heavy with guilt.

“I have to, sweetheart. You know this,” he tells you softly. He strokes your warm cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll bring you something special back,” he offers, though he knows it won’t do much to calm your sorrow.

Your face crumples. “But— but every time you go I get so worried,” you stammer helplessly. “I keep thinking that something bad’s going to happen, or that you won’t come back, and I—“

“Hey.” Finnick cuts you off, stern. He cups your neck with a big hand, his thumb pressed to your collarbone. “Sweetheart, don’t say that. I’ll always come back. I promise.”

You sniffle. Your eyes are shiny. Your bottom lip trembles. Finnick’s been hurt before but this bruises his heart more than anything. He’d rather take a spear to the chest than watch you be so heartbreakingly miserable over him.

“Don’t be sad, angel, please,” he says. His hand strokes a rough path from the top of your neck to the slope of your shoulder and back again. “It’s only two days. And I promise I’ll come back.”

Tearfully, you bring your arm up between yours and Finnick’s chests and stick your pinky up.

“Pinky promise?” You ask softly.

Finnick smiles, feeling impossibly fond. “Yeah, sweetheart. Pinky promise.”

He hooks his pinky around yours and presses a gentle kiss to your joint hands.