#Buff fluff

[d-adude]

Just two homies watching Netflix and chilling.🦔💙🖤🍿

Nothing out of the ordinary lol.

[frenchcoucou]

morning nanami ☀️

ac: narutoss.ramen

[followmybadreligion]

thinking about your blue-collar!husband who just can’t tell you no…

it's almost as if the word isn't in his vocabulary when it comes to you.

while he doesn't meant to over-do it, there's always something in him that just wants to make things happen, you know? wants to make you happy.

he blames his years of southern living. the culture and family that taught him that his woman should never have to work a day in her life. that all she should worry about is enjoying life— the life he provides for her as a labor of his love.

he watched his daddy do it; deliver his mother fresh flowers in the morning with a kiss on her head and his wallet on the table. before that, it was his grandfather and the ranch he built from scratch to appease his picky woman. even saw some of the chivalry his great grandfather showed in the little ways he still could, like with a new pearl necklace or fur coat on an occasion.

it was their duty as men to provide. especially as men smitten with their wives.

this is how you found yourself with boxes and boxes of gifts underneath the christmas tree, each one wrapped was with delicate touches and care. the gifts consisted of things you’d obsessed over once upon a time or maybe mentioned once in passing. it was all the same to him, though. you wanted it? he got it.

it was how you found yourself on your knees on a sunday, passing him tools as he installed new shelves and displays in your walk-in closet. you already had a vanity, a wardrobe, and as many dressers as one could imagine, but you’ve never been a light shopper. once your bags started collecting in neat piles along your room, he’d gotten a clue. all it took was a simple “honey, do you think you could do this for me?” and he’d clear his schedule.

it was how you tried nearly every restaurant in your fast-paced city. the high-brow, low-brow, and hole in the wall places, too. if he thought you’d like it then that’s exactly where he’d take you. he loved seeing you melt as you found a new dish you enjoyed. he loved how you always gathered some of your food and brought it to his lips in an effort to get him to try it. so what if the two of you ordered the same thing? your’s tastes a little different!

it was how he winded up with your name tattooed across his chest, the word carved into him in a way he simply relished in. you didn’t even have to ask for it, no, and he was in no rush to tell you either. but, he wears it as proudly as he does his wedding band— just another reminder of his devotion to you.

it was how, in the midst of a heated moment of passion, you saw that tattoo. how you halted your grinding on top of him with a racing mind and hooded eyes, locked in on the black, beautiful cursive your name rested in. how your left hand came to rest on it, and for a few short seconds, it met your wedding ring. how you really, truly came to believe that your man is so much more than head over heels for you.

[wendichester]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 car buff²,

summary. dean had no clue you knew so much about cars. and oh boy, he's feeling it

pairing. dean winchester x autistic!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 918

notes / warnings. mentions of autism and sensory overload (handled gently and respectfully), light cursing (dean being dean), flirting and soft romance, excessive sweetness — may cause smiling, swooning, or the sudden urge to kiss someone in a '67 Impala

ᯓ★ read part 1

The diner Dean picks is very Dean Winchester. Vinyl booths. Pie slices the size of your head. Neon sign that hums like a lullaby. The jukebox in the corner is older than both of you, and Dean picks a table in the back where you can see the Impala from the window.

She’s parked in the glow of the streetlight, all chrome and pride. You can't help but glance at her every few minutes. Like a kid sneaking peeks at their Christmas present.

Dean notices.

“Y’know,” he says, sipping his coffee, “I think Baby might like you more than she likes me. She’s never looked that smug.”

You smile around the edge of your milkshake. “I’d never take her from you. But I would ask to help with her tune-ups. Joint custody.”

Dean chuckles. “Alright, fair. As long as I get visitation rights on weekends.”

You’re still smiling, but the buzz in your brain is louder now. The diner’s not too crowded, but the flicker of the fluorescent above the counter is grating. The hum is high-pitched. Someone slams a glass down two tables over and it startles you just a little too much. You grip your straw tighter.

Dean clocks it. Not in a pitying way—more like a hunter spotting a shift in the wind. His voice goes a little quieter.

“You okay?”

You nod, but then shrug, because honesty’s easier than pretending.

“Just… kinda loud. Lights’re doing the thing. Not a meltdown or anything, just... a little much.”

Dean’s brow furrows, but not with discomfort. Concern, sure. But the good kind. The “tell me what you need so I can do it” kind.

“We can leave,” he offers immediately. “Or we could take it to-go. I know a spot where the Impala always looks good at night.”

You blink. “Are you… asking me to go look at your car under moonlight?”

Dean leans back, smirking. “Maybe.”

You snort. “God, you're such a gearhead.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You slide your milkshake across the table toward him. “Only if you don’t share.”

Dean grins, and that’s that. You split the check, grab the pie to-go, and make your way back out into the night.

The “spot” he mentioned turns out to be a hill just outside of town. Gravel shoulder. Empty road. Crickets chirping like backup singers.

He parks with the nose of the Impala aimed right at the valley below, the glow of faraway lights blinking like stars. The sky above you is clear—deep navy, dotted in constellations you only half-remember the names of. The air smells like engine grease and pine trees and something sweeter you can't place until Dean opens the pie box.

“Apple,” he announces proudly. “No better nightcap.”

You sit on the bench seat, knees turned toward him, fingers sticky with pie crust and joy.

Dean leans back, elbow on the steering wheel, his other hand resting casually on the seat behind your shoulder. Not touching. Just there. Just available.

“You always like cars this much?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

You nod. “Before I could write, I was drawing V8 engines with crayons. I memorized the gear ratios of every ‘60s Chevy before I turned ten.”

Dean whistles. “That’s impressive. I was mostly just getting into trouble at ten.”

“I was getting suspended for correcting my science teacher about spark plug heat ranges.”

He laughs, but it’s soft. It’s fond. You look over to find him watching you, eyes warm.

There’s a pause. A moment heavy with something not uncomfortable. Something nice. You’re not sure what to do with it, but Dean seems okay just sitting in it.

Then, after a second, he says: “I like how you talk about things.”

You blink. “Things?”

“Things you care about. You light up. Makes it feel like the world’s got a little more color in it.” He shrugs. “Kinda makes me wanna find more stuff to light you up with.”

You stare at him.

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry, that was maybe—too much—”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Your voice is soft. Real. And Dean turns to look at you again.

You point at the dash. “You know how Baby’s engine sounds different in third than it does in fourth?”

Dean blinks. “Yeah…”

“That’s how your voice just changed.”

He raises his eyebrows, curious. “Meaning?”

You smile. “You just downshifted. Got softer. That’s your ‘I’m being real’ voice.”

Dean watches you like he’s not used to being seen. Not like this. And you’re watching him like you’re already mapping out his mechanics in your head—like he’s a beautiful, complicated engine you want to understand.

He leans in then. Slow enough you can move away if you want. But you don’t. You tilt toward him just a hair, and the kiss is barely more than a press of lips—gentle, for a guy who probably fights monsters before breakfast.

When he pulls back, he smiles.

“Bench seat privilege,” he murmurs.

You grin. “Best date I’ve ever had.”

Dean nods, serious. “Same. Not even just ‘cause you knew the exact horsepower of my car.”

“You said that like it isn’t the sexiest thing someone could do.”

Dean laughs, head thrown back.

And maybe the stars burn a little brighter that night. Maybe the Impala catches the moonlight just right. Maybe two people sit there talking engines and life until it’s nearly dawn.

But either way— It’s already a love story.

It just keeps going with pie.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[nanamisbbygirl]

i’m feeling so soft here’s a little suguru draft

you usually didn't have bad dreams, but when you did, they shook you to the core. you wake up, feeling yourself already choked up, and looking at the bed, you were so far from his arms, it almost made you feel sadder.

geto feels when you gently wake him up, your small hand against his back, rocking his body. when he turns around, the first thing he notices is your sniffles, followed by the tears staining your puffy cheeks.

"what's wrong?" he asks in a deep but hushed voice. he pushes any messy hair out of your face and brings you close, listening to you explain your dream.

"...and then you kicked me out and said you hated me," you whimper, letting yourself fall onto his chest. his heart ached seeing you this way; curled up and defeated.

he ran his hand up and down your back, hoping to sooth your nerves.

"why would you say that to me?" you whisper, still so caught up in what you experienced in your sleep.

"it was just a dream, baby, okay? you know i would never say that to you in person. right" he asks, tilting your chin up to look at him.

"right. m'sorry... you were just being so mean." he kisses your forehead, attempting to reassure you. geto thinks it works, considering how you snuggle up closer to him, bringing the sheets up to your nose.

"i know, baby, i know. now try to go back to sleep, it was just a bad dream." you nod, fluttering your eyes shut, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

"'kay but please don't let go of me tonight." you request with one last sniffle. geto brings you into a big hug.

"i promise baby, i'm not letting you go anywhere." with that, you're able to drift back to sleep, your bad dream becoming nothing but a distant memory.

a/n: do u guys want a version of this with anyone else?

[spicedcherrylolli]

I need Sevika in a wife pleaser, on my bed, holding our kitten child, waiting for me to finish my skin care routine, humming along to soft music playing from the record player. Thank you

[freaknloser]

Buff!Male x Chubby!FemaleReader Part 1

⚠ Content Warning: fluff, a man, stalker-ish if you squint? Context: You were doing your shopping, when you both reached for the gun same box of cereal. Tall, muscular, handsome—and respectively appreciating your curves. Word count: 1,368   │ part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │ part 5 │ part 6 (WIP) │ follow for more! │

Hi hi hi!! ヾ(・ω・) This is a story I've been working on and this is just the first part, I swear... And it will get steamy as it continues. Honestly? It's that time of the month and I just wanted to make something cute and fluffy. I tried to be a vague as possible with reader, but there were definitely some things that I did decide to base off of myself. So, reader can walk, drive, and is over 21. Also, I am not super used to POV writing, so I hope I did okay. Like always, my inbox and asks are open for suggestions and ideas—or if you just want to say hello! The second part of this story will be released soon!

The speaker overhead mumbled a half-coherent call for an employee on isle 3 for a clean-up, a shopping cart squeaking from behind you as another shopper walked by. You were doing your weekly shopping, everything was the same dull routine as usual.

The same store, same crowd, same items. The glass jars in your cart clinked together as you pushed it towards your next target: the cereal aisle.

As you reach to grab your favorite cereal, another set of hands reach for the same box, knocking it from both of your hands, and sending it dramatically crashing to the floor. You quietly gasp, looking over at the figure beside you to start apologizing, but your words are cut off when you lock eyes with the man beside you.

Tall: way tall. Easily 6 foot; and broad. A strong jawline, sharp features, and a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Eyes bluer than the ocean and dark hair curled perfectly in place on his forehead.

“Oh,” you say, blush already pinkening your cheeks, “I’m sorry.”

Meanwhile, this stranger is looking at you as if he’s completely entranced. He was, as respectfully is possible, gazing over your entire figure. The flare of your hips, the way the fabric of your jeans stretched over your thick thighs, how your shirt clung to your tummy.

He was a man, after all—but the first thing he noticed was how the fluorescent lighting of the store made your eyes glitter like they were full of fireflies. How your lips parted slightly as you looked up at him, already forming an apology before it came out. The curve of your jaw, the plumpness of your pink cheeks.

But the most important detail he made sure to check for: a ring. Seeing none, his eyes returned to yours.

Just a beat after your apology, he smiled. “My fault, really. I should have been paying more attention.”

His long arms flexing as he reached down and picked up the dented box of cereal from the floor. He tucked it in his cart before grabbing an uncrumpled box and offering it to you. “I guess I was distracted,” he said with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

That only made your cheeks darken. The way his eyes raked over your face, like he was trying to memorize every detail, making your chest tighten and stomach flutter.

“Distracted, huh? Sounds like a likely story,” you finally manage with a smile, taking the box of cereal from his large hand. You toss it into your cart half-mindedly before returning your gaze to the handsome stranger.

“Well, thank you.”

Then you expected that to be the end of the conversation: a thank you and goodbye… Yet he lingered.

“No, thank you,” he insisted, the smirk finally managing to fully grow on his lips. “I’m Daniel. And you are…”

You looked down to see his hand extended towards you. A handshake? You haven’t had someone outside of a professional setting ever offer you their hand. With a small laugh, you put your hand in his and offer your name.

“Y/N,” he echoed, fingers gently wrapping around your hand; not shaking, just holding. A thumb softly grazed the back of your hand, almost not there, nothing more than a ghost of a touch. After a moment, he reluctantly released your hand.

He asked if you were in a hurry—you were—and you said no. He asked to join you; and as you looked up at him, you found yourself accepting. He reached things on the top shelves for you, walked patiently beside you, smiling warmly as you spoke. His eyes barely left you and his basket never having a single item added to it.

He was completely transfixed by you. The way your brows scrunched slightly when you were debating between two brands, how your hips swayed as you pushed your cart: you were like a goddess before him and all he wanted to do was admire your beauty.

You turned towards him, your smile faltering for a moment as you see his gaze on you. His shoulders were slumped forward slightly, eyes heavy-lidded, and a wide smile splitting his face. Your smile returned as a smirk as you lightly teased him.

“You okay?”

He nodded absentmindedly. Then realized how stupid he must look; quickly straightening his spine to stand straight, once again towering over you. A hand came to the back of his neck, rubbing nervously, his eyes shifting towards the shelf of macaroni noodles beside them.

“Ah,” he started before chuckling nervously, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just—” His eyes met yours, stopping his train of thoughts faster than a brick wall.

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered, eyes softening as he gazed down at you.

You couldn’t believe how he looked at you. Sure, you’d dated and were by no means innocent; but this was different. It wasn’t lust—okay, maybe that was there, too… But he looked at you like you were the only one worth seeing.

“I know this is really bold, but could I get your number? I’d love to take you out.”

“My number?” You blinked; and though you usually never hesitated to decline giving your number to strangers, you did. Only for a moment, but the fleeting thought almost sprung forward. “Hmm… I don’t make habit of giving my number out.”

While he was glad to know you were safe with personal details, he also couldn’t fully hide the disappointment that creeped into his features.

“I understand,” he quickly replied with a soft smile. He looked down at you, already trying to figure out how to see you again. “Do you… shop here often?”

You did. Every week. Same day, same routine—though he didn’t need all those details.

You nod, his smile grew.

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” he suggested; even though he was already planning on coming back regularly to a shop he’d never been to before.

He fell in line behind you, your shopping cart full and his basket only holding the same two items that were there before. You, of course, commented on it as you waited.

“Needed to walk around for a while anyway,” he offered dismissively with a small shrug of his shoulders.

You pay for your things, loading them back into the cart to push to your vehicle. You smile and give a small wave as a goodbye before making your way to the parking lot.

As you packed the last paper bag into your car, you heard footsteps behind you, a voice cutting through the air before you can fully turn.

“Can I take your cart back for you?”

Your eyes met Daniel’s once more as you turned your back to your vehicle.

“Oh,” you said, taken aback by seeing him again so soon. Yet, here he was, still looking at you like he was memorizing your face.

Maybe he was; because, God forbid, what if he never saw you again? What if this was the closest he would ever come to being the one to make you smile?

“Um, that’s okay. I got it.”

Daniel’s hands left the cart, he stepped back, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “If you’re sure.” He paused, wanting to say the right thing.

“I hope I see you again.” He smiled warmly, something behind his eyes resembling… longing?

You felt the blush creeping back into your cheeks at his raw confession; but maybe a part of you hoped for the same thing.

“We’ll have to see, hm?” You smile back, reaching behind you and closing the back of your car.

Then you properly say your goodbyes, and somehow he still ended up taking your cart for you. And that was it—you parted ways. You slide into your car, him in his. You pull out first, and you never saw his pull out.

As you make your way home, the radio playing softly in the background, a smile pulls at your lips. Would you see him again? Only time would tell; but suddenly the thought of doing your weekly shopping didn’t seem so boring.

freaknloser.tumblr.com © 2025

[soulwrencher]

I feel like post!fight!vi! Is something else… like she’s just so fucking strong and her arms are so big and her back muscle omggg but even with all the adrenaline she’s still so gentle with reader? (Not ALL gentle, but never as rough as she could be)

oh my god, YES. on that note: merry christmas to everyone who celebrates!

i think vi would never use her full strength on reader, actually she promised herself that. why? because you know, vi kinda hates herself and thinks she would hurt you, and if she did, if she ever hurt you, vi would absolutely spiral. so she's constantly just holding herself back. i mean; she's just a big hurt puppy.

so you constantly reassure her that it's okay to lay her head on your chest and that you want her to squeeze you a little tighter.

and then one day, vi is resting on your chest, and you trace her shoulders, drag your fingers all the way down her back. "so pretty," you whisper.

"but i'm so rough," vi pouts while looking up to you through her lashes. and you just calmly respond: "i like you just the way you are."

[redsakura101]

Quiet Affections: Dead Roses

Jason Todd x Reader If you'd like to you can Read the Prologue. Quiet Affections:Silent Sorrows

Inspired by the quote Dead Roses: by AK

"Why do you keep dead roses?" he asks “I cherish dead roses as they live between the pages of my books. I believe, a fresh rose is loved for its beauty but the dead one is beyond beauty. A fresh rose is smelled for its scent but a dead one – for the memories. A fresh rose gives the feel of softness but a dead one gives the feel of the past. A fresh rose lives for days but a dead one – forever.”

In which Jason's love keeps and preserves the flowers he's given them over the years of their relationship.

word count: ~1.8k

In a moment of peace as his hand gently rubbed circles into your arm while you laid comfortably with him sprawled along on your couch.

After having spent the last few weeks unpacking, you’d both finally finished and were taking a much needed respite in your now shared apartment, a blend of both yours and Jason’s belongings - filled the space with a sense of home.  

In your hands was a well loved copy of Pride & Prejudice, its pages littered with underlinings of passages and notes in the margins, some were philosophical and others were humorous.

A combination of markings that both you and Jason had made since you started this little tradition of reading with each other, an intimate little book club.

A pastime you’d both come to enjoy since being together.

Sometimes he would read, that was always your favourite, as you’d listen to every word as though it were honey trickling in and soothing your soul. Though seeing his eyes gaze at you fondly while you read made you feel like everything else faded away, his body relaxed as the tension melted away, did come as a close second.  

It was during this time while you read to him that he asked, 

“Why do you keep dead roses?” 

An innocent question, one that had been ruminating in Jason’s mind, since his eyes first traced the pressed flower in your hand and the other ones dotted around the apartment. 

Some were placed in little frames picked up from op shops, while others filled glass jars tied with little ribbons - some even had labels, most likely the names of the flowers. 

He’d noticed in some of the other books that you owned or even some of his favourite ones that there would be little handmade bookmarks infused with pressed flowers. 

Now thinking about it, over the course of your relationship he’d noticed that slowly, but steadily it seemed this collection had grown. All coming to the forefront of his mind seeing them all unpacked and in the open of your shared apartment.

“In fact, why do you have a lot of dead flowers?”

Your eyes flick to follow his gaze as it lands on the pressed rose in hand, he notices that your eyes glaze over as though reminiscing and then sees as they glance to the other flowers in their home, before falling back to Jason. If possible you seem to curl even closer into his embrace turning slightly as you raise the rose before him. 

“Do you not like them?” you tilt your head, never having realised Jason would notice them. But you suppose it's a side effect of dating one of Gotham’s vigilantes, they’re very observant. 

He shakes his head and nuzzles his head into your neck breathing in your scent, “no, just wondering why?”  

You melt under his touch as your smile widens, 

“I cherish dead roses as they live between the pages of my books. I believe, a fresh rose is loved for its beauty but the dead one is beyond beauty.” Your hand clasps his hand that is one wrapped around your waist as you gently rub your thumb against his hand – almost as though inferring the words applied not just to roses but to Jason itself.

“A fresh rose is smelled for its scent but a dead one – for the memories. A fresh rose gives the feel of softness but a dead one gives the feel of the past. A fresh rose lives for days but a dead one – forever.”

You let the words settle in the air before continuing to say, “I always loved that quote. And in a way I always thought that by keeping these roses and flowers it was about preserving our love” 

You will never know the extent of how deeply these words affected Jason, his mind blank with what to say. You never failed to surprise him, your unending love and support despite all the mess he came with. You were always there. Through the thick and thin, you stood by him as he worked through the ghosts of his past and the hauntings that came with them.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve you but he will forever be grateful. 

Before he could even begin to try to express his unending gratitude for you and the peace you offer his soul, you continue on.

“Did you know that you gave me all these flowers. Every single one of these dried and pressed flowers I own, they’re because of you.” 

Now while his brothers may argue to believe that there is not a single bone in his body capable of romance, they would be mistaken. As demonstrated by you and him having been together for almost 3 years. 

Throughout your budding romance, Jason always struggled with conveying how he felt – coming up short as his words would get stuck in his throat. So he had to find other ways to express his love for you, long before he could find it in himself to let his walls come down. 

Little actions, gestures to show he cared for you, like always ensuring you were comfortable by giving you his jacket when you were cold, bringing you homemade chocolate chip cookies when he knew you needed a little comfort, and as you both were getting more serious he would spend more time over at your apartment and would cook for you, he'd fix up things at your apartment like fixing the squeaky door in your bathroom or the leaky faucet in your kitchen, or simply just make your coffee or tea. 

You went at his pace, never pushing him further than he could handle. It was new territory for both you and Jason. 

Sometimes when you had gone through a rough patch or a misunderstanding, you’d find a little posy of flowers either by your door or on your balcony typically of hyacinths, olive leaves with hydrangeas among the bundle.  

You’d carefully placed these in a vase to admire – even without a note you’d always know these were from Jason. It was during this time a friend you had over noted the meaning of these flowers. 

Purple hyacinths and blue hydrangeas are a symbol of sincerity, an apology of heartfelt emotion. The pairing with the olive branches asks for peace and forgiveness. 

This absolutely made your heart melt. At times when you were unsure of how Jason felt for you ��� you’d remember the flowers, the thought he put into the choices to convey to you what he couldn’t with words. 

This is where your little hobby began.

With each little posy, bouquet or flower he’d gifted you, either by being left for you to find or he had handed them to you directly –  you’d try to learn the meaning behind them. From endless dives into google, to eventually buying some books about the meaning of flowers. 

It felt like discovering a secret code. 

Honeysuckles for devotion and affection,

Sunflowers for adoration and joy,

Canterbury bells for gratitude,

Freesias for trust,

Baby’s breath for sincerity and hope,

And an array of many more beautiful flowers, made even more lovely through their meanings.

As your relationship grew and evolved so did the meanings behind the flowers he’d gift you.

Your most treasured were the forget-me-nots he had given you, just a gift for no particular reason, neither of you had said it aloud but could both tell you were falling for each other. This was cemented for you with the forget-me-nots as you learnt they symbolised true love and respect. 

So with each gifted flower you took great care for them, and when they eventually wilted you would find creative ways to preserve them. 

Placing them in jars, pressing them in bookmarks to even framing particular ones that meant a great deal to you. You kept them all. A love preserving. 

It became second nature to you, a habit you had no intention of breaking. 

The revelation that you had found a way to keep all the flowers he’d given you over the years, that you took the time and care to cherish each little flower. 

His body freezes at learning this as he blinks a little shocked by the tenderness of your words, you had taken the time to learn all the things he couldn’t say, decoding every meaning behind his flowers.

He thought it was a quiet secret, one that remained unnoticed by you, not that he minded. But now knowing you had always known what he meant, what he felt. It made his heart speed up. 

His arms hug you a little tighter, his eyes pool with love, kissing your cheek tenderly as a little smirk forming upon his lips. 

“Didn’t realise you were so sentimental, doll” 

“And I didn’t realise you were such a romantic, what would your family say? The rough and tough Jason Todd giving flowers with such a deep and thoughtful meaning – they’d never believe me,” you both fall into a fit of laughs over imagining his family learning how thoughtful he could be. 

“If you tell them, I promise you there will be no cookies for you” he playfully reprimands, you just look at him with big pleading eyes, to which he sighs a reluctant huff. He could never resist you. 

His mind drifts back to the flowers, his eyes soften “I didn’t think. I never thought that you knew what they meant. I just - ugh, it was always tougher for me to say what you meant to me, what you mean to me, it was easier to just silently tell you through flowers” your hands continue to glide soothing patterns against his as he speaks. 

“Sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in”

“That’s Jane Austen isn’t it?” you state recognising his words for the ones of one of his favourite authors. 

His smile simply widens as he begins to pepper kisses along your cheek, trailing your jawline and neck. Showering you with love.  A laugh bubbles from within you as you turn into his embrace to hug him properly.

His lips finally touch yours, slow and deep – conveying his feelings through another unspoken language. His hands gently trace patterns along the curve of your back, grounding him in this moment.

You pull back as you lean your forehead against his, eyes holding his gaze as the quiet timbre of his voice fills your ears once more “I will always be here for you, even when words fail me and I can only show you with my actions or with flowers, I want you to  know that I love you”

“I love you too Jay, always, even when words fail,” you words dripping with complete devotion that rivals the adoration found in his.

Your eyes close and just take in this moment., “One would think you’ve gone soft Jay” you lightly tease.

“Only for you doll, only for you.” He punctuates with a delicate kiss to your temple.

You spend the afternoon entangled in each other’s arms taking in each other’s warmth and presence, book now laid forgotten on the coffee table, the page marked with the dried rose that sparked this revelation.

As he hears your gentle snores, his eyes trace your features taking in detail and committing it all to memory. In this moment Jason makes a note to give you all the flowers in the world for as long as you’ll have him, if only to show you just how much you mean to him. 

This was just a little thing I had playing around in my mind, I've never really written anything for Jason Todd before but it felt like this kind of worked. Could definitely see him be a more actions speak louder than words kind of guy. I wrote a prologue if you want to read more, Quiet Affections Silent Sorrows (Part 1) & (Part 2)

Also updated note: I did not think this little story would get this much attention…it’s actually wild to me, thanks for loving it 💕

[belowablue]

My Hero - James Potter x Reader

A little fluff for you today. Life has been strange lately and I haven't had much inspiration but oh well. 787 words.

TW Catcalling

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You went for your runs before it got too hot. Nine or ten in the morning was the sweet spot for you. Sunny enough to be enjoyable but the cool night air was still lingering, keeping you from overheating. 

Today was no different. You were doing your favourite route, spirits high. The park was pretty empty as it was a weekday. Only a couple of old ladies walking their dogs, some children who were too young to be at school in the sand pit and a group of guys playing cricket in the middle of the green. 

You ignored them all, trying to focus on your breathing until, 

“Hey sweetness” 

It was one of the guys from the cricket match. You huffed. Cat-calling was nothing new for you. Unfortunately it was part of being a woman. You spared one glance over to see who it was, but that was enough.

“Nice tits, I mean hips, I mean,” He was chuckling now, some of his mates laughing along with him. “Shoes.” He said finally. 

Gritting your teeth, you decided what reply to shout back. 

“Shut your fucking face.”

That was enough to wipe the smirk off his face. Somewhat satisfied, you resolved to carry on with your run until you saw someone approaching your harasser. 

Fuck, wouldn’t you have liked to meet him under different circumstances? By the looks of things, he was on a run too. Except his shirt was tucked into the waistband of his shorts, leaving his torso on full display. Oh if he’d just give you a chance, you’d climb him like a tree. He was huge. Clearly defined abs sat below huge pecs, framed by biceps you’d kill to sink your teeth into. Sweat glistened all over him, topping the whole show off. This guy clearly lifted like it was his calling in life, and maybe it was. 

You slowed down, watching the back of his dark head as he spoke to the guy who shouted at you. It didn’t look friendly. He was frowning and arms were gesturing all over the place. Just as their voices began to rise, the runner scoffed and turned away, turning, you realised with a gulp, towards you. 

You were frozen like a deer in headlights as he jogged over to you. 

“Are you alright?” He asked. 

As much as you were attracted to him, having two strange men talk to you in less than ten minutes was too much. 

“Yes. Thank you.” You were curt and to the point. He asked, you answered, end of interaction. You turned away. 

“Are you sure? I’m sorry that happened to you.” Shit he sounded sincere. Not turning back, you nodded sharply, walking away. 

“Hey, wait.” Oh my god he wasn’t quitting. 

“I mean,” He continued, “I’m sure anyone would be upset if that happened-“ 

Turning sharply on your heel, you almost crashed into him. You hadn’t realised he’d been following so closely behind you. 

“I didn’t ask you to help.” His face fell. “So thanks and all, but you can leave me alone now.” 

He frowned, but kept following you as you began to walk away again. Wasn’t one harasser enough?

“What do you want hm?” You questioned him, “Praise, a prize, a blowjob perhaps?” 

“I don’t want anything.” His voice was cold and, were you imagining it, hurt? “I just wanted to check on you that’s all.” His voice was getting fainter, as if he wasn’t so close to you anymore.

“Well you’ve checked now.” You said over your shoulder. 

“Yeah well, sorry then.”

All the fight went out of you. He was apologising, even after he stood up for you. Why were you being so cruel to him, he’d been willing to protect you. You suddenly felt incredibly guilty that you hadn’t been more appreciative.

“No, no.” You called out, slumping, sounding exhausted. You heard his footsteps stop. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so rude. Yes you’re right, I am upset. Thank you for defending me. It’s just, one strange man talking to me is enough for one day.” 

He chuckled from behind you. “It’s alright. I should’ve guessed you didn’t want any more strangers keeping you from your run.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself. His voice had a lilt to it, something that was so pleasant and reassuring to hear that you turned around again. Boy, were you glad you did too.

There he stood in all his glory. Dark curls falling over his forehead, glasses slipping down his sweaty nose, brown eyes sparkling, smiling pleasantly. You supposed if any stranger was going to approach you, it might as well have been this one.

You smiled at him and told him your name. “What’s yours?”

“James, nice to meet you.” 

[baphmochii]

I really need to lock-in on my inboxes, been busy lately with finding work, commission work and personal stuff.

I'll share this short lil' thought for you Sal lovers out there, hehee.

. . .

What if.. y/n (you) and Sal Fisher, had a Minecraft movie and game date. The two of you next to each other, either holding hands or he puts his arm around you while enjoying the film and after that the two of you head back to your shared place (apartment, room, etc.) and partake in playing the game together. The two of you just having fun, sneaking in kisses here and there, perhaps cuddling whilst playing too.

. . .

Tis' just a thought..

[yoshijelly]

I want it to be you.

[followmybadreligion]

there’s a special butterfly in my stomach for particularly devoted, blue-collar men…

the type of man who, despite having just worked twelve-thirteen hours straight, making sure those little nails of yours stay manicured, will still come home and fuck you to sleep.

sure, the plant has his back sore and aching, and sleep rings under his eyes in dark circles, but he could just never resist how sweet you were about it.

greeting him at the front door in your pink, prissy pajamas. the ones he took you to the mall to buy. your nails painted a pretty color and your hair all done up. haven’t worked a day in your life, thanks to him, and you scream it too.

maybe you’d cooked him a meal or maybe he’d brought somethin’ good home, but after eating and showering, he was all soft and complacent in bed. well, more than he already is.

he’s driftin’ off the second he feels your body sink the mattress, pulling you into him like second nature. the only thing that gets him out of his stupor is your soft, almost shy whisper: “baby, i need you.”

no matter how tired or how grueling of a day he’s had, he’ll give you what you ask for. prone-bone, doggy, cuddle-fuck, whatever you prefer. he’ll pull his ragged body up, take care of your’s just right, and then enjoy the sleep-inducing orgasm that follows suit.

it’s always worth it, in his opinion, when he gets to watch your bliss-filled eyes roll back again and again.

sweet, sweet blue collar man ;)

wanna send me an ask? check this out!

[xmads-omensx]

Ooh for Buff Noah Sunday imagine him being very horny but not wanting to admit it so he wears his tanktop and starts working out in front of you or doing chores trying to get you all riled up and jump his bones

The Tank Top pt.3

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: horny Noah, mentions of smut

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @heyyoplayer @tosoundlessdarkistare @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @overmydeadbodysblog @chey-h @illmakeyousaywow

Thank you so much for the request anon!

Noah who was never really vocal about when he was feeling needy for you.

Noah who desperately needed you, and had for most of the day.

Noah who was reaching the end of his tether and had to resort to drastic measures.

Noah who knew how much you loved his tank top, so decided to use it against you.

Noah who began to vacuum the living room whilst you watched your show wearing the tank top, but it only pissed you off because he was blocking the screen with his large frame.

Noah who felt that even more drastic measures were needed, so pulled his dumbbells out of the garage and brought them into the living room and began working out.

Noah who accidentally got so into the work out that he almost missed you looking at him, biting your lip.

Noah who had never jumped up quicker, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder before running upstairs to your shared bedroom whilst you giggled, leaving a very confused Jolly standing in the hallway.

[wendichester]

please!! dean x autistic reader that has an hyperfixation on cars and starts tweaking out when they see the impala for the first time, starting to drop informations about its history and other stuff abt it !! it would be so cute

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 car buff,

summary. dean had no clue you knew so much about cars. and oh boy, he's feeling it

pairing. dean winchester x autistic!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 545

notes / warnings. reader with hyperfixation on cars (enthusiastic infodumping), slight awkwardness (canon-typical dean), soft boy dean trying to play it cool but melting, lots of car facts, nothing but vibes and serotonin

Dean’s halfway through filling the tank when he hears it.

“Oh my god, is that a ‘67 Impala?”

He turns. And then immediately stares.

You’re walking toward the car like it’s a religious artifact, eyes wide and shiny and locked on her like she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—which, honestly, fair. But Dean’s used to people ignoring the Impala. Or calling her a boat. Or saying she looks like a damn hearse.

Not this.

“You even have the original grille,” you’re saying, almost breathless. “Is that the factory paint or did you restore it? Oh my god, and the interior—wait, wait, are those bench seats?”

Dean blinks. “Uh… yeah.”

You drop into a crouch to look closer at the tires and start muttering under your breath like you're cataloging her specs. Which you kind of are.

Dean can’t help but grin. “You a fan?”

You pop up like you forgot he was there, eyes lit with excitement. “Fan is an understatement. This is THE car. Like—the car. It’s the holy grail of muscle. Four hundred twenty-seven cubic inches, V8 engine, 385 horsepower if you tune it right—and she’s got the bones for long-haul driving, which you never get in these classics.”

Dean lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Most people just say she’s shiny.”

“Those people have no taste,” you shoot back, not missing a beat.

Dean laughs. He’s never heard someone defend Baby’s honor that fast. He likes it.

“You a mechanic or just real into old Chevys?”

“I mean—” You pause. “I’m autistic. Hyperfixated on cars since I was like, six. I used to fall asleep listening to my grandpa’s engine manuals. I can take apart a carburetor blindfolded. Tried to do it in eighth grade science class. Was not appreciated.”

Dean barks out a laugh. You beam, proud and not even a little embarrassed. It’s contagious.

“Name’s Dean,” he offers, tossing the gas nozzle back into the pump. “She’s mine. Fully restored her with my own hands. Most folks don’t even give her a second look anymore.”

“They’re fools.”

He points at you. “Exactly.”

You walk a slow circle around the Impala, reverent. “The chrome’s original, too, huh? You polish this, don’t you? Like religiously.”

Dean looks a little sheepish. “Every week.”

You glance up at him, a big, dorky smile on your face. “I think I love you.”

Dean chokes. “Sorry, what?”

You freeze. “Oh my god. Out loud. I said that out loud.”

You look like you’re about to self-destruct. Dean raises his hands quickly, chuckling.

“Hey, hey—it’s alright. I mean, you just met the real love of my life. Pretty sure you’re her type.”

You glance at the car. Then back at Dean. “So… do I get to sit in her or do I have to buy you dinner first?”

Dean grins, big and slow. “Tell you what. You let me take you to dinner, and I’ll even let you ride shotgun.”

You gasp. “With the windows down?”

Dean nods solemnly. “Cassette tape blasting. Bench seat privilege included.”

“Deal.”

You hold out your hand like it’s sacred, and Dean takes it, shaking with a smile.

Neither of you knows it yet, but this is absolutely going to become a love story.

It just starts with chrome.

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[whipitgod]

fuck the concept that one partner has to be a bottom and one partner has to be a top! and while im at it, fuck the idea that in order for a pairing to work you need to twinkify/feminize one of of the characters! that just isnt how gay relationships work 95% of the time! most real gay couples are verse, and most gay couples dont follow the stereotype that one person has to be fem and the other has to be masc! stop trying to apply heteronormative relationship dynamics to queer couples!