Welcome to Fluffy February 2025! This is its fifth year running. As always, the objective is to spread fluff and good feelings throughout all of February. The guidelines are linked here.
On February 1, the AO3 Collection was created! Feel free to archive your fluffy works here.
We are using the one prompt-a-day format. As in previous years, no one is obliged to write/draw/create every single day -- do as many as you want!
You are totally free to reinterpret the prompt in a different way than is obvious. Also, please remember that fluff can be platonic as well -- the prompts do not demand or require romance. Please tag @fluffyfebruary so we can reblog your creations!
These prompts have been dropped on December 23; this blog will start reblogging on February 1. We will give everyone at least 2 reblogs through March (to make sure our February 28 submissions get their time in the sun!).
Soooo here we go! Happy creating!!
Fluffy February 2025 Prompt List
At first sight
That one time…
Ice
Strangers to friends
Starry night
Collapse
Prank
Trust
Grass
Rivals
Crush
Argument
Clarity
Free Space
Arrow
Reconciliation/Kiss and Make Up
Holding hands
Vacation
Favorite food
Magic
Embrace
Robe
Alienation or Alien Nation -- this is for sci-fi folks, if you want.
Silly fears
Alternative Universe – take your characters and plop them into an AU scenario that you haven’t written about before
Theodore Nott is not at Hogwarts for anyone's entertainment and everybody knows it.
He's always serious or scowling or yawning if he's not doing the aforementioned. His eyes had a gaze that would kill or at least maim if it were so possible and legal.
So why was everybody staring?
He lets you rush off to your friends and settles with his own.
"What?" he says to a staring Draco
"You're going soft"
Before he could retort, Pansy objects to the words - "I thought it was cute"
"He could just hold her hand!"
Oh. They were talking about the fact that he'd linked pinkies with you.
"She likes this better"
Mattheo snorts.
Theo doesn't mind; well aware that his friends would sooner gouge someone's eye out than hate on him.
He walks you to your next class with your pinkies linked.
[ boondock saints : murphy + fem!reader ]
fluffy february : prompt 6
⚠ warnings: illness/comfort (or call it fluffy whump if you want), pre-canon/au whatever
A/N: I'm actually officially sick, so that's why I'm behind on these. And this might be influenced by getting sick, so whoops.
. . .
“Ye okay, lass?”
You blink, hoping that will bring Murphy’s face back into focus, but no such luck. Your head feels heavy, and you fight everything in your being to keep standing. “I’m fine,” you argue with a small voice.
Despite his blurred features, you can see Murphy’s eyes narrow with concern. “Yer a terrible liar, love.”
You want to counter his comment because, really, you’re actually pretty good at lying. The problem is that Murphy knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. Okay, most times... all the time.
But you’re just as stubborn as he is, and you’re not about to let a stupid head cold stop you from having a good time. Tonight is the first night off you two have had together in weeks. Balancing your overlapping work schedules had been much more challenging since you picked up a second job to make ends meet. And all because you were too stubborn to let Murphy help you out.
You must have worked around 70 hours just in the last week alone, thanks to the late late nights at the bar. You tried to sleep whenever you could—probably the only time you actually got to be with Murphy was sleeping in his arms for just a few hours here and there. You tried to remember to take your vitamin C to keep your immunity up. You washed your hands constantly until they were cracked and bleeding in the dry winter air. But you kept working and running around, and now your sinuses feel like they’re trying to squeeze your brain out from behind your eyes.
“Let’s just stay in tonight. We can go out another time,” Murphy suggests, placing his hand on your shoulder and forcing you to realize he’s holding you up.
“But I got this new dress and everything!” you whine, looking down at your sexy black lace cocktail dress and those stupidly cute high-heeled boots to go with it.
Murphy loops his arm around your shoulders, pulling your swaying body into him as he guides you back to your apartment building. “Next time, lass. Tonight, I’d rather just see ye in sweats and that Metallica shirt ye stole from me.”
You make a face. “I didn’t steal it. You gave it to me.”
He laughs, that beautiful grin spreading across his face as he walks you up the stairs. “If ye say so.”
You still pout when he takes your keys and unlocks your door. This is not what you had in mind for the night, but you were grateful for Murphy’s doting and regard for your well-being. He helps you undress and change into said sweats and the oversized band t-shirt. You sit on the edge of your bed, watching through your mascara-coated lashes as he grabs the bottle of NyQuil from the bathroom. “Least ye can still take a shot of something, yeah?” he teases as he pours the thick cherry-flavored liquid into the plastic cup for you.
You smirk, already feeling warm in Murphy’s presence before tossing the medicine down your throat. He softly kisses your forehead, then moves back to the bathroom. You desperately try to keep your head up, wanting to move back to the couch so you can watch TV together, but you fall on your side, collapsing into the bed as the NyQuil hits a little faster than you anticipated.
Murphy reappears, a soft chuckle falling from his lips as he climbs into the bed with you, holding your tired body tightly against his. “See? Yer a terrible liar,” he chuckles again, kissing the top of your head as you feel your entire being finally relax. You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, lulling you to a deep sleep you needed so badly.
fixer upper - day twenty seven of @fluffyfebruary prompts
loosely based on the Shane and Claire art by @cucuumiia - literally my favorite art of Shane, makes me so happy to see anything from your blog so thank you for inspiring this and I'm sorry that it isn't as eloquently written as your art deserves
dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune - thanks a million!
"Honey?" Shane stepped into the barn, the heat of the afternoon sun heavy on his shoulders. "You in here?"
"I'm in the back, love! Come on in!"
stepping carefully, he made sure to walk along the unpainted side, now understanding why all the windows were open.
"Man, you've really gone all out with this weatherproof paint, hun. Besides the fact that it doesn't have to be weatherproof cause this is the inside. Sure you should be doing this at this stage?"
Claire straightened up, hand on her back as she turned to face him with the bump he absolutely adored. her smile was tired, just as he'd expected, seeing the amount of paint she'd gone through and still had yet to roll down.
"The cows will be coming in with dirty hooves, this'll make it easier when I get around to cleaning, it should just come right off."
"Good thing you waited to buy the cows until you're finished, you'd be in quite the pickle if they had to come in tonight." He shuffled over to her, kissing her temple with a tender expression. "Marnie said there might be some nesting, but I hadn't expected this."
"What can I say? I needed a final project before peanut arrives, and heaven knows I'm not going to be up for doing this once they get here."
"No, you won't." Shane chuckled, pulling her into his side, looking at the last unpainted section of the barn floor as the baby kicked against his hand. "You going to let me help?"
Claire thought this over for a second, chuckling softly. "Maybe, my love. Maybe."
john doe×you ♡ comfort food ♡ domestic fluff ♡ canon typical gore ♡ bad cooking ♡ 1156 words ♡ ao3
It’s one of those nights you’re able to convince John to stay home for your shift. You like him, of course you like him, but you like yourself better. And you need to do things like this from time to time. Leave him home even though you’re missing him as he kisses you goodbye already, idle on your phone during your shift, walking to the bus station through the darkest alleys possible. Probably one of the reasons he likes you or, at least, why you like him.
The smell hits you as soon as you enter your flat. You’re surprised it didn’t creep on you in the hallway, but hey, maybe you’ll still avoid eviction if it’s somehow restricted behind your door. Blood, obviously. It’s metallic and enticing and oh, there’s John jumping from behind your sofa, talking a mile a minute about you, what else, and offering up a paper plate.
‘Hey, Doe.’
You rise on your tiptoes to kiss his jaw, delaying this new madness a minute whilst you get your bearings, but it’s not to be; for he’s dropping it at the contact to pick you up. He gives you a spin as whatever he was holding splatters on the floor, and you’re let back down for his explanation.
‘You said nachos were your favourite food, I made some!’ He looks down to the mess you’re both standing in. ‘Don’t worry, there’s more!’
He pulls you along to your small kitchen, where there’s plates covering the counter laden with nachos, sure, and more creative toppings than you’d have used. He’s staring at you, both hands around your wrist, looking like he’s going to explode with excitement. You are hungry, what the hell, so after a moment of consideration you grab a plate that looks normal enough, chili and guacamole with some gore splattered and what you think is a cut up onion and turns out to be an eyeball. On the other hand, getting home to a meal is nice.
He makes an excited noise, happy to have gotten it right you suppose. ‘You were gone for so long! Did you have fun? Did you watch the es-ta-tic, or was the TV playing? I missed you so much! I can never stop thinking of you, I love you! I love you, I love love love love love you, and you weren’t with me! I was hoping you’d come back, but you’ll always come back, won’t you? I just love you so much!’
You tune him out a little, think back of when you mentioned what you liked to eat. You like nachos when you get paid, since it’s inexpensive enough and you can add all kinds of things to make it better. You hand him a plate to make enough space to sit on the counter, and realise you don’t know what his favourite food is as you climb on. You shouldn’t ask, your card is overdrafted enough, but you do either way.
‘What’s your favourite food?’
He tilts his head, pulled from whatever world inside his head he was talking about. On the spot now, you pick some bloodied chili on a nacho and eat. It’s alright. It’s the end of the month, so you were looking to a tart apple and expired rice cakes anyway.
‘Do you like it?’ He crowds between your legs, almost sending your plate flying in his excitement. ‘I really really hoped you would, there’s more if you don’t, I tried different things, I think you’ll like it, but I want to know if you don’t! I don’t want you to not like it, but I can work on it, and I want to get it so so so right for you and…’
You kiss him, a surefire way to make him stop, and pull back to press your question. ‘What do you like to eat?’
There’s more teeth than you’re used to in his smile and his pupils are pinprick small and wide like the moon at intervals. ‘I just like you.’ His voice is low and he hides his blush on your shoulder. ‘I really really really do like you, and I like whatever you like, because I love you, and I’m…’
‘Doeee…’ You push his face away with effort. ‘What do you like?’
‘I like you. So so much.’ His expression changes and you can practically see the wheels turning in his brain. ‘I like the bitter soup.’
‘What?’
‘The soup you make, from the small box.’
As an epiphany, you realise he means tea. The first time you’d made it, the tabag tore when you opened the packaging and, by the time you realised, he’d already drunk most of it. Alright then. You hop to the floor, and he hugs you all the way to the dish rack. You get two mugs, and feel weirder emptying a tea bag on his than you do eating his food. You’re stopped when you move to put them in the microwave by his hold on you.
You turn to look up at him, and his face is even redder than when he was declaring how much he likes you, and his tshirt is changing its design too fast for you to know whether it’s good or not.
‘You’re making my favourite food?’ He sounds so incredulous, scared even, all you can do is nod and wonder if you’re, of all things, taking it too fast. He drops to his knees, and you’re thinking not good until he starts nudging his face into your stomach. ‘You’re making my favourite food! You’re making my favourite favourite favourite food because I love you!’
You knock your knee into his chest. ‘Just let me put it to heat.’
He releases you for the moment, and you feel strangely moved by the sight of the two mugs starting to spin inside the microwave. You pull him to his feet and kiss him silly for the minute it takes to be ready. Then spend so long kissing him some more you set another minute in case it’s gone cold.
You have your meal of gore nachos and oversteeped tea on the rug, leaning back on your old sofa. When you’re finished, you push the mugs under, knowing you’ll forget their existence for long enough you won’t be able to get the tea stains out. You’re only distantly paying attention to the programme, happy to watch John watching you, and it’s a bit scary the way his adoration doubles at your most minimal effort.
You stop all pretenses of caring about zombies getting blown up or whatever’s going on in the TV, and tackle him down to get his shirt off. You make out whilst the world ends on screen and, when your cable gets cut off at the start of the business day, you fall asleep to the image of his flushed face glowing in the blue light that replaced the credits.
Nobody had ever pulled a prank on Prince Arthur before.
Nobody had ever dared.
The toadying young men of the court were friends in name only. They let him win all the swordfights, laughed at his every witticism, and flattered his choices.
But he saw them when they were with each other, saw their real smiles, the way they teasingly shoved each other or laughed at inside jokes.
They weren’t his real friends.
Princes didn’t have real friends.
So the first time Arthur got into his bathtub and found a live frog blinking at him, he blinked right back for a minute.
For a moment, he thought it might be a mistake. Then he heard a snicker from beyond the closing door, and Arthur’s jaw dropped as slow realization dawned.
This was—a prank?
It was a prank. His gangly new smartmouthed wiseacre manservant had actually played a prank on him.
Pranks were things that friends did.
Warmth rose up inside his chest. Arthur grinned at the frog for a minute until he was sure he could keep the smile out of his voice. Then he cleared his throat and bellowed at the top of his lungs until the water splashed in all directions, “MERLIN!!!!”
