#clumsy partner prompts

[allylikethecat]

hellooooo ally!! i have officially read it’s christmas (so this is gonna be a nightmare) twice lucky me!!! what a treat!!! i have so many thoughts and feelings about the fic you don’t understand how much i love the trope/concept of fic!matty not being liked or accepted by people outside the band because of his “quirks” (serious and personal mental health/ addiction issues) because it’s just so unfair. perfect angst and also very realistic???? being written off as Bad News because he experiences hardships that are more scary and extreme than most people?? so wonderfully devastating and very real.

you aren’t allowed to apologise for the fic not being finished. you’ve done it to every other ask but i’m putting my foot down. no apology please!!! releasing it in parts just builds suspense anyways i love it.

now for the clumsy partner prompts!!! thankyou sooooo much for reblogging the list i feel very blessed. i’d like to request gatty 15, 16, 17 and 18 (they are all pretty similar so you could maybe combine some in one blurb? but obviously im not telling you how to write do whatever calls to you i just feel bad for requesting so many at once😅)

as always have a lovely rest of your day and i’m really looking forward to whatever you post next!!! love ya😇🩷

Hello! Thank you so, so, so much for reading the first bit of the Christmas fic not only once but TWICE! I hope it's lived up to the hype even if it's not finished yet. Poor Fictional!Matty just wants his future in laws to like him, because he's not the same person he was when he was in his early twenties, he's worked on himself and deserves to be given a chance! Also I will not apologize for the fic not being finished by Christmas as requested even though I am sorry that I didn't finish it - it will hopefully be finished by the end of January at the latest!

Also!! thank you so much for not only suggesting the clumsy partner prompts to me, but also sending in this prompt request! I wanted to challenge myself a little bit, so I actually (I think!) managed to weave all four of them into one fill! Let me know what you think! If this wasn't what you were looking for, let me know and I will rewrite them! (If anyone else wants to send in any prompts, the list can be found HERE)

Thank you so much for reading and sending in this ask and for always just being so lovely and wonderful and supportive! I'm so sorry that it's taken me a minute to get to some of your other prompt requests as well! I hope you enjoy this one though and I look forward to hearing your thoughts! Thank you again!!

❤️Ally

15. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble, really.”

“Shhh, stop it. You're no trouble at all, zero.”

16. Their partner sometimes feeling that their clumsy tendencies ruin everything and them, actually finding it endearing. They are sure to let their partner know they love it.

17.  “Oh, I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t mess it up, go on and give it a try.”

18. Makes it clear to their partner and anyone on the outside that just because they’re worried, doesn’t mean that their partner needs them or depends on them. It’s simply their partner allowing them to do the things that make them comfortable because they’re always worrying.

Matty knew he wasn’t the most coordinated person on the face of the Earth. He was always tripping over his feet, his head in the clouds as he bumped into things and other people, stumbling over curbs and spilling cups of coffee. George always had bandages in his backpack, and an extra Matty-sized shirt for when an inevitable incident occurred. His knees were permanently bruised and his palms forever scrapped. Despite George’s endless patience, and “I’ll kiss it betters” Matty wanted to die each time they were late for a meeting because Matty ate it in the parking lot. 

He had been horrible at sports as a child, his limbs never seeming to want to move the way he directed them, despite not being very large he felt like he had never properly grown into his body and developed the spacial awareness and grace that George seemed to carry. He had tried yoga but just grew frustrated at the disconnect he felt from his physical form and had quickly given up, citing some bullshit about not subscribing to George’s crunchy granola agenda. They both knew he was spouting nonsense. 

Thanks to Matty, they were going to be twenty minutes late to their first fully staged rehearsal for the new tour. Matty was so careful focusing on his footfalls, holding his Starbucks cup away from his body so it wouldn’t splash onto his white tee shirt. He wasn’t even wearing his airpods, he was making sure he was aware of his surroundings George until he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. He managed to not only spill his coffee down his entire front, but bang his elbow on the cement so that it was now bleeding sluggishly. Matty sat on his ass in a puddle of coffee trying to comprehend what just happened while George looked on in mild horror.

“Are you alright?” George asked softly, voice thick with concern as he helped pull Matty to his feet, careful of his bleeding elbow, scarlet splatter bright against the white coffee stained fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m fine,” Matty said, his lower lip wobbling in frustration. He wanted to pull away from George’s grasp but wasn’t sure his shaking knees would support him on his own. His elbow stung and he wanted to cry in frustration. If he couldn’t walk down the street, how was he ever supposed to handle thirty nine North American tour dates? 

Today was supposed to be a good day, Matty thought hysterically, an important day, and as per usual not only were they late, it was his fault.

“Hey,” said George, tugging Matty into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Let’s go get you patched up, I think I have an extra shirt in my bag.”

Because of course he had an extra shirt, because he knew that Matty couldn’t be expected to walk normally like an adult without spilling something. Matty should have woken up earlier and drank his coffee at home, sitting safely at the kitchen table. George led him through the doors of  the venue they were renting for rehearsal space, flashing their credentials to the security guard and following the signs in the hallway to lead him straight to the bathroom. 

“I’m sorry,” said Matty, his voice wet, fuck he really was about to start crying, as George helped him sit up on the lip of the sink so that he could clean his elbow with a damp brown paper towel. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble, really.”

“Shhh, stop it.” said George, pulling away so that he could look Matty in the eyes. “You're no trouble at all, zero.” 

“But I’m always tripping over myself and ruining things,” Matty said with a sniffle. 

George threw the paper towel away and pulled a box of bandages and a small tube of antibiotic ointment out of his backpack. He dabbed the ointment gently against Matty’s scraped skin with a careful kindness that made Matty’s heart hurt. He didn’t deserve George. 

“It’s kind of cute,” George said quietly, after a moment, Matty swallowing a hiss of pain as the scrap stung. “Like obviously, I don’t like it when you get hurt, it makes me quite nervous actually, but you’re cute, like a baby deer discovering they have legs for the first time.” 

“A baby deer?” Matty asked, raising his eyebrow amongst the pain, his eyes still wet even as he tried to force a smile. 

“The cutest baby deer,” said George with a small grin, smoothing the bandage over Matty’s elbow before leaning down to press a kiss to the plaster. 

Matty just snorted in response, and hopped off the counter, pretending he didn’t notice the way George was hovering at his side, ready to reach out and grab him in case something went wrong. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking the offered black tee shirt from George and pulling off the now stained white one he was wearing. He pretended not to notice the way George was blatantly checking out his chest and stomach as if he didn’t see him naked on a daily basis. 

“It’s nice of you to join us,” said Ross smirking, “Even if you’re never beating the diva allegations, Healy.”  Matty sighed dramatically when they finally joined the group in front of the stage, his eyes going wide as he took in his vision come to life.

“I had a little mishap in the parking lot,” he admitted sheepishly, holding out his now bandaged elbow for Ross and Adam to see. 

“You’ve got to be more careful mate,” said Adam, ruffling Matty’s hair as they sat down on the sofa that had been brought into the space, and went over the stage show with Tobias. 

“I want to cut the song on the roof,” Matty said quietly after a moment, when the time came in the first run through for him to put on a harness and climb up onto the roof portion of their set. The music stopped as Matty chewed on his lower lip nervously. 

George blinked, that was a segment that Matty had been dead set on, and excited to perform, having chattered about the visual implications of doing so and how it furthered the story for weeks. 

“What?” George asked his expression of concern and confusion mirrored on Ross and Adam’s faces as well.

“Oh, I don’t want to mess it up.” Matty said softly with a shrug, “I’m so clumsy I’ll probably fall off the roof and traumatize our fan base or something.” 

“You won’t mess it up,” George assured him even if Ross and Adam looked skeptical.  “Go on and give it a try.”

Matty opened his mouth as if to argue but George just shook his head. “No, go on, try it out, there is a whole team of people that are going to make sure you’re okay, and you’ll have the harness so even if you do slip, you won’t fall far.” 

Matty swallowed hard but nodded, having needed the extra push from George, to disappear into the makeshift backstage. 

“You sure this is a good idea?” Ross asked quietly, stepping away from his microphone to make sure Matty didn’t hear him. “I was worried about it when he was all excited about it, but now if he’s even having second thoughts...” 

George shrugged, fiddling with one of the drum sticks. “I’m worried, obviously,” George said, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t support him, he wanted to do the song on the roof, so we should at least try the song on the roof, there are foot holes, and handles up there, plus he has a harness on to make sure even if he does fall he won’t fall far.” 

“You’re a better man than me,” said Adam, “I’d have Carly wrapped in bubble wrap if she was as accident prone as Matty.”

George shrugged, smiling when he looked up and saw Matty waving from the roof, before flashing a thumbs up. 

“We’re partners,” George reminded him, “and that means working together as a team.” 

#allylikethecat #ask ally #keep it kind #fanfiction #matty fic #gatty #fanfic #prompt fill #prompt fills #clumsy partner prompts #clumsy partner prompt fills #clumsy partner prompt fill #thank you so much again for sending in this list #and also requesting these prompts #and all of your kind words about my writing #you're so lovely and supportive and i am so very grateful #thank you so much!

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: i had a "no bald men" rule before he licked a knife... so y'all know my priorities are in order. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (as per usual), Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atreides (it's just such a good prompt i couldn't help myself),

Summary: A month-long engagement to the na-Baron Harkonnen makes you question, whether a marriage can bloom on the grounds of hate. Loosely based on "Special Death" by Mirah.

Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.4 (finale)

The message comes from the Emperor himself. An indisputable order that renders your Father speechless. You've never seen him quite as distraught, as when he has visited you in your chambers to deliver the news. Hands fidgeting, eyes refusing to meet yours, heavy shadows falling across his face. He seems to expect your reaction, not giving you as much as a flinch, when you scream your protests at him. And he should've expected as much, you were always the more impulsive of Duke Leto's children. 

- But the Harkonnens are beasts - you argue, voice breaking - You've said it yourself, many times.

- Actually, I think that was Gurney...

- You've never denied it!

And he doesn't deny it now, head hung low. Never, not once in your life, have you seen your Father give up. Until today. 

Your Mother enters just a few seconds after him, her dress flowing around her ankles as if she had floated in on a cloud. She stands to the side of your bed, hands folded, and an impassive expression embedded onto her features. And the more she speaks of the centuries of breeding, the importance of an union and the powers beyond your understanding, the less you see of your mother. What stands before you, instead, is a Bene Gesserit sister, veiled in schemes and dark plans, which were in the making before you were even born. You curse yourself for not noticing this stranger sooner, and storm off, out of your room, your shawl blowing out behind you like bat wings.

Paul doesn't visit you, but you can hear him, even through the effort of swallowing down your tears. He fights for you against your Father. He would fight for you against the whole Empire if he had to, and your heart swells, as he throws a particularly nasty curse into the air of your Father's study. It doesn't change anything. According to the decree of the Emperror, the oldest daughter of the Duke Leto Atreides will marry Feyd Rautha, an heir to the Baron Harkonnen. A centuries long dispute is about to be put to an end, and all thanks to the small sacrifice, which is your life. All would be well in the galaxy. Really, you should be honored, to be tasked with such a monumental peace treaty.

Everyone in the court seems to know about your situation. Mournful looks follow you, as you walk into the training barracks, ridding yourself of layers upon layers of flowing fabrics, leaving you in a rather tight costume, light enough to beat your frustrations out on someone.

Duncan Idaho meets your searching eyes, and you know he is aware as well. All it takes is one inclination of your chin, and he's up on his feet, sword in hand. Loyal as ever, he stands in front of you, watches with mixed feelings as you enable your shield, no questions asked. None needed. 

He barely has time to put his defenses up, when you charge at him, fury and despair pushing your movements into stances which are clumsy and ill though out. Still, there's power within your strikes, a strength of someone who needs to move, unless they break. So he lets you, for a couple of minutes. He dodges your attacks, pairing some of them, never moving quite into the offense.

The rest of the soldiers scurry off somewhere, for which you will be thankful in the future. They might hear your cries of anger, but they will not see you break. They will not see the way your blade smashes into Duncan's shield over and over again, with no regard for the slow attacks, which would penetrate it. Likewise, they don't see your sparring partner fall to his knees and swipe you off your feet in a split-second movement, making you hit the floor with a frustrated snarl. And they don't see you finally give up, and cry, hugging your blade to your chest, the severity of your circumstance falling onto you, crushing you down.

- Never fight in anger, Princess - Duncan reminds you, voice cautious, and you growl at him like a wild animal - It dulls your instincts, makes you distracted.

- Did you know? - you demand, your sharp voice cutting through his half-assed lecture.

For a moment he looks truly remorseful. His eyes float around the room, and your heart sinks when he sighs deeply.

- I found out not long ago - he confesses - Your Father told me. 

Your blade slides against the floor as you throw it, a raw scream tearing through your throat. Duncan takes a step towards you, hand extended towards your shaking form. But, before he can attempt to touch you, you're up, rolling your shoulders forcefully. Tears stain your cheeks, and you wipe them roughly with the back of your hand, skin becoming irritated almost instantly. There are swords laid out on a small table, just beside you,  your fingers grip the cold handle so hard, your knuckles seem to creak under the pressure. Duncan readies himself as well, dusting off his trousers. 

He's not good at comforting, but he's the best at fighting, and if that's what you need in this cold morning, he'll oblige. 

- You'll make it through, you know - he says, his voice genuine, and you laugh without any mirth.

Your blades clash, faces coming closer as you absentmindedly notice small scars adorning his cheeks.

- You can adapt to anything - you strike against his shoulder, the shield pushes your blade away - We could send you to Arrakis right now, and a week later you'd be riding a damned Sandworm into battle.

To that, you laugh, this time your smile reaching your eyes. The idea is preposterous, but it renders your footsteps lighter, and you twist to dodge a nasty blow to the right arm. Duncan huffs a laugh as well, as you slip through his fingers. He points his blade in your direction, a smirk playing across his lips, and you bare your teeth in a playful display of wildness.

- Careful, Princess, you might scare your betrothed away - Duncan teases, as you roll your dagger in your hand.

- Scare a damned Harkonnen? Do you find me that intimidating? - the idea thrills you just a little bit, you're woman enough to admit it.

- I think you're fucking terrifying.

- Duncan Idaho, you better not be swearing at my Daughter.

Your face falls immediately, as your Father approaches the two of you, shooting Duncan a stern gaze which holds no real threat. Still, your sparring partner raises his hands, his blade tucked away safely into his belt. There's sweat clinging to your skin from all the training, mingling with drying tears on your cheeks, and Duke Leto tries very hard not to comment on your choice of processing recent events. Still, he nods at you, and like a good daughter, you put your blade away, walking from the barracks after him. 

***

The Emperor has called for a traditional, Atreides engagement. A mercy, which you're eternally grateful for. You're not too aware of Harkonnen customs regarding marriage, but given the House's reputation, it couldn't have been pleasant. House Atreides however, took to such matters much more ceremonially, old-fashioned to some. 

Soon, a ship is arriving, with your betrothed onboard, and a month-long courting period willcommence. After that, official engagement and soon after, a wedding. Then, you will be transported back on Geidis Prime, where a life of misery awaits. That's all the time you have. A month.  

The dress, which was picked out for you, is uncomfortable and shows both too much and too little skin at the same time. While your legs are bare and exposed to an almost scandalous degree, a high, stiff collar nearly chokes the life out of you. This whole getup was the idea of your mother, as an attempt to highlight your best features and hide all that might be considered less desirable. 

You have no idea what's wrong with your neck. Perhaps, by cutting off your airflow, your mother aimed to keep you docile. 

She frowns deeply as you tug on the fabric, nerves climbing up your spine, growing more desperate every second. She swats at your hand, and you throw her a look. Out of the corner of your eye Paul smiles at your antics, your only consolation in this hopeless place. 

- Stop fidgeting, you'll tear the dress - Lady Jessica scolds you, and you can sense actual worry underlining her stern voice.

The Harkonnen ship slowly glides into the atmosphere of your home planet, a black, awful thing. Like all things on Geidis Prime, dark and miserable. Soon, you'll join them, adorned in equally black and lifeless clothing, never to see your family again. Never to see the Ocean. Your nails bite into the collar of the dress, you can hear a stitch tear.

- Stop that.

Your hands fall uselessly against your body, as your mother uses the Voice on you. Wouldn't be the first time, you were quite the unruly daughter and Lady Jessica was determined to make a Lady out of you no matter the means. Still, this time, the unnatural tone feels more like a panicked plea,  than a light-hearted scolding. 

- Relax Mother - your voice is sharp, despite the slight tremble - In a months time I'll be gone from here forever, stuck in some blackened cell, wistfully sighing "ooh" "aah".

You place your hand on your forehead in a dramatic display of doubtful acting abilities. When you were younger, your mother would laugh at you, as you enacted scenes from romance books. You would throw yourself at a nearby piece of furniture, pretending to be some wronged lover, or an unhappy bride waiting for someone to liberate her. And your mother would clap her hands, thoroughly entertained.

Today however, she doesn't even crack a smile.

- I don't expect you to be happy about all this - she whispers - But I do expect you to wear your grief with some grace.

A slap would've been kinder, you think, and stare ahead, as the Harkonnen ship opens, and a group of people dressed in black spill out of it like ants from a drowning anthill. Your heart is thrumming hard in your chest, and your hand reaches out, despite all your apprehension, towards your mother. A force of habit, to search consolation within her disregarding the fact, that it was her meddling that put you here. 

Her fingers lace with yours, thumb stroking your palm in an attempt to soothe you. 

Immediately, you know which one of the bald headed Harkonnen is your betrothed. 

He's much taller than you, an imposing figure even despite his rather lean built. His skin is almost completely white, as expected, his teeth are blackened out, as expected as well, and his eyes are bearing into you with an intensity so oppressing, you almost look away. Almost. 

- I present to you, Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen. 

The pale man steps forward, releasing you from his gaze for only just a moment, to trade pleasantries with your Father, who looks beyond miserable as he fixes your soon-to-be husband with a tired look. Then, Feyd Rautha is brought before you.

There's grace to his movements you did not expect, as he pushes his black cloak aside, and kneels in front of you. Harkonnen were known for their bulky ruthlessness, but this one... This one reminded you of a panther, the way his eyes travelled the length of your body, full lips pulling upward into a barely noticable smirk. 

Customs, you remind yourself, as your mother's hand squeezes your fingers. You don't want to let her go, but you do, slowly, with so many mixed thoughts rattling around your brain, it makes your head swim. 

Feyd Rautha grabs your extended hand in such a gentle manner, you're almost convinced the Harkonnens have shaved some poor bastard and dropped him off instead of the real na-Baron. Then, he lifts your palm up, until his lips press against your fingertips, a gesture so tender, your heart does a flip in your chest. And then, it stops all together, when his grip on your palm tightens, and he pulls your hand closer, to kiss it properly. As if he can't help himself, he looks up at you, and you realize. 

You almost got yourself caught, but reading people's intentions have been taught to you as fervently as reading texts, and you can see right through this facade of chivalry. There's darkness in this man, a swirling void, which brings a wave of cold fear upon you. This cunning, depraved creature will soon enough become your husband, and you'll be stuck with him forever. How long will he keep up this impeccable appearence? Was this performence for you, your Father, his own twisted fun, or all the things combined?

With a furrowed brow, you tear your hand out of his grasp, a full body shiver running up your spine at the sight of his self-satisfied smirk. He drinks up your reactions like a man parched, and you fight hard to put on a mask of indifference, as he rises from his knees to stand before you in all his imposing glory.

***

You can feel his eyes follow you, as the welcome committee retreats into the Palace. He doesn't let you out of his sight throughout the feast, which takes place immediately after his arrival, and even now, as he gets ready to "entertain" the court by indulging in some barbaric ceremony of his, his eyes are trained only on you. 

It's uncomfortable, to say the least, having him stare at you, while you sit surrounded by your family, who, for the most part, say nothing. Except Paul. Your dear baby brother, your protector in all this madness. As Feyd Rautha throws his coat to the side, showing off his (admittedly impressive) muscles, Paul leans towards you.

- He looks like a hard boiled egg, don't you think sister? - he whispers and subsequently ends your vow of silence. 

The giggle you let out is caught quickly by everyone around, your betrothed included, before you press an open palm against your lips. 

- Behave - your mother warns, and you try, you really do.

But in the serene light of the fading sun, your soon-to-be husband's head does look frighteningly egg-ish. God, you'll get yourself killed, before the wedding ceremony is even resolved if you keep this up.

You're seated high in an outdoor theater. One of your grandfather's favorite places, where he used to dance with bulls for sport. Where he met his demise.

Feyd Rautha presents his knives to you and your family, their blades glint ominously in the setting sun. Again, you are struck with the sheer grace this man exudes. His movements, despite being forceful and wild, have a beauty to them, as if he was rehearsing ancient dance moves, rather than killing blows.

And, despite your brother's earlier comment, there is something enticing in the way his pale skin catches the rays of bleeding sunshine, slowly creeping towards the horizon. He's almost beautiful, almost handsome enough to consider. 

The thought leaves your head almost immediately, as the Harkonnen servants bring in his apparent opponent. Your heart drops to your stomach at the sight of a beaten, dark skinned warrior. Immediately you recognize a Fremen, you've read so much about them in your free time. You know how they filter water, what they eat, how they move through the sands, and despite your knowledge you can't fathom, why this poor man has been brought here. 

At your side, Paul shifts in his seat, all jokes leaving him in a hurry. The both of you watch, as the man you're promised to toys with a clearly drugged victim. Slashes bloom on the prisoners skin, blood sprays in the air. You refuse to look away, to show such weakness, even as Feyd Rautha grabs the poor man by his hair and with a forceful push impales his throat on the blade. Blood pours down onto the sand, paints the Harkonnen's face and chest a deep shade of red.

It's a brutal display of power, of cruelty and wildness the Harkonnens are known for. Suddenly, everything Gurney has warned you about, while training your fighting skills, rings like a thousand of bells in your ears. This is who you will marry, who you will spend your entire life with. 

You swallow down an urge to throw up, and stand up from your seat. 

The show must go on, you think, throwing your Mother one, venomous look, trying to force her to understand your pain. Then, you lock eyes with your betrothed, who watches you from below with a cruel smile, blackened teeth on full display. You meant to congratulate him, to play the part as instructed, but you can do nothing of the sort. Instead, you stare back at him, disgust flowing from your features like a broken faucet. 

Lady Jessica opens her mouth, but before she can, without a doubt, scold you again, you're out of the seating area, your footsteps echoing in the halls. 

Once you're sufficiently tucked away from prying eyes, your back hits the wall, and you allow yourself feel the luxury of unbridled panic. Your breathing comes out in fast, shallow pants, as cold sweat forms on your forehead. Thoughts racing, your fingers tangle into your hair, tugging at the roots. This is your future, the only future waiting for you, and it's filled wth pain and blood.

- Have you enjoyed the fight, my Lady? - you immediately know it's him, despite not hearing him speak before.

A gasp of surprise leaves you before you can catch it, and your back straightens almost painfully fast. 

There he stands, tall and lean, and terrifying. Blood still decorates his torso creating a contrast that is both terrifying and hypnotizing. He watches you, curiosity and humor swirling behind his eyes. You can't decide whether they are completely blackened out, or if they hold a blue, almost serene hue. 

- No - you answer, finding your voice entirely too shaky for your liking - I did not enjoy it.

He laughs, a guttural, low sound that makes the hair stand at the back of your neck. You know he wouldn't dare try anything here, right under your Father's nose while the engagement is still in the making. Yet, as you stand frozen, just you, him and the marble walls around you, dread finds home in the pit of your stomach.

- Was that man Fremen? - you ask, partially to fill the silence, partially because you're genuinely curious.

The man shrugs, you can see muscles moving under his white skin. He takes a step towards you and you will yourself not to run.

- Sometimes we bring a couple of captured desert rats home - he explains with a nonchalant tone - Mostly for entertainment.

The almost bored intonation he uses to describe this barbaric ritual makes something boil deep inside you. 

- That's cruel - you counter, emotions flowing freely onto your face, much to the man's delight - To deny those men the honor of dying on their home planet. To drag them into a completely foreign place, just to kill them for sport, like some animals... It's...

- Some of them live - he cuts you off, taking another couple of steps towards you, but in your growing outrage, you barely notice - Our brothels are filled with Fremen whores.

Your face twist into an expression of utter repulsion, and Feyd Rautha raises his eyebrows in a pathetic mask of confusion, almost childlike giddiness lighting up his eyes as he looks down at you.

- Oh, don't give me that look, my Lady. - he cooes, and you've never felt a stronger urge to slap the daylights out of someone - I know for a fact there are brothels on your planet filled with hungry soldiers.

- Yes - you bark back at him - but the people there are working prostitutes, not slaves!

He shrugs, looking somewhere to the side of your face.

- A waste of money, if you'd ask me.

- Good thing no one has - there's venom in your voice, and your betrothed sucks a breath through his teeth.

You curse yourself for leaving your dagger, for not concealing it somewhere in this ridiculous dress, because the way the Harkonnen's expression shifts freezes blood right in your veins. 

He looks at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, while something much darker lurks in his eyes. His bloodied hand comes up, finger making contact with the exposed skin of your shoulder. You can feel the thick liquid stick to your flesh, as he drags his hand down, painting you, marking you.

- You're quite the little viper, my Lady.

Watching him silently, you don't respond. Don't know how to, when he closes the distance between your bodies enough to make you feel the heat radiating off of his chest, while the smell of blood and sweat completely assaults your senses. It's sickening, the way he looks at you, like you're a new toy, just waiting to be unpacked and destroyed by too eager hands. 

- My Uncle, the Baron, has instructed me, to be the utmost gentleman to you. To woo you completely - his voice is low, barely above a whisper, as he grins down at you - But I just can't lie to my future wife like that, can I?

He leans closer and finally, you take a step back, sliding out of his space, assessing a cautious stance. His hand almost follows you, the skin of your shoulder feels conflictingly cold without him.

- Once we're wed, I will possess you completely - this time you stand your ground, as he approaches, circling you like a lion stalking it's prey - And then...

He leans down beside you, shoulder to your shoulder, close enough for you to feel his hot breath graze your ear.

- Like the bull that took your grandfather's life, I shall pierce you.

The violent innuendo doesn't slip past you, and with hatred brewing behind your eyes, you look straight at him, forcing your fear to lay dormant. 

- You're disgusting.

- And you're blushing like a lovely, virgin bride should - he concludes, sending an awful wink your way, before withdrawing from you completely. 

Your veins burn hot, as you watch him leave, a selfish confidence painting his steps, and you beg every God in existence to grant you a sword in your hand. Or a dagger. A kitchen knife would do as well. Anything, that would help you cut this unbeatable, patronizing, infuriatingly handsome smirk from Feyd Rauthas face.

Alas, you're left with nothing, only a small glimmer of hope dangling in front of you, after your damned betrothed's words fully register in your brain.

A bride you might be, but certainly not a virgin one. Duncan Idaho made sure of that many years ago. The thought makes you smile, despite nerves wreaking havoc in your body. At least that's the one thing Feyd Rautha won't be able to take from you.

#my writing #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune 2024 #dune movie #dune part 2 #feyd rautha smut #dune smut #dune x reader #he looks insane what the hell am i writing

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Can we get a little 12 or 14 blurb from the clumsy prompt ☺️

number 14 for you lovely! “Hearing a crash or bang in the house and their partner isn’t in sight, cue immediate panic mode. meanwhile their partner just calls out casually that they’re okay or that something fell.”

There was a thump, a startling loud one, from upstairs.

Steve froze, eyes flickering upwards and his body tensing. Silence followed and the boy immediately dropped the spoon he’d been using to stir the macaroni, his shoulder colliding with the door frame in his haste to run to the stairs. His socked feet slipped on the floorboards, his brows knitted together in concern and as he reached the bottom of the steps, he called out, voice strained.

“Babe?”

He heard a small groan and some shuffling, his hand on the railing as he prepared himself to bolt up but your voice followed, suspiciously light and airy.

“It’s fine!” You called down to him. “Something just fell.”

Steve blew a breath from his nose, one eye twitching because he knew this, he knew you, but you were talking at least and that counted for something. His free hand went to his hip and if you’d seen him, you would have definitely called him a mother hen.

“Yeah?” He replied mildly. “Something fell?”

“Uhuh,” you shouted back. Something else clattered to the floor and Steve heard you swear under your breath.

He couldn’t see you from his position at the bottom of the stairs, but he could imagine your twisted pout, your pinched brows.

“Was it you?” Steve yelled.

A pause, a quiet bubble. He heard you sigh, long suffering and exasperated, a sign of you giving in. “Yeah,” you warbled, sounding incredibly mournful about your admission. “Yeah, it was me.”

Steve didn’t know if he should laugh or lecture you, so he just took the stairs two at a time instead. “You okay?” He asked as he made his way to the bedroom. He could see your shadow move under the door frame, so at least you had use of your legs. “You’re not bleeding, right?”

“God, I hope not,” you cracked. “M’wearing my favourite shirt— oh, hey.” Steve opened the door to you on the floor, crawling on your hands and knees you made a weak attempt to sweep up the fallen books.

“That’s my shirt,” Steve commented as he looked down at you.

You huffed, looking a little too warm and unharmed. No blood, no severed limbs. “I didn’t say it wasn’t,” you shot back, “I said it was my favourite.”

Steve snorted and held out his hands, grinning when you slapped your palms to his. He hauled you up, gentle as he examined you. No broken bones, no unfocused eyes.

“What did you do this time?” He murmured, taking your chin between a finger and thumb, tilting your head this way and that, checking for injuries. “Hmm? Apart from give me a damn heart attack.”

You frowned at the accusation, nipping at Steve’s fingers in response. “Couldn’t reach the top shelf,” you confessed. “Turns out I’m not eight foot tall and those shelves aren’t that strong.”

Steve gasped, all dramatic and faux surprise. “No way,” he whispered. “Who knew?”

You pulled a face, tucking your head into the crook of Steve’s neck and sighing. “Not me,” you mumbled against his throat, body going slack when the boy’s hands smoothed over the planes of your shoulders.

“Did know you have a boyfriend with much longer arms than you?” Steve mused. “He even played basketball.”

You grinned, pulling back from his embrace with a gasp as dramatic as Steve’s. “Oh my god, professionally?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at you, an almost glare except his lips were lifting into a smile despite how hard he fought it. “Yeah, you seem fine,” he mused, nose nudging yours.

“I’ll still take a kiss,” you told him, grinning. “For medical purposes.”

And how could Steve say no to that? He wasn’t cruel.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve baby blurb

[ma1dita]

Duddee, now you gotta write luke proposing to trouble, you simply cannot now IBHBHKK

the perfect weekend

a ‘partners in crime’ alternate universe installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

alternate universe masterpost

words: 1.2k (this was too cute the word count escaped me)

summary: alternate universe - the perfect weekend with your perfect boy, even if he thinks otherwise

a/n: happy luke happy luke happy luke FIANCE LUKE 

(posted 2/4/23 unbetad and written on caffeine)

—

This weekend felt like a dream.

Luke took you to your favorite spots that you’ve both carved memories out of in Westport, buying you and his mom gorgeous fresh flowers from the farmers’ market, and he let you drag him around his hometown, spending hours in tiny antique shops and the record store on Main Street. He couldn’t get over how you always found fun in the simple things— even going to the pharmacy to pick up his mom’s medication felt like going to Disney World with you. He couldn’t be more sure of his decision, it was almost inconceivable to spend another day without you being his fiancee.

But luck wasn’t known to be on his side, after all (yeah, thanks dad). Luke’s always had to work harder to get what he wants, and he’s spent the past few years trying to prove himself to your dad—though deep down, he thinks Mr. D doesn’t mind him as much as he makes it seem. (Asking him for his blessing last week over a bottle of wine and a bone-shaking hug scared the wits out of him. He pretended to not notice the god cry.)

Luke just wants to give you what you deserve. And if he needs to spend the rest of his life working on it to prove it, he ought to do it with you by his side.

But he couldn’t think of how.

He tried proposing over dinner last night, with the smell of burnt cookies in the air, but that wasn’t romantic at all, and his hands were shaking so hard he knocked a glass over, prompting you and his mom to fuss over the mess and giggle over his silliness. You both chatted deep into the night, Luke sitting quietly and nodding at two of his favorite women babbling about who knows what (Sometimes he’s still convinced you like his mom more than him, but the way you both take care of him makes him tear up if he thinks too hard about it).

When you went horseriding this afternoon, he set up a picnic for lunch, which was romantic. Chocolate-covered strawberries and sandwiches made by mom, sparkling cider twinkling in the sun. Luke was sure it was going to be great timing— until he realized the ring box fell out of his pocket again, and he slipped in manure trying to rush you back to the house (The sound of your laughter at clumsiness made his heart warm though, and it almost made up for the three hours he looked for the stupid box in the grass that night when you fell asleep with his tiny Star Wars-themed flashlight).

He woke you up early before the sun rose, carrying you out to the car still bundled up in his old Toy Story throw blanket that you wouldn’t let him toss out when he brought it to college (The faded pictures of Buzz and Woody kept a smile on your face, and the memories it brought make you feel connected to 9-year-old Luke). The drive to the beach was short, a sleepy smile on your face as you felt Luke grab onto your hand, sand getting between your toes before he laid out a blanket and the both of you sat down.

Cracking open a redbull for the both of you to sip on, you leaned against his muscled frame, legs hanging over his lap as he wiped the sand off your feet, holding you close as he smiled.

“Good morning, handsome,” you grinned, leaning up for a kiss. Luke obliged, savoring the taste of you mixed with sleep and artificial peach. Your noses nudge against each other before he mumbles a reply, “Good morning, pretty girl.”

“Y’know? I could die happy just like this. I can’t think of anything else that would make this weekend more perfect.”

Luke hummed in contemplation, “I could think of a few things,” he said, as a laugh bubbled from his lips. A noise of confusion rose from you as you reached up to dust lint off his shirt before your knee nudged something hard in his pocket, and your eyebrow raised in mischief.

“Dirty boy, you get me out of your mom’s house and you’re already excited?”

And he laughed the stress off until it freed itself from his bones, pure elation radiating off of him before Eos even had a chance to spread her first rays of light into the sky. 

He’s never needed perfect.

He just needs you.

His hands dug into his pocket, pulling out the ring box that’s caused him so much trouble this weekend. But a life with you should’ve already prepared him for that—and the shock on your face became funnier when you launched yourself on top of him, kicking up sand and taking the air out of his lungs.

You both hit the ground with a loud thud, your nose buried in his chest as he chuckles at your scream. Why was he even worried to begin with? 

“Wait, wait, I still have something to say trouble, don’t jump ahead of the script!”

His hand rubbed your back in gentle strokes as he popped the box open to reveal a delicate golden band with two diamonds juxtaposed against each other sitting pretty on top.

“It’s always been you and me. And I’ve spent hours thinking of what to say, days trying to figure out when the time would be right, months working for a pretty ring that’s perfect for you, years loving you… and well… I want more. I want this, you and me spending the rest of our lives together because I can’t comprehend a future without you. I’d do anything for you trouble, and I don’t believe in much, but I believe in you. Us.”

You’ve cried so hard by this point that you’re convinced it’s so goddamn ugly but Luke smiles at you like he’s been promised immortality. And perhaps he has, with the future you two will have scrolling through his mind like an old film, a house on a hill, kids, a dog, shit—whatever you want as long as he’s with you it’ll be the closest thing to forever he’d have.

“Are you sure?” you said sniffling, and your boyfriend wiped your tears away like he has countless times before, though happy tears are something he’ll have to get used to.

“I literally ruined your proposal, I just thought you were horny, oh my gods…” Whining loudly and laughing, you held your shaking hand out as he sat up to put the ring on your finger.

“Well, we can fix that later. I still have a question to ask, after all.”

Luke grinned when your head nodded rapidly, finally shutting up so you wouldn’t interrupt him again.

“Will you,” he says so surely now, saying your name before continuing, “let me have the honor of spending the rest of our lives together as your husband?”

“Gods, yes. Fucking hell angelface, did you really think I’d say no?”

The both of you laughed through tears and snot as he placed the ring on your left hand, and still, it couldn’t be more perfect.

“A life with trouble is the life for me,” he mused, laughing as you covered his face in kisses before the both of you fell back into the sand a tangle of lips and lust and love.

You jolted up from your fiance’s embrace just as he thought he was going to get lucky, almost emptying your entire wallet of drachmas into the sand-covered blanket to Iris message your friends.

---

(pics are not representative of reader's appearance or gender just a lil visual for funsies)

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (struck out won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun

#made by ma1dita ♥︎ #trouble!verse #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #luke castellan imagine #🪽 #જ⁀➴ jo answers !

[bythepen98]

@zutaramonth Day 3: After all these years ||

I just love the idea of them learning to dance together and being so very cute and awkward about it at first 🥺💕.

Brief backstory:

Although they were busy preparing for the war, they still needed time to have fun and de-stress so a small feast with music and dancing seemed like a good idea. Zuko and Katara were pushed to spend time together by the rest of the Gaang because they've had enough of the weird distance between the two, brought by brewing feelings that both weren't sure about acknowledging yet. At this point, they've already resolved most of their issues and were on track to becoming really good friends until the 'complication' happened.

Feelings can be ass sometimes fr.

Somehow, what started as a one time, peer pressured, clumsy bonding attempt between two hyperaware-of-each-other teenagers ended up lasting longer than expected. Excuses would be made to continue dancing together because once the initial awkwardness has passed, they found that it was actually quite relaxing (especially for two usually hot headed people) just going through the motions and communicating with looks and gentle touches what they had zero courage to say out loud. Both were also restless and couldn't always spend their hours training so dancing felt like fair game. A very pleasant and completely platonic way of passing the time with a good friend, or at least that's what they told themselves.

Then the war ended, feelings were finally acknowledged and returned now that there was enough time to reflect and actually do something about it and time continued to pass. No matter the changes and busy schedules that came with adulthood and bearing the responsibilities of ruling/helping rule a nation, some things remained constant. Though they never broadcasted it, the Gaang knew that Katara and Zuko would sometimes be found at night just swaying in each other's arms while they quietly talked about their day. It became a tradition - their way to bond and reconnect after a busy day. It was also muscle memory at this point and something they would naturally drift to doing when the opportunity arose. If they weren't training, lounging and drinking tea or walking arm in arm along the courtyard for a stroll, they'd be dancing.

Ofc the dances varied. Most of the time it was simple, intimate, and didn't require much energy. It was during festivals and other special events where they'd let loose and swap partners with their friends. They definitely would've taught each other's traditional dances too. Most of the time they stuck to couple dances though.

The two would then make it to their golden years surrounded by friends and family. In this au, Aang, Sokka and Suki are definitely still alive and kicking and they, together with Toph, would reminisc about the good old days and pat themselves in the back for helping get Zuko and Katara together. They would've gotten together eventually anyway but the Gaang just sped up the process and the credit for starting the whole dancing tradition goes to them. Aang isn't afraid to admit that he and whoever he married in this au also partake in said tradition; Sokka and Suki would do so every now and then but they much prefer exchanging swords as their love language; Toph is indifferent and much prefers just sitting back and letting them enjoy themselves.

This is way over due but I'm glad I was able to finish it. Will sadly be the only prompt I'll be able to do for zutara month bc life threw a wrench and made me too busy, though I'm still interested in making the other prompts at a later date. /N

#zutara month 2023 #day 3 #after all these years #zutara #zutara fanart #zuko x katara #zuko fanart #katara fanart #atla #avatar the last airbender #not a writer but I couldn't help including a very brief background that popped while drawing this

[friend-or-fo]

kissing prompts 💛

(romantic + queerplatonic) (no tongue)

an accidental kiss on the corner of the mouth.

a very gentle peck on the lips, not wanting to overwhelm you or push your boundaries.

a hurried kiss before parting ways that holds unspoken words of adoration.

a firm kiss, perhaps a bit too overeager, grateful for something you did for them.

a kiss for luck.

a fluffy make-out session with no French kissing, just soft, tender kisses and cuddling.

a kiss meant to share oxygen in a dire situation, resulting in an extended lip-lock for minutes on end.

kissing you to keep you warm on a cold day.

kissing to unlock some sort of magical power.

a farewell kiss that turns out not to be a farewell.

kissing in an attempt to understand each other, perhaps starting out angry, frustrated, and becoming gentler and more empathetic as the curious pecks continue.

kissing as part of a game, especially if you and/or them have never kissed anyone before. perhaps it's a bit clumsy, but the heart's there.

kissing to annoy a third party.

putting on lip gloss/balm before the kiss, having fun sharing different flavors.

saving you and your partner's first kiss together for your wedding day, and not being able to stop kissing.

#first kiss #kissing prompts #writing prompts #f/o imagines #comfort character imagines #romantic f/o #queerplatonic f/o #f/o community #comfort character #mint's f/o stuff 💛

[churipu]

Hiii, first I want to say I loveee your work. It's so good, and I think I've read literally everything you made. I was wondering if you could do a jjk men x tall user. User doesn't have to be taller than them, just tall.

That's all, thank you 🫶🏻🌸

JJK MEN + TALL PARTNER ⋆⭒˚.⋆

featuring. itadori yuuji, megumi fushiguro, gojo satoru x reader

warnings. mentions of wearing a dress (megumi)

note. hi hiii, sorry for the long wait for your request. i've received your additional message about adding megumi and yuuji in my ask box, so here it is! i hope you like it <33

ITADORI YUUJI. you stood as tall as the male, and he did say his ideal type is a tall girl with big butts like jennifer lawrence — when he first laid his eyes on you, he was immediately attracted. when you walked by him, it was like everything had slowed down and he followed your figure with his eyes.

so when he finds out that you were another first year in jujutsu tech, he just got to know you. and he did, yuuji was the first one to initiate a conversation between you two, introducing himself, and you immediately recognized him as sukuna's vessel.

getting to know him was a big challenge, especially the way sukuna pops up from time to time. on his cheek, on his palm, on the back of his hand — exposing yuuji's feelings towards you. and believe me when i said that the curse initially thought that a person like you would never like yuuji, so yuuji finds himself pondering over sukuna's words sometimes.

but no, to his surprise. you actually do like him back (and sukuna didn't like the fact that he was wrong about you not liking his vessel).

yuuji absolutely loves hugs with you. standing in front of you with his arms wrapped around your waist, and your arms around his neck — the both of you do eskimo kisses. a lot. nuzzling each other's nose childishly, and sukuna will and he always ruins the moment.

he doesn't care about how tall you are, he finds you attractive inside and outside. that's what matters.

"can you like bridal carry me? 've always wanted to feel what it's like," yuuji prompted out of the blue, jumping energetically.

you tried. but failed and gave up after three steps — since yuuji kept on kicking his feet happily, resulting in a fall for the both of you. but no hard feelings, the male ends up carrying you right after.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO. you were a few centimeter under him . . . to be more specific, three centimeters under him. but he didn't mind really — he loves the fact the he could reach your lips for a quick kiss, and you do too. or how clumsy you are with your height, forgetting the fact that you are tall.

he watches you bump onto cabinet doors, or even bump into tree branches. it's like — you don't even realize that you're tall at all, but that didn't matter. megumi will take care of you, so he will look after you if you ever bump onto something; and if you were about to, megumi makes it his job to warn you about what's in front of you.

when it doesn't work, he will forcefully grab the back of your neck gently and forced you to duck as the both of you continue walking, muttering out a, "careful."

sometimes you tell him about how you found a cute dress, but it was too short for you. and megumi will try to have it custom made, asking nobara if she knows the place to do so. and nobara usually knows just the place, or sometimes, he approaches maki for help; since you were not far above her height.

"you custom made it? for me?" you asked the male in awe, grabbing the silky dress from him, "gumi, you didn't have to do that."

megumi is more than happy to do so, he hears you complain about how sometimes cute clothes don't fit you because of your height. and every time you talk about a certain piece of clothing, he's going to custom make it for you. he wanted to see you happy, and he's going to do it.

"you liked it," was always his answer. he was happy when he sees the outfit on you — proud boyfriend.

GOJO SATORU. he is a tall man. and having a tall partner, who stood no less than ten centimeters under him was quite amusing. he could easily press a kiss onto your forehead, or your face entirely. sometimes, going out — the both of you get odd looks from people. but really though, he could care less, and so do you.

going out sometimes, gojo finds you helping people to reach things they can't. especially during grocery shopping, and he finds it endearing. like yay, look at my partner helping people. he is also a very proud boyfriend, taking pictures of you, and telling you how fit you are to model.

the male finds you very very very attractive. gojo finds you alluring, normal outfits look exceptionally attractive on you. hell, even pjs look attractive on you — help him, he's so in love.

"god, baby, you look so beautiful," he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your hip, pulling you close to him before capturing your lips in his, "how did i even get so lucky with you, hm?"

for the first time, he never knew that tall girls like you are a lot of people's type. and he has had people asking you out on a date, in front of him. gojo gets so pissed off at them, like, are they that blind to not notice him?

"i'm their boyfriend, screw off," he mutters out, squeezing your waist as his blue eyes gazed onto the person eerily. and when the said person left in a rush, gojo turns so whiny, "i can't believe they hit on you, and in front of me too? do i not look like your boyfriend? should i make a custom shirt for us?"

he gets extremely protective of you during night outs. especially knowing the audacity of people to hit on you in his presence.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #fluff #jjk #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #itadori yuuji #itadori x reader #itdaori yuuji x reader #itadori fluff #itadori yuji #yuji fluff #yuuji itadori #megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fluff

[luna-writes-stuff]

What types my favourite Game Of Thrones characters would fall for

Includes Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Oberyn Martell, Margaery Tyrell, Brienne Of Tarth, Daenerys Targaryen, and Tormund Giantsbane

————————————————————————

Robb Stark:

Robin Stark is 100% the person to fall for personality rather than looks. And something he has always admired, is someone with a creative mind. In the North, there is a lot of pessimism and realism. There isn’t much room for glee, daydreaming and imagination. So when he first meets you in one of the garden, writing away in your own notebook filled with words of your own worlds and thoughts, he is intrigued. Of course, you are adamant about talking about your work, let alone show it. But Robb is patient. He spends every single day talking to you, entertaining you and even accompanying you on walks. This man is completely gone for you. So, when you ultimately decide to give him a sneak peek, his entire face lights up. And your writing? It’s insane. He needs a library filled with your books right now. He is constantly asking about new ideas, even offering some, though they’re usually a tad bit….dark. But he tries! Will absolutely brag about it to others. He knows you don’t like to show everyone, but he will definitely let others know that his significant other can write. Don’t ever shut up about your ideas and prompts. This man wants to hear all of them. Every single one, even the late night cold sweat dream ones.

——

Sansa Stark:

Sansa can be rough around the edges. And who is to blame her after all she’s been dragged through? She needs someone who will look at things the kinder way, yet be decisive. Someone who can make interest out of the best of their heart. Sansa deals with issues from a neutral perspective, unless it is something close to her. But she can use a compassionate look at things. Then, all the same, she needs a supporting shoulder constantly. Someone who is able to slightly alter her decisions, but still let her do the main thing. If she wishes to have someone punished, they will. But all in good due. When the sun sets, she can let her guard down and rant about all the issues on her mind. She needs a confidential person for that, and who better than you? A comforting hand, a loving embrace, a gentle kiss. A good nice rest in the arms of those she loves most.

——

Jon Snow:

Jon has humour. He does. It’s hidden, but he does. And we saw how he was with Ygritte. Make him laugh in any way, and his heart can - and will - skip a beat. Whether it is because you are clumsy, childish, mischievous, or simply hilarious. He adores you. Something like you in the North is rare, and he plans on treasuring it for as long as he can. And when there is a day you won’t be laughing or trying to make others laugh, he grows concerned so quickly. It’s all fun and jokes until you stop laughing. All over you, constantly. Hiding you under his robe, standing in front of you the entire time, shooting you reassuring glances and smiles, reaching for your arm often to check if you’re still there. He does it. It’s those little gestures that grow so endearing, that you cannot help but smile at him. And that’s honestly all he needs.

——

Oberyn Martell:

Give him a charismatic partner. Someone who teases him back twice as hard, returns his pick up lines and messes with him from time to time. Play around with him and tug on his heart strings just a little too tight. He loves it. Playful smiles, far-off winking, stares at each other from the other side of the room. He was taken with you when your eyes first met his. He immediately knew there was this something about you. He’ll introduce you to others constantly, even if you are not around. You don’t know he does this, but he is so enamoured with you, he wants to announce it to everyone, even though that might not always be as clever. You’re being under protection the entire time, even from a distance. He has to make sure you are safe, constantly. If something were to happen to you, he’d never forgive himself.

——

Margaery Tyrell:

Margaery is a very artistic person. She grow up with artists all around her, and though she is somewhat skilled herself, this doesn’t mean she doesn’t admire the others. You’d have met in her home castle, working on one of your pieces when she simply walks in. Initially, she had the rooms mixed up, but she remained once she found your projects. She was a princess: you couldn’t tell her to get out. Of a room. Of a palace. Which her family owns. She starts taking immediately, apologising for entering the wrong room, but then moving on to your works decorating the walls. It is a whole different technique than she is used to, and it is somewhat entrancing. She’ll ask for inspiration, motivation and all those things, genuinely curious about your manner of working. From that day, she shows up twice a day, once with lunch, once without anything. Those talks made her fall for you at first; not your art, not your looks - though that was a win -, but you passion about your hobbies and career. And seeing you so motivated about her, awes her so much.

——

Brienne Of Tarth:

BIG STRONG WOMAN GOES WHOOSH. But when big strong woman sees compassionate and kind significant other, she grows all soft. She’ll do anything to grab your attention, though she will be hesitant at first. She has dealed with a lot of prejudice and harmful words throughout her life, and she fears you will reject her. Deep down, she knows you wouldn’t. You couldn’t even harm a fly. But she’s insecure. Yet, the second you choose to talk to her after seeing her countless attempts, she freezes completely. You’re actually talking to her? Thoughts everywhere. No words whatsoever. You observe her when she’s training, stay by her side when she is travelling, and offer to clean her wounds after fights. And it’s so intimate and endearing, and Brienne grows so flustered of it every single time. There will never be a day she wouldn’t. Big strong woman turns into mush.

——

Daenerys Targaryen:

Daenerys is definitely the person who is interested in all kinds of cultures and arts. And what better way to introduce those to her than to write music about it? You’d accompany her on her journey to Westeros, offering entertainment and music on the ships and walks. Whether you can sing or play an instrument, it doesn’t matter to her. But when she first met you on that square, trying to earn a little bit of money for your family, she immediately offered shelter and food. And ever since, you have been with her. You’ll be sitting on your bed, creating your own musical piece, and she’ll simply join you, her hand resting on your lap as a silent encouragement, and - if possible - her head on your shoulder, staring out of the windows in simple bliss. After everything she’s been through and is going through, you are her rock; her one place she can be safe and let go for a short moment.

——

Tormund Giantsbane:

Ironically enough, I’d think he’d go really well with someone incredibly stubborn. Someone who is set to do things their own way and will do anything to get it. He falls head over heels for looks primarily, but the confidence you radiate in your speech and actions actually stuns him. You go against him or Jon? He isn’t insulted. Kind of turned on, which he wouldn’t admit to you. Jon knows all about it though. But you can, weirdly enough, intimidate him. You’re so sure of yourself, it makes him doubt himself. Surely you wouldn’t need someone like him? It is not that he gets insecure about it, not at all, he simply hesitates his attitude towards you. The last thing he wants is for you to grow pissed at him and never look at him again. He couldn’t live with that. Once you two do get together, it is like fire and fire. Usually, that would be a bad thing, but your playful banter, teasing looks and general breathtaking combination is something to actually die for.

#christmas week with luna 2022 #got #game of thrones #Robb stark #robb stark x reader #jon snow #jon snow x reader #Sansa stark #sansa stark x reader #margaery tyrell #margaery tyrell x reader #Tormund Giantsbane #tormund giantsbane x reader #Oberyn Martell #oberyn martel x reader #brienne of Tarth #brienne of tarth x reader #daenerys targaryen #Daenerys Targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader

[delcakoo]

enhas reaction to you getting hurt + hospital visits ⋆ꨄ˚ ༘ *

requested <3

≛ PAIRING ! enhypen x gn!reader

≛ GENRE ! fluff n’ comedy

≛ WC ! 2.7k

≛ WARNINGS ! uhh not very severe injuries (?) reader says penis in niki’s idk man

a/n: thank u for the req anon ^^ i hope you don’t mind i expanded a bit with the prompt, and hi new followers i love u guys sm <3

// LEE HEESEUNG !

heeseung is pretty calm in these situations

when you first told him you broke your arm, he was of course very worried, demanding you explain how the hell that happened

probably does a bit of scolding at your clumsiness

but once he gets over the initial shock he’s just like eh it’s nothing serious

however you do have to stay overnight at the hospital to make sure everythings okay, which heeseung was sad about

you were just lying in your bed, staring at your broken arm depressingly

when heeseung walks in !!

you immediately gasp when you see him

this man brought you flowers and a box of chocolates :(

“yah! why do i need flowers for breaking my arm? are you crazy!?”

he giggles, placing them both on your side table before leaning down to give you a quick kiss

“i just wanted to. this is making me sad, i don’t like seeing you like this.” he frowns, gently holding your arm

you sigh, “it’s okay, i’ll be out tomorrow.”

he pokes the side of his mouth with his tongue, “do you think i can convince them to let me sleep here with you then?”

you laugh, watching him rub your cast, “hee, i’m fine. this bed is barely big enough for one person.”

“no, i’ll sleep on the floor, duh” he says as if it was obvious

yeah he’s not giving up until he successfully ends up asleep on the ground next to your bed that night

however having him so close but not right there next to you felt like a tease

sooo you both end up squished on the tiny hospital bed, half your limbs falling off the edge

oh and when you're fully recovered, he takes you to do lots of physical activities like archery just so you can proudly show off your now working arm !

and expect him to be bragging to all the other people there too like a mom chaperoning a kindergarten field trip

“yeah, that’s my partner who actually just recovered from a broken arm.”

“another ten baby? great job!” he looks over to the other couples, “pretty impressive right?”

“oh, and did i mention they just broke their arm? yeah, they’re kinda amazing.”

everyone is just like 😦😦 we didn’t ask

but hee doesn’t care !! <3

jay will be very overprotective and in full caretaker mode >:(

jay will be very overprotective and in full caretaker mode >:(

jay will be very overprotective and in full caretaker mode >:(

when you call him to let him know you’re in the hospital, he chokes on his own saliva

“what?! what the hell happened? for how long? do i have to beat someone up??”

you sigh

once your boyfriend actually let you explain, he calmed down knowing your injury wasn’t that serious and left the dorms immediately

he was thinking about taking a detour to get you some gifts

but he just wanted to see you as soon as possible

when jay arrives he will literally stay with you for the rest of the day, it doesn’t matter if the hospitals chairs were uncomfortable as hell, he will just sit there making sure everything is going well

even if you’re asleep he’ll be watching over you like a hawk

but for some reason doing nothing makes him feel bad even though it’s technically the nurses job to be taking care of you right now

he feels like he needs to be doing something, mans just wants to get you out of that sad hospital gown

“babe, want me to turn on the tv?”

“are you hungry?” *gets up* “i’ll get the nurse.”

“i think you should have more water.” *forces the bottle down your throat*

“do you want a massage?” *starts rubbing your shoulders before you even reply*

everytime you’re just like “jay i’m fine, calm down please.”

so eventually he gives up and falls asleep on the hospital stool

you get some amazing blackmail material that day of his sleeping face <3

when you’re finally out of the hospital, jay takes you to the mall and spoils you rotten no matter how much you protest, declaring that the both of you had to celebrate your swift and smooth recovery !

// SIM JAKE !

he’s acting like you just got shot 😭

“stay calm babe!! i’m on the way right now oh my god!”

“jakey, i told you, i just twisted my ankle. stay at practise please.”

“no,” he presses, “you need me right now, you’re prince is on the way!”

facepalm

you’re beginning to regret telling this boy anything in the first place

he shows up at the hospital out of breath as if he just won a marathon, immediately grabbing your leg

“yah, careful!” you scold, watching him inspect your ankle carefully

“i can’t believe this.. we can’t go on any dates for the next few weeks!” jake whines, holding your ankle

you smack his head, making him yelp out in pain, “that’s what you’re concerned about?!”

carefully dropping your ankle back onto the bed, he rubs the spot you hit him, “of course i’m concerned about your injury! it’s just i wanted to take you roller skating this week..”

you scoff, “well can still go on other dates dumbass, i’ll just have to use crutches.”

for some reason, this idiot starts giggling

you snap your head to him, “how is that funny?!”

he laughs harder, “sorry, i can just imagine your grumpy face as you try to keep up limping next to me.”

what to do with this mfer

despite him making fun of you, he’s genuinely very caring throughout the whole healing process

he probably does a whole daily check in with you every morning

“day #13 of the twisted ankle, how’re we feeling this fine morning, ma’am/sir?”

“jake, please stop interviewing me.”

he pouts, calling you lame 🙄

besides that, everytime he gets the chance he kisses your cast and gently holds it :(

and he always helps you with your crutches, making sure you can move good before starting to walk with you

and he usually likes to guide you with his hand on your lower back <3

even though you complain that you feel like a senior citizen and swat his hand away a few seconds later, he still tries his best 😭

all in all, dorky but loving boy !

// PARK SUNGHOON !

bro thinks you’re joking at first

but when he realizes you aren’t kidding he kinda freaks out

you - 2:37pm : i’m in the hospital :(

hoon - 2:42pm : y/n i’m not dealing w ur stupid pranks rn i’m at the studio

okay in sunghoon’s defense you do play a lot of pranks on him

but in your defense his reactions are top tier !

however you still reply back, feeling offended

you - 2:42pm : wtf i’m not kidding this time 😐 i literally fell and sprained my ankle

you - 2:44pm : now they're putting a cast on me

he was baffled by your text, nearly tripping as he flew up from his seat and let the boys know he had to leave

hoon - 2:44 : wtf???

hoon - 2:44 : im omw

when sunghoon walks into your room, he’s nervously fidgeting, his hands stuffed into his pockets

he frowns when he sees you in lying in the hospital bed, quickly coming over to give you a hug

“this is what happens when i leave you alone for a day? geez, baby.”

he looks down at your leg which was tightly bandaged in a white cast, before suddenly reaching into his pocket

“yeah well, it’s not my fault i tripped over some stupi—“ you stop mid sentence when your boyfriend pulls out a strange, rectangular piece of cardboard

“babe.. what is that?”

he shows it to you, grinning proudly

this man has a printed out photo of his face in his pocket

more specifically, it seems to be one of his photocards from enhypen’s last album

“why the fuck do you have a picture of yourself in your pocket?” you look at him, extremely unimpressed

“it’s my get better gift!” he exclaims, handing it to you

you take it from him, looking down at the cardboard in disbelief, “are you kidding me, sunghoon? other boyfriends would get their partner— i don’t know, chocolates or something, but i get a piece of cardboard with your dumb face on it?”

he scoffs, “first of all, my face is not dumb, and you should be grateful! thousands of people would die to have that photocard!”

anyways..

on the bright side, hoon is very protective of you whilst you recover from your injury, always reminding people you are a ‘temporarily handicapped citizen’

he also assists you with anything and everything throughout the process, even simple things like getting water? he’s like ‘I'M ON IT !!’

which you do appreciate a lot

even though he says annoying things like: “wow, seriously what would you do without me~”

“i’m such a good boyfriend, look at me taking care of you!”

you just give him the stink eye that says ‘when i’m better, you’re dead’

either way, it’s an interesting experience, but you have to admit hoon did help you a lot

and maybe you ended up putting that photocard in your phone case.. what about it

// KIM SUNOO !

worried bby AGHHH HE’S SO STRESSED

sunoo and the boys had just finished a performance when you called him, telling him you slipped and fell right onto your arm (luckily it wasn’t too severe, but still definitely broken)

bro literally screamed as if this information hurt him more than you

sunoo <3 - 1:20pm : YOU WHAT?! 😡🤬 (sunoo would use a lot of emojis i just know it)

sunoo <3 - 1:20pm : I JUST GOT OFF STAGE BUT I’LL BE THERE AS SOON AS I CAN BUB DONT WORRY ☺️

you - 1:21pm : sun it’s fine, turn off ur caps lock 😭 i only need to get my cast then i can prob just go

sunoo <3 - 1:21pm : IT’S NOT FINE I NEED TO BE THERE WHEN THEY PUT ON YOUR CAST! 😁 I’M ON MY WAY!! 😘😘😘

you - 1:21pm : 😧

he arrives at the hospital faster than expected, letting out some kind of dolphin screech when he sees you in the bed

“aish, you clumsy baby, i can’t believe this.” he whines, quickly forcing you to sit up so he can give you a big hug

when the doctor comes in to get your cast on, he watches them very closely as if they aren’t professionals at what they do

they carefully bandage your arm, and sunoo is just staring daggers at them everytime you wince in pain

the second they finish your boyfriend starts clapping and cheering, telling you how proud he is and that you did so well :)

he’s also the first person to sign your cast, writing his name in cute bubble letters

he also draws lil flowers all over it <3

you’re smiling like an idiot, because just admit it, he is adorable

during your recovery, sunoo is extra caring with you, and he also enjoys feeding you

“babe, y’know i can still use my other arm right?”

he silences you by stuffing your mouth with a spoonful of soup

“ah, my baby’s eating so well~”

10/10 experience honestly, being babied does feel good sometimes, especially when it’s sunoo !!

// YANG JUNGWON !

this boy probably almost bursts into tears when he sees you hurt :(

like genuinely he’s so heartbroken, but also determined to make your recovery as quick as possible

wonnie will literally research for hours until he’s become an expert on your injury

anyway when you tell him you sprained your ankle he also questioned if he was being pranked at first

but once you assure him you’re being for real, extremely panicked cat activated

he debated just racing to the hospital, but he decided he wanted to make you smile

he stops at your favourite bakery, buying a whole box of cinnamon scones

and then he gets you a cute teddy bear with a bowtie along the way 🥹

when he enters the room, he literally forgets about the gifts behind his back and runs to kiss you

“the members are all worried about you too, how’s it feeling?” he says, gently touching your ankle

“sorry for worrying them,” you peck his lips, “it hurts like hell.”

he frowns, before revealing the teddy bear and scones

you squeal when you see the teddy bear, immediately going for it first

“he’s so cute, i’ll name him jungwon jr!” you declare, tightly hugging the plushie to your chest

your boyfriend laughs at your cute reaction, opening the box of scones, “very creative, jagi. now have your scones.”

he’ll just watch you munch on them happily, brushing away any crumbs from your lips

during your recovery, jungwon will also be very protective of you

anytime you’re using your crutches the other members aren’t allowed to be in your way

if they are, this mf is not afraid to use his leader card to tell them off or just straight up push them 😭

“yah, handicapped person coming through. where’s your manners 🙄?”

“niki, watch where you’re going!” *smack*

and when you’re in public, won is very very observant

he always makes sure you’re on the side away from the road, and he looks out for any holes in the sidewalk that your crutches could get stuck in

and when you’re fully recovered, jungwon will not hesitate to throw a whole party

he sends a text to enha’s group chat, enthusiastically inviting them to “y/ns ankle recovery celebration”

they’re all slightly confused, but the boys are happy for you so they come anyway

you don’t know how you feel about a party dedicated to your ankle, but you go along with it because your boyfriend is having a great time !! <3

// NISHIMURA RIKI !

this boy will be making fun of you a lot.. what’d you expect

he’ll be flexing that his foot is fully functioning unlike your very much broken one

“hey babe watch this!” *jumps* “hah, bet you can’t do that 😎”

you just look at him, extremely unimpressed

“ugh, can’t believe i’m dating a grandma.” he says, having to walk extra slow just so you could keep up with him on your crutches

*smack*

“ow!”

“as soon as my damn foot is healed, you’re in some deep shit nishimura.”

bro is scared for his life 😞

don’t get me wrong, he would still be very sweet and caring, but with a more playful aura to it

when you first told your boyfriend you broke your foot, he didn’t believe you until you sent a photo of your cast as proof

which is in all honesty pretty fair, as prank wars are a daily occurrence in your relationship

but anyway as soon as he saw the picture niki begged the staff to drive him to the hospital right away, dance practise completely forgotten

when he walks in, you smile brightly and greet him with a kiss

you were just sitting on the bed, explaining how you fell in the first place when niki suddenly reaches into his pocket

“so then i was— why do you have a sharpie?” you ask, watching him scoot down until he’s at your foot

he’s grinning mischievously, which makes you very nervous

you try to move your bandaged foot away from his grabby hands, but he easily follows it, the permanent marker still in his grip

you catch on to what he’s trying to do quickly, “yah! if you draw a fucking penis or anything stupid on my cast i’ll kill you!”

he laughs, “i swear i’m not! just trust me!”

“why would i ever do that?!” you exclaim, still moving your foot away

sadly this brat overpowers you easily, pinning your leg down by the knee so your cast is perfectly still in front of him

you sigh in defeat as he spends about a minute slowly writing something right on the very front of it, giggling the whole time which only stresses you out more

whatever he’s writing, you’ll have to wear that for the remainder of your recovery

“done.” he announces proudly, placing the lid back onto the tip of the sharpie

you sigh, carefully bringing your leg up so you can see the damage he’s done

“PROPERTY OF NISHIMURA RIKI”

you gasp, brows furrowing as you smack his shoulder, “are you kidding me?! i have to wear this for months you asshat!”

“that’s the point,” he smirks, “now when i’m not there everyone still knows not to flirt with you.”

this man will be the death of you…

the end! if you enjoyed reblogs or comments are always appreciated and encouraging for me to keep writing c:

© delcakoo on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, cross post, copy, etc.

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[thebradleybradshaw]

a-z nsfw prompt | b. bradshaw

synopsis: nsfw alphabet for b. bradshaw (18+ MINORS DNI!!)

note: thirsty bitches only !! byeeee i blacked tf out writing this. this was highly requested, i hope i did it justice!! likes, comments, & reblogs are always appreciated. have fun and stay thirsty xx

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Rooster is completely exhausted after sex. He’s glistening from sweat and completely spent. He likes to dramatically lay there, huffing his breath, bragging about ‘how good’ it was. He’s dying for a compliment, hinting at you to also talk about just how mind blowing that experience was. Once the adrenaline has died down he becomes clingy. He makes sure that you’re cleaned up and assesses any damage he may have done, leaving little ‘sorry’ kisses wherever a bruise seems to appear. Once the cleaning process is done he’s curled up next to you, looking at you with such puppy dog eyes you’re ready to explode.

This is typically when the pillow talk happens. Now that he’s more relaxed he’s more open to talking about things. He’ll just spew out everything that has been on his mind as he absentmindedly plays with your hair. It’s quite endearing to watch him ramble on and on without any end in sight. Don’t even consider moving or getting up. The second he feels you shifting his arms are locked around you and he’s whining. “I don’t think so, honey.”

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Rooster is extremely proud of his hands. He’s a pilot after all. His hands control an entire airplane. One slip of the wrist and he’s fucked. His hands hold so much power in and out of work. He finds it humorous just how weak in the knees you get from his touch. Whether it’s a soft caress of your cheek, squeeze of your ass, or a strong choke - you love his hands. He has the shape and feel of your body completely burned into his brain, but still likes to take his time to explore further. You particularly like the callouses that form after his workouts.

On you, he’s a big fan of boobs and hips. It doesn’t matter the size - A to GG cup - he’s foaming at the mouth. He’s constantly buying lingerie, night gowns, or sports bras just so he can stare at them as you walk around the house. Your hips are more specific. Not just your hips, but that spot below your hips before your thighs -its delicious. It’s a place he’s holding onto for dear life when he’s being particularly rough. There’s constantly fingerprint shaped bruises in that area. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

In the beginning of the relationship Rooster advocated for safe sex. He always wore a condom. There was no room for potential pregnancy scaries. It was just sex- two horny people who were constantly in the mood. It wasn’t until a year later that things became different. He looked around the room, checking every possible drawer for a condom. THe two of you had completely depleted the box. It would take too long to buy a new box, and he needed sex now. He nervously asked you if you would be okay skipping the condom. After much consideration, you decided to have at it. You never changed your mind. The first time Rooster was able to feel you completely he made a sound that came from Heaven above. It was a pathetic whimper that lit a flame you never knew you had. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's always wanted to make a movie. He wants to be able to watch over and over again. The way you move, the way you sound. He wants to keep a video on his phone whenever he needs to hear you, but you're not there. What keeps him from asking is the fear of it being leaked. It would embarrass him completely if it did. But, he does contemplate how much money the two of you could make with it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s had sex before - that much is for sure. Does he know everything? To an extent. Sex in the beggining was clumsy and a learning process. You had to learn what each other liked and didn’t like. However, once he knew something you liked - he never forgot it. His mental index card holds every position, feeling, and words that make you lose control. The more comfortable he got with you, the more he started asking to do new things. It’s not uncommon to be yeeted about the room as Rooster figures out the next surface to fuck on.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Oh, there’s a few.

Missionary - it’s a given. Having you underneath him gives him a power trip. You’re prey to his vices, trapped. He especially likes it when he wants to be as close as possible. He’s practically folding you into the mattresses as he tries to bury himself as deep as possible. He’s peppering kisses along your neck and ear, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement. He likes to feel your legs squeezing around his waist, your nails raking down his spine. It’s an absolute position for morning sex.

Cowgirl. Boobs. Rooster is below you and mesmerized by the way your tits bounce up and down with each thrust. He’s more quiet underneath because he’s so blown away he can barely breathe. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. He lays back with a grip on your waist and let’s you use him for whatever you need.

Face down, ass up - doggy. This is for when he’s feeling dominate and fiery. The sounds of hands smacking your ass are loud and echoing. He’s got a fistful of your hair in a makeshift ponytail. The other hand holds down your lower torso and he goes wild. You typically end up in this position if you’ve made him jealous. It’s the perfect way for him to put you in the place - no mercy just endless fucking.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It really depends on the mood. If it’s a quickie before the two of you go to work he’s probably being a bit of an annoying tease, thinking it’s hilarious. He’s cracking jokes as the two of you calm down and try to get dressed for the day.

When the mood is more sultry he’s all serious. He’s making demands, praising, even possibly degrading. He’s the boss. There’s no room for silliness. You do what you’re told and that’s that. Although, that is more during anniversary or jealousy sex where Rooster is in more of a dominate mood.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His hair is beautifully sunkissed. The carpet only slightly matches the drapes. He’s darker and more curly. He’s big on grooming. It’s not completely gone, but it’s nicely shaved down. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Rooster can be so intimate to the point of cheesy. He just can’t help it. The bedroom is his safe space. It’s where he can be vulnerable and emotional. When he’s in a soft mood he’s placing kisses to your temple and neck, gently thrusting at an agonizingly slow place. He likes to take his time and enjoy the warmth and heat that radiates from you. It’s like a fuzzy blanket that creates tingles down his spine. It’s not uncommon to get a few ‘I love yous’ and he’s staring into your soul. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It happens. If you’re gone on a trip or he’s on a mission, it’s what he resorts to. He has a high sex drive and few of your polaroids in his pocket. He usually does it in the shower to get his day started. But it could never beat the real thing with you. He also has an arsenal of nudes that he keeps on his phone is a separate album. Sometimes he just stares at it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let’s discuss:

Bottom of the pyramid: hair pulling. It’s simple and it’s effective. He’s sandwiched between your thighs, eating away as if it’s his last meal. The first time you gave his hair a squeeze, he let out such a squeal you couldn’t help but do it again. The soft tugs on his hair seemed to give him more energy. You learned that by gently squeezing a fist into his hair he would release a delicious vibration that sent you right over the edge.

Middle of the pyramid: biting. It’s fun, it’s kinky. Since he always has to be clean and proper in his uniform, Rooster has created a game of leaving bite marks in places no one else could ever see. Pink and purple marks are scattered over your chest and torso. You find new ones every time you strip to take a shower. You’ll send a snap of the map of bite marks, where he replies with a simple “can’t wait to add more”. He’s gentle with his bites, but he likes for you to go full vampire. He wants to feel your teeth sinking into his shoulder as he’s pounding away on top. The sheer adrenaline and pain drives him an extra mile. As he’s changing into his uniform he swipes a finger over the bruise, reliving the fond memories of the night before.

And finally, the top: praise kink. This kink never fails to completely derail the two of you. Rooster is so starved for validation. All it takes is an ‘I’m so proud of you” and he’s bending you over the nearest surface. He’s had a rough day at work, everyone seemed to get on his last nerves. He was desperate to come home and hide away from the ick of the world. He came to you for a hug, an innocent simple hug to help make himself feel better. Your arms snaked around his neck, a hand resting on the newly cut, prickly hair at the base of his neck, “Aw honey, I’m sorry. I’m sure you did so good today, I’m still proud of you.” You made sure to keep your voice low as you dragged out the praise. His once tired muscles tensed up below you. Before you could register, you were being propped up onto the kitchen counter, Rooster practically tearing his uniform jacket from his body. He knew you were just teasing him, but he made sure to do something to make you exceptionally proud of him. As he always said, he ‘aimed to please’.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Work is, of course, completely off limits. He’s a man of privacy and reputation. The home? Fair game. Bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, living room. Every single part of your shared house has witnessed at least one sexual encounter. It was his mission to ‘bless’ each room of the house. Then there’s the truck. What’s more romantic than a gorgeous sunset on the horizon while being absolutely obliterated by your boyfriend? Nothing compares. As long as there is privacy, Rooster is all for it. He’s protective, he refuses to risk any chance of someone seeing you in such a private state. He really wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you got caught. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

All you have to do is ask. He’s watching you laugh at something your friend said, he’s hard. You’re in a bubble bath, hard. You’re innocently putting on clothes for an event, hard. You’ve almost become such a habit that he gets withdrawals after too long. Of course he understands if you’re not in the mood, or a bit too sore from the last time. But the minute you give him those fuck me eyes he’s all about it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that would cause you physical, deep pain. He respects kinks, but the protectiveness he feels for you would not allow him to participate. A little nimble and joking bite is soft. Anything with hitting or blood would cross his boundary. It’s just not something that he is interested in. He would respectfully say no and think of something else to try.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

It’s a two way street. His favorite sight is you on your knees, hair pulled back, and dick in your mouth. It’s beautiful, it’s feral. Your makeup is a mess and there’s a tear going down your cheek and he is done for. It’s something he constantly daydreams about. 

Rooster is a master with his tongue. He’s buried deep, airway constricted, and he goes to town. He never gets tired of your taste flooding his senses. He’ll go all night if you let him. The mustache adds a delicious burn that leaves you raw and aching. He’ll go until your voice is hoarse and you’re spent. It’s a hobby of his.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s fast and rough when the situation calls for it. If it’s angry, makeup, or jealousy sex you are fucked. He’s thrusting hard and fast, filth spilling into your ears, the sound of balls slapping skin all around you. He’s got a strong grip on your throat controlling your breathing. He’s teasing and degrading a bit, never letting you second guess who exactly you belong to.

In normal situations, it’s a gentle rhythmic pace. Rooster really likes to take his time. There’s kisses and whispers and soft touches. He’s complimenting you left and right. It’s the kind of rhythm that can last as long as the two of you possibly can. There’s no rush. He’s got the entire night free to do nothing but shower you in love and attention.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Loves them. Since he’s practically always in the mood, sometimes he needs a quick outlet to get it all out. Quickies are usually in the morning before he’s running late for work, lunch time when he randomly comes out, or before you all go out with friends. He doesn’t need much time, just enough to get the point across that he wants to fuck.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is always up for learning what you like, and what he likes. He typically won’t say no unless it crosses a personal boundary. He likes to keep things spicy and interesting so that it doesn’t get old and boring. He’ll surprise you with new lingerie or a new flavor of lube just because he thought it would add a little bit of fun.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Normally he’ll give it all and exhaust himself in one round. He gets it all out so that the two of you can spend the rest of the time relaxing and spending time together. Unless it’s quickies, he can last two rounds. There’s a point where it can become too long and things start getting uncomfortable. He keeps it about 40 minutes, taking his time, switching it up, so that you’re not getting too exhausted. Unless, of course, it’s one of those nights where he wants to take as long as he possibly can. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s got the basics: vibrator, cuffs, blindfold. The vibrator is solely for your use. It gives him a power trip to be in control of it. He’s changing the intensity, placing it anywhere rather than where you need it most. He’ll turn it off just when you can feel yourself getting ready to spill- just be an asshole. The cuffs are his favorite. When he lets you take the reigns he loves nothing more than to have his arms cuffed above his head. It gives an extra spice to watch you on top while he’s restrained. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Rooster is an asshole. He loves to get you all hot and bothered, give your hair a squeeze and place a sloppy, deep kiss to your mouth and then dip. “See you later, baby.” and he’s out the door. You’re left gasping and incredibly frustrated. He loves the way you glare at him as he’s walking out the door. It does nothing but add to his ego to know you’ll be waiting for him when he gets back, even when you try to say you won’t be.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a cursor. “Oh my fucking God, you feel so good” “holy shit” “fuck, fuck, fuck” amongst others. They’re low grumbles that rattle your chest, and octave lower than his normal voice. He gets in your ear, barely whispering “I know you like that, baby”. He’ll never be loud enough for anyone else to  hear. He keeps his grunts soft and low. He’ll let out a growl here and there when he’s being pretty rough. A lot of the time he’s breathing deep, brows furrowed in concentration, mouth slightly open as if he’s taken aback by how good you look being fucked.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Rooster was pissed. Guys had flocked to you all night and you absorbed all of the attention you could possibly handle. It was innocent on your end, no matter what their intentions were. You were having fun. Rooster did not agree. He was angry, insulted, jealous. He was pretty much silent the entire ride home, knuckles glowing white from his grip on the steering wheel. He followed you into the house, locking the door behind him. He found you in your shared bedroom, beginning to undress.

“Get on your knees,” his voice finally rang out. His eyes were nearly black in the dim light as he stood before you. 

You smirked, “excuse me?”

Rooster wasn’t in the playing mood. “I said get on your knees,” he repeated, “I didn’t fucking stutter.” 

Every hair on your arm stood up at attention. Slicked pooled in your matching lingerie as you contemplated disobeying him. You decided against it, slowly dropping to the floor and maintaining eye contact. Rooster held no expression on his face, but there was a sinister gleam in his eye. He held you hair in a makeshift pony tail, guiding a hand to his belt. “Get to suckin’.”

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

We’ve all seen the beach scene. Rooster is absolutely fucking ripped. Abs that run for miles, arms that could squeeze a melon in half. Arm veins that are delicious. He’s fucking hot, point blank period. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s high. Almost annoyingly high. He enjoys sex. It can be fun, passionate, intense, whatever. He finds sex one of the best ways for him to show you his feelings. Sex is vulnerable and private and only you can see him in that position. Not to mention he just finds you extremely attractive and tends to think with his dick. It’s his favorite way to start and end a day.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Since he spends all of his energy fucking your brains out, he’s exhausted when it’s over. He takes a few minutes for aftercare before he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. He’s curled around you, still babbling on, as his voice begins to get quieter and quieter. He’s practically mumbling nonsense as he begins to fall asleep. And he always has the best rest of his life after sex. He’s satisfied, happy, and completely relaxed. You sometimes try to stay up just to look at his peaceful figure, but you’re just as spent as he is.

#leave a message at the beep lo has left the building #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick fic

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] A Sweet Romance Beginning In a Queue

Rated: T Word Count: 4551 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, rain, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, song-based meet-cute, clumsy metaphors

Notes: This is springboarding entirely from Bus Stop by The Hollies; shoutout to @valeriianz for suggesting this song would make a great Dreamling fic many many months ago. I thought Fluffbruary Day 3 would be a good opportunity to bang it out real quick but uh. It didn't want to flow, so I've just been rolling additional days into it all month. Also went a wee bit off-script from the song but. I'm pleased enough with what it's turned out to be. Prompts listed at the end.

Summary: Bus stop, wet day, he's there, I say, 'Please share my umbrella'

On AO3

It's the first day of the new term and the sky is overcast, threatening rain as Hob steps off the bus at his connecting stop. He's got his umbrella and his overcoat and his bag is water-resistant; his stop on the other end is very near the college and he's feeling well-prepared should the weather follow through on its threat.

Which of course it does, not half a minute later, and Hob deploys his umbrella with a sigh. There are a handful of other people waiting at the stop who do the same.

And one who does not.

He's pale and pretty, and tall, and dark—dark trousers, dark peacoat, dark hair, which is well on its way to getting thoroughly soaked as the skies open up in earnest. He appears to be lacking an umbrella entirely. Hob, who these days makes conscious effort to be a Good Samaritan whenever he can, and who also maybe thinks that attractively-pale men dressed in black who forget their umbrellas are worth at least a 'hello', moves quickly.

"Share my umbrella? Please." He's holding it over the guy as he speaks, but they'll have to squish up a bit to get maximum benefit for either of them.

"…Thank you," the guy says, shuffling closer; their shoulders touch. He is stiff, awkward, and yeah okay Hob can understand; courtesy in rainy weather or not, they're still complete strangers.

"Hell of a day to forget your umbrella, yeah?" Hob rolls his shoulders and shifts, putting himself more or less back-to-back with the guy so they fit better.

"Quite," comes the answer. His voice is low and rumbly, pleasantly dark without being bass-deep; it's oddly appealing.

Hob shrugs. "We've all been there. And hey, I'm glad to share."

"Again. Thank you." There's a touch more warmth this time, and Hob smiles to himself.

They pass a moment in silence, save for the drumming of rain against the umbrella and the splashing of cars in the street, and then the bus is pulling up to the stop. The guy steps toward it, first in line, and Hob follows with the umbrella, then lets the other three people board ahead of him.

Which means, once he's boarded and tapped in, the only open seat is serendipitously next to his slightly-soggy goth stranger. Who makes eye contact and holds it as Hob approaches, scoots just that little bit closer to the window to make clear he doesn't mind Hob taking the seat beside him, and Hob is quietly thrilled at the subtle welcome.

"Are you a conversationalist, or a ride-in-silence enthusiast?" he asks, as the bus lurches into motion.

"Ordinarily, the latter," the guy admits, glancing briefly at Hob. "But, as I stormed out with neither book nor earbuds, and I find myself with a chivalrous seat partner, perhaps I could be persuaded to the former just this once."

"Very kind, thank you," Hob says, with a smile. "'Stormed out' doesn't sound promising; feel like unburdening to a friendly ear? I'd be happy to listen, if so. Or find something else entirely to talk about if not."

His stranger turns to the window, watching the rivulets of rain trailing over the glass; there is a brief lull before he speaks. "I find myself creatively blocked, and my sister's attempts to be helpful. Were not." He sighs. "I left the house to clear my head, before saying anything truly unkind."

"Smart," Hob agrees. He could listen to this guy talk all day, his rumbly words and his dark-velvety voice.

"'Smart' would have been making certain to grab more than just my phone and wallet." There's a pretty little scowl accompanying the words, that rosy mouth plumped out in the faintest pout visible in his reflection in the window, and Hob is smitten.

"That may be, but then I'd hardly have had reason to say hello, and we'd both be sitting here reading our books politely ignoring one another. Silver lining?"

"Perhaps," the guy says, but it sounds agreeable enough. Hob likes to think he's a decent judge of unspoken communication and that he could tell if he was being a bother. Currently his stranger is glancing over Hob's bag and his attire with a curious and observant eye, posture reserved but not closed off, and Hob figures he's doing alright.

"Where are you headed, then—work?" the guy asks.

"Yeah, I teach at the college, medieval history, now and then a class in medieval lit too."

The guy's attention goes from merely polite to genuinely interested. "Oh?"

"Yep!" Hob's heart rate bumps up a notch at the light in those (gorgeous) blue eyes; the sudden intensity of this stranger's focus is heady.

He's turned in his seat, angled to somewhat face Hob, gaze bright, expression open. "I imagine that is a difficult sell to many students."

"Oh my friend, you have no idea!" Delighted with his good fortune, Hob launches into tales of his most recalcitrant classes and the victories he's won in inciting and maintaining student interest. He's good at talking, and enjoys doing it, and this pretty stranger is paying genuine attention to him, and so Hob prattles on enthusiastically as the bus trundles steadily through the rain.

~ "This is me," Hob says, as the bus pulls up to the college stop. "It was delightful chatting with you, and I hope your day improves from here!"

"It already has, thank you."

The tiny smile that the stranger offers in parting buoys Hob's spirits all the way to his office.

~ Tuesday is miserably wet again and Hob checks for his stranger at the bus stop, hopeful (yes alright, perhaps he's got a bit of a crush), but there's no sign of him. It's earlier than it was yesterday though, on account of his 8 a.m. lecture this morning, so there's no reason to think he'd be there again. Plus he'd talked about 'storming out' and 'clearing his head'; it wasn't like this stop was a daily transfer point the way it was for Hob.

Chances were good they'd never cross paths again.

~ Wednesday it's less a downpour and more a light shower, but it's still enough that an umbrella is practical.

And Hob is absolutely delighted as he steps off his first bus to see that Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Emo is there again, and again without an umbrella, hunched ineffectually into the collar of his coat and resembling nothing so much as a disgruntled wet cat. He perks up distinctly as Hob approaches with his umbrella angled forward in offering.

"You gallantly come to my rescue yet again." He tilts his head and glances up through lush black lashes, just this side of coy. "I thank you, sincerely, Mr…?"

"Hob, I'm Hob. Just Hob. You can call me Hob." Not his most suave, certainly, but this blatantly-flirtatious greeting atop his own delight has somewhat stolen his functioning brain cells.

"Hob," the guy repeats, unhurried, like he's savoring the taste of the name in his mouth, and smiles just a little bit. "You may call me Dream."

"Pleased to run into you again, Dream." Hob dimples brightly, delighted with the turn his day has taken, delighted that they've made proper introductions. "How was the head-clearing, the other day?"

"Effective." The guy—Dream—crowds close under the umbrella (Hob's largest, which he had pulled out yesterday just in case) and smooths the clinging water from his hair with one hand. His (damp) shoulder is firmly pressed against Hob's and his profile is absolutely beautiful, this close. Hob tries not to stare.

"Got your creativity flowing again, did it?"

"I managed to finish a very troublesome chapter Monday evening, yes."

Hob perks up at this new tidbit of information. "You're a writer, then?"

He gives a short nod, staring out into the rain, then glances sideways at Hob. "I have you to thank for my progress, also."

"Me?"

"The stories you shared…you inspired a direction for the scene that was plaguing me. I came out yesterday, with intent to thank you, but you were not here…?"

His voice lilts up just a touch on the end of his sentence, curiosity expressed without actually voicing the question, and Hob just smiles. "Yeah, Tuesday's my early-morning class. Sorry I missed you."

"No matter. I have now left the house three days in a row and my sister is distressingly pleased about it. She says it is good for my mental health."

"And what do you think?"

He sighs, heavily. "She is not incorrect." He glances sideways at Hob again, eyes narrowed prettily. "But I am not going to admit it to her."

Hob laughs; he can't help it. "You are so completely valid for that," he says, and when Dream smiles in return his spirits soar.

~ "Remembered your umbrella this time, I see!" Hob ignores the little pang of disappointment; just because he doesn't need to share his umbrella with Dream this time doesn't mean they can't still have a conversation.

"My sister reminded me, yes," Dream answers, and then to Hob's great surprise he lowers and closes the umbrella. "But I would prefer to share yours, if you're amenable." His eyes flick up, just a hint of hopeful uncertainty showing there.

"Of course." Hob moves close, brings his umbrella over Dream's head, heart thudding in his chest with delight. He hopes the great spreading grin on his face doesn't put Dream off; he can't quite get it under control.

If Dream notices, he gives no indication. "This routine is working well for me," he says, and it takes Hob a second to cotton on to what he means.

"What, catching the bus in the rain every morning?"

"Yes," Dream says serenely. "The company is. Refreshing." The corners of his mouth tilt up the smallest bit.

"Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Hob says, making a valiant effort to sound normal while something warm blooms in the vicinity of his heart. He shifts the umbrella, making sure they're both still sheltered.

"Writing flows more easily when I return home after our morning conversations," Dream says, as if this is something they've been doing for weeks instead of just days. "I shall have to credit you in my author's notes."

Hob laughs, absolutely delighted. "That is extremely flattering, my friend, but wholly unnecessary. But if I'm at all helpful? I'm glad."

One day maybe he'll ask if he can see Dream's writing, when they've been acquainted for more than a week; one day further, perhaps, he'll ask him on a date. It certainly seems he'd be amenable, but Hob knows himself and his tendency to rush in full-tilt and tells himself there's no harm in just. Seeing what happens, for a little while.

~ "Share my umbrella?"

Dream looks askance at him, hair fluttering prettily across his forehead in the breeze. "It is not raining, Hob."

"Well no, but. Bit windy, isn't it? Wouldn't want you to suffer any windburn. Umbrella makes a decent wind-break." He has oh-so-smoothly said 'wind' three times in ten seconds, and it is the flimsiest of excuses to begin with, but Dream only smiles as if he's said something profoundly wise.

"Indeed. Truly, I am fortunate to receive your continued chivalry." He crowds in close to Hob, who angles the umbrella behind them to keep the wind off, and smiles.

~ The other patrons at the bus stop are giving Hob weird looks as he opens his umbrella, but there's only one person here whose opinion matters.

Dream tilts one eyebrow up, amused. "The sun is shining today, Hob Gadling. Yet still you offer your umbrella?"

"It's tradition, at this point. And besides—got a very fair complexion, haven't you? Bit of shade will do you good."

"…As you say." His smile is radiant as the sunshine, and Hob's heart thumps happily. "Thank you."

~ It's been about a month since that first meeting when Hob leaves campus for the afternoon and finds Dream waiting at the college bus stop. The morning's rain has cleared throughout the day but now rises again as a light drizzly mist; Dream is huddled into the meager shelter offered over the bench while pulling out his umbrella. Hob hurries over with his own already deployed, playing into their established pattern.

"Fancy meeting you here?" he greets, smiling. He's delighted to run into Dream outside their developed routine, and the way that Dream kind of blooms to see him is very satisfying.

"Hob. At last," Dream smiles, ducking under Hob's broad umbrella.

"Been waiting long?"

"…Somewhat. You see. I have. A question, I would like to ask you. An important one." The gravity in his tone is clear, and Hob might be worried if it wasn't so plainly obvious that Dream was nervous. "But I do not know your schedule, beyond your morning commute, and so…"

"Have you just been hanging around half the day waiting for me to show up?" Hob is equal parts appalled and delighted.

Dream meets his eyes briefly, glance flicking away again too quickly to interpret as anything other than confirmation. "Perhaps."

Hob laughs, aware he should possibly be alarmed by what any normal person would read as stalking behavior but utterly charmed by it instead. "Your patience has its reward, then. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"I…ah." Dream colors prettily, the faintest pink flush across his cheeks as he stumbles over actually speaking his question, and Hob is rapidly escalating from 'charmed' to 'enamoured'. "I am not. Good, at—at—"

"Obviously it was important enough to identify my most likely location and wait hours for me to show up, right?" Hob cuts in gently. "Go ahead. I promise I won't judge you." He can hear the fondness seeping into his own voice, and apparently so can Dream. He lifts wide eyes to Hob, lips pressed together resolutely, and heaves a fortifying breath out through his nose.

"I wish to ask. Would you like to have dinner sometime. Or. Or coffee, perhaps."

The bus pulls up at that exact moment, disgorging a single passenger; Hob barely hesitates before waving the driver on.

"That was our bus?" Dream states, lilting up in such a way that it's clear he means Why did we not board, why are we still standing here?

"Well, yes," Hob agrees, very aware of the size of the dopey grin on his face. "But you see, a very dear friend of mine has just asked if I might like a bite to eat with him, and I know the most amazing little spot right around the corner."

"That. That is 'yes', then? Now?" Dream seems delightedly flummoxed, and it ratchets Hob straight up to 'besotted'. How could Dream think he'd ever say anything else? Although it occurs to him belatedly Dream might have other obligations for the evening.

"Well 'now' is certainly 'sometime', yes? If you're free, that is. If you've something else you have to do—"

"No. Nothing else," Dream cuts him off, and the warm smile spreading over his face makes Hob's heart skip a beat. "There is nowhere I should like to be more, just now."

Of course not, not when he'd dedicated the bulk of his day to waiting for Hob just to ask him out. "Wonderful. Shall we?" He offers his arm, angling the umbrella to keep the misty sprinkle off them still.

Dream tucks a hand into his elbow and falls into step beside him.

~ "Wanna try mine?" Hob offers, plucking a crispy slab of cheese from his plate with a bit of everything on it and holding it out, other hand cupped underneath. They are talking over plates of halloumi fries; Hob had gone for his favorite—smothered in pomegranate molasses and za'atar yoghurt with pomegranate arils and fresh mint garnish—and Dream had taken his drizzled in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

"Thank you, I am fine," Dream says, rote politeness in his voice but curiosity in his eyes, and Hob arches a brow.

"Worried you'll have to spend a month stuck with me for each pomegranate seed?"

"That would hardly dissuade me," Dream replies, with a sweet little smile that hits Hob straight in the gut. "Very well, since you offer so generously." He leans forward, grasps Hob's wrist instead of the proffered food, and bites through the warm-crusted cheese while Hob's still holding it, lips brushing Hob's fingers as he pulls back.

He chews, making a contemplative face, and gently plucks the rest of it from Hob's hand while Hob is still scrambling to reboot his poor blue-screening brain and not make a fool of himself.

"Do you know," Hob blurts, grasping for anything, "whatever Persephone might have eaten in the underworld, it would've bound her there the same? It wasn't just because it was a pomegranate?"

"I did know that, yes," Dream replies, and Hob feels the flush of having said something fairly stupid rising into his face. "The pomegranate is a tidy choice for enumerating the months she stays below, I think, with the countable seeds." He plucks one of the ruby-red arils from the cheese that Hob had given him between two delicate fingertips and places it in his mouth, eyes on Hob in a way that makes him lose his brain again.

"Yes that's. Good point," Hob tries, and thankfully Dream pops the rest of the halloumi fry into his mouth without any fanfare or continued eye contact.

"I can see why you like this," Dream says, once his mouth is empty. "It is a wonderful blend of flavors. But the honey-sesame remains my favorite." He takes a bite from his own plate, and Hob tries not to fixate on the casual way he licks the honey off his rose-petal lips.

"I wrote an alternate version of Persephone's story, once," Dream says then, eyes not exactly meeting Hob's or even on his face, darting between his shoulder and his sternum and dropping back to his plate. "I made it her choice; they met and fell in love long before the abduction, which was closer to an elopement. She ate the pomegranate seeds deliberately so as not to be taken away from the partner she had chosen. In my version, it was the pomegranate specifically that would bind her."

"That sounds brilliant," Hob says, feeling a little starry-eyed; Dream has never really talked specifics about his writing before. "I'd love to read it sometime."

"It. Was many many years ago, before I ever considered publication," Dream admits, barely glancing up at Hob, still a little skittish. "I thought it a unique idea at the time, but there are dozens of Persephone remixes to be had and I have never felt it warranted the effort of reworking it from my current skill level or attempting to publish."

"Well for what it's worth, your version is the remix I'd be most interested in reading," Hob says, utterly sincere, smiling from ear to ear. "If you ever wanted to share, that is." He bites into another halloumi fry and speaks around it. "I would never pressure you to let me read your stuff if you don't want to. But I'm always interested."

"…Thank you." Dream covers his awkwardness with another dainty bite from his own plate, a hint of pink dusting across his cheekbones. When his mouth is empty again, he offers, "Mostly I have written. Romance."

"Oh?"

"Not under my own name. But yes."

"See it's fascinating that pseudonyms are so prevalent through the ages, and for so many reasons," Hob starts, and as the conversation turns in this new direction Hob does not miss how Dream relaxes to have the focus shifted from the vulnerable personal glimpse of himself he'd offered.

And Hob maybe falls a little bit deeper.

~ It's still lightly raining three hours later; they've talked about so many things, they've had dessert and then had coffee since neither of them were ready to leave yet. It's dark by the time they finally head back to the bus stop; Dream presses up against Hob's side beneath the umbrella and Hob thrills at the warmth, the closeness, the graceful slide of Dream's hand into his and the way he doesn't let go until the bus shows up.

~ It's raining again the first time Hob kisses Dream, pulling him close beneath the umbrella outside the theater, one finger tipped beneath Dream's chin; the kiss is tentative, but Dream's mouth is warm and the way he lists gently forward has Hob coming back again, soft and sweet and smiling helplessly.

~ Three straight days of rain are clearing on the afternoon that Dream takes Hob to the bookstore and leads him to the romance section, points him to a shelf in the 'M's where there are a dozen or so titles by Morpheus, mononymous. Hob doesn't make the connection for a second, and then he does.

"Is this you?" he asks, reaching for one of the hardbacks, and sure enough there's Dream's photo inside the dust jacket, solemn and styled and somehow less authentic than the Dream standing nervously next to him.

"Yes," Dream confirms, and soft warmth floods Hob's chest. Dream has been very reserved about his writing—"It is one thing to publish for strangers, but I find it…much more difficult to share, when it is someone whose opinon matters to me personally," he'd said once, and being trusted, opened up to like this—Hob is not oblivious to the privilege of it.

"You've certainly written a lot," he says, warmth and fondness curling in his chest. "And you're okay with me reading any of these?"

"Yes; however—" he reaches into the messenger bag slung over his hip, withdraws a large clear envelope with what looks like a manuscript inside. "If you wish to read my writing, I would have you begin with this." He hands it to Hob.

Hades and Persephone: The Morpheus Remix the paper proclaims through the plastic, and Hob looks up at Dream, delighted. "Is this—?"

"It needs a proper title." Dream shrugs, hunches into his coat a little bit. "I would like—perhaps you might help me come up with one, as it was you who inspired me to revisit and update it."

Hob cannot for the life of him stop the broad smile that overtakes his face, is not even trying. "I would be honored."

~ It is raining buckets the night that Dream comes home with Hob, and even the umbrella is not enough to prevent their getting a bit wet. But that's alright, Hob thinks, with Dream's eager mouth warm and hungry on his as they move in the direction of his bedroom, it's not like their clothes were staying on anyway.

He lays Dream gently in his bed, covers him with his own body, makes love to him with slow and ardent urgency while the rain lashes against his window. Later, after, when the winds have calmed and thunder rumbles soothingly in the distance, he holds Dream curled against him, asleep, and he thinks. He thinks about umbrellas, and shielding, and guardedness, and how Dream has slowly gifted so many of his vulnerabilities to Hob; he thinks about the duality of potential in that realization, the power it gives him to either harm or protect, and vows to himself that he will always be Dream's metaphorical umbrella when it's within his capabilities.

~ It's sprinkling just a little when Hob realizes that he's going to marry Dream.

It's early Autumn and they're at the park; Dream is under his own umbrella (look, sometimes sharing just isn't practical, as much as Hob still loves faithfully carrying on their schtick), scattering peas and grapes for the ducks and Hob is hanging back, watching him with an aching fondness in his heart.

Dream is beautiful, and thoughtful, and engaging. He is guarded and private, but so warm and emotional and giving once he has let you in. He is smart, and witty, with the driest sense of humor and the most endearingly terrible laugh and Hob has fallen desperately in love with him along the way.

He watches as a particularly bold duck comes close and snaps up the pea that had fallen directly at the toe of Dream's boot; watches the soft delight that steals over Dream's face, and he knows.

~ It is the following Spring before he asks. They are at the bus stop where they first met and it's a bright sunny day; Hob's got the umbrella up and they're shoulder-to-shoulder beneath it. Dream is animated, excited, talking about his editor's latest feedback on his Persephone remix (The Seeds of Fate, they had decided to call it), and Hob is listening, very much interested but so so nervous. The little velvet box on his pocket is weighty, not physically of course but he can't stop touching it, hoping Dream will say yes, believing Dream will say yes.

At last, Dream turns to him, a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. "You feel…distracted; is everything alright?"

Hob smiles at him, entirely and wholeheartedly in love. He hooks the hand holding the umbrella with Dream's so their fingers are tangled together around it; he leans his forehead against Dream's, closes his eyes. "I have a question, I'd like to ask you. An important one." It's a deliberate echo of how Dream had asked him out more than a year ago; Hob can picture the way Dream smiles to recognize it, can feel one eyebrow lifting against his own.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the little box from his pocket and clicks the lid open. "Will you marry me?"

It's a quiet request, pitched low so the other couple people at the bus stop don't overhear, so that if Dream does wish to say no, he won't be under the public pressure of strangers to say yes for appearances' sake. Not that Hob expects him to say no.

He hopes he doesn't say no.

Dream pulls back and Hob opens his eyes, meeting the surprise and delight and disbelief in Dream's. Dream looks down at the ring in the open box in Hob's hand, touches a fingertip to the velvet-covered lid delicately, looks back up at Hob with joy blossoming in his face.

"Do you mean it? Truly?"

Hob swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, squeezes gently where his hand is tangled with Dream's around the handle of the umbrella. "More than anything," he murmurs, entranced by the gathering shine of happy tears in Dream's eyes. "Marry me. Please."

Dream makes a joyful little noise, wrenches his hand free and throws both arms around Hob's neck, kissing him soundly. Hob manages to snap the ring box closed and swing the umbrella low, wraps both arms around Dream's waist and kisses him back.

"Yes," Dream breathes wetly when they part a moment later. "Yes, of course yes, a thousand times, yes."

~ They marry in the park in August, the clouds high and the breeze warm. Hob puts up the umbrella when they reach the crux of the ceremony; he holds its history over them while they say their vows, while they slip rings on one another's fingers, and then they seal their marriage with a tender heartfelt kiss beneath its promise of care and protection.

= Started: 2/3/24 Drafted: 2/24/24 Posted: 2/25/24

Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts Day 3: umbrella seashore mist Day 4: camera lush beau Day 5: rescue inertia lullaby Day 6: tie embarrassment* dessert Day 7: potatoes blue glass Day 8: shower blessed layer Day 9: urgency kneel rural Day 10: flush angel owl Day 11: reflection water apology Day 12: graceful volcano blanket Day 18: suave cologne gradual* Day 19: teacakes flood feature Day 20: smooth glitters queen Day 23: rhythm chalk humor Day 24: spring fuzzy silky

*The word did not get used but the concept is very much in there

#TJs Fics #Fluffbruary 2024 #TJs Fluffbruary #Dreamling #Sandman #wip: umbrella boys

[cosmicstarlatte]

Levi A-Z Smut HCs (Obey Me!)

⬅Back to Smut HC A-Z Masterlist ◇

18+ only, minors do not interact.

My personal headcanons using this [prompt list]

The goal is to finish the whole list; you are welcome to request a letter so I get to it faster. I will work on it as quick as I can but keep in mind I do have a life & responsibilities lol. ^^

Last Updated: Oct.1.2023 (9 out of 26)

⚠️Notes: I'll tag any sections if needed. If you think a section needs a tag, kindly let me know.

A: Affair (Describe an extra-marital affair)

B: Birthday (Describe birthday sex)

C: Compliments (Mid- and post-sex compliments)

D: Dry Humping (Describe a dry-humping scene)

tags: punishment, humiliation Every once in a while you need to punish him, either he spent way too much on otaku merch or he's been missing classes too much, whatever. You'll usually sit on him & tease him as he tries to play on his PC. He knows what you're doing & he begs to feel you, please he'll 'do better' he says. Unfortunately for him his poor cock won't get that sweet relief exactly. he can beg & whine all he wants & rub desperately against you but he's still gonna have to cum in his pants.

E: Experimenting (Trying something new)

F: Firsts (First time having sex together)

It was clumsy & cute. The poor otaku was so nervous, he couldn't believe he could bag such a baddie. Someway somehow even with the nervousness he still felt calm with you, if that makes any sense. He was more worried about you than him & he just wanted to make you feel good. especially when he came rather quickly before the 1st round. Anyway, the nerd is packin' & those hands & tongue work skillfully. ...You definitely went a few good rounds into the night & left each other a mess before finally taking a sweet bath together. After, you guys cuddled under a warm blanket & watched a lighthearted anime. ♡

G: Gentle (Describe gentle/loving mid-sex gestures)

H: Handsy (When they can’t keep their hands to themselves)

I: Initiator (Who initiates most of the time? How?)

J: Jealous (“Claiming” a partner)

tags: Possessive, Love bites/Marking, Scenting Sweetie, he's the avatar of envy. When it's extreme, there's no hiding it, he gives in. That sweet shy nervous otaku? Gone. He's bringing & giving grand admiral energy, he's giving 'one of the powerful lords of hell.' Sure he could summon Lotan or use something else if he wants to, but all he really needs is to say "Go away" in a icy cold voice & glare that makes thousands of soldiers shiver. You almost feel sorry for any bastard that tries to make him jealous. Even after they leave though, he wants nothing more but to mark you with visible love bites & rub his scent all over you. He made it easily known to his brothers to not touch what's his.

K: Kitchen (Describe a sex scene in the kitchen)

L: Likes (What they like in the bedroom)

M: Morning (Describe morning sex)

It happens frequently hehe. You tend to stay over a lot to watch a marathon or play games. Levi's libido is strong, he's always down to fuck in the morning, it brightens his spirit. Watching you take his cock & filling you up right before school is the perfect way to start the day. It's especially motivating when he knows you walk around the entire day with his cum between your legs, he cant wait to come home & fuck you again. (If he can wait that long)

N: Never (Things they would never try)

O: Orgasm (Describe coming--who comes first? What do they say? How does the other person know it’s approaching?)

P: Playlist (A playlist for getting down and dirty; will probably include a lap dance song, a song for making love, and a song that represents their sex life)

Q: Quiet (Reaction to a quiet partner)

You know what I'm not gonna lie, I think he'd be just a tad disappointed at first. Of course he reminds himself a lot of porn is fake anyway & then he really tunes in to the small delicious sounds you do reveal. The faces you make. The little bits you let him hear are still so very fucking hot & sexy. He's the one making you sound like that either way~

R: Ruttish (Signs that they’re horny)

Ah...Levi is easy. He's not very good at hiding it. A flushed face and a small sheen of sweat to him. He gets a little extra irritable as well. The biggest sign is the tent in his pants when he's around you. Sorry, but he doesn't hide it very well, it's obvious when he looks like he's trying to hide something when he tries to cover up down there. (I wonder if he does it on purpose?)

S: Safe Word (How often is the safe word used? Why?)

T: Teasing (Who’s the tease in the relationship? What do they do? How often?)

U: Undressing (Strip teasing a partner)

V: Videos (Sending NSFW videos to each other)

Do you realize what you've done? The first time you sent him a video, he got instantly hard & couldnt stop cumming to that video. Unfortunately for him he kept getting hard any time he thought about it that week, it was embarrassing walking around with a constant erection. His first few videos in response were a little clumsy, but it turned you on. He was a loud moaner & he loved to whimper. Little whiney pants when he was getting close always did it for you. He made sure to take better video, especially audio when he learned you really loved his moans. ♡

W: Wedding Night (Consummating the marriage)

tags: overstimulation The only thing on his mind is getting you off the entire night until you're crying & begging him to stop. Until you're drained. He knows it's about the two of you celebrating but...you're his life partner now! He's so grateful you chose him out of everyone. Please let him worship you tonight, lay back & let him handle it. He promises he's enjoying this as much as you are. Promise.

X: XXX (What kind of porn does the person watch? How often?)

tags: double dicks, creepy!pervy!levi I'm not going to lie to y'all, Levi's a freak. (Okay we knew this) He watches all kinds of porn, both real & hentai. I'd say it's nearly an every day thing, it's hard taking care of two monster cocks & he needs to empty his balls. His favorite? POV hentai vids. Especially ones that look like you... Perhaps he has a few commissioned hentais where they look like the two of you...

Y: Yawn (How they sleep post-sex)

Z: Zoo (Their animalistic qualities in the bedroom)

#Levi: #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me smut #obey me headcanons #obey me leviathan smut #obey me leviathan headcanons #obey me smut headcanons #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me leviathan x you #obey me leviathan x mc #obey me levi #◇˖・ﾟ— › cosmic obey me . ⊹

[wedonthaveawhile]

Baby Garreth, and where to find him.

Garreth Weasley x MC

Inspired by her desire to see mermaids, Garreth brews his Herbology partner a potion as a gesture of his affection. Cue the inevitable chaos and peril.

AO3 // Word count: 4.4k

Can be a standalone fic or read as a prequel to Crimson and Clover

Had Garreth been asked for his opinion on the Heroine of Hogwarts a few months back, you likely would have been treated to such eloquent critiquing as: "Bit of a teacher's pet."

There was never any intention to offend; tactful words simply weren't his forte—as proven by the way he inadvertently voiced this opinion directly to her face on the day they were assigned as Herbology partners.

He was only teasing, possibly with an underlying motive of reverse psychology. He had felt her eyes drilling into him while his own ogled the snakeweed—a rare ingredient, almost impossible to obtain by non-thievery means. He thought implying his witness was a snitch might prompt her to look the other way to prove him wrong.

When he tried to execute his nifty little scheme: Pocketing the goods while hoping fifteen students and a professor weren't looking (a tactic that boasted a commendable twenty-three-percent success rate), the snakeweed had vanished—as had his partner.

A middle finger if he'd ever seen one.

Her assault on his pride. Her flawless execution of theft. Her exemplary eye for valuable plunder—It was one step shy of a strip tease, and Garreth had been chasing her tail ever since.

These fresh circumstances might offer insight into why he was currently trudging through ankle-deep mud on yet another lap of the kneazle pen.

His timing had been impeccable—A passing stroll coinciding perfectly with the end of her Beast's class, setting the stage for a spontaneous walk to Herbology together.

Professor Cockblock must have had some trivial errand to palm off to a trustworthy student and was holding back the obvious choice for a briefing.

Just because Garreth had formed new opinions didn't mean he'd relinquished the old ones. Teacher's pet was, unfortunately, terminal.

At long last, the tardy witch bounded down the steps of the hut. Considering Garreth's feet were now encased in a three-inch layer of sludge, he was surprisingly light on them. She remained oblivious to him sauntering up behind her until his shoulder met hers in a clumsy bump.

He grinned as she shot three inches skyward with a hand clutched to her chest. The profanity-laden gasp that followed was the cherry on top.

How she wasn't routinely dismembered during her trips into the forbidden forest was nothing short of a miracle.

"Surprise."

She branded him a twat, delivering a retaliatory shoulder-bump with a slight more force than necessary. "What are you doing lurking around out here?"

"Quidditch practice wrapped up early, so I figured I'd take a stroll."

"A gorgeous morning for it," she chirped as drizzle splattered their faces.

"Caught sight of my favourite botanist and thought I'd put her survival instincts to the test."

"Results?"

"Atrocious."

"Blame it on my hunger," she sighed, booting a pebble in frustration. "Do you think we have time for a detour to the kitchen? I'm starving."

Garreth couldn't relate; he was stuffed to the brim with sweeties. The head of Gryffindor always whipped up a batch of red velvet cookies for their Quidditch meetings—something to do with flying the house colours and fostering team unity. A cloying sentiment, but if they earned him brownie points, who was he to complain?

Quite the wingman was Aunt Matilda.

"Fear not, sunshine. I've got you covered," he declared, fishing around in his pocket and producing a stack of the stolen treats.

"Oh, you do come with perks, Weasley."

"In Garreth, we trust."

The primary ingredient of his perks was fluff from his pocket lining, but she graciously overlooked that detail.

"How did the meeting go?"

"Eh, alright," he shrugged as he shouldered open the door and used a drying charm to restore his sodden hair to its usual wayward refinement. "Team building can only get us so far when the entire Slytherin team is equipped with the latest Nimbus."

Her proceeding moan could have been interpreted as one of sympathy or indulgence as she took a mouthful of sickly scarlet sustenance. "You could shave off your mane; you'll be more aerodynamic."

"Genius. I happen to be a dab hand at hairless potions, ask Leander."

Her ensuing sideways glance was a sly one. If Garreth were a presumptuous man, he might have thought she was checking out the ginger vista.

"Don't, though," was her conclusion.

"But I want to be a speedy boy."

"On your hair be it. I hope there's a nice-shaped cranium underneath all that," she said with a swooping gesture that implied his hair was three-feet wide.

"And if there isn't? How do I make egg-head look good?"

"Ask Leander."

Garreth glanced at her with a grimace of guilt. "He did not make it look good. Poppy mistook him for a golden snidget on three separate occasions. And a testicle on one."

His face lit up as he bathed in the golden glow of her laughter.

Professor Garlick was palpating leaves as they descended into the greenhouse—regaling her students on the metamorphosis of herbage as the wind slammed against the windows and sent the trailing plants into a wild frenzy.

They bypassed the lecture and gathered the equipment to carry out their assignment. Garreth watched the analytical projection suspended over the plant pot twinkle in his partner's eyes as she assessed the growth since its last inspection.

She was a vision.

An english rose.

Worthy of a Chocolate Frog Card.

Probably already on one.

He ought to go find it.

He unwillingly shifted his attention downward when asked his opinion on its condition.

"Beauty in its purest form," he declared as he twiddled a leaf between his fingers, though the sentiment wasn't directed at the foliage.

"Do you think?"

"The crème de la crème of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

"I didn't know you were so fond of mandrakes."

"Mm-hmm, marriage material if you ask me."

He went too far with that one, and she shot him a strange look, "Is that a joke?"

"Dead serious, sweetheart."

Her cheeks flushed at his honeyed words, and she hid it by bobbing under the desk to fetch the cotton balls.

"Here," she declared to the underside of the table. "You'll need some ear protection; we need to repot your wife."

"Saucy. We've been looking for a third."

She muttered a phrase popular among the muggle-born students—something about God giving her strength.

Garreth dismissed it as a term of endearment.

Having successfully ploughed his wife, the witch bent over the worktop to scribble down some notes for their theory assignment. As luck would have it, Garreth found himself conveniently positioned behind her. In a moment of whimsy, he indulged in a passing fantasy wherein the screaming atop the bench wasn't solely the mandrakes' doing. Their fictitious romp was cut short when she turned to Garreth with an expression implying he had just been posed a question.

They locked eyes for a transient moment.

"Hello."

"What can be brewed with mandrakes?" She repeated, fluttering the quill over the title of her notes: Potions.

The blood ascended back to Garreth's brain, which he used to fuel a monologue. He began with healing elixirs, then progressed to combative and defensive tonics. She was very impressed by his knowledge of the animagus potion, so only after he'd soaked up every drop of attention from that did he segue into miscellaneous potions…

"Younger or older?"

Garreth halted his steady stream of words. "Come again?"

"You said age potions. Is that for becoming younger or older?"

"Both."

"Got it," she transcribed the information onto the last remaining sliver of parchment before duplicating the notes and handing him a copy. "That should be enough for now."

"What would be your preference?" Garreth asked as he scanned her hasty summary. “If you had an ageing potion, would you go older or younger?"

"Younger." Her reply was instantaneous. "I'd sign up for first-year classes. Did you hear they get a class trip into Black Lake now that Nerida Roberts has made peace with the mermaids?"

"I heard the rumours, not the confirmation that they're true."

"Well, Mr. Moon has been preparing the boats for their afternoon class, so it's likely."

"Criminal. Why do the ankle-biters get to go?"

"The younger the human, the less likely they are to get eaten." She looked crestfallen at having involuntarily aged into mermaid fodder. "I'd do anything to see one in the flesh."

Anything?

Garreth tucked that juicy little nugget of information into the corner of his brain for future reference.

As he began to tidy up their tools, he hesitated as he reached for the mandrake. Since their last class, it had flourished quite spectacularly. Ripe leaves were unfurling, and fresh sprouts were vying for their place in the renewed soil.

The potions that could be concocted with all this deliciousness.

It made Garreth's thumbs itch.

He leaned on his forearms, knocking an elbow against his partner in herbology/crime. "Might I trouble you for a favour?"

"Another heist?"

"You know how it is."

"You still owe me for the last one."

 "What's your price, sunshine?"

After a moment of consideration, she swiped her quill's bristles against his jaw and told him: "Surprise me."

Garreth's heart skipped a beat, then kicked up again at an alarming rate.

Fucking titillating.

"I'll wrangle you a mermaid," he stated succinctly, embodying the charismatic gentleman he was known to be. His words absolutely did not stumble out in a jumbled lump.

"Ambitious."

"And, on second thought, kind of inconvenient," he added, mulling over the logistical implications of housing a mermaid. "Fine, I'll wrangle you a glimpse of a mermaid."

"Still ambitious; how do you plan to pull that off?"

"I have my ways," he said, tapping his nose. "Meet me in the boathouse after lunch?"

She narrowed her eyes, scouring his features for any trace of dubious intentions. The boathouse was a notorious hook-up spot and had been the subject of a few too many jokes (that perhaps weren't entirely jokes) suggesting they relocate their study sessions there.

He kept quiet and tried to look like he wasn't harbouring several ulterior motives. Her curiosity evidently outweighed her better judgment, because she agreed.

With their tasks completed, the distraction sprang over to Garlick, loudly inquiring about the "breathtaking" new assortment of plant life on the opposite side of the greenhouse.

Garreth carried their mandrake over to the shelves.

In a moment of clumsy misfortune, he fumbled with the pot, inadvertently grabbing the plant by its sprouts and plucking off several leaves in the process.

In sheer happenstance, these fallen leaves found their way into his cloak pocket.

Completely unaware of the faux pas, Garreth quickly skedaddled out of the classroom.

The potion prodigy dropped a pilfered leaf into a steaming cauldron. It belched up a scalding mist of fuchsia fog, and Garreth ducked to avoid it with a triumphant grin. As the potion simmered, he envisioned what tantalising rewards awaited him for bringing her dreams to fruition.

It was an odd sensation—having impure thoughts whilst mashing troll bogeys into a fine paste.

Their fictitious romp was cut short once more, this time by the intrusion of an abnormally long nose topped with impeccable hair.

"Hello, Prewett."

Leander sidled up to the desk, two ice-cold butterbeers floating behind him. "Have you been here all morning? I thought you were joining us in Hogsmeade."

"An opportunity arose."

Leander looked a combination of curious and suspicious as he surveyed the array of grimy receptacles. He kept himself and his hair at a safe distance. "What's going on?"

"Just brewing a gift for someone."

"Who?"

"Someone."

Leander didn't waste time guessing; he jumped straight to the correct conclusion and informed Garreth that he was a soppy bastard. Garreth didn’t dispute it; she occupied his mind far more than any previous passing fancies.

Turning the notebook around, Leander scanned the nearly indecipherable process for age potions. "How far back does she want to turn the clock?"

"Seven years, give or take," Garreth replied, watching his friend sniff a jug of a failed experiment. “I overshot it with that batch. Best not ingest it; you might turn into a sperm."

Leander tossed the potion back onto the table and scrubbed his unsullied hands on his robes. "Are you sure about this? Sallow will have your head if you turn the heroine of Hogwarts into seminal fluid. Then Gaunt will harvest your functional eyes."

Garreth waved those minor concerns away, his focus honing in on the most critical point. "Don't call her that; she hates it."

"She'd also hate being jizz."

"Trust me, it's going to be a wild success. I have a secret ingredient," Garreth declared, jabbing a bogey-stained thumb to his chest.

"Heart?" Leander asked with a stifled sound of disgust.

"No, me. Garreth Weasley. Most of what I do results in the desired outcome, one way or another."

"Just with several explosions along the way."

"It's called pizazz, Prewett.”

"Well, I can't say I didn't try. I'm leaving before I'm implicated." Leander plucked one of the butterbeers out of the air and slid it across the table. "Best of luck, Weasel."

"Cheers, buddy. For the beverage and soon-to-be-forgotten advice," Garreth raised the drink to his lips and chugged half. Appeasing ladies was thirsty work, and he had begun to resemble one of the sweaty puddles forming on the counter.

He lowered the cup and was met with Leander's horrified visage.

"What…" Garreth's lips curled in disgust; he smacked them together in response to the cataclysmically putrid aftertaste. Had Leander fermented the beer in his arsehole? Bloody hell, it was foul. He opened his mouth to demand answers, but it remained agape as the tabletop began to rise.

Garreth watched in dubious disbelief as his full and frothy butterbeer, alongside a half-empty beaker of defective potion, ascended past him.

Oh shit...

No matter how much Garreth thrashed, pushed, and grabbed at the thick blankets swaddling him, he seemed to be making no progress towards freedom.

A refreshing gust of fresh air greeted his face as someone whisked the material away from it, and his vision adjusted to the gangly thing staring down at him. Bony hands were clamped over its mouth, muffling its irritating bleating, save for one vaguely familiar sound that slipped through the cracks.

"Weasley?"

Garreth had no clue what it meant, nor was he really listening.

His attention had been lured upwards to something familiar and profoundly comforting. It called to mind dreamy memories of tight cuddles and the aroma of freshly baked cookies. With his chubby arms eagerly extended, Garreth reached towards the glossy mass of ginger hair.

"Mama."

Mum's immediate response was a stiff: "No."

She lifted Garreth's arm and began probing the joints while letting out a string of confounded noises: "Well, at least you're not a sperm. How old are you?"

Ah, Garreth knew this trick well. He withdrew his fingers from his dribbling mouth and proudly brandished the moist digits—quantity unknown.

"No, you look younger than four…"

Garreth was actually trying to display eighteen, but that was by the by, as his stomach interrupted the goings-on with a grumble of protest.

Some absolute cretin had failed to provide him with sustenance.

"Don't you dare…," said mum.

Garreth sucked in a deep lungful of air, mustering every wisp of it to articulate his plea: "Mother, please. I'm famished." Except it took the form of a skull-splitting scream.

He cracked open an eye in hopeful anticipation of a succulent meal being bequeathed to him to find a stick hovering an inch from his face.

It looked delectable—a gourmet feast of the highest quality.

He took a hearty bite but was promptly shoved away by Mum. She wiped the resultant drool off on Garreth's hair, which felt uncalled for, before making a noise that shrunk his blanket into clothes befitting his podgy form. He was then scooped up haphazardly, his body contorting at a crooked angle as Mum's lanky fingers awkwardly gripped his limbs.

Her attempts to keep him upright were clumsy and uncoordinated as if she'd never held a child before. Something seemed fishy, but before he could assign any brainpower to the feeling, they were transported through a doorway and absorbed into a bustling crowd.

What were all these people doing in Garreth's house?

He caught snippets of his name, each time prefaced by words beyond his current comprehension like: "Is that..." and "What the fuck have you done..."

A few intruders waved, and Garreth returned the gesture despite Mum's increasingly laborious efforts to prevent him from tumbling to the ground.

Garreth realised it had been some time since he travelled by way of arms, and decided then that he must get back into it.

And so, after that fine voyage (during which he only vomited twice), they landed in a lush field. Overhead, people dressed in vivid green costumes whizzed around on brooms, overseen by a man to whom Garreth was unceremoniously presented.

The man's piercing eyes roved over Garreth's fiery red hair, then lifted to Mum's.

"Prewett, is this your foetus?"

Mum looked freshly displeased and dumped Garreth into the man's much sturdier arms.

A dark line was carved across his eye; it piqued Garreth's innocent curiosity. He reached out to touch it gently, but his new-fangled toddler strength drove his tiny fist to inadvertently deliver a solid punch to the man's nose. Garreth instinctively grasped out as he teetered on the recoil, knotting his hands in the man's thick brown hair.

It looked delectable—a gourmet feast of the highest quality.

Garreth tried to indulge in a munch, but his efforts were met with resistance as his fingers and mouth were gradually, and by all accounts, painfully, pried away from the tangled strands.

This scene unfolded as the man flagged down his airborne squadron. Many pointed gestures were exchanged among the teams' objections before they dispersed towards Garreth's house—except for one dark-haired girl, who stood on the brink of delivering the man's second solid punch of the day for reasons unknown.

Her shrill cries of "You can't cancel our Quidditch practice because of a baby; we're only three days away from a match!" did nothing to alleviate Garreth's confusion.

As they deliberated, he was placed onto the ground, where a grassy banquet awaited him. A fitting compensation for his ordeal in the hair.

In a fit of anger, the girl hurled her broom to the floor, which was promptly confiscated from Garreth’s reach. In the interim, he had chewed a dandelion into a pulp and was now squeezing it until the juices mushed out from his tightened fist. With pride, he handed it to the man for inspection.

Rudely, his attention was elsewhere.

"Up," Garreth called, his stout arms extended as he slapped his soggy green fingers against his palms.

He wasn't spared a glance.

"Up!" he insisted, baffled when his efforts to raise himself three centimetres didn't result in being catapulted straight into awaiting arms. With a disappointed whine, he stretched his limbs higher.

"Quiet, Weasley."

Not one to shut up on command, Garreth rose to his unsteady feet and supported himself on the broom the man held loosely in his hand.

"UP," he commanded.

Up he went.

Draped over the broomstick like a towel hung out to dry, Garreth levitated until he reached a midpoint of the multicoloured spires surrounding the field. The broom purred between his fingers as he hooked an ankle over, the trembling coursing up his arms and animating his fleshy cheeks with a lively jiggle.

A sharp scream rang around the meadow from somewhere far below him.

Mama?

Garreth glanced down. It wasn’t mum—it was the man. His arms outstretched and calling his name. Alas, Garreth's interest in uppies had withered away, for an instinct was awakening. He was somehow aware that if he adjusted his posture...

His cheeks, bereft of their former jiggle, now thrashed against the back of his head as he shot off at breakneck speed.

With a twitch of his finger, he manoeuvred the broom to narrowly avoid smashing into a row of seats—it was a reflex, a memory ingrained deep in his muscles.

He streaked over the team in green, their yelling and leaps onto their brooms signalling their intent to challenge him in a race.

Oh, what delightful fun.

The wind carried away Garreth's gleeful shrieks as he weaved through a narrow waterway flanked by the castle walls. The roar of his peers from walkways spanning the passage propelled him onward. He was a creature of speed—a blur of motion—and, as always, thriving in the presence of an audience.

He ducked beneath a stone bridge and burst across open waters, escorted by a pair of majestic snowy owls gliding alongside him. The birds dropped to the surface of the lake, skimming their wings against the mirrored reflection of the sky before soaring up into the billowing clouds.

Oddly, their shadowy doppelgängers remained by Garreth’s side. His toes grazed the waves as he strained to catch a glimpse of his companions beneath the waterline when a sleek fin sliced through the water, while something breached entirely on the other side of him. Their playful dives splashed icy water across his face before they vanished into the depths. Garreth laughed as he extended his hand and squealed at them to come back.

Glancing up, he realised that his beckoning had summoned a building instead, and it was hurtling toward him at a frightfully rapid pace.

A fish erupted from the crest of a wave, snatching him off the broom seconds before it splintered into a million pieces against the bricks.

Garreth plunged into the water, ensnared in slippery arms.

The biting chill was only a passing thing as the fish breached the surface, clutching Garreth by a pudgy leg and hoisting him above the waterline. It rotated him this way and that, inspecting him with hungry eyes.

Garreth could relate; dandelions had been a sub-standard excuse for nourishment—he much preferred fish.

He grasped what he initially mistook for a writhing mass of serpents, only to discover it was sinewy strands of fish hair. Undiscouraged, he sank his tiny teeth into the gleaming scales. He was torn away, the fish's reprimand manifesting as a bone-shattering wail that shook Garreth to his tiny core.

Upset, tired, and starving, Garreth attempted to deliver a solid punch to the fish's face, but his new-fangled toddler exhaustion hindered his little fist, and he petted the slimy creature instead. On the verge of an imminent nap, Garreth curled into a ball and utilised ropey grey fish hair as a pillow.

He was vaguely aware of some heated commotion around him; at one point, a hungry fish snapped its teeth in his direction while another held him at arm's length. He dismissed this as irrelevant to his situation, providing the offending party with a slap before settling back into his nap with a grumble of irritation.

His consciousness ebbed and flowed with the undulation of the water. A serene fish guided him towards the building he had narrowly avoided colliding with. The lake rippled around them, while boats knocked against each other as they bobbed in the surf.

A delighted gasp stirred him as a figure waded up to her knees to reclaim him from the fish.

This new resting place was the essence of luxury—her familiar, soothing voice a balm to his weary senses. This divine ray of sunshine shrugged a blanket off her shoulders and wrapped Garreth in its warmth, granting him the comfort he needed to indulge in the finest siesta.

He awoke to the jarring sensation of a turbulent ride, his eyes rolling in their sockets as he wobbled around on a skeletal hip.

Merlin, Sharp's built like a sack of razor blades, Garreth grumbled inwardly.

Wait...

His body expanded moments after his mental faculties did.

The flickering flames beneath the cauldrons danced in and out of focus as his vision swayed. Finally it settled on the scene: his body sprawled across Sharp’s lap, both on the floor, scraps of a size 18-24 month Hogwarts uniform strewn across them like confetti.

"Hello, Professor.”

Sharp shoved him off and flung an abandoned cloak in his direction. "Put some clothes on, Weasley."

Garreth felt as though someone had scooped out his brain, used it in lieu of a bludger, and then poured the battered remnants back into his skull.

The soft twinkles of floating candles were like fireworks to his bloodshot eyes, magnifying the relentless throbbing behind them. Everywhere he looked, countless pairs of eyes stared back at him, accented by whispers interwoven with giggles.

An audience during dinner was an unnerving affair he wasn't accustomed to.

He turned a deaf ear to the hearsay that he'd smashed up Imelda's Nimbus. He had enough to bury deep down without living in perpetual fear of a hex taking him from behind. He employed his Gryffindor bravery to bolster his confidence and strode through the great hall his with chin up. If nothing else, it was a great story, albeit a slightly mortifying one.

He caught sight of Leander perched on a high horse. No doubt poised to unleash a storm of I told you so's and serves you right for the bald thing. Before Garreth could muster his wits and rustle up a selection of witty retorts, he was knocked sideways in a flying embrace.

"You're you again!"

He glanced down at the figure clinging to him and Merlin, the smile.

"I was always me, sunshine."

"I can't believe what you did. You brought mermaids into the boathouse, real ones!" Her tender hug was replaced by a firm grip on his tie and a pointed finger jabbing against his chest as she scolded him. "Don't you dare pull a stunt like that again. The whole school thought you'd drowned, but, gosh, it was incredible…"

Garreth's mind spun as her voice gained momentum with each euphoric word until everything froze, and she was touching his cheek—a fleeting, electrifying brush of her lips against his skin before they were torn apart by Poppy and her rapid gunfire of mermaid-themed questions.

His knees turned to mush under the weight of endorphins drowning his system. He slumped onto the bench opposite Leander, who had undergone a mood shift and now radiated a deliciously palpable rage.

Garreth smirked at him.

"Desired outcome achiev—"

"Shut the fuck up, Weasley."

#garreth weasley #weasley wednesday #garreth weasley fanfiction #garreth weasley fluff #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley fanart #garreth weasley x you #garreth weasley x mc #leander prewett #leander prewett fanart #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #poppy sweeting #hogwarts oc #hogwarts houses #weasley

[chikaras-garden]

Lookin for a dick grayson prompt? How about dick going to his girlfriend for advice on how to give his brothers dating advice for Damian ? Idk i think it's a cute idea.

- fellow neighborhood anon

I spiraled.

“Damian’s getting older,” Dick says, seemingly out of the blue, but you know nothing’s ever out of the blue when it comes to him. Whatever’s on his mind has been there for a while.

You scoot over on the ledge of the building you’re sitting on, eyes still on the sunset before you even as Dick takes your hand and sits by your side. 

“People do that,” you say. “Age.”

His lips quirk upward as he pulls the domino mask off, then holds it in his lap. “Yeah, but he’s talking about prom.”

Although getting older in Damian’s case is more obvious, what with him in the middle of puberty and dating being on your doorstep, you and Dick have gotten older, too. You’ve noticed smile lines from all the times you’ve made each other laugh. There’s a deeper thoughtfulness in his eyes—even on missions, and especially when children are involved. You’ve begun to appreciate every quiet sunset more than the rush of wind in your face.

But in every adrenaline-soaked memory and every calm vision of your future, Dick’s hand is always in yours.

“What would you tell him,” he whispers, “if you were me?”

Dick’s relationship with Damian has always been somewhere between older brother and father, and being Dick’s partner makes you an occasional maternal influence in the boy—no, the younger man’s—life. This family, the Bat family, your family is one where rules, expectations, and codes of honor weigh heavily on every choice you make.

Even, for example, who you take to prom.

The sun meanders through the sky as you think. You try to remember what you and Dick were like when you were seventeen, just before your relationship began. You were clumsy and unsure, more scared than either of you had any right to be—yet it was one of the most beautiful times of your life.

You give Dick’s fingers a squeeze. “I’d tell him that it’s okay not to have everything figured out. There’s a difference between being scared because you’re in danger and scared because you want something to work out. If he feels the second one?”

Pausing, you look at Dick until he looks back at you, and you smile at each other. His mind is on the same memories you’re feeling, so he finishes for you, “The second one’s a good thing.”

Softly, you add, “And tell him not to be so hard on himself.”

The corners of Dick’s mouth twitch upward before he lets out a breathy chuckle. His arm settles around your waist, drawing you close enough for him to press his lips against your temple. “Why do I feel like you’re not talking about Damian anymore?”

“I am,” you insist. As you lay a hand on his chest, your smile mirrors his, because no one can frown when Dick Grayson smiles like that. “Maybe you two are more alike than you think.”

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #🎈— ask games. #🌸— mine. #🌸— dick grayson. #💋— fellow neighborhood anon. #dick grayson fluff

[scarlettjohanssons-mistress]

I don’t if ur request are still open but if they are I was wondering if I could request lady lesso x reader we’re they are in a secret relationship and they got kissing or something by dovey

She is different

Warnings: Secret relationship, jealousy, fluff, warrior princess, bad liars

Word count: 2.3 K

Pairing: Lady Lesso x Fem!Reader

Prompt: It is impossible to hide that Lady Lesso was completely captivated from the first moment she saw Y/N

Requests: OPEN

[Main masterlist] [Charlize Theron characters masterlist]

From the moment Y/N set foot in the school, the green eyes of the dean of evil did not stop admiring her figure.

Despite having a 'thin' build and short stature, Y/N wasn't your typical princess. The legends that ran through the corridors of the school, recounted the great feats that she had achieved as the star warrior of the greatest known kingdom; making the redheaded dean's curiosity grow with the passage of time.

Lady Lesso had always met the stereotype of the perfect princess, just like Dovey herself; so, hearing that that sweet-looking princess had been commissioned to slaughter thousands of enemies, just to protect the queen, only made it inevitable that Lady Lesso would wander into Miss Y/N's class.

Y/N was one of the first teachers to get a mixed class, getting both 'Ever' and 'Never' to learn to defend themselves and attack in combat, from small combats in a classroom of the, now, gigantic school, to fights that They executed on the school horses in the large gardens of the same.

At first, Dovey thought that Leonora's presence was due to concern (if that's what it could be called) for the performance of her students, but seeing how those eyes sparkled with a strange sparkle every time Miss Y/N, she brandished that weapon to teach the young princes how to defend themselves, she thought that her assumptions were not entirely correct. Lesso never missed a Y/N class, not even on the days they had practices in the gardens just like they were doing today; having a great simulated fight in the gardens of that castle.

A few minutes before class ended, Professor Dovey approached the stables, knowing that her students would arrive there, only to realize that Leonora was already there, staring at Professor T/N's braided hair

"My, what a surprise to find you here, Lesso," Dovey teased, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from her beautiful dress.

“I would like to say the same”

Silence reigned for a few minutes, both with their eyes fixed on the training, until Dovey's gaze returned to rest on her senior partner, noticing how small and tiny black hearts came out of them.

"May I ask? What has been the reason why you delight us with your pleasant presence?" Dovey tried to persuade her partner, causing the redheaded teacher to just make a small face.

"No, you can't ask" she replied, in her typical annoyed voice.

Before Dovey could object to such behavior, the murmurs and laughter of the students, together with the galloping of the horses reached the ears of both women, causing their eyes to look at the boys, who quickly entered the stable to to let the steeds rest. Y/N was coming backwards, on top of her own horse.

"Oh, hi Dovey, I didn't see you there."

While Dovey and Y/N never became the best of friends (as Dovey always thought that a rebellious mind like Y/N didn't quite belong on the 'Ever' side), they have been courteous to each other, and more when Dovey found out that thanks to that woman, many of her friends and students were still alive.

“Lady Lesso, it is always a pleasure to greet you”

And for her counterpart was that beautiful redhead. When they were both young, Y/N remembered feeling self-conscious, clumsy, and even naive around her (the few times they happened to meet); when Y/N was taken to her friend Jade's kingdom to become what she always dreamed of, a warrior, she assured herself that if she ever met Leonora again, she would no longer be that shy girl; if she was capable of killing men in the name of what she considered fair, she was clearly capable of meeting this woman.

When the school received her, after those injuries that made it impossible for her to fight again, seeing how both the 'Evers' and the 'Nevers' young people applauded her with admiration, made her feel even more powerful. She was capable of instilling respect, pride and admiration on both sides.

Everything went overboard when her eyes collided with those of the dean of evil.

At first, he didn't recognize her, but, Y/N couldn't get over those beautiful eyes so quickly.

She felt how her knees began to give out, even a little unsure if she would be able to cross the entire room on her own.

To say that Leonora Lesso was beautiful was an understatement, the woman was the epitome of beauty and sensuality. Those green eyes like the grass bathed in morning dew, rosy lips like the petals of the most fragile flowers in her home kingdom, and that wild hair, like the flames she had seen on many of her travels.

She thought that with the weight of time, the impression before such a woman would diminish… but that never happened. Even to this day, she could feel the penetrating gaze of the dean in each and every one of her lessons, waiting for some mistake on the part of the young warrior, just to be able to take advantage and unleash her fury against her.

"Oh dear, that was a wonderful class," Dovey congratulated, watching as Y/N climbs down from the horse and begins to stroke the animal's head, while her other hand begins to remove the animal's saddle.

“Well, Dovey, thank…”

"Well, I expected to see someone injured" Leonora's hoarse voice commented.

Both Dovey's glare and Y/N's puzzled glare landed on the tall figure of the woman.

"Leonora!" Dovey scolded

“Well, my lady, I'm sorry to disappoint you this time. I promise that in the next class one of yours will have to be attended to urgently" Y/N joked, watching out of the corner of her eye, how the dean raised the corners of her mouth a little, showing a little amusement.

"Y/N!" Dovey scolded again, the princess looked at how her companion's corners were slightly raised, but, realizing the look, she quickly returned to her usual straight lips. "Both are impossible, I'd better go"

"I'd better go too" announced the redhead "I wouldn't like to see those freaks behave in a proper way"

"I hope that's not the case" Y/N joked again, watching how both deans walked away to let her clean the stable in peace.

——————————————————————————— 

Night came, and with it, secrecy and mystery.

T/N had always been taught that night was the time for evil, the terrifying and the forbidden. Over the years, she realized that it was not entirely true; night was the time for secrets, intrigue, curiosity, mystery, and of course, the forbidden.

A knock at her door startled the poor girl, who quickly put aside her parchment and quill to open the door, revealing those sweet green eyes.

"Until you deign to open"

“It was only seconds, don't be exaggerating”

"Well, seconds that could well be used in something else"

"Like what?"

"Maybe kiss you"

If Y/N were ever to tell that the fearsome dean of Evil had a soft spot for honeyed words and cheek kisses, no one would believe her. But, here she was, leaving a trail of little kisses on Y/N's cheeks.

"Today you were splendid" she murmured against her ear.

"Do you believe it?"

"Oh sweet girl, I've never seen someone attack like that before. No warrior will ever be as great and skillful as you are."

“Oh honey, you flatter me, but, out there, there are thousands of warriors far better prepared than me. It took me years to convince my parents to teach me how to wield a sword, whereas these men are required to do so at a very young age."

“Well, princess, that just proves my point. You are beautiful, intelligent, strong, brave and capable woman, what more could I ask for?" Leonora spoke while her arms embraced the small waist of her beloved, bringing her closer to her chest, so that she could smell a little of her hair.

"Maybe a make-out session in my bed?" the princess asked cheekily

“Wow, that sounds like a great idea to me”

——————————————————————————— 

Dovey's feet made it impossible for her to stay still. She was so anxious that, without realizing it, her feet moved her throughout her office, until she heard how the doors were opened violently, listening to Leonora's unmistakable walk, along with the annoying clicking of her cane.

"Well Clarissa, I'm here now, what do you want?"

But, seeing Leonora's raised eyebrow, the question stuck in her throat. Lady Lesso was well known for being the thorn in Professor Dovey's side, so wasn't it fair to get even a little revenge?

“I've been thinking about doing a new dance,” Dovey commented, performing in her everyday way: bubbly and happy.

"Other?" Leonora asked tiredly "Wouldn't it be like… the eighth this month?"

"Oh Leo, but this is for a special occasion"

"What could be so special as to warrant a school dance?" Now, the dean desperate, she crossed her arms, tapping her forearm with her nails.

“I have found the perfect prince for Y/N”

Lesso felt how the blood ran down from her head to her feet, making her fist take that stick with more force, until leaving her white knuckles.

"What?" she slumped into the chair across from Dovey, not helplessly, but furiously. "I thought I heard from Y/N's own mouth that she didn't want a prince in her life"

"Well, we can all change our minds, and believe me, when she see Prince Henry, her mind will change."

“Henry? What kind of name is Henry? It sounds completely ridiculous…”

"Leonora, if I didn't know you well enough, I would dare to say that you are jealous" Dovey teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lesso only managed to let out a sarcastic laugh, causing Dovey to laugh internally.

"Jealous? Of whom? Of your star princess? Not at all! I just make fun of the poor girl, having to deal with a man as… simple as this Henry"

"But if you don't know him yet"

"I don't even want to meet him" Lesso got up again, with her cruel director's facade, she hit the cane against the ground emphasizing her next words "So, was that all? Is that why you wanted to call me?"

"Yes, just to let you know to prepare your best clothes, because Y/N is getting married soon"

Dovey only listened as her companion's footsteps receded and with her, small murmurs, only affirming Dovey's theory.

——————————————————————————— 

Unfortunately for Lesso, the dance came faster than she could process. Before she least wanted to know it, Dovey had introduced stupid, muscular, pretty face Prince Henry and Y/N and forced them into the middle of the room to do a little waltz.

"Don't you think they make a cute couple?" Dovey asked

"Oh yes, can you imagine how cute their babies would be?" Emma asked.

“They will have beauty and courage alike”

Lesso only felt her blood boil. She promised herself (and Y/N) that she wouldn't kill anyone again, but at that moment, the bloody prince had a red target painted across the middle of his face, taunting Leonora. One more torture wouldn't hurt anyone… except him.

"What?!" Emma's loud scream snapped Lesso out of her thoughts, causing her to let out a growl to get the attention of her companions.

"How much do they murmur?"

"Dovey just told me that Prince Henry is planning to propose to Y/N tonight." Emma groaned and clapped her hands, showing her excitement.

"What?"

“At least, the young prince confessed to me this morning. He said he would take her to the balcony to do it” commented Dovey trying to hide her emotion.

"There they go!" Emma pointed out.

And indeed, both were heading to the balcony, getting away from the bustle of people.

Without thinking about it, Leonora got up from her chair and began to follow the young people, until she found her beloved, with her back turned and completely alone.

"Y/N" Leonora murmured, causing the girl to turn around and give her a smile.

"Hi!"

"Where is the prince?"

"I punched him when he tried to kiss me"

Both women laughed, knowing that no one could be lucky enough to kiss Y/N's lips. Nobody except Leonora.

"He's an idiot"

"Yeah, next time Dovey wants to find me a boyfriend, I hope she finds a better one."

"There won't be a next one"

"Honey, we won't know, if we carry on like this…"

"I don't want to continue like this" Leonora cut off Y/N's sentence while her arms hugged her girl's waist. "Yes this is the feeling the got from hiding you, I don't want to feel it again" the dean buried her head in the crook of Y/N's neck.

"Are you sure, my love?" Y/N's soft but firm hands took Leonora's face, forcing her to look at her and be honest. “I know how much your reputation has cost you and I wouldn't want it to be affected by me. We can be discreet…”

"Fuck discretion, I just don't want to see you in the arms of another jerk like that Henry guy"

And without further ado, Lesso planted a kiss on her beloved's lips, proving that the love he feels for her is worth much more than her stupid reputation.

Carefully, Y/N encircled her girlfriend's neck and stood on her toes deepening the kiss full of feelings, affection and true love, in the light of the full moon.

"I told you, you owe me five doubloons" Dovey joked as she and Emma watched as their friend Leo finally admitted her love for that girl.

“It amazes me, how being so different, they seem to work well"

"She's different" Dovey pointed at Y/N with a look "Lesso is just… Lesso"

Note:

Maybe tomorrow I'll upload a little message for my followers for Christmas… but if you don't see it, Merry Christmas!

I hope you enjoy it

I appreciate the reblogs, the likes and the comments

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#the school for good and evil #lady lesso x reader #lady lesso #lady leonora lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso #leonora lesso x reader #leonora lesso #sge #sge movie #charlize theron x reader #charlize theron #clarissa dovey #professor dovey