#dim-witty duck

[starrystevie]

eddie’s going on a tinder date with a cute guy named steve.

he likes his freckles, brown eyes and cheeky grin. they don’t have much in common but the conversations they have in the app messages flows suspiciously easily. he’s a bit in love and antsy at the table as he watches the door anxiously for his date.

he sees person after person walk into the bar and his beer is dripping condensation onto his hand as he grips it, nerves shooting through the roof. eddie glances at the table and then back up to the door when a guy walks in and if eddie wasn’t waiting for his date, he’d want to go talk to him.

he’s cute, hot even, floppy brown hair and a charming grin, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat as he looks around the bar. his shirt clings to him in just the right way and his jeans fit him a bit too perfectly. eddie can’t help but stare and then the guy is staring back while he waves, ducking his head as he walks over.

“hey, eddie,” the man breathes out, his cheeks tinged pink from the wind. “sorry i'm late. parking was a bitch.”

and eddie’s confused. because this guy has brown eyes but not the ones he expected. freckles that are more spread out and distinct, trailing down to his neck instead of blanketing his face. his smile is perfect and he’s looking at eddie like he knows him. eddie’s a bit stunned, gaping at the guy with a slack jaw, because he’d remember someone as handsome as him if they’d met before.

“…hi?” he says like it's a question, taking a sip of his beer to do something with his hands.

he watches as the man’s eyebrows crease in confusion and the way his shirt stretches over his chest as he takes off his jacket. “it’s- i’m steve? you are eddie, right?”

eddie can feel his own eyebrows raising, wiping off his damp hand to fish his phone out of his pocket. he quickly finds steve’s profile, ignoring the messages they've sent each other over the past weeks that leave his stomach filled with butterflies, and pulls up the profile picture steve uploaded.

looking at it closely, he glances at who he thinks is steve, at the freckles dusting over his face and the toothy grin he's flashing at the camera. he's not exactly they type eddie usually goes for, but he's witty and sweet and knows about dnd, apparently, so what's not to love?

but then he looks at the other person in the picture that's slightly out of focused next to ‘steve’. looks at the two moles stark on the side of his neck, his pink tinted cheeks. the floopy brown hair and the pretty brown eyes and-

“steve?!” eddie exclaims, looking between the man in front of him and the picture on his phone. “you’re steve?”

the guy- steve- grins sheepishly, leaning on his elbows over the table to look at eddie’s eyes phone. he’s close, too close, close enough that eddie wants to-

“ohh,” he says and scratches at the back oh his head, eyes downturned with a blush trailing up his neck. “yeah, maybe i shouldn’t have used a group photo for a dating app.”

“so who did i think you were?”

their eyes meet and even in the dim bar light, eddie finds himself falling into the specks of green he sees. steve looks at the phone quickly then back up with a smirk. “my best friend, tommy. he’s kind of an asshole, though. you’re better off with me.”

“is that so?” eddie leans back, taking a sip of his beer, and really takes in his date that he now knows is steve. his toned arms, his broad shoulders, his pretty pink cheeks and pretty pink lips.

“what, are you disappointed?”

steve smiles gently and it lights up his face in a way eddie isn’t expecting. between the way he looks in a dingy bar and the way talking with steve is easier than any date he’s had before, he can’t imagine what disappointment he could ever possibly feel knowing that his date is who he is.

suddenly there’s a foot hooking around his ankle and it sends goosebumps tingling up his spine. steve’s smile softens just a bit and eddie can feel himself mirroring it back, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“i don’t think disappointed’s the right word.”

crossposted on twitter!

[inkspiredwriting]

Flirtation in the Line of Fire

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: I love flirty Five :)

Warnings: none

"You know, Hargreeves, you’re a real pain in the ass," Y/n said, smirking as she watched Five through the sights of her weapon. They stood in a crumbling warehouse, facing off yet again. Dust motes floated lazily through the dim beams of light filtering from shattered windows above.

"And you’re one hell of a distraction," Five shot back, eyes narrowed. Despite the tension, a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Even if you’re absolutely sexy, I still have to ruin your pretty face."

Y/n’s laugh echoed through the space. "Careful, Five. I might think you’re flirting with me." She adjusted her stance, readying herself for the inevitable clash.

"Think? Darling, I’m definitely flirting with you," Five replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm and amusement.

They launched into action simultaneously. Five blinked, appearing behind Y/n in an instant. But Y/n, ever the skilled agent, anticipated his move. She whirled around, her kick narrowly missing Five’s face as he ducked.

"Close, but not close enough" Five teased, using his ability to teleport across the room, evading her swift strikes.

Y/n pursued him with relentless energy, a mix of professional dedication and playful banter driving their confrontation. "Come on, Hargreeves. Are you going to dance around all day or actually fight?"

Five disappeared again, reappearing right beside Y/n. "Why not both?" He grabbed her arm, attempting to pin her, but she twisted out of his grasp with a skillful maneuver.

"Impressive," he admitted, slightly breathless.

"I do my best," Y/n replied, equally winded but grinning. "You’re not too bad yourself, for an old man."

"I’m still in my prime," Five retorted, launching a series of attacks that Y/n blocked with surprising agility.

Their sparring continued, a blur of movement and witty remarks. Despite the intensity, it was clear they were both holding back, more interested in the thrill of the encounter than causing actual harm. Y/n ducked under Five’s swing, using her momentum to sweep his legs out from under him. He hit the ground but rolled quickly to avoid her follow-up strike.

"You’ve got to try harder than that," she taunted, offering him a hand to help him up. He took it, but instead of pulling himself up, he yanked her down beside him.

"Got you," Five said, pinning her beneath him. They were close, too close, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with something more than just combat.

"Looks like you win this round," Y/n said, her voice softer, eyes locked with his. "But I’ll get you next time."

Five opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, the sound of a briefcase whirring into life interrupted them.

"Damn it," Y/n muttered, looking over at the device on the ground nearby. "Duty calls."

Five’s expression darkened, but he helped her to her feet. "Always the Commission."

Y/n nodded, brushing herself off. "You know how it is. Can’t keep the bosses waiting." She picked up her briefcase, glancing back at Five. "But don’t worry, Handsome. I see you again." With a final, playful wink, she pressed a button on the briefcase, and in a flash of blue light, she was gone.

Y/n appeared in the sterile, cold environment of The Commission headquarters. Agents bustled around, barely giving her a second glance as she made her way to her assigned desk. The stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled encounters with Five made her sigh with a mix of frustration and longing.

"Y/n, report," a stern voice barked from behind her. She turned to see her superior, Mr. Carmichael, a no-nonsense agent with a penchant for strict adherence to protocol.

"Encountered Hargreeves. Neutralized threat," she replied curtly, trying to keep her tone professional despite the flicker of excitement that lingered from her recent bout with Five.

"Good. Keep it that way," Mr. Carmichael said, nodding approvingly before moving on.

Y/n exhaled, leaning back in her chair. Despite the routine of her day-to-day life at The Commission, her thoughts kept drifting back to Five. Their encounters were dangerous, exhilarating, and oddly captivating. And even though their paths often clashed, she couldn’t deny the strange thrill she felt every time they met.

The next time Five and Y/n crossed paths, it was in a bustling city square. People moved around them, oblivious to the invisible war being waged between the Commission and those who defied them. Five spotted Y/n first, her silhouette familiar against the backdrop of modern architecture.

"Fancy meeting you here," he called out, catching her attention.

Y/n turned, a smile spreading across her face. "Five. What a surprise. I thought you’d be hiding somewhere safe."

"I don’t do hiding," he retorted, closing the distance between them. "Besides, I was hoping to see you again."

"Is that so?" Y/n raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. "And here I thought you were just trying to avoid getting caught."

"Why would I avoid you?" Five’s voice was a mix of sincerity and mischief. "You’re the highlight of my week."

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Hargreeves."

"Not even a little?" he asked, stepping closer. The crowd moved around them, a sea of faces and voices that seemed to fade into the background.

"Maybe a little," Y/n admitted, her smile softening. "But I still have a job to do."

"And I still have to stop you," Five said, his expression turning serious. "But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the process."

Before Y/n could reply, the sound of sirens and commotion erupted nearby. Both turned towards the source of the noise, their senses on high alert.

"Looks like our time’s up," Y/n said, readying her weapon.

"Until next time," Five replied, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer before he blinked away, disappearing into the chaos.

Back at The Commission, Y/n found herself thinking more and more about her encounters with Five. Each time they fought, there was a connection, a spark that made the conflicts seem less like battles and more like a dance. She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if they ever found themselves on the same side.

As she prepared for her next mission, her mind drifted back to Five’s last words. "Enjoy the process." Maybe, just maybe, there was something to be said for finding moments of joy, even in the midst of duty.

And somewhere, in the chaos of time and missions, there was a part of her that looked forward to their next encounter. Because even in the line of fire, there was a thrill, a connection, and a flirtation that made the fight worth it.

"See you again, handsome," she whispered to herself, a smile playing on her lips as she disappeared into the mission ahead.

[knoepfl]

hi I love your arcane viktor and mylo stories a lot 👀 and I have a request!

Could you do one where Y/N (who is his girlfriend in this) is hurt and she almost starts to cry because of the pain but Mylo is there to give her comfort and treat her wounds?? And maybe try to make her laugh by his stupid jokes to distract her pain (I just know that guy is a softie on the inside)

Hope this isn't much keep up the good work!! :3

Omg thank you so much for your request! I'm so happy to receive these and also to hear you like my fics is making me all giddy inside^^ I will absolutely do your request as fast as possible bc to be honest. I appreciate that you love Mylo too! It's hard to find fics with him. So here it is! I hope you like it and I didn't disappoint you^^

Patchwork and Punchlines

Characters:

• Y/N (Your Name)

• Mylo’s girlfriend, resourceful and tough, but injured during a skirmish.

• Mylo

• Sarcastic and witty, but shows his softer, caring side when Y/N gets hurt.

Pairing:

Mylo x Reader

Trigger Warnings:

• Violence and Injury: Includes a brief chase, Y/N being hit and injured, and receiving medical attention.

• Pain and Medical Treatment: Mentions of stinging pain and treating a bleeding wound.

• Mild Blood Imagery: Brief reference to blood and bandaging a wound.

Masterlist

Words: 1149

--- Zaun was no stranger to chaos, but tonight seemed particularly hostile. The air was thick with tension as you and Mylo darted through the crowded streets, weaving between towering pipes and makeshift bridges. A simple errand—delivering a small package for Vander—had spiraled out of control when a group of hostile enforcers appeared out of nowhere, barking orders and swinging batons.

"Split up!" Vi had shouted over her shoulder, already leading Powder and Claggor down another alley.

That left you and Mylo with no choice but to head the opposite direction, deeper into the winding maze of Zaun. The shouts of the enforcers echoed behind you, growing louder with every second.

“We’re gonna die!” Mylo yelled, narrowly avoiding a stack of crates as he sprinted ahead of you. “I knew this would happen! I said this was a bad idea, didn’t I?”

“You say everything is a bad idea!” you shot back, struggling to keep pace with him.

Suddenly, an enforcer burst out from a side alley, cutting off your path. His baton gleamed under the dim industrial lights as he swung it toward you. Instinctively, you ducked, the baton grazing your shoulder instead of smashing your face. The force of the blow sent you stumbling into a stack of barrels, the sharp edge of one scraping your arm as you fell.

“Y/N!” Mylo skidded to a stop, his eyes wide as he turned back to you.

“I’m fine!” you lied, clutching your arm as you scrambled to your feet. The pain was sharp and immediate, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins forced you to keep moving.

The enforcer lunged again, but this time Mylo stepped in, jabbing his elbow into the man’s stomach and yanking you out of harm’s way. “Fine, huh? You’re bleeding, genius!” he snapped, dragging you toward a narrow alley.

“Yeah, well, I’d rather bleed than get arrested!” you retorted, wincing as your arm throbbed.

“Good point,” Mylo muttered, glancing over his shoulder as more enforcers poured into the street behind you. “But I’d rather not do either.”

The two of you ducked into the alley, Mylo practically shoving you forward. The path twisted and turned, the walls closing in as the sound of pursuit grew fainter. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reached a dead end.

“Great. Just great!” Mylo hissed, pacing back and forth. “We’re trapped! This is how it ends, isn’t it? Beaten to death by enforcers because Vi couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”

You slumped against the wall, exhaustion and pain catching up to you. “Stop panicking for five seconds, Mylo. We lost them.”

He froze mid-rant, his gaze snapping to you. “You’re kidding, right? What if—”

“I said we lost them,” you interrupted, gesturing toward the silence around you. “Now, can you just—ugh—focus on this instead?” You pulled your hand away from your arm, revealing the blood-streaked tear in your sleeve.

Mylo’s face paled. “Oh, crap. That’s… that’s not good.”

“It’s not that bad,” you lied again, though the tears welling in your eyes said otherwise.

He crouched down in front of you, his earlier panic replaced by something softer. “Not that bad? Y/N, you’re leaking! People don’t just casually leak!”

---

You leaned against the wall, biting your lip to keep from crying out. Blood seeped through the tear in your sleeve, the sharp sting of the cut making your vision blur.

Mylo was crouched in front of you, his hands hovering as if unsure what to do. His usual snarky confidence was replaced by wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Okay, okay, don’t freak out,” he said, mostly to himself. “You’re not dying. Yet.”

You shot him a glare through the haze of pain. “Not helping, Mylo.”

“Right, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly flustered. “I’ve got this! Totally. Just… give me a second.”

He rummaged through his satchel, pulling out a ragged strip of cloth and a bottle of something that smelled like it could melt steel. His face softened when he glanced at your pale features, a rare crack in his sarcastic armor. “Hey, I’ll fix you up, alright? I’m practically a doctor. You can call me… uh, Dr. Mylo.” He grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Licensed in talking too much and patching up badasses like you.”

You tried to chuckle, but it came out as more of a wince. “Doesn’t sound very reassuring.”

He kneeled closer, dabbing the cloth in the makeshift antiseptic. “Okay, this might sting a little. Like, maybe a lot. But you’re tough, right?” His voice wavered, betraying the nervousness he was trying to hide.

When the cloth touched your wound, a sharp hiss escaped your lips, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Mylo froze, his hand halting mid-motion. “Whoa, whoa, Y/N—don’t cry!” he blurted, his voice rising an octave. “I mean, not that you can’t cry if you want to, but—uh—oh, crap, I’m terrible at this.”

You couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh at his panic. “Mylo, you’re so bad at this.”

“Hey, that’s rude. I’m saving your life here!” He smirked, clearly relieved by the sound of your laugh. “I mean, without me, who’d patch you up? Vi? She’d probably just punch the wound closed.”

“Powder?” you teased.

“Powder would just throw glitter on it and call it a day.”

The image of Powder sprinkling glitter over a bloody wound made you laugh despite the pain. Mylo grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and gently continued cleaning the cut. “There we go, see? You’re already looking better. Laughing hurts less than crying, right?”

As he worked, he kept up a steady stream of ridiculous jokes and commentary. “You know, if you keep getting hurt like this, I’m gonna start charging you. I don’t work for free, you know.”

“Oh, really? What’s your price?” you asked, your voice steadier now.

“Hm…” Mylo tilted his head, pretending to think. “How about you buy me dinner? Or, I dunno, just kiss me better when I inevitably stab myself trying to open a can or something.”

You smiled through the lingering sting of the antiseptic. “Deal.”

With the wound cleaned and bandaged, Mylo sat back on his heels, brushing a lock of hair out of your face with uncharacteristic tenderness. “See? Told you I’d fix you up. Not bad for a street rat, huh?”

“Not bad at all,” you admitted, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the injury. “Thanks, Dr. Mylo.”

He chuckled, the sound softer now. “Anytime, Y/N. But seriously, next time? Duck faster.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. Mylo might have been a cocky, sarcastic pain most of the time, but when it mattered, he was there for you. And as he leaned in to press a quick, awkward kiss to your forehead, you realized you wouldn’t trade him for anything.

---

[drcxmlcss]

Cupid’s Arrow // thread with @princessnotfound

Chiding only amuses Dream further. “I think she already has the wrong idea,” he says, ignoring fluorescent numbers. “Not that I’d correct her.” He can already feel himself settle. Cruel words are akin to those uttered over checkered tiles. This rhythm is a familiar one. He’s danced to it before, and the whole time, his eyes search George’s face. Thinking, contemplating, deliberating.

Yes. George is supposed to thank him. They’re the one asking for a kiss. They’re the only one who gains something from it, too. Dream has no reason to comply, and he’s sure they know that. Yet obduracy prevails. In that sense, it’s… kinda funny. The sharpening of George’s eyes won’t phase him. It doesn’t come close.

In fact, the person thrown off balance here is George. Of that, Dream’s convinced. They can lash out all they want, but they want to win. Why else are they here? Pushing back with that cocky act changes nothing. They still crave victory. They always have, and he trusts they always will.

Friends believe in each other’s potential. But enemies? Oh. They make them live up to it.

Dream scoffs at George’s final comment, making no moves to lift his mask. “You’re right. You’re the one that has to kiss me. I don’t have to do a damn thing.” He can’t tell if it’s the bass thundering in his chest anymore, or his own heart. Either way, there’s electricity in his veins. He was going to be nice. He really, really was. But George has a way of setting him ablaze, and now he wants to see them squirm.

“You just love to think you’re in control, don’t you?” he continues, gentle amusement replaced with something darker. “You think you’re better than me. That you have all your ducks in a row. That nothing — nothing — can shake you.” With a halfhearted snort, he takes a step closer. “If I didn’t find you so annoying, I’d think your stubbornness cute.”

They act like such an angel. They accuse him of tyranny. They say he’s inconsiderate. They forget their place. Annoying. Annoying, but it’s why Dream’s hooked. George never fails to fight back — to give the battle their all. And he hates it. Hates the way they stick in his mind. Hates their wittiness, their petulance, their confidence.

That must be it.

Rolling his eyes, he pulls back as if about to leave. It’s tempting. Very tempting. Would George just stand there dumbfounded? Would they try to make him stay? How far does their lust for victory go? He’s not sure. So he gives it a moment. A good, long moment, gaze cast to the glowing crowd.

“You’re lucky I don’t mind.” No. No, he does mind. But he wants to prove a point more than he wants to walk away. George isn’t in control here, and he’ll relish in reminding them of that.

Satisfied, he pushes his mask to the side. Lips curl into a smile the instant they’re exposed, teeth glinting in dim lights… but they’re incomparable to his eyes. Glittering emeralds twist with callous delight. “It’s on you, really,” he continues, voice a flippant purr. “How badly do you want to win, George?” He leans in, fishing his phone from his pocket. Two taps to the back of the case open the camera app. They’ll have their proof. All they have to do is seal the distance.

“Or are you a coward after all?”

And he’s going to make them seal that distance.

Cupid's Arrow // thread with @drcxmlcss

Their shrug is half-hearted and mostly thoughtless, because for once they don’t relive their darling illusions with Fundy etched into their daydreams. George isn’t quite sure how to carry themself. They’ve been interacting with Dream a lot more often, lately, and they can’t help but wonder if it is closing the gap of their rivalry. Sometimes, they forget that there is more to Dream beyond the makeshift walls of a battlefield. He is not entirely built of chequered tiles, trembling troops and tyranny. Beneath the weighted crown of command, that he is sure must birth cracks in his very skull, he is human. Human in the way that he cares, in the way that he fights. In the way that he fears over the phone when he is in the past, because Dream does exist outside of George’s villainization. The problem is that acknowledging such makes it harder to loathe him.

Maybe it is wrong of them -- in fact, they are well aware that it is wrong of them. For a ruler so benevolent, they are aware of their wrongdoing, but that does not quite urge change. They are beginning to value familiarity more than they should. But this casual atmosphere between them - this consideration - it isn't what they're used to and they aren't sure how to take it without a pinch of salt.

But there isn't enough time to dwell on it, because Dream is stepping in front of them. George pauses for a moment, eyes flickering up to meet fluorescent neon green. It eases the tension a little bit. A mask is enough to clarify the barrier between them, and George does not feel quite so lost as they did a moment ago. Instead, irritation twists into foul amusement and they cock their head to one side.

"No need to be so eager," they chide, "I'd hate for your hookup to get the wrong idea." Of course they took note of the numbers etched into his flesh. They're hard enough to miss with the way that they glow. Part of them wonders if the writer scrawled it down solely for Dream, or if they intended to use him as a walking billboard; in the latter's case, they'd have to commend the stranger for their wits. George is not above admitting that maybe, potentially, Dream could be considered eye-candy enough to have eyes on him throughout the night. All it takes is a misplaced glance to spot the number on the back of his hand. It's clever. But it's also cruel, so they keep their mouth shut about it.

Instead, they are sinking into the familiar zone of playing cocky. Maybe it is foolish, when they are the one cornered. Pinned between the claws of their sworn rival, with bared canines inches from their throat, they are but feeble prey. Fragile with enough confidence to bear their glass heart as if it's rather transparent steel.

George isn't sure how they want to go about this. They doubt anyone would be so self-assured in the situation that they have been shoved into. Expressing affection to the very person that sees their failure in their wet dreams. Pressing their lips to the skin of the person they have longed for the sullied flesh of, but not in the way of velvet teeth and gentle bones. Nothing about this is easy, but what kind of coward would he be if he didn't go all out? The one thing that they are sure about is that this is just another game, and they don't like to lose.

So they focus on just that. Any nerves silence themselves, and they raise an eyebrow, "am I supposed to thank you, or something?" With a dismissive wave of their hand and rolled eyes, George's usual arrogance makes its swift reappearance. Sharp eyes and a sharper tongue follow in suit. If they follow through with this, a lot is going to happen -- that much is guaranteed. Gossip spreads like wildfire, and the two of them are already kindled embers. "Yeah, you will hear me out," they scoff, "I'm the one that has to kiss you."

There's an underlying sense of hesitation. They cover it up with a frown and a quipped, "how am I supposed to kiss you with your mask on, idiot?"

[cursegirlrabbit]

What is the story behind Kildare and Dim-Witty the janitor? I’m not very familiar with these characters.

Dim-witty is a duck character more seen in the much older comics and not very well known, so its not surpise you aren't familiar with him. While his last name is Duck he has no family conecting to Donald.

This is my favorite design of him but he has a few more modern ones where he's taller and more chubby. He was often paired up in donald every now and then but eventually was made as a first mate for Captain Moby Duck.

I like to head canon he's secretly a witch or something simular, one who specializes in potions and healing (thus why he's working as a janitor at a mental hospital, to try to use his magic to help them)

As for Kildare Coot. He's a cousin of Donald's through Casey (Elvira's brother) While I don't think Canon every said who Kildare's parents were its widely accepted by the fandom that his dad is Cubert coot, son of Casey coot and Gretchen gabe.

Kildare is mostly featured in the italian duck comics, he wasn't to popular in america since he was very simular to Fethry.

which he is but like a thousand times more wacky, He's also more seen with Scrooge's half brother in the italian comics called Gideon.

In his debut comic, (Literally called Kildare the Weirdest duck in the world) Kildare somehow proved he was sane of mind and was allowed to leave the mental hospital he was in (he then proceeded to ride a bus like it was a horse and visited Donald's house)

[cabezadeperro]

hiii maría 🤠 i bring u clown on clown violence:

5. trepverter - a witty response or comeback you think of only after it's too late to use

for Cody/Fives 🤠🤡🤠

clown on clown violence you say

established relationship, takes place during the war. canon compliant. M, 400w.

---

The wall of the stall is cold and sticky against Cody’s back where his undershirt has rolled up. He grimaces, turns his face away, and squirms until Fives lets go of his hips, nose brushing Cody’s and eyes still fixed on Cody’s mouth. He doesn’t step away, and in the end Cody rolls his eyes and gives in, tugs him closer again. 

Fives is warm and eager under his hands, the inner shirt of his dress greys damp with sweat and hot to the touch. He ducks in with a happy hum, beard rasping against Cody’s chin, and licks into Cody’s mouth. Cody sighs and lets himself be kissed, arms around Fives’s shoulders, tugging at his thick hair.

He can feel the thump-thump-thump of music through the soles of his boots, against his back, inside his chest; his ears are buzzing, and the restroom smells of piss and sweat and spilled beer, and it’s hot and damp and cramped. 

He doesn’t want to be anywhere else. Fives crowds closer, grinds against Cody’s thigh, and Cody closes his eyes, lets his hands drop to Fives’s ass and digs in with his fingers just to feel him shiver. He tastes sweet, and his lips are sticky with sugar, and Cody doesn’t share his taste in alcohol, but he’s found he never minds kissing it off his mouth.

They have time, for once. This thing—this on and off relationship, coming together between deployments and in storage rooms and empty freshers and afterhours in Cody’s office on the Negotiator—Cody didn’t realise it was happening until he found himself between Fives and the locked door of his bunk, codpiece missing and Fives’s swallowing around his dick.

Someone opens the door. A wall of sound and music floods the freshers, and Fives snickers against Cody’s mouth, and then there are clever fingers slipping under the waistband of his trousers, slipping in sweat-slick skin. Cody chokes on a too-loud moan, and retaliates by ducking his head and biting at his shoulder through his jacket, too hard, the fabric yielding under his teeth. Fives swears at him, but he’s also laughing, dark eyes bright and happy in the dim light, and Cody forgets about what he was going to say. 

He puts it away, for later, because there will be a later, and tugs Fives closer, because they have time—Cody will make sure they do.

[fethrybestduck]

Well, that’s because he isn’t part of the duck cousins... 

Everybody is free to headcanon whatever they like, but we have no idea where in the family tree Moby Duck (But at least he is part of a published official Family Tree) and Dim-Witty Duck would be placed. 

In Dim-Witty’s case he is mostly refered as a “helper” or “worker” and not as a relative, and Duck is a pretty common surname in universe (Like, Daisy is also a “Duck”) so there’s a big chance he is not part of the family at all.

(Dudly D. Duck is canonically Donald’s cousin but he also never got any fandom love...)

Can we please acknowledge the fact the Dim-Witty exist!

I mean he's just a frikien cutie! And it's so easy to understand that he's related to fethry

I mean their basically the same person only one is super dumb and the other is super smart. I just think we should acknowledge him a bit more like we do Kildare.

[ibis-gt]

I honestly would love to read about the first time Cam finds out Luther is shrinking because he has feelings for him. In that hanahaki disease au.

ask and ye shall receive.... cam figures it out. just shy of 2000 words.

~~~

“Aaaand… there,” Cam said, and gave the screwdriver one final twist. He pulled on the little contraption in front of him a few times to test its stability and sat back on his haunches, finally satisfied. “You’re all set.”

It is one of four little rope and pulley elevator systems that he’d set up around Luther’s apartment. It consisted of a small wooden plank that Luther could stand on and use the rope system to raise or lower himself. Each one was operable at height ranges between about a foot and a half to four inches. They let him get up onto his sofa, his bed, the kitchen counter, and the bathroom sink.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” Luther protested from his position just behind Cam. “I mean, I don’t get that small that often, I probably won’t use them that much.”

Cam laughed and pushed a stray wisp of hair out of his face, looking up at Luther. “What are you talking about? You’re always shrinking around me. It’s okay, I’m happy to help. That’s what friends are for.” He watched the usual blush spread across Luther’s face, the telltale shiver run down his spine, and smiled as Luther shrank another inch. He’d lost some height here and there during the installation process as they chatted, and had gone down to about five foot even, if Cam had to guess. “Anyway, you let me know if you have any trouble with these, and I’ll be over to fix ‘em as soon as I can. And there’s the bells if you’re in any real trouble - those strings there, see? They’re hooked up to a bell in my apartment, ring that and I’ll come right over.”

“My cat’ll have a field day with them,” Luther murmured, brow furrowing. “Maybe we should do something other than string.”

Cam chewed on the end of his screwdriver in contemplation. “Hm. Good point. I’ll figure something out later.” He slipped the screwdriver in his toolbelt and slapped his hands on thighs as he stood up. “Well! I’d better get back to my place and start dinner. You’re coming over, right?”

“Oh! As long as it’s not an imposition? I mean, I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“Nah, s’alright, you’re always welcome. Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. See you in an hour?”

Luther’s blush deepened and he lost another two inches. “S-see you then,” he managed.

Cam chuckled fondly to himself as he left. He tried not to think of Luther’s condition as cute or funny, because when the shrinking was really bad it put the poor guy in danger. But he couldn’t help but find it amusing when Luther lost just a little height, ending up just a slightly shorter version of himself. And when he went on one of his long rambles and shrank a little bit at a time all throughout, it put Cam in mind of a deflating balloon, which was just too silly not to laugh at. And when he ended up really tiny, and he was just like a little doll, and fit so perfectly in the palm of Cam’s hand…

Cam shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, that was too far. He shouldn’t think like that, no doubt it was terrifying for Luther to be so small and vulnerable. He sighed as he shouldered his door open, hands full of leftover wood and string. He set them on the little table where he kept his keys by the door, then unbuckled his toolbelt and hung it on the coat rack, lost in thought.

He’d been puzzling over what caused Luther to shrink for a while now. Was it just at random? Was it like an allergic reaction, and some kind of food or environmental thing kicked it off? He had a brief vision of Luther sneezing and instantly shrinking down to bug size. No, knock it off, he chastised himself, not funny. A little funny. But don’t laugh at it.

Anyway, he hadn’t seen Luther ever sneeze when he shrank, so that probably wasn’t it. What were the symptoms? He’d make a list, that would help him narrow it down.

Cam slipped an apron over his head - one of the novelty ones his sister kept getting him, he didn’t bother to read the witty joke about buns printed on the front - and started on the dough for his spaghetti. Whenever possible, he liked to make things from scratch. Besides, having something to do with his hands let his mind work better. He worked the problem around in his mind just like he worked the dough in front of him, kneading it, pushing it around, looking at it from different angles.

So. What were the warning signs? Luther tended to get awkward and shy just before he shrank. He’d blush, stammer or trip over his words, either avoid eye contact or stare like he couldn’t look away, and of course the final sign was that signature shiver right before a loss of height. A lot of those symptoms could be attributed to anxiety as well - was that what triggered the shrinking, just whenever he was anxious? But that couldn’t be it, Luther had been anxious plenty of times without shrinking. Not to mention he worked a high-stress job, waiting tables at a local diner, and wouldn’t be able to make it through the day if anxiety made him shrink. So that wasn’t it.

Cam rolled the dough out flat and cut it into strips. He hung the fresh noodles up to dry and put water on to boil, then opened the fridge and pulled out the meatballs he’d shaped that morning.

His brain kept chugging along on the issue as he worked, hands going on automatic. He came back to the present long enough to taste the sauce he’d made, hem and haw, and add a little more garlic, then went right back to it. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

A sound startled him out of his thoughts - the ringing of a bell.

“Shoot,” Cam hissed, dropping the sauce spoon. It clattered onto the stove and left little pools of sauce cooling on the glass surface. He’d deal with that later though, Luther needed him now. He switched the burners to low and headed for the door.

Luther’s door was locked, so he had to duck back inside his apartment to grab the spare key. He opened the door slowly and called out.

“Luther? Was that just the cat, or do you need me?” Cam scanned the room, looking for that distinctive neon green jumpsuit. It clashed horribly with everything, but it was useful for spotting him when he ended up tiny. Sure enough, there he was by the strings for the bell, waving an arm to get Cam’s attention. He was easy to spot, as far as things went, standing about a foot tall. Cam hurried over.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Cam took a knee in front of Luther and leaned in close, inspecting him for injuries. Luther took a step back, startled by the sudden rush of worry, and Cam made himself pull back as well. It had to be scary to have someone looming over you like that, he told himself, give him a little space.

“I-I’m fine,” Luther said. “I just… well, this happened, and now I can’t really open my door, so I was hoping you could give me a lift over for dinner? Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve used the bell. I could’ve texted you.”

The tension flooded out of Cam and he laughed in relief. “No, that’s fine, I just jumped to conclusions. I can give you a lift, sure.” He cupped his hands and held them out to Luther, who climbed on and settled in, sitting down with his legs crossed. Cam rose slowly, being careful not to jostle Luther, and began to amble back towards the door. A thought occurred to him.

“What did it?” Cam asked.

Luther looked up, startled. “What did what?”

‘“What made you shrink this time? I’ve been trying to work it out on my own and I’m just not getting it. There’s gotta be a common thread, right, you’re not just shrinking at random?”

Luther stared at him in open-mouthed shock, face growing steadily redder.

“I mean,” Cam continued, “if you were just shrinking at random, it’d be hard to hold down a job, y’know? Do you ever shrink at work? And anyway, didn’t you say - ” His eyes widened as that thing that had been nagging at him finally became clear. “You said you don’t shrink all the time! But you shrink pretty often whenever I’m around. Am I doing it, somehow?”

“No, no, no,” Luther said hurriedly, but Cam could feel him getting smaller.

“Oh, liar!” Cam chortled. “Nice try, Pinnochio, but I’m literally holding you right now. Is it actually me?”

“It’s - it’s not - not always?” Luther was practically cowering away from him now, and Cam realized he’d been a little harsh.

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay? It’s your business, I shouldn’t’ve pried.”

“No, I… I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, it’s just… hard to say out loud, um…” Luther fidgeted with the collar of his jumpsuit, avoiding Cam’s eyes. He was red as a tomato, mouth drawn up in an adorable little pout, and so small and cute that Cam’s heart ached. Then it clicked.

“Oh. Is it me, like… because you like me?” Cam asked. “Like, you have a crush on me, is that it?”

Luther let out a sound like a tea kettle whistling, shrinking down at an alarming rate to only five inches tall. Cam couldn’t help himself. He laughed so hard he snorted. When he finally got a hold on himself again, the wounded look on Luther’s face sobered him instantly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but you don’t know how long I’ve been trying to work this out, and the answer’s been right in front of my face the whole time! I swear I’m laughing at myself, not at you. Anyway, you wanna go out sometime?”

Luther gaped up at him for a long moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Finally he shut his mouth and nodded furiously. Cam grinned.

“Or this could be like our first date, right? I’ll get some candles and dim the lights. We could even 'Lady and the Tramp' it with the spaghetti! Or - okay, okay, sorry, I’ll stop.” Luther had started to shrink again, and Cam didn’t want his cooking to go to waste just because his guest was too small to eat it. “Hey, I joke a lot, but I want you to know I’m being serious here,” he said gently. “I’d like to go out with you, if you’re alright with it. Is it going to cause problems, though? Like are you going to shrink every time we’re together?”

Luther shifted and looked away, finally finding his voice. “I - I don’t know. The doctor said if I told you about how I felt, it would get easier. But he didn’t say it would go away entirely… if that’s not something you want to put up with, we don’t have to - ”

“No, no, that’s fine, I don’t mind it. Just if it was a problem for you, is all. I like you a lot, Luther. I’d love to be your partner, if you’ll have me.”

Luther looked back up at Cam with a huge, genuine, relieved smile on his teeny tiny face. Cam’s heart melted.

“I’d like that.”

[glazelilyy]

+ Childe plz.🥺

𝟓𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 - 𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢

pairing - childe x gender neutral reader

genre - fluff, crack

word count - 660

a/n - hello!! thank you for being so patient with me hehe, that auditorium looks so beautiful! i don't think this is my best writing :') but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

content under the cut!

you'd never admit it out loud, but childe looked damn good in a classic black and white tuxedo. it was a shame that he always tried to wriggle out of it like a toddler, however.

"guh, this thing is too tight up here." he sneered at the tie you had snugly fit into place beforehand.

your eyes did a loop as you fixed it back it place from his endless tugging, palms smoothing over the silk fabric of his black blazer.

"easy there, tiger. you just gotta survive wearing a suit for two hours and then you can go do cartwheels naked for all i care." you snickered and pat his shoulder.

"it truly is a shame that i have to wear this even if it's by order of the lovely tsaritsa," childe pouted and crossed his arms over the front of his suit, "how would someone even be able to fight in this?"

"they wouldn't, you're not here to fight, dum dum. we're here to watch the play, show face, then get the heck outta here." you jabbed your thumb at the opera lobby's glass doors with a wry smile.

childe had been tempted to reject the fontainian diplomat's invitation to the opera, but alas, the tsaritsa demanded he go and bring you along to act both as arm candy (much to your chagrin), and a mediator for childe's, well, childish habits.

despite the fact that childe was usually more than happy to entertain events of his own free will, there was something oddly nagging about attending an event by the tsaritsa's orders.

the fontanian diplomats were kind enough upon first greeting you, in a sickly, socially acceptable way that is. they led on with sugary smiles and buttered compliments to you and childe that you both let slide like water off a duck's back.

the auditorium was grander than you thought it'd be, and from the looks of his awestruck face, grander than childe thought it would be as well. gold lined the ceilings and draped over the front of the stage. pillars upon pillars of ceramic and bright, ruby red, lush velvet seating painted the audience. you took your seats beside the diplomats and skimmed through the complimentary brochure detailing the contents of the opera.

"i can't wait to leave," he mumbled with his cheek propped up against his fist much like a small child.

"oh hush now," you giggled and pinched the softness of his cheek, "i'm sure you'll come to like it. look! the opera is based on a snezhnayan folk tale!" flipping through the laminated pages, you pointed a finger towards some pictures that seemed to catch his interest.

before he could get a chance to respond, the lights began to dim and the first of the actors began to pour out onto the stage. he looked on with intrigue towards the shining lights that illuminated the costumed actors. a woman began singing in a language that sat unfamiliarly on your tongue yet seemed to be completely normal to childe, who even hummed along and mouthed some of the lyrics. where you thought childe would be poking and prodding your sides out of boredom, his eyes sat trained on the figures in front who danced across the stage and sang love ballads in an unfamiliar language. part of you was tempted to poke his cheek and coo cute remarks at him, but you decided ultimately to leave him be.

by the time the opera was over, he almost couldn't keep his mouth closed.

"and that scene where they manipulated ice to bring back the queen? it was amazing! i read stories about ice queens to teucer and tonia when they were very small, they'd enjoy this play a lot!" he rambled while you exited the theatre, hand in hand.

you'd save your witty remarks for when you were alone, but it seemed the theatre didn't bore him as much as he thought it would.

[movnts]

hi, first of all happy birthday, hope I’m not too late, hope you had a special day! could I maybe request something along the lines of you and mason are always arguing so the Chelsea players lock the 2 of you in a room bc they’ve had enough and want the 2 of you to solve whatever issues you have and it could maybeee end in smut? 👀

omg thank you anon!! thats so sweet, honestly ur too kind! <33

“what do you mean my coat’s in here? why on earth would it be in the cleaning closet?” you screwed your face up in utter confusion towards ben and reece, their shoulders shrugging simultaneously as they exchanged nervous glances between each other. with a huff mason crossed his arms over his chest, gripping the door handle with a stern fist as he swung the door open.

“the boss told us to put all coats and bags in the cleaning closet from now on - new rule!” ben rambled, his eyes flashing reece an they’re-totally-not-going-to-buy-that-idea look as mason mirrored your face of doubt. with a flick of the switch mason ducked through a fallen mop, hands grabbing ahold of the shelves as he hoisted himself up in order to look for his discarded training bag. a gentle shove in the back from reece had you following mason, bending to your knees as you pushed rolls of paper and bottle of soap around with an unamused sigh.

before either of you could manage another word the door was promptly slammed shut, an incoherent string of profanities falling from your mouth as you tried the handle to no avail. crossing your arms across your chest you stared as mason through narrowed eyes, eyebrows furrowing together, “why do i have the feeling that we’ve been set up?”

your tone was dripping with annoyance as he shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding your harsh gaze as he set about looking for something that could help unlock the door - his hands tossing buckets and mop heads over his shoulder as he cursed once more.

“why do you hate me?” his question was stark and unexpected, his mouth pressed into a stern frown as it quickly became your turn to ignore his intimidating gawping from across the cupboard. truthfully you didn’t exactly have an answer; the bickering and sly comments made towards each other was just something both of you had done since you started working there. it was simply just part of your routine - start work, annoy mason, let mason annoy you, go home.

“i don’t hate you-” you started but stopped your sentence midway, not sure how you were going to tackle the conversation. because honestly? riling each other up had become more of an insensitive game rather than anything else, the dry insults and witty snarls about leaving the doors open added flavour to the usual mundane working atmosphere.

“everyone seems to think you hate me, fuck, even i think you hate me!” his laugh was laced with arrogance, the emphasis on certain words leaving a tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach. it wasn’t until you were there, holed up in a dim cleaning cupboard with nothing but mason and hand sanitiser as company, that you allowed your pupils to trail from the curve of his cupids bow up to the crinkles at the corner of his eyes whenever he showed any form of emotion. as much as it pained you to say, he was insanely attractive and he knew it.

with the silence becoming deafening you took a step towards him, ridding any of the additional inches between you both as you cocked your head to the side, “now why would i hate you?”

your vision fell on the way his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard, his lip swiping out and dampening his bottom lip with a small smirk tugging on his mouth. his cheeks were still glistening with little beads of sweat from the intense training session, full of life as he broke into a massive shit-eating grin as his fingers traced from the shelf onto your shoulder. his forefinger slipped between the messily zipped up fleece you were wearing, his nail grazing across the exposed skin of your upper chest, a breath of air sucked in between your lips as he left a trail of fire with every swift movement.

“you’ve been dreaming of this since you first laid eyes on me,” his cockiness oozed with every enunciation, his hand still travelling from the curve of your collarbones, dipping between them as your breathing hitched in your throat. mason took a step forward, his chest pressed against yours with only your fleece and his flimsy training top acting as a barrier, “and i’d be lying if i said i hadn’t either.”

you clenched your thighs together in a pathetic attempt to make it look as though you were unbothered, that these fantasises that mason was spelling out in front of you were strictly just a figment of his imagination - but you were wrong. tucking a strand of hair behind your ear you tenderly thought about touching him back and letting your own fingers explore his body, desperate to feel him closer as you felt all the frustration and pent up exasperation bubble into pure desirability.

“not here,” you whispered, worried that ben and reece were probably kneeled outside, ears pressed to the doors and listening to every word you exchanged. he simply nodded, his spare forefinger pressed to his lips in a ‘shush’ motion as he slipped his other hand from beneath your jacket, your skin already feeling lonely as a wave of goosebumps crashed over your body. bottom lip tucked between your teeth you leaned forward, your mouth ghosting his earlobe as you lowered your voice to a barely audible mumble, “come back to mine, mason, and i’ll show you how much i hate you.”

[lady-z-writes]

A little preview...

So I normally don't post upcoming stuff for a fic I'm writing, but this scene with Heisenberg x fem!reader was just too much. Ended up sharing about it in a server I'm a part of and...here's a little preview of some smut coming up in my multi-chapter fic, What Lies Beneath

The following is NSFW...

Summary for below the cut: Reader and Heisenberg show up to a "family" meeting at the church. While they wait for the others, Heisy wants reader to blow him in one of the pews. Reader ends up fingering herself, mid-blowjob, and doesn't get to climax before the other Lords start showing up for the meeting. Lots of teasing ensues during the meeting because Heisy loves to play...

“We shouldn’t,” she urges, pressing against him in an attempt to get him to stop.

It’s dangerous she’s even this close to him, considering they could get ambushed by anyone.

Still, he insists on entering the church together and she’s forced to pull away from him for appearances sake. He’s smirking at her over his shoulder, finding this whole thing humorous. She shoots him a glare.

Moreau is the only one there already and he mumbles something to Heisenberg about Mother being late.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll be fine.” Heisenberg glances at her, nods down the hall. It takes her a moment, but she realizes what he’s suggesting and she shakes her head. He rolls his eyes, takes matters into his own hands. “Why don’t you wait by the door for her?”

Moreau seems giddy about this idea and [Y/N] watches him shuffle to the main door. The minute Moreau is out of eyeshot, Heisenberg grips her by the arm and drags her where he wants. She struggles, but only for a minute.

“Are you nuts?”

“Maybe a little,” he chuckles. [Y/N] pulls her arm back. His face falls. “Fine. Have it your way.”

He pulls her deeper into the church now, seats himself down in a pew in the nave, and shoves [Y/N] to her knees.

Gaping at him, she shakes her head while he grips her hair.

“Heisenberg,” she hisses, trying to push herself up.

“You wanted it this way, kitten,” he shakes his head, using his other hand to unbuckle and unzip. “But that’s fine, waste more time.”

His grip in her hair is painful and if she understands anything about him, she knows there’s no way of getting out of this.

They’ll be here any minute.

Quickly, she pulls his pants open just enough for his cock to spring out. He groans at the knowledge that she’s actually obliging. Shifting his grip on her hair, he adjusts in the pew, feels the weight of her arms draping over his thighs, one hand groping at his hip, the other around his dick.

“Good girl…” he coos as she takes his cock in her mouth.

Her tongue swirls around his head before she deepthroats once. Such a tease. Always such a tease. A flat tongue traces over the underside of his dick, lapping up to the tip again. She tenses her tongue, uses the tip of it to play with his frenulum. The sensitivity causes Heisenberg to buck his hips toward her mouth, moan aloud.

She startles, surely nervous to have him being so loud but it only urges him on. He’s smirking, she notices, and though she’s nervous she can’t help but be completely aroused by this.

“I’ll sit here all meeting if I have to. You know that,” his voice is sultry, whispered just for her to hear.

She steps up her game, using her hand to jerk him off while her mouth continues to pleasure him as well. The precum she tastes means he’s liking what she’s doing.

“Guess I didn’t – mmm – spell out my rules well enough, huh?” he pants out. “I’ll let it slide this time, ungh…kitten.”

She’s focusing on his pleasure and speeding things up but she’s also very aware of her own throbbing arousal. Pressing her legs together tighter, she moans at the stimulation.

Heisenberg stares at her. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” he cackles to which she deepthroats him repeatedly to get him to shut up. It works, but instead he’s moaning her name.

She can feel his dick tensing, the muscles in his thighs flexing, making the pew creak. It’s at this point that she removes her hand from his hip, uses it to put pressure on her clit.

Heisenberg watches every second – loves the way her mouth feels on him, how her hands grip him at the perfect intensity, how into this she is. He’d normally force her to stop touching herself, but he’s so fucking intrigued he can’t look away. Her fingers have trailed up her skirt and the filthy woman is fingering herself while she mouthfucks him in a church.

Heisenberg can’t hold back much longer – not with the way her throat feels against his tip, not with how talented that tongue is, and surely not when he hears her slick wetness as her fingers slip inside her cunt.

With a string of moans, he spills in her mouth, using his grip on her hair to thrust as deep as possible; give her every last drop. [Y/N] is moaning around his cock and, though his eyes are closed, he can still hear her fingers gliding in and out of herself.

Swallowing him down, she keeps her mouth on him as he starts the comedown but he pulls his hips back from her because she’s overstimulating him. With nothing to block the moans, she buries her face in his thigh, hides her expression as she nears her climax.

“Ohhh, fuck, buttercup,” he gasps, stroking her hair gently, his voice laced with pleasure. “You gonna cum for me? Hm? You gonna cum on your fingers for a job well done getting your master off in a church?” he chuckles and she’s completely gone – passed the point of no return. “And I’ll let you. I’ll let you because, baby girl, you did so good.” A few more strokes to her g-spot and she’s there. “Oh…? Oh…shit, honey…” he’s laughing at her and for a second she stills, listening.

Over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, she can hear someone talking. No. No, no, no, they’re here already?

A sob leaves her mouth as she looks up at him from his crotch. He’s pleased, so fucking pleased with the sight of her – hair a mess, swollen lips, pupils dilated, chest heaving.

The voice of Lady Dimitrescu is apparent now, echoing in the nave as she enters. Heisenberg glances over his shoulder as [Y/N] debates if she should try to finish – but that edge is waning due to the new company.

“Up. Now,” Heisenberg speaks through gritted teeth, quickly zipping, buttoning, and buckling up.

A shaky breath that’s on the verge of a sob, she huffs in the pew beside him. Her hands come up to wipe her mouth, smooth her hair, swipe the tears from her eyes. Heisenberg takes another glance back, notices he has a second, and pops her slick-covered finger in his mouth – tasting her, tongue dancing across her skin.

A whimper leaves her before she purses her lips. Heisenberg is so humored by this.

He leaves her side, goes to greet Alcina with some witty, snide remark. She doesn’t even notice [Y/N].

Eyes wide, [Y/N] glances around the room, looking for an escape of some sort. Maybe she could rush to the bathroom – make an excuse – finish off in there…

And then Heisenberg is calling her into the conversation; something about her wanting to try Alcina’s wine.

“Oh, my dear girl! I’ve stored some bottles in the kitchen here. Would you fetch them for us?” she calls.

Perfect – an excuse. She could almost weep a thank you to Karl as she gets up and tries to walk, as composed as possible, to the kitchen. His eyes are on her. She can feel them.

Alone in the kitchen, she decides to take a breath and focus: get the wine and glasses before trying to finger fuck herself.

It’s fairly empty so it’s not hard. A wine opener sits on the counter too and she rushes to open the bottle, tries to mentally work herself up again so it’s not a problem reaching her climax quickly.

Bottle open, everything spread out, shielded by the counter, [Y/N] starts to pull her long skirt up –

“[Y/N]?” Lady Dimitrescu ducks into the doorway, startling her enough for her to drop the fabric back down. “Oh, I see you’ve found the opener as well. Very good.”

“I-I’m excited to try it,” she stutters out, clearing her throat as the Lady picks up the bottle. She struggles to hide her swollen lips, looking away when Alcina tries to look closer at her.

Heisenberg is in the hallway, just beyond Lady Dimitrescu – smirking. Of course.

“Come, now, child. We’re needed in the vestry.”

[Y/N] follows, grabbing the glasses with shaking hands. As she passes Heisenberg, he tips his hat at her, that devilish smirk taunting her.

No one behind them, he places a hand on her ass as they walk. This whole sneaking around thing is way too much fun, he thinks.

Donna and Moreau are in the vestry, seated at the middle table. Alcina takes the bottle to the front, naturally, overachiever.

As [Y/N] gets her glass filled with wine, Heisenberg takes one of the two seats at the back table. She glances up at everyone in the room, notices the only empty seat.

“Back of the class,” Heisenberg cackles.

The front board is covered with a hand-drawn map of the village. [Y/N] takes her seat and tries to distract herself.

Heisenberg is smug beside her, running his hands over his facial hair to make that delicious scratch that she loves.

He watches her cross her legs, sip her wine, stare at the front of the room. A quiet chuckle comes from him. Slowly he starts rolling up his sleeves, exposing his muscled forearms. [Y/N] inhales sharply and he is so enjoying this.

Miranda joins them shortly, instantly cutting to information regarding the upcoming culling. Maps of the village contained information on houses, villagers, livestock. [Y/N] tries to focus, but once the lights dim, Heisenberg has his hand on her thigh and she’s trying to calm down.

She gives it a few minutes, waits for Miranda to introduce their next steps.

It’s so damn hard to focus though and every few minutes she’s switching one leg over the other just to have some sort of stimulation.

Heisenberg’s hand doesn’t leave her no matter her movements. He notices her shifting, bites back a laugh.

Lackadaisically, he lifts her wine glass to his lips, takes a sip, swallows, hums. The rumble of his throat makes her squeeze her thighs together tightly. He starts touching his facial hair again, the sound against his leather gloves so arousing.

“You just gotta ask nice,” he barely whispers.

She’s afraid they’ll be caught; afraid someone already heard his comment. Yet, when his fingers just barely graze over her cunt, she covers her mouth and inhales sharply.

“Please,” she whispers.

She breaks.

“Absolutely.”

He doesn’t lift her skirt like she hoped, but the pressure of his fingers against her clit is enough to bring her right back to that moment: with her face in his lap, her fingers buried between her thighs.

Talented fingers tense over her clit, massaging up and down. Holding her breath, she closes her eyes in hopes to focus on her orgasm. Biting her lower lip, she barely bucks up against his hand.

Heisenberg’s free hand is pressed against his cheek, elbow on the table. He hides his smirk as he hears a soft, shaky breath leave her. Good. Good girl.

The orgasm is powerful, breathtaking, considering she was refused a release before. Heisenberg’s fingers are relentless and she’s so impressed he can coax her to peak so quickly. Here, in this room, after she blew him – her lips still swollen, mouth tasting of a mixture of wine and his cum.

Her eyes shoot open as she takes in the scene around her. No one else pays her any mind, but Heisenberg is staring, hungry, pants tented again.

She’s breathless once more.

[jjmaybanksbaby]

Where It Leads (Rafe Cameron)

Summer IV

Part 07: Crashing Down

series masterlist | previous part

summary: A jarring family emergency forces you to consider the future of your relationship with Rafe Cameron.

a/n: I'm a little bit emotional about this series ending because I've had so much fun writing it! Enjoy the last part and, as always, please come share your reactions with me in my inbox. Okay, that's all from me!

word count: 2.1k words

Rafe Cameron knew how to text. He was somehow witty, charming, and hilarious all in less characters than a single tweet. Texting with most boys was like talking to a brick wall: single-syllable answers, unironic uses of punctuation, asking “What are you wearing?” before even listening to how your day went. Though, to be fair, Rafe had asked that same question a few times, which always earned him a sarcastic answer in return. Well, except for that one time.

You’d been forced to spill the beans about your dreamy summer romance to Alice and Kensie after one of Rafe’s funnier texts almost made you pee yourself laughing at the lunch table.

“Oh, so he’s a stud muffin,” Alice announced, peering over Kenzie’s shoulder at the photo on your phone.

“Please god don’t call anyone a stud muffin ever again Al,” Kenzie replied.

“What? The 80s are like making a comeback.”

“Yeah, not that,” you countered and Alice huffed.

“He’s totally hot though,” Kenzie said, handing the phone back to you. “And I kinda hate you for not telling us about him.”

You looked down at the picture. Rafe was kissing your check while you grinned up at the camera, the golden hour lighting made the whole thing look rather enchanting. It was your favorite picture of you and him.

“Oh shit,” Kenzie said causing you to look up from the phone. “You’re like in love in love with him.”

“What? No,” you protested. Yes, your brain corrected.

Kenzie glanced over at Alice for backup.

“Besides, I wasn’t hiding him. I just didn’t know if there was anything there to...tell,” you finished.

“I wish I had a handsome summer fling with spectacular cheekbones,” Alice sighed.

“Don’t let your boyfriend hear you saying that.” Kenzie chucked a fry off her tray at Alice who dodged it expertly.

“Oh, please. Matty knows I would dump his ass for someone who looks like a young Chuck Bass any day of the week. Gimme your phone. I wanna see the photos again y/n.”

“I seriously don’t know how you and Matthew have been together for two years,” Kenzie replied.

“Are you kidding? They’re practically made for each other,” you added.

“The phone, please,” Alice interjected. “I wanna thirst over your mans while my boyfriend is sucking up to his English teacher so she doesn’t fail him. Of course, I told him he needed to actually read Wuthering Heights and not just sparknotes it. But did he listen? No. I picked a real winner y’all,” she finished, taking the phone from your outstretched hands. “You sure Rafe doesn’t have any brothers? Not even like a half-step brother?”

So yeah, going great. Against the odds of three thousand miles, the whole thing was somehow working. Long-distance friends with benefits? Check. Well, except for those moments when that nagging feeling in your stomach came back and you’d start overthinking everything. His texts would sit, unread in your phone for days or even a whole week, slowly sinking to the bottom of your messages.

Then came the call from the Kildare Country Hospital in the early hours of a foggy April morning. You should have gone to sleep hours ago but were still up, desperately trying to cram Maria’s lines into your brain while also texting Rafe. The Sound of Music opened in three weeks and your director had already chewed you out twice for not being off-book, something about being an upperclassman and the lead, and what kind of an example were you setting for the rest of the program. Big speeches were kind of your director's thing, you learned to just ride them out.

Around 1 a.m. your phone ran with an incoming FaceTime call from Rafe. You pressed the green acccept button, a smile spread across your face as Rafe’s own filled the screen.

“Hey Broadway Star.”

“Hi Rafe.” The dim lighting of his bedroom made his feature especially striking. “What are you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep. Plus you’re up too so. How’s the memorizing going?”

“Shitty,” you replied, closing your binder with a sigh. “I’m too tired to do anymore of it tonight anyway.”

“You know, I was thinking I could come to Oregon for your opening night?”

“Really?” The possibility of Rafe sitting in the audience made your heart race.

“Yeah, why not? I’ll ask Ward if I can borrow the plane that weekend and I bet Sarah’ll want to come too. I wanna see my girl kill it. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Rafe. You know my friends think you’re hot.”

“Oh, do they?” Rafe replied, rolling over onto his back in his bed.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Cameron.”

The home phone ran but you ignored it, much more invested in your conversation with Rafe. The second time the hospital left a message. Your Nonna’s heart had given out. The prognosis wasn’t good. She had barely any time left.

Your heart dropped as the words echoed over the speaker of the answering machine.

“Rafe,” you said, cutting him off momentarily. “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later. I gotta-” you ended the call before Rafe even had the chance to respond. You dropped your phone on the kitchen table, dashing up the stairs to your parents’ bedroom. Your father was booking a flight for your mother back to the Outer Banks minutes later.

The end had come so quickly, so unexpectedly. It was almost like that made it harder. There'd been just enough time for your mom and uncle to get to the Outer Banks, sitting on each side of your Nonna as her final breaths passed through her lungs. Now, everyone was there to say goodbye one last time. Uncle Austin and his fiancé. Your mom and dad. Both your siblings. The entire population of Figure Eight.

☼☼☼

Rain drizzled down from the dark, gray clouds looming overhead. It was as if Mother Nature was mourning your Nonna too, hiding the sunshine away.

Three baby ducks followed their mama into the man-made pond at the edge of the cemetery. You watched their tiny feet kick up small waves disturbing the peaceful water and the tears silently slipped down your face.

The cars were waiting to take you back to your Nonna's house for the wake. The same house with the for-sale sign now stuck in the front yard. The for-sale sign with Rose's patronizing grin that you were starting to really hate. Your dad had handled that. Listing the house. He'd handled most of the funeral arrangement's actually because your mother had been too sunken into her grief to make any decision. Sending out the invitations, picking out your Nonna's casket, choosing the flowers. Your mother clung to him during the entire funeral, weeping into his shoulder.

“Y/n?” Rafe's voice called out from behind you and you turned to see him walked toward you. He’d stood at the back of the church with his family during the funeral. You had longed for him to be sitting in the first pew next to you, to have had his hand to hold onto to ground you, but it hardly would have been appropriate. Your Nonna would have sooner risen from the dead than have had a Cameron front row at her funeral.

As soon as he was close enough, Rafe reached for you, pulling your body tight into him. Your head landed on his chest and the sobs came moments later. God, he always smelled the same. He just let you cry, holding you close, smoothing his hand over your hair.

“I know you’re selling your grandma’s house but I was thinking you could stay with me for the summer," he said as your tears began to slow. It was hard to imagine that you wouldn't return to the Outer Banks once school let out. It was the first week of May already and you could feel the tourist-attracting town waking up. But selling the house just made more sense. Your older sister was already living her life in New York, a real adult life. Next summer, you'd be moving out too, headed to college. The house would sit empty for eight months out of the year, your family couldn't keep it and your uncle certainly didn’t want it. Selling it just had to happen.

You stepped back, slipping out of his embrace. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rafe.”

“Why not?”

“Cause we’re like Romeo and Juliet.”

“I copied Cleo’s notes for that unit," he joked, trying to lighten to damp mood. “Plus I was never a fan of Leo DiCaprio so I didn’t finish the movie either.”

“It means we’re not supposed to be together, you and me. And whenever we try, the universe rips us apart. We hurt each other.”

Rafe shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly wanting to reach for you again but stopping himself from doing it. “But I can't lose you.”

You reached your hand out, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Oh Rafe, don’t you get it? You never really had me.” You stood up onto your tiptoes to kiss him just like you had the first time three years ago. Rafe barely parted his lips, kissing you back gently. Your hand cupped his face, your thump stroking over his cheek. It was a goodbye. Both of you knew it. It was an ending and this was your closure. You pulled away, your hand falling away from his face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the actual words. Your eyes fell to the ground. You needed to walk away now. You side-stepped Rafe but he grabbed your waist, turning you back around to face him.

“So that’s it? You’re not even gonna try to fight for us?”

“What even is there to fight for, Rafe? I’ve been fighting for us for the past four years. If we were supposed to be together that car wouldn’t have crashed into ours, I wouldn’t have fallen for Evan when I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at my Nonna’s funeral. What? Are we supposed to do long distance for all of college? I hardly know who I am right now. I have no idea who I’ll be in the next four years. Our future selves might not even like each other. I’m not gonna wait around for you Rafe and I would never ask you to do that for me.” You twirled the small, star charm between your fingers, a nervous habit you'd developed over the past year. His eyes dropped down to your neck momentarily and his adam's apple visibly bobbing as he swallowed his next weeks.

“You were it for me, you know. I tried to give a fuck about anyone else but I couldn’t get your gorgeous, stupid face out of my mind. I only wanted you.” Rafe paused gauging your reaction “I was falling in love with you.”

Your eyes wandered over his stoic expression. “The feeling was mutual, Rafe Cameron.”

He dropped your wrist but you both stood, not moving or saying anything. “Do you wanna walk me back to the car?”

“Yeah.” He reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers. Your other hand held onto his bicep so you walked together through the graveyard back to the parking lot.

The moment felt precious and delicate, like the fragile china your Nonna used to collect. You wondered what would happen to all that china.

Rafe placed a chaste kiss on your lips before opening the door of the car.

“I’ll miss you,” you said, the words hanging in the air meaning so much.

“Me too,” Rafe agreed.

You wanted one more kiss, one more passionate declaration of how much this all had meant but that would make leaving Rafe so much more impossible.

You climbed into the car, dropping Rafe’s hand in the process.

“See you around Cameron.” You knew it wouldn’t happen but it felt better than a goodbye.

He smiled back. “Maybe so.”

Perhaps Rafe was right and you’d both end up at a small liberal arts college in California taking the same second-year Econ class with a professor who always smelled like weed. Perhaps the stars would align and two of you would realize the universe wasn’t trying to keep you apart. It was just waiting for the right moment to show you that the love you had for each other was the soulmates, forever and ever kind of love. Perhaps you would get married and Sarah would be your maid of honor, of course. You’d buy back your Nonna’s house to raise your troubling-making kids in. Perhaps, you would find your way back and wake up each day and choose each other again and again.

Or perhaps, he'd always be your right-person-wrong-time. And, in the end, the passing days will steal away your memories of the blue-eyed boy from the Outer Banks.

taglist! @oreoenthusiast13

[witchofthesouls]

!! space parasite :D im not the same asker but can you do a continuation to the megatron medical emergency scenario??

You whistle, low and absolutely impressed, to the medical screen pinpointing quite a few bright dots. Some fatter and shinier than the others, looking about to pop… which isn’t far from the truth.

“Those are some nasty little bastards!” You clamp down the urge to pat Megatron’s still frame. You’re already sticking your hands back into the mech’s spark and he still can’t move, no need to rub it in.

The good news: You managed to grab all the adults lurking inside his sparkcasing, so now Megatron has enough energy to use his internal comms.

The bad news: The few parasites feasted so well on a One Point Percenter spark, they bred furiously and the resulting sacs are a significant drain on said spark. Hence, the lack of control of his own body.

Ratchet glares at the screen as if it’s the source of all his woes and clicks his tongue. “Alright then, suit up and let’s get started.”

You flex your hands, sensors and nervecircuits are fully responsive and freshly calibrated, your hair is pulled or gelled back, the visor is strapped on and the overlay bursts into view, giving you the redundant information of Ratchet’s and Megatron’s official positions and their roles. 

You’re ready as you’ll ever be. Plus you’ll never need to pick up prescription glasses with Perceptor’s great work.

You should say something witty or puny or anything to break the tension, but it’s hard when it takes your full concentration to feel and scan for the hidden eggs. The visor does its job dimming the intensity of Megatron’s spark, but it’s definitely brighter than last time. It also pinpoints the most suspect locations to search. Since there’s no need to touch the outside of it, you immediately start on the outer edge of the exposed sparkcasing and slowly move inwards. This is to give the medical servo-equivalent you’re wearing some time to acclimatize to potent energy. 

Tendrils already reach outwards to lap along your fingertips. Energy buzzing in your hands and you need to hold still, just let the tendrils dissipate or wash over before continuing. Luck is on your side as you poke over a full cluster ten minutes into the search.

Prying out the sacs takes steady hands, a plasma scalpel, a tiny metal spork, and creative swearing in three alien languages. The sacs are a cheery, highlighter orange with an acid green swirl -something out of a kid’s pencil box rather than a parasitic space worm.

You find a rhythm; carefully scanning from one area to another, and half-way into removing the stubborn slaggers when the visor focuses on the agitated spark. The green light brightening and flaring out as energy becomes far more staticky and clingy. 

“Do you need a break?” You ask him after going over the same area three times. Tendrils push into your hands far more insistently, lapping more and more over the sensors and nervecircuits, and it causes the equipment to misfire and your hands to ache.

:: No. :: Megatron’s reply is short and clipped. He’s burning holes into the ceiling with the pure force of his stare. 

One tendril ghosts right over your hands and wraps itself around your wrist, electrifying your pulse-

You don’t jump but it takes a moment to find your voice to cough out, “Break. I need a break.”

Ratchet’s knowing look should have been a warning of what’s to come.

It’s almost painfully slow moving out of the sparkcasing with Megatron’s spark dancing across your fritzing sensors. When you finally cleared well away from him, Ratchet makes his move-

SLAP!!

Your vision goes white and you hunch over your poor, oversensitized hands, pulling them close to your body after Ratchet clapped the ever living fuck out of them with his own servos. You duck as you’re guided into a chair and the sharp pain then settles down quickly and you can actually move them again.

“Fastest way to recalibrate your gloves since you can’t manually deaden the sensation nor take them off without severe phantom pain.” Ratchet frowns down at your hands and you fight the urge to hide them behind your back from another slap attack.

“I can’t believe Cybertronian medics use hand clapping as a medical intervention technique.” You say, flatly.

“With limited options? Yes.” Ratchet drawls back. “And it works wonders, doesn’t it?”

Watching you rub your face with both hands, knocking the visor askew, and sigh in pure frustrated exasperation is all the confirmation needed.

[unfortunatelysirius]

My Cauldron’s Bubbling For You // Remus Lupin x Slytherin! Reader

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」 

Y/N L/N loves pranking and she loves flirting. The two go hand in hand. When she starts flirting with Remus… he fears for his life. 

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

wowowowow I'm on a role huh??? :o 

Remus wasn’t sure when exactly it started.

        From first year to fifth year, Y/N L/N was just a bold, self-assured Slytherin girl who barely gave him or anyone else the time of day. Remus thought she was pretty and sure, admired her confidence, but she wasn’t really part of the crowd he hung around. She had her own—a group of girls from all the houses who liked to joke around and play tricks. Several of Y/N’s friends were flirty and had a tendency to flirt with their victims right before they came in for the kill. Sirius was no exception; he foolishly let them reel him in, then he was left speechless when he charmed to make gas noises anytime he sat down.

        Remus always found it funny when the girls did what they did to innocent blokes. He would have been mad not to. They made it clear what they were up to, but raging hormones surely enticed their victims enough that they didn’t pay clear attention. Boys all around him, boys in different houses, would be charmed into a false sense of safety only for it to shatter the next day. After a while he began wondering when his turn was, but he found that to be too presumptuous of a thought. He settled for watching his peers flounder and thinking nothing of it.

        Then one day in sixth year, Y/N L/N came up to Remus in Potions, leaned in close to his ear, and whispered, “I think it’s sexy, watching you write your notes like that.”

        Remus had blushed furiously and looked down at his parchment. His notes could have been likened to columns, the way they so neatly went across the page. His scrawl was slow, meticulous, and tiny, the best of his friend group. “O-Oh… thank you?” Remus didn’t want to fall for her charm, as much as he liked her. Maybe he wanted to be Y/N’s victim eons ago, but that was eons ago for a reason; the thought secretly terrified him.

        “It’s perfect,” Y/N purred, leaning away from Remus to smile beguilingly in his face. “But that’s to be expected with Remus Lupin, isn’t it? He is perfect.”

        Remus tried not to choke, hearing his heart beating loudly behind his ear drums. He didn’t know how to respond so he just stayed silent. His face was beginning to burn.

        Y/N raised her brows, her smile widening at the sight of Remus’s ablaze cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret safe so the girls don’t go into a frenzy,” she mock-whispered. “I want you all to myself.”

        She walked to her seat without another word.

        “What—” Sirius whipped around in his seat—like he hadn’t just eavesdropped on their entire conversation—and gaped at Remus. “Mate!”

        “Don’t,” Remus croaked, burying his head into his parchment, feeling doomed.

        Maybe that’s when it all started. Yeah, that’s when it all started.

       Remus stayed alert all day, thinking her flirtations were all fun and games, but when a prank never happened….

       Well, Remus couldn’t help but wonder why.

-

        “Hi, Remus,” said Y/N, waving a hand at him and grinning wolfishly when he ducked his head in a blush. “You look good in red!”

        He was wearing a red Gryffindor Quidditch jumper to show nonexistent spirit for the upcoming game with Hufflepuff.

        “T-Thanks, Y/N,” Remus said, feeling Sirius and James’s equally wolfish grins behind him, Peter’s subdued excitement just as much of an annoyance. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Wouldn’t that just be great?

        “I’ll see you at the game,” Y/N said, giving him a wink before she went in the opposite direction of the boys, two of her Ravenclaw friends following like ducklings. Giggling ducklings.

        Remus felt feverishly warm. Maybe it was from Y/N’s advances or a fever itself; either way, the game didn’t feel like such a good idea anymore. He turned to look at his friends.

        “It’s been three weeks, Remus,” Sirius said, looking over at James and Peter. They shared the same incredulous face. “Why hasn’t she pranked you? They never do this.”

        “I don’t know…” Remus shrugged helplessly. It wasn’t like he talked to her any more than his friends did; he was just as clueless, if not more. “Maybe it’s her biggest and takes longer than a few weeks to plan.”

        James rolled his eyes, but there was a grin tugging at his mouth. “Or… maybe she like-likes you.”

        Don’t be ridiculous, Remus felt like saying. How could Y/N like someone like him? He was quiet and awkward and he wasn’t very funny. Not witty like her, or as confident.  She was a beautiful thunderstorm and he was barely a raincloud.

        “I know that look, mate,” Sirius said, waggling a finger. “She has to bloody like you; she never sticks this long to one victim.”

        “She had this schoolgirl look on her face,” James continued.

        “Yeah, Moony—she made an effort to say, ‘Hi,’ to you, too! That has to mean something,” Peter chimed in.

        Remus rolled his eyes and shook his head, refusing to let his friends implant this stupid idea in his head—or else he’d start thinking and then he’d start hoping. “No,” he growled.

        He walked off to a sour serenade of James and Sirius making kissy sounds.

-

        “Remus, you’re not a Pureblood, are you?” Y/N asked him once during Potions class. She sat right behind him, always leaning into his nape and saying things that made him blush for the rest of the period. He sometimes wanted to up and move, but after he got used to her incongruous flirting, he began feeling comfortable. Soon after he began liking it.

        Remus felt uneasy by the question, but he didn’t see any logic in lying. “I’m a Half-blood,” he said.

        He could almost feel her smiling behind him. “Good, good… well, I wish this were science class so you could see the chemistry between you and me.”

        Remus now saw why she asked him about his blood.

        “I always have my eye on you,” Y/N continued, getting closer until her lips were a breath away from his ear. “Makes for a… distraction, if I’m honest. Can’t say I’m disappointed.”

        Remus lurched forward, away from her, getting a strange look from the Ravenclaw girl a few seats away from him. He heard Y/N chuckling behind him.

        “Cute,” she muttered to herself.

        Remus didn’t stop blushing until he passed out from exhaustion later that night.

-

        “You steal my heart every time I see you,” she said in his ear the next time she saw him.

-

        She walked by him when he was sitting with his friends in the Great Hall and told him he had a beautiful smile the day after that.

-

        “I didn’t believe in love at sixth year until I saw you at the Sorting,” she said randomly one day in Potions.

-

        “Do you feel yourself falling in love or should I give you a push in that direction?”

-

        “I bet you’d make for a great cauldron to brew Amortentia in.”

-

        Eventually Remus started smiling at her flirtations and instead of just blushing and feeling embarrassed, he felt warm instead, like her words were hugging his insides. He wished he was like Sirius and could flirt back, but he wasn’t anything like Sirius. He was too awkward and anxious for that. He just sat and said, “Thank you,” and looked forward to what she’d say the next day.

        Remus knew her pulling a prank on him was long overdue.

-

        “You have a crush on her,” James declared.

        “You look all sappy and loopy, mate,” Sirius said in agreement, twisting his head this way and that as he analyzed his friend.

        Remus didn’t feel very sappy or loopy, and he was already disappointed enough in himself, so their words did nothing but irk him. He frowned and said, “I don’t fancy her.”

        Liar.

        James smirked. “Oh, really? Looks like Alex Green is over there flirting with her now—”

        “Wait, what?” Remus snapped his head over to the Slytherin table. Instead of what James painted in Remus’s head, he saw Y/N sitting with one of her friends, smiling and laughing. “Oh.”

        James snickered and Sirius roughly patted Remus’s shoulder. Peter would have taken the piss out of him, too, if he were there—but he was fortunately holed up in the dorm doing Potions coursework.

        Yeah, if the ground could open him and swallow him, Remus wouldn’t complain.

-

        Professor Slughorn was sick and unable to hold class, so Remus was sat outside the classroom door, working on an essay for Transfiguration. He would have just walked up to his dorm instead of sitting in the dust, but the corridor was empty and silent. A contrast to his boisterous dormmates who didn’t know the definition of settling down.

        Remus didn’t mean that. He loved his friends. They could just be too much at times.

Like the past month, for instance.

Remus had sat and been furiously scribbling out paragraph after paragraph, using his wand as a makeshift lantern in the darkness, when he felt something his leg. He jerked and fumbled for his wand, quickly flashing the light over on his other side.

He felt like booking it when it was Y/N’s embarrassed—Embarrassed? What?—face his wand came inches from prodding.

        “Oh—I’m sorry!” Remus quickly jerked his arm back. “Sorry… um… Y/N.”

        Y/N smiled, but it looked unusual on her face. It had a different look to it, almost embarrassed. Remus felt like taking his fingers and drawing her skin up into a grin, and he usually didn’t feel like touching another person. She just looked weird with her eyes dim like that, a weird that he didn’t like.

        “It’s okay,” she said. “I just came to say something. I looked for you in the Great Hall, even asked your friends where you were, but you weren’t anywhere, so… It was this or your dorm.”

        Remus felt puzzled. Why had she gone through so much trouble looking for him? Whatever she had to say was important; it had to be, all things considered.

        “I fancy the pants off you,” she said, words all jumbled from how fast she spoke. “Like,really fancy—but I don’t want your pants off. I don’t know how to like someone without flirting with them and I know you’re nothing like that, I do, but I’m a twat. I realized after my mates pointed it out earlier, I’ve been entirely too forward with you. You’re just so cute and quiet and I just don’t know how else to like you—”

        Remus, awkward Remus, backwards Remus, didn’t know how to say words without messing them up, and he knew he’d probably just sit there and stare at her until she got frustrated and left, so he did all he could think to do in that moment.

        He closed the space between them, kissing her as clumsily as a six-year-old would his recess crush.

        Merlin, what am I doing?

        Merlin, what have I done?

        Her lips were chapped, Remus’s were too, but that didn’t stop from Y/N’s words dying in her mouth and the two of them sharing a short-lived smooch.

        Remus pulled back as fast as he lurched forward.

        Why did I do that?

        Y/N was staring at him with a reddened face. Remus didn’t know at all what to say.

        He ended up saying, “I fancy you, too.”

        Y/N had regained her bravado, it seemed, because she let out a small laugh, telling him, “That’s a relief, Remmy… I’d hate to have to play a prank on you.”

        Remus flushed and smiled at her, taking longer than he felt comfortable admitting to catch on that she was teasing him.

        They held hands for a while. She even stole a kiss while he was concentrating hard on his parchment.

        Remus felt strangely light.

Bonus:

        James and Sirius threw a dorm party that night for Remus’s lip virginity getting taken.

        “Now you’re ready for third base!” Sirius cheered for him.

        Remus tried smothering himself with a pillow, swatting at his dormmate’s hands when he tried tearing him away from his bed. “Dear Merlin, Sirius, leave me alone!” he cried.

        Sirius didn’t leave Remus alone.

[lutbys]

Gift Wrapping

MIND YOU THIS IS VERY UNEDITED IT IS REALLY JUST A BRAIN DUMP OF A FIC ILL EDIT IT ONE DAY JUST NOT TODAY TQVM 

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin reader

Summary: Thinking you were going to be alone in the common room, Draco sits in the corner by himself, struggling to wrap his gifts for Christmas

You hear the last doors close and the hallways were finally quiet. 

“Wher’you going?” you hear your dormmate mumble, seconds to slumber. “I’m going to go read, clear my head a bit” but you didn’t hear a response, only the small whistled breaths to indicate the they were fast asleep.

Your feet tapped on the stone stairs lightly, book in hand as you led the way to the common room.

There were always candles lit throughout the night in but that didn’t contrast with the fireplace as its brightness roared through the room, lighting up even the smallest crevices.

The fireplace was the best part of the common room, it always amazes you with the blazing fire it brings and the crackling that bring peace, almost like white noise.

Your feet tapped on the stone stairs quietly, book in hand as you made a bee line to the common room. it was dark, any surface the light of the fireplace didn’t touch was dark enough to be considered non-existent.

The fireplace was your favourite part of the dungeon. It blazing fire glowed beautifully, and the crackling of wood provided you white noise for nights like these, nights were your mind is awake and unwilling to let yourself into deep slumber.

“For fucks sake.” You heard someone whisper-grunt. You jumped out of your shoes, who could still be up this late?

Your head snapped towards the voice and it led you to the table on the farthest corner of the room, a small lantern being the only source of light that illuminated the voices features.

“Malfoy?” 

The boys head snapped up and his face glowed orange, accentuating the small bags under his eyes.

“What you do want y/l/n?”

“That’s not how you greet a fellow sixth year.” You chuckled. Its only been the fifth time you’ve talked to the boy, having only had to create conversation whenever you were with pansy. You weren’t as close as one would think, what with having the same group of friends and all. “Whatcha doin’?”

The table he occupied was covered with layers upon layers of wrapping paper and gifts, to the far corner sat three messily wrapped gifts, wrapped was an understatement. “Wrapping?”

“Seems like you’ve answered yourself y/l/n”

“d’you need any help?”

“Wouldn’t need it if mother didn’t have a no giftbag rule.” He rolled his eyes, struggling to peel of the tape that had miraculously stuck itself together. “This is bullshit!” in anger, he balled up a the piece of wrapping paper he used and tossed it behind him.

“Let me help you. Good thing, I know how to and don’t possess anger management issues.” To that, Draco glared but nevertheless pushed the gifts towards you.

With elegance, you wrapped a book, its edges crisp and the ends tucked neatly with a single piece of tape. “See! It’s like folding clothes, but not so much.” “Atypical for you to know how to wrap” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You moved on to the next gift “I mean, all these years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you fold anything.” He leaned back in his seat; his eyes glued to your hands as they reach out for the tape.

“Technically, there should be no room for you to comment since you know so little of me.”

To your surprise, the conversation flowed well. Considering his witty remarks and rude sarcasm, Draco was actually good company. With your book long forgotten, the only story you acknowledged were the ones coming out of the blonde boys mouth.

“How about animals. What d’you like?” he asked, fingering with the crisp corners of a cylindrical wrapped gift.

“Snakes. Typical for a Slytherin but there’s just something about them that’s intriguing.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Like, the flowerpot snake which are made up solely off of females and doesn’t need a mate to reproduce yet, they are the most widespread terrestrial snake in the world or- or the fact that a decapitated head of a snake can still bite and hold more venom than usual.”

Draco eyed you as your eyes gleamed from the thought of snakes, subconsciously gesturing with your hands passionately. 

“But I guess the real reason I like snakes is because we used to own one when I was little. Scales. The sweetest little thing that changed my mind completely about them.”

The boy let out a small chuckle, “Scales? Come on y/l/n, there are better names.”

“Hey! I was young and the privilege to get to name her got to me okay.”

“So where’s Scales now?”

Your head ducked, the biggest secret of your life close to slipping from your tongue. “I. It’s- it’s complicated.”

Taking it as a sign, Draco quickly averted the subject knowing he himself wasn’t comfortable with death, -if that was- the case.

The night went on until event he fireplace couldn’t keep up with their company, the fire slowly dimming to a faint, faint glow.

“I should start packing I doubt I can bring much home with all this occupying the space.” He lifted the big bag of presents neatly wrapped because of you. “Will I be seeing you again at the train?”

“No, not this year. I’ll be celebrating it with the elves and most possibly Almost Headless Nick. He pretty good company once you get used to his same performance.” You both giggled at the thought of the ghost boring the students with his same act, only satisfied at the inexperienced first years.

Draco’s heart sank. He tried to push the thought away but after the past couple hours, he regretted not talking to you sooner and now, he had no excuse to use the long ride back home to get to know you better.

“Alright then, I guess I’ll see you after break. Goodnight.”

“Draco wait-“ he barely turned around before your arms encircled around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. For a while, your heart stammered from his lack of response but instantly relaxed when his hands finally found their way around you. “Thank you for tonight. Like snakes, my perspective changed about you.” 

“Glad to know y/l/n. I’d say the same.” You both pulled away with a smile, neither wanting to end the moment but the quiet whispers of dawn approaching did. You slept that morning with the same smile, completely ignoring the loud shuffling of your dormmates rushing to the station with the bliss you felt for your new acquaintance.

-

Christmas morning felt lonelier than usual, what with barely seven people staying back at Hogwarts, the only sounds coming form the great hall being the quiet clatter of utensils and the elves sweeping the floors.

You sat alone at the table, book in hand. The same book you had that night with Draco, the same book you could never finish because you got distracted every few sentences thinking of the same boy.

Finding it useless to finish the chapter among the small distractions, your feet padded back towards your bedroom, the mound of pillows and blankets ready to sink you in the plush. 

Instead, your eyes caught on your once vacant bedside table that now occupied an envelope with your name neatly written on top.

Your hands quickly fiddled with the seal and a small box dropped onto your lap. Opening the letter you read:

The thought of you spending Christmas alone gutted me so here’s my gift to you. It’s not much but I think you’d like it. It symbolizes how I feel about you. Like snakes, you intrigue me. Looking forward to see you again. Draco. p.s. Tell Nick that his jokes aren’t funny for me. That’s my gift for him.

Your fingers found their way to the box. Sleek with the company’s name engraved on top in gold emboss. As you opened it, the sight of the necklace took your breath away.

Accompanying the silver chain was a delicate snake pendant, its details giving texture as you grazed your thumb around it, completely mesmerized by the thing like it was treasure. You sat there for what could have been hours just staring at the beautiful piece of jewellery before you had the nerve to put it on, the snake sitting beautifully on your chest. 

Like it belonged there.

a/n: anyone else made big writing goals prior to the month and burnt out early + didn’t consider the other responsibilities they have so their whole project just complete failed :( bc IT DO BE ME DOE. 

[cursegirlrabbit]

I for some reason have this head canon that Dim witty is a witch (or warlock if you prefer that term) I also like this design of him from really old disney comic days.

His magic is a magenta color and he usually does healing magic, works as a janitor at a lot of both regular hospitals and mental health places to secretly try to use his magic to help people.