#but oof my brain said 'too filthy' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheollipop · 2 years ago

Text

okay. hello. oof.

I can't believe it took me this long to finally read this but boy do I have a few things to say now that I have... bai..... you.... this.... I swear you will never fail to blow my mind with your fics. I have not stopped thinking about this since I finished it yesterday. now that I'm finally sitting down to write my feedback, I'm left speechless, and yet I somehow have so much to say. (a little cut so people don't hate me)

I originally wasn't going to include any screenshots because there's just so much to like about this fic and I couldn't decide on specific scenes to talk about, but I looked over it after I finished and I managed to pinpoint the scenes that truly had me holding my breath.

let me begin with this:

I fully gasped and put my phone down when I first read this,, bai... the shame this made me feel??? I was so immersed in the scene - reader's thoughts and emotions were my own for a solid moment, and wooyoung saying this out of nowhere made me snap out of it. the way you drag the reader into the scene you're drawing up is just amazing. you're amazing 🫵🏼

I loved the contast between the seonghwa reader saw and the seonghwa you showed us - he isn't this perfect being made of roses and stardust, but simply a human who can feel greed and lust. seonghwa wasn't afraid to make reader a cheater if it meant he could have her, if he could prove to her that he was better than wooyoung. this is just.... I'm afraid all my marbles have gone missing since I've read this.

I already mentioned this during our chat earlier but this scene was so... fragile? I felt like I had to read it with care or else it might shatter. it's such an intimate exchange of words and despite the hurt, it must have been so relieving for reader to finally tell someone about her struggle. and seonghwa handled it so well, encouraging reader to open up, but not pressuring her to. I'm not gonna lie, I nearly teared up reading this scene.

"let me show you worship" GOD- this paragraph of dialogue was just *aggressive chef's kiss* and followed by the french??? bai you beautiful human, let me kiss your forehead rn 👇🏼

I squealed at this, I'd melt into the earth if someone looked me in the eye and said that. what the actual fuck. I'll never get over this.

this is insanely filthy... but so sweet? wanting to capture the moment she fell apart, yet dying to ravish her at the same time?? a man who can balance his passion for his career and loving the woman in front of him.... bai, jesus christ, this is so beautiful.

don't even get me started on this ending. oh. my. god.

I said this earlier as well but I could tell something was a little off about wooyoung, and then that eerie phone call while she was at work left me so uneasy. I genuinely dislike open endings so much, but this?? more of this please!!!

I stared at my cieling for a good 30 minutes trying to process it and... I don't even know what to say other than it was perfect. perfect. perfect. perfect. I didn't know what to expect other than reader leaving a sad wooyoung behind to go to europe with seonghwa, but then you changed the vibe so quick, spat on me, then squashed me under your foot. I just realised that you did this with mafia seonghwa too. damn.

honestly, I wish I could get on a plane rn and fly my ass over to you to give you the wettest, juiciest smooch. this fic fully rewired my brain. my therapist will hear about this. thank you so much for being a brilliant writer and for giving us this masterpiece -- I'm gonna print it out and hang it up on my walls so that everyone who enters my room can read at least a snippet of true art.

mwah. <3

Long exposure

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🔳 pairing: seonghwa x afab!reader, wooyoung x afab!reader 🔳 genre: smut, angst, dark themes, fluff if you squint 🔳 summary: as you struggle to see a future with your boyfriend, Wooyoung, and spiral into an obsession over your boss, Seonghwa, you hope to see a different world through the lens. 🔳 wordcount: 14.6k 🔳 warnings/tags: photographer!seonghwa, sculptor!wooyoung, everybody in this fic is toxic I swear (this is FICTION pls don't do this), boyfriend!wooyoung, boss!seonghwa, cheater!wooyoung, cheating on the cheater, language, hints at violence, arguments, passive aggressive behaviour, photography, art, living in black and white, unhealthy social relations, kind of edited kind of not, lmk if anything else 🔳 taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 🔳 a/n: Hello, this has been haunting me... hope you enjoy, any reblogs, comments, likes appreciated, much love and big hugs!!

🔳 NSFW warnings/tags: slight corruption, pictophilia, fingering, masturbation (m&f), light voyeurism, deriving pleasure from taking pictures of someone with them not knowing, blowjob, wet dreams galore, perhaps cuckolding, degradation, petnames, boudoir, soft dom hwa, jealous/teaser woo, dom-ish woo, implant and pull out (irl pls wrap that before you tap that)

You were no stranger to pleasure. You watched him share it many times. Each one, an offering to the altar of hedonism. Such was his work, his vision.

Park Seonghwa was a man who dedicated his life to passion. The greatest satisfaction imaginable, on the brink of after life and illusion, the closest to heavens above that a person could ever experience. He had an eye for it, discovering its many manifestations in the smallest of things. Rarely was there a place that did not bear its traces in his magnificent, deep brown eyes. To the unenlightened, ones who had not had the honour of being in the vicinity, let alone sharing musings with this enigmatic man, this amounted to nothing more than phosphenes that they assumed had permanently corrupted his vision. But you knew better. His art was an ode to raw human nature, an address which only he would dare reveal and be capable of subjecting himself to the rolling waves of judgement that came with it.

You were not sure who you wanted to be. This was a question that plagued you every time you entered the photography studio and let yourself sink into its monochromatic elegance. Did you want to be the decor - the paraphernalia occupying the white, low shelving units off to the left from the entrance, or the potted ivy, suspended by chains that your teacher had painted with mars black acrylic, cascading to blend with the barely-there tulle? Would you turn into an object so you could spend your days in motionless awe, observing the master at work, embracing art in pure desire? Perhaps you wanted to be one of the models - the goddesses, clad in armour of lace, performing seduction through a complex sequence of motions with a ritualistic sanctity, irony leaving the beholder intoxicated. Maybe you would be willing to expose yourself down to your intricate network of capillaries, tear yourself apart to translate and immortalise pleasure with the click of the shutter, nothing more than a vessel for the artist's higher meaning. One this was certain, however. You did not want to be him. The creator. The bearer of the prodigal eye. The tormented soul curating fantasy. For that place was only ever for the Park Seonghwa as he was - his essence, his flair.

This, you had been confident in, for as long as you could remember, so, for as long as you had been dedicated to following the photographer's work. You were partial to the coiled intensity contained within each piece, and had spent many hours poring over collections, published photobooks, specials in editorial magazines. This had become a near religious act, carried out in silence, in the illusion of privacy of the tiny apartment that you shared with Wooyoung, who, acting like more of a ghost than a man, would lurk behind you to catch a glimpse of the beauties who you could never compare to. In those moments, you would choose to dissociate from the dysfunctional, cacophonic home life and tap into the memories you had with each piece. Be it the past or the present. The grayscale, interestingly enough, possessed more colour than all else you were meant to hold dear.

Tracing the curves of the bodies frozen in time, treasure maps to your personal safe haven, you traversed the avenues of your own memory: from what you had helped shoot and what was now gracing your shelves as a reminder that you were worth something to someone in your home, all the way back to the beginning. It was the triptych that you had analysed for one of your modules way back, when you barely knew anything except the basics of what was now your craft. It was a composition set in what you had later found out was Seonghwa’s secluded seaside studio down in the south, one which he used extensively in the summer months. It had been your first dive into learning of Gestalt grouping, and how easily a photographer could actually influence a viewer – a couple of miniscule tweaks, and the world was changed. Much like yours. The three pieces were terrifically entrancing in their proud solitude, but, in tandem, were a wave that covered and drowned you. The Rembrandt lighting, in contrast to the gentle waves made by white and shadow grey bedsheets, framed the centrepiece, the guideline to observation – rolling hills from waist, to hip, to the hint of a black stocking. Perhaps a person not in the know would try to argue that since the image was in monochrome, just like every other of the photographer’s works, it was not possible to infer hue, but you had the honour of knowing: Park Seonghwa lived in black and white. Floor, set, attitude – a balanced divide. The mind was loud, he had told you. If the composition needed physical colour, it would be able to complete the picture for itself. Otherwise, the colour of sensation was the underlying theme and mission.

That piece was what had started your lighthearted interest, or so you had naively called it. From mild appreciation of his works, to warm enthusiasm for the inner workings and technique, to going down the spiral to feverish adoration of all that Seonghwa captured. It was a glimpse into how he saw the world, and how he wanted to aid others in perceiving it. The initial embarrassment that had come with studying his photobooks that you had checked out from the library had subsided as you ceased to avoid the concept of eroticism. On the contrary, in some of your projects you had made attempts to emulate the master’s style, which had earned the attention of one of your professors and closest mentors. After confirming that you had not gained access to a closed early showing of the photographer’s exhibition, he had been kind enough to extend an invitation, thereby changing the course of your life.

The event had been an extension of the man, complete in the same hues, down to the very last detail. Even the guests were all a part of the scene, blurred to emphasise the subject, the creator. He was gallant, attentive, guiding you from masterpiece to masterpiece even though he had hordes of hardened professionals and eagle-eyed critics to entertain. He had made you feel central to something other than your obligations. Deserving of time and space. And left you with a business card where he had neatly added his personal mobile phone number, making you promise to consider working with him as soon as you could.

After a year of stalling on any decision, you had applied, and became his apprentice. You had discovered that Seonghwa had been keeping tabs on you, producing printouts of your own work during the informal interview he had organised, and asking you to elaborate on aspects that you had intentionally hidden away. You realised that it was impossible to hide anything from him, your mind was behind an open door. Rapidly, his world became yours, and you turned to seeing it in the beautiful black and white.

You took a sip of your hot coffee from your beloved dalmatian patterned mug cradled in one hand, scrolling through social media with the other. Checking works tagged with anything relevant to your teacher’s studio and works had become a habit for you, and as such, you continued to do it even though Seonghwa had hired a social media manager a couple of months ago. To your defence, most of their work was done remotely, so you could take pride in being the first one to see your favourite artist break out into a megawatt grin, giving you a peck on the cheek if you were lucky. In those moments, you swore you would do anything just to see and feel it all again. A smile crept onto your lips as you indulged in your fantastical daydreams, one which you tried to mask by taking another long sip.

“Your boss really should let you catch a break. This is not even intern level stuff.” You had not noticed your boyfriend’s presence behind you, and with a glance behind you noticed that he was lazily eyeing your screen. Good thing you were deep in some nature photography at least, rather than your boss’s or the studio’s page. It had been a touchy subject recently. And by recently, it meant the entirety of the time you had been hired there and had been earning a steady income from what Wooyoung had called your ‘hobby’.

“Call it market research. It is important for any artist to keep a finger on the pulse, otherwise they will be left behind, and won’t be able to innovate.” You locked your phone for good measure, placed it face down on the table and spun yourself around on the bar stool. You had insisted on having a pair at the breakfast table to be economical, seeing as the area was simply an extension of the kitchenette’s counter space. Plus, they were a wonderful snowy white and matched with your recent furniture upgrades.

Wooyoung appeared less than amused, though it was not much of a surprise to you.

“But the guy will be taking the same fap material pics anyways, so what’s the point?” he countered, running a hand through his dark hair. There was something you knew for certain about the man you had been with for the last one and a half years, and living together for nine months. He was hilariously easy to read. Past the façade of biting comments and cheeky quips, he was as good as a flyer on a posterboard at keeping things hidden from you.

“I see you have your day planned out, huh?” Your response was quick and venomous, and you noticed Wooyoung roll his eyes and trail the gaze to a print hanging on the wall to your right, in the living room. It had been a gift from your boss, a ‘less stimulating’ piece perfect for family life, as he had elaborated, making you laugh. After giving you a soft embrace, he had let his hands linger on your waist, and whispered his congratulations on your moving in with your boyfriend right against your ear, sending shivers down the spine. You were not ashamed to say that it was Park Seonghwa’s touch you had thought about during your first night, in your own apartment, together with Jung Wooyoung.

“So do you. Dolled up and ready to impress, I see?” a classic response as of late. Equal parts aggressive and accusatory, equal parts hinting at his still lingering desire for you.

Irritation. Jealousy. That was what had been fuelling your relationship since the start. Truth be told, you were surprised it had lasted as long as it did, considering how you wanted nothing more than to slam his head against the wall sometimes. That was what happened when two individuals who had sold their soul to the creative arts decided to live under the same roof, under the illusion that they had found their lifelong muse. You had been there, in the very beginning; confident that Wooyoung was the one likeminded collection of visions, the closest thing there was on this earth to a soulmate. You had melted under his touch, much like the intricate sculptures he crafted and carved away, but it only resulted in you eventually being burned and the ceramic of your heart - cracked.

Nothing gold couldn’t fix. Or, in your case, it was the hours you spent at the studio, letting yourself get carried away by the intoxicating sensuality you were tasked with capturing. If it were anyone except you who was with Wooyoung, they would have probably started a riot and confronted him, but his behaviour gave you an excuse to mentally reduce him to an abstract expressionist dot on your canvas and dedicate yourself wholly to your idol. You told yourself that you were engaging in these mind games only until your lease were to run out. Then, you would quietly not renew it – to your advantage, Wooyoung was not much of a documents man, leaving it to whoever was closest, which just so happened to be his ‘dearest’ with a vengeance. It was not a matter of taking it out on Wooyoung because you had been scorned – oh no, it was because you found it unfair that he could act this way while your conscience had deemed this to be taboo. Besides, you needed something above you, a higher legislative power, to take that final step.

But who were you kidding? Had you the ability to control the way in which you thought of Seonghwa, you would have probably had the resolve to pack up your things and go anywhere, as long as it was far away from Wooyoung. He would remember you by the pieces he had sculpted in your honour, inspired by your frame, by the fire that had burned out some time ago. But even then, say you had left, and your black suitcase with metal decal at the ready, camera lazily slung over your neck, where would you go, when your feet could only remember the route from this loveless apartment to P.SH Studio?

“Mm, you know it. Rough day today, so I will probably be back late.” Not that you would notice was left unspoken. You wanted to at least finish your coffee before the bickering started.

“Just how you like it. Isn’t it right?” He was pushing your buttons, purposefully twisting your worlds into lewd euphemism. Wooyoung enjoyed driving you up the wall – probably the closest he came to actually giving you some kind of excitement in recent weeks. Otherwise, he was perfectly satiated, and you might as well be décor, sauntering around from room to room. It was as if he took pleasure in knowing that your mind was hazy, but the distance between you concrete, and only getting larger.

You swivelled back around to face away from your boyfriend, but caught his darkened gaze at the last moment. Head lowered to make his dark hair fall slightly over his eyes, a dangerous smirk dancing on his lips, still in your vision as you stared at the bottom of the cup, thoughtlessly moving the remaining grounds that were suspended in rapidly cooling droplets. You listened to Wooyoung pushing himself off the cupboards, and step towards you, until his chin was hovering just above you shoulder, and you could count his breaths.

“Want me to give you a little pep talk?” he whispered, turning to peck your earlobe a couple of times. You gripped your mug, not wanting to satisfy Wooyoung with a reaction.

In these moments, you almost wished you were still infatuated instead of subjecting him to impersonal evaluation. The attention would have then felt special, instead of as an apology in advance for inviting his assistant over to your shared accommodation. Again, his habits and methods were very traceable and blatantly obvious. But at least it let you think of the man you were going to be spending the entire day and evening shooting with, and helped you get rid of your frustrations early, so they did not bother you as much while you watched your master with unbreaking focus. And like in long exposure photography, eventually, everything except him became a blur. It was impossible to associate your own satisfaction with anyone else, so when you felt Wooyoung’s hot, needy lips trailing from your ear to the lower jaw, and his hand snaking up your thigh, pushing your black skirt up with it, you merely shut your eyes, and thought of him.

To your delight, Wooyoung was not being vocal like he usually would as he continued to caress you, his other hand now having found its place on your waist, effectively making him wrap around you. His sturdy chest was pressing against your shoulder blade while he nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. You cursed yourself as you felt a moan threatening to escape you, and bit your lower lip. Oh, to imagine yourself as one of those models in monochrome, revealing their true nature for the first time only to him. He never touched them, at least not in front of you, but oh how they wanted to be. You understood them wholeheartedly – your imagination being the only thing to get you closer to Park Seonghwa.

The hand that you mentally removed from its owner slinked away from your thigh, completely hiking the skirt up and slipping under the band of your black panties. You liked to think that your strive to match inside and out gave you more desirability, thus enabled you to be more confident at work – a silly way of masking your subconscious intentions. Who were you trying to fool? The other slid under your shirt, and, without bothering to take it off, tugged your bra aside to reveal your shapely breasts. The sudden change in temperature proved to be stimulating, leading to your nipples increasing in sensitivity. The hand carefully, patiently brushed over the tip of its erectness. You inhaled sharply and gave a little further into the feeling. No harm done, right?

Tapping into your mind palace, it conjured an external image of what was happening to you, the subject of the moving photograph. It was a surrealist, fantastical performance, challenging the imaginary viewer with physical abstraction. You could not help but wonder if how you were unravelling right this moment would look good through the lens. What settings would be used for this shoot? You ran the numbers, and with each one, turned more and more pliable, a putty in the strong arms that had permeated into this early morning day dream. Two fingers slipped into your half open mouth, and teasing, you ran the tip of your tongue over them, wordlessly giving full access and commanding they stop teasing you any longer.

A 105mm lens would do it. Focus should be on the act, other elements fading into the background and removing any undesired presence – a mechanical fog, heightening your desire. Heat pooled to your core as you felt what could only be equivalent to sparks of electricity coursing from your exposed and stimulated breasts down to the now aching arousal. He would probably praise you for being so responsive to him – any task, no matter how small, had earned you the warmed gratitude before, so why could that not be the same here? He would give you his undivided attention, slipping those fingers, coated in saliva, down to the pleading sex, poking your inner thighs to give him better access. You obliged, visualising how a gentle, approving smile would settle on the beautiful man’s every feature, down to the slight squint of his eyes. He leaned in closer to you, his chest hitting against your back once more as he suddenly squeezed your nipple, and ran his digits over your hard clit, coaxing out a gasp.

Your molars sank into your inner cheek with such power that you thought you would draw blood, as the fingers continued to tease you, moving in painfully slow circles around the nub, making your muscle clench and inadvertently grind your hips forwards, for even a small bit more friction. The action spurred him on, and soon enough you felt a pair of soft lips trailing across from your jawline to your collarbone, occasionally stopping to pay special attention to what he knew would make you scream. Barely being able to contain yourself, you stopped preventing the sinful melody from escaping you, and moaned to a particularly precise adoration of skin on the side of your neck. Fingers, which had been mercilessly abusing your impossibly sensitive clit, slipped between your folds and glided down their length, coating them in your own arousal. You had not realised just how wet you had gotten, raw desire coating the inside of your panties.

This had to be shot in the same rush as the one you were being enveloped by – handheld, manual, shutter speed at 1/200th – it only made sense to do so. This had to be sultry, less exposed to the lamp lights. A sensuality meant to be contained in the shadows. With a final flick, which made you groan in pleasure, only begging for more, the fingers travelled down the length of your soaked pussy lips, practically hooking it in and curling themselves into you. The entry of the digits into your trembling cunt sent your thoughts into a flurry, clouding you from seeing anything except stars and the man who shared his name with the celestial apparitions.

If not for the heat building in your lower half at an astounding rate, you would have been more amused at your conclusion for best using ISO 800 for this scene – high sensitivity, indeed. How terribly you wanted to capture this intimate portrait, encapsulate the dreamlike tenderness that you were visualising for none other than Park Seonghwa. Black and white. Lustful and loving. Fast and slow. He was a man of contrasts and unthinkable combinations, he was the only one who could understand your vision.

The rhythmic, accelerating pumping of masterful fingers into your pussy was caused you to lose focus, attention span reduced to mere instinct. Writhing in the chair, you were about to fully transport yourself into the studio, forgetting to set the shutter speed for the pretend shoot, when you caught the last voice that you wanted to hear in the building of your high:

“I bet you’re thinking of him, you dirty girl.” Wooyoung hissed right into your ear, an unsaid challenge in his tone. A flash of guilt ran over you as you were caught red-minded but did not want to go through the trouble of denying that what he said was true. Blame sculptors and their skilful hands, bringing you to a certain ruin.

“Shut… up, ah!” you yelped as you felt your boyfriend’s thumb pressing against your bud, moving at an entirely different pace as it stimulated just the tip, shifting your folds further apart.

“What, don’t want to hear me in your daydreams?” he teased you, knowing full well that you would agree if you weren’t so secretive. He had clocked some time ago that you were not indifferent to your boss, however he did not realise just how far gone you were. In his mind, the claims he was throwing out were a mere improvisation, the best he could conjure to fuel his hate-driven passion towards you.

“I- mfph, said, shut-”

“Such a needy little slut for him.” You were insufferable. When you were like this, trying to regain control of the situation even though you were clay in his hands, melting under him, he was regretful that you could not be the only one in his turbulent life.

If it was not work, then it was the mood. If it was not the mood it was something he did wrong. And if, somehow, he did nothing and you confirmed that, you simply pitied him. That was the power you held. You ignited within Wooyoung a ferocious need to destroy the pedestal onto which he had elevated you in the very beginning. But as he gave you distance, toppled one platform after another, you only seemed to soar higher above him, just within reach but still, not someone he could control. He was no longer a figure of romantic authority for you – perplexed by the exact timeline, he assumed that it was simply meant to be that way. Carnal pleasure in this united destruction.

“I know you want his fingers in your tight cunt, don’t you, my darling?”

You could not respond as Wooyoung continued to pick up the pace, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. The pet name was obviously taken from the snippets of conversation between you and Seonghwa that your boyfriend had overheard. Whenever he would have an idea for another series, or changes to some details for already planned scenes, he would run them by you, always interested in your opinions and taking them as the most valuable pieces of the creative puzzle. You really were here, getting off to the thought of being listened to, the master's hums and approvals at the forefront of ideation. You had to give it to him, Wooyoung knew how to make you come undone, even if it was by guesswork.

The vocalisation of the real source of your climb had flipped a switch, and Seonghwa flooded your mind. Wooyoung did not speak up again, and you were gone from regular consciousness, the dark lustful abyss surrounding you. Park Seonghwa was right there with you. You dashed from vision to vision, stringing them together to describe how he would feel. How it would feel for him to be the one to capture soft, supple tenderness of your throat with his enticing mouth, and how his arms would embrace your form and crush you in boundless pleasure. For the first time, he could be in front of the camera, together with you. The blur of the background disappeared as you adjusted the focus to the lewdness, the wet sounds of his outrageous rhythm. His face was now crystal clear before your eyes, his sharp features, half-lidded eyes as he brought you to your orgasm, praising you for being such an obedient little girl for him.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you with unexpected force. Overwhelmed, you let the sensation wash over you like a tempestuous ocean. Seeing only those two beloved colours, you felt for the seat beneath you to support your unsteady form. You could not yell, could not let out as much as a whisper as the etchings of the man you so desired glinted before you, lips parted in a silent proclamation of brutal, unrefined passion and obsessive adoration. Comical, how it was his manifestation amidst your sensual release that was the embodiment of love and lust, and not the man who you intentionally possessed with the role of Seonghwa.

“So fucked out, Y/N, shit. Just look at yourself.” Wooyoung chuckled as he watched you coming back to reality, trying to blink away the haze of the climax. He had remained still, wrapped around you almost in a protective gesture, his chest serving as a support for your arched body. His own arousal was frustrating him, trapped under a layer of denim, the friction only making him more impatient.

“Vulgar, as always.”

“Says you – look at this precious little mess you made, my sweet. Or can I even say ‘my’ anymore?” He demonstratively twisted you, so you were facing him, and with the hand that was attacking your breast now on his hip, he lifted the other away from your pulsating sex and lapped up the nectar that remained on his fingers, eyes lowered and scrutinising you through fluttering lashes. The bulge of his crotch commanded your gaze, albeit only for a split second. You were far from being in a Wooyoung mood. You squeezed your legs shut, feeling the soaked panties rubbing against you, and rolled your eyes.

“So, why in the world did you do that?” your nonchalance was painfully fake, airiness taking away from any impact you had intended for your question to have.

“If I told you I missed you, what would you do?” he countered, throwing the ball back in your court.

“Tell you to shove that bullshit where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Way ahead of you there, sweetheart.” He winked, completely dispelling your sensual musings.

“Run that mouth one more time, Woo, I dare you.”

“Oh, so you want my mouth to treat you right too. How greedy. Plus, I bet you would much rather have a certain someone else do that.” He kept on going, goading you into a spat. What had previously been a joke now transformed into a hypothesis, and Wooyoung was keen to see how far you would go to keep the truth from him.

“Shut u-”

“I’ve seen the photos you have of him, sweetie. All ‘focused with tongue sticking out’, or ‘making a playful face in a selfie’. Even I can imagine as far.” He could see that he was close to cracking you.

In your vulnerable, stupefied glory, the barrier between your pursed, plump lips and cruel heart was as weak as it could be. He needed to hear that you did not love him anymore. Not because it would give him any particular relief. Mainly for minimising regret over his actions. Convincing himself that what you two had was long gone and you were stuck in a routine. He needed to hear you say it. Wooyoung needed you to utter the words, be explicit that you wanted someone else. He peered into your eyes, unwaveringly, in search for at least a hint. The rise and fall of your chest was still uneven, yet you managed to return a glare, outwardly unfeeling, unresponsive, and worst of all, indifferent. He wondered if his little act of service was actually an act of pity on your behalf.

“I’m leaving.” Silence turned to bitter disappointment. It was time to slip away, very noticed, but that was the intention. Wooyoung pulled you closer to him by pinching your collar, letting you observe how a natural grimace underwent a metamorphosis into a boyish grin, as though he genuinely wanted to wish you the best.

“Have a lovely day.”

“Have fun being a ‘hand me down’,” you mercilessly quipped, fed up with his taunts. If one were to objectively compare you and him, the answer to who was the instigator of this shipwreck was clear enough. You were confident that it was not you, since up until this point, you had remained strictly theoretical, and did not dare bring up neither his unfaithfulness nor your dissatisfactions. “Fuck, I have got to change these now…” you stated, mainly to yourself as you hopped off the stool and made a beeline for the bedroom to grab a fresh set of lingerie.

Wooyoung fell into deep contemplation, leaning back on the counter with his elbows, and letting out a soft whistle. So, you did know of his escapades, as he had assumed. He had to give it to you, you were a phenomenal actress, and all these months that he had been indulging in one temporary partner after another, you had maintained a cool demeanour, letting your own evolution and walk through life without considering him in the present nor the future. Had you really so readily accepted his dismissal of you? His disrespect? Were you not seeking… vengeance? Could you not openly hate him for his sake?

He regarded you with indignation as you rushed from room to room, intent on ignoring his presence. Had you spared him any more emotion than basal instinct, even if it was just demanding his silence with rude yells, Wooyoung would have been content. But all he had left now was to watch your silhouette, now donning that oversized shirt dress, gathered at the waist with a black leather corset which had never failed to drive him wild, disappear out of the apartment, front door shutting softly behind you and leaving him alone with his demons and the divine shapes of your body that his hands had memorised. For the first time on his own volition, he cancelled that day’s rendezvous. He would only be able to think of you, anyways.

You were late. Terribly late. And no excuses about public transport or traffic could cover for you. And like hell you were going to say to your boss that you were late because you were fantasizing about him while your cheating boyfriend fingered you. To be frank, you could mention that you could not board the trains since they were overcrowded, but you encountered the issue only because you left the house at peak commute time, like an utter fool. Shame had settled into you as you were travelling across the city, squeezed between passengers, faceless and much the same as one another. You had tried to avoid touching anything, relying on your platform shoes to give you balance - you did not want your filth to embed itself into the doors and handles. How was what you had allowed yourself to do at all appropriate? And how had you conceded to Wooyoung's accusations and teasing, accepting his conjectures as soon as he played into your darkest dreams? Stuck in this blameful loop, you had almost missed your stop and had a number of glares sent and not so kind words muttered in your address, as you lurched through the crowded carriage by sheer inertia from the train stopping, and out of the doors.

It was nearly forty minutes past the hour on which you had agreed to begin preparations today, which meant even less time until the arranged boudoir shoot with the model Seonghwa had signed to work with. Thankfully this did not require too much effort, since for the most part you and your boss had the bright idea of beginning last night: setting up the backdrops, readying the series of props and leaving the clothing rack with pre-selected outfits out by the set. But the fact that you broke a promise that you had made to your boss, the master, was what aggravated your brooding.

Once you flew up the stairs that led from the entrance to the main part of the studio, you crept into the space nearly folded over. Bowing repeatedly in apology, you could barely see where you were going, and instead of making an uneventful entrance, were halted by a hand on either one of your shoulders, grinding you to a halt and making you straighten out.

“Woah there, beautiful, don’t run me over.”

You went pale as you came face to face with none other than your boss. The one who you had just been thinking about in less than professional ways. You grinned at him sheepishly, lowering your head and choosing to focus on his outfit. Black Oxfords, slacks and shirt, black hair in the elegant 4:6 parting… of course he would be embodying this timeless hue. He had explained to you before: the reason why he was dedicated to the monochromatic palette was because if one were to consider its formulation, black was the most ‘colourful’. Seonghwa was enamoured with everything around him, and thought its predominant use to be the optimal method of honouring nature.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.” He chuckled, while adjusting the top of the dress from invisible creases, giving you a discreet onceover. It was impossible for you to remain composed, and an indecipherable amalgamation of ‘sorry’s and haphazardly mashed elaborations that all amounted to nervous white noise began to pour.

You were cute when you were shy, he concluded to himself as he took in your presently meek form, cooing that you need not worry. Though the illusion was broken as soon as he spotted what was, unmistakably, a fresh hickey that was only just gaining prominence on your delicate neck. A playful smirk threatened his lips as he raised an eyebrow and cut your monologue short.

"A kiss from your boyfriend wishing you a good day at work, my love?" The odd combination of words sent your heart ablaze. It was like Wooyoung's existence did not matter one bit to him, he was above it.

"Huh? What, sorry?"

"Your neck." You were caught off-guard by the handsome brunette pointing at his own neck, and then tilting his head towards you. An unreadable smile was on his lips as he watched your checks heat up and you stuttering out a barely audible curse. It was endearing, watching how you, normally unphased and professional, crumbling at the slightest mention of something even the tiniest bit suggestive if it was related to you.

Did you want to appear 'pure' in front of him? Unaffected and innocent? Whilst it was admirable that you had been holding out for so long, be it because of your so-called commitments or something darker, it was the not-so-subtle glances you sent in his direction that drove him to the brink of insanity, igniting a demonic creativity that led him to shoot one masterpiece after the other. Your hesitation blended with an undeniable desire was his strange addiction.

When Seonghwa had met you at his exhibition all that time ago, within you he saw a sophisticated fragility, like that of a precious artwork, or of a spring flower. At the beginning of your journey as a photographer but showing much promise, the sparkle in your eyes left him dizzy. There was something about you that reminded him of a cherub, a sweet creature untainted by misery and heartbreak. Or so was his initial perception that had given him the push to take a deeper interest in you. As he observed your rise in the circle, be it through his extensive web of connections or his own eyes, he noticed your expressions morph into showcasing a grotesque chiaroscuro. A daunting heaviness of your portrait miniseries for a class, where you had placed every pore, every wrinkle of your subjects under scrutiny in the stark light, left an inkling of fear and concern in Seonghwa's heart. This was work done in passing, an experiment for a module where you had to present your interpretation of an assigned theme, with yours being 'heartbreak'. He had found out about it by accident while catching up over a coffee with your professor for that class. And yet, it was this collection that demolished any doubts that he might have had about your future as an artist. You lived through each portrait. Your soul was shared with the model, and immortalised. A collection of portraits of people who had lost love.

You had a story to tell, and what better way to do it than through photography? Any description of his joy when you had asked if his offer of mentorship and fulltime work was still standing would be an understatement. He wanted to play a part in your development. To help you harness the immeasurable talent you had and give you the opportunity and resources necessary for a newcomer to the otherwise cruel industry. Seonghwa felt the urge to be your protector, someone who you could turn to and rely on. While you two maintained a professional relationship, he could not help but treat you with extra care and affection – it came naturally. And it only increased once he found out that, apparently, you had an excuse for a significant other. What little rationality he had left when it came to you proclaimed he should distance himself, but by a risk-hungry democracy, he only inched closer to the fire. Although you were always hesitant to share anything about your partner, he managed to piece the facts together. You were hanging on by a thread, and Seonghwa wanted to cut it and be there to catch you.

He felt it tighten once again as you dashed for the full length mirror standing in the corner of the room, inspecting the bruised skin, mortified. If only he could have the key to that gorgeous mind of yours to know just what you were recalling as you stared into the mirror and attempted to raise the collar of your dress to cover it, but to no avail. The corset – a neat contraption with a convenient zip at the back, highlighting your graceful features, was holding the article stubbornly in place. As you began to search in your bag for the concealer which you just so happened to forget due to the disturbance of your routine this morning, Seonghwa stalked towards you, raising his hand to place it over yours, reducing agitation to mere shock. The surprise on your face as he guided you into a more relaxed stance accelerated the pace of his heart to unprecedented heights.

“Do not worry about it, hey, look at me, Y/N, are you okay?” you had refrained from lifting your head.

Everything was going wrong, and you were the only one to blame. Automatically, you moved to cover the hickey, pressing a palm against it. Did Wooyoung do this on purpose, to send some sick message to you and your boss? Claim ownership over someone who was, emotionally, already lightyears away? How you despised that man, but even more, how you despised yourself for the utter lack of control you had. Splitting into thousands of pieces, you offered too many parts to the one and a half years of an illusion, clearly not having enough left to make a concrete decision and dare to spread your wings. Even if you were to be burned by the sun, you would give up anything for the smallest chance to not be plagued by the conundrum and would soar. The ghost of a touch that Seonghwa applied to your knuckles sparked your internal pleas, and again you availed yourself of safe formality, and let apologies overflow.

Confused, Seonghwa let the weight of his hand become more noticeable as he turned you a little more towards him, meeting you half way with a side step. Taking the purse out of your hand and setting it down on a painted bench set right by the mirror, he was about to pull you even closer but hesitated.

“Sorry, may I put my hands on your upper arms?” you glanced up to meet Seonghwa’s earnest expression, “Would it be alright with you?” only once you nodded did he let himself do just as he had explained, and lightly squeezed the muscle. “Y/N, what happened, talk to me.”

This man was going to be the death of you. Asking for permission over things Wooyoung did not even consider. Ever. Not even when he was just trying to ‘woo’ you, for the lack of a better word. If your heart had not melted before, it sure did now, as Seonghwa continued whispering phrases of reassurance, concerned but not pushing you to reveal more than you wanted. Presenting himself as your safe haven. He was normally open about physical affection with those close to him, but respect was an even higher priority.

“Seonghwa, I-… I am not sure I can talk about it… at least right now.” You mumbled, dropping your arm to your side.

“I get that. Sure. You okay to do the shoot? If you need to go home-”

“Anything but home! Uh, I mean, yeah. I am okay. I just need to cover this… thing… thank you for spotting it. And again, I am so sorry you had to set all of this up and I am a mess and-”

“Ma belle, what you need to cover is your responsibilities. So, if you’re sorry, get to it.” The sudden sternness snapped you out of your mental drift, and you widened your eyes. His finger dug into your skin, not quite as strong as to leave marks, but enough to make the temperature begin rising. Voice dropped into a whisper, but still bearing traces of near maternal attentiveness, he explained:

“The make up artist will be here in about fifteen minutes, but I assume you don’t want anyone to see it, so if you don’t mind, I have an accessory for you to try on.” He moved away to stride to a cabinet on the other side of the room and retrieved an item from one of the drawers.

Upon closer inspection, you recognised the item to be a thick black leather collar, with a circular silver detail at the front. This was a prop from one of the shoots you had collaborated on a couple of months ago – a series that took inspiration from dominatrix culture and bondage. Your cheeks began to heat up as Seonghwa raised it closer to eye level, and smiled sweetly, as if he did not have the same association with the object as you did.

“This should do it. And if not, you know we have some items with more… substantial coverage,” you hummed in agreement, unsure of how to proceed. Seonghwa was expectant, motioning for you to let him help with the choker.

Not finding any reason to disagree with the proposition, you lifted your hair, while he walked behind you and slid the item around your neck, positioning and fastening it in such a way that the bruise was fully concealed. As he worked on the miniature buckle, a strong sense of déjà vu overtook you, making you even more sensitive to his proximity. This was too close to what you had been playing in your head; a couple of steps going south, and it would be a re-enactment. You bit your lip nervously, listening to every breath.

When Seonghwa requested that you show the now completed outfit to him, the intensity with which he was affected by it was unforeseeable. He barely managed to utter a compliment, clenching his fist to suppress an urge to ruin the beauty. Here stood the one who he had been searching for in his art. The one who he had subconsciously been dedicating work to. The Aphrodite, and at the same time, the visionary and his partner in crime. And in that pretty collar, there was no longer any reminder that you should be off limits. The forbidden fruit. To hell with common courtesy-

Seonghwa dipped his head towards you, and once millimetres away, shut his eyes and sank into the feeling of his lips locking with yours. Just as he had thought, you were a sweet paradise, leading him into a paralysis - all he could ponder was how far he could go. You did not push away, joining him in the passionate abyss and getting drunk off his delicious and soft lips. In unison you were satiating your hunger, the current proximity simply not enough. To deepen the long-awaited kiss, you ran your fingers through his hair and gently tugged at the back, causing him to break away momentarily, revealing darkened, carnivorous orbs. He stepped even closer to you, his hips almost touching yours as hands travelled to your waist and pulled you in. Perhaps it was good that you had as little control as you did – or were just this willing when it came to this dazzling man.

There was no good reason for this to be happening. In fact, had your life been a show, most of the audience would likely say you were to blame, that you were a cheater, a whore living two lives, but to you even these seconds, turning to minutes, were worth it. With each caress you were erasing your memories of early morning, and of the fiend who, undoubtedly had organised his own fun. Didn’t a girl deserve to smile too?

Nothing felt real. Floating, life forever altered, relishing in the fact that there was no turning back. Finally, the thread snapped. A precious little bird, freed from the confines of losing oneself, day in, day out. Seonghwa noticed how you entered a flow state, hypnotised by the taste of your personal heaven. The Birth of Venus, your vibrancy brought to light by none other than him – couldn’t the other man see that you could not be carved nor moulded? You needed the spark, the energy, the worship. For that, you would go to the end of the world, but now, Seonghwa was the only one who had the power to choose if you did.

A sharp ringing of a phone interrupted your dizzying sensuality, making Seonghwa groan as he took out the vexing device from his pocket, flipping it to answer. As he talked, however, it was as though the moment still continued, with him not taking his eyes off you a single time, only motion being his mouth outlining the contours of your jawline, moving to your reddened lips to wipe away smudged lipstick. You could not move, fixated on his mellifluous low tone as he continued to admire you. Like you were his magnum opus.

“My darling, our time to shine. The whole crew will be here in five.” He covered the speaker, sharing with you what the manager on the other end of the line had stated. Unwillingly, he had to part from you, but was halted by your nimble hands cupping his face and returning the favour, clearing his face of any traces of your makeup. As a way of thanks, he turned to give your fingers a peck, a brief amused chuckle escaping him as you raised your eyebrows.

Though it was customary for Seonghwa to be a little more physically affectionate than most when it came to working in a professional environment, the significance of his attention towards you had changed drastically and did not go unnoticed by either of you. Each lingering caress held a universe, and served as silent reassurance, communication of the ongoing symbiosis between you and him. As he would reach over to grab a different lens, he would just so happen to brush past you, and send you, just you, a smile. While his hands were pressing all the right buttons, and he was uttering the right commands that the manager was translating to the model – as it turned out she did not speak a word of Korean nor any of the languages Seonghwa had picked up during his travels, and generally preferred to remain void of emotion, his thoughts were entirely on you. As he guided the model from one position to another, directed the feeling that she was supposed to be embodying, but ultimately failing, his only salvation was pretending what it would be like if you were on that chaise longue sofa, clad in elegant lingerie.

Far too many long, gruelling hours had passed by, and Seonghwa had shown far too much patience with the solemn, rigid woman on the set. The sun had already gone down, so he was trying his best to retake some of the shots, with you running from reflector to studio light, endlessly readjusting. Both you and him were winded, exhausted both physically and mentally as you, the model and the manager were the only ones left working – upon Seonghwa’s request, you had dismissed the stylist and makeup artist, agreeing that if any last touch ups were needed due to the heat from the lights, you would figure it out. Art school had taught you how to improvise in times of crisis.

At this stage, it would be better to simply wrap up for the day and pick up again tomorrow; it could be that the ‘energy’ for the shoot was off for someone, or everyone. Could be that there simply was dissonance between certain people on set. But it could not be any worse than what you had waiting for you at home, so, in some ways the long shoot was a blessing in disguise. With the new dynamic between you and Seonghwa to explore, you had almost forgotten about the fact that you had a significant other, at least until your phone began to ring incessantly in your bag, forcing you into a run across the room. As soon as you checked the caller id, your blood ran cold, and with a hardened expression, you swiped to answer.

“Y/N, hello there, sweetheart!”

“Hi.” You could not remember the last time Wooyoung had called you out of the blue. You thought that such behaviour had remained in the flirting stage for him.

“You sound stressed. Hard day at work?”

“Yes. It isn’t over yet, so I need to go.”

“Aw… And here I was, about to ask you what you would like for dinner.” He elaborated. You could hear the pout that he was undoubtedly wearing, along with some shuffling.

“Back so soon? No fun at work?” you remarked, implicitly jibing.

“Yes… terribly uneventful. Was thinking about you all day, replaying this morning…” he was acting too sweet for your liking, and for his present character. Had he been conversing with anyone else and you were listening in, you could have made more sense of it. But this made your skin crawl.

As he babbled away, your focus drifted. Never before had the man on the call felt so foreign – more distant than a stranger. It was like the dull words being uttered were entirely inaccessible, nothing more than the ghost of lost meaning, thrown into a gust of wind. His efforts were lost on you, for you had no heart to tolerate Wooyoung anymore. With an unprecedented tranquility, a conclusion had been reached, and it felt right to step away. That decision, that snap that you had been seeking had finally happened, and you were observing him while pretending to listen to the incessant chatter. The dream, the fresh start, the possibility. Seonghwa had captured your heart long before you had even met Wooyoung – so, maybe, it was you who had been unfair. Getting into a relationship when you had been simply fooling yourself.

A conversation between your boss and the manager, which had previously been level and measured out, was growing more heated by the second. You perked up at the elevated volume, and pulled the phone away from your ear to tune in.

“…I can’t work with her when she is not even trying to work with me!” Seonghwa exclaimed, clearly upset as a familiar southern lilt had seeped into the phrase, naturally deepening his voice and leaving his interlocutor taken aback. But not for long enough, as they recovered and snapped back:

“She’s pretty, isn’t she? Making her look good in a frame is your job, so, do it.”

Eyes wide, you whispered some excuse to Wooyoung, cutting him off mid-sentence. You wished you felt bad, to preserve some social dignity, but it was liberating to finally be the one to elicit shock.

"Honey, what did you say? I'm worried."

The fingers of your free hand curled into a fist as you registered the urgency in his voice. A drastic change from even a mere couple of minutes. You fell silent, processing your reaction. Why did you freeze? Why could you not just... leave?

"Y/N, darling, are you there? Do you need any help? I'll be right there if you need me..." he continued, concern growing with every syllable as you began to dig your nails into the soft flesh of your palm.

Part of you was still attached, it seemed. Some subconscious element that had been thoroughly trained by none other than Wooyoung, trained to believe him and only him. That toxic portion was still confident that he wished for nothing more except for you to be well and in a blissful harmony. In his shadow. A gifted sculptor, whispering watered down droplets of affection, softening up the clay of your innocent heart until he could leave his permanent mark. Wooyoung was here. Wooyoung wanted to be your creator. But the magic trick ceased to be impressive as soon as you realised, and now could take the risk to fight back.

"I'm okay, I'll... I'll see you later." You wanted to conclude the conversation as soon as possible, seeing as you could see that Seonghwa was beginning to lose his patience. It was a rare occurrence but unpleasant enough to avoid... at all costs.

"Is he hurting you?" A sharp jab, out of the blue, right into the arguments that you had been collecting against the man on the phone. He? Was Wooyoung really accusing Seonghwa of something you could not even begin to imagine him doing?

"What?" You mumbled, so quietly that it could have been to yourself.

"I can hear the shouting, Y/N. Not only is he overworking you, but... resorting to violence? Who does he think he is?"

Your eyes darted to the black-haired angel on the other side of the studio, about to hang his halo on a clothing rack in the strive to prove a point to a person who did not want to listen. Surely, that was an appropriate reaction? And was he not the one who gave you what you swore to be your first love-filled kiss?

"Sweetheart, just say the word... do you need to go home?"

Wooyoung was your boyfriend still, wasn't he? Many promises and commitments later, many months as one whole. He couldn't recommend something downright outrageous, since he would have to face your wrath in close proximity. Yes, you were still safe there. Home. Not perfect, but a home nonetheless. What did Seonghwa promise? Do? You were a colleague to him, a subordinate. An inexperienced photographer who barely graduated from being a pure amateur. Maybe you would be doing him a favour if you went home right now. Home to the person who had officially called you his.

"I..."

"Mm?"

"Y/N! Can you give me a hand?" You winced at the question turned command that Seonghwa boomed. It did little to dispel your assumption that Wooyoung might be right in saying you should leave, but at the same time, cleared your head just enough to realise that here you were again. Falling into the same pattern of blind obedience.

"Was it him? Say no!"

"Sorry what? Can't hear you I think you are breaking the connection is so bad so sorry I really did not understand bye-" you stuttered out, ending the call, and letting out a sigh of relief.

You felt dizzy. Exhausted. The brief conversation with Wooyoung had drained you more than the photoshoot, leaving you numb and dreading the end of the workday. Just how much strength would it take to cut all ties? You had not noticed that you had been absent-mindedly playing with the choker, and only when Seonghwa had sent a glare in your direction did you fall from your musings in a cold flash and followed his pointing gestures.

He was turning livid, his expression darkening. You slipped into the background, approaching the model, and gestured for her to follow you. Seeing as she was bored to be here, she was more than happy to follow you to the neatly folded pile of her clothes, paying no mind to the standoff occurring a mere couple of metres away. You cowered as the manager leered at you slyly, and dismissed yet another one of Seonghwa's rational suggestions for how to switch up the shoot to take at least couple of salvaging shots. As the model took her time to get ready, not having heard from her supervisor whether it was time to go or not, you saw Seonghwa's eyes bleed into a ghoulish abyss, barely containing what would be the foundation for a catastrophe.

“How about this, I can find another model, and you can find another photographer to complete this lady’s portfolio. I think both of us would be satisfied with that outcome.” he hissed, refraining from stooping so low so as to use informal language, even though the other man had been disregarding the common principle for the better, or worse, half of the day.

"Who, this... girl?" All eyes were on you, and you could not feel any smaller than you did at that moment. The manager gave you a wry side glance and crossed his arms. "Can she even model?"

"I'd say my co-creator and muse can model. Yes. And better than... many." Seonghwa bit back the offences that had accumulated, but the weight of his words was enough to hint at the lack of welcome. He nodded at you in an attempt to subtly share some comfort, but could not find your eyes, which were tracing lines between the white floorboards.

Muse. The title he had given you with such ease and pride. The title that no artist dared to use lightly out of fear of cursing their inspiration. A warmth spread over your body as the notion ate away at the embedded agitation, washing over the soul and taking, with each wave, the rotting floatation left behind by the person who wanted to sculpt your fate. A muse. And there was no better place for a muse than in a place of art and innovation. Wooyoung could enjoy his dinner by himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, it is late, and I don't think this should continue for any longer." The manager broke the silence, though nothing except his indignant utterance littered the ambience.

"Adieu."

The duo had departed, thankfully, in a hurry, with the manager practically pushing the lady with the stony face out of the door. As soon as Seonghwa, from his position by the window, having lifted the tulle away from it with two fingers, saw the pair appear on the street and start in the direction of the busier road that was in the studio’s vicinity, he let out a low, exasperated groan and ruffled his hair. The camera, which had weighed down on his neck not dissimilarly to a ball and chain, had found home on a high stool, while the photographer stormed towards the main set, and crashed onto the chaise longue.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight. His right arm was grazing the floor, while the other, palm pointed outwards, was pressing into the bridge of his nose with the wrist. One leg slightly bent, the other fully lying on the plush material, he had landed in a threateningly sensual position that set you ablaze. It was impossible to tell whether this was purposeful or not, but at that moment you began to question why this ethereal man had never made an official appearance in front of the camera. The lights gave him a mystical sheen, only further enhancing the dreamlike quality Seonghwa possessed. You took a tiny step closer, careful to not produce a sound with the thick rubber soles of your boots.

He was worn out. It was painted, clear as day, across his face, and yet he still retained a regal quality, his profile – a timeless elegance. He would not hurt you. It had to be a crude lie said in egoistic anguish. The magnificent individual before you was a healing luminescence, filling up the room, embodying it, spreading the monochrome across your universe until you were hesitant to even consider external matters. This had to be immortalised. You raised your mobile phone, swiping to remove the notifications of messages that Wooyoung had apparently sent you, instead switching to the camera. The angle was not perfect, since you were on the side, the outskirts, but with a careful zoom and some manual finetuning to the settings, you could see the opportunity for a shot. Steadying yourself, you adjusted your hold on the device, and snapped away.

An unfamiliar sensation began to course through you as you focused on Seonghwa’s every detail, eyes devouring him and guiding your secret shoot. The thrill of acting on your own accord, capturing an intimate moment for yourself only was leaving you feverish. Enraptured by his slightly parted lips, you went for an extreme close up, leaning further forward and adjusting the settings once again to drop the ISO to 280 and adjusting the shutter speed to a 1/750th. Through the lens you could witness divinity embraced by pitch black, broken only by his grace. One click. Another. You were losing rationality. Snapping away, hypnotised.

“Use the proper camera. It’ll be good practice.” You froze as you were met with Seonghwa’s smouldering gaze, sent right into the lens. With a gasp, you locked your phone and shuddered, flaring up in embarrassment.

“I-I am s-so sorry, I didn’t even a-ask-”

“Apologising to me an awful lot today, aren’t you?” you could not respond, and merely followed Seonghwa’s movements as he raised himself back up and, while still on the sofa, spun to sit facing you. Legs slightly spread apar, he positioned his elbows at the knees, and intently studied you with a smug grin. “A photographer’s calling is to capture beauty as they see it, so if anything, I am honoured, my love.”

A knot began to form in your stomach as you regarded the man. How could he treat your actions so lightly? Should he not be mad? Where was the enraged Seonghwa, who had been on the verge of letting hell break loose? His unreadable nature only proved to elevate your excitement, and you eagerly approached him as he beckoned you:

“Would you show me the photos, darling?” you nodded, taking a seat to his left and unlocking your phone.

Careful not to scroll up, nor to hit any buttons to unleash the guilty pictographic altar that was the candid photographs you had taken at earlier times, you clicked on the first one you had taken this evening and tilted the screen towards the interested man. Prior consideration of your actions as only adorable rapidly evaporated as he inspected the work, astonished by its quality. You had managed to surpass the awkward positioning of the equipment from where you had been standing and made the phone work with you. Seonghwa manoeuvred to be pressed against you, thigh to thigh, and used your startled state to fish your phone out of your hands and scrutinise the pictures freely.

Judging by the reluctance to let go, he could sense that you were hiding something from him. You were heavily interested in where and how he was swiping, and one of your hands was hovering next to his. It was his duty, and his pleasure, to find out what the fuss was about. There was something unequivocally compelling about your transfixion – no dispassionate photographer would be so loving and involved in any image. Even his own works, on occasion, exhibited the ‘technically perfect, and yet far removed’ quality. Seonghwa had a sneaking suspicion about what kinds of pictures you had, but did not want to show how the sheer idea affected him. As he indulged in your reflection on the screen, your trepidation proving irresistible, a spontaneous ruse spawned in his mind, and was rolling off the tip of his tongue in an instant.

“Y/N, could you get me my camera, please? This shot reminded me of one I had taken…”

Waiting for the moment you were outside of arm’s reach, making a beeline to the requested object, he pressed on the back arrow, and within a couple of clicks and scrolls, his guesses were confirmed. A hidden album containing only him. Bursts of his profile, his physique, occupying your gallery. You appeared to be quite selective in when you took the photos, too. More often than not, you emulated Rembrandt style lighting, and the pictures you had favourited were those that reminded him of ancient Greek etchings and sculptures. When did you have the time to do this? How had he not discovered this before? He could not wipe the smirk off his face in time as he saw your shadow fall over him. Far from innocent, weren’t you? The grasp over the camera grew slack, only saved by the habit you had formed of wrapping the strap around your hand to not let it hang loose. With a victorious raising of the eyebrows, Seonghwa turned the phone to you, showcasing what he had ‘just so happened to stumble upon’, and declared:

“I think we have a lot to discuss here, love. Take a seat.” Just when you were about to stiffly settle in the same place, he roughly pulled you to him and onto his lap, grunting as you collided with his powerful thighs. One arm immediately found your waist, fingers toying with the base of the corset, while the other, phone on display, rested like a guard over your legs.

“Now, let’s see… what a collection! How long has it been?” he scrolled slowly, making sure to elevate your sense of shame, though judging by your facial expressions, you were more than happy to be treated how you were at that moment. Eyes half shut, ragged breaths, you were alert and in anticipation. “You kissed me, so you can tell me.” He emphasised, raising up the phone to poke you lightly under the chin.

“A… about seven months…”

“Wow… and how long have you been together with mister Jung Wooyoung?”

“A year and a half…”

“And how long has he been… not satisfying you?” you gaped at Seonghwa in shock. He locked your mobile and set it aside, choosing to play with the metal loop attached to the choker he had picked for you, and tugging just enough for the pressure to build.

“What?”

“Well, evidently there is something that is not there anymore… and these hickeys don’t count, my love. So tell me, what is it?”

“Cheating. He is cheating...” It was challenging to muster up the courage to say the words out loud. It was the first time you openly acknowledged the act for what it was. No euphemisms, no bent truths. It was almost too much for you, as that lump in your throat that had formed during your last conversation with your boyfriend made an irksome return.

“How long?”

“I have had my suspicions for… eight months, confident for… three.”

“I see. I am so sorry, darling I-”

“Now who’s the one apologising?” You joked, a small smile returning to you as you let Seonghwa take the camera from your hands, his chuckle making you shiver.

“Then I hope you won’t need one from me when I do this,” Seonghwa’s voice dropped into a sultry tone before he traced your jawline with his fingers and closed the minimal space between you.

Hands roaming your body, gentle, barely there, treating you like you were a priceless centrepiece made of glass. Compared to the first you had shared, this kiss was an ocean, commencing with a series of lulling waves – a reminder that you need not worry about anything except yourself and what you desired. A crescendo with a building breeze, awakening you from a forlornness and leading you into a glowing, rekindled wanting. The climb towards the crashing tsunami, consuming you as, finally, you felt wholly acknowledged, adored, affirmed.

Your yelp was stifled as he deepened the kiss and let you down slowly onto the velvet fabric of the chaise longue, making sure that your head was lying on the miniature pillow in the corner of the seat by protectively cradling you. Once your back was against the material, Seonghwa hovered over you, a hand on either side while his right knee positioned itself between your legs, with it pushing your dress upwards. His tongue pressed against your teeth, begging for entrance which you readily allowed, and sighed at the feeling of it filling your senses, Seonghwa quickly becoming the only thing you ever wanted to taste. With a tilt of the head, it moved even deeper, while his body was radiating an immeasurable longing for you, its friction against yours nearly making you question your own sanity.

Once you broke apart for gasps of sweet oxygen, sharing the hot air and watching a lewd string of saliva stretch and break between you, you mumbled out a breathy question, which you knew to be your last as you were growing more and more desperate for this man’s heavenly touch.

“Seonghwa… but why?”

“You can only see me. I can only see you. It simply makes sense, no?” he responded, giving you a quick peck on your reddened lips, followed by a couple more on your cheek, until he was right by your ear, “Let me show you that you deserve so much more, darling. Let me show you worship. May I, my love?” his beautiful, dark eyes staring into yours as he awaited your agreement.

“Yes.”

“Très bien.”

With that, the choker flew off you in one swift swipe, and, suddenly, your neck was exposed to him. Hungry orbs trained on the mark that your boyfriend had left, and soon enough Seonghwa’s lips were abusing the same sensitive spot, teasing the skin. After giving it his love and special attention, he moved to another area right beside it, repeating the action, while his knee moved higher for more support, accidentally brushing against your clothed core. You could not help but use the opportunity to buck your hips a little to add to the pooling desire. Unfortunately for you, Seonghwa had caught on too fast, and with satisfied lick, rose up and pushed himself off the chaise longue.

He regarded you through half-lidded eyes, his own arousal starting to build. No longer were there traces of the other man on you. You were free to choose whomever, and you chose him – Seonghwa. This moment had to become timeless.

“Darling, as much as I would love to ravish you right here right now, we have some photos to retake.” He could barely contain himself as you whimpered with frustration, rubbing your thighs together. He reached over to grab the camera and your phone, and added a request for you to undress. Completely.

Erection rubbing against him as he ambled towards the stand, Seonghwa heard a zip, followed by a series of rustles. “You can throw them off set for now, I do not mind.” He called out, his back still to you. A thump, and quietude. Finally at his rightful place as photographer, he let himself retrain on the scene, and felt his heat rise to unprecedented heights. He realised – this was exactly what he had been imagining every time he had a model work with him. Every time he had anybody over, this was what had been guiding his vision. You. Only you. Sat patiently, waiting for his direction.

You heard the clicking of the aperture, and took in Seonghwa’s black-clad form on the stool behind the camera. It was easy enough to guess why it was uncomfortable to remain in one place, but you were not about to ruin the photoshoot. You were a professional, after all.

“Do you think you can show me how you touch yourself?” he asked, readying his camera. You were still a little shy, so he urged you on: “You have so many photos of me, darling, show me how you get off to them. I know you do, my love.” Blushing, you finally acted, and Seonghwa could not believe it.

Sliding a finger between your slick folds, you wetted it with your own arousal and began to rub slow circles over your sensitive clit, head tilting back.

“Legs a little wider for me,” a flash, “that’s it, well done. What are you thinking of, ma belle?”

“Ah… y-you…” the sinful mumble was electrifying, and one of Seonghwa’s hands drifted towards his bulge, which had grown even larger, starting to become problematic for his concentration.

“What specifically, Y/N?”

“H-how you could take me, right here.”

“Take you? Elaborate, tell me everything. And yes, just like that, beautiful.”

Your hand began to move faster, flicking the nub, while the fingers of your other hand took to producing unimaginable sounds as they curled to stimulate the clit even further and progress to glide into your pussy with ease. A course of flashes and clicks signified that Seonghwa particularly enjoyed this course, so you did not hold back and let yourself moan, whispering his name as your high started to approach.

“How you could- ah! Make me come. In any way- AH, Hwa, I’m close-” beloved fantasies floated before you as you continued your performance.

“You are gorgeous, Y/N, I’ll make you come, not to worry, darling, just one more shot, okay?” he cooed as he continued to palm himself through his trousers, watching you bring yourself to a euphoric ruin.

“I- I am n-not sure I’ll la-ast-” you cried out, the orgasm imminent.

“That’s perfect, Y/N, show me.” His finger hovered over the button, like a panther lying in wait to capture its next kill.

“S-Seonghwa!”

“Yes-”

A flurry of shots surrounded you as you shut your eyes and were hit by a satisfying climax that caused you to sink back into the sofa and left your sex pulsing, hot juices trickling out and coaxing Seonghwa out of his digital hiding. It was virtually impossible for him to contain himself any longer, so with a few quick changes to settings, he set an automatic interval timer, for the camera to continue capturing the intimacy, but now with him in the second starring role.

Not taking his gaze off you, Seonghwa slipped out of his Oxfords, and neatly folded his button up and trousers, while having been reduced to a miniscule tremor due to the never-ending pressure on his trapped member, which had already leaked precum onto his boxers. Another flash, and he was walking towards you, ablaze from how you studied him, so alluringly dishevelled and dedicated to him.

A real life Adonis, a mortal blessing seeking you out and yearning for your caress. His equally well shaped cock twitched as he stood off to one side of you, at an impeccable ninety degrees from the camera to capture his length and salaciousness of the scene. Having recovered from your high, you were enthusiastic to please and dropped to your knees as Seonghwa gave the member a couple of pumps. Crawling forward, you innocently opened your mouth, lolling your tongue out. A perfect picture, you knew it.

“Care to prepare me before I make you feel good, ma belle?” he did not need to ask twice.

As soon as he let his hand fall to his side, you replaced it with your own, and with the other massaged his balls, attentive to every flex of muscle, every groan he held back. Now, that was not acceptable. You wanted to hear this man say your name at least once if he truly held you in his heart. You shot him a quick look, and upon seeing that he had bit his lower lip and he was already hazy, took his tip in your mouth, circling it with your tongue and giving it a couple of light sucks. A gasp promoted your continuation, and you teased his hole while not ceasing to give his base thorough focus.

Shaken, Seonghwa could only manage a low, guttural moan as you moved to take in half of his length, still keeping up the intoxicating patterns with your tongue. He gingerly pushed a lock of hair out of your face, unable to utter anything when you gazed up with curiosity. With that, you took a quick breath, and by pulling yourself forward using Seonghwa’s legs, you took him in until the cock hit the back of your throat and caused tiny tears to well up.

“Ah- Y/N, you- mfph-” nothing had ever sounded better than this you leaned back, with only the tip remaining between your lips, and then slid back down, speeding up as you listened to Seonghwa’s sinful vocalisations.

Feeling his member harden, you were about to pick up the pace even more, but your endeavour was cut short by Seonghwa placing his palm on your crown, and tapping you with his index finger a couple of times.

“Th-thank you, love, now I want to make you feel good.” A loud pop resounded as you removed yourself, resulting in the man fighting back a shudder. “Ah, but I don’t have-”

“I have the implant, and you don’t have to come inside.”

“Wasn’t planning to, love, I want to paint over you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Seonghwa sat on the chaise longue, much as he had done at the very beginning while still clothed, and reached out to take your hand and walk you to him. Only you existed to him, a realisation that turned to fact as he sped up your movements, roaming your body and helping you lower yourself onto his throbbing dick. Prior to giving him the full pleasure, however, you ran the soaked pussy lips, softened by a climax and yearning for more, across it, to coat and lubricate it with your nectar. And finally, you sank onto the member, the dizzying feeling of fullness making your walls clench around it, and Seonghwa’s nails dig into your waist.

He let you remain motionless to get used to him, and to have the camera do its magic, but was ecstatic once you rose again, and began to ride him while lazily rolling your hips. You were now moaning without inhibition, Seonghwa’s name sounding simply right. When you cried out, his cock hitting at just the right spot, he rushed to soothe you by stroking circles over your pelvis, but the concern quickly dissipated as you uttered, much to his delight:

“Seonghwa, this is so-so good…”

“You’re perfect, my love. So perfect for me.” He mumbled back, kissing your shoulder blades.

Only fate could have brought him to you, or you to him. It was as though you had been made for one another, fluid and communicating through exquisite body language. A flash. Another. A priceless collection marking yours and Seonghwa’s evolution into a divine creative partnership. Undefined by standards, understood by inspiration and artistry.

“Mm, love how you fill me up so well, Hwa, please-” the knot in your stomach continued to grow as you grinded on his dick.

“So amazing, my darling, my muse.”

Seonghwa reached over and stimulated your clit while your breathing turned shallower, and you attempted to speed up. The action proved difficult, as with your climax fast approaching, your movements became more disjointed and dysrhythmic. Clearly, they became so uncontrollable, that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Melting into his touch, you followed as he stood up, careful to keep his member inside of you, and told you to bend over, keeping your ass up in the air.

Arranging for the best angle, he checked the camera, and, once confirming that the shot was going to be ideal, inhaled and glided his length into you, progressively picking up the speed until what had been a slow exploration was now him pounding into you, skin on skin, slapping against one another. You let out the uncontainable yelps of pleasure, tuning into a higher and higher pitch until your comments were mere incoherent babble. Thoughts clouded over, you could only focus on Seonghwa and your state on the verge of orgasm.

“AH…ah… Please… Hwa… don’t stop- I’m about to-”

Your yell was interrupted by him increasing the pace to an unprecedented level, accelerating you into an unthinkable crash as you shook with your climax. The way in which you enveloped him, and how you reacted to his demands and touch was becoming too much, and a bead of sweat was threatening to roll down his face as he prayed he would not come while your pussy clenched around him, the walls mercilessly pulsating as he built himself up to his high, which came sooner rather than later, and only just in time did he manage to pull his member out, and watch as strings of cum decorated your lower back and buttocks.

You collapsed on the floor, while Seonghwa fell onto the chaise longue, the back hitting his, and the two of you silently rejoiced in a shared ideal, illuminated by the continuing flashes.

“My love?”

“Mm?” you hummed, listening to Seonghwa stepping around you and shutting off the camera, only to approach you again.

“May I pick you up? Let’s go get cleaned up.” Sleepily, you raised your arms and let him lift you up, first to stand, and next to pick you up bridal style, making you giggle. “Off to the showers we go! Oh, the benefits of having a guest room at work.” He rambled light-heartedly, pecking you on the cheek, grinning, and disappearing into a dark corridor.

For the first time in a while, you felt, as Seonghwa had said, satisfied. Nothing could be more right.

You had insisted that you still needed to go home, even though it was long past midnight. But you did promise that, on that exact morning, you were going to break the news that you were leaving your soon to be ex. Life was looking brighter, and the taxi driver had already called you and Seonghwa a couple, which both of you had actively welcomed.

“I am going to Europe. In two weeks.” The brilliant young man stated as he held your hands in his while standing by the taxi, at the entrance to your apartment building.

“Oh… uhm… where?” you tried to conceal your disappointment, failing miserably.

“Brussels.” The cheeriness in his voice confused you, but as you tried to pry yourself away and mumble a “Bon… voyage?”, he beamed and embraced you.

“Two tickets, darling. You are coming with me. And I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“Then I won’t say no. All the more motivation for me, Hwa.” You snuggled into his trench coat, memorising the aroma so it could help you last the next few hours in that damned apartment.

“Let me know how it goes, okay?” his concern did not fail to make your heart flutter, and you hugged him tighter.

“If you see me at your doorstep in these same clothes, you’ll know it went… supremely well.”

“That’s why you have your good luck collar on.” Seonghwa joked, freeing one arm to poke your leather-covered neck.

“Ha, sure. Well, I’ll be off and see you soon.”

Sharing one final kiss, you departed into what you were looking forward to no longer call your home.

Upon entry, you needed a moment to adjust to the darkness. Assuming Wooyoung was asleep, you decided against entering the bedroom and occupying the sofa. If you were to breakup, it was better to start hyping yourself up early by separating yourself. There was no emotion attached to the walls, to the rooms, to him anymore. You just wanted out. As soon as possible. There was no place for you here, not when Seonghwa was waiting.

You lied down on the couch, exhausted, and what you had assumed to be five minutes of shuteye quickly turned into a deep slumber, recounting the beautiful revelations and your destined happiness. If only the man who was blankly staring at the ceiling, felt the same way. But it was impossible to, after he had spent the entire day lost in memories of you and him, of how you had been before he had gone astray and found temporary fun.

He had prepared an elaborate dinner in an attempt to impress you, only for it to be stuffed into plastic boxes to grow cold and inedible in the refrigerator. Had grown sick with worry over your disappearances and ignorance of his emotional state. And then, the final straw. You, and him, revoltingly enamoured, sharing saliva right under his damn windows. Wooyoung had vowed, today, to change, so who had allowed you to do what he had done? Were you not better than that?

Wooyoung crept out of the bedroom to at least catch a glimpse of you, and there you were a sleeping beauty. He had never seen you smiling in your sleep before. It was because of him, wasn’t it? That bastard, stealing what was not his. Or were you just so ready to give yourself away? Were you not the epitome of loyalty, standing by Wooyoung’s side no matter what? Who gave you the right? No, this could not be. This was wrong on all levels. This was not you, this was an impostor. A possessed version of you, about to do something you would regret. How could he prevent you from leaving, he wondered, toying with the clay-cutting wire in his hands.

#fic rec #everyone should read this #blew my damn mind #im gonna stare at the ceiling for next two hours now #mwah ily <3 #my bai 🦋

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2goth2moth · 3 years ago

Note

Hey, can I request a blind date with a monster but they end up going home 👀 things get steamy

But then the monster's like "oh no, umm I gtg cuz I'm not human and they'll definitely find out now" kinda vibes?

(so it's basically human reader x shapeshifter in a universe where monsters are hidden)

You can come up with your own reasons for whatever ✌️ (any gender is fine) (I like were/minotaur monsters but you can pick any that you see fit)

Oof, ouch, this got a little more angsty than I wanted it to. I'm sorry! And I'm sorry it took so long. I hope you still enjoy ;-;

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pleasant Surprises (M!Werebear x GN!Reader, NSFW)

Fun fact about me: Picking the xenomorph from Alien in a game of Fuck-Marry-Kill with @xo-philia when we were younger was my monsterfucker awakening! So I couldn't resist putting that in when I had to think of a movie.

Word count: 3430

Includes: Mild angst, mild hurt/comfort, size kink, fur, frottage, minor scent kink, blowjobs with copious amounts of cum, very minor (blink and you'll miss it) pain kink, less-than-ideal communication in sexual situations

Going on blind dates is a little like rolling dice. They always started in the same place, everyone had their little superstitions and rituals to try to make them come out right, but more often than not they ended with uncomfy kisses, awkward goodbyes, and an unspoken hope that you never had to see each other again (okay, the metaphor isn’t perfect, but the foundation holds true). Sometimes, however, blind dates turned out great, a perfect six (or whatever it is you needed to roll), and you ended up really liking the person.

Sometimes blind dates ended with you making out with a massive cutie on your couch after dinner.

The two of you had been introduced by a mutual friend, and had hit it off the minute you met. Characteristically uncomfortable small talk over mid-afternoon coffee smoothly turned into raucous laughter and flirtatious touching between bites of cheap greasy pizza on the hood of his car. You had no idea how the very attractive mountain of a man- Arthur, he’d said in a voice that seemed far too sweet for his intimidating figure- would react when you’d purred a suggestive (but not explicit) invitation to him, but his ears flushed and he stammered out a “yes” before taking your hand and following you inside. You wasted no time leading Arthur to your couch and sitting down next to him.

“So,” you said, “what kind of movie do you want to watch?”

“I like horror.” His voice was a rumbly baritone that distinctly reminded you of brown sugar. “And anything science-y.”

You wracked your brain for any good scary science movies that you had already watched and wouldn’t get distracted while watching again.

“How does Alien sound?”

It was a safe option, as far as you were concerned. It was a good film, a classic in both scary and science-y departments, and you’d seen it enough times that staying focused on the task of “seduce the hot guy on your couch” wouldn’t be too hard.

“I’ve seen it before…” Shit, maybe he wanted to watch something new. “But I always like rewatching it.”

You cheered internally, but kept a calm exterior as you went through the motions of setting up your TV. As soon as you did, you stood up to turn off the lights. “Anything I can get for you?” You asked, running a very flirtatious hand over his shoulders as you passed behind him.

A tiny shiver went through him at your touch, and you relished in it. “N-no, I’m good for now. Thank you, though.”

Your heart squeezed a little at his very pink ears and the blush staining the back of his neck.

God, he’s so cute.

It was impossible to deny yourself a longer-than-entirely-appropriate moment to take in the very pretty flush before flicking the lights off. With the room now dark, you made your way back to the couch. You sit down as close to Arthur as you dared. Warmth soaked through the inches between your bodies, and you had to physically resist the urge to move closer to him. Trying not to jump him right then and there was taking up so much of your brain-power that you didn’t notice his hand creeping towards you until a warm pinky brushed up against your thigh. You stifled a jump and turned to see his handsome, bearded face staring at you, bathed in the light from the TV.

“Is this okay?” He asked, just barely moving his fingers against your clothed leg.

You excitedly shifted in your seat so that you were facing him, kneecaps touching. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been actively holding back from kissing you for hours!”

“Oh.” His eyes went wide. “You can, if you want. I, um. I’d like you to.”

That was all the invitation you needed to dart forward and press your lips to his. It was quick and chaste, and you pulled back almost immediately. Arthur was frozen, awestruck, for several seconds before he shook himself slightly. He moved towards you cautiously, eyes darting nervously around your face, before cupping your jaw in his free hand and kissing you. His lips started moving against yours almost as soon as they touched, the motion a sweet push and pull between you, his beard just scratching against your face. The warm pinky against your leg became a large hand that rested on top of it, squeezing in time with the kiss. You hummed, pleased, and teased the seam of his lips with the tip of your tongue. Arthur’s hand tightened on your thigh and he opened his mouth to you. The kiss turned sloppy, tongues slipping together with slick, filthy sounds.

Arthur’s hand traced a firm path from your thigh to your hip, where it held tighter and stayed for several heated seconds. You pulled away from the kiss, your lips separating with a wet smack. He chased after you with a little whine, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder and lowering his other hand from your jaw to your hip. With another little noise deep the back of his throat, he began nosing against your neck and along your collar. You had to stifle a giggle at the feeling of his facial hair tickling your skin.

Stilling him with a hand to the back of his head, you carefully threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him back. His eyes stuttered shut and he let out a barely-audible groan, hands twitching on your hips. You grinned and tightened your grip experimentally, very pleased with the strangled moan that he let out.

“You’re so hot,” you cooed to him

“You are too,” he panted, eyelashes fluttering with each pull of your fingers, which hadn’t let up yet.

The sight was too much for you. With a murmured “come here” you pulled him back to you, kissing him fiercely. It was rough, messy, all clacking teeth and noses bumping into each other. The sounds of your mouths moving together was obscene, and you could feel saliva slipping out where your lips met. You kept your hold on his hair, pulling his head this way and back to control the kiss, little spark of arousal went through you with each breathless moan that fell from Arthur’s mouth to yours. His hands kept gripping into your hips, growing tighter with each second that passed.

“Do you want me in your lap?” You asked, backing off just long enough to get the question out.

Arthur didn’t even bother doing that, nodding without breaking the kiss. Before you could even start to move, his hands slipped under your ass and he bodily moved you until you were straddling him. He was so warm beneath you, and you couldn’t help but grind down against him. The feeling of his cock, hot and impossibly hard beneath you, was intoxicating, and you rocked against him, groaning into his mouth with each motion. You could feel his bulge swell even more where it lay against the inside of your thigh. Somewhere in the back of your mind you distantly thought that getting him any harder should have been impossible, but you were too caught up in the feeling of wet, messy kisses being pressed to your jaw and neck to care. His body was moving under you, slight little shifts that you could feel echoing everywhere that he was pressed flush against you. The collar of your shirt was pulled down and away from your shoulder, the tip of his nail dragging against your skin, and he bit down on the newly-exposed skin, biting and sucking until you were whimpering in his lap, grinding down over and over again until you could feel your climax approach all too fast. Both of his hands had returned to their places on your waist, and they bit in as he pulled you to him, his own hips bucking up to meet yours every time. He had stopped his assault on your neck, no doubt leaving a dark, tender bruise behind, and his mouth lay slack and open against you, desperate moans and hot saliva spilling out. All of a sudden, ten pin pricks of sharp, impossible pain bloomed where his hands lay, and you came with a wail, hips stuttering to a stop against his.

Your eyes were closed tightly, chest heaving as you slumped over onto Arthur’s chest. He continued to grind his hard cock upwards, but it was much gentler now, slow rolls of his hips as one of his hands stroked your back. As you came down from your orgasm, you distantly noticed that the TV had stopped (stupid old piece of shit, never worked properly). You also realized just how uncomfortable the wetness of your pants was becoming, and you went to pull back. The hand that was caressing your back locked around your body. You shifted around, testing the give of his arms. Fully immobilized, but not necessarily complaining, you kissed his neck indulgently and wriggled your hips a little.

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” you purred into Arthur’s ear, “I really fucking want to suck you off.”

“Shit.”

You startled back as far as you could at the sound of his voice. The sweet brown-sugar baritone was shredded, gruff and way raspier than it had been.

Way raspier than it should have been, you thought.

You tried to pull back again. His arms didn’t budge. “Arthur, what’s up?” You asked gently.

A deep, quiet whine was his only response. “Did I do something wrong?” He tightened his grip on you, and your ribs groaned in protest. Your heartbeat began to climb as you squirmed again. “Arthur, let me go, you’re hurting me.”

The vice-like arms around you flew away from your body, a deep sigh of relief escaping your lungs. You went to pull back again, to look in his face and ask what was wrong, but his strangled voice stopped you in your tracks. “I’m sorry! I just… I didn’t want you to look at me.”

“Why? I’ve already seen you.”

“Not really. You wouldn’t be here if you had.” He sounded like he was about to cry.

Your heart squeezed painfully at the sound. Without a second thought, you leaned your face into the heated skin of his neck. You could feel hair there, thick and soft, that hadn’t been there before. “Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to not freak out. Or I can close my eyes and you can go, or calm down, or whatever you need to do. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want...I want to tell you,” he said, in that shy near-whisper of a shared secret. “You can look at me.”

Slowly, slow enough for him to tell you to stop, you shifted back to look at Arthur in the face. Whatever it was that you had been expecting, it wasn’t this. Thick, dark hair- no, now that you saw it up close it was very clearly fur- covered his face and neck, darkened his temples, sprung from his arms and hands. His jaw had broadened and lengthened, forming a sort of muzzle, and his canines had grown, pushing insistently at black-edged lips. Large claws tipped his furry hands. His gaze was dropped to his lap in what was clearly some combination of fear and shame, but…

You were undeniably intrigued by what you saw. Intrigued, confused, and more than a little aroused.

“You’re…”

“I’m a werebear.” Despite the new gruffness, his voice sounded fragile. “I’m a monster.”

You shook your head emphatically and leaned forward to put your arms around his shoulders. “I was going to say that you’re gorgeous, but sure, let’s go with that.”

Arthur blinked at you in confusion. “You’re not scared. Or disgusted.”

“Why should I be?” You asked. “You backed off when I told you to, you clearly don’t want to hurt me…”

“But I’m a monster!” He cut you off, heedless of how his hands moved to rest on your thighs. “I’m not normal, I’m not human.”

You silenced him with a finger to his lips. “And I don’t care. I like you quite a bit, if you couldn’t tell. This is just something fun and extra. I’m not going to run screaming for the hills, although I would like to know more about it, at some point..”

“Really?”

“Yes,” you said, all playfulness abandoning your face and voice, letting every ounce of sincerity you had in you spill over. “Really.”

Those large, furry arms wrapped around you, cradling your body against his in a warm embrace. You leaned into it, your hand rubbing the back of his neck. Hiccupping breaths stuttered through his chest and into you.

“Thank you,” his voice rumbled where it was tucked against your neck.

You shifted your weight in the hug, trying to ease the pressure on your knees, and felt his cock against the inside of your thigh. “Still hard?” You teased.

Arthur’s eyes shot open and he pulled away, face stained red under the fur. “Oh damn, I didn’t… shit, I’m sorry.!”

“Don’t apologize,” you cooed, careful not to brush his heated length. “Do you want me to help you with it? I did tell you how much I want to blow you.”

Seconds passed and you questioned whether you had crossed a line, staying stock-still until he nodded his head. “Yes, please.”

He sounded shy when he asked, and you couldn’t help but kiss the tip of his nose before slipping backwards off his lap to the floor. Now that you were level with his crotch, you could really take in just how big he was. The bulge in his pants had seemed large when he was under you, but in front of you it was massive. His thighs were thicker than they had been before, robust muscle and fat dwarfing your hands as you slid them up to his straining zipper. His body heat seared your palms through the fabric. You couldn’t help but wonder how you hadn’t noticed him shift beneath you. Without arousal clouding your brain, you could properly marvel at just how significant- how beautiful- his newly monstrous form was. Your hands paused over his fly and you looked up at him, staring through your lashes, silently waiting for permission to continue.

“Please touch me,” Arthur begged, his hips bucking up slightly.

You smiled at him, scooting forward and turning your head to kiss the inside of his knee, before slowly undoing his fly. Letting your fingers graze over him with maddening softness every time you could, you slid your hands up through the soft fur on his abdomen to push the bottom of his shirt out of the way. A groan escaped his mouth as you scratched over his stomach, into the warm, musky fur on his pelvis, and pulled the waistband of his boxers down just far enough for his dick to spring free, almost hitting you in the face.

The way he had pressed against the zipper of his pants had not done him justice. His shaft was easily the length of your forearm, the head flushed red and glistening with pre-cum. It bobbed and twitched with each minute movement of his body, a lewd display that you thought you could watch for hours. The base was surrounded by a nest of curly fur that you desperately wanted to bury your fingers- or your nose, dear Lord- into. A moment later, the euphoric realization came over you that you could.

You wasted no more time before ducking your head in and pressing an open, messy kiss to the underside of his length. Trailing your mouth along the thin skin, you happily made your way to that gorgeous dark fur. The feeling of nuzzling into it was unbelievable, the strands silky and thick on your skin, that lovely musk filling your senses and making your head go a little fuzzy. With a little moan, you pressed in closer, licking and kissing constantly, letting saliva slip out of your mouth to wet the base of Arthur’s shaft. You carefully tucked your fingers under the waist of his underwear to pull his balls free. They were covered in a dusting of that same fur, heavy and hot where you cupped them in your hands. You made your way back up his shaft, pausing indulgently to suck on the skin of his balls, relishing in the way that Arthur’s thighs quivered where they bracketed your shoulders. Clear, slick fluid dribbled from the head of his dick when you ran the tip of your tongue around its base. A drop fell to your face and you wiped it clean with the back of your hand.

“Oh shit.” His voice came out rumbly and strangled when you delicately lapped pre-cum from the prettily flushed head.

A quick glance upwards showed his bottom lip caught between wickedly sharp teeth, face reddened and eyes shut tight. You mentally promised yourself that one day, if Arthur gave you the chance, you would edge him until he cried with just your mouth.

This was not that day.

In a single swift motion, you stretched your mouth as far around his cock as it would go. You could barely take a quarter of the length and your jaw began aching in seconds, but all you could think was how damn good his heated flesh felt against the inside of your mouth. A moan broke free of your throat, sending vibrations down his massive cock. More pre-cum squirted directly into the back of your mouth and he bucked his hips up, only slightly, but still enough to make you choke around him and draw tears to your eyes.

His balls tightened where they were still cupped in your hands, and you could tell he was close. As disappointed as you were that you couldn’t keep going longer, you knew that he had already been close to his climax when you were dry-humping each other like a pair of horny teenagers. Besides, your jaw was really starting to hurt from where it was gaped around his huge girth. Pulling back far enough that his cockhead just barely rested against your lips, you paused for several seconds, never letting the slick tip leave your skin, smearing a combination of spit and pre-cum onto your mouth and cheeks. You panted, catching your breath for a few moments before you took him back in. Suckling delicately at his tip, you relished in the bursts of pre-cum that shot into you before steeling yourself, relaxing your throat, and swallowing his shaft as far as it would go.

Arthur cried out, the sound deliciously caught between a growl and a wail. His breaths turned ragged, control fraying from arousal and the effort it took him not to fuck upwards into your mouth. You desperately wanted him to feel good, and began working him over aggressively. You bobbed your head up and down, copious amounts of spit sliding down his shaft, gagging as you took him down as far as physically possible. Swallowing around him when his cock hit the back of your throat, your mouth rippled around him and you rolled his balls in your hands.

“I’m...fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

With a great deal of effort, you pulled your tongue back and probed it into the slit at the end of his head. Clearly the intrusion, coupled with the slick pressure of your mouth and loving caress of your hands, was too much, and it pushed him over the edge of his climax.

Salty, bitter cum shot down your throat in thick ropes, making you choke again. You swallowed as much as you could, but it was just too much, and you pulled off, coughing. His orgasm kept going, longer than any you had ever seen before, covering your face and torso with sticky cum. It dripped from your body onto the tile beneath you, spilled from the corners of your mouth, hung in creamy drops from your eyelashes.

A huge, clawed hand carefully wiped the spend from your eyes, moving to cup the back of your head. “Are you okay?” Arthur’s voice was gentle and concerned under the animalistic rasp.

You nodded tiredly, leaning into one of his thick thighs. Exhausted from the excitement, your eyes began to slip closed, your breath evening out into the shallow rhythm of sleep. The last thing you felt was a sweet kiss on your forehead and Arthur’s deep rumbly baritone.

“We’ll talk when you wake up. I promise.”

#shoutout to Teeth for corrupting me!#also you guys should 100% check out his blog if you haven't #it's good shit #monster fucker #monster lover #exophilia #terato #monster x human #monster boyfriend #smut #nsft #enthusiastic consent #minors do not interact #terfs dont fucking touch #bigots dni

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lacheri · 4 years ago

Note

More simp Eren pls 😩 I wanna know how he teaches us what he wants in bed

SAY LESSSSS I GOT YOU!!! (nsfw under the cut, minors DNI, simp!eren)

i got carried away with this sorry not sorry

how Eren teaches you what he wants in bed

First and foremost, his top priority is you. As long as you’re getting off, Eren’s getting off, plain and simple.

But when it comes to his own kinks and desires, he’s gonna be introducing you to them day mf one. He’s super into giving you praises and compliments, it morphs itself into a consent kink as well.

“I’m gonna’ make you feel so good, princess” is a prime example of the two coming together, it gives you an opening to accept or refuse whatever he’s prepping you for. And luckily for you, most of the time it’s head. Which brings us to our first point:

Eren loves head, giving and receiving. He has no problem switching between dom and sub mode, and often does so seamlessly.

He wants your thighs suffocating him, he wants you to use his face as your personal sex toy. He’ll encourage you by grabbing your thighs at first, moving them so they’re squeezed around his head.

Dom!Eren’s gonna hold your hips down and eat you out like he’s fucking starving, while Sub!Eren lolls his pretty little tongue out, gazing up at you in complete adoration and worship, letting you take whatever you want from him.

Regardless of whatever role he’s serving, Eren loves it fucking sloppy and filthy. If he can’t tell the difference between his spit and your pussy’s juices, he isn’t doing his job right.

Eren’s the type of simp who will eat you out for 45 minutes. This is facts idc idc

You’re guaranteed an orgasm with Eren. There’s no questioning, no debates. And while Eren wouldn’t care or mind at all if you owned actual sex toys (he’d definitely want to use them on you too if you do), just know Eren’s willing to drop to his knees at any given moment for you.

And when it’s Eren’s turn, your ears are going to burn as he praises you.

Because Eren is so good to you and your body, you naturally want to reciprocate the favor.

Eren is vocal. Your man is not shy in the slightest. He’s guiding you with his words, encouraging your every move.

Hands on your head, playing with your hair, rubbing massages into your scalp as you suck his cock. Every single time.

He’s going to guide your head the entire time, and not once is he going to look away. Maybe for a split second to throw his head back as he swears in ecstasy, but he’s lolling right back forward to keep complimenting you and how hard you’re working to please him.

“Such a good girl, yeah, just like that, you look so pretty sucking my cock,” he’s cooing to you the entire time.

He’s shocked every time you deep throat, or try to.

He’s in the palm of your hand, physically and emotionally, completely wrapped around your finger.

And in the back of his mind, Eren’s worried sick that his big cock is too big for your tiny throat and that he’s hurting you. He might try to pull you back by your hair, just to be sure you’re getting enough breath.

And while Eren is completely in love with you as he watches the fat tears roll down your cheeks, telling you how you’re such a good girl, he’d much rather see your mouth hanging open as he fucks you into oblivion.

Going down on Eren never lasts as long as you want to. Half of it due to Eren’s sensitivity, he’s going to bust the second you place your beautiful lips around his head, and because he knows your pussy is drenched and begging for attention.

And afterall, he’s got one job here, and that’s to worship you like the goddess you are.

Eren has no problem not cumming during sex. He doesn’t fuck you for his pleasure, he’s doing it all for you.

If he feels your pretty hole tightening up, or you’re quivering in exhaustion, he’s stopping right then. Eren’s wrapping you in his arms, and telling you how good of a job you did for lasting as long as you did. Sometimes you just need the quick break, entirely spent from all the orgasms Eren’s giving you.

“Eren,” you’d whine, getting the feeling back in your legs, burning desire pooling in your stomach. “Need you, now.”

“Are you sure, princess?” he’d look at you with so much concern, and a hint of a smirk would grace your lips as his cock would throb at your confession. “I can just eat you out, baby, if you want.”

You’d swing your legs over his thighs and slide his massive dick right back into your warmth, and Eren would be putty in your hands.

And Eren’s okay with this, simp!Eren is a switch through and through. He’s totally fine into molding into whatever fits the mood the best.

But when it comes to Eren taking control, oof, good luck, you’re going to need it.

When Eren’s in full dom mode, he’s plowing into like there’s not a second to waste. He’s going to bring you to your climax as fast as humanly possible, because he’s on the edge himself and can’t hold back anymore.

Eren’s got his hands all over you, and he can’t stop telling you pretty, gorgeous, beautiful you are. He’s telling you how good you feel around him, kissing you so deeply, you’d think he was trying to steal the air from your lungs.

More than anything, Eren loves feeling your hips try and meet his pace. He’d be okay if you laid there and took his assault, but when he feels/hears how desperate you are for him as well, it’s game over.

He’s on the brink of shooting his load into you, and only with your permission does he paint your walls in white. That’s Eren’s favorite place to cum, he loves to watch his seed leak out of your hole, one of the many claims he has on you. He knows you know this, and he feels a swell of awe knowing you want his pleasure as much he wants yours.

Eren adores hearing your whimpers and moans, it’s necessary for him to cum. He’s a very vocal lover, and if you’re not at the beginning of your relationship, he’s going to teach you exactly how to get comfortable mewling for him.

“Need to hear you, baby,” he’d kiss your neck sloppily, right below your ear as he would rasp. “I wanna’ hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“Do you like that?” Eren would ask huskily. “C’mon princess, tell me.”

Eren loves dirty talk. He loves the chase, the teasing. Loves making you feel like a queen, your pleasure is his pleasure.

And when you finally cum, on his mouth, his fingers, or around his cock, he’s coaxing you down so lovingly it brings tears to your eyes.

Eren is the King of Aftercare.

When the both of you settle down, the tingles of dopamine filling your brains, he’s rushing to clean up the mess he’s created.

Eren is in utter disbelief every time he’s face to face with your sobbing cunt, wet rag in hand. You’re soaked, the wet spot on the bed as proof of your love making. On especially long and exhaustive sessions, he’s picking you up bridal style and putting you in a warm bubble bath, following right behind you to massage your sore muscles.

Eren is so deeply in love with you, he’d do absolutely anything for you. It doesn’t take much to teach you how to please him in bed, because his biggest kinks revolves you and your pleasure. He’ll take as long as he needs to to teach you how to use your voice, how to respond to his praises, how to navigate between his switches.

But with Eren, it all comes so naturally. You never feel uncomfortable in his love, because Eren makes you feel so wanted, so beautiful, so loved and adored that you never have to question his devotion.

SIMP EREN SUPREMACY! I SAID WHAT I SAID!

#Anonymous #eren smut #eren headcanons #eren jeager x reader #simp eren lives in my head rent free #cherieanswers

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lyallblacklupin · 3 years ago

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Sirius tries to remember Remus.

Post-Azkaban Wolfstar: Angst with Hopeful Ending.

Sirius is battling with his memory after Azkaban. 12 years of dementors torturing him, that had caused some real damages to his brain. He doesn’t remember people until they introduce themselves to him. Everyone is steering clear his way but Remus hasn’t given up on him yet.

These days are sickening. They make you feel so lonely and ugly. They tell you—no they scream at you that you don’t deserve anything. Know why? Because you don’t matter. You don’t exist. The most horrifying thing about those voices is that they can make you believe they are saying the truth. Like I did. And I still do, and believe me, it’s not good.

Life is just unfair is so easy to say, it’s just a slip of tongue as if you are consoling a group of people, like Madam Hooch used to when we would lose to Slytherins because they played dirty. However, realizing the fact how unfair life really is, is gut-wrenching. It forces you to become unlike yourself. It puts malevolent ideas in your head for the people who you love—or used to loved. I would go on and blame these walls, but then I’m questioning the universe that why did I have to be born here? The Grimmauld Place 12? And then I’m eventually answered; Life is unfair, you git, haven’t you get it yet?

The nights are terrible here, I hear Kreacher whispering to my charming mother’s portrait, I hear the floor creaking even though no one comes here, except they are invited by Dumbledore—which sounds weird because it’s my house but again, life is just unfair.

Right now, I’m struggling to sleep because there is a prickling fear sitting at the edges of my body. The fear of Dementors for taking the last of everything away.

I still have some good memories, like the one when James made me Harry’s Godfather. Harry’s big emerald eyes were streaming with fat tears until he was given into my arms. I can remember that I had gasped at the scene, and so did the others in the room.

“Oh Sirius! He was crying for like an hour! But he stops now!? I swear this is not a coincidence!” Lily said, but James had been quiet.

“Prongs?” No answer.

“Prongsie? Hey!” Because I caught him pressing his hand on his mouth forcefully, his face blotchy, and he didn’t stop sniffing. He was crying! “What? Like you—father and son both work alternatively? When Harry stops crying, he transfers his weeping mantra to you, and vice versa?”

“Shut up!” Before I said something, I let out an ‘oof’ because James shoved me in his embrace, sandwiching Harry in middle of the process. Harry was giggling with his tear-stained face. His laugh was like music to my ears. I didn’t mention that. I was in love with Harry. He felt like my own child. I never thought I’d feel this exuberance but there was, more than I expected. I was bad at displaying true affection in front of people, but I couldn’t help when Harry’s tiny and chubby hands brushed the collar of my jacket, utterly in awe with the feeling of material on his fingers, I completely forgot James was hugging me, and I managed to press a kiss on Harry’s cheek. He smelled like soft babies. I was in love with that scent. I wanted to hold him forever.

I can never forget that memory. It helps me cast a patronus. There is also something vague about that memory. There is someone too in the small crowd, behind me, other than James. I can remember there was the blonde girl, Mckinnon, and her best friend, Meadows-something. I struggle with names. Sometimes I forget—

“Sirius?”

—Remus’ name. I have to see or hear the person to see if I can remember.

“I’m in my room?” He calls me out every time for like the hundredth time he has found me in my bedroom, and yes, I am still in my bedroom. He won’t stop calling me out. Sometimes, he is very annoying.

“Oh yeah, Of course.” He appears at the doorway, leaning to his left, smiling weakly. He looks tired. He is short of breath. I want to give him a glass of water but my limbs are protesting.

“I could give you a glass of water, but I—just don’t feel like getting up.” I didn’t want to say that but I did because the expressions on Remus’ face are priceless. There is awkwardness written on his face with a hint of shock and sadness. There is nothing pretty about that, but it brings back an indistinct memory I enjoy that I cannot tell. I am disturbing. That’s another trait I have discovered about myself ever since I came back from Azkaban.

“No, it’s alright. I just had water. Not thirsty at all. I—umm…I brought you something.” He says, and then I notice a package in his hand.

“Hope it’s not something you and your werewolf buddies plays with.”

“Ha, no, I wish. But it’s something I needed to give you…from a very long time.” He comes and sits beside me. I had to sit up because I can’t let him touch me. I don’t know why but I am always scared of Remus Lupin, and it is my secret, “Here.” He gives me the package, and looks into my eyes. I try looking away but I couldn’t try harder.

“Happy Birthday.” He whispers, and it sends a shudder to my body. What is the date today?

I open the package, and there it is. A photo frame. It was a leather frame. Black. I am trying not to look at the picture so I distract myself by admiring the leather. And again, I remember Harry. But it is a forced visualization so it doesn’t last longer. I am very much aware of Remus’ presence. I am also getting short of breath now. I look at him and he is already staring at me. I smile at him, but he frowns. And then I frown, too. What is wrong? I saw his hand coming up near my face, and I bat away.

He is gawking at him with wide and horrified eyes, and a hurt expression.

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t…I just—I am sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know you don’t. But you eventually do.” It doesn’t come out bitter. He is smiling at me, but he isn’t done talking, “Sirius, I want to talk. It is eating me alive. Sometimes, I don’t think I am left with much longer in me…But, hey,” He reaches out but stops immediately, “Please…I—I want to talk to you about…Everything or anything. We can talk about us?”

“Us?”

“Yeah…If you want to,”

“There is no Us, Remus.”

“There used to be.” I snort, but he is frowning. I hate his frowns. Why can’t he just smile like a normal person?

“Like what? Did we snog? Or shagged once or twice?” I can’t recall any heterosexual experience, so I can’t say I have never done anything with a guy.

“Sirius, was that picture not enough?” He said with such sadness. And then I look at the picture.

And then I see it. There is a younger version of Remus Lupin, wearing a giant grey jumper, sitting on a library’s table. How decent. There is someone in between his legs, standing before him. It is a dark-haired guy, wearing a Gryffindor tie on his hogwarts’ uniform. He has his hands wrapped around Remus’ torso. A thick curtain of his long hair is almost concealing the half of his face, considering how much it is already buried in Remus’ chest. He squeezes gleefully which causes the younger Remus to erupt with laughter. The scene goes back and forth. And then I spot two people sitting in far distance. They were unmistakably James and Lily. They are the only people I recognize. Those two are cackling because how stupidly romantic the two boys are acting against each other. The picture keeps playing, and I focus again on the couple in the spotlight, and I realize that little Remus is trying to press a kiss on the guy’s forehead but the other person doesn’t stand still, constantly whipped his long hair—and then I freeze all of a sudden. Because I see it. The grey eyes, the long hair, and especially the scar on the left wrist, which still glows sliver in the daylight when I secretly stand in the balcony.

“That is us.” It comes out of my mouth even though I never expect myself to say it.

“Yeah, you and me. We were not just each other’s quick snog, or shagging partner. We go way back, Padfoot. Longer than James and Lily.”

“I don’t remember you…” It comes out as a whimper. I feel stupid and vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, Sirius. I’m sorry for what I did. I never apologized about this…I wanted to—“

“I don’t remember you…”

“—but I never really got a chance. I’m sorry I thought you could betray the Potters. I’m sorry that I kept myself believing for twelve years that it was you. But I swear to Merlin, I never stopped loving you—“

“I don’t remember you, Remus…” But he is not listening.

“—I used to hate myself for this. I felt disgusting that I still loved you. And then I melted myself in filthy thoughts. No one was there to judge me. I used to picture you all the time, sitting on the sofa waiting for me to come back from the muggle job you hated. I used to see you laying on the bed in the night. I used to imagine myself cuddling up with you. And some days, it was so real that we used to talk till dawn. We used to watch the sunrise together. October 31st used to come and go by, and we pretended it was just another Halloween and you used to say ‘Moony, you hate Halloween because some people dress up as werewolves, and you don’t get to wear a costume!’—“

I stop saying anything. I cannot tell that I don’t remember him because I do. His hand accidently rubs shoulder, and I am suddenly yanked to my happiest memory—Harry’s beautiful hands reaching my jacket—and the ‘someone’ is not just someone who is behind me, rubbing my lower back and laying his head against mine, because it was him. It was Remus Lupin. It is still Remus Lupin, I want him to be.

I cannot tell that I don’t remember him because I am starting to…and it’s a start. He keeps telling me how he spent the last twelve years, so I listen to him because my years were not in an open cage just like his. It was scary to be locked up for years and never to see the people you love, but it must have been even scarier to be free for years and never see the people you love. Remus Lupin has suffered too, and I can’t help but be there for him.

So as he keeps rambling his stories about his undying love for me, I slip into his space, and wrap my arms around his torso, like I had in the picture, and bury my face into his chest. He is not warmer as he must have been in that picture but it calms me down because his heart is beating against mine, and I am happy to have him alive with me.

Thanks for reading! Stay magical!

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akumaalert · 3 years ago

Text

Snippet of “Awake” - First Chapter of “Divergence”

Hey, all! Wanted to share a snippet of the first chapter (”Awake”) of “Divergence” - a fic that will offshoot from “Heavy Metal Lover.” Note that this is basically a whole spoiler for chapter 20 of “Heavy Metal Lover.” If you’re like me and see random stuff saying “Don’t click if you haven’t read...” and click anyway: Hi! Welcome, chaos lover. If you like this and want to know the context, please feel free to check out the full work on AO3.

“Divergence” should be posted within two weeks and will be open to requests for the reader (”Lucky”) to have different experiences than what she has in the original. This can mean the following:

- AUs

- Re-tellings of certain scenes of the original

- Reader-specific details included in old or new/original scenes (i.e., reader is plus sized, skinny, tall, short, etc.)

- Genderbending of any of the characters

Originally made this Tumblr to share snippets of the stories on...so happy that I could finally do that! If you want to skip writing that was in the story, you can start at “Though sleep pulled at your eyelids...”

Story contains mature elements, swearing, and explicit mention of sex. Please be forewarned.

Looking back, it would only be a wonder that it did not occur sooner.

As soon as you were alone in the bedroom, you took off your shoes and eyed the clothes Heisenberg had provided you from the factory...

...before turning to the tub.

Couldn't hurt to bathe. Love to be clean.

That man is coming back up to this bedroom.

This is the point, self.

The logical side of your brain, for once, remained quiet.

Though you had clearly lost all sense of sensibility, you at least moved the divider to completely block the tub from any but the most determined of views.

The water had been scalding when you got in.

By the time you had bathed and decided that your foolishness had reached its limit, it was stark cold.

"This was stupid," you said. "Fucking stupid. What did I want? Him to join me? This is the universe saying 'Wake the fuck up.'"

Though your fingers were pruned, you dried yourself off and pulled a nightgown from the small cupboard beneath the sink.

Sheer as ever. Fuck's sake. The universe had truly saved you.

Until it hadn't.

Heisenberg rushed into the room like a rocket and you jumped as the door slammed close.

"...you here, Luck?"

"Yeah," you called out. "Um...don't come over here...gotta get dressed real quick."

"...k" called Heisenberg.

Wasting no time, you slid the gown over your body and made sure to fan out the edges as far as they would go.

You needed no mirror to see your nipples proudly displayed through the fabric.

Mouthing a 'fuck' for good measure, you frowned.

"Heisenberg?"

"Yes?"

"Do you...do you mind looking away for a second?"

"From you?"

"Yes."

"...are...are you coming out naked?"

"No," you snapped.

An awkward silence greeted you.

"Heisenberg?"

"Huh?"

"You looking away?"

"Oh. Yeah. You're good now."

Peeking from behind the divider, you only saw Heisenberg's back.

With more speed than you were familiar with, you bolted to the bed and ducked under the covers.

Once secure beneath the pillowy softness, you breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay. It’s safe."

You did not miss how Heisenberg whirled around.

"Oh...fuck...that was fast."

"Yeah," you said absently.

"Trying to set a fucking record?"

"Something like that."

"Mmn. I...gotta get changed."

"Okay."

The two of you stared at the other.

"You trying to get a free show or you gonna cover those peepers?"

"...I figured you would go behind the divider."

"The divider is on your side of the bed."

"Oh," you said dumbly. "Oh. Yeah...wait."

Yanking the pillow from underneath your head, you smashed it onto your face above your mouth and pressed down.

Heisenberg chuckled. "Dramatic as hell."

"Doing what you asked of me."

"...didn't formally ask you to...did I?"

Swallowing found your throat on fire.

"Mmn."

"What was that?"

"Mmn," you repeated.

"Heh...don't go into public speaking, kid."

You frowned at the ceiling and the darkness of your eyes.

Instead of speaking, Heisenberg decided to tell you he was done by climbing in the bed beside you. It struck you suddenly that lamps had been placed in the room instead of the candles that the castle was so beset with. But when you removed your pillow, you found yourself met by more muted darkness.

"Sure you okay with this?" asked Heisenberg. "I can fuck off and go into another room. I like to bitch like a drama king, but I don't need anything crazy set up for me."

"Bed is pretty big," you said carelessly. "S'okay. We've been closer."

The chuckle Heisenberg gave was absolutely filthy.

"We have...haven't we?"

The fucking lilt would be the death of you. What a relief it was to blink blindly and stupidly at the man in peace without judgment.

"Hey - last time I'm reminding you...what's your one job?"

"Get you out in the morning," you replied.

"Because?"

"Ah...generators...production line...something about a reset..."

"That's my girl. Nighty night, Luck."

"Night, Heis."

A turn. A breath. A feeling that you would never be able to sleep with the man so close that you could feel his body heat radiating from him like a welcome sign.

But you awoke.

You awoke often.

You awoke in the middle of the night from a dream you could barely recall and all the images of Alcina at the forefront of your mind.

You awoke in Heisenberg's arms and sobbed into his chest as he clung you to him just as sweetly as any of your snowy imaginings.

"Fuck you doing awake? No...shh...it's okay...shh...you're alright. I'm here. I've got you."

Though sleep pulled at your eyelids, you nudged your head up to feel the spikes of Heisenberg's scruff. You had to stay awake. Could not return to sleep and Alcina awaiting you with her long talons and even longer legs.

"Nightmare?"

You nodded into his neck.

"Mmn. Have those myself...think you can go back to sleep? Don't think it's quite time for me to leave yet if you just wanna yak about it or something."

Swallowing, you exhaled. "Don't wanna go back to sleep."

With a grunt, Heisenberg sat up to leave you curled on the sheets.

"Just checking the time..."

When Heisenberg turned to pull something from the floor, you noticed that your eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark. Enough so that you saw the loose movements of his arms and realized that he had gone to bed without a shirt.

"Fuck...two in the morning..."

"I'm sorry," you said, tensing. But Heisenberg was mumbling and coming back to you with open arms. "Sorry I woke you..."

"S'alright," he said, yawning afterward. "Gotten less sleep and done more stupid things after than make sure the reset doesn't fuck up the factory..."

As he spoke, you could feel one of his hands rubbing up and down your arm a bit too roughly. An awkward and well intended move to comfort you.

"Still...I'm sorry...you need all the sleep you can manage to get. I don't know how much work the whole factory thing will be..."

"Honestly not much as long as I get back in time," he said, hand squeezing your arm for good measure before returning to that same rough rubbing motion. "Could probably even come back here afterwards...heh...that would spook that sixty-foot snake."

You laughed a sleepy laugh and settled further into his grasp.

"Mmn...like a fucking little bunny...cuddling into me and shit..."

"I can stop...pull away..."

Heisenberg's hand stopped rubbing you in favor of clutching you to him.

"Shh...you're talking nonsense. Need some sleep."

"Heis..."

"Shhh..."

"Heis, you can just tell me that you like it when we cuddle."

When he tsked and laid his chin on your head, you smiled. It felt so much like that day at the stronghold.

"Why would I say that? Not in the business of lying to people."

Lying...yes...because what we are doing now is causing you so much distress...

"Well," you said, smiling. "I'll say it then. I like it when we cuddle. Especially in bed. Feels more comfy than cuddling in front of the lycans."

A shiver - as though Heisenberg had been beset by the cold - ran through his body.

"Oof...y'okay?"

"Yeah, yeah..." he said absently. "Uh...actually...we might wanna go to sleep after all..."

"Mmn?"

"Yeah...early morning..."

"You mind if I hold onto you for a while? This...this actually helps from the nightmare."

The only way you knew how to describe Heisenberg in that moment was jittery. His movements were fine on their own but were conducted with such awkward quickness as to be alarming.

When he did not answer you, you looked up at him through the dark.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

A beat of silence and then another.

"Nothing's wrong." Quick words to match his quick movement.

"Heisenberg..."

"It's Heis."

"...you...Heis...something isn't right. Just talk to me. In English, preferably."

What you could only assume was a curse in German fell from his lips.

"I...fuck's sake, buttercup...I don't know how to...if you...this was such a bad idea...so fucking STUPID."

"What?" You paused, gathering enough evidence from his huff. "Sleeping together?"

"Yes."

"It was your idea."

"I FUCKING KNOW THAT, OKAY?" he hissed. "Just...I thought...earlier...it made more sense...this made more sense..."

"Glad something did because I am completely and utterly confused," you admitted.

"You're confused? You started flirting with me." Heisenberg grumbled something low and rough. "Fucking gave me ideas...false hope...so I thought...guh I'm such a fucking idiot..."

Hope began to fuel you too. Fuel you and feed into the most terrible of terrific ideas.

"Are you...whatever you're trying to say...I was flirting with you. That wasn't false. Honestly...I was in the bathtub just moments before you came in hoping you would join me."

"...you what now?"

You could not help but laugh. The fact that you could not see Heisenberg's expressive face only added to the hilarity as you imagined a hundred different emotions running through that scarred skin.

"I took a bath...a long one...hoping that you would come up here in the middle of it and offer to join me...figured one thing could lead into another and the bed was here anyway..."

The pauses in between Heisenberg's voice could only endear you to him. He seemed every bit lost for words.

"You...are you talking about...what are you talking about?"

"Sleeping with you," you supplied with a shrug. "What are you talking about?"

"Sleeping...you...ah...I wasn't...I wasn't mistaken? Shit...I...I may or may not have a fucking stiffy over here...because the cuddling is...something you enjoy so much."

"Oh?" you purred. The chance of escaping in the delights of Heisenberg’s body made your body positively teem with anticipation. But you could not forget your own actions...the last time you had seen him in such a vulnerable state. Losing some confidence, you glanced at the darkness of the bed instead of his body. "Umm...I want to touch you...want to...would it be okay if I touched you?"

"Yeah...course. You've touched me before."

"No...I mean...is it...fuck...can I jack you off?"

For a long while, Heisenberg said nothing.

The next thing you heard was a rattling spit.

"OUCH GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKER!" he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"Pinched myself."

"You...why are you pinching yourself?"

"Because I'm clearly fucking awake but clearly dreaming at the same time because yes, I would enjoy that very much. Please. And thank you."

"Are...are you sure?"

Heisenberg's hand came down heavy but without malice on your neck.

"OW!"

"Shit...I was trying to grab your hand."

Providing your hand to his, you hitched a breath when he splayed it against his chest. His heartbeat thudded against your palm. Wrenching your knees upward, you brushed against that heated length between his legs.

"I...um...we should probably talk about boundaries before I do this."

"Huh?"

"Is this...are you okay with me just jacking you off?"

"Just? This is a goddamn holiday. Marking it on the calendar. Nothing little about it."

"Dumbass. That's not what I'm saying," you said, scratching his chest somewhat affectionately to show him that you meant no harm. "Do you...are you wanting anything more? Because I'm on my period...I'm up for it...but it might get messy and I know that's the last mess I want a certain someone finding."

"We...we can do more? More like..." You heard him take in a shaky inhale. "Can we...is like full blown intercourse on the table?"

"Sure...long as you don't call it that again," you said, shaking your head.

Grumbling and tensing his shoulders, Heisenberg whined when you dropped your touch to round one of his nipples.

"What the fuck else am I supposed to call it?"

"Sex. Fucking. Making love," you added jokingly. "Um...ah...you know...I hadn't thought about it, but maybe you genuinely didn't know. German to English...or...ah...Romanian to English. Might not have those words."

"I like making love," he said with certainty in his voice. "Let's do that. Make love."

You had expected him to laugh at that suggestion if he acknowledged it at all. But there he was giddy and practically giggling over the most flowery option he was given.

"Okay...are there any places that you don't like being touched?"

"Not that I know of," he admitted. "Are there...is there somewhere I shouldn't touch you?"

"Not necessarily...just...no going down on me this time. Sex is one thing-"

"Making love."

"-us um...us making love is fine, but I don't want to get eaten out while my period is going on. And don't show me your dick after or comment on the blood...just...get rid of it. Please. And...and nothing too crazy to start out with. I'm not a prude, but don't want to be choked or anything harsh like that. Just...vanilla for our first go. Then we can see where things take us."

"Roger that! Heard loud and clear," he said, leaning his face to kiss your forehead. For all the lack of a relationship, Heisenberg was making you feel far much more mushy and cared for than your ex ever had. You let your hand round his stomach slow and soft in response.

"Thank you. We...if you want to, I'll jack you off for a bit before you grab the condom."

"The...I don't have one of those."

That made you freeze.

"Not even in this room? Your chambers? If you don't feel like getting up, I can grab them from wherever they are."

Heisenberg went uncharacteristically quiet.

"Heis?"

"None in this room," he said plainly.

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable by asking...but...is that typical? You having sex without a condom?"

It worried you. Here you were all too willing to have him fuck you into the mattress while he could be having all sorts of unprotected sex with who knows who in the village. He was attractive - a lord. Anyone with a pair of eyes could easily fall in lust if not love with him.

Anyone with ears too...fucking sexy ringmaster voice...

"Not typical, no."

"No? Has it just...been a while?"

"Never."

"Huh?"

"Never made love before."

That sent you sitting up in bed.

"WHAT?"

"What?"

"HEISEN..." you lowered your voice, realizing he was growing tense. "You've never...I don't believe you. Quit joking. Not the time."

"Not joking," he grumbled. "Why would I joke about that?"

"You're just..."

"I'm what?"

"You're you," you said as if it clarified anything at all. "You're a lord in a small town. You have a face of a model. Not...not trying to open old wounds, but you're absolutely gorgeous underneath all those layers..."

"Yeah," he snorted. "Fatass McGee will be strutting the runways any day now."

"Oh my god...you're serious." Lying back down, you brought your hand to the clothed length between his legs. He had grown noticeably more soft since the brush of your knee, but you could feel his cock twitch when you cupped him. "So...no one? Not even foreplay or...what about kissing?"

"...ahhh...nah...none of that either...you're probably the first person to see me naked since I was a little kid...well...maybe a few folks in Constantinople. Got sloshed one time and woke up naked tied to a lamppost. But...other than that...all you."

There seemed to be no end to the surprises that would fall from Heisenberg's mouth. You stared at him - or the inky shadow that was him - and ran teasing fingers up his shaft.

"I uhh...fuck...I'm pretty sure anyone who saw me then is dead by now though," he supplied.

"Heis...you're so fucking ridiculous."

#heavy metal lover #divergence #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you

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waka-chan-out · 3 years ago

Note

so i was reading a few sakusa fics last night bc i am an absolute sucker for that man... anyway, there's something to be said for the general characterization of him: quiet, reserved, super cleanly, hates people, doesn't want to engage in any form of touch ever. and it usually makes him come across as a super cold and distant to everyone.

but i feel it usually is depicted as too extreme and how untrue I think that would be, especially with a s/o. while like there are definitely outward character traits that fall into those groups (more on the gotta stay clean and avoid germs side or not really taking to people he doesn't know), i'd imagine him being a bit more of soft boy out in public with his s/o and pretty clingy when he starts to get uncomfortable. small tugs on the hem of your shirt when he wants to leave or go somewhere else, tucking his head into the crook of your neck to calm down, keeping your pinkies connected as you walk, etc. just cute shit like that and he would get defensive (groan, roll his eyes, or tell them to shut up) if anyone were to call him out on it, but ultimately brush it off.

however, if you were to ever tease for how needy and clingy he is at home or something after the fact he would actually start to get a bit annoyed. keep pushing his buttons and eventually he would start to tease back and call you names, telling you how usually needy you are for his dick. slowly more and more, becoming more physical and completely making you know not to try to tease him again (but also like pls do it again). I personally like to indulge in the idea that despite the fact sakusa keeps things in his life nice and tidy, he would enjoy making a mess of you (but wouldn't outwardly let you know). you end up with legs twitching, sweaty, and still panting, maybe a couple tears escaping the corner of your eyes. wet sheets and sakusa grumbling about how he'll have to wash them.

sidebar: I don't actually take sakusa to be a particularly hard dom person despite how this might read. but i feel like when provoked, he'll act like he has something to prove.

---

uh, anyway that took a turn i wasn't really expecting it to. a lot of thoughts everywhere. oof.

-syd

(p.s. i'm vibing with the potted plant and really like it, so you can keep it as is)

S Y D YOU KNOW MY WEAK SPOTS NOW

him and tsukki are the clingiest, neediest, most dramatic assholes in the world and i love them more than anything.

i mean furudate themself has confirmed that sakusa isn’t germaphobic or rude for no reason. he’s just very clear about his boundaries and what he doesn’t like. that definitely shows in your relationship. he won’t touch the handrail on public transportation but he’ll kiss you first thing in the morning before either of you have showered or brushed your teeth. he hates when people are loud around him in public or at practice, but he loves when you dance around his kitchen yelling along to the radio. his boundaries fall when it comes to you because he loves you.

sakusa can definitely be harsh when you tease him, but that’s more out of the bedroom if that makes sense? if you initiate it when you’re out in public, for example, he’ll start whispering filthy things in your ear and make you regret it when you get home. but if you’re already initiating play and tease him about how much he clearly wants to be touched, or how stubborn he was earlier that day, it makes his brain melt. i’ll never see him as a very dominant man, but i think when he is it’s more his stubbornness coming through.

anyway, i love him and he’s my favorite. thank you for bringing him up because i’m always ready to yell about omi.

#sorry i didn’t respond to this for a while love #i’m slowly working through my messages i promise #and i’m glad you like the plant !! i think it’s very cute #🪴..syd #🌼..conversations w meg #💌..h word w meg

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joonkorre · 4 years ago

Text

its crazy late but

@drarrymicrofic prompt: blanket fort

(there’s no plot. none. just dudes being guys, guys being pals)

(caution: not very micro, more like a one shot. a whole lot of anecdotes. i’m writing this under a blanket with snow beating at my window, so of course this has to be very soft and warm. you have been warned)

“Hello?” Harry says into the dark. He’s just gotten home and instead of seeing the familiar orange hue of their beetle-shaped lamp (a gift from Luna, of course), there’s a single sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Nothing else seems to exist in the living room but the echo of Harry’s greeting. Tangerine and sage drift into his nose, followed by the bitter tang of smoke. The scent of Draco’s favorite candle, newly extinguished.

Draco just left. Discovered a breakthrough in his research and fled to the Ministry lab, maybe.

Harry sighs. Unlaces his boots and hangs up his coat absentmindedly only for it to crumple onto the floor. Another sigh. He bends and retrieves it, deciding instead to throw it in the laundry bin. Might as well; he’s been trudging around in Dayhound mucus for hours and neither his dragonhide boots nor coat were spared.

Walking into the kitchen, Harry grabs a glass from the drying rack and pours himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. It’s ridiculous how a simple act like this can drain his energy so, but it does. Curse breaking isn’t a walk in the park; even walking hurts, considering the amount of magic he expends on shite like a 500-year-old wailing locket on a day to day basis. Exposure to different kinds of magic - dark, Old Magick, elemental, countlessly and endlessly more- for 8 hours straight more often than not result in a fierce ringing in his temples and pinpricks on his skin.

After years of doing it, he can scarcely tolerate one Portkey trip from wherever he’s assigned to back to the main headquarter before getting uncontrollable shivers. Another 30 minutes on the metro, then a 10-minute walk home. In addition, Harry has to sleep for at least 8 hours every night to replenish his energy. Morning comes, he wakes up, Apparates to the headquarter, and the cycle continues.

Why does he even stick with curse breaking at this point? Right, a wry grin graces Harry’s lips, Draco thinks the uniform is hot. Oh, and can’t forget the job benefits, insurance, whole nine yards.

With the glass now rinsed and settled once more on the drying rack, Harry drags his feet to the bedroom. The clock - an antique Draco stole from his cheating ex - hits 7:18 PM, but getting ready to go to sleep sure sounds like a decent idea. Harry palms the back of his aching neck and winces. He’d go shower, scrub the dirt and tension off his limbs, and maybe heat up the leftovers from two days-

“There you are. I was wondering how much longer drinking water could take.”

Harry looks up from his slippered feet to see Draco. Or, more specifically, Draco’s silhouette. Behind some kind of white cloth. A white cloth that’s conveniently placed where the focus of the bedroom should’ve been.

The relief at seeing his husband evaporates.

“What,” Harry says, “where’s our bed.”

Draco’s silhouette crawls to the opening of the cloth… tent-shaped thing. Pewter grey eyes peer at him behind strands of near-platinum blonde, its icy color soothed by the orange tint of… ah, so he’s brought the bug lamp in here. Neat.

“I,” Draco answers. Pauses. “Might have brought it somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Harry shakes his head. An exasperated chuckle escapes his lips.

“Is ‘somewhere else’ the recycling center?”

“Why,” Draco flops down on the floor, appearing tired of holding himself up on his elbows for more than 10 seconds. It’s peculiar to see, the gesture a bit ungraceful for someone like him. Harry is helplessly in love amused. “Do my ears deceive me? Am I being confronted, cornered, accosted for being a good husband? Were the 5 minutes it took to Shrink and Levitate the wretched old thing away from our safe haven worth your condescension, dear lover?”

“I guess I did say I hate-”

“Correct!”

“-the headboard. Nothing but the headboard. Yesterday. While I’m half asleep. Baby.”

“Oh, pish posh, I hate it too! In fact, I’m doing us both a favor disposing of the entire thing altogether.”

“God, however can I thank you? I mean, you did rid us of our bed where we sleep on.”

“You can thank me by taking off those horrid gears faster and come here,” with that, Draco crawls back to where he was sitting before.

“You love these gears,” Harry says, hanging his harnesses and tool belt in the closet and walking into the bathroom for a quick shower, “you love them against your ba-”

“Put a lock on that filthy mouth, Potter, what will the Daily Prophet think?” Draco’s yell almost drowns out the shower spray. Harry laughs, his stomach hurting for the right reason at last.

When he re-enters the bedroom, Draco is leaning out from the tent thing.

“Come, get in, get in,” he beckons with a hasty wave.

Harry points to his wet hair with the hand holding his towel. Draco clicks his tongue and waves his hand more aggressively.

His husband’s level of theatrics is directly proportional to how slow Harry is at doing what he says, so he nods, fondness overflowing, and obeys.

“What’s all this?” He crouches and crawls in, eyeing the collection of pillows and quilts surrounding Draco and what would be Harry’s seat. It seems that he had also lugged in the chairs from their dining room to provide some structural support for the tent.

“A blanket fort, lover,” Draco says, his gaze tender. Harry’s finger tips tingle with every touch of cotton, linen, silk, as he gets situated. It’s been years and years and years and years, and Harry can never get used to, can never take for granted, the weight of his husband’s undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, sitting down with an ‘oof’, “isn’t this for kids?”

“A blanket fort is a blanket fort,” Draco takes the towel from Harry’s arm and puts the throw pillow Ron knitted in his lap. He hits a button on the laptop in front of them, and Harry’s favorite jazz collection plays. He blinks. He thought Draco would play his questionable atmospheric-white-noise-POV-you’re-having-tea-in-a-gothic-vampire-library playlist, the weirdo.

Velvety smooth sax flows through the air. Harry exhales, easy and content, and lets Draco tilt his head. He towels Harry’s hair, massaging unhurried circles on his scalp and varying the degree of pressure. In no time, his head lolls forward, eyes closed, chin a breath away from his well-worn shirt. A slender, pale hand cups his cheek and holds his head up and steady. Meanwhile, the hand’s owner leans out of the blanket fort to get something.

“Ow.” A grunt. Harry smiles; most likely a cramp from all the leaning.

Then, his husband reseats himself, this time with a smell. A mouth-watering, delicious smell, tickling the back of Harry’s nose. He opens his eyes to see Draco lifting off the lid of a ceramic bowl perched on a tray, steam floating out and fogging Harry’s glasses. It’s purple yam soup, topped with chopped up shrimp and ground beef.

“Your usual order from the Viet place nearby whenever Pepper-up isn’t sufficient,” Draco murmurs, placing a spoon in Harry’s hand, his words warm against Harry’s temple. Huh, he didn’t think Draco would notice. “You said today you’d deal with those disgusting booby traps you showed me, thus I reckoned I should put the yams on our counter into good use.”

Harry stares at the soup, stunned. Draco must have taken his expression as something else.

“Oh, right,” he says, “I heated it up on the stove, but you were taking atrociously long so I casted a Heating charm. Let me take it off, okay?”

Draco flicks his hawthorn wand, a hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder as if he could see the prickling running up Harry’s nape.

He turns to look at his husband. When Harry’s career was starting to take its toll on his magical core, Draco didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into Muggle living. Easier said than done, and it took months for him to stop frowning at the “absolutely bizarre, Potter, bizarre” appliances, but he got there in the end. Despite his constant bitching about everything, Draco not once raised a word about the drastic switch, effortlessly guiding Narcissa to gossip about the Albescu clan’s abhorrent matriarch when she asks about how he’s faring.

“Gosh, I,” Harry says. Mumbles, really, into Draco’s collarbone, filling his brain with the woodsy aroma of potion making that no amount of expensive body products can mask, “that’s lovely, baby, thank you.”

“Eat,” Draco says, rubbing his chin on the top of Harry still-damp hair and messaging his tense neck. Harry knows he’s breathing him in too. “Or I’ll have to heat it up in the kitchen again, and forgive me but I’d rather stay here for the next 12 hours, at least.”

“Lazy arse.”

Draco laughs, a momentary rumble of his chest, then moves forward to click something on the laptop. Harry’s on his fifth spoonful of pure comfort when the jazz music stops, and on the blank wall opposite from their blanket fort is the title card of a movie. Strange, Harry didn’t even notice the mini projector. He squints.

“Why is there Korean subtitles?”

“Lover,” Draco tosses a napkin at Harry’s crossed legs, “what is watching movies online without the occasional bout of piracy?”

“Pira- piracy,” Harry chokes, the hot soup stinging his palate, “we have a Netflix subscription.”

“You can’t find shite like this on Netflix.”

“Of course we can. Baby, we don’t know anyone who’s good at computer stuff and can deal with the viruses.”

“There’s no virus here, I checked.”

“How,” Harry stresses, “and again, piracy.”

“Sometimes,” Draco says, lowering the speaker volume, “not doing crimes… is worse.”

“What the fuck,” the main character, a square-faced woman with a python around her neck, has a monologue in a completely different language. “What the fuck? Is that Italian?”

“Yes, but I’m French.”

“And?”

“And they’re both Romance languages. I can understand certain words and translate it for you.”

No, he can’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Keep eating,” Draco settles amid the pillows, long hair settled on his satin-clad chest, white against emerald. Harry sneers at him - an unfortunate habit he’s gotten from Draco - and turns to watch the movie.

True to his words, Draco translates every dialogue and mimics the characters’ voices with zeal, contradicting his stoic expression and somber, interlaced hands, looking like a cranky judge having to deal with reckless teenagers on their anti-authority phase. Harry can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing, and soon enough he’s woven a story about how the thriller-mystery they’re watching is actually a vicious custody battle over a duck. For each of Harry’s occasional snicker at the absurdity Draco has thought up is a playful kick at his ribs.

Minutes pass. With Harry’s bowl now emptied, he puts it on a chair and goes to wash up.

The moment he sits back down, Draco’s big toe pokes at his spine. Getting the memo, Harry grins and reclines on the pillows. His left side is flushed against Draco’s right, the kinks in his neck eased off from the angle. They, as per usual, gradually get closer to one another, and at some point, Draco lays his head on Harry’s chest and ear on his beating heart. It’s calming to him, Draco had said when Harry asked, on the third night of their honeymoon. With the war long behind them, there was nothing to fear. Only the constellations existed as their witnesses.

“You died, Harry,” he had whispered, full and tipsy. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, despite all the shite I made you go through.

“You were so far away in Hagrid’s arms, I couldn’t see your face,” the night had been blinding, but his eyes had found Draco’s anyway. “It felt like my heart died with you.”

Harry had kissed his forehead and hugged him close. His heart had always been there for Draco to take.

“What’s up with the blanket fort?”

He has a lapful of Draco, a lungful of peach and cedar scented shampoo, and the sleepy timbre of his husband’s voice against his chest. The Italian movie is the last thing on Harry’s mind.

“I wasn’t aware of its existence growing up,” Draco says. “Having anything other than an immaculate bed when one wasn’t sleeping was uncouth, see, so you could imagine my surprise when Teddy demanded to play in something as messy as a fort so often.”

Harry doesn’t need to imagine it; he had witnessed it himself. Draco, freshly released from a two-year sentence in Azkaban, mellowed and tentative, yet determined to reconnect with his mother’s sister and his nephew. Harry had been wary too, standing in the corner of Teddy’s bedroom, staring at the fuzz of blonde on Draco’s shorn head and his weak gait. Teddy, the darling boy with his clumsy hold on Draco’s thigh, afraid that the haggard man would trip without help, had led him to his play area.

“Fort, fort,” the boy had screamed in Draco’s ear, but he hadn’t flinched. He had nodded and gone along with Teddy’s babbled directions, then sat back on his heels and fixed a wide-eyed stare at the monstrosity Teddy had called a fort (his designing skills were, unsurprisingly, underdeveloped at the mere age of two).

Swiveling his head, he had gawked at Harry, who had still been standing in the corner with his arms crossed, confusion and hysteria in the arch of his aristocratic brows.

It had been the first time he had looked at Harry in the eye for years. In seconds, it was 6th Year all over again, with him watching Draco pushing his food around with a fork from across the room, unable to look away. Obsession, a voice unlike Hermione’s helpfully defined, had slithered up and under his skin. It had remained there for years, stubborn and ardent, an emotion he had tried to leave behind time and time again. He’d never succeeded.

It’s Draco, after all.

“He never let anyone but him enter the fort, remember? Back when he’s still making us build it for him?” Draco’s fingers tap a random rhythm on Harry’s stomach. Harry tightens his arm around him, shifts a bit. “So many forts and I still didn’t know what it’s like to be in one.”

Somebody downs a shot in the movie. Harry doesn’t quite register it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper one either until now. Didn’t have enough space in the cupboard. Plus, the hanging around the beds at Hogwarts felt pretty cozy by themselves.”

Draco hums. “Mhmm, I say. Another ‘first’ for us.”

Harry glances at the crown of his head. The man doesn’t sound surprised; Harry wagers that he already knows and decided to make one for the both of them today.

They continue to watch the movie in silence, whites and blues and purples flooding his sight, until Draco yawns and Harry blinks his eyes shut for far too long.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Where, then? We have no bed.”

“I still maintain that I made the right choice”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so rash for an academic.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, sleeping in a blanket fort every blue moon does wonders for one’s quality of sleep,” Draco gets up on his elbow to smirk at Harry, “we can look at other beds tomorrow, can’t we? Now hush. Rest.”

“Ha,” Harry says, at least 5 more words to follow up on that just on the tip of his tongue. But then Draco runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, taking his time with it, the remaining hints of Harry’s migraine from work fading with every curl of hair carefully unknotted. He mumbles this and that, silly, insignificant things, engrossed in his task, and Harry listens carefully as his eyelids lower.

Draco takes off his gold-rimmed glasses (so sweet and soft Harry can barely feel it), cleans them and puts them on a chair. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry watches him cover them both with a quilt and return to Harry’s chest, curling up like a cat. Draco’s arm is around his midriff, peach and cedar pervading his senses anew, and Harry forgets whatever he was going to say.

Cold ankles pressed against bare calves, Harry is already deep asleep when the credits roll.

#drarry #drarrymicrofic #drarry fic #fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #blanket fort #oneshot #3k words #draco would be the type to get mushy mushy in private and call harry shit like lover darling my love #harry would say draco baby and babe everywhere #thats it hes uncreative like that #and draco wouldnt even care #both of their love languages are acts of service so draco doesnt need reassuring when he knows harry would burn cities for him #they love each other very ardently that simple gestures communicate entire sonnets #and theyre cool with that #good for them #joonkorre writes

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msstarkerwhore · 5 years ago

Note

Cheating/affair request Tony is unhappily married to pepper, one day pepper's little (slutty) little brother came to stay for a while. Tony cheats on pepper with peter.

Oof! How dare you give me such a good prompt nonnie 😂 - I pictured tony as 40-45 and Peter as around 18, but its never specified :) Also I decided on a no powers universe - there’s still Stark Industries and Stark tower, but no IronMan or Spiderman

Word Count: 1600 - do I want to write more? YES! Did I have to restrain myself, and even then go a little overboard anyway? YES

Hope you enjoy :)

Tony knew Pepper had a younger half brother, one that she only knew because of obligatory shared Christmases and family events, ones that she hadn’t been to in a few years. However, when she said that her father reached out and asked to let Peter stay with them for a few months while he went through *another* divorce, Pepper said yes. She had gone through that once before with the same father and felt bad for the kid. She didn’t say much to Tony about it, which caused another problem with their relationship, but he got over it when the boy walked into the penthouse. Tony has to do a double-take from where he’s sitting on the couch, because this kid looks like someone he would have hired for the night back when he was a playboy. Back before Pepper. The boy meets his eyes, and Tony rushes to stand and greet him.

“You must be Peter,” he says smoothly, despite losing his breath just from looking at the boy. He holds his hand out for the boy to shake.

“Yes, Sir. It's a pleasure to be here. Thanks for letting me stay for a while!” He says, and he’s so sweet, but when he’s dressed in tiny little shorts and a crop top, it gives Tony thoughts he should not have.

“No worries, the more the merrier right?” Peter gives him a shy smile at that. “Pepper is finishing up some work in the office,” the like usual is unsaid, but still leaves a bad taste in Tony’s mouth. “It's getting late, did you want something in particular for dinner?”

“I don't mind, sir!”

“Call me Tony, please,” he rolls his eyes slightly, and reaches to grab one of Peter’s duffle bags, “Follow me, you can get settled into your room before dinner, clean up if you want to.” Tony wants to watch the boy clean up. Which, where did that thought come from? This boy shares DNA with his wife.

“Thanks, Tony,” and the boy follows him into the spare room, which before Peter arrived, was the room Tony was staying in to avoid Pepper. Tony wants to stay in this room even more now that there’s a pretty boy in it.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. If you have any questions, I’ll be in the lounge.”

Peter blushes again, and Tony leaves, breathing heavily outside of his closed door. Too inappropriate. No matter how unhappy Tony is, he is not going to cheat on Pepper with her little brother. Half-brother, his mind supplies happily. No, he won’t do it.

When Peter comes out from having a shower, Tony can't believe his eyes. He’s wearing an oversized shirt and the tiniest little shorts he can see when Peter leans up to stretch.

“Feel better? Pepper called and said she’s going to be a bit late, so it's just us for dinner tonight, sorry,” he says, but he isn’t really. Any time he gets to spend with this angel instead of his wife is way better.

“Oh, that’s okay!” They decide on Chinese, and after watching a movie (star wars - apparently the kid is a huge nerd which turns Tony on so much Tony finds really interesting), they sit on the couch and keep getting to know each other. He finds out that the boy wants to study at NYU so he’s thinking of visiting the campus, which Tony thinks is a great idea, and is already thinking of giving the boy a credit card so he can easily go anywhere in the city (and buy anything he wants with Tony’s money - he’s never wanted to be a sugar daddy, but he can see the appeal right now). They’re interrupted by the elevator opening, and Pepper walking out, typing quickly on her phone. Tony stands up and greets her, pretending to act happy. They decided that while the boy stays with them, it would be best to act civil and still together, just like they do for public appearances - he doesn’t need to stay with another couple in the midst of a divorce. He goes in for a kiss, and Pepper turns her head quickly to the side. Tony’s had enough awkward interactions to recover quickly and press a kiss to her cheek instead, unbeknownst to him that Peter is very smart indeed, and noticed the coldness straight away.

“How was work?” Tony asks. He tries to remember what he and Pepper talked about when they were still happy, and finds he can’t.

“Stressful, like normal,” he can almost hear the eye roll, and she pockets the phone, “Peter, how are you? I haven’t seen you in years. Look at you all grown up!” Peter rushes over to her and hugs her tightly, which Tony thinks is sweet. It reminds him of the dreams, of a child, of him and Pepper as parents. Maybe in another life, they would’ve had this. Except without all of Tony’s inappropriate feelings. He decides to go for a shower while Pepper catches up with Peter.

If he fists his cock and moans loudly while the water cascades around him and drowns out any noise, well no one has to know.

—

Tony really should have known that the teenage boy would stay up late. He can’t sleep, like normal - He can’t stand sharing a room with Pepper and acting like everything is fine, and was on his way to the lab. He has to walk past Peter’s room to get to the lounge and into the elevator, and hears talking coming from his room. Although New York is only a few hours behind, it makes sense for Peter to be calling someone who still lived in Los Angeles, and okay yeah, maybe he’s bad for eavesdropping but he can’t help it.

“No, I’m telling you Ned, they are not a couple!” He hears the pause, and assumes the person on the other end is replying - he can’t hear them through the door. “No! They definitely don’t like each other, feel kinda bad that they have to pretend that they like each other for me.” _ “Yes, I know.” _ “I know its good, maybe I can convince Tony to sleep with me.”

Peter starts to chuckle, but Tony isn’t laughing. In fact, he’s barely breathing. Oh god.

“I’ve been acting pretty sweet - need Pepper to trust me enough to leave me alone with Tony.” There's giggling again, like little schoolboys and fuck, he’s reminded of how young Peter is. “I don’t know if they’re newly broken up or not, but like, surely I can entice him to sleep with me with my ass right?” _ “You’re my best friend man, you’re meant to encourage me to go for my dreams!” _ “Excuse me, my dreams definitely include Tony’s cock,” more giggles but Tony thinks he’s going to pass out, “How big do you think he is? I know we’ve had this conversation before but it's different when you see him in real life. He was in sweatpants tonight, and I was trying to get a look, but I couldn’t really make it out,” he seems sad, and Tony wants to burst in there and shove his cock in the boy’s, shit he thought he was so innocent, he’s probably not even a virgin, face. But he steadies himself and continues on his way. He will definitely not be getting any sleep tonight.

—

Tony is woken up by something wet and hot engulfing his hard dick. Shit, feels so good. Except, him and Pepper haven’t done anything like this in a long time. Maybe she’s getting possessive, jealous because Peter’s here now and he’s so much prettier then… His dick pulses when he thinks of Peter, but his eyes shoot open anyway. Because he only went to bed when Pepper left for work, and there's only one way his dick is feeling this good. He flicks the covers up to see Peter, shit his eyes roll back, sucking his dick like a well-trained slut. “Fuck Pete” he groans.

Peter pulls off his cock and grabs it with both hands. “Mr Stark,” he croaks out, “Never knew you would be this big. Dreamed about it, but never thought…” he’s distracted by going down on him again, trying to suck him to the bottom.

“Shit!” Tony bucks up into his mouth, he can’t help it, and keeps fucking the kid's throat until he groans out “I’m gonna cum kid, fuck Pete Pete-“ and the kid sucks harder and Tony’s spilling down his throat. His eyes roll back into his head and his elbows give out so he collapses onto the bed and he hasn’t cum that hard in years, shit, and he just did it in Peppers little brother’s mouth. His brain tries to tell him ‘half-brother’ again, but his cock only twitches valiantly in Peter’s mouth, who smirks and pulls off with a pop.

He’s leaning his head of Tony’s thigh now, looking up at him with admiration. Tony meets his eyes, groans, and then reaches for under his armpits. “Come up here kid.” and manhandles him until Peter’s dick is in his throat and he’s sitting on Tony’s face and all he can smell is Peter. It doesn't take long for Peter to come, so easily like a fucking teenager, because he is one, and seems embarrassed when Tony pulls him off and lays him down next to him, but Tony just groans and licks into his mouth.

“Why’d you act so innocent yesterday when you’re really just a little slut? Huh? Seducing me in the bed I share with my wife, with your sister.”

The boy moans, eyes still half-closed, “I don’t know Mr Stark, had to see if you would want me.”

“God kid, I could barely resist last night.”

“Wish you didn’t. Cleaned up in the shower like you told me too, I had three fingers in there hoping you would take me. Wanted your cock for dinner last night instead.”

Tony groans, his cock half-hard again, and a quick glance down shows Peter fully hard.

“I’ll make it up to you, baby.” and then he rolls over onto him, sealing their mouths in a messy, filthy kiss.

#starker #peter/tony #starkerprompts

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turnaboutyandere · 3 years ago

Note

NSFW

Wocky anon here!

Naughty headcannon time 😈 cuz I have Wocky brainrot 24/6

Absolutely has a daddy kink (I agree psi anon) but doesn’t want it to be addressed outside of the bedroom cuz he doesn’t want anyone to know about his bedroom business outside of the fact that he got laid; ties into his breeding kink for sure. Wants to be called daddy and calls himself daddy; wants you to call yourself “his baby”, it’s a whole thing

Not into causing his darling great physical pain, but if he can reach he likes to keep a hand around his darling’s throat; not to choke, just to feel her pulse. He’s not into giving pain, hella into receiving it; scat h his back, pull his hair, bite him whatever he’ll wear whatever marks you left on him with pride.

Is HELLA into marking, if this man could tattoo his name on you he would; but instead he settles for leaving hickies all over in hard to hide places and you scratching the hell out of his back (probs gets your names tattooed on him lbr). Also definitely has a fancy collar with his name on it.

Always tried to finishes in his darling, not on; he want to feel as close to you as humanly possible so seldom uses a condom (hope that girl’s on the pill or something cuz oof)

Oh, he def occasionally bottoms (and pegged shhhh) but prefers to be on top or topping from the bottom. LOVES it when you ride him (in bed, in his car, anywhere really); but likes any position that he can kiss you in properly, so he doesn’t usually hit it from the back.

Down for sexting; he’s proud that he can make you horny when he’s not even around (play into his ego for a fun time basically). Loves it especially if you initiate the sexting, cuz it’s hot, but he will come get you, but if he starts it then that means you’ll have to wait a while until he’s in the mood to do the do. But doesn’t like phone sex because hearing your voice and him not being there doesn’t feel good enough. Also, although he can dirty talk with the best of them (although a bit crude) he’s shit at describing what he’s doing to himself; he gets too whiny and breathless when he’s really worked up and he feels grunting over the phone is embarrassing

Prefers to initiate things cuz it makes him feel more in control of himself; cuz if YOU initiate anything, he’ll lose his composure SO fast.

LOVES going down on you; whether his darling is a woman or man; Wocky’s greatest pleasure is pleasuring his partner. After Alita scorned him; he now goes out of his way to be the perfect bed partner to ensure that they’ll never have a reason to leave (also loves watching you squirm and cry and while he hasn’t even put his dick in you yet, talk about a power trip)

No toys on you; he wants to be the only person/thing pleasuring you; in addition he isn’t down for threesomes or someone watching. (Listening, fine; he wants people to know he fucks you hard and well, but doesn’t ever want anyone to see you or himself that vulnerable)

Finally, is down to try anything once (within reason) and learned he was way kinkier than he was expecting. Sure, bring in handcuffs and blindfold and candle wax and whatever, sex to Wocky is not only a way for him to practically worship you, it’s also to show you that HE’S the best at making you cum and the best at fucking you so you shouldn’t leave him; it’s a brag and an insurance at the same time

That’s all I’ve got for now 😤 enjoy the filth yall

😳 Oh my, I am enjoying the filth indeed. Your Wocky brain rot has blessed us once again, amen!

I don’t really know what to add since I think you’ve already got everything covered but here are some of my thoughts:

1. *slams hand on wall* I KNEW IT, I FUCKING KNEW IT! WOCKY KITAKI HAS A BREEDING KINK! IT IS CANON BECAUSE WOCKY ANON SAID SO! EVERYONE GO HOME!

2. I find it really sad that Wocky feels he has to be the perfect bed partner because he’s scared his s/o is going to leave him. Poor baby, come here 😭 (anyone wanna start a witch hunt against A*ita because I do)

3. Powerbottom Wocky ftw.

4. Listen, I love dirty talk as much as the next filthy sinner, but imagining Wocky dirty talking is hilarious. Considering how he talks in-game + my voice headcanon for him, I just think it’d be super funny to hear him talk about how he’s gonna plow his s/o’s pussy or something.

5. I always knew he was a kinky bastard. I mean, just look at him.

6. I ain’t an expert but it sounds like homeboy has a bit of an exhibition kink which, I mean... Good for you, brother.

7. Reading about him being possessive during sex has got me feeling a certain type of way. I don’t simp for him nearly as much as you do but uh 😳 I would like to gently run my fingers through his hair after sex and tell him how much I love him.

And I think that’s everything! Sorry if you wanted me to add on to these headcanons, Wocky Anon, but I really think you’ve got everything covered. I’m pouring one out for the ultimate Wocky simp!

(this post is making me really wanna make a big list of all the NSFW headcanons I have for the cast.)

______

- Mod Dollie

#n//sfw #wocky anon #letters to the mod

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Klainetober one-shot - “Neck Nibbles” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Kurt wakes up to something biting his neck. Blaine claims it's a mosquito. When Kurt wakes in the morning, he discovers that perhaps Blaine was lying ... (2336 words)

Notes: A re-write for the @klainetober prompt 'vampire'. Follows 'One of Those Nights'.

Read on AO3.

Kurt feels a slight pinch, like the prick of a tiny needle injecting into his neck, and in his sleep, he swings a hand to bat the culprit away.

“Oof! Kurt!” Blaine groans, taking the hit square in the eye.

“Wha---?” Kurt mumbles, only partially awake. “What are you doing?” He snorts in a, frankly, unattractive way - a way reserved for muttering in his sleep - then shifts positions, rolling his hips left, then his body, till he’s lying on his side facing away from his boyfriend.

“I’m not doing anything,” Blaine replies. “Go back to sleep.”

Kurt arcs an eyebrow, but he doesn't open his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Go back to sleep."

Kurt would say that Blaine sounds suspiciously awake and coherent for two fifty-two in the morning, but it’s times like these that Kurt forgets his boyfriend is a vampire, not the dapper Prince Charming he fell in love with back at Dalton.

“I’m trying,” Kurt complains, bringing the comforter up to his chin and holding it tight against him to protect his vulnerable neck. “But there’s a mosquito or something in here, and it’s bugging me … hee-hee … bugging me …” Kurt chuckles at his unintended pun, snorting again, which makes him laugh harder.

“I’ll kill it if it comes back,” Blaine promises. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm … okay …” Kurt agrees, shoving skepticism aside and snuggling against the hard body of his boyfriend, who usually opts to lie beside Kurt in bed even though he doesn’t need sleep. “As long as you (yawn) stay here to protect me.”

“Of course.” Blaine smiles, fangs bared as Kurt snores softly. “I’ll stay right here." He kisses Kurt lightly on the forehead. "I'm not going anywhere ...”

***

Kurt can feel the sun within his body telling him it’s time to rise - an occupational hazard of dating a vampire, this sixth sense about the oncoming dawn. It also means that Blaine has made himself scarce, banished to the dark corner of the bedroom by the closet where the sunlight doesn’t reach until noon. The sun has yet to breach the horizon and pierce his sheer drapes, but Kurt can feel it prickling behind his eyelids.

That’s odd.

Rarely does that happen unless he and Blaine have a hardcore make-out sesh with lots of biting involved. But weeks of putting in overtime at school and at the diner sent Kurt to bed early, so that definitely didn’t happen.

Heartbreaking.

Short of that strange symptom, his primary concern at the moment is the number that insect did on him last night. Kurt raises a hand to his neck, hissing when his fingertips come in contact with his sore skin.

“Ugh,” he grumbles, rolling his way out of bed. "Must have been a huge mosquito. Filthy bloodsucker ..." He cringes at his own remark, hoping he didn't inadvertently offend his boyfriend. He'll find out after he assesses the damage to his neck. Kurt has extremely sensitive skin. A single bite from a pernicious parasite can make him look like he has a goiter! He needs to figure out how much cover-up he’s going to need to apply before school.

His feet hit the floor, and immediately the urge to climb back into bed and hide under the covers overwhelms him.

He got a decent amount of sleep last night. Why is he so damned out of it?

Kurt stumbles blindly over to his vanity and drops onto the stool, groaning at the prospect of opening his eyes. The day would go so much easier if he could keep them shut, but that would probably make taking the subway way more challenging. Kurt blinks his eyes open, lids dragging over sticky corneas, objecting to the idea of letting light anywhere near his retinas. Kurt turns away from the mirror when a stream of light hits the reflective surface and brightens the room.

“Jeez,” Kurt mumbles, putting a hand to his aching head, shielding his eyes. “Hey, Blaine? Did you hand me a hard cider instead of a Diet Coke last night or something? Because I feel awful!”

Blaine doesn’t answer. A few more blinks confirm that Kurt’s boyfriend isn’t even in the room.

Uh-oh, Kurt thinks. That’s never a good sign.

Kurt rubs his eyes hard with the heels of his palms, blinking between rubs to kick-start the watering process. He manages to clear his bleary vision enough to get a decent glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, and his jaw drops.

“BLAINE!” Kurt roars when he sees the grotesque purple splotches running up and down his neck, covering nearly every conceivable inch of skin.

“Yes?” Blaine peeks his head in the bedroom door, biting his lower lip when he catches Kurt’s reflection in the mirror. “Can I help you with something, love?”

“Did you do this?” Kurt asks, pawing at his neck, running his fingertips over the marks, gasping in horror at the nastier ones.

“No?” Blaine says uneasily. “It was a mosquito. You ... you said so yourself.”

Kurt frowns.

Blaine is a horrible liar.

An incredible actor, but a horrible liar.

Not too long ago, Kurt and Blaine stumbled upon another vampire. A friendly vampire. Victim of circumstance, like Blaine, but for a far less comical reason. This vampire warned Kurt to be careful, said that now that Blaine was a vampire, he'd be better at hiding the truth.

But he isn't.

Not by a long shot.

He was a better liar when he was human.

Kurt pivots on his stool to glare angrily at Blaine since looking at his non-reflection through the mirror was getting irritating.

“A mosquito did this?” Kurt points to a particularly massive and vicious-looking bite, countering Blaine’s ridiculous lie.

“Y-yes?”

Kurt turns back to the mirror right as a more intense beam of sunlight hits the glass. He yelps, squeezing his eyes shut hard to avoid the glare.

“Dammit, Blaine!” Kurt leaps off the stool and races to the window to secure the black-out curtains. “You did bite me! I can feel it! All the way to the back of my brain!”

“Only a little,” Blaine finally admits, daring a few steps into the room.

“Only a little? I look like ground meat! Blaine!” Kurt staggers back to his vanity to better examine the damage.

“D-don’t freak out.” Blaine sits on the edge of the bed, watching Kurt set up his arsenal of foundation, intent on covering up the bruises. “The photophobia will wear off in a few hours.”

“It’s not the photophobia that’s bothering me.” Kurt opens a container of green base makeup to prep his violated neck. “If you wanted a late-night snack, could you have at least bitten a spot that won’t show? I have play practice this afternoon, and you know how important this is to me. I look diseased!”

“You could always wear a scarf,” Blaine suggests. "You have tons."

“I bought a new Marc Jacobs shirt with a V-neckline, and none of my scarves go with it,” Kurt argues, turning left and right, whimpering at his boyfriend’s handiwork. “And I was really looking forward to wearing it today.”

“Yeah ... I wanted to ask you about that …”

“Ask me about what?” Kurt asks, dabbing furiously.

“Why the departure from your leather jacket and t-shirts? I mean, you were into fashion when we met, but when I became a … you know …”

“Vampire?” Kurt offers flatly. He has come to terms with it, but, to be honest, there is a part of him that is having a hard time forgiving Blaine over it.

“Yeah, that,” Blaine says sheepishly. “You changed your look. And I know it might sound silly, but it meant something to me. Like, I transformed, and then you did, too. I thought you did it so we would match."

"I did," Kurt admits.

"So ... why are you buying designer clothes again?”

“Because this is an important production, and I want to look a little more professional,” Kurt explains. “I’m not doing it to hurt you if that’s what you think. I'm not that kind of person.”

Blaine nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Is it really that? Or is it because that blond with the sexy English accent is going to be there?”

"What?" Kurt stops fussing with his makeup, an applicator wedge slathered in primer poised an inch from his skin. "Why would you think ...?" Kurt's eyes go wide. “Wait, wait, wait …” He turns to face Blaine, whose gaze darts away to meticulously examine the threads of Kurt’s Valentina comforter. “Are you jealous?”

Blaine falls silent a moment, gets lost in thought. Then, as if suddenly remembering he's in the middle of a conversation, sputters a weak laugh.

“What? N-no. Not a bit. What do I have to be jealous of?”

“Exactly.” Kurt puts his makeup wedge down and scoots closer, placing his hands on Blaine’s knees. “What do you have to be jealous of?”

“Maybe the fact that you’re living the dream? Not just your dream, but mine, too. A dream I’m never going to be able to fulfill.” Blaine's eyes travel from the comforter to the floor, where a narrow ray of light spreads over the wood. “Or maybe … I'm jealous of this …” He sweeps a hand through the beam, his skin sizzling at the touch of sunlight.

“Blaine! Stop! Don’t hurt yourself!” Kurt reaches for Blaine’s burnt hand and holds it in his. He stands and pulls Blaine down the width of the bed, farther away from the window. Kurt sits beside him, rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “Oh, honey. We talked about this.”

Blaine shrugs the opposite shoulder, uncomfortable with laying his fears bare, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, curling his fingers over Kurt’s to keep them joined. Kurt looks into Blaine’s face, into glowing red eyes fighting to stay open as the oncoming dawn weighs heavy on him. Kurt knows Blaine’s transformation has been difficult for him to adjust to, but it has never been particularly challenging for them as a couple – not until Kurt landed the starring role in a play that had the potential to go from the humble student theater at NYADA to off-Broadway, with Kurt leading the charge. “No one is going to replace you. And that guy …” Kurt shakes his head. “He doesn’t even come close. Besides ..." Kurt grins "... I’m not the flirt in this relationship. You are.”

"Yeah, well, not so much anymore." Blaine chuckles, tired eyes lifting to meet Kurt’s.

"You have your moments." Kurt raises a hand to cup Blaine’s cold cheek. "You have to trust me."

“I do trust you.” Blaine turns into Kurt’s hand and kisses his wrist, right above the pulse that calls to him incessantly, echoing his need. Blaine doesn’t know if it’s the love he carried over into this immortal life or if that need has always been there, but he has a bond with Kurt – one that would devastate him if it was broken. “It’s that guy I don’t trust. I’ve been to your midnight rehearsals. I see the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.”

“And do you remember the way I used to look at you at Dalton when I thought you weren’t paying attention?”

“Yeah,” Blaine answers with a wistful laugh. “Yeah, I do.” If Blaine closes his eyes, he can see those furtive glances - Kurt's magical blue eyes grazing Blaine's face before returning to his books, smile growing, cheeks burning red.

God, he misses those days. Misses the excitement of newborn love, the kind of urgent, drama-filled attraction that happens only in high school. He mourns the fact that their life together, the one they had planned so carefully, came to such an abrupt end.

It was all his fault.

And nothing he can do will fix it.

“Well, I still do.” Kurt leans in close and presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips. Blaine smiles into it, wants it to go on forever, even when he feels his strength ebbing away. As the sun rises higher in the sky, Blaine’s need to find somewhere dark to rest amplifies, but he’ll do anything to stay like this and keep kissing his boyfriend.

But he can’t, even if he could convince Kurt to play hooky and stay home with him, and that’s one more thing he has to be jealous of.

“I should let you get back to your cover-up,” Blaine says, relinquishing his grip on Kurt’s hand. Kurt looks at his vanity, at the army of small bottles and jars awaiting him, all very expensive. And not a one of them more important than his boyfriend. Not even his clear, alabaster skin is more important to him than Blaine.

“You know what? Fuck it!” Kurt jumps up the bed and pulls Blaine along with him. “So what if I wear a scarf that doesn't match? No one at NYADA really knows fashion anyway."

"What about ... what about the play?" Blaine argues but he's not fighting. He couldn't if he wanted to.

And Lord knows, he doesn't want to.

"I’ll have the makeup girl cover them up. Let her earn her keep. This way, everybody gets to see the marks my baby gave me.”

“Really?” Blaine raises an eyebrow.

Kurt tugs Blaine on top of him, and Blaine carefully settles over Kurt’s body.

“Yup. In fact, I think I can handle a few more, if you’re not too tired, that is.” Kurt loops his arms around Blaine’s neck, threading his fingers into his hair. His skin may be unnaturally cool to the touch, but his hair still feels like silk. It’s one of Kurt’s favorite things about Blaine’s new body.

“I think I can do that,” Blaine says, biding past the daybreak and finding a clear spot on Kurt’s neck. “We’ll give that makeup girl a run for her money.”

#klaine #Klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #klainetober

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sa-gt-tarrius · 5 years ago

Text

Done Deal [Secret Santa gift]

Warnings (the most prominent ones are in bold): Mild language, lots of crying, panic attacks, self-deprecating thoughts, mentions of malnutrition, unsympathetic Deceit, angst for weeks

A deal is a deal, that much is true. But snakes aren’t known for their integrity. Virgil should have figured that out months ago. Meanwhile, cryptozoology and rebuking the laws of mathematics disrupt Logan’s daily routine.

Excuse me while I post this before noon lol. I figured I’d give my secret sander some time to read their gift while I’m at work today.

@secret-sanders-sized — Thank you so much for organizing this secret santa! It can’t have been easy to coordinate such a big event, especially so close to the holidays. I applaud your hard work and tenacity, but I REALLY hope you get some rest once it’s all over.

@killerfangirl3 — I had a blast working on this and I’m proud of the result. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (I’m so sorry about the block of text. I was aiming for 6k words max, but I got... carried away. Oof.)

~~~

Part 1:

Patton Sanders was one of the few people you could find awake during the witching hour. It was common to find him binging old cartoons or sifting through photographs through the dead of night while the rest of the world slept. And every morning, without fail, Patton would wake up one hour later than his roommate. He'd either dash about to get ready for the day, cry for a few minutes, or just give up and sleep until noon.

Logan never understood how Patton could, as they say, burn the candle at both ends. He'd tried discussing the possibilities of health problems stemming from erratic sleeping, only to be met with disheartened shrugs of agreement. Patton didn't seem to care, so Logan just let him be. As long as he was on time for work, there was nothing else Logan could do for him.

On the flipside, Logan’s sleep schedule was curated to a science. He was in bed at ten, asleep at ten-fifteen, and awake no later than seven the next morning. If Logan happened to fall asleep just minutes later than usual, he would be too tired to wake up in the morning, thus disrupting his entire day. Going to bed at the same time every night was not only ideal, but it was also necessary for his health and his sanity. Logan couldn't function without routine.

That’s why Patton was surprised when Logan stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen at 2:53 AM. Patton didn't even hear him at first; he was too busy checking the cookies in the oven to notice his roommate was nearby. At that moment, Logan resembled a nerdy cryptid, wandering the halls like a phantom. His eyes were baggy and bloodshot, and his face was drooping from exhaustion. Patton had to wonder if Logan slept at all.

“Logan?” Patton piped, eyeing the other man carefully. Logan hummed in reply, tiredly fiddling with the coffeemaker. Patton tried to grab his attention again, louder this time. “Kiddo... you’re up late.”

“Mmm, yes, yes,” Logan mumbled. He chuckled to himself, twirling a mug around in his hands. “I need coffee.”

Patton stared at his roommate, bewildered by his lacklustre response. He found it odd to be the coherent one of the two for once. Usually, it was Logan who struggled to deal with a delirious Patton. It was jarring to have the roles reversed. “Logan,” he said once again, “what are you doing at this hour?”

Logan turned away from the coffee machine, his weary eyes straining to focus on Patton. Was it because it was dark, or because he was just that exhausted? Perhaps it was because he had forgotten to put on his glasses. It took Patton a moment to remember that Logan never forgets his glasses.

“...It’s been a very long week,” Logan finally sighed, turning his attention to the sugar and cream. The machine beeped softly, and Logan got to work pouring a hearty glass of caffeine for himself. “Sorry for interrupting. I’ll be out of your way in a moment."

Patton blinked twice, taken aback. “What? No, no, no!” he exclaimed, raising his voice a bit. “I—I didn't mean it like that! I'm just worried about you. Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?"

A groan erupted from Logan's throat at Patton’s sudden outcry. His hands shot up to his temple, trying to ease his pounding headache. "I'm fine," he assured him. "I lost track of time is all."

"Oh." Patton frowned, then smiled again to cover it up. "Well, if you're up, why not come sit with me? The cookies are almost finished."

"Cookies," Logan deadpanned incredulously, "at three in the morning?"

"Don’t be a flour-puss, Logan," Patton replied with a cheeky grin. He turned to the oven, fishing out an oven mitt from a nearby drawer. "Go sit at the table. I'll be right there."

Logan simply nodded. He pulled out a chair and plopped down, swirling his coffee around mindlessly. Maybe it was because it was late and his brain was barely functional, but Logan's thoughts wouldn't stop racing. He was sure that if he were fully awake, he could handle this situation with ease. He'd tell Patton that everything was fine and that he was just stressing over an upcoming exam. But, for some godforsaken reason, Logan was considering telling Patton what he was really doing up at this hour. But would Patton understand? Would he even believe him?

Logan didn't even notice when Patton took a seat across from him. He only jolted out of his trance once a plate of cookies clattered onto the table, producing a quiet clunk that scared Logan more than he'd be willing to admit. Patton muttered an apology as he adjusted himself to get comfortable. Logan couldn't even meet his gaze.

“So,” Patton began, shifting uncomfortably. Logan wasn’t exactly looking forward to this conversation either. “...Up and about at three? You’re turning into me, kiddo. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Logan huffed, his tone a bit harsher than he would have liked. He immediately regretted opening his big fat mouth upon seeing Patton’s hurt expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean… it’s just been… busy. I’ve been distracted by my research project."

"Research project?" Patton tilted his head. "You mean for your class?"

"No." As soon as the damning word left his mouth, Logan quietly cursed under his breath. "I mean... y—yes. For my class." Patton looked unconvinced. "Look, it's nothing important. I have nothing aside from school tomorrow. I'll be able to sleep in for a while. I’ll be fine.”

"Kiddo..."

"It's nothing, Pat."

Patton's expression softened. He reached out and grabbed Logan’s hand, squeezing it gently. "Logan, please. I’m worried about you. You know you can talk to me about anything, right? We’re friends. I’m here for you.”

Logan managed a smile. “I know you are, Pat. It’s just… Well... I’m not sure you’d believe me.” When Patton didn’t reply right away, Logan continued. “I’m not quite sure I believe it myself. Maybe I’m just delusional.”

“Delusional,” Patton repeated, holding back an ironic laugh. “Logan, you’re the most logical person I know. If you believe something, you probably have good reason to. Besides…” Patton glanced at their interlocked hands. “...you always do this. Keep things to yourself, I mean. It’s not healthy.”

Logan opened his mouth to retort, but no words came, so he nodded along.

“So please… tell me what’s going on with you. I’m worried.”

“Well, I…” Logan paused, tensing up. He glanced around the room, then tightened his grip on Patton’s hand. “Perhaps it would be better to show you instead.” He stood up, tugging Patton upstairs to his room. Patton didn’t argue. He simply followed and hoped that Logan would be okay.

Part 2:

Maybe Virgil was an idiot for borrowing tonight. At least one of the two humans was usually awake at this ungodly hour. But Virgil didn’t need much this time around—a paper clip from Logan’s room was all he had to grab. A paper clip would be perfect for making a climbing hook. Virgil misplaced his old hook somewhere, so he had to make a new one.

Deceit was out exploring somewhere, perhaps scouting a different floor, so Virgil had to go borrowing alone this time. That sucked, mainly because Virgil hated borrowing with every fibre of his being. It was dangerous, physically taxing, and took way too long. But it had to be done, so Virgil decided to just get it over with so he could go to his room and sleep. Once the coast was clear, Virgil silently slipped into Logan’s room.

Logan was the better human to borrow from, in Virgil’s humble opinion. Logan was predictable, almost to a creepy extent, making his belongings easy pickings. Besides, Patton’s room had bugs in it from being too filthy. Logan’s room was cramped and cluttered to be sure, but at least it was clean and somewhat organized. As long as Virgil was careful and left everything as he found it, borrowing from Logan’s room was fairly straightforward.

But this time around, something was different. Virgil couldn’t put his finger on it, but the room wasn’t the same tonight. It was… quiet. Almost too quiet. Wait, was Logan even in here? Virgil peered upwards to the bed, straining his eyes for a snoring mass beneath the blankets. Nope, Logan was nowhere to be found. That was odd, but Virgil would not waste this opportunity. He scrambled under the bed to orient himself before making the climb up the desk.

“Weird,” Virgil muttered under his breath. Logan was practically a robot. He did the same thing at the same time every day without fail. To see him breaking that routine was rare. Virgil crouched down on the carpet, leaning on a small paper box next to him. That’s when it struck Virgil—that box wasn’t any old box!

By some strange stroke of luck, Virgil stumbled upon the box of paper clips beneath the bed, which meant Virgil didn’t even have to step into the open. What a lucky break! Virgil didn’t think to question how they’d gotten under the bed frame. Instead, he frantically started stashing paper clips into his sack, being careful not to poke himself with the metal tips. Virgil technically only needed one paper clip, but they were versatile enough for most home repairs or impromptu tools, so Virgil thought it best to take at least five.

However, just as he was closing the paper clip box behind him, the bedroom door opened.

Part 3:

Patton didn't know what to expect when he entered Logan's room. The room was usually clean, if not disorganized from all the stray notebooks. However, Patton quickly realized that the whole room was a complete mess tonight. There were pencils and papers were scattered across the surface, and Logan’s laptop had over 30 tabs open, including multiple math and physics articles, an anatomy lecture on youtube, and a webpage detailing various mythological creatures.

Logan stopped by the desk, facing Patton with the most intense and pleading expression he had ever seen. "Promise me you won't think I'm crazy,” Logan said firmly. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Patton said without thinking. In reality, he was quickly becoming worried. What could have Logan riled up this much?

Logan took a deep breath, full-screening one of the physics articles on his browser. “Are you familiar with the square-cube law?” Patton shook his head. “Right... In layman’s terms, as an object’s surface area increases, its volume increases much more than you’d intially believe. An object that is twice its original size will NOT be twice as dense as the original—rather, the volume increases by a factor of eight. The same principle applies to things decreasing in size. Do you follow so far?”

“Yes,” Patton said, despite not understanding a word Logan was saying.

“I’m getting to the point, I swear...” Logan pulled up a biology seminar, pointing at various graphs on the screen. He was getting excited now, pacing about the room as he spoke. “Many people have wondered what would happen if a human being were to become extremely small. The short answer is... no one could survive for long at that size. A miniature human being would encounter a multitude of problems that the species isn’t designed to handle… a shortage of body heat, bad eyesight, and the obvious problem of being too small to process oxygen—”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Patton blurted, looking rather dazed and confused, “but could you just, um… get to the point?”

Logan coughed, looking a bit embarrassed. “Well, the point is… erm... Heh heh, the idea of tiny people is ludicrous, correct? According to everything we know about biology and physics, it shouldn’t even be possible for a human being that small to exist.” He shuffled awkwardly, suddenly at a loss for words. “So… I suppose… it’s, erm… Well, it’s a ridiculous concept, anyway. But I can’t help but wonder if…”

As Logan stumbled his way through the sentence, Patton’s eyes lit up a bit. “Do you think… maybe it is possible after all?”

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” Logan huffed, “but it’s the only explanation I can think of. You see, I… I’ve been tracking some strange occurrences lately. Food has been vanishing from the cupboards. There are tiny hidden doorways in the walls by the floorboards. There’s three in the kitchen and two in the living room. It’s so peculiar.”

“Couldn’t it just be mice? Or some other rodent?”

“That’s what I thought, too. But then I found something…” Logan opened the desk drawer and pulled something out. He carefully placed it in Patton’s hands. It was a piece of twine, beaten up and fraying. One end was tied into a sturdy loop, and the other was attached to a hook made of a fishing hook. Patton bent down and stared at it, unsure of what he was looking at. “I found it in the cupboard with the ramen,” Logan explained. “No mouse is capable of constructing tools like this.”

“That’s true,” Patton muttered, stroking his chin. “But still… tiny people? Are you sure?”

Logan looked away, biting his lip. “Well… there’s one more thing I need to show you.” He clicked the mouse twice, opening a folder of videos. The timestamp on the most recent one clocked in at a whopping 61 hours. “I set up video cameras in here a few days ago. And I think I caught one on film.”

Patton gasped sharply. “What? Really?!”

“Yes… Here. Look at this.”

The pair kept their eyes glued to the screen as a video began to play. It was a fuzzy recording of Logan’s room from above the door. Patton shot a glance to that part of the room; sure enough, a security camera hung there, a pale red light flashing faintly from its side.

At first, it seemed like the footage was frozen. But then, in the corner of the frame, something moved. Patton couldn’t quite discern what it was. The shadowy figure scuttled across the floor and onto the desk, rummaging through Logan’s belongings.

“There.” Logan paused the video, pointing to the figure excitedly. He zoomed in, growing more excited as the faint silhouette of a person came into view. “There it is.” The footage was dark and blurry, but Patton saw it. The shape of a person, no more than five inches tall, hunched over on Logan’s computer desk. Logan tore his attention away from the screen to fix his gaze on Patton. “Normally, I’d acknowledge that this is a stupid hypothesis and I’m just sleep-deprived. But…” He paused, staring at the tiny figure on the video feed. “...I think I may be onto something.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Patton said quietly. He slowly twirled the hook around in his fingers, enamoured by the impossibly miniature handiwork.“I mean… it’s weird, for sure. But the evidence is right there.”

“Indeed. I just have to make sure I’m right.” Logan hunched over the computer, closing a few of the tabs. “All of this evidence is for naught if I can’t prove anything. I have to know for sure. So I’ve been setting up traps that would be able to capture something more intelligent. I’m also considering checking out the holes in the kitchen more closely, although I’m afraid of scaring it away…”

“So this is your research project,” Patton said as the pieces clicked into place in his mind. “This is why you’ve been up late.”

“Yes, I believe that these creatures are likely nocturnal. But I haven't had much luck with finding traces of them.”

Patton grinned, leaning over Logan’s shoulder and closing the laptop. “Well, maybe I can help with that. Two heads are better than one, after all.”

“That... That would be satisfactory,” Logan said with a small smile. He should have known better than to doubt Patton.

Part 4:

Now, as far as they knew, Logan and Patton would continue to speak in total privacy. They discussed Logan’s findings and hypotheses about why tiny people are living in the walls. They argued about the possible origins of such a species, and what kind of bait to use to catch it, and whether glue traps were considered humane. What they didn’t know was that someone was listening to their conversation from beneath the bed.

Virgil’s mind was racing and his heart was beating so fast that he was sure it’d pop out of his chest. Damn it all! He was so careful, so calculated with his borrowing, never leaving a trace of his presence. But despite his valiant efforts, Logan realized that he was in the apartment. And they even had recordings of him! It was only a matter of time before they were captured. If only he hadn’t let them find his damned grappling hook...

Virgil didn't enjoy entertaining the thought of being caught by humans—it caused him too much distress. But the imminent discovery of borrowers in the apartment seemed fast approaching. Would they kill him? Keep him as some pet? Experiment on him? Toss him outside to freeze in the winter cold? Virgil wasn’t keen on finding out, which meant only one thing: they would have to move. Quickly.

Virgil had only moved once in the past, to move out of his parent’s home when he came of age. He was ill-equipped to move on such short notice on his own. But that was one solace Virgil had: he didn’t live alone anymore.

About a year ago, he’d met another borrower who was looking for shelter from the first snowfall of the season. He called himself Deceit, which was an apt name, considering he was the living embodiment of sliminess. He was the best borrower Virgil ever met; Virgil had to wonder how he became so adept.

Virgil quickly learned that Deceit didn’t talk about himself. All Virgil knew about Deceit is that he’d been alone for almost all of his life. The mysterious borrower never talked about the scars covering half his face, or the slight limp on his left side. He never talked about his family, or his past, or his tendency to hide away in his room for hours.

Thinking back, Deceit probably wouldn’t have given Virgil a second thought at first; the strange borrower seemed perfectly content on his own. But when Virgil pleaded for Deceit to stay with him after the winter passed—Virgil must have been lonely if he was willing to trust a stranger that much—they eventually agreed on living together.

It was a contractual friendship, so to speak. Deceit would usually borrow for the both of them, being the sneakier of the pair. In exchange, Virgil provided Deceit with a place to stay. Additionally, Virgil was a skilled builder and mechanic, able to construct all sorts of tools from scraps that Deceit found under the fridge and behind the couch. His home was fully insulated, wired with working lights, and outfitted with furniture. So not only could Deceit stay hidden with Virgil, but he was also warm, safe, and comfortable.

The two quickly adjusted to the balance. They’d been living together for about a year with little issue. Both of the humans in the apartment were unassuming, and Deceit never gave them any reason to believe things were amiss. But now... their delicate way of life was being threatened. Everything that they worked for was about to be for naught.

Shaking his head, Virgil retreated into the wall. He'd have to tell Deceit the bad news so they could start packing right away.

As he made his way through the walls, Virgil’s fear of being caught gave way to spite and anger. This would put a whole three years of borrowing to waste. Now what? Where would they even go now that they couldn't stay in the apartment? The snow was falling like bullets this late in the year, so they didn't even have the option of fleeing into the woods nearby. They'd have to pray and hope that there was a building close enough to move to.

At least he had Deceit with him. Having someone to keep him sane will be all too necessary now.

”Hey, Dee?” Virgil called out, slipping into the main room. He immediately went toward his room, intending to fetch his gear. “Dee, we need to talk. It's important.”

When no one replied for a minute, Virgil entered his room to grab his stuff. It couldn’t hurt to get a head start with packing. Virgil ran through his mental checklist of supplies as he stepped into his room. He would need food for a few days, his collection of homemade jackets (he’d need all of them if he wanted to stay warm), and his borrowing gear. New hook, bag, blade… What else should he need? It’d been too long since he moved Virgil took a quick look around to get ideas on what to bring.

He paused, did a double-take, and stumbled back in shock.

His room was completely empty. There were no clothes in the closet, no bag of tools by the door, and none of Virgil’s journals on the shelf. The blankets from his makeshift bed were stolen away. Even the emergency rations he hid behind a loose board were missing. Virgil stood still and gaped horror for a good few minutes. What happened here?

Virgil quickly paced around the room, inspecting the empty room more closely. Somebody stripped the place of everything but the heavy furniture, like the side table and the dresser. Everything else was just… gone. Well... there was one other thing. A small folded note with Virgil’s name on it. Virgil hesitated before tentatively opening the note, dreading the contents.

virgil, the humans know about us. i just finished packing. meet me in the pantry right away.

Virgil read and re-read the letter a few times, relief washing over him. On a hunch, Virgil went into Deceit’s room too. It was empty too. Presumably, Deceit had already packed everything. Okay, Deceit knew too. And he’d already packed their things. That’s good. That’s good. Breathe, Virgil.

This was… good. As soon as they’d stocked up on food, they could leave. Leave it to Deceit to be two steps ahead of things. Virgil was at ease knowing that such a competent borrower would join him on the journey to a new home. However, as Virgil made his way towards the pantry, he still couldn't help but worry about what the future held. Virgil lived in this apartment building for most of his adult life. He wasn’t keen on leaving it all behind. And he still wasn’t sure where they could go. Maybe they could just move down the block? Would that be far away enough to throw the humans off their scent?

“Dee?” Virgil whispered, finally arriving at the pantry. He emerged from the hidden tunnel, carefully slipping into the open. Deceit was there, but hadn’t noticed Virgil yet; he was busy cutting into the tops of boxes and fishing food out of them. The other borrower was struggling to reach the cereal below him. “Dee, I’m here.”

Deceit perked up, whirling his head around. “Good. I need help with stocking.” He gestured for Virgil to climb onto the cereal box with him. “I can’t reach. Can you climb in and pass me what’s inside?”

“Sure.” Virgil made his way up the shelves, careful not to let his foot get caught between the thin metal bars that made up the shelves. When he reached the cereal box, he carefully lowered himself next to Deceit, peering inside. “How much do you need?”

Deceit squinted his eyes, scanning the contents of the box. “Just a few pieces should be enough. This'll be the last of it. I’ve already packed granola and some trail mix.” Virgil nodded, handing Deceit his bag and lowering himself into the box. He sunk a bit into the cereal at first but stayed close to the top of the box with a bit of effort. “Throw up what you can,” Deceit said. “Try to get bigger pieces.”

“Okay.” Virgil got to work tossing various bits of cereal up and out of the box. Deceit caught them and shoved them into his shoulder bag, filling it to the brim. After a few minutes, his bag couldn’t hold anything more. “Is that enough?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.” Deceit grinned widely, glancing around the pantry. Nope, no sign of the humans. “And with hours to spare.”

Virgil huffed, sinking even lower into the cereal. “That’s great. Can you help me out now? I’m sinking.”

Deceit blinked, staring at Virgil from above. “Oh, are you now? Isn’t that a shame?” He grinned even wider, adjusting the straps of his bag. “You’re a good person, Virgil. It’s a shame you’re so naïve.”

Virgil froze up. “What?”

Maybe it was Virgil’s imagination, but Deceit’s face seemed to darken in reply to Virgil’s stuttering. “I enjoyed our time together, Virgil. Maybe you’ll get out of there before you suffocate.” He laughed jollity. “Or before you… you know… get caught.”

“You tricked me!” Virgil hollered, momentarily forgetting that he should keep quiet while humans were in the house. “You’re stealing my stuff, you little—”

“Excellent observation, Virgil. You’re so clever.”

“I thought we were a team,” Virgil hissed as he struggled against the cereal, feeling his chest sink below the surface. Tears began to prick at his eyes. “We were in this together! We had a deal!”

“The deal is off,” Deceit hummed, vanishing from sight. His footsteps sounded from outside the box. Virgil could barely make his muffled voice out. “If you hadn’t left your hook lying around, I wouldn’t have to do this. When the cards are down, it’s every borrower for himself.” He paused, his voice growing quiet. “For your sake, I hope you escape soon. The humans will be here in a few hours.”

Virgil’s breath quickened. A panicking sensation began to well up in his stomach. “Where will you go?” He cringed at the way his voice cracked. “You’ll freeze out there. It's too cold.”

“Mmm, I don’t know about that. With all these jackets of yours, I should be warm enough.”

“You bastard!” Virgil screamed angrily, quickly becoming more and more desperate to get out. Was Deceit going to leave him here? After all they’d been through together? “Let me out right now, or I swear—”

“Or what? You’ll call me even more vulgarities? Why, I’m shaking in my boots.” Deceit let out a hearty chuckle. “I’d love to stay and quiver more, but I really must get going. Good luck, Virgil,” Deceit whispered coyly, “and thank you for everything.”

“Don’t you dare leave me here!” Virgil squawked, not wanting to believe the sound of Deceit’s footsteps pattering away. “Dee?! D—Deceit! Wait! Don’t leave me!” Virgil wasn’t exactly listening more than he was simply panicking, but he knew at that moment Deceit was gone for good. Where he went, he’d never know. Virgil was alone now, with nothing to his name, and with humans hot on his trail. He was trapped and afraid and all alone. He stopped shouting, and instead relegated himself to emitting quiet sobs.

Was this it, then? Was he stuck here forever? Or would the humans find him when the sun came up? Virgil didn’t want to find out. He grunted and cursed to himself as he writhed in place, but he only sunk ever deeper beneath the quicksand of sugary wheat crisp. Only his head and arms were above the surface now, and he wasn’t keen on having his entire body buried in sugar and wheat puffs.

Virgil grit his teeth, remembering the breathing exercises his parents taught him. Four in, seven hold, eight out. But more than ten minutes went by and Virgil couldn’t calm down enough to hold his breath for more than two seconds. His constant struggling and weeping were pulling his neck and shoulders underneath.

You have to calm down. Virgil shook his head, clearing his messy and diluted mind. Keep it together, Virge. You can’t give up just yet. He would stay alive—he had to. There was no way he was about to go down in such an undignified manner. Virgil steadied his breathing, keeping his entire body as still as possible. Then, ambling with care, he wiggled his feet around, trying to find his footing. If he could just get a foothold on something, then maybe he could hoist himself up and escape. But try as he might, Virgil’s feet helplessly sifted through the cereal like it was water. He couldn’t get to the top of the box.

Virgil’s next instinct was to writhe around and tilt the box onto its side, but the borrower was discombobulated from panicking—he did not know which way he was facing. If he knocked the box over the wrong way, the fall to the distant ground would seal his fate. And even if he survived the fall, he’d be too injured to escape before the humans found him.

That left only one option, which was to wait and bide his time. Perhaps the humans would walk into the pantry without checking his hiding place. If he could just listen for the direction of the pantry door, he’d know which direction to tilt the box without toppling off the shelf. It wasn’t ideal, but it seemed to be the only way out of this mess. So Virgil took a deep breath, willed his body to stay perfectly still, and waited.

Part 5:

Patton didn’t quite believe in the existence of tiny people in the walls. As Logan said, it was a bit outlandish. Still, something strange was going on. Logan showed him the hidden doorways scattered across the apartment; they were so well hidden that Patton didn’t see them at first, even after having Logan point them out. Patton also examined the hook a bit more while Logan scoured his security camera footage. It was well-crafted, with secure knots and loops holding the hook in place. It seemed too small for a person to make, but too complex and intelligent for a rodent to make. So even though Patton was still in doubt, he had to admit that Logan had a point.

That being said, their “research” wasn’t making any progress. Aside from what Logan already found, the two humans couldn’t find any further evidence of tiny humanoids in the apartment. And soon, it was time for Logan to go to bed. He'd have to be ready for class in the morning.

“I don’t work today,” Patton said as he fished out two bowls from the drawer. “So we can look more when you come back.”

“Of course,” Logan replied. He was busy with the coffee machine again, discarding the filter he used earlier. “I’ll check the library on campus to see if there are any resources that might help us.”

Patton nodded. “And I’ll keep looking online.” He wandered into the pantry, reaching for the nearest box of cereal. “What should I do if anything comes up?”

Logan hummed, thinking for a moment. “Maybe just… call me. My ringer will be off when I’m in class, but I check it regularly.” He glanced over at Patton, who had finished pouring his cereal and was shoving his head into the fridge. Logan blinked thrice. “I didn’t know that brand of cereal came with a toy.”

“They don’t,” Patton replied as he dug out the milk from the fridge.

“Then what is that?”

Patton looked over at Logan. The other man was staring intently at the table, eyes widened and eyebrows raised. Patton followed his gaze to the aforementioned cereal bowl; a strange purple object was protruding from beneath the cereal. Cocking his head, Patton twisted the cereal box in his hands, searching the labels for any sign of a toy inside. He found nothing.

“That’s weird,” Patton muttered, turning his attention back to the bowl, only to screech in horror. That purple thing just moved. On its own. Logan jumped, nearly dropping his mug on the floor. Patton backpedalled across the room, his back pressed tightly against the fridge. “Wh—what is it?! It’s moving!”

“I’ve got it,” Logan grunted as he reached for a nearby dishcloth. He approached the bowl slowly, spreading the cloth out with his hands. Then, with careful precision, the dishcloth was neatly placed atop the squirming thing, effectively trapping it inside. “Patton… pass me the dish gloves.”

It took Patton a second to respond. He quickly grabbed the gloves from inside the sink and placed them on the table near Logan. “Thanks,” he said, focusing on putting the gloves on one at a time as to not take his hands off the cloth. “Now… stand back. I’m taking the cloth off now.”

Patton nodded, keeping his distance as Logan slowly peeled the cloth away. Both of them let out startled, disbelieving gasps.

“...I think we found it, Logan.”

Virgil didn’t want to believe any of this. He expected to wake up any second, back at home. He’d get up for breakfast and Deceit would chastise him for sleeping in. They’d eat granola and Virgil would ramble on about this strange dream he had where he was trapped in a cereal box for hours on end. But as the two human tenants loomed above him, staring him down and locking him into place, he realized that he wouldn’t be waking up. This was real. This was real.

“It’s…” Patton stuttered, taking a step forward. “It’s… a tiny person.”

Logan nodded slowly. His wide eyes remained glued on Virgil. “I was right... I can’t believe I was right!” He suddenly grinned, grabbing Patton’s shoulder. “Do you know what this means?! This is a massive discovery—it could revolutionize the field of biology!”

“I—I’m sure it could,” Patton chuckled humourlessly, still staring downwards. The tiny person half-wrapped himself in the dishcloth, cowering against the table. It appeared to be a young man, likely in his mid-twenties. He wore a baggy violet patchwork jacket and a black scarf that hung loosely from his neck. “Can it… talk?”

Logan turned back to Virgil. “I’m not sure. Theoretically, it’s vocal cords should be too small to produce audible sound… but at this point, it might as well be possible. Its very existence is unlikely.”

“Okay, then… um…” Patton broke away from Logan, who started furiously writing notes on a nearby napkin. “H—hi,” Patton began, smiling awkwardly. “Can you understand me?” When the tiny person didn’t reply, Patton kept talking. Maybe he was just shy. “I’m sorry about that… I didn’t know you were in there.”

Virgil quivered at the giant face taking up most of his vision. He had to look away—he was too intimidated to look into those massive eyes. “I—I don’t...” Virgil started to whimper out a sentence before shutting himself up with a quiet grunt. Don’t be stupid! You can’t talk to humans—you know the rules. Idiot.

But it was too late. Patton’s eyebrows shot up at Virgil’s halfhearted reply. “You can talk!” He smiled widely, his face lighting up. “Okay, that makes this easier.”

“Fascinating,” Logan muttered, studying Virgil carefully. “This can’t be real… You shouldn’t be able to speak with vocal cords your size.” He set the note-scribbled napkin aside, leaning over Patton’s shoulder to see Virgil better. “Where did you come from? Are you human? Are there more of you?”

“I’d... I’d go easy with the questions, Logan,” Patton whispered. “I think he’s getting overwhelmed.”

Well, Patton wasn’t exactly wrong. Virgil was totally and thoroughly petrified. He tried to rise to his feet, but he was shaking so badly that he couldn't even kneel without falling onto his stomach. His breathing was uneven and sharp, like he was struggling for air. Virgil let out a strained sob, becoming increasingly frustrated with his inability to run away.

Logan’s mouth sealed shut. He recognized the signs of a panic attack before Patton did. “Patton, get him some water.” Lowering himself as to not seem intimidating, Logan quieted his voice to a whisper. He held his hands in front of himself as a gesture of goodwill. “Hey… it’s alright. It’s alright.”

The tiny person heaved again, his whole body convulsing rapidly. “Y—you—you—“

“Shh… I won’t touch you. But you need to breathe. Do you know any breathing exercises?”

“F—f—f…” Sneaking a glance up at Logan, Virgil gulped and looked away again. “F—four, seven, eight.”

“That’ll work. Come on, I’ll do it with you. Breathe. Four in…”

As the tiny man and Logan breathed in sync, Patton got to work fetching some water. A normal cup would surely be too big, and they didn’t have any shot glasses for the tiny man to use. Sighing, Patton relegated to removing the gap from the jug of milk and using it to hold the water. He rinsed it out and filled it generously, hoping it would be small enough.

When he turned back to the two, the tiny man had calmed down somewhat. He was still shaking, but he was at least breathing steadily. Logan kept counting in a pattern, praising the tiny person the whole time.

“There we go. Good job.” Logan smiled softly. The tiny man forced a grimace in reply.

“Here,” Patton mumbled, placing the cap near the small person. He saddened at the way Virgil’s whole upper body flinched. “It’s water. Drink what you can, okay, kiddo?”

Virgil took a second to nod. “O—okay.”

Drinking water had never seemed like such a momentous task before. The cap was too heavy to lift, especially with how weak Virgil was, so he had to scoop up the water and sip it from his cupped hands. It was demeaning, but it wasn’t the biggest problem—the whole time Virgil drank, Patton and Logan kept their huge eyes locked on Virgil, never for a second looking away. It wasn’t just awkward; it was terrifying. They were so huge, much bigger than they seemed from a distance.

A cough sounded, then someone spoke. “Logan.” At the sudden voice, Virgil stopped drinking and craned his neck up. “My name is Logan. This is my friend Patton.”

Patton crouched down a bit, resting his chin on the table uncomfortably close to Virgil. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Uh,” Virgil stammered, fiddling with his sleeves, “m—my name...”

Logan’s eyes widened. He had to force his voice to stay level and quiet as to not scare him into silence. “Yeah?”

“...M—my… my name is… Virgil.”

Patton and Logan exchanged a glance. “Virgil,” they repeated, making sure they pronounced it right.

“Well, Virgil,” Patton whispered, “it’s nice to meet you. Would you like something to eat?”

“Uh…” Virgil hesitated, rubbing at his forearm. Patton’s question was rather sudden, wasn’t it? He wiped away a few dried-up tear streaks before answering. “Wh—what kind of food?”

“Whatever you’d like, kiddo.” He picked up the nearby box and shook its contents. “How does cereal sound?”

Virgil cringed at the suggestion—he wasn’t keen on cereal after being nearly suffocated by it—but nodded as to not anger Patton.

Cereal it was, then. Patton began the arduous search for the smallest bowl he could find. Logan looked like he wanted to say something, but kept silent. Instead, he glanced between Patton and Virgil, keeping his hand locked against his own mouth.

Virgil watched Patton with a cautious gaze as the human trickled a few drops of milk atop the wheat crisps. Once Patton finished and slid the bowl towards the silent Virgil, Logan pulled him aside. “Pat, can I talk to you?”

Patton snuck a look at Virgil, who was mindlessly chewing on a damp piece of cereal, then nodded. They slipped into the nearby bathroom, not noticing the baffled expression on Virgil’s face. Did they just… leave him here by himself? They did realize he could escape, right? Humans couldn’t possibly be this stupid, could they?

Virgil seized the moment of isolation to get a better grasp of his surroundings. He was sitting squarely at the centre of the kitchen table. Aside from the cloth he was seated on, there was nothing else on the table with him. The chairs were also pushed in, meaning that Virgil could probably climb down them with little trouble. There was an escape tunnel behind the fridge, if Virgil remembered correctly. If he acted quickly, he could make it there before the humans came back.

Having decided on his next move, Virgil rose to stand, only to find his legs were still gelatinous and wobbly. He remained standing for exactly two seconds before crashing onto his side. His throat bubbled out a pained yelp, and he clutched the shoulder he landed on. Okay, maybe the humans weren’t stupid for leaving Virgil alone. Maybe they were just sadistic.

Virgil paused as another thought crossed his mind: even if he escaped from Logan and Patton, what would he do next? He had no food, no clothes, no tools, and he was all alone again. There was no way he’d survive for long, even if he got the chance to escape. Everything was pretty much hopeless at this point.

“Stop crying,” Virgil growled to himself. But he didn’t stop. The tears just kept coming, welling up in his eyes and careening downwards like a waterfall. Virgil curled into a ball and cursed himself over and over, helpless as the tears rolled silently down his face. “You’re so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Wasn’t he absolutely, positively pathetic?

Part 6:

Virgil’s inner torment went unheard by the humans. Once the bathroom door closed, ensuring their privacy, Patton spoke first. “You noticed it too, right?”

“Yes,” Logan grumbled. “He’s too thin. And he’s very pale... I think he’s malnourished.”

“We have to do something, Logan. Can you help him?”

“I can try.” Logan grit his teeth, massaging his face for what must have been the fourth time that night. “He needs food and water. And warmer clothes. Do we have anything he can wear?”

“Maybe there are some old doll clothes in Roman’s room,” Patton said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to look around. You watch him while I check.”

Logan bit his lip nervously. “An examination could be in order… but I’d hate to scare him.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Patton replied sadly. He opened the door a crack and peered outside at Virgil, who was curled in on himself and mumbling incoherently. He grimaced at the disheartening sight and turned away. “Just be gentle. And don’t talk too loud.”

Logan nodded firmly. “Of course.”

It was decided, then. Patton opened the door and rushed upstairs while Logan quietly approached the table. Virgil’s face was puffy and stained with tear streaks, and he was still shaking like a leaf. The tiny man eyed Logan wearily, never taking his eyes off him for a moment.

“I need to perform a medical examination on you,” Logan explained. He sat down in the nearest chair, pulling himself closer to the table. Virgil’s eyes went wide as a giant hand approached him, spreading its fingers as it reached towards his quivering form.

“N—no!” Virgil cried, clutching his jacket closer to his chest. His breathing quickened once again as the panicking sensation resurfaced. “I—I—I’m not—“

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Logan whispered, his hand still drawing closer. “I just need to make sure you’re uninjured.”

Virgil let out a strained and angry whine. “Don’t touch me!” he hollered, fists clenched. Logan frowned at the fearful reaction but didn’t retract his hand. Instead, with as much grace and gentleness as he could muster, he latched his index finger and thumb firmly around Virgil’s torso. The tiny man yelped as the hand hoisted him off solid ground, dangling above the tabletop for a moment before he was finally plopped into Logan’s other hand.

As soon as it set him in Logan’s palm, Virgil dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled back in the table's direction. Logan gasped and yanked him back by the hood of his jacket, holding him firmly in his palm. “Be careful!” Logan snapped. He moved his thumb over Virgil’s chest, pinning him down. With his free hand, he began manipulating Virgil’s writhing and trembling form, investigating each limb with care while gripping them too tightly for Virgil to escape. He twisted the borrower’s arms around, lifted his legs, and flipped his body between his front and back.

Logan did his best to search the minuscule body for signs of injury or illness, but it was hard to ignore the sobs coming from the trembling man in his hands. Virgil stopped fighting against the massive fingers once he’d run out of breath, which wasn’t saying much; he barely had any breath left in him. Logan continued to twist him around, prod him, and fiddle with his clothes. He paused his work every few moments to write something down on his napkin.

This went on for several minutes. During that time, Virgil got ahold of himself, although he was still terrified. “This won’t take much longer,” Logan finally muttered, breaking the thick and tense silence. “So… how long have you been living here?”

Virgil flinched as a giant finger lifted the back of his shirt up. Geez, that was cold! “U—um… I—I’m not.”

The shirt fell back into place. Virgil hugged himself closely as Logan wrote something down. “That hook I found belongs to you, doesn’t it? And those hidden doorways in the kitchen… you must have created those.”

Oh... right. Virgil forgot that Logan knew about him before being found in the pantry. He meekly nodded, hoping that telling the truth would leave him better off than lying would.

“I don’t understand how anyone could survive at your size. Do you get cold easily? Can you see well?”

“Uh… yes to both?”

“Fascinating. And what about your diet? How much do you have to eat to sustain yourself?”

Virgil let out an exasperated noise. “I don’t know! Twice a day usually gets me by, I guess?!”

“What sorts of things do you eat? Do you have allergies?”

“Can you stop with the questions?” Virgil cried, already becoming frustrated with Logan. Being interrogated was not fun, let alone when a human was doing it. "I can't tell you anything! I shouldn't even be here!"

"Why not?"

"It's..." Virgil grimaced. "...It's the rules. That's all I can say."

“But there’s so much I have to know. How long have you been small for?”

“I don't know, how long have you been annoying for?” Virgil retorted cheekily.

“Were you hit by a shrink ray? Like in those fiction movies? I was sure that they were scientifically impossible to create, but perhaps it's not too farfetched.”

Virgil let out a sharp hiss instead of answering the question. Logan reeled back, his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry… Did you just hiss at me?”

“I do that when I reach my limit with stupid questions.”

With a single eyebrow raised, Logan continued. “I just have a few more.”

“I don’t care.”

“How tall are you?"

"Not tall enough."

"Okay... Well, what about reproduction? Do you have—"

"Ew. No, hard pass."

Logan frowned. This wasn't going anywhere, was it? "Fine. Are you a social creature? Do you live alone?”

Wrong thing to say.

“Would you just shut up?!” Virgil screamed, pounding his fists on Logan’s hand as hard as he could. “Just shut up already!” Before he realized it, hot tears began rolling down his cheeks again. “Just... stop…”

The newfound silence felt like molasses. Logan’s mouth seemed to glue itself shut, but his eyes darted between Virgil and his notes. The human had plenty to ask, to be sure, but for some reason refused to say anything more.

Virgil’s anger gave way to numbness. He’d really done it this time, huh? Most borrowers weren’t dumb enough to lose their temper at a human being. And now he was crying again.

The silence carried on for what felt like hours, but it was eventually broken by Logan. “I’m sorry.”

“...What?”

“I’m sorry,” Logan sighed, having the decency to avoid eye contact. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

Well, this was interesting. A human apologizing to a borrower? Has this ever happened before? “Um…” Virgil cleared his throat and rubbed his arm. “It’s… whatever.”

“I hope you can forgive me for being so interrogative. Satisfying my curiosity should not have come at the cost of your mental stability.” Logan muttered something under his breath. He then turned to Virgil, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’ll stop with the questions now.”

Virgil was in awe. He’d screamed at Logan, called him annoying, and started crying like a child, but Logan wasn’t angry. He was actually very nice, despite his initial misgivings. Well, now Virgil simply had to answer the questions then, didn’t he? After the human was polite and said sorry and stuff. “I…” Virgil coughed, forcing the words out of his mouth. “I used to live with someone. But not anymore.”

“Oh.” Logan frowned, lifting Virgil closer to his face. The human’s features were tinged with a sort of concern; Logan slowly began to understand why the question set Virgil off. So he paused, choosing his words wisely. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Virgil opened his mouth to say ‘no’ but found himself forced into silence. Honestly? He wasn’t sure how to answer that. On one hand, Virgil didn’t even want to think about how his only friend abandoned him in a cereal box, leaving him in the clutches of a pair of humans. But on the other hand, Virgil wanted nothing more than to just blabber on and on about how he was feeling. Borrowers didn’t have therapists, and Deceit was never a terribly good listener. It’d be all to easy to overshare, to reveal all the borrower secrets in his moment of weakness. But... maybe if he was careful... he could talk without giving away specifics. A vent would do him good, anyhow.

Virgil decided to take the plunge.

“I trusted him,” he grumbled before he could think to stop himself. “We were supposed to work together. I helped him when he had nowhere to go. And what does he do to thank me?! He traps me in a cereal box and steals everything I own!” Virgil pounded his fists, growing more and more heated by the second. “I mean, I get it. We weren’t exactly friends. But we had a deal, and he… he just…”

Virgil’s words screeched to a halt, and he found himself unable to look at Logan without his gaze flickering back to the ground. The anger had died down, leaving the chill of fear and the hollowness of sorrow behind.

“I thought… I thought we were in this together. But he took everything from me. I have no food, no clothes, and… and I’m alone again.” Virgil snorted, crossing his arms. “I never should have trusted him. I was better off by myself.”

Logan said nothing at first, neither his hand nor his face moving an inch. Virgil slipped his hood over his face, hiding his embarrassed expression. Great, now he thinks you’re a crybaby too. Some borrower you are.

They remained stagnant in awkward silence for a few more minutes. But then, gradually, the hand holding Virgil began to shift around. A thumb started stroking his side with surprising gentleness, and the remaining fingers curled inwards towards Virgil, forming a protective barrier.

“I should say this upfront,” Logan said suddenly, startling Virgil out of his confusion. “I’m not good at comforting people. That’s Patton’s forte. That being said, I’m… very sorry that happened to you.” He pressed his lips together, and his eyes narrowed. “I can’t imagine someone violating your trust like that.”

Virgil laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, he’s a filthy snake. I hate him.”

“Indeed.” Logan fell silent. “...You said he took your food and belongings?”

“...Yeah?”

“I see." A beat passed before Logan continued. “Well, if you happen to be in a position where you are unable to live comfortably, might I suggest staying here for a while? With Patton and I?”

Virgil’s breath hitched. “Stay with you?”

“You don’t have to,” Logan added quickly to cover his flustered demeanour. “I simply thought… if you have nothing to your name, we could help you resupply. And if you wish for company, we could provide that too. I’d hate for you to be alone and so ill-prepared for the winter.”

Virgil tried with all his might to wrap his head around what was happening. A human, the one thing he’d been told to avoid for his whole life, just offered him a place to stay. This had to be a trick, right? There was no way this was real.

“...So what’s the catch?”

A chuckle sounded. The human stroked his chin in mock-thought. “I do have a few caveats, I suppose. You’d have to join us for movie nights, as well as accept all Christmas presents given to you.” Logan snapped his fingers. “Oh! You’d also have to help bake cookies. Patton would appreciate the help.”

Virgil scoffed. “This is a scam.”

“I assure you, it is not.”

“So what do you get out of it?” Virgil craned his neck upwards, staring at the underside of Logan’s chin. “What’s in this for you?”

Logan thought for a moment, staring into space. “Nothing much,” he settled on saying. “The company of a fascinating human being would be sufficient.” Logan tightened his embrace on Virgil, holding him firmly against his chest. “You stay here, and in exchange, Patton and I support you however we can. That seems like a fair trade, no?”

“Well... first of all, borrowers aren’t human.”

Borrower. Logan filed that word away in the back of his mind. He’d ask Virgil about it later.

“Second, that’s not a deal I can make. How do I know you won’t keep me in a jar or something?”

“Well, I haven’t yet, have I?” Logan asked. “If I truly wished to harm you, I would have done so by now.”

Virgil grit his teeth. “Yeah, cause you don’t have to. I can barely move. No point in trapping me if I can’t run away.”

Logan opened his mouth to retort but found himself unable to come up with a sufficient reply. “I suppose… you’ll just have to trust me.”

Virgil was tempted to holler with laughter. Instead, he bit his tongue and looked away. There was still one thing plaguing his mind—would Logan get mad if he asked?

“...The camera footage.”

“...What?”

“You recorded me,” Virgil muttered quietly, tugging at his sleeves. “Delete the video.”

Logan was about to ask why but thought better of it. “Would that make you feel better?” A nod. “Very well. I’ll see to deleting it right away.”

Virgil didn’t say anything else. As far as he knew, Logan could be lying about deleting the video to gain his trust. There’s no way a human would comply that easily.

“So…” Logan looked down at the borrower in his hands. He loomed menacingly, though not on purpose, causing Virgil to flinch away. “Do we have a deal, then?”

“It’s not much of a deal,” Virgil sighed. He shifted a bit, still not used to the feeling of being held by such a giant creature. “Fine. Just... n—no cages or anything. Please?”

“No cages. Understood.” Logan’s other hand hovered upwards. A single index finger was left hanging before Virgil. “Shake on it?”

Virgil froze, hesitant, before tentatively reading out to grab Logan’s finger. He shook it firmly, or at least he tried to. The finger was just so heavy that he couldn’t budge it much. Logan nodded, satisfied, and Virgil retreated to the centre of the palm. “So… now what?”

Right on cue, Logan let out a hearty yawn. “Perhaps a nap is in order. I understand you’ve been awake all night. Resting would be beneficial.”

“A nap?” Shrugging, Virgil nodded. “Okay, but how is that gonna—whoa whoa WHOA!!” Virgil lunged backwards and latched the thumb beside him with a death grip, gasping deeply as Logan stood to his full height. The distant kitchen floor shrunk beneath him. “P—put me down!”

“In a moment.” Logan rubbed his eyes with his free hand as he stumbled into the next room. Virgil, through his dizziness and vertigo, immediately recognized it as the living room. The TV was on—although it was muted—and an unfolded blanket was crumpled on the carpet. Logan silently plucked the blanket off the ground and sat on the nearby sofa, huffing contentedly as he stretched his body out.

Virgil was finally given the sweet release of solid ground… sort of. Logan gently set him on his chest. Virgil moved to sit up but was pushed into a lying position by Logan’s finger. “I—” Virgil groaned as he tried to sit up, but was pushed onto his back a second time. “I—I didn’t think you were gonna sleep with me.”

“I’ve been up all night. I need to rest too.” He moved the blanket so it covered his body, then set the very edge of the blanket over Virgil. “Goodnight, Virgil.”

Virgil chuckled nervously, a bit annoyed and shaken up but still amused. He pulled the blanket upwards, trying to ignore the rhythmic pulsing of Logan’s heart right below him. God, that was weird. “Alright. Goodnight, I guess.”

Part 7:

Logan and Virgil slept very soundly that night. Much later, a few hours before the sun would begin to peek over the horizon, Patton finally rushed back down with a small plastic bin in his arms. “Logan! I found it! I don’t know if they’ll fit, but maybe I can… uh…”

Patton’s words died on his tongue at the sight before him. Logan, with his arm dangling off the edge of the sofa, was snoring quietly. Virgil was curled up in the nook of his neck, completely motionless. They must have been asleep for a while, Patton realized. He glanced at the bin in his arms, then back at the sleeping pair, and let out a sigh. A smile made its way to his lips as he carefully set the box down near the couch.

“Logan,” he whispered, tapping the sleeping man’s shoulder. Logan murmured, stirring awake. Patton grinned at the sight. “Go to bed. Don’t sleep on the couch.”

Logan exhaled deeply and moved his hand, holding Virgil securely to his chest as he rose to a seated position. “Okay,” he sighed, standing slowly as to not wake up Virgil. Luckily, the borrower didn’t budge. “Patton, about those traps I set…”

“I’ll put them away,” Patton whispered. “Just go sleep, kiddo… I’ll take care of it.”

Logan smiled sleepily. “Thank you, Patton.”

“Go on.” Patton gently shoved Logan towards the direction of the stairs. “Get some sleep, alright?”

Moving carefully, Logan made his way upstairs, cradling Virgil in one hand and cupping him with the other. Logan wasn’t really sure how this was going to work. Where could Virgil sleep? Surely not on the bed—he’d be crushed if Logan rolled over. A night table with a blanket could suffice, but it would no doubt be very uncomfortable. And he could easily fall off sometime during the night.

Logan glanced up as he reached the top of the stairs. His eyes landed on the glittery ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign that dangled from a dusty, scarcely used doorknob. The guest room.

Neither Logan nor Patton set foot the third bedroom often. It used to belong to a mutual friend, one they’d met while in their first year of college. But that friend had long moved away to an art school in a different state. Now the room was more of a storage room than an actual residence.

Logan pushed the door ajar and stuck his head inside. The room was a total disaster, as per usual. Laundry was scattered everywhere, pencils and books were strewn about haphazardly, and the closet’s contents were spilling onto the floor. How anyone lived in these conditions, Logan would never know.

Then, by some stroke of luck, Logan’s eye managed to catch a splotch of blue from within the depths of the closet. The man tiptoed inside as if Roman would appear out of the blue and scold Logan for intruding. Logan shook the thought away as he reached his free hand into the closet, quietly dragging out a large blue bin. The lid popped off with minimal effort, leaving a wide assortment of toys exposed for Logan to sift through. He dipped his hand into the mess of action figures and model cars, feeling around until his fingers grasped a familiar object. “Perfect,” Logan whispered, fishing the object out.

It was one of the pieces to Roman’s old dollhouse—a small bed, just the right size for a borrower. The rest of the furniture set was probably somewhere in that bin, but Logan couldn’t bring himself to find all the pieces. It would take him hours. As he stood to leave, Logan briefly considered if doll furniture would demean Virgil, but the practicality of it outweighed Logan’s concerns. He put the bin of toys away with as much care as he could muster before meandering back to his room.

The surface beneath Virgil shifted and swayed like a boat. He woke up with a start, instinctively grasping onto the nearest object. Coincidently, that object happened to be a thumb. Virgil was in someone’s hands.

“H—hey!” he yelped, trying not to peer over the edge of the palm. “What the hell?!”

The sudden shout caused Logan to flinch. He glanced down at Virgil with a frown. Virgil couldn’t even see Logan’s whole face with the way it loomed overhead. “You’re awake,” he commented dryly.

Virgil hid his erratic breathing behind a scoff. “Y—yeah, I’m awake. Could you, like… put me down? Please?”

“Of course. Just a moment.” Logan took one last look around the room before finally placing Virgil on Logan’s desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s whatever,” Virgil muttered, clutching his clothes tightly. He steeled himself enough to look at Logan fully but found himself backpedalling as a giant hand lowered itself towards Virgil.

“Here you are,” Logan whispered, placing something onto the table next to Virgil. “Will this suffice for tonight?”

Virgil’s mouth hung open as a small bed, about the size of Logan’s hand, slid onto the desk before him. It was a perfect scale replica of a human’s bed, complete with blankets, a pillow, and a small toy bear. Virgil reached out to touch the bear, surprised to feel plush instead of hard plastic. His hand ran down along the blanket, feeling the intricate pattern weaved into it. And the pillow… Virgil couldn’t help himself. He grasped the pillow tightly and buried his face into it, exhaling in contentment. He’d never had a real pillow before. “Where did you get this?”

“Our old roommate keeps his collection of toys in the spare room. I found that bed with his old dollhouse set.”

“An old dollhouse set,” Virgil repeated, laughing curtly at the notion. This bed was nothing more than a toy. The borrower carefully clambered onto the tiny mattress, shocked at how soft and plushy it was. “It’s pretty comfy for a doll bed. Man, humans have the coolest stuff.”

As Virgil busied himself with bundling the blankets onto himself, Logan’s expression suddenly changed. His face softened, and his eyes didn’t seem so piercing anymore. He looked… sad. “Virgil,” he began, slowly seating himself on his bed, “have you ever owned a bed?”

“Uh… not really, no.” Virgil pulled the blankets up and over his legs. “I mostly used fabric scraps and cotton balls. Whatever I could get my hands on.” Logan failed to notice Virgil gripping the blankets so tightly that his fists were turning white. “...One time, me and Deceit managed to find an old hat in the alleyway. He kinda claimed it as a bed for himself, and I slept in it whenever he was gone. It was the closest we had to an actual bed.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably, looking away from Logan’s attentive gaze. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I... I wish I knew what to say,” Logan stammered with a grimace. “I can’t imagine this is an easy change for you.”

“Not really, no.” The borrower muttered, hiding his face under the blankets. The blankets were so warm. Virgil found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. “But I’m okay now.”

Logan hummed. He looked unconvinced. “You don’t mean that.” It wasn’t a question, either. Judging by the bags under his eyes and the redness of his face, Logan could safely deduce that Virgil was, in fact, not okay in the slightest.

A laugh bubbled from Virgil’s sore throat. “Yeah, not really.” Virgil yawned, snuggling further into the pillow. It did a fantastic job of hiding the tears building behind his eyes. “But... I’m better.”

Logan hummed a second time, not quite satisfied with that answer. “I suppose that’s a more honest statement.” He moved to flick the lights off before pausing and turning back to Virgil. “Will you be alright sleeping there? I can move you elsewhere if you wish.”

“No, I’m good.”

Logan nodded and moved away. Darkness flooded the room; Virgil heard the sounds of Logan fumbling back towards his bed. The blankets were shuffled around as the human settled onto the mattress. “You are to wake me up if you need anything. Do we have a deal?”

“Meh.”

“I’m serious, Virgil.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll wake you up or whatever.” Under his breath, he muttered something else, quietly enough that Logan almost missed it. “I hope hamster cages are comfy.”

Logan’s mouth was moving before he realized he wasn’t supposed to hear that last part. “I won’t put you in a cage, Virgil. I plan on keeping my promise.”

At first, Virgil didn’t reply. But then, a quiet voice spoke up. “How would I know that?” The borrower sniffled a bit. “I—I want to believe you're good, but I can’t afford to trust the wrong person again.” He paused to sob. “I just... can’t.”

“Virgil…” Logan sighed, straining his eyes to see Virgil in the darkness.

Virgil continued to ramble, choking back more sobs. “I want to trust you. I want to believe you. But I don’t wanna get hurt again.”

Logan dejected at that, silent for a moment, before standing up suddenly and shuffling across the room. Virgil eyed him cautiously, afraid of what the human was planning. But Logan simply sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, clicking his mouse a few times. Virgil couldn’t see what he was doing until the screen was suddenly rotated towards him.

Logan gestured to the screen. “The video has been deleted. There’s no trace of you in my files.”

Wait, he... he actually did it? That was unexpected. Virgil felt the tension in his body suddenly unwind at those words. “Oh. Uh… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Logan found his hand snaking its way towards Virgil, stroking the borrower’s side with a gentle brush of fingers. Virgil gasped in fright at first, but settled back down when he wasn’t being prodded or grabbed. “I know it must be difficult to trust me, especially after all you’ve been through tonight. But that’s okay. I don’t expect you to trust me right away—that would be foolish of me.”

Virgil sniffed again. “You’re not mad?”

Logan smiled, setting the laptop aside. “Of course not.”

That seemed to put Virgil at ease. His small body began to unfurl, slowly but surely. The sobbing continued quietly. “...Thanks, Logan.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Logan continued to soothe him, even though Virgil had gone quiet a few minutes ago. After a while longer, Logan finally noticed that Virgil fell asleep. The steady, shallow breathing could barely be heard from such a tiny throat. The human smiled wearily and retracted his hand. It was time for him to get to bed, too.

Logan allowed himself a few moments of peace once he was properly bundled within the blankets. Aside from the distant sounds of Patton downstairs and the strips of sunlight leaking through the closed blinds, the entire room was frozen in space and time. These moments of uninterrupted silence were usually welcome, allowing Logan to think without distractions. But now, the silence was a curse. The rampant thoughts swirling through his mind rose to a deafening roar. Logan pulled his pillow over his ears with a groan.

The man peeked out from beneath the pillowcase. Virgil was still asleep, tucked into a ball beneath the toy fabrics. Their meeting was such an unlikely occurrence that Logan had to wonder if he was seeing things. But he'd only been awake for about 25 hours straight; hallucinations due to lack of sleep didn't start until at least 30 or 40 hours of staying awake. Virgil was real, as difficult as it was to believe.

Perhaps he should skip class today.

Now that Virgil was asleep and calm—and far less likely to panic in his presence—it was tempting for Logan to take notes. He threw a sideways glance towards his notebook, sprawled open upon his desk by the laptop. The pages fluttered against the hot air coming from the nearby vent, taunting Logan incessantly. It couldn't hurt to just write some basic observations, would it? Things like height, behaviours he'd noticed earlier, maybe a quick sketch if he had time...

...But no. Virgil wouldn't appreciate his privacy being violated like that. The existence of these so-called borrowers seemed to be a secret Virgil was dead set on keeping, and for good reason. Logan wanted to know as much as he could about these mysterious miniature humanoids, but he also wanted Virgil to feel safe in his home. That’s why he offered Virgil a place to stay, after all.

Logan sighed; he'd have to put his curiosity on the shelf for now. His priority had to lie with Virgil's wellbeing. That was the deal. And Logan intended to keep his end of the deal, no matter what.

With that thought, he finally fell asleep.

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cherrie511 · 6 years ago

Text

Malfoy Manor (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Summary: (Y/N) is travelling with Harry, Ron, and Hermione when they’re captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. She hasn’t seen her lover, Draco Malfoy, since before they left Hogwarts, and she isn’t sure whether the Death Eaters have gotten to him completely yet.

Comment if you want a Part 2!

writing this made me realize that I can only write scenes with Draco in them oof

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come out of there with your hands up!” a voice rasped from outside the tent. “We know you’re in there! You’ve got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don’t care who we curse!”

(Y/N) had given up trying to fight the large wizard restraining her some time ago, and let herself be dragged and tossed carelessly like a rag doll in the Snatcher’s rough grip. Their tent was searched, wands seized, but thanks to Hermione’s rapid thinking, Harry’s face was swollen almost unrecognizably.

Her heart stopped when the Snatchers found the newspaper in their tent and examined the stretched scar on his forehead. Her mind was fogged over with fear and hopelessness, but a sentence uttered by one of the Snatchers broke through the haze: they were to be taken to Malfoy Manor.

She clenched her teeth and thanked the stars for this rare stroke of luck. If by some miracle Draco was alive and in his home, their chances of surviving and escaping increased infinitely. Once they escaped, they could go back to Horcrux hunting, and hopefully, find a way for Harry to do what he was meant to do.

She could hear the struggled sounds of her friends behind her thoughts and a flare of concern went up as Hermione tried to defend Ron from the advancements of Greyback. This didn’t allow her to tamp down the small, selfish part of her deep down was desperate to see her lover after all these months.

Their abrupt stop wrenched her from her thoughts. After the claustrophobic sensation of side-along Disapparition, the group stood at the gates of a large, dark, stately manor.

(Y/N) could feel the bridge of her nose tingling with unshed tears as she stared up at the spires. She’d been through a lot with her friends, but the realization that this would be her first time at her boyfriend’s house and her first time meeting his parents broke a different part of her heart. Here she was, bound with a wand pressed to her back daring her to make a wrong movement; while Draco was not beside her but on the wrong side, the side vouching for the death of her best friend.

She scolded herself for the superficial lamentation and thought about the torture that could result from this visit. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at her friends and prepared herself for the worst.

The gate swung open at Greyback’s declaration of having caught the Boy Who Lived and she winced as the Snatcher’s grip became almost painful walking up the path. Ghostly white shapes floated around the meticulously trimmed topiary on either side of them, but (Y/N) didn’t dare lift her head to use anything but her peripheral vision.

“Peacocks,” one of the men snorted. “Ridiculous.”

The front door opened and the Snatchers dragged the friends over the threshold. The familiar woman who opened the door moved closer to examine the four.

“We think we’ve caught Potter!” Greyback exclaimed triumphantly, eyes sparkling with malice.

(Y/N) stared at the mother of the boy she loved. Narcissa Malfoy had features that hinted at former beauty: once luminous pale blond hair gone dull, porcelain skin that now seemed to stretch over the sharp lines of her face like the life had been sucked out.

She could see Draco in the way her lips were pursed, and the way she carried herself. Whenever Draco used to speak of his mother, he took on a certain gentleness that indicated the love between them. Narcissa now looked like a woman who feared for the lives of her husband and son daily, a woman full of fear and regret. (Y/N)’s heart suddenly ached for her and her family, caught in the middle of a treacherous spider’s web. Mudbloods weren’t the only victims of this war.

“Follow me,” said Narcissa, leading the way into what (Y/N) assumed was a drawing room. “My son, Draco, is home for the Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.”

(Y/N)’s heart seemed to beat out of her chest at the mere mention of Draco’s name, and she involuntarily lurched against the hold of her captor. He, in turn, dug filthy nails into the skin of her upper arm.

The room they were led into was like Mrs. Malfoy: filled with beauty that had seen better days. A large, ornate crystal chandelier hung overhead, overwrought with cobwebs but still glimmering with reflections of light.

The cold, familiar voice of Lucius Malfoy brought (Y/N) out of her trance and she shuddered at just how many qualities he’d passed to his son. She could see Draco in him as well, but colder. Darker. Less humanity in his icy eyes.

Draco walked into the room and her heart stopped beating altogether. The world ceased to spin when she raised her gaze to meet his. She searched for a sign, gesture, any tiny thing to assure her that things would be okay. It had to come. He had kissed her and told her so when they parted.

It never came.

His gaze was cold and dead, as if he’d been beaten down one too many times. There was no compassion in his eyes as he stared his former lover down.

(Y/N) vaguely thought about whether the pain in her chest was comparable to death by the Killing Curse. She lowered her gaze and let her eyes flutter shut, the last remaining drop of resilience she had in her evaporated.

Draco stared at (Y/N), working to keep his composure in front of his family of Death Eaters.

He drank in her lank and dishevelled hair, spilt and bleeding lips, tear stained cheeks. Her face and body were mottled with lavender and blue bruises, and her eyes had lost their past sparkle, but still, all he saw was the girl he‘d been in love with for years.

Draco swore to himself that he’d get her out of this hell, no matter what it took. Steeling himself, he tore his eyes from her and focused on the murderous gaze coming from Potter’s swollen face.

“Well, Draco?” his father asked eagerly. “Is it Harry Potter?”

Potter’s face was blown up to twice it’s usual size, and his jaw was covered in a dark shadow. He panicked for a moment, not sure how he could go about this for the desired outcome. He pretended to observe the face, even lifting up a chunk of hair to examine the stretched but familiar lightning bolt on his forehead.

“I… I can’t be sure.” Draco said, staring into his school rival’s green eyes. “What’s happened to his face?”

“Looks like a Stinging Jinx,” replied Lucius impatiently. “Well? We must be 100% sure it’s him before summoning the Dark Lord. Remember what happened to Dolhov?”

Suddenly, Greyback turned his attention to the other three teens held captive. They got excited, realizing that they were friends of Harry’s, said to be travelling with him in the paper.

Bellatrix Lestrange bounded into the room. Her chest heaved with anticipation and she pulled up her sleeve to call the Dark Lord when her eyes fixed on a ruby-hilted sword a Snatcher was holding. She flew into a terrified fury, stunning Snatchers and shrieking for answers.

“Take the prisoners to the cellar, Greyback. Wait… except for the Mudblood,” she drawled, grabbing Hermione’s chin roughly. “We’re going to have a bit of a chat, girl to girl.”

“No- NO! TAKE ME INSTEAD!” cried Ron, trying to fight his way out of the werewolf’s grip unsuccessfully. He dragged them down a steep flight of stairs and opened a grated door with a tap of his wand.

The three struggled against the bindings after being thrown into a cellar. (Y/N) could feel Ron shaking and the panic rose inside her at Bellatrix yelling at Hermione upstairs.

“Harry? Ron? (Y/N)?” came a familiar voice from the semidarkness.

“Luna?” Harry called in disbelief as the girl stepped out of the shadows. Her arms were smeared with dust, her blond curls were limp, but she was overall unharmed.

“Yes, it’s me”

“Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?” (Y/N) asked, blinking as her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness.

Luna, with the help of Ollivander, Dean, and Griphook, also prisoners, found a rusty nail and managed to cut the ropes off with the help of Ron’s deluminator.

Sliding down against the dungeon wall besides Luna, (Y/N) hugged her knees to her chest and finally let the tears roll down her cheeks. Quite sobs tore out of her chest and she flinched and gulped at her best friend’s shrill scream of pain as it echoed around the room. Ron, wild-eyed, yelled Hermione’s name, scrabbled against the cold stone wall, but to no avail. They were trapped.

Everyone’s head snapped towards the door as they heard keys jingling. All the breath rushed out of her as Draco’s platinum hair became visible in the torchlight.

Ron and Harry raised their wands, pointing them directly at Draco’s chest. (Y/N) followed suit, though her wand hand was shaking rather badly. Draco was unfazed.

“Did you really think I’d choose them over you?” he murmured, walking directly over to her and gently pushing her raised arm to her side.

(Y/N) bit her lip, hardly daring to hope.

He closed the distance between them with a step, clutching her to him with one hand around her waist and the other buried in her hair.

The kiss was desperate and untamed, making her toes curl inside her worn sneakers as they poured their souls into each other. More tears rolled down (Y/N)’s cheeks as Draco’s mouth moved against hers, trying to convey apologies and make up for lost time.

As much as she wanted to forget the world outside Draco’s familiar embrace, Hermione’s broken screams still cut through the kiss-induced fog in (Y/N)’s brain. She pulled away reluctantly, keeping herself pressed to him.

Draco seemed to read her thoughts as they all winced at another weak cry from upstairs. Fierce determination flooded his features.

“I swear, (Y/N),” he whispered. “I’ll get you out of here.”

He paused and glanced around at Harry, Ron, Luna, and Ollivander.

“All of you.”

#harry potter #hogwarts #deathly hallows #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #x reader #malfoy manor #hufflepuff #slytherin #ravenclaw #gryffindor #hp fandom #hp fanfic #hp imagine #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy imagine

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welcometothepenumbra · 6 years ago

Text

JUNO STEEL AND THE KITTY-CAT CAPER (PART TWO)

SOUND: RAIN. TRAIN ARRIVES, CREAKS TO A STOP. DOOR CLANKS OPEN.

CONDUCTOR: Ah, good evening, Traveler. And welcome… to The Penumbra. Take your seat, please, take your seat.

MUSIC: STARTS.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS SHUT.

The junction lies just ahead, Traveler. If you'll allow me just a moment.

SOUND: TRAIN WHISTLE.

(CHUCKLES) Well, next stop? Hyperion City.

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING.

Cornered by three hired guns in the storeroom of a designer pets laboratory, Detective Steel has found P.I. work to be just as exciting as he remembered. He had better find a way to escape, and quickly, because he isn’t the only victim the killers have their eyes on. The clock is ticking.

SOUND: TRAIN BRAKES. DOOR CLANKS OPEN, RAIN.

Our next stop: Juno Steel and the Kitty-Cat Caper.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

PIRANHA: (THROUGH THE DOOR) What do you mean, the key don’t work?

MONROVIAN: (THROUGH THE DOOR) I’m just an old man, miss, my memory isn’t what it used to be. Not that it was ever terribly—

PIRANHA: Shut up! Bosco?

BOSCO: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Yeah, Boss?

PIRANHA: If you hear one more excuse outta this raisin, you break his little neck.

BOSCO: (YAWNS) Sounds good, boss.

MONROVIAN: (WHIMPERS)

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Hyperion City’s a reinforced-plastic jungle, and it operates by the cardinal rule of all jungles: kill, get killed, or throw someone else in front of the killer and run for it.

My name’s Juno Steel. I’m a private eye, and I get a lot of practice in that third option. It’s easy: just piss off everyone until they all want to kill you, then make ‘em fight over the privilege. When you’re as charming as I am, making people want to kill you is just second nature.

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Hi, Mista Steel! Thanks for waiting until the commercial.

JUNO: I didn’t… nevermind. Look, I’ve only got a minute, so you need to listen up. There’s a big computer back here with some data I need, but I can’t figure out how to get it. Where would I find the records on all the cats that have gone through this place?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Well… the records gotta be on the database somewhere. What’s the screen say now?

JUNO: The screen’s blank, Rita, that’s why I called you.

RITA (FROM COMMS): …what? Mista Steel, did you turn the computer on?

JUNO: Well, how was I supposed to know that I had to do that?

RITA (FROM COMMS): There… there should be a big button. Somewhere on the computer.

JUNO: Yeah, yeah, I see it.

SOUND: BEEP. MACHINE POWERING UP.

It’s starting up now. How long’s this thing gonna take?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Sounds pretty old. Gonna take a few minutes.

SOUND: DISTANT CRASH.

PIRANHA: Next time that’s gonna be your face, Monrovian!

MONROVIAN: Oh, just a moment, please, this must be the wrong key, oh, forgetful me, I just need to pop into my apartment upstairs, just a moment, just a moment…

JUNO: Here’s hoping I have a few minutes. (SIGHS) So, did you research that cat like I asked you to?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Yeah! Pretty little kitty. She’s a Shangoan Mini-Leopard. Galactic Cat Lovers Quarterly says they’re real popular with high-powered businesspeople these days: Drake Draco, Min Kanagawa, Maia King—

JUNO: I don’t care who owns them, Rita, what’s it worth?

RITA (FROM COMMS): I don’t like all this talk about what a life’s worth, Mista Steel! It’s so insensitive. What would you say if someone asked you what I’m worth?

JUNO: Forty creds an hour.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Aww, boss, you’re makin’ me blush.

JUNO: If someone wanted to sell one of these Shangoan Mini-Leopards, what would they get?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Closest pet store sells ‘em for about four hundred creds.

JUNO: Four hundred! That’s it? King had silverware worth more than four hundred…

RITA (FROM COMMS): Wait – is this a surprise?! Are we getting a kitty for the office?! Are you gonna come home with a kitty in each arm?!

JUNO: No, Ri—

Hang on… hang on, a minute ago, you were listing high-powered people with Mini-Leopards. What were their names again?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Huh? Oh. Drake Draco, Min Kanagawa, Maia King—

JUNO: King! High-powered? That’s our client, Rita. She looks like she can barely take care of herself.

RITA (FROM COMMS): She’s a real estate lawyer, boss – one of the best in the city. She’s in the middle of this big class-action lawsuit against Babbling Brook Realty. Sounds like they’ve been sellin’ off all their apartment buildings across Hyperion City and kickin’ out all the tenants without notice.

JUNO: That’s huge. Why haven’t I heard about that before today?

RITA (FROM COMMS): I don’t know, boss. You’ve been tellin’ me to keep the streams off in the office because they’re always goin’ on about the election.

JUNO: Class-action lawsuit… Babbling Brook Realty… huh.

SOUND: ELECTRONIC JINGLE.

Alright, computer’s on, King can wait. Get me into the records, Rita.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Okay, boss. Now you gotta open up the central database. Once you do that, you can talk about what kinda password encryption they’re usin’.

JUNO: Whoa, whoa, slow down. Open up what?

RITA (FROM COMMS): It should be easy to find, Mista Steel. Most people just link it to their desktop.

JUNO: I’m looking at the desk right now, Rita, but all I can see is a couple pens and a coffee stain.

RITA (FROM COMMS): …Mista Steel, you’re joking, right? You’ve… used a computer before.

JUNO: I have one in my office, don’t I?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Oh, good, because I was worried—

JUNO: I got the high score for Jovian Solitaire on that thing. Twice.

RITA (FROM COMMS): …Fifteen years. You think you know a guy, but it turns out it takes fifteen years to find out he’s a caveman.

JUNO: So what if I don’t know about all this computer junk? That’s what I have you for!

SOUND: DISTANT SLAM.

PIRANHA: That better be the key, Monrovian! Or else what’re we gonna do, Bosco?

BOSCO: We’re gonna punch his legs off, boss.

MONROVIAN: Oh, I’m quite certain this is it, quite certain. Just give me a moment…

JUNO: Rita, we’re out of time. Get me into those records!

RITA (FROM COMMS): Oh, just let me do it! Put your comms down on the computer!

JUNO: Which part?

RITA (FROM COMMS): THE COMPUTER PART ALRIGHT JUST PUT THE COMMS DOWN MISTA STEEL!!!

JUNO: Alright, alright, jeez…

RITA (FROM COMMS): Do I gotta do everythin’ around here…

PIRANHA: Monrovian…

MONROVIAN: I’ve unlocked it, I swear! There’s something holding the door closed!

JUNO: Rita, I need that data now!

RITA (FROM COMMS): You’re makin’ me invent a whole way to hack wirelessly through your stupid comms, Mista Steel, so I don’t wanna hear it!

PIRANHA: Bosco, you know what to do.

BOSCO: Yeah, boss.

SOUND: DISTANT GRUNT, THUD.

JUNO: Rita…

RITA (FROM COMMS): Shush!

SOUND: DISTANT GRUNT, THUD.

JUNO: Gotta go, Rita. Good luck!

RITA (FROM COMMS): MISTA STEEL DON’T YOU HANG UP ON ME I’M RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE’A—

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Sleeping Beauty gave the door one last shove…

BOSCO: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: CRASH, WOOD SPLINTERING, LOUD CLATTERING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): …and it all came tumbling down. So I slipped my comms into my pocket and then slipped behind an operating table deep in the storeroom.

PIRANHA: You first, Monrovian.

MONROVIAN: B-b-but I’m not even armed!

PIRANHA: Here.

SOUND: CLUNK.

Now y’are, see?

BOSCO: Heh.

MONROVIAN: (NERVOUS MOAN)

JUNO (NARRATOR): Out of reflex, my hand went to my blaster… and that’s when I remembered my eye.

In a situation like this, I had two shots, tops, before they figured out where I was and started shooting back. The old Juno Steel would’ve made those shots in a second. But now, with this stupid eyepatch? Forget two shots – I couldn’t hit him if I had two dozen.

So, I’d have to settle this without the blaster. As for how I’d do that… I hadn’t quite figured that part out yet.

I reached up onto the operating table and snatched a scalpel. It wasn’t much, but these days, neither was I.

PIRANHA: Monrovian, you take the right wall. Bosco, you take left. I’ll stay here and make sure he doesn’t get away.

You hear that, P.I.? Come out, come out, wherever you are!

JUNO (NARRATOR): I looked around the corner. The doctor was coming my way, holding his gun out like a dead rat. I wouldn’t need my blaster to take him down.

MONROVIAN: Come here, young man… Perhaps, well, you may not like tea, but coffee, yes, coffee…?

JUNO (NARRATOR): I waited for him to come within arm’s reach. Then I arm’s-reached.

SOUND: THUD, RUSTLING.

BOSCO: Doc? Hey, doc, you out there?

MONROVIAN: Don’t hurt me, oh please, that scalpel is terribly filthy and I—

JUNO: If you don’t want to know what impromptu surgery feels like coming from a one-eyed maniac with nothing to lose, doc, I’d recommend you keep quiet.

MONROVIAN: (WHIMPERS)

PIRANHA: What’s the matter, Bosco?

BOSCO: Thought I heard a noise, boss.

PIRANHA: It was probably just your two brain cells clacking together.

BOSCO: Come on, boss, that ain’t fair, you know the doc says I got sleep-type problems like that ‘somnia stuff—

PIRANHA: Shut up! Hey, Monrovian, you dead?

JUNO: (WHISPERING) Tell them you’re fine.

MONROVIAN: (WHISPERING) Well, now am I to talk or not to talk? This is entirely too confusing.

JUNO: Just say it!

MONROVIAN: Oh, please don’t hit me again, my medical insurance just isn’t what it used to be and who has the money for—

JUNO (NARRATOR): There was no time. I clocked Monrovian cold.

MONROVIAN: Oof!

SOUND: PUNCH, THUMP.

JUNO (NARRATOR): And then I had to think. Fast.

PIRANHA: Bosco! Go check it out!

BOSCO: Alright, boss.

JUNO: (WHISPERING) Damn it, damn it…

(TERRIBLE MONROVIAN IMPRESSION) Oh, don’t worry about me! I’m fine, you young… people.

BOSCO: I dunno, sounds like he’s okay, boss.

PIRANHA: I can’t hear you, Monrovian! Speak up!

JUNO: (JUST THE WORST MONROVIAN IMPRESSION) Well, alright.

PIRANHA: What’d he say?

BOSCO: He said he was gonna speak up, boss.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I looked through the old man’s pockets for a weapon, but he wasn’t carrying so much as a pocketknife. Just his wallet and a folded-up envelope holding enough creds to choke a bank teller.

JUNO: (MUTTERING) On the take, huh…

PIRANHA: I’ve had enough of him. Bosco, finish Monrovian while you’re at it.

BOSCO: Sure, boss.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING.

JUNO: Uh-oh.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I wasn’t sure how I was going to take down tall, dumb, and stupid, but I knew it wasn’t gonna be head-on. The rest of the storeroom was full of standing shelves, so I crept behind one and waited.

BOSCO: Doc? Hey, doc? (YAWNS) Hey, boss? The doc’s either dead or he’s takin’ a nap.

PIRANHA: A nap…? You idiot, the P.I. probably got to him!

That’s it, I’m coming in! Watch the door!

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Piranha-face was coming closer, gun ready – and it looked like she knew how to use it. I’d have to surprise them both. I nudged the shelf, and it shook like Rita after half a latte. And then I had my plan.

PIRANHA: He’s knocked out.

BOSCO: Don’t look at me, boss, I didn’t touch him.

PIRANHA: You were supposed to—! Damn it, it doesn’t matter! We’re gonna squish that P.I., then we squash him, see?

JUNO (NARRATOR): They were both right in front of me, standing in the shadow of the shelf. I pressed my weight against it, but it was heavy. I kept pushing, harder.

SOUND: METAL CREAKING, CLANGING.

PIRANHA: What’s that noise?

BOSCO: Sorry, boss.

PIRANHA: No, not you! I mean—

JUNO (NARRATOR): Her tiny, mean eyes met mine through the shelves. I gave one last push.

SOUND: METAL CREAKING.

PIRANHA: He’s right there! Get—

SOUND: LOUD CRASH & CLATTER.

JUNO: (PANTING) Timber.

So. Looks like I got you two right where I want you: beneath about a hundred pounds of industrial shelving. You gonna talk, or do I have to get uglier than usual?

Oh, come on, I don’t believe for a second you’re finished after one little—

BOSCO: (ROARS)

SOUND: CRASH.

JUNO: (CHOKING) …shelf!

JUNO (NARRATOR): A paw cracked through the wreckage and grabbed me by the throat.

Then the big guy stood up. He was tall. Real tall. My-toes-left-the-ground-and-kept-going-for-another-foot kind of tall.

BOSCO: Whaddaya think you’re doin’? You could hurt someone playin’ around like that, ya know.

JUNO: (CHOKING) That was kind of the idea, yeah. (GRUNTS)

SOUND: SWISH.

Umm…

BOSCO: (YAWN)

JUNO: (CHOKING) Hey, big guy, you mind bringing me a little closer? I can’t quite reach your face.

SOUND: CLUNK.

BOSCO: No way, buddy. Thanks for the gun.

JUNO: (CHOKING) Hey!

BOSCO: Heh.

JUNO: (CHOKING) Hey, you’re pretty quick. Fastest grizzly bear I’ve ever met. Ready to hibernate, too, by the look of you.

SOUND: SQUEEZING.

BOSCO: You can say that again, buddy. Anyway, say bye-bye to your neck.

JUNO: (CHOKING) So smart! In fact, I bet you just realized that that gun’s no danger in my hands anyway, I mean, it’s not like I’d be stupid enough to try to—

BOSCO: It’s way too early for you to talk that fast, buddy.

JUNO: What I mean is…

Hey, did you know they added another setting to those pistols? Sleep laser. Gives you a good night’s sleep like you’ve never had before. Insomniacs swear by it.

BOSCO: They… whuh?

I mean… yeah. Yeah, I knew that.

JUNO: You just gotta flip that switch there—

SOUND: CLICK.

BOSCO: Now it says ‘stun.’

JUNO: Yeah, it’s Venusian for ‘naptime.’ Here, I’ll show you. Just toss that thing to me.

BOSCO: If you say so.

SOUND: CLUNK.

JUNO: Thanks, big guy.

BOSCO: You’re welcome.

Hey, wait a second—

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT. HEAVY THUD.

JUNO: Nighty-night. (COUGHING)

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

Hey, Rita. You got those results?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Mista Steel! You got no idea what I been through! I had barely half a foothold when you hung up and then, I had to invent a whole ‘nother kind of uplink on the fly, and I only had a few seconds and oh man boss I feel like I really need a nap and a can of cheese to get all that energy back and I ain’t built for this you hear me I ain’t—

JUNO: I’ll pick up the cheese on the way back. Just tell me about the cat.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Yeah, of course they made a cat like that; just a couple weeks ago. I don’t know who it was commissioned by, though; that part of the record’s been wiped.

JUNO: I think I can tell you that.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Well, if you already knew, then how come I hadda exhaust myself and miss half my show??

JUNO: Just took down a few people who’ve been paying off the guy who runs this place; I’ll see if I can find some… ID…

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING.

There it is. “Bosco Hindenburg, Security Officer for Babbling Brook Realty.” Rita, that’s the place King’s suing, right?

RITA (FROM COMMS): It is! Oh boy, boss, this is real excitin’!

JUNO: It is, isn’t it.

So we know that Babbling Brook has something against King, but what’s stealing her cat got to do with it? And even then, why would they go to all that trouble to replace it with a perfect replica?

Unless… the point isn’t to steal her cat… it’s to sneak in the other one.

We’ve been looking at the wrong cat. The important cat’s not the one they stole – it’s the one they left behind.

RITA (FROM COMMS): That’s… but… what could be so special about the fake cat, boss?

JUNO: Monrovian said they don’t make cats, just rearrange them… and in this room back here there’s that operating table, all those surgical suppli—

Rita. Did Monrovian keep any surgical records for the cat?

RITA (FROM COMMS): I don’t think so, unless…

SOUND: KEYBOARD CLICKING.

Oh! Found ‘em!

JUNO: Anything interesting?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Just one surgery… Aw, it was on her poor widdle belly! It wooks wike cutie widdle kittie had a widdle bellyache, so the doctor– put a bomb inside of her belly OH MY GOD—!

JUNO: Put a what?!

RITA (FROM COMMS): No– no– no-no-no-no-no! Kittie kittie what are we gonna do Mista Steel what are we gonna do?!?

JUNO: Does it say what sets the bomb off?

RITA (FROM COMMS): It’s– it’s– it’s– it’s– it’s a time bomb, boss! Who knows how much longer she’s got!! (BAWLING)

JUNO: God damn it, Rita, snap out of it! There’s got to be a way to disarm it, right? Find it!

RITA (FROM COMMS): (SNIFFLING) O-okay, boss.

SOUND: KEYBOARD CLICKING.

Okay, okay, Mista Steel. The doctor left a note here that says there’s a remote that should stop the bomb. Says it’s on loan to B.B. Realty Security Officer Hindenburg and a… private contractor.

JUNO: Must be the Piranha-woman. At least I’ve got ‘em both here.

SOUND: CLANKING.

The big guy didn’t have it, so it must be somewhere on… that Piranha…

She has to be under this shelf; her gun’s here. But… where the hell did she go?

RITA (FROM COMMS): You gotta find that remote, Mista Steel! Nine lives are on the line! Plus Miss King makes ten!

JUNO: I know, I know, Rita, but she isn’t…

SOUND: DISTANT CAR ENGINE STARTS.

No!

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I ran out of the storeroom and looked outside. That electric-blue car was starting up again, and behind the wheel was that Piranha. King’s real cat was pawing at the back window, yowling. And the gate to the street was opening.

SOUND: DISTANT GATE CREAKING OPEN.

JUNO: Damn it! Rita, can you stop that gate?

RITA (FROM COMMS): What gate? You– you know I’m not actually there with you, right, boss?

JUNO: Never mind!

Monrovian could control the gate from in here, which means there must be a… control panel!

JUNO (NARRATOR): I pressed the magic button—

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BEEPS.

—and the gate outside stopped. But the Piranha’s car didn’t.

SOUND: ENGINE REVVING.

JUNO: She’s not gonna… no, she wouldn’t. That’d be nuts.

SOUND: TIRES SQUEALING, CRASH, RATTLING.

PIRANHA: (DISTANT CACKLING)

JUNO: Huh. Guess I walked into that one.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Mista Steel? What’s goin’ on?

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO: (PANTING) That lunatic just crashed her car through Monrovian’s gate. Looks like the car’s totaled; I’m gonna make sure the driver is, too. You call King and tell her to get the hell away from that cat!

RITA (FROM COMMS): Be careful, boss!

JUNO: Not likely, but I’ll keep you updated.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The Piranha was pulling herself out of the wreckage when I got there. She looked battered, bruised, and meaner than ever.

PIRANHA: (GRUNTING, LAUGHING)

JUNO: Looks like you’re having fun. Why don’t you just stay right there? The HCPD can get you out of that car in two shakes of a plasma chainsaw.

PIRANHA: (GRUNTS) I don’t think so, P.I. (CACKLING) I reeeeeally don’t think so.

JUNO: Oh, come on. You’re gonna resist? Really? I’ve got your gun; you’re fresh out of cars. The hell do you have left?

SOUND: MEOW.

JUNO: Oh, you’re kidding me.

PIRANHA: This is a hostage situation, P.I. Stay back, unless you want little kitten to go kaboom. (LAUGHS) And besides… I think you got bigger fish to fry. There’s a special surprise in kitty-cat’s twin, and you only got… fifteen minutes before that thing blows.

JUNO: Bigger fish to fry? Maybe. But I can’t think of any I’ll have more fun fry—

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

Hey, you can’t run away while I’m doin’ a bit! Get back here!

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Ooh! Oooooh! Are you in ‘hot pursuit,’ boss?

JUNO: (PANTING) Trying to focus, Rita.

RITA (FROM COMMS): But I looooooove chases! I love all kindsa chases, car chases and foot chases and spaceship chases and really fast animal chases, but you never take me and it ain’t fair, Mista Steel! You gotta tell me everything that’s goin’ on!!

SOUND: TRAFFIC.

JUNO: Fine. She’s going fast. I’m going fast. Eventually one of us will go faster than the other and the chase will be over, the end—

SOUND: CAR HORN.

Whoa!! Hey, watch it, buddy, crosswalk’s right there!

DRIVER: (DISTANT) No it isn’t!

RITA (FROM COMMS): See? That’s more like it! Action, drama! You gotta start shootin’, Mista Steel! Pew-pew, screeeeee, vroom—

JUNO: Not really in the plan, Rita.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Then what! Even! Is the point!!

JUNO: Look, my aim isn’t what it used to be, alright?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Oh, how do you know that? You’ve barely even tried, Mista Steel!

JUNO: But my eye—

RITA (FROM COMMS): Boss, you’ve fired that gun’a yours maybe three times since you lost your eye. Is that really what you’re all upset about?

JUNO: No, but… she’s got a hostage, okay? And even if the hostage is a stupid cat, I’m not gonna risk hurting it!

RITA (FROM COMMS): Awww, that’s so sweet! You’d really do that for a wittle kitty?

JUNO: It’s not some great charity to avoid killing a cat, Rita. You’d have to be some kind of monster to want to kill some innocent… cat.

PIRANHA: (LAUGHING)

JUNO: You gotta be kidding me.

RITA (FROM COMMS): What is it, Mista Steel? What’s happenin’, I can’t see, I can’t see!

JUNO: This psycho’s holding the cat out in the goddamn street!

PIRANHA: I told you not to follow me, P.I.!

JUNO: Hey, I-I thought you were kidding! How was I supposed to know you were serious?

PIRANHA: Serious! (CACKLES) You think I ain’t serious? You think I like to play games? Well, why don’t we play one now: here’s a little game called “Catch the Kitty on the Freeway!”

JUNO: No! Let’s not play that game! That sounds like a really, really bad game!

PIRANHA: Here we go! In one… two… three!

PIPPA: (YOWLS)

SOUND: CARS HONKING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): She threw the cat into the street.

…She threw the cat into the street.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Mista Steel!

JUNO: (YELLING)

SOUND: SQUEALING BRAKES.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The cat landed on its feet like it took flights onto freeways every day, but it wasn’t the freeway I was worried about: it was the cars.

SOUND: HONKING, YELLING.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Mista Steel! Mista Steel, are you alright?

JUNO: Yeah, I’m fine. Caused a twenty-car pileup, but the only thing I lost was my eardrums.

RITA (FROM COMMS): You gotta chase her again, boss! She’s gettin’ away with the deactivator!

JUNO (NARRATOR): I looked past the junked-up cars and saw that the Piranha was just a dot in the distance, now. I’d never catch up. I wasn’t fast enough.

But a laser… one laser, aimed just right…

RITA (FROM COMMS): Boss, you can do it! I know you can! You’re Juno Steel, remember? The winner of the HCPD’s Sharpshootin’ contest three years in a row!

JUNO: I know, I know!

(QUIETLY) I can do it. I can do it. Just aim… focus… and…

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT.

RITA (FROM COMMS): …So? Did you get her? …Mista Steel?

JUNO (NARRATOR): Piranha-face looked at me one last time and laughed. She stopped for a second and showed me something in her hand.

A remote. The deactivator for her cat-bomb.

She waggled it a few times, stuck out a tongue that was a few inches longer than regulation, and disappeared into an alley.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Come on, Mista Steel, you know I can’t handle suspense! Did you make the shot??

JUNO: Rita, earlier, when I told you to call Maia King… did you get a hold of her?

RITA (FROM COMMS): Nuh-uh, boss, her phone was busy… and her office said she’s always on call in her apartment at this time of day… and… didja get the Piranha lady?

JUNO: Rita, we need to get to Maia King’s apartment right now. Run there if you have to.

RITA (FROM COMMS): Oh no, oh no, Mista Steel—

JUNO: Don’t “oh no Mista Steel” me! Get over there! That cat’s gonna blow any second now, and Maia King’s not going to die!

RITA (FROM COMMS): Alright, boss. I’m on my way.

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I booked it to King’s apartment in record time, and from the pain in my chest I guessed that the trip only cost me a lung. Rita was making her way up the stairs when I got there.

RITA: (PANTING) M-Mista Steel! I’m so glad you’re here! I never deactivated a cat before an’ I was just thinkin’ I have no idea what to do and—

Aww, boss, that is the cutest widdle kitty I have ever seen!

SOUND: MEOW.

JUNO: (PANTING) You like it? You take it. It’s been carving up my arm for six blocks now.

SOUND: YOWL.

RITA: Ooh! Be careful, boss, I coulda dropped her!

JUNO: Trust me – after everything that cat’s put me through today, it deserves worse.

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO: There. That’s King’s apartment.

SOUND: POUNDING ON DOOR.

Ms. King! Open this door!

KING: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Just a moment!

JUNO: We don’t have a moment! Now! Open up!

KING: (THROUGH THE DOOR) I’m taking a call, you can wait one minute!

JUNO: We can’t, actually! We—

RITA: Ms. King your cat’s going to explode!!!

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

KING: I’m afraid you’re going to have to say that one more time.

JUNO (NARRATOR): It all could’ve gone pretty smoothly after that, I like to think… if King hadn’t brought her cat’s doppelganger to the door. Because as soon as King opened that door and Pippa saw herself, she did exactly what I’d do if I ever met myself at the door: she went for the throat.

SOUND: CATS HISSING, YOWLING.

RITA: Ow!

KING: Pippa!

JUNO: Damn it, get ‘em off each other!

RITA: I’m tryin’, Mista Steel, I swear!

JUNO (NARRATOR): It took a few layers of skin and a minute we didn’t have to get the two Pippas apart. And once we did, we had a bigger problem on our hands.

RITA: Uh… Mista Steel? Which cat’s got the bomb in her?

JUNO: I—

I really hope Ms. King can answer that question.

KING: What are you going to do, Detective Steel? I can’t let it hurt my Pippa!

JUNO: Well, there goes that plan.

RITA: If that Piranha lady was right, boss, we only got three minutes left!

JUNO: Get rid of ‘em both, then!

KING: You can’t! I won’t let you!

JUNO: Which one’s which, then?

KING: How should I know that, with them misbehaving like this?

JUNO: Alright, alright! I’ll just figure out a way to tell the difference between two identical cats I just met today in three minutes!

RITA: Actually it’s a hundred fifty seconds, Mista—

JUNO: Thank you, Rita!

JUNO (NARRATOR): I wracked every brain cell I had, and when they didn’t cut it I brought some out of retirement. I had no excuse this time: one eye or two or three, a P.I.’s nothing without his brain.

KING: Is… is something wrong with him?

RITA: I think he’s thinkin’.

KING: Does his face always get this red when he thinks?

RITA: He’ll be fine, once he cools off a little.

JUNO: Cool off…

The fridge—! Tuna Brick!!

RITA: Mista Steel, I know we’re all hungry, but this ain’t the time for a snack!

JUNO: Ms. King, I need you to open the fridge and leave it open.

KING: But the power bill—

JUNO: Now!

KING: Oh, alright!

RITA: Boss I know you’re a stickler for tradition but if I’m gonna have a last meal I really don’t want it to be Tuna Brick—

SOUND: FRIDGE DOOR OPENS.

JUNO: The brick isn’t for us, Rita. Let me tell you something about Pippa here: her double might like Tuna Brick…

KING: It’s open, Detective Steel!

JUNO: …but Pippa loves Tuna Brick.

SOUND: MEOW, HISS.

RITA: Ow ow ow ow! Oww!

SOUND: GLASS CLINKING.

JUNO: That’s her! Grab her, Ms. King!

KING: Oof! Oh, my Pippa, my sweet, sweet kitten! Come here, come here!

RITA: Then that means… Mista Steel, you’re holdin’ the cat-bomb!

SOUND: TICKING.

JUNO: And don’t I know it.

SOUND: MEOW.

How much time do I have?

RITA: You got… thirty seconds, boss! What are we gonna do, what are we gonna do?!

JUNO: Only smart thing there is to do with a bomb, Rita: get it the hell away from you. Open the door to the balcony, quick!

RITA: You got it!

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I ran for King’s balcony and the cat stared at me with its big, green, highly-explosive eyes. There was an abandoned alley just within sight.

RITA: Mista Steel, you better not be doin’ what I think you’re doin’!

SOUND: TICKING SPEEDS UP.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I was.

I threw the cat.

SOUND: YOWL, EXPLOSION.

RITA: Awwwww.

That was… kinda beautiful, boss.

(SNIFFLES) It’s just so sad. What’d that cat ever do to anyone?

JUNO: At least she died as she lived.

RITA: Beautiful, distant, and misunderstood?

JUNO: I was thinking more, ‘confused and in excruciating pain,’ but yours’ll sound better in the eulogy.

(SIGHS) You mind staying here and hashing out the payment details with Ms. King? I’m feeling a little under the weather, all of a sudden.

RITA: Hey, what’s the matter, boss?

JUNO: Nothing you can fix.

RITA: But… we won! It was just the case you were waitin’ for, excitin’ and life-threatenin’, and it even ended with some real nice fireworks! It’s everything you coulda asked for, and Ms. King is safe now, ain’t she?

JUNO: I’ll see you tomorrow, Rita.

RITA: Well… alright, Mista Steel. You’ll feel better after you sleep a little. You gotta. I know you will.

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Feel better… (SNORTS) People have been telling me I’ll feel better for years. Exercise, you’ll feel better; get some sleep, you’ll feel better; go out and meet someone, you’ll feel better. And, look, I’ve thought about it a lot, and here’s the thing: I’m not sure I care about feeling better.

I care about doing my job. Fixing the little part of this city I can get my hands on. And in the Maia King case, I failed.

King survived, sure. And with the evidence I pulled from Bosco, Babbling Brook Realty’s going down; but the Piranha… she’s still out there. And Maia King isn’t safe. I failed.

So no, Rita. A nap isn’t gonna fix that.

I headed back to the office and let myself feel sorry for about half a bottle. I knew what I needed. And I also knew it was gonna cost me one of two things: either more creds than I’d ever seen in one place before… (SIGHS) …or a favor.

But from who? The Prince of Mars? Saffron Pharma had been in the toilet since Anthony DiMaggio got flushed. Valles Vicky? That was a one-way road to a ten-year contract cleaning her dirt. Cecil Kanagawa? No thanks; I was already down one eye, and losing an arm, leg, and brain lobe to match didn’t sound so appealing.

I picked up my comms. I didn’t know who I was gonna call, but I had to call someone, I thought.

Turns out I thought wrong, though…

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

…because just then, someone called me.

MUSIC: ENDS.

COMPUTER VOICE: Detective. Juno. Steel. Please have a pen. Ready. This message will not. Repeat.

JUNO: Who is this?

COMPUTER VOICE: Message start.

JUNO: Damn it, damn…!

SOUND: RUSTLING.

COMPUTER VOICE: I have. What you need. To do good. In this city. If you wish to do. Business. Come to the bench beside. The fountain. In Halcyon Park. At five AM.

SOUND: PEN SCRIBBLING.

JUNO: H-halcyon Park…?

COMPUTER VOICE: We can do. Some real Good together. Detective.

JUNO: Who are you?

COMPUTER VOICE: End of message.

JUNO: Answer me!

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

(QUIETLY) Damn it.

JUNO (NARRATOR): By that point 5 AM was only a few hours off, so I started walking.

It had been years since I’d thought of Halcyon Park, and I didn’t like the reminder. Halcyon was one of the nicest neighborhoods in Hyperion, and for the first four years of my life… it was my home. Just me… and Ben, and… good old Ma.

Then she got bad.

Then Oldtown happened. Or maybe it was the other way around – it was too long ago to remember. Some memories just get clearer the further they get, though. And as soon as I heard the first bird chirping in the park’s palms it all came rushing back.

SOUND: BIRDS CHIRPING.

The blue-green grass. The smooth bark of the trees and the stones shimmering like beetles in the dirt. I didn’t even have to think about it; I just started walking and… and my feet and my memories brought me right where I had to go.

The fountain. Snaked with vines, and a jet of soft water springing from its center. It felt like home, and I didn’t like it. Whoever called me here, they wanted me to feel that way. They’d looked into me.

I took a seat on the bench. I didn’t feel good, but that didn’t matter. Feeling good isn’t the point. Doing good… that’s what I’m for. That’s all that matters.

VAGUELY FAMILIAR VOICE: Well! Four forty-five. You’re early.

JUNO: Thought I’d scope out the place ahead of time. Thirty-four years ahead of time, if my subtraction’s right.

VOICE: (CHUCKLES) They warned me you’d be funny. (GRUNTS) Just… be sure not to let that humor outstay its welcome, will you?

JUNO (NARRATOR): The guy had a hat down low over his eyes and most of his face was tucked into a big, wooly scarf.

He was rich, I could tell that much. If my clothes looked out of place in Halcyon in one direction, his looked out of place in the other, with big golden buttons on his coat and a watch poking out one sleeve that could’ve blinded you if you weren’t careful.

SOUND: TICKING.

There was something about that watch that stopped me. Something about the guy’s voice, too, it was… like this park. Familiar, but far away.

Like a ghost that hasn’t haunted you in a long, long time.

JUNO: Maybe this is a dumb question, but… do I know you?

VOICE: (CHUCKLES) You’re right, detective: that is a dumb question. Everyone in Hyperion City knows me.

In a few months, I’ll be their mayor.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Ramses O’Flaherty pulled back his hat and looked at me with two blue, blue eyes. On his streams and at his rallies, those eyes always looked like bright, clear skies, like a new day, a future worth running to. But… he was different in person. His eyes were tired, hard, gunmetal.

I liked this Ramses more, to be honest. That worried me, too.

VOICE [RAMSES O’FLAHERTY]: You look surprised.

JUNO: Got to say, Mr. O’Flaherty, you’re not exactly my typical clientele.

RAMSES: Oh, I wouldn’t say that. The Kanagawas, the DiMaggios, Valles Vicky… you might like to think of yourself as the hard-knock David, scrapping against the galaxy’s Goliaths, Detective Steel, but you’ve been on the giants’ payroll for years.

JUNO: Maybe, but some giants are taller than others.

RAMSES: And I’m certainly the tallest.

JUNO: Humble, too.

RAMSES: Humility is for the young and the unambitious. Pussy-footing around the fact that I’ll soon be the most powerful man in Hyperion City only wastes the few breaths I have left.

JUNO: But grandstanding about how wise you are is a good use of your time, then.

RAMSES: Of course. I never do anything unless I’m certain of it. We’re all just killing time until the killing-time, Juno – all that matters is how you use what you get before you run out.

So?

JUNO: Uh… so what?

RAMSES: How do you plan to use the time you have left?

JUNO: Finding an excuse to get off this bench is first on my list.

RAMSES: Deflect if you like. I already know the answer. I just thought you might want to spruce it up yourself.

JUNO: You get a real kick out of being the smartest person in the room, don’t you?

RAMSES: Yes.

(CHUCKLES) You’re worried it’s a cliché. That’s why you won’t say it.

JUNO: If I’m worried it’s because I’m watching a guy who’s got a decent shot at being our next mayor lose his mind in real time.

RAMSES: You want to help people. To make the world a better place. To right wrongs, to stop crime in its tracks, to—

JUNO: To slap whoever gave you the thesaurus you’re pulling all of these out from.

RAMSES: You’re the hero private eye at heart. And it embarrasses you.

JUNO: Look, I’m not some selfless—

RAMSES: (LAUGHS HEARTILY) No, you are definitely not ‘some selfless.’ Your delight at throwing yourself into harm’s way implies more self-loathing than self-sacrifice. Great heroes risk great things. You risk only yourself, and as far as you’re concerned, that’s very little on the line.

JUNO: The hell…?

RAMSES: No, you’re not selfless. But you do act selflessly, and I’m afraid that’s all that holds value here. It doesn’t matter why you right your wrongs any more than it matters why I want to clean this city. Soon we’ll be dead, and corpses don’t have motives. The why dies with us. But what we do… what we make… that stays. And I know you and I could make something very special, detective.

JUNO: I do.

RAMSES: You do what?

JUNO: Sorry, you got all gushy for a minute there. I thought you were trying to propose.

RAMSES: …You’re useless without your eye. Hm?

JUNO: What?

RAMSES: Are there one-eyed sharpshooters? Of course. But it takes years to learn, and people are suffering now, and right now? You’re useless. Every day that you don’t solve this problem is another day you miss the shot. You have finite breaths, detective. You have finite lives to save. Will you spend the rest of your days missing shots and wandering into parks at five in the morning to talk to strange old men?

JUNO: Hmph.

RAMSES: Not that you were doing much before. Saving Mars, case by case… but while you chase this murderer, how many others walk away free? Who’s going to stop them? The HCPD? Send a band of thieves to catch a thief and watch the wallets disappear.

Corruption, detective. This city is rotten to its core. If you want to do good, real good, you’ll have to think bigger than putting pickpockets in prison.

JUNO: Yeah? And you think you’re the first politician with some big ideas about busting crime?

RAMSES: No. But I think I’m the first politician with my big ideas about busting crime. And I know they’ll work. You’re going to help me make them work.

JUNO: Ha! Yeah, no, I don’t think so. We’re done here.

RAMSES: (CHUCKLING) No we aren’t.

JUNO: I’ve spent most of my career, hell, most of my life bringing down people like you, you know that? Big shots with big bank accounts who think a nice promise is a get-out-of-jail-free card for building a world that doesn’t work for anyone but them.

RAMSES: You’re assuming a lot about a plan you haven’t even been told, Juno.

JUNO: Tell me, then. What do I get out of this? What the hell could you possibly give me that’s worth trusting you?

RAMSES: The only thing you care about, detective. The power to do good again.

SOUND: BEEP.

JUNO: What’s that?

RAMSES: A picture of your new eye. The Theia Spectrum – the most advanced ocular cybernetic that money can buy. A built-in scope to rival our military’s greatest rifles; sensors for capturing infrared, ultraviolet, and megagreen frequencies; recording technologies, computer uplinks, direct access to the HCPD’s most classified directory of criminals and evidence…

JUNO: Access to what?

RAMSES: Shh. That one’s our little secret. (CHUCKLES) You could do a lot of good with an eye like this, detective… and an ear like mine. You and I want the same thing, after all: to clean Hyperion City of crime. With your expertise, your understanding of what it’s like out on those mean streets… we could do a lot of good together.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Ramses O’Flaherty, with the tired blue eyes, smiled at me. And it wasn’t the smile I’d seen on the streams, the flashing platinum teeth and the sky-blue eyes. It was the kind of smile some people put on because it’s all they’ve got left – the bone-tired smile of someone who’s been throwing themselves against the world for years, only for the world to throw them back twice as hard.

SOUND: TICKING.

And again I thought about his watch. That smile… he reminded me of someone. Someone familiar. Someone safe.

Didn’t make me feel any better. But feeling better isn’t the point, is it? And Ramses… Ramses seemed like the first person I’d ever met who got what the point was. I could see it in those eyes.

JUNO: Fine, Ramses. I’ll do it.

RAMSES: I know.

JUNO: Just, why…

…look, how am I supposed to know you mean all this? The promises and the cleaning and… the hell is your angle here, O’Flaherty?

RAMSES: Last I checked, Juno, you’re a private investigator. You never know your employers’ angles. That’s half the thrill, isn’t it?

If you want to know so badly, figure it out. Investigate, privately. Just let me warn you that I’ll take no responsibility for what happens to you if you try.

JUNO: Real reassuring, Ramses.

RAMSES: Reassuring you can’t be my job. I have an entire city to reassure. You’ll have to take care of yourself. (CLEARS HIS THROAT) This has been a nice chat, Juno, but the life of the successful leaves very little room for nice chats. You know that well.

JUNO: Don’t know if I’d call myself successful.

RAMSES: I would. And soon enough, when you see what kind of city we’ll build, what you’ll do with this new eye… you’re going to agree with me.

It was a pleasure meeting you, Juno Steel. You and I are going to do some real good together.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you've enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you'll receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from actor Noah Simes and co-creators Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

SOUND: LAUGHTER.

SOPHIE: …But yeah, I mean we just– we wanted to change the game. Really. We– we didnt want it to be the same sort of arc; we didnt want it to be the same sort of villain—

KEVIN: Right.

SOPHIE: —um, and we wanted a new challenge for Juno. So that was very much our starting point for this season.

KEVIN: The other thing that I’ll add off of the last season is, uh, we had this conversation for the end of the last season, but it's very, very important to us to have a show where things change. That's part of the reason that Juno loses his eye at the end of season one, because we want—

SOPHIE: —and his boyfriend!

SOUND: LAUGHTER.

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: You can also support The Penumbra by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast, telling your friends about us, telling your friends to tell their friends about us, and especially by rating and reviewing our podcast on iTunes. Every rating, comment, and kind word spreads our stories further and inspires us to keep creating more and better tales to come.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Jaimie Gunter, The Princess and The Scrivener, Hannah Tsim, and Elizabeth Miller for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Kitty-Cat Caper, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Kate Jones as Rita, Kristie Norris as Maia King, Noah Simes as Dr. Monrovian, Sophie Kaner as the Piranha, Kevin Vibert as Bosco, and Matthew Zahnzinger as Ramses O’Flaherty.

On staff at The Penumbra: Kevin Vibert is our lead writer and recording engineer. Sophie Kaner is our director and sound designer. Noah Simes is our production manager. Alice Chung is our designer and financial manager. Grahame Turner is our script editor. Original music by Ryan Vibert. Promotional art by Mikaela Buckley.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert.

I'm afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

#juno steel

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