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hellfirenacht · 3 months ago

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Fic Summary: Eddie had a casual thing going, but when that ends he realizes he has more options than he thought. SMUT

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fem!reader, slightly-experienced!Eddie, virgin!Reader but don't make it weird, friends to lovers, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, porn with plot, or maybe plot with porn, drug use (weed), two idiots figuring things out, slightly ambiguous ending, no use of y/n, Reader is not described

Notes: No beta, what am I a fish?

Word Count: 7.8k words

Master List

Eddie had known he was being used, he wasn’t an idiot despite the fact that she thought he was. He knew from the second that she asked him to meet her behind the school what she wanted, and for once he gave in.

It had happened twice before, and with both of those girls he shot them down immediately and walked away. Aside from not being interested, those girls were too young for him anyway.

It was obvious that Heather wanted more than a dime bag when she sat at the picnic table. Eddie didn’t do subtle, and neither did she. He had been ready to turn her down and walk away but he didn’t. He should have, but he didn’t.

Maybe it was because she actually talked to him before the exchange. Buttered him up with questions about his band and his pins. Maybe it was the way she sat on top of the table and had her skirt hiked up to a dangerous level.

The most likely reason is that she wasn’t a kid and Eddie was just a guy. An 18 year old and a 20 year old hooking up wasn’t a crime.

It lasted longer than he thought it would.

Three months this went on, sneaking around and never being seen together. It had been fun at first, a little dangerous. For a while it made him feel like being a freak wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Hearing someone scream his name in pleasure was a lot better than out of anger.

The first month was the best.

The second month, things were getting strained. Rick always says that pleasure was the business, but in Eddie’s case the pleasure was ruining his business. He couldn’t keep cutting deals with her, and he was barely making enough to buy more from Rick. Plus condoms were way more expensive than he thought. Eddie would cheap out on a lot of things, but condoms and guitar strings were not it.

Heather was also getting bored by the third month. She stopped asking him questions and stopped talking to him. She didn’t even stay to cuddle, or she’d kick him out of her place after getting what she wanted. Sometimes even before he got his.

The sex was fun until it wasn’t. It became mechanical, uninteresting. Screams of pleasure now sounded shrill and fake like some of the bad pornos he’d sneak from the local novelty shop. Eddie found himself enjoying the company of his right hand more than Heather as the end of the third month came to a close.

It was a relief when Heather and Jacob were seen walking down the halls hand in hand passing Eddie’s locker that day. No words were needed, just a look from Heather that made it clear that it was over.

That was fine. He hadn’t been in love with her or anything, but it stung. Girls didn’t want Eddie Munson, they wanted the Freak, the Drug Dealer, the Guitar Player.

Okay fine, girls didn’t even want those things from him most of the time. Any girl that attempted to flirt with him was either clearly making fun of him, or just wanted bragging rights. Even those girls were so few and far between.

Eddie was never looking to be anyone’s boyfriend. He has other priorities; his band, his club, his friends, his van, his Uncle. All of that came before things like romance or dating.

Sex, however, fluctuated on that list. He was a healthy young man after all.

Wayne had just left for work, and Eddie had closed the curtains and turned off the lights in the living room before popping in his favorite VHS into the player.

It didn’t do anything for him.

Eddie waited for the excitement to build inside of him but the longer he watched the less interested he became. The moaning sounded too forced, and the girls just weren’t doing it for him like before.

But he had nothing else to do so he kept watching, not even paying attention. His eyes glazed over and he found himself thinking of anything other than what was supposed to be his distraction for the evening.

He wished he had a joint, but Heather had taken his last one. Rick was out of town for the next few days.

The only thing that snapped him out of his haze was the sound of the door slamming open, and you bargain in like you owned the place.

“Jesus!” Eddie jumped and grabbed a pillow and held it over his crotch, which wasn’t even necessary as his pants were still fully up and he was barely half-hard. Eddie panicked and scrambled for the remote, pushing every wrong button to try and turn off the stupid porno.

“Bad time?” you asked dryly, walking over and looking point blank at the tv where some blond chick was bent over a table while being pounded. From this angle it was hard to tell if it was in her pussy or her ass.

“Don’t you ever fucking knock?!” Eddie asked as he finally managed to turn the tv off, plunging the room into darkness.

“Not when it’s important.” You said, still looking at the now blank tv. “Are your pants up yet?”

Eddie set aside the pillow and turned on a lamp. “They were never off. It wasn’t doing anything for me.” He was being more honest than he intended. You two were friends, good friends even. Eddie would consider everyone in Hellfire a good friend. Despite his lapse in judgement with Heather, Eddie didn’t really do casual.

Eddie liked passion, he liked knowing that he was alive. He wanted to feel wanted. Maybe that’s why he spent those three months with Heather. At least she tried to make him feel wanted for a moment before she got bored.

You turned around to look at him with a disappointed frown.

“What? Can’t a man enjoy an evening alone with his porno collection?” Eddie asked. It wasn’t like you to be judgemental about sex, he knew for a fact that you had your own small collection of dirty pictures and romance books.

You took a deep breath and sat next to him on the couch, turning to face him. Eddie stiffened a little, noting the irony that every part of him was now a bit more stiff except for the part that he had wanted to earlier.

“Eddie... where have you been?” you asked carefully.

Eddie was surprised at the question and a little confused. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been here or at school or-”

“I mean, yeah.” you interrupted. “You’ve still been at school and running Hellfire, and at the Hideout but...” You stopped and furrowed your eyebrows as if you were unsure how to really finish your sentence.

“But...?” Eddie crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s like you aren’t around. We all keep trying to hang out with you and you keep blowing us off. You stopped hanging out after band practice with Jeff, Doug keeps trying to get you to hang out to talk about the new D&D expansion, and every time I ask you to hang out you say you’re busy.” You finally manage to say.

Eddie flinched, and rested a foot on the coffee table. “I’m allowed to have a life outside of school, you know.” He was being defensive, and he knew it.

“Yes, and that’s fine!” you said quickly. “You’re allowed to have other things going but I- we miss you.”

Shit. Eddie felt like a heel at those words. He hadn’t meant to blow his friends off for Heather, it just happened. He figured as long as he was still running the game and showing up for practice then everything would be fine.

Eddie had wanted to feel wanted, but had turned his back on the people who actually wanted to be around him.

Damn Heather and her short skirts.

No, that wasn’t completely fair. She had been honest about what she wanted. Heather wanted sex and cheap weed. Eddie, as much as he would never want to admit to it, had craved something deeper. Not with Heather, per say, but just in general.

Eddie was never looking to be someone’s boyfriend, but for a while it was nice to act like one. It was a complicated feeling.

“Sorry.” He said, more to the discarded pillow than to you. “Things have been weird these past few months. My schedule has just cleared up though so I’ll be around more.”

There was silence from you for a long while, and Eddie was worried that his apology wouldn’t be enough.

“Did she dump you?”

Eddie froze in place and he felt all the blood drain from his face. How had you known...?

“Wh.. what?” Eddie could only manage to force out as his mind scrambled for anything to say to either explain or get out of this conversation.

“Heather. I uh, I saw you two in the forest on accident.” you said, messing with a rip in the couch.

Eddie grabbed the pillow again and covered his face with a groan. “How much did you see?” he asked.

“Enough to know that she’s willing to be shirtless when it was barely 40 degrees outside.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie smacked his head on the pillow a few times as he heard you let out a small giggle.

“I’m pretty sure I heard her say that, too.” You said, catching the pillow he had tried to smack you with.

You grabbed the pillow and held into it now. “Did you like her?”

The question gave Eddie pause. “I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “I thought I could since she paid attention to me and at least tried to get to know me a little but...”

You put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a rub. “I get it.” you said quietly. “Sorry you got dumped.”

“I’m more pissed that I spent so much on weed and condoms.” Eddie admitted, feeling relieved that he had someone to talk to about this for now. “She cleaned me out of my stash, and Rick’s out of town.”

You gave him a shit-eating grin. “Who’s your best friend?” you asked.

“Jeff.” Eddie said immediately, not even thinking.

“Damn, that was cold.” you cackled, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the ugliest joint Eddie had ever seen. “I guess you don’t want to share then, so I’ll just keep this to myself-”

“Shit- wait- you-” Eddie stumbled over his words. “You! You’re my best friend. Right now.”

“Just right now?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Right now and alternating Fridays.” He promised.

“Good enough.” You decided as you handed over the joint.

He took it and stared at the slightly crumpled paper in his hand. “Who rolled this?”

“I did.”

“This is... shit.” he said. “Hold on, I at least still have some papers.” Eddie said and you rolled your eyes and he hopped up to run to his room.

“It wouldn’t be shit if I had my normal guy to roll for me!” you called after him.

“You had three months to learn!” He yelled back, rummaging through his drawers.

“I did, and apparently it’s not good enough for you!”

Eddie’s laugh echoed through the trailer and he came out, turning on a lamp as he did, and it felt good to actually laugh again. He began quickly disassembling your joint and reassembling it with fresh papers.

“I came all this way with a joint as a peace offering to make sure we were still friends and it wasn’t good enough.” You sighed dramatically, leaning against his shoulder with all of your weight.

Eddie’s head snapped up to look at you, but his hair was in the way. He nudged you off and turned to look at you. “You thought we weren’t friends?”

“You stopped talking to me outside of school.” you said. “We barely talked during Hellfire, and you’d always run off the second you were done with your gigs at the Hideout. I thought I’d done something wrong until I saw...”

Eddie let out a deep sigh and went back to rolling the joint. “Sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t just you, I was blowing off everyone-”

“While Heather was blowing you.” you nodded, leaning against him again. Eddie winced but did not argue. He licked the paper and finished the joint.

“Let’s go outside.” Eddie said. “Wayne’s been on my case about smoking inside.”

The two of you made your way outside the trailer, and further away from the park where no one would bother you or smell what you were doing. Just because it was a trailer park, it didn’t mean that some of the neighbors wouldn’t call the police for something so stupid.

The chill of late winter had turned into a mild spring, and there were patches of grass that weren’t as brown as the others, and a few were even green. Eddie led you to a nicer patch of grass that was down wind and lit the joint, taking a hit. It wasn’t the best weed, but it was free and he had no right to complain when you were sharing with him.

It was comfortable standing outside with you. Despite not having seen you in what felt like years, conversation flowed easily between the two of you as the joint was passed back and forth until it was no more than ashes under Eddie’s sneaker. You caught him up on any gossip you knew, while Eddie pretended not to care about how two cheerleaders were caught kissing and the scandal it caused.

The two of you drifted back to the trailer, collapsing on the couch. You leaned against his shoulder again and Eddie stared at the black reflected glass of the TV. Well, you two were high and he figured some background noise would be entertaining. Without thinking, he reached out and turned it back on.

The two of you were back on the site of the porno that Eddie had been half-heartedly watching earlier. The VHS had still been going, even if the TV was off. Eddie scrambled to find the right button to turn it off, forgetting in his haze that the tape player didn’t have a remote and he’d have to walk over and manually turn it off.

You, however, burst into a mess of giggles at the sight of the actress bouncing on her coworkers dick like it was her job.

Well, wait, it was her job.

“No, no, leave it!” You said as Eddie made a move to get up. “I wanna see what you’re jerking it to.”

You had always been open when it came to things like sex, but the high seemed to remove your filter entirely. Eddie leaned back on the couch again, so thrown off by the request that he couldn’t think of a reason to say no.

“So, is there a plot?” you asked, giggling harder every time there was a close up of the man’s balls. “Is she a poor young woman who couldn’t pay the plumber? A mishap with the pizza man when she forgot her wallet?”

“Uh, no plot.” Eddie said, his head swirling with the weed and the surreal situation he’d found himself in. Tonight he was supposed to be watching this alone as a pity party, not with his friend laughing about what got his dick hard.

Shit, was his dick getting hard?

“It’s just a bunch of scenes from others in the series.” He clarified, coughing. Eddie glanced at the opposite corner of the couch, groaning internally at how far away the pillow was.

“A ‘best of’ clip show? Not my usual style, but I see the appeal.” and despite your giggles, you still didn’t have any real judgement in your voice.

“Yeah? And what are you getting off to?” he asked, deciding if he can’t beat it ‘em, join ‘em.

“I like my porn with a little more plot.” you said, still staring at the tv. “It’s not enough to know that two people are getting it on, I need to know why they’re fucking to really get into it.”

“So porn never does it for you?”

“No, I’ll still get off to these videos, it’s just not as satisfying. It’s just easier to get off knowing that the woman is going to be able to pay for the pizza.”

This time it was Eddie’s turn to burst into laughter, which only made the two of you laugh harder. You slipped from his shoulder, face landing on his thigh was a small thud and another round of muffled giggles from you. Eddie was just thankful you didn’t slide face first into his boner, for a number of reasons.

When you made no move to get up, Eddie rested a hand on your shoulder, enjoying the weight of you with his mild high.

You pointed to the tv, where the current actress was bouncing at a different angle. “Did she do that?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, honestly. Fuck it, what was there to lose now? “She was more shrill though.”

“What about that?” You asked, when the position changed to doggy style.

“Did that, too.” Eddie sighed, watching the film. Watching this made him think that maybe, perhaps, Heather had been putting on a performance with him. “Usually in the van.”

“The van?!” You gasped, scandalized. “Eddie, we use that van!”

“We did that in the front seat, too.” he motioned to the new position on screen. “It... wasn’t good.”

And so, that became the new topic of conversation between the two of you. Every new position that was being shown on screen, you asked about and Eddie answered honestly. His boner kept fluctuating between half-hard and full mast as the two of you chatted.

“Was she your first?” you asked, when the conversation died down. Your voice was quieter now, almost hesitant? Eddie couldn’t be sure.

Eddie was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah.” he finally said. “I mean, I had a blowjob before last summer but... yeah. She was my first.”

You didn’t say anything to that, and Eddie wondered if you had fallen asleep. “Who made the first move?”

“She did. She was just in it for cheap weed and sex.” He wasn’t proud of it. “And it’s not like she was a kid or anything, she’s eighteen.”

“I know, I know,” you waved your hand. “You aren’t a creep.”

“It’s not like I’m drowning in options here in Hawkins.” Eddie said, feeling like he needed to defend himself, despite knowing you weren’t judging him. “Everyone at school is too young, and my reputation doesn’t really get me many dates.”

“You could have asked me.”

The words were so quiet, they were almost drowned out by the obnoxious dirty talk that the man on screen was doing to the woman. Eddie froze for what must have felt like a minute, trying to convince myself that you had said what he thought he heard.

“What?”

“If you just were looking to fool around, you could have.... Asked me." The last two words were even quieter, but unmistakable.

Why did Eddie’s dick suddenly feel harder than it had in days? Why was he now just noticing that the woman on screen had damn near the exact same body type as you? Why was he now imagining trying the position on screen with you?

You must have taken his stunned silence as awkwardness and so you pointed as the scene changed again. “Did she do that?” You asked as the woman started blowing the man.

“No.” Eddie said, and that got you moving. You sat up and turned to look at him, your face a bit too close to his.

“Really? No blowjob?” You looked scandalized and that amused him.

“She wasn’t really into oral.” Eddie shrugged. “I didn’t go down on her either.”

“You don’t do that?”

“No! Wait- yes-” Eddie was thrown off for the hundredth time today by your line of questioning. “I would have. I wanted to.”

“And she said no?!” This seemed to be the most offensive thing Eddie could have said to you. “She’s seen your tongue and the fact that you never shut up and said no?!” You were practically gaping at him.

“She wasn’t into oral.” Eddie repeted, glancing at your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your eyes again.

You could have asked me. What would your lips look like wrapped around his-

Jesus Christ, what was he doing?

You could have asked me.

You were an option this whole time?!

Time seemed to stay still between the two of you. Your face looked warm, and Eddie had a bad feeling his wasn’t much different. He swallowed, trying to decide if he was allowed to be thinking the thoughts that were now rushing through his brain of you and the porno and all your damn questions.

“Why the curiosity about everything?” Eddie blurted out the first question that came to his mind. “Wait, have you-?”

It was now your turn to be thrown off and you looked down. He really hoped his jeans were hiding his boner and that you weren’t looking too closely.

“Like you said, freaks don’t have a lot of options around here.” You shrugged, trying to play it off. “No one’s really looking to date the local burnout.”

“You could have asked me.” Eddie didn’t really know it was true until the words came out of his mouth. Maybe it was the weed, or the boner, or the porn, or the fact that your hand was resting on his thigh- yeah, you were quickly climbing up to the top of the People Eddie Munson Would Realistically Date list.

Fine, you were the only one on the list right now. But fuck, quality over quantity, right?

“You didn’t seem interested in dating.” you said, and he didn’t miss the way your eye flicked down to his lips for the briefest second.

Why the fuck was the tape still playing? Shouldn’t a moment like this deserve a better soundtrack than fake porn moans?!

“I don’t know if I’m really boyfriend material.” Eddie admitted. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“So am I.” you said in a half laugh.

Yeah, of everyone else in Hawkins you probably understood him the most. You had been a good enough student in school until you weren’t, and had dropped out when offered an extra year of high school. Eddie almost did the same, once, before Wayne convinced him otherwise.

What did Eddie even have left to lose? This night was weird enough.

The first kiss was fast, but firm. A press of his lips to yours for just a moment before pulling back. That movement seemed to sober you both up, realizing what you were doing. Your eyes were less hazy, far more focused and aware than before.

You mimicked the kiss, letting your lips linger just a bit longer than his before pulling back as well.

Neither of you pulled back from the third kiss.

With some awkward adjusting and shifting, you were moved to straddle Eddie’s lap, and his hands rested on your hips as tongue was added to the mix. He could taste the weed on you, reminiscent of Heather but without the cherry flavored lip gloss. Your hands rested on his shoulder, slowly rubbing down his chest and then back up which felt good. Then your fingers slid into the back of his hair and that felt really good.

Why hadn’t he just asked you?

Your hips shifted and pressed against the straining bulge in his jeans. “Is that for me or her?” you asked against his lips, motioning your head just slightly towards the tv.

“You.” Eddie didn’t hesitate for a moment, before sliding his tongue into your mouth before you could ask any more dumb or distracting questions.

One of his hands slid up and under your stomach, feeling the warmth of your skin there. He felt the way your stomach flexed slightly, as if he had accidentally tickled you and pressed his hand more firmly down. His hand crept up on instinct before stopping himself just before your chest.

Shit, you had just said you were a virgin, right? How far should he be asking to go-

The thought barely crossed his mind as one of your hands slid down his arm and pushed up on his elbow, elevating his hand those much wanted few inches so that his palm was now resting on top of your bra. Eddie groaned and gave your covered breast a squeeze, which you arched into.

Eddie’s fingers traced over your bra, squeezing occasionally as he tested out your reactions. His hands followed the path of your bra strap to the clasp and he pinched so that it came undone.

“Oh good, I don’t have to teach you that.” You laughed softly against his lips before pulling back to slide off your shirt. It only got a little tangled with your loose bra before falling to the floor.

Boobs.

Eddie was a simple man, and the sight of your chest out and free and bare was the most beautiful thing he’d seen all night. There had been plenty of tits on screen this evening, but nothing would compare to the real thing right in front of his face.

They jiggled as you laughed. “My eyes are up here- oh.” Eddie knew where your eyes were, but they were not his focus as he dove in and immediately latched onto one of your nipples while rolling the other.

You arched into his mouth, and tangled your fingers into his hair more. He groaned as you tugged at the roots at the base of his neck, and flicked his tongue against your hardened nipple. As he played with your tits, your hips started rocking against his crotch and Eddie tried to adjust himself so that you’d be rubbing against his cock.

“Knew you’d be good with your tongue.” You sighed, as he swapped to your other breast. You leaned down and grabbed the back of his shirt and gave it a tug. Eddie was quick to pull it off and toss it aside in record time so that he could get back to playing with your breasts.

He probably could have stayed there for hours if you hadn’t pulled him back up into a kiss, letting your tongue flick out to tease his before sliding your lips down to his neck. You pushed his hair out of the way, and Eddie tilted his head back against the couch, one hand moving backup to your breast.

“Hickies?” You breathed into his ear, which resulted in a full body shudder from him.

“Only if I can leave them on you too- fuck-” he had barely agreed before your lips had latched onto the side of his neck and began sucking hard. If he had any thoughts outside of how good it felt, he might have wondered if he’d be able to cover the forming bruise with his hair. That Monday he would be walking around the school with a low ponytail, where rumors would fly between him getting lucky or having been attacked by leeches.

“Jesus Christ...” he breathed out as you attacked the side of his neck, alternating between soft pecks, hot open mouthed kisses, and an assortment of hickies. “Thought you were a virgin.”

You pulled back, giving him an incredulous look; it was one you often gave him during d&d. “Don’t make this weird, Eddie.” you said. “I’ve made out before.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly and to try and salvage the mood he leaned in and nipped at your neck. “I won’t make it weird.”

“Save that for next time.” Your voice hitched and your hands gripped his arms as he started mimicking the way you had been kissing his neck. When he felt you shudder or grip his arm tighter, he focused on that spot until you started rocking your hips again.

Eddie slipped one hand down your side, resting at the top of your shorts and rubbing his thumb against the button. You reacted by reaching down and unbuttoning it yourself to give him the go ahead.

With you unzipped now, Eddie slid his hand into your shorts but didn’t get very far. The material wasn’t stretching enough and the angle was awkward for his wrist.

“Might need a different position for that.” you laughed as he removed his hand.

“Should we go to my room?” Eddie looked up at you, hoping that question didn’t backfire on him.

“You should turn the porno off, first.” you climbed off of him and grabbed your discarded clothes. “I don’t think Wayne wants to walk in on that.”

In the midst of making out, the tape had FINALLY stopped rolling, and was running through the end credits. Rewinding could wait, Eddie quickly ejected the tape and shoved it back in it’s generic looking sleeve. When he turned, you were already heading towards his bedroom, topless.

He had never seen a back that looked so sexy in his life.

You had dropped your clothes at the side of the bed, and when Eddie tossed the tape aside you grabbed him by the belt and pulled him close, barely giving him time to close the door. You were kissing him again, deeper and more passionately this time as the two of you scrambled to push down each other's pants.

Eddie pushed you onto the bed, and he had to stop himself from cumming in his boxers at the sight of you panting and in your underwear in his sheets. You were looking up at him as if he were the only person in the world that mattered right now, and there was a clear damp spot on your panties.

Heather had never been to Eddie’s trailer except once, when he had to grab a special purchase from his room. She had refused to come in, as if being seen at Forest Hills was an embarrassment. All of their time had been in his van parked in secluded spots, in the forest behind the school, or at her home.

Seeing you in his bed, wanting him, was too much to take.

He was on top of you again, kissing your neck as his fingers pulled down your panties. You kicked them aside as he started kissing down your body again.

“Please tell me I can go down on you.” Eddie’s head was hovering right over your hips, looking up at you.

Your legs spread at the plea, and you didn’t waste time with words as you pushed his head down to where he desperately wanted to be.

It took one lick of your slit for Eddie to be pissed at himself. He could have been doing this the whole time?! His arms wrapped around your thighs and his tongue dove in to explore every part of your pussy. You squirmed against his face, gasping and gripping his hair.

“Fuck- Eddie....!” you gasped, in a way that only encouraged him.

Eddie was quick to find a rhythm with his tongue that you seemed to like by the way you were letting out quiet whines. You weren’t nearly as loud as she had been, and so every gasp and sigh of his name was a victory to him. He spread your lips to get a better look at you and found himself grinding against his mattress at the site. You were wet, there was no question about that and it wasn’t just from his tongue either.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” your voice was breathless, and the corners of your mouth were turned up.

“I don’t have a camera.” Eddie nipped at your thigh making you jump. “...I might get one now though.”

“Not on your life. There’s no way I’m gonna let pictures of me like that be dropped off to an hour-photo.”

“What if I got a polaroid instead? Instant development.”

Eddie felt a special kind of high, the kind that only came when he was running a really good session or when he was playing with his band during a really good set. He didn’t know that sex could be more than just mindlessly horny- he was having fun.

No one told him that this was an option, dammit.

“Put a pin in that.” you laughed.

“I have something else I’d rather put in you.” Eddie said as his finger started to ease into you.

“Fuck.... if this didn’t feel so good I’d kick you out of bed.” you laughed breathlessly.

“Kick me out of my own bed?” Eddie looked at you amused as he started rocking his finger in and out.

“Wouldn’t even feel bad about ih--ohh- oh god-” You stopped talking, your sounds now turned into louder gasps and whines as Eddie curled his finger up and found that sweet spot.

“Found your off switch.” he said with a shit eating smirk as he started massaging your g-spot.

“Fuck... you....” you whimpered, your heart clearly not in it. Your legs were squirming as he stroked your inner walls, as if you couldn’t decide if you wanted to push him away or beg for more.

“We’ll get to that.” Eddie said and decided to put his tongue to better use as he leaned back in to wrap his lips around your clit and start licking again.

Eddie lost himself between your legs, and he had no idea how long he was down there. He always had an oral fixation, and was quick to decide this was now one of his favorite things to do with his mouth.

You were getting louder, which only spurred him on more. His tongue worked fast against your clit while he kept a more steady pace with his finger. When he decided you were as wet as you were going to get he carefully started to push in a second digit which slid in easier than expected. He was rewarded with his name being moaned, and your walls clenching around his fingers.

One of your thighs started trembling, which had to be a good sign. Your fingers tightened in his hair and your core was starting to tense up.

Eddie didn’t expect you to actually start begging.

“Fuck- please don’t stop.” you gasped out. “Please, Eddie I’m so close please, please please-”

Eddie had no plans to stop, and he would have happily stayed there all night if you let him. He didn’t stop his pace, keeping everything exactly as what he was doing because if it was working he didn’t want to risk you losing the orgasm he was working so hard to build.

You came with a strangled cry, and he felt the way your walls throbbed and squeezed around his fingers. He sucked on your clit until you had to push him away from over-sensitivity.

You were left breathless on the bed, your body completely melted into his sheets. Eddie wiped his mouth and moved up to kiss up your neck to your lips again. You had tasted so good, he had to share.

When he finally pulled back, he was looking down at you with what had to be a goofy smile. Those past three months were becoming less and less appealing in hindsight.

“You really never did that before?” you asked, tracing the puppet strings on his arm.

“I’m a quick learner when I’m excited.” he replied, and you pulled him close to kiss his neck again. The kisses were softer this time, as if an apology for the myriad of hickies he was sure was on his neck now.

Legs wrapped around his hips and pulled him closer. Your hands trailed along his chest, and Eddie settled between your legs. He rocked his hips, enjoying the feeling of his cock rubbing up against your pussy.

You pulled him back into a kiss, which was happily returned. Eddie was more than willing to give you all the time you needed to recover, though he would be lying if he wasn’t already thinking about other positions to get his mouth on you.

Eddie grunted as you suddenly pushed and rolled the two of you over, and you were now straddling his hips, grinding against his cock.

“Fuck” he groaned, grabbing your thighs. He watched the way your hips rolled hypnotically and he bit the inside of his cheek to not cum.

“Your turn.” You purred, your nails scratching down his chest in a way that made his eyes roll back and his hips buck slightly. His turn? Had Eddie ever had a turn? He was so used to being the one in charge lately, in Hellfire or band practice or sex- “Do you have any condoms?”

Eddie’s brain exploded. Violently. When he came to his mind raced for where he hed put the small box of condoms.

“Dresser-” he finally managed to choke out. “Should be on the dresser.”

You slid off him and walked over to the dresser, which was covered in discarded clothes, a cigarette tray and more than a few empty beer cans. He made a mental note to try and clean up more next time.

He really hoped there would be a next time.

The sight of your ass swaying and slightly bent over his dresser was one that he would engrain into his memory forever. He could name about a half-dozen W.A.S.P. songs that suddenly felt very relatable.

You turned around with the condom box, giving him a look that worried him. You turned the open box over and nothing fell out.

“Oh, fuck me.” Eddie groaned, sitting up on his elbow.

“Yeah, that’s not happening without a condom.” you said dryly. “Guess she really wiped you out, huh?”

Eddie fell back on the bed with a groan. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You tossed the box to the side and crawled onto the bed again, spreading his legs and settling yourself between them. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna leave you high and dry.” you said, placing a kiss to his hip bone.

He looked down at you, feeling his cock twitch at the way you licked your lips.

“Shit- you don’t have to-”

“Eddie, when have I ever done something I didn’t want to do?” you asked as your hand wrapped around his shaft.

“G-good point.” he choked out. Your hands were softer than he had expected and you gave his cock a slow stroke aided by your wetness that was still on his shaft.

“Just let me know what feels good.” you said, leaning in and licking him from base to tip. Eddie was torn between closing his eyes and laying back and staring at you intently as you played with his cock experimentally.

You leaned over him, using his thigh for a bit of leverage as you wrapped your lips around his tip and let your tongue slide over the sensitive skin of his head. He let out a low groan, trying not to thrust up into your mouth. You were being a tease whether you meant to or not with the way you were taking your time licking and sucking him.

“I can’t promise I can let you fuck my throat, but I’ll do what I can.” you said when you pulled back after a few minutes. Eddie couldn’t stop himself from laughing at how casually you said it, as if you were talking about fixing his amp for the hundredth time. “Something funny, Eddie?”

“You just said that so casually.” he giggled, remembering that he was also high from earlier. His laughter was contagious, and soon you were giggling again to.

His cock was only half-hard by the time you two were done giggling, but that quickly changed when you leaned in and wrapped your lips around him again. You slid him about half-way into your mouth before stopping, and wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.

Eddie Munson had been given one blowjob before the previous summer by a girl he met a town over at a small show he had been playing with Corroded Coffin. That night he had felt like a rockstar getting blown by a groupie, and hide rode that high for months.

You, admittedly, were not nearly as experienced as that girl had been but he didn’t care. Seeing you, one of his best friends, blowing him sent a thrill up his spine more exciting than the fantasy he had lived out. This was different and he was far too gone to try and figure out why. He just wanted to keep you here with your enthusiastic mouth on his throbbing cock. The way you were humming around his cock and looking up at him occasionally made it clear that you really wanted him to feel good.

No one told him that someone just wanting to make him feel good was a fucking option.

You sucked his cock as if this was the one thing you had wanted to do all day. Your head moved up and down enthusiastically and your tongue was everywhere. For the first few minutes you would occasionally come up to breathe before finding your rhythm and learning to breath through your nose.

Eddie’s orgasm came far quicker than he would have liked. He was still so worked up from eating you out and learning a lot about how he enjoyed sex that it only took about ten minutes before he was pushing on your shoulder to warn you that he was going to blow.

He should be embarrassed. Eddie was gasping and letting our sounds that were damn near whining as you pulled away. You were panting, your lips a touch swollen and eyes glazed over as you jerked his cock.

Eddie’s hand wrapped around yours, guiding it to the pace he needed to spill all over himself and his stomach. He really hoped that next time he’d be able to cum on your tits or in your mouth. Please, let that fucking be an option-

You grabbed his discarded shirt and cleaned him up, and Eddie made a note to do laundry soon. You wiped your mouth and collapsed next to him, and he reached for you.

He wished he hadn’t been so surprised when you easily cuddled up against him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I knew your tongue would be good. She really fucking missed out.” you said, your arm laying across his chest.

“I studied only the best techniques.” Eddie said, holding you just a bit tighter. Cuddling after sex (or whatever it was the two of you had done) felt just as good as getting off. Well, maybe second only to getting you off.

“How much porn do you watch?” you laughed.

“I have three tapes and a stash of magazines.” Eddie said honestly, because why would he need to hide that from someone he was so close to. Heather had once glimpsed one of the tamer issues of Heavy Metal that he had in his van and had rolled her eyes in disgust.

“We’ll have to swap material sometime.” you suggested, looking up at him. “Or we can do a movie night like we used to. Just more hands on.”

“So there’s really gonna be a next time?” Eddie asked.

“I mean, I’d like there to be. I would really like there to be.” There was a slight waiver in your voice, the kind that he knew when you were considering a risky move in D&D.

“It’ll probably be a while before I can afford condoms.” He admitted. “I’m kinda wiped for cash until Rick comes back.”

“Oh no. You’ll have to use your mouth on me again. How awful. However shall we go on?” you sighed in a dramatic fashion. “Oh well, if I must sit upon your face next time then so be it!”

Eddie could live with that. He was more than okay with that.

“Well, if you’re sure you’re fine with that, then I’ll just have to grin and bear it.” He said, matching your tone of dramatic exasperation.

The two of you laid there for a moment in silence, coming down from the highs of orgasms and weed.

“This isn’t going to make things weird, right?” you asked after a few minutes. “I don’t want this to be... I don’t know. I liked doing this with you, and I don’t want this to fuck up what we have.”

Eddie had been so lost in the strangeness of the evening, he hadn’t really stopped to consider the consequences of what would happen after. “I won’t make it weird.” he promised. “I’m not about to start being nice to you during the game just because you blew me.”

“Good, I’d be mad if you did.” you shook your head. “We don’t need to label this but.. If we’re gonna be doing this more, just know that I’m only going to be doing this with you.”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of people around here banging on my door to get a piece of this.” Eddie motioned to his dick. “Even if I did, I'd rather just be messing around with one person.”

You grabbed his flaccid dick and gave it a wiggle, laughing at the way it moved. Eddie felt that he should maybe be offended at you laughing at his cock, but he fought himself laughing at the weird feeling.

“Little Eddie isn’t going near anyone else.” he said as you kept wiggling it.

You dropped his cock finally, which had started to wake up again from the attention.

“Nevermind, I’m never touching it again after you called your dick that.” you cackled.

Eddie rolled over and hovered over you. “I can live with that as long as I get to go down on you again.”

“Oh my God-”

“Just Eddie is fine.”

You half-heartedly pushed him, your eyes alight as you looked up at him.

“So... when does your uncle come home?” you asked.

“Not until about six or seven.” He looked down at you, his cock already coming back to life again.

“Wanna go again?”

“Only if we can cuddle after.”

“Deal.”

By the time the two of you had passed out in his bed, Eddie had realized that maybe there was more to life than just the bullshit hand he had been dealt. And as you lay next to him, wearing one of his shirts while asleep next to him, he started thinking...

When given an option, he would prefer you as his first choice.

Author Notes: I might write a sequel later if I feel like it but we'll see lmao. This wasn't originally Eddie x Reader, it was just a character study but then I got horny lmao.

Tag List: @sheneedsrocknroll92 @ghcstpyre @wheels-of-despair @crocwork-clockodile @cyanfairywren @justalotoffanfiction @ihaventgotaclue-really

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

2K notes · View notes

enhaflixer · 4 months ago

Text

sjy - Chasing Ghosts

a Criminal!Jake x Detective!Reader sexy crime thriller!

🔹 SYNOPSIS: You spent years chasing Specter, the most elusive criminal the force has ever encountered. But every near miss, every failed case, every lead that went cold—it was never just bad luck. It was orchestrated. Because the real traitor wasn’t the man you were hunting. It was the one standing right beside you.

🔹 WC: ~14.7K (full-length fic, completed)

🔹 TAGS: crime thriller, enemies to lovers, morally gray!Jake, found family, betrayal & redemption, slow burn to inferno, high stakes, forced proximity, heavy angst with a soft landing, house on the hill trope, HEA, High stakes

🔹 WARNINGS: violence, corruption, deception, heavy themes of betrayal & loss, morally ambiguous decisions, explicit language, slow descent into trust issues hell, eventual comfort but only after suffering, guns, sexual content MDNI, f! receiving, sexual intercourse, soft dom jake, really so sexy ngllll

The city never truly sleeps.

It thrums beneath flickering streetlights, alleyways breathing shadows, skyscrapers standing like silent witnesses to the corruption embedded in its veins. You’ve lived in this world long enough to know the rules: the rich get richer, the poor get forgotten, and crime is both a disease and a cure.

You lean forward, elbows resting on the scuffed wooden desk, eyes scanning the wall of evidence in front of you. Newspaper clippings, grainy surveillance images, red string connecting seemingly unrelated heists, yet all pointing to one singular entity.

A legend. A phantom. A criminal mastermind who never gets caught.

Your jaw tightens as you reread the headline from last week’s front page:

"SPECTER STRIKES AGAIN: $25 MILLION STOLEN FROM CARMICHAEL ESTATES—NO TRACE LEFT BEHIND."

"He’s mocking us," Jungwon mutters, arms crossed as he studies the board from his seat beside you. "Leaving those calling cards like he wants us to know he’s always ahead."

Your eyes drift to the small, laminated playing card pinned to the center of the board.

Checkmate.

Left at every crime scene. A silent taunt, a message that he’s playing a game you can’t win.

"Yeah," you say quietly, fingers grazing the edge of the card. "And I’m getting tired of losing."

A scoff sounds from across the room. "That makes two of us."

Lieutenant Heeseung stands by the window, arms folded, his sharp gaze flicking between you and the board. He’s been after Specter longer than anyone—long enough to have a personal vendetta, long enough that you’ve seen the sleepless nights weigh down on him.

He sighs, rubbing his temples. "We need a win. Something—anything—before the higher-ups start pulling us off this case."

You exchange a look with Jungwon.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not after how deep you’ve sunk into this. Not after five years of chasing a ghost.

And yet, you can feel it—the patience of the department wearing thin. Because how do you justify throwing manpower at an enemy you can’t even see?

"Maybe we finally have something," Jungwon says, flipping open a folder. "Our informant came through—Specter’s next target. The Reinsworth. The biggest auction of the year. Billions in assets, a room full of the richest people in the city, and enough security to make Fort Knox jealous."

Your pulse quickens.

"He’s going after them?"

Jungwon nods. "Anonymous tip. No confirmed details, but if he sticks to pattern, he’ll move that night."

Heeseung exhales. "Then we move first."

You clench your fists.

If Specter is going to be there, then so will you.

And this time, you won’t let him slip away.

20/11/2024 3:21 PM – The Precinct

The conference room is suffocating.

Not because of the size—no, the space is big enough, with its sleek steel table and sterile white walls. It’s the weight in the air, the kind that settles on your shoulders like chains, the kind that reminds you just how much is at stake.

The walls are lined with case files, printed blueprints, and surveillance shots pinned against corkboards. At the center of it all?

Specter.

His name—bold and in capital letters—sits atop the massive evidence board at the front of the room, surrounded by the aftermath of his work. Red lines connect his crimes, threads forming a chaotic web of high-stakes thefts, shattered security protocols, and corporate greed laid bare.

Another heist. Another Checkmate.

And yet?

No face. No trace. No identity.

But that changes tonight.

You fold your arms, standing near the edge of the table as Heeseung leans forward, placing both hands on the polished surface. His sharp eyes scan the room, locking onto each person present.

“Alright,” he says, voice cutting through the silence. “Let’s get one thing straight: this is our best chance yet to catch Specter. We’ve been chasing this bastard for five years, and every damn time, he’s managed to stay ahead. But this time? He’s walking into our trap.”

Heeseung nods toward Sunghoon, who steps forward and clicks a button on the remote in his hand. The screen behind them flickers to life, displaying a 3D-rendered blueprint of the Reinsworth Estate.

“The Reinsworth Gala is scheduled for Friday night, starting at 7:00 PM sharp,” Sunghoon begins, his voice steady and authoritative. “It’s an exclusive, high-profile auction—art pieces, rare jewels, black-market artifacts, the whole deal. The who’s who of the city will be in attendance. That includes politicians, corporate CEOs, and a handful of powerful individuals who have a lot of dirty money to spend.”

He pauses, letting that sink in.

“And it’s exactly the kind of event Specter likes to hit.”

You inhale sharply, your gaze locked on the blueprint.

It makes sense.

The kind of money in this auction isn’t just rich—it’s tainted. Crooked deals, offshore accounts, hush-hush transactions happening in plain sight, masked as “charity donations.”

And Specter?

He doesn’t just steal from the rich.

He exposes them.

Jungwon clicks his pen absentmindedly, studying the layout. “What’s our security coverage?”

Sunghoon presses another button, and red markers appear over key entry points.

“The estate has seven points of entry,” he explains. “Two main doors, three side exits, a rooftop access, and a private underground tunnel that only the estate owner and his personal guards know about.”

Heeseung’s gaze sharpens. “That tunnel—how do we know Specter isn’t using it?”

You nod in agreement. “It’s exactly the kind of thing he’d find a way into.”

Sunghoon clicks again. A live-feed pops up—a grainy, black-and-white video showing a dimly lit corridor beneath the estate.

“We’ve already got a covert team monitoring the underground passage,” he confirms. “If he tries using it, we’ll know.”

You press your lips together. “What about the security staff inside the gala?”

“About twenty armed guards,” Sunghoon replies. “All ex-military, highly trained. There’s also an internal security system—facial recognition scanners, metal detectors at the main entrances, and motion sensors in the vault rooms where the most expensive items are stored.”

Jungwon raises a brow. “And Specter’s still going to pull this off?”

Heeseung exhales sharply. “He always does.”

That’s the terrifying part.

It doesn’t matter how much security you throw in his way. He doesn’t just bypass it—he plays with it. He wants you to think you’re in control, that you have him cornered—only for him to slip away at the last second.

And leave you humiliated.

Not this time.

“This is how it’s going to go,” Heeseung continues, straightening. “We’ll be inside. Undercover.”

Sunghoon clicks again. The blueprint zooms in, red markers shifting into detailed placement zones.

“We’ve divided the team into key positions,” he explains. “Each of us will be in a different area, covering different points of interest.”

ASSIGNMENTS:

🟥 YOU: The ballroom & auction floor. You’ll be blending in with the guests, keeping an eye on potential suspects and looking for Specter’s entry point.

🟦 JUNGWON: Security room. He’ll have access to all internal cameras, monitoring movements and looking for anomalies.

🟩 SUNGHOON: Entrance and exit surveillance. He’ll be tracking arrivals and departures, making sure Specter doesn’t slip out undetected.

🟨 HEESEUNG: Rooftop surveillance & field coordination. He’ll oversee the entire operation from an elevated position, maintaining real-time communication between all units.

“Once Specter makes his move,” Heeseung says, voice like iron, “we cut off all exits. He will have nowhere to go.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of conviction.

But deep down?

You know it’s never that easy.

You lean back against the table, arms crossed. “And what’s our game plan if we actually get him in our sights?”

Silence.

Because none of you have ever gotten that close.

Specter doesn’t get caught.

Heeseung rubs his jaw. “We do not engage alone. If anyone spots him, you alert the team and wait for backup. We move together, we take him down, and we don’t let him—”

A sudden ping interrupts him.

Your phone screen flashes with a new message.

You blink, puzzled.

Unknown Number:See you Friday. 😉

Your pulse stops.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, breath catching in your throat.

He knows.

Specter knows.

And he’s already waiting.

21/11/2024 6:47 PM – En Route to the Reinsworth Estate

The air in the car is thick with unspoken tension, the kind that wraps around your chest like a coiled wire, pressing down with every breath. Outside, the city hums in its usual Friday night rhythm—flashing billboards, the distant wail of a siren, the blur of pedestrians moving through their lives without a care for what’s about to unfold.

Inside the car, the atmosphere is suffocating.

Sunghoon grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure, his jaw set in the kind of rigid line that tells you he’s already running through every worst-case scenario in his head. You know he’s trying to temper his expectations, preparing himself for another failure, another night where Specter slips through your fingers and leaves behind nothing but his signature playing card—a mockery of the very system you swore to uphold.

You sit in the backseat, the weight of your firearm strapped to your thigh grounding you, but it does nothing to settle the anxious rhythm of your thoughts. Across from you, Jungwon scrolls through his tablet, reviewing the blueprints of the Reinsworth Estate for what must be the tenth time tonight. He’s meticulous, careful in his calculations, but even he seems restless, his fingers tightening around the edge of the device every so often.

For weeks now, Specter has been untouchable. Every lead has led to a dead end, every attempt to corner him has only resulted in another public embarrassment for the force. The media has begun to paint him as some kind of folk hero, the vigilante thief exposing the corruption that runs through the veins of the elite while making a mockery of law enforcement.

But you know better.

Specter isn’t a hero. He’s a criminal—one who thrives in the spaces between right and wrong, dancing just out of reach with an arrogance that sets your blood on fire.

This mission is your best chance at taking him down, and yet, something about tonight feels... off.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, breaking the silence. "We can’t afford to lose him again," he says, his voice low but firm. "Not tonight."

His words settle like a weight in the pit of your stomach.

You don’t need to be reminded.

Everyone in this car knows what’s at stake. Another failure means another headline ridiculing the force, another step closer to higher-ups pulling you off the case.

For you, it’s even more than that.

This case is your life.

Without it, without the chase, without this relentless hunt for something greater, what are you?

The answer is one you don’t want to face.

You shift your gaze back to the blurred skyline outside the window, ignoring the ache in your chest, ignoring the part of yourself that wonders if there will ever be a moment where you’re not chasing ghosts.

Your phone buzzes in your lap. A text.

Unknown Number:Hope you brought your best dress. It’d be a shame if no one noticed you. 😉

Your fingers tighten around the device.

Specter.

The bastard is already watching.

21/11/2024 7:15 PM – Inside the Reinsworth Gala

The first thing you notice is the opulence.

Everything about the Reinsworth Estate is designed to exude power—high ceilings adorned with gold leaf trim, crystal chandeliers dripping from the rafters, marble floors polished to a shine so pristine that it reflects the guests who glide across it. The air smells of aged whiskey, expensive perfume, and the kind of unapologetic wealth that makes your skin itch.

You step carefully, keeping your posture poised as you weave through the crowd. The black dress you wear is sleek, professional yet elegant enough to blend in with the socialites sipping from delicate champagne flutes. The concealed weapon strapped to your thigh is a familiar weight, a silent reminder of why you’re here.

Your earpiece crackles as Sunghoon’s voice filters through. "Position check."

Jungwon responds first. "Security room. All feeds are clear so far."

Sunghoon is next. "Covering entrances and exits. No unusual movement yet."

You take a slow breath before replying. "Ballroom. Watching for anomalies."

The mission is simple: Wait. Watch. Observe.

If Specter is here, he’ll make his move soon.

You move toward the bar, casually scanning the room as you take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Your eyes flicker over the guests—politicians, CEOs, black-market dealers—the usual lineup of people who profit off the suffering of others. These are the people Specter targets.

And yet, for all your careful observation, you don’t expect to see him.

Not Specter.

Not your target.

Someone else.

At first, it’s unintentional—just a brief flicker of movement in the corner of your vision. But something about the way he stands, the way his body moves with the kind of ease that suggests he belongs here without trying, pulls your attention.

Dark hair slightly tousled, as if he ran a hand through it carelessly. A tailored black suit that fits too well to be rented, the top button of his shirt undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. He leans against the bar, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, his expression unreadable.

He’s striking.

And he’s the first person in months who has made you look twice.

Your stomach tightens, the realization settling in a second too late.

This is a distraction.

You don’t get to have distractions.

You’re about to turn away when he looks up—eyes meeting yours in a way that feels deliberate.

His lips quirk up at the corners, slow, easy, like he’s amused by the fact that you’ve been watching him.

You should walk away.

You should refocus on the mission.

But instead, you move toward him.

21/11/2024 7:22 PM – The Bar

You slide into the empty space beside him, setting your glass on the polished counter. The bartender approaches, but before you can place an order, the man beside you speaks.

“She’ll have another.”

His voice is smooth, warm, effortlessly confident. He doesn’t even glance at you, instead sliding a bill across the counter with practiced ease.

You raise a brow, finally taking him in up close. His features are unfairly sharp, the kind of attractiveness that doesn’t seem real—high cheekbones, dark lashes that frame his deep-set eyes, lips curved in a smirk that looks both relaxed and knowing.

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, tilting your head slightly.

His smirk widens. "I know."

There’s something infuriatingly easy about the way he says it. Like he’s used to getting away with things. Like he’s used to being liked.

Your lips press together as you study him. He doesn’t seem nervous, doesn’t fidget the way people do when they have something to hide. If anything, he looks... bored.

A man dragged to a gala he didn’t want to attend.

And for some reason, that makes you want to talk to him.

"So," you say, lifting your newly refilled glass. "Are you always this generous to strangers, or am I just lucky tonight?"

He chuckles, finally turning to meet your gaze fully.

"You could say I have a soft spot for people who look like they’d rather be anywhere else," he muses, sipping his whiskey.

Your breath catches for half a second.

Because he’s not wrong.

And you don’t realize—

This is the first lie between you.

And the beginning of your downfall.

21/11/2024 9:15 PM – The Ballroom

The night drags on in a slow, meticulous rhythm, each minute stretching into the next as you weave through the ballroom, scanning the faces of the elite. Champagne flows endlessly, expensive fabric sways under the chandelier’s golden glow, and money changes hands under the guise of civility. It’s a performance—one you’ve seen play out time and time again, the rich finding new ways to remind each other just how powerful they are.

You, however, are looking for something else.

You’ve spent the last hour subtly circling the room, keeping track of exits, watching for anything out of place. But there’s nothing. No indication that Specter has made his move. No sudden disappearances, no disruption in the security feeds. If he’s here, he’s waiting.

And the waiting is starting to unravel you.

"Anything?" Sunghoon’s voice crackles through your earpiece.

You press your fingers against the device discreetly, eyes still moving over the crowd. "Negative. Ballroom is normal."

Jungwon chimes in from the security room. "No breaches in the system yet. If Specter is moving, he’s being damn careful."

Sunghoon exhales sharply. "We cannot afford another loss tonight."

You can hear the frustration in his voice, the tension woven into every syllable. He doesn’t need to say what you’re all thinking—if Specter escapes again, if this night ends like all the others, it might be your last chance to bring him down.

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck, the pressure tightening around your ribs like a vice. You swallow, rolling your shoulders to shake off the weight pressing against you.

That’s when you see him.

At first, it’s nothing. A casual glance, a flicker of movement. But something about him catches your eye—something unassuming yet magnetic, something that makes it impossible to look away.

Jake.

He’s standing near the bar, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the other tucked loosely in his pocket. The dim lighting catches against the faint golden tint of his skin, his suit perfectly fitted to his frame, his posture relaxed yet controlled. He’s not doing anything special—just existing in that effortless, confident way that makes him stand out without trying.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself be distracted.

It’s reckless. You know that. You should be focused on the job, not on some guy you met an hour ago.

But something about him pulls at you.

Something about him feels different.

And so, against your better judgment, you let your legs carry you toward him.

21/11/2024 10:22 PM – The Private Lounge

You don’t remember how the conversation started.

One minute, you were talking in the ballroom, your words light, teasing, your mind telling you to keep it surface-level—keep it meaningless. And yet, before you knew it, you were here, tucked away in a private lounge on the second floor, away from the prying eyes of the gala.

Jake is leaning against the arm of the couch, his whiskey glass now abandoned on the table beside him. The dim lighting casts soft shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp curve of his jaw, the slight tilt of his smirk.

"You really don’t belong here," he murmurs, voice low, smooth.

You raise a brow. "And why’s that?"

He lets his gaze trail over you, slow and deliberate, like he’s reading between the lines of your existence.

"You’re too stiff," he muses. "Too guarded. People at events like this—they move like they own the room. You move like you’re trying to control it."

Your breath catches for half a second.

He’s not wrong.

It’s something you’ve never said out loud, something you’ve never let yourself acknowledge—the way you always stand on the outskirts, never truly letting yourself blend in. Because you’re not one of them. You’re not a guest, not someone who can just drink and laugh and enjoy the night.

You’re always working.

You’re always watching.

Jake tilts his head slightly. "You know, it’s okay to let go once in a while."

The words hit deeper than they should.

Let go.

It’s been so long since you’ve let yourself feel anything other than exhaustion, than the weight of responsibility pressing against your ribs.

Jake doesn’t look away. He watches you like he already knows what you’re thinking, like he’s waiting.

And the worst part?

You let him win.

His hand brushes against yours, tentative at first, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, your fingers shift, your breath catches, and the space between you collapses.

His lips meet yours in a slow, controlled movement, the kind that leaves no room for uncertainty. His fingers press into your waist, pulling you closer, the warmth of his body against yours sending a sharp thrill down your spine.

You gasp softly against his mouth when his hands slide lower, gripping at the fabric of your dress. He doesn’t rush—he’s measured, calculated, taking his time with you like he’s savoring every second.

Your back meets the plush couch, your hands threading into his hair as his lips trail lower, pressing against your jaw, then your throat.

It feels too real, too good—like for the first time in years, you’re not just existing, not just moving through the motions.

You’re alive.

And because of that—

You miss it.

You miss everything.

21/11/2024 10:41 PM – Security Breach

Jungwon’s voice is the first thing that rips through the haze.

"Shit—what the hell?"

Your earpiece crackles, the distortion breaking through the moment like a gunshot. You barely register Jake pulling away slightly, brows furrowed as he studies your expression.

In the surveillance van outside, Heeseung is already moving. "What’s happening?"

Jungwon curses. "Security feeds just cut out—this wasn’t an external hack, it was internal."

Sunghoon’s voice is sharp. "That means someone’s inside."

You push yourself upright, your mind snapping back into focus. Your heart is still pounding, but now it’s for a different reason. You grab the earpiece, voice urgent. "What do you need?"

Jungwon is typing furiously. "We still have motion sensors in the west corridor—someone just breached the main vault."

Sunghoon is already moving through the ballroom. "I see him. Black suit, short dark hair, five-eight, heading for the exit."

Heeseung barks an order. "Don’t let him out."

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. He runs.

21/11/2024 10:45 PM

The suspect never makes it past the emergency stairwell.

Sunghoon catches up to him just as he reaches for the door handle, his body moving on pure instinct as he yanks the man back, shoving him against the cold marble wall. The force of it knocks the breath from his lungs, a choked sound escaping as his hands instinctively rise in surrender.

"Freeze!" Sunghoon barks, his gun leveled. "On the ground! Now!"

The entire ballroom stills, guests gasping as they step back, clearing a wide space around them. The security guards stationed throughout the estate move in, forming a barrier between the suspect and the exits.

The man lifts his chin, looking irritated rather than fearful, his black suit slightly disheveled from the struggle. Jongseong.

Sunghoon's breath catches as he fully registers his face, recognition setting in like a sharp blade to the ribs.

Jongseong. A known associate of underground networks, a name that has surfaced more than once in relation to Specter’s operations—but never directly linked. A runner, not a mastermind.

Heeseung arrives at Sunghoon’s side in seconds, gun also raised, his expression unreadable. "Where's the money?"

Jongseong exhales through his nose, then lets out a low chuckle. "No idea what you’re talking about."

His voice is calm. Too calm.

That’s the first sign that something is wrong.

"Pat him down," Heeseung orders.

A security officer steps forward, roughly searching Jongseong’s suit for any concealed items. No weapons. No stolen artifacts. No hidden communication devices.

Nothing.

Your stomach twists. This isn’t right.

Where’s the evidence? Where’s the vault key? The schematics? Anything that proves he’s the one who breached security?

And then—

Jongseong smirks.

It’s barely there, just a flicker of amusement before it vanishes beneath a practiced mask of indifference.

But you see it.

And that’s the second sign.

Something is very, very wrong.

"Take him in," Heeseung commands. "We’ll question him at the precinct."

As Jongseong is forced to his knees, his wrists bound with cuffs, he barely resists. He doesn't fight, doesn't argue.

Because he doesn’t need to.

Because this is exactly what he wanted.

By the time you step outside, the night air is thick with tension. The once-luxurious gala has descended into controlled chaos, guests still murmuring as they’re escorted to waiting cars, security scrambling to regain control of the estate.

The suspect is in custody.

The heist is over.

And yet—something feels unfinished.

Your head is still spinning, the adrenaline from earlier colliding with the lingering haze of Jake’s hands on your body, the warmth of his lips still ghosting against your skin.

You shouldn’t be thinking about him right now.

Not when you should be celebrating a win.

Not when you should be focused on why this doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

Sunghoon stops beside you, running a hand down his face. "Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks this was too easy."

You swallow hard, gripping your arms against the sudden chill in the air.

"No," you murmur. "You’re not the only one."

Because deep down, you know.

This was too perfect.

Too clean.

Too easy.

And Specter?

Specter never makes it easy.

21/11/2024 11:30 PM – Private Lounge, Reinsworth Estate

You don’t expect to find Jake waiting for you again.

Yet, when you return to the second-floor lounge, needing a moment to breathe, he’s still there—composed, collected, untouched by the storm that just unfolded.

He leans against the plush couch, one leg stretched out lazily, a fresh glass of whiskey in hand. He glances up when he sees you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

"Back so soon?" he muses, tilting his head.

You let out a breath, shaking your head as you step inside. "I needed to get away from the chaos for a second."

Jake hums, watching you with an unreadable expression. "So, what’s the verdict? Did you get your guy?"

You hesitate for just a moment too long.

Then, you nod. "Yeah. We got him."

Jake smiles, lifting his glass in a lazy toast. "Then that means you won, right?"

You should feel like you’ve won.

But you don’t.

You feel like you’re missing something.

Like you’re being played.

And when Jake stands, moving toward you with that same slow, easy confidence, you suddenly find yourself forgetting—just for a moment—why you should even be thinking about anything else at all.

"You’re still tense," he murmurs, his voice softer now, lower, like he’s reading between the lines of everything you aren’t saying. "Still thinking too much."

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him you’re fine, that you’re always fine.

But then his fingers brush against yours, a fleeting touch that makes your pulse stutter.

"Let me help with that," he whispers.

And before you can stop yourself—before you can think about what you’re doing—you let him.

22/11/2024 12:30 AM – Jake’s Apartment

His apartment is dimly lit, quiet except for the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. It smells like whiskey and something undeniably him, something warm and sharp and dangerous in a way that doesn’t set off alarms—only curiosity.

You don’t remember how you got here.

One minute, you were at the gala, your head spinning with questions you couldn’t answer. The next, Jake was leading you inside, his hands steady on your waist, his lips a breath away from ruining you completely.

The first kiss is slow.

A quiet test. A question you don’t answer with words but with the way your hands tangle into his hair, the way your body presses against his, desperate for something you can’t name.

His fingers skim the zipper of your dress, trailing down your spine, his touch sending a slow fire licking down your skin. He moves deliberately—never rushing, never demanding—just taking his time, like he’s savoring every second of breaking you apart.

You let yourself fall.

Because Specter is gone.

Because the hunt is over.

Because for the first time in years, you let yourself want something that isn’t a case file, a mission, a ghost you can never catch.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, his voice low and seductive. "I want to show you how much I've been wanting this."

You sank into the plush sofa, your heart racing as Jake knelt before you, his hands gently caressing your thighs. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your knee, slowly inching their way up your leg. You let out a soft moan, unable to contain the pleasure that was building within. His touch was like a flame igniting your desire, melting away the constraints of your undercover role.

"You're exquisite," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to taste every inch of you."

With that, Jake began a slow, sensual exploration of your body. His lips trailed kisses along your inner thighs, his hands gently massaging your hips, driving you wild with anticipation. You arched your back, offering yourself to him, eager for the pleasure he promised. His tongue teased the sensitive skin just above your knee, sending waves of delight through your body.

As his lips finally reached your core, you gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation. Jake's tongue was skilled, flicking and lapping at your clit, sending shivers of pleasure through your entire being. He teased and tormented you, building the tension until you were writhing with need. His fingers joined the dance, slipping inside you, finding the spots that made you cry out in ecstasy.

"Oh, Jake," you panted, your hands gripping the sofa cushions. "I can't take much more..."

But Jake was relentless, determined to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. He sucked on your clit, his fingers working in perfect rhythm, driving you higher and higher until you exploded in a mind-shattering orgasm. Your body trembled as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and utterly satisfied.

As you lay there, basking in the aftermath of your release, Jake's gentle hands caressed your face, wiping away the traces of your passion. He smiled, his eyes filled with a mixture of satisfaction and adoration.

"Baby that was incredible," he whispered. "But we're not done yet. I want to give you even more pleasure."

You smiled back, feeling a connection with Jake that went beyond the physical. In that moment, you both understood that this encounter was about more than just sex. It was a shared escape from the pressures of your respective lives, a stolen moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

As the night deepened, Jake led you to the bedroom, where he continued to worship your body with his touch. He explored every inch of your skin, his hands and lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You returned the favor, running your hands over his muscular frame, reveling in the feel of his hard body against yours.

The passion between you escalated, and soon you found yourself straddling Jake, guiding his throbbing cock into your wetness. You rode him with abandon, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The sensation of being filled by him was exquisite, and you couldn't help but let out a string of moans and cries as you neared the edge once more.

Just as you were about to climax, Jake flipped you onto your back, his eyes blazing with desire. He thrust into you with a primal urgency, his body demanding release. You matched his intensity, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. Together, you soared towards a shared climax, your bodies becoming one in a frenzy of pleasure.

As your orgasms subsided, you lay entangled in each other's arms, panting and sweaty. The night had been a whirlwind of passion and desire, a much-needed respite from the weight of your undercover mission. Jake's gentle touch and insatiable hunger had taken you to new heights of ecstasy, leaving you craving more.

"I never expected this," you whispered, tracing your fingers along his chest. "But I'm glad I found you." Jake smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "This is just the beginning.”

22/11/2024 7:00 AM – The Precinct

Morning light spills through the windows, casting sharp lines across the stacks of files on your desk. The precinct is already buzzing—officers moving in and out, reports being filed, the usual chaos after a major arrest.

And yet, something feels off.

You step inside the holding area, your stomach twisting. Jongseong sits in the same spot you left him last night—calm, unbothered, waiting.

Jungwon is the first to speak, handing you a fresh report. His voice is flat, controlled. "We have a problem."

You skim the document, your fingers tightening around the pages.

No forensic evidence. No DNA. No stolen assets found in Jongseong’s possession.

Your heart pounds.

Sunghoon’s voice is grim beside you. "We might have arrested the wrong man."

Heeseung steps forward, his expression dark. "If we don’t find anything, we’ll have to release him within twenty-four hours."

Your stomach drops.

Because if Jongseong isn’t Specter—

Then Specter is still out there.

Still watching.

And you were too distracted to notice.

22/11/2024 7:30 AM – The Precinct

The precinct is suffocating in the way only a place filled with exhausted, overworked officers and the lingering smell of bad coffee can be. The overhead fluorescent lights flicker slightly, buzzing faintly above your desk as you sit, staring at the case file spread open before you.

You’ve spent the past hour combing through the case reports, reading and rereading the timeline of Jongseong’s arrest. Everything lines up—too well, too perfectly. The location, the security breach, the direction of the escape route—it was all exactly what you expected.

But Specter has never been predictable before.

So why now?

The doubt gnaws at you, sharp and insistent, but you shove it down. You need to focus.

A sharp sound pulls you from your thoughts—the scrape of a chair being dragged against the floor. You glance up to find Sunghoon sitting across from you, arms crossed over his chest, his entire body wound tight with barely contained anger.

He looks like he hasn’t slept.

There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and his jaw is locked in a way that makes his frustration painfully obvious. His knuckles are white where they press against his biceps, tension coiling through his entire frame like he’s physically restraining himself from exploding.

You don’t have to ask him what’s wrong.

You already know.

Sunghoon has always been the most ruthless of all of you when it comes to Specter. His hatred for the man isn’t just professional—it’s personal, woven into his very being, laced into every clipped word he speaks about the case.

And right now, that hatred is radiating off of him like heat from an open flame.

"He’s laughing at us," he says finally, his voice low and strained.

You blink, setting your pen down. "Jongseong?"

Sunghoon lets out a harsh, humorless scoff. "No," he spits. "Specter."

The name alone seems to poison the air between you.

"He’s out there right now, watching us scramble, watching us pat ourselves on the back like we finally got him." He shakes his head, his upper lip curling slightly in disgust. "He set this whole thing up, and we fell for it like idiots."

His anger is palpable, simmering beneath the surface like a storm barely held at bay. You’ve seen Sunghoon mad before—you’ve seen him frustrated, seen him snap at officers who weren’t taking the case seriously.

But this?

This is different.

He’s not just angry.

He’s seething.

"You don’t know that," you say carefully, trying to sound more sure than you feel. "Jongseong fits the profile. He was at the scene, moving toward an escape vehicle. We caught him in the act."

Sunghoon lets out a breath through his nose, his hands gripping his arms even tighter. He looks like he’s one wrong word away from completely losing it.

"Jongseong is a distraction," he grits out. "That’s all he is. And do you know what makes me fucking sick?"

His eyes snap up to meet yours, dark and furious.

"We let it happen. Again."

The weight of his words crashes into you like a sledgehammer.

You don’t respond, because what is there to say?

Sunghoon isn’t wrong.

And that’s what makes it worse.

His jaw tightens, and he leans forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, quieter—but no less filled with rage.

"I hate him," he says, the words filled with so much venom you almost flinch. "I hate that every single time we think we have him, he’s already ten steps ahead. I hate that he makes us look like fucking amateurs. I hate that the media paints him like some goddamn folk hero while we’re stuck looking like corrupt bureaucrats."

His fingers dig into his biceps so hard you think he might bruise himself, but he doesn’t seem to care.

"But most of all," he continues, his voice even quieter now, almost a whisper, "I hate that no matter how hard I try, no matter how many hours I put into this case, no matter how much I want to see him behind bars—I can’t fucking touch him."

For a moment, the room feels unbearably silent.

The weight of his words presses down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs.

Because you understand.

Because you feel it too.

The helplessness. The frustration. The overwhelming, all-consuming obsession with someone who refuses to be caught.

You sit in that silence for a long moment, neither of you moving, neither of you speaking.

And then, finally—

Sunghoon exhales sharply, shaking his head. "I need to get out of here."

Without another word, he pushes back from the desk and strides toward the door, his hands still clenched into fists.

And you?

You’re left sitting there, wondering if you just saw a crack in the foundation of everything you thought you knew about him.

Because Sunghoon doesn’t just hate Specter.

He despises him with every fiber of his being

22/11/2024 9:15 AM – Jake’s Apartment

The contrast between Sunghoon’s suffocating rage and Jake’s quiet, effortless warmth is jarring.

You shouldn’t be here again.

You should be at the precinct, knee-deep in case files, trying to untangle the mess that Specter has left behind. But instead, you’re standing in Jake’s kitchen, his shirt draped over your shoulders, a cup of coffee cradled between your hands.

It feels too easy.

Too normal.

Too good.

Jake leans against the counter across from you, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. His hair is still slightly tousled from sleep, his suit jacket discarded somewhere in the other room. He looks so completely unbothered by everything—by the world, by the chaos you left behind at the station—that for a moment, you let yourself believe he really is just Jake.

Just a man.

Not a suspect. Not a ghost. Not a thief who has spent years evading you.

Just someone who makes you feel like yourself again.

"You’re thinking too much," he muses, sipping his coffee.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It is when you do it like this," he counters, setting his cup down and stepping closer. "Like you’re trying to convince yourself that you shouldn’t be here."

Your fingers tighten around the mug.

Because he’s right.

And you hate that he sees you so clearly.

Jake tilts his head slightly, watching you. "Stay," he says softly.

A single word.

No pressure. No demand. Just an invitation.

And for the first time in years, you don’t fight it.

You let yourself fall.

02/12/2024 9:30 AM – Jake’s Apartment

The apartment is bathed in the kind of morning light that makes everything feel too perfect, golden rays slipping through half-drawn blinds, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets tangled around your legs. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, mingling with something distinctly him—a mix of cedarwood and whatever expensive cologne he wears without trying too hard.

Jake stands at the stove, his sleeves pushed up, one hand casually flipping pancakes in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

You watch him from where you’re curled on his couch, sipping the coffee he made for you, wondering how the hell you got here—wrapped up in a man who feels like both an escape and a mistake waiting to happen.

He turns, catching you staring, and smirks.

“You look dangerously comfortable,” he muses, setting down the spatula. “Should I be worried?”

You huff, rolling your eyes as you set your coffee down. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just a good couch.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “So it’s the couch and not the charming man making you breakfast?”

You pretend to think for a moment, lips pursed. “Mm. Jury’s still out.”

Jake clutches his chest dramatically. “That hurts, detective.”

You roll your eyes again, but there’s a warmth in your chest that you can’t ignore. It’s been so long since you’ve laughed like this, since you’ve let yourself exist in a space that wasn’t suffocating under the weight of your job.

And Jake?

Jake makes it too easy.

He slides onto the couch beside you, two plates in hand, setting one on your lap. The pancakes are stacked high, drizzled with syrup, looking almost criminally perfect.

You raise a brow. “Okay, is there anything you’re bad at?”

Jake hums, tilting his head in fake thought. “I can’t dance.”

You snort, cutting into your pancakes. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m serious,” he insists, gesturing dramatically. “It’s embarrassing. If you ever make me dance, I’ll trip over my own feet and probably take you down with me.”

You laugh, the sound coming too easily, your walls lowering too quickly—but right now, you don’t care.

For the first time in years, you feel like a person first, a detective second.

02/12/2024 12:00 PM – The Precinct

If Jungwon notices the shift in your mood when you walk into the precinct, he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he gives you one long, knowing glance before simply shaking his head and shuffling his files into a neater stack.

You sit down at your desk, flipping through your own paperwork, waiting for the inevitable.

It doesn’t take long.

“You seem happy,” Jungwon finally says, tapping his pen against the table rhythmically. “Which is weird. Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happy before.”

You roll your eyes. “Not this again.”

“What?” he asks innocently. “I’m just making an observation.”

You sigh, setting your file down. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Jungwon leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “Alright. You’ve been different lately. Less stressed. Less... I don’t know. Broody?”

“Broody?” you repeat, unimpressed.

“You know what I mean.”

You sigh again, rubbing a hand over your face. “I’m not broody.”

Jungwon just looks at you.

You groan. “Fine. I just—I don’t know. I met someone, I guess.”

Jungwon’s eyebrows shoot up, his entire demeanor shifting. “Oh?”

You immediately regret saying anything. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he says, but he’s already grinning. “It’s just—you? In a relationship? I genuinely didn’t think it was possible.”

You glare. “I hate you.”

Jungwon snickers, leaning forward. “Okay, tell me about him. What’s his name? What does he do? Is he an accountant? He feels like an accountant.”

You exhale sharply. “His name is Jake.”

Jungwon blinks. Then blinks again. “Wait. Jake? As in Jake Jake?”

You pause. “...What does that mean?”

Jungwon shakes his head in disbelief. “You mean the guy from the gala? The one who’s stupidly hot?”

Heat creeps up your neck. “Why do you know he’s hot?”

“Because I have eyes,” Jungwon says, exasperated. “And so does half the precinct. The guy looks like he walked out of a cologne commercial.”

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I regret everything.”

Jungwon laughs, slapping his hand against the desk. “No, no, I’m thrilled. This is hilarious.”

You peek at him between your fingers. “Why?”

“Because you’re you. And you’ve somehow landed yourself a hot, normal guy, and now I have to watch you try to function like a normal person in a relationship.” He grins. “This is my favorite thing that’s ever happened.”

Despite yourself, you laugh.

It’s easy with Jungwon. He’s been your partner for years, and out of everyone in the precinct, he’s the only one who knows how to keep you grounded.

And maybe...

Maybe a small part of you needed someone to tell you that it’s okay to be happy.

Even if it’s temporary.

Even if you don’t deserve it.

26/12/2024 7:45 PM – Jake’s Apartment

Falling in love with Jake is like slipping into a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

It happens slowly, piece by piece, until one day you realize he’s settled into your life like he’s always belonged there.

At first, it was the late-night conversations, stretched out across his couch, where he’d listen to you vent about your job while nursing a glass of whiskey, nodding along like he understood the weight of it. Then, it was waking up next to him, sunlight slipping through the curtains, watching the way his lashes fluttered against his cheek before he stirred, smiling lazily as if seeing you first thing in the morning was the best part of his day.

Now?

Now, it’s this—him standing in his kitchen, barefoot, sleeves rolled up, making pasta like it’s second nature, humming along to a song playing softly in the background.

It’s so damn normal that it terrifies you.

"You know," Jake muses, glancing at you over his shoulder, "for someone who spends their life chasing criminals, you seem way too impressed by my ability to make pasta."

You scoff from where you’re perched on a stool by the counter, sipping the glass of wine he poured for you. "I wouldn’t say impressed. More... mildly surprised you haven’t set the kitchen on fire yet."

Jake clutches his chest dramatically. "Wow. No faith in me at all?"

"I mean," you say, smirking, "you work in HR, not a kitchen. I think my skepticism is warranted."

Jake rolls his eyes, but there’s amusement dancing in his gaze. "I’ll have you know HR requires people skills, which I’m excellent at."

You hum, tilting your head. "So you just charm your way through workplace disputes?"

"Basically." He grins. "It’s a lot of, ‘Hey, let’s all be adults and not fight over stolen office mugs.’"

You laugh, the sound coming too easily, your walls lowering too quickly.

"You’re good at this," you admit before you can stop yourself.

Jake raises a brow. "Cooking?"

"No." You hesitate, swirling the wine in your glass. "This. Making things feel... normal."

His smirk softens into something gentler, something that makes your stomach flip. He sets down the spoon he was using, stepping closer, sliding his hands onto the counter on either side of you, caging you in.

"You deserve normal," he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more serious. "You deserve good things, you know that, right?"

You don’t respond.

Because you don’t know that.

Not when your entire life has been about chasing something just out of reach.

Not when every time you think you’re getting close to something real, it slips through your fingers like it was never there to begin with.

27/12/2024 10:30 AM – The Precinct

The sense of peace from the night before disappears the second you step into the precinct.

It’s in the air—the tension, the unspoken weight pressing down on everyone. Conversations are hushed, glances are exchanged, and something is off.

Jungwon looks up from his desk when you approach, his expression more serious than usual. He doesn’t say anything at first, just motions for you to come closer.

"What’s going on?" you ask, setting your coffee down.

Jungwon exhales, rubbing his temple before flipping open a file.

“There’s talk of a mole.”

Your stomach drops.

You grip the edge of your desk. "What?"

Jungwon nods grimly. “It’s coming from higher up. Too many failures. Too many slip-ups. Someone’s been feeding Specter information.”

A cold weight settles in your chest.

A mole. Someone inside the department.

Your mind races. Who?

"Who are they suspecting?" you ask carefully.

Jungwon shrugs, but his expression darkens. “Right now? No one specific. But it’s only a matter of time before they start pointing fingers.”

29/12/2024 11:45 PM - Uptown

It happens fast.

One minute, you’re outside a high-rise in the wealthiest part of the city, waiting for Specter to make his move.

The intel was solid. Too solid. The security patterns, the movement of stolen assets, the whispers from informants—everything lined up.

And yet—

The heist never happens.

You stand there, breath misting in the cold night air, fingers curled around your radio, listening to the silence.

No breach. No alarms. Nothing.

Then—

Jungwon’s voice crackles through the earpiece, quiet, urgent.

“He’s not coming.”

Your pulse spikes. “What?”

“Specter’s not here,” Jungwon says. “There’s nothing happening. This was a dead lead.”

Your blood chills.

How? How?

This was your best shot. The kind of lead you don’t get twice. And yet, you were waiting for nothing. The truth sinks into your stomach like a stone.

Specter knew. Somehow, he knew.

And you were left standing there, like a fool, chasing shadows.

30/12/2024 2:00 AM – Jake’s Apartment

You don’t remember the drive.

You don’t remember knocking on his door.

All you know is that the second it opens, Jake pulls you inside, holds you tight, and doesn’t let go.

You’re shaking—frustration, exhaustion, helplessness all swirling in your chest like a storm. You bury your face against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him, letting the warmth of his body ground you.

Jake presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. “Rough night?”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it’s hollow.

"You have no idea."

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask questions. He just leads you to the couch, pulling you onto his lap like it’s second nature, letting you curl against him. His fingers skim your back in slow, comforting patterns, his lips pressing fleeting kisses against your temple, your cheek, your jaw.

You tilt your head, letting him kiss you properly this time, letting yourself melt into him, letting him pull you under completely. Because right now, Jake is the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

He’s the reason you’re falling in the first place.

31/12/2024 11:45 PM – Jake’s Apartment

New Year’s Eve in the city was a spectacle—fireworks poised to explode over the skyline, laughter and music pouring from every open window, the streets alive with the kind of energy that only came when people believed they were on the precipice of something new, something better.

But none of that mattered to you right now.

Because instead of being out there, in the chaos, you were here.

Here, in Jake’s apartment, curled up beside him on the couch, a half-empty bottle of champagne on the coffee table, and the faint hum of a jazz record playing in the background. The world outside didn’t exist in this moment. There was only the glow of the string lights he had lazily draped across his bookshelves, the warmth of his body against yours, and the quiet rightness of it all.

“Okay, so tell me,” Jake mused, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your thigh as he leaned back against the cushions. “Are you the type of person who actually makes New Year’s resolutions, or do you just wing it?”

You smirked, shifting so you could face him better. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the luxury of just ‘winging it.’”

Jake’s lips quirked at that, his eyes soft as he studied you. “Of course you haven’t.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “You probably have a ten-year plan, don’t you?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I did once.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You hesitated for a moment before sighing, tilting your head back against the couch. “It was the typical checklist, you know? Make detective, take down the bad guys, climb the ranks—maybe even make lieutenant one day.”

Jake hummed, resting his chin on his hand. “And now?”

You let out a breath, watching the golden bubbles swirl in your champagne glass. “Now? I don’t know.”

The admission surprised even you. When was the last time you didn’t have an answer?

Jake shifted closer, his warmth seeping into your skin. “That’s not a bad thing.”

You met his gaze, something tight wrapping around your ribs. “Isn’t it?”

He shook his head, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think sometimes, life surprises you. You spend so long chasing one thing, thinking it’s the only thing that matters, and then out of nowhere—you realize you want something else.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache.

Because he was right.

What you wanted now—what you had never allowed yourself to want before—was him.

The clock struck midnight, and somewhere outside, fireworks erupted, lighting up the city.

But you barely heard them.

Because Jake was kissing you.

His hands cradled your face, his lips slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second of this moment, of you. Your fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring yourself against him, against the dizzying warmth threatening to consume you whole.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Happy New Year,” he murmured.

You smiled, eyes fluttering open. “Happy New Year Baby.”

There was a softness in his gaze when he pulled you back against his chest, your legs tangled together on the couch. A comfortable silence stretched between you before he spoke again, voice quieter this time.

“Do you ever think about it?”

You glanced up. “Think about what?”

Jake hesitated for half a second before exhaling. “The future. What it’d look like... if we did this. If we kept doing this.”

Your heart skipped.

If we kept doing this.

The words settled in your chest, weaving into the fabric of something dangerous, something real.

A part of you wanted to be cautious. To remind him that it was too soon, that you had only known each other for a few months, that relationships—real ones—needed time to be built.

But then another part of you—the part that had spent years alone, the part that had never imagined wanting something beyond the chase—wanted to believe in this.

In him.

So you let yourself speak the words before fear could stop you.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I think about it.”

Jake’s lips twitched into a smile. “And?”

You swallowed, shifting against him. “It’s crazy.”

He huffed a laugh. “Insane.”

You exhaled. “But it feels... right.”

Jake’s arm tightened around you. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It really does.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“I’d want a house,” Jake mused. “One of those quiet ones, up on a hill. A big porch. A stupidly expensive coffee machine in the kitchen.”

You snorted. “Of course you would.”

Jake smirked. “Hey, I have priorities.”

You shook your head fondly. “And kids?”

Jake blinked, then tilted his head in mock thought. “I don’t know. How much chaos are we talking?”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Two, maybe three? Enough to keep you on your toes.”

Jake grinned. “I like those odds.”

Your breath hitched.

Because it was crazy to be talking like this.

But it didn’t feel crazy.

It felt like standing in the sun after a lifetime in the rain.

15/01/2025 11:45 PM – Curator’s Galleria Downtown

The air inside Sunoo’s gallery hums with energy, a strange blend of sophistication and tension. The city’s wealthiest patrons sip champagne, swirling golden liquid in delicate crystal flutes, murmuring about the price of art like it’s something more than a status symbol.

But you’re not looking at the art.

You’re scanning the room, waiting for the moment everything falls apart.

Specter is here. He has to be.

Sunghoon stands beside you, dressed in an expensive black suit that helps him blend into the crowd. But even in the dim glow of chandelier light, you can see the way his shoulders are tense, the way his jaw is locked. He’s waiting too.

Jungwon’s voice crackles in your earpiece. “Security is clean so far. No unusual movement.”

That only makes your stomach tighten further.

If Specter is here, he’s already inside.

And he’s waiting to make his move.

You take a slow sip of champagne, scanning the guests with careful precision. The art world is one of Specter’s favorite playgrounds—not just because of the wealth, but because it’s built on illusion. People come here flaunting riches they didn’t earn, bidding on pieces they barely understand.

And if you’ve learned anything about him, it’s that he loves stealing from people who don’t deserve what they have.

A slight movement at the far end of the gallery catches your eye. A man—tall, broad shoulders, dressed in black, his face tilted away from the light.

Your heart stutters.

Jake.

The realization hits you like a punch to the ribs. He’s here. Right in front of you.

You can’t move. Not yet.

Not when you know he’s watching you too.

He turns his head slightly, just enough for your eyes to meet across the crowded room. And in that moment, it’s as if time stops.

Jake doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t smile.

But his gaze is steady, dark, pulling you in like gravity itself.

Daring you.

And just as you step forward, ready to push through the crowd—

The lights flicker.

For half a second, the room is cast in darkness.

And then—

The alarms blare.

Your earpiece erupts with chaos.

“Security breach—third floor, west wing! Unauthorized access to the vault!”

He’s already moving.

Jake turns on his heel, slipping through a side exit before you can even blink.

You chase after him.

15/01/2025 11:50 PM – The Gallery’s Private Wing

The marble floors are cold beneath your heels as you sprint through the hallway, gun drawn, heart hammering in your chest.

Somewhere ahead, Jake moves with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

You should call for backup. You know that.

But this is personal.

You round the corner, just in time to see him disappear into the vault room.

This time, you don’t hesitate.

You shove the door open, gun raised—

And Jake is standing there, waiting for you.

Not running. Not moving.

Just waiting.

The vault is already cracked open behind him, the security systems completely dismantled. But he’s not grabbing anything. Not moving toward the stolen art.

He’s just watching you, lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk.

“You’re getting faster, detective,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Almost had me.”

Your hands tighten around the gun. “Hands where I can see them.”

Jake doesn’t comply.

Instead, he takes a slow, deliberate step toward you, his eyes locked on yours.

“I don’t think you’ll shoot me,” he says, voice too soft, too knowing.

Your finger twitches on the trigger. “Try me.”

He takes another step.

Too close now.

You should shoot. You should.

But his eyes hold you still.

And then, just as he’s a breath away—

He leans in.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.”

And before you can even react—

The window behind him shatters.

A smoke grenade explodes at your feet, filling the room with thick, choking gray.

You cough, stumbling back, but by the time you push forward—

He’s already gone.

16/01/2025 12:15 AM – The Aftermath

The gallery is chaos.

Security is swarming the scene, officers questioning stunned guests, the once-elegant evening now reduced to frantic whispers and flashing red lights.

You stand near the vault entrance, hands on your hips, trying to catch your breath.

Jake was right there.

You had him.

And you let him go.

Sunghoon stalks up beside you, his expression dark.

“What the hell happened?” His voice is sharp, accusing.

You exhale, jaw tightening. “He was here. I had him.”

Sunghoon’s eyes narrow. “And?”

You hesitate. Just for a second.

And that’s all it takes.

His gaze sharpens, something unreadable flashing across his face.

Like he knows.

Like he knows everything.

And when he speaks again, his voice is lower, almost careful.

“We need to talk.”

16/01/2025 12:30 AM – The Private Office

The walls feel like they’re closing in.

The overhead light flickers faintly, casting jagged shadows along the edges of the small security office. The space is suffocating, the air too still, too thick with something unspoken.

Your pulse is still hammering in your ears, an uneven rhythm that refuses to settle. Your grip tightens around the edges of the desk as you force yourself to breathe, in—out, in—out, but it doesn’t help.

Because Jake was there.

Because you had him.

And because you let him slip away.

The weight of it crashes over you like a wave, cold and unrelenting. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until you see the way your fingers tremble against the smooth wood of the desk.

Behind you, Sunghoon stands too still. His posture is relaxed—too relaxed. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his face is carefully unreadable.

But his silence is a warning.

And that’s what finally makes you turn to face him.

"You said we needed to talk," you say, voice strained, barely steady.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightens. He watches you for a moment, like he’s debating something, like he’s about to tell you something you won’t like.

Then he sighs.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “We do.”

Something in his tone makes the hairs on your arms rise.

Your instincts scream at you to prepare for impact.

You fold your arms, trying to keep yourself together. "Then talk."

Sunghoon exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face.

"I know you think you almost had him tonight," he starts, voice measured, careful. "But you need to see the bigger picture here."

Your fingers dig into your arms. "The bigger picture?" Your voice is sharp, barely concealing the frustration bubbling beneath your skin. "I saw him with my own eyes, Sunghoon. I had him in my sights. I know what I saw."

His gaze flickers. Just for a second.

And then, he shifts.

His stance changes—less defensive, more calculating.

"You saw what he wanted you to see," he says finally. "Jake has always been one step ahead. That was never going to change tonight."

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach turn.

But before you can respond, he keeps going.

"And that’s the problem," he mutters. "He always knows when we’re coming. Always." His eyes darken. "You don’t think that’s strange?"

Your pulse falters.

"Of course it’s strange," you snap. "That’s why we’re hunting him."

Sunghoon shakes his head, stepping closer, lowering his voice.

"No, it’s more than that," he says. "It’s not just that he’s good—it’s that he knows things he shouldn’t."

Your chest tightens.

"What are you saying?"

Sunghoon holds your gaze, steady and unwavering.

"I’m saying there’s a mole."

A sharp chill skates down your spine.

You swallow, mind racing. No. No, that doesn’t make sense.

"We already thought that," you argue. "We looked into it."

"We looked in the wrong places," Sunghoon counters. "We thought it had to be someone feeding him details from the top. Someone high up. But what if it’s not?"

Your blood runs cold.

"What if it’s someone closer?"

The room feels too small.

Your breath catches.

Sunghoon doesn’t blink.

"What if it’s Jungwon?"

Your head snaps up.

"What?" The word barely leaves your lips.

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. "Think about it. Every single time we’ve made a move, Specter has always been a step ahead. He doesn’t just know our missions—he knows our weaknesses. Our blind spots. He knows you."

A lump forms in your throat.

"He would know that anyway," you say, forcing yourself to stay rational. "We’ve been after him for years."

Sunghoon shakes his head. "Not like this. This is different. This is intimate."

The word sends a violent shudder through you.

Because you know he’s talking about Jake. About the way he looks at you. About the way you almost caught him tonight, only to hesitate when he got too close.

But that’s not why you lost him.

You know that.

Sunghoon watches you carefully. "We need to think logically here. Who’s the one person who’s had access to every failed lead? Who’s been working alongside us, tracking our moves? Who’s had time to slip Specter information without ever getting caught?"

Your breath comes faster, uneven. Because you know who he’s leading you to.

"Jungwon," he says.

The name feels like a gunshot.

And your first instinct is to reject it.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head. "Jungwon wouldn’t—he’s not like that. He’s—he’s one of us."

Sunghoon tilts his head. "Is he?"

The question lodges itself into your chest.

Jungwon, who has stood beside you for years. Jungwon, who has had your back through every chase, every failure.Jungwon, who believed in you when no one else did.

The doubt creeps in like poison. Because what if Sunghoon is right? What if all this time, the real mole was the person standing closest to you? You press a hand to your forehead, head spinning.

"Just think about it," Sunghoon murmurs. "We can’t afford to ignore the possibility."

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your chest is tight, your mind is unraveling. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Nothing feels real.

16/01/2025 1:10 AM – The Rooftop, Somewhere in the City

The wind is vicious this high up, howling between the buildings, biting against your skin as if trying to cut through the rage boiling underneath. You barely feel the cold.

You’re still burning—anger, betrayal, exhaustion all coiling together inside you, twisting and tightening until you feel like you might explode.

The city stretches out beneath you, a glittering sprawl of everything you thought you knew. The streets below are alive, moving, breathing—but you feel separate from it all.

Like you’re somewhere else entirely.

Like you’re on the edge of a different world.

And then—

A quiet sound behind you.

The scrape of a boot against the rooftop floor.

Your muscles go rigid, fingers twitching toward your gun, but you don’t turn around immediately. You don’t need to.

Because you already know who it is.

Jake.

His presence is unmistakable, a force that seems to push against the air itself, something you can feel even without seeing him.

And God, it suffocates you.

You force yourself to breathe, even as your pulse pounds against your ribs, even as your thoughts spiral and spin, crashing over each other in a mess of fury and confusion.

"Took you long enough," you say, voice sharp, cutting through the space between you.

There’s a pause—just long enough for you to picture his expression, the slow tilt of his head, the way his eyes will be watching, waiting.

Then—

"You were expecting me?"

His voice is smooth, controlled, but there’s something beneath it—something frayed, something tense.

You finally turn to face him.

And the sight of him makes something in your chest twist painfully.

Jake is standing near the rooftop entrance, dressed in black, suit unbuttoned, tie loosened, the faintest hint of sweat at his collarbone. Like he’s been running.

Like he’s been chasing something, too.

And maybe—maybe that’s you.

Your fingers tighten at your sides, your nails digging into your palm.

"I knew you’d come," you say, voice lower now. More dangerous.

Jake exhales slowly. "And yet, you’re still here."

You don’t answer immediately.

Because you don’t have one.

Because you don’t know why you’re still standing here, waiting for him.

"You ran," you say instead, accusing. "Again. Like you always do."

Jake flinches. Just slightly. Just enough.

"I had to." His voice is steady, but there’s a rough edge to it, something raw scraping against the surface. "You weren’t ready for the truth."

You take a slow step forward, barely aware of the way your body is coiled tight, like a wire ready to snap.

"And what truth is that, Jake?"

His jaw tightens.

"You know," he says, gaze never leaving yours. "You’ve always known."

Your breath catches.

And that’s when you lose it.

"Don’t do that," you snap, stepping closer, your voice trembling with something dangerous. "Don’t stand there and act like this was inevitable. Like you didn’t have a fucking choice."

Jake’s eyes darken.

"You think I had a choice?" His voice is lower now, sharper, strained.

You scoff, the sound bitter, painful. "Of course you did."

Jake exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "You still don’t get it, do you?"

Your hands clench into fists. "Then make me get it, Jake."

He steps closer, too close, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that you can see the storm raging in his eyes.

"You want the truth?" he murmurs, voice low and rough. "The truth is, I never wanted to lie to you."

You laugh, sharp and broken.

"Then why did you?"

Jake’s breath shudders.

"Because if I didn’t, I would’ve had to watch you destroy yourself chasing something that was never going to be real."

The words hit like a bullet.

You inhale sharply, vision blurring at the edges.

"You let me," you whisper. "You let me chase you. You let me believe—"

Your voice catches, cracks, and suddenly it’s too much.

Your body moves before you can stop it, hands slamming against his chest, shoving him back.

Jake doesn’t resist.

But he doesn’t step away either.

"You let me think I was winning," you continue, breath shaking. "You let me think I was getting closer. And the whole time, it was just a game to you."

Jake clenches his jaw.

"It was never a game."

You shake your head. "Then what the hell was it?"

He exhales sharply.

"A mistake," he says, soft and broken.

Jake swallows hard, gaze locked onto yours. "Because the second I met you, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop."

The confession cuts deep.

Because you believe him.

And you hate that you believe him.

Jake steps forward, voice lower, rougher, desperate.

"Run away with me."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch at his sides. "You don’t have to stay. You don’t have to let them take you down for something you never did. Come with me."

Your stomach drops.

Jake sees the hesitation flicker across your face.

"Please," he murmurs. "You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t even have to trust me. But you can’t stay here."

And for a second—

Just one second—

You almost consider it.

And then—

The door to the rooftop slams open.

Jungwon’s voice is breathless, shaking.

"You need to see this."

Your head snaps up, your entire body going rigid. And when Jungwon steps forward, he tosses a thick folder onto the floor between you and Jake.

It lands with a heavy thud. And across the top, a single name.

PARK SUNGHOON.

Your heart stops. Jungwon’s breathing is ragged, his gaze flickering between the two of you.

"You were chasing the wrong person," he says, voice strained.

You swallow hard, but your throat is dry, tight, too tight.

Your fingers shake as you slowly, carefully crouch down, flipping open the folder.

And then—

The world collapses.

Jake is silent as you stare at the pages in front of you.

You don’t hear anything.

Not the city. Not the wind.

Not even the sound of your own heart breaking.

Sunghoon was the mole.

Sunghoon was the reason you lost every chase.

Sunghoon was the reason Jake always escaped.

It wasn’t Jungwon.

It was never Jungwon.

It was the person you trusted most.

And when you finally look up, your voice is barely a whisper.

"Where is he?"

Jake exhales slowly.

And then—

"Gone."

16/01/2025 1:35 AM

The wind cut through the rooftop like a blade, sharp and unforgiving against your skin. It howled between the buildings, drowning out the city noise below, but it wasn’t loud enough to silence the thoughts screaming inside your head.

The folder was still open in your hands, but the words blurred, letters bleeding into one another. The truth was too heavy to just exist on paper. It weighed on your chest, pressed against your ribs, and squeezed the breath from your lungs.

You tried to blink, tried to make sense of the files, the documents, the photos that confirmed everything you didn’t want to believe. But no matter how hard you stared, the reality didn’t change.

Sunghoon was the mole.

Sunghoon was the reason you had lost every chase, the reason every lead had gone cold, the reason Specter—Jake—had always slipped away at the last second.

Your partner. Your best friend.

Your traitor.

The air felt thinner, like you weren’t breathing right, like the world had tilted sideways. Somewhere behind you, Jungwon was speaking, voice quiet but firm, his words measured as he pointed to different reports in the file. He was piecing it together out loud, trying to form something logical, something tangible, but you couldn’t process any of it.

Because standing across from you, watching you with an unreadable expression, was Jake.

Jake, who had known the truth all along.

Jake, who hadn’t said a single goddamn word.

Your grip tightened around the folder until the edges of the paper crumpled beneath your fingers.

"You knew," you finally said, and though your voice wasn’t raised, it cut through the space between you like a gunshot.

Jake didn’t flinch. His posture remained loose, relaxed in that way that always made you want to hit him, but there was something else there—something almost too still, too controlled, like he was bracing for impact.

"Yeah," he said, voice even.

And that was it.

That was all it took for something inside you to snap.

"You knew." This time, your voice rose, the words scraping against your throat as you threw the folder down onto the rooftop floor, sending pages scattering between you. "You knew this whole time, and you let me—you let me chase you like a fucking idiot while my own best friend was working for you?"

Jake exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back like he was shaking off the weight of your anger. "It wasn’t that simple."

"Wasn’t that simple?" Your laugh came out harsh, sharp, like shattered glass. "You let me turn on the wrong people! You let me think Jungwon—Jesus Christ, Jake, I almost had him arrested!"

Jake’s jaw clenched. "I didn’t let you do anything."

"Like hell you didn’t!" You stepped closer, shoving him hard against the chest. He barely moved, but it wasn’t about that. It was about hurting him the way he had hurt you, about making him feel even a fraction of the betrayal clawing at your insides.

Jake took it.

He didn’t step away, didn’t try to stop you. He just looked at you, eyes dark, unreadable, waiting for you to finish breaking yourself against him.

"You let me think I was getting closer," you whispered, voice shaking. "You let me think I was catching up to you, that I had a chance—"

Your breath caught, and suddenly, you hated yourself.

Hated that you had ever believed in the chase, hated that you had ever let yourself fall for him.

"You played me," you said, quieter now. "You played me the whole time."

Jake shook his head, voice rough. "I never wanted to play you."

"Then what the hell was it?"

He hesitated, just for a second. And then—

"A mistake," he murmured, something raw in his voice. "Because the second I met you, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop."

Your pulse stuttered.

"I should’ve stayed away," Jake continued, jaw tight, voice lower now, rougher. "I should’ve let you be. But I didn’t. And that’s on me."

"Sunghoon and I grew up together," Jake continues, almost like he’s talking about someone else. "We were kids. We didn’t have a choice but to run. He made it into the system first, cleaned up his past, made himself useful. I followed later, but by then, we’d already figured it out—how to survive."

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You lied about everything.”

Jake’s expression doesn’t change. But for the first time, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—regret.

“Not everything,” he says.

And that’s what breaks you the most.

Because even now, even after this, there’s a part of you that wants to believe him.

He took a step forward.

You stepped back.

"I lied about a lot of things," he admitted. "But not about you."

The wind between you howled.

You wanted to believe him. That was the worst part.

You wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

But then he said something that made your stomach drop.

"You need to leave."

Your head snapped up. "What?"

Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "They’re turning against you next. You’re the easiest target now. Sunghoon’s gone, and the force needs someone to blame."

Jungwon, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "What are you talking about?"

Jake looked at him then, like he was deciding whether to explain, whether it was even worth it. And then—

"Heeseung," Jake said simply. "He’s running everything. The entire system is built around him."

Jungwon’s expression froze. "That’s—no. That’s not—"

Jake laughed, but there was nothing amused about it. "You still think the force is clean?" He shook his head. "He’s been pulling the strings since day one. Every case you thought you were leading, every step you thought you were taking forward—he let you."

You swallowed hard. "And you know this how?"

Jake gave you a pointed look. "Because I made sure I did."

Your pulse roared in your ears.

"You think you’re going to be safe after this?" Jake asked, stepping closer. "They’re going to frame you for everything, Baby. You’ve been working this case for too long, and now that it’s unraveling, they need a loose end to tie up. That’s you."

Your breath came faster, uneven, frantic.

No. No, that couldn’t be true.

But it made sense.

The second Sunghoon disappeared, they needed someone else. Someone already involved, someone already in too deep.

You.

Jake turned to Jungwon then, voice sharp. "Both of you need to run."

Jungwon’s brows furrowed. "I can’t just—"

"You can," Jake snapped. "And you will."

You couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t how the story was supposed to end.

Jake looked at you, gaze steady. "I don’t care if you never forgive me," he murmured. "But I can’t let you die for this."

You hated him.

You hated that you were considering it.

"You can run with me," Jake said. "Or you can run without me." His voice softened. "But you have to run."

The rooftop felt like it was tilting beneath your feet.

Jungwon was still frozen beside you, his mind trying to process what this meant for him, for the force, for everything.

And you?

You had to decide.

The wind had died down, leaving only a heavy silence between the three of you. The world outside this rooftop continued on, cars moving through the streets below, lights flickering in windows of high-rise buildings, people going about their lives as if nothing had changed.

But up here?

Everything had.

Jake stood in front of you, shoulders tense, gaze steady despite the storm raging behind his eyes. Jungwon had gone still beside you, fingers flexing at his sides as he processed the weight of what had just been laid out.

And you?

You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore.

Because everything Jake had said made too much sense.

The force wasn’t looking for justice. The moment Sunghoon had vanished, they had needed someone else to take the fall, someone already deep enough in the case that it wouldn’t seem suspicious.

They needed a scapegoat.

They needed you.

Your hands were cold. You curled them into fists to stop them from shaking, but the feeling settled deep, twisting in your stomach like a sickness you couldn’t shake.

Jungwon cleared his throat, voice hoarse. "If Heeseung really is behind this, if he’s the one controlling everything—" He swallowed, shaking his head. "We can’t just run. We have to—"

Jake cut him off, voice sharp. "No."

Jungwon blinked.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Jake exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair. "You think you can fight this. You think you can take this system down from the inside. But you won’t. You’ll be dead before you even get close."

Jungwon’s jaw clenched, but he stayed silent.

You turned to Jake, voice low. "And what do you suggest?"

Jake’s eyes softened just slightly, but there was something else there, too.

Something like pleading.

"You know what I’m suggesting," he murmured.

The weight of his words settled between you.

You knew.

There was no fight left to win.

No justice left to seek.

The only thing left was to leave.

Jake took a slow step forward, gaze never wavering. "I told you before, I don’t care if you hate me. But I’m not letting you die for something you had no control over."

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the finality of this moment press down on you.

He was asking you to choose.

Not just between running and staying.

But between your past and your future.

Between what you had believed in and what you were finally starting to see as the truth.

Jake extended his hand.

Five Years Later – Somewhere in Italy

The afternoon sun stretched lazily across the rolling hills, casting golden hues over the vineyards and stone-paved roads. The world here moved slower, untouched by the chaos of the life you had left behind. From the balcony of your home, the scent of citrus and sea salt drifted through the warm breeze, carrying the quiet hum of the nearby town.

This place had become your sanctuary. A world away from everything you once knew.

The house was small, nothing extravagant—two stories, white stucco walls, terracotta roof tiles that had been worn down by the Mediterranean sun. The shutters were always left open, allowing the crisp air to weave its way inside, and in the early mornings, the golden light would pour through the bedroom window, painting the sheets in soft amber.

Standing at the edge of the balcony, you ran your fingers along the cool stone railing, gaze fixed on the horizon where the ocean stretched endlessly. It had been years, but sometimes, it still felt like a dream. That at any moment, you would wake up back in that city, back in the cold alleys and smoky rooftops, back in the endless chase that had consumed you for so long.

But then you would hear him—the steady sound of footsteps behind you, the quiet exhale as he stepped closer. And just like that, the past no longer mattered.

Jake leaned against the balcony beside you, the soft fabric of his shirt brushing against your arm. He had yet to fully wake up, the faint creases from sleep still lingering in his skin, his dark hair tousled in a way that was almost careless. There was no urgency in his movements anymore, no tension coiled beneath the surface, no need to always be one step ahead. He was different now.

Or maybe, he was simply allowed to be.

"You’re up early," he murmured, voice still rough from sleep, as he cast a glance toward you.

You inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly before answering. "Couldn’t sleep."

Jake tilted his head slightly, studying your expression. He didn’t ask why, didn’t press for an answer. He already knew. There were nights when the past still found you, lingering in the spaces between dreams, seeping into the quiet moments where memories felt sharper. It wasn’t regret that kept you awake—it was the echoes of what once was.

"Thinking about the past again?" he asked, though his tone was gentle, not accusatory.

You glanced at him before turning back to the view. "Not as much as I used to."

It was the truth.

The past no longer had its claws in you. It existed, like an old scar—faint, but still there, a reminder of everything that had led you here. There was a time when you thought you would never escape it, when you thought you were trapped in an endless cycle of chasing and being chased.

But now?

Now you had chosen a different life.

Jake followed your gaze, eyes drifting over the vineyards below. "It's different, isn't it?" he said, voice quieter this time. "Not having to run."

You turned your head slightly, taking him in. There was something almost strange about seeing him like this—completely at ease. His shoulders no longer carried the weight of expectation, of deception, of a world built on calculated risks. The sharp edges were still there, but they had softened, replaced by something steadier. Something real.

"Do you miss it?" you asked, watching him carefully.

Jake was silent for a moment, considering your words. Then, he shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "No," he admitted. "I really don’t."

Neither did you.

The sound of laughter echoed from inside the house, faint but familiar. Jungwon’s voice carried through the open window, followed by Jongseong’s exasperated groan—probably another one of their endless debates over who made the best coffee. It was mundane, simple, ordinary. But after years of living on the edge of survival, it was everything.

Jake turned toward you then, leaning slightly closer. "Do you ever wonder?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Wonder what?"

"If things had gone differently. If we had stayed." His gaze was steady, but there was something thoughtful in the way he studied you, like he was searching for an answer before you even gave it. "Do you think we would have made it out alive?"

You exhaled slowly, thinking back to that night on the rooftop, to the weight of your choice, to the moment you finally let go of the life you had sworn to uphold. The truth was, you didn’t know. Maybe you would have survived. Maybe you wouldn’t have. But either way, it wouldn’t have been this.

And that was what mattered.

"No," you said finally, turning to meet his gaze. "I don’t think we would have."

Jake held your stare for a long moment before nodding, as if he had expected that answer.

Then, he reached for your hand, fingers brushing over yours before lacing them together. His thumb traced absent circles against your skin, grounding, familiar.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, voice softer now.

You didn’t hesitate.

"Not even for a second."

Jake’s lips curved into a smile, warm and real, the kind that had nothing to do with deception or carefully crafted personas. It was the kind of smile you had only seen in stolen moments, in whispered confessions between tangled sheets, in the quiet spaces of a life not meant to last.

But here?

Here, it was forever.

Jake lifted your joined hands, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles before murmuring against your skin, "Me neither."

The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting golden streaks across the fields below. The wind carried the scent of sun-warmed fruit through the air, blending with the quiet hum of the town in the distance.

You looked back at the house—the place you had built from nothing, the place that had no ghosts, no past chasing after you. It wasn’t just a hiding place.

It was home.

And finally—after years of running, of chasing something you could never quite catch—you were free.

fin.

Taglist: @manuosorioh @dazzlingjaeyun @jkslvsnella @vernorica123 @lillotus17 @wonnienyang @firstclassjaylee @belle643 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heelovesmeknot @heeseunggotrizz @jaeyunsbimbo @immelissaaa @somuchdard @naurwayyyyy

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guileless-beast · 5 months ago

Text

Reuniting with them… after they’ve twisted

(Ft. Astro, Glisten, Razzle + Dazzle, Shrimpo)

Tags: longpost, headcanons, ambiguous relationship, previous relationship, kinda implied you’re immune to Ichor or smth bc theres no mention of you getting infected, lots of hurt/comfort

notes: first post! pls be nice to me

Astro

•He doesn’t recognize you at first. Not for a while, actually

•Mindlessly chases you around like all the other twisteds, though something in him stirs when he first spots you

•Get somewhere safe and up high where he can’t reach with his arms. His telekinesis has been destroyed by the Ichor; the most he can do with it now is tug on your shirt, and he isn’t exactly focused enough to do so anyway, so you'll be safe so long as he can't grab you

•Talk. About anything, preferably things you used to do with him. Your voice is familiar. Comforting. It soothes the ache in his heart that the Ichor once weaponized

•Resist your own exhaustion long enough, and Astro himself will fall asleep listening to you

•Let him rest. In a few hours he’ll wake up and you can keep trying to help him remember who he is, or you can leave while he sleeps if you think it’s getting too dangerous

Glisten

•Yells your name and RUNS at you full speed. It’s more than a little terrifying.

•He doesn’t mean any harm- he really doesn’t!- he’s just been alone for so long… he’s sobbing as he chases you, he can’t lose you again, he just can’t, please-

•Tackles you down and hugs the life out of you. Literally. If you don’t tell him to let up in time you might lose a heart

•He apologizes, but doesn’t let go. Keeps babbling about how he missed you- he’s hardly even coherent, but you get the gist

•Get to a secluded little spot and let him cry in your arms. Rub the top half of his back and cuddle him close; he desperately needs comfort after what he’s been through

•He appreciates every bit of affection you give him, even if it just makes him cry harder

•So long as you let him stay with/follow you, he'll do anything you ask. Need help extracting? He's even better at extracting than before, somehow. Running from a twisted? You're already in his arms. He'll even scrounge around with you for supplies!

•Be careful if he somehow finds makeup, though. He'll doll you up as SOON as the two of you are safe.

•(And if you do his own, he'll be giddy for the rest of the day.)

Razzle + Dazzle

•Sit just outside the circle with the both of them. Don’t talk, don’t make noise. Razzle bears the brunt of their infection; he won’t recognize you if you wake him. Not immediately, at least.

•Eventually Dazzle is going to wake up from his doze and scan around them for any threats, and spot you

•Dazzle will recognize you after a moment, and his expression will turn positively miserable. You’re not safe around him and Razzle, you need to leave…

•Silently keep them company for long enough and Dazzle WILL shed a few tears. It’s just been him and Razzle for who knows how long, and while he is very worried for your safety it’s nice to have someone else here (that isn’t crazed with Ichor)

•Razzle’ll finally wake up in the middle of his twin crying and see you. As he always does when he spots someone, he takes control of their body and stands, preparing to attack, but-

•…he can’t do anything so long as you’re not in the circle, though. He’ll growl and pull at the weight they’re tied to (as Dazzle squeaks and tries to take back control to no avail) but settles after a while

•Much like Astro, some part of Razzle tries to remember, but can’t- though, your face helps more than your voice in Razzle’s case. He won’t go back to sleep, no matter how much Dazzle pleads

•He sits and stares at you unendingly. It’s possible to talk to Razzle like this- though, he’ll pay more attention to your expression and gestures than your words

•Stay with them for a while, please. You’re the only way Razzle can be calm while awake, and while Dazzle knows it’d be safer for you if you left, your presence eases his mind too

Shrimpo

•It’s Shrimpo. Be ready for a fight.

•He recognizes you almost immediately. Does a full stop AND double take. He'll just stand there for a few moments until you move, and then he'll start chasing you like normal- or…

•...almost like normal. He's faster, more desperate, more angry, and keeps making these gurgling sounds as you try to lose him (to no avail; all his attention is on you, all he is going after is you)

•Be prepared to block his punches. He’s stronger now- they will hurt if they land. If you can, bring some kind of armor or protection for yourself like a shield along with all the patience you have. Otherwise, your arms are going to be real sore from blocking his attacks.

•He’ll punch, and punch, and punch some more. He’s so pissed it almost hurts. How dare you leave him for so long? How dare you think you could just waltz right up to him and be friends normal again?

•(How dare you abandon him here? How dare you not be there for him when he needed you most? How dare you not be there when the Ichor took over and he nearly suffocated? Where were you? Why did you leave him? What did he do?)

•Don’t hit back; your goal is to outlast him, not to overpower him. Let him take out his blind rage on your shield/guards, or you’ll never make progress with him.

•Don’t worry, it won’t take too long for him to falter. He’s still Shrimpo, after all. Wait until his punches weaken and his fists shake. Wait until he starts taking a full second between hits. Wait until he connects one more blow with your defense, and then shove him downward.

•Given he just exhausted himself, he’ll definitely be knocked flat on the ground. It’ll take him a good moment to get up- use this time to kneel down, slide your arms beneath him, and press him into your chest.

•He’ll try to move away- keyword: try, because no matter how hard he wants to, he cannot move his arms. All he can do is twitch and make those gurgling noises again as you gather the rest of him into your lap.

•Just… be patient, and hold him. He’s quite literally never experienced anything like this before. Eventually Shrimpo will stop leaning away. He won’t lean in, per se, but he’ll stop fighting it and go limp.

•Tell him how long you’ve been looking for him, how much you missed him, how glad you are to see him again; and maybe, just maybe, he’ll find the strength to shakily bring his arms around you.

•He rationalizes it as an attempt to scratch you, but he’s still too fatigued to do any damage.

•(Not only that, but he tells himself the heat in his eyes is just Ichor, too.)

#guileless-adoration #i really thought my faves wouldnt be too obvious but damn #shrimpo x reader #astro x reader #twisted astro x reader #twisted glisten x reader #dw razzle x reader #dw dazzle x reader #razzle and dazzle x reader #twisted razzle and dazzle x reader #twisted shrimpo x reader #char: shrimpo <3 #char: razzle and dazzle <3 #char: astro <3 #char: glisten <3 #guileless-writing #guileless-creativity #jesus fuck i forgot how weird tagging feels

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grimm-writings · 1 year ago

Note

I really like how you write. Can I have some Tall-man Chilchuck crumbs?🙏

don’t see, don’t think

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, reader is having a crisis, reader’s race and race change is left ambiguous (but implied to NOT be a half foot)

…wc! 571

…notes! JUST IN TIME BEFORE THE EPISODE ITSELF GRAGGGGHH!!!! apologies for the wait anon!!! enjoy your crumbs

Don’t see it, don’t think it, don’t see it, don’t think it, don’t see it—

“Why are you staring at the wall?”

The deeper voice is so unfamiliar that it leaves you nearly leaping into the air like a cat. You know it to be Chilchuck, and yet you can’t bring yourself to turn away from said wall you were fixating your eyes on.

“...Just coming to terms with this new form is all,” you awkwardly excuse yourself. More like you’re trying to come to terms with Chilchuck’s new form.

You were close with the lockpick, more than you were with anyone else in the party. Never in your life did you really come to think of Chilchuck as attractive. Maybe it’s the difference in race?

Those damn changelings, if it weren’t for this new perspective on the man you would have been fine. You wouldn’t find yourself thinking about how he has a stubble, slightly darker than his reddish-brown hair. You wouldn’t notice the fact he’s definitely taller than Laios was as a tall man. You wouldn’t be melting at how his voice altered, and you absolutely wouldn’t be trying your best not to be a complete mess around him.

Chilchuck doesn’t seem to notice, though. At least with this sudden change, his senses dulled. So seems to be the case with how observant he is. “Figures,” he sighs, folding his arms. “It’s definitely a lot to get used to.”

As his sentence draws close to a murmur, Chilchuck’s voice lowers a bit more in pitch. You had to stop yourself from facing the wall and banging your head against it.

Good God, why did this have to happen to you?!

“Mhm!” You agree with a hum. If you don’t open your mouth, there isn’t a way for you to say something you’ll regret.

That doesn’t stop Chilchuck from going, “hey,” and you find that he’s adjusting your bodies around in a way that you can be eye level, face to face with one another.

Don’t see it, don’t think it, don’t see it, don’t think it, don’t see it—

His eyes are still that familiar colour, a dark brown with a slight shine to them. The lines underneath them crease as he sends you a fond smile.

“Don’t let this freak you out too much, yeah?” Chilchuck reassures you, but you’re hardly listening as you note now at the short distance he has a dimple on his chin. How cute. “We’ll find some way to get rid of the, uh, ailment, ok?”

He laughs a little at his own choice of words, and you try to do so too. It comes out awkward and forced, but Chilchuck just gives your shoulder a squeeze to show that it’s alright.

He walks ahead, leaving you at your wit’s end. This truly is the death of you.

Izutsumi doggedly (quite literally) reaches your side, if only to give you a judgemental sidelong glance.

“Didn’t think you’d have a thing for rugged guys you’d usually find in a back alley.”

You turn around and wrap your hands around Izutsumi’s snout, keeping her mouth shut as she flails in anger. This definitely needed to be fixed soon, and quickly too, lest you lose your senses entirely.

Trying not to look at Chilchuck definitely isn’t doing you any favours anymore either; his face is etched into your mind permanently (and will be for days after.)

#✮ grimm's fics!#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon imagines #dungeon meshi imagines #dungeon meshi spoilers #delicious in dungeon spoilers #delicious in dungeon x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck imagines #chilchuck tims imagines

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officialdaydreamer00 · 1 year ago

Text

Aimless outing

in which you took your significant other out for a ride.

pairing: idia shroud x yuu/reader

contents: kinda short oneshot, lower case intended, this is just a spoonful of sugar tbh, everyone thank deuce for lending us his blastcycle, kinda ooc idia? idk, actually based on a screenshot in the game i'm playing and i love that lmao, reader is referred to as yuu, gender neutral reader and narrated with you/yours

★ the daydreamer speaks — my second entry for my tumblr older sibling @cloudcountry's sweet shroud summer 2024!! the worms are worming and i'm on a roll hehe ^-^

do i tag? yes, i do. my main idia liker: @edith-is-a-cat, others: @identity-theft-101 @keii-starz @xen-blank @loser-jpg @lemonchuu @dove-da-birb @twistwonderlanddevotee @escha-evenstar

remember to comment or reblog if you enjoy my work!!

"Yuu-shi, where are we going!?"

"Somewhere, anywhere! Does it really matter?"

a slow sunday and the lack of immediate tasks in your schedule was all you needed. and what better way to spend the day with your beloved than taking him out for a ride?

deuce was kind enough to lend you his blastcycle for this little trip of yours, wishing you good luck and all, and you've already gotten permission to go out from the headmage the day before, as much as you hated his gut. meanwhile, ortho was doing his best to get idia waiting outside of campus, and making sure he didn't second guess his desicions before you arrive.

and that led us to where you were now, going kilometres per hour as if gliding through the highway, feeling the cool wind of a chilly afternoon excitedly picking up your hair as the sun retreated behind the mountains. you loved the thrill it gave you, if the bright wide grin on your face was of any indications.

idia, on the other hand, was a bit overwhelmed. with his arms coiled tightly around your waist, hands trembling ever so slightly, he hid his face in your hair, not daring even a peek at the blurring surroundings.

"It's not a ride if you can't see what made it so fun in the first place, Idia! Just give it a try, then we can go back if you want."

idia stayed quiet, weighing his options. he could ask you to go back and return to the monotony of his life, safe yet nothing special. or, he could continue on this ride, just you and him on the road to an ambiguous destination.

he opened his eyes, widening as they laid on the most beautiful painting of dusk mother nature had drawn. white, pink, and orange blended together so harmoniously on a darkening blue canvas. rows of clouds lined the sky, bouncing around the little lights left of the sun onto the crashing waves the sea created.

his breath was taken away.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

idia could only muttered a soft 'yeah' as his eyes glued at picturesque scenery, taking in all he could for he wasn't sure he was going to see such a sight again. his tight grip on you slowly loosened, now only wrapping around your waist like a warm hug you would give him on chilly days.

the moon soon made its appearance as the canvas of nature was painted black, stars glimmering from beyond like diamonds in the sky. the two of you was making your way back to campus, with the blastcycle's headlights and idia's hair illuminating the road.

idia found the night sky beautiful, a lot different from dusk, but he loved it all the same.

it was a fleeting sensation of a thrill so different than what his heart was used to, but it was welcoming, a comfort even. especially when you were there with him, laughing without a care and genuinely living in the moment.

it was a memory he wished to never forget.

#sweet shroud summer 2024 #irene's writings ♡#twst #twisted wonderland #twst fic #twst fluff #idia shroud #twst idia #twisted wonderland idia #idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #twst idia x reader #idia shroud x yuu #idia x yuu #idia x mc #idia shroud fluff #this only took me 2 hours + a tea break lmao

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 1 year ago

Text

When the Levee Breaks pt.1

pairing: Remus Lupin x reader

tags / warnings: friends to lovers fluff then smut, mutual pining, smoking weed (be responsible irl), high sex, explicit descriptions of oral (f receiving), fem!reader

NSFW notes: A LARGE PORTION OF THIS FIC IS NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS; DO NOT READ IT IF IT ISN'T APPROPRIATE FOR YOU! HOWEVER, because such a long portion (like 2/3) has no sexual material (except for the implication at the very beginning), i have clearly marked where it becomes NSFW in case any age-appropriate readers want to read only up to that point (i know some people just want fluff not smut even if they're of age, and that's so chill); i will say there is drug use before then, so still adult material, but fluffy around that; please please be responsible for your content consumption

random notes: set in the late 70's / early 80's, following canon of when the marauders would've met but the rest of the world building (e.g. au) left ambiguous title inspired by a song on one of the albums mentioned idk why this turned out similar to The Prettiest Star with Sirius Black, but i guess my fantasy is just to listen to music intensely with someone then fuck lovingly lol

word count: 6.4k

hope you enjoy! thank you if you read it! 🫶

You watch as his long fingers, practiced and adept, roll the spliff. You liked this part. You could stare at his hands under the guise of watching the rolling. Remus didn’t have to know how far from pot your mind wandered when you did. He didn’t have to know it made you wonder every time what else he could do with this fingers. Imagine how they would feel on you. In you.

At the thought, you squirm where you’re seated on his settee next to him. He chuckles in a low tone.

“Antsy?”

“No.”

He can tell you’re lying. You can tell he can tell. But you don’t care. As long as he can’t tell why you’re lying, it doesn’t matter, and you can keep wriggling.

“Whatever you say, jitterbug.”

Your wringing hands catch his attention, and his eyes fix on them even as his hands continue their work.

“Next time, you’re rolling it,” he says through a smile. “There’d be nothing left to smoke by the time you finished shaking it everywhere,” he laughs, too amused with himself, giggling as if he were already high.

“Remus?” you start, and he shakes his head and chuckles, loving how you get when he teases you.

“What?” he smiles, eyebrows shooting up at you, both a welcome and a challenge for you to say whatever you’re about to.

“Can you remind me who provided this wonderful gift on this wonderful afternoon?” You shake the baggy you brought to his flat not 15 minutes ago.

He laughs, now nodding, and concedes, “You’re right, sunshine. I should be so grateful.”

Remus brings the spliff to his mouth to lick the edge of the paper, and your retort gets caught in your throat as you fixate on his tongue.

A bit too late, a bit too quiet for your usual banter, you say, “You should be, Moons. I can still take it home and smoke by myself.”

“Oh now I’ve rolled it for you, yeah? Didn’t realize you were just here for my services. Should’ve known you were just pretending to love me till you got what you wanted.” He holds up his finished work — a beauty really — in front of you as he finishes his joke. You hum affirmatively, taking it from him and looking it over.

You inspect it exaggeratedly and with a theatrical sense of casual satisfaction tell him, “Hm, not bad. I was starting to regret the long con, but I think this was worth it.”

He’s giggling as he gets up, bumping his body against yours before he does, going toward his record collection. He walks over lazily, unhurriedly, his bare feet quiet on the floor, his hand coming up to mess with his hair. His loose, comfy clothes do a lot to hide the muscles you know are lean but strong underneath.

“Come help me choose,” he says over his shoulder as he falls to one knee to scan a lower shelf. Almost a whole wall of his small apartment is covered in shelves, boxes, stacks of records. It looks a mess, but it’s actually meticulously organized by release date.

You follow him, come up just behind him. You crouch, too, not all the way down like him. You lean on him, resting your head atop his, bringing your arms around his shoulders and neck.

He moans casually, seeming happy, and grabs your arms where they fall across his chest.

“Oh, Rem. You should know…”

“Hm?” he asks, looking up at you. You look down at him, seeing his warm smile upside down.

“This is the real reason I’ve pretended to be your friend all these years,” you fake seriousness as you nod toward the records. Remus rolls his eyes, but his smile stretches further across his lovely face. It pulls on a long scar that runs down his cheek.

“And may I ask how you knew when we were eleven that one day I would own such an epic collection?”

“Easy. You wore a Led Zeppelin t-shirt one of the first days we knew each other.”

He’s taken aback by your giving an actual answer.

“Did I really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, smiling down at him. The warmth of reminiscing about those childhood years softening you.

“I think I remember that shirt,” he smiles nostalgically. “How do you remember that?” He twists in your embrace, coming to sit on the floor and pulling you with him. You’re sitting close to each other, and he’s watching you, rapt.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I remember being so nervous and lonely at the beginning. Wanting to make friends. And you seemed nice, so I noticed you.” You shrug again, look down for a moment, not wanting to express embarrassment at a more honest recollection: you had a crush on him immediately, even back then, even before you were really sure what it was you were feeling — that came with the years that followed. “The day you wore that shirt, it was like something familiar I could latch onto. Someone who liked something I liked.” Remus is smiling adoringly at you. Listening as intently as he is, looking as giddy, he looks like a child at the greatest story time ever from his seat on the floor.

“I even tried to talk to you about it,” you confess, cringing teasingly at yourself.

“Yeah?” He sits up straighter like a puppy hearing someone at the door.

“Yeah,” you exhale.

“I don’t remember that happening.”

“That’s because it didn’t,” you laugh. “I said tried to talk to you. I got too nervous and ran to hide before I could get the words out.”

He’s shaking his head in disbelief, his smile still plastered on his face.

“I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed you yet.” Remus looks especially contemplative for a moment then hums, biting his lower lip. “It’s crazy. Trying to think of my life before you is like remembering a blank canvas.”

Your cheeks warm and so does your heart.

You’re smiling a beaming smile at him but say, “There wasn’t much to notice. I was pretty quiet. And besides, your attention probably couldn’t handle a single thing more given you were getting to know Sirius and James.” He laughs lightly at the good memories but shakes his head at you a little more pronouncedly.

“I’m sure there was a lot to notice. I was just an idiot. And quiet, too. By comparison to that lot anyway. They spoke enough for the three of us. I probably would’ve wimped out if I’d tried to talk to a pretty girl like you back then.” The edges of his entrancing brown eyes crinkled from his smile. “I mean… to be honest… I’d get nervous for a while, talking to you at first.”

“You didn’t,” you tease but secretly really want to hear more.

“I did, yeah. Of course I did,” he laughs at himself. “I had a big crush on you. James and Sirius wouldn’t let me live it down for ages.”

You’re shocked at this news. And maybe your face shows it. What it doesn’t show is how desperately your mind is racing, questioning: “Wait, could things have been otherwise? Did he actually like me as more than a friend at some point? Did I ruin it somehow?”

Remus tenses slightly, his smile no longer reaching his eyes, which are attentive at your reaction.

“That was a long time ago,” he jokes to fill the silence that is beginning to stretch too long, his tone awkward.

“What happened?” you whisper, unable to help it.

He takes a second to answer, like he doesn’t know what to say. He’s searching your face, and you’re not sure how much he can read there.

He shrugs. His face gives an “I don’t know” scowl. He’s trying to escape answering, but you don’t let him.

“Remus,” you laugh and shove him playfully.

“I don’t know,” he giggles. “I don’t know. Then I got to know you I guess. And we became friends.”

You give a scoffy laugh. You know he probably didn’t mean it that way, but your stomach sinks at the idea that getting to know you would remedy him of his crush. You’re staring at the floor when his voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?” He’s trying to keep the playful atmosphere, but you hear true concern in his tone. “Did I say something I shouldn’t’ve?”

You want to say “yes,” but you wouldn’t be able to tell him which part. So, you don’t say anything.

“I didn’t think you’d mind, after all these years,” he says more softly.

“No, Rem. Of course I don’t mind.” You shake your head as if dismissing the idea, attempting a laugh that still comes out strained. “I was just surprised is all.”

He’s watching you, nodding subtlety, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Let’s choose something, yeah?” you nod next to you toward the wall, desperate to redirect attention.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Remus turns toward the records, skimming across his stacks. A thought catches him, and he moves purposefully toward a different shelf.

“What are you thinking?” you notice, your interest piqued.

“1971,” he says as if it’s an answer. It is to you.

1971: the year you met.

He pulls out a well-worn record, and the strain on your smile finally dissipates to easy delight. You come stand next to him, and he hands it to you.

“Do you remember how much we listened to that then?” he asks.

“How could I forget,” you smile, your fingers tracing the cover of Led Zeppelin IV.

It came out November 1971, but neither of you could get it till at least a month later, during Christmas break from school. When you finally did, the two of you listened to it nonstop. You absolutely loved the album, but you knew you listened to it that much because it was an easy excuse to hang out with Remus. You’d been listening to music together, often just the two of you, ever since.

“Fuck, I remember we’d listen to it in my room,” Remus reminisces. “And even Sirius, the biggest Zeppelin fan of us all, couldn’t take it anymore,” he laughs. “He’d turn it off when he found us listening to it, scolding us for ‘abusing a sacred thing.’”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Oh, look at this,” Remus startles you, excited. He pulls another record off the same shelf.

“This is too perfect,” he giggles. “I didn’t remember this came out then,” he muses, looking it over. “Probably didn’t get my hands on it till much later, I guess. But it’s like it was made for us. For you.” He hands you Just As I Am by Bill Withers, but you still don’t get what he’s saying. He sees your confused look and chuckles. “Second track,” he hints. Your eyes land on “Ain’t No Sunshine.”

“Sunshine”: Remus’s nickname for you for years. You had Sirius to thank for it actually. He’d said you and Remus were like yin and yang. And since you all already called him “Moony,” you had to be “Sunny.” The other three of you cringed at the sound of that, so he tried “sunshine” instead, conceding it was close enough, and it stuck. Over the years, Sirius and James used it less and less, Remus more and more.

“It’s your song,” Remus urges, knocking his shoulder against yours. “There literally can’t be sunshine when you’re gone because you are sunshine.” He sounds too excited, and it’s adorable.

“You sound like Sirius saying he’s serious,” you tease. He just laughs and takes the record back.

“Whatever, grumpy. It’s an epic song, and you know it, and now it’s yours, and I don’t care if that’s cheesy.”

“I love it,” escapes you, teasing tone gone. His eyes snap to yours, and he looks at you warmly.

“Alright, sunshine,” he whispers. A beat. “Wanna listen to it?” he asks, voice almost normal again. You nod gladly then go back to the sofa as he sets it up.

Remus soon comes back and joins you. He grabs the spliff from between stacks of snacks you’d prepared for the afternoon then looks over at you.

“Ready, sunshine?”

“Mhhm.”

“You do the honours.” He hands it to you and grabs the lighter. Rather than handing that to you too, he lights it for you as it dangles from your parted lips.

You take a long drag, feeling it enter you and welcoming it. You cough lightly as you exhale slowly. You are no novice but are still always a cougher. Remus still always giggles when you do, but it’s never mocking. He has a glass of water ready for you, knowing you well, always looking after you. You trade him the water for the spliff, which he proceeds to hit with equal enthusiasm and less wheezing.

You pass it back and forth for a little while. It’s strong stuff and just three hits in, you feel it engulfing you. The settee feels softer; the music sounds better.

“Ain’t No Sunshine” is playing, and in your dazed state, you’re sure this is going to be the peak of the album even if it doesn’t coincide with the peak of your high. You close your eyes, and you can feel the music on your skin.

Remus chuckles next to you, and your face turns to him.

“You look so stoned right now,” he explains, giddy.

“That’s because I am,” you laugh. Once you start laughing it’s hard to stop; once Remus joins, it’s almost impossible.

You chat easily, observations and jokes from both of you greatly benefitting from the induced assistance. Remus has a revelation about your listening to HI-fi while high. Your mind is blown multiple times at how deep the lyrics are.

“They’re all talkin’ at him, but he doesn’t hear a word they’re sayin’, Moons! Not a word! I should do that,” you tell him as if it’s the most urgent thing in the world. He cracks up. “He’s so right, you know? Gotta keep the sun shining through the pouring rain, you know?”

“Uh-huh, I know, sunshine, I know,” he just laughs at you.

“You have such a nice smile, Moony,” you observe, dazed just as much from the feelings perambulating through your system than the pot doing the same.

“Yeah?” he asks, exaggerating it till he’s all teeth and squinty eyes.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “It looked funny upside down over there,” you remember. “Watch!”

You flip over on the sofa till your feet are up where your neck should rest and your head is dangling off the edge where your knees would normally be. You smile up at him. Remus doubles over laughing with you, bringing his face much closer to yours as he leans into it.

“You’re right. Looks funny,” he tells you much more softly than you expected after his cackling. He watches you intently then brings a hand to your upside down face. He traces your features lightly, and it’s warm and tingly. His long finger travels down your nose, across your eyebrows.

“C’mere,” you whisper to him.

“Where?” he whispers back, his voice a gruff chuckle again.

“Down here!” you whisper-yell.

You pull his shoulder down and start kicking his legs up as he contorts until you get him in the same position as you. You end up side by side, upside-down on the sofa.

Each of you giggles at the other as you steal side glances. Your faces, pulled the wrong way by gravity, softened more than normal by the smoking, look even goofier through your incessant giggles and pointless efforts at holding those back.

You listen, and laugh, to at least a whole song like this. You kick each other’s feet throughout. As one of your kicks brings you closer to Remus, he rolls over to tickle you. You laugh so loud you can’t even hear the record over it.

“Stop, Rem! Stop!” you plead. “I’m already too dizzy.”

He keeps it up a moment but soon takes pity on you and helps move your body the right way around, his strong hands manipulating you easily.

“Alright, dizzy. Enough upside-down,” he says as he fixes your now crazy hair.

You just nod and shift closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he shuffles to a comfortable height for you, laying his own head on yours.

A primary reason you enjoy getting high with Remus: you both get snuggly. You’re touchy normally, even more than most best friends you’ve seen, but not overly so. When you’re high, it’s overly so. But it somehow doesn’t feel weird. In fact, it feels wonderful.

So, it feels wonderful, not weird, when you absentmindedly reach over for his hand. He gives it to you easily, and you begin caressing it.

“Your skin is so soft, Rem.” You pull his hand closer to you, bringing it close to your face, looking it at like you’ve never seen a hand before. Remus takes the opportunity and quickly grabs at your nose playfully. You giggle at this as he responds to your initial comment.

“In between all the scars maybe.” He sounds matter of fact. There’s a lot less pain in his voice now when he talks about them than when he did in your younger years. You look forward to the day when you hear no pain there at all.

“No, the scars too,” you correct him gently, and you bring your thumb to a scar that runs from the top of his hand up to his forearm. You trace it with reverence, and he shivers at your touch. You know for a fact you’re the only person in the world he allows to touch them. You’re so grateful for his trust, and in this moment, your emotions heightened, your inhibitions lowered, the vibrations of the music moving through you, you feel the need to tell him so.

“Thank you for letting me touch you, Moony.”

Remus has been watching where your hands are connected until now, but at your words, he looks into your eyes. He just looks at you for a long moment. You can’t tell how long, time elongated and indeterminable in your current state, but you’re completely comfortable to sit in it through its entirety, looking straight back at him.

Eventually, the softest grin blossoms on his face. You mirror it.

“Thank you for not being afraid to,” he whispers. You genuinely don’t understand.

“Why would I be?”

“You know what I mean,” he tries to explain. He looks down in shyness but back at you before continuing, “Maybe ‘afraid’ isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s ‘disgusted’ or something…”

His voice is fading to a low whisper by the end, like the louder the words are the truer they’ll be.

Without hesitating, you tell him the truth: “Remus, you’re the least disgusting person in the world. You’re beautiful.” He grimaces like he can’t believe you, so you go on. “You are.”

You turn your body even more toward him, bringing your connected hands to your almost shared lap and bringing your other hand to caress his cheek.

“Silly Moony. You’re so sickeningly beautiful,” you chuckle. Your hand runs up through his hair. “This hair is ridiculous,” you inform him, tousling it. He leans into your touch like a content puppy. “These eyes.” You trace circles around each of them, first skimming his eyebrows then looping around. “They’re the easiest thing in the world to melt into, no pot needed.” You feel them crinkle as they smile into your compliments. “This nose.” You trace it slowly. “These lips,” you say more softly. You feel his gasp when you touch them then feel nothing, his breath held as you trace them. “And your scars,” you say with some finality. You trace a prominent one across his face. He closes his eyes while you do, opens them again when you reach its end. “You beauty isn’t one to be ruined by scars, Remus Lupin. Your beauty is the kind that incorporates the scar and makes that beautiful too.”

Remus squeezes your interlaced hands. Your faces are so close to each other that you could see his eyes moisten as you tell him all this. He closes them before full tears form and moves his face that tiny bit closer till his forehead rests on yours. You nuzzle his nose, and he nuzzles yours back.

“It’s so quiet,” you whisper, breaking the silence — noticing the silence. You didn’t notice when the album ended. Remus just hums in response.

The silence is loaded but peaceful. You don’t want to pressure him into having to say something back after you let yourself get so intense with him. It wasn’t about what he said back; it was about his understanding how you saw him, how you hoped he would see himself.

So, with his eyes still closed, you give the scar that runs across his nose a light kiss, do the same to another larger one across his jaw. Then you bring your head back to his shoulder, snuggling into him to mark the end of the moment, no further pressure necessary.

Remus shifts his body closer, as close to you as possible. He brings his arm around your shoulders without letting go of your hand. He’s holding you close, and your arm crosses your chest to keep your hands intertwined. He kisses the top of your head — new, sweet — then rests his own there again — familiar, warm. Your thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of his hand.

You sit together in the quiet a long while. You close your eyes, breathe Remus in, let his body, his presence envelop you then just bask in it. Everything feels pleasantly heavy — the air, his body where it touches yours.

You settle into him, and without your noticing you’re doing it, your hand on his stills.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you need to ask, unsure what he means. You look up, and he looks down, and your faces are a breadth away from each other.

“I liked how you were touching me,” he whispers. “I always like how you touch me,” he adds like a secret.

He brings his hand that’s not holding yours up to your face. First, the backs of his fingers brush lightly over your cheekbone then he rests his hand there. His fingers hold your jaw; his thumb caresses your cheek. Like you tend to do, you lean into his touch.

His gentle, soothing touch flutters your eyes closed. Your inability to see his face makes it less scary to respond, “I always like how you touch me too.”

“Yeah?” he sighs, his hand holding you a bit more tightly, his thumb coming down to graze your bottom lip. You nod slowly, his hand moving with your head.

“Do you ever think about other ways we could touch each other?” he whispers. Your eyes fly open at this and land on his: lidded, dilated, gazing into your own.

“Do you?”

“I asked you first,” he giggles. “And I’ve already told you a secret today. It’s your turn.”

“What secret?” Your voices are still soft, whispering even though there’s no need for quiet other than your intimacy demanding it.

“About my crush.”

“I had a crush on you too,” you tell him. “So now we’re even.”

“That’s not fair, sunshine,” he smiles. You smile back.

Then, after a moment, like he can’t help it, “You did?”

“Of course I did.”

“What happened?” he echoes.

“Nothing,” you confess.

His eyebrows furrow, unsure how to interpret this. His eyes hold hope and trepidation at once.

“I got to know you… And we became friends…” you continue. His expression falls, and you’re pretty sure you recognize this look as disappointment. But you go on, “And it made me love you all the more.”

You’re ready to read his expression closely this time, but you don’t get the chance before he’s kissing you, before you’re kissing back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW beyond this point ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s slow. Deliberate. His lips push on yours; his arms bring you closer. His tongue teases your lips, and though they part in response, his tongue traces them rather than push in. You whimper at the feeling of it, and he moans at your reaction. He breathes you in, covers your whole mouth with his, devouring the sound, devouring you.

Now his tongue enters your mouth, exploring, playing with yours. You’re not sure whether his movements are slow or whether they just feel slow because you’re still high. You are sure you have no desire to speed any of it up.

You bring your hands to either side of his face, holding him gently but pulling him to you. He follows easily, and when your chests are almost flush, you trace your hands down to his shirt and pull him on top of you as you lean back, lying down on the sofa.

You keep kissing a deliciously long while then Remus goes beyond your lips, kissing along your jaw leisurely. He mouths at your skin, licking, nipping his way unhurriedly down to your neck. Here he languidly runs his tongue along the length of your neck, kissing your pulse point, nipping behind your ear.

Everywhere he touches is buzzing, and you shiver at the sensation. When his breath blows cold air on your now wet skin, you shiver even harder, your body shuddering against his above you. He chuckles into the crook of your neck and continues.

After another while of his working his way down, he has to pull the neck of your shirt down to reach further. You bare your neck to him, loving his exploratory path.

When his mouth leaves your skin for the first time in several minutes, your impulse is to immediately pull him back to you.

“Let’s take this off,” he whispers sedately, gruffly, tugging at your top.

You pull it off and don’t waste time unclasping and sliding your bra off as well. Remus looks at you, dopey and delighted, but without further ado, pushes your chest so that you lie back again. His hand stays on you and begins lazily kneading your breast as he brings his mouth back to you.

He kisses the base of your neck and continues his previous ministrations across your collarbones. He seems to be on a mission to trace the entire surface area of your skin with his wandering mouth, and you have every intention of letting him and enjoying every long second of it.

As he makes his languorous way down your sternum, you arch your back, pushing up into him, and bring your hands to his messy hair, holding him close. You scratch and tug, needing somewhere to release some energy, every part of you he’s touched left humming warm and electric. He groans into your chest, and you’re certain you feel the vibrations move through your skin, across your chest cavity, and into your heart, where they ricochet within it, making it beat faster.

“Remus,” you whine adoringly. He hums into your skin again in response and speeds up his southward trajectory just the slightest bit.

His face comes between your breasts, and he runs his teeth down the valley, then licks his tongue up the same path. You shake a little, and his hand squeezes your breast tighter. The other one he mouths across until his tongue traces a slow, wet circle around your nipple. This shoots a hot, jolting current straight from where his mouth is connected to you down to between your legs.

He’s gentle for a while, moving back and forth between your tits, often agonizingly slowly, his hands kneading at your chest all the while. Without your expecting it, though, he bites one of your hard, sensitive nipples and tugs lightly. You squeal and push your chest into his mouth. He keeps going, switching as he fancies between rough and tender.

At a bite of the side of your breast, you rut up into him, and the movement has you feeling how wet you are. You’ve never been this wet before before direct stimulation.

Remus holds your hips down to the sofa but moves from your chest to your stomach. His roaming mouth proceeds at its perfect, maddening pace. It meanders to your ribs, down your sides, not following a straight path down.

Once he eventually reaches the threshold of your pants, he looks up at you.

Remus looks higher than you’ve ever seen him before. He looks elated, in awe.

“I want to spend hours and hours on your body like this,” he tells you, nuzzling his face into your lower stomach, kissing it as he detaches from you.

“Remus,” you whimper, running your hand into his hair and inadvertently thrusting your hips up. He chuckles, still sounding high, but his voice is as low as you’ve ever heard it.

He takes your trousers and underwear off in one efficient but slow tug. He pulls his shirt off much faster, and you touch all his skin you can reach before he’s repositioning himself.

Your thighs feel cold now uncovered, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of fresh air on your soaking cunt. As you adjust your body, you feel a thick wetness drip from your entrance down to where your arse meets the sofa. You feel the coldness of that wetness even more as Remus pushes your legs further apart to position himself between them.

You’re completely sure you’re wetter than you’ve ever been before, but you’re not sure if you could possibly be as wet as you feel, thinking the high could be heightening your sensation of it. You’re worried it’s too much, worried you’ll put Remus off.

“I can clean up a little if —“ you start, but you’re cut off by Remus diving in, running his flat tongue slowly, firmly up from the base of your puddle up to your pubic bone. A strangled, prolonged gasp functions as the end of your sentence.

When Remus licks you again, your thighs shake on either side of his head. You feel him laugh into your cunt, and this time you imagine the vibrations shooting all the way up your body, following the chaotic roadmap his mouth left lingering across it.

Remus pulls back from you and rests his chin on your pubic bone, looking up at you.

He informs you simply, “You taste delicious, darling.” He looks drunk on it.

“Everything tastes better when you’re high,” you tease.

“Then I’m really going to enjoy this,” he smiles. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll get me high just by letting me do this other times.”

“Other times?”

“Well, yeah…” he giggles. His eyes bore into yours even though he’s the length of your torso away. “I though this was a first, not an only…”

“Good.” You sound giddy. “Just checking.”

“Silly,” he shakes his head at you. You thrust your hips up and laugh at the expression he makes when you bump his face, like he’s dazed. He squeezes your thigh harshly where he’s holding you.

“Behave, sunshine. It’s feeling dangerous down here.”

“I thought you were enjoying it.”

“I am.” A bite at your hip. “And I’m seriously getting the munchies, so just…” You don’t understand the end of his sentence, the words muffled against your skin as he starts eating you out.

It’s heavenly. High as you are, in love as you are, you think you’re on cloud nine. This gets you wondering where such an odd expression even comes from. It seems so random.

“Moony?”

“Hmm?” is grunted into your cunt.

“Why do you think it’s called being on cloud nine?”

He pulls back. The whole lower half of his face shines in your slick.

“Why are you thinking about that right now? Am I that bad at this?”

“Bad? It’s amazing.” You ruffle his hair in your groping hands. “Which is why I’m on cloud nine, which is why I’m thinking about that right now. Your hair is as soft as clouds, Moons.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Am not,” you giggle.

“Are,” he teases.

“Can you keep going now? It felt so good. Your mouth is ridiculous.” You thrust your hips up at him again.

“Ridiculous and bossy,” he complains, but he’s smiling hard, and before you can even think of a retort, he does as you bid.

His mouth takes its time between your legs. He spends eternities teasing you: mouthing at the tops of your thighs, licking up your bikini line, nipping at your clit without giving it the attention he knows you want from how loud you whine every time he gives it the slightest graze. He loves all over your vulva, not leaving any part untouched, unworshipped. His tongue fucks into your entrance languidly; it swirls there. He licks your labia, sucks on it, gives the same attention to your clit when you moan loud enough. He travels back and forth, seemingly enjoying all of it too much to stick to any one attention too long. The next time he lands on your clit, he prolongs it.

Your legs shake; your back arches; your whines grow loud before turning strangled, and Remus takes his cue to reserve the relaxed approach for later. He picks up his pace, gripping your thighs tightly and shakes his whole face into you, alternating between licking and sucking rhythmically at your clit. You cum hard, and it feels like it goes on for minutes.

With your eyes closed, you truly feel like you’re floating, your only anchor to the world Remus Lupin where you feel his body attached to yours.

You’re laughing in pleasure, and the laughs turn to pants as you slowly, slowly come down. You love coming down to an already high baseline, and you giggle at the sensation of relaxing into a still heightened state.

It suddenly strikes you it feels like it’s been years since you talked to Remus, heard his mellifluous voice, and you startle your eyes open searching for him.

You see him immediately. He’s gazing at you with equal parts ardor and adoration, but when he sees your expression, his shifts to concern.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, my love?” He rushes to hover just above you. His face is close to yours again, though it’s scanning all over your body. His hand holds your face gently, his other arm holding him up. “Did something feel bad? Does something hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine, Moons, I’m fine,” you rush to reassure. “I just missed you,” you explain.

“Missed me?” His eyes shoot to yours. “I’m right here, love; what do you mean you missed me?” He can’t help a subtle giggle, and his adoring expression takes back its rightful place on his beautiful face.

“I just thought I hadn’t seen you in too long.” Your hands caress his face, thread through his hair. “Or heard your voice…”

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning into your touch. “I’m right here. What do you want me to say?”

“Anything,” you smile.

“I love you.”

You’ve heard them before, but never like this, and they’re the best words in the world, in the universe.

“Remus,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him. He tastes intensely of you, and you laugh into the kiss. “I’m sorry I got you so… so slicky.”

“I don’t mind,” he chuckles. “Means it was good, right?”

“Beyond. ‘Good’ is like… like one colour out of a whole rainbow for how that just felt.”

He’s beaming down at you and kisses you again, lingering there.

When he finally separates from you, his caressing thumb comes to wipe some slick at the corner of your lip. You grab his hand and kiss each of his fingers lightly. Then you lick down his long index finger, your tongue finding and following a scar up his hand to his wrist.

You look into his eyes, and he’s staring at you, transfixed.

“I was thinking about your fingers when you were rolling the spliff.”

“Yeah?” His voice is a desperate sigh.

“Yeah.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“How beautiful your hands are. How they’d feel touching me… How your fingers would feel inside me…”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You wanna find out?”

“Yes,” you moan.

“Get them nice and wet for me, and I’ll show you.” They’re already lingering at your lips, but he slowly pushes them in. You welcome them enthusiastically and lazily suck on them, swirl your tongue around them.

“Fuck.” His voice is low. “Fuck, I want to feel everything there is to feel with you.”

“Mmm,” you nod, your mouth still full.

Remus takes his fingers out, kisses you, and lets his mouth stay on yours as his fingers trace down your chin, your chest, your stomach steadily, leaving a wet path. When they reach between your legs, you squirm in anticipation.

He rubs a couple of tight, slow circles on your clit. You’re so sensitive, and it feels amazing. You mewl into his mouth where it still hovers just above yours.

“Ready, my sunshine?”

“Mmhhmm.”

Remus pushes two fingers into you ever so slowly. You release a low, slow whine the whole time he takes to press in. He gives you gentle kisses, eating it up. When his fingers are in to the hilt, you wonder how you didn’t feel devastatingly empty every moment of your life before this one. When he adds a third, you’re sure you will every moment after.

You clench purposefully around him, and he moans into your mouth. Closing your eyes again, it’s the easiest thing to let yourself be consumed by the sensations, by Remus.

When he curls his fingers inside you, you clench again, this time automatically. You grip his hair and clutch his back, your arms pulling his body close to yours.

The spot he starts massaging feels like it’s a blazing fire, but everywhere else you’re connected, your chests, your mouths, is scattered scalding embers.

You’re savouring every second, every sensation, already feeling another high building but relishing in the time it’ll take to get there.

You run your hands down Remus’s back, feeling the bumps of his scars, the grooves of his defined muscles. For the first time all afternoon, you feel a desire to hurry…

You start moving your hips to meet his rhythm, eager, even more than for your own climax, for your turn to take your time on him.

pt. 2!

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus x reader #remus x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin smut #marauder x reader #marauders fanfic #sirius black #james potter #marauders fluff #marauders smut #remus lupin oneshot #friends to lovers

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littlemissmasokitten · 10 months ago

Text

Welcome To The After Show Part 1

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k Words

Genre: Smut (Minors DNI), Exclusive Situationship, Light Conflict w/ Healthy Communication

Synopsis: Christian Yu, or better known as the workaholic DPR IAN, and you are in a situationship only prevented from being more due to his heavy workload, otherwise, you two absolutely adore each other. Now with the first portion of his tour handled, he's more than ready to give you the attention you've both been needing.

Content Warning: Smut, pet names (Darling, Princess, Baby), LOTS of preface, L-bomb (More on the sweet side, curse my Asexuality), light fingering, nibbling, marking, nipples (lightly mentioned), open-ended.

Ngl, was supposed to have more smut but I got writer's block bad and I just want to throw this out into the world already. BE FREE!

Networks: @othersideoutlawsnetwork Part 2 Continued: Here

It had been a short while since the last time Christian had toured, and yet, so much has changed since then. Even though you hadn’t the chance to be by his side back then, you were proud to be here for him now.

Your relationship had been kept a secret and held a bit ambiguous for some time but everyone on the team knew something was going on between you two. All the times you left his recording studio looking more disheveled than the last, but the rumors still held true. The only thing Christian loved more than your body under his was the art he was creating day in and day out.

Even while you’d wished for your relationship to become something more, you continued to sit back, silently admiring his sleepless nights. You lived for the odd hours he’d wake you with a gentle caress of your face, happily presenting the 4-5 samples he’d created over the last hour you’d been asleep. Being woken by him was always a treat in itself though his diligence not only shone in his work but in the way he’d treated you as well. He was always certain to reward you for your patience and that was more than enough for you.

The coming days of the Seoul concert were busier than ever. You’d honestly expected he’d disappear off into his own world so you were surprised when he brought over matching luggage cases and invited you along to South Korea with him. Even though you’d only be able to stay in his Seoul apartment while he worked, it was a refreshing change of scenery and felt like a good use of your vacation time. You cozied up in his bed with a book or two and a bit of tea, staying up a little late into the nights just to see him back safe and sound.

Everyone knew the first day of the concert would be hectic and you stayed behind then as well. Despite the way he returned, stumbling into the apartment worn and exhausted, his eyes lit up telling you every little detail, and how much it warmed his heart getting to see "the lovely Dreamers" once again. In a moment, he clutched your hands in his and he begged you ever-so sweetly to tag along for his second performance the following day. Despite your initial hesitance toward the potential of being spotted, you agreed under the condition of staying in a secluded backstage waiting room.

Now here you are, as you promised you would be. A silent room with a few snacks and beverages, a couch, a chair, and the greyest walls imaginable. It was moments like this that made you wonder if it was really okay to continue living this way. You opened your phone for the Nth time, only to see fancam after fancam of his performances taking over your social feeds. A lighthearted sigh leaves your lips when you see him tying a bow on his head. “He’s so precious, of course this was all worth it”.

As the words leave your lips, you hear a light knock on the door. You eagerly sit up, a twinkle in your eyes. “Yeah?~” The door creaks open with Christian peeking in before sneaking in and closing the door shut behind him. You make your way up and both run into each other's arms once again. “Darling, it must get tiring to always be waiting on me like this but I can promise you…” he leans in, tucking your hair behind your ear to softly whisper against it “I’ve been waiting to get to you just as much as you’ve waited on me”. As each word gently falls upon you, your senses become enveloped by him.

The softness of his words tickling your ears.

The way his body fits perfectly against yours.

The scent of his sweat infused with the woody cologne he’d put on before the performance.

The sight of his stage makeup drying after running down his face.

By all means, he should be exhausted like any other day but the twinkle in his eyes as he looks down at you says everything you’d needed to hear.

In a moment, your lips are on his, your fingertips tracing up his shoulders to the dampened back of his neck. He gently caresses the small of your back as you exchange feelings for each other with actions alone. Between the heavenly plush of his lips, the delicateness of your tongues just barely swiping between desperate kisses, and warmth of your breaths colliding, what was meant to be a moment of understanding was rapidly spiraling into a deep, familiar desire.

A breathy moan escapes your lips and he takes it as an opportunity to graze your tongue with his. As quickly as you get a taste, his mouth leave yours and relocates to the base of your neck, one hand reaching up, tangling into your hair as he ever so softly marks you. “You taste delicious, Darling. I'm so lucky to have all this right here, waiting just for me". He guides you back against the arm of the couch and mumbles against your skin "Now, let me show you proper just how I appreciate you".

With a small whine of acceptance leaving your lips, he guides you to lean back, his hand giving your thigh a squeeze, thumb rubbing at the soft plush. He presses kisses down your chest, only stopping to mouth over the peak of your nipple clearly protruding beneath your thin t-shirt.

You loved the way it felt how he touched you, the butterflies in your stomach when he'd give in and spoil you with endless affection. But as his hand crept up your thigh, so had the worries deep in the pit of your stomach. "Christian..." you held his hand in place, causing him to look up to you once again. "What is it, Darling? Is something wrong?"

You swallowed hard and stayed quiet a moment before responding, averting his gaze. "I don't love the way things are ambiguous between us. Sometimes... I wish..." your words trail off.

"I love you, y/n. No doubt about that in my heart" he softly caresses your face. "You've stayed beside me through my best and worst days, you've held on through my busiest months and have been the anchor and breath of fresh air I needed in the times between. If 'official' is what you want, I'm more than ready to give it to you."

Your eyes widened, "Do... do you really mean it?" you say in a near to hushed whisper. He kisses you softly, slowly deepening the kiss, one arm snaking around you before leaning back to whisper against your lips. "More than anything, Princess. If it helps..." his free hand rides the rest of the way up your thigh, rubbing your heat through your leggings, a finger slipping between your folds "you can be as loud as you'd like now and we'll explain it all later."

Your breath hikes in a damn near squeak, only needing to see you eagerly nodding before he returns to ravaging your mouth once again. A second finger slipping between and you'd swear on your life the next day if asked that his fingers had never felt thicker. He nibbles your lip as his finger teases your entrance through the leggings. You give a small yelp, to which he kisses your lip all better.

"Don't get shy on me now, Baby. Lets lay you down this couch and I'll give you good reason to be loud."

The lingering time between then and the couch is spent up in a blind tango, your lips endlessly caressing each other's. Even as he sits you down and leans you back, his body only casts over yours the whole while. You pull him down closer by the loose hanging fabric of his shirt, yearning for him more desperately.

"Is my pretty girl already so needy? Well Darling, I'm more than happy to oblige." He props himself up on one arm, looking deep into your impatient doe eyes. His free hand brushes between your thighs, taking in the sight of you trembling with your breathy, half-lidded gaze. His fingers brush past your clothed core before snaking their way down your waistband and teasing your dampened folds. Your hips buck up for more but he raises his fingers away, kissing you deeply as he settles your hips back down.

"ah ah~, no moving for you, Darling..." he leans and whispers deeply "I've got you."

Part 2 Continued: Here

#christian yu #dpr ian #dpr ian x reader #christian yu x reader #smut #fanfic #writing #x reader #x y/n #y/n #yu barom #situationship #romance #relationship #other side outlaws network

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tinosawruswrites · 1 year ago

Text

A Punishment Fitting the Crime

Magistrate Astarion x Rogue Fem!Tav precanon One-Shot

Word count ~ 8600

Synopsis:

Tav is a petty criminal that got caught and is sentenced by magistrate Astarion Ancunín (prevampirism) in the privacy of his office.

TAGS/WARNINGS:

Rogue thief (Fem)Tav, Pre-vampirism Magistrate Astarion, DomAstarion, Sub(Fem)Tav, power play, minor dubcon, bdsm, sexgames with punishments, blowjob, hairpulling, spanking, edging, orgasm denial, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, vaginal penetration, nippleplay

(If the tags are lacking, feel free to suggest any!)

Other notes:

Tav's looks are left ambiguous but her height is mentioned once as being a head shorter than Astarion.

Magistrate Ancunín’s office was located on the top floor of the court house building. Tav made her way up the numerous rows of polished marble stairs, almost compelled to count them from sheer boredom as she went.

The air was clean, almost sharp, with a lingering node of citrus to it, making it relatively easy to inhale while keeping up her steady pace.

Choosing to wear a light jacket, simple pants and shoes had been the right call after all, compromising style for comfort and ease of movement. If she got too hot after the climb, she could simply remove the jacket and still look presentable in her unassuming, common variety undershirt.

The high arched ceiling above her bent with the elevation like a strange, wide funnel, guiding her further along as water would through a pipe – except water would have refused to defy gravity and slid down the stairs.

Such was the life as a sentient, bipedal being. A continuous struggle against the laws of nature.

And regular law, Tav supposed.

Her case had been deemed too insignificant for a full trial. She was to receive a quick and efficient ruling by visiting the chosen magistrate’s office instead, and that happened to be this magistrate Astarion Ancunín.

Their immaculate signature decorated the bottom of the summons letter right next to the official stamp of the courts, both of them equally as artificial in both size and decorum. The way the A’s in magistrate Ancunín’s name had been written to dominate all the other smaller letters signaled Tav everything she ought to know about the man.

Another pompous, bigger than they actually were, holier-than-thou prick that loved to punish bad people and get paid to do so, maybe even keep a shifty side business giving out less harsh punishments and shorter sentences depending on how much gold his pockets got lined up with.

Then again, it was an open secret there were corrupt officials within the courts and that you either knew the right people or had to get really lucky to “do business” with them, as they said.

Nothing too unusual for Tav. Being a rogue sometimes happened to rope her in some less than legal gigs by working for shady people in need of light feet, nimble fingers and keen eyes for suspicious things.

She didn’t care where her skills were needed or who they were for, just that she got compensated for a job well done, like any good, hard working citizen – it wasn’t directly her fault if a customer had an enforced vault with mysterious origins that needed cracking open, or a particular door in the Upper City in need of unlocking without anyone finding out about it. At dead of night. When the owners were on holiday.

Those were all circumstantial details at best and did not in fact make her a criminal.

Tav��s inner justification to absolve herself of any guilt worked wonders for her confidence. Convincing the magistrate ordered to rule her legal punishment for allegedly: “Getting caught giving an aiding hand in breaking in to a high noble’s Summer palace and trespassing” did not.

It was a different thing entirely to lie to oneself and succeed, than to lie to an agent of law and walk away free of charges.

Tav finally reached the top of the stairs panting lightly and found herself standing inside another long, all too bright and polished hallway, almost an exact copy of the ones she passed below. All the whiteness was thankfully broken by the occasional dark paneled door and extravagant painting depicting some form of righteousness or an act of justice being given out.

She peered down at the letter and started systematically checking every door for the right name on a golden placate next to it. A large, vertically slim window opened a view into the dark city at the end of the corridor. Tav peered at the lit streetlamps glowing in the growing darkness leading away from the building she was in.

A road to freedom.

Alas, if she managed to wiggle herself off the hook and get away with a slap on the wrist, that was.

It was late in the standards of a regular day worker and Tav had to wonder if there had been an increase in petty crimes, or if it was an effect of some new government policy for a magistrate to be working this late into the evening. It was so late in fact, that there was barely anyone around, not even guards apparently, except for the random ones patrolling the hallways every now and then.

Must have been a real harsh pay cut to everyone.

Tav found the corresponding name and placate next to the door at the end of the hallway. She peered at the letter again and read the instructions stating her to arrive before the designated time, knock on the door and wait for it to be opened before entering. Otherwise, she was to sit aside and wait until she was let in.

Clenching her fists, Tav took a deep breath before tapping a couple stern knocks on the door and waited.

No response.

She looked around and found herself to be alone, then stepped closer and pressed her ear against the door to listen.

No sounds could be heard through the door. Either the room was empty, or the walls were magically enchanted to keep all sounds inside. Potentially to keep any incriminating statements out of curious outsider ears. She stepped back when a distant metal clinking echoed down the hallway. She took a quick seat at one of the small wooden stools lined next to the wall.

A lonesome guard wandered down the hallway, gloved hands balled to tight fists at their side, weapon ready at their hip, face like carved stone, stiff and unreadable. The guard marched before Tav, gave her a tired little smile, turned around and marched back the way they came from.

The metal clinking of the guard’s feet grew distant, finally disappearing into the distance. Tav was left alone once again.

Her gaze wandered around the space, the white walls, unassuming braziers and finally the sizable painting on the end wall of the corridor. It depicted a blindfolded maiden holding a golden scale – a common depiction of fair justice.

She peered at the woman’s covered eyes, wondering if justice was served blindly and without prejudice even by tired, overworked magistrates that were forced to work late into the evening.

She hoped the magistrate had at least been well fed, having heard terrible things about verdicts changing drastically depending whether a judge was hungry or not.

Time oozed by like thick oil and there was still no answer from the door beside her. Tav checked the letter in her hands for the time and date, comparing them to her pocket time-piece and the small calendar handily plastered above the magistrate’s name placate.

All was correct.

She had arrived on time, did as instructed and waited for an answer, and now it was way past her appointment and it wasn’t her fault that the proceedings would take longer. She seated herself once more and smirked smugly, pondering on using the magistrate’s potentially exhausted state to negotiate herself out out as quickly as possible.

Maybe, just maybe he would be so pent up from today’s proceedings he’d just dismiss her case altogether and they could both just go home.

The door clanked open and an older gnome exited. Tav made brief eye contact with him, recognizing them from another gig she partook in months ago.

This one was a peppy, we-can-do it kind of guy, but his current state reflected worn out desperation, like his spirits had been broken and what remained of them had been chewed out to the bones. He shut the door and turned away wordlessly, dragging his feet down the corridor, away from Tav and magistrate Ancunín’s office.

Tav swallowed nervously.

She recalled the gnome only had a small part in the gig, working as the handyman offering tools for the group. If the man responsible for tool handling looked like he had been sentenced for life, what would her door opening services get her?

The rope?

Tav felt a cold sweat rise to her neck and she gripped the edge of her stool until her knuckles turned white.

Perhaps she should have started being more honest with herself and admitted to having wandered to the wrong side of the law before someone else forced the truth upon her face like this.

The door cracked open again and Tav jumped to her feet, back stiff as a statue.

Magistrate Ancunín looked exactly what she had expected him to be and nothing like it at the same time.

Curly, silver locks swiped back from his face. One loose curl elegantly leaning over the right side of his forehead, as if by design, not accident. Pointy, pink tipped elf ears poking from under a tuft of more, unruly curls lining the side of his face. Two piercing gray eyes, glaring tiredly at her under stern eyebrows.

A handsome – No, beautiful – collection of features.

Tav felt a blush creep up her neck and cheeks, shocked at the surprisingly young looking magistrate’s beauty.

Magistrate Ancunín’s lips formed an unreadable, straight line, prominent laugh lines caging it on both sides of his face. He looked Tav up and down briefly. A wry, forced smile climbed upon his lips, bringing his laugh lines more into view.

“You’re late.” He stated coldly.

Tav’s eyes widened and whatever brief attraction she had for the man evaporated. She wanted to retort back and correct him, but bit her tongue instead.

“Inside.” The magistrate ordered and waved an uninterested hand at her before returning inside his office.

Tav forced a smile on her lips, determined not to show her displeasure and in turn prod the clearly very impatient magistrate further. She followed suit and shut the door as she went, quickly making her way deeper into the office.

The room was spacious and surrounded by heavy, tall bookshelves housing heavy, tall books of law. Miscellaneous scrolls poked out here and there in between them both, with an occasional paper and envelope to accompany them.

The middle of the office was left empty, decorated by an ornamental red carpet, handmade and expensive by the looks of it. At the end of the room sat a heavy mahogany desk littered with documents, letters, an inkwell, quills and a lone, uneaten red apple of all things.

An odd, magically infused crystal lamp provided dim light to the otherwise dark room from the side. Heavy purple curtains covered any leaking light from the streetlamps outside behind the magistrate’s desk, clouding most of the back room in darkness.

Magistrate Ancunín sat behind his desk on his immaculate, leather chair. Head leaned against his bowed elbows and crossed fingers, hiding his mouth from view, gray eyes inspecting Tav keenly.

Tav stood in the middle of the dim room, waiting for further orders.

“Sit.” Magistrate Ancunín commanded.

Tav grabbed the vacant chair in front of the desk and took a seat, polite smile still forced on her lips.

“Do you know why you are here?”

Tav felt like retorting and asking the man the same back, still miffed by the unjustified ruling over her punctuality. He could as well be leaning on her to recite her misdemeanors to him instead of having had prepared accordingly. That, or maybe he was testing her. Or worse, enjoyed verbally tormenting her before slamming a merciless guilty verdict on her.

She smiled and tilted her head, stealing a glance at the side.

“I believe the exact wording was: For aiding in breaking and entering. Oh, and trespassing.”

“Correct.” The magistrate said and picked up the document in front of him and looked it over.

He flapped the paper down and gave Tav a sly side smirk.

“...In addition to suspicions of aiding in other similar activities, not limited to: Breaking and entering. Robbery. Theft. Smuggling. Fencing stolen property and evading law enforcement. Oh. And trespassing.” He added and leaned back on his chair.

Tav’s smile broke a little and a scowl threatened to take over. She willed her face to stay neutral.

“Ah, but the key lies in the wording itself, your honor; suspicions, not proof.”

Magistrate Ancunín’s gaze sparked with interest and he leaned over the desk again.

“Observant one, aren’t you? It must have been bad luck on your end for getting caught that night. Otherwise, I have an inkling you wouldn’t be gracing me with your presence here. In this late hour. In my humble office.”

Tav smiled and read the tired frustration seeping between the magistrate’s words and demeanor.

“Bad luck indeed. Must have been equally bad luck on your part to be stuck in my presence. In this late hour.Iin your humble office.” She repeated and placed a hand on the table, leaning in.

“I believe it’s all just an inconvenient, circumstantial little mishap. Not worth a full trial, certainly not big enough to steal more of your precious time, your honor.” Tav pleaded confidently.

Magistrate Ancunín grinned.

“And what would you suggest we do about this, inconvenient, little mishap stealing my precious time?”

Tav leaned in further, meeting the magistrate’s gaze head on.

“A slap on the wrist, as they say, and I will disappear. We’ll both be free to go home for the night.”

He laughed.

“I’m afraid that’s not how this works.”

Tav leaned against the backrest, her smile now fully gone, replaced by a sullen frown.

“You see, while I appreciate your suggestion to save my time and yours, I however, cannot overlook the fact that this would benefit you more than me.” He mused and grabbed a pencil.

“It’s been a long, hard day and as much as I would love to let you go with a slap on the wrist and go home for the night, I believe there is a serious threat of you repeat offending and being sent back here to steal even more of my highly valuable, highly limited time again. A throughout punishment is in order, I’d say. To make sure you don’t forget why you don’t want to return to my office.” Magistrate Ancunín fixed Tav a sadistic gaze.

It was like he was playing with his food, uninterested in eating it before it jumped up and down, flipped around, pranced and finally begged and pleaded how he liked, before he would even allow it to see his tongue – or declared he wasn’t hungry in the first place and left it to rot on his plate.

“Well?”

“Yes, your honor?”

“You aren’t going to counter my accusations? Plea to soften my verdict?”

“I haven’t heard you come to a clear verdict yet, sir.”

“Guilty. Now, what do you suppose would be a fitting punishment for your misdemeanors?” He arched a brow, tilting the pencil to start writing onto the document in front of him.

“The punishment should fit the crime I would assume. You tell me, your honor.”

“As you wish. I’ll just add in ‘arriving late’ and ‘refusal to cooperate’ to the list first…” The magistrate grabbed the pencil properly and pulled the document closer to himself.

“I wasn’t late.”

“Pardon?” His gaze snapped back to Tav.

“I wasn’t late. I was here before you were finished with your latest customer. I knocked on the door, didn’t hear and answer and sat down to wait, as instructed on the letter.” She pulled out the summons letter and placed it on the desk.

Magistrate Ancunín didn’t even glance at the letter she offered.

“Are you implying I am a liar?”

“Not implying sir, accusing would be the correct term.”

The magistrate sat back on his chair, eyes wide and wild.

“You’re accusing me of being a liar?”

“Yes, your honor. I think we both know you are.”

“Interesting.” He tilted his head.

“… And what will you do with this bold accusation of yours? Convince someone of my wicked ways? Put me on trial?”

“Well I-”

Tav knew this wasn’t a good idea. Even if she knew the magistrate was full of lies, she didn’t have a proper leg to stand on against him. He would just push her down with his superior power and influence, as all great men tended to do to those they perceived to be standing beneath them.

“… Forgive me. I think I spoke out of line, sir.”

“That’s more like it. I’ll correct my notes to read ‘complicit and cooperative’ instead.”

Tav remained silent.

“Now. Back to your punishment. What do you think I should do with you?”

“I don’t suppose letting me just go is an option?”

The magistrate chuckled.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” He sounded almost amused.

“If it’s the verdict you come to, it would be the truth. After all, you aren’t a liar, sir.”

Magistrate Ancunín fixed Tav an intense kind of stare. She stared equally as intensively back. He resumed playing with his pencil before setting it neatly on his desk. He crossed his fingers and leaned comfortably over the desk.

“You would be absolutely correct about that. Alas, the problem lies not in what the truth will be, but what you have on offer for me to enforce said truth.”

Tav perked up slightly. She had gotten lucky after all. Magistrate Ancunín might have been an asshole and a liar, but one of these traits would benefit her if she just knew the right cards to play.

“You don’t suppose some good old gold would settle all this?” She offered.

“Mmh. I doubt whatever amount it is you’re thinking is enough to make up for this.”

“How about community service then?”

“What kind of community service?”

Tav shrugged and peeked around the office.

“You need something opened very late at night, perhaps something small delivered some place without detection…” Tav listed nonchalantly.

“Anything else?”

She returned her gaze to him. He looked slightly interested and more at ease, almost relaxed, if it wasn’t for the ever present frown on his brows. The man looked tired still, exhausted even. He was definitely overworked and hadn’t had a proper break in awhile. He was stressed, tense, like a piano string wrung up too tightly, ready to snap at any moment.

“A massage…?”

“A massage?” The magistrate repeated in surprise.

“Forgive me if I am mistaken, but you look rather... tense, sir.”

“You aren’t mistaken on that part.” He admitted with a raised brow.

“Would you allow me to relieve some of that tension, your honor?” Tav asked sweetly.

“Ever so polite, aren’t you, darling?” Magistrate Ancunín said with a smile.

The petname caught Tav by surprise and she felt a blush rush to her cheeks. She blinked and forced a smile.

“Always, sir.”

“Why not? I suppose it couldn’t do any harm.”

Magistrate Ancunín stood up from his chair and gestured for Tav to stand up with him. She did as commanded and circled the desk to where he was. The magistrate moved his chair to the side to give them free roam near his desk.

He was over a head taller than Tav. His body was slim and his shoulders looked much broader in contrast thanks to it. The air around him gave off an atmosphere of patient authority, something one would expect from a man working in such a high position.

He wore a frill collared jacket made of the finest light blue silks. Silver threaded peonies adorned the front of it. Trails of ornamental threads ran along the cuts of the fabric, every piece carefully tailored to fit his shape.

His legs were covered by similarly colored straight trousers. Plain and uninteresting compared to his jacket that screamed wealth and dignity. His shiny leather shoes provided a dark contrast to the rest of his outfit, having a grounding effect to his looks.

A striking difference to what Tav was wearing. What she had on currently, were some of her more nicer clothes. It was like setting a polished sapphire and a nice, water smoothed stone next to one another. It clearly paid well to be a professional liar in the right place.

Tav settled behind him and the magistrate watched her each move from the edge of his vision. She reached her hands and gripped over the magistrate’s shoulders, starting to rub the firm, tense muscles there in circles.

“Mmmh.” Magistrate Ancunín hummed in pleasure.

“Is that good sir?”

“Very good, darling.”

Tav smiled at the praise and kept going. She worked the top of his shoulders, sometimes dipping over towards his collarbones, to the sides of his biceps and down his back, closer to his shoulder blades.

Even through his fine layers of clothes it was evident to Tav that this man was in excellent shape despite his lanky proportions. He started to noticeably relax the more she massaged him.

“...What else did you have on offer?”

Tav thought through the question as she continued to work on the magistrate’s stiff shoulders. She let her hands wander down along his arms a little.

“Perhaps I could ease the tension on some other parts of your body?” She offered.

The magistrate peeked over his shoulder before fully turning towards her. Tav removed her hands. The magistrate had an inquisitive brow lifted.

“Such as…?”

Tav felt a nervous sting in her stomach. She realized the accidentally loaded implications of her words and let her gaze fall to the man’s chest.

“Your pecks- I mean back, sir.”

He chuckled.

“Aren’t you just adorable?”

Tav froze as a violent rush of heat flooded to her face. Magistrate Ancunín looked proud of himself and searched through her eyes, considering.

“It would be more efficient if I were to undress slightly, wouldn’t it?”

“Eh?”

Magistrate Ancunín smirked deviously and pulled his frilly collar loose and unbuttoned the top layer of his tailored coat. Tav followed his hands with her gaze and felt her heartbeat increase the more buttons popped open.

He pulled his coat off and settled it over the back of his chair, then started on his long sleeved undershirt.

Tav wanted to speak up and tell him it was enough, but she couldn’t. Something in her urged to remain silent and let the events unravel before her as they did. Soon, magistrate Ancunín stood before her shirtless, his well defined pecks and abdomen in full view.

Tav gawked at his perfect skin, her fingertips itching to reach and touch him. She looked him up and down, admiring his figure. The smile on magistrate Ancunín’s lips told her everything she had to know.

“Well, you aren’t just going to stand and gawk there?”

Tav blinked in an attempt to get her wits back, but the sight of magistrate Ancunín’s naked torso had chased most of them away, possibly permanently.

“Oh, of course sir.” Tav moved to stand behind him again.

The magistrate turned with her, staying face to face.

“Ah ah, not my back. You said pecks first, didn’t you?”

Tav froze and her eyes widened. Her gaze dropped at the half naked man’s muscular pecks and remained there.

“Yes. My mistake, sir.” She said half out of breath.

“You are absolved.”

Tav reached to touch magistrate Ancunín’s pecks and began massaging them in circular motions. She tried to keep her breathing calm despite her body’s increased need for more air. She faked appearing confident and stole glances up at the magistrate’s face every now and then, finding his eyes transfixed onto hers each time.

“You’re doing excellent, little pet.”

Tav couldn’t force down the smile and an accidental giggle escaped her. She tried to hide it with a loud clearing of her throat, but the magistrate had noticed it.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Ih… forgive me sir, I didn’t mean…”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head at her.

“We can’t have that, now can we? You are to be punished for your crimes, not rewarded for them. Although… if you behave, I suppose a little reward is in order…”

“A reward, sir?” Tav’s voice pitched from excitement.

“Punishment first, pet.” He nodded.

Tav locked eyes with him and nodded with him. He peeked down her body, then leaned close to her face.

“Strip.”

Tav’s eyes widened and she looked herself over. She studied the look on magistrate Ancunín’s eyes and determined he was serious.

“And… if I don’t?”

“Is this not what you want…?” He countered and lolled his head to the side curiously.

Tav felt heat surge to her loins. A pressure formed inside her lower abdomen and she was suddenly aware of the growing slickness between her legs. She sucked on her lips and nodded.

“Yes. Yes it is… your honor.”

“I thought so.” He smiled and snapped his fingers.

“Now, strip.”

Tav bit her lower lip and stepped back, removed her jacket and dropped it on the floor. She began to unbutton her undershirt while magistrate Ancunín watched her with a smirk.

She struggled to hop out of her shoes and trousers, somewhat clumsily ridding herself of her clothes all at once. Soon, she stood before magistrate Ancunín in her underwear.

He gave her a questioning look.

“Naked.” He said.

The breath in Tav’s lungs halted and she nodded, slid the straps of her bras off her shoulders and reached behind to unbuckle them without question, setting her breasts free. Her nipples hardened against the cool air of the office.

She discarded her bra on top of the pile of her other clothes and pulled down her panties, letting them drop down to her ankles. Panting, she stepped out of them, feeling hot slickness rub along her inner thighs.

Magistrate Ancunín grinned and stepped forth.

“Why are you here?” He asked, slowly circling around her.

The repeat question caught Tav off guard.

“Because of my crimes, sir?”

“Because you’re a bad girl, no?”

“I’m…”

The situation she was in started to catch up to her. Tav realized she was inside the top floor of the court house, alone with a shirtless magistrate, naked. Like a scene straight from some cheap smut chapbook circled around Amn. This wasn’t how she expected things to go or how she would negotiate herself off trouble, but didn’t really mind how things looked for her currently.

“B-because I’m a bad girl… magistrate sir.” She panted with a smile, playing along.

“Bad girls need to be punished accordingly before they can become good girls. You want to be a good girl, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Yes who?”

“Yes, magistrate Ancunín!”

“Good girl.”

Tav felt herself grow wetter over the praise and gnawed on her bottom lip harder. She watched as magistrate Ancunín stopped in front of her, his gray eyes dark. She focused on the way he slowly wet his lips before speaking up again.

“I couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful mouth you have, darling. Not only is your tongue clever with words, I’m sure you can put it to good use on other matters.” He alluded.

Tav nodded, stealing a glance down his front. He extended an arm and curled most of his fingers up into a fist, pointing down at the floor with his index finger.

“On your knees darling.”

Tav’s mouth gaped slightly and she obeyed wordlessly. She got on her knees and looked up at the magistrate as he approached. He unbuckled his belt. Tav ogled as he pulled the belt off and tossed it over the arm rest of his chair. Her eyes flickered down to the man’s crotch and the way his long, deft fingers unbuttoned his trousers.

Unsurprisingly, his underwear seemed to be as fine and expensive as the rest of his clothes, fitting the rest of his getup seamlessly. A man of style and principle. The blue and silver threads of his undergarments were stretched at the front, strained by the growing weight of his half erect cock underneath.

Tav let out a tiny whimper when magistrate Ancunín pulled out his heated flesh. The lean shaft of his cock was as pale as the rest of him and deliciously flushed closer to the tip. The word ‘elegant’ described it perfectly. His trousers folded below his ankles and he stepped out of them while adjusting his underwear lower.

“Lips apart, darling.”

Eyes adoringly fixated on the magistrate’s cock, Tav parted her lips as commanded.

“Lick.” Came the order.

Tav wiggled closer on her knees and leaned in, mouth open, tongue extended, hearing her pulse drum in her ears. She slithered the flat of her tongue from the underside of the magistrate’s engorged dick to its swollen tip with a sigh.

She repeated the action and peeked up momentarily to see the approving smirk on magistrate Ancunín’s face.

“That’s a good pet.” He praised and Tav felt something akin to butterflies flutter inside her chest.

Eager to hear more, she continued her ministrations and started to lap all over the magistrate’s cock. She began properly from the base, continued up the underside of his shaft, twirling around his cockhead and went back down to its base around the sides, then repeated the motions like a ritual.

Magistrate Ancunín’s breathing was starting to grow heftier, as was his hardened length. His erection reached it’s peak as Tav kept lavishing his member with the slick attention of her tongue, her own loins already soaking wet at this point.

A droplet of precum formed at the tip of magistrate Ancunín’s dick and Tav pulled back briefly to admire it.

“Suck.” Came the one word order from the slightly hoarse voice of the magistrate above.

Tav huffed hot air over the glistening wet tip and opened wide, let the cocktip slip between her lips and gave it a gentle suck.

Magistrate Ancunín tensed and let out a muffled growl. One of his hands found its way among Tav’s hair and grabbed a hold, before starting to pet through her soft locks gently, encouragingly.

Tav closed her eyes and swallowed more of the length in front of her, minding her teeth and carefully applying pressure with her lips and tongue. She began to bob her head back and forth slowly, listening to the tiny grunts of approval elicited by magistrate Ancunín above her.

She had experience sucking up to authority, but this was a new form of doing so entirely. Despite the clear, outrageous imbalance of power between them, she found herself feeling safe and pleased by the situation she was in – trouble like this was what she enjoyed finding herself in the most.

She felt oddly powerful down on her knees in front of him. The thought of being able to render a man of such high status as magistrate Ancunín into a whimpering mess just with her mouth excited her further.

The wet heat between her legs demanded attention and one of her hands slipped to soothe her aching clit. She got so lost among the pleasure of sucking the magistrate off while touching herself that she lost the rhythm of her mouth more than once.

A snap of fingers brought her out of her zone.

“What do you think you’re doing down there? Both hands where I can see them. Now.”

Tav furrowed her brows and huffed with her mouth stuffed with dick and removed the hand attending to her own growing need. She placed both of her hands up against the magistrate’s thighs and focused back on sucking him off.

“Eyes on me, darling.” Came the call from above.

Tav’s gaze snapped up and above, meeting magistrate Ancunín’s pleased gaze and self-satisfied grin. His gray eyes looked down upon her with a glint of sadistic joy, the thrill of having power over someone.

“You’re being such a good girl. Keep going.”

Tav couldn’t help the smile that wrung to the edges of her lips and blinked a couple times, slowly starting back up again. Her gaze ate in the way the magistrate above her shivered and twitched each time she pushed his length down as far as she could muster, feeling the hot flesh throb against her own.

Her fingers dug against the soft skin of magistrate Ancunín’s thighs, both in search of support and to heed the earlier command to keep her hands in his sight. The man above her shut his eyes, lost in his own pleasure, his surveillance of her growing lazy. She could easily slide one of her hands off his legs and he wouldn’t notice it returning between her legs.

Yet the new need to obey and be recognized as ‘a good girl’ somehow overpowered Tav’s natural urge to disobey – for now.

Magistrate Ancunín whimpered above Tav and held onto her head, gesturing for her to stop. She could tell he was close, having felt his flesh tremble and his balls constricting in anticipation of his release. He pulled back and shot Tav with a mirthful glance.

“On your feet.”

Tav swallowed the excess spit still in her mouth and licked her lips. She got up on her wobbly feet, knees feeling slightly achy from supporting her against the office’s hard plank flooring. A trail of hot wetness trickled down between her legs as she did.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” The magistrate raised a brow.

Tav met his strong gaze and nodded sheepishly, lips still wet and gleaming.

“Bad girl.”

He raised his hand once again and gestured for her to turn around. Tav spun on her heels and found herself facing the magistrate’s work desk. Magistrate Ancunín reached past her and swiped the documents and items crowding the center of the desk to the sides, clearing empty space in the middle.

Tav stared at the shiny dark surface of the mahogany desk and was sure if it was polished a hint further, she could see the wild arousal burning behind her eyes reflected from it.

“Bend over it.” Magistrate Ancunín ordered.

Tav closed the gap between her and the desk, then laid her hands over its gleaming smooth surface to test it. She bent her upper body over it until the base of her legs stopped her from going any further along it. She felt a firm grip take a hold of the back of her head and gently force her face down against the table. Her chest and perk nipples squashed against the table’s cool surface. She sighed from the contact.

She felt another hand trail up her spine sensually, the magistrate’s surprisingly calloused palm feeling up the arch of her back and the dip between her shoulder blades.

A cool, leather shoe tapped below on the insides of her bare ankles, ushering them apart. With the domineering hand laid over her neck keeping her head in place, Tav felt cornered enough for the will to disobey rise back up again. She kept her feet where they were.

“No?” Asked the magistrate curiously.

Tav breathed against the hard desk, glancing back at the magistrate standing at the edges of her vision. She heard the floor creak lightly as he stepped closer and felt the heat of his flushed skin hover near hers.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” The magistrate asked softly, petting her hair.

Tav shook her head as best as she could and smirked disobediently.

Magistrate Ancunín tutted at her and she could barely make out the way he shook his head in disapproval. The hand at the back of her neck tightened its grip and pressed her face harder against the desk.

She whimpered.

“Quiet.”

She stilled and listened.

“Maybe I need to remind you why you should behave?”

Tav swallowed heavily and waited. She felt deft fingers slide between her thighs and brush over her wet folds to her neglected clit. Her hips shivered at the contact and her lungs let out a gasp. The fingers kept rubbing at her ache and the heat at her center wound up tighter. She let out a pleased moan.

“You like that, don’t you?”

The magistrate’s clever fingers glided over her wet folds next, teasing around her hot entrance. Tav shivered at the growing feeling of emptiness around her yearning flesh. The fingers poked at the twitching entrance leading to her leaking canal, never breaching in deeper than that. Tav huffed out of frustration.

“Beg for it.”

Magistrate Ancunín’s touch froze near her entrance and Tav bit her lower lip in excited silence. She relaxed her lower back and parted her legs, sighing deeply before peeking back at the magistrate.

“Please, magistrate Ancunín?”

“Please what?”

“Please… feel up my cunt with your fingers, sir?”

“Hm. Better.”

Tav hummed as a warm digit slid up to the knuckle within her wetness and curled.

“A-ahh…!” She jerked at the sudden stimulus.

The magistrate kept rubbing at the roof of her depths, clearly aware of the sweetspot lingering around there. Tav’s legs shook with every jolt of pleasure, her hips starting to rock against the invading pressure.

“Hold still.”

Tav halted on her tracks, her breathing shallow and laboured. The finger inside of her pressed up against the ache and she struggled not to move.

“I’m certain you’re aware it could be something entirely different easing all this tension within you, yes?”

“Yes, magistrate Ancunín, I am aware.”

With a chuckle the magistrate rubbed his hard cock along her inner thigh and outer folds for emphasis. The finger inside of her curled again, applying more relieving pressure against her lustful ache. Tav sucked in her lips to keep her voice in.

“Ask for forgiveness and I might consider giving you more relief than just my finger.”

He rubbed his finger against her inner walls a couple more times before pulling out entirely. Tav whined as she felt the emptiness around her, the need throbbing inside of her, craving to be filled.

“Please forgive me, magistrate sir. I’ve… been such a bad girl and I must be punished.”

“As you wish, my sweet. Punished you shall be.”

Tav felt the comforting heat of magistrate Ancunín step away from her. He settled out of her view, but kept the hand over her neck firmly in place. Tav waited, listening to him rummage around his shelves.

Suddenly, an hourglass was placed in front of her face. The sand was all piled at the bottom and the magistrate’s fingers tilted it to show it off to her.

“This hourglass will be the length your punishment will last. You can endure until the last strand of sand has fallen, can’t you darling?”

The hourglass seemed relatively small and would last a minute, maximum of three, or more. Tav had no idea how long it would actually take, most definitely a calculated move on magistrate Ancunín’s part. Another devilish way to amp up her discomfort in addition to the sweet torture he was about to inflict upon her.

Tav bent the arm next to her face to see the item better and tried to look where magistrate Ancunín was.

“But you must not make a sound, otherwise I will tip the hourglass over again until you remain completely silent, understood? This is a punishment, after all. Knock on the desk once if you understand.”

Tav clenched her fingers into a fist and knocked on the desk once.

“Good. Now, as to not sully our fun little punishment game, knock repeatedly against the desk if it becomes too much to bear and I will stop. If you stop however, there will be no reward for you, unfortunately. Only good, obedient girls get rewarded. Knock once if you understand.”

Tave knocked once.

“Excellent. Now, lets play.” The magistrate said with a notable thrill in his voice.

Tav took a deep inhale and braced herself for what was to come. The hourglass in front of her was flipped and the sand began to drain.

A sharp smack hit her left buttock. She jolted from surprise. Another slap hit her right buttock and left it tingling the same way her left side did.

She knocked repeatedly against the desk before the third strike could land. The magistrate halted and leaned over her to peek at her face. Tav gave him a coy little smile.

“Sweetheart, are you testing me?” Magistrate Ancunín’s voice sounded playfully shocked.

Tav knocked once.

He chuckled delightfully.

“Do you want me to stop altogether or was this just a test? Knock once to stop, twice to continue.”

Tav watched as the sand in front of her in the hourglass kept draining. She knocked twice.

“Very well then, but ah, would you look at that. I left the hourglass running. Interrupting me like that will extend your punishment, I’m afraid.”

The magistrate resumed spanking Tav with his bare hand, lavishing both of her ass cheeks with plenty of attention. Tav managed to keep quiet through it all, feeling her ass start to tingle and warm up from the repeated strikes against it. The vibrations from each strike traveled to her folds and clit, granting her a teasingly small amount of stimulus that only served to increase the want in her.

The sand drained to the end and magistrate Ancunín paused to tip the hourglass over.

Each slap echoed inside the otherwise silent office of the magistrate as he continued on. He alternated between light and hard strikes, randomly switching between each ass cheek every now and then, pausing at times to create anticipation and hoping to catch Tav off guard.

The pain ebbing on Tav’s behind was starting to sting and she bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from whimpering. She panted hard against the wooden desk, her moist breath misting its gleaming surface. Eyes focused on the slowly draining hourglass in front of her, mustering herself to keep quiet.

Tav began to sweat from the heat of the situation, small droplets trickling down her back and sides in tandem to the heavy trickles of wetness seeping down between her thighs, smearing the hard wooden floor below.

She wanted to disobey so badly, but felt the pain on her backside starting to turn uncomfortably numb with each new spank. She licked her lips, glaring at the hourglass to drain faster, eager to taste the reward for enduring her punishment so well.

Then the final strand of sand fell and the spanking halted. She let out a loud hum of exhaustion, feeling her neglected cunt throb in need.

The hand over her neck was removed and she raised her head to peek over her shoulder.

“That’s a good girl. You endured so well despite the interruption at the start.”

Tav flashed a brief smile.

“Now then, as promised. Good girl’s get rewarded for their efforts.” Magistrate Ancunín said and moved to stand behind Tav.

His still erect cock slid under Tav’s swollen cunt and his hips pressed flush against her aching behind. She hissed at the contact.

“Shhhh… I’ll make it better soon. Now, what do we say when we want something?”

Magistrate Ancunín began to rub her aching ass cheeks with both hands while waiting for her reply.

“Please, sir?”

“Please what, my dear?”

“Your cock, sir. I need your cock inside of me, please?”

“Good girl.”

He pulled away and nudged the head of his cock at Tav’s leaking entrance. He grabbed her hips and pushed in with little effort. Tav moaned wantonly and moved to accommodate him further. The magistrate sighed with pleasure and his grip on her hips tightened as he bottomed out. Tav felt his hot breath against her neck as he bent over her back.

“Oh, you sweet thing. So wet for me.” He panted and began to rock against her softly.

Tav gasped and wiggled under him, her knees shaking from their continuous efforts to stay afoot, backside still tender from the punishment.

“Mmhh… Hold still.” His hand snuck into Tav’s hair and yanked her head back.

Tav whimpered and stilled as best as she could. The magistrate continued to pound into her in languid motions, slow and relaxed, his cock hot and rigid inside Tav’s needy cunt. His grip on her hair kept her head bent back.

She bit her lower lip and enjoyed the way the magistrate’s cock filled her, relieving the heated tension building inside of her. Her wet folds wrapped around him, tightening whenever he pulled out, relaxing as he pushed in, welcoming him back into her depths, begging him not to leave.

She felt the coil in her lower abdomen tighten and felt her release getting closer. Her breathing grew heavy and erratic. Her sweaty fingers grasped at the desk underneath it desperately, her head bent back by magistrate Ancunín’s hand pulling on her hair.

“M-magistrate… Ancunín…!” She whimpered breathlessly.

A broken yelp left her when the magistrate pulled out of her unprompted. His hand released her hair. She shivered and turned to look behind her.

“Turn over.” The magistrate panted.

Tav blinked and pushed herself up from the desk with some effort. She flipped over and magistrate Ancunín helped her lay down on her back on top of the desk. He grabbed her knees and spread her legs, aligning himself between them and pushed back inside her with a loud groan before crashing their lips together.

He licked at her upper lip and wasted no time pushing his tongue between her teeth and intertwined it with hers. She kissed him back with the same fervor, both of their moans muffled by each other’s hungry mouths.

Tav blinked at him through the kiss and watched as his face softened with pleasure. The tense frown was gone, replaced by a pleased furrow instead. He broke off and a broken string of spit fell onto Tav’s breasts. Magistrate Ancunín grinned as he gripped Tav’s sides and fucked into her harder.

“You were so obediently quiet before. I want to hear you scream in turn.” He panted and smirked wickedly.

He slammed his hips into Tav and her eyes rolled back in reaction to the mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Ahhh!” She moaned.

“Louder, darling. Nobody except me can hear you inside these walls.”

He slammed into her again.

“AhhHHHnh!”

“Louder.”

“AHHHHH MAGISTRATE ANCUNÍN!!!” Tav shouted blissfully.

“You’re so pretty when you say my name…”

Tav’s face contorted and her whole body shivered.

“M-magistrate… Ancun… ín… I’m going to… going to…!”

“You’ll cum when I say you can, darling.”

Tav heaved in blissful frustration, her back arching off the desk, ass tender, legs shaking against the magistrate’s sides as she fought against her approaching orgasm. The magistrate slowed down to help her come down, his own body jerking every now and then to chase his own building release.

He stopped still and lifted his hands to play with Tav’s chest. He cupped both of her tits and massaged them, rubbing her perk nipples with his thumbs. She moaned and clawed around his desk for something to grab hold of. The magistrate chuckled.

“Why are you here?”

Tav whined and struggled for words.

“B-because I’m a… a bad girl, your honor…!”

The magistrate pinched her nipples and pulled on them while sliding out of her painfully slow.

“Do you want to be a bad girl?” He questioned and rubbed Tav’s nipples sensually.

Her head thrashed from one side to the other.

“N-no… sir!” She whined, her legs trying to wrap around his waist and pull him back inside of her.

“I-I… I want to be a good girl!” Tav added and pleaded at the magistrate with her eyes, nodding frantically.

She was so agonizingly close. Her abdomen was beginning to hurt from the unfulfilled need. She felt her eyes grow moist from the tears that welled in them.

Magistrate Ancunín gave her a warm smile and gave her nipples one final pinch before releasing them. Tav sighed from the loss of contact, her chest now tingling the same way her ass was.

“You promise to remain a good girl after you leave my office?”

Tav nodded.

“Yes! Yes, I promise magistrate Ancunín sir!” She panted enthusiastically.

“Good girl.” He grinned and slammed back into her.

Tav screamed and threw her head back, letting her voice out in long, broken moans and whimpers as the magistrate began to fuck her in earnest. Her wet walls relaxed to let him in, allowing his length deeper inside.

“P-please… Magistrate Ancunín! Please let me cum!!” She pleaded weakly.

“Not yet, darling. You can hold off a little longer.”

Tav whined and nodded.

Magistrate Ancunín’s own voice broke out and he whined in rhythm to his hips. He hissed and bit his lip, his punishing pace losing focus.

Tav writhed under him, her wet folds pulsing from her barely held back release. She groaned almost painfully, tears breaking free from the corners of her eyes.

“Now darling, cum for me!” He commanded and Tav’s pleasure exploded beneath him.

She screamed his name from the bottom of her lungs and arched her back, her needy cunt milking his throbbing length. Magistrate Ancunín followed soon after, losing himself in her and let go with a husky little whimper. His whole body shook against Tav as his hips rocked into her, jerking the last of his pent up need into her.

He stilled and gasped for air, trickles of sweat now streaming down his face and chest. Tav panted under him, her eyes shut tight as the aftershocks of her orgasm still shook through her nerves. The magistrate pushed himself up, pulled away and stepped back shakily before slumping onto his leather chair.

Tav’s legs felt like uncontained liquid and as soon as they had nothing to support them, fell open and dangled over the firm mahogany desk she was laid on top of.

The office was filled with nothing but their heavy breathing for a good while before an oddly comforting silence took its place. Tav blinked up at the ceiling above, her heartbeat and breathing now calm and steady.

She finally came to enough to push herself up to sit on her still aching ass. She found magistrate Ancunín leaning on an elbow, seated comfortably on his leather chair, legs crossed, his underwear pulled back up and trousers firmly buttoned up again.

His chest was still rising and lowering noticeably heavy, his brows gleaming with sweat.

“I think this concludes your trial. I deem you free to go with a warning. This time.”

Tav managed a weak smile and inched herself off the desk. Her knees felt wobbly, her buttocks ached, and her nipples were swollen, but the pleasant heat now thrumming at her core made everything feel better. She was free to go and more than that, exhilarated by the success of their negotiations.

The magistrate allowed her a moment more of his time to clean up before exiting his office for the night.

On her way down the hall and the near infinite amount of stairs, Tav thought back on her little gigs at the edges of law and was glad to have trailed off to the wrong side of the law for once.

Feeling the combined fluids of their heated negotiations slick the insides of her underwear, she itched to be bad again, in hopes of finding herself back within magistrate Ancunín’s office to be reminded how to be a good girl once more.

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 months ago

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Reunion / Post-TRF Pt. 4

meetinginsamarra said: I'm very curious about "Reunion Part 4" 🙂

As I mentioned on this post, I needed a list for this weekend, and this was the only response I got, so I hope you guys enjoy this list! <3 As usual, if you have a fic to add, please do!!

=====

Tea by Art and Soul (K, 693 w., 1 Ch. || Angst & Friendship, Reunion) – John’s habit of making tea for two has little use, considering his flat-mate has been dead for three years. But he keeps on making that second cup, hoping he’d wake up and it’d be gone. But it never was… (FFNet)

Black Cars by johnsarmylady (T, 1,186 w., 5 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF) – John is getting on with his life...if only he didn't see black cars everywhere! A short Post Reichenbach tale in 221B style in 5 parts. (FFNet)

Hallucinations can't open doors by Bespectacled dreamer (K+, 1,330 w., 1 Ch. || Reunion, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Hallucinations, John’s Wedding, Light Humour) – In which John gets married and Sherlock gets a broken nose. (FFNet)

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine. (FFNet)

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 5,034 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

This Year by DiscordantWords (T, 6,283 w., 2 Ch. || TEH Divergence / No Mary, New Year’s Eve, John’s A Mess, Jealous John, Awkward Conversations, Trapped in a Closet, Estranged After Return, John POV, Semi-Reunion, Angry John, First Kiss, Reconciliation, Clueless Sherlock, Happy Ending) – Last year, Sherlock Holmes showed up at the Landmark with a fake moustache and a bad French accent and threw John's entire life into disarray with two words: "Not dead." This year, there are more surprises in store.

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Sunday Evening 6 p.m. by Silvergirl (E, 30,712 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF / TEH Divergence, Grief / Mourning / Stages of Grief, Mutual Pining, Dreams, Reunion, Love Confessions, First Kiss / Time, Alternating First Person POV, Smart John, BAMF Boys, Emotional Love Making, Song Fic, Referenced Suicide, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Sleepy Sherlock, Blow Job, Villain Mary) – Six months after Sherlock jumped, he learns that John is dedicating songs to him on a requests-only radio programme. Is John just working through grief? Or is he—communicating? Fixes the hell out of S3 by pre-empting it altogether. Remember, as TAB told us, John is Pretty Damn Smart.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

Spare Parts by Raina_at (E, 63,497 w., 10 Ch. || 24th Century / Futurism AU || Post TRF, Pre-TRF Relationship, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Science Fiction, Reunion, Nightmares, Angry John, Cybernetic John, Emotional Discussions / Heart to Heart, POV John, Scars, Past Drug Use, Forehead Touching, Emotional Lovemaking, Kissing, Apologies, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission, BAMF John, Bed Sharing, Top Sherlock) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. Part 1 of Realigning Gravity

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

MARKED FOR LATER

Out of the Shadow of Missed Chances by MargueriteSomebodyoranother (T, 1,132 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post TRF, Reunion, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining) – He’d had eighteen months - it seemed like a goddamned eternity at the time - and he never uttered a word.

Sound of Silence by SailorChibi (G, 1,554 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Emotional Trauma, Implied Past Torture, Mutism, Reunion, Protective John, BAMF John) – Sherlock returns from the dead but nothing is like it was. He doesn't speak and John doesn't understand, not until an encounter with the Yard explains the depths of Sherlock's trauma.

English as a Foreign Language by standbygo (G, 1,739 w., 2 Ch. || Post-TRF, PTSD Sherlock, Reunion) – Sherlock is not quite right after Mycroft pulls him out of Serbia.

Dear Sherlock by by Tara Laurel (T, 7,729 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TRF, Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Christmas) – "John was happy. Too happy. Of course Sherlock preferred to see his friend in good spirits, especially after the cloud of depression that had hung over him the past weeks, but this was simply maddening." John's got a serious case of Christmas spirit, but is there something serious hidden behind it - something that surprises & saddens a self-proclaimed sociopath? (FFNet)

Nothing to Celebrate by DiscordantWords (M, 30,066 w., 23 Ch. || Post TRF / S3 Rewrite, Not Nice Mary, Secrets, Lies, Pining, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is back from the dead. Things only get worse from there.

Ride On by Silvergirl (M, 34,342 w., 9 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || TEH Divergence, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Music, Original Characters, Happy Ending) – After the disastrous reveal at the Landmark, John tells Sherlock there can be no excuse for what he’s done, and no forgiveness. Sherlock leaves London and starts a new life, and not even the British Government knows where. It’s up to John to track him down and make things right, with a trip around the world and a clue only John would recognize.

Full Mount by ArwaMachine (E, 54,887 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, Fighting, John Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Mixed Martial Arts, Angry John, Sherlock and No Boundaries, Masturbation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fighting, Toplock, Reunion) – After Sherlock unceremoniously returns from the dead, John finds himself inexplicably angry all the time. So he does what any emotionally-constipated British man does: he joins a Mixed Martial Arts gym. As John throws himself into the sport and joins in on underground no-holds-barred brawls, situations arise that just might force John to face what is really going on underneath all the rage.

Over/Under Series by khorazir (M, 319,561 w. across 5 works || Cabin Pressure Crossover || Post-S2 / Reichenbach, ReunionFriendship, Angst, Humour, Pining, Cycling, Mountains, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dev. Rel., Case Fic, First Kiss, Pining, Family Issues, Inexperienced Sherlock) – After his Fall, Sherlock travels the world to destroy what remains of James Moriarty's criminal empire. When things don't go according to plan and he finds himself in desperate need of a discreet means of travel, cue MJN Air ...

#johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #reunion fics #post trf fics #teh fics

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nwjnsloona · 2 months ago

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— only cry in the rain 🌧️

synopsis :: as you look through your childhood home, you find a camcorder.

< pairing ! > liz x fem!reader

< tags ! > ambiguous ending, angst i guess?, childhood friends to nothing, i dont even rmb what i wrote

< wordcount ! > 900 words

< warnings ! > none i think

the old cuckoo clock cries at three in the afternoon as you open another cardboard box in your childhood home.

inside is a camcorder, the one you liked best as a teenager. you take it out of the box gently, quickly fiddling with the settings until you reach the first video.

— 2016/10/21 00:15:76

you are center frame, eyes locked on a subject close to the camcorder. “is this on?” you mouth. the voice behind the camera— jiwon— whispers a quiet, “yes,” and you clear your throat.

“hi! my name is-” your voice immediately cracks, and laughter can be heard as the camera is pointed abruptly towards the floor before the video immediately cuts.

— 2016/10/21 01:04:32

this video is obviously more rehearsed than the one before, as when the video starts you immediately start talking.

“hi! my name is lee yn, and the year is 2016 and my bestest friend in the world kim jiwon is filming!” the camera pans to show a blonde girl smiling, then pans back to show you.

“in 2016, we have really cool stuff, like-”

“why are we doing this?”

“in case someone from the future finds it!”

“aren’t you going to keep it?”

“well, just in case…”

the conversation continues back and forth until the recording eventually ends, neither girl winning.

— 2016/12/31 03:24:97

“it’s almost new years!” you shout excitedly into the camera.

“yeah!” jiwon joins in, showing the camcorder the clock which displays the time 11:59. one minute left. there is no-one else in the room, just you and jiwon.

the sound of other people can be heard in the distance. five! four! three! two! one! happy new year!

“happy new year,” you say to jiwon, the camera facing back to you now.

you press a kiss to jiwon’s cheek and she squeals, running away.

“yn kissed me!” she says to the video.

“come back!” you complain in the background, laughing.

you smile, reminiscing. that was the day when you realised you liked jiwon, her pink cheeks and toothy smile seeming brighter against the dim lights of midnight on new year’s.

— 2017/01/20 00:12:84

you and jiwon are at a park, still in your school uniforms. you hold two drinks in your hand, one for you and one for jiwon. the camera moves towards you teasingly, and you glare at it, then burst into laughter.

— 2017/03/18

“we took polaroids!” jiwon says, showing the pictures off to the camera.

“don’t you think it’s funny that we’re showing a picture of us to a video camera?”

“i think it’s cute,” jiwon says, and the pout in her voice is evident despite the fact she isn’t in frame.

“wait me too! i just think it’s also funny!”

“okay…” jiwon replies, and turns the camera.

you’re resting your chin on jiwon’s shoulder from behind. you make a peace sign with your hands, and jiwon follows you, smiling.

the video ends.

— 2017/03/28 00:07:12

the scene is blurry, your hands unsteady, before it eventually focuses.

you zoom in on her face. “she’s so pretty,” you mutter under your breath.

— 2017/04/04 01:10:12

you and jiwon are in school. your pencil cases sit side by side on jiwon’s desk.

“look!” jiwon says, reaching with one hand for the keyrings on your pencil cases, “they’re matching!”

“i bought them,” you say proudly.

“yeah, she bought them,” jiwon says. she turns the camera and points at you with her free hand, and you start posing.

the other videos are all similar, slices of you and jiwon’s life interspersed with clips of you filming jiwon’s face— until you get to the last one.

— 2018/11/21 08:21:98

it’s almost a year apart from the rest of the videos, and you know instantly what’s in it.

“it’s jiwon’s birthday,” you start, although you are not in frame, just your desk. your voice trembles slightly.

“so, i just wanted to say some things that- that remind me of her.” some rustling is heard, and you produce something from a drawer.

“first, these polaroids. we took them together, and she took one of them and it was the best one but-” you exhale shakily. “i don’t even know if she has it anymore. second, this keychain. she got it for me to match with her.”

“and third… this camcorder i’m filming on right now. she always used to film us together, but… i don’t think it’s going to happen anymore. i ruined it. jiwon, i’m sorry.” the camcorder is barely filming anymore, and you set it on the desk.

“please,” your voice sounds raw, pained, “please be my friend again, jiwon. i won’t- i’m not-!”

it all comes back to you. you and jiwon, sitting together watching the sunset. you were young, foolish then. you lean in to whisper, “jiwon, i… like you.”

her eyes go wide. “what?”

suddenly, jiwon is not there anymore. and she won’t talk to you, and you don’t know why, until one day after days of begging she finally says something to you.

“my parents said i can’t be friends with,” she lowers her voice, “a lesbian.”

your eyes well up with tears.

“i swear, i’m not—! i’m not a-”

you sniffle behind the camera, and—

the cuckoo clock cries at four in the afternoon.

you shut off the camcorder, and gently touch your cheek. it’s wet with tears. the rain beats down on the window and you sigh, drying your eyes, and get up to open another box.

the camcorder still lies on the ground.

a/n : idk if this is good i literally wrote it in one sitting…….. anyways STREAM ONLY CRY IN THE RAIN BY CHUU!!!!

#kim jiwon x reader #kim jiwon #jiwon x reader #jiwon #ive x reader #liz x reader #liz #ive liz

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look-a-yandere-fandom-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere! Slappy the Living Dummy Headcanons

Fandom: Goosebumps.

No Spoilers.

Character Version: Book!Slappy

_________________________________

Ambiguous yan - can be read as platonic or romantic.

_________________________________

Content Warning: Manipulation, isolation, possessive behaviour, kinda stalking?

(If there’s anything else I need to add please let me know).

Big apologies to anyone who is scrolling through the goosebumps tag and managed to come across this... I am cringe as hell, but I am free!

_________________________________

- Before we begin, let’s get a quick rundown on Slappy:

- He’s an evil, manipulative, and sadistic ventriloquist dummy, who’s near-impossible to defeat in the long term.

- So basically, an entity you’d never want to be obsessed with you.

- Let’s go with the typical Goosebumps narrative: you found him lying around, asleep, and (for some damn reason) you decided to bring him home!

- You pick the sheet of paper out of his pocket and read the words inscribed.

- “Karru Marri Odonna Loma Molonu Karrano”

- As the days pass by, strange things begin to happen around your home.

- It starts off small; things being out of place, items disappearing and reappearing, the sound of footsteps echoing through the house in the dead of night when you’re sure that nobody else is awake.

- And, even more strangely, that ventriloquist dummy you found keeps appearing on your bed: sitting beside your pillow and staring down at you. Creepy.

- At this stage, Slappy observes your daily life. He doesn’t make his sentience known just yet.

- He sees your routine, your hobbies, your family, and your friends…

- It’s those last two that really grind his gears.

- Slappy sees you and your loved ones. He sees you doing nice things for them: giving them gifts, doing favours, or offering to help them with tasks.

- His little wooden mind misinterprets this as you serving them. An odd leap to make, until you account his strange fixation on making people his ‘slaves’. In his head, that’s what you must be doing, that’s the only thing you could be doing, right?

- And so, Slappy starts getting antsy. Why are you serving those useless fleshbags when you should be serving him? He’s the only person (or dummy in this case) that you should be focusing on.

- Here is when his interruptions of your daily life start to become more extreme.

- He openly tries to get your attention. This is achieved by causing as many problems and messes as his 3-foot-something form allows. At this point he may reveal that he’s alive.

- Alongside this, he’ll start pushing away your friends and family.

- A few cruel pranks, a handful of exposed secrets, and a couple of damaged items is all it takes for him to leave you completely alone.

- Except for him of course.

- And, with no one else to turn to, you’ll finally give into his demands; willing to be his loyal servant for the rest of your life.

- At least, that’s what he hopes, what he imagines, as his glassy eyes stare unblinkingly.

- Staring down at your sleeping face, once again. Night after night.

- Until there's nothing left for you, but him.

#slappy the dummy #goosebumps #goosebumps slappy #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #male yandere #tw yandere #yandere blog #yandere #slappy

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defectivevillain · 2 years ago

Text

judgment by the hounds

pairing: Loki Laufeyson & Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic; reader's race is ambiguous and gender/pronouns are unspecified)

summary:

Loki is captured and held in S.H.I.E.L.D. captivity. However, he doesn’t attempt to break free right away. Instead, he bides his time by waiting for something—or, more accurately, someone.

You’re an FBI agent called in by S.H.I.E.L.D. to interrogate their newest prisoner, Loki Laufeyson.

word count: 5.6k | ao3 version

warnings: blood, injury & gore typical to SotL; manipulation & mind games

I thought about writing this as I was reading Silence of the Lambs — I imagined questioning Loki & having a similar dynamic with him during his temporary imprisonment. There aren’t any explicit references to SoL in here, but I wanted to include it as a fandom tag because Hannibal & Clarice’s dynamic really inspired this fic.

This is not canon compliant, and there will likely be some discrepancies. Just pretend this is an alternate timeline. :>

The title of this fic is from I’m Your Man by Mitski. The lyrics “I’ll meet judgment by the hounds… People always gave me love… Others were never to blame after all… You believe me like a god, I’ll betray you like a man” felt pretty relevant to this fic.

The reader is racially ambiguous, gender is ambiguous, and pronouns aren't used. warnings: canon-typical violence and gore (typical to SotL)

thanks anna (@pinocchiospissrock) for the beta! (any remaining mistakes are mine.) luv u and so excited to see u soon!!!! <333

If you told your younger self that your criminal investigative work would earn you a conversation with the legendary Nick Fury, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., your younger self would have laughed. The mere thought would be preposterous. Fury is the face of the entire organization, and the founder of the Avengers! What would a mere FBI agent like yourself do to even earn a moment with him, let alone a full conversation?

Apparently, you’re becoming somewhat renowned for your investigative work. You’ve always avoided the press—otherwise you would have noticed your name cropping up in cases with big profiles in the public eye. You would’ve noticed that you were slowly starting to get more and more credit for your accomplishments; you would’ve been able to connect the dots between Nick Fury—desperate for information and willing to do anything to get it—and you—an FBI agent rising in the ranks for important work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit and Jack Crawford.

Despite these recognitions, however, you can’t quite believe that you’re being flown to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in New York City to speak with Nick Fury. Truly, this feels like some kind of fever dream. As you’re escorted through the high-level security installments on the ground floor of the building, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not meant to be here. This must be some kind of mistake, you’re thinking to yourself, even as you’re given a visitor ID badge. You’re led into a glass elevator that rises to the twentieth floor, through a cold stone hall and even more security installments. Eventually, you come face-to-face with a nondescript wooden door. The security guard knocks on the door and opens it for you, revealing a clean and modern space with black leather furniture and an array of windows (bulletproof and likely very durable) overlooking the street below. There is a figure seated at the grand desk in the center of the room. Nick Fury looks up at the sudden disturbance, his brown eye immediately assessing your form before moving to the guard in the doorway. He nods and the guard steps out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Agent, have a seat,” Fury offers. It’s an order, not a simple statement. You comply immediately and Fury raises an eyebrow. For a long moment, tension settles in the air as Nick Fury unsubtly scrutinizes you. Fury puts a contemplative hand on his chin and stares at you. Despite the eye patch covering his left eye, his menacing gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” Fury remarks vaguely. You nod. “I need you to do something for me.” You raise an eyebrow. When he continues, any confidence you gained from the notion of him requesting something of you promptly fades from existence. He tells you about a god with a penchant for mischief that borders on cruelty—about a devastating attack on New York City that left thousands injured and hundreds dead. You had heard about the attack on the news, but you had too much going on to truly process what you were seeing. Fury tells you that this trickster, a Norse god by the name of Loki, is currently in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most secure containment. It’s clear S.H.I.E.L.D. is desperate for information, otherwise they wouldn’t be bringing you in for something like this—this is far above your pay grade. Norse gods were never mentioned in your training at Quantico.

“Loki has been largely uncooperative,” Fury continues, immune to the emotional whiplash you’re currently experiencing. “We needed to try a different approach.” He looks at you after that. “And we need more information. Can I count on you to do this?” You take a slow breath in. Do you really have a choice?

“Yes, sir,” you respond. Fury regards you for another second, before evidently deciding that your answer is satisfactory. He then hands you a device, which appears to be a pass that allows you entrance into the high-security cells. It’s an effective dismissal. You take it and murmur a word of thanks, before stepping out of the room. With the security guard’s guidance, you’re able to learn the location of the high-security prison and you take another elevator ride. When the doors ding, a giant metronome sounds off in your head. You can’t go back now, you think to yourself as you cross the threshold of the elevator and step towards the reinforced metal door with a fingerprint and retinal scanner. You glance at the guard, who nods and urges you to continue. Somehow, in the brief time that you spoke with Fury, your information must've been registered in the system—as your name appears on screen after it scans your finger. You then lean down and allow the machine to scan your retina, before a blue light flashes once. You frown at the door, before seeing a screen flashing on the left side. You press the pad Fury gave you to the screen and the door clicks, swinging open ominously.

You take a step forward and leave the door open, expecting for the guard to follow you. They shoot you a disbelieving look and take a step backwards, letting the door fall shut. You’re left alone in a hallway reminiscent of a steel prison. As you slowly walk down the narrow path between iron bars, you feel hard gazes boring into your very skin. Someone jeers at you. You keep walking until you reach the solitary cell at the end of the hall. For the first time since entering the space, you allow yourself to look up—only to look into the glimmering green eyes of Loki Laufeyson.

Safe to say, Fury neglected to mention that Loki would be the single most intimidating individual you’ve ever had the misfortune and displeasure to meet. Staring at him through the thick walls of glass, you’re suffocated with a sudden, intense dread. Even if Fury hadn’t given you any background on him, you’re sure you still would’ve been able to surmise this man’s maleficence and cruelty. He has long dark hair, sharp features, and a positively malevolent grin on his face.

“Hello,” you murmur guardedly. The thick walls of glass aren’t enough to ensure you of your safety—that attentive gaze cuts straight through your skin and sinks deep into the bone. The god raises an eyebrow at you, pausing for a moment to allow you the opportunity to turn tail and run away. You very nearly take the gifted opportunity, before you remember that information on the invasion could save lives.

“Are you lost?” Loki asks, regarding you with as much respect as someone regards a pebble beneath their feet. Your hands are ever so slightly trembling from your sides and you stuff your hands in your pockets, suddenly feeling the need to keep yourself occupied.

“No,” you eventually reply. You decide to introduce yourself, before raising your eyebrows at the god in return. You resist the urge to ask him to introduce himself. You know who he is, and you would likely end up insulting him with the question anyway. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to be very careful around him. The slightest word or provocation would lose the information for good. Why are you being called in for this, again?

“What could possibly have possessed Fury to send a mere agent such as yourself to speak with me?” the god questions, echoing your very own thoughts. You take a deep breath and try to steel your nerves.

“I’m a criminal investigator,” you respond, once your tongue is no longer ironed to the roof of your mouth. “I’ve spent most of my life studying how criminal types think and what motivates them. I want to ask you a few questions.”

“Interesting,” Loki hums. He doesn’t seem the least bit intrigued; rather, he appears incredibly bored. “And you think this Midgardian experience is enough to grant you a conversation with me? You know nothing of who I am and what I am capable of.”

You want to be surprised, but you expected something along those lines. A brief white-hot anger overtakes you as you remember the tension in Fury’s shoulders, the withdrawn tone in his voice, how he seemed to expect you to fail. Everyone is expecting you to fail. “I know enough,” you respond, before you can contemplate the consequences of doing so. In truth, Fury had given you Loki’s file earlier. He also left you with a few words of warning. You manage to tear yourself away from your conversation with Fury and focus on what you viewed in Loki’s file. The information comes to mind within seconds. “You caused quite the scene in Germany. I suspect that was the intention.” There is no acknowledgement that he’s even listening to you, save for the intense gaze that seems to be dissecting you for his own amusement.

The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. “You’re the adopted son of Odin and Frigga, and the brother of Thor. Your real father is Laufey, the Frost Giant King. You’re the God of Mischief. And you’re a constant thorn in the side of the Avengers and Nick Fury.”

“Those are just the facts,” you conclude. You’re met with nothing but silence. There’s an undercurrent of expectation in the air, as if he’s waiting for you to continue. You grit your teeth. Somehow, you have his attention now. It would be best if you didn’t lose it. “As for my first impressions… You’re manipulative, obviously. Cunning and clever. Selfish, extremely controlling. You derive pleasure from other people’s pain. You enjoy being the chessmaster—manipulating your pawns and discarding them the moment they’ve fulfilled their purpose.”

“Beneath all that, you’re frighteningly human. Jealousy, envy, a visceral desire for Odin’s approval, and a thirst for power… You delight in your darkest urges and scorn any of the ones that come close to resembling even a hint of genuine emotion.”

“Now will you answer my questions?” you finish.

Loki’s head is down now. His shoulders are shaking and for a second, you think he’s crying. Then he raises his head, revealing a twisted grin on his face. “No one has possessed the courage to talk to me in such a manner in millenia,” the god remarks, his hands clasped behind his back. He takes a step forward and inspects you through the glass. You remember your fear from earlier. “Who are you, exactly?”

“I’ve already told you,” you answer. You’ve done this song and dance before, and you have enough experience to know nothing good comes from giving a criminal your name. In the few rare instances in which it seemed that they simply wouldn’t give in, you would give a fake name. You aren't foolish enough to try that with the God of Mischief, though. “Besides, that doesn’t matter. I’m here for information.” You repeat for what feels like the umpteenth time.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Loki says, studying you with scrutiny. Your skin crawls. Everything about this feels like a horrible idea. Not for the first time, you question why you were called in for this assignment. “I’m not allowed visitors otherwise—on account of the last one being found in his home with his throat slit.” There’s another flash of amusement in his eyes.

“Fun,” you remark flatly. Your heart is racing out of your chest, but you know not to show your apprehension. Fear is Loki’s game. “Seriously, though. I assume you want to get out of here in the next millennium.” You remark.

“Au contraire,” Loki replies. It takes you a few seconds to process what he says, and several more seconds to recall the translation: ‘On the contrary.’ You wait patiently for the god to continue. “You don’t really think I’ll be released, do you? And don’t bother pretending otherwise—you don’t have the power or authority to make promises here.”

“I’m not sure why you’re entertaining conversation with me in the first place, then,” you reason. You feel lost in this conversation, admittedly. It’s taking an unhealthy amount of mental energy to keep yourself afloat in these verbal traps.

“Maybe I’m bored,” Loki drawls. In the fluorescent lighting beaming down on him, he looks every bit as royal as he is rumored to be. “Maybe I’m waiting for you to let your guard down, for your mental defenses to fade away and corrode into nothingness before my control slips into your psyche, forcing you to be a spectator as I pilot your body and mind.”

You stare at him for a moment, heart hammering away in your chest. Somehow, it’s that sentiment that cements the reality of the situation. You’re not qualified enough for whatever the hell this is. You’ve interrogated loads of criminals before, but they’ve never posed a legitimate physical and mental threat to you in the same manner that Loki does. You find yourself genuinely fearing for your safety as you stare at Loki’s glittering green eyes.

As your heart races and you take a few steps backwards, you catch a sudden blur in your peripheral vision, before you’re struck with white-hot pain that flares up the left side of your face. You blink dazedly and bring a hand up to your left cheek, only to find blood splattered across your skin. There’s a jagged fragment resting on the floor near your foot—evidently the cause of the wound. You turn to the left, only to find the man from before clutching at the bars of his cell with ferocity—a crazed look in his eyes as he stares at you. Your gaze then falls to the porcelain toilet in the corner of his cell, with a notable chunk missing. That must’ve been where he got the shard. The side of your face is burning, hot blood trickling down your cheek. You press the back of your hand to the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Unsurprisingly, the wound doesn’t magically heal or stop bleeding. You grimace and set off down the hallway, intending to leave and find a first-aid kit. Just as your palm flattens on the door, Loki says your name.

You pause, your cheek stinging. You feel Loki’s gaze at your back and you know you probably don’t have the luxury to continue walking away. Yet… you can’t bear to turn around. You open the door and walk away, unaware of the furious expression on Loki’s face. The security guard’s eyebrows climb up their face as they see the blood trickling down your face, but you simply hand them the keypad and walk away.

You have nothing in lieu of information and a fresh, jagged cut on your cheek. You don’t expect to be called to the high-security cells again any time soon—not after that complete and utter failure. You leave S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters that day with a bandage on your cheek and wounded pride. The conversation with Loki keeps you up that night in your hotel room, as you turn over every statement in your head. There’s a notable disconnect between Loki’s words and his actions. Furthermore, if he’s truly so powerful, then why is he still contained? You know S.H.I.E.L.D. is well-equipped to handle villains, but Loki is a Norse god. Surely he could snap his fingers and transport himself somewhere else? If that’s the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t escaped yet.

You avoid work the next few days to fully recover from the physical and mental injuries acquired that day. It’s nice to have some free time, but it is still somewhat dampened by the knowledge that you didn’t get any information from Loki. Fury is going to be, well, furious.

Safe to say, you don’t expect to see Nick Fury on your doorstep one morning, a troubled expression on his face. You greet him and try to invite him in, but he remains outside. His dissecting gaze flits about your face, searching for something. “It’s been an interesting day, Agent,” he evidently decides to say.

“How so?” you ask. Fury glances to his left and right, before taking a small step forward and leaning closer.

“A prisoner in the high security area was murdered,” he murmurs. “He was found in his cell. It seems he was fed his own tongue before he choked and suffocated to death. Miggs. Awful guy, but… we had intended on getting more information from him.” Fury shakes his head. Meanwhile, you’re reeling. There’s no way the victim was the same prisoner who assaulted you earlier. That would be a truly troubling occurrence—one you’re not quite sure you could put down to coincidence.

“Anyway… I need you to speak with Loki again,” Fury continues, his expression serious. He raises an eyebrow upon seeing the slight shock that must be showing on your face. “You seem surprised.”

You nod. “I was under the impression that our conversation didn’t go well,” you decide to respond honestly. Fury seems to appreciate the truthfulness, although his eyebrows furrow and he takes a deep breath.

There’s a beat of silence. “He’s refused to speak with anyone else we’ve sent,” Fury explains. “Since your last visit, he’s been exceptionally…Well. He asked for you specifically.”

What was Fury going to say just then? And, more importantly, did you even hear him correctly? Did Loki really ask to speak with you, even after the tense conversation you had? You’re immediately suspicious.

“Listen,” Fury breaks off, looking conflicted and resolved all at once. “For whatever reason, he’s different with you. I’m not sure why, but whatever the reason, we need to take advantage. Loki has valuable information about the attack on New York.”

“In reality, he asked for you a few days ago,” Fury continues, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. You look over to him in surprise. “I refused. But… since then, he’s been extremely disagreeable—and we’re running out of time.”

“I’ll try to speak with him,” you answer. That’s the best you can promise. You certainly can’t promise that it’ll be a productive conversation, or that you’ll get any information from him. Indeed, the last discussion you had with Loki, it felt as if you were disclosing more information than he was. Still, the prospect seems to be good enough for Fury.

“Thank you, Agent,” he nods, returning the keycard that grants access to the high security area. You take a deep breath and follow him back to his car, steeling your nerves as the city buildings pass before your vision. Once you reach the headquarters, you walk down the halls and head to the elevators. Fury and you part ways as he gets off the elevator, and he leaves you with a brief nod.

It only takes a few steps in the hallway of the high-security cells for you to notice that something’s missing. A cell is empty—the same one that Miggs had occupied before. You feel dread coiling in your chest, yet you can’t stop yourself from taking a step closer and getting a better look at the empty cell. There’s blood splattered all across the ground—although it appears as if someone tried to clean it, since it bears a closer resemblance to dark brown than red. The sheets of the mattress are clean and the cell looks entirely untouched, save for the stains across the floor and the noticeable chunk missing from the toilet.

Your attention is captured by the cell—so much so that you forget your company. “Ah, what a pleasant surprise,” Loki remarks, sending your heart racing as you remember his presence. You take a deep breath and tear your eyes away from the evidence of Miggs’s death. As you break the distance between Loki’s enclosure and you, you can’t help but shake the feeling that he had something to do with the death of Miggs. You don’t have any proof, but the awful feeling stirring in your gut certainly makes you question what you thought you knew.

Loki clears his throat pointedly and you remember yourself. “You asked for me,” you then answer cautiously.

“Yes, but I wasn’t sure if Fury would oblige,” Loki drawls, regarding you with mild amusement. You’re not sure what he thinks is entertaining, so you just pretend not to have noticed his smug grin. “He doesn’t seem to care for me much.”

“I’d argue most of us don’t,” you hear yourself blurt out. You really need a better filter, especially in a conversation as important as this one. If you want information from Loki, you’ll have to be nicer to him. Despite that thought, Loki is staring at you with the same amusement as before. There’s no sense that the insult even registered.

“And yourself?” the god asks, once again reminding you that you’re the one at the mercy of the conversation. You grit your teeth and try to remain calm, despite the overwhelming feelings of inadequacy that threaten to send you down the hall.

“What about me?” You raise an eyebrow.

“You said most of us,” Loki says, “Does that include you?”

You don’t bother to dignify that question with a response. “What do you want?” He doesn’t respond and you resist the urge to exhibit any signs of your growing impatience. “You asked to speak with me—I’m assuming you want something.”

“I have information you want,” Loki states, his eyes boring into yours and sending a prickling sensation down your skin. His intense gaze is unnerving, and you feel as if you’re being intensely scrutinized. “You have information I want. I propose a trade.”

You’re not surprised by the remark, save for the idea that you have something he wants. “I’m not quite sure what information I could give you,” you frown, shifting your balance slightly to keep your body occupied. You cross your arms over your chest and pretend you don’t feel entirely vulnerable in front of Loki.

“I’ll be the one to determine that,” the god says. His next statement is entirely unexpected. “Now, tell me about yourself, your childhood.”

“What?” you choke out. “About myself? I don’t see how that’s relevant.” You break off. Loki’s gaze is focused on you with burning intensity. You take a shuddering breath in and try to summon some information that isn’t dangerous for you to disclose. “I’m a criminal investigator—have been for years. I’m from around here, grew up here.” You end up settling for a mix of ambiguity and omission. Loki seems to pick up on it regardless.

“Don’t lie to me.” His gaze is dark and dangerous. It suddenly feels as if the temperature dropped in the space around you. You’re pinned under the god’s watchful eyes. “I think I deserve more than that, don’t you?” You can’t find the words to answer. You have, once again, severely underestimated Loki’s capabilities.

“Very well, then,” Loki murmurs some time later, after it’s clear that you’re unwilling to give him more information. His posture is effortlessly casual, but you know it’s just a façade. “I can start for you. You worked as a criminal investigator for years in your hometown, until you decided to become an FBI agent. With more responsibility came more criminals, and closer calls. Even so, you began to gain notoriety for your cases. Your name appears in more and more press coverage. Meanwhile, Nick Fury grows increasingly frustrated with me, with the lack of information. He sees you on the morning news and finds his perfect solution. He calls you here to New York, tells you that he needs you for this pivotal role. An exaggeration, of course.”

“You agree with his offer—surely, you don’t have any other choice. Meanwhile, Fury promptly forgets your existence, until he needs you once more. A tool in a toolbox is all you are to him. Why else would he send you to me? He doesn’t have faith in your abilities, Agent—he just needs bait.”

You know it’s true, but it still hurts. Truthfully, you had suspected the same thing; something about the Norse god speaking on your thoughts cements them in reality. Indeed, why else would Fury have called you in? There are plenty of high-ranking officials that would’ve been better suited for such a task.

“You come in here and provoke me,” Loki continues, as if you aren’t even there. He seems entirely in his element as he paces about his cell. “I attack you, then break out of captivity. A group of agents lurks outside to interrupt my eventual escape. The whole thing is laughably predictable, really.” Your eyes widen as you realize just why the security guard lingered outside the door. They aren’t guarding the door—it’s secure enough on its own. They’re guarding you, waiting for you to fail and for Loki to escape. The thought sends a shiver down your spine.

“And, of course, you have a visceral desire for Fury’s approval,” he continues, repeating what you said to him mere days ago. You feel as if a bucket of ice cold water was just dumped all over you, making you shiver and question everything you thought you knew. Are you really so formulaic? Have you been lured into a false sense of confidence these past few years? You try to grapple with these questions, while the god stares at you. “Am I ‘in the ballpark,’ as you mortals say?” There’s a sharp grin on Loki’s face that deeply unsettles you.

It takes you several moments to collect your composure and find the words to say. “I think you know you are,” you respond, ignoring your heart pounding out of your chest. It’s unnerving that Loki could glean that much about you in such a short time span. Despite his obvious attempt at mockery, you know that you need to answer his questions if you want information. You keep silent and wait for Loki to continue.

“Now, you still haven’t given me anything,” Loki reminds you, dispelling any hope that he may have forgotten. You feel extremely restless and steadily avoid his gaze, even when you feel his eyes practically tearing holes through your form. “So, I ask once more: what was your childhood like?”

You can’t afford to argue this time—not if you want information. The glint in Loki’s eyes grows brighter with each tidbit you give him. At his request, you tell him about your past—everything from your childhood home to the relationships you have with your family. Time becomes fickle and you don’t realize you’re oversharing until you glance down at your watch and see that far too much time has passed. “That’s more than enough,” you interject some time later. You don’t feel as if you can truly grasp the severity of your actions just now. Even so, you know that you’ve given him too much ammunition. You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache developing. “It’s your turn.”

“Very well,” Loki responds, his lips parting to reveal a crooked smirk. The expression on his face confirms your suspicions that he was planning on continuing the conversation until you stopped him. “I will answer two of your questions.” You feel your heart drop.

“Two?” you exclaim in disbelief, “You must’ve asked me a hundred just now—”

“I didn’t force you to answer any of my questions,” Loki reasons. Unfortunately, he’s correct in that regard—you should’ve been more wary. You let your guard down and he was content to take advantage of it. “Now, do you want information or not?”

You grit your teeth. Damn it. Two questions is a very insignificant number. You try to remember what Fury told you mere minutes before. “He’s been extremely disagreeable… and we’re running out of time.” You can’t afford to slip up here.

“Fine,” you say. The look on Loki’s face doesn’t change, but you can still sense arrogance radiating off of him. “Why?” You decide to ask.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Loki drawls, continuing to pace about. He looks completely and utterly bored. “Why does one do anything?” You resist an eye roll.

“Why did you do it?” you rephrase. You don’t need to specify for Loki to understand what you’re referring to: the attack on New York, the Chitauri invasion. Surely, knowing his motivations would help S.H.I.E.L.D. prevent instances like it from happening in the future. Besides, you’re not sure what else to ask. As has been established, you don’t think you’re the best fit for this task of vital importance.

“I was seeking revenge,” Loki answers without hesitation. His unblinking gaze is beginning to unnerve you. “Is that what you’d like me to say?”

“I’d like you to tell the truth,” you assert, unable to hide some of your irritation. The god picks up on it and smiles infuriatingly, as if your annoyance is entertaining. Perhaps it is entertaining to him. You take a deep breath and remind yourself to keep calm. It would do you no good to get riled up. You have one job: collecting information.

“The truth,” Loki remarks languidly, tearing you from your thoughts. His answer comes without hesitation. “I was bored.” Boredom. Boredom pushed him to wreak havoc on the city, causing hundreds of casualties and inordinate bloodshed. Loki was motivated by a lack of fulfillment. The thought is extremely disconcerting. On the one hand, you’re not sure what you were expecting. On the other, you had been looking for a more clear-cut, legitimate reason to contextualize his actions. You weren’t planning on excusing his crimes, but if he provided something that seemed to somewhat justify his reaction, you would’ve been able to get more information and also deduce a clear motive to these kinds of attacks. Perhaps that was your error in thinking, though: Loki can’t be a predictor of a pattern. He is wildly unpredictable, and trying to predict him will both waste your time and result in more frustration.

“One more question,” Loki reminds you tauntingly. You grit your teeth, pushing past your irritation. The god seems to enjoy emphasizing the differences between you and him—your mortality, your weakness.

You try to think a little harder. Admittedly, a particular question has been weighing on your mind throughout most of your interactions, burrowing into your subconscious and refusing to let go. After a few moments, you decide to verbalize it. “Why haven’t you escaped yet?”

The god laughs. “Haven’t I?” Loki asks in response. A shiver rolls down your spine. You watch warily as he takes one step forward, then another. From what you’ve seen, the god will often pace about his cell. However, his current movements make it seem as if he has a purpose, an endgame. Loki’s eyes flash. He takes another step forward and his foot crosses the threshold where the glass is supposed to be. Loki grins and crosses the entirety of the boundary, before looking at you with a truly malicious smile. He’s free from captivity.

You can’t even take a step backwards before the god is there, extending a hand to your temple and pressing his fingertips past your skin, into your very being. And suddenly, you’re a child again. Everything you told Loki is rushing through your head all at once. You’re trapped in vivid memories. The world around you is blurred with childlike joy and hope. Your surroundings all seem to fall away; despite your knowledge that you aren’t a child anymore, you can’t escape this onslaught of memory that Loki seemed to force on you.

When Loki removes his hand from your temple, you nearly choke on your breath. There’s an excruciating pain running through your head—strong enough to make you lose your balance. Despite the fact that you’re horribly outmatched, you still try to get away from him. You’re not sure what the God of Mischief wants, but you doubt it’s anything good. This interest—as Fury said—that he’s cultivated in you… It’s dangerous.

You should be dead right now. Surely, were you any other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, your corpse would be slowly decaying on the ground in front of you. You heard whispers of what Loki did to some of the agents that spoke to him before you. One of them was directly admitted to a mental hospital—unable to ground themself in reality. The thought shakes you to your core.

You take another step backwards, only for him to match your retreat with a step forward. Your balance is growing more and more unsteady as you try to fight against the vertigo threatening to send you tumbling. Your vision is oscillating between painful sharpness and indiscernible blurriness. “What do you want from me?” you manage to spit out through the pained haze.

“Everything,” Loki answers. Before you can push him away, he’s bringing a hand to your temple again. Your mind explodes with energy and you feel your eyelids fluttering shut of their own accord. You try your hardest to remain conscious and you manage to catch glimpses: Loki’s hand slipping from your temple as you fall to the ground, Loki carrying you out of the building. You’re stuck in the recesses of your own mind, with no hope for escape. Eventually, you’re forced to succumb to the darkness lurking in the corners of your vision.

It may strike you all as strange that Loki stays in captivity rather than escaping, but I think I can justify that with a multitude of reasons. First of all, he's immortal—time passes differently for him. While a mortal may agonize at the thought of being trapped in a capsule for an indefinite time, Loki is entirely unbothered by it. He knows that he has the ability to escape; the question then becomes when he will escape, not if he will escape. Second, Loki has a reason to stay: the reader. He is interested in the reader [the nature of this interest is up to you]. He enjoys the conversations they have, especially when they’re under the false guise of him being trapped and in a position of need. The God of Mischief isn’t one to rush things. Anyway, that’s how I justified these choices to myself. *shrugs*

I desperately wanted to add something like this, but I couldn’t find an authentic moment for it… It may seem a little out of character, too… So I’ll throw it here and walk away:

“You should put some ointment on that,” Loki suggests, looking pointedly at the scar on your face. “Don’t Midgardians care about that sort of thing? Quite foolish, in my opinion.” “How is that foolish?” you ask. “Scars are proof of conquest,” Loki responds. “Of course,” you sigh.

#loki x reader #loki x gn reader #loki laufeyson #loki x male reader #male reader #gn reader #x male reader #nb reader #etc

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