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bassmars · 2 months ago

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submissive! neuvillette x gender neutral reader.

it’s been so long but I am back, I still love neuvillette. Matter in fact I got him a hydro goblet with 35 crit dmg I know I know…. Be jealous.

No proof read sorry if this is all messed up, wrote this pretty late too.. I might start posting more but who should I write about?

—————

Justice served hot

Sub! Neuvillette nsfw.

warnings: semi-public setting, mild exhibitionism, oral sex, penetrative sex (reader can either have a dick or like a strap on I tried)

"Not now, Y/N," Neuvillette murmured, his eyes never leaving the mountain of paperwork that had piled up on his desk. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cluttered room, the only sound being the scratch of his quill against parchment. Y/N, ever the persistent one, leaned against the heavy oak doorframe, arms folded across their chest. Their eyes, filled with a mix of longing and mischief, scanned the room for any signs of weakness.

Neuvillette's desk was a battlefield of legal documents, ink stains spreading like spilled wine across the once pristine surface. The scent of parchment and candle wax filled the air, a stark contrast to the faint hint of incense that usually lingered in the hallways outside. The judge's white hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it in frustration, and the blue underside of his single strand was vivid against his pale skin. His pointed ears twitched slightly as Y/N's footsteps grew closer, the quiet thud of boots on the cold stone floor echoing in the vast chamber.

"Comeee onnnnn," Y/N whined, their voice a sweet symphony of seduction, "You've been buried in this stuff for hours." They stepped closer, the leather of their corset creaking faintly. "We haven't had any...quality time in so long."

Neuvillette sighed, setting down his quill with a delicate clink. He rubbed his eyes with his gloved hand, the blue fabric stretching over his knuckles. "You know how important this is," he said, his voice strained. "The fate of Fontaine is literally in my hands."

Y/N pouted, their eyes scanning the room as they approached the desk. They leaned over, their chest brushing against the papers, and whispered into Neuvillette's ear, "I know, but so is my happiness." Their breath was warm, sending a shiver down the judge's spine.

Neuvillette swiveled his chair to face Y/N, his gaze dropping to their mouth. "And what would make you happy right now?" His voice was low, a challenge wrapped in velvet.

Y/N smirked, their hand sliding down to graze the bulge in Neuvillette's trousers. "Well," they murmured, "since you're already sitting..." They knelt down, pushing aside the chair slightly, and flipped the desk's edge up, giving them the perfect access.

Neuvillette's eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. He looked over his shoulder at the door, then back at Y/N. "Here? Now?" His voice was a mix of surprise and arousal.

Y/N nodded, their grin growing wider. "Why not?" They leaned in, capturing Neuvillette's bottom lip in a teasing nip. "It's not like anyone's going to walk in, right?"

Neuvillette's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, his pointy ears turning a darker shade of red. He glanced at the clock on the wall, the ticking sound suddenly very loud in the quiet room. "Almost time for the next session," he murmured, trying to regain his composure.

Y/N's pout grew more pronounced, their eyes shimmering with a hint of desperation. "Are you really going to leave me like this?" They whispered, their hand still playing with the fabric of his trousers.

Neuvillette sighed, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. "I have to, Y/N. You know how much is on the line for these cases." He began to stand up, but Y/N's grip tightened, their eyes pleading.

"C'mon," Y/N whined, their voice a siren's call, "Just a quickie, before you go." They leaned in closer, their breath hot against Neuvillette's neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

The judge's resolve wavered, the temptation of a passionate encounter with Y/N almost too much to resist. But he knew he couldn't. "No," he said firmly, pushing back his chair, "We can't." He gently but insistently removed Y/N's hand from his crotch and stood up, straightening his robes.

Y/N pouted even more, their eyes glinting with a hint of annoyance. "You're no fun," they grumbled, crossing their arms over their chest.

Neuvillette chuckled despite himself, reaching out to stroke their cheek with his gloved hand. "I know," he said, "but duty calls." He turned and made his way to the courtroom, the heavy doors looming before him like a final boss in a video game.

Y/N trailed after him, their steps echoing down the hallway. "Fine," they said with a dramatic sigh, "but I'm coming with you."

Neuvillette rolled his eyes but didn't protest. He knew Y/N well enough to know that once they had their mind set on something, there was no changing it. They arrived at the grand courtroom, the air thick with the anticipation of the looming proceedings. The room was eerily empty, the wooden benches untouched by the usual bustle of plaintiffs and defendants.

"Well, this is odd," Neuvillette murmured, checking his pocket watch. "We're not supposed to start for another half an hour."

Y/N snickered, their mood lightening at the sight of the empty room. "Maybe the universe is giving us a little gift," they said, wagging their eyebrows suggestively.

Neuvillette couldn't help but laugh. "Or maybe it's just another one of your jinxes," he teased, pushing the door open with a squeak.

The judge stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the vast space. The high ceilings, adorned with frescoes of ancient battles and legal triumphs, seemed to watch over them like disapproving parents. Y/N followed, their boots clicking against the marble floor.

"Come on," Y/N whispered, sidling up to Neuvillette, "at least give me a kiss. It's been ages."

Neuvillette's resolve was waning, the heat of their earlier encounter still simmering between them. He leaned down, their lips meeting in a soft, chaste kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through his body. But Y/N wasn't satisfied with just a peck. They grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss that left them both breathless.

Their tongues danced together, a silent conversation filled with longing and desire. Y/N's hands roamed down to Neuvillette's waist, fumbling with the knot of his sash. They pushed him backward, the large judge's chair looming behind him like a throne. With a grunt, Neuvillette gave in, his body weight carrying him backward into the plush velvet embrace of the chair.

Y/N's eyes sparkled with triumph as they sank to their knees in front of the chair.

Neuvillette's cock, now free from its confines, stood proud and demanding. Veins bulged with anticipation, tracing a map of pleasure along its length, and the underside was particularly sensitive to the touch, a fact that Y/N knew all too well.

As Y/N leaned in, Neuvillette's hips jerked involuntarily, his hand shooting up to grab a fistful of their hair. He gripped it tightly, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to hold back the moan that threatened to escape his lips. The sensation of Y/N's warm breath against his cock was almost too much, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from crying out.

Y/N, ever the eager participant, took the hint and wrapped their lips around the tip, teasing the slit with their tongue. Neuvillette's grip on their hair tightened, his legs spreading wider as he pushed his hips up slightly to meet their mouth. The feeling of their tongue flicking against his most sensitive spot sent a shiver down his spine, making his toes curl in his boots.

Y/N took him in deeper, their cheeks hollowing as they sucked hard. The sound of wetness filled the quiet courtroom, the only other noise the occasional crackle of the candles that lined the walls. They could feel the judge's thighs trembling, his gloved hands clutching their head, guiding them deeper. The taste of his precum was sweet on their tongue, a promise of the release to come.

Neuvillette's breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his composure. He knew that Y/N was a master at this, that they could make him cum in seconds if they wanted to, but he was trying to hold out. The anticipation was part of the thrill, the knowledge that they were about to be caught up in something so deliciously scandalous in the very heart of Fontaine's legal system.

But it was a battle he was quickly losing. The way Y/N's mouth moved, the pressure and rhythm, it was all too much. His hips began to buck, his hand moving to the armrest of the chair to keep from toppling over. He could feel the orgasm building, a storm brewing in his core, threatening to spill over at any moment.

And just as he was about to let go, the doors to the courtroom swung open, the sound echoing through the room like a gavel's final blow.

Y/N and Neuvillette froze, the latter's eyes shooting wide open as a parade of officials and assistants began to file in, their murmurs of greeting and shuffling of papers a stark contrast to the silence that had been moments before. Y/N, ever the quick thinker, ducked under the desk, their heart racing. Neuvillette's cock, still wet from Y/N's eager mouth, twitched in response to the sudden cold air.

The judge took a deep breath, willing his body to behave as he forced himself to sit up straight, the chair creaking ominously beneath him. He smoothed his robes down, trying to look as dignified as possible despite the raging hard-on he was trying to hide. The room grew louder as more people filled in, taking their seats, arranging their notes. Neuvillette could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, a blush that was hopefully just from the exertion and not the embarrassment of being caught.

Y/N, hidden from view, couldn't help but let out a stifled giggle, the sound muffled by the fabric of Neuvillette's robes. The judge shot them a glare, his hand shooting down to grip the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white.

"Thank you all for being here today," Neuvillette began, his voice a little shakier than usual. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself as he continued, "We have a very important case to discuss." His eyes darted around the room, looking for any signs of suspicion. The attendees nodded and murmured in response, none the wiser to the scandalous scene playing out just out of their line of sight.

Y/N, unable to resist the temptation, leaned back in and took him in their mouth again, their hands moving to stroke the base of his cock. Neuvillette's eyes rolled back in his head, his grip on the desk tightening as he bit down on his knuckle to keep from moaning. The room was a blur, the faces of the officials swimming before his eyes as he tried to focus on the case at hand.

With a Herculean effort, Neuvillette pulled Y/N's head back, their teeth grazing the sensitive skin just before they were fully extracted. "Not now," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper. Y/N pouted but obeyed— for now, sitting back on their heels and watching him with hungry eyes.

Neuvillette took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to compose himself. He couldn't very well start the session with a raging erection, now could he? He shuffled his papers, hoping that the rustling would cover the sound of his racing heart. The room had filled up, the murmur of conversation growing louder as the minutes ticked by. The tension in the air was palpable, a mix of anticipation for the upcoming case and the unspoken tension between the two lovers.

He took his seat at the bench, adjusting his robes to try and hide his arousal. The first case was brought before him, a dull roar of words that barely registered as he tried to focus. His eyes scanned the pages before him, but the words swam together like ink in water. The pressure of Y/N's mouth was still imprinted on his cock, the ghost of their touch driving him wild. He could feel the wetness of their saliva slowly drying, leaving his skin feeling tight and sensitive.

As the prosecutor began their opening statement, Neuvillette's hand strayed to his mouth, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep from groaning. The pressure grew, his cock throbbing with the need for release. He glanced down, trying to be subtle, and found that Y/N's hand had slipped into his lap, their fingers tracing lazy circles around the base of his shaft.

The first time he stuttered, he blamed it on the poor lighting. The second time, he coughed and took a sip of water, his hand shaking slightly as he brought the glass to his lips. The third time, the prosecutor paused, a look of concern flashing across their face. "Your honor, are you feeling quite alright?"

Neuvillette's eyes snapped up, his cheeks burning with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. "I'm fine," he ground out, his voice strained. "Just a... a bit of a cold, I think." He coughed into his fist, hoping it was convincing. The room watched him for a moment before the proceedings continued, the murmur of whispers and shuffling papers resuming.

Y/N took advantage of the distraction, their mouth once again wrapping around Neuvillette's cock. This time, they were more cautious, their movements slow and deliberate. They could feel the judge's thighs tensing, his hips trying to rock up to meet them despite his efforts to remain still. The sound of fabric against skin was almost silent, but to Neuvillette, it was like a symphony in his ears.

He tried to focus on the case, really he did. But every time Y/N hit just the right spot, his eyes would squeeze shut, and a strangled sound would escape his throat. He bit down on his gloved fingers, the leather muffling his moans. The room was so still, so formal, and here he was, on the verge of losing control.

The case droned on, the words a blur as Neuvillette's mind was a whirlwind of pleasure and panic. He could feel the climax building, a crescendo that was all too familiar. Y/N's tongue swirled around the tip of his cock, teasing the slit before plunging back down, taking him in deep.

Neuvillette's body tensed, and he had to bite down on the leather of his gloved hand to keep from crying out. The sudden sharp pain brought him back to reality for a brief moment. He looked up, trying to focus on the defendant standing before him, but all he could see was the swirl of color from the stained glass windows above, casting a kaleidoscope across the room.

"Your honor," the prosecutor's voice cut through the haze, "the defense seems to be... distracted. Is everything alright?" Concerned whispers spread through the courtroom like a ripple in a pond.

Neuvillette coughed, his voice strained. "Just a bit of... allergies, yes. The flowers outside, you know." He cleared his throat and hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt. "Please, continue with your questioning."

The prosecutor looked at him skeptically but carried on. Meanwhile, Y/N had found his sweet spot, licking and sucking with the finesse of a maestro conducting an orchestra. Neuvillette's eyes watered, his hips jerking slightly as he felt the release approaching.

He had to get a grip, literally. He clenched his fists in his robes, the fabric bunching in his grip. "What is your defense?" he managed to ask the defendant, his voice a mix of authority and the beginning of a moan.

The defendant, a burly man with a scruffy beard, looked confused. "I-I was just saying, Your Honor, that I didn't mean to..."

But Neuvillette wasn't listening. Y/N's mouth was like a vise, their tongue a whirlwind of sensation. He could feel the pressure building, the dam about to burst. "I-I need a recess," he blurted out, his voice a strangled whisper.

The room went silent, all eyes on the judge who was clearly not his usual composed self. The prosecutor and defendant exchanged glances, while the bailiff looked like he was about to ask if Neuvillette needed medical attention.

"A... recess?" the prosecutor echoed, looking at the clock. "But we've only just begun."

"Now," Neuvillette snapped, his voice firm despite the tremble in his legs. "This... this case is too important to be rushed." He slammed his gavel down, the sound echoing through the hushed room.

The bailiff stepped forward, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Your Honor, are you feeling... well?"

Neuvillette took a deep breath, willing his body to calm. "I'm fine," he assured, his voice a barely controlled rumble. But Y/N's mouth was like a siren's call, latched onto that spot that made his toes curl and his vision swim. He couldn't ignore the way their tongue danced around the sensitive ridge, the flicks and swirls that sent bolts of pleasure through him.

The prosecutor looked unconvinced, but the defendant's counsel nodded, eager to take advantage of the break. "Very well, Your Honor," the prosecutor said, their voice filled with skepticism. “We'll reconvene in fifteen minutes.”

The room buzzed with whispers as everyone began to stand, their movements a symphony of confusion and curiosity. Y/N didn't waste a second, pulling away from Neuvillette's cock with a final, tantalizing kiss that left him gasping for air. They slipped out from under the desk, smoothing their clothes with a smug grin. "Fifteen minutes, perfect," they murmured, giving Neuvillette's leg a final squeeze before sauntering out of the courtroom.

The judge took a moment to compose himself, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He adjusted his robes, trying to hide the evidence of their tryst. The room emptied slowly, the murmurs of the crowd fading into the hallway. He waited until the last set of footsteps had disappeared before standing, his legs wobbly with need. He could feel the stickiness on his cock, a testament to how close he'd come.

"Y/N, office," he called out, his voice still a little hoarse. Y/N's eyes lit up with excitement, their hand already on the doorknob. They stepped aside, allowing Neuvillette to pass, their fingers trailing over his lower back as they did so.

Once in the office, Neuvillette's gaze swept over the chaos. Papers littered the floor, ink pots were overturned, and the smell of spilled wine filled the air. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his body. "This place is a mess," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

Y/N shrugged, a mischievous smile playing on their lips. "It's all part of the ambiance," they said, stepping closer to him. They reached up, untying the knot of his sash with nimble fingers. "Now, where were we?"

Neuvillette's eyes darkened with desire, his hand coming up to cup Y/N's cheek. "We were about to take this somewhere more... private," he murmured, his thumb tracing their jawline. "And then, we're going to make up for lost time."

The door clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing through the cluttered room. Y/N's eyes locked onto his, their hands roaming over his body with a hunger that matched his own. They stepped closer, their bodies pressing together in a delicious dance of heat and want.

"Fuck, you're so hard for me," Y/N growled, their fingers fumbling with the button of his pants. With a swift, brutal motion, they tore open his fly, sending his cock springing free. It jutted out, a testament to his unabated desire, slick with pre-come and begging for release.

Neuvillette's cock sprang free, a testament to his unabated desire. He watched as Y/N took it in their hand, their grip firm and sure. They stroked him slowly, their thumb circling the sensitive tip, sending shivers down his spine.

"Turn over," Y/N ordered, their voice low and commanding.

Neuvillette whimpered at the interruption but reluctantly obeyed, his palms flat on the desk as he bent over, his ass in the air. The cold wood sent a shiver through him, making his skin prickle with anticipation. He was panting and flushed, cock leaking heavily between them as he learned to savor each delicious slide.

Y/N stepped closer, their cock brushing against his thigh. Neuvillette could feel the heat of them, the promise of what was to come. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the onslaught.

The first slick press of Y/N's length against his entrance was like a spark igniting a flame. Neuvillette gasped, his eyes squeezing shut as they pushed inside him. The sensation was almost too much, a mix of pain and pleasure that made his knees wobble, the sensation of their bodies reconnecting after so long almost too much to handle.

Their rhythm grew steadier as they lost themselves in the moment, their movements driven by pure instinct. Neuvillettes nails raked down Y/n’s back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"Y/n," Neuvillette moaned, his hips rising to meet each thrust. "Harder."

Y/N didn't give him any time to adjust, their hips snapping forward with a force that made the desk shake. Neuvillette let out a strangled cry, his body taking a moment to accommodate the intrusion.

They set a relentless pace, their length sliding in and out of him with a wet, slapping sound that filled the room. The desk creaked and groaned, a testament to their passion.

Neuvillette's nails dug into the wood, his knuckles white with the effort of holding on. He could feel his orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that washed over him with every thrust.

Y/N leaned over him, their breath hot against his neck. "You're so fucking tight," they murmured, their voice strained with lust. "So good, Neuvillette."

Their words were like a spell, casting a net of desire over him. He pushed back, meeting each thrust with a wantonness that surprised even himself. The need to be filled, to be claimed, was overwhelming.

Y/N's hand slammed down onto the desk beside his head, the sound echoing through the room. "Fuck, yes," they grunted, their hips driving into him with an intensity that bordered on violence.

Neuvillette's eyes watered as Y/N hit that spot, that magical spot deep inside that made his toes curl and his body spasm. He bit down on his gloved hand, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill from his lips. The fabric muffled the sound, but the pain only added to his pleasure.

Each slap of their hips against his ass was a symphony of sensation, a crescendo that built and built until he thought he couldn't take it anymore. He could feel his orgasm coiling in his belly, tightening like a spring ready to snap.

Y/N's length slammed into Neuvillette with the force of a storm, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent room. The judge's face was a picture of ecstasy and torment, his eyes squeezed shut as he bit down on his lip to keep from crying out. Each thrust was accompanied by a wet smack, the sound bouncing off the walls like a taunt to their secret.

Neuvillette's legs trembled, his toes curling in his boots as he tried to keep his body from betraying him. He knew the Melusines were just outside, their sensitive hearing attuned to every little noise. The thought of them hearing his desperate gasps and the sloppy sounds of their lovemaking sent a thrill of both fear and excitement through him.

He couldn't help the way his body reacted, his muscles clenching around Y/N's length with every thrust. He was so close, so desperately close to losing control. The pressure was building, a coil in his belly that tightened with every movement. The room swam around him, the candlelight playing across his skin like a lover's caress.

He could feel the tension in Y/N's body, the way their muscles tightened and released with each movement. They were both chasing that elusive high, that sweet release that hovered just out of reach. Neuvillette's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more depraved than the last.

His body arched, his back bowing like a bowstring pulled taut before releasing an arrow. His orgasm hit, sending waves of pure ecstasy crashing through his body. He bit down hard on the leather of his glove, muffling the scream that threatened to rip from his chest.

His cock spasmed, shooting ropes of cum across the desk, painting the once pristine surface with a chaotic pattern of white. The smell of sex filled the room, a musky scent that seemed to cling to every inch of them. Y/N's eyes widened in surprise and delight at the display, their own hand moving faster as they watched him come undone.

The hand over his mouth was almost painful now, but Neuvillette didn't care. He bucked and thrashed beneath Y/N, the world outside the office forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the exquisite pleasure that consumed him, leaving him boneless and panting.

Finally, the storm passed, and he collapsed against the desk, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The hand over his mouth slipped away, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes still closed. The silence was deafening, the only sound the faint tick of the clock on the wall.

Neuvillette's eyes snapped open, his heart dropping into his stomach. He looked at the timepiece, the hands pointing to the number fifteen. "No.”

#sub!neuvilette #genshin impact #neuvillette #genshin impact smut #genshin impact sub #neuvillette smut #sub genshin #genshin smut #dom reader #top reader #bottom neuvillette #genshin impact fanfic #fanfic smut #smut #neuvillette x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

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The Devil Wears Armani 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

---posting to the correct blog lol---

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After the week you’ve had, the need for a strong drink is irresistible. You’re almost there. Friday. You just need to make it through the day. There’s only one obstacle in your way. Mr. Stark.

You bring him his ritualistic cafe au lait just after noon. He has an airpod in his ear, chattering on a call as he clicks around his floating computer screen. You keep your head down, making yourself invisible as you place the cup on a coaster. He leans back in his white leather chair as he speaks, reaching quickly for the coffee.

“Yeah, Rogers, maybe, I don’t know about you but I’m not looking to invest right now. I got enough eggs to hatch...” Stark sips as he rests his other hand on his thigh.

Before you can retreat, your eyes flick over and see the moving image on the monitor. You don’t react. You just backpedal and return to your desk, gently closing the door as to not disturb your call. You might commend him for multitasking if it wasn’t so inappropriate.

You cup your chin and zero in on your screen, fighting the images seared into your eyes. The woman’s ass spread wide as the man... nope. Not today.

Mr. Stark’s reputation is less than pristine. Everyone knows how he is but he’s the CEO. Who’s going to say anything? Or do anything? Coming into the role, you expected a demanding workload and a finicky boss, but not everything else. Not the blatant disregard for others and brazen lack of shame.

You glance over at his door before you dare to take out your phone. You lay it next to your keyboard and keep your hand under your chin. You look down as you press to unlock and read the messages from the other girls. Izzie can’t make it, she’s out in the field, but the others are down. Awesome.

You scroll through the gif catalogue and send a celebratory reaction. Mr. Stark’s door startles you and you slide your phone up under your monitor stand to try to hide it. You put your attention back to the calendar and swoop your mouse around the pad.

Stark approaches as he slurps loudly over the brim of his cup. You feel the weight of his gaze and meet it shyly, pushing your glasses up your nose as you sit up. You can’t quite smile as your jaw locks up.

“Sir?” You greet him in confusion.

“So, Friday,” his brown eyes dip down to consider the depths of the mug, “got any exciting plans?”

You look left then right and back at him. Your brow twitches in surprised confusion. Mr. Stark never asks about your personal life. He only ever talks about his private jet and high-life getaways to locations you could never dream of. Your cocktails are meagre compared to his elite lifestyle.

“No, sir,” you say. “How about you?”

He smirks and tilts his head. He slowly prowls around your desk and you swivel your chair to face him as he nears the corner to your right. You tilt to look up at him.

“Ah, the usual, there’s this sweet little blonde thing down in Barbados waiting for me,” he chuckles as his eyes rove over your desk, “no dates? No... partying?”

“Sir, I... just errands.”

“Uh huh,” he clucks and reaches for your mouse. Nope. He swerves and swipes up your phone as it lights up beneath the stand. Shoot. “Social hour, huh?”

“No, sir. I just shut off an alarm and forgot--”

“You’re a bad liar, stop it,” he warns as he brings your phone up and reads the messages popping up, “girls’ night?” He looks at you over the cell, “that sounds like more than errands to me.”

“Well, sir, I didn’t think... it was important.”

“Must be if you’re texting at work,” he tosses the phone at you and you catch it as it lands in your lap. “You been to Barbados?”

“Barbados? No?” You answer dumbly, no expecting the question.

“Wanna go?”

You hesitate. Is this some trick? It’s like when he was taunting Walker last week, baiting him into giving answers that made him look stupid.

“Sir, maybe one day, I guess, I never thought--”

“No thinking. I know you’re not that fucking simple,” he reaches to poke your forehead and your recoil. “Don’t get too fucking crazy tonight, sweetheart, jet takes off at six. In the morning.”

You frown and shake your head. He can’t mean what you think.

“Should I have your luggage--”

“Be there,” he demands and gulps back a mouthful. He slams down the empty mug on your desk and backs up, “if you’re still thirsty, they got cocktails on the plane.”

He turns and strides away, whistling as he checks his watch. He sighs as he approaches the office door, pausing, “when Odinson gets here, make sure he has everything he needs.” He glances back with a smirk as you peer around your monitor, “and smile, sweetheart, you got nice lips.”

You stare after him as he closes his office door and you sit back. You chew your thumb and look down at your phone. You sniff as you watch the others messages stream over the screen. Now you know better than to have your phone out at work. Now you get to do overtime. Fun.

You rub your cheek and roll close to your desk. You’re not going to miss tonight, even if Mr. Stark wants to take away your weekend. You’ve been waiting for this and you need the boost before you face whatever he has planned.

A message blips up in the corner and you click it, not daring to ignore Mr. Stark’s icon. The window spreads over the screen and the message floats over the reply bar. ‘Don’t forget a bikini’.

Huh?

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #series #drabble #au #bad bosses #mcu #marvel #iron man #avengers #the devil wears armani

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604to647 · 2 months ago

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Dance for Me

8.4K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: You and your friends go to a strip club for a fun girls’ night where, unbeknownst to you, Detective Rockford is undercover.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Strip club, pole dancing as fitness, soft but also slightly possessive!Tim, slightly possessive!Reader, established relationship, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), private room shenanigans (Fingering. It's fingering).

A/N: Written for @yopossum’s mootboardsandminifics celebration! Congrats again on your milestone and thank you for the gorgeous moodboard! As well, credit must be paid to @inept-the-magnificent for putting Undercover!Tim in our collective minds with this pic – for our story, let’s imagine he looks exactly like this, except he wears his leather jacket over his usual white dress shirt, unbuttoned very low to reveal his black knit undershirt (Halp 🫠🫠). As always with our The Rockford Portfolio couple, the story can be read alone, but this instalment has a few nods to other stories from the collection (nothing important!); it's also a little longer than usual and has a silly police case subplot - I hope you all still enjoy!

And yes, for those who have read Strawberry Shortcake, this is indeed the same The Midnight Palace 🤭 (you don’t have to read it, it’s just a fun little Easter egg).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

Tim opens the door to your apartment to the welcomed smell of something savoury and aromatic simmering on the stove.

“I’m home, Shutterbug,” he calls as he toes off his shoes.

“Perfect timing, Detective! I’m just plating dinner – how was your day?” he hears you busy in the kitchen.

“Not too bad, baby. Dinner smells gr-” Tim’s voice cuts off when he drops his keys in the key bowl on the foyer table but doesn’t hear the familiar clinking of his keys with yours; he looks down to see the reason: a flyer that’s been thrown into the bowl on top of your keys.

The Midnight Palace. What would you be doing with a flyer for a local strip club? For this particular strip club?

He’s still turning it over and looking at the images of silhouetted body parts bathed in neon pink lighting as he hangs his suit jacket on the back of his dining room chair, sitting just as you come out with two steaming plates of food.

Setting down his dinner, you lean over to plant a sweet, welcome home kiss to Tim’s lips, letting him know with your tender, but lingering brushes against his irresistible pout that you’ve missed him all day.

“Thank you, Shutterbug, dinner looks amazing.” You beam at Tim’s compliment as you sit.

“How come you have a flyer for The Midnight Palace?” he holds up the flyer he found.

You giggle, “Oh! Do you remember when Mimi had her bachelorette party at that pole dancing class?”

Did he remember? Yeah. Tim remembers that you came home and sat him on the edge of the bed so you could show him the off-pole moves you had learned in class. He remembers the way you had arched your chest forward while perched on the chair you placed in front of him and extended your limbs seductively while slowly opening your legs - only to snap them shut at the last second and swivel away from Tim’s lustful gaze, but not before he spied the darkening spot on the front of your panties. Tim remembers how his eyes nearly fell out of their sockets following the hypnotic sway of your hips as you moved to straddled the chair with your back to him so that you could strip down to your lingerie while throwing him the occasional smirk over your shoulder. He also remembers how he had taken you on all fours right there on the floor after you teasingly crawled towards him with your tits falling out of your bra and your juicy ass pointed up in the air, wiggling for his attention.

“I remember,” he grins through a mouth full of vegetables.

“Well, Meems has been attending the class semi-regularly ever since – she really likes the workout, says its good for the core,” you gesture cheekily to your own stomach that’s currently rumbling with hunger, “and her instructor works at The Midnight Palace. Anyways, once a month they have an Amateur Night and the owner lets Sasha invite her students as a way to give them some fun practice in a different setting and to help them build up their confidence.”

Tim nods slower, still chewing as you carry on, “Anyways, Meems is going to do Amateur Night this Saturday and she needs a hype squad, so a bunch of us are going to make a girls night out of it.”

“That sounds nice,” Tim says carefully, he can tell you’re not done and he’s still listening, but the detective part of his brain that never really shuts off is starting to boot up from sleep mode.

“… and she also asked if those of us who were at her bachelorette party might also want to dance… for moral support,” you chew your lower lip, eyeing Tim’s reaction.

“Is that something you want to do, Shutterbug?”

“I don’t know? It might be fun cause we’re all such good friends and I remember the class being really cool. And there’s no obligation to strip or anything; Mimi says she’s just going to wear like a bra and some exercise shorts – it’s really about the pole dancing. I thought I might go to a class or two with her this week to see if I recall any of the moves,” you hesitate, “Would you be okay with that?”

You don’t know what you really mean by asking Tim this question. First of all, you aren’t asking for his permission and you know Tim would never presume so, likely he would probably be confused (and possibly even upset on your behalf) if you were. Second, you know for a fact that Tim is the last person to be judgemental about any kind of sex work – you’ve seen firsthand how respectful and protective he is over some of his female informants. You suppose you just don’t want to make him uncomfortable, even if you can’t articulate why he might feel that way – some type of possessiveness, maybe.

Tim tries to give you a comforting smile; as much as he loves to claim ownership over you when the two of you are in bed, he doesn’t have any desire to exert actual control over you or what you do. He finds any poor excuse of a man who mistakenly thinks he’s entitled to a say over what women do with their time and bodies to be pathetic as fuck - he’s run into guys like that throughout his entire career and thrown more than his fair share behind bars. You’re your own woman, one who Tim admires exceedingly, and the last thing he would ever want is for you to hold yourself back on his account, “Baby, you don’t need to worry about me. If you want to get up on that stage and dance, I’m sure you’ll blow them all away. And I know you always save the good stuff for me, anyways.” He winks at you.

You giggle and lean over the table to kiss Tim’s cheek; he’s always so supportive - how did you get so lucky?

“But,” and Tim looks serious, “can I tell you something in confidence, Shutterbug?”

You nod.

“The Midnight Palace has a clean reputation, but… the club showed up in Mr. Pie’s accounting books and we don’t know why or what the connection is. There could be something fishy going on there.”

Tim reaches into his jacket inside pocket and pulls out his detective’s notebook, flipping through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for and turns the notebook towards you, pointing at something on the open page, “The club name has been entered into the Pie ledgers a handful of times over the last year, always at irregular intervals. There’s no notation in the books other than this symbol written next to it.”

You look at it: it’s a simple line drawing of a tube with some short diagonal lines drawn across the column.

“We don’t know what it means, but this symbol looks like a joint and it might denote some type of drug activity. It could be a pick up, a drop off, a contact, a payoff location, a stash house, or who know what else. Promise me you and your friends will be extra careful, okay?”

You melt at the look of worry on Tim’s face and nod, so touched by his concern, “I’ll be careful, baby.” When his hard lined face softens a little, you cup Tim’s face in your hands, softly scratching his facial scruff so he knows you appreciate how he’s always looking out for you; he leans into your touch, closing his eyes at this affectionate gesture.

“But, can I say something?”

Tim opens his eyes to let you know he’s listening.

“That doesn’t look like a joint. It looks like a spring roll.”

Tim laughs, “Why would it be a spring roll?”

“I dunno? Pie? Spring roll? Maybe it’s just a food thing,” you giggle.

“Alright, alright. I’ll look into it,” Tim teases, “A lot of money in spring rolls, I hear.”

“Woooooooooooo!!!!”

“Look at you, sexy lady!!!”

“Shake what your mama gave you!!!”

You grin to yourself when you hear your friends’ loud cheers, wolf whistles and hype-up cat calls as you get into position on stage, waiting for your music (“Dance Tonight” by Lucy Pearl) to start. This past week you had attended Sasha’s pole dancing fitness class on your lunch breaks with Mimi and a few of your other girlfriends and not only found it to be the workout that Mimi claimed, but also just so, so much fun.

The positive, supportive female energy in the class had been uplifting and terribly contagious; by the end of the week, you found yourself not only excited to cheer on your friends and the rest of Sasha’s class at Amateur Night, but giddy with anticipation to get on the stage yourself. The night held the promise of rowdy, empowering, unabashed fun.

You weren’t disappointed. Not only was your group of friends in high spirits, all vibrating with enthusiasm and elation, but you were delighted to find that same caring and inclusive female comradery being extended by the women who worked with Sasha at The Midnight Palace. The entire class was invited to come backstage into the dancers’ area to get ready, get hyped, and get into the mindset – the room buzzed with excited, feminine chatter. All the house dancers, happy to have a more low-key night, were so encouraging: giving tips, sharing their body glitter and just being overall supportive and kind. You were sitting in front of Sasha’s dressing table mirror, letting her apply some strawberry scented glitter gel to your cleavage (“It’s a crowd favourite,” she insisted, “trust me.”) when something sitting outside the door of the owner’s office catches your eye.

“What’s that?” you point to the arrangement of three white drawstring sacks, each the size of a garbage bag and looking so full that the contents would be threatening to burst out if not for the tops being drawn taut and tied into double knotted bows.

“Oh!” Sasha looks over, “Shoot - they’re still there. I was hoping that creep had come and gone already.”

Creep? You look at her worried; Sasha catches your expression and smiles reassuringly, “Oh, don’t worry, hunny! Chet isn’t a patron – you won’t see him out there when you’re on stage. He’s just some loser that works for a guy that the owner’s brother got in some hot water with, so every so often the owner gets these bags ready and then Chet comes and picks them up. I wish they would find somewhere else to do the pick up instead of our changing area though, cause that Chet is SUCH a creep. Always leering at us and saying gross stuff; like, this guy does not understand boundaries AT ALL. Poor Tiffany. Her vanity is the closest to the office so he tries to chat her up the most. Hangs around while she’s trying to get ready and asks her all kinds of inappropriate questions.”

Sasha makes a face and then looks sympathetically at her fellow dancer who does seem to be giving the offending bags a look of disgust.

“What’s in the bags?” you ask.

“Oh, it’s all our tips! Like the actual bills that patrons give us. It’s not a regular thing, but we always know there’s going to be a pick-up in about a week when the owner asks us to start saving our tips. We give her all the small bills for that week and then after Chet comes, she reimburses us in Benjamins.” Sasha makes a silly “make it rain” motion with her hands and you laugh along with her.

“That’s a lot of small bills,” you marvel.

“Oh yeah! Well, all the girls do it, even the cocktail waitresses – and it’s our tips for a whole week so it adds up to be a lot. Our patrons here are VERY generous – you’ll see, babe!”

You smile gratefully at Sasha and confess that you hope you can do her and the class proud; like a clucking mother hen, she sweetly tells you she has complete confidence in you. When she catches you looking at the bags again, she interprets your interest as unease, “Don’t worry about Chet, hun. I didn’t mean to make you anxious – if he hasn’t come by now, he won’t until after midnight. He avoids the crowds.”

You nod and try to give her a look that expresses relief, but internally, your heart is beating wildly. In general, you don’t consider yourself to be a very nosey person, but you truly could not help yourself from inquiring when you saw the bags because each of the thick canvas sacks has a simple blackline drawing of a spring roll printed on the outside. It looks exactly like the picture Tim had shown you from his notebook earlier in the week - this must be the club connection to Mr. Pie that Tim and his fellow detectives were looking for.

Even as you and your friends finish getting ready and go out to your reserved table to down some liquid courage, your mind keeps returning to Tim. Should you call him? Should you tell him what you learned? Sasha said that Chet would be coming after midnight and by both her and Tim’s accounts, the pickups didn’t seem to follow any regular schedule - who knows when the next iteration would be? You think you should call Tim – this could be important to the case and you can’t let your detective miss his chance for a solve. You’ll call him right after your dance, you decide with some satisfaction. Your distracted thoughts of Tim and his case keep your nerves at bay right up to when it’s your turn on stage; not for the first time, you’re grateful for the calming presence of your boyfriend even when he’s not with you.

🎶I wanna dance tonight, I wanna toast tonight, I'll spend my money tonight, I wanna get freaky tonight🎶

You’re still thinking of him when the opening notes of your song ring out and you start to swivel your body seductively to the beat. Moving with a dancer-like grace towards the pole, you reach out to grab it suggestively the way Sasha taught you before taking off for your first, simple twirl around. The loud cheers of your friends, the rest of Sasha’s class and the house dancers echo throughout the room and you beam, invigorated. Hitting each low base beat with your hips, you run your hands up to your hair, mussing it playfully as you walk backwards towards the pole. When your back hits the cool metal, you trail your hands slowly down your face, neck, then teasingly over your breasts until they get to the sash of your dress – all to the hoots and hollers of the crowd.

🎶Ask if she wants to go, Tonight's gonna be hot for sure, Be dancin' on the floor, Folks trippin' I don't know🎶

Rather than wear a skimpy outfit, you had opted for a simple wrap dress that accentuates your curves – the plan was to undo the front of the dress and let it fall apart to reveal your lingerie, then continue your dance with the dress open. That didn’t feel too revealing or scandalous, and visually, you thought it would look nice with the fabric of the dress flowing behind you as you swung around the pole. Sascha had emphasized in class that a lot of pole dancing was about performance.

As the knot holding your dress together unfurls and your dress starts to fall away from your body, you stalk towards the front of the stage with a bounce in your step timed to the music so that the slinky garment unravels the rest of the way on its own to reveal your matching bright pink lace lingerie underneath. The screams from the women in the crowd practically shake the walls:

“So fucking hot!!!”

“OOOOOhhhhh baby!!!”

“Show us that assssssssss, yasssssssssss!!!”

God, you love women. The front portion of the room tonight is nearly all women, full of amateurs like those from Sasha’s class and their cheering friends – every single female voice is in hype mode, loud and proud: cheering on each woman who takes the stage for celebrating her own special brand of femininity, rooting for her to embrace the physicality and power of her body and sexuality, no matter her shape, size, age. Even you’re surprised by just how comfortable and confident you feel on stage, not at all exposed or vulnerable even though you’re only wearing underwear – that’s the power of women supporting women. There are some male patrons in the club tonight, but they’re mainly in the back of the room and are wildly outnumbered; the lights shining on the stage are so bright, you can hardly make them out.

🎶Money flyin' everywhere, Champagne, we won't go there, Bottles poppin' in the air, They'll be screamin, "I don't care"🎶

And then, as if your earlier thoughts had conjured him, you see Tim while you’re on the pole doing Sasha’s signature hook spin move that took her two whole days to teach you. You have to do a double take on your second rotation because you barely recognize him. For one, his normally soft curls have been pushed back and styled with product you’re sure you’ve never seen on the bathroom counter; for another, the leather jacket that currently hugs his broad shoulders and hangs open on his wide frame is like unlike anything he has hanging in your shared closet. His white dress shirt you do recognize: one of the many that he wears for work where the crisp cotton wraps tight around his thick tree trunk arms and the buttons down the front valiantly strain trying to contain his hard chest. Only tonight, those same buttons have been given a reprieve because Tim’s left over half of them undone so that the open neckline reveals a black knit undershirt that you’re also seeing for the first time.

He looks hot.

Not that he doesn’t always – Tim is one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever met, and his clean, simple, utilitarian style (plus that gun holster, sigh) has always had an almost primeval hold over you. But something about this near opposite outfit and his combed back hair, like you’re watching a sexy Bizarro Tim manspread on the nearly too small lounge chair as he sets his dark gaze upon you, is causing your breath to quicken and your pussy to clench around nothing.

What’s he doing here? Tim certainly didn’t tell you he was coming to The Midnight Palace tonight. And why is he dressed like that?

You decide it’s no matter as you smirk and shimmy to the upbeat tempo of the music, shrugging your dress off your shoulders and letting it fall to the ground - leaving you on stage in just your bra and panties. It wasn’t the original plan, but Tim showing up wasn’t in the plan either - now that he’s here, you’re going to give him something to look at.

🎶Look what the cat hauled in, Me and a couple friends, No need to settle down, My body don't know how🎶

---

“Rockford, isn’t that-”

“Close your eyes, Calloway,” growls Tim. He knows without a doubt that the tone of his voice leaves no room for argument. Tim realizes he hadn’t thought through this plan.

He wasn’t able to ignore the nagging voice in his head when you told him that you were going to dance at The Midnight Palace; it wasn’t that he was bothered by you going to a strip club or even that you would be dancing on the amateur stage. If he was completely honest with himself, he did feel a tug of something akin to possessiveness at the idea of other people seeing what he considered his – but his more practical, clear-headed self didn’t have any feelings other than pride in you for having the confidence and skill to get up on that stage. Tim already knew, intimately, that you have impressive assets, and if you wanted to show them off, he fully supported you. No - it was the Pie case that ate at him. That The Midnight Palace was somehow connected to Mr. Pie and Tim didn’t know how was driving him crazy; it made him nervous that you and your friends were going somewhere where some unidentified danger might be lurking.

So, he convinced his long suffering, frequent partner Detective Arnold Calloway to go undercover with him at the club tonight, with a plan to stake it out for any clues or activity that might shed some light on The Midnight Palace’s bearing on their case.

Tim got to the club after you and spends most of his time alternating between scanning the crowd, observing the dark corners of the club for suspicious activity and watching you and your friends at your table next to the stage. He can’t help but smile when he sees how much fun you’re having – you’re throwing back drinks and throwing down bills onto the stage with aplomb; Tim can hear your bright voice cheering on all the dancers from where he sits. The way your eyes light up and you gasp in pure delight when a dancer does an impressive pole trick is adorable; your genuine admiration for the women that surround you and the joy you derive just from being with your friends warms his heart. Even in a strip club, his Shutterbug is so sweet.

He had completely forgotten that you were going to dance until he sees you walk onto the stage and that’s when it hits the brilliant Detective Tim Rockford for the first time that he’s about to sit in a room with his partner and a bunch of strangers, some of whom don’t have the same supportive motives as the women next to the stage, while his girlfriend pole dances in some state of undress. He really hadn’t thought this through.

Tim glances over and once he’s ascertained that Calloway’s eyes are indeed closed, he goes back to watching you on stage - admiring the elegance with which you move your body to the music and the fluid way you maneuver around the pole. His breath hitches when your dress falls open to reveal the sexiest lingerie set he’s ever seen – bright fuchsia lace that hugs your curves just right, lifting and accentuating all your softness while simultaneously giving him and everyone in the room hope that you might spill over and grant them all a peek of the heaven that’s underneath.

He might drool a little.

🎶Right there I see you lookin', Sure hope that you're not took and, Don't get lost in the crowd, This place is so damn wild🎶

Tim knows that you see him. He can actually pinpoint the moment you do because the way your hips pop to the bass beat of the RnB music gets a little bouncier. The shake of your tits in your lace bra a little jigglier. He sees the curve of your pretty lips crook into a little smirk - you’re giving him a show.

🎶Go ahead and floss your ice, Go ahead do what you like, I'm feelin' just as fly, Do your thing it's on tonight🎶

As you dance, alternating using the chair as a prop and doing the periodic spin around the pole, Tim feels hypnotized. What you’re revealing isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before, nor is it particularly indecent, but something about this environment with its roars of approval and sexual innuendo, air of lust, and the eyes of others that want to see more of you – is making Tim feral. He keeps his eyes trained on you, as if he could ever look anywhere else, as you kneel on the stage and lower yourself to the floor, crawling towards the applause and screams of your friends.

He’s definitely drooling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spies a group of smarmy looking guys sitting in front of him who are all tracking you with their whole bodies – pointing at you and yelling to each other about how you were “a good one.” Their admiring and sometimes raunchy comments about you cause Tim’s nerves to stand on end; when he overhears how you're starring in their wistful fantasies he grips the armrests of his chair so hard he thinks he might rip through the faux leather.

“You think she’ll offer to do lap dances?” the double polo wearing douchebag closest to Tim yells to his equally douchey friends.

Tim is a millisecond from pushing back his chair and dragging this dumb frat boy out of the club by the scruff of his neck when Calloway, eyes still squeezed tight warns, “We’re here to do a job, Rockford.”

Tim’s nostrils flare as he breathes tightly to try and calm down, redirecting his focus to the rhythmic sway of your body on stage as you gear up to do one last spin of the pole - revolving two, three, four times, then sliding to the floor with your knees spread and back arched to point your perfect heaving breasts to the ceiling when the song ends.

🎶I wanna dance tonight, I wanna toast tonight, I'll spend my money tonight, I wanna get freaky tonight🎶

---

With giggling bashfulness, you collect the bills that were thrown onstage during your performance and exit behind the curtain, ready to rejoin your friends and thinking you’ll pretend that you haven’t seen Tim yet just to tease him a little more (though brilliant detective that he is, you’re sure he already knows that you know he’s here). Exiting through the side door while the stage is being prepared for the next dancer, you emerge still in your underwear (for Tim’s sake, not bothering to put on your dress), when you see Tim surrounded by a gaggle of women offering up lap dances.

It probably wouldn’t have bothered you too much except you see one of the girls put her hand on Tim’s arm and give his muscles a groping feel that he doesn’t look too keen on. When he politely shakes it off, you see another girl get right up in his face, leaning in close by putting her hands on Tim’s upper thighs.

That’s a bit bold, you think - those hands are placed a bit higher on your boyfriend’s legs than you would prefer. Judging by the expression on Tim’s face, his preference would be if they weren't on his body at all. Bearing no ill will or malice towards your fellow amateur dancers, you could pretend what you do next is purely altruistic, but you can’t ignore the slow stir of possessiveness you feel simmering in your stomach. Gesturing to your friends that you’re heading over in Tim’s direction so they don’t think you got lost, you catch Mimi and your other girlfriends’ looks of amusement when they follow the line of your pointing finger and spot Tim who currently has more than a few pairs of breasts being shaken in his face.

You come up from behind Tim’s chair, purposefully ignoring the girls that are gyrating right in front of him, and place your fingertips on his broad shoulders, pressing down possessively on the supple leather. Tim stiffens at the initial contact, but softens almost immediately as you start to trail your hands down the front of his leather jacket, recognizing your touch by the way your fingers claw over his hard chest.

As your hands travel lower, claiming ownership over Tim’s chest and the heart contained within, Tim closes his eyes and breathes in your sweet, familiar perfume when he feels your face next to his. He expects a chaste kiss to the cheek but instead, you dip your head so your nose nudges down past his jaw, breath fanning over where his dress shirt meets his neck. Hands climbing into the space where the shirt opens, your fingers spread over the black knit tank underneath before you pull him back flush against his chair - the unexpected movement causes Tim to exhale with an “Oomf!” Keeping him pinned, you lower your puckered lips to the collar of Tim’s white shirt, pressing down firmly so that you leave behind a perfect bright pink lipstick imprint of your pout – marking your man as yours.

Tim doesn’t even notice when the girls that were trying to get his attention scatter, in search of other, more willing laps – never having paid them much mind in the first place; but he does smiles smugly when he sees several of the men from the group in front throwing looks of jealousy his way at the attention you’re giving him.

“Fancy seeing you here, Detective,” you coo so only he can hear, your lips ghosting over the sensitive spot behind Tim’s earlobe.

“Just a coincidence, Shutterbug. Remember I told you that we had some concerns about this place? Calloway and I thought it was a good night for some undercover work, isn’t that right?”

“Please leave me out of this,” begs Calloway, desperately trying to avert his eyes from his partner’s girlfriend’s half naked body.

You giggle, “Hi Arnie!” Calloway gives you a wave in response without making eye contact.

“Ok, Mr. Undercover – take me to a private room,” you lace your fingers through Tim’s and pull him up out of his chair; right before you head off with Tim in tow, you call out to Calloway, “Keep your phone handy, Arnie - Tim’s going to text you!”

Still looking anywhere but at you, Calloway looks stricken at the prospect. Tim’s confused by your declaration as well, but is too busy grinning at the shocked expressions of your other admirers to pay it much attention – in fact, he might make it a point to give your panty-clad ass a firm palming as the two of you walk away.

Once you pull the curtains closed on the private room, you lead Tim to the velvet couches that line the back wall - climbing on top to straddle him once he’s settled.

“Okay, Detective, why are you really here?”

“I told you, baby - just routine police work.”

You grind a little over the crotch of Tim’s pants, eliciting a little groan from the back of his throat and he grips you tighter around the waist. Stopping yourself from rolling your eyes at Tim’s answer, you put on an exaggerated look of concern, “You didn’t come because of me? You came here to look at other half naked girls?” Pressing your breasts together with your arms, you push them up towards Tim’s face and give him a pout.

Detective Tim Rockford is well known for his skills in the interrogation room, but he knows when he’s outmatched, “Ok, Shutterbug. I admit it. Just wanted to keep an eye on you – I was worried. The Midnight Palace doesn’t have a reputation for anything seedy, but I can’t ignore that there’s a connection to Mr. Pie’s organization. We don’t know what it is, so I can’t help but imagine the worst.”

Smiling down at your sweet detective, you kiss Tim passionately, using your tongue to soothe his worrying heart. Tim’s rough hands run up and down your bare back and over the lace that covers the plush globes of your ass, lightly kneading and making you moan - his hands feel so good and warm, but you can’t get distracted. Pushing yourself off from Tim’s solid frame, you beam, “Lucky for you, I do know.”

“Know what, gorgeous?” Tim is leaning forward, trying to chase your lips again, but your next words jolt him out of his lustful haze.

“I know what The Midnight Palace’s connection to Mr. Pie is.”

Tim’s eyes widen as you tell him about the money bags with the small bills, the reluctant cooperation of the club owner trying to pay her brother’s debt, and how the girls are all creeped out by Chet, the pick-up guy.

“Sounds like money laundering, but probably just like a basic first layer – the small bills probably go on to get further cleaned somewhere else,” you muse thoughtfully as you finish up.

Mouth agape and face stunned, Tim can’t quite figure out what to say to express just how impressed and utterly in love he is. Once again, you think of his work not as something that he does in his time away from you, but as something important to him and you treat it accordingly: listening when he tells you about his cases and using your own smart mind and sharp observation skills to help him.

“You should tell Arnie! And maybe he can get a private room with Tiffany? Sasha says that that Chet guy bothers her the most - I bet she would be more than happy to help if it meant getting rid of him,” you point towards Tim’s pocket to indicate he should text Calloway. Tim does just that, exactly as you had predicted he would before the two of you came into the room. He also texts a secondary team about possibly needing to set up surveillance and a tail.

When he’s done, Tim looks up to see you standing, cute little mischievous smile lighting up your face, “So, what should we do for the remainder of our private room time, Detective?”

Tim teases you right back, “Dance for me, Shutterbug?”

Shyly, you nod and start moving your body to the beat of the music streaming in from outside the room. You place your hands on Tim’s thighs and spread his legs wide so you can dance in closer, swiveling your hips as you lower yourself between his knees, rubbing his inner thighs suggestively. Rising slowly, body still moving in time with the music, you run your hands over your own body – drawing Tim’s darkened eyes to everywhere your delicate fingers graze: up, up the sides of your hips, along the lace trim of your panties, in lazy circles over your soft belly, over the swell of your tits and crossing over one another to lightly push the straps of your bra off your shoulders.

All the while your smooth legs brush up against his, getting dangerously close to Tim’s growing bulge.

Right before the falling straps of your bra start to tug down the lace covering your delectable curves, you spin around abruptly and bend over, putting your luscious ass on display - shaking and bouncing it provocatively in Tim’s face. Just a few seconds of this tantalizing view has Tim snapping and reaching out with his meaty hands to grab you by your hips, yanking you back into his lap.

You yelp and laugh, throwing your arms around Tim’s neck and tease, “Hey, Detective!” Pointing to a sign above the curtained entrance, “No touching.”

It’s all in good fun though as you kiss him, open mouthed and eager.

Tim grins back, “Call the cops on me then, Shutterbug,” as his hands roam over every inch of your body, groping and massaging fervently, as if to defy the rule on purpose. You moan when his lips find that sweet spot on your neck that always makes you lose your mind; Tim sucks and licks while his fingers tug down the lacy cups of your bra to find your nipples already waiting for his touch, pert and pointy.

“Never seen this lingerie before, gorgeous. Is it new?” Tim murmurs into your neck as he expertly pinches, rolls and tugs at your peaks the way that always gets you panting; you roll your hips over nothing, seeking to sooth the ache that he’s started to build up in your core.

“Mmmmmhmmm - wanted to surprise you when I got home later,” you breathe, eyes closed, your hands messing up Tim’s styled hair - tugging at his curls whenever his efforts cause an electric jolt of pleasure to run through your body.

“Looks good, baby. And you looked really good on-stage tonight, Shutterbug.”

You tilt Tim’s face to yours with a little pull on his locks and gently press your lips to his, “Thank you, Tim.” Your eyes are soft and grateful.

The two of you look longingly at one another as Tim’s hands drop to your waist, hands so big that his fingers reach around to your back where he rubs tormenting circles into your skin.

“You look good too, Detective. I like this look on you,” you coo.

Tim blushes, “Thanks, baby. It’s just some undercover stuff I’ve had forever. Not even sure it fits right anymore.”

Not letting Tim get away with this self-effacing comment, you run your hands in an admiring manner over the soft leather of his jacket before raking your hands down his chest; fingers catching on the open V of his dress shirt before sliding under to caress the soft knit of his undershirt, “Fits pretty good from where I am, Detective.”

You kiss down Tim’s neck, past his collar bones and swipe your tongue along the neckline of the black wife beater, mouthing over the material and giving it a little nip with your teeth in between your words:

“Took my breath away when I saw you sitting in the club, baby.”

“Look so fucking hot and like such a bad boy.”

“Thought I was going to soak through my panties on stage and that everyone was going to see how wet I was for you.”

Tim groans at your dirty praise and slips a hand down the front of your lace panties, growling low, “How wet, gorgeous?”

There’s no need to answer - Tim starts to swipe through your folds with his thick fingers and finds you sopping wet and desperate. He teases you mercilessly – dragging his fingers up and down your seam, paying little to no attention to your throbbing clit; occasionally brushing it only lightly before cruelly ignoring it in favour of dipping his fingers back down to your entrance, every so often even venturing to spread your ample slick down to your other hole.

“Please, Tim,” you whine against his lips. You feel him grin.

You would say he takes mercy on you, but it hardly feels like mercy when Tim lowers his head to take your breast in his hot mouth just as he plunges two of his fingers deep into your cunt. The sudden double sensation has you crying out and seeing stars – you chant your detective’s name softly and moan how good he makes you feel while Tim sucks and nibbles on your nipple and continues to saw in and out of your tight hole. He reaches parts of you so deep and unexplored, even by you, eager to mark and lay claim to a land that will only ever be his. Fuck, you love him.

Singing it so he knows, your melodic voice drips with lust and devotion. Tim hums appreciatively against your chest; his response is to switch his worshipping mouth to the other side of your chest and push a third finger into your needy cunt.

The stretch is sharp and delicious - any sting of pain morphs quickly into pleasure; charmed by the way Tim curves his fingers against your tight walls, your pussy leaks shamelessly with fresh of arousal. You buck a little in his hand, trying to chase the heel of his palm in order to give your poor aching clit some relief.

“Use me, baby – yeah, make yourself come on my fingers,” commands Tim, mouth still full of your soft, perky tits.

Bracing your hands on Tim’s broad shoulders for stability, you grind down, meeting each thrust of Tim’s hand so that his open palm spanks your pussy with a loud, wet slap every time. The sound is debauched, pornographic, and it makes you gush even more. When Tim angles his thumb to draw devastating circles on your clit, you nearly sob from near overstimulation, “I’m so close, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come…”

Tim continues the looping of his rough thumb over your slippery nub while dragging his face away from your chest so he can lick up your neck, back to the sweet spot that started it all. He bites down with a little smirk and grits out with your delicate skin still between his teeth, “Come.”

You let go and fall with a soundless scream, toppling over the edge of ecstasy, but, as always, with a warmth that blossoms in your chest in the knowledge that Tim is there to catch you. Always right there to coax you through your high with his touch, his words, his love.

After you’ve caught your breath, Tim helps you right the lingerie that he helped christen and put on your dress. As he’s retying the front sash for you, brows furrowed in concentration (he’s so much more used to undoing the knot), you ask, grin still spacey but eyes a little worried, “Did I do okay, Detective?”

“What do you mean?” Tim looks up to the sound of the trepidation lacing your voice.

“It’s okay that I asked about the bags I saw? I don’t want to overstep when it comes to your investigation,” you’re chewing your lip adorably and Tim just wants to kiss away every little concern lining your pretty face. Instead, he finishes adjusting your clothes, then slips his big hands under your dress to pull you close by the back of your thighs.

Tim presses his chin into your soft body and looks up at you adoringly as you card your fingers through his hair, “It’s more than okay, Shutterbug. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t take the opportunity to help when you see it. I’m so lucky to have you help me, baby.”

Taking Tim’s face into your hands and running your thumbs through his facial scruff the way he likes, you lay the deepest, tenderest kiss on his lips – letting Tim lick in slow and sensually into your mouth, claiming your every breath as his own. Pulling apart only when the little melodic bell that indicates private room times are up starts to chime, Tim gives you more than the necessary bills for the private time as you walk out. When you tell him it’s too much, he closes your fingers over the cash with his hand, “You earned it, baby.” You were going to give it all to the house dancers anyways, so you accept without any further fuss.

Before letting you go, Tim glances quickly at his phone while still squeezing your waist, “Calloway’s got Tiffany in a private room now. I’m going to go join them… hopefully get some more info so we ID this Chet guy. Will you be okay getting home, Shutterbug?”

You nod and the two of you mouth I love yous, before going your separate ways. After rejoining your friends, you try not to let your mind wander to what Tim is doing too much as you cheer on the remaining dancers from Sasha’s class and flit the night away with your friends.

Although you don’t see Tim again for the remainder of your time at The Midnight Palace, you spot his Crown Vic still parked in the lot when you and your friends leave the club. It rained while you were inside and it must have been a warm summer storm because in the chillier night air, the cars in the lot all have a thick layer of condensation on their windows. Doing your best to sidestep the fresh rain puddles that glow pink from their reflection of the club’s neon signs – you make it to Tim’s car and write “I love you” across his windshield with your finger, hoping it’ll still be there when he finally gets to leave.

You hardly see Tim for the next few days, which is unusual even for him. In the wee hours of the morning following your night at The Midnight Palace, you received a picture of Tim’s windshield, your faded finger art still visible with a new word more recently added beneath to now read, I love you more.

Going to pull an all-nighter, Shutterbug.

Will try to get some shut eye on the couch in my office.

Come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.

Nothing could keep me from you, baby. Love you.

You’re busy the following day and don’t get a chance to visit Tim at the precinct or message him much, never mind badger him about making sure to eat or getting enough rest.

You suspect that he doesn’t do much of either, because you return home around dinner time to find takeout containers left for you on the kitchen counter and a loudly snoring Tim passed out in bed. He barely stirs when you kiss his temple and wish him sweet dreams.

He’s gone again when you wake up, leaving you a good morning note to let you know that he misses and loves you as much as you do him.

A busy work day for both of you has you once again missing the other’s calls and relegated to a few text messages here and there. You’re really starting to miss him.

Finally, fate deigns to realign your and Tim’s schedules after two full days apart; you happily scramble to sit up in your nighttime bath when you hear a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey Shutterbug,” Tim’s smile is soft, his eyes relieved, his entire stance exhausted.

“Hey yourself, Detective. Long time no see,” you coo, resting your arms and chin on the side of the bathtub and gazing up at your handsome boyfriend, “Come in the water, baby.”

Tim undresses swiftly and slides into the warm water, fragrant and bright pink from the bath bomb you dropped in earlier. It smells like jasmine and lemongrass, your shampoo and a fourth scent that Tim can never place but just always associates with you. You sit behind Tim, legs bracketing his hips as you wash his hair and scrub down his body with a pouf. Wherever it's needed, you try to apply some groan inducing pressure to Tim’s back with your slippery hands in order to work out some of the more stubborn knots - the office couch has not been kind to Detective Rockford’s back.

Despite the lack of sleep, the ache in his muscles, and missing you, Tim can’t help but grin widely – it’s been a hell of a last 48 hours in the Pie Case.

“You were right, Shutterbug.”

“Hmmmm?” you’ve got your chin hooked over Tim’s shoulders, soaping up his beefy arms and thick chest.

“They were spring rolls.”

Thoroughly amused, you laugh a light musical laugh that sends Tim’s heart soaring, “That little emblem on the bags wasn’t a joint, it was a spring roll?”

Tim nods and then he tells you what he’s been doing for the last two days.

After revealing their identities to Tiffany in the security of the private room at The Midnight Palace, she had been more than happy to help them take down Chet as you had correctly surmised.

The police easily set up surveillance and a tail that picked up Chet after he came by to grab the spring roll marked bags, which now contained stacks of marked bills that Tiffany helped sneak in. The surveillance and the marked bills helped the police trace an intricate network of money laundering schemes over the past two days, of which, as you had also theorized, The Midnight Palace, was just an insignificant player. But being able to pick up the money trail at such an early point of the overall scheme allowed the police to map out and uncover much more intricate and convoluted parts of the laundering network: bank accounts had been tagged and flagged, other local businesses implicated, international banks subpoenaed. Chet himself had been picked up late this afternoon and sang like a bird.

The work was far from over, but a hell of a lot of progress had been made in the last two days – the whole precinct was riding on a high. And Tim can’t help but swell with pride that they owed much of it to your keen eye.

You feel your face flush at Tim’s praise. You don’t know what to say – it seems only natural for something that’s so important to the man you love to be on the forefront of your mind at all times; so instead, you ask a question to which you truly wish to know the answer, “Why a spring roll?”

“Ah ha!” Tim smiles, this was, he had to admit, rather clever, “The smaller bills collected in the Spring Roll bags were earmarked to be deposited at the bank under an account for a fake food court business selling Chinese food. The bank never questioned it – large volume deposits of small bills for a food court stall seemed perfectly appropriate.”

“That is clever!” you muse, “But not clever enough.” When Tim tilts his head back you kiss him with affection, proud of your brilliant detective’s mind.

Once satisfied with the state of Tim’s cleanliness, you wrap your arms around Tim’s neck and cheekily nip at his earlobe, “So… for my help, do I get paid in spring rolls?”

Tim hums, his hands finding the dip of your hips under the water, massaging them appreciatively, “We could do that, or you can redeem another prize from the Detectives’ Rewards Incentive Program.”

“Oh really?” you giggle at the inside joke from that first unforgettable night Tim took you to bed and grin into his wet hair - your pussy already throbbing with want. You press your tits into Tim’s back, “What do I qualify for, Detective?”

“Let me show you,” Tim smirks. Then before you can register what’s happening, Tim rolls over in the bath, sending bright pink water sloshing over the side of the tub as his hands find and latch onto those soft curves that he’s been dreaming of for the past two nights. You yelp, squeal, then moan - putty in Detective Rockford’s capable hands as he shows you just how much you’ve been missed.

Audio and visual aids for this fic:

#mootboardsandminifics #yopossum #tim rockford #tim rockford fic #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #Spotify

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endless-ineffabilities · 4 months ago

Text

of perilous desire

chapter one - se mōris (the end)

vampire!Aemond x f!reader (modern AU)

story synopsis: the reader works the night shift as a receptionist at the local hospital. Someone comes in one night to drop off a patient, and she subsequently suspects that this person is pursuing her. Why is there no real trace of him anywhere? Why does she see him in her dreams? Here begins a craving that may be never be satiated, a desire so perilous it might cost her everything...

word count: <1k ▪︎ masterlist

The night is young.

You've just made your third trip to the personnel break room, filling up on a much-needed caffeine fix, slumping back in your swivel chair in a bored huff.

It's 3 in the morning, which means you have four more hours to go. Oh joy.

Working in the hospital is decent enough; it pays the bills, it keeps you from being unemployed. But it feels like it's supposed to be a transitioning - a jumping off point into bigger and better things. When you were a child, your dream certainly was not to be a night receptionist at a hospital. But it's been a year, and you are still here for some reason.

Were you stuck? Perhaps you have grown complacent? You're meant to be doing something else, something worthwhile, and you know this. Granted, you do help people to some extent, but nurses and doctors are the true heroes.

Anyone with a semi-decent high school education can do your job.

The coffee is stale, and it suspiciously tastes of the antiseptic that is always in the air. You drink it anyway, grimacing with every sip.

The tap tap tapping of your pen against the desk distracts you, and it must have kept you from noticing the new arrival.

"Excuse me."

You snap up, half in a daze, the coffee doing nothing for your alertness.

And you see him. Clad in all black - leather overcoat, leather shoes, well-pressed trousers. Long white-blonde hair flowing smoothly down his back, neatly kept away from his face. One eye a blazing purple, the other a ghostly white. He looked like something out of the gothic romance novels you used to read in middle school.

Unusual. Poised. Beautiful.

You have to swallow hard in order to find the strength to speak."How... how can I help you, sir?"

"My... friend," he says, coolly maintaining eye contact that it's almost unnerving. Or maybe it's the effect he has on people, looking the way he does. "She needs some assistance."

"Oh," you stand up, looking behind him and seeing the woman slumped on the bench in the waiting area. Leaning against one arm, with her black hair partially obscuring her face. She blinks as if in a stupor when the man glances at her, smiling goofily despite her state. "Is she alright?" you ask him, and he doesn't answer, only continuing to stare at you. You press on the paging system, calling on a nurse to come her aid.

You come over and crouch down in front of her. "What's happened? Can you tell me your name?"

She giggles wildly, like you just cracked the funniest joke. "My name is Alys," she says. "At least I think so." You notice her pallid complexion, her lips taking on a bluish tint. She appears to be awake but not truly aware of her surroundings.

The nurse on duty is taking a while, so you turn back to the man. "What happened to her? Does she have a concussion? Are you her husband or a relative?"

Seconds pass. You look at him expectantly, but he gives you nothing. He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing, like a predator sizing up his prey.

"Hmm," he finally makes a sound, though it isn't really a response.

Growing impatient, you stride behind your desk and recover the necessary forms. "I'm going to need you to fill these - "

When you turn to address him, he's gone.

One of the nurses, Patrick, arrives to assist the woman called Alys.

He goes through the motions, flashing a penlight in her eyes, checking her pulse, asking her simple questions to keep her conscious.

"She came in alone?" he asks you, as he waves another nurse to come help.

"No," you shake your head, "her companion was just here. A man - "

"What man? Did he run away or something?"

Did he? He had seemingly vanished in a split second, and you were sure you didn't hear him rushing out the front doors. You didn't hear anything at all.

"I don't know," you shrug, confused. "He didn't even fill in a form or anything."

The nurses manage to situate Alys in a wheelchair, the dark-haired woman still smiling and mumbling to herself. Just as they wheel her away, you hear her soft voice crooning, "Ae-mond, oh, my Aemond!"

"Well, shit," you mutter, the momentary commotion had come and gone. The coffee still sits on your desk, now cold. The air still smelled of sickening sterility.

You were still, as dramatic as it sounds, lost and adrift. You snort to yourself. What a thought.

If only you could have your head in the clouds, all blissed out, like the Alys woman. Though her state was likely brought on by hard drugs.

Or was it him?

Everything is the same. Except that the stranger has become ingrained your mind.

Who was he?

An hour later, you stand outside in the portico, cigarette balanced between your fingers. It's a nasty habit, sure, but people would probably be shocked at how common it is among the hospital staff. The nurses, even.

You're supposed to feel terrible about it, working at an establishment that champions health, but you justify it in that you're just a receptionist. Weren't the medical professionals the real hypocrites? How else will you keep awake?

The smoke billows out of your lips. You watch their shapes dissipating in the cold morning air, entranced.

Suddenly, you sense something shuffle from the corner of your eye. Shivers erupt all over your arms, your mind immediately grasping at the worst possible scenario.

"Hello?" This is how the side characters die in horror movies, quickly and unceremoniously, forgotten before the main act actually begins. Your shaking hand squashes the cigarette down on the wall-mounted ashtray.

It was probably nothing, likely one of the stray kittens running around. Despite that, you determinedly walk back to the entrance, fists bunched in your pockets.

Then there's something again. A gust of wind. A flash of pale blonde hair. A feeling like you're being watched.

Is the entrance so far? You're going to get kidnapped, you're sure of it.

The doors are in sight, those lifeless glass windows within reach, when you're spun around swiftly that you don't have time to think of anything at all.

You're floating, your feet had left the ground.

Pushed into something smooth, cocooned around your paralysed form. Leather.

He hushes you, brushing his lips against your cheek, featherlike, careful not to make full contact. You want to fight, you should fight, but you can't.

Something coaxes you into accepting this, so you do.

The painful prick against your neck is momentary. Followed by complete and utter bliss.

Your final thought is the word Alys was singing so sweetly. That strange name, which now exits your lips like a prayer.

"Aemond."

taglist*: @gwaynehightowerswhore @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @sprinklesprinkle888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @angel6776 @different-tale-student @world-of-bitchcraft @teasweeter @raging-panda @rhaenys-nyra @gelacat0413 @simplymurdock @yariany02 @barnes70stark @stupid--person @lonan-hane @thescooponsof @donalesaa

*refer here to be tagged in hotd works; comment below to be tagged in only this fic.

a/n: me 🤝 running with new ideas before even finishing my ongoing series works!!! I've always wanted to do a vampire Aemond fic. Call this a tester/taster (literally, in Aemond's case). Let me know what yous think, and we'll see how it goes!

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell

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ctrlsht · 1 year ago

Text

Fragment of the Past 01

pairing: patient!jungkook x psychiatrist!reader genre: thriller & yandere au

summary: You are a well-known and respected psychiatrist and author. You start treating Jungkook, who suffers from PTSD after surviving an extremely traumatic incident. As you help him confront his traumatic past, he begins to act strangely, and you start uncovering something about him that will change everything.

chapter summary: As you get to know your patient, Jeon Jungkook, you begin to notice that something is wrong with him, until the day he confesses to you what really happened during the night of the incident.

chapter warnings: mention of PTSD and depression, mention of hatred towards the family, mention of murder. This chapter is the only chapter that isn’t too heavy. word count: 8K

note: This fiction will contain multiple mental disorders and psychology facts. I conducted my own research to avoid spreading misinformation, but there may be aspects I've overlooked, so I am open for any corrections.

"Dr. Y/N, your next patient is already waiting outside. Shall I invite him in?" Soyeon asked while holding the doorknob, your office door slightly ajar. You leaned back in your swivel chair, glancing at the clock hanging beside the door. Soyeon stood patiently, awaiting your response.

“It’s still 2:30 and my next session is 3 o’clock. He arrived early?”

“Yes, he did. In fact, he already arrived at 2. Although he mentioned not informing you since it’s still early.”

You looked at the clock once again and contemplated your decision. You still have 30 minutes before the new session starts but you’re not going to do anything, anyway. Just like your next patient, you’re just waiting for the clock to strike at 3.

“Let him in. We’ll just start early.”

After a few moments, the door opened once again and a tall muscular man entered the room. His movements are slow like he has all the time in the world and when he faced you, his eyes sparkled, and he offered a subdued smile without revealing his teeth. He removed his black ball cap and extended his hand, presenting you with a box of cake.

“Good afternoon, doc. I’m sorry I’m too early from the original schedule but I got you a strawberry cake. Heard that you love them.” He said.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Thank you and it’s nice to see that you’re in a good mood, Jungkook.” You smiled and reached the box of cake that he gave you. He smiled even wider as he removed his leather jacket and you immediately saw his full sleeve tattoo on his right arm. They were beautiful. It perfectly suits him.

“Thanks, doc. I’m happy that I didn’t dream about ‘that’ nightmare and I believe it’s because of the medicine that you prescribe me. You help me a lot.” He responds, sitting on the white sofa facing your desk.

When he is settled down on the couch in front of your office table, you press the ‘record’ button of your phone. You record your session with your patient for your advantage. It helps you review and recall the discussion that you had with them, and it’s useful whenever you’re writing a book. Having the recordings allows you to convey your words more precisely.

Of course, you always ask for their consent to record the conversation. However, there are patients who do not agree with it, and in such cases, you still record them. They wouldn't know, would they?

“Well, that’s good to know.” You said and got the folder placed on the side of your table and opened it. It’s the record of him for you to easily navigate his diagnoses. “Are you still visiting the gym like I’ve recommended to you?”

“Yes I do and it helps me to distract my mind to what happened. Going back to the gym helps me a lot, honestly. It’s hard to push myself to go back at first but as I was in there, it became easier.” His smile is like a pill that can light anyone’s mood. It is so bright and contagious. No one will guess that he suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. He witnessed how his mother died in front of him exactly six months ago and he suffers a lot. He’s unable to talk for weeks after the incident happened and was advised to attend psychotherapy.

Right now, he has made significant progress, and you're glad about it. Throughout your sessions with him, you've observed how he copes with his trauma and understands what's going on in his mind. It's a major trauma for him to witness what happened to his mother. According to studies, women are more likely to develop PTSD than men, and you've handled multiple cases with women experiencing PTSD. However, in your years in this career, he is the only man you've treated with this specific diagnosis. It's a new experience for you, especially since it's your first encounter with a male patient with this condition. You've conducted extensive research, but there are still things your patient does that contradict what you've read.

“During the weekends, I spend all night reading your book, Dr. Y/N and it helps me so much. Plus, it’s good and I love it. I can’t wait for you to release the book that you’re writing right now. When did you plan on releasing them?” He crosses his legs as he looks at you with so much adoration.

“I haven’t finished writing it so I haven’t planned the date of release.” you replied, turning your attention back to the folder in your hand. “I’m glad that my books help you. Do you think that you’ve already overcome your trauma with the event that happened?” You looked at him and the smile that he had seconds ago was gone. His lips were formed into a straight line and he stared at you. It only happens for seconds and he immediately brings his bright expression once again.

“I’m not quite sure about that, Dr. Y/N. I may be happy right now, but later on, I’ll remember the tragic event once again.” He responded.

“It’s okay. It really happens. Healing from your trauma doesn’t happen in a short period of time. But eventually, you’ll be okay. It may not be right now nor tomorrow but one day,” you assured him.

“Will you leave me after I completely heal, Doc?” he leaned forward, his gaze intense. You didn’t respond right away and waited if he’s about to add more with his statement but turns out, he’s also waiting for your response.

“Well, that’s quite the opposite, Jungkook. You’ll be the one to leave me after our final session comes to an end.” You tried to smile. “And as your doctor, I genuinely want you to heal and move on to continue living with your life.”

“Then I’m not quite sure if I’ll be happy for our final session to come to an end.”

You achieved success as a psychiatrist and book author within just four years of your career. Your excellence in your work is a result of the praises you've received from people. You've built a strong reputation and you're determined to maintain it. While you may be at the top now, you know there's still a long road ahead. You're committed to continuing to excel in what you do and to break numerous records..

The day has finally ended and you are still inside your office room as you continue on writing your ongoing book. The paradox of choice. You’ve released three books and this is going to be your fourth one. You’ve been pouring your blood, sweat and tears in every book that you’ve released resulting in its success and you’re confident that this ongoing book will be the same.

You have nothing else to do except to work 24/7. You’ve been doing this for the past four years already and you have no problem with it. In fact, you love everything you do. But there are people who’s against your life cycle.

As you type on your laptop, your phone chimes, seeing a notification from your friend, Taehyung. He's been your friend since you were in diapers.

Taehyung: You’re not at home. Where are you?

You: Clinic. Why?

Taehyung: what the. At this hour?

You didn’t respond because you figured out that he doesn’t have anything to do but to disturb you and honestly, you don’t have the time for that.

Taehyung: Join me for dinner. It’s on me.

You: Can’t you eat by yourself and you have to treat me just for you to have dinner?

Taehyung: You talked as if we’re not friends. Come on, Y/N. I know you love your job but don’t wait until you are the one who becomes a patient.

Taehyung doesn’t understand you. You’re doing what you love and you don’t have a problem with it yet he thought that you were drowning yourself with work. You can choose what you want and you choose to burn yourself from work. You don’t have any problems with it.

You decide to fix your things and get ready for Taehyung to pick you up. As much as you love your career, you also cherish your friendship with him. He's your only friend, and you don't want to lose him. You've come to consider him as family.

“My father is asking me again if I can now run the business in New York." Taehyung said as he got the pork belly from the grill and placed it in his bowl of rice before he put it together in his mouth.

“Tell him you haven't decided." You respond subconsciously while wrapping the pork in the lettuce and eat it.

“What amazing advice coming from a therapist herself.” Taehyung smirked.

"What is your decision then?"

"I don't really know, Y/N." He released a deep breath and continued. "I do want to manage it but I can't. I love what I'm doing right now."

Since his teenage years, Taehyung has been destined to inherit his father's assets, including the family company. However, Taehyung chose a different path and became a successful musician and artist. He's content with his career until his father reminds him of his obligation to take over the family's oil company in New York. He has been wrestling with this difficult situation for years and has yet to find a solution.

“Try to do both.” You suggest while having a mouthful of pork belly.

“I don’t know if you’re fucking with me or what but damn, Y/N. If you’re my therapist, I’ll immediately leave your clinic and find another one.” Taehyung rolled his eyes and you tried not to laugh. "I can't choose both and you know that!"

You do want to help your friend to get out of this situation but the only thing you can do is give emotional and moral support because you don't have control over his family. You do feel sorry for him but you can't do much.

"The conflict between personal desires and altruistic choices has been common in dealing with ethical dilemmas. Choosing a decision between what you want and what your father wants that will be beneficial for the majority is quite a difficult situation and you need to weigh them according to how you see it. Your father has been there for you and in return, he wants you to handle his business not only for the benefit of him but also for you." You pause and take a bite of kimchi before you continue. "But you wanted to keep pursuing the career you have right now. It's a personal gain. It's up to you if you become selfish or selfless."

Many researchers have presented real-life ethical dilemmas and case studies to understand how people navigate decisions that involve personal desires and the welfare of others. These studies often highlight the complexity and context-dependency of such choices which is what Taehyung is experiencing right now.

If you were to decide with his situation, you'd choose to continue with his career that he has right now. Life is too short to become selfless. What society makes people believe can result in each and everyone's failure.

If he chooses to do what his father wants, it won't guarantee success, as he has no clue about running their business. And even if he manages to muster the passion to understand how it works, he might not only fail himself but also disappoint his father.

You ended the night with Taehyung bringing you back to the clinic to get your car. It was nice catching up with him once in a while and hopefully, it won't happen often. Taehyung has known you since forever and he knows that even if you love him, you will still choose your work over him.

You were about to open the door of the driver seat of your car when you felt something. Or more of someone.

You don't hear any noise coming from afar or nearby and you're certain that you're the only one who is at the parking lot in front of the clinic but you feel like there is a pair of eyes that's watching you. You're facing the two-story building of the clinic and catch sight of anyone but the only thing you see is a light coming from the entrance and nothing else.

You slowly turn around to see the surroundings and the only thing you see is a quiet night street illustrated by a few streetlights. There is no one, yet you can still feel that pair of eyes looking at you.

You weren't sure if it's because of overworking or the alcohol you've consumed tonight but you're certain that one of it is the reason why you are having this kind of imagination.

—

“Good morning, Yunjin. You look pale today. What’s wrong?” You looked at your patient that’s seated across the sofa in front of you. Her lips were paper thin and she continuously blinked her eyes. Yunjin is a 25-year old diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder and she's been your patient for a year already. Being diagnosed with depression can cause a lot of factors including imbalances in brain chemicals like serotonin and norepinephrine. These imbalances can occur in anyone, regardless of their external circumstances. In Yunjin’s situation, it’s caused by her genes and hormones and most likely, she inherited from her family.

Yunjin came from a well known family and her life is what every person dreams to have. She already has everything yet she still suffers with depression.

Not because a person has a wealthy and happy life doesn’t mean they do not encounter problems.

“It’s happening again. I’ve lost track of my motivation to continue painting.” She speaks hoarsely. “Last week, I’m pouring all my hardwork and energy into what I’m working on but now, I’ve messed up. And I don’t even know why I am doing this because my work is mediocre in the first place.”

“You know that’s not true, Yunjin. Your paintings are amazing. I love them so much, especially the one you gave me.” You said carefully.

“No, you don’t understand. My works are trash compared to others.” Her voice is already trembling—on the verge of crying.

“Everyone has a unique and creative way to express their works. Not because you think that the works of others are more creative means yours are not. Your paintings are a masterpiece, Yunjin and I won’t get tired of reminding you about that.”

Yunjin is one of your patients who is incredibly transparent. She is consistently honest and open about her feelings, and you have played a significant role in nurturing this honesty. Over your years of being a psychotherapist, you’ve encountered thousands of patients with different problems and diagnosis. You’ve known the ins and outs of them and you’ve mastered the meaning of every action they’ve made and words they’ve said. You also know if they’re telling the truth or not and you can spot it within a single session.

That’s what you’re known—for being an excellent psychiatrist.

However, you’re not yet perfect and still working with your skills. You know that you’re already great but there is still room for improvement.

Not because you’re confident with how you read your patients means that it’s the truth. Sometimes, they deceive you and that’s a case that you have to improve with yourself.

It’s almost five and a few moments from now, you’ll have your last patient for the day. The truth is, you’re already exhausted with all the work you did today and given that it’s friday. Tomorrow, it’s a rest day, therefore, things should be done until today if you want to enjoy the weekend. But in your case, you’ll most probably work with the book you’re currently writing.

Jeon Jungkook is your last patient for the day and hopefully, after the session, both of you will feel relief.

“Hello, Dr. Y/N. You look so tired. Are you okay?” Jungkook asked you as he removed his bomber jacket revealing his full sleeve tattoo. He has a taste in fashion and it suits him so well. With his tall and muscular body, he can wear anything and still look stunning. Beside his body build, Jungkook is handsome. With his beautiful doe eyes and perfect smile, he can captivate anyone. And it’s something that you should be cautious about.

“I’m fine, Jungkook. You don’t have to worry about me.” You slightly smile and insist him to sit on the sofa. “Please take a seat. How are you?” You try to energize your voice to hide your exhaustion.

"Today was supposed to be great until one of my employees messed around at work. His name is Bryan, and ever since he got hired, he's been getting on my nerves. If it weren't for the fact that he's my uncle's son, I would have fired him right from the beginning," he began, settling into his seat.

“What happened?”

“He lost the memory card of the camera I used from the photoshoot yesterday and now, we had to redo the shoot.” His eyebrows scrunch as he tightens his lips.

“Your feelings are valid, Jungkook. It’s okay to feel that way. What you can do to control your emotions when you’re in that situation is to leave and take a break where you can breathe.”

“You’re right. But now, I feel okay. Relief even. I just fired him from being incompetent. Someone like him doesn’t belong in my studio, anyway.”

You take a pause to look at him. He looks at you with a blank stare and when he does that, he’s unbothered or doesn’t care. You admit that he’s not easy to read but you’ve learned to master his gesture and there is something about him that feels off.

“Can you tell me why his action results in you firing him?”

“Because he’s useless and I don’t need useless people in my team.” He responds like the answer is already obvious.

“Don’t you think that he can improve?” His gaze intensifies and after a moment, he smirks.

“My studio is not a training ground, Dr. Y/N. It’s a place where you should already master what you’re doing.” His fingers move in his lips to play with it, eyes still bore at you.

“I’ve established my business from the scratch and I’ve poured my blood sweat and tears just for my business to be in where it is now. Perhaps, I have the right to do anything that's better for my studio. I know what my worth is. Don’t you think, Dr. Y/N?”

He’s full of himself. But you didn’t say that.

“Well, you have a point, Jungkook. But you’re the one who said it. Your studio is made from scratch and perhaps, you know what being in your lowest point feels like.” You try to smile genuinely. “It’s okay to know your worth and at the same time, look back where you came from.” You looked at his medical records and proceeded. “How’s your condition? Are you still experiencing anxiety?”

“30 minutes ago. When I was traveling to get here.”

“Why? What’s running in your mind?” He wiggled his ankle and continued to play with his lips, thinking of the answer.

“I was nervous during the ride. I don’t know but sometimes, you make me feel nervous.” He let out a playful chuckle.

“Why?”

“The fact that you knew everything about me makes me feel something. You’ve known everything about me yet I don’t know a single thing about you.” You don’t understand what's his point so you try to laugh to ease the heavy feeling you feel right now.

“Of course, you knew me, Jungkook. You’ve mentioned that you knew me even before the session started.” You give him a smile and you put down the folder that you are holding right now.

"Yeah, I know you, Doc. Everyone knows you. I'm aware of everything that's public about you. What I want to know is who Dr. Y/N is without her MD and PhD. What do you do during your days off, and what are your hobbies besides helping people with their problems?" He glanced at the wall beside you, where a painting of you hangs. It's a picture of you that people can see in your books, a gift from Yunjin.

You’ve known Jeon Jungkook with his traumas and all however, you don’t know what he’s up to right now. He entered your clinic being a fragile person with his traumas and right now, it felt like you’re talking to another person. Maybe because this is him without his diagnosis.

And you don’t know how to feel about it.

—

It’s a photoshoot day for a magazine featuring you as a doctor and an author as well. It’s a media organization focusing on psychology and human behavior and you’re delighted to be featured for the upcoming magazine. You’ve already featured in some magazine but this time, it’s different because it’s ‘Psychology Today.’

You’re now on your way going to the studio with your team along with your agent, Kim. You seem to look calm and relax but deep down, nervousness is wrapping your insides. It is by far the biggest media organization where you will be featured and it’s another achievement of yours.

As you get out of your car, you weren’t surprised that the location where the photoshoot is going to be held is this enormous. It’s a four-story building located at the center of the city. You’re not sure if the media organization also owns this but as you looked at the name of the building, it looks like it isn’t.

GCF Studio

As you enter the building, you are greeted by enthusiastic guards and staff, which motivates you even more for this shoot with them. The interior is minimalist, with the entire first floor being plain white. When you walk through the glass door, the first thing you see is the reception desk. To the right, there are couches and a coffee table where people can wait, and to the left, there's a cafeteria. You walk straight ahead toward the elevator, and one of your assistants presses the button for the third floor.

As the elevator door opened, you were greeted by a hallway with various doors, clearly indicating it's a working area where the shoot takes place. You walk a few steps before entering through double doors, where you find a bustling room filled with people busy at work. It resembles a dressing room but on a larger scale, with various outfits hanging, and several vanity mirrors where people can prepare for their shoot. It's fantastic.

“Good morning Dr. Y/N. Before we proceed with the shoot, I’d like to discuss with you what look you’ll be having for today. You also have full control of what you would like to look at and we’re here to assist you.” You are greeted by a young male with full of feminine energy. He’s tall and petite wearing a white blouse and a sweater that is hanging on his shoulder. He leads the way and you smile before you follow him.

You’ve thought that this photoshoot will only take an hour of your time but you’re wrong because an hour just passed and they were still dressing you up. You didn’t feel uncomfortable because everyone is approachable and enthusiastic. They made you feel that you’re indeed their client.

After an hour and a half of preparation, you finally entered the photoshoot studio, and once again, you found many people inside. You're not entirely sure about each person's specific role here, but everyone is clearly occupied.

But the atmosphere immediately changed when the door swung open. It was chaotic seconds ago and right now, everyone is silent looking at the person who just entered.

You saw a familiar figure. His tall and muscular figure is very familiar to you. He’s wearing a black slacks and a casual long sleeve polo that’s folded up until his elbow where you can clearly see half of his tattoo while his hair is pulled back.

Jeon Jungkook is undeniably handsome and he knows it.

“What’s this chaos? I told you that once I’ve entered the studio, everything should be ready.” His voice was threatening as he spoke with authority. A side of him that you’re not surprised to see.

What surprised you is the fact that he’s inside of the studio.

What is he doing here?

Everyone works silently as if they were being oppressed in their workplace. They were enthusiastic and approachable seconds ago and it all changed when he entered inside.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. It wasn’t obvious how you look surprised to see me here, aren’t you?” Jungkook gave you a boastful smile like he doesn’t look threatening a few moments ago.

A sign of bipolar disorder.

“Welcome to GCF Studio where there is no room for failure.”

You will be working with one of your patients and you’re not even aware of that.

Ethically, there is nothing wrong with working with your patients outside the session but you aren’t fond of that. The idea of working with your patient outside the session doesn’t suit you and particularly with the patient that is in front of you right now.

You haven’t thought of the reason why but you just don’t.

Everything is already set up, and you are now behind the backdrop while Jungkook is holding the camera, ready to capture everything. You're confident in the outcome of this shoot, but at this moment, it feels like everything is crashing down at your feet. Everyone is looking at you with high hopes for the result of this photoshoot, and you wouldn't want to ruin it.

“Smile for me, Y/N.”

—

You don’t know how you manage to end the photoshoot smoothly knowing that Jungkook is making you uncomfortable. You were mad at yourself because you don’t know why you felt that way. He isn’t doing anything but to do his job in taking a photo of you.

Now that you're home, you don't have anything to be distressed about when thinking about what happened during the shoot.

You have to admit that there is something wrong with his words and actions. There are signs that he’s becoming manipulative and a sudden change of mood. He's self-absorbed and lacks remorse for others. You’ve been thinking that there are other diagnoses with his actions and behaviors however, you cannot suddenly show up and tell what other illness he has. You still have to observe your sessions with him.

You have now freshen up and are ready to rest but you decide to visit your office to check your schedule for tomorrow and the following days. You only have one patient for tomorrow and most of your schedules are meetings. Before you log out, you glance at the folder of Jungkook in your patient list and you click it subconsciously.

Jeon Jungkook, 31-year old male who suffers from PTSD, after surviving an extremely traumatic incident.

He witnessed his mother die in front of him and aside from that, he was also shot in his left thighs twice. And it happens in the comfort of their home.

The suspect? A loan shark who’s coming for his mother.

There are a lot of questionable things that happened during the incident and one of them is how come that he always claimed to have a successful business while his mother is buried in debt? He also claimed that he doesn’t know about the debt of his mother. There are several inconsistencies in his story but the bottom line is, the loan shark surrendered and is now in maximum security prison for murdering his mother.

You transfer the recordings you made over the following days to your computer and listen to one of them, specifically the conversations you had with Jungkook.

You have 12 sessions in total with him and you have 5 more sessions left before it finally comes to an end. You don’t count the remaining number of sessions with your patient until now.

—

You love to read books during your free time, However, it most likely does not happen due to your busy schedule. But right now, you take a break from everything and decide to go on a date with yourself. You don’t normally take a break but you’re becoming busier than usual and you don’t want to risk your health because you know that there are a lot of people that need you.

You’re not a fan of going out and you prefer to stay at home and rest but getting out of your comfort zone won’t hurt you. You decided to visit your favorite cafe and do your thing there. You dislike rowdy places, that’s why you went early in the morning where people are still in the comfort of their bed.

You underestimate the morning and how you’re used to people getting up mostly before lunch yet there are people who also like you—waking up at 6 in the morning to get a morning coffee in their favorite cafe.

“Dr. Y/N! You’re here!” You lift your head to see Jeon Jungkook standing in front of you with his bright smile while holding a cup of coffee.

Among all the people you could meet here, you don't understand why it had to be him.

“Jungkook. I didn’t know you’re here.” You try to return the smile and you almost fail when he sits in front of you.

He’s wearing a casual polo shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. Unlike the last time you saw him, every strand of his hair is falling into a harmonious arrangement. It looks so soft and suits him well. He looked effortlessly handsome as usual.

“Just grab a coffee and then, I saw you.” He smiles sweetly before he gazes down at the book you’re reading. “I don’t know why I am surprised that you like reading books even for the fact that you’re an author.”

"I read when I have time," you respond. "How are you?" you add, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself.

“I’m doing amazing. I’m continuing to write in my journal like what you suggest. It does help me a lot, Dr. Y/N.” He takes a sip from his coffee as he gets comfortable in his seat. He’s not leaving any moment now.

“That’s good. Journaling really works.” You just said whatever is in your mind because you’re thinking of an excuse to leave.

“That’s right. But we’re not in the session right now, Doc. We don’t always have to talk about me.” He leans backward as he glances at your book once again. “The four agreements. I’ve read that book before. It’s good. You’re really into self-help books, aren’t you? You like to write and read about them.”

“Yes. It does help me to improve my writing. How about you? I didn’t know that you also read nonfiction books.”

“I started to read because of your books, Doc.” He looks at your eyes filled with tenderness, traced the curves of your face as if he's memorizing it.

He’s been looking at you like that lately as if he wants you to drown with the way he stares. The way he looks at you carries an underlying tone, and truthfully, that's one of the reasons why you've become uncomfortable around him.

“I’m glad that I’ve encouraged you to read books.” You answer while looking at your wrist watch hoping that he understands that you wanted to leave already.

“Your photos from the last time were amazing. Our team has already sent you the soft copy. Did you receive it?” You do but you didn’t tell him.

“I haven’t seen it but I’ll check it out later.” You looked at your wrist watch once again.

“Yeah, you should. They were amazing. You’re stunning as always.” His eyes twinkled but you didn’t notice that.

“I want to thank you and your team for working hard on this shoot. I do appreciate it so much.” you smile and look at your wrist watch for the last time. “I’m afraid that I have to leave you right now. I already have to go home.”

“That fast? We haven’t talked a lot, Doc.” He fixed you with a steadfast gaze and you were caught off-guard. You’re thinking of what to respond but you were out of words. After a few seconds, he chuckles. “I was just kidding, Doc. I know how busy you are and I understand that.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “I apologize, Jungkook. There are a lot of things that I have to do. But I’ll see you on tuesday.”

“You don’t have to apologize because I understand. Yes, I’ll see you on Tuesday, Dr. Y/N.”

—

Tuesday came and you just woke up yet you already wanted to end this day. It’s strange that you haven’t properly started your day but you already feel heavy to move forward. Yesterday was exhausting for all the work you’ve done and you didn’t get home until 10pm, however, it doesn’t justify your heavy feeling right now. You’ve experienced worse so you don’t understand why you feel this way.

As you make your way to the clinic, you receive numerous work-related calls, and you're already feeling tired from answering them. However, you have no choice but to attend to them.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. Your first patient has already arrived. Do you want me to let him wait inside your office or here in the lobby?” The receptionist spoke on the other line.

“You can let him in. I’m almost there.” When the traffic light turns green, you already move. “Is it Mr. Park?” You asked.

“No. It’s Mr. Jeon, Doc.”

Damn. That’s why the morning feels heavy.

As you arrive inside your office, you spot Jungkook in the corner looking at the frames that are standing in the chest drawers. The air conditioner is already on–Soyeon the receptionist must have turned it on. He immediately turned his head towards you when you opened the door and greeted you with his charming smile.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. I thought you'd take longer to arrive because the receptionist already let me in.” He greeted and walked his way towards the sofa–where your patient normally sits.

“I was stuck in the traffic. You know, morning rush hour.” You responded as you placed your things on your office table.

Jungkook is a punctual person. He may arrive early or on time but he is never late. If you count the things that you like about him, you’re counting nothing because that’s the only thing you like about him.

“How are you?” Is the first thing you asked him when you get comfortable with your seat. You press the record button on your phone that's hidden from him.

“Bad. I met my father last night and I wish I didn’t.” He brushed his hair back and slouched on his seat.

It's the first time he mentioned his father at the beginning of a conversation because he never does unless you ask about it. From his descriptions, his father seems like a terrible person. He never fulfilled his role as a father, often creating conflicts with his mother. His family life seems chaotic, and you believe it might be one of the reasons he's become the person he is today.

“Why did you meet him?”

“He just showed up to my house without permission to talk about bullshit. My life is already at peace and he’s ruining it.” His jaw tightened.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your eyes locked into him as you try reading his mind. You know that every patient that walks into your office has different problems in life and they are sometimes hard to predict but this man in front of you is something else. There is something in him that you couldn’t understand.

“No. He’s a waste of time. He’s really… Okay, I’ll talk about him briefly. He’s a horrible person and he doesn’t deserve to be a father to me. I never got to experience the love from a father because the only thing that he gave me is hatred. He always gets drunk and gamble and he cheated with my mom multiple times. I’m not going to be surprised when I find out that I have other siblings from different mothers. He’s the worst person I’ve known.”

You find his explanation vague but you didn’t think much about it and you let him continue.

“Do you have other instances where you see the different side of your father? Something that makes him a person to you?” You asked.

“None. Even during childhood. Especially now that he only wants money from me. He and mother are very similar to each other. Maybe that’s why they end up together. They both pissed me off and even though my mother is not here anymore, I can remember her because of my shitty father.”

You were taken aback with what he just said. He never badmouthed his mother until now. When he discussed his mother, there is nothing else he said rather than how he misses her and how she’s a great mother to him.

But you didn’t say anything about it and let him elaborate what he just said.

“Do you think that your parents do the same thing?” You asked–hoping that he doesn’t suspect your question.

“Yeah. They may be doing it in different ways of being a shitty person but they are the same for being useless parents.” He puts his index finger on his lips and slowly rubs it while resting his elbow on the arm rest, looking at you with intensity.

You’re finding a word to say but you found nothing. You wanted to look away but it would indicate that he caught you off-guard.

You saw a glimpse of his demonic character for a second. His eyes that had once been warm and inviting, now bore into you with an unnerving intensity as if trying to peer into your soul.

He spoke once again and his voice took on a low, whispery, and the words that slipped from his lips sent chills down your spine.

"Maybe that's why she died. Now, I wonder when my father will be next."

—

You're standing on the side of the street embracing the subtle chill in the air as the city lights painted the night with different colors. People are walking by and snippets of hushed conversations drifted on the breeze while the flow of traffic added to the scene with vehicles weaving through the crowd.

You don’t know why Taehyung is taking so long to arrive. You’ve been waiting for him on the sidewalk for 10 minutes already when in fact, he should have been here 30 minutes ago. You’re going to come with him on his event show because he’s been annoying you for the whole week to come with him and for him to stop, you just agreed.

What pisses you off more is that he's running late, and your stomach is growling. You haven't had dinner because Taehyung assured you that he'd swing by the drive-thru to grab something for you to eat.

You're waiting for Taehyung, but someone else showed up in front of you.

“Dr. Y/N, hi!” You met Jeon Jungkook’s eyes with his bright and warm smile. He’s wearing a gray hoodie and skinny jeans that fit him perfectly. You looked in the surroundings of him if he's with someone and it seems that there’s none.

“Hello, Jungkook. You’re heading somewhere?” You gave him a warm smile that hopefully, doesn’t look like it’s forced.

“Yeah. I’m going out for dinner. I was actually in that building,” He pointed out the building behind you and it looked like a law firm office. “I already saw you when I entered there but I didn’t have the chance to greet you because I’m in a hurry and now, you’re still here.” He glances at the road and returns his eyes to you. “You’re waiting for someone?”

“Uhm, yeah. I am.” You looked at your phone to see if Taehyung had a message but there’s none.

“You’ve been here for a couple of minutes already. Are you sure that they are still going to make it here?”

“Yeah. Maybe they—

You were taken aback when your stomach started to growl and heck, it’s so loud that you want the grounds to eat you alive. You were sure that your face was burning red and you couldn’t bear to make eye-contact with him as your gaze fixed elsewhere.

You glance at him as a soft chuckle rumbles in his throat. “I already hate the person that keeps you waiting in hunger. You know what, I’d love to treat you for dinner with me and drive you to your destination afterwards. Or we can just go to a drive-thru.” If he’s someone else, maybe you will consider his offer.

“No, it’s okay Jungkook. You don’t have to do that.” You glance at your phone to pretend that someone messages you. “My friend is already on his way. You can go.”

“Your friend of yours is really something else. What kind of man is he for making you wait for so long on the street with your stomach empty?” His voice took on a sharp edge as his eyebrows knitted together.

“I’m really fine. You don’t have to think about me.” You force a smile as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

“I insist, Dr. Y/N. I really want to treat you for being there for me during my worst days. You help me a lot and I want to get you something to show my appreciation. It’s nothing big and I will be guilty if I just leave you here.”

“I really appreciate your gesture, Jungkook, but I have other plans. Maybe next time?” You smile hoping that he understands that you don’t really want to go with him.

“With the same guy that made you wait in the cold air? Oh come on, Doc. You know better.” He spoke in a pompous tone, as if he proved that Taehyung is a horrible guy.

“You can make up to me some other time. I’m really–

You haven’t finished your sentence when Taehyung’s audi arrives beside you and he instantly gets out to meet your gaze.

“Y/N! I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. The traffic is so heavy.” He didn’t notice Jungkook until he opened the passenger’s seat and slowly glanced beside you. Jungkook released a sarcastic laugh and glared at Taehyung.

“What a surprise that Kim Taehyung–a famous musician and artist let a lady wait in the cold breeze with an empty stomach. I didn’t know that you’re such a gentleman, Taehyung.” He spoke in a mocking tone as Taehyung looked at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“You wouldn’t want to know.” He arched a brow before he returned his gaze to you. “If you really insist on being with this guy, then I’ll leave you already. I just hope that he won’t completely ruin your precious night.” He said before he finally turned around and walked away–placing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. When he’s already out of sight, you turn your head to Taehyung and glare at him.

“What?” You suddenly smack his chest before you hopped in the car.

“Damn you.”

—

It didn't take long before Jungkook was back, sitting on the couch in front of you. You’ve realized that your day always feels heavy every Tuesday of the week and that is whenever you’re going to have a session with him.

You've tried to shake off the discomfort you feel when he's in front of you because you regret thinking of him differently from your other patients, but every time you try, he makes it worse.

“Are you taking your medicines I’ve prescribed you?” You scan his record file that you’re holding.

“Yeah. I consistently take them, Doc.” He responded as he smugly looked at you and before you think of negative thoughts of him, you already returned your gaze back to the folder.

“Are you still having nightmares during your sleep?” He didn’t instantly respond like he’s thinking about the question carefully.

“I do. I still do, Dr. Y/N. But it wasn’t worse, unlike what I have for the last months.”

“Then it’s a good sign. You’re now improving. Are you still thinking about the incident?” You give him a genuine smile while he slowly crosses his legs and places both of his arms on the arm rest.

“Yes, but not as frequently as before. I love my mother so much but I’ve learned to let her go and accept the fate she has. Afterall, it was her fault.” He was looking at the painting that Yunjin had given you as he answered. He doesn’t have much of a reaction but his last sentence caught your attention.

“Why do you think that it’s her fault?” You ask in your soft voice.

“You see, my mother isn’t the perfect mother and she has her mistakes and sometimes, she doesn’t learn from them. She keeps doing the same thing until she has to pay for it and that costs her life.” He responded.

“Do you want to talk about the mistakes that your mother made?” He smiled and played with his lips once again. You’ve noticed that he’s doing that if he finds something funny or there are things that he knows and you don’t.

“But we will take forever if we discuss it right now, Dr. Y/N. But if you’re really interested, we can talk about it over dinner. You promised me last time that you’ll come with me for dinner.” You mentally rolled your eyes with his statement. Here he goes again.

“Not right now. I still have a lot of things to do but we can talk about other things like how great your mother is.” You said and he laughed—as if your statement is absurd. You try to not raise your brows with his action and behavior.

“Let's not talk about that, either.”

You were doing your best to understand his actions and statements but there is something in him that you haven’t seen. Something that will answer everything

“But I will tell you how I see my mother during the incident.” He leaned forward and intertwined his fingers “When my mother is kneeling and begging for her life, I was thinking that ‘damn. It’s really happening, isn't it?’. And when the trigger was pulled, the world stopped. And after a few moments, I felt a sense of relief and before I knew it, I was shot as well.” His voice was soft and light as if he’s confessing something that he should have confessed before.

You felt a shiver down your spine as the creeping horror crawled along your arms, raising goosebumps. You held unflinching eye contact, determined to keep your composure and hide the discomfort and fear you felt.

“Where were you when your mom was being shot?” You asked as you held your breath.

This question is already asked during the investigation. ‘I’m in the living room, 10 feet away from her. When I saw her position and situation, I immediately ran towards her but it was too late because before I even reached her, she was already shot in the chest. It didn’t take 10 seconds of my life before I was shot as well’.

But you still ask him once again. Away from the detectives.

“I was there, I told you.”

“Yes, but in what position?” Your hands are already trembling.

“I was standing,” He took a deep breath before he continued. His next sentence didn’t surprise you because it was something you already expect but trying to deny it to yourself, and it terrifies you, so much that you thought that this may be your last day.

“After I was shot, I collapsed, along with the gun I was holding.”

a/n: I'm almost done with the whole series so I've decided to post the first part. I hope you'll like this new fic because I enjoy writing it! I am open for comments to further improve my works. Have a nice day everyone!

taglist: @iloverubberduckiez-blog @kingofbodyrolls @fangirl-death-rose @looneybleus @softie00

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lovebugism · 1 year ago

Note

Could you do a little something for exploring a graveyard with Eddie??? It’s something I genuinely really enjoy doing but haven’t gotten to do a lot and I just feel like Eddie would like it to. Maybe Eddie and reader make a little game out of it where they try to find the oldest headstone?

Thanks bug! I love your writing. ♥️

ty lovie! this sort of pre-date, but let me know if you want smth different!! — eddie picks you up to take you on a graveyard date, which is strange, 'cause you're basically a ball of sunshine (established relationship, fluff, 1.3k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie comes to pick you up from Family Video, and you’re beaming like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him.

You’re all smiles when the front door dings open, ushering in the crisp smell of autumn and the cig he’d smoked on the way over — ‘cause he doesn’t like to do it around you much. You too quickly abandon whatever you’d been rambling about to an only halfway understanding Steve. It doesn’t feel very important anymore.

“Eds!” you blurt, excited and loud with it. You light up the store with ease. The grey mood is suddenly aglow with a mixture of vivid hues, sparkling pinks and blues and yellows. Eddie’s almost convinced he never saw color until he met you.

But he tries to be all cool about it. Metal.

He waltzes in with his leather jacket and tight jeans and boyish hubris because that’s what he thinks he has to do.

He’s the bad boy. The guy with the band and the wild hair. Sometimes, he thinks he only got you because he was like no one you’d ever met before — the complete and utter opposite of you.

But then you bound off the counter and rush to him, sheer tights rubbing and flouncy skirt swishing, and he’s grinning just like you are. Big and rosy and almost aching. Bright enough to illuminate a galaxy.

“You look pretty,” he compliments in place of a greeting, laughing into your hair when he wraps you in his arms.

His clothes are cold from the outside weather, but he’s somehow still warm. His arms curl intently around you, palms settling wide on your spine. It’s all cologne and leave-in conditioner, nicotine and the minty gum he tried to cover it up with. You could drown in it, happily.

“You look prettier,” you tell him, though it’s mostly muffled into his neck.

His chin juts back when he pulls away from you. He keeps a gentle hold of you, though, just moves far enough back to see you more. The smile he looks at you with makes your stomach do backflips.

“Ready to go?”

You nod, wide-eyed and rapid. “I’ve been ready to go since I got here this morning!”

Eddie chuckles when you rise on the tips of your toes to smack a kiss to his cheek. He’s cold and milky white, but glowing warm and soft pink the second you pull away.

“Hey!” Steve grouses from where he leans over the counter, arms crossed and brows pinched.

Robin shares a similar pout, sitting ahead of him in the swivel chair. Her arms are folded over the table, and her chin is propped on her wrist. It bobs against her hands when she complains with her usual grittiness. “Rude.”

You wince when you walk by them, unbuttoning the clasps of your mandated Family Video vest. Your arms shuffle awkwardly as you try to tug it over your fluffy sweater. “Sorry…” you grimace sincerely. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

They already knew that, though. Because you never do. Sometimes, you can sound a little cruel, but you never truly mean to be. You’re very honest in your gentleness, a bit brute when you’re trying to be coy.

To Eddie, it’s the hottest thing since seeing you in his clothes for the first time.

You’re gone for no longer than a minute. Just enough to hang up your vest on the rack in the break room and grab your tote bag from your locker. It’s a simple, beige canvas thing you painted the Hellfire logo on top of — because you wanted to rep your boyfriend and everything, but the club tees clashed too heavily with your outfits.

You can hear Steve and Eddie bickering back and forth down the hall.

“—I’m taking her on a date, actually,” you hear your boy say, a smile evident in his voice. “You still know what these are, right? Or have you forgotten after your decade of abstinence?”

Steve scoffs. “Okay, for your information, I go on plenty of dates—”

“Yeah, it’s the aggression that’s so convincing.” Eddie tries his best not to laugh through his sarcasm. You vaguely hear Robin let out a poorly muted snort.

“—And I’m not abstinent, alright?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Ask your mom.”

“She’s dead, you dick.”

A beat of silence passes. Steve’s grows quieter, much more gentle. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

Eddie doesn’t verbally accept his apology. He doesn’t need to. It’s unsaid by now. That’s their whole thing — they just argue back and forth until one of them makes a bigger dumbass out of themself. Steve loses, most of the time.

“Where are you guys even going?” Robin wonders aloud, if only to stop the meaningless bickering.

You appear from the back then, out of your uniform and ready to leave the wretched nine-hour shift behind. You’re practically the personification of autumn — chunky vinyl boots, sheer tights, plaid skirt, and oversized fluffy turtleneck.

And Eddie’s just… Eddie.

“A graveyard!” you answer, smiling a bit too brightly.

She blinks at you in return, like she must’ve heard you wrong. “Excuse me— a what?”

“A cemetery! The one by Forest Hills— did you know it’s one of the oldest cemeteries in the state? I’m pretty sure it was built in, like, the 1800s or something! We’re gonna see if we can find the oldest headstone!”

At a loss of how to respond to you and your sparkling optimism, Steve just nods. “Wow. The eighteen hundreds, huh? That’s, like, at least a decade ago, right?”

“Try twenty of ‘em, Harrington,” Eddie jokes as he wraps a heavy arm around your shoulder.

The brunette boy scoffs. “Cool it, Eighty-Six.”

“Are you two gonna keep flirting, or are you gonna take your girlfriend to the graveyard date?” Robin monotones with playfully squinted eyes.

“I’d answer you, but I wouldn’t wanna give Harrington a complex.” Eddie bends his arm to pull you closer. He brushes a fleeting peck to your temple and turns on his heel to walk towards the entrance, inevitably pulling you with him.

“Keep your hands to yourself while you’re ghost hunting, creeps!” Steve calls to the two of you. “Public indecency is a serious crime!”

The front door dings again. An autumn breeze takes your breath away. Everything is blue and orange and yellow, colors vivid enough to taste.

Eddie wraps his fingers around the metal handle, keeping the entrance open for you as you walk through it. He flashes his friends a crooked smile over his shoulder. “I don’t plan on being publicly indecent in front of a bunch of ghosts, but I am gonna kiss her stupid before the night’s over.”

Steve’s chiseled features scrunch with disdain. You’re practically the personification of sunshine; it’s hard for him to imagine you as anything but pure — harder to imagine you sucking face with Eddie Munson. Or just you and Eddie Munson at all.

The door thuds shut behind you. Steve and Robin watch silently as Eddie leads you to his van. You wrap both your arms around one of his, smiling up at him and mouthing something they can’t quite make out.

He opens the passenger seat door for you. You smack a kiss on his cheek before you get inside. Eddie’s blushing something fierce while he rounds the hood.

“She’s super funny, she’s pretty — way too pretty for Munson, and now she’s going to a cemetery. With him,” Steve gripes, mostly to himself, completely and utterly dumbfounded. If there was ever a time to believe the swirling rumors about Eddie Munson and his devil magic, it’d be right now.

“Yeah…” Robin hums, voice quiet and far away.

“How the hell did he manage that?”

“I don’t know… But I think I’m in love with her.”

Steve takes his eyes off the parting van and flashes his best friend an incredulous gape.

It knocks Robin from her daze. Her ocean eyes widen as she rambles in a useless attempt to defend herself. “What? She plays with my hair when I get headaches and lets me talk about shit I like, even though I know she has zero idea what I’m talking about! That’s, like, my top two languages, Steve!”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: fictober!

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sanjisjuul · 11 months ago

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Therapist Law!

Summary: Law is a kinky therapist

Cw: fem reader, cursing, spanking, fingering

Note: if you've seen this before it's because its from my old account! i'm working on recovering all my fics and thanks to @pileofmush this one has been located in its entirety!

Word count: 3.2k

Mdni 18+

the ticking of the clock on the sad beige walls reverberates through your eardrums as you bounce your leg up and down in anticipation. a metallic taste tingles your taste buds as you draw blood from how hard you're chewing on your lip.

therapy. something you've wanted to do, but simultaneously put off for years. a recent break up that you initiated caused you to finally seek a doctor. your past lover, while a good person, didn't provide the affection you so much craved. you felt ignored, a bother almost, everything you put in was almost consumed rather than given back. not to mention sexually you were more than less satisfied, your partner always getting their needs met and not bothering to give yours any attention.

now you're sat in an uncomfortable leather chair, the squeaking making you cringe internally as you shift around. you try to search the walls for any distraction to calm your nerves, but the barren office offers absolutely nothing.

"y/n?" the soft voice of the receptionist breaks you from your inner thoughts. you look up at her and hum in question as she smiles softly at you. "dr. trafalgar is ready to see you, he's in room 5 whenever you're ready."

you stand slowly, the crack of your joints causing a jolt of pain to run through your body. you pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands before heading down the hall in search of the room. blank white doors stare back at you as you trudge down the hall. each door with a large black number plastered on it. you come to a halt when seeing the door with a number five. you reach your hand to knock, but the creak of the door causes you to jump in place.

"come in," a deep man's voice speaks, quietly, but enough for the entire hallway to echo around you. without looking up you push past the door before closing it softly behind you. you turn around slowly, getting a glimpse of the room. Dr. Trafalgar's back is turned to you, he sits at a dark wooden desk adjacent to the door typing something rapidly on his computer. floating shelves litter the walls, filled with books, fidget toys, and what seemed to be action figures. a few posters hang from old movies and comic books which contrasts the sterility of the rest of the building, giving you a sense of comfort. there's a black leather chair sitting in the corner which rests next to a large monstera plant to which you take a seat.

"you must be miss y/n." the doctor speaks his large back still turned to you. you fidget with sleeves, "yes," you smile although he still cannot see you. "alright then," he presses enter on his keyboard before swiveling around in his chair to face you. you almost choke on air upon his front side coming into view. piercing grey eyes bore into yours, a raven mop of hair sits atop his head styled a bit messily. his cheekbones and jawline defined with pretty pink lips and a black goatee resting on his chin. your eyes shamelessly trail down his body as yours heats up. he's dressed business casual, black slacks, black loafers, and long sleeved black button down. he wears two gold hoops on each ear, but what you least expected are the two large tattoos covering each hand, surprising to say the least, but you certainly aren't complaining.

"so tell me," he breaks your trance, spreading his long legs to rest his elbows on each thigh, holding his face in his knuckles as he leans forward, eyes never leaving yours, "what brings you in?" he licks his lips, almost as if he's reading your mind. you could have sworn you saw a ghost of a smirk before you start speaking. "well um basically i just want to better myself. i just left a long relationship and want to understand why i stayed so long, why i put myself through so much mental anguish."

dr. trafalgar nods his head, eyebrows furrowed as he actively listens to what you have to say, "well let's start with this. tell me about your last relationship. what occurred, and how it ended." he reaches for a notepad, pen and reading glasses on his desk, before sliding the glasses on and reassuming his previous position.

you stumble a bit before starting your sentence, the glasses on his handsome face distracting you as you try to recall your memories. "um.. well yeah, i basically felt ignored, almost an afterthought," you start. you go on a long rant recalling all of your frustrating memories, the times you felt like a bother, the constant effort you put in to get none in return, and the way this affected you which ultimately led you to leave.

dr. trafalgar takes notes as you go, looking up every so often to give you a look of understanding, not one of pity which you've received far too many times as of late. you catch your breath as you finish, feeling a sense of relief as you finish your recollection.

"well, if i'm going to be honest, he sounds like a complete idiot." dr. trafalgar starts, before leaning back in his chair. "i'm glad you were able to leave without many complications. it takes a lot of courage to leave something long term as you just have."

you smile at his statement before continuing, "to me it should have ended long ago, being with him was more of a past time, i was just scared of being lonely. which in hindsight was a bit stupid because i have friends who have been there for me more than he ever was."

your doctor smiles at you, "that isn't stupid miss y/n. many people fear being alone, it's completely normal. i am very glad to hear you have friends that support you"

"i don't know,' you start. "it just feels like my life was on halt for such a long period of time. if anything i'm glad to be single now so i can actually explore other options."

he cocks an eyebrow, "options?"

you feel the blood rush to your cheeks upon answering, "options... as in other sexual partners, romantic or not." you close your eyes momentarily as you feel embarrassment creep it's way through your body.

"were you not satisfied sexually?" he sets his notepad on the desk besides him, and removes his glasses, running a large hand through his raven locks. you try not to linger your stare on his long fingers, each digit tattooed, making you feel... things.

"well to be completely honest no." you advert your gaze from your sexy ass therapist and chew on your lip before continuing. "it's just going back to effort. he didn't make effort for me emotionally, physically, nor sexually. i always made sure that he was taken care of.. if you know what i mean."

dr. trafalgar pauses for a moment, "well if you're comfortable we can go through that aspect of the relationship as well. just remember, this is all on your terms miss y/n." he locks eyes with yours once again, his face stern as he speaks.

your face heats up as you look down. you planned on talking about this with your doctor, but didn't expect him to be so... attractive. you feel his gaze on your face before you sigh. you lift your head to meet dr. trafalgars gaze, to which he stares intently back at you.

his silence makes you continue, "in two years how do you not make somebody cum?" you question frustratedly. "he didn't even try, he even blamed me at one point, can you fucking believe that?" you sigh in anger. "i used to excuse myself into another room to take care of myself," you laugh in disbelief, "it was just so frustrating." you finish, if you were in a cartoon steam would be seeping out from your ears.

"may i ask?" dr. trafalgar moves his chair a few inches closer, "when was the last time somebody besides yourself made you cum?" you're taken aback at his question, but not uncomfortable in the slightest. you lean forward resting your chin in your hands before pondering, "s' been years, i can't even remember to be honest with you."

your doctor bites his lip before speaking, "and would you say, that has caused some sexual frustration on your end?" you nod, too distracted to vocalize an answer as you watch him chew on his lip.

"while in that relationship did you ever consider pursuing any other sexual partners?" he shifts in his chair crossing his legs.

you pause in thought, "yeah, i honestly did. i never acted on those thoughts though, i would have felt terrible."

dr. trafalgar clenches his jaw, "how about now? do you have any desire to fulfill your needs as of late?" he leans back in his chair, legs still crossed as if he's hiding something.

you feel feverish at this point, his line of questioning mixed with the pure aura of sex he exudes is too much for you to handle. "i-i... um yeah. i'm just waiting to find someone who is willing to do the same with me."

"can i be honest miss y/n?" he questions, his icy eyes trained on your lips before darting back to your face. you nod once again as you stare back in awe, nodding.

"i find you to be incredibly attractive," he rolls up his sleeves, revealing more ink along his forearms. "fuck professionality, i want to make you feel good."

you stare back in shock, your lips part slightly and your thighs clench together as you feel the heat in your body settle at your core, dampening your panties. you can't form a sentence even if you try as he stares back at you in dead seriousness.

he rests his hands on his knees before standing, his stature making you feel small as he approaches you, bending down face level with you. . "let me repeat myself," he brushes your hair back, goosebumps forming at the warmth of his large hands. "i want to make you feel good, could i do that for you?" you shudder as his lips meet the shell of your ear, his hand resting on the nape of your neck, other in his pocket as he leans over you.

"please," you squeak, eyes trained on the floor in embarrassment. you feel his other hand reach for your chin to which he tilts up, forcing you to look him in the eyes. his half lidded eyes meet yours as he bites his lip, "look at me when you speak miss y/n." your chest heaves at the proximity, his hand leaves the nape of your neck to grab a fistfull of your hair, holding it firmly to keep your gaze on his.

"please," you whisper, your eyes darting down to his pretty lips, "make me feel good." he smirks, tugging your hair softly, "good girl."

he closes the distance by pressing his lips onto yours. the kiss is soft and passionate. his hand stays wrapped in your hair as his lips dance on yours. he softly prods his tongue to tease your bottom lip. you open your mouth to accept his offering to which he presses his tongue fully in, savoring your taste.

you sigh at the intrusion, the feeling of being kissed correctly felt so foreign to you yet so fucking amazing. your tongues collide as you feverishly make out in his office. you gain the courage to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you, however you didn't realize your strength as the first two buttons of his shirt ripped off completely.

you break the kiss to marvel at his bare collar bones, also littered with tattoos, you groan at the view to which he smirks. "miss y/n," he says in fake surprise, "didn't know you were so eager." you fake pout at his response and he chuckles before removing his hands from you to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt. as each button pops open, your gaze goes further down his body, taking in as much as you could. every muscle, every speck of ink prominent in your eyes as his shirt dropped to the floor.

you reach your shaky hands up slowly to rest on his ab muscles, to which he grabs your wrists, planting them on his torso. you curiously glide your hands up and down, feeling the taut and warm flesh as your slick starts to seep through your yoga pants.

abruptly, he steps back from you, returning back to his chair and taking a seat, reassuming his manspread position. you now understand why his legs were crossed earlier, his cock is painfully erect through the fabric of his slacks.

"cmere," he grunts, and you do as you're told, stepping closer until you're stood directly in front of him. he reaches his hands up to you, wrapping his arms around your torso, bringing you closer. "miss y/n," he speaks, causing you to look down at him. his face is yet again serious, his eyebrows furrowed. "we can stop at any moment you'd like, tell me if it's too much."

you nod your head at his statement, smiling softly, "okay," you whisper. Dr. Trafalgar starts to kiss your stomach through your sweater, his hands raking down your back before reaching dangerously close to your ass. he suddenly halts, "want you bent over on my lap," he grunts, removing his face from your sweater to look up at you. "mhm," you hum as you position yourself over his lap before laying down. your ass is directly below his face, and your face almost touches the floor, but he holds your hair back to prevent that from happening.

"i'm going to start now, tell me if this is okay," Dr. Trafalgar speaks before you feel his hand start to slide up the back of your thighs. he squeezes every so often, causing jolts of electricity to run through your body. once he reaches the crest of your ass he pauses, "this ok?" he questions.

"yes, please continue," you pant out. he hums as his hand slides over your ass, he grips the flesh in his hand squeezing softly before letting go. "such a nice fuckin' ass," he growls before placing a soft slap on your right cheek. you moan in pleasure as he repeats the action to your other cheek. "hmm whats this?" he questions, moving his hand in between your legs, "this wet already miss y/n?" he starts to rub you through your pants collecting the juices that leaked through, humming in the process.

you twitch as his hand makes contact with your clothed cunt. he rubs softly, the teasing driving you mad as your body slightly vibrates under his control. "so sensitive for me yeah?" he questions, before slapping your ass again, harder this time, causing you to moan loudly. "feels s'good doctor," you whine as he places another harsh slap on your ass, causing you to clench around nothing. "you can call me law sweetness," he sounds before spanking you again, this time leaving a stinging sensation behind.

your clit starts to pulsate through your panties, your juices start to coat not only your opening, but now your thighs as well to which law notices, "you like it when i spank you miss y/n?" you yelp as another slap is placed on your behind, "fuck-law yes i love it." he chuckles above you, "good girl."

you feel his hands move up your ass and hook around the waist band of your yoga pants, "ass up," he commands to which you oblige. you arch your back as he slides your pants down your legs, revealing your soaked panties. he hums as his fingers come in contact with your cunt, rubbing circles around the area around your entrance, before slipping one finger inside the fabric.

you shudder as he swipes his finger up and down, collecting as much wetness as he can while creating a delicious friction on your clit. "you like that huh?" he questions as he slips one finger inside of you. you twitch at the feeling, his long and slender finger moves in and out of you, pumping slowly as to warm you up. "y-yes," you pant out as you clench around his finger.

before speeding up any further he slips another finger past your panties and into your entrance, stretching you out so good as you wail out. his grip on your hair tightens as you lose composure, your eyes screw shut in pleasure as his fingers work in and out of you.

when his fingers hook over one particular spot, you twitch involuntarily causing him to chuckle, "so that's the spot huh?" he continues to hit the same spot, his fingers repeatedly hooking in and out of your hole as pressure builds in your lower stomach. curses and moans leave your mouth as you feel yourself losing complete composure. drool seeps from your lips as your body vibrates under his touch.

just when you think it can't get any better he slips his thumb through your panties and onto your clit, rubbing circles as he continues the pace of his fingers. "f-fuck law," you cry out as a tingling sensation overtakes your senses. "yeah? tell me how good it feels," he groans. "feels so fucking good, keep going g-gonna cum," you whine out between breaths. he keeps the pace he set, not speeding up nor slowing down. he releases your hair as your head falls limp he reaches his forearm to catch you, hand moving down to your chest and flicking your nipple through your shirt adding a third point of stimulation.

"say my name," law commands as your climax approaches. your body spasms atop him, "wanna hear you fuckin' say it." you manage to choke out his name, "l-law oh fuck law gonna cum, please please please," you wail your legs shaking harshly.

"that's it baby, cum for me," he grunts as your cunt flutters around his fingers. you cry out as your orgasm washes over you, the triple stimulation giving you the most astounding feeling ever. fire erupts all over your body as your juices coat his hand. his hands keep working you, making sure you ride out your climax fully, as your whole body shudders underneath him. chants of his name leave your mouth as a mantra as you pant for air.

he slows down his movement slowly but surely until he completely stills. your body lays limp on top of him almost collapsing on the floor before he catches you in his arms, pulling you to sit on his lap, wrapping his strong arms around you. you bury your head in the crook of his neck, gasping as you catch your breath. "how was that miss y/n?" law questions, his voice muffled by your shoulder, you feel the rasp of his voice rumble through your spent body. "so. fucking. amazing." you sigh becoming almost limp in his arms.

"i'm glad to hear that," you can feel his smile through the fabric of your sweater which causes you to reciprocate. he pulls you off his shoulder to look you in the eyes, smirking, "so, let's schedule your next appointment."

love, bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა

#love bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა⁩#law smut #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar d water law #one piece fan fiction #one piece law #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #trafalgar op

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hunxi-after-hours · 1 month ago

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hello. no one asked for this but the purpose of this blog is so I can turn my brain upside down, shake it vigorously, and dump out all of my thoughts such that each day I may come closer to my greatest life aspiration (being a himbo) SO. it is now time for me to do a far deeper dive on the production and fight choreography of the 《逆流而上》 performance from season 4 of 《披荆斩棘的哥哥》 / Call Me By Fire than anyone really cares for

still with me? have a drink close by? all right (holds out hand) let's get egregiously deep in the weeds together

BACKGROUND / CONTEXT

《逆流而上》 (something like "Upstream" or "Against the Tide") is all of a four-minute performance by 石凯 Shi Kai, 井胧 Jing Long, and 阿如那 Aruna. combining singing, acting, and some legitimately very good stage combat, the performance presents the narrative of a plucky young upstart gangster (Jing Long), who steals something he probably shouldn't have from a seasoned mob boss (Aruna), and in doing so pulls his friend and maybe gang leader (Shi Kai) into the battle

(where are you getting this plot summary, hunxi? from my brain. unfortunately. because I've watched this performance several dozen times. that is not an exaggeration. this is however simply my interpretation of the performance so Costco container of garlic salt etc etc)

BLOW-BY-BLOW (hah)

aka hold my hand, I am going to walk you through the entire performance

but it's only four minutes! you protest

did I stutter? are you still holding my hand? is now the time to warn you that this post is over five thousand words? well let's get moving then

0:11 - 0:40 Opening

here we are, setting the scene:

jing long's character returns from the street (hear the sirens and street traffic) to their warehouse hideout, carrying a mysterious duffel bag presumably crammed full of whatever he stole from aruna (likely cash, given the lightness of the bag)

glancing over his shoulder, he checks that no one is following him before throwing the bag to his back and skipping his way into the warehouse. he scans (a badge? some other form of RFID?) his way into the front door, swings from an overhead pipe, and slides down the fireman pole to make his entrance onto the stage proper

shi kai's character is established with his feet on the desk, watching security footage and toying with something in his hand (we hear a burst of static and the bleep of a walkie-talkie)

so already! we have learned the following:

jing long reads very much as a cocky young upstart, everyone's little brother who's too hot(headed) and too cocky for his own good

shi kai reads as slightly older, more responsible, more cautious. though he slouches leisurely in his swivel chair, he is still keeping a wary eye on the security footage around the warehouse

in addition, I would like to express my respect and admiration for the costume designers of this piece — note that all of the performers involved in fight choreography (named actors and stuntspeople alike) are dressed in long sleeves, long pants, and sensibly closed-toed shoes. given the physicality of the performance, you'd definitely want clothing that can protect easily-skinned areas like elbows and knees. also, longer (and looser) sleeves and pants can handily hide other padding if needed (e.g. elbow or knee pads, or just extra layers of clothing)

shi kai is dressed in a baggy brown coat over a relatively high-necked black shirt, as well as baggy pants and black leather gloves. the looseness of his outfit leaves much more room for potential padding underneath, which makes sense as the "bruiser" of the two with much more fight choreography. I would dock points for the silly little bandana (what are you wearing that for, your opponent to strangle you with?) but it's a fun accent piece so we'll let it slide on style

jing long is dressed more "stylishly" or roguishly, with a white tank top under a leather jacket that is pushed up to almost his elbows. he also wears full leather gloves, but with holes around the knuckles; so, clearly not a bruiser or someone who punches things with regularity. while the leather jacket is good for protection, it offers much less padding than shi kai's coat. this then comes back to bite jing long, who gets flung to the ground later by aruna and takes a solid moment to recover

0:41 - 1:20 Establishing the Jing Long - Shi Kai Character Relationship

in this sequence, we begin the singing (something that I personally find deeply hilarious is how the lyrics have almost nothing to do with anything that's happening onstage. we could unpack this for a while but for now I get a good laugh out of it), but more importantly, we get into the acting:

as jing long walks across stage toward shi kai, high five-ing shi kai on the way over and spinning him around in his swivel chair, jing long does so with a swagger, evidently proud of his heist

shi kai appears to be more skeptical; as jing long sits on his desk and unzips the bag to show him the spoils, shi kai instead raises his eyebrows and gestures at the security footage, as if to ask "well, were you followed?"

jing long's character rolls his eyes and crosses the stage to the couch, where he flops and sulks about shi kai not being appropriately impressed

shi kai gets up and follows him, and though the lyrics rapped here have nothing to do with the plot beyond general vibe, the moment reads very much like shi kai lecturing jing long about the need for caution and discretion. fascinating moment where shi kai's character is clearly saying something but the words coming out of his mouth are not what he's saying diegetically (except maybe "back off")

jing long is evidently fed up with shi kai's nagging, until they both hear footsteps in the scaffolding overhead — someone has followed jing long back to their hideout

I do love the detail of jing long looking up, directing our gazes to the mooks running through the catwalks. jing long gets up to go deal with them — again, hotheaded youngster — but shi kai pushes him back onto the couch with a pointed look which very much reads as "older brother once again cleaning up after younger brother's impulsive decision"

now that we've done all the set up! let's get punchin'

1:21 - 2:04 Fight Sequence 1 (Catwalk Fight)

in which jing long gets to sit on a couch and do vocal acrobatics while shi kai cleans up his mess

the degree to which this set is almost completely OSHA certified but also Strategically Not OSHA Certified in certain places brings me so much joy and anger, but it's nothing worse than what the original Next to Normal set on Broadway pulled, so I will put my hard hat down

shi kai climbs up the stairs to the upper level of the warehouse, where a bunch of convenient mooks/stuntpeople await him to be mowed down one by one. this sequence is very much reminiscent of platform fighting games

A NOT-SO-BRIEF ASIDE ABOUT STAGE COMBAT: one of the reasons why I absolutely love stage combat is because, done right, it is the biggest inside joke you can pull off in front of a live audience. the audience is convinced that these two characters are Legitimately Trying to Hurt Each Other, but the performers are secretly in on the joke — they are executing a perfectly and exquisitely choreographed movement sequence in which they hoodwink the audience together. for a medium that is premised on hoodwinking the audience together, stage combat is extra fun because the hoodwinking is dialed up to eleven. it's not just convincing the audience of the immediacy and urgency of a fictional world, it's also convincing the audience that you hate each other's guts when secretly you're trying not to break out into a huge grin (or maybe other people are better at staying in character, I was never cut out for acting). it's ALSO making the audience think that serious injury and damage has occurred, when in reality nothing of the kind has happened. it's the wordless trust and synchronicity that your scene partner will be exactly where you both agreed they will be, just as you will do exactly what you promised to do

in stage combat, none of the blows actually hit with the level of force they appear to — this is incredibly important in live theater, which is performed night after night for days to weeks to months in a row. the fight choreography must be sustainable. that means no performer can be a hero and say "oh you can hit me for real, I can take it" because the body reacts instinctively and if you know physical contact is coming, it doesn't matter how good of an actor you are, at some point you will not be able to suppress the flinch. also, you have to be onstage doing this again tomorrow, or even tonight, and if it's a blow that will injure or bruise, you can't keep taking damage in the same spot repeatedly and expect to make it through the run

which is to say — stage combat should be safe. it should appear to be violent, feral, unhinged, vicious, whatever the scene needs, but it has to be safe and sustainable. what that also means is that the ferocity of the attack, the damage of the blow, the lethality of the strike depends less on the attacking performer's "strength" and wholly on the "victim" selling the force of the hit. cradling your face after a slap (conveniently hiding that your cheek is not even reddening because there was no contact made). doubling over after a "blow" to the solar plexus to sell that gut-punch. depending on your genre, maybe even doing a gratuitous backflip off a platform if you've been "sent flying." half of stage combat is camp (the other half is knapping)

so! shi kai mows his way through a series of stunt performers, who are really doing the lion's share of convincing the audience that his character is a competent brawler. no shade to shi kai — the man is also singing through much of this sequence

most notably, shi kai is singing as he delivers that flying kick at 1:49. the audio cuts a bit strangely here, which allows you to hear the strain in his voice as he jumps into half of a pull-up and kicks a stuntperson in the chest

if you've gotten way too deep in all the extra behind-the-scenes material for this performance, you'll know that this was a sequence that shi kai really struggled with because the director kept asking him to kick the guy with more force and shi kai felt guilty hitting the stuntperson every time. it wasn't until the stuntperson confirmed that he was wearing chest padding that shi kai finally relaxed and felt like he could put more force into it

most of the choreography has the combatants coming at each other with a big ol' overhand haymaker/icepick attacks (whether with a steel pipe or a closed fist). this is a classic stage combat move, partially because it looks Big and Scary and Impressive, partially because it's extremely impractical in an actual fight: it's slow, utilizes an excessive amount of wind-up, and leaves a huge opening where a fast attacker can dart in for the advantage while your arm is still in the overhead swing, which is what shi kai does with the first stuntperson

I am fairly confident that they are adding additional sound effects for punching, hitting the ground, and later, jing long strangling aruna — partially because I don't think we'd actually be able to pick up those sounds in the general noise of a live performance, but also primarily because they sound, um. somewhat canned

give it up for the professional stuntpeople who are really selling this performance, and also because of how extra they are across the board in "being defeated." I'm specifically calling out the second guy at 1:36 for his little foot twirl when shi kai gives him that head smack, and the last guy at 2:01 for bouncing off the edge of the platform where there is deliberately No OSHA Protective Railing. like my guy you could've just somersaulted onto the mat that's presumably discreetly laid out below, the bounce was completely gratuitous

speaking of moments where you can spot the "seams" of the fight choreography: watch this enough times and you can see how the stuntperson doubles over and waits for shi kai to knock him off the platform from 1:59 - 2:01; the slight pause there is partially hidden by the rapid cuts, but if you watch the stuntperson you can see him holding the position in preparation to be kicked off the platform

2:05 - 2:50 "ARUNA!!!!!!!!!"

time check: we are now two minutes. into a four minute performance. and only now does aruna, our third character, show up, and what an entrance it is. in the performance cut that aired, the editors briefly flash to the greenroom, where the other contestants of the show, watching the performance live, erupt in cheers for aruna's arrival. shouts of "he's coming, he's here!" and "ARUNA!!!!!!!!!" briefly interrupt the performance's audio as the other contestants clap, yell, and rise from their seats in primal enthusiasm. one gets the sense that aruna is not only a fan favorite contestant, but also a cast favorite as well

it is exceedingly difficult to get screenshots of the fight choreography since it all blurs. you will simply have to trust me and watch it

aruna's entrance + first lines are maybe the closest the lyrics actually come to making diegetic sense hhh

aruna's character rolls up with an entire crew, only to wave them off, presumably because he thinks he can take care of these upstarts on his own. to be fair, he's not completely wrong about that

I love the way they did the first moment of eye contact between aruna and jing long; aruna, high up on the catwalk, looking down at jing long on the warehouse floor with a nonzero amount of scorn. jing long, in contrast with his earlier insouciance and general slouchiness on the couch, now sits up, slightly hunched over, with what looks like fear in his eyes. as it turns out, he didn't pull off his heist as cleanly as he thought he had, and now the consequences are coming (literally) to beat his ass (literally)

they also take time to establish the location of shi kai's character, high up on a catwalk on the other side of the stage. this raises the possibility that the earlier mooks he dispatched in Fight Sequence 1 were simply a distraction aruna sent ahead; more importantly, it means that jing long will have to fend for himself against aruna until shi kai gets there

but not to worry! jing long and shi kai's side ALSO has disposable mooks (very hardworking stuntpeople). note that these stuntpeople (unlike the, uh, assorted 小鲜肉 in the background who wear tank tops) are dressed with sensible coverage

aruna one-ups shi kai's initial fight sequence by taking on three people simultaneously, more or less in a melee (they do attack him very politely in sequence. this is choreography after all). the first person he dispatches with a spinning kick, which is tremendously impractical in real life (slow! difficult to aim! not actually more forceful!) but looks cool in choreography

the second person comes at aruna with an openhanded haymaker, which makes it tremendously convenient for aruna to get inside that stuntperson's range, twist him around to feign a joint lock, and use him as both shield and leverage to kick the other two guys (the joint lock is feigned because it's real easy to get injured in a real joint lock. later, the two of them also untwist the "joint lock" to get better and safer leverage on the shoulder throw)

blink and you'll miss it — when the stuntperson hits and breaks the coffee table behind him at 2:46 - 2:47, you can see him briefly check over his shoulder to make sure he's falling where he wants to. I can only hope that the coffee table was pre-broken for the effect

the shoulder throw at 2:48 looks pretty gnarly, but if you slow it down you can see the stuntperson strike the ground feet-first to absorb the impact before pretending to crumple. that being said, the speed and the force of the impact are probably enough to rattle his bones a little

after summarily dispatching the three stuntpeople, aruna points at the bag by jing long's feet and gestures an unimpressed "give it back"

2:51 - 3:26 Fight Sequence 2, Electric Boogaloo (The Showdown)

you know it's a Big Fight Scene when they take a break from singing to do a pure instrumental + fight choreography interlude. after aruna summarily dispatches three stuntpeople and tells jing long to return what he stole, jing long, true to his character, flings the bag at aruna in a "fine, take it!" and goes in for the attack

aruna dodges easily, and as he goes to the side, he picks up a plank of plywood that he swings at jing long

it passes way over jing long's head, because jing long has planted one hand on the ground to slide by underneath

side note: in the behind-the-scenes material, shi kai was the one practicing a sideways knee slide. considering that 1) no knee slide made it into the final choreography, and 2) jing long is the one doing this close approximation here, that makes me wonder if a) jing long and shi kai at any point switched roles, and b) at what point the set was finalized vs. the fight choreography set, because there isn't enough space in the catwalk fight sequence for shi kai to slide safely or practically

but that's neither here nor there

aruna swings at jing long twice, and jing long ducks out of the way both times. props to jing long for making sure he comes back up between swings before ducking again, because otherwise it would make aruna's character look a bit foolish for repeatedly swinging at empty space

on aruna's third swing with the plank, he shatters it against jing long's left side. I'm hoping the plank was either really thin or pre-broken because that is a hefty cloud of dust

jing long then comes at aruna with — you guessed it — a haymaker, which allows aruna to grab him by the entire forearm and sock him in the stomach. this makes jing long double over, conveniently setting them both up for—

the next stunt these two pull involves partnerwork and coordination; aruna falls backwards, dropping his center of gravity to the floor and pulling jing long forward. he then gives jing long a boost with his foot (ah, my bad. "a kick"), which allows jing long to flip over him in a very showy manner

if this was actual combat, aruna would have probably kept hold of jing long's forearm in order to slam him against the floor. but since this is choreography, aruna lets go of jing long's arm, which allows jing long to catch himself on his hands and turn that into a forward somersault

don't be fooled by how far jing long rolls. after the first roll to dispel momentum from the flip, he's doing the rest of the rolls on his own merit

again, the "ferocity" or "strength" of an attack is sold by the "victim," so by lying on the floor for a bit longer and struggling to get up, jing long is selling aruna's fighting prowess. also, even if this is meticulously planned stage combat, the performers are still absolutely getting their bumps and bruises

shi kai enters — somewhat tardy, but I love this entrance because it's so funny. a plywood (?) siding hits the ground with a cloud of dust, presumably bashed in from the force of the two stuntpeople colliding with it, who then fall to the ground as shi kai struts in. the two stuntpeople roll around on the ground as if shi kai just pummeled them into the wall, but in reality the three of them were probably j chilling, waiting for their cue, before the two stuntpeople jumped at the plywood shoulder-first to knock it down for shi kai's entrance

again, stage combat is a huge inside joke! what looks like shi kai kicking ass and taking names as he comes to his lil bro's rescue is actually just the stunt crew going "nah man leave this to us, we'll make you look cool" and shi kai going "oh ok you guys sure?" and them going "yeah!!" and yeeting themselves at the wall

neither here nor there but I love shi kai sprinting across stage to get to aruna. it really builds up the momentum and intensity of the fight. the fact that he does this while spitting "now call me by fire" is. well. pretty fire

aruna's turn to throw a haymaker! shi kai easily ducks under it for the waist tackle, which 1) helps transfer all of his sprinting momentum to twirl the two of them around, and 2) results in a net zero change in positioning. throughout this whole performance, aruna is consistently positioned on stage right (frame left), and shi kai / jing long are consistently on stage left (frame right), just to make "who's on whose side" a bit easier for the viewer to track

aruna even does a fun little jump/flail to dissipate shi kai's momentum, which I find delightful. throw the didis a bone, aruna, they already can't beat you two-on-one

shi kai does a little jump + snap kick, which aruna easily parries with his hands. choreography!

aruna then goes for shi kai's leg to take him to the floor (what's with this choreography characterization. in less than two minutes aruna has gone to the floor at least three times. let the man rest)

I guess in a real fight it might make sense for aruna to use his greater strength and mass to pin his opponents to the floor, but that requires following through and punching their lights out, which he, uh, does not

shi kai's spinning flip is "assisted" by aruna — the quotation marks is because that maneuver requires anchoring one's weight on the leg that aruna's holding, but because shi kai's doing it with that foot elevated, it's much harder than it would've been if shi kai's foot was just on the ground. trust me on this one. it's all about core strength and leverage

much like how aruna politely let go of jing long's arm while flipping him, aruna politely holds shi kai's leg long enough for him to flip as well

they use this moment to briefly split apart and breathe for a second in the choreography

shi kai's turn to throw a haymaker! in an echo of earlier, aruna grabs that arm and puts it into a (very loose) joint lock, and loops his left arm around shi kai's chest in a "headlock." I would like to praise aruna's fight choreography technique here, because he is executing a lovely fake headlock — arm barred across shi kai's collarbones and shoulder, not actually anywhere close to shi kai's throat. likewise, shi kai's free hand is on that arm, which anchors both of them relative to each other and also allows for shi kai to "struggle" without being in danger of dislodging aruna's grip to somewhere more dangerous

aruna then pivots them and "kicks" shi kai onto the couch — either he misplaced his foot or he's really selling it, but that flail does not look very controlled hhh. meanwhile, shi kai finally gets to flop on this very squishy-looking couch, which jing long has been monopolizing for this entire performance. again, it's shi kai's job to sell the force of aruna's kick, so he whiplashes very convincingly onto the cushions

this is also a classic of stage combat: "throw" your opponent into what is actually a soft landing place with very little real force, and let your opponent control the force and direction and theatricality of how they land

aruna, stumbling back from kicking shi kai, has his outstretched arms caught by two of the stuntpeople he laid flat earlier. also another visible "seam," as he essentially backs into their arms so they can catch him

he then flings them off, which is tremendously unrealistic sdlfksdjls but we can cut the man a break, he's been onstage for a minute and a half and that minute was almost entirely fight choreography

side note: you can hear aruna's heavy breathing, which means that they decided to keep his mic on during this fight sequence?? well I hope they turned aruna's mic off shortly after this for the next stunt they're about to pull

the flying kick + punch combo is also tremendously unrealistic (like, way to cancel out the force of your own strikes as you try to go in opposite directions simultaneously), but it looks showy. if you watch carefully, you can see the second stuntperson (who presumably gets socked in the face) do his extremely extra flip while he goes down just a hair late

3:27 - 4:08 (end) Finale

and now it's time for the big finish! I do love the editing on this performance, since no matter who's currently engaged in a beatdown, they'll periodically give shots to the third person so we know where they're positioned. in this case, we saw jing long levering himself back up during the aruna - shi kai showdown and gearing himself up for—

jing long runs at aruna and launches himself into the air to lock his legs around aruna's neck

moment of silence for aruna's neck. and all the rehearsals they had to go through while jing long figured this out

another visible "seam" — as aruna backs up towards the center of the stage, he's subtly checking over his shoulder (the wrong shoulder, likely on purpose so that he can still be taken "off guard" by jing long's attack) and killing a few seconds while jing long gets a running start

to be honest the spinning leg lock just looks fun. probably not for aruna but once they get into position jing long lets his arms go like "wheeeee"

letting his arms go is also important for weight distribution, balance, and lowering himself to the ground once aruna's spun them enough times. hey can someone send a memo to 偶像剧 that this is clearly the superior form of the 公主抱 + 转圈圈 combination

aruna goes to the floor — again — to let them both down and they roll away from each other to disengage. hilariously, at some point in this scuffle, aruna loses a shoe. you can spot it by shi kai's foot in the next shot, and also when aruna stands, facing the didi gang, his right (shoeless) foot is visibly smaller than his left

this manuever also yanks the earpiece out of aruna's ear — at this point I'm just impressed that all of their microphones stayed on their faces

while shi kai helps jing long get to his feet (love that you can hear the unsteadiness in jing long's voice. that doesn't stop him from being exquisitely on key or belting), aruna goes and grabs the duffel

I am also irrationally charmed by how shi kai mirrors aruna's chin-jerk. in my personal postcanon imagination for this stupid four minute performance I like to think that they follow the 不打不相识 rules of friendship, and aruna takes these two chuckleheads under his wing. oh wait that's what already happened in the rehearsals for this performance. anyway

a moment of appreciation for the dynamism of the last shot — in the ringing silence after the last note, aruna hurls the duffel bag behind him with a yell, and the two sides charge at each other as the stage goes dark. this must have been a late add, because their dress rehearsals have the didi gang getting up in aruna's space and surrounding him, and the stage goes to blackout in that stationary image. ending on this clash is such a lovely evocation of movement and further story as both sides throw away the original "goal" of this confrontation (the duffel) for the thrill of the fight

OK SO THAT WAS A LOT OF RAMBLING, NOW WHAT?

you know, I wish I knew what the point of this exercise was too beyond trying to shake all of these thoughts out of my brain. all I know is that I watched this performance a couple of weeks ago and it's now become my entire personality. I think about it multiple times a day. I've watched it so many times I know all the cuts, and maybe most of the choreography by heart

I think there's something about the rawness of this performance — both in a primal, punchin' kind of sense, but the relative lack of artifice. this performance is very much a back-to-theatrical basics; a rare piece that doesn't rely on an overabundance of flashing concert lighting or pyrotechnics to elevate the atmosphere of the song. much like the barebones aesthetic of the set (mostly scaffolding), this performance relies on very little special effects beyond good old-fashioned theater. legitimately, I'm not sure they had many lighting cues beyond "lights up" and "lights out," which is tremendously refreshing to see.

and of course, naturally, I've been obsessed with the fight choreography. hopefully the several thousand words have convinced you that the choreography is well-made and well-crafted within the context of the song and performance and narrative; I think for me, it was the refreshing novelty of seeing actually good fight choreography in cmedia. it's just been. so long?? since I've seen down and dirty fight choreography that hasn't been stylized and slow-moed to hell and back, strung up and strung out on wire work and wind machines. there's also a down-to-earth-ness to the stage combat here — reminiscent of HK gangster flicks, for sure, and their overlap with kung fu action films — from the lack of wild stunts and acrobatics that feels especially appropriate to the presented narrative

and it helps that everyone brought their all to the performance! aruna, shi kai, and jing long's characters all shone through easily, subtly, in embodiments that felt effortless, though jing long would be the first to argue otherwise (he struggled quite a bit, and went to Professional Screen Actor Aruna for advice). and even if the characterizations felt seamless, I loved being able to see the "seams" of the performance; how they put the fight choreography together, the little tells where you can spot the immense amount of work that went into honing this performance into something stage-ready. the effort everyone put into this is palpable, from the shortness of breath to the strained voices and strained back muscles (big mood, jing long). it's the fly on the painting that brings it to life; it's sneaking a peek of the human effort and time and work it took to put this together

I am rapidly running out of words to explain why I love this so much, but to actually explain all of it feels like it would strip away the emotion and render it nothing more and nothing less than appreciation. but there is a healthy mixture of all of that: appreciation, admiration, enthusiasm, knowledge, satisfaction, that makes my deep affection for this performance that much stronger, that makes me stop my workday whenever this comes up in my playlist again to watch it all again, even if I already know every grunt and every thump, every run and every belt by heart

(bows to an empty auditorium) thank you for your time as I yammer on about another niche interest. I'm off to go elevate my watch count into the triple digits (kickflips off stage)

LINKS

纯享 4-minute performance video

full episode (their section begins 41:20 and runs approximately to 1:00:00)

extra reactions from the greenroom

additional rehearsal footage

#心怀杂念字数无量 #《逆流而上》#披荆斩棘的哥哥4 #call me by fire #怎么我每次为某样东西发疯的时候都是五千字起步hhh #饶了我吧

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justsomerandomfanfic · 11 months ago

Text

Can't Stay Away, Can't Look Away - Steve Raglan/William Afton X Female Reader

Title: Can't Stay Away, Can't Look Away

Steve Raglan/William Afton X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Pete the Chef OC and Marie OC

WC: 2,917

Warnings: A bit of obsession, maybe stalking maybe not?, Reader is a waitress and is mentioned wearing a skirt for work, teasing, flirting?, serial killer stuff mentioned very briefly, Reader has very brief negative thoughts, age gap, mini angst, and fluff

The uniform beat of the clock was the only sound in the room as it ticked away. It seemed to echo throughout Steve Raglan's office. The silence was unnerving, and the ticking of the clock seemed to be a constant reminder of the fact that time was indeed slowly crawling forward with each minute that passed.

Sitting in his swivel chair, Steve glanced over some client files, occasionally humming to himself as he used his feet to turn himself in his chair; side to side. Letting out a silent sigh, he closed the dull yellow file and sat it on his desk with the others. Pushing up the bridge of his gold-framed aviator glasses, Steve looked up at the clock. Upon reaching his scheduled lunch break, he pushed himself off the chair before grabbing his coat and shrugging it on. Adjusting his tie as he left his office, he walked down the hall, passing other offices before exiting the large building.

It was a bright afternoon, though Steve hardly noticed as he made his way down the sidewalk, a certain confidence in each step. As he walked, he passed by the local flower shop, which stood beside a small bookstore, before crossing the street and the busy intersection to pass by the park. This was a part of Steve's routine, every weekday since about a couple of months ago. He always left his office at the same time for lunch, passed the same shops and stores, and entered the same diner for that said lunch.

Pushing the glass door open, Steve walked in, only to sit down at his usual spot. Though the restored diner from the 1960s was practically in new shape, the edges of the red leather booth where Steve sat were beginning to peel from age. The menu board was still hung up behind the counter, along with other posters, antique metal signs of cars, and other things that had been in the diner longer than Steve cared to really care about. The jukebox in the corner was softly playing a song, ‘Put Your Head On My Shoulder,’ a song by Paul Anka. The walls were a pastel blue, red, and white, with some white tile detailing here and there.

Going to the diner was routine for him, as said before, he went there every weekday to get his lunch. But he didn't go because the food was out of this world, or to appreciate the aesthetic of the place or anything like that. No, he came for you.

You were a waitress at the tiny diner, dressed in the typical 1960s waitress attire, you scurried to the awaiting people, pouring their drinks and serving their food. Sure, there were other waitresses there, but they weren't you. No, there was something special about you that made Steve want to come there every day for the sake of seeing you. You were beautiful, with bright, sparkling eyes, and soft lips that spoke words so sweetly. You just gave off a feeling that made you stand apart, an aura of warmth and affection. So Steve took a liking to you. And he couldn't understand why he did, no matter how hard he tried. He just felt drawn to you. Like magnetite to a magnet.

Walking out of the backroom, you froze, seeing Steve sitting in his usual booth, hands clasped, looking out the window. Letting out a breath you didn't even know you were holding, you felt your heart begin to race. Oh, what that man did to you, even just his presence alone brought a smile to your face. Brushing down your waitress skirt, you didn't bother to grab your notepad and pen from your skirt pocket as you walked over. You knew his order well. Well enough that you had it memorized; a BLT and a cup or two of black coffee.

Stepping in front of the table, the man looked up, your smile softened slightly, "Good afternoon, Steve. Do you want your usual?" You asked, and what you had asked him practically every day since he came into the little diner a couple of months ago.

The man gave you a small grin back, his clasped hands shifting slightly, making you look down at the movement; his sleeves were pushed back above his elbows, strong forearms exposed. Steve noticed your gaze, his eyes glancing down at your mouth as you bought your bottom lip in between your teeth, "Good afternoon, Y/N. Yes, I would like my usual." He answered, his words making you look back into his blue eyes before you cleared your throat nervously.

You gave him a nod, bits of stray hairs falling in front of your face as you did so, "... Alright, I'll make sure that it arrives soon." With one last look at him, brushing the stray hairs behind your ears, you headed towards the kitchen.

Steve watched you go, staring after you until you disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. He sighed quietly as he leaned back in his seat. Meanwhile, you leaned against the wall near the kitchen door, letting out a breath as you pressed your hand on your chest, feeling your racing heart pound and hammer against your chest. Taking one last breath, you got a hold of yourself, pushing through the large kitchen to find Pete, the chef.

Peering past a metal counter, you smiled at the old man who was mixing some sort of salad, "Hey, Pete," You grinned, "We got a seven and a black coffee." You spoke, gaining the man's attention. Pivoting his weight to his hip, he placed a hand there, tilting his head as he took in your expression; but mostly your eyes. He could tell that something was going on.

"He's here, isn't he?" Pete asked, watching your face flush, as you glanced and looked everywhere but at him, his grin widened.

"Yeah, Pete, he is. Can I please just get his order? Please, no teasing." You begged with a slight whine to your voice.

Pete, an old man in his sixties, had been working at the diner since he was in his twenties; and had been sort of a cool uncle figure to you, only shrugged his shoulders. Turning back around, he began to prepare Steve's order. "Sure thing, dearie," He replied softly, chuckling lightly. "You should probably head over and get him his coffee, don't want Marie to get to him before you do. She won't be so merciful."

Nodding your head you rushed out of the kitchen, heading behind the counter, passing Marie, who only grinned as you passed by her. Pouring the black coffee, you let out one last breath, mentally hyping yourself up before you walked back over to Steve.

He raised his head, meeting your eyes as you carefully sat the coffee down in front of him. "Thank you, Y/N." He spoke, giving you the same small smile that made you want to melt.

"You're welcome, Steve. Is there anything else you'd like while you wait? We just added a blueberry pie to the menu this morning." You asked, but the man just shook his head, his intense gaze unmoving as he gave you a small toothy grin.

"No, I'm alright."

Nodding, you gestured back to the kitchen, "I'll, uh, go check up on your food then."

Rushing back to the kitchen, you found Marie inside, Pete still working on the bacon portion of Steve's order. Marie turned to you, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. "He's here." She sang in a soft sing-song voice, smirking.

Throwing your hands up, you huffed, "Yes, that's quite obvious. He's here every day at twelve-thirty on the dot." You retorted.

Marie laughed, shaking her head, "I just find it funny is all."

You furrowed your eyebrows, watching as Pete began to chop up a tomato. "What's funny?"

"That you get so flustered around him." She answered, making you look down at your feet.

Marie had been your best friend since you were both in high school. She had been in the same few classes with you, and the both of you had gotten along great, even going to the same college. Later, you both tried going your separate ways, but this town had some pull on the both of you - so you both ended up working at the diner after a while of job searching. She was usually the voice of reason, the one you looked up to whenever you had a difficult question or task. She really was a great friend.

"I try not to be." You answered simply, turning to Pete, "Is his sandwich ready?" You asked as the man nodded, stabbing the red foil-tipped toothpick in the center of the bread; topping it all off.

“This might be the best one yet.” Pete marveled, staring down at his sandwich with pride, but without another word, you grabbed the plate with the BLT and pushed the kitchen door open.

Walking over with his food, you felt your irritation fade away as Steve looked up, his grin growing. Placing the food down in front of him, you noticed that his coffee cup was empty. Gesturing to it, you spoke, "Would you like a refill?"

"Yes, thank you," He spoke, watching as you quickly grabbed the coffee pot from the counter across from him, pouring more of the coffee into his cup. "How has your day been, Y/N?" He asked, you had been preparing yourself for today's conversation.

"It's been alright," You said, your voice soft. A nervous chuckle escaped you before you continued, "Just trying to keep busy. How's everything with you?" You asked, hoping to change the subject a bit.

“The same as usual, I'm afraid." He answered, similar to what he told you every time you asked him how he was.

"Well," You cleared your throat, "I'll let you eat. Let me know if you need anything, okay?" You asked, smiling slightly, giving him one last look before walking back to the counter.

"Of course..." He muttered, mostly to himself, watching as you slid behind the counter with your co-worker, grabbing a rag and beginning to clean the marble with it.

Looking down at the table, his sandwich seemed to stare right up at him. Picking it up with both hands, he bit into his BLT, taking a moment before letting his eyes wander the room before they settled on you once more. Watching as you talked with your co-worker, a smile on your face and hers. The co-worker occasionally glanced over at him, making him turn back to stare at his table, chewing his sandwich slowly. Straining his ears, he tried to listen in on your conversation.

"He's staring at you again," Marie spoke under her breath, "It's kind of creepy."

Hitting her arm with the rag, you lightly glared at her, "Don't be rude. Or too loud… He might hear you…"

"What?" She asked defensively, "It is, he's looking at you like a creep."

"And what about that? Should I be worried?" You challenged, raising an eyebrow as you went back to rubbing at the counter in front of you. “I think it’s sweet,” You muttered, and Marie didn’t seem to notice.

Sighing, she shook her head, crossing her arms, "I mean, maybe? Who knows? Maybe he's some serial killer."

You sputtered a laugh, raising your hand to cover your mouth, "You're ridiculous, Marie. He may be a bit… Antisocial, but that does not mean he’s some crazy murderer.”

Marie sighed again, glancing back over at him, "He’s still staring."

"I doubt it." You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I'm not someone to stare at."

Marie stared at you, raising her eyebrow, "Girl, you're gorgeous. Shut up. And he is, look."

Rolling your eyes at her, you worried on your lip as you glanced over at him, noticing that he was indeed staring at you. It wasn't hard to notice that fact, with how much his eyes were locked onto yours, especially when you could almost feel them piercing through you. Your cheeks flushed with heat, as your stomach twisted and flipped. You dipped your head, biting into your lip with a bit more force so as not to let the growing smile slip onto your face.

"I might do something risky," You muttered, your voice soft, breathless. Marie noticed, raising both her eyebrows this time in surprise. “I’ve been thinking about doing it for a while…”

"Oh, wow, he's really got you wrapped around his finger, doesn't he? You're whipped."

You shook your head, twisting the rap between your hands, straining your fingers slightly with the force, "No, I'm not."

"You're whipped. Smitten. Absolutely enamored. You've got the hots for this guy." She continued to tease, making you let out a deep sigh, tossing the rag down on the counter. "What are you planning to do exactly, hon?" She then asked, noticing that she really wasn't helping you in this situation.

"I might give him my number." You muttered, taking a quick glance over to see him finishing his coffee; plate clean. You couldn’t help but admire his side profile, taking in his perfect features. His dark hair, sprinkled with gray, looked so soft. It looked like it would be great to run your fingers through it. Your hand moved to the front of your head, pulling on a loose strand of hair before returning it behind your ear. You wondered, as you stared at him, if his beard would be soft or rough... “Oh God...” You murmured under your breath.

Marie took a step forward, placing a hand on your arm, snapping your gaze back to her, "Hon... Uh, you don't have to listen to me… But isn’t he a bit too old for you?”

You tilted your head at her, confusion etching onto your face, "Too old?"

She nodded her head, "Yea, y'know, he's like forty or fifty or somethin'. There’s a pretty big age gap between you two.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, your lips parted slightly, sort of speechless. "Marie... I don't care how old he is... I don't care about age gaps. If I was like eighteen, then yeah, that would be a problem to me, but I am twenty-five... I just... I don't know… As long as we are two consenting adults… I- uh…" You trailed off. “You’re stressing me out.”

“I’m sorry,” Marie smiled sweetly, patting you on the shoulder gently, "Don't mind me then. I just want you to be a bit cautious… That is, unless he's super rich, then I say go for it.” You shook your head, letting out a small chuckle, before nodding your head towards the man in question.

"I should check on him. His lunch break is almost over." Marie watched you go, sighing before she left for the kitchen. Walking over, Steve sat his empty coffee cup down, looking up at you with a small grin, a strange glint in his eyes. "Ready for the bill, Steve?" You asked.

"I believe so," He sighed, grabbing into his jacket pocket beside him to grab his wallet. "Same as always?" He asked, and you hummed in confirmation. Pulling out a twenty dollar bill, he handed it to you. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, trying to ignore the sudden tingling feeling in your stomach at the contact. Stuffing the ten in your pocket, you pulled out a ten dollar bill. But, Steve only shook his head, “You keep that.”

Nodding with a small, grateful smile, you nodded, “Thank you, Steve.”

Shaking his head, he stood, "You don’t have to thank me. Your service was excellent, as always." He said simply, slipping his arms through the sleeves.

"Thank you," You muttered softly, blinking rapidly before you stuffed the money into your pocket, quickly opening your notepad and writing something down.

Steve watched you curiously as he adjusted the collar of his coat before you ripped the paper from the small notebook and handed it to him; unable to meet his gaze. He opened it slowly, his eyes reading and rereading the number - he could only assume it was your number - that you had haphazardly written down for him; though you were quick to write it, it was still neat and Steve could read it easily. Looking up at you, you finally managed to glance back up at him.

Folding the note, Steve slid it in his pocket, "I'll see you tomorrow?" He asked simply, watching as you nodded. He hummed, glancing around the features of your face before he found himself raising his hand, brushing the stubborn wisps behind your ear, the tips of his fingers lingering a second too long on the softness of your cheek before he pulled away. Your eyes widened a fraction, your lips opening slightly as a small, inaudible gasp left you. Steve swallowed thickly, swiftly turning on his heel before he lost what little control he had over himself, walking out of the diner, the door shutting behind him.

Standing there, you stared after him, letting out a sigh. What was that? Not that you were complaining. You slowly raised your hand, brushing your fingers along the same trail that he had touched moments ago, feeling the warmth. He had been so gentle and careful and... So warm. It felt good. You couldn't help but smile lightly. You hoped that he'd call you.

And he would. You'd be hearing from him soon. Very soon.

#cute #fluff #x reader #fanfiction #x female reader #fanfic #x you #x y/n #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's movie #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #william afton #steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #william afton x reader #william afton x female reader #william afton x you #william afton x y/n

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