Heinrich Runge(Lunge)/Original Female Character (NSFW)
Monster Fanfic | Runge/OC | Adult Themes
POV: Runge. Introspective, mature, timeline not clearly defined, ambiguous tone.
Contains: awkward intimacy, adult themes.
I’m not quite ready to post this on AO3 yet, so I'm sharing it this way for now. Actually, I haven't really established any detailed settings for the OC yet.
There are a few elements that take place before the events of the main story, but I haven't worked out the specifics.
I might write something related to that in the future, but for now, nothing is certain. Hope you enjoy it!
At the end of April, after the rain had stopped, the air in Hamburg was unusually sticky. Though it was not yet summer, the humidity was exceptional, and I spent the entire day in just a shirt, having taken off my jacket.
After a minor argument and a moment of impulsive contact—perhaps age does not bring wisdom, only shamelessness; in any case, it was undoubtedly I who initiated the unexpected kiss—the atmosphere between us had become noticeably awkward. Neither of us had ever been particularly talkative, but this time I sensed that even being in the same space would be uncomfortable. I was the first to look away and suggested we take some time apart.
My mind, which had been flashing error messages for the first time in a while, eventually shut down altogether. I initially intended to spend some quiet time browsing through bookstores, but even as I mimicked typing data into my mental computer—a habit of mine—nothing was actually being entered. In the end, as if I had regressed to my reckless, foolish youth, I found myself in a bar, drinking beer after beer to dull the sense of uselessness. Perhaps because I had avoided alcohol for years and relied on coffee to stave off emptiness, at first I only sipped at my drink as though it were still coffee.
After a few hours, before the alcohol could take full effect and leave me entirely lethargic, I forced myself up and headed to the station. When I saw the hastily scribbled sign in the window—“Train strike. All tickets after 6 p.m. are refundable. Please visit the ticket counter.”—my fingers instinctively tapped an imaginary backspace key. It meant that she and I would inevitably meet again in the waiting room, in an atmosphere of awkwardness.
They say that if you speak of the devil, she appears. Five minutes later, she appeared before me, looking somewhat fatigued, two buttons undone on her blouse. For more than three minutes, we simply stared at each other in silence, having nothing at all to say. Eventually, I suggested we find a hotel, and she followed without complaint.
Because of the late hour, it was not easy to find a place to stay. We checked several places before finally locating a vacancy. The receptionist, utterly indifferent, informed us that only a double room was left and immediately asked for a card. She fumbled for her wallet, but I was marginally faster. I blinked once at her as she offered me a slightly apologetic look.
A cramped room of barely ten square meters, with an old bunk bed. We unpacked without a word, and, at her suggestion, I took the lower bunk. We continued in silence for hours. She busied herself finishing her work on her laptop, while I switched on a portable lamp and reviewed documents for a meeting scheduled the next afternoon.
After 2 a.m., I heard a slight cough from the upper bunk. As the night deepened and the temperature dropped, the walls grew cold, and, as is often the case in budget hotels, dust that had accumulated in neglected corners began to irritate the airways. I turned off my lamp and told her, quietly, to come down. She hesitated for a moment before slowly descending. I gently took her wrist, pulled her into my arms, and covered us with the blanket. Only then, after adding another layer, could I close my eyes in relative comfort. I had no intention of going further.
Still, perhaps because of our earlier contact in a public place and the amount of alcohol consumed, my threshold for physical stimulation seemed significantly lowered. After her warm breath brushed my nape twenty or so times, I found myself acting out of character once more. I decided I could blame it on the alcohol, if necessary.
We decided not to undress completely. To raise our body temperature, we kissed—clumsily, bumping our front teeth three times—and I immediately touched her. Her clitoris required persistent, steady pressure in one spot, and I obliged. Normally, I would have used my mouth, but she closed her legs, clearly unwilling.
Her nails were always short, so there was no sharp stimulation, but that also meant there were no unpleasant surprises. I tried to relax my body as much as possible, and she, with her large, warm hands, completely enveloped me. After a few minutes, I heard the familiar wet sound. Everything was proceeding smoothly.
“Why don’t you beg a little, like usual?”
“Do you really want that, even outside?”
“My apologies. You’re simply too endearing.”
Calling her “endearing” was a calculated move, though not entirely untrue. She surely knew as much. She gave a faint smile—but I noticed the slight tremor at the corner of her eye—and parted her legs a little. Remembering that she had told me her period had ended about four days ago, I took a condom from my pocket and tore open the package with my teeth. As our bodies pressed together, she seemed to hold her breath, probably out of concern that someone might hear. I moved slowly up and down at the entrance to help her relax.
As I eased inside her, there was a sound—just a bit more conspicuous than the quiet smack of our lips parting. At that moment, a heavy thud echoed through the wall. We stayed composed, but a moment later, the loud moans of an unknown woman in the next room brought us to a halt. Perhaps suddenly exhausted, she scratched her head and glared at the wall, visibly irritated.
“Damn, you get all kinds of people in these cheap hotels.”
“It’s just… annoying tonight.”
“Then why not give them something to listen to?”
Her eyes widened instantly. I barely suppressed a laugh, not out of ridicule, but because she truly was endearing. Even if it wasn’t wholly genuine admiration, just the presence of that feeling alone was enough to make me behave unlike myself. I was willing to shed the shell of the trained, restrained detective—if only for a moment, before having to put it back on. I wanted to remember her defenseless and, at times, even ridiculous side.
“You’re a good singer, aren’t you?”
“I’ll make sure you can breathe easily. Go ahead.”
I changed our position without much delay. Since I was only shallowly inside her, she seemed unbothered by the sudden movement. I lay on my side, holding her more firmly, and, still flushed with heat, rubbed myself against her from behind.
“Uh… ha… Are you serious? Where did you get the idea that I can sing?”
“My reasons are far more objective and reliable than you might expect. Trust me. Now, go on.”
Leaning in closer, I took her breasts in both hands. The way her skin instantly responded, raising goosebumps, started to heat me up as well. What we had done up to that point now felt trivial compared to the next fifteen minutes that played out in my mind. I wanted to make it real.
“Heinrich, sometimes I really don’t understand you.”
What I’d been so insistent about was a song she’d hummed a few days earlier while tidying up her study. As soon as I heard it, I’d begun absentmindedly typing out the melody, noting every pause and missed octave, along with my own commentary:
Extreme lyrics, subdued delivery. Open to interpretation.
If I could hear those unguarded lines from her again—who knows, it might become my favorite piece of music in a lifetime. To help her relax, I breathed against her earlobe a few times, and slowly pressed into her. In response, she let out a low, heated sound and, in a rather clear voice, began to sing, line by line.
