#I mean its just a fic but still is it legal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saetoru · 1 year ago

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AGE IS NOTHING BUT A NUMBER — GETO SUGURU.

kinktober day two — overstimulation ; find masterlist here

synopsis. befriending nanako and mimiko has its perks—like fucking their father, for example. suguru might have aged over the years, but that doesn't mean he's lost his touch. don't believe him? that's okay—he can always just show you instead

length. 5.3k words (bro this fic was agonizing)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, dilf! suguru, college au (reader is a student), age gaps (20+ difference), jealous suguru, teasing, cunnilingus, fingering, edging, nipple play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, angel)

notes. this took me so long bc i hate it so im posting it and running away to play genshin to slave away for primos

most people can tell their best friends everything. not you, though—you have a secret. a dirty, shameful, horrible little secret, in fact.

no one knows that every chance you get, every small little moment you can possibly squeeze in, you fuck your two best friends’ father—and it’s going to stay that way, unknown and forever hidden. suguru is young as far as parents go, just barely in his twenties when he’s found himself a single father of two, but that doesn’t mean he’s not too old for you. and it especially doesn’t mean that it’s not inappropriate to fuck the man that raised your two closest friends.

you meet nanako and mimiko during your freshman year of college—the rest is history. the first time you spend the night at their place, suguru (he insists you call him that on your first meeting) is overjoyed that his girls have someone as lovely as you.

who wouldn’t be? you’re smart, well-mannered, respectable, and incredibly studious. what a perfect role model for his girls—after all, every father’s worst nightmare is his sweet, precious daughters venturing off to the real world. men are dogs—suguru should know. they’re sleazy and prey on young women who are naive and unsuspecting, taking advantage of their hopefulness before completely destroying their innocence. suguru can’t bear the idea of his perfect little girls becoming victims of such sinister behavior—but that’s all quelled when he meets you.

but he never thought, not even for one second, that he’d become one of those men.

those older men who fuck girls half their age—the girls that are barely in their twenties and still don’t even really understand how taxes work. the girls that have just started to learn how to hold their alcohol and can only recently buy it legally. the girls who don’t realize how complicated adulthood can be, just barely spreading their wings and learning what it’s like to be free.

suguru has always found those men deplorable. they’re the awful, disgusting, untamed vermin of society—women must be protected from them at all costs.

but now? well….now he’s one of them—and he finds, even as disgusted with himself as he is from time to time, he has little regrets.

not when you’re sprawled under him, hands tracing over his bare chest, feeling the soft skin under your palms in wonder. suguru, though he’s not let himself go by any means, is past his prime—he still frequents the gym, and he has more time to go now that the girls are gone most of the day, but he’s not immune to the effects of aging.

his hair has more than a few strands of white sprinkled in now; nanako makes sure to remind him not to pull them out unless he wants more. he’s still managed to keep the abs he was once so proud of in his youth, but they’re still not as hard—layered over a slight belly that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter what he tries. his skin is a bit looser, and his eyes have slight wrinkles in the corners of them, but despite it all, suguru still looks as handsome as ever.

he’s aged well, still looks remarkably young for men his age, and still looks like that dashing young man he once was who stole hearts. in fact, he still hears about his looks, especially from nanako and mimiko’s friends—he’s always chuckled to himself and shook his head in amusement.

that’s your dad? god, he’s so hot.

what? he’s single? oh my gosh, do you need a mom?

i can’t believe he’s never been married—women in his generation don’t deserve him. i’ll take him off their hands.

wait, do you have pictures of him when he was younger?

oh my god, he’s so fine. are you sure he’s in his forties?

nanako and mimiko, bless their hearts, have always crinkled their noses at the…less than proper comments they’ve had to witness about their father. in fact, they’ve watched teachers practically throw themselves onto suguru at parent-teacher conferences. it’s bothersome—a little disturbing to hear their friends talk about all the things they’d let their dad, of all people, do to them.

but you? you don’t make unhinged comments. they appreciate that.

but if only they knew…

if only they knew that sometimes, like right now, when you’re spending the night, you don’t actually sleep—instead, you sneak off to their father’s room, lay on his mattress under his body, and feel his touch. you can feel him, hard and throbbing in his sweats as his clothed cock presses against your thigh—but he takes his time with you, and doesn’t do anything about the clear arousal pooling between your legs just yet.

instead, he focuses on remembering your body—it’s been a while, after all. he hasn’t felt your hips, hasn’t tasted your skin, hasn’t heard your voice.

“missed you,” suguru breathes, hovering over you as you hum, nipping at your skin as his nose brushes along your neck. your hand is playing with his hair, twisting long, black and white strands along your fingers. “haven’t seen you in a bit, angel.”

“i’ve had midterms,” you murmur.

suguru knows—nanako and mimiko have been studying for them themselves. he’s more than a little disappointed that you haven’t come over to study with them yet. but then, just the other night, mimiko mentions you’ve been spending your time with a boy at the library, sharing a table as you lean over his shoulder to look at his laptop. nanako giggles that you might have finally gotten yourself a boyfriend. mimiko hums and nods as she murmurs it’s about time.

suguru swallows down every bite of dinner with an aftertaste of bile that night.

a boy—a boy? you’ve been skipping coming over to study with the girls (and, by default, seeing him) just to study with some boy? what’s got your attention on the guy so badly? why would you break the routine you’ve had for the last few semesters for someone you just recently met? have you finally started to realize that this is a mistake? is suguru a mistake?

he thinks maybe not, now that you’re back in his bed—but he still has too many unanswered questions.

“so i’ve heard,” he says lowly, “i’ve also heard there’s a certain boy on your radar.” he smiles bitterly, pulling away from your neck to stare at you with those dark, sharp eyes of his. “a much younger, and fitting match for you, i suppose.”

you roll your eyes, snorting.

“is that what nanako and mimiko have told you? honestly, those two,” you huff fondly, “i told them already. he’s just my partner for a presentation. we’re practicing.”

“oh?” suguru raises a brow—and then he shivers lightly when you lean up and kiss his jaw, eyes fluttering shut at your touch.

“yes,” you giggle, “no need to be jealous of someone half your age, you know.”

“that’s exactly why i’m jealous,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss you softly.

your lips taste like honey—probably sweeter, in fact. they drip with that decadent, saccharine taste of youth. he feels twenty again every time he kisses you, feels not a day older than his glory days.

“oh, you poor thing,” you grin, cupping his face as you scatter kisses along his cheeks and nose, thumb tracing the skin. fuck, is this what it feels like to be in love? it makes him feel so young, so free, and hopeful for the future. when was the last time he felt this way? “have you been losing sleep over my nonexistent college boyfriend?”

“well, kids your age fool around quite a bit,” he says in that father tone that he uses on nanako and mimiko, “what was i supposed to think?”

you’ve heard that tone so many times before; the one where he talks like he knows better, like he’s wiser, like he’s aware of something you’re not.

girls, make sure you share your location with me—i need to find you in case anything happens. it’s for your own safety, end of discussion.

make sure you watch over your drinks, okay? men these days take every chance they get to spike them when you’re not looking. mimiko, i was your age once, too. i’ve seen this happen plenty.

don’t walk alone in the streets at night. call me. i’ll pick you up—no, nanako, it’s not lame. the streets are dangerous at night. there are creeps, you know.

don’t get into any boy’s cars, girls. you never know what’ll happen; one mistake is all it takes to ruin your life—hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. one day, you’ll understand i’m right.

“i’m not a kid,” you pout, and then, smugly this time, you wiggle your brows. “did’ya lose sleep over my imaginary boyfriend? you need plenty of sleep at your age, y’know.”

“no, you’re not a kid,” suguru agrees, “you’re a brat.” and then he’s back to pressing those hot, open-mouthed, hungry kisses along your jaw, humming in delight when you angle your head to give him better access.

sometimes, it’s fun to get under suguru’s skin—it’s fun to break that carefully built, mature patience of his, pulling a twitch of his eye and a furrow of his brow from him. so, you grin widely as you murmur, “who knows? maybe he’d fuck better—more stamina, y’know?”

it’s supposed to just tease him, to make him glare at you unimpressed so you can giggle and kiss between his brows—but suguru stills at that, painfully stiff for a moment before he bites at your skin. hard.

“oh yeah?” he hisses, his voice low and dangerous as he pulls away to glare down at you, “you think so? what, you think an old man like me can’t fuck you long enough?”

you don’t get a chance to reply—not before he pulls your pants down your waist to reveal your soaked panties, pulling a hum from him as he grins at the damp patch of fabric. his fingers circle over your clit for a moment, right over the cloth, making your breath hitch as you buck into his touch.

“suguru—”

“look at that,” he chuckles, “wearing my favorite one, huh? can’t fuck you that bad if you try your best to impress me. isn’t that what you wanted? is that what you were thinking when you put these on before coming over? how precious,” he murmurs—he speaks so condescending, so knowingly, as if he’s read your mind just by looking at the red lace covering your dripping cunt. you cover your face in humiliation, but he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head, clicking his teeth in disapproval.

part of you knows you should quit while you can—the other part? well…it wants to test the limits a bit longer. suguru has never been so easy to rile up, you want to indulge in it for just a bit longer if you can help it.

“well,” you huff, “what’re you waiting for, then? don’t tell me the age has slowed you down—”

“you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he says in a low snarl, “fine, you want me to hurry up? you got it, princess.”

it all happens before you can even register—one moment, you’re grinning at him with mischief in your eyes; the next second, he has you in nothing but your bra, bare in his bed as he pulls your legs apart and leans close to your pussy.

“you know the thing about guys your age,” he hums, toying with your clit lazily as you gasp with a twitch, “is that they really don’t know how to take care of anyone but themselves. guess they just don’t have enough experience to really figure it out.”

his lips latch onto your clit, sucking before he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud as his fingers sink into your core, pushing past your folds and stretching you open. it’s slow—deliberately so, in fact. it makes your head spin, and your fingers curl into the bed sheets as you pant.

“suguru, m-more—”

“don’t worry,” he coos, pulling away from you to grin up at your glossy eyes, “you’ll get plenty, baby. we’ll see if you’ve got the stamina. y’know, since you’re so young.”

his lips are back to wrap around your clit, fingers sinking and curling exactly where you’re most sensitive—suguru finds your sweet spots instantly the first time he has you sprawled under him. didn’t even take a moment of trial, just knew where to touch and kiss to have you unravel in his hold. that much still hasn’t changed—his fingertips press against the sensitive spot in the back of your walls, pulling pretty little whines from you as his tongue flicks over your clit.

it’s always been a blessing that nanako and mimiko’s room is across the house—had they been closer, they might hear the mewl you let out as his fingers bully into you faster, unforgiving as they brush against your walls and build the ache up between your legs until it’s about to burst.

“s-suguru, ‘m close, so, so close—”

“already?” he gasps, chuckling as he presses a kiss to your clit with a sly grin, “thought you had more in you than that, baby. so youthful—figured you’d last a bit longer.”

he’s mean about it—rubs it in your face some more that you’re so close so fast before he pulls his fingers away and doesn’t even give you the satisfaction of falling apart on his digits. it makes you sob, hips bucking up to chase the friction of his fingers, but he’s already gone, leaving your walls empty and fluttering around nothing.

“no,” your voice breaks, “n-no, so close, please. i want—”

“that’s what he would’ve done,” suguru hums, “pulled out before you even finished. that’s what guys your age always do—they don’t know how to make girls finish. you ever had that problem with me?”

“no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. you’re a pretty little thing, he thinks—pouty, wobbly lips and those glossy eyes as you sniffle. “no, you always make me cum—please, i wanna cum, sugu.”

“yeah?” he pouts with faux sympathy, “didn’t feel good, huh? feels better when i take care of you, doesn’t it?”

“uh huh,” you nod—you’re still panting through the aftershocks of having your orgasm ripped from you, chest rising and falling harsh enough that it fills him with pride he can pull such drastic reactions from you. no one knows your body like suguru—he’s too good at giving it what it wants for anyone else to compare.

“think that boy—” he spits the last word like it’s poison on his tongue, “—can take care of you?”

“no,” you whimper, “no, he can’t. not like you, never like you.”

“that’s a good girl,” he nods approvingly, rubbing his slick-coated finger over your clit, toying with it teasingly as you writhe, whining for more. “you know something else about men your age? they don’t care to please a woman—don’t bother to appreciate them enough to make them feel good. you think that boy would be here—” he pauses to motion between your legs, where he’s currently situated, “—willingly? taste you willingly? let you cum on his tongue willingly?”

“i-i don’t…i never asked someone to—”

“did you ever ask me?” he interrupts, raising a brow at you, “you ever have to ask me? i just do it. wanna know why? because i know what i’m doing—know how to treat you right, how to give you what you need. isn’t that right?”

“yes, yes—you always give me what i want—”

“what you need,” he corrects, “and you know what i think you need right now? this.”

his tongue licks a stripe along your entrances before you can say anything else, pulling a gasp out of you as your hands find his hair and tug—suguru groans at that, feels his pants get impossibly tighter as the aching erection he sports throbs between his legs at the way you pull at the strands so desperately, so needy. for him. only ever him.

his tongue fucks into you, messy with the way he devours you, the slick arousal pooling from your cunt coating his lips, his cheeks, his chin. you moan—and really, it’s almost a squeal—when his fingers are sinking back into you, tongue flicking away at your clit mercilessly as he thrusts his digits in and out of your pussy. you’re close, painfully so, the pressure steadily building and building until you just can’t hold it back anymore.

“sugu—’m c-cumming. god ‘s so good—feels good,” you babble, thighs closing around his head as his fingers curl into your sweet spot over and over again, not stopping for even a second as he helps you ride out your high. your walls spasm around his fingers, tight as they flutter around him and make him groan at the thought of being inside you.

he watches, hungry and in awe, as your back arches off the mattress and your mouth parts, broken little wails of his name rolling off your tongue in a sweet melody.

“i bet he’s never seen someone look like this,” suguru murmurs, watching the way the ecstasy takes over your features as your face falls slack from pleasure, “so pretty when falling apart. bet he’d never even get close to making you look so fucked from just his tongue.”

your orgasm ripples through you—it’s not new, the way he makes you feel so good, but it’s definitely nothing to get used to either. your body slumps back onto the mattress as you finish, panting harshly while he climbs up to hover over you once again.

“that felt good?” he asks, nosing at your cheek as you nod breathlessly.

“yeah,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“hope you’re not tired out just yet,” he says smugly, eyeing the way sweat clings to your forehead and huffs of air exhale from your lungs with each labored breath, “because we’re nowhere near done, baby. not even close.”

just like that, your bra is unclasped and pulled off, freeing your tits for his mouth to latch onto a nipple, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth along the bud while his fingers tease at the other, pinching and rubbing over it with his thumb. you whine, eyes squeezing shut as your hand cups the back of his head and keeps him in place.

“bet i could make you cum just from this,” he says with a laugh, “i don’t even need to fuck you.”

“please,” you dig your nails into his shoulder, moaning as he switches to wrap his lips around the other nipple, “please, sugu—n-need more.”

“be more specific,” he says lowly, looking up at you in amusement, “gonna need more than that, princess. you gotta help me out here—i’m afraid i don’t know what i’m doing.”

suguru is doing everything he can to drag this out—if you’d known one small comment would have him riled up like this…well, truthfully, you can’t say you wouldn’t have made it anyway. it’s exciting in its own right when he’s so determined to show you why you need him, why no one else but him is meant to see you like this, make you fall apart like this, have you sprawled under them like this.

no one can know about you and suguru—not nanako and mimiko, not your other friends, not your family. you know what they’d say, how they’d feel.

disgust—shame, even. he’s far too old for you, you know they’d say; he’s a red flag for getting with someone so young. no one can know that you come here, dead in the middle of the night when your friends are asleep, and fuck their father. not only that—lay with their father, talk about your hopes and dreams for the future with their father, giggle as you gossip with their father, fall in love with their father.

something tells you the feeling is not unreciprocated—that suguru feels the same, that he loves holding you in his arms just as much as you love laying in them. maybe it wasn’t a joke, what you’d said. not to him, at least—maybe deep down, it stung; maybe he had something to prove. that boy might be closer to you in age, but he’ll never, ever treat you the way suguru does—no one will, for that matter. perhaps he has to show it so you really know.

so you look him in the eye, pull him closer until his forehead is pressed against yours and you can press a delicate kiss to his lips before you murmur against them, “fuck me, suguru. please—need you.”

he groans at that, closes his eyes before his hips move to press the thick tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it along your entrance as he coats his head with your slick. it’s flushed a deep pink—it’s been neglected for so long that he shudders at the way it aches, at the way even the slightest friction along the sensitive tip pulls a soft gasp from him.

for a moment, he wonders if he really will last long enough to fuck you properly—he might not, with the way your walls always squeeze around him, always have him ready to fuck his load into you just as soon as he’s inside you. the thought alone almost makes his cock twitch—but suguru is a man of patience, so he slowly pushes into you, inch by inch, looking down and watching as his girth disappears inside you.

“look at that,” he coos, grinning wide as he looks back up at you, “took me so easily. ‘s cause when you do it right, it doesn’t take much, does it?”

“f-fuck—” your head presses back against the pillow, mouth hung open as you breathe heavily, trying to squirm and get even the slightest bit of friction from him as he stays painfully still. “move, suguru—please, c-can’t wait anymore. jus’ wanna feel you.”

“i know,” he chuckles, “patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

despite it all, suguru is not feeling very patient anymore—it’s been long enough. his hips roll slowly at first, a shallow thrust of his hips that makes you both moan lowly before he all but pulls out and slams back in, hard. you can feel the burning stretch of his girth practically splitting you open, every thick vein dragging along your cunt and every brush of his tip against the back of your walls. it’s loud—the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sound of his deep groans and your breathless whines, the sound of the headboard hitting the wall as he fucks you into his mattress.

“god—fuck, suguru—th-there,” you mewl as he slams into you right where you need him.

you’ve lost count of how many times suguru has fucked you like you’re his. in his bed at night, in his shower in the mornings, on the couch when you drop by when the girls aren’t home, in his car that one time he drove you home when it rained, in your apartment that one time he dropped off your laptop because you forgot it. there’s one common denominator—the way he makes you feel, not just from the way his cock ruts into you, but from the way his fingers tangle with yours, from the way his mouth finds your jaw to kiss, from the way his forehead presses into your shoulder with warmth.

it’s exciting, maybe. at first, it’s scandalous and a little thrilling in its own right. by now, it’s something much more than that—you don’t think anyone could make you feel the way he does, fuck you like he does, even if they tried. even if they knew where to touch and where to kiss. even if they knew what you liked and what you didn’t.

they couldn’t be suguru—would never be suguru.

“there, huh?” he pants, moaning softly as he feels your walls flutter around him tightly, “i know. i know how to fuck this pussy—my pussy. you think some boy you hardly know would know? think he’d care to learn? think he’d even try?”

“no,” you gasp, shaking your head as your hips buck up to meet his sharp thrusts, “no. no one would make me feel this good. make me feel so good, sugu.”

“ngh—sh-shit,” he hisses at your words, cock almost swelling harder at the way you praise him, at the way your words are almost slurred with no real thought behind him. it’s a little pride-inducing, the way you’re still able to sing his praises without having to really think about it first. he can hear it, the way you’re lost in the drag of his cock, drunk in the haze of pleasure, unfocused on everything else besides the way he bullies his thick girth into your abused cunt.

it’s a mess, it’s filthy the way there’s a mix of pre cum and your slick at the base of his cock, along your inner thighs, coating your skin as the squelching sound of him nudging past your folds fills the room.

it’s good, the way he makes you feel—he can hear it in your voice as you wail his name.

“s-suguru—oh.”

“what, you gettin’ all fucked out on me? ‘m not even close yet, princess,” he hums, leaning down to kiss your neck as he sucks softly into your sweet spot. you throw your head back, rasping out a cry of his name again as his balls slap against your ass with a harsh roll of his hips.

and then his hand makes its way between your bodies, thumb attaching itself to your clit before rubbing punishing circles into the bundle of nerves—you sob at that, back arching up as your chest presses against his, nipples hard as they brush along his skin.

“s-sugu—close, ‘m gonna cum a-again—so close,” you pant brokenly, every sentence cut off with a sharp gasp as he thrusts into you.

you’re close—you can’t fight back the way the coil in your belly snaps as he teases your clit. it’s still sensitive from the last orgasm, every nerve still burning up from before as he gives you more, gives you too much, almost. you cum harder this time—your second high creeping up on you when you least expect it.

it makes your eyes roll back, makes your thighs quiver, and tears stream down your cheeks as you chant his name over and over. suguru, ‘s so good. suguru, ‘m cumming. suguru, ‘s all for you.

every sentence makes his cock drill into you faster, sloppier in rhythm, maybe, but faster. needier. bordering on desperate.

“f-fuck, baby,” he grunts, “squeezin’ me so tight—such a tight fuckin’ cunt. you think just anyone deserves this? think you can just walk around and let anyone fuck this? ‘s bullshit—ngh.”

you don’t answer—can’t answer, in fact. it’s all teary eyes and soft sniffles as you mewl with every thrust, voice breaking between every pretty little sound you make. he’s still fucking into you, still dragging his cock against those sensitive walls, still bumping against your clit with his navel, still nudging against your sweet spot with his thick, swollen tip. it’s almost too much—it is too much, making you writhe under his body as you try to form the words.

“‘s t-too much, sugu—c-can’t anymore,” you try, “can’t.”

“what?” he gasps, furrowing his brows in mock confusion, “you’re tappin’ out on me already? but ‘m not even done yet, sweetheart. haven’t even finished yet—don’t tell me you’re already spent. how will you keep up with your little boyfriend’s stamina if you can’t even take an old man like me?”

“c-can’t take anyone but you,” you sob, “jus’ you—only you. promise.”

“yeah? you swear?”

“uh huh. jus’ you, sugu—don’ want anyone else. won’t fuck me the same.”

“atta girl,” he coos, chuckling as he leans down to kiss your jaw, trailing soft pecks until he meets your lips, “that’s what i thought. make sure you don’t forget, okay?”

“fuck, suguru—’m…g-gonna…”

“gonna what? cum? you’re cumming again?” you nod at that—he grins wide, pride settling into the crinkles of his eyes before his thumb rubs harsh circles into your swollen clit once more. he looks pretty like that—hair framing his face, the mix of black and white strands sticking to the damp skin of his forehead. his skin is flushed, abs flexing as he pants over you. sometimes you feel guilty that half of why you come over to visit nanako and mimiko is to fuck suguru—the guilt is quickly extinguished when you see him like this, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his arms barely hold him over you, eyes shut tight as he groans.

“i-i’m—fuck, fuck, fuck,” you can’t form sentences anymore as you cum—again. not that you really could before that, but now all you can offer is croaked half-syllables and shaky sobs. your walls squeeze around him, tight as they hug around his throbbing cock.

it takes one, two, three more sloppy rolls of his hips before he lets out at a low, “baby, fuck—’m gonna fill you up. want that? want me to cum in you? make you mine? always been mine, haven’t you?”

“yes, yes—yours, sugu. yours, yours, yours,” you babble, words slurred between breathy moans and broken sobs. “wanna be yours.”

you can feel him—feel the way his cock twitches in you, the way he grinds into you to ride out his high, the way sticky, hot ropes of cum fill your walls, the way he fucks his load deeper into you with every sloppy thrust of his hips. his arms quiver as he holds himself over you—just barely, though. you can hear the way his voice cracks as he gasps your name over and over, as he mutters lowly about how you’re his, how you’ll always only be his.

“mine,” he grits, “you’re fuckin’ mine—see how you’re suckin’ me in? see how i fit in this pussy like it was made for me? ‘s cause you’re mine.”

his body slumps onto yours as he finishes, head pressed into the crook of your neck as he kisses the skin while you both catch your breaths. you whimper, still sensitive, as he pulls out of you, a soft chuckle falling past his lips as he pulls his head up to look at you and press a kiss to your cheek.

“so,” he starts, eyes laced with amusement as he takes in the fucked out look on your face, the tears still drying your cheeks, the swollen flush of your bottom lip, “still think you need someone with more stamina? someone who’ll fuck you better—”

“god,” you groan, slapping his shoulder, “will you drop it already? you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“no,” he murmurs, pecking your lips, “still wanna hear it some more.”

“your ego needs a reality check,” you huff as you brush a strand of hair from his forehead, “think i’ve fed it plenty all night.”

“actually, i think you crushed it,” he pouts theatrically, “talking about some asshole who doesn’t care about you right in front of me. after i take such good care of you, too. the girls already think you should date him,” he adds the last part with a slightly bitter roll of his eyes, pulling a giggle out of you.

“they think i don’t know how to talk to men,” you snort, “imagine they knew i was talking to men old enough to be my father.”

“hey,” he clicks his teeth, falling onto the mattress beside you—he pulls you into his chest, letting your cheek rest on his bare skin. it’s so wrong—lying in bed with the father of your best friends. but somehow, suguru feels like the only thing you’ve ever done right. “age is nothing but a number, sweetheart.”

if i have to see the word cock one more time im going to eradicate all humans that have them

do not comment about a part 2 !!!!!!!!!!

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zara-renata · 2 months ago

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Sylus gets a headache | ao3 | other fics in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, no use of y/n. This story contains: fluff, banter, Sylus has a hard time keeping his hands to himself, legal arguments, bad puns, self-indulgent writing, repetitive finger caressing, insomnia that Sylus is determined to vanquish by any means, Xavier is an innocent victim in all this and has no idea, except has Xavier ever been innocent in his entire life? CWs: insomnia, consumption of alcohol, profanity SFW, mostly. With some filthy innuendos at the end. It's Sylus, after all.

It has been a few days since you had the best night’s rest you can remember on the back of a certain miscreant crime lord’s motorcycle, and you’re once again preparing for a long, torturous night of staring at the ceiling and trying to catalogue all the classes of wanderers in an attempt to lull yourself to sleep—Nero’s suggestion. You have your doubts about whether it will work, but he gave the advice so earnestly after overhearing you talking to Tara about your insomnia that you feel obligated to give it a go. Sylus would probably scoff and say something about ‘people pleasing,’—you shake your head. That man does not get to live rent free in your brain, no matter how suspiciously kind he was the last time you saw him.

The kettle squeals, and you pour the boiling water into your chipped “World’s Greatest Hunter” mug that Caleb had gifted you once you were admitted into the Association’s ranks. The hot liquid steams soothingly into your face as it drowns a chamomile teabag, and you try not to think about the last time you saw him, when he was smiling. Patting your head. Whole, and so, so vibrantly alive. You take a deep, shaky breath.

After a suggestion from Tara, you add some honey and then slice a lime and squeeze the juice into the tea, absently stirring the spoon and gazing out your balcony window. You’re home early for once, and the sun is only just setting. You can’t see it through the high rises around you, but dusk filters down into the streets below your flat. The gentle sounds of the city moving into late evening drift up, the traffic like waves crashing on the shore, laughter and shop bells tinkling, a dog barking somewhere.

Suddenly, your doorbell chimes through your apartment and startles you out of your reverie. Did you forget that you had ordered something to be delivered today?

Without thinking too hard about it, you take your still piping-hot tea and pad to the foyer to answer the door.

Only to have your sense of calm shattered as you fling the mug out of sheer, instinctual self-preservation that Zayne accuses you of not having, when you see who is standing on the other side.

Quicker than your brain can actually process Sylus’s presence outside your flat, scarlet-night tendrils have prevented the mug from shattering on the floor, but have failed to stop the liquid from continuing its projectile path right onto his red, standing collar shirt and black vest.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

“You really, and I mean really, need to work on your greetings, kitten,” he tells you calmly, evol delivering the mug into his waiting hand while he holds the suitcase he has in the other hand away from his body to avoid being dripped on by his now soaked torso.

“Sorry, you were the last person I was expecting.” You wince, heart still threatening to beat its way out of your rib cage.

“Oh, expecting someone, are we?” he lifts a dark silver eyebrow.

“No, but least of all… you.” You flap your hand in his general direction. “What are you even doing here?”

“How about,” he drawls, “you let me in, and I’ll tell you. You wouldn’t want your neighbors to get curious and come to inquire about the mess I’m making on your doorstep, would you?”

You stare at him for a moment longer, trying to think of a way out of having him in your space, again, but you’re tired at the end of another long day, another long week, another long month and this whole entire fucking year. Trying to get rid of him will take more energy than just letting him do what he wants so that he’ll go away again. You run a hand down your face and shuffle aside.

He enters, and the scent of him fills the small foyer, warm and mouth-watering. He sets the briefcase and mug on the floor, removes his dress shoes and places them neatly by your own hastily-kicked-off boots next to the step leading into the rest of your flat. He then picks the mug back up and reads what’s written on it.

“World’s best hunter, indeed.” He snorts softly, eyes flicking from your face to your thin tank top and sleep shorts covered in grinning little bounce, bounce planet blobbus, to your bare feet. “Is this how the world’s greatest hunter always answers the door to unknown visitors?”

“It was a gift,” you say defensively, snatching the mug from him and cradling it to your chest. “And the only people who would be at my door this late is Xavier borrowing a cup of sugar for some doomed baking experiment, or a delivery person. I’m sure they’ve seen much worse than this,” you sweep your hand down your body in a dismissive flourish.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve seen much worse.” Sylus frowns slightly.

“Yeah, so if they don’t like it, they’re welcome to move on to their next delivery.”

“Or buy their own sugar,” Sylus murmurs, reaching out to run a finger along your knuckles as you clutch the mug. “And who gave you this highly accurate mug?”

You hesitate, knowing that his face is going to do something complicated, like it always does, when you mention your family. But fuck it, he asked. If he doesn’t like the answer, he can also move on to whatever his next nefarious errand is. “Someone who was like a brother to me.”

“Brother, huh,” he says softly, still gently stroking your skin. “Well, he wasn’t wrong in this.” His hand falls back to his side. “Invite me all the way in, kitten. With your words,” he commands.

“And why should I do that? The deal was to let you come in. You’re in now. You don’t need to come in any further. Now it’s your turn to honor the deal. Why are you here?” You glare up at him, your foyer feeling minuscule with his big body and presence filling it.

“You offered me your place if I ever needed it,” Sylus narrows his glittering eyes. “I needed it today before you flung steaming liquid all over my clothes. And now I need it even more.” He looks pointedly down at the still-dripping clothes in question.

“What did you originally need it for?” You stall, the guilt of throwing a mug full—half! Half full! of tea at him starting to creep in.

“How about you invite me all the way into your home, with your words, help me take care of this mess you caused,” he waves a lazy finger at his torso, “and I’ll tell you.”

“But you already promised to tell me why you’re here in exchange for the initial value of me letting you in, and I let you in. I already paid. You can’t make me pay twice for the same goods,” you protest.

“Remind me to take you with me the next time I have contract negotiations. You’re more useful than my own legal counsel.” He pauses, considering you. “Circumstances have changed. Force majeure prevents me from fulfilling my original promise without requiring additional time and means to fulfil that promise. You owe me the opportunity to successfully deliver what I owe you.”

“What, exactly, is preventing you from telling me why you originally came to my home right here in my entryway?”

“The consequences of an unforeseeable natural disaster,” he answers with a little helpless shrug. “Namely, the trauma of nearly getting drowned in tea following almost being taken out by a mug launched with your god-like strength. Kitten, your assault is the equivalent of an act of god, and I can’t be responsible for the fact that I now need a dry shirt and a safe place to recover from the shock of almost being murdered by your tableware.”

You can’t help it. It has been so long since you’ve actually laughed out loud, so the noise that comes out of you doesn’t even sound human. You’re laughing, and you can’t stop. The affronted look on Sylus’s face in response to your ugly-snorts, causes you to laugh even more, and you’re suddenly bending over, holding your knees, laughing like you might die if you stop.

After a long moment, when you are finally able to breathe again, you straighten and find Sylus looking at you with a soft expression, one corner of his wide mouth slightly lifted… which is alarming. But you’re too filled with gratitude for the relief of laughing that his absurd exaggeration just gave you, so you refuse to think about anything at all too hard right now. You give in.

“Sylus, would you do me the honor of coming into my home? You can tell me what the hell you’re doing here after I find you a dry shirt.” You sarcastically bow as low as you can, your arms uplifted to gesture him forward.

“I suppose I can’t refuse such a graciously extended offer,” he says, as if resigned to a terrible fate, but his smile is smug and he wastes no time striding into your living room while unbuttoning his vest. He gently lays it over the back of your couch, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You force yourself to stop staring as the pale skin slowly being revealed with each flick of his long fingers and head to your bedroom.

You paw through your chest of drawers, trying to find a shirt that will fit his broad shoulders and chest, but all you manage to do is make even more of a mess in your barely organized drawers. You stand, remembering the hoodie Xavier leant you after a recent, particularly messy battle on a chilly night. You move to your closet where you had hung it carefully to remind yourself to give it back to him after having washed it. You pull it from the hanger, turn around, and squeal loud enough to shatter glass.

Sylus is standing right behind you, chest bare, black slacks hung low around his narrow hips, and you did not heard him come in.

“I thought we were past the terror stage of our friendship, sweetheart,” he says, cocking his head, the same ruby stud earrings he was wearing at the club flashing in the light. “But that’s twice today that I’ve frightened you to the point of violence. Am I really that scary?”

“You keep… appearing, out of nowhere. A little warning would be appreciated,” you huff, heart pounding. You don’t know why you’re so nervous around him. Really. It has nothing to do with the broad expanse of creamy skin and pillowy man-tits shoved in your face at the moment. “And honestly, considering the fact that our friendship started with you choking me out and keeping me captive for days, it’s a wonder that I’m not more scared of you,” you flare, because yeah, how dare he act like you should be over the absolute shit-show of your first encounter, when you’ve hardly had any time to get to know him. That’s why you’re nervous. There is no other possible explanation. A couple friendly interactions do not make up for how much of an evil bastard he was when you first met him.

“Would you like me to wear a bell when I’m here, then?” he asks, conveniently ignoring the reminder regarding how he treated you not so long ago.

“How about you just stay out of my bedroom and stay where I can see you at other times,” you snap, feeling violent again at the intrusive thought of Sylus wearing a collar around his thick neck, cute little bell dinging every time he moved.

“I’ll do my best,” he says absently, clearly distracted by his thorough inventory of your bedroom as he takes in the tumbling plants in mismatched pots on floating shelves hanging over the unmade bed, the army of plushies scattered over the bunched up mountain of duvet and pillows. Your bed used to be your sanctuary. The place where you could find rest and relaxation after exhausting battles and long days squinting at the computer filing incident reports. Now it just gives you anxiety. You try to pull his attention away from the chaos of your former safe space by holding Xavier’s hoodie out for Sylus to take.

“Here, this might fit you.”

Sylus looks down at your offering, crosses his arms, and takes a step back, as if the hoodie is so offensive that it warrants recoiling physically from it. “That’s quite a big hoodie for you, even for days when you want to be comfortable,” he says evenly.

“It’s not mine, but it’s clean, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing I have right now that will fit you,” you say, shaking it a little in the universal, impatient gesture of just take it already for fuck’s sake.

“And who is its actual owner?”

“Xavier.”

“In the habit of wearing your partner’s clothing, are we?” he asks, still staring at it, the disdain now plain in his assessment of the sweatshirt.

“Uh, sometimes? We were on a mission recently and my jacket got torn to the point of uselessness, and it was cold. He let me wear his hoodie so I wouldn't be cold. It's been washed since then, so it's clean. I’ll just wash it again when you’re done using it before I return it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

After what seems like a ridiculous amount of time for him to apparently make some mental calculations that only he will ever understand, he finally takes the soft hoodie from you, fingertips brushing yours as he grasps the fabric. You can’t figure out why he he suddenly looks more smugly evil than you’ve ever seen, with his lips curved up in a sardonic smirk. “Oh, of course, I’m sure he will not mind at all.” He pulls the hoodie over his head and shimmies a little as he drags it down is body; it’s a little tight around the shoulders, but you don’t think it’s tight enough to permanently stretch the fabric.

After it’s on, he tugs the collar up to his nose and inhales deeply.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as if you can’t see perfectly well what he is doing.

“It smells like you,” he answers, shameless, as if that is a perfectly reasonable answer to your question.

“Well, I did wear it, and wash it with my normal detergent and it has been hanging in my closet for a while, so…” your voice trails off.

“And soon it will smell like me too,” he continues, letting the collar fall with a satisfied flick of his fingers.

What even is this conversation? “Can you just be normal? For once?" A look of boredom is all the response you get, so you continue. "Now get out of my bedroom. Come tell me why you’re here in the first place.” You stride past him, making your way into the living room.

He follows you obediently and plops down on the couch, and just like last time, spreads his legs wide. This time, he is able to rest his arms on either side along the back of the couch, effectively occupying the whole damn thing. He sits quietly, looking at you expectantly.

You stand, arms folded, a safe distance away from the couch near the kitchen island.

“Well?” You prompt.

“It’s customary to offer your guest a refreshing beverage upon receiving them in your home. I believe I offered you wine the first time I hosted you in my own home.”

“Hosted?” He can’t be serious. “What a generous euphemism for ‘unlawfully imprisoned,’” you bite out.

“Po-tae-to,” he says serenely, “Po-tah-to.”

“Sylus,” you warn—about what, you’re not sure. He wants a beverage? Okay, perhaps you’ll fling more hot tea at him if he doesn’t start talking.

“Kitten.” He continues gazing at you, clearly in no hurry to move things along.

“If you don’t tell me, right now, why the hell you showed up at my place unannounced, I will report you as a burglar and have you removed by the authorities.”

“But then how will you explain to Xavier why I’ve been arrested wearing his sweater?” he asks, eyes wide, all concern for what your partner’s thoughts on the matter would be, and what they would mean for you.

“Burglars have been known to be creeps and go rooting through their victims’ closets and wearing their clothes! I’ll just say you were wearing it when I got here. Maybe he’ll be worried that it’s him you’re actually interested in harassing,” you snicker, trying to picture Xavier’s reaction.

As you’re speaking, Sylus pulls out his phone and fiddles with it with a bored expression on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I boring you? Perhaps you should go find something more interesting to do and leave me in peace,” you grind out after you’ve finished and notice his complete lack of attention.

Your irritation is interrupted by a notification on your phone. Since Sylus is so busy messing with his, you grab yours from where it has been lying on the counter since before Sylus interrupted your peaceful evening staring out into the city. You see that you have a new message from… the man currently oozing across the entirety of your couch, head lolled to the side and watching you with a hint of amusement curving his mouth.

You open the chat, and your eyes widen at the conversation that never fucking happened currently loading into your chat history, with time stamps corresponding to when Sylus showed up at your door.

You: Oh Sylus, my big, handsome partner in crime, I think there’s an intruder in my flat and I’m so scared!

The Sytuation: What makes you think theres an intruder in your home, kitten? Im on my way.

You: There is sugar missing from my pantry! I just bought a new bag yesterday, and it’s gone! Oh please, my dark knight, come protect me from the sugar thief who should buy his own sugar and stop coming to my place to pilfer mine!

The Sytuation: Of course, sweetie. Go wait by the door, Ill be there in 5.

“What. Is. This. Fuckery,” you demand, thrusting your phone in his face.

He shrugs. “You threatened to lie about why I’m here in a bid to get rid of me. Did you not expect me to counter your move to ensure that no one will believe you?” he pauses, and then narrows his eyes. "Did you really save me in your phone as 'The Situation,' with a Y?"

"Punny, right? My phone doubles as my work phone. You really think I'm going to save your real name in my contacts? I might as well just save you as 'Sylus Qin, leader of Onychinus, most wanted criminal in the N109 zone," you grumble. "And trust me, that's the nicest name I could come up with."

"Punny," he repeats derisively, unimpressed.

“And don't derail. What is this nonsense about a sugar thief?” You wave the phone again.

“Your colleague should learn to stock his own pantry if he wants to engage in… what did you call them? Doomed baking experiments?”

“How did you even… why does it look so real?” You gaze down at the texts that look so authentic that if they hadn’t been filled with such bullshit, you’d be doubting your own sanity about whether the conversation had really happened.

“You’re really surprised that faking evidence, alibis and dirt on my opponents is a part of my vast skill set? I’m hurt that you underestimate me so.” He looks at you like he’s disappointed, a little pout pulling down his stupid beautiful mouth.

“For fuck’s sake.” You’re done. The longer you resist, the longer Sylus will be in your flat, driving you up the wall. “Fine. Fine!” You set your phone down again and throw up your hands. “What do you want to drink, Sylus?”

“Two fingers of gin, if you have it. Or brandy. Or vodka.” He thinks for a moment. “I’m not feeling too picky tonight.”

“I don’t keep hard liquor in my house, you alcoholic. I have a half-open bottle of rosé in the fridge. Will that satisfy his lordship?” You turn resignedly to trod your way to your fridge.

“What vineyard and vintage?” he asks, perking up.

You open the fridge and pull out the bottle. You squint at the label. “I dunno. It has a cute fish on the label, so I bought it.”

He looks at you like you just murdered Mephisto, and you begin pouring the pink liquid into another mug. This one says UNT on the side in big block letters, matching the size of the handle so that when you hold it, the handle looks like a matching C. You walk back to where he’s sitting, and you think that maybe your smile looks as smug as Sylus’s usually does when you hand him his drink.

He takes the mug from you, snorts when he reads the side, and then look at its contents dubiously for a moment.

“You taste it first,” he finally says, looking back up at you.

“Worried I poisoned it?” You’re still grinning.

“As you say,” he says, tilting his head.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t demand beverages from people you don’t trust then.”

“I trust you, just not your taste in wine after learning you choose bottles based on the cuteness of the label. Indulge me,” he murmurs. “Prove to me that you’re willing to drink it, and that it’s not just swill you’re trying to get rid of by offering it to me.”

You take the mug from him and lift it to your lips, taking a sip, watching him over the rim as you swallow. His nostrils flair, and he lifts his hand in a gesture for you to return it to him. Instead of giving it back, you take one more big gulp, and his brow furrows. Only after you've slowly swallowed again do you comply, relishing the warmth spreading through your body as you lower the mug for him to take. He brushes your fingers again as he takes it back. He turns the mug, so that his mouth hovers where yours just was. He then closes his eyes and inhales, gently swirling the liquid inside. Eyes still closed, he takes a sip.

After a moment, he sighs. “Thank you. This is actually not bad, for a rosé.”

“You’re such a snob,” you smile down at him, irrationally pleased that he seems so pleased.

“Life is too difficult, and too short, to waste on inferior experiences. I only like tasting the best,” he says, bright red eyes opening and fixing on you.

He looks up at you like you should be able to draw some deeper meaning from his words, but you’re tired, warm from the wine, and despite how much he winds you up you were just moments ago, right now you’re strangely relaxed for the first time in days.

“Tell me why you’re here, Sylus,” you say quietly.

“You told me I could use your place when I needed it,” he says, just as softly. He takes another drink, rolls it around in his mouth. Swallows, his adam’s apple dipping.

“And why did you need it this evening?”

“I had some negotiations regarding a business acquisition that I’m considering in this part of Linkon City, and they were abhorrently boring. By the time they were over, I had a splitting headache, and the sunlight didn’t help. It would have been unsafe to operate a motor vehicle under those conditions, so I thought I’d come and wait for it to pass in my newest ‘safe house,’ he answers gravely, as if getting a headache was a perfectly logical reason to crash your evening and take over your couch. “Wouldn’t want to endanger the innocent citizens of Linkon City with reckless driving, now would we?”

“Aren’t all of your shady business deals done under the cover of darkness? Why were you here at a meeting during the day?”

He’s holding the mug in one hand by his fingertips now, along the rim, slowly swirling it. He crosses one long leg over the other and answers languidly. “You’re assuming that today’s business was ‘shady.’”

“So your business today was legitimate?” You’ve been standing for awhile now, and begin to shift from bare foot to bare foot.

He hums in acknowledgement. “My business interests are as varied as they are successful. You insult me by looking so surprised.”

“Well I would never want to insult you,” you drawl. “So that’s it? You got a headache and decided you’d crash my evening?”

He nods, touching his temple and grimacing. “It’s still pretty bad, to be honest.”

“The daylight bothers you that much?” you ask, genuinely curious. You have always assumed that it was the nature of his occupation and perhaps just a proclivity for being a night owl that explained his nocturnal existence, but now you’re wondering if it’s not something deeper that has him avoiding it as much as possible.

You finally decide to give your tired feet a break and perch on the little corner of couch cushion that has been freed for use by Sylus crossing his legs. “If sunlight bothers you that much, what could possibly be so important to come out in it today?”

“Are you really asking about the details of my business ventures, sweetheart?” he asks in what you suspect is feigned astonishment.

“And if I am?”

“Then I’ll tell you,” he responds easily.

“Then I am.”

“I’m in discussions for acquiring a chain of entertainment venues in Linkon City.” He leans his head on the couch’s backrest and lets it roll to the side to keep looking at you. He catches the look of disgust that is no doubt obvious on your face.

“Entertainment venues,” you say flatly.

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“What kind of … entertainment venues?” you ask, hating yourself for wanting to know. It’s his business if he wants to buy porn shops, or strip clubs, or brothels—your stomach twists, and you refuse to consider why.

“What kind of ideas are racing through that fascinating brain of yours?” he asks, reaching up and running two of his fingers along your temple, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“Nothing,” you bite out, turning your face away from his touch. You normally dislike how you have a hard time concealing how you’re feeling, but you particularly hate it right now.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs. “Then, to answer your question, it’s a chain of arcades.”

Your brain grinds to a halt. Did he just say—

“Arcades?”

He nods, and winces, closing his eyes. You’re starting to believe that his head is actually hurting him, and you feel bad for throwing dishware and hot tea at him and refusing to offer him more than the one drink he asked for.

“Why would you be interested in acquiring an arcade chain?”

“Even for odious crime lords, it’s always wise to have a diversified business portfolio.”

You have called him a lot of things both out loud and in your head, but you’d never call him odious. Odorous, perhaps, when he’s sweating heavily after being riddled with bullets. But you have to suppress the urge to chastise him about talking about himself that way.

“Which chain is it?”

“You probably don’t know it,” he says, as if bored with the question. “It’s not a very large chain, but large enough for my interests.”

“Try me! I love going to the arcade when I have some free time. I mean, you’ve seen my plushie collection now that you invited yourself into my house,” you bounce a little on the couch.

“You invited me, kitten. You’ve had a choice, each and every time.”

“Don’t deflect! Answer the question!” You’re quite excited about this. Maybe if it’s a place you know, that has a location nearby, he’ll give you a discount if he ends up buying them? Like an employee discount or something. Is that ethical? You should check the Association’s employee handbook for conflicts of interest.

He squints, as if preparing to evaluate your reaction, and names your favorite place to play the claw machine.

“For real? You’re really going to buy them?”

“I still have to review the contract that was proposed during today’s discussions with my legal counsel, but if negotiations are successful, then yes,” he says, casually examining his nails.

Your excitement is hard to contain, but you suddenly have a troubling thought. “You’re not going to change anything, right? Like, that place is perfect as it is, and the employees are all really friendly and helpful and clearly work hard to keep it really nice,” you rush out, worried that he’s planning to reduce the staff or try to jack up the prices for a larger profit margin.

He turns to look at you again, and doesn’t answer for long enough that you’re really starting to worry. But then he says softly, “No, I’m not going to change a thing.”

“Oh? So they’re doing well? It’s a solid financial investment?” You’re so relieved, safe in the knowledge that your plushies will continue to be accessible, insofar as claw machines by design allow them to be.

Sylus laughs softly. “Yes, the financials all look good. Considering your interest in the nature of binding agreements, would you like to look over the purchase agreement with me? I have it with me.”

“I’d actually really like to, but I’m starting to get really tired,” you yawn, the relief you were just feeling—the relief of knowing that Sylus wasn’t up to anything that would leave a blood trail today, relief that he didn’t come tonight to try to force you to resonate or finally kill you for refusing to do so, and most importantly, relief that he wasn’t going to acquire and ruin one of the little pleasures in your life—all of it is now drowned out by a heavy feeling of pleasant drowsiness.

“Then I’ll read it to you, until you fall asleep.”

“Huh? You want to stay?”

“Yes,” he says, hauling himself to his feet and offering you his hand. You take it in confusion, and he lifts you to your feet as well. He sets the now empty mug on your coffee table, and then places his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you from behind to your bedroom.

“Why?” you ask, not even thinking to object.

“Headache, remember?” He pushes you gently by your shoulders so that you’re sitting on your bed.

“How can you review legalese when you’re suffering from a headache?” You sink into the softness of the mattress.

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he says, nudging you until you’ve scooted to the middle of the bed. “Don’t move. I’m going to get my tablet out of my briefcase.” He disappears through the doorway, and you’re left sitting on your bed, surrounded by all of your plushies, and you have no idea what’s happening. You’re just too tired to argue with him. You really did miscalculate by spending all of your energy trying to get rid of him when he first arrived.

But just because you’re bone-tired, doesn’t mean you’re going to let him boss you around. You get off the bed and pad into the kitchen, passing him as he snaps his briefcase shut, tablet in hand.

“I distinctly recall telling you not to move,” he gripes, pushing up an elegant set of gold framed glasses perched on the uneven bridge of his nose with a middle finger. Huh, you didn’t know he needed glasses to read. He looks almost … cute wearing them, a little less feral. Like a leopard wearing a monocle.

Suppressing the thought of Sylus and cute in the same sentence, you ignore him, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. Then you rummage through your most chaotic kitchen drawer for a few moments, before triumphantly pulling out what you were looking for.

You pad back over to where he’s still watching you, and offer him the glass and the half-used blister pack of over-the-counter painkillers you fished out of your chaos drawer. “Here.”

He looks down at your hands, offering him what you hope is some relief from his headache. His face is impassive, and you’re worried he assumes you’re trying to poison him again. But then he tucks the tablet under one arm, and reaches out with both hands to grasp the glass and the pill pack—except he doesn’t take them from your hands. He envelops yours with his, and pulls you gently closer to him. He somehow manages to pop two tablets out of the pack with his thumb, and they drop into your curved palm. Still holding your hand, he leans down to sweep them from your skin with his tongue. In a complete daze, you watch him lift the glass that you’re still holding to his lips, and he takes a long pull of water, washing the pills down, all the while holding your gaze with his. When he’s done, he slowly lowers your hands again.

“Thank you,” he murmurs “For the benevolence of your heart.” He says it gravely, as if you’ve just saved his life instead of giving him some headache medicine.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, feeling like you’ve been struck by a truck after… whatever that was, feeling the warmth of his tongue in the palm of your hand like he was still licking it. Sylus then turns and heads back to your bedroom.

You set the glass and the now-empty pill pack on the kitchen island, thinking you’ll clean up tomorrow if you manage to sleep tonight, and follow him.

In the bedroom, Sylus sits, leaning back against your headboard, having needed to gently scoop some plushies out of the way to make room. He stretches his legs out in front of him with a sigh. He looks so soft, wrapped in the white hoodie, silver hair rumpled, surrounded by pillows and cute little plushies.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to remember that the man currently sinking into your duvet and wiggling his sock-covered toes in contentment is the same man who straight up exploded the man who dared kidnap you, and then proceeded to kidnap you himself after choking you to the point of passing out. You try to hold both of these truths about him in your mind at the same time, but the image of Sylus dancing you gently through a press of bodies, of the way he caresses your fingers at every opportunity, the soft slide of his tongue along your palm—these images are conquering every other version of him that you know to be true in your mind. You wonder briefly if this is part of some larger scheme of his, and what his endgame could possibly be. But right now, you’re too fucking tired to care.

“What is even happening,” you ask. You’re exhausted, but you still have enough mental reserves to question how you got here, in this situation, with this man migrating from vanquishing your couch to a large part of your bed. “Is the coffee table, or kitchen table insufficient for your needs? Why are you going to review the paperwork here, on my bed?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you fell asleep on my back on the motorcycle the other night, sweetheart. I’m just reading you a bedtime story featuring limitations of liability and allocation of risk so that you can finally get some sleep again.” He pats his thigh. “Here.”

You just stare at him. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, tapping his thigh again with one long finger. Just for that, you glare mutinously at him and fold your arms over your chest.

He sighs again, this time in exasperation, and leans over, firmly lifting you and setting you down so that your head is pillowed against his meaty thigh. He begins to run his fingertips gently up and down the middle of your back. He returns his attention to his tablet. “Now listen carefully,” he commands, before flicking the screen with his thumb and beginning to read in his softly in his deep, rich voice.

But of course you don't. You fall asleep as the skyscrapers light up like a dragon's hoard of jewels in the night sky outside your window, to the sounds of Sylus’s quiet recitation of indeed, a terribly boring contract, and the whisper of his fingers along your skin.

When you wake up, there is another black feather on your pillow, and you are alone. You yawn, once again feeling unbelievably rested despite the chaos Sylus always brings to your door and into your life. You stretch leisurely, spreading your arms wide and turning your head on the pillow, when something catches in your earlobe. You reach up and run your fingers along a stud earring that was not there when you fell asleep. You feel your other earlobe, but it's empty. You grab your phone from the nightstand, knocking over a semiautomatic hand pistol with scarlet flames engraved along the grip that you also don't remember owning onto the floor. You stare at it briefly, ready to commit murder if you check it and find that the safety isn't on. But first things first: you put the phone camera in selfie mode and lift it to your face, but quickly lower it again after confirming that it is indeed a ruby stud in your ear, sparkling cheekily in the morning sunlight.

Later, you're relieved to find that Sylus did actually leave the safety on on your new little ... toy, and you'll find that the mugs have been washed and set neatly away, the empty pack of painkillers placed in the recycling bin. You also see that various takeout containers and other debris that had piled up on a lot of surfaces in your place are also gone, and the countertops are clean, the coffee and kitchen table gleam in the early morning sunlight. You don't notice that the white hoodie is nowhere to be found, until you meet up with Xavier later in the day. He's wearing one that looks exactly like it.

"Thanks for returning the hoodie," he yawns. "But you really didn't have to."

You pause, feeling a thread of panic start to wind its way through your stomach. You decide to just... go with it. "Oh? You found it okay?"

"Yeah, but why did you just leave it hanging from my door handle? You could have rung and come in. I had a new limited edition bag of those cookies you were looking at in the corner store last week. I would have shared some with you... but now I've eaten them all," he admits sheepishly, big blue eyes shimmering with guilt.

You try to think fast. Did Sylus give back the hoodie without washing it? What the fuck was he thinking? He could have been seen! Does this flat have surveillance footage? Does Xavier suspect anything? You realize that you still haven't answered Xavier's question as your panic spirals. "Oh, you know, didn't want to wake you up," you flap your hands, as if you can flap this entire situation right out of your messy life.

"Well, I don't know what you did to it, but it feels brand new. As if it's never even been washed. And you somehow got out the bbq sauce stain that no matter how much I sprayed it with that stain remover stuff would never come out. So you're going to have to teach me some of that laundry magic," he says contentedly, snuggling further into the entirely new hoodie that you now realize Sylus must have somehow, over the course of the night, had hand-delivered to Xavier's place. "Uh huh," you say absently, pulling out your phone to furiously text Mr. Asshat when you see that he has also changed his name in your contact list.

You: What the hell did you do with Xavier's hoodie?"

My Sy: It doesnt matter who it belonged to before me. All that matters is that its mine now.

You: It doesn't even fit you properly! You're too big for it!

My Sy: Nothing a little size training cant fix.

Your jaw drops. He cannot be implying what you think he's implying. This is your filthy mind at work. You decide that you will simply pretend this conversation never happened. Absolutely nothing good can come from trying to figure out what the fuck is going through Sylus's head at any given moment.

You: And 'My Sy?' Really?

My Sy: Its not punny, but it rhymes. And its accurate. Gotta put the phone down for a bit, kitten. Business requires my attention. Ill be seeing you soon.

You stare at his last message for long enough that Xavier asks if you're okay. You're not. You're not okay. You couldn't even bring yourself to ask him about the other earring, or the gun. You just slowly slip your phone back into your cargo pants pocket and try very hard to stop thinking, for the rest of the day.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #love and deepspace fanfiction #my fanfic #did i spend time in glint just to make a photo of sylus touching his temple for this post #to go with today's theme #yes your honor #i hope someone finds this enjoyable #i'm having fun writing and fixating on this king

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harmonysanreads · 2 months ago

Text

La Follia

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Yandere!Sylus x Reader

cw(s) : yandere, coercion, implied murder, implications of forced marriage, one mention of blood, guns, imbalanced power dynamics.

「 words : 800+ 」「 art credits 」

· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ This... is not the fic idea I said I had in my wips but somehow we ended up here anyway ^^;

Before signing any document, it is crucial to carefully read its contents.

Not this one though. Your spite digs its talons into the pen, glaring at the offending piece of paper its situated against. The strings of legal ruminations and dry wordplay are irrelevant, unnecessary and jeeringly useless before your present predicament. Your eyes would rather bleed than capture their meaning.

Vague phantoms taunt your periphery, specks of dust rising from litanies of codicies towards the flickering lightbulb make it impossible to forget your environment. The state of a government office ; a place to admonish rules and keep the reputation of the constitution flowing — he has no need to adhere to them.

Redundant cannot even hope to describe the absurdity of the situation, in fact, you think you're at a stage of mental stupefaction that no adjective can. Perhaps it would carry some semblance of logic had it been a toddler instead of a conscious adult conducting this ridiculous show.

A show, yes, yes — it is nothing but an impromptu drama. To dig and imbibe the fact into your and everyone else's heads, that the leader of Onychinus has the luxury, the power to carry out even the most nonsensical whims.

Why shouldn't it be possible? In a world dictated through strength, governed by the fittest and where history is written for posterity in hopes of conditioning them to sing the greatness of those who won, you suppose something like this isn't all that irrational.

Supposing now, all things considered, that none of this is illogical in the grand scheme of things. In fact, should the so-called strong decide that it is completely normal, acceptable even to hold a gun to another's head, push them to a stack of papers and shove a pen to finalize some joke of a matrimony — it would be deemed appropriate, because it is the one with the might who has thought so.

But what it wouldn't be, is fair ; another hapless notion that can be discarded easily with the universal knowledge that nothing ever is fair in this world.

You peer through your lashes to the unfortunate clerk that had the fortune of witnessing this hilarity. He tries his best to maintain a semblance of professionalism and fails effortlessly, if the way he toys with the silver-band around his ring finger is anything to go by. Your eyes shift to the picture frame kept with care at one corner of the desk, the innocent smiles of figures who you assume to be his family almost make your heart ache.

Marriage. Coveted, anticipated, so beautiful in its purest form yet the causation of so many miseries. You would've never thought it could be ridiculed to this degree before this day.

You don't need to look beside you to picture his amusement, fascinated at how the clerk appears as though he's seeing his every wrong doing and each moment of joy play out before his eyes despite it being you with a weapon pointed at your head.

There is no rationality behind the demand of marriage by a man who dwells in a land governed by the rule of no rules, no explanation as to why he saunters into this establishment and insists that it be finalized through legalese furthermore.

No, no, it is but to prove to your stubborn self — see and witness what I can do should I desire, I can adhere to law and trample upon it according to my whim. Will you still deny me, still deem me beneath you after this?

You will, if just to push his patience to its last hinges. You know very well this is all just a game to him. If Sylus truly desired to end your life, he wouldn't need a measly gun to do it.

You count the beats of time and construse your own schemes, searching for exits from this doomed playground and wander right into his trap.

“Can’t bring yourself to do it?” the purr is close, too close for your comfort. The tip of the pen shines as it tilts in response to your loosened clasp, sharp, you note ; pointed enough to pierce through an eye and dash away a few paces.

“Need some encouragement? Yes? No? Maybe so? You could've just said it instead of glaring at the poor paper.” the cold muzzle retracts from the side of your head but the heat of its presence remains.

The clerk's pupils are clear enough to reflect the panic that paints your face. The pen drops from your grasp, rolling across the papers and the worn out wood of the table ; gravity pulling it closer to the earth till it hits the tiled floor, splattering the crimson pooling around the surface.

The warmth of the hand that forced the weapon to your hand swiftly withdraws, your vision clears to the coldness of the gun in your clutch, the silence that follows the bullet's release nearly deafens your ears.

You hear the devil's whisper, “Now you and I are equal, no? As such, there should be no further excuses preventing you from marrying this monster.”

It would've been a taunt only some seconds ago, but now, it has become an irrefutable fact. No matter how cunning, how stubborn, the weak will always be controlled by the strong.

#ok sylus now get out of my head #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #yandere sylus #yandere sylus x reader #sylus x reader #sylus x you #yandere #yandere love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you

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aliaology · 4 months ago

Note

I have a request, Could you do where the reader is Luke's twin sister and they are it is there 21st birthday and Jack and Quinn are there to celebrate with them and Luke and the reader both get really drunk and Jack and Quinn take care of the when they are both drunk and hungover

Also love your fic's read them every time you post

ofc babes <3 and thank you, im so glad you like them! <3 means a lot to me <33

fyi, ive NEVER drank before lolz so idk much bought it and i don't know what anyones tolerance here would be, so just know this is all fake and its not realistic. this is also short because idk what else to add. </3

DRUNKEN AFFECTION (PLATONIC)

you didn't get to see your brothers that often, not with you still finishing up your few years at university of michigan and them either living in new jersey or vancouver. it was hard to say the least, especially being so far away from your literal other half; the one whom you (sometimes unfortunately) had to share the womb with. luke hughes was your best friend, and your twin. you couldn't live without the guy.

but now it is currently september 14th of 2024, a saturday, and while jack, luke and quinn should be at their respective homes, they all came up to michigan to celebrate yours and lukes birthday that happened just a few days ago. of course, you would've wanted to celebrate your birthday with luke, on said day, but schedules didn't align well and if you did it before, you legally wouldn't be able to drink. though you can't say that stopped you.

you sat in the back yard, legs crossed as you held a bottle of some form of alcohol in your hand. it was late, most of the people from the party your brothers threw, were gone. it was just you, luke, jack, quinn and a few of the umich boys. with a drunken whine, you looked to jack who snagged the bottle of alcohol from your hands.

"jackk-" you frowned.

jack rolled his eyes, "this is like your what, fifth? you don't need this much, smalls."

you groaned, looking away from him. "stop calling me that."

jack just scoffed before snagging the beer from lukes hand as well. "hey!"

"you two have drank enough. you really want mom and dad to look out the window and see you guys drinking more?" quinn spoke up.

"its our birthday." luke told.

quinn was the one to roll his eyes this time. "your birthday was monday, and now your party is over. its time to settle down."

the eldest hughes sibling walked up to the three of them and gently grabbed your arm. "lets get you both to bed."

you let out a drunken gasp. "lukeyy- we should watch uhm- uhm... oh shit whats that one movie.." you began to mutter to yourself.

jack helps luke up, who stumbles slightly. "i dont want to watch some movie." luke huffed.

you frowned. "quinny, will you watch a movie with me?"

"yes, smalls, i will." you smiled.

quinn was quick to get you to your room. he let you change and then went to change as well. sometimes, he couldn't stand jeans. walking back into your room, you were already on your bed with the remote in your hand, and jack and luke were in there too.

"thought you didn't want to watch some movie?" quinn teased luke as he flicked the lights off and then walked to the bed.

"shut up." luke groaned.

jack let out a laugh. "got him to his room and he already missed her. he acted like he does when we leave to new jersey."

quinn snickered, taking his spot on the other side of you. "can't blame him, they are freakishly attached to the hip."

"we are right here, by the way." you huffed.

"we know." the two eldest said.

you let out a huff of air. "you guys are lucky we love you."

jack smiled at his sister, slinging an arm around her and pulling her in. "we love you guys too, even if you're annoying as hell."

#hockey #nhl #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #quinn hughes #new jersey devils #new jersey #luke hughes #hughes sister #hughes brothers #sister au

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emperorundying · 10 months ago

Text

TLT Dashboard Simulator- Pt 5

💀 drearybruh Follow

10,000 y/o lyctor gf who exclusively calls me 'lovey': Ugh they're still debating the ethics of using cavaliers as a resource to suck dry, I can't deal with this empire today.

me [heard 'suck dry cavaliers' and got so hard i got nauseous]: I think I hauve devils in me

(2,710 notes)

🫁 soulosexualll

omg guys im so sorry ive been MIA!!! the alexandrite id been talking about won custody over our baby so i had a bit of a crisis about my future on the fifth house alone and loved only by the spirits. and then of course i visit the third over vacation and get roped into a multi-week bender [have u ever snorted dried marrow? life changing] and then i was lost on the third for likeeeee four days and had to find my way back through hitchhiking and bartering with my own blood.

but i promise ill update my Joy/Patience/Duty threesome fic soon :333

#rpf #munposting #EEEEEEE GET EXCITED GUYS #joy strap time? joy strap time.... #i see ur messages in the askbox and i super appreciate them btw but i cant justify answering all of them #BUT I SEE U AND I LOVE U <33

(42 notes)

🦴 skeletal-system-bracket

SKELETAL SYSTEM BRACKET ROUND 3 GROUP A

We had two ties last round [within a margin of error of .1%!!] , so we decided it would make the most sense to make this a four-way poll. Propaganda:

Occipital Bone: do you want an unprotected cerebellum??? the infernal surface is groovy af, and all the nuchal lines are actually goated. are u seriously going to look me in the eyes and tell me the three-part bone of all time [father son and holy spirit, anyone?] can even be stepped to by some normie basic bone shit???????? cmon..... [via. @skullfuckbonegod]

Fibula: VOTE FIBULA!!!! bone with a best friend <3 Tibia already got out round 1 so its ur legal duty to stand up for its legbestie... also my hounds r named Fibula and Tibia and theyre adorbsies [via. @sodiumradiation]

Thoracic Vertibrae: twelve bones. twelve bones, one combined goal: fuck shit up, take names, keep that back backing. least commonly injured part of the spine for a reason. its built different. this shit protects ur spinal cord, provides attachments to your ribs, supports your chest and abdomen, and literally lets yr body move. objective best bones. [via. @ithinkthereforisam]

Scalpula: Scapula sweep!! Those are your angel wings. Watching your Cavs shoulder blades move under their skin while they carry a big sword is the best part of being a necro. They're also just such a good plane of bone they're perfect for breaking up into little pieces for bone adepts to store in their pockets. Also the attachment point for a bunch of muscles!!and the yummy little joint cavity… [via. @kavkisser]

#polls #tumblr polls #skeletal system #tibia #fibula #vertebrae #scalpula

(450 notes)

📷 devoutofmymind Follow

ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE EMPEROR HASN'T COMMENTED ON HIS FIRST AND SECOND'S SAINTS DISAPPEARANCES

📷 devoutofmymind Follow

For my Edenite followers this is like if gun disappeared

#ARE THEY DEAD??? #Bro r we upping the fascism factor #STAFF THAT TAG IS A JOKE. I WOULD NEVER DREAM OF INSURGENCY

12,345 notes

🫀 gorewanker Follow

I swear they're like the septum piercing havers of cavaliering 😭😭😭

🦀 xx-0ct0g0ne-xx Follow

Ah. So you're unable to handle the pressures which are expected of the average Eighth House devotee, and as such, fall back upon insecure insults. Get a life + Praying for you + L.

(923 notes)

👤 boobmonger-deactivated-2917220

holy shit tower prince announcement this is crazy. liveblog time

👤 boobmonger-deactivated-2917220

TRANSMASC AWE??????????

(3,891 notes)

🦷 bitingyoubitingyoubitingyoubitingyoux3 Follow

(14,088 notes)

☠️ is-the-emperor-undying-d34d-yet Follow

NOT YET BUT WE ALWAYS COME BACK

#the locked tomb #tlt #dashboard simulator #nona the ninth #ntn #htn #harrow the ninth #dash simulator #gtn #gideon the ninth #my post #beauposting #ianthe naberius #ianthe tridentarius #cytherea loveday #gideon nav #john gaius

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a-killer-obsession · 14 days ago

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Are kids these days just not learning the concept of "if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all"? Go back to your playpen fr and come back when you can actually be polite. Don't come in my comments acting like you're the authority on fanfictions. I don't know if its just cos you're a fucking child (yes, I think 19 is still young. I don't care that you're legally not a minor, your brain is still forming) but since nobody taught you proper internet etiquette, you don't fucking go around telling authors - who spend their time writing fics for free so you can have entertainment for free, and do not owe you anything - that their fic is "kinda underwhelming" and "not bad but okay". I'm actually really fucking proud of that fic, and the notes on it show that people clearly agree, so maybe you should consider that its not fucking for you and fuck back off to daycare. I've seen some awful fucking fics on the internet but not once have I left a comment telling someone their fic isn't good cos you know what? Those people probably put their heart into the fic, and they didn't write it for me, they wrote it because THEY wanted to write it.

Get a fucking grip, if you can't say anything nice then don't fucking comment, all you're doing is making yourself look like an asshole. Don't like my writing? Good for you, I couldn't care less, I wish you well on your internet journey to find the right fic for you, but don't fucking leave people mean comments. If i had been someone with a thin shell or really new to writing that comment could have been really fucking hurtful, and I might have been discouraged to ever write again. Consider your actions next time and keep it to your fucking self.

I don't write for you, I write for ME, I write because its fun for me to do. I don't owe you shit.

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gureumz · 1 year ago

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the thinker

rating: explicit

member: sunoo

premise: after someone on your dormitory floor dies, your professor, sunoo, seeks out to solve it himself. concerned and bearing responsibility, you offer to help (in more ways than just gathering evidence). what you discover is more than what you bargained for.

notes: MAJOR DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH, graphic retellings of murders, dark themes, again this is a dark fic pls if you can't stomach it don't force yourself, thriller/suspense, fem!reader, law student!reader, law professor!sunoo, student x teacher relationships (all concerned parties are legal), dom!sunoo, slight breeding, dirty talk, light gagging, mentions of pregnancy (unrelated to the reader), lmk if i missed anything i'm fading

a/n: second of my 1k follower special! this was a doozy. changed a little of the premise because the story just took a life of its own oops ! also a late birthday thing for our boy sunoo. longer than the last one please enjoy (responsibly).

ANOTHER DISCLAIMER: i do not, by any means, claim that this is how the person depicted in this story acts or is in real life. this is a work of fiction with a made-up persona. please consume RESPONSIBLY.

a figure stands silently outside her door.

all is quiet. the occasional laughter is heard, but nothing is amiss.

the figure knocks, bowing his head low. he knows about the eyes. the eyes all over the walls.

she opens the door. effortlessly beautiful. a swan blessed in grace.

the figure embraces her. cradles her in his arms. holds her in his hands.

the swan falls.

---

you couldn't wrap your head around it.

a murder. right down the hall from where you slept, where you studied, where you bathed, so oblivious to the carnage taking place just a few doors down.

you heard the guttural, terrified scream of her roommate. everyone on the same floor did. rushing out of your room, your own mind racing with thoughts of the unthinkable, you see yunjin sobbing on the floor in front of her dorm room.

the one she shared with kazuha.

the door was wide open, light spilling out onto the dim hallway. yunjin was still crying, clutching her stomach as if physically pained by what she's seeing.

"s-someone call security, police, anyone!" yunjin shrieked, hands reaching out towards her doorway, hesitant.

some students have rushed to her side to see what she's hysterical about. all of them recoiled once they saw what awaited them in the room.

"she's dead! kazuha's been attacked!"

you blink, unaware that your heart rate had picked up in the few minutes that you recounted the events of that night.

it's been a week now since the school announced an immediate lockdown of the campus. classes were canceled, no one was to leave their dorms unaccounted for. those who live in the university accommodations were not permitted to exit the campus unless personally picked up by their parents or guardians. those who had family in another district, another province, another country lamented feeling trapped.

'what if the killer comes back? isn't keeping us here the wrong move?'

'what if it's one of the students? they need to question us all. especially those on the same floor.'

you had the same thoughts. but you knew how important the first seventy-two hours of the investigation were. so, for the first three days no one left. every floor of every dorm building was guarded. no one was allowed to move about alone. always in twos or more.

you fidget now, unable to focus on the voice droning from the front of the lecture hall. you raise your eyes to see professor kim, pointing at a slide projected on the screen, explaining something about warrants.

he catches your eye and you immediately shift your focus to his presentation.

it's as if nothing happened. a funeral was held, a memorial erected for kazuha in the lobby of the law building, and eventually, classes resumed.

you've heard whispers that yunjin opted out of university accommodations altogether. no one has seen her since.

"right!" you hear professor kim bellow from the front, clapping his hands together and startling everyone in the lecture hall.

for someone with such an amicably handsome face, professor sunoo kim was a ruthless criminal law instructor. he was particular about punctuality and never entertained any suggestions regarding extra credit. he was, by all accounts, as stiff as a board inside the classroom.

"that's all the time i have for you all today. read up on the cases i gave you because i'll be expecting the digests by thursday," professor kim calls out, gathering his belongings.

a hushed chatter falls over the lecture hall as the students start to leave. there haven't been any memos or reminders put recently regarding the murder but it's still the same. in twos or threes. no one is comfortable moving about alone nowadays.

you start to follow, mindlessly collecting your papers and your laptop, but a figure approaching your desk causes you to stop dead in your tracks.

"________," professor kim's voice glides through your ears smoothly. he smiles down at you as you sink back into your seat.

"hi, professor kim, " you greet, nodding briefly in acknowledgment.

"how have you been doing? you've been uncharacteristically quiet today," professor kim points out.

it's true. you're usually one to participate in discussions, always caught up or ahead on the readings. but with the events of the past days, you couldn't bring yourself to care much about anything.

it's not as if you were particularly close to kazuha. she lived on your floor and you've had small talk with her in the common lounge. nothing ever went beyond polite chatter.

"i think everyone's kind of out of it, professor," you reply. "ever since...you know."

you look up to meet professor kim's eyes and his gaze softens when he realizes what you're referring to. he nods understandingly, watching as the rest of the class files out of the lecture hall.

"and whoever did it is still out there," you say lowly, voice dropping to a whisper.

"i know," professor kim agrees, voice suddenly gruff. you watch as his eyebrows pinch together.

"i've been...looking into it," professor kim continues.

you eye him curiously, your back straightening as professor kim perches himself on the table in front of you. you get a whiff of his perfume; sweet but still subtly masculine.

"the police are on the case, but of course i've worked criminal cases like this before, and with my knowledge of the school and its people...i couldn't help but pry a little," professor kim explains, shifting so he could look at you better from his vantage above you.

"what did you find?" you ask, feeling small under the watchful eye of your professor. he grins down at you, reaching over to squeeze your arm briefly.

"i can't tell you," professor kim deflects. after a few moments, he stands, walking back to his desk now but it's too late. you're intrigued, stomach churning in anticipation.

"you can't or you won't?" you call after him. professor kim stops and glances back at you.

"there's the ________ i know," he says, chuckling. he continues on to his desk, packing up the rest of his things. you watch with steely eyes.

"i don't want any rumors about this. it's a tragic event that has no business being turned into campus gossip that will most likely devolve into some urban legend decades from now," professor kim says pointedly as if berating you. you shake your head, unable to contain your curiosity.

"i won't tell anyone, professor kim, i promise," you implore. you rise from your seat, startling the professor.

he regards you for a moment, eyes traveling down your body and only now do you see professor kim. truly see him.

he towers over you, standing tall at a 5'10 or 5'11 based on your estimates. he dresses crisply, but you don't miss the brightly colored socks beneath his perfectly pressed trousers. you take note of the broad expanse of his upper body underneath the short sleeve button-up he has on.

his face, one that you've looked at two times a week for the past six months, fully came into focus now. striking eyes, a sharp nose, lips that were redder than your own. thicker, too. so thick and plump and always shining with what you could only assume was lip balm.

"sunoo," professor kim says after a moment. "call me sunoo when we're not in class."

you swallow, confused. "sir?"

"wrong," sunoo laughs. "just sunoo, please. i can't be any more than five years older than you."

that, too.

his age. so close to his students' that it's not uncommon for a lot of you to wonder if he'd ever messed around with one of you. you vaguely remember thinking that you wouldn't mind being that person.

"sunoo," you repeat. the name feels foreign on your tongue, as if you're stepping over a boundary you're not supposed to cross.

"okay, sunoo. i promise not to tell anyone what you know about the...the incident."

you catch yourself before you blurt out the word 'murder'. fear grips at you, as if saying the word out loud would bring down bad fortune.

sunoo takes a deep breath, slinging the strap of his messenger bag onto his shoulder. he approaches you again and with you standing, you're relatively eye to eye.

"you know what my consultation hours are. come by right after," sunoo says. you nod and seemingly satisfied, sunoo smiles, walking out the door of the lecture hall.

you linger for a moment before you realize you're all alon. a chill runs up your spine. you dash out of the hall faster than you've ever moved in your life.

---

"they're looking into the professors now. it's kind of fucked up, don't you think?"

you lift your eyes from the book you're reading, regarding your friend in confusion.

"what do you mean 'looking into the professors'?" you ask, scooting closer to hear better.

jake sighs, motioning for your whole table to squeeze in tighter. you scan the library quickly, to see if the coast was clear. your other friends press their shoulders against yours, waiting for jake to reveal what it is he has to say.

"they've cleared most of the students on kazuha's floor. it wasn't one of them." at this, jake turns to you and you nod.

you're brought back to the day after the murder. policemen knocked on everyone's door, questioning and taking witness statements. you had held your roommate's hand the whole time while you were being pressed for answers. you remember crying that night in fear for your own life.

"it only makes sense they widen their search," you supply. "they started with the professors teaching the classes kazuha was taking, correct?"

jake nods. "exactly."

"how is that fucked up?" sunghoon asks from your left, directly across jake. the latter rolls his eyes, tapping the table in mild annoyance.

"think about your own professors. do any of them look like the type to murder you? to want to murder you?" jake says in a whisper-shout. the whole table falls silent, nervous eyes meeting each other.

"no," sunghoon finally answers.

"right?! but what if one of them was capable. we wouldn't know. and if it was one of her professors, i'm sure kazuha suspected nothing, either" jake explains, emphasizing every word with a finger to the table.

you shiver, suddenly overcome with a dreadful fear.

"i need to go," you say, pushing yourself off your chair. you glance at your watch and realize it's time for you to meet sunoo, anyway.

you bid a quick goodbye to everyone before storming out of the library. the hallway seems even chillier than the freezing library. you wrap your arms around you protectively.

---

"you look shaken up. what's wrong?"

you swallow thickly as you shut the door behind you, eyes downcast. your breathing is labored, having run all the way from the library to the building that housed the professor's offices.

you look up to see sunoo standing by his desk, a look of concern on his face. he crosses the room in a few wide strides, fingers gently prying your chin up so you could look at him.

"did you run?" sunoo asks, reaching into his pocket. he hands a handkerchief to you, gesturing at your forehead.

"it's chilly in here. dry off before you get a cold," sunoo advises.

you take the handkerchief, absently dabbing at your forehead. you lean against the heavy wooden door.

"sorry, prof—i mean, sunoo," you begin, trying to steady your breath. "i came from a class and didn't want to miss you here."

sunoo smiles. "i was going to wait for you, anyway."

you meet his eyes but you say nothing, opting to straighten yourself up instead. this is the closest you've been to sunoo, and the way he looks so worried for you nearly threatens a smile out of you.

"you know, we could both get into big trouble for this," sunoo points out, walking back to his desk. he eases himself onto his chair, motioning for you to do the same on one of the two seats provided for his consultees.

you sit, suddenly nervous about what sunoo could possibly have figured out. you watch him rifle through a folder of papers before pulling one out.

"did you know kazuha had a boyfriend?" sunoo begins, setting the paper down and pointing to it. it's a copy of someone's student file.

you lift it to see better and a familiar name is typed at the very top.

yoshi kanemoto.

another post-grad getting his master's in anthropology or some other. part of the post-grad and law school varsity basketball team. he's a friendly enough guy, if just a tad bit shy. he and kazuha haven't been going out long, or so you've heard. you've seen him around your floor a few times and he didn't seem to ring any alarm bells in your head.

"it's always the boyfriend first," you observe.

when violent crimes against women are committed, the first place law enforcement looks into is any present or past relationships.

"accomplished young man, if i do say so myself," sunoo declares. "totally cooperative and was said to be devastated with the news."

"but...?" you ask, anticipating a caveat with the positive introduction.

"reports say they were fighting the night of the murder," sunoo expounds, shrugging.

"was there ever a history of violence? abuse?" you question.

sunoo shakes his head. "none that i've heard. but i was trying to pull some strings at the detective's office the other day. i guess i pulled one that put this whole thing into perspective."

you suck in a breath. "what did you find?"

there was a pause. sunoo purses his lips, exhaling.

"kazuha was nine weeks pregnant when she was killed."

you blink. it takes you a moment to realize what you just heard. you fall back against your chair, a hand coming up to cover your mouth. the hairs on your arm prickle.

"so...you think the fight was because of that. a-and yoshi killed her to get out of the responsibility?" you ask, voice trembling.

sunoo shrugs again. "maybe. maybe not. but it definitely puts kanemoto in a bad light."

you don't say anything, a weight in your chest rendering you speechless. you and sunoo sit in silence for nearly a minute, with sunoo carefully studying your expression.

"no one else knows this. only the detectives and me. and now, you," sunoo informs. "so, i need you to be very quiet about this."

"of course," you immediately agree. "i won't tell a soul."

sunoo smiles sympathetically, pushing himself off his chair. he comes around the desk, moving to sit across from you. he holds his hand out to you, waiting.

you place your hand in his, relaxing as he runs a thumb over your knuckles.

"i'm sorry for dragging you into this," sunoo says, patting the top of your hand with his other one. "but when my top student asks, it's hard to refuse."

you laugh at this, eyes landing on your clasped hands.

"thank you for entertaining my...unusual request," you say, chuckling lightly.

"anything else you've discovered?" you ask, averting your eyes to the papers on sunoo's desk.

"if...i'm allowed to ask," you add, peering back at sunoo momentarily.

sunoo hums, reaching over to the scattered papers on his desk.

"yunjin is taking the rest of semester off, i hear," sunoo says, idly toying with the files.

"smart move," he adds.

you nod, throat thick once again with uncertainty. you stand, pulling your hand away, much to sunoo's surprise.

"leaving so soon?" sunoo questions. you smile, nodding politely.

"it's getting late and i don't really trust the campus nowadays after dark," you reason.

sunoo nods. he gestures for the door and you follow.

"let me walk you to your dorm, then," sunoo offers, smiling. a flash of something passes his eyes and you recognize it as hesitance.

"you don't have to," you automatically answer. you pause, realizing that you'd be walking alone at dusk through paths and hallways where a killer may have potentially walked.

the thought alone fills you with a visceral fear.

"i know," sunoo agrees. he hurriedly rushes to his desk, grabs his phone and keys before returning to your side.

"and i totally understand if you don't want me to, but i would feel much more at ease if i did," sunoo says, eyes pleading.

you nod, already reaching for the knob. "alright."

sunoo seems relieved as the two of you walk out of his office. he locks it before you start your way down the hall.

the journey is quiet, with sunoo's hands in his pockets and yours clasped tightly around the strap of your book bag. the night is chilly as you cross the courtyard to get to your dorm building, with barely anyone out at this hour. the walkways are lighted up to the extreme, illuminating every corner of the campus that the beams of light can reach.

you arrive at the entrance to your building and sunoo turns to you.

"now i can go to bed later tonight without any worry," sunoo says with a smile, eyes shaping into crescents. you can't help but grin back.

"please be careful on your way back," you remind. "and go straight home, if you can."

sunoo chuckles, reaching over to lay a hand on your arm. you inhale, the warmth from his palm bleeding through your thin sweater.

"i will," sunoo reassures. "i'll see you thursday, okay?"

you reach up shakily to grasp sunoo's outstretched arm, your own fingers curling around it.

"i'll see you."

---

somewhere, in a shadowy corner behind a bundle of brush, the figure stands, unmoving. concealed by the darkness, he watches through the windows, etching onto his mind the little details.

someone is playing the guitar next to an open window, puffing out smoke despite the building's prohibition on any narcotic substance. someone else is reading, the thick tome in their lap illuminated by a nearby lamp.

and someone else is merely looking out into the night sky. a pretty bundle of hair on their head billowing in the soft breeze. they seem nervous, shaken. lines appear between their eyebrows. like they're deep in thought.

the figure in the dark watches the thinker a little bit more, entranced by their beauty. eventually, they're satisfied. they stalk off into the night, the image of that one person's hair burned into the back of their eyelids.

---

"now, i understand midterms are coming up so i need you to be more attentive with your grades," sunoo eyes the lecture hall, staring pointedly at everyone's faces.

"don't wait until finals to scramble for that passing grade. i try to be gracious, but it's not a free-for-all," he continues. sunoo closes his laptop and the screen behind him goes black.

"remember, pre-test next week. you have tomorrow, the weekend, and monday to study," sunoo says with an air of finality.

"you may leave," he concludes with a wave of his hand. the room lets out a collective breath.

a few students stay behind as the rest trickle out of the doors, hounding sunoo with questions. he answers, face stoic and eyes focused as he gives curt, direct answers.

you stand from your seat, hovering around your desk, unsure when the others would leave. finally, they seem satisfied enough with their ambush on sunoo and they walk off, letting the door slam behind them.

sunoo spots you and his expression brightens. he beckons you over and you approach him, watching his slender fingers work on the stacks of paper in front of him.

"i must say, i'm excited to read your digest later tonight," sunoo admits, a bashful look in his eyes.

you laugh. "who gets excited to read a case digest?"

"i do," sunoo responds abruptly. "only when it comes to yours, though. you're always thorough, including all the details but organizing them in a way that's quick and easy to understand."

"that is an impressive feat, _______," he adds.

you feel your face heat up, your stomach giving way as if falling to the floor beneath you.

"you give me too much credit," you answer meekly, avoiding sunoo's eyes.

"you're a talented student. and i'm sure you'd be a talented lawyer eventually," sunoo reassures, shrugging on his bag. he steps in front of you.

"do you have a class after this?" sunoo asks. you shake your head 'no'.

sunoo nods, eyes trailing off to the side momentarily, as if pondering on something. he turns back to look at you, his signature bright smile returning.

"do you want to grab a bite together?"

you're taken aback by sunoo's offer, unsure what to do or say. the automatic response making its way up was a polite refusal. but sunoo has done you a favor and you think that this might be him asking for something back.

"are you sure?" is what you opt to say. sunoo's eyes narrow but he's smirking, as if this wasn't what he was expecting you to say.

"yes, i'm sure," sunoo replies. "don't worry about all that ethical stuff. i'm only taking you out for coffee and some snacks. besides, we're done with my class now, aren't we? i'm just plain old sunoo to you."

you giggle. "you could never be plain to me."

sunoo's head bows, his cheeks rounding even more as a blush creeps onto his face. you watch, amused, as sunoo obstructs half of his face with his hand.

"just say yes, _______," sunoo says from behind his hand.

you laugh fully this time, noticing as sunoo's ears turn red as well.

"alright, yes. i'd love a coffee with you."

---

the campus cafe stays open until midnight on most days, but since the incident, they've bumped it down to 9 pm.

it's now 8:30 and no one else was at the cafe but you and sunoo, seated at a booth tucked away near the back. the baristas have started to discreetly clean up for the night, emptying the pastry case little by little, but neither you nor sunoo had the heart to suggest leaving.

"that's some gnarly stuff," you comment as you try to digest the story sunoo had just told you about one case he worked on recently involving one woman literally stealing another woman's baby from her womb.

"it was sad overall," sunoo counters, leaning back in his chair from across you. you feel his legs shift against yours and a shiver runs up your spine.

at some point during the hours you've spent talking, sunoo had managed to sandwich your leg between both of his under the table. he held it there, rubbing against your ankle from time to time with his own, like your very own version of footsie.

"the trauma the actual mother got from it was unimaginable. and as for the woman who took her baby away from her, it was clear that she was not right in the right state of mind. those around her refused to see it as that and withheld proper care for her," sunoo recounts, staring directly into your eyes.

his brown irises seem brighter under the yellow-tinged light of the cafe, dancing with something you can't quite put your finger on.

before you could say anything in response, sunoo reaches over the table to where your hand rests. he takes it in his, slowly intertwining your fingers together.

your heart hammers against your chest. sunoo is still looking at you, silent, but a thousand words poring from his intense gaze.

"i'm parked not far from here and my apartment's just a short drive away," sunoo begins, his thumb drawing patterns onto your palm.

your eyebrows raise, your chest heaving as you take deeper breaths. your body seems to seize up.

is this really happening?

"gonna tell me more about your cases, professor?" you ask, purposely taking up his title again in conversation.

sunoo smiles knowingly, digging the nail on his thumb a little deeper into your palm. your breath hitches and you nearly quiver.

"i can. but i'd like to know more about the stories you have to tell if that's okay," sunoo says, rubbing over the little crescent-shaped dent he made.

"what do you want to know?" you question, raising an eyebrow.

sunoo grins.

"everything."

---

true to his word, sunoo seems to want to know everything.

everything about your body, that is. but he reasons that your body can tell a million different stories about yourself, too.

"like how you like being kissed," sunoo says, pulling away momentarily from your lips as he slams the front door shut behind him.

he presses his mouth against yours once more and you groan, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt. sunoo slips his hands under your own blouse, nails dragging down your back as he guides you to the couch.

sunoo distances himself again, kissing down your neck, still clawing at your back. you squirm, whimpering pathetically.

"your body can tell me what your pain tolerance is," sunoo whispers lowly next to your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth.

"and i have a feeling it's pretty high, sweetheart."

you moan, pressing yourself closer to sunoo. he retaliates by shoving you down onto the sofa. your hair is a mess, your blouse skewed and wrinkled on your body.

"it is," you confirm, quickly pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor.

sunoo bites his lip, fingers working deftly on his belt. he gets it undone and hurriedly unbuttons and unzips his pants, pulling it down along with his underwear.

"show me," sunoo commands, reaching down to grab your jaw, lining your face up with his half-hard cock.

you sit up, grabbing onto sunoo's firm thighs with one hand to steady yourself. you grab the base of sunoo's cock in the other, pumping slowly. gathering spit in your mouth, you envelop sunoo's length with your mouth, a hiss escaping the man standing above you.

"god, that mouth," sunoo begins, threading his fingers through your hair. "i knew it did more than give me the right answers in class."

you moan around him, peering up at sunoo through your lashes. sunoo's eyes darken as he watches you take more of him, going down all the way to the very base.

you pull back, coughing. sunoo tugs you closer by the hair and you yelp in surprise.

"come on, i know you can do better," sunoo urges.

you wrap your lips around sunoo again, sucking in hard. you start to move, bobbing up and down, taking more and more of sunoo in as you go. he doesn't shy away from noise, moaning and groaning as you repeatedly let his tip hit the back of your throat.

"fuck," sunoo mutters, yanking you off him.

"bend over the back of the couch, baby. keep that cute skirt on."

you wipe the spit from your chin, tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. despite your debauched appearance, looking as if close to crying, the wetness between your legs is undeniable. you reach down to pull your panties off, and a dark spot is clearly visible on the fabric.

sunoo takes it from you, grabbing your chin.

"open," sunoo says. you oblige, letting your jaw fall slack. he shoves your panties in your waiting mouth and you gasp in surprise. the sound muffles around the damp cloth.

"bend over," sunoo barks. "don't make me repeat myself."

you lean over the back of the couch, sticking your hips out as far as they would go. you hear sunoo give a sound of satisfaction, his hands moving your skirt up further your body and exposing your ass and drenched pussy.

without a word of warning, sunoo plunges in half of himself and you cry out. you breathe through your nose, your underwear constricting any airflow through your mouth.

sunoo eases the rest of his way in and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

'yes! god yes! feels so good, sunoo!' is what you want to say but it comes out a garbled mess.

sunoo starts moving, shallow at first, as if pacing himself. slowly, he moves more and more of him out of your pussy before roughly thrusting back in. eventually, he finds a suitable rhythm, his hands gripping at your waist tightly.

"feels amazing," sunoo compliments. "my favorite student. so good for me, so obedient, always doing what i tell her to do."

you whine, looking back at sunoo. you'd give anything to see his face up close at this moment.

sunoo leans down, kissing your temple. he reaches in front of you, pulling the panties from your mouth. drool drips from your lips and you sob in embarrassment.

"dirty," sunoo comments disapprovingly. "drooling all over my couch like some whore."

"i-i'm your whore," you croak out weakly. despite the wetness in your mouth, your throat had seemingly dried up.

sunoo seems impressed by this, chuckling darkly. "yeah? you're my whore? mine to use?"

you nod, moaning wantonly as you feel sunoo deliver a particularly hard thrust.

"yes. d-do anything to me, please," you continue. sunoo grunts, movements speeding up.

your head spins, a knot in your abdomen tightening with each drag of sunoo's cock against your walls. you press your face against the couch, sunoo's name falling from your mouth like a mantra.

"gonna cum? gonna cum all over my cock?" sunoo taunts, pressing his chest against your back.

"yes," is all you can reply. sunoo' bites into your shoulder and you shudder, the sting adding to the sensations coursing through your whole body.

"me too," sunoo says. "gonna pump this pussy with my cum."

you whimper pathetically and this eggs sunoo on. his thrusts turn erratic and you're thrown into another level of pleasure.

"sunoo, i-i'm—!"

your sentence is cut off as your orgasm rocks through your whole body, a high-pitched moan echoing off sunoo's apartment walls. he continues to stretch you out, despite the sensitivity, chasing his own high.

"just like that, sweetheart, so tight, so goddamn tight," sunoo chants. a moment later, he shudders, finishing deep inside you, his whole cock buried in your pulsating hole.

soft whimpers continuously escape you, too dazed to form a coherent sentence. sunoo pulls out moments later, replacing his length with two of his fingers. you protest but it falls on deaf ears.

"i know sweetheart, i know," sunoo coos, kissing down the expanse of your back. you slump against the sofa, weak and panting.

sunoo gently moves you to face him, a soft smile on his face, a total contrast to the filthy act you just participated in.

"feel good?" sunoo asks, kissing your nose.

you nod, eyes suddenly heavy. "s'good."

sunoo chuckles, wrapping his arms around you.

"come on, we need to get you cleaned up."

---

the figure observes through glass tonight.

some of the thinker's hair is pinned up, the other half of it flowing down their shoulders. they laugh at a joke.

the thinker's phone goes off. the figure in the dark gives a start, fingertips tingling in excitement.

the figure slinks back into the shadow.

the thinker will finally be theirs.

---

"they made an arrest today."

you look up nervously from your phone, having just read the local news reports.

"the boyfriend, right?" sunghoon continues, holding his own phone up for everyone to see.

just as he says this, the rest of the bar's chatter slowly turns grim and quiet as patrons, mostly students from your university, discover the new development in kazuha's case through their own social media.

"she was pregnant," jake says in disbelief, eyes glued to his screen.

"he probably thought getting rid of them was the easiest way out," sunghoon deduces.

"but on campus? by stabbing her?" you counter. "he could have gone about this differently."

"maybe he panicked," jake offers. "or wasn't thinking straight."

"they're still going to put him on trial so he still has a chance to be proven innocent," sunghoon says.

you shake your head, leaning back in your seat. "i'm not convinced, is all."

jake snickers. "you have a better theory, ms. law student?"

you give him a look and jake holds his hands up in defeat. your phone suddenly vibrates on the table, momentarily distracting you. picking it up, you see a notification.

you're at paradoxx bar right?

you suppress a smile, realizing it's a text from sunoo. you type out a reply confirming your location and he responds just as quickly.

come meet me outside for a bit? i'm in the alley out back.

you take a quick glance around the table at your friends, but it seems as if jake and sunghoon were engaged in another topic. you pocket your phone, clearing your throat.

"i'm gonna go meet a friend real quick outside if you don't mind. i'll be back before you know it," you say, sliding out of your seat, ignoring the curious looks from your jake and sunghoon.

"want us to come with you?" sunghoon asks.

you wave him off. "i'll be fine. it's a busy night. lots of witnesses."

jake snickers at this but a look of discomfort washes over sunghoon's face. you pat his back reassuringly.

"i won't be long, i promise," you say, already walking away.

you exit the bar and the wind immediately whips your hair around. you sweep it out of your face, making your way to the alley between the bar and the building beside it, the designated smoking spot for the bar patrons or any other people passing by.

you're startled to see that it's completely empty. worrying for sunoo, you rush the rest of the way, footsteps bouncing off the walls.

"sunoo?" you call out as you round the corner.

true enough, your criminal law professor is standing there, partially concealed by the shadows, but you'd know that strikingly pale face from a mile away.

"hey," he responds, stepping fully into the glow of the bar's back door light, the only source of illumination in this little corner. he's wearing a black hoodie and black jeans, making him look younger, possibly passing as a student himself.

"i missed you," sunoo whispers just as you step into his arms. he pulls you into an embrace, kissing the top of your head.

"we saw each other at class earlier," you point out, beaming up at him. sunoo chuckles, leaning down to kiss you square on the mouth this time.

he pulls away barely an inch, your noses still touching. his breath fans against your face.

"yeah, but i missed you," sunoo reiterates.

your mind flashes back to the night in his apartment, yet to be repeated. a fire ignites in you at the thought of having sunoo to yourself like that a second time.

"so much that we're agreeing to meet behind dingy bars now?" you tease, kissing a spot on sunoo's jaw.

sunoo hums, a large hand resting loosely around your neck. his grip tightens and you gasp softly, the first hints of arousal appearing within your core.

"exactly," sunoo responds.

you laugh lightly as sunoo backs you up against the bar's back wall, a knee pressing between your legs.

"here? really?" you ask, a hint of amusement in your voice. you wanted to berate him playfully for his choice of a quickie location but his hand around your neck tightens even more.

"s-sunoo—"

sunoo clamps down even harder on your throat and your eyes grow wide. you open your mouth to utter something, a safeword, but you belatedly realize you don't have one. not with sunoo.

"yes, here," sunoo confirms, smiling sweetly. you shake your head, tapping rapidly on his arm to signal that no, you need to stop.

but sunoo digs his fingers deeper into your skin. you gasp, but no sound comes out. your head starts to feel light and that's when you see sunoo pull something out of his back pocket.

the smooth glide of metal against metal reaches your ears. a moment later, you feel a sharp prick on your side.

a switchblade.

"do you get it yet?" sunoo asks, looking down at you with the same look he gave you whenever he asks a question in class. as if quizzing you on details of a case.

"i am the same height as kazuha's boyfriend," sunoo begins, piercing your torso deeper.

you tremble. you feel the urge to throw up.

"he doesn't dress a particular way, either. a mask, a hoodie with the hood up, and plain pants would do it. any camera that would have captured me going in and out of her room would have been fooled."

you claw at his arm now, frantically swiping at any part of him that you can reach, but you know that the oxygen is rapidly decreasing in your body, rendering you weak.

"you want to ask me 'how?'. 'why?'" sunoo continues. you wrap your hands around sunoo's arm that's holding you down instead, scared that any more movement would lead to the knife plunging even deeper into you.

"she was my closest colleague's student," sunoo says. "i saw her exit his office one time and i thought she was the prettiest thing i've ever laid eyes on."

"after you, of course," sunoo adds, kissing your cheek. you jerk away but pain shoots through your head.

you're losing too much air.

"it wasn't hard for me to gather enough information about her. you saw how easily i could weasel information out of the police. the university registrar is a walk in the park," sunoo explains with an amused laugh.

"now, why did i do it?" sunoo repeats. he smiles, placing another, longer kiss to the side of your mouth.

"just because."

what follows next is a blur to you.

you feel pain rip through your torso and you feel it repeatedly, over and over and over again. you want to scream. you have to scream.

but you can't.

the damp ground greets you like an old friend, slamming into you as you fall. there's a pain in your face as you lie facedown, in your head, too, but nothing compares to the burning you feel in your stomach, climbing up and down and all around all at once.

the pain disappears moments later, replaced by a dull, numbing throb. you feel cold but warm at the same time.

you feel sleepy.

you hear footsteps fading somewhere behind you but you don't give them any mind.

at this point, you just want to sleep.

the wind blows. your hair flutters one last time.

and then, you sleep.

#enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #sunoo smut #sunoo scenarios #w: sunoo

483 notes · View notes

anticanonsposts · 10 months ago

Note

hiiiiii I loveddd ur post abt high konig, could you maybe write a fic where its the readers first time trying it?

(ur page is like so good i luv it)

hi!!! literally thank you so much, it truly means so much to me that people are enjoying my blog <3333

per request here is a version of a previous fic about König's first time trying an edible and then fucking you silly, now it's the readers turn!!

cw: obvi (legal) drug use, (don't do drugs unless they're legal, safe, and you are of age <3), sex p in v, oral m receiving, porn w/ a little plot, pining, overstimulation, nastiness <3

wc: 2,000+

nsfw below the cut, you know the drill-mdni interact

“Hey König…” you cooed to your boyfriend who was sitting at the desk in your room, flipping through a book while you lounged on the bed. He returns your gaze, brows slightly furrowed, he recognizes your playful tone, knowing you're about to ask him something naughty.

“I was thinking..” you continue standing up from the bed and making your way over to him, dancing your fingertips across his shoulders. “That I wanted to try having sex…after I take an edible gummy.”

“Edible? Aren’t all gummies edible?? Ohhhh, like marijuana!” he replies back briefly running in mental circles as he puts the pieces together. His English is obviously very good but sometimes he takes things more literally/more at face value. “Of course I’d need your consent now since you would be inebriated and if you ever want to stop you need to tell me.” he adds taking on a more serious tone, whenever consent was being discussed he had no room for lightheartedness or joking, he took consent VERY seriously.

“Yes, I am consenting now to have sex with you while you are sober and I am high, and both of us have the option to stop at any point.” you reply, taking his hands in yours.

“Ok.” is all he responds with but he’s smiling so wide and there is a bright gleam in his eyes. He truly loves to try new things with you, especially when it makes you so happy.

So you go and grab your packet of gummies and pop one into your mouth. Then you suggest a shower to König since it will take about 30 minutes for the edible to kick in. Showering together is always such a treat. You get to be in a nice warm, wet environment while your own personal giant just beams down at you with nothing but adoration and enamor in his eyes. He loved these showers just as equally, his hands never leaving your soft, supple body, constantly pulling you impossibly closer to him.

After you both got out and dried off, you opted to just stay naked and lay with each other until you initiated more physical contact. He laid down on his back and you were draped on your side, the side of your face resting on his chest, slowly rising and falling. You could tell he was already getting a little worked up, I mean come on you were laying on him completely naked. As more and more minutes passed you felt your brain get a little fuzzy and it sort of felt like everything was moving slower. You realize you are absentmindedly massaging his abdomen with one of your hands you start to feel a buzz in between your legs, only made worse when you look down and see König’s growing dick, now completely pressed against his stomach. His poor tip furiously leaking, he was being so kind and patient with you, waiting ever so tranquil for you to make the next move.

Now, completely feeling the effects of the edible kicking in your entire body buzzes with excitement. Moving yourself to sit up a bit more, you start tracing kisses along his neck and chest, slow and purposeful kisses. Your inebriated mind could still have cheeky thoughts. You figured, since he was going to be nothing but patient with you, you might as well tease him. Now climbing on top of him, his hands immediately go to your lower half, shamelessly groping your hips and butt. You loved how he was able to grab so much of you with just one of his hands. Giving you soft squishies and gropes and you start to move your hips back and forth, not even realizing what you were doing.

Then getting a wicked idea, you reposition yourself slightly so that your now puffy and dripping core is gliding up and down his dick. Earning several whimpers from him, his grip on you tightened. Giving him a small chuckle you give him one last sloppy kiss, sloppy enough that when you pull away there is a line of spit connecting your mouths. Shimmying down between his legs with the biggest shit eating grin you have ever given him. You take his length into your hand and start to pump his base gently. Then before he could give any objection that you didn’t have to give him head since you were high or that he could go down on you first if you’d prefer. But you successfully cut him off by leaving open mouthed kisses all along his shaft, purposefully avoiding his ever leaking tip. Giggling to yourself you finally take his head in your mouth, first giving a little swirl of your tongue before bobbing up and down only on his tip while pumping the rest of him.

His cute face completely flushed, eyebrows furrowed, and panting as he looked down at you. Murmurs of praise leaving his lips, as one of his hands gently came to rest on your head. The sight in front of you just made you giggle more which made him feel more vibrations on his dick. Releasing him from your mouth with a wet pop, still palming his tip you ask, “Does that feel good baby?” in a sing-song voice as you trace kisses up his thigh.

“Oh my god Hase.” is all he can say back. He knows you’re teasing him, he knows exactly what you’re doing, but he cannot will himself to move you faster, its torture, but its blissful torture. You then continued your bobbing, each time taking more and more of him in your mouth and pumping what you couldn't reach with your hand. Snaking your other down, you start to gently massage his balls, and the combination of all these movements causes him to buck his hips into you, which only motivates you. You continue your motions until you hear his breathing get faster and his voice and whimpers grow higher and higher. Then when he warns you that he is about to cum, you speed up even faster, making him absolutely lose his mind. Tasting his cum sputter onto your tongue, you carefully swallow around him, knowing that it drives him insane. But you don’t stop there.

You pop him out of your mouth and quickly wrap both of your hands around his shaft, pumping him almost aggressively at this point. You also make sure to prop your elbows against his thighs so that he cannot close his legs.

“Liebe liebe liebe liebe!!!! Please…oh my go—-” is all he manages to get out as his body starts to thrash a bit from side to side, completely overwhelmed with all the stimulation you were giving him.

“Liebling I came I came please!” he mustered out again, pleading with you, his eyes full of desperation. It hurt so good but it also felt so good. Right now you were nothing but an evil little minx trying to break him down to his very core of desperation.

Finally, mercifully you stop pumping him, but torture him a little more by licking his dick clean, then tonguing your way up his chest, leaving open mouthed kisses all along his abdomen.

At this point you were beyond giddy with yourself, very proud of what you’ve been able to do so far, but now of course your core was aching for any sort of stimulation.

Losing a little bit of his gentle touch, König practically hauls your body up so that you are once again straddling him. His greedy lips pull you in with his mouth and he presses a firm hand to the middle of your back so that your torsos are pressed together. Giving him a mischievous look he quickly says, “No no no, how about you ride my fingers instead first hmmm?” He knew that his dick needed a break and that if he was able to redirect your attention to something else, you would soon get lost in it. Not to mention the fact that he really preferred not to be inside of you so quickly, without giving you a proper warm up.

Giving him a contented humm he repositions himself so that he is sitting up more. Then, gently he takes two of his fingers and glides them through your folds toying with your clit ever so slightly, using his other hand to hold your hip in place. Finally when he pushed his digits up into you, making you gasp, you just felt so good, too good. Leaning forward, you pressed your chest against his and started to kiss him, moaning into his mouth. Soon you found a rhythm together, you bouncing and grinding into his hand, his other hand guiding you, and your mouths just devouring each other.

He curls his hands so perfectly so that he hits your g-spot while his palm brushes against your clit over and over again. Feeling yourself get more desperate you pull away from him with a pleading look in your eyes.

“Do you wanna lay down?” he asks softly, smiling. You do as suggested and lay down on your back, spreading your legs as he kneels in front of you.

“Please fuck me” you say through half lidded eyes. He could do nothing but rake his eyes up and down your body. You were so perfect and kind to him and he truly liked this experience. Your high state made you more focused on your needs and pleasure. You allowed yourself to feel and react more naturally, and he is loving it.

Leaning forward he cages you in under his arms, bracing them on either side of you and envelopes your mouth in hungry kisses. After a little whining he finally kisses down your neck as he lines himself up with your entrance. You let out a gasp as his tip enters you and he slowly eases his entire length into you.

“Oh my god…fuck König, it feels so good, I feel so full” you murmur to him, faces inches away from each other. In return, he starts to give you slow, dragging thrusts.

“Would you like me to go faster y/n?” he asks as he uses his fingertips to turn your chin toward him so that you are looking him in the eyes.

“Yes, yes faster please” you reply nodding up at him not breaking the eye contact which just about finished him off right there. But he took a deep breath and sped up his pace, snaking one hand between the two of you to rub circles around your clit.

After several minutes you cling to his neck and shoulders, letting out a slew of whimpers and moans.

“Please, please…I’m s’close…please” is all you are able to get out before he gives you a grin and angles his hips so he is hitting even deeper inside of you.

This is what does it for you. Wide eyed, brow furrowed, with your mouth agape you let out the prettiest, hottest moans he thinks he’s ever heard. “Cum around me shatz, please, let me feel you. I’ve got you, I’ve got you just let go.” is all he has to mutter for you to let go.

“Oh fuck, König! I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming. AA-OOhh my god!” you choke out as he continues his pace and fucks you through your orgasm, now chasing his own high. But for some reason, your orgasm wasn’t stopping, it just kept going, for longer than it normally does. In your drunken state you were still able to connect this to the edible you took.

“Oh my god shatz, fuck! I’m going to cum darling, where do you want me?” König gasped out, clearly losing any resolve he has left.

“In me! In me please, I wanna feel you, please cum in me baby please.” you respond although still stuck in the seemingly never ending orgasm you smile through your words. Your smile and half lidded look into his eyes is the last nail in the coffin for him and with a sputter of his thrusts he explodes inside of you, groaning into your ear in the ways that you love so much.

Then, finally you feel your orgasm start to dwindle down as he slows down his movements, before completely pulling out of you and bringing you to lay on your side next to him.

“I love you.” is all you are able to whisper to him as he pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms completely around you, legs tangled together, your hands coming up to cradle his face.

“I love you more.” he replies, pressing his lips to yours once more.

Needless to say your first time having sex while high was a success, and the two of you will be doing it much more often.

hehe tysm for reading, if you like this don't be shy hehe, check out my other content. also reminder that I am taking requests idc how niche they are, please feel free to ask if there's anything you'd like to see!

#könig smut #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #konig smut #konig x reader #call of duty smut #call of duty modern warfare #cod smut #cod mw2 #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig blurb #könig imagine #könig x you #konig blurb #konig imagine #konig headcanons

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tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors · 22 days ago

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you mentioned in the tags of that burnout post that its been 6 years and you still havent gotten to everything you wanted to in laoft, just out of curiosity are there any fics youve had in mind since the beginning/early on that youre still planning on writing but havent yet?

mostly prequels ive referenced but never gotten around to actually writing

the time as young teens/middle schoolers roman fell out of tree, hit his head and lost consciousness and logan had a week-long catastrophic meltdown about it (this is titled 'logan and the terrible horrible no good very bad week' in my documents)

a fic about very early LAMP dealing with/talking out romans habit of agreeing to or initiating things he doesnt actually want to do in order to protect himself from anything he perceives as them being mad at him

midquel during what you choose to put in the ground, were patton and logan discuss roman the day after meeting him and whether or not theyre going to try and be his friend

Virgil misunderstanding a human cultural thing because of movies/tv and assuming its like, Legally Required Of Him to ask permission of LMPs parents to marry them, so he goes to shelley first sweating bullets and shelleys like 'oh sweetheart' and we get a little bonding moment for them

more companions to Wit where i show all of the lamp combos moment of Realization when they fall in love

silly tea leaf reading fic that been languishing 3 sentences long for like 5 years

may and night!roman the first time she teaches him magic

logans flower shop opening

death threat jar.... TWO

gc goes camping

may and roman visiting abby's grave when he's a kid (9-10) and him feeling conflicted about it because he doesnt remember her/worrying he doesnt love her 'enough'

a more bittersweet companion to Requiem with Linda and Remus and their families

i really want to do more guidebook entries but i got a new computer and lost my copy of clipstudio and cant figure out how to get it back XD so i have to wait until i figure that out or buy a new copy

May + virgil hurt/comfort reminiscing about Greta and Trudi.

Dot and Larry romance fic featuring alternating cheerleader and heckler abby

analogical word association games (analogical because logan has a ginormous vocabulay and virgil is hundreds of years old, so the goal winds up being trying to say a word the other doesnt know or doesnt know enough words to play off of)

We've had badass protective LAM but i have one for Patton thats languishing as well

Virgil stumbling up on the Gage's hunting blind, which used to be Greta and Toby's house and is now derelict

fae specific idioms vs wickhills specific idioms

fire poker drama with roman and dot - he finds out about it and is uuuuuh. unhappy, to say the least

roman doing knot/weaving/braiding magic like his mom on his and linda's hair

a day in the life of dr. emile picani the only psychotherapist in a town full of magically traumatized people only he is qualified to treat (AKA So Much Pressure)

Dot and Larry with a very young Logan realizing that they have a child who physically can't lie and that it would therefore be extremely easy for them to violate his boundaries and privacy without even meaning to, and them talking about how to handle that

theres other stuff in the someday file, but these are the once ive had from or almost from the start

#ask #Anonymous #love and other fairytales ask #laoft meta

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dairy-farmer · 5 months ago

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Hi!

So, I love very very much sweet is the lullaby over your nest and I just want to know moreeee

Like, what do they do with the baby? Tim gets to live in the manor with his pack or he goes to another place? What are Damian's thoughts now that he knows his pack omega didn't want him bc of the loss of his puppy? What does Steph do knowing his ex boyfriend needed her and she took Robin away from him when he most needed her? What about Cass? Did she knew? And Dick, will he kinda step up now that he wants to change his relationship with Tim for the better?

answered out of order:

sweet is the lullaby over your nest is definitly on the more emotionally heavy end of the spectrum of fics ive written and i ended it in a way where i tried to communicate that the entirety of the family was going to be in for a REALLY bad time once everyone finally understood what had been happening.

tim is in a very precarious place, he's been distant from the pack for awhile so as for him staying in the manor or leaving i definitely think if i continued that would be the main conflict that would distressing the pack- the uncertainty of tim possibly leaving. because tim wants his baby to be safe, that's non negotiable to him. but if jason is coming around around the manor and possibly crossing paths with his baby then he'll up and leave if not to his own apartment then to san francisco. also tim likely still has lingering fears that maybe bruce will side with jason or that he might stake a claim on tim's pup. omegaverse legal fuckery means that bruce COULD essentially file for custody of tim's pup and tim has that in the back of his mind because bruce has loose moral and if he thought tim might leave them then he might file to keep danny in order to get tim to stay with them so that would be tim's fear during the fallout (that move would also probably be something bruce considers later on before someone tears into him, probably dick or alfred, for even considering it)

tim's pup is also going to struggle with some pretty severe attachment issues- he hasn't gotten a chance to bond, he's been in an orphanage until then, he has basically been emotionally neglected during a vital developmental time because there simply weren't resources to nurture pups after bludhaven. so there'd be some complex issues in store for tim where he greatly missed his baby and is desperatly attatched but tim's baby is scared and confused and maybe struggling to develop a bond with his mama and the instincts are making it worse and more confusing. so sad times for tim and his baby where they're desperately trying to form this connection years later after they were separated. all while tim is trying to make sure they don't get separated again.

for cass and dick their reactions can be summarized in a word: gutted. dick would definitely spiral terribly before forcing himself to get it together once its clear that bruce is borderline catatonic because bruce would NOT deal well with what he's learned at all. maybe he could twist his brain around enough to find excuses for jason's actions, for finding a way to say that jason was different from murders or mercenaries. but he can't excuse or ignore jason's actions with this, that he has to DO something about this, punish jason for this like how batman would demand he punish him. that if jason were a different cape, if he were a league member and this had been discovered then bruce wouldn't hesitate then but this? its an "ethical dilemma" of bruce's nightmares. if he punishes jason he might lose him if he doesn't he might lose tim, or maybe he'll lose both whether he does something or not. bruce is just trying to find a way to keep his family together but that's simply not possible in this case.

cass would feel gutted because she KNEW something was off about tim, knew he was in immense amount of pain but she'd chosen to leave gotham anyway. dick is ruined because his brother, who he'd been having a tense relationship with for over a year, had been raped, had had a baby and he he hadn't told dick. even before their relationship went to shit he hadn't told dick which meant that maybe their problems had been deeper and goingt on for longer than dick had realized. but tim had told him danny was HIS baby, he'd smiled at him so sweet and dazed and his scent brimming with joy.

even though things had been so rough between them he'd told dick about his baby, he'd SHOWN dick his baby and...dick has done wrong by tim. he's been failing him for a while, and clearly longer than he'd realized so when everything spills out dick is firmly in tim's corner because he's not messing up with him again. he's not going to make tim feel alone ever again, even if tim hates him, dick will be on his side. dick had messed up with jason, maybe that relationship had shivered a long time ago and there was no recovering it because he hadn't avenged him but tim- he can still do right by tim.

damian feels neglected, had for a long time because tim was an omega and BY INSTINCT that meant he should've been damian's caretaker. his provider. he should be the one defending and protecting him from other pack members hassling him, taking food from him, or attempting to harm him because omegas are the den keepers who protect the young, ill, and defenseless and tim hadn't. he hadn't done his job, he never responded to damian's pup cries and outright avoided him at times. he defied instincts to avoid caring for damian and so that of course created bitter feelings for damian, when tim had been disressed and clicking a clear call of 'pup! come to me!' and damian had responded, STILL he'd been brushed aside for what clearly held all of tim's affections. a younger, smaller, weaker pup. a pup that was barely weaned and the omega had chosen THAT over him. i don't think the pack would discolose to damian the circumstances, i think they'd try to shield that knowledge from him given his age but that would just lead to more problems and breed more resentment.

steph would also be in sort of the same boat as dick only that she'd been voicing her issues. she'd been upset and hurt that tim had yet to forgive her or even hear her out about her faking her death or anything from teh last year, she, like cass, had noticed tim had changed but had thought it was just HER he was treating like that. stephanie has a tendency to see things as being sort of her-centric so her realizing that she hadn't been the root of any issues, that she probably hadn't even been a thought for what tim had been struggling with and that tim likely hadn't had faith or trust in her for A WHILE since she hadn't known anything about this would definitely put her a weird limbo over everything.

the situation with jason is definitly complex. because jason is in a situation where one of the things he considers to be the most deplorable things a person can do is now something he's guilty of, out of his mind or not that was still HIM. maybe some weird primal version but still him that was capable of and did that. jason has always been, to an extent suicidal after becoming red hood, if not passively suicidal. coming back to life and coming back in a way he could just feel was WRONG fucked him up in ways he never really adressed, he just distracted himself from it. learning this definitely sends jason down a very dark place mentally. i think once everything starts spilling out jason leaves, doesn't explain himself, doesn't deal with the fall out he just leaves to put distance between himself and try to figure out what to do. i do think jason wants to die after learning what he's done. i think the level of revulsion he'd feel and the hatred he'd feel towards what has occurred would do something to him. jason doesn't believe rapists deserve second chances, he doesn't believe they can be rehabilitated or fixed and he doesn't believe they deserve to live. i do think maybe the only one that could maybe reach jason though his mental spiral would be roy. maybe dick calls roy because he knows jason might do something though he wasn't sure what. that exchange would definitely be a tough one once roy found him holed up somewhere. roy at that point would be trying to argue against jason's own self-destruction. i have thought about how their exchange would play out but its a tough piece of dialogue to really pin down.

jason saying how if he were anyone else, if he were just some random fuck from the street standing on a ledge that that roy wouldn't be trying so hard to talk him down, that he might even goad him to do it.

and roy doesn't deny that. he admits it. but he also admits that jason is different from other pieces of crap. that he tries to leave places better than he found them, that he has empathy for people that are otherwise discarded.

i think that roy's history with drug addiction and his path to recovery, him struggling with his own feelings of self hatred and the person he was would let him get to jason when he tells him that self forgiveness is bullshit. that thing he's read in self help books and pamphlets about learning to forgive your self are worthless to people like them. because roy knew that 'forgiving' himself for fucking himself up so bad wasn't what he needed. forgiveness felt too permissive, like he was basically giving himself a pass for the shitty things he did and the people he hurt and the things he did that he could never take back or fix. roy lays it out for jason and tells him that he owes it to the people he wronged to spend the rest of his life making up for it. even if it makes no difference, even if they never want to see him again- that's his punishment. he doesn't get to die and let himself off easy, he has to work.

the situation with danny would also be difficult but the one thing that jason and tim agree on whether they know it or not as that neither of them wants danny to know what he came from. jason has seen how fucked up kids produced from rape are, the way the light in them just...dies when they realize what they were born from. and tim knows that too. he knows the statistics, he knows the impact it will have on his pup's mental health and wellbeing at knowing. so for his sake, jason learns to swallow back this shredded pain at his chest when tim tells an older danny that his father is dead.

i don't think that jason would want the pup to know him or view him as a father. i think he'd find it disrespectful to tim especially since tim wanted nothing to do with him.

i think jason would always be in the background, trying to make up for something that's impossible to make up for. doubling his effort to keep gotham clean and safe so that tim's pup doesn't have to worry about getting snatched off a playground or felt up by a dirty cop or any of the things that jason saw or went through as a kid.

i think he'd try. just smelling him that one time left jason struggling with his emotions and instincts and everything. whenever tim would be out or around gotham jason would leave the city to give them space, he''d be in an airport and see stuffed animals and toys and things that would've called to him as a kid and..in weakness he'd mail them knowing that tim would probably throw them out but just not being able to fight the need to...provide something.

he stumbles a lot in this new life purpose of seeking to repent. he offends tim by offering him money, angers him by sending clothes, makes the mistake of trying to talk to tim about things that don't relate to their caped duties because tim does continue to cooperate and work with jason he just won't allow any talk of his pup and the fact that tim continued to work with jason makes everyone and especially jason uncomfortable because it just feels wrong.

everything following the reveal is definitely complicated and difficult for everyone involved and its something that would make for a very long fic to do it.

but like i mentioned in the notes i think after years and years and tim's pup grows up to resemble jason in more than one way i think its possible that maybe when tim see jason the first thing he feels isn't hatred. i don't think its ever quite indifference either i think its sort of an 'okay. this is how things are.'

depite being tagged jaytim i don't think it ever can really bloom to that, just too much hurt and pain is tied up in between them. i think if jason ever developed feelings he'd hate himself for them and if tim ever developed feelings he'd be distressed and have sort of a deep mental distress over it. i think it would distress and freak the two of them out too much. them having a pup together however also ties them together in a way the two of them can never really untangle. maybe its why the two of them never really feel comfortable getting mates or siring other pups. tim because danny's birth was deeply traumatic to him in a way he never fully processes and jason because "starting a family" and playing at happy family feels too much like he'd be mocking what he did.

in a way titans tower continues to haunt them for the rest of their lives even if danny grows up happy and better than they ever thought they were each capable of.

i think both of them struggle deeply with it, both of them wish more than anything that it had never happened but at the same time see this sweet and happy child and feel twisted and conflicted about it.

the tragedy for jason and tim is that the only person who can really understand their pain is each other

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #answered out of order

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lloydskywalkers · 12 days ago

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Quick question, if you don't mind me asking, will there ever be more fics with Lloyd, Rachel and Brad? You don't have to answer if you don't want too. :)

ASDFG I do not mind at all omg my silly oc :'D I have...tentative plans for them depending on how november goes, but in the meantime i did have this one floating around?? reworked it a bit to fit the timeline but here's some shenanigans

(working title is "Lloyd and Brad clown-to-clown communicating: He’s the biggest mess of parental issues I’ve ever seen. Not me, though. I can fix him.")

also somewhat necessary reference for this fic:

There are probably better places to hang out than fifteen stories up the Ninjago City municipal building — or whatever this one is — and definitely better places to hang out than outside said building on a tiny wooden platform suspended by wires.

And yet here Rachel is, sitting on a hijacked window cleaner platform that Lloyd’s insisted is perfectly safe, while Brad goes out for awkward lunch with his awkward mom one awkward building over.

It’s not stalking if they’re doing their own thing. Which they are, thank you very much.

“Fat pink blob.”

“Close,” Rachel snorts.

“Kirby knock-off?”

“Hey, rude, Jigglypuff is unique,” she retorts.

“Jigglypuff,” Lloyd repeats, delighted. “That’s even better.”

Rachel waves the Pokémon card with an air of superiority. “Jigglypuff is a balloon Pokémon, normal and fairy type. It can lull enemies to sleep with its singing.”

“Is it related to the Clefairy one?” Lloyd asks, one leg swinging over the edge of the platform, as if there’s not a good fifteen stories of empty air beneath him.

“No, Pokémon aren’t related,” Rachel rolls her eyes. She pauses. “Well, I mean…I don’t know?”

“I thought you were the expert here.”

“I never said I was an expert on Pokémon genetics, cut me some slack.”

“Betrayed,” Lloyd sighs. “Next you’ll be telling me that Pikachu is a rat.”

“He’s not a rat, he’s a mouse, and I did tell you!”

“Pikachu is Pikachu! How can he be a mouse!”

“I can’t believe you’re still worked up about that,” Rachel huffs, propping her chin on her hands.

“It’s the principle of things,” Lloyd says. “I’m uneducated, or whatever you said. Cut me some slack.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. As offended as Lloyd’s been by Pikachu the mouse, distracting themselves with Pokémon education — which is necessary, Lloyd’s such an obvious Pokémon target audience — has been a decent success, if she says so herself.

So far, Lloyd’s been particularly fond of Charmander, his mouth quirking at the little fire-tailed creature. Rachel went ahead and gave him a Charmander and Squirtle pair, which successfully got a laugh from him. He’s also gone for Mimikyu—

“You would like that one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

And Greninja, of course—

“I’m legally obligated to, look at the name—”

“Basic, loser—”

But she hadn’t seen Skiploom or Misdreavus coming.

“They’re cute,” Lloyd says. “And Misdreavus looks like you. When you have bad ideas.”

“When I have bad ideas — hey!” Rachel sputters. “Well, that makes sense then, ‘cause Skiploom looks like you.”

“Why, ‘cause it’s green?” Lloyd scoffs. “You can do better than that.”

“Fine,” she huffs, shuffling through her binder. “You would be…Dragonair. Or — ooh, wait, here—”

“Wooper?!” Lloyd stares at the cartoony blue blob and its oversized head in consternation.

“It looks just like you,” she says, lips twitching. “Look at its happy little airhead smile—”

“It looks nothing like me!”

Lloyd’s laughing now though, his leg swinging back and forth enough to rock the platform. Rachel’s not normally one to be scared of heights, but her knuckles do turn somewhat white as she grips the cables.

The whole window-washer thing does make a little more sense, now, seeing how at ease he is up here.

Lloyd’s told her he took the window job because it was the only place in Ninjago he hasn’t caused enough significant structural damage to that would still hire him. The way he’d pulled them up this high without hesitating, though, she can’t help but wonder if there was more to it than that.

Lloyd’s the opposite of people scared of heights. Where others might shrink back in fear at the looming distance between them and the ground, Lloyd seems to come alive at it. Every gust of wind, the clear blue of the sky unfolding behind him, Lloyd breathes a little different — a little easier, a little lighter.

“He’s not really human, remember?” Brad had reminded her, once. “Well, okay, he’s part-human — but there’s the whole Oni and dragon thing, you know?”

Which makes sense, she guesses. If Lloyd’s part dragon, it’s no wonder he misses the sky.

“There are so many,” Lloyd says, as they flip through her collection. “And you don’t even have ‘em all?”

“Not nearly,” Rachel says. “There are a lot of rare cards, or ones that are super hard to get, rainbow versions and shiny versions and stuff.”

“Like Starfarer collector’s comics.”

“Yeah, pretty much, I guess. Make something shiny and it’s worth more.”

“You’re telling me,” Lloyd murmurs beneath his breath.

Rachel tilts her head, studying him. She’s been getting better at clocking those little remarks, now that she knows to look for them. Self-sabotaging slash self-deprecating moments, something him and Brad share in common.

“You can’t just like the basics, though,” she says. She’s not sure the story behind this one, so distraction’ll have to work, this time. “C’mon, pick a poison type or something.”

“I don’t even know what half the types are,” Lloyd huffs, but his expression eases as he flips through the plastic-sheathed pages. He pauses over her collection of ground types, tapping a card. “This one’s cool.”

“Oh,” Rachel says. “That’s Cubone. It’s one of my favorites, even though it’s a sad one.”

Lloyd stares at the pudgy, dinosaur-like creature. “Sad how? It’s cute.”

“Well, the skull it’s got on its head is, uh, its mom’s,” Rachel said. Lloyd’s head snaps up, expression wounded.

“What.”

“I said it was sad!” Rachel says. “It’s a lonely Pokémon.”

“They literally named it lonely?” Lloyd’s looking heartbroken by the second.

“Yeah, see, here—” In a totally smart and well thought-out move, Rachel hands him Cubone’s description.

“When the memory of its departed mother brings it to tears, its cries echo mournfully within the skull it wears on its head,” Lloyd reads. His voice grows quieter as he does, his eyes fixed on the tiny creature embossed on the card.

Stupid, thoughtless move, Rachel curses herself. Bad timing queen of the century—

There’s a reason they’re stalking Brad. There’s a reason they’re up this high, too.

It isn’t like she knows what went on at Darkley’s, not all of it. But it doesn’t take a genius to guess that whatever kind of parents decided to leave their kids there weren’t the best. Or the most present.

And she’d have to be really, really blind to miss the way Lloyd had gone stiff when Brad mentioned meeting up with his mother.

Lloyd looks down, to where Brad disappeared into the restaurant below.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” she murmurs, uselessly.

Lloyd looks away. He’s drawn a knee up to his chest now, his cheek squashed up against it as he draws little circles over Cubone’s picture.

“Brad said they get along, now,” he mutters. “That’s why they’re meeting up every month. To try and reconnect, or something.”

Rachel draws her own knees up to her chest, mimicking him. “That’s a good thing, right?”

Lloyd shrugs. He quickly shakes his head, amending, “No, you’re right. It’s a good thing. I’m being—”

He cuts off, looking out over the skyline.

“Selfish,” he murmurs. “Paranoid,” he adds, after a beat. “And unfair.”

“That’s a lot of lies to tell yourself.”

“Except they’re true.”

“Stoppit,” Rachel scowls. “Now you’re calling me a liar—”

“Brad’s getting to reconnect with his mom and it isn’t about me.”

“Okay, well—” Rachel huffs. “Brad’s not here. It’s you and me and a bunch of Pokémon cards, and you didn’t even know what Pokémon was, which is a crime, because your mom left you at hell school as a kid—”

“Wow, okay, she didn’t — look, it’s—”

“You’re allowed to be hurt.”

“Am I?” Lloyd throws his hands up in the air. “I’ve already made things a mess with my dad, I don’t need to go and ruin stuff with my mom of top of everything,” he says in a rush. “I mean, she tries her best, too. People should get second chances, obviously, and like — she had a good reason, and — and it’s stupid that I’m even feeling this way in the first place, just ‘cause Brad’s having a great time with his mom and actually managing to talk to his parents without blowing up and — and oh my god I need to learn how to filter.”

Rachel closes her mouth.

She’d figured that was coming. She might not be a Lloyd expert, but ever since the world ended in Ninjago City for the billionth time — growing purple crystals all over yourself out of nowhere sucked, by the way — he’s clearly been off. And when Brad had mentioned hanging out in the city after meeting up with his mom, Rachel had known very well she was kicking a hornet’s nest by inviting Lloyd.

Sometimes you gotta risk getting stung, though. To, uh…okay, turning into a bad metaphor here, but there’s a point.

Lloyd buries his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he says, muffled. “I wanted to hang out, and have fun, and — I’m terrible at being friends.”

“Three lies, you’re out,” is all Rachel manages at first. She shakes her head, reorienting. “Well, okay, you went over like, six sentences ago, but besides the point.”

She shifts her leg free, so she can gently kick his own. “You’re not a bad friend,” she says. “We are having fun. Sometimes you talk about the heavy stuff with your friends, too. That’s all.”

“It’s also all I’ve been doing. We should, uh, talk about your day now, or something—”

“You listened to me talk about Pokémon for an hour straight,” she says, gently. “That was really cool. Brad only lets me get like, ten minutes of rambling in.”

“I liked listening to you,” Lloyd says, glancing at up at her. “Except for the part where you said I’m a Wooper.”

Rachel breathes a laugh. “You are. Look at his dumb little smile.”

Lloyd’s lips twitch, a pale imitation of the smile she knows, but it’s a win she’ll take.

“Have you ever thought about it?” she asks, hesitantly. “Talking to your…mom about things. How you feel. Actually feel.”

Lloyd’s face falls again, and he looks down to the tiny street below them.

“I dunno,” he mutters. “I’m not sure what I’d say.”

Rachel chews on the inside on her cheek. She thinks of her own mother, of her frightened eyes always watching doors. Thinks of old books hidden beneath her bed, well-worn pages her uncle had read before the shouting matches had started. Thinks of the sting of people who don’t come back, while you’re left spending every day hoping more than anything—

“Brad’s out.”

Rachel’s head snaps to follow Lloyd’s gaze down — way, way down — to where the tiny blob that’s Brad is stepping out of the restaurant.

Dragon eyes, she thinks.

Or Oni? Which would have the better eyesight, in theory—

“You ready?”

She glances up. It’s as if Lloyd’s taken a pencil and erased the heaviness from his expression by force — she’d never be able to tell, if she hadn’t seen it herself.

She has a thing or two to say about that, but they’re interrupted as her stomach drops at the wild grin that suddenly spreads across Lloyd’s face.

“You know, we could just go down the normal way.”

“And be boring?”

“How’d you even keep this job,” Rachel mutters, sitting square on the platform with her binder between her legs, wrapping her arms tight around the railing.

“I didn’t,” Lloyd grins. “Three-two-one-go—”

Half of Ninjago City probably hears Rachel’s screaming. The other half gets to hear Lloyd’s wild laughter as he lets the platform plummet, speeding toward the ground in a free-fall, just to grab the cables and slide them to a stop at the last minute.

“I hate you,” Rachel spits through mouthfuls of hair. Her fingers feel forever fused to the railings. “Hate. You.”

“It’s like a roller coaster,” Lloyd says happily, stepping down from the platform. He holds a hand out for her with a lopsided grin. “It was kinda fun, right?”

Rachel pushes herself up on shaky legs, grabbing his hand as she staggers off the platform.

“Kinda,” she manages. “Kinda fun. In a crazy, maniac, sort of—”

“I thought that screaming sounded familiar.”

Brad, who’s somehow gotten across the block in the time it took to plummet fifteen stories down the building, shakes his head at them both. He’s still dressed in his nerdy blazer, his hair all gelled back, but thankfully his mom’s nowhere to be seen.

“What screaming?” Rachel wheezes. “I didn’t hear any screaming.”

“She almost passed out,” Lloyd says, grinning at Brad.

For that complete and utter betrayal, Rachel kicks him in the shin. “Traitor, what the heck!”

“Ow, ow, I mean she was totally chill the whole time—”

“It’s too late now, you already tossed me under the bus!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they could hear you seven streets over, anyways,” Brad says.

Rachel deflates. Lloyd pats her gingerly on the shoulder, then turns back to Brad. He hesitates, for a beat — as if scrambling for words — then asks, “How did things with your mother go?”

Brad barely manages to hide the face he makes. He’s lucky — it could pass as discomfort with the question, more so than who the question’s coming from.

“It was, uh,” Brad scratches the back of his head. “It was okay? Actually, I need to go say bye, so if you guys want to wait like, right here—”

The clacking sound of heels against the sidewalk draws near, and Brad stiffens.

“Brad, dear, I hadn’t finished — oh!”

Brad’s mother stops just behind him, her eyes wide. Brad’s expression twists, his arm halfway outstretched in an aborted attempt to hide Lloyd from her view.

A very failed attempt, unfortunately.

“You must be Lloyd Garmadon!” Brad’s mother says brightly. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for so long, your father’s diabolical work is simply exemplary—”

“Mom!” Brad hisses.

“O-oh, that is to say—” Mrs. Tudabone waves her hand. “I admire, how you’ve, ah, turned your life around for the greater good?”

“Um,” Lloyd says eloquently. He looks kind of like he does when a reporter corners him on the news, except like six times worse, because reporters usually know better than to bring up your father’s diabolical work right to his face — unless they want Nya to murder them on primetime television, or something.

“Hi, Mrs. Tudabone,” Rachel steps in. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Ah. Rachel.” Mrs. Tudabone’s smile grows tight. “Always a pleasure, being subjected to the one who got my son to stop achieving detention.”

“Which is a good thing,” Brad stresses.

“Mm-hm.” Mrs. Tudabone looks unconvinced. “What have you got there, dear? A binder full of disgustingly charitable ideas? More of that toxic—”

“Mom, please.” Brad looks as if he wants to throw himself from a bridge.

Rachel clutches her binder to her chest. “Nope! Just, uh, Pokémon.”

“I’m sure.” Mrs. Tudabone turns away from her, back to face Lloyd again. “I can’t believe Brad never introduced us, after all this time. You two were always so close, back at Darkley’s.”

The expressions on Lloyd and Brad’s faces would be comically hilarious, if they didn’t both look excruciatingly awkward.

“Between you and me,” Mrs. Tudabone leans in conspiratorially. “I think it’s ridiculous they expelled you. The son of Garmadon, kicked out? Unbelievable.”

Uh-oh. Rachel feels a little bit like she’s been landed in a soap opera, in the worst possible way.

“I mean, it was pretty believable,” Lloyd says, sounding a bit breathless. “It ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me, so. Uh.”

“Because we’re both good, upstanding people,” Brad grinds out. “Okay, mom? We’ve talked about this, like, a thousand times—”

“And I told you, Brad, you should have introduced Lloyd to us earlier,” she shakes her head. “I don’t believe a word of those headmasters, look what happened to them! I could’ve given you much better advice.”

“Well, that would’ve meant you had to show up once a year,” Brad’s mouth is set tightly. “Since, you know, I never really saw you, at all? Remember that part?”

“Oh, Brad, don’t do this again,” Mrs. Tudabone sighs. “You’re always overreacting about these things. Could you be a little less emotional? You did say you were old enough to make your own decisions now, after all.”

Brad flinches, just barely visible. Rachel’s opening her mouth, but Lloyd beats her to it.

“He’s not overreacting, are you serious?” Lloyd’s eyes are just a bit too wide, his breathing just a bit too fast. “You don’t get to tell him that when you abandoned him—”

Lloyd cuts off abruptly, the color sliding from his face like water. Brad gapes at him. Rachel, catching the way Lloyd’s breathing starts hitching and Brad’s mom seems to be faring little better, takes one for the team.

“It was great talking with you, Mrs. Tudabone,” she says brightly, grabbing Lloyd’s hand in her own. “Unfortunately I just dropped fifteen stories down a building and I’m about to throw up everywhere. Please excuse us.”

Tugging Lloyd with her, she proceeds to book it.

The harried voice and following footsteps let her know that Brad’s following, but Rachel’s too focused to catch what he’s saying.

Get rid of the people, get rid of the noise, cut environmental triggers—

She drags Lloyd into the back alley and releases his hand. Lloyd’s already sliding down, crouched over as he breathes raggedly, head held between his hands.

“Lloyd! Lloyd, where’d you—”

“Shh,” she hisses at Brad, crouching down next to Lloyd. “Yelling’s bad. Hey, Lloyd, you with us?”

He gives a reedy, whistling exhale.

“Had…better moments.”

“What are you talking about, this is a great moment,” Brad giggles half-hysterically, joining them on the aging concrete. “We’re just hanging out. On the ground, in an alleyway, where we’ll probably all get tetanus—”

“Zip it.”

Lloyd squeezes his eyes shut. “M’sorry,” he rasps.

Rachel makes a noise of not-quite-hidden exasperation, but Brad’s the one to speak up.

“Don’t do that,” he sighs. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Lloyd makes a sound that could be a laugh, if it was the saddest, fakest laugh ever.

“I yelled at your mom.”

“That wasn’t even yelling,” Brad says. “I’ve said way worse. She’s said way worse, actually.”

Lloyd shakes his head, disappearing beneath his hair again. Like coaxing out a stubborn cat, Rachel holds her hand out, and Lloyd’s the one to grab it this time. Brad brings his hand down on top.

She stares at him. He winces.

“It’s only awkward if you say something.”

“Then why’d you say something,” Lloyd mutters.

“I didn’t wanna be left out.”

“Of the group panic attack?” Rachel says.

“Not a panic attack,” Lloyd says. “I’m fine.”

“You are so not fine,” Brad breathes out a laugh. Lloyd makes a muffled sound into his hands.

Shifting in place, Brad continues, his voice softer. “Hey, for what it’s worth,” he murmurs. “Thanks. For…saying something to her. That meant a lot.”

Lloyd looks up at him from between his fingers. His cheeks turn a dusty shade of pink — which is way better than the ashy grey color he’s been, so he’ll probably be fine, Rachel notes — before he abruptly stands up, shaking his head.

“Don’t thank me,” Lloyd says, looking a bit like a kicked dog. “I just — I didn’t help, really.”

“Lloyd—”

“Let’s get outta here, huh? This is kinda — kinda lame. Sorry.”

Brad stares at his back as Lloyd power-walks to the edge of the alleyway, his shoulders set in a rigid line. Rachel rises to her feet, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tucks her binder beneath her elbow.

“You wanna bulldoze into this one, or should I?” she finally says.

Brad turns to her, his expression scrunching up. Upset, Rachel recognizes. At her.

“Why’d you invite him today?” Brad murmurs beneath his breath. “I didn’t want — I told you about the mom thing. I knew it was gonna end up hurting him and you invited him anyways."

Rachel looks down. “He wanted to come. Maybe he wants to work through his mom stuff like you are.”

“He never said anything like that.”

“No,” she says. “He didn’t say it, maybe. But his face did.”

Brad stares, from the lines of Lloyd’s back where he stands ahead of them, then to her again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” she glares. “Lloyd’s never gonna say what he wants. You gotta start reading between the lies.”

“You mean the lines?”

“I mean the lies. Start listening to what I say more too, huh?”

Brad’s expression grows muddled, and Rachel feels a pang of guilt. Lloyd’s not the only one with a mangled social radar, she reminds herself. Lloyd’s not the only one with a childhood of bad lessons and broken connections.

But oh, it’s frustrating sometimes, being friends with two people so hopelessly tangled up in their own emotions, while hopelessly denying those emotions exist in the first place.

She ignores the part of her that likes how easy that makes it, for her to slip by when she needs to.

Well, Lloyd might catch her. Like recognizing like, and all that.

In the meantime—

She draws up to Lloyd where he’s standing frozen, just where the shadow of the alleyway meets the bright sunlight of the street.

“Hey, knock knock,” she says. “Wanna come out of your brain, now?”

Lloyd jolts, coloring. “I’m not in my brain, I - I was just waiting for you guys, we can get going now that—”

“It’s okay to be mad at your mom,” she says.

Lloyd makes a wheezing sound. “I told you—”

“And being mad at Brad’s mom because you understand why it hurts doesn’t make defending him any less of a nice gesture,” she continues.

“Wha— what are you, my therapist?”

“No, you’re just stupid,” Rachel huffs. She shoots a glare at Brad as he trudges up next to them. “Both of you are.”

“You’re the biggest hypocrite I know,” Brad mutters.

“And you’re a dummy who should talk about your feelings!” She elbows Lloyd in the side. “Both of you! Please go off like that more often, you’re like two - two - bottle rockets, or something—”

“Bottle rockets?!”

“It’s okay to feel stuff, just feel it before you explode!”

“We’re getting weird looks,” Lloyd whispers.

“Oh no, you are not getting out of this just because of social norms—”

“Okay, okay, alright!” Brad throws his hands in the air. “Lloyd. You’re fine. I get mad too, so next time, let’s just — punch a wall, or something.”

“No,” Rachel glares at him. “That’s so bad for you! You’ll split your knuckles open and damage your fingers, and—”

“Okay, geez, we’ll punch a pillow or something, then.”

Lloyd gives a shaky laugh. Brad draws up closer, his outstretched hand freezing halfway there.

“Hey,” he finally says. “We…we got out, still. Nothing’s gonna change that. We made it that far. So if we just keep moving—”

He cuts off. Lloyd looks up, his expression softening, and Brad meets his eyes with something indecipherable written across his face.

Lloyd seems to get it, though.

“One awkward step at a time, huh,” he says.

Brad huffs. “Awkward about sums it up. Do you know how lunch went? I told my mom I liked escargot because I panicked and couldn’t think of anything else. Do you know what escargot is?”

“How do you know what that is?” Rachel blinks.

“Ditto?”

“It’s snails,” Brad grimaces. “It’s gross. I ate six snails while my mom asked me what I’d burned down for fun lately. Then she remembered I’m supposed to be good, and she panicked, and we sat there in silence for thirty minutes with six. Stupid. Snails.”

Lloyd’s hand is pressed over his mouth. Rachel bites the inside of her cheek desperately.

“Please laugh,” Brad says raggedly. “It’s funny.”

Rachel lets out a breath of laughter as Lloyd snickers quietly.

“Another awkward step down, I guess?”

“And it was terrible,” Brad complains. “Next time we hang out, let’s just go bowling or something, okay?”

“Can we do karaoke?”

“Absolutely not. I refuse to get humiliated like that again.”

“I think we should all go to group therapy together,” Rachel says.

This leaves both Lloyd and Brad sputtering, but the heavy weight hanging over their conversation has lifted, and Rachel will take what she can get.

But she’s also a bit petty, and would like the last word, so before Lloyd leaves for the monastery, she darts forward to tuck both the Cubone card and an accompanying Marowak card into the pocket of his gi.

Lloyd frowns, staring at the second card as he reads the description. A small smile breaks across his face, and he holds the card out to her.

“Call for Friend is an attack?”

“Fully redeemable, any time,” Rachel presses the card back into his hand.

“You got him into Pokémon?” Brad says. “Don’t do it, Lloyd, she’s blown half her savings hunting down those dumb shiny cards.”

Rachel elbows him. “The point being,” she says. “That you should call us more often. ‘Cause we wanna hang out with you.”

Lloyd looks up at them both, the card clutched tightly in his hands. He smiles, a bit crooked, but more genuine.

“You got it,” he murmurs.

“And next time, we won’t talk about moms at all,” Brad says.

“And we’ll all go get escargot and watch Brad cry.”

“Why do I tell you anything, I swear—”

Lloyd’s laughter is well-worth any dirty looks Brad sends her the entire way home.

#answered #my fic #oc posting #me and my 9000 thoughts about darkley's kids and their trauma #rachel is just here for fun. and pokemon

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