#but the words are like just falling out of my brain and not thoughting in a straight line beaming onto the page

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.5

Chapter Five: As If The Street Lights Pointed In An Arrowhead Leading Us Home

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I was busy writing chapter one of my Richard Reeds fanfic, and my brain went into overdrive. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, and my thoughts and writing process will be in the end notes below! Take care out there.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

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CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING  

It was the weekend.  

A rare, golden thing in the middle of a chaotic schedule. Sometimes, productions pushed through weekends, forcing actors and crew alike to run on fumes and caffeine, but this week, you’d been given the luxury of a proper break.  

So you did the only logical thing: you slept in.  

No alarms. No early call times. No frantic scrambling to get out the door before the sun had even fully risen. Just the quiet hush of your hotel room, the soft cocoon of blankets, and the gentle hum of the city beyond your window.  

Pedro, on the other hand, was not sleeping in.  

He was downstairs earlier, enjoying breakfast with some of the crew, chatting between bites of eggs and toast. But when he realized he hadn’t seen you—not even a glimpse—something tugged at his chest.  

He checked his phone. No messages from you.  

Not that you had to text him, obviously. But still.  

“Maybe she’s still asleep,” Vanessa mused when he brought it up, sipping her coffee.  

Coco smirked. “Or avoiding you.”  

Pedro shot her a look, unimpressed. “You’re hilarious.”  

Joseph, ever the instigator, leaned in. “You do realize how weirdly invested you are in this, right?”  

Pedro ignored them, pushing back his chair. “I’m gonna go check on her.”  

“OoOoOo, someone’s worried,” Ebon teased, grinning.  

Pedro just flipped them off over his shoulder as he walked away.  

Your side of the room was quiet when he got there.  

Pedro knocked.  

Nothing.  

He frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Hey, you alive in there?”  

Still nothing.  

His concern deepened. He knew you’d been exhausted lately, emotionally drained from the whole Cecilia situation. And yeah, maybe you were just catching up on sleep, but what if you weren’t feeling well? What if—  

He shook his head, pushing the thought away.  

A quick check with the front desk confirmed they had given you a key for emergencies. That was all the justification he needed.  

Carefully, Pedro let himself in.  

The room was dim, curtains drawn just enough to let in a sliver of London’s muted morning light. And there you were, curled up under a mountain of blankets, dead to the world.  

Snoring.  

Pedro exhaled, the tension in his chest dissolving as a slow, amused smile tugged at his lips.  

He took a step closer, just enough to take in the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your hair was a little all over the place. A soft snore left your lips, making him chuckle under his breath.  

God, you were adorable.  

For a brief moment, he debated waking you. Teasing you for sleeping through breakfast, maybe even convincing you to come downstairs with him.  

But then you shifted, letting out the softest sigh as you burrowed deeper into the pillows, and—yeah. No. He couldn’t wake you.  

Instead, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching for a little longer.  

He’d give you another hour.  

Maybe two.  

And then, well—if you didn’t wake up soon, he’d have to find a way to lure you out with the promise of coffee or something just as tempting.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE MORNING  

The late morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Pedro had been patient—he really had—but after standing around for a while, listening to your soft snoring, he decided you needed to eat something.  

So he had slipped downstairs, grabbed a plate of fresh fruit, some pastries, and a glass of juice, and set everything neatly on the kitchenette counter before making his way back to your bedside.  

The problem?  

You were not a morning person.  

Pedro bit back a grin as you stirred, groaning into your pillow, clearly fighting consciousness with everything in you. He could already tell this wasn’t going to be an easy wake-up.  

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Time to get up.”  

You groaned again, pulling the blanket over your head. “No.”  

Pedro chuckled. “Not even gonna think about it?”  

“No.”  

He exhaled, amused, and sat on the edge of the bed, nudging your shoulder lightly. “C’mon, I brought you breakfast. Fresh fruit, pastries, coffee… I even got you juice. Thought I was being nice.”  

That earned him a tiny peek of an eye from beneath the blanket. “What kind of juice?”  

He smirked. There we go.  

“Mango,” he answered, watching as you visibly debated with yourself. “And it’s still cold.”  

You groaned but finally—finally—sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you blinked blearily at him. “Fine. But if you’re lying about the juice, I’m going back to bed.”  

Pedro chuckled, standing up. “Noted.”  

As you shuffled out of bed and towards the kitchenette, still wrapped in your blanket like a grumpy little burrito, Pedro bit back another laugh.  

You were trying so hard not to snap at him, despite your obvious morning grumpiness, and he found it strangely endearing. You cared about him—he could see that. Not just in the way a fan might, but as someone who had gotten to know him, really know him, beyond the public persona.  

And for some reason, that made his chest feel warm.  

By the time you took your first sip of juice, you finally looked at him, still groggy but slightly more awake. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumbled.  

Pedro grinned. “I know.”

Pedro stayed leaning against the kitchenette counter, watching you with quiet amusement as you nibbled on a croissant, still wrapped up in your blanket like you might retreat back into it at any moment.  

"You know," he said, arms crossing over his chest, "I've worked with some pretty serious divas before, but you? You might be the worst morning person I've ever met."  

You narrowed your eyes at him mid-chew, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume I’m even a person in the morning."  

Pedro laughed, rich and warm, like he hadn't expected you to say that. It sent a flutter through your stomach, but you buried it beneath another bite of food.  

A comfortable silence settled between you as you worked through your breakfast, the weight of last night—the teasing from your friends, the way Pedro had looked at you over dinner, the way he’d listened, really listened, when you brushed off your problems—lingering just beneath the surface.  

It should’ve been awkward. But it wasn’t.  

"So," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the countertop, "what’s the plan for your day off? Big, exciting plans to stay in bed all day?"  

You swallowed a sip of juice, tilting your head at him. "That was the dream, yeah."  

Pedro let out a soft scoff, pushing off the counter. "Nah. Not happening."  

You raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"  

"You’ve been working your ass off all week, and I don’t mean just putting up with the shoot," he said, giving you a knowing look. "I mean all of it. Everything. And since you clearly weren’t gonna tell me how much it was getting to you, I figure it’s my job to make sure you actually do something for yourself today."  

Your stomach twisted at that.  

He had noticed.  

Of course, he had.  

And now, instead of letting you bury it like you had all week, he was making it a thing.  

"Pedro," you sighed, setting your glass down. "I really don’t—"  

"Shh," he cut in, grinning as he pressed a finger to his lips. "No arguing."  

You stared at him, deadpan. "Did you just shush me?"  

"Yeah." He shrugged, completely unfazed. "It’s effective."  

You narrowed your eyes, trying very hard not to laugh. "You’re an idiot."  

"And yet," he said, nodding toward your now-empty plate, "an idiot who got you to wake up, eat breakfast, and seriously consider leaving this hotel room."  

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile.  

Damn it.  

"Okay, fine." You rolled your eyes. "What exactly do you have in mind?"  

Pedro grinned like he’d just won something. "Get dressed, cariño. I’ll tell you on the way."

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY AFTERNOON 

You didn’t know what you had expected Pedro to suggest—maybe a lazy stroll through the city, or coffee at some tucked-away café—but the moment you stepped outside, you realized you had severely underestimated him.  

For one, he had somehow procured a car.  

Not just any car. A sleek, inconspicuous black SUV, complete with a driver who nodded at Pedro like they had some unspoken understanding.  

You frowned, pausing just before getting in. “Please tell me you didn’t hire security just to take me out for the day.”  

Pedro smirked, holding the door open for you. “Relax. It’s just a favor. No secret service level drama.”  

You eyed him suspiciously. “You swear?”  

“Would I lie to you?”  

You didn’t dignify that with a response.  

With a dramatic sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, and Pedro followed suit, settling in beside you with a satisfied grin.  

“See?” he said as the car pulled away from the hotel. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”  

You shot him a flat look. “I already regret this.”  

Pedro just laughed, tapping his fingers idly against his knee.  

The city stretched out beyond the tinted windows, a blur of old brick buildings, cafés with tiny outdoor tables, and the occasional group of tourists wrapped up in their own adventures.  

For a moment, you let yourself relax, head resting back against the seat, the steady hum of the car filling the silence.  

And then—  

“Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, side-eyeing him.  

Pedro hummed, pretending to think about it. “Nah. I like watching you squirm.”  

You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically. “I hate you.”  

“No, you don’t.”  

You turned your head, finding him already watching you, something fond and unreadable flickering behind his glasses.  

Your breath caught in your throat.  

The car hit a stoplight, and he looked away, tapping something into his phone.  

Okay. Fine.  

You could pretend that didn’t just happen.  

The drive continued, weaving through the city until you eventually started to recognize where you were heading.  

Your brows furrowed.  

“Wait a minute—"  

“Surprise,” Pedro said, grinning as the car finally rolled to a stop in front of what was, unmistakably, a bookstore.  

Not just any bookstore.  

One you had mentioned in passing about a few days ago, while sitting with him and a few others on set, talking about places you’d love to visit while in London.  

You turned to him, mouth slightly open. “You remembered?”  

Pedro gave you a look, like the idea of him not remembering was ridiculous.  

“Of course I did,” he said simply, pushing open his door. “Now, are you gonna sit there looking at me like I just grew a second head, or are we actually going in?”  

You scrambled out of the car before he could make another joke, ignoring the warmth spreading through your chest.  

Inside, the scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you like a hug. The place was small but full—every wall lined with shelves, tables stacked with books, mismatched chairs tucked into cozy corners.  

It was perfect.  

Pedro hovered near the entrance, watching your expression, clearly pleased with himself.  

You turned, crossing your arms. “Alright, Pascal. What’s the catch?”  

He smirked. “No catch.”  

You narrowed your eyes.  

He sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I might have selfish reasons for bringing you here.”  

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are?”  

Pedro stepped closer, tilting his head. “You’re a pain in the ass when you’re stressed.”  

Your jaw dropped.  

“Excuse me?”  

He laughed, reaching out and flicking the end of your sleeve. “You needed a break. And I—” He paused, eyes softening. “I like seeing you happy.”  

The words were simple.  

Too simple.  

And yet, they settled deep in your chest, curling around something you weren’t ready to name.  

You swallowed, looking away, focusing on the nearest bookshelf like it held all the answers.  

Pedro let the silence stretch for a beat, then nudged you gently.  

“Go on,” he murmured. “Pick something.”  

So you did.

LONDON BOOKSHOP — EARLY AFTERNOON  

You took your time browsing.  

Partly because you wanted to, and partly because Pedro made himself comfortable, dropping into one of the armchairs in the corner like he had all the time in the world.  

He did this thing where he pretended not to be watching you. Flipping through a book, glasses sliding down his nose, but every so often—you caught him. The flicker of his gaze, the tiny smirk when you pulled a book off the shelf and examined the cover with interest.  

It made your skin warm.  

It was still so bizarre—this thing between you two.  

You were still wrapping your head around it, still trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t some overactive, sleep-deprived hallucination.  

Because this was Pedro Pascal.  

And Pedro Pascal had somehow taken it upon himself to make sure you were okay, taking you out on bookstore adventures and—  

Oh god, were you on a date?  

Your heart jumped at the realization, nearly making you fumble the book in your hands.  

No. Not a date.  

Just… Pedro being Pedro.  

Right?  

You exhaled slowly, trying to refocus.  

The book in your hands was a worn, well-loved copy of a classic romance novel. The pages were slightly yellowed, the cover soft with age.  

“That one, huh?”  

You startled slightly, looking up to see Pedro watching you from his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.  

You shrugged, running your fingers along the spine. “I’ve been meaning to read it.”  

Pedro hummed, tilting his head. “You always do that.”  

You blinked. “Do what?”  

He nodded toward the book in your hands. “That thing. Where you rub the cover before you decide.”  

You froze, caught. “…I do not.”  

Pedro’s grin was entirely too smug. “Oh, you do.”  

You felt warmth creep up your neck. “You’ve been watching me pick books?”  

He lifted a shoulder, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re cute when you’re indecisive.”  

Your stomach flipped.  

You opened your mouth—only to immediately close it again, because what the fuck were you supposed to say to that?  

Pedro’s grin widened like he knew exactly what he was doing.  

Your fingers curled around the book, gripping it like it could somehow ground you.  

“I—” You cleared your throat, forcing a glare. “I hate you.”  

Pedro just laughed, leaning back in his chair. “No, you don’t.”  

You turned away, cheeks burning, pointedly walking toward the register before he could see how flustered you were.  

The woman behind the counter smiled as she rang up your book, eyes flicking toward Pedro lounging in the corner.  

“That your boyfriend?” she asked casually.  

You nearly choked.  

“What? No. No, no. He’s just—” You gestured vaguely. “Pedro.”  

She just smiled knowingly. “Right.”  

You hurriedly paid, ignoring the way Pedro was definitely smirking behind you, and grabbed the small paper bag with your book inside.  

When you turned, he was already standing, adjusting his glasses. “Ready?”  

You exhaled, nodding.  

As the two of you stepped outside, the chilly afternoon air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bookshop.  

Pedro slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing over. “Lunch?”  

You hesitated. “I don’t know… what if people see us?”  

Pedro just shrugged. “So what?”  

You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I just— I don’t want people to think—”  

“That you’re hanging out with me?” Pedro finished, raising an eyebrow.  

You let out a breath, rubbing at your temple. “I just don’t want to be weird about it.”  

Pedro was quiet for a beat, then nudged your arm gently. “Hey.”  

You looked up.  

“Let them think whatever they want,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re allowed to exist in public with me, y’know.”  

Your chest ached in a way you weren’t expecting.  

He made it sound so simple.  

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”  

Pedro grinned. “Good. Now let’s go find some obscenely overpriced pasta.”  

You huffed a laugh, letting him lead the way.

LONDON — AFTERNOON

The restaurant Pedro picked was one of those effortlessly stylish little spots tucked away on a side street, the kind of place with warm lighting, fresh flowers on every table, and a menu written in looping script on a chalkboard.

It smelled like olive oil and fresh bread, like garlic sizzling in butter.

“Obscenely overpriced pasta,” you muttered under your breath, scanning the menu. “You weren’t kidding.”

Pedro chuckled, tilting his head toward you. “Hey, if we’re gonna be reckless, we might as well do it with carbs.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t argue.

The two of you had been seated near the window, the view outside hazy with the gray of the London afternoon. Pedro sat opposite you, cap low, glasses on, but even that didn’t do much to disguise him.

It was still him.

Still warm brown eyes and laughter lines, still easy charm and a quiet steadiness that made you feel safer than you probably should.

The restaurant hummed with soft conversation, the gentle clinking of glasses and silverware blending with the distant notes of some old jazz song playing overhead. The air smelled rich—garlic and butter, fresh herbs and warm bread—and for the first time in what felt like days, you felt… light.  

You weren’t thinking about work. Or her.  

Just Pedro. Just this.  

He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm draped over the backrest, fingers idly tracing the rim of his water glass. His cap was still low over his forehead, glasses perched on his nose, but his expression was open, relaxed—like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like the two of you having lunch together was something that had always made sense.  

And maybe it did.  

"So," Pedro said, tearing off a piece of bread from the basket between you. "Tell me something about you that I don’t know yet."  

You huffed a small laugh, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw. "That’s a pretty broad request."  

He shrugged. "Alright, let’s narrow it down. What was little you like?"  

You blinked at him. "Little me?"  

"Yeah." He popped a piece of bread into his mouth. "Like, what were you like as a kid? Were you the quiet, shy one, or were you running around causing problems?"  

You scoffed. "I am the quiet, shy one."  

Pedro gave you a look. "I know you. You’ve got a little chaos in you somewhere."  

You bit back a smile. "Fine. Maybe a little."  

Pedro grinned, leaning in like he was settling in for a story. "Alright, spill."  

You thought for a moment, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the rim of your glass. "I was kind of… scrappy, I guess? Like, I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I wouldn’t not fight a kid if they deserved it."  

Pedro nearly choked on his water. "What?"  

Your face heated. "Not like that! I just—I had a strong sense of justice, okay?"  

Pedro wiped his mouth, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been ready to throw hands."  

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. "I shouldn’t have told you that."  

Pedro was grinning so hard. "No, no, I love it. I love picturing little you, all tiny and righteous, just out there laying down the law."  

You peeked at him through your fingers. "It wasn’t that dramatic."  

"Mm-hmm," he said, clearly not convinced.  

You shook your head, exhaling a laugh. "Okay, your turn, big shot. What was little Pedro like?"  

His smirk softened into something more nostalgic. "Oh, I was a menace," he admitted.  

You snorted. "Of course you were."  

"I mean, not in a bad way," he amended, breaking off another piece of bread. "I was just… all over the place. Loud, always moving, always talking. My parents were exhausted."  

You smiled. "Sounds like you were a handful."  

"Oh, completely." He took a sip of his drink, glancing at you over the rim. "I grew up in a house that was always full, always noisy. Family coming in and out all the time, music playing, food cooking. I never really knew what quiet was until I got older."  

There was something warm in his voice, something fond in the way he spoke about home.  

"That sounds… nice," you murmured.  

Pedro tilted his head slightly, studying you. "What about you? What was home like?"  

You hesitated, glancing down at your plate. "Not like that."  

His brows drew together, but he didn’t push.  

You exhaled softly, running your finger over the condensation on your glass. "I mean, it wasn’t bad or anything. It was just… quieter. A little lonelier."  

Pedro didn’t say anything, just waited.  

You bit your lip, giving a small shrug. "I guess I always felt like I had to work a little harder to fit in. To matter."  

Pedro’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry, that got depressing—"  

"Hey." His voice was quiet but firm.  

You glanced up.  

Pedro was watching you with something steady, something real in his expression. "You don’t have to apologize for being honest."  

Your stomach flipped.  

You nodded, a little too quickly. "Right. Yeah."  

Pedro gave you a small smile, then nudged your foot under the table. "For what it’s worth," he said lightly, "I think you’re pretty great."  

Your throat felt tight. "Yeah?"  

"Yeah." His smile widened. "Even if you did used to fight kids."  

You groaned. "Oh my god."  

Pedro laughed, and the sound was so warm, so easy, that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.  

And just like that, whatever tension had settled between you melted away, leaving nothing but warmth in its place.

The street was buzzing softly with life when you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light over everything. You hadn’t even fully processed where Pedro was leading you when he suddenly tugged on your wrist and gestured toward a tiny, vintage photo booth tucked just outside the café. Its paint was chipped, its curtain a little worn, but it had the kind of charm that begged you to step inside.  

“C’mon,” Pedro said with a mischievous grin, already pulling you toward it.  

“What? No!” You laughed, glancing around like someone might catch you doing something scandalous. “Pedro, this is so cheesy!”  

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your protests. “Cheesy is good. Plus, you owe me for making me think you were a goner this morning.” He gave you a dramatic, pleading look. “One strip of photos. For my emotional recovery.”  

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. One. And only because I feel bad for you.”  

The booth’s tiny space forced you closer together than you expected. Pedro leaned in to fiddle with the ancient machine, his arm brushing against yours. You tried not to think too hard about how warm he was, or how his cologne smelled faintly like cedar and something else you couldn’t quite place.  

“Okay, ready?” Pedro asked, his finger hovering over the button.  

“Wait! What do we—what pose are we doing?”  

He grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”  

The camera counted down—three, two, one.  

The first flash caught you both off guard, faces blank with surprise. You burst into laughter, the kind that made your shoulders shake, and Pedro quickly leaned in for another shot.  

“Okay, okay, serious face,” he instructed, eyes narrowing comically.  

You tried, but the second the flash went off, you broke into giggles again, and Pedro lost it right along with you.  

The third shot was a blur of laughter, your head tipped back, Pedro’s grin wide and unguarded.  

Then, right as the camera beeped for the final shot, Pedro turned toward you.  

You barely had time to register the movement before his lips brushed your cheek, soft and quick but undeniably there.  

The flash went off.  

You froze, eyes wide as you turned to look at him. Pedro’s face mirrored yours for a second—caught somewhere between Did I really just do that? and Yeah, I did. But then, the corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish grin.  

The photo strip slid out of the machine, and you grabbed it, holding it up between you. There it was: the first three frames filled with laughter and goofy poses, and the last… the last one where his lips were pressed against your cheek, your eyes wide, his soft and warm, both of you caught mid-smile.  

Your heart fluttered—nervous, exhilarated, but… not scared. Not even a little.  

“You kissed me,” you said, voice soft but teasing.  

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look thoughtful. “Hmm. Did I? Feels like that might’ve been you kissing me.”  

You gasped, smacking his arm with the photo strip. “Liar!”  

He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s open to interpretation.”  

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” he said, tilting his head, “here you are. Stuck in a photo booth with me.”  

The air between you shifted then—lighter, but also charged with something else. Something that felt like the beginning of a question neither of you was quite ready to ask.  

For a beat, neither of you moved.  

Then Pedro tapped the photo strip with his finger, breaking the moment. “Well, at least we’ve got proof of how good we look together.”  

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Shut up.”  

“Never,” he replied, already holding out his phone. “Now, do we post this on the internet, or do we keep it as blackmail material for later?”  

You grabbed the photo strip, slipping it into your pocket. “Neither. This one’s ours.”  

Pedro raised his hands in surrender, but the smile on his face told you he didn’t mind one bit.

The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Pedro slipped his phone back into his pocket after calling the driver, glancing at you with a small smile. “We’ve got about ten minutes. Wanna walk a little?”  

You nodded, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs. The streets were alive with a gentle hum—tourists taking photos, locals going about their day, the occasional street performer filling the air with music.  

The city felt like a movie set, every streetlamp and cobblestone path perfectly placed. And in this fleeting moment, it felt like the world had paused just for the two of you, as if the streetlights themselves pointed in an arrowhead, leading you home.  

Pedro noticed the slight chill in the air and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Can’t have you catching a cold,” he said, his voice light but warm with care.  

The jacket smelled like him—faint cologne mixed with something warm and earthy, something Pedro. You tugged it around yourself a little tighter, feeling its weight settle comfortably over your frame.  

A surge of boldness swept over you, the kind you usually talked yourself out of but didn’t this time. You stepped closer, looping your arm around his. His body radiated warmth, steady and solid beneath your touch. Slowly, your fingers found his hand, intertwining with his.  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. His hand squeezed yours gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soft, absentminded rhythm. It was such an easy, natural thing for him, this casual intimacy that felt so rare and comforting.  

You’d learned over the past few days that touch was part of his love language. He was the kind of man who hugged with his whole body, the kind whose touch always felt intentional and grounding, never forced or fleeting.  

Your heart thudded a little harder in your chest. You told yourself it was just from the walk.  

You squeezed his arm lightly, smiling up at him. “Thanks for today, Pedro.”  

He glanced down at you, his eyes warm and crinkling at the edges, those familiar laughter lines making an appearance. “For what?”  

“For everything,” you said softly, almost shy. “For making me laugh. For breakfast. For not running away when I woke up looking like a crypt keeper.”  

Pedro chuckled, his grip on your hand tightening for a brief second. “You looked adorable. Not a crypt keeper—more like… a sleepy little gremlin.”  

You gasped, mock-offended, and smacked his arm with your free hand. “Gremlin? You’re lucky I don’t let go of your hand right now.”  

He grinned, that mischievous spark in his eyes you were quickly becoming fond of. “You wouldn’t. You like me too much.”  

You couldn’t argue with that.  

The streetlamps flickered on as the daylight dimmed, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets. You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. The city hummed around you, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of Pedro’s hand in yours, the easy rhythm of your steps together, the way everything felt just a little softer, a little brighter with him by your side.  

“You’re really something, you know that?” Pedro said suddenly, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.  

You glanced at him, your breath hitching slightly. “Something good, I hope.”  

Pedro stopped walking for a second, turning toward you. His eyes searched yours, serious now. “The best kind of something.”  

Your chest tightened at the weight of his words, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your stomach. You tried to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks gave you away.  

“Well,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “right back at you, Pedro.”  

He smiled, that same soft, unguarded smile that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world he was looking at.  

The driver pulled up a few moments later, headlights cutting through the soft twilight. Pedro opened the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slid into the car.  

As the car pulled away, you leaned back into the seat, Pedro’s jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, his warmth lingering like a secret you weren’t quite ready to give up.  

And maybe, just maybe, neither was he.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The glow of golden hour had dimmed into soft dusk by the time you returned to Chiltern Firehouse. The lobby was warm and buzzing with quiet energy—guests sipping cocktails, a crackling fireplace, and staff moving seamlessly through the space. Pedro walked beside you, his hand resting gently at the small of your back like it had been there all along.  

You didn’t want the day to end just yet. There was something about the way the air felt, a little lighter, like it had been charged with something electric and unspoken.  

As you approached the front desk, one of the hotel managers, a polished woman in a tailored suit, stepped forward with a warm smile, followed closely by Franklin Latt—Pedro’s manager.  

“Good evening,” the hotel manager greeted. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay. I wanted to let you know that your room is now ready, miss.”  

Your breath hitched for a split second.  

Right. The room.  

It was easy to forget after the last few days, the way you’d fallen into such a natural rhythm with Pedro. Sharing his suite had felt so… effortless. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift.  

“Oh,” you said, your voice soft, almost reluctant. “Right. That was, uh… this week.”  

You glanced at Pedro, and for a fleeting moment, something passed between you—a flicker of disappointment mirrored in his eyes.  

You shifted on your feet, clearing your throat. “Okay, um… I guess I need to pack, then.”  

The hotel manager smiled politely. “The room is ready for you whenever you’re ready to move, miss.”  

Pedro opened his mouth before you could respond, a little too quickly. “Actually, do you think she could switch tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and she still needs to pack her things. We’re both pretty wiped out.”  

His voice was casual, but there was an edge of determination that made you glance up at him, your heart fluttering at how easily he’d jumped in for you.  

The hotel manager hesitated but nodded. “Of course. If you’d prefer to transfer tomorrow, that can be arranged.”  

Franklin, however, raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Pedro. His eyes caught on Pedro’s jacket draped around your shoulders, the sleeves too long for you, the fabric worn in all the right places.  

Your face heated up as you tugged the jacket a little tighter around yourself, hoping it would hide the rush of color in your cheeks.  

Franklin crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between amused and suspicious. “Tired, huh?” he said, his tone light but pointed. “You sure that’s the only reason?”  

Pedro shot him a look, his brow arching in silent warning. “Relax, Frank. We’ve been out all day, walking around the city. She’s exhausted.”  

Franklin chuckled, clearly not buying it but deciding to let it go—for now. “Right. Well, don’t let me keep you.”  

The hotel manager nodded again. “Just let us know when you’re ready to move rooms. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”  

She and Franklin walked off, leaving you and Pedro standing in the middle of the lobby, the hum of quiet conversations around you. For a second, neither of you spoke.  

Pedro scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “So… I guess you’re stuck with me for one more night.”  

You tried to laugh, but it came out softer than you intended. “Guess so.”  

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside together. The air between you felt charged again, like earlier, but now tinged with something deeper—something fragile and new.  

Pedro leaned against the wall of the elevator, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “If I’m being honest, I’m kinda glad you’re not leaving just yet.”  

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to play it cool. “Oh yeah? Afraid of being lonely?”  

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to having you around.”  

The words settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to unpack. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything in return, so you just smiled, a little shy, a little flustered.  

When the elevator dinged, Pedro followed you out, his hand resting lightly on your back again as you made your way to the suite. It was such a small thing, but it grounded you in ways you hadn’t expected.

Maybe you’d sort through those feelings tomorrow, when the lines between friendship and something more didn’t feel so blurred.  

But tonight?  

“One last movie night?” you asked softly as you swiped the keycard, pushing the door open. You glanced over your shoulder at Pedro, an almost shy smile playing on your lips.  

Pedro’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, stepping in behind you. “It doesn’t have to be the last one,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “We can have as many movie nights as you want.”  

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight you weren’t sure he meant to put there. Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten in the best way possible.  

You kicked off your shoes, trying to shake off the flutter in your stomach, and headed for the couch. Pedro shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, moving to grab a couple of waters from the kitchenette.  

“Okay,” you said, settling into the couch cushions, pulling a blanket over your lap. “But I’m picking the movie this time.”  

Pedro handed you a bottle of water and plopped down beside you, close enough that his knee bumped yours. “Deal. What are we watching?”  

You tapped your chin dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “Something light. No brooding detectives or tragic endings.”  

He laughed, the sound low and easy. “Are you saying my movie choices are too intense?”  

“Not too intense,” you teased, opening the streaming app. “But I’m in the mood for something that won’t make me question the meaning of life.”  

Pedro leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, barely there, but it sent a spark down your spine anyway. “Fair enough. Surprise me.”  

You clicked on a romantic comedy and settled in, trying to focus on the movie and not the warmth of Pedro beside you. But it was hard to ignore—the way his thigh pressed gently against yours, the sound of his soft chuckle whenever something funny happened on screen, the way he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.  

About halfway through the movie, you felt your head naturally tilt toward his shoulder. You hesitated for a second, nerves twisting in your chest. But then Pedro shifted ever so slightly, making it easier, like he was inviting you to stay.  

“You comfortable?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Yeah,” you said softly, your cheek resting against him. “You make a pretty good pillow.”  

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your ear. “I try.”  

Neither of you moved after that, the movie fading into the background. The world outside the suite felt far away, like it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not with him.  

Maybe you’d unpack those feelings tomorrow.  

But tonight?  

Tonight, you let yourself fall a little further. 

End Notes:

This was one of the chapters I was dreading to write. Not cause I didn’t want to write it—

Cause I knew, from a writer’s perspective, at some point, I had to subvert the expectation of, “They’ll be roommates the entire time and fall in love.”

And yes, I did the thing where I gave you something you wanted/something good and then took it away from you LMAO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean… at least you get your own room now! So that counts for something— (please don’t show up at my house aHHHH)

Also, five chapters in, I had to give ya'll a little smooch... just a little... hehe

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta

[annicht]

kitten dad | Kuroo Tetsuro

or when your persian princess get pregnant by the black tomcat of the hot neighbor

-> post timeskip Kuroo Tetsuro X fem! reader | strangers to lovers

-> wordcount: 7.5k

-> tags: soft nsfw close to the end, sloooow burn, mutual pinning, post timeskip

@ anni says: I had to take this out of my head. already thinking about part two. let me know if it's too much bc I found it very dragged, idk. hope you enjoy

Marching torwards your neighbor door, you question yourself how is that even possible.

Your cat, Lola, a white persian, lies lazily on the animal carrier, and you huff annoyed, looking at her.

“I thought you hated other cats, you little troublemaker” — you mumble to the cat like she can understand you. And for her lazy grumbling, you know she can.

You knock on the white door three times. It’s late enough for the guy already be at home from work, but not late enough for him to be sleeping, you think in your head, looking at the 20:37 appearing at your watch. He’s a corporate worker like yourself, you saw him many times in the elevator with his suit and tie and his badge—

You were dry cut mid thought by the door opening, and the delicious scent of musky soap invading your senses.

Kuroo is standing, puzzled, wearing grey sweatpants and a black tank top, slightly wet hair, tilting his head. The girl next door, he thinks to himself.

He had seen you around countless times on the common areas, in the elevator, in the pool in a skimpy bikini, even at the gym. But what could you possibly be doing on his door?

You look at him, allowing your eyes to fall in his figure for miliseconds, enough to take notice of his strong biceps on show. Scrumptious. Then you focus back on his face.

“Hi, neighbor. Your cat just impregnated my kitty.”

He just looks at you for a couple seconds, his eyes slightly widening as the words slowly sunk on his brain.

“Excuse me?” — He asked, blinking. He’s either really tired or you are saying the most unlikely thing ever, and he didn’t know what is worse.

You squint, still a little annoyed, but slowly getting amused.

"Sorry the suddenness... you're the owner of that black short-haired cat, aren't you?"

You ask, and as if on cue, the little fella appeared strutting and mumbling a grumble behind Kuroo's legs, apparently curious of who's in the door

Kuroo looks down at the cat and then back at you, his eyes widening a bit as realization sank in.

“Ah— yes…” He says slowly, his eyebrows knitting in a frown. “This is Loki, yeah”.

He looked down at the cat again, who is now sitting and looking up at you with his big, yellow eyes, as if he knew exactly what you were about to say.

Kuroo crouched down to scratch behind Loki’s ears, his lips quirking into an amused grin.

“Looks like someone had a productive week,” he said dryly, casting a glance back up at you.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Productive? That’s one way to put it. My vet bill is going to be very productive, thanks to him.”

Kuroo straightened up, the movement drawing your eyes to the way his tank top stretched across his chest. You swallowed quickly and forced your gaze to his face— a smirking face, of course.

“Alright, I guess I owe you an apology?” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Though, to be fair, it takes two to tango. Maybe your girl couldn’t resist Loki’s charm.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his playful boldness. “Excuse me? My Lola is a lady of standards.”

“Clearly,” Kuroo said with a teasing edge, his smirk deepening. “I mean, look at Loki—absolute catch.”

You tried not to laugh, but a small snort escaped, and you covered it with a cough. “Okay, fine. Maybe they’re both to blame. But seriously, I thought she hated other cats. I didn’t even know they interacted.”

“Cats are sneaky like that,” he replied, shrugging, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you for just a second too long. You felt a strange warmth creep up your neck and mentally cursed him for being so... distracting.

“Well,” you started, clearing your throat and glancing down at Lola, who was now staring at Loki with her usual haughty expression, “Anyways. Just wanted to let you know that. And to ask if you know anyone who might want some… persian mixed kittens? I figure that the least you could do is help me find a home for them after they born”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re already putting me to work, huh? I didn’t realize Loki’s charm would come with responsibilities.”

You shot him a flat look, though the corners of your lips twitched. “You do realize this is partially your fault, right? Or are you just going to let me deal with a whole litter of kittens by myself?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fair enough. Consider me on kitten duty.” His smirk softened into something a bit more sincere. “I’ll help however I can. They are Loki’s kids, after all.”

Something about the way he said it, the playful yet genuine tone, made your resolve to stay annoyed falter. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Good,” you said, a little less stern this time. “You can start by helping me figure out where to set up for them. I don’t have much space in my apartment.”

Kuroo’s grin returned in full force. “So what I’m hearing is... you’re inviting me over?”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by his boldness, but you recovered quickly, giving him a pointed look, raising your eyebrows smugly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, neighbor. This is strictly business.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how much you liked it. “Strictly business, got it.”

Loki chose that moment to rub up against Kuroo’s leg, his tail swishing as he let out a satisfied purr. Lola, still sitting primly in her carrier, let out an indignant grumble in response.

“Seems like they’ve got a complicated relationship,” Kuroo remarked, glancing down at the cats. “Enemies? Lovers? Frenemies?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Let’s just call them… complicated.”

“Works for me,” he said with a wink, straightening up. “Complicated relationships are kind of my specialty.”

Before you could respond—because what could you say to that without your brain short-circuiting?—Kuroo kept going: “I’ll check around to see if anyone’s interested in adopting some kittens,” he added casually. “Can I have your phone number? You know… to discuss kitten details?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, catching the glint of mischief in his tone. You said back with a mocking hint of disbelief. “Uh-huh. Kitten details. Sure.”

Kuroo raised his hands in mock innocence, the smirk still playing on his lips. “Strictly business, remember?”

You rolled your eyes but relented, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “Fine. Give me your phone.”

He handed it over without hesitation, and you quickly typed in your number, labeling yourself as Kitten Lady. When you handed it back, Kuroo glanced at the screen and let out a laugh.

“Kitten Lady? That’s what we’re going with?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Fits the situation, doesn’t it? Unless you’d prefer something more creative, like Annoyed Neighbor Who’s Stuck With Your Cat’s Consequences.”

“I think Kitten Lady has a nicer ring to it,” he said, his grin widening.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the way his playful energy was starting to chip away at your annoyance. “Alright, then. I guess I’ll be hearing from you soon, Kitten Dad.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at the nickname but didn’t argue. “Kitten Dad, huh? I’ll take it. Has a nice familial touch to it.”

You sighed, stepping back toward your door with Lola in tow. “Goodnight, Neighbor,”

“Goodnight, Kitten Lady,” he replied smoothly, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you retreat.

As you reached your door, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. He was still standing there, Loki in his arms, one hand casually rubbing behind Loki’s ears, his eyes locked on you with an unreadable expression.

You quickly looked away, fumbling with your keys and stepping into your apartment, shutting the door behind you. Leaning against it, you let out a slow breath, placing Lola’s carrier on the floor and opening the little grid door.

Lola meowed lazily, peeking out of the carrier as if she were judging you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, setting the carrier down and letting her out.

Lola stretched and sauntered off, clearly unimpressed.

You rubbed your temples, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. This was going to be a long few weeks, wasn’t it?

----------------------------------------------------

Across the hall, Kuroo closed his door with a quiet chuckle, looking down at Loki, who was now lounging contentedly on the floor.

“Well, buddy,” he said, crouching down to scratch under Loki’s chin. “Looks like you’ve caused some chaos.”

Loki purred in response, blinking up at him with an air of smug satisfaction.

Kuroo leaned back against the door, a small smile lingering on his lips as he pulled his phone out to save your number properly. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment as he read Kitten Lady 🐾.

He stared at it for a beat longer, that grin of his softening slightly. This might just get interesting.

----------------------------------------------------

Surprisingly enough —or don’t— he was the one to text first just a day later. You’re at work, sipping coffee after a meeting, scrambling some papers on your desk when your phone buzzed. The Kitten Dad name made you squint your eyes.

Kitten Dad: Hey, goodday sweetheart. You good? Just got asked when is little Lola due. A friend from work might be interested in having one of the kitties.

I look at the text. A friend from work? He text and I can’t help but imagine how is he at work. Is he a manager? A head? A director? Which department is he from? If I had to guess I would say Sales — he’s charismatic enough to sell sand in the desert.

I huff in annoyance with my own train of thought. Why am I thinking so hard about it? I take my phone to answer.

Kitten Lady 🐾: Hey. Vet said she’s due two weeks from now.

The response was simple, straightforward. Yet, as you set your phone down, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d sounded too curt. No, you told yourself firmly. It’s just a text. No need to overthink.

But then, your phone buzzed again, and against your better judgment, you snatched it up almost immediately.

Kitten Dad: Two weeks, huh? That’s soon. Let me know if you need help setting things up for her. I’m practically a cat expert now.

You bit back a smile. Cat expert, huh? You could practically see that cocky smirk on his face, the same one he’d worn when he leaned in the doorframe last night.

Kitten Lady 🐾: Oh, are you? Should I start calling you Dr. Meow?

It took less than a minute for his reply to come through.

Kitten Dad: Has a nice ring to it. Or Cat Whisperer. Either works.

You let out a small laugh, earning a confused look from a passing coworker. Quickly composing yourself, you turned back to your desk, cheeks warming for no apparent reason.

----------------------------------------------------

By the time you got home that evening, you were surprised to find Kuroo opening his door, like he was waiting for you to arrive to leave and talk to you. He was holding a small, rectangular package in his hands and greeted you with his signature grin as he walked torwads you and your door as you opened it.

“Evening, Kitten Lady,” he said smoothly. “Perfect timing.”

You blinked, shifting your bag onto your shoulder. “Uh, hey? What’s that?”

“Thought I’d swing by and help with that whole ‘setting up for Lola’ thing,” he said, holding up the package. “Got a starter kit—fluffy blankets, soft toys, and some other stuff. Figured it might make her more comfortable when the kittens arrive.”

You stared at him, stunned. For all the teasing and smug remarks, you hadn’t expected this. “You… bought stuff for Lola?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I mean, it’s partially Loki’s fault, right? I can’t exactly leave you hanging.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. There was a sincerity in his tone that caught you off guard. He wasn’t just trying to charm his way out of responsibility—he was actually being… thoughtful.

“That’s… really nice of you,” you said finally, unlocking your door. “Thanks, Kuroo.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, following you inside.

Lola, as always, was lounging regally on the couch, barely sparing Kuroo and Loki—who had, unsurprisingly, followed him to your place unbothered—a passing glance.

“She really does act like a queen, doesn’t she?” Kuroo said, setting the box down and kneeling to unpack its contents.

“She’s earned it,” you replied, watching as he pulled out a fluffy blanket and a tiny cat bed. “I mean, look at her. She’s unbothered by everything.”

“Clearly,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “She didn’t even flinch when Loki walked in like he owns the place.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “She’s probably plotting her revenge for him ruining her peace.”

Kuroo laughed, the sound warm and easy, and you found yourself smiling despite yourself. He had a way of making everything feel light, even when you wanted to stay annoyed.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to the task at hand. “Where do you want this stuff? I’ll help you set up her little kitten corner.”

You hesitated for a moment, but eventually pointed to a cozy nook near the window. “Over there, I guess. She likes the sun.”

“Got it,” he said, grabbing the blanket and bed.

As you watched him work, his movements uncharacteristically focused, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this the same guy who smirked at you in elevators and flirted shamelessly by his door? Because right now, he looked… different. Softer, somehow.

“You know,” you said after a moment, “you’re surprisingly good at this whole ‘cat dad’ thing.”

He looked up, his grin returning. “What can I say? I have hidden talents.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. Maybe this arrangement wouldn’t be so bad after all.

----------------------------------------------------

The kitten corner was finally set up, and Lola had already claimed her throne atop the soft new bed. Loki, meanwhile, was having the time of his life pawing at one of the dangling toys Kuroo had brought over, batting it around like a tiny predator.

You were in the kitchen, rummaging through your cabinets for something to fix up while Kuroo lounged on the couch. The sound of his laughter floated through the room, warm and unrestrained, as Loki miscalculated a jump and landed in a comically undignified sprawl.

“You weren’t kidding about him being a troublemaker,” you called over your shoulder, smiling to yourself as you grabbed a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine you’d been saving for some occasion. This felt good enough.

“Hey, he’s a charming troublemaker,” Kuroo countered, his voice carrying an easy humor. “Loki’s got personality. You can’t fault him for that.”

You rolled your eyes, pouring the wine. “If by ‘personality,’ you mean a complete lack of grace, then sure.”

“Hey now,” he said, mock-defensive, “I’ll have you know he’s a highly sophisticated creature.”

Turning with the glasses in hand, you walked back to the couch and handed him one, tilting your head toward Loki, who was currently tangled in the blanket he’d been pouncing on. “Yeah, I can see the sophistication from here.”

Kuroo snorted, taking the glass from you with a murmured “Thanks,” before shifting to make room for you to sit. You settled cross-legged into the cushion next to him, a comfortable silence falling as you both watched the cats in their oddly synchronized chaos.

“So,” you said after a moment, swirling the wine in your glass, “what do you actually do? Besides spoil Loki and crash your neighbor’s evening.”

Kuroo grinned, taking a slow sip before answering. “I’m a PR manager for the promotion division at JVA. Basically, I work with the teams that keep the company and our sponsors happy. Events, campaigns, all that good stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “JVA? As in the Japan Volleyball Association?”

“That’s the one,” he said, flashing a toothy grin. “Biggest name in the game. It’s a lot of work, but I like it. Keeps me on my toes.”

“Wow,” you said, nodding. “That actually explains a lot. You’ve got that… people-person vibe.”

“Oh?” he teased, leaning back against the couch. “And what vibe is that, exactly?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You know. Smooth talker, always charming. Classic PR type.”

Kuroo chuckled, resting his arm casually along the back of the couch. “I’ll take that as a compliment. What about you? What’s the story with… what do you do, again?”

“Marketing manager,” you said, shrugging. “Different industry, same chaos. I work for a firm that handles branding for retail clients. It’s mostly brainstorming ad campaigns and arguing over budgets.”

“Sounds intense,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But you’re good at it, huh?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I mean, I guess. I like it. It’s creative, and it keeps me busy.”

“Busy’s good,” he said, nodding. “But it doesn’t leave much time for stuff like this, huh?”

You glanced at him, unsure what he meant, but his gaze was fixed on the cats now. Lola was swatting half-heartedly at Loki, who had resumed his enthusiastic assault on the dangling toy.

“No,” you admitted softly, swirling the wine in your glass again. “Not really. I guess I don’t usually let myself slow down.”

Kuroo looked at you then, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Well,” he said after a moment, his voice lighter again, “it’s a good thing you’ve got me to force some downtime on you, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, is that what this is? A public service?”

“Exactly,” he said with mock seriousness, raising his glass in a toast. “Here’s to kitten diplomacy and responsible downtime.”

You clinked your glass against his, unable to hide your smile. “Cheers to that.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax. The warmth of the wine, the sound of his laughter, and the soft chaos of the cats were all more comforting than you’d expected. Maybe Kuroo wasn’t just a charming troublemaker after all.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind him crashing your evening.

----------------------------------------------------

Two glasses of wine in, and you were feeling a little loose, the warm buzz in your cheeks spreading to your limbs. The evening had been lighthearted—talking about work, random anecdotes, and occasional jokes about the cats and their ridiculous antics.

You were now sitting cross-legged on the couch, your messy bun more of a loose cluster than a tidy knot, strands of hair falling against your flushed cheeks. You animatedly gestured with your hands, describing some recent event at work. Kuroo is now leaning forward with that usual relaxed, playful energy that made you forget there was anyone else in the room.

“—and I swear, if I have to sit through one more ‘group synergy’ meeting, I’ll scream,” you finished with a dramatic sigh, dropping back onto the couch, rolling your eyes.

Kuroo snickered, leaning back, arms crossing behind his head as he relaxed. “Group synergy? That sounds like a nightmare. You really don’t like your coworkers, do you?”

You shot him a teasing glare, settling deeper into the couch. “I’m professional, I swear. But, seriously, it’s the worst. A whole hour, and not one person had anything worth saying. They spent half the time discussing what color the logo should be on our next campaign. I almost fell asleep.”

“Well, at least the logo’s going to look great,” Kuroo teased, reaching for his glass and taking a casual sip.

You snorted and looked at him sideways, the wine making you more comfortable than you intended. “You’re one to talk. You’ve probably sat through worse in PR. What’s the worst meeting you’ve ever had to deal with?”

Kuroo tilted his head, thinking. “Hmm, I guess the worst was this entire week-long campaign brainstorming session where we just talked about the idea but never actually did anything. People in that room were like… walking around in their own little PR bubbles. I nearly lost my mind.”

“Is that why you’re so laid-back now? You survived that chaos and just decided to become a permanent chill vibe?”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “I figured if I could survive that and still be sane, I deserve to kick back a little.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “I can’t believe you’ve been in that world for so long. You must have some stories.”

Kuroo’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and you realized you might’ve just opened a can of worms. “Oh, definitely. A lot of interesting ones. You know, the kind where you end up questioning your life choices. And not only work-related.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “You’re gonna have to elaborate on that.”

He leaned in, his voice taking on a more conspiratorial tone. “Alright, alright. So, there was this one relationship I had.” He started, and you raise one eyebrow, not expecting him to just switch from work to personal relationship so quickly “She was a wild ride—great at first, but things got a little… crazy. Started out all perfect, you know? But then she started bringing up wedding ideas after a couple of months, and I’m like, ‘Whoa, hold up.’”

You laughed, raising your glass, poiting at him, remembering the topic from earlier, but not entirely knowing the story. “Wait, wait—this is the ex who nearly got you to the altar?”

“Yup,” Kuroo said with a smirk, swirling his glass, “but I guess she wasn’t the ‘I Do’ type, if you know what I mean.” He winked, and the playful lilt in his voice had you biting back a smile.

“No way. Did she have one of those ‘we need to talk’ moments?”

He nodded dramatically. “Oh, she sure did. But instead of talking, she got me into a whole emotional spiral. I was supposed to pick out wedding rings, and I—” He cut himself off with a laugh, shaking his head. “I mean, talk about commitment issues. You would have thought I was getting married to someone else the way she freaked out.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s insane. What did you do?”

“Well, after a long string of very loud discussions, I ended up booking a solo trip to Thailand for some ‘soul-searching.’ I didn’t come back with a ring, but I did come back with a lot of souvenirs and a much-needed reality check.”

Your lips curled into a smile, impressed. “I mean, I don’t blame you. That sounds like a red flag festival.”

“Exactly.” Kuroo leaned back, letting out a chuckle. “I don’t think she ever quite understood why I ghosted her after that.”

You shrugged, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Well, sounds like you dodged a bullet. She was probably a headache.”

“Oh, definitely,” he said with a wink. “But, hey, I’m better for it. You live and you learn, right?”

Your expression softened, just for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so. Can’t say I’ve been any better at picking ideal relationships either.”

Kuroo’s gaze flickered to you for a moment, and the sudden shift in the air wasn’t lost on either of you. You could feel the tension coil between you, subtle but undeniable. He tilted his head, his tone more curious.

“You’ve had your fair share of messy affairs?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, but your fingers fidgeted with your wine glass. “I mean, I was in an office relationship once. It was… well, it was a disaster, to be honest. Started out all hot and heavy, you know? But once we hit that *‘what’s next?’* phase, everything went south.”

“Office romances are always a gamble,” he said, voice quieter now. “Especially when someone can’t handle the post-work hours realities.”

You let out a soft laugh, but there was a certain edge to it. “Yeah, and the worst part? I thought we were solid. But he ended up freaking out when things got serious. Real ‘let’s keep it casual’ kind of guy.”

There it was again—the unspoken weight in the air. You could feel it creeping closer, like the world had just tilted slightly. You were both leaning in, caught in this space where the conversation could go anywhere—or nowhere.

“Funny how that happens,” Kuroo murmured, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips and back again.

You swallowed hard, lips slightly parted, suddenly aware of how close he was. “Yeah,” you said softly, the atmosphere thickening. “Funny…”

A long beat of silence followed. Then, as if the universe itself had just cleared its throat, Kuroo’s smirk deepened, and he leaned back slightly, breaking the tension just enough to let you both breathe again.

“Well, at least you didn’t nearly get engaged,” he said with a teasing grin. “I think that takes the cake on ‘bad decisions’.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh, relieved for the lighthearted tone again. “I’d be so much better at picking next time,” you said, looking at him with a sly grin. “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering down to your lips once more. “Oh? What exactly does that lesson look like?”

You felt the heat of his gaze, and the sudden closeness seemed to make the space between you shrink even further. The way he was looking at you, the slight tilt of his head—it was almost like he was waiting for you to make the next move. It made your heart skip a beat.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus, but it was hard to ignore the way your body seemed to lean in just a little closer, drawn to him like a magnet. “Maybe…” you began slowly, your voice soft but carrying the weight of something unspoken, “maybe I’ll go for someone who doesn’t have a one-way ticket to Crazy Town.”

Kuroo’s lips curled into a half-smile, but it wasn’t as playful anymore. There was a hint of something else lurking beneath. He leaned in, ever so slightly, as if testing the waters. “You know,” he said quietly, “sometimes, a little bit of crazy isn’t always a bad thing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Is that so?” You met his gaze head-on, not backing down, but feeling your pulse pick up.

“Yeah,” Kuroo replied, his voice lower now, his tone shifting, “sometimes it’s just the right kind of chaos that makes things… interesting.” His eyes never left yours as he spoke, the words heavy with an almost tangible tension.

For a moment, the space between you seemed to dissolve entirely, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was this close to crossing that line. The line you both knew was there, but neither of you had acknowledged it yet.

“Is that what you’re offering?” you teased lightly, though you could hear the slight quiver in your own voice.

Kuroo’s smirk widened just slightly, but the warmth in his eyes remained. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, but the way he said it made you feel like there was more to it, like he was almost daring you to take it further.

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in just a little, your lips almost brushing as you whispered, “Maybe I’m not sure if I want to risk another ‘chaos’ just yet.”

Kuroo's gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest moment, and you could feel the charged atmosphere shifting. The space between you was narrowing faster than either of you could pretend it wasn’t. He leaned in a fraction more, and his breath was warm against your skin. “Maybe… that’s a risk worth taking,” he murmured, his voice now barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced, the distance between you two was practically nonexistent now. You could feel the heat of his body, his presence taking up all the space in the room. The playful teasing was gone—replaced by something far more intimate. More dangerous. His hand reached out, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that had your breath catching in your throat.

Before you could respond, Kuroo's fingers slid gently down your jaw, and his thumb lightly grazed your bottom lip. The gesture was simple, but it felt like the world had stopped. The kiss was inevitable now.

Slowly, almost too slowly, he tilted his head, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most deliberate way. The touch was electric, sending a spark of heat rushing through your veins. You were almost caught off-guard by the intensity of it, but it didn’t take long for your lips to part, inviting him closer.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper, as the kiss grew more urgent, more demanding. The world around you melted away, the only thing left was the heat between you two. His lips moved with a teasing confidence, making sure you felt every second of it.

His tongue lapped on your wet cave like a thirsty man that haven’t seen water in years, and the sweet taste of wine made your head spin, chasing his own tongue in a soft sucking move that drove him insane.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, both of you trying to catch your breath. His lips curled into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Guess that’s one way to make a decision,” he said, voice low and raspy.

You opened your eyes to find him watching you, eyes darkened with something more than playfulness. There was still a hint of the teasing smile on his lips, but now it was accompanied by something far more tempting.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice a little breathless, “I think I’m starting to see what you mean by chaos.”

He chuckled, his hand still on your neck, fingers tracing small, absent circles on your skin. “Well, I’m not all bad at it,” he said with a wink. Without warning, Kuroo tugged gently on your arm, pulling you toward him until you were no longer leaning back on the couch. Before you could fully process it, you were perched on his lap, straddling him with your knees on either side of his thighs, the space between you two completely gone.

For a moment, you just sat there, a little stunned by how naturally it all happened. His hands slid to your waist, holding you firmly in place as his gaze swept over you. “You look better here,” he said, his voice deep, eyes never leaving yours.

You couldn’t help but laugh, trying to hide the sudden nerves that started to bubble up in your stomach. “Well, this is a bit of an upgrade.” You gave him a teasing smile, your hands resting on his shoulders, but the tension between you was palpable now.

Kuroo’s fingers tightened just slightly on your waist, his expression turning more serious. “Better be careful. We’re both dangerously close to making some bad decisions here.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?” You tilted your head, the edge of a challenge in your tone, but deep down, you weren’t sure whether you wanted him to back off or pull you even closer.

“Nope,” Kuroo said, his lips curling into a grin as he gently tugged you even closer, your body now pressed against his. “Just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting into.”

Before you could respond, Kuroo’s lips found yours again—hungry, a little less playful this time, but just as consuming. Your body reacted immediately, the heat between you two igniting in an instant. There was no more teasing, no more games. The only thing that mattered was the feel of his lips on yours, the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you even closer, if that was possible.

When he finally broke the kiss again, he exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against yours. “You sure you want to keep going?” he whispered, his voice low, but there was no mistaking the desire in it.

You grinned, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw, the touch almost affectionate now, despite the electricity between you. “I think,” you said slowly, your lips curling into a mischievous smile, “I’m already in too deep.”

Kuroo’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your waist as his smirk returned, cocky and satisfied. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.”

----------------------------------------------------

The make out session felt like it went on for hours straight. Enough for Loki and Lola engross themselves in the biggest nap, both balls of fur tangled on the fluffy bed.

One of Kuroo’s hand is sliding up your thigh, his long, slender and strong fingers slightly entering the hem of your cotton shorts, squeezing the flesh in his palm. His free arm is sneaked around your waist, pushing you flush against him on the couch as he spreads his legs, making yours spread in the process.

Your hair is as messy as it can get, your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are darkened and dilated, your white dress shirt have three buttons open and is half slid down your shoulder, exposing just a teasing piece of your black lacy bra, making the cleavage a white canvas for his lips to paint with soft red marks.

In swift subtle moves, your body unconsciously grinds down on his hard erection strained through his pants, offering a delicious type of friction that sends a wave of pleasure through your bodies and is both a torment and a relief. The movement makes Kuroo groan inside your mouth, and you swallow his noises like it can feed you phisiologically speaking.

You two are like a couple of horny teenagers dry humping each other on the couch and almost completely out of it. Almost.

That’s when a couple of knocks and a door bell incessantly ringing filled both your ears. Not from your place, but from Kuroo’s. And he groans deeply.

He completely forgot the boy’s night he planned hosting with Bokuto and Kenma in his place, and he mentally curses the past Kuroo Tetsuro for his life choices. But how can he had antecipated that a cat visit to spoil Lola and Loki’s future offspring would end up in his hot neighbor straddling his lap like a five course meal?

When his phone started buzzing on your coffee table with “owl guy” on the screen, he shouted from under you a “I’m coming, damn it”, more huffed and annoyed than he would like, but he didn’t care at the moment.

The scream pacified the guy out there for now, and he collapsed his head on the crook of your neck, mumbling against your skin.

“I gotta go, apparently” — he said while placing soft kisses on your skin, trying to come down from the high and dissipate the intensity between you. You hummed, already resigned with the fate that the momentum between you ended.

“Mkay…” You said, nuzzling in his hair, breathing in the scent of his musky shampoo, trying to tattoo it on your memory. “Go before the guy out there lose his patience,”

He huffed a chuckle on your neck, making you shiver, and you proceed to desintangle yourself from his lap as he stands up. Now standing, Kuroo whistle to Loki, calling him with a soft “Come on, boy” that makes you want it was meant for you. The black cat stands up with his ears perked up, slowly walking behind Kuroo.

You two don’t bid goodbye, not feeling the need to, and the things feel even more unfinished than ever.

----------------------------------------------------

As Kuroo leaves your door, hair messy, traces of smeared pink lipstick on his lips, his jaw and his neck, ragged breath, wrinkled clothes, Bokuto’s eyes widen and he tilted his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“I…” Bokuto started, looking from his door to the door he left “Bro, did I miss your door?”

Kuroo just rolled his eyes, trying to hide a smug smile, walking torwards his door to enter, not bothering answer his question, making the owl guy let out a boisterous laugh

“Ohoho, boy’s night just got a hot topic!”

----------------------------------------------------

Kuroo’s splashed in his couch, sipping from a bottle of water, while Bokuto is sitting on the counter stool, sipping one of Kuroo’s fancy scotches, looking at Kuroo with a funny face.

“Wait, bro, let me see if I got this straight… Your cat… banged the hot neighbor’s cat.. And now you’re doing the same?” Bokuto summarized the story that Kuroo just told him.

“That… sounded… animalistic”

Bokuto snorted, nearly spilling his drink. "Oh, come on, bro. You can’t tell me it’s not poetic. It’s like… fate. Two star-crossed lovers”

Kuroo sighed, rubbing his face with one hand while reaching for his own drink with the other. “First of all, no. Don’t call it fate. Second, Loki didn’t ‘fall in love.’ He just knocked up her cat, and now I’m stuck playing awkward in-law.”

Bokuto wiggled his eyebrows. “And you accidentally ended up in a heavy make-out session with said cat’s owner?”

Kuroo shot him a deadpan look. “Yes, Bokuto. That’s exactly how it happened. I tripped and landed with my tongue in her mouth.”

Bokuto gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “That’s insane! How’d you even keep your balance?”

Kuroo exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

Kenma, who had been half-listening while scrolling through his phone, finally spoke up from the other end of the couch, locking the phone and tossing on the coffee table. “So, are you actually into her, or was this just the wine?”

Kuroo opened his mouth, then closed it. A beat passed. Then another.

Bokuto leaned forward like he could smell the hesitation. “Ohhh, you like her.”

Kuroo groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. “I never said that.”

Kenma didn’t even glance up from his phone. “You didn’t have to.”

Bokuto grinned wildly. “Dude, you totally do. You’ve been all ‘hot neighbor this, hot neighbor that’ for months, and now you’re sitting here, looking like you just crawled out of a romance novel—messy hair, lipstick all over you, breathing like you ran a marathon—”

“Alright,” Kuroo cut in, pointing a warning finger. “I met her yesterday. There’s nothing there. We’re done with this conversation.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes at the topic, but his mind was already back at your place, back to the way you felt on his lap, the taste of wine lingering between kisses, and the way your fingers had tangled in his hair like you belonged there.

Yeah, he was screwed.

Bokuto smirked behind his glass. “You know that’s sus, bro. You never not wanna talk about the girls you hook up, sometimes you even share too much for our ears sake. And now you’re done with this conversation? Weird as hell. Are you high on catnip or something?”

Kuroo scoffed, taking a slow sip of his water, trying to ignore the way his ears burned at Bokuto’s words. “I just don’t feel like giving you two a play-by-play of my night, alright? Not everything is meant for your entertainment.”

Bokuto gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Kuroo Tetsuro, keeping a secret? Scandalous.”

Kenma hummed, eyes narrowingskeptically. “It’s either serious or embarrassing. Either way, he’s hiding something.”

Kuroo groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Oh my god, can we talk about something else?”

Bokuto, ignoring him completely, turned to Kenma. “Serious and embarrassing is my guess. I mean, look at him—he’s got that ‘I just realized I have a crush’ face.”

Kenma finally looked up, golden eyes scanning Kuroo for a long, quiet second. Then, with the precision of a seasoned gamer landing a final headshot, he muttered with a smug smile, “You’re overthinking it already, aren’t you?”

Kuroo opened his mouth, but no words came out. His jaw tightened.

Bokuto’s grin widened. “Ohhh, he is.”

Kuroo scowled, sinking deeper into the couch. He hated how well they knew him. He hated even more that they weren’t wrong. His brain had been stuck replaying the feel of you against him, the way your breath had hitched when he’d gripped your thigh, the way your lips had parted right before he kissed you again— everything seemingly so physical and superficial, but there’s a deepth he’s not familiar with in the slightest. Is it the cat connection? Is it because you two shared too much right before the make out session and he realized how you’re a mix of smart, successful, hardworking, independent and authentic wrapped up in devastatingly hot body and pretty face?.

Shit.

He needed to get a grip.

With a sigh, he grabbed the scotch glass from Bokuto’s hand and took a sip himself. “I swear, you two have way too much time on your hands.”

Bokuto just wiggled his eyebrows. “And you have a hot neighbor on your hands.”

Kenma smirked slightly, going back to his phone. “This is gonna be fun to watch.”

Kuroo exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “I hate both of you.”

Bokuto just laughed, spinning the empty glass in his hands. “Nah, you love us. Just like you looove—”

“Finish that sentence and I’m throwing you off my balcony.”

Bokuto made a show of zipping his lips but kept grinning like he’d already won. And, honestly, maybe he had.

Because Kuroo was distracted. He was so distracted.

Even as Kenma and Bokuto bickered about what game to play next, his mind kept drifting back—to your place, to the taste of wine and heat on your lips, to the way your fingers had tugged at his hair like you needed him.

It was supposed to be a casual thing. Just some alcohol-induced fun. That’s what he’d told himself when he went for the kiss. But the way his body was still thrumming with leftover electricity and his mind was yearning for a deeper connection told a different story.

And the worst part?

He wanted more.

A lot more.

With a quiet groan, he tipped his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers. Maybe he really was screwed.

Kenma’s voice pulled him back to the present. “So, when are you seeing her again?”

Kuroo scoffed, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. “I don’t know. Whenever Loki and I happen to bump into her, I guess.”

Bokuto snorted. “Dude, your cat is literally dating her cat. You have the perfect excuse.”

Kuroo glared at him, but his fingers hovered over your name in his messages. Should he text you? Would that be weird? Too soon? Too obvious?

Before he could overthink it, his phone vibrated with a new message.

Kitten Lady: Hey, I was thinking about making some arrangements in the kittens corner tomorrow. Wanna come help me with it?

Kuroo blinked, rereading the text. A slow smirk spread across his lips.

Kenma, eyebrows widden in a stunned expression, muttered, “He’s smiling. This is worse than I thought.”

Bokuto clapped his hands together. “Boys, we have a situation!”

[messenger-of-babel]

Jason Todd Who...

Summary: Thoughts about your relationship with Jason Todd.

Word Count: 1.6K

Notes: So this was supposed to come out a few days ago to maintain a 'one post a week' baseline, but my hometown kinda flooded, everyone got evacuated, I came back to work and my office building managed to flood and catch fire in the span of 24 hours. I'm still fine though! Currently splitting time with writing, work, and drying things out. Stay safe out there!

Love RiRi <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Thinking about a Jason Todd Who…

Has no idea how exactly he got into a relationship with you. Well, technically he’d like to call it a situationship, since neither of you have decided to put a label on it yet. He’d helped you out post patrol one evening, Bruce doing his head in as usual. He didn’t plan on drinking that night, but he still pushed open the door to the bar, hoping he could at least chat to James, the bartender, if he was on that night. It turns out that James was, in fact, on shift and currently occupied in the back corner near the pool table. His ears switched into overdrive hearing the ruckus, the years of vigilante training making his senses kick in keenly to try and respond. That’s when he saw you, being restrained by James and pool cue in hand.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Laughs to himself as his first response to seeing a bar fight, your opponent curled on the ground from where you had jabbed him with the cue. When his eyes met yours, your form wriggling in James grip, he was oddly delighted to see the challenging glare you sent to him. After about twenty minutes of exchanged words and threats of security, James lets you go and you sit at the bar, fingers tapping the wood in irritation.

“You shouldn’t drink if you get angry, you know.” He grins, following your shadow to the bar and leaning on the nearby stool.

“I’m not drunk.” You defend, eyeing him up and down. “I made that decision completely sober.”

Jason’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, really? Do tell me what he did to deserve being attacked then.”

“He was being an asshole.”

Yeah, Jason was going to like you.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Calls it a relationship to himself silently after a while but is still too nervous to say it in front of you. What if you didn’t think about it the same way? What if you were platonically getting coffee together every Thursday? That you only held onto him that tight when you rode with him because you were worried about falling off? That you were just friends that crashed in the same bed after a night out? He couldn’t help the flutter in his chest and the grin he wore so easily when you were around. He didn’t realise how much baggage he wore on his shoulders until you showed up and he felt like he could lift his neck for once. He knew he was fucked up, dying and coming back would do that to you. Yet he didn’t notice how the heaviness of it kept his eyes trained on the pavement, neck craning under the weight.

Yeah, Jason really liked you.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Dreads you coming over to meet the family, protesting the entire time. Not only because it was pouring outside meaning he had to take the car (meaning he couldn’t feel your arms around him), but because he still doesn’t know what you are. He’s been meaning to clear it up with you, wanting to ask so desperately, but every time that he’s tried the words catch in his throat. Like he’s back to being Robin, the young boy now trapped in a body way too big for him. So instead he just tightens his hands on the steering wheel, lost so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice the lovestruck glances you steal from the corner of your eye, or the nervous playing of your hands in your lap.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Is completely taken aback when you announce yourself as his partner at the door when Alfred asks who you are. His brain blanks out, just staring down at you with a wider than usual glance. His hands are frozen to his side, unsure of what he could do. What to even say. The old man just smiles when Jason flicks his gaze to meet his grandfather figure, the old man’s eyes crinkling in mirth.

“Then welcome in. Master Dick and Tim will be delighted to hear it.”

You smile so easily, so effortlessly as you take his hand and lead him into his own home (or ex-home as he liked to call it).

God, he liked you.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Scowls when he sees Tim pay Dick a $20 under the table as you introduce yourself again, his older sibling figure sending him a shit eating grin as he pockets the cash in his front jacket pocket. He doesn’t miss the way that Bruce’s eyebrow twitches up curiously as you say you’re his partner, before that critical gaze flicks to Jason, silently asking if the information is true. He gives a short tense nod, and the billionaire grips his chin in thought before running a hand over his face.

That makes a flare of anger peak in Jason, but he squashes it down for the sake of Alfred and the dinner he worked so hard to wrangle everyone in for. You’re too distracted introducing yourself to Steph and Duke to see the critical glances Bruce sends you, the duo more than eager to engage you in conversation. He hates the way that Jason can feel the gaze of Bruce bore into his cheek, like he was trying to carve a his own bat-shaped scar next to the white ‘J’. He hated that gaze. The gaze that he could feel before he was told to ‘take it from the top’ or to ‘do another set’. The gaze he used to try and thrive under when he was younger, pushing himself to the limits in the hope that it would soften up if he excelled. The gaze that felt like it was doing nothing but waiting for him to mess up, so it could devour him with sharp teeth and harsher words. He knew Bruce didn’t approve. Jason knew he didn’t care.

Jason liked you too much to let Bruce scare away his chance of happiness.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Has his breath stolen the moment you kiss him in the car. He feels like he’s drowning, but it’s the most blissful torture he’s ever experienced as you lean across the car console to cover his lips with yours.

“You were distracted at dinner.” You murmur softly when you pull away. Jason has to blink the stars from his eyes, his scarred hands twitching to rest at the back of your neck and pull you to him again.

“I was just lost in thought, that’s all.” He says back, fighting the tremor in his voice. Once again he feels like a young boy piloting a hulking, clumsy body, his mind and muscle out of sync. You hum in response, not fully taking his answer.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, calling myself your partner.” Your murmur after a slight tense silence. “I should have asked first.”

Jason swallows thickly. “I don’t mind.” He says quickly, a little too quickly if he was honest with himself. “I’m happy to try, I mean, if you want that.”

You smile, the sight that makes his chest flap. Like he had said the funniest thing imaginable, your sparkling gaze focused all on him.

You liked him.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Holds nothing back as soon as you two become an actual couple. He’s doing what he can (albeit it clumsily) to keep you around. He’s mostly mimicking other relationships he’s seen, readings articles on how to be a good partner late at night. He knows to be himself, he’s not an idiot. He knows that you would scold him if you saw the things that he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. He had had relationships before you, of course. Yet the difference this time was that this was you, and he wasn’t going to risk it going sideways the same way the others had.

The biggest thing he had found was trying to keep you away from the other side of him. The side that donned a mask when the sun went down and staked out rooftops with a blue and black spandex clad chatterbox, and a caped brat. It had been easily enough when you were apart, but now that you were living together in his little apartment, it was getting harder and harder to sneak out of your arms at night and crawl back into them in the morning. He cursed the fact that you were a light sleeper, leading him to nearly being caught one too many times. He knew that you were getting suspicious, but keeping your reservations to yourself in the morning.

Bruce still didn’t like you, even more so now that you were closer to Jason’s true side than ever. But maybe Bruce did like you. That was a thought that plagued him, preventing him from falling into the sleep he so desperately needed after a long patrol. You were curled into his side, chest rising and falling softly.

Maybe Bruce did like you, and he was trying to protect you. Trying to keep you away from the potential heartbreak of losing him, which was a constant threat in this line of work. Maybe he was trying to keep you from being harmed, something that Jason feared constantly about having you close. Maybe Bruce was trying to save you because he did like you, and Jason was condemning you by being with you.

You move slightly when he shifts, eyes flicking opening groggily. Your normally bright eyes are cloudy with sleep, and you meet his gaze.

“Jay?” you mumble.

He grins softly, calloused fingers brushing a piece of hair from your forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Maybe Bruce did like you.

But Jason loved you.

[chuellas]

Echoes of Silence | E is for Edging

⤷ Ft. Dazai Osamu

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, edging, slight mind break, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, WC: 1k

A/N: Idk why but I struggled so hard with writing this one, I hope it came out just as well as the rest did <3

Dazai had been clingy all day, performatively so. You could sense that something was off, even for Dazai the dramatics were a little much. But trying to pry it out of him was never an option, so when he asked to come over you were simply resigned to accepting. 

It has been what feels like hours since Dazai came over to your dorm and each passing second is becoming even more agonizing than the last. Dazai is toying with both of you tonight. He was quick to strip you of your clothes and have his way with you before the front door even fully shut. His desperate hands exploring your skin with urgency.

Nightly visits like these usually only last about an hour, maybe two, but tonight is definitely different. It’s been almost three hours and Dazai isn’t letting either one of you finish. You’ve been on the edge for probably two and half of those hours and it’s torture. 

This is cruel and unusual punishment and it’s all Dazai’s fault. 

Every time one of you is about to come he slows down or pulls out completely only to distract you by kisses. His lips sear every inch of your body. Dazai gives you absolutely no time to protest or to rest. It gives you each only a few moments before he’s diving into you again with the same agonizing pace he’s set, slower and harder than usual. 

You're a mess, your brain has been turned to mush and the only coherent thought you’ve managed to keep intact is the need to release. Your ability to speak is in the same condition. Pleas of your need to release spilling from your swollen lips, but they fall on deaf ears because Dazai clearly has no plans of granting any of your requests. 

The brunette is too caught up in his own need to release. He isn’t just torturing you, but himself too. He can’t rip his eyes away from the way your glistening sloppy cunt sucks him in and keeps a vice grip hold. He’s not sure where the self control is coming from but he barely manages to keep this up. The only thing keeping him from letting you finally cum is the thought of having to go back to his dorm and spend the rest of this night alone with his own thoughts.

He’d be damned if he let that happen when your company is so, so much sweeter than his own.

Even now, your incoherent words sound like music to his ears. “‘Samu…’Samu, please. I can't- ‘s too much- ahh- I need to- oh my god- I need to cum, please, please…”

It’s getting harder for Dazai to deny you and he thinks he’s on the verge of giving in. Even so, Dazai’s movement instinctively slows down and you let out a hiccuped sob. He looks down at you and he really thinks he’s gonna lose all senses. You are a beautiful mess — a devastatingly beautiful mess. Your hair is matted down on your face from a mix of tears and sweat. Your eyes rimmed red from the amount of crying you’ve done. Skin flushed the prettiest pink color and marks littered your body, courtesy of Dazai himself. 

In the split moment it takes for the agent to admire you, clearly distracted, you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s your desperate attempt to keep him close and finally give you what you’ve been begging him for. As if Dazai’s conviction hadn’t already been crumbling, this was the final blow to send it crashing all the way.

Dazai picks up his speed and crashes his lips into your own as you both finally find that release you’ve been chasing for hours. Your room is filled with muffled moans mixed together and the wet sound of Dazai’s hips crashing into yours before stilling completely and spilling inside of you. Everything is dizzy and Dazai can’t form a single thought. His mind is filled with fog and his ears stuffed with cotton. Nothing is registering but the white hot pleasure pooling in his stomach and spreading through his entire body like electricity. 

His length throbs inside of you with each release of his seed that he’s pouring into you. The build up made his plummet last longer than it usually would. His whole body twitches, already hypersensitive and he hasn’t even completely finished inside of you yet. Dazai’s vision focuses and you’re in no better shape. Your eyes are still screwed shut and your body is borderline convulsing. The tight grip you have around both his waist and his cock keeps him from pulling away from you at all. 

When you’ve both come down, the brunette can’t bring it in himself to get up to clean himself and leave. Instead he collapses into your hold, laying face down into your chest. By the sound of your breathy chuckle and the way you begin to run your fingers through his hair, despite it being wet from sweat, Dazai can tell you’ve come back to reality. 

Dazai shifts, making an effort to pull away but the action is stiff. He doesn’t want to leave but he knows if he doesn’t, he will be overstaying his welcome. Your hold on him, however, doesn't falter and you let out a soft hum.

“Stay.” Dazai’s head shoots up at that and he just stares at you for a few moments. You’re visibly nervous and start to elaborate when you really don’t need to because Dazai was already sold by the single syllable. “It’s later than usual and I really don’t mind the company. Also your body must be exhausted.”

Dazai tries to widen his eyes in shock but the detective’s eyelids become too heavy for him to keep open anymore and he wordlessly resigns. His head drops back to your chest — this time he makes sure to make himself more comfortable on top of you. He decides to stay nestled in between your thighs even though he’s softened now. 

Dazai doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t think he has to, his body language is enough to tell you he’s not going anywhere.

[bless-my-demons]

Rain Soaked Confessions

Paul Lahote x Reader

Summary: You’re scared to death, but he isn’t. Just give in.

Warnings: smidge of angst if you squint, so much fucking fluff it’ll rot your teeth.

Notes: I wasn’t even going to put dialogue in this until I saw a TikTok of Robin Williams reading a love poem by Pablo Neruda (hint: it’s the beginning of the confession). It’s all reader’s POV and I’m fairly certain I managed to make it gender neutral again. God I love writing this man.

Word count: 1100

Masterlist

Cool Pacific rain pelts my skin, but I welcome it. I welcome the icey drops as they start to soak me down to the very marrow of my bones.

Eyes closed, face turned towards the sky, arms limp at my sides, breath tearing in and out of my lungs at a rate that brings a certain level of awareness to my body.

I long since stopped caring if the water pooling around my eyelids was from the sky or my tear ducts. It didn’t matter, none of it did.

My clothes were soaked, suctioned to my body - I could feel the heat of my skin leaking away, replaced with a coldness that began to border on painful. Goosebumps littered my skin the longer I stood here trying to cleanse myself of this… this pain in my chest.

This pain that threatens to cave my chest in, that steals my breath, that makes my heart soar and sink all the same. This pain that invades every inch of my brain, rotting me from within.

This pain that’s not actually pain.

Not really, because I know what it truly is.

It’s love.

Love that is damn near debilitating.

Breath continues to rip in and out past chapped lips that quiver from the weight of my thoughts. Thoughts of him.

A clap of thunder jolts me from my reverie with a gasp, my eyes snapping towards a figure standing at the edge of the forest watching me, quietly. Not just anyone, but him.

Paul.

We stare at each other, only 20 yards or so separating us. Still as statues, afraid to make the first move.

He’s just as soaked as I feel, the short black strands of his usually neat hair sticking to his forehead, water dripping down his beautiful face. Rain beating over his shoulders and down his uncovered chest. A chest heaving in time with mine, but the roar of the rain in the trees cover our combined exhales that I’m sure have to be deafening.

It’s like he’s a mirage, a figment of my imagination. This man has invaded every thought and now I’m afflicted with hallucinations of him too? As if this torture wasn’t enough? As if this crippling black hole in my chest wasn’t big enough? All-encompassing enough?

I rub at the tightness across my clavicle, every gulp of air I try to suck down not making a difference in the tightness of my throat.

The action draws his eyes, and his body too, apparently. His advance forward is slow and deliberate. Every step crumbling the ice I’ve tried to pack around my heart, these feelings.

I start to panic, no - I’m not ready.

I’m not ready to fall, not again.

I’ve never met a man worth holding my heart, trustworthy enough, gentle enough, kind enough.

Not until him.

My eyes slide shut as he takes the final steps to close the gap between us. I can feel the heat radiating from him just inches away and my panic increases, I have to hurry. I have to hurry and build this wall around my heart before he can-

A strong, burning finger tilts my chin upwards and it’s like sunlight kissing my skin, pouring in through the cracks in my hastily stacked armor. Warm, home, love, Paul.

My eyes creak open, afraid of what they might see in his own brown depths.

Endless devotion, eternity, serenity. That’s what they find. Unwavering love, solid and sure.

Oxygen ceases to make its way inside my chest, constricting painfully at the grip his intensity has over me.

He has to see how this is flaying me straight to the bone, how he’s dismantling every protection I’ve put in place to protect myself by just being.

My mouth opens but I can’t force words out, what’s there to say? I’m sorry, I can’t do this - it’s too much?

His eye contact doesn’t waiver, even as the rain pours over his cheek bones and drips straight down onto my own.

I can’t resist - my hands settle on his chest, to push him away or soak up more of his warmth, I don’t know.

Finally he moves, slowly dipping his head. My eyes slip shut, completely at his mercy. His lips brush feather-light at my temple, drifting to the other side in equal measure, heat refilling my skin as his mouth maps my face. Then down to the apple of my cheek, grazing my nose with reverence on his path across my face before his hand slides across my jaw to the nape of my neck.

I sink into him, resolve melting away as his heat pushes into me. A sigh leaves my lips as his mouth presses a barely-there kiss to the corner of my mouth.

My awareness narrows down to the way my lips tingle where his mouth just barely touches mine.

Time slows as I just wait.

One heartbeat. Then another.

Surely he’ll take pity on me? Please, oh god please.

“I love you”. His voice is deep. Sure. Confident. Soft.

Time must’ve stopped.

“I love you, without knowing how. Or when. Or from where.” The tremble begins in my legs. “I love you straightforwardly. Without complexities or pride.” My knees feel weak with every word his lips breathe across my mouth. “I love you, because I know no other way than this. I love you with every drum beat in my heart, as dictated by the ancestors. And I will love you even past the end of time. I’ll love you so proudly that I’ll see that it’s written in the history of my tribe-our tribe. I’ll love you so completely that you have no choice but to give me every little piece of your heart that you’ve squirreled away inside of yourself, afraid to bask in the sun, afraid of the love you know you deserve.”

His confession has more tears than rain sliding down my face.

My voice is a rugged gasp, “Paul.”

His lips seal over my own, as if to solidify this pledge of his love permanently.

His kiss is love. Pure love. And light. And home. And everything I hoped it’d be. Warm, gentle, understanding, yielding, kind.

His mouth is unhurried in its exploration of mine, curious in its mapping of my lips, patient and giving.

My hands surge into his wet hair, fingers sliding home as I press fully against him, mouth slotting against his in a desperate way. Two puzzle pieces, him and I, clicking flush together in a way words could only ever fail to describe.

Paul Lahote is my home. He is tender, he is light, he is love. He is exactly what I’ve been missing all this time, he is worth every single bit of pain I’ve ever felt in this life if it means leading to this.

To us.

[ezrasxfics]

i might be the brain of evil.

-

abstragedy

-

gangle pov

i sit alone in my red, white and black themed room, drawing, trying to avoid my mind being infested with thoughts of what happened that day. the spudsy’s adventure. you see, i’ve not been able to get it out of my head. no matter what i do, and how much people insist i’m forgiven, i can’t seem to forgive myself, to convince myself it’s all okay.

putting down my black mechanical pencil, i take a deep breath in, just the way ragatha had taught me to. i hold it in for a few seconds, counting down from 5 before i let it go, a small exhaling noise leaving my mouth. it doesn’t really solve the problem, but i suppose it’s a good short-term coping strategy. that, and drowning the thoughts out with the loud music blasting in my ears. or.. where my ears would be. it seemed to work when i put headphones over them, so i suppose it doesn’t matter what they’re called.

when zooble walked into my room, i didn’t even notice at first, listening to some old vocaloid song: ‘world is mine’. i had it turned all the way up, to the point it was almost painful. that way i didn’t have to think.

“uh.. hey, gangle?” zooble says, tapping me on the shoulder, making me jump and squeal in surprise, practically throwing my headphones off.

“oh-!! hi, zooble..! sorry.. i was just- just.. drawing!! yeah, that’s what i was doing!!” i ramble, and internally facepalm. zooble was so cool.. i couldn’t help but be nervous around them!! and, being nervous just lead to me acting like a total fool.

“..yeah, you were pretty distracted there. you okay?”

that single question - those two words - that was enough for tears to threaten to fall from my eyes, all the feelings i tried to push away all flooding back to the forefront of my mind, impossible to avoid.

“..yeah..! im- i’m finE-!” my voice cracks a little, a tell-tale sign. that, along with the relentless trembled in my body, slumped over due to my complete lack of energy.

“you’re a terrible liar. come on, what’s on your mind?” they reply, eyes narrowing a little in concern. despite all the clear signs they cared, that little voice was telling me otherwise. why would they care about someone like me..? someone so.. evil..?

“zooble.. do you think i’m a horrible person?” i ask before i can stop myself, and immediately regret it. they probably think i’m needy, that i don’t trust them, that i’m clingy, that—

“no, why would i think that? you’ve proved you’re a good person. is this about spudsys?”

“yes-“ i squeak, nodding at this.

“look, gangle, you f**ked up. that doesn’t make you a bad person. the fact that you feel like this on its own proves that you have good intentions. you’re taking accountability, sh*tty people don’t do that. everyone’s done things they regret. i know i have, more times than i can count. let me put it into perspective for you. say i did what you did, all the same. and afterwards, i hated myself for it, saw myself as an awful person and started isolating myself from everyone. would you see me as a bad person?” they look me in the eyes, waiting for a response, a glimmer of concern in their eyes.

“..no, of course not-!!” i begin, before getting interrupted.

“exactly. let yourself be happy, forgive yourself. you’ll never be happy if you keep beating yourself up like this.”

“..i love you—“

-

and that’s where i’m gonna end the fic becauseee im an asshole!!

reblogs are appreciated, and i take requests!!

[dervampireprince]

Corsets

[18+, minors dni] Pairing: Olrox/Trans Man Reader Words: 2,154 Rating: Explicit Read on Ao3 Tags: Trans Male Character | Established Relationship | Comfort | Gender Dysphoria | Corsetry | Anal Penetration | Oral | Fingering | Praise Kink | Strap-Ons | Dom Bottom Olrox Summary: You saw a corset in a shop window one night and paused. Olrox had asked if you were interested by it. Hovering over your shoulder, he asked if you'd like him to buy it for you. But you shook your head, said no, worried that wearing it would make you look like... So Olrox buys a corset for himself to prove how good a man looks in one.

Notes: Well I saw someone cosplaying Olrox in a corset and Olrox had already been on my brain for days and now this is here. It was just going to be a couple hundred word drabble but then I just kept writing. Yes I couldn't think of a title.

You saw a corset in a shop window one night and paused. Olrox had asked if you were interested by it. Hovering over your shoulder, he asked if you'd like him to buy it for you. But you shook your head, said no, worried that wearing it would make you look like...

You knew it was a silly thought for a couple of reasons. Firstly, that you were being a hypocrite. That clothing had no gender and that you wouldn't think another man looked like a girl for wearing a corset or a skirt or dress. And secondly, that Olrox did not judge you for things like this.

The corset had been forgotten about after that, or so you'd thought.

Later that week you're returning your book to your night stand, but when you enter the room you freeze.

Olrox is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands coming forwards from behind his back to rest in his lap. He's wearing nothing but his white shirt, unbuttoned and tucked down into a deep purple corset.

The book slips from between your fingers and falls to the floor.

If Olrox reacts, you don't see. Your eyes are glued to his body, his shirt revealing some of his chest before being swallowed up, the way the corset hugged his waist, pulled it in and cinched it.

“I thought it could make you feel more assured that you can look like a man in a corset if I wore one. I hope you don’t mind” Olrox's voice drifts into your ears, you barely take in the words but you can hear his smirk.

Your mouth is dry. You don't know how to respond, well, not with words anyway. The silence stretches on, you can't look him in the eye, but you can't look away from him.

It takes him saying your name to bring your mind back up. He can't be sounding concerned, can he? He can get upset about things despite what others think, but him being insecure in himself is not usual. It can't be that. Perhaps he's concerned that he's finally broken you.

“Olrox,” You breathe out, your voice sounds wrecked.

You finally meet his gaze.

He tilts his head to the side, pops up a shoulder, hair spills in front of his right eye.

“What do you think?” He asks, knowing full well what a fucking vision he looks like.

Words still fail you. How can you possible put into words how gorgeous he looks? And how many times had he already been told that in his lifetime? And the way he was sitting there, smugly amused by your reaction to him.

You aren't really thinking yet when you abandon your book on the floor. You're in front of him in an instant, leaning forwards, nose brushing against his, lips almost touching. You tilt your head ever so slightly, letting him think you're about to kiss him, let him lean up towards you, before pulling away

He huffs as you pull at him, not satisfied until he's standing. Your hands hook under his arms, around to his shoulder blades until they're being dragged down over his back as you sink your body down. Your mouth kisses at the exposed skin on his chest, and doesn't stop once it hits rich brocade.

You mouth over the hooks, tongue dragging against the seams, laying kisses over the corset until your thighs touch your calves and you're kneeling before him.

“What do I think?” Your murmur, lips pressing against the bottom hem of the corset, so close to his cock.

Olrox stares down at you in shock. You’re normally not this bold. He’s usually the one who has to instigate anything sexual, not because you don’t want too but because you get shy. And that's fine, he's more than happy to do the seducing, to chase you, and you blushing and squirming is a bonus. Of course he's wanted your confidence to grow, wondered what it would be like to see you bloom. Who knew all it would take to bring out your confidence would be a garment.

“Do you need me to show you?”

Olrox blinks down at you, the unexpected thrill of you being so forward making him forget what he had just said. “What?”

You chuckle against his skin and he shivers. "Can I show you how much I like it?"

Something warm catches in his chest as you nuzzle against his cock, the gesture is soft, comforting for you. His hand drifts down to your hair, threads his fingers between the strands.

"Yes."

It's all the permission you need. Any embarrassment you would usually have about taking any little bit of control is gone, replaced by a need to please him, to make him feel good, to make him feel as beautiful as he is, to engrave how beautiful you find him into his bones.

The way Olrox looks up at you when you push him down onto the bed makes your heart flutter. He's allowing you to do this, to push him back, trusting you to have this bit of control without abusing it. He doesn't get into subspaces like you, and you'd never ask him to submit to you, he's had enough of people trying to get him to submit. You're barely dominating him here, he's still got all the control, but he's letting you call the shots on where you touch him, letting you explore and worship him.

And fuck how you crave to worship him.

Your hands slide up and down the fabric and boning that covers his waist as you place your head between his legs. Running your tongue along the side, kissing the tip, taking it all into your mouth. He sighs when you do.

"Always so soft and warm for me, my love," He coos as you will your mouth to take him a little deeper.

As lovely as his cock is in your mouth, it's not what you really want. You've only done this a handful of times and it's always been from Olrox asking for it. This is the first time you've had the need, the want, all on your own for this.

"I want to fuck you," Your rasp out, pulling yourself off Olrox's cock.

His cock twitches against your cheek.

"Really?" He looks down at you in wonder and you nod eagerly.

His voice always sounds so calm and unaffected when he talks during sex. You realise you'd like to try and change that.

He reaches for the oil in the night stand and hands it to you. You kiss his hand as you take it.

"Thank you," Perhaps it's silly to say, especially as your now slicked finger circles his hole.

"For what?"

"Trusting me to have you like this."

You see his walls come down. The furrow of his brow, smirk falling into genuine smile.

"Well, you're going to take good care of me aren't you, sweet boy?"

A whine leaves your mouth. Yes, yes you are, you want too so badly, it's what he deserves, he deserves to be taken care off, especially when he takes such good care of you.

"My good patient boy. You're going to get me nice and-ah stretched out for your cock?" He rocks his hips as you slide a finger inside him. "Just like that. If I'd known all I needed to do to get you rushing to fold me in half I'd have- fuck, another finger, love- I'd have bought one of these a long time ago. This is what gets you riled up huh?"

"You get me riled up," You complain as three of your fingers thrust into him. "This is just... Fuck, Olrox you're beautiful."

He preens under you. Hips thrusting back against your fingers, his body rolling but slightly restricted by the corset. You wish you could have seen him put it on, or fuck-

"Next time, let me help you put it on?"

"Next time?" His eyes twinkle as he smiles.

"Oh you have to wear this again. And you want too, you enjoy seeing me frustrated," You wipe your fingers off on your thigh.

"And it is so easy to get you frustrated." Olrox hums, pleased with himself.

He watches as you get yourself ready for him. Harness sliding over your thighs, slicking your cock up with oil as it clicks into place.

"You going to fuck me with that now?" He spreads his legs against the crimson sheets. "That's a good boy, come here. You're going to give me what I need, aren't you?"

You crawl between his legs, panting and flushed even though he hasn't touched you. Your hands stroke over his thighs before finding purchase on that waist again, you could get addicted to holding him there.

"Yes," Olrox hisses out and throws his head back as you push your cock inside of him, bottoming out in one long, slow thrust.

You swear you can feel him around you. He'd be tight as you haven't done this in a while. Sensitive walls clenching around you as your thrust. And you do thrust, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. He can be so soft when he's inside of you, but when you're inside of him he doesn't like being treated like he's breakable. When you're inside of him he tells you-

"Harder, love. You wanted to show me how much you like me in this? Yes? Then harder, show me-" He chokes on his own moans, babbling around your cock, toes curling. "Like that, yes, good boy-"

Olrox's hands reach for you, pull you in so he can kiss you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, demandingly, and as you moan back into his mouth he hooks a leg around you and flips you both over.

"You really like this, darling?" He runs a hand down over his stomach, taunting you, as he rises up and down, fucking himself on your cock.

"Yes, yes, Olrox, fuck," You dig your heels into the bed, your hands scramble at his hips, trying to get leverage to fuck up into him. "Please."

He hushes you, leans over to kiss you again as he rolls his hips against you.

"You can come if you can, love. If you can grind up into me so that this cock presses against you, rubs against you, or I can slide a hand down there myself after I come..." He trails off, you know there's about to be a catch. "If..."

Whining you paw at him, fingers greedily grabbing his ass, feeling where he's stretched out around you.

"Ah, close, my love. And you can be close too, if you tell me what you think."

"You- fuck, you know, Olrox, you're gorgeous-"

"And a man?"

"A-? Yes of course, you," Oh. "Yes, you still look like a man, Olrox, please-"

He leans down, kissing your neck, fangs grazing you. "Will you let me buy you one?"

Your head is spinning. "What?"

"If I come around your cock and then rub my fingers against you until you come, will you let me buy you a corset?"

His voice tickles your ear, but then he pulls back, bouncing harder on your cock now. You know he's close.

"I can help you put it on. You'd be so good for me, standing in front of the mirror as I lace you up, and then I can show you how handsome you are in it, play with your little hole, kiss you all over, fuck you-ah open, just like you're doing to me. Don't you want that, love?"

You do, of course you do, but it's hard to get anything out of your mouth other than moans as the curved back of the cock presses against your body, the groove catching on slick cock that's trapped behind it.

"Please, Olrox, please, please, I want, ah, I want you too, want you to show me I'm your good boy, I'm your good boy Olrox please-"

His thighs squeeze around yours. When he throws his head back, his hair fans around him, earrings jingling. He grinds down against your cock despite being oversensitive, riding out his orgasm, his come pooling on your chest.

You think he should be the one boneless, not sliding off your cock with ease. Before you can complain, his hand is where he promised it would be, already rubbing at your wet cock while the other tugs down the harness. He pushes it away, nails scratch against your thigh drawing your gaze down to his. All it takes it one swipe of his tongue against your cock and you're coming.

He strokes your hair as you come down, tells you how much he loves you, how well you fucked him, and of course, how pretty you're going to look for him after he stops back by that shop.

[cappuccinoandglitter]

Sleepy Cuddles - Fluffebruary?

[I haven't been doing the fluffebruary stuff because I've been busy with WIPs but it just happened already had a scene that fit. So here's a sneak peek at a scene from chapter 10 of His Valiant Heart.]

Tommy isn't sure what exactly wakes him up first: the sunlight through the mesh, the patch of drool on his chest, the weight of the man half lying on top of him, or the snoring. Or the headache. He can't remember the last time he had a hangover, and while he doesn't feel terrible, he still feels it.

His arm is asleep. That could have woken him up too. He tries to wiggle out from under Evan, but it's like trying to lift a boulder. "Evan, darling," he says, gently running the fingers of his good hand through Evan's curls.

The snoring stops, but the man doesn't move other than to somehow get heavier.

They're still both wearing pants, only Evan's is unzipped and sliding halfway down his butt, showing off underwear that's red with little reindeer all over them. Christmas underpants. Tommy is inexplicably wearing one boot. He's not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved that they didn't get very far before falling asleep.

"Evan, my arm is asleep," he tries again.

Evan mumbles something against Tommy's chest and lets out a puff of air, a little bit like a put-upon dog. A golden retriever, that's the kind of dog Evan would be if he were a dog. Tommy chuckles, not sure where these thoughts are coming from. "Come on, Evan, it's time to wake up."

"Comfy," is the first coherent word to come out of Evan.

"I'm not, though," Tommy says. "Arm's asleep. Also, need aspirin."

Evan whines, actually whines, but starts to shift over just enough for Tommy to slip his arm free. Tommy manages to sit up, pushing himself up with his right arm, the left one dragging along like a cooked spaghetti noodle. How long can a limb go without circulation before it needs to be amputated?

It's not blue or black, not even particularly pale, so that must be good. But the disconnect between the arm and Tommy's brain is disconcerting. He can't lift it, and when he grabs it with his right hand it feels like he's grabbing a piece of ham or something. A turkey leg. It feels puffy and not connected to him at all.

But then the tingling starts.

The snoring starts again.

"Okay," Tommy says, and gently shakes Evan's shoulder.

A short, high-pitched fart comes out of Evan.

[lilithschosen]

*dancing into your ask box*

Voila! 9. “if you stop, i stop”

*moonwalks away*

idk if you're the same anon that did jazz hands. if you are, i wanna kiss your forehead. if not, i'm still gonna kiss your forehead. i love these LMFAO

She watches the ceiling fan spin slowly above her head, tilted back as she plants her hands on Rio's stomach and rolls her hips into her. When she lifts her head up and slumps forward, Rio instinctively grabs her waist.

"What did we say?"

Agatha blinks hard, attempting to jumpstart her brain so she can respond. "Uh?"

Rio's chest dips as she chuckles inward. She taps her fingers into Agatha's side until she opens her eyes and looks at her.

"Try again," Rio can't fight the smile that creeps across her face. Seeing Agatha fighting a losing battle, straddling her waist, filled by her strap. "You can do it."

Agatha grimaces, knowing what they decided. She lifts up using her knees, the toy slipping out of her cunt as she sheaths it inside of her again. As she sits back on Rio, Rio thrust into her.

"Fuck-," her word catches in her throat as she chokes on it. "Rio, please."

Rio extends an arm up, fingers grazing the underside of Agatha's breast. "If you stop, I stop."

She swallows the whine she desperately wants to let out, pride overwhelming her need for release.

Rio offered the game of sorts as a way to get Agatha comfortable with receiving more. She brought it up on the car ride home from work the other day, saying that Agatha hasn't ridden her. Agatha brushed her off, claimed she was too heavy, that she'd feel weird, it's better when Rio is on her and other excuses.

Sure, Rio understood the hesitance at once. She loves riding her girlfriend. Being able to look down at Agatha, falling into her hungry eyes as she meets her thrust for thrust and they tumble through mutual pleasure together? One of her favourites.

That's why she even brought it up.

Rio caught that look Agatha can never cover quick enough, the inquisitive one as the mask slips down momentarily.

She wanted to try it.

So she decided, as she fastened the straps around her hips, that she'd meet Agatha thrust for thrust. If Agatha stops, Rio would too. It'd be at her pace, if it's not something she likes then it's fine and they'll do something else.

The moment Agatha eased down on the toy she wanted to tap out, feeling ashamed and uncomfortable at the position. Then she saw Rio's eyes, filled with warm admiration gazing up at her.

Now she's here, desperate to finally cum but still too proud to give in.

"If you don't like this," Rio trails off, scratching a light circle around Agatha's nipple, "I can just put you on your back."

Agatha shakes her head, disputing the thought. "I'm trying. Really hard."

"I've got you, my love."

The incessant, nagging voice in the back of her head begins to fade. The instinctive rejection of anything deemed "submissive" in her brain disappears from Rio's words.

She situates her hips, reaching down with a hand to spread herself around the toy. She focuses on Rio underneath her and rolls into her, the tip of the toy nudging the spot deep inside of her.

"That's it," Rio coos, copying Agatha's movements, "You look so good, baby."

Agatha's face contorts, eyes pinching together as she continues grinding into Rio. She enjoys the feeling, the praise. She lets it sink into her bones, into her soul as she begins lifting herself up and bouncing down on the toy.

Rio watches in awe, the subtle jump of Agatha's tits with each bounce. She meets her hips each time.

Agatha begins to grow frantic, haphazardly riding Rio for all she's worth as her orgasm grows and grows. Her resolve crumbles as she starts letting her noises fall from her lips.

"Fuck," she cries out, panting as she digs blunted nails into Rio's abdomen, "Fuck, I'm so- I'm gonna-."

Rio nods, hands grabbing Agatha's waist to keep control as she fucks her.

"Mommy, I'm gonna-."

Agatha snaps her hips down, tensing as she has her orgasm rush through her. Rio's movements stutter, rutting into Agatha unexpectedly at the title that strikes her deep in her core. She fucks Agatha through her orgasm, selfishly wanting to cum as well.

She's teetering on the edge, only needing a couple more rough thrusts into Agatha before she loses it.

She moans loud, a jumble of incoherent words as she grinds her teeth together.

She stills her thrusts as Agatha falls on top of her. Rio holds her close, lazily blinking and pressing sloppy kisses to the side of her face.

"You did so good for me, Agatha."

Agatha mewls out a groan, brain finally catching up to what happened and what she said. She nuzzles her face into Rio's neck, hiding. Rio laughs gently, rubbing her lower back.

"I liked it, for what it's worth."

Agatha lifts her head from Rio's neck. "Really?"

She nods. "We can play house, maybe. Mommy and daddy sneaking away to fuck between chores and the like."

Agatha bites down on her lip, clenching around the toy still buried inside of her. "I think I like that too."

[doodlejoltik]

my favourite writing device is having an un-Rei-liable narrator

[dissociache]

Another year flew by and I'm turning 28 in five days.

So uh yeah Time makes u bolder children get older I'm getting older too and all that other shit Stevie Nicks said that's literally haunted me since childhood, even when I was too young to fully grasp just how fast the years would pass me by while simultaneously always knowing those lyrics would one day resonate heavily with me.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various images of things

[burningcomputerpersona]

second night of not being able to fall asleep since the new semester started. now im remembering why i stopped taking my adhd meds

[thestrangestwatermelonofall]

i will never forget the time I was hanging out with two other people who were new friends and they were like "let's do a sonic fandub" and one of them started looking up sonic game footage on youtube for us to dub while we discussed who would speak for who and we decided I'd voice tails. But also I knew nothing about sonic at the time, i'd only seen the snapcube fandubs because I'd heard they were good and funny, I didn't know the plot or characters very well. I couldn't remember what they sounded like so while the other two started to say silly things in sonic and amy's voices I asked "what does tails sound like again?" And I was laughing because I was embarrassed and also shocked by how quickly they had started commiting to the bit of trying to do some voice acting and my friend just said "he sounds like a twink" and I could not stop laughing and I could not take the idea seriously and I just told them that I couldn't do the voice oops. And so we moved onto a different topic pretty quickly and just enjoyed the pizza we had while we waited for our other three friends to get back from the store

anyways all of this is to say that Tails is NOT a twink, he is an 8 year old little boy and my friend was misguided.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

Sometimes I see sexuality or gender headcanons about characters and im just like dude im pretty sure they don't know what half those words mean

[microwave-core]

I'm so god damn disorganized how the hell do I write all of my words crumble to dust someone tell me to finish this I need motivation