#this lil shit right here

[casualavocados]

Learn from who? Learn from you?

Chen Bowen as CHEN YI & Chiang Tien as AI DI KISEKI: DEAR TO ME (2023)

[vaguely-concerned]

the fact that irving canonically survives through the end of asunder to be at wynne's funeral is so fucking funny to me. nothing but love and respect for MY unstoppable cockroach morally grey machiavellian mage dad!!! he's survived in his position through multiple attempted rites of annulment and blood mage plots popping up left right and center around him. the chantry keeps trying to stamp him out but his dodge game is simply out of this world, divine. civil wars, political machinations and minefields, chantry atrocities, this wily old motherfucker is dodging and weaving his way through it all, not-quite-no-hits-taken-running-it-but-honestly-close-enough-under-the-circumstances style. if solas does succeed in tearing down the veil I would fully believe that one of the like three people still alive at the end of it all would be a very weary 90 year old first enchanter irving going 'oh this shit again huh'. the maker has cursed him for his hubris and his paperwork is never finished (affectionate, it's fine he canonically loves paperwork)

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “YOU REALLY ARE A FREAK . . . KYLAR .”

promise he didn’t mean to stupidly jack off to you , it was just hormonal urges acting up, yeah.

Fuck, underneath this thin layer of pure impulsivity, he’s undeniably aware that he should’ve stopped things here the second it escalated— Hastily shut off the cheaply recorded clips hazily shown back towards him by the dimly lit monitoring of his screen. He had his tell-tale suspicions secretly simmering deep within, yeah, lil’ freak here knew you weren’t necessarily the most loyal of people ‘round town. Didn’t mean his skittish eyes to instinctively seek yours out in a crowded room, hidden amongst the numerous people he’d usually glance over in bare disinterest when in search for your own recognizable frame. A harmless crush, he’d initially call it to soothe the lurking urges annoyingly gnawing at the back of his mind, repeatedly whispering to him the instinctual need to fervently possess you further, sweetly leave his fair share of littered marks all around your unblemished skin so that the town may notably take notice of your cherished bond.

Still, this is— this is so fuckin’ unfair, y’know?? How dare you merely prove your brazen disloyalty to him time and time again and here he is, curled fist stubbornly snug around his leaking cock, tacky globs of pre-cum profusely dribbling out of his swollen slit as if he’s not crudely getting off to the sight of you— you, fucking getting your whorish boy hole ruined by another person. Desperate bucks of his hips, jeans carelessly slung down to his ankles below, rest of his sticky with cum underwear probably thrown somewhere along the scattered mess in his room. It’s sick, downright vile and he knows it, but fuck— it has started off with a familiar scowl making its way past his normally soft features when faced with your usually placate room devoid of anyone else but his watchful eyes carefully taking in the sight of your snoozing frame comfortably tucked away under the woollen covers.

Except, you’re not truly alone and ah, here goes.. Robin? Seamlessly sneaking himself into your room instead, not him, but that fucking friend of yours constantly sticking to your sides at school, outside of there too — yes, he’s checked, no he’s not a creep for it! — Affectionately nosing along the crook of your neck, muttering out wistful words, he, himself cannot possibly hope to discern considering his— well, namely cheap equipment he has to forcibly deal with, here. Subtle brush of your best friend’s palm sneakily disappearing underneath the thick blanket, though he can barely make out the outline of his hand dizzyingly slipping its way past your boxers, probably.. hah, feeling your cute cock up, sticky mess pervertedly staining the material already. The little, heated sighs collectively tumbling forth from both of your lips, discreetly obscured within the dark corners of your narrow room shouldn’t be affecting him this much. Yet, it is as proven by the burning flush heating his cheeks, teeth instinctively digging into the rosy flesh of his bottom lip. Inwardly seething at the pure display of love intimately being shown to him — without your aforementioned knowledge too, by the way — and that his cock itself is painfully reacting to it, stupidly tented against the front of his ripped jeans, craning his neck closer as if it might magically allow him to see your movements beneath.

Don’t need to wait all that long for it since you decisively do the honours for him of course, or unfortunately Robin here, whose hands and lips are busying themselves all over your originally untouched body. Supple fingertips coyly caressing rhythmic circles along your hips, thumb lovingly circling around the edge of your hot, drooling tip freed out in the air. Relishing in the hitched gasps, slightest shivers of your curled frame snugly pressed against his, adorably pleading for more with a needy whine of his name. A name, name that should be Kylar’s — not his. Repressed freak frustratingly chewing at his chipped nails, gaze not leaving your glazed over eyes for the briefest of seconds in favour of freeing his fat, throbbing cock from the tight of confines of his pants. It’s— It’s not bad! He’s just helping himself because at the end of the day, he’s nothing but a man too, just like you. A pathetic loser who’s wracked in a mess, stupidly fisting his cock at the bare sight of your figure being sinfully defiled by your best friend hidden beneath the haphazardly spread sheets. Swollen, pink nipples shown out in the cooling air for his eyes to breathlessly take in, soon also taken by Robin’s mouth hungrily latching onto one of them. Audibly suckling on the perky buds with noisy sucks, relishing in the muted gasps gradually being drawn out of you. Noticeable scrunch of your face, timid grasp finding its way entangled along the soft strands of your best friend’s hair in a shy mewl for more cuz’ shit, it must feel good, right?

He could make you feel way better than that, promise! Though that’s the very last repetitive protest on his blurring mind, dumbly shut off as he jerks himself off. Slippery slides of his palm gliding along his cum coated length in an audible squelch!, rhythmic up-and-down motion of fisting his cock raw against his palm, furiously humping upwards in time with each controlled thrust of Robin on the other end. Hah, wonder what you’d do if you truthfully knew what he’s currently doing, how that precious owl toy gifted to you on that faithful day wasn’t for innocent intentions and all that, wasn’t to kindly look over you to make sure you’re always at ease. He means, it is! But, not necessarily that, no— in fact, it’s for opportunities like this. Like a pervert, he’s shamelessly getting off to your tight, little fucking hole being stuffed full of your best friend’s fat cock, bobbing dick cutely swaying between the tantalizing spreading of your thighs. Legs deftly locked around Robin’s hips in a tentative beg to keep going! and feels so fuckin’ good! and oh, how he wishes he was the one stupidly balls deep inside of you. Subtle arch of your back, peppered kisses being repeatedly planted against your pouty lips, lolling tongue and rolling eyes and fuuuckkk—- it’s the second you make immediate contact with him, maybe not out of purpose. No, definitely not, but the split second of eye contact you both share, slightest flicker of your gaze settling upon the owl who’s flickering camera is blinking back, recording this all — that has his hips stuttering, head impulsively thrown back and whiny moans hurriedly spilling past his open lips as hot spurts of his sticky seed spurt out of his cock and into the air. Stiffening limbs wracked with his orgasm, quivering legs sat atop his creaking chair all the while milking every last drop of his cock, till it uselessly dribbles out in pitiful droplets onto the ground.

Ah, look at the effects you have on him that he embarrassingly enough, cums so quickly from a mere glance of your eyes in his direction. And really, how he should be properly blaming you for the coated mess on his wooden floorboards which he should be currently cleaning right about now, lest his parents find out again. Truly, he should probably go and.. grab a wet rag now.

..And some tissues for later.

[lilithofpenandbook]

Sometimes Severus comes up to Minerva. Right up behind her when she's busy. He'll stand there for a good minute as she works on marking assignments and cursing the boy's youthful energy and brilliant eyes- both of which directly responsible for his finishing his work in half the time it takes her.

"What is it, Severus?" Minerva sighs. Might as well get the obligatory nonsense over and done with, she was due a dose of Severus's antics by now (Merlin forbid he go more than three days without bothering her with nonsensical questions or infuriating wit).

"Am I ugly, Minerva?" he asked. Never there was a being with such innocence in their voice.

Minerva took a moment to take in a breath and silently call on all her patience and all her strength. "Yes, very." Her tone was blunter than the knives used to decorate at Halloween- an incident with some particularly idiotic third years had them ban anything sharper than the corners of a book during the Halloween celebrations.

Severus gasped as if stabbed. "What? Minerva, I thought we were friends!"

Minerva snorted. "Any time we interact, it's completely against my will."

"Minerva! you lie so shamelessly it shocks me." Severus made as if to swoon, a hand clutching the right of his chest.

"You must be shocked; your heart isn't where it should be."

Honestly, Minerva had to admire the fact that the insolent little kitten did not falter in his dramatics with her pointing out the key flaw in his act. If anything, he seemed to be encouraged.

"Ay! The pain of the shock, it has spread throughout my chest! Ah, I cannot breathe!" Severus swayed on his feet, leaning against the chair that Minerva was sitting in. "Oh, how your lie shocks me!"

"Well, then, you had better tell me what exactly I lied about," Minerva said briskly, "before you gasp all the air out of your skinny little lungs, laddie."

"You said," the boy said, a sudden glint in his eye and none of the apparent weakness, standing to face her and one of those long, delicate fingers pointed straight at her, "you said, that our interactions are without your will."

"That is no lie, what part of this looks like it's my will?" Minerva replied, knowing full well she wasn't going to appreciate the cheeky answer Severus had prepared for her.

"Why, the part where you remain for my company, mother," Severus replied, his voice light. "Surely, if you didn't want this, you would have, in your infinite wisdom, simply have employed your great power and assumed your famous feline form and just walked away from me."

Minerva fought her smile. His cheek was infuriating while his logic impeccable. "Perhaps I am simply conversing my energy, you arrogant wee rascal."

"You? Too lazy to avoid a nuisance?" Severus scoffed. "Minerva, you wound me. Don't you know how I know you? You've done much more to avoid the mildest of annoyances, do you truly think I believe that you are here against your will merely to converse your energy?"

Minerva let him see the flicker of a smile disgusted as a smirk, letting the bothersome raven have a little treat for his cleverness, hinting to him that he had essentially won this particular argument. "At my age you no longer have the patience to waste on annoyances. You learn to value your peace. You will understand that some day, I hope, little one."

"And if I die, my hair still black and my skin still smooth?"

Merlin, did the child have a turn towards the morbid. Minerva ignored the voice in her that told her that this would have been a retort of her own had she been in a similar conversation.

"Then you'll die a fool."

"A fool, perhaps, but my funeral will be the biggest," he replied, moving to sit on her desk and grabbing the biscuit jar. Minerva intercepted, lifting it from his grip and replacing it with a towel. His protests died in his confusion at the towel, and Minerva huffed and began to wipe his hands as if he was a child. She did not trust him to correctly clean his hands after handling goodness knows what when experimenting with his potions and she didn't care if he knew it.

"Aye, and how did you figure that?" she asked.

"Surely if I die young, I shall be the first. Therefore you all will be part of the funeral-"

"What makes you think I would want to attend your funeral, you little rascal?" She let go of his hands, almost satisfied that they weren't contaminated.

Severus ignored her and instead took a biscuit from the jar. "You will all be there, therefore I will have the biggest funeral. If I die old, you all shall be gone, so my funeral will be the smallest."

Minerva tried not to think of how depressing that sounded, how lonely it seemed. For a brief moment she felt guilty for being so old and he so young. She involuntarily could see him in her mind's eye, going through their funerals until he stood alone. She and the others- Rolanda, Pomona, Poppy, even Fillus and Hagrid- they were all of an age, weren't they? They could expect their lives to reach the end around the same time, surely? Severus was but a child next to them, he'd stand alone one day.

Minerva tried to ignore the ache in her chest at the thought of him standing alone. Merlin, no. He was far too young. No.

"You truly are besotted with the morbid and the miserable, you melanchonic masochist," she said, her tone just a trifle too sharp to be a simple retort.

Severus paused, swallowing the biscuit. Then he answered. "Ah, but the morbid is much more fascinating, the forbidden has a certain thrill, dear mother." His voice was a little softer, and his fingers, slightly coated in crumbs, were gentle when he tapped her forehead. He was sorry he upset her.

"You and your thrills," Minerva scolded, "yet you cannot even eat a biscuit without making a mess of yourself." Yet even as she spoke, the hand that she used to swipe the crumbs away, was gentle, almost tender, in its movement. She had quite forgiven him.

How could she remain angry? At this boy who looked at her with a scowl of indignation yet whose deep, dark eyes twinkled with mischief and cleverness and brilliance, who stood taller than her, yes, yet was far more delicate in his build than she had ever been, whose hair was as dark as hers had been in her youth, carelessly falling across his forehead. No, she could not remain angry.

If only he had been in Gryffindor, perhaps then she would have noticed him sooner. Or rather, if only her eyes didn't only open for her Gryffindors. How this boy could ever look at her without resentment and anger, she didn't know. Then again, he had been so incredibly isolated and lonely, was it any wonder he let go of his rightful grudges and instead accepted her friendship?

Minerva blinked as if soot from the fireplace got in her eyes. She didn't want him to notice the tears that almost inevitably formed whenever she thought about him. Who would have thought that she'd cry so much for the little devil?

"I'll leave you to your work, dear mother," Severus said cheerfully, hopping off her desk.

"Aye, after you've cleared out my biscuit jar, you villain" Minerva grumbled, looking into the empty jar. Severus shrugged.

"You ought to see it as a compliment towards your taste, really," Severus said. "But I see I have taken the last of your patience"- for indeed, Minerva looked ready to strangle him- "so I shall take my leave. Good night, my good Headmistress, and may you have peace in the silver embrace of the moon!"

And with a laughing twinkle in his eye and a boyish bow, Severus Snape left the room.

Minerva sighed. She wasn't sure if it was out of relief, or because she may have felt some sorrow at his departure.

The door opened again, and a rather meek Severus poked his head in.

"Er, Minerva?" he asked.

"Yes, Severus?"

"Er." Severus stepped in, looking away from her, walking with the awkward gait of a newborn foal, and the nervousness of a deer. "Er, Minerva?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"Am I really ugly, mother?" His voice was a whisper. His raven hair curtained his face, hiding his shame at asking such a pathetic question, and his fingers picked at one of the cuticles of a nail.

Minerva smiled, and walked to him. Softly she brushed the boy's hair out of his face and gently tucked it behind his ear.

"Only as long as you let yourself believe it, dear heart."

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 169

this is it, the dynamic

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

years later someone buys the plot, turns on the lights and is suddenly worshipped as a sun god by a bunch of puppets falling apart at the seams

pov you break into the spooky abandoned Playfellow Studios building for shits and giggles

[blightdaddy]

"Close your eyes. Take a breath. Slow, deep." - EMMRICH VOLKARIN

[nachosncheezies]

In defense of late-canon x files (including the revivals)

I was thinking about this poll after I commented on it, and I kinda want to be brave and say more.

Short answer to the poll's question before I go any further: If you're a new fan and a sensitive sort who thinks you'll struggle with your blorbos Really Going Through It and you really need a happy ending, I suggest you stop at the end of season 8. Do not pass go, do not look at spoilers. Disregard this post entirely, close the internet, and go look at something that makes you happy. (Also fuck every part of society that characterizes sensitivity as inherently weak and bad and some kind of personal failing, you are valid.)

That said, "quality" as a concept is entirely subjective, and the question of whether or not there's a decline in quality for any story is wholly subjective, too. In the case of x files? I'm not convinced there is a decline. I am going to be upfront that I haven't yet watched past season 8, though I am almost completely spoiled on events after that - and the reason I haven't watched yet is not because of how I know events are going to unfold, but simply because I don't want it to end!!! Ohh, the tension between "I CAN'T WAIT!!!" and "Nooo don't be over D:"

When I first came to txf fandom on tumblr and gradually became spoiled about what happens in late canon though, I was often left uncomfortable and tbh kinda queasy about it. As I said in my comment on the poll, the hate for especially the revival and IWTB, or to a lesser extent even seasons 8 & 9, is very well documented. But! There are other takes to be found here on tumblr if you figure out where to look, and my feelings have changed!

The thing is, I have yet to find myself in any fandom where there isn't a vocal subset of fans who dislike the story after a certain point. I am not joking when I say that no one hates the things they love as passionately as sci-fi and fantasy fans. In my experience, it often hinges on the extent to which a viewer has strong notions on where they would like the characters to end up. In particular with series where shipping is a dominant component for the bulk of a fandom, I have almost universally found that there comes some turning point in the story where "let them be happy you cowards" is the dominant view, and things that compromise the attainment of a degree of romantic stability and/or domesticity are, to many fans, annoying at best and despicable at worst. But! As one tagset on the linked poll said:

and I think for any fandom, that last tag especially is so so so important. (I think that's harder for people watching a weekly series live, bc you have so much time to analyze and speculate and dream before the next breadcrumb drops, but I digress.)

So why am I saying this and how do I apply it to x files? Well, I eventually found that there are also a subset of fans who find redeeming things right up to the very end and actually quite like the whole thing! The things that I had seen people rage and ventpost so much about honestly never quite sounded to me as "out of character" or "untrue to the story" etc as those same ventposts made them sound. And I've discovered I'm not the only one who felt that way. Do I love that the spooky squad had to go through all of those things? No, those poor guys D: Life is hard and they have been through so much trauma. But do those events and their choices make sense to me in light of everything that came before? Yes! And I honestly can't wait to see them fight to overcome those things, breaking, healing, always learning, always growing, always getting better.

So if you're wondering "where does it go wrong"... well, I'm a completionist, as many people who've answered that post are, but also my personal opinion is that I don't think it does go wrong. If you're new and interested in exploring why I've gone from "vaguely queasy" to "excited" about the whole thing, or want to maybe balance out the impressions you're getting about the later seasons before deciding whether or not you want to see the whole thing, I'll put a few blog names in the comments.

Final admission: even once I started feeling a little more confident in the possibility that "actually ok maybe I'm not crazy, maybe this all kind of is in character and does make sense", there was one big plot point that I was NOT looking forward to and I thought I would never be comfortable about. In hindsight, I think my discomfort came from the negative responses being SO seemingly universal that I hadn't stopped to let myself truly consider other possible interpretations on that point. (I mean my initial instinct when I first read about it was, why are we mad about this?? CSM is literally the most unreliable narrator in history???? it's obviously fake news?????? this must be either a fever dream someone's having or it's a misdirection ploy against whatever shadowy forces might still be lurking?????????????? but for whatever reason I guess I had halfway written that off.) Happily, just last month there's a new post-s11 novel out, and although reviews for the book as a whole are mixed, it seems to have laid the groundwork for resolving that plot issue in a way I think most fans would be broadly happy with. If you're interested in being spoiled about that and seeing how, I recommend searching #perihelion on @agent-troi who liveblogged reading it with receipts, scroll back chronological-style to the first post on the subject and see how it unfolded. (And never forget that Dana Katherine Scully is the queen of denial as a coping mechanism lol)

Everyone's mileage will vary. Each person can feel however they want! But for anyone new, I wanted you to know that the very many ventposts you might be seeing are not all there is to this show or its fandom. Some of us love it despite - or even because of - all the things that went "wrong". I think we just don't talk about it as much.

[celbrini]

they're just a lil stitious.

bonus:

[snekdood]

"people shouldnt keep cold weather dogs in hot climates" dude thats so cool and wise of you!! Now what do people do with their cold weather dogs in their hot climates? Whats the next best move, jackass?

[chibifox2002]

Fuck it

Have some random krbay expressions that I like

[littlefankingdom]

~ Boy Wonder

Look at this lil shit, look at the way he is sitting.

[ubejamjar]

[dialogue template link]

[johnlockifconvenient]

GET HIS ASS

[isaut]

𝒐𝒑. 𝟐𝟐 𝒃. 𝟓𝟐: 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒅𝒊 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒆— chrollo x reader. 8k. ao3. ethically reposted from my old blog.

there’s a very handsome man who wants nothing more than to take you to see dvorak’s symphonies performed on a winter night. even if you did just tell him you don’t have the time to dedicate to a relationship. it doesn’t matter, you can’t stay away. neither can he. inclusive of all the Ophelia's Kuroro gems: czech composers, french, kuroro-is-just-a-guy, opera gloves, large jewels inherited via a vague late grandmother, tarot readings, incense lighting, angel & princess, sex scene equivalent to panning to an ocean view, showering in your own home. part of ten million jenny. enjoy!

Years ago, your little apartment had served everything you wanted. Windows that opened so you could blow cigarette smoke out of. A small kitchen you spent hours in, brewing coffee for your doctorate, and hours creating the perfect hangover recipes from too-long nights out in the club. 

Now, however, instead of house music hits from the early 2000s blasting through the apartment to keep you awake, you have soothing blues music, crooning through your speaker to keep you calm and alert. Keep you from being too nervous as you apply the last of your jewelry in the mirror. In the reflection of the vanity you’ve had since you were a teenager, since you began this trip into education and been too lazy to move out of your apartment, you take in your appearance. Glossy lips, smoky eyes, teardrop pearls from your grandmother’s premature inheritance. 

You’re honestly still quite confused at how you’ve ended up back here, dolling yourself up with the excitement of a date. A nice, proper date, one where you had to break out a floor-length gown, pearls and emeralds. A date with a man who had punched a hole in your perfect, ten year plan you’ve had since you started college. Get the degrees, as many as you want. Become a spinster. Don’t have kids, whatever you do. Enjoy post-work drinks with your mother on Fridays, because you’re both workaholics. 

Instead. Instead. You’re waiting for a text that your date is here, waiting for your… Your date who you’ve tried to explain to numerous times that you can’t be in a relationship, that you can’t date because… Work, because family, because work, because work, because—

Instead of a text, there’s a knock at your door. A little startled, you apply the last touches of perfume over the dots of vaseline you allied moments prior. You pull on the opera gloves, and clasp a bracelet over your wrist as you head to the door. Your dress swishes around your slippers. 

After a quick look through the peephole, you gasp upon seeing Kuroro standing there, with one hand behind his back. You undo the multiple locks, throwing open the heavy door and giving him a breathless smile. He looks handsome, standing before you. The snow flurries dust his shoulders, his scarf hangs open around the lapels of his blazer, his jacket. 

“I was expecting a text,” You say, inviting him into your home. He ducks his head as he enters and stays in your foyer, not wanting to bring his outside shoes in. 

“Your neighbor was entering the building the same time I was,” Kuroro says. “I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” You say. “Let me get my shoes on and we can head out.” 

Kuroro produces a bouquet of winter flowers from behind his back, filled with anemones and camellias, with a few roses sprinkled throughout. Your breath catches, slowing your movements and keeping you in the foyer. 

“Oh these are gorgeous, Kuroro…” 

“They’re just trying to be as wonderful as you,” Kuroro responds sweetly. 

“You’re a flatterer,” You respond. “There are vases on the top shelf of the kitchen, and there’s a step stool tucked between the fridge and the wall if you need it. Make sure to use—“

“The filtered water, I know,” Kuroro finishes, sliding off his shoes for the brief walk to your kitchen. This isn’t his first time filling up a vase in your apartment. He’s glad that the white roses are still in their vase by the window on the tiny breakfast table, even if they are browning on the edges. 

After you had turned down his offer for a steady relationship, a relationship with a title, he didn’t think the roses would still be around. He didn’t think he would still be around. Nonetheless, he retrieves the vase, fills it with the filtered water from the fridge. Places them in your living area. Waits for you to reappear. 

And when you do, you’re a vision. Fur draped over your arms, heels in your hand, a little clutch bag with a delicate chain hanging from your shoulder. 

“There’s my angel,” Kuroro says. He gives you an arm for balance while you slide into your heels, then helps you into your coat. Your perfume wafts over him, and he desperately wants to lean in and smell you better. Place a kiss against your pulse point. 

Instead, he keeps his hand on your waist as you lock your door, escorting you down to his car outside. It’s still sitting out front, hazards on, true to his story. 

As shallow as it is, you can’t remember the last time that you had dated a man who owned a car. What an exciting new aspect to explore. There had simply never been a need for one growing up in the city. 

Kuroro opens the door and has you slide into the warmth before you can formulate a response. It shuts, leaving you in the roll of the heaters. You pull on your seatbelt. You let the shoulder of your jacket fall slightly, only to quickly pull it back up as Kuroro opens his door and slides in. 

His gaze lingers on your once-bare shoulder, before quickly flitting back to your eyes. He fixes you with a charming, half smile that you can’t help but dream about. It’s honestly quite embarrassing. 

Should tonight go well, you’ll be thankful that you cleaned earlier that day. Sometimes with the rush of work, it makes everything so overwhelming. Something about Kuroro… 

You don’t dwell on it. Instead, you place your hands in Kuroro’s personal space. He hates it with others, as you’ve noticed, but loves it around you. Stands in your spaces in lines, sliding through the metro turnstiles right after you. (Sometimes, while this is not a violation of your personal space, but an extension of the previous point, he hops turnstiles to pick you up at the station by his house. Someone has to carry your all too heavy work bag back to his home or yours.)

You place your hands in Kuroro’s personal space, gently tucking back a strand of black hair to see his earrings better. They’re jade, heavy and silver. You lightly run your thumb along the shell of his ear, acrylic nail clacking against the expensive stone. 

“You look handsome tonight, Kuroro,” You say. Kuroro preens under your touches. The blinkers turn off. Gentle music fills the car. It reminds you of some of your own playlists. 

“I had to put in a little extra work tonight, I knew you would upstage me by a long shot,” Kuroro responds easily. “I have company tonight. I intend to impress.” 

“Oh?” You asked, knowing and teasing all at the same time. 

Kuroro hums in agreement. His hand comes off the shift to take yours. He kisses the back of your knuckles as if his heart isn’t thumping in his chest. He hopes his hands aren’t clammy. 

“I barely realized you were wearing gloves,” Kuroro says, after realizing he was kissing velvet, not skin. His thumb smooths over the fabric. “You never fail to surprise me.” 

“I don’t get opportunities to wear them that often,” You reply, breezily and easily. “I’m grateful for the chance.” 

Kuroro lets out one of his little chuckles, where he knows something you don’t. It makes your heart skip a beat. 

“I would have looked like a fool showing up by myself when I had two tickets.” You both know he’s lying, and he bought the second one especially for you. You both only know his reluctance is because you had told him only a few days prior; No, Kuroro. I can’t be your girlfriend, not right now. I have too much going on to be in a relationship.

In all honesty, you were surprised that denying him hadn’t severed your relationship. He had taken it in stride, asking if you wanted a ride home. As long as you aren’t uncomfortable with me being here. Given that you woke up there the next morning, it was safe to say the two of you were alright (for now) of not defining anything. 

The drive to the concert hall is quiet, but it’s not like you aren’t familiar with Kuroro’s silences. It was always as if he was expecting you to offer up some sort of silly conversation for him to dissect. 

Instead, you rest your arm on the centre console and hold his hand. It’s bizarre, how much you miss the feeling of his skin pressed against yours. The cool of his rings clinking against yours. 

Upon arrival, Kuroro takes great pride in arriving with you. He’s able to help you up the stairs, taking each stone step slower. It felt like gliding. At the coat check, he slides your coat off before his, rests his hand on your lower back to guide you through the crowds. 

You end up standing to the side of the theater with Kuroro, each of you holding expensive plastic glasses of champagne in your hands. It’s always so exciting when you get an opportunity to indulge in the bubbly drink. The inability to use your fingers proved freeing, instead of irritating. You knew it was alight with notifications, as it annoyingly is. 

“Normally, when I’m coming to see something here, it’s daylight and everyone is much more casual,” You state. 

“Is it?” Kuroro asks, facing you with genuine interest. 

Drawing your gaze back from the crowd, you let yourself fall into the tunnel of Kuroro’s eyes. The world melts away when you retract your focus back to him. It’s calming, in a sense you’ve never felt before. 

“The university uses it for performances from time to time,” You elaborate. “And to beat the crowd we’re in right now, they’d be right after classes finished for the day. So… Much more casual.” 

You bring your freehand to rest on the lapel of Kuroro’s blazer. Your finger slides under the thick fabric, appreciating the fold of the wool. 

“It’s quite amazing, you know. How involved you are in everything around you.” 

You shrug. “I get invited, and I wouldn’t want to tell any of them no. For all I know they’ve been stood up by their parents for every single of their performances growing up. It’s the least I can do.” 

Kuroro takes in your statement, digests it through his brain. His heart feels like it might pop out of his chest. “Do you go often?” 

“They normally happen at the end of the semester, so. Yeah.” You take a sip of the dry champagne. You wish you could follow it with the sweetness of Kuroro’s tongue. “But I’m going to be completely honest, some of them are horrible.” 

Kuroro can’t help but chuckle at your candidness. “Really?” 

“Really,” You say, shaking your head. “It’s honestly quite ridiculous. I couldn’t imagine spending this much money to end up with such a shit result.” 

The chuckles continue. “Ophelia…” 

“I’m telling the truth,” You insist, doubling down on your statement. You can’t help but smile alongside Kuroro. “Some of them are really good! I get a surprising amount of opera students in my room.” 

It’s absolutely insane, how Kuroro cannot help himself around you. How genuine it feels, talking to you in public like there’s no one else there. 

“I enjoy going,” You summarize to him. 

“You must.” One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, gently pulling you closer. The velvet feels like gold under his fingers. “Not to cut you short, but I have to reiterate how absolutely beautiful you look right now. Everytime I see you…” He shakes his head. “It’s always like a dream.” 

You can’t help but give the poor boy credit where credit is due. “You picked the place, angel.” 

“I did,” Kuroro says, wrapping his arm further around your waist, from your hip to your lower back. “But it’s the company that makes the moment, no?” 

The seats Kuroro had purchased were nice, not too close but not too far from the stage. A little off center. To your left was a balding man sweating in his tuxedo next to a much younger woman, who was busy texting on her phone. 

You look back to Kuroro, who is fixing you with a similar look. Amusement and intrigue at the scene you’ve stumbled upon. With both of you sitting down, you take the pamphlet out of Kuroro’s hands. Boldly, he places a small kiss to your cheekbone, all too intimate for the situation. Or perhaps that’s the angle he’s going for. 

“Do you know anything about the composer?” You ask, crossing your legs and slanting your knees towards Kuroro. He gladly places his palm upon the hidden skin. 

“Not much, quite honestly.” He had been more preoccupied trying to obtain tickets so he could take you on a show-stopping date. “I know he’s Czech. And he’s from the 1800s.” 

You raise your eyebrow. It’s rare for Kuroro to admit he doesn’t know something. Instinctively, you reach for your phone, but remember your gloves. You fix Kuroro with a pleading look, shimmer highlighting the inner corners of your eyes. 

“If only there was a way we could find this information. It’s a shame we’ll have to go to the library tomorrow and look it up in an encyclopedia.” 

Kuroro smiles, pulling his phone out of his blazer pocket, deleting a few notifications before opening up his web browser. He reads the brief summary close to you, allowing you to peer over his shoulder as he reads. You let your hand rest on his arm, thumb slowly making patterns in the thick fabric. 

More and more patrons start to enter, and an elder woman seems thrilled to be sitting in front of Kuroro. The lights dim, and Kuroro straightens up slightly, adjusting his cufflinks in the dim lighting.They catch your attention, and you catch his wrist to examine them as the orchestra begins to file in. 

The examination turns into successful hand holding. Kuroro’s fingers end up moving up and down, to your wrists and the tips of your fingers, intrigued by the sensation of the velvet. It’s sweet, if not slightly distracting. You don’t mind. 

—

On the drive home, you reapply your lipgloss to distract yourself from your question. “Do you want to come up for a drink?” 

Kuroro looks over, admiring the new shine on your lips. Of course he wants to. “I’d be honored to.” 

You give him a little hum and put your lipgloss back in the bag, which seals with a little snap. “Cool.” 

Instead of parking out from the apartment and putting on his hazards, Kuroro circles and looks for a parking spot. He’d offer to have you over to his place instead, where there's a parking garage and an elevator that isn’t always out of order. The offer is on his lips after he has to find parking a block away. 

When he doesn’t get out of the car immediately to open your door, you glance over at him, hands resting expectantly atop your purse. 

“I’m not going to your place,” You insist. “I need to take a shower in my own bathroom tonight.”

“Ah,” Kuroro’s face softens, eyes flicking down to your lips before he turns off the car. Before he can open his door, however, you catch his attention by grabbing his scarf and giving it a small tug. 

“Donne-moi un bisou.” 

Kuroro knows what you mean, but he knows that once he starts he won’t be able to stop. “I don’t speak French.” 

Your jaw drops in disbelief while Kuroro smiles, rounding the car to open your door for you. He offers you his arm, which you gladly take. It was quite cold out, but luckily Kuroro took the opportunity to give you his scarf. The most annoying part of the journey is the swishing of your dress between your feet, which requires all of your attention.

The way up to your front door, Kuroro keeps himself close to your back, as if to shield you from anyone so much as glancing at you. The streets are empty, he has nothing to worry about. He smells warm, full bodied frankincense and amber.

It’s a dangerous game, how natural it feels to have Kuroro in your personal space. Down to just his slacks and three of his shirt buttons undone. In his hand is a gin and tonic, made with purple gin and garnished with a mint leaf. Yours sits on the coffee table while you choose which incense to light. 

You slide the chosen incense stick out of the box, careful to not let Kuroro see exactly which stick you were choosing. You didn’t need him interfering in your business like that. The smoke joins the atmosphere and you wave it around a bit. Chrollo watches the intricate and delicate waves you make before setting it in the incense holder. 

The only part of your outfit that you had removed were your gloves and had exchanged your heels for slippers. It’s endearing, the way you sit on the couch with your drink, lamplight low and intimate. Kuroro’s thankful, in the end, that he was here. It felt a thousand times warmer here than it did at his apartment. 

Kuroro truly doesn’t know what’s come over him, what’s caused him to become so enamored with you. He is also at a complete loss at what he has to do to convince you to be around him all the time. Nonetheless, he had to get to the bottom of it. You were so… Indifferent around him. You didn’t care whether he stayed or went, but always invited him along. 

It was addicting. That’s the only description for how he feels towards you. 

“What do you want to listen to?” You ask. 

Kuroro shrugs. You settle for one of your playlists that isn’t too loud and isn’t too quiet.  Blends of classical and R&B that fill the air. 

He sits on the couch, legs spreading apart in front of him, and gestures to the collection of tarot books cluttering your coffee table. “Do you read?” 

The simplicity of the question causes your brows to furrow, and follow Kuroro’s motions to piece the sentence together. How did I forget? “Sometimes,” You decide on. 

Kuroro hums, “What sort of questions do you ask?” The glint in his eye has the implications you know it does. Two of Cups, Knight of Pentacles, the Lovers. 

“None of your concern,” You easily blow the question off, coming to sit next to Kuroro. Still in your dress, your legs slant to the side and you take a careful sip of your drink. You need to stop filling the glasses so high. 

“I only ask because I’m interested,” Kuroro reminds you. “I’ve always been fascinated with tarot.” 

You raise an eyebrow in interest. “Really? I should have guessed.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, you look like a tarot kind of guy.” 

“I didn’t think I was that easy to pin.” 

“You let me look at your star chart,” You explain, setting your drink down on the coffee table. You bunch your gown up some, so you can tuck your legs under yourself. Part of you desperately wants to go put on something more comfortable (literally), but the other part of you is enjoying the intimacy of the end of the night. 

Kuroro chuckles. “And now you know everything about me?” 

“I know a few things about you,” You say, smiling easily. “Jealous you can’t look at a circle and know all my secrets?” 

It absolutely does. Like a knife to his heart every moment of the day. “All I want to know is what is going on with whatever is influencing you to not be in a relationship.” 

As if you weren’t already. You didn’t have enough time to be in anything as committed as a relationship. You’d drop the ball too suddenly, as you always do. 

“Not a placement, angel, but simply work,” You say, sipping your drink again. 

“Hm,” Kuroro says, looking around your apartment. Takes in the art and the books pile on each other. He then looks back to you, admiring how relaxed you were at home. “Can I watch you read the cards?” 

Your gaze drags over to them. “I dunno, what do you want to know?” 

“That’s quite the open ended question.” Kuroro tips his head back to seriously ponder the question. There’s a crack in your ceiling that makes Kuroro slightly worried. “How about… Hm… Alright.” Kuroro looks back at you. “There’s this wonderful woman I’m talking to right now. How are things looking for us?” 

You can’t help but giggle. “Sounds like quite the predicament.” You take one last sip of your drink, before exchanging it for your tarot cards. The large cards shuffle easily in your hands, after the countless years of practice you’ve had. 

“It is,” Kuroro bemoans, “I need any guidance I can receive.”  

“I’ll do you, her, and you both. How does that sound?” You ask, knocking the cards three times before placing a little kiss to the deck, and then resuming your shuffling. 

“Sounds wonderful,” Kuroro says, watching with purse admiration  and fascination. The three cards all but slide out of your hands, and you look at them with interest. 

“Oh, this is interesting,” You say, “You’re the Chariot, she’s the Queen of Cups, and together the two of you are Death. It looks like no matter what happens there will be a lot of change and rebirth that happens.” 

“What does the Chariot mean?” Kuroro asks. 

“Success and victory,” You say, letting him look at the card but not touch. “He’s a king who is able to parade his triumphs around, and deserves it. The Queen of Cups on the other hand…” You can’t help but bite your bottom lip. “She’s a dream. A wife. A more traditional woman.” 

“Is she?” Kuroro asks. You nod. “Interesting…”

“But death is a good card. It brings a lot of good, healthy change. And it’s your card.” 

“My card?” 

“Scorpio card. Card of transformation and all that,” You say, adding the cards back to the deck. You shuffle them once more, and then set them back on the coffee table. 

Queen of Cups… it wasn’t a card you were used to seeing describe yourself. And you had a hard time believing there was another woman. Another force, yes, previous readings had said the same thing. But work can be a powerful force. 

Kuroro thinks that over, watching as you begin to take off your earrings. “Do you want some help?” 

You stop your fiddling and place your hands in your lap. “If you’re offering.” 

“Of course I am,” Kuroro says, setting his drink down and scooting closer on the couch. 

To keep him close, you rest your hand on his thigh. His fingers are feather light against the clasps of your jewelry, which he sets delicately in your hands. The jewelry is discarded on the coffee table with little clinks. Your legs extend out, opening up your chest to Kuroro. Much more inviting. 

Kuroro stays close by, letting his arm extend over the back of the couch as conversation drifts between you. Both of your drinks eventually end up empty. 

“Do you want another?” You ask. 

As much as Kuroro wants to say that he doesn’t, that he needs to drive home soon and leave you be, he doesn’t want to. He straightens out his arms to check the time on his watch. 22:34. 

“Do you have work in the morning?” He counters. 

“I have my yoga class in the morning…” You respond. 

Kuroro hums. He brings his hand down to rest upon your velvet clad hip. He glances up at you, through his lashes and directly into yours. 

“I don’t want to come in between you and that,” Kuroro says. 

“You wanna come with, pretty boy?” You ask, sliding your fingers through the little strands of hair at the nape of his neck. 

Kuroro chuckles, cheeks heating at the petname. “I don’t— Yoga really isn’t my style.”

“One more drink, then,” You say, tapping his wrist with your hand. He stands, holding his hand out for you. 

“I need to get out of this dress,” You say, restituating the garment as you stand. Kuroro’s eyes don’t miss the way the shuffle causes your breasts to shift and press against your chest before settling back into place within the dress. 

“If you dare trust me, I can make the drinks and you are more than welcome to change.” Normally you make the drinks, as you were particular about small things. Kuroro often only served wine. 

You contemplate his offer. “Okay, just don’t change the liquor.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Kuroro says, dipping down to give your hand a kiss, then your cheek. “Don’t take too long.” 

You don’t. Your dress gets laid out on the bed, discarded to be placed into its bag later. In its place, you settle for a large sleep shirt and slippers. Your jewels from the night join your jewelry box again, your hairpins into a pile on the counter of your bathroom. 

It feels like heaven when you’re able to run your acrylics along your scalp. Exiting your bedroom, you leave the door open. There’s no need to close it, no true need for privacy around Kuroro. He’d already touched your soul. 

Entering your kitchen, you stop in the entryway to fully process the scene in front of you. Kuroro, his back towards you, rooting around in your fridge. You come up behind him, running your fingers up and down his spine. 

It’s a little disappointing that Kuroro doesn’t react to the light touches. 

“I can’t find your simple syrup,” Kuroro says, frowning as he pushes around some condiments. 

You reach around him, opening up one of the drawers and pulling out a tupperware. “Right here, angel.”

Kuroro wraps his arm around you before you can go too far from him. Your kitchen is small, compact. There isn’t anywhere to go, but Kuroro still feels the need to pull you in. He doesn’t want to shout across the room. 

His compliment gets lost in your beauty. He’s fucked. 

“Wanna help me make them?” You ask, tilting your head to your side. “You’ll have to pay attention.” 

“I’m always paying attention,” Kuroro says. His thumb slides over the soft material of your shirt. 

“Mhm,” You say, unconvinced. One of your eyebrows raise, and Kuroro leans in to place a kiss against the incredulous gesture. A grin breaks across your face, relaxing the muscle immediately. 

With easy, rocking steps Kuroro is able to press you up against the counter, right next to where the drink ingredients lay. Your lower back hits the sharp of the granite counters, and his lips slide against yours, drinking in your little gasp of surprise. 

A familiar warmth shoots through you. It's always so easy to get lost in your memories and your dreams, to get a little ahead of the situation. But you’ve had a long day, you had champagne and now liquor, and there’s a gorgeous man backing you up against your kitchen counter, kissing you like there’s all the time in the world, and this is the one thing he wants to do. 

You set the tupperware of simple syrup on the counter, next to the shaker and the mint, not breaking the kiss. Your fingers thread through the hairs at the nape of Kuroro’s neck, dancing along the knot securing his tattoo covering. 

“Are you staying?” You whisper against his lips. 

“I don’t know, am I?” Kuroro asks, smile prevelant in his voice, 

For once, you don’t feel like formulating a witty comeback. No sharpness to bring him closer. “You’re more than welcome to if you’d like. But I can’t force you to stay.” 

“I’m sure you could,” Kuroro murmurs against your lips. “You could lock the door, you could chain me up—“

“Chain you up?” You laugh. “Will it really be that hard to keep you here?” 

Kuroro’s lips twitch into a fond smirk. “I’m just offering ideas.”

“Such an odd thing to suggest,” You hum. “I was just going to hope another drink would suffice…” 

“And it absolutely will,” Kuroro assures you. He places one more kiss to your lips, then to your forehead. “Will you trust me enough to make your drink this time?” 

“No, I’ve got it, I’m here now,” You say. Always a ‘control freak.’ Kuroro can’t help but chuckle lightly. 

Instead of taking his usual perch, leaning up against the counter, he lingers along your back. His hand is loose, sliding back and forth from hip to hip.

He keeps a careful watch as you make the drinks. One day you’ll let him make them. That he was sure of. You muddle blueberries with mint, add tonic water that you somehow never run out of. Spoon out simple syrup. Shake and pour over fresh ice. 

“Do you want something to eat?” You offer, handing Kuroro a glass. 

It's hilarious how quickly you can watch Kuroro’s thoughts turn dirty. Perhaps you should have made a martini with a splash of olive brine to match. You tilt your head to the side, a teasing smile weaving across your face. You reach up to ‘fix’ Kuroro’s collar, despite it not needing any help. 

“It would not be proper of me to ask,” Kuroro says, gently tugging your hand from his chest to his lips, placing a kiss against the pulse point. 

“Are you asking for cheese in a lactose intolerant lady’s home?” You ask, smiling wider. 

Kuroro can’t help but chuckle against your wrist, then against the palm of your hand. “You are impossible for me to flirt with, Ophelia.”

“What are you going to do? Chain me up?”

Kuroro’s eyes glint in the antique ceiling lighting of your kitchen. “Are you going to make it that hard for me?” 

With the leverage from his hand in yours, Kuroro pulls you closer. He has the foresight to set his drink down on the table. Instead, you purposefully tilt your glass towards him so the purple mixture trickles down the front of his shirt. 

“Oops,” You say, unremorsefully. You set your drink down on the counter. “Looks like you’ll have to take your shirt off.” 

Kuroro chuckles and shakes his head. He leans against the counter behind him. Your kitchen is a shotgun— barely an aisle between both counters. 

“If you want me shirtless so badly, you are more than welcome to help yourself.” 

Your bottom jaw drops in shock, and it takes a moment for you to collect your senses. You raise your hands up, showing off your five-day-old manicure. “I can’t, I just got my nails done.” 

Kuroro hums, taking your hand back into his, examining the nails. “I’m pretty sure I paid for these. If you mess them up, I’ll just do it again. I know how horrible buttons can treat dried nails.” 

His teasing causes a scowl to form across your face. You pull your hand out of his to pick up your drink, taking a sip of it. “Fine. Enjoy being wet.” 

Kuroro reaches next to you to pick up his drink, already undoing one of his buttons. “That sounds like something you‘re much better at than I am. Do you want to join me back on your couch?” 

“Let me get your shirt in the wash, first,” You offer. 

Intrigued, Kuroro raises his eyebrows. “Really?” 

With a soft, too-loving sigh, you begin to unbutton the now-soiled shirt. “I have no reason to be rude to you.” Your acrylics tap against each other as you undo the buttons, revealing the expanse of Kuroro’s chest, marred by an undershirt. You pull his shirt out from his slacks, and continue to undo the last button. Your hands slide across the planes of his chest to push the garment off his shoulder. 

With the shift in your hands, you begin to bunch up his undershirt around his bellybutton, pulling the front free from his pants. “Do you want something else to wear while your stuff is washing?” 

Kuroro pulls his shirt off, muscles flexing in the antique lighting. A little smile pulls at his lips, as he catches how your gaze lingers. You’re always lingering. 

“I don’t think I’ll get cold,” Kuroro says, “Let me keep you company.” 

You lead Kuroro to where your laundry machine is, back away in your closet. It’s a bit of a mess, but you lift the stack of towels off the washer and place them atop the dryer to be taken to the bathroom later. You take Kuroro’s shirt and lay it on the washer, applying a stain remover to it. Liquor stains were nothing new. 

As the machine begins, Kuroro turns you around to face him with his hands on your hips. You rest yours on his chest, heart thudding in your chest about how intimate the situation was. It’s so loud, in your ears, that you wonder if Kuroro can hear it too, in the small space. 

Lightly clearing your throat, you glance up at Kuroro, tilting your head back a bit. You’re able to see the sharpness of his jawline, admire the way he slowly tilts his head down to make eye contact. “Do you want to change out of these?” 

Your hands slowly slide down his chest, towards his waistband. As your thumbs narrowly dodge his hard nipples, you can feel his own heart under your hands. Your fingernails gently slide along his waistband, along the metal of his belt buckle. Kuroro’s abs tense for a moment before relaxing. 

“Would you like me to?” 

“It seems rude of me to not offer. I can’t imagine your slacks are very comfortable.”

There’s a brief moment, where Kuroro wonders if you’re also speaking of the growing harness in his trousers. And no, it was not comfortable. 

“Do you have anything for me to wear?” Kuroro asks. 

“I should have something, but you’ll have to give them back before you leave,” You say.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Kuroro asks, keeping you boxed against the rumbling washer. 

You bite your bottom lip before losing it to a devious smile. “Because I need them.” 

“You need them?” Kuroro asks, voice barely a murmur as he dips his head. “I’ll be sure to take good care of them.” 

He pulls away all too soon to let you go through your closet. Opening up one of your drawers, you retrieve the oversized pair of sweatpants and present them to Kuroro. He takes them with an amused look on his face, unfolding the maroon fabric. 

“You know, I’ve been looking for these.” 

“Have you?” You ask, pretending to look surprised. You don’t know how well it’s performing, but you assume it's not well. Kuroro’s eyebrows raise as he licks his lips to keep himself from smiling. 

“I have,” Kuroro says, his reluctant smile breaking through. He begins to undo his belt buckle. “I don’t remember leaving them here.” 

“Oh, that’s strange,” You say, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the topic. “If you want to, you can throw your pants in the wash too. I’ll be out in the living room.” 

You slip out of the room and head back into the kitchen, retrieving both drinks and setting them on the coffee table in the living room. While waiting for Kuroro, you find a throw blanket, one of your lightest, and drape it over your lower half, tucking your legs under your body. You also click on the TV, pulling up soft music for the background. 

When Kuroro finally makes his reappearance, there are a few strands of wet hair that frame his face, as if he’s splashed water on it. His tattoo is on display, which you’re quickly loving more and more than the first time you saw it. He remains shirtless, a simple, silver cross hanging around his neck like normal.

Kuroro pads across the room confidently and sits in the middle of the couch, pulling the throw blanket over his thighs, resting his feet on the coffee table. “I like your new hand soap.” The new soap addition smelt of roses and pumped out a little foam rose into your hand when you used it. 

“Thanks, I picked it up the other day at the grocery. Isn’t it fun?” 

Kuroro hums in agreement. He leans in, cupping your cheek with his still-chilled hand from the water. The rose scent lingers just slightly. You tilt your head back to refrain from opening your eyelids any more than you had to. 

There’s a constant question thrumming on the back of your mind. Kuroro is intoxicating, why were you so adamant about keeping him at arm's length?

Because he is intoxicating. Of course. It's always good to keep things far away that are a source of addiction.  

“Want you to spend the night,” You whisper. You close your eyes so you can only see the sliver of Kuroro’s cheeks. If you wanted to end the conversation, it wouldn’t take much more than a tip forwards to kiss him. “Been having weird dreams lately.” 

“Have you?” Kuroro asks, brow furrowing with slight worry. 

You nod. His thumb glides along your cheekbone. You rest fully into his hand, cheek smushing against his palm. 

“Alright, I’ll stay,” Kuroro murmurs. “You don’t need to convince me, though.” 

“I’m just telling you how I feel,” You say, swallowing the shy, scared lump in your throat. Emotions were so hard to convey, weren’t they? 

“I’m listening.” Kuroro’s lips slide against yours. The kiss starts off soft, gentle. With Kuroro’s hands tracing your hips, sliding down your sides and questioning your tummy, your back. 

You press into his space, encouraging him to lean back. The throw blanket creates a soft barrier between your panties and his sweatpants. It’s too thick to see if he kept his underwear on. Gods, you hope he didn’t. If he didn’t you wouldn’t be giving them back. 

Gently, Kuroro’s hands wander under your shirt. His fingers ghost over the hips of your cotton panties as if he’d never traced those lines before. They dip under your shirt, keeping a steady hold on your hips. Your lips move against his in careful, slow movements, always following Kuroro’s pace. One wrong move, and you worried he’d slip out of your fingers, despite Kuroro’s stickier fingers. 

Kuroro’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip, sweet and minty. All too quickly, you let his tongue tangle with yours. One of your hands twirls the strands of inky black hair in your fingers. You wonder if he dyes it. A light moan slips into your mouth from Kuroro’s as you lightly suck on his tongue before his bottom lip. 

You pull away with lidded eyes, to meet Kuroro’s wide-blown pupils. His eyes are so dark, like coffee beans, that they send a spark of energy through your body. Your heart thrums in your chest, Kuroro can feel it through the throw. He shifts in his seating, as if it’ll be embarrassing for you to discover how hard he is. 

He’s worried about how good it will feel when you start teasing him for it. 

Kuroro pulls away with expectant eyes that search yours, while his hands slide further and further up your body, inching your shirt up more and more. He exposes the crease of your thighs and hips, the barest hint of your mound, before the fabric falls back over his hands and bunches up at his wrists. 

You settle yourself fully in his lap, pressing your chest against his. In a daydream, moments ahead of you, you dream about the sensation of your nipples sliding against his smooth chest. Of the way your nipple piercings will slide and roll and electrify… 

You sigh into Kuroro’s mouth, one of your hands tracing their way down his neck, over the muscles, over the bump of the silver chain. A shiver rolls up his spine at the touches. Your chest presses against his, your hand splaying out on his collarbone, just below his neck. 

There isn’t enough fabric to conceal the way both of you are aching for the other. Throbbing sex pressing into the tent, not even the hardness yet of Kuroro’s cock. Everything is so warm. 

Neither of you push the other into the fire, instead gently kindling. Kuroro’s hands knead the fat of your thighs, grazing over your ass. You shiver under Kuroro’s fingers, as they move further up your spine, the other passing over your ribs.

You slowly roll your hips against Kuroro’s, exchanging soft groans against your tongues. His hand slowly slides to cup your breast, thumb gliding under the crease. A gentle sigh leaves your lips, slowly pulling back from the kiss. 

“You’re good, angel,” You whisper. With one bold hand, you take Kuroro’s wrist in yours and slide his hand all the way over your breast. His Adam's apple bobs as your nipple slides between his fingers, when the full weight of your breast sits in his hand. 

Kuroro pulls you close, lifting your shirt quickly so he could watch the way you fit in his palms. 

“Shameless.” Your voice is breathless, washing over Kuroro. His gaze moves from your chest to your eyes. He’s unable to hold your gaze for one moment, eyes dipping back down before fixing back upon yours with reverence. 

The two of you gravitate back towards each other. Kuroro slides your sleep shirt above your head with no resistance. Your arms wrap around Kuroro’s neck, nails sliding through his hair. As he rolls you onto your back, he slides his thigh between yours. He lets out a breathless sigh at the heat pooling from your pussy, from the way he can feel how your underwear grazes against your wetness like satin. 

Kuroro lowers his head from your lips down your jaw, tracing a path behind your ear, down your neck. He leaves heavy kisses along your pulse points, purposeful in their intent to stutter your gasps, their intent to have one of your legs clasp around his hip, tightening. 

His tongue swirls around your nipple, stoking the warm waves in your groin. His muscles ripple along his back as he lowers himself, placing more of his bodyweight on yours. There is no mistaking his erection, not with the way it nudges at your clit, slides so close to being between your folds. 

Kuroro’s movements remain firm and steady, confident in the way they make your body shake below him. His fingers dance around whichever nipple his mouth cannot attend to, his hips roll ever so slightly against your aching cunt. You stifle a moan, moving your hand from Kuroro’s hair to cover your mouth instead, facing away from him to try and hide it. 

“Ophelia…” Kuroro cups your face, turning your head back towards him, back so you had to look at him. He smiles softly, upon seeing your pretty eyes open for him. 

You give him a little whimper. He grinds the firmness of his cock against your heat again, so, so close to being perfect. It’s like torture. You know what he looks like, what she feels like. You want to taste the saltiness of his precum that dribbles onto a little pool, want to be able to see the way it collects at the uncut tip. 

“Princess…” The nickname is patronizing, with the way he tilts your chin back to look at him, out of your daydream. “Where’d you go?” 

You can’t help but bashfully look away again, despite Kuroro’s attempts to get your eyes to meet his again. 

A soft puff of air hits the shell of your ear, Kuroro exhaling, perhaps laughter, before your body is revealed to your apartment and Kuroro sits back. His hands slide up your stomach, your thighs. His thumbs press into the fat, encouraging you to let him just have a little look at the way your cute bedtime panties had a damp little spot on them. 

“Pense de toi,” You whisper, using your knee to urge Kuroro to come back to you, back to kissing you. He obliges, hand following the bend of your hip, your knee, slowly extending your leg, waiting for the muscles to shake, waiting for your knees to turn towards each other when he exposed you too much—

Instead, your shamelessness moves slowly. You gently guide his other hand to slide past the wetness of your panties, to gently tuck them to the side and expose the wetness slipping through the velvet folds. Kuroro’s mouth waters. The kiss he shares with you is smooth and slick, his tongue sliding along yours. 

As he pulls away slowly, there’s a strand of saliva that holds between the both of you. Before he can break it with his tongue, his fingers, you quickly reach up to grab his face, smooshing his cheeks together. Saliva collects on his tongue, and you can’t help but press your thumb against the muscle. 

Kuroro’s lips close around the digit slowly, before his head dips down, leaving sloppy kisses across your chest, at the hinge of your thigh. All he lets touch your pussy is cool air, and the occasional hot breath. Despite your little nudges with your thighs, Kuroro refuses and refuses. You can feel the way his teasing zips through your veins, with the little bites left here and there and—

It’s so unexpected, when Kuroro swipes a fat, wet line through the folds of your pussy, causes your hands to fly to his hair, for a moan to fly through your lips. You can’t cover it in time, and Kuroro smiles with pride. His tongue swirls around your clit a few times, before he brings his face level with your chest. He rolls the buds of your nipples, lets you drag your pussy across his still-covered cock. 

Both of your releases roll through you, ebbs and flow in an unexplainable synchronicity. They roll through your bodies, almost unnoticed by the unhurried pace you kept. 

It’s fine, though. You’re only able to continue your acquisition of Kuroro’s sleepwear if he continues to cum in it. Kuroro’s face is cute when it’s pink, when he’s whining your name into your neck and the two of you are left sticky and nearly connected. Nearly connected, because the condoms are in the bedroom and it feels too good to stop the rutting against each other. 

Kuroro makes sure you received your earlier wish, from in the car. That you’re able to shower in your own bathroom tonight. He joins you, enjoying the tighter fit and the eucalyptus and lavender. 

In all honesty, he just doesn’t want to have to stop touching. There’s soap and lotion  and he stands next to you while you both brush your teeth. His toothbrush hadn’t been put away yet from the last time he was there. 

In the light of your salt lamp, the room is filled with a warm glow. Freshly lit incense, lavender vanilla, fills the air. You have trouble sleeping without the same comforts every night. Kuroro doesn’t mind. Your bed is a thousand times more comfortable than his. He’s a welcome guest by this point

The brown noise machine whirs low in the background, keeping your eyelids opening and closing. Kuroro returns the long blinks, like little discreet messages of adoration. As if there was anything discreet about the way he felt for you.

Instead of your weighted blanket, you cuddle with Kuroro under the chill of your duvet and silk sheets. He shifts and tilts his head, creating a perfect spot for you to press your face against. You eagerly take up his offer, taking a deep, content breath as you press up against him, his hand around your back and pulling you closer. 

This was nice. Come morning, come time to get out of bed, he would be a gentleman again. There would be no more wandering hands, no more kisses given out liberally. Instead he’d politely drink your coffee, maybe give you a kiss on the cheek as he walked out of your apartment. 

You choose not to dwell on the future. 

[nightyslibrary]

(A Short Fic About) A Normal Day With Your Double Mutated Brother

☆ Fandom: rottmnt (au by @heckitall )

☆ Warnings: Nothing!! Just fluff and the boys being silly :]

☆ Word Count: 1432

☆ AO3 Link: N/A

☆ Characters: Leo, Donnie, Mikey

Uhh so I might have written something inspired by Heckl's comics and drawings :] go check his comics/artwork out!! Hope you like it (and happy birthday!!) (Also if there is any mistake... well, lets say its because it is 1 am)

 When it came to playing video games the twins would always end up getting too invested in it, which either would turn up to them fixating on the game for hours or fighting over who could beat it in “the right way”. Even when the games were two player ones, they’d still do the same thing.

 Not so surprisingly, this didn’t change even when Donnie became twice his size. Instead now the boys were sitting in Leo’s room, Leo laying his back on Donnie and playing the new the Legend of Zelda game on their switch. Donnie was watching the screen with joy, his tail wagging, and at times chirping to Leo.

 “See? I can do the puzzles quite well.” Leo said without looking away from the screen. “I had told you.”

 Donnie chirped as a response, as if making fun of Leo.

 Leo turned to him, “Just because I got stuck it doesn’t mean I am not good with them. Now let’s go back to the depths, since somebody thinks I can’t handle it.”

 The double mutated turtle smirked, making turtle sounds, before noticing something on the screen and pointing.

 “Wha- oh shi--!” He yelped as he moved with Donnie’s arms holding him, making various sounds in the meantime. As Leo turned back his attention to the game, bleeping as he continued playing it with Donnie commenting at times once again. Just like before Donnie’s situation, as if nothing had changed. Everybody in the lair would agree this was nice.

 Neither of them was sure how long had passed when Mikey entered with a smile on his face. “Are you two still playing Tears of the Kingdom?” He asked as he approached them.

 “Yep.” Leo replied.

 “It’s been five hours.” Mikey said.

 “Uh-huh.”

 “Which means nobody would say anything if I interrupted you for very important reasons.” He grinned.

 “Wrong.” Leo responded.

 “Don’t think Raphie or dad would agree.” Mikey said, knowing very well that he was right and the two would hear about how they shouldn’t sit down and play video games, forgetting to take care of themselves such as eating. Not to mention how Raph would take this to his advantage and get the switch for himself, not letting Leo play for the rest of the day.

 The slider sighed and starred at his younger brother, knowing very well that Mikey had won. He saved his game and put the switch aside. Meanwhile, Donnie huffed from behind. “Soooo tell us about whatever that is very important?” Leo asked as he got up.

 “I was thinking about how long the lair has been the same, and about how nice it would be to redecorate it.” Mikey explained.

 “You’re the artist Mike, not us.” Leo pointed out.

 “Weeeellll, I wasn’t only thinking about art. Remember the Christmas lights?”

 Leo squinted at Mikey. “You want to decorate the lair with Christmas lights.”

 “Yes!”

 “In August.”

 “Yeah!”

 “…”

 “…”

 “You’ll ignore Halloween?!” Leo gasped, a bit dramatically.

 “We can have Halloween later on!” Mikey retorted. “I just want to have some bright lights around, and maybe a few other new stuffs. A colorful lair wouldn’t hurt anyone, instead it would bring joy! Also, it is for art and creativity!”

 “So, you mean you want to,” Leo snickered, and his brothers knew what was coming. “Lighten up the mood.”

 Mikey groaned, while Donnie growled, both hating the pun. Leo giggled at his own joke, proud of it.

 “Ignoring Leo’s terrible pun for my sanity, all I am saying is it would be nice if you could help.” The youngest said.

 “Eh, sure.” Leo shrugged, not that he could say no. Donnie got on his feet too, careful to not accidentally knock anything down. He was still getting used to his new size.

 With Mikey’s lead they walked out, heading to where Mikey already had the boxes filled with Christmas lights. “We can start from here, and then move to the living room. Leo, can you get the lower parts done?”

 “Call it done already.” The slider winked as he walked towards a box.

 Mikey joined him, grabbing lights from a different box, “Donnie can you help me? I need to reach the higher parts.”

 Donnie chirped as he leaned for Mikey to climb on his shoulders, just like how he did with Raph. He carefully climbed and then patted Donnie’s shoulder to confirm he was ready. Donnie churred happily, he stood up again.

 So, they began redecorating the lair with the lights, leaving some walls empty so Mikey could draw on them. In the meantime, they chatted, talking about various things and unimportant stuff. Filling the silence with happy chatter. Mikey would talk about his next art projects, then mention something that inspirited him, Leo would ask about it, and the conversation would go on.

 It was just like every single time they spent time together, yet it was everything Donnie could ask for. The chatter of his brothers, Mikey’s unexpected ideas, Leo’s dumdum jokes… It was comforting for him.

 So, comforting that---

 CHURRR

 Leo and Mikey stopped talking, looking at Donnie with surprise and glee. Donnie confusedly looked Leo and then at Mikey. As silence was the only answer, Donnie realized what he just had done. His brothers’ exclamation confirmed his fear:

 “OH MY GOSH!!!” Mikey grinned as he jumped down to see Donnie better. “DID YOU DO THAT?!”

 “DID YOU JUST CHURR?!” Leo wheezed.

 Donnie chirped a lot, trying his best in his situation. It didn’t help that Leo kept laughing, and Mikey kept saying he sounded like a happy cat. Maybe if Donnie was his not double mutated self, he would’ve acted cooler and kept calm. But he was not and all he could do chirping. Which frustrated him even more, resulting him running out of the room.

 Leo and Mikey were quick to follow him.

 Donnie had lay under a pile of clothes, most of them being his hoodies and some of Raph’s sweaters that Raph had helped him wear (and later Donnie hadn’t let Raph get them back) in his room. His tail was visible, wagging angrily.  

 The two brothers approached carefully, not to startle him. Mikey looked at Leo, unsure what to do or say. He was feeling a bit bad for Donnie, but he still couldn’t help thinking that he behaved like a cat. Leo wasn’t feeling much different. He knew that he shouldn’t have laughed that much, while Donnie was still upset with his double this whole situation.

 Leo was first to speak, “Uh hey Dee, mind if we join you?”

 A growl.

 “Aww come on, we got something to show you.” He said cheerfully, Mikey looked at him confusedly. The slider winked at him, meaning he had a plan.

 Donnie didn’t leave the pile, but got his head out of it, enough to be able to see them. Leo grinned, and then chirped. Donnie’s eyes widened, surprised, and confused.

 “I thought you had stopped doing it and were unable to anymore.” Mikey squinted at Leo.

 “Well, maybe Donnie’s chirping has helped me figure it out, couldn’t it be?” He spoke.

 Before Mikey could say anything and tell his disbelief, Donnie chirped.

 Leo turned his attention back to him, “I have absolutely no idea what I am saying though, but- chirp!”

 “Are you sure about not knowing what you’re saying?” Mikey questioned.

 “Chiirp.” Leo smirked.

 This seemed to lift Donnie’s mood a bit though. His tail was wagging in the happy way, and he began chirping again. Mikey joined too, since he never had hidden the fact that he still could chirp. Soon the room was filled with chirping of every sort, and the snickering of Mikey and Leo among them at times when one of them made a funny sounding one.

 As the boys' conversation changed with the passing time, Leo turned to Mikey. "About the Christmas lights... you're definitely up to something." He said. "Could it be a prank against Raph?"

 "Please, I would never." Mikey responded, obviously guilty. He didn't need to say it to confirm Leo's guess when he happily stimmed the way he'd do when he was excited for something.

 "Get ready for a surprised Raph yelp, Dee." Leo looked at the clock on his phone. Then looked at Donnie. "He'd wake up any moment now."

 Donnie chirped in response, letting Leo pet his back. Something that kept Donnie relaxed, they'd discovered.

 Then they heard the surprised yelp, as Leo had guessed:

 "ITS CHRISTMAS?!"

 Leo and Donnie turned to Mikey, who was giggling. "Brumation prank," He grinned. "Never gets old."