richjayvisuals

[realness-remade]

DUDE WHY IS MY DAD ASKING TO TAKE ME OUT TO DINNER. NO???????????????? FUCK YOU

[kkusuka]

HELLO HOW DO U FEEL ABOUT MILFS AND DILFS

oh man, here we go-

disclaimer!!- my feelings towards these people have nothing to do with their cannon actions, it is simply based on how much i want them to step on me!

also, if you think i forgot someone, let me know! i am always up for dilf/milf conversations!!!

(all photos are form either the manga or cannon animation<3)

the dilfs<3

there are so many of them so these are just a few, lol

toji fishiguro<3

this man makes my pussy leak.

take a second and look at him, google this man, it send me into shock every time without fail

(ignore the worm that i am most definitely not jealous of, definitely not, never)

idk if it’s the scar on his lip, but HIS SMIRK

ahem, back to the dilf-ing

you can’t tell me he wouldn’t domestically abuse your holes

this man would give you the dicking of your life then let you sleep alone and i’d let him

and if you pretend he didn’t forget his own sons name, he’s a pretty decent guy!

jk, lol

unfortunately, he has some cons:

would not remember your name

cares more about money than you

would leave you in the dust the second something came along

overall, 10/10

would do again, def recommend

(pro tip! if you shift into jjk and get to fuck him, you can convince yourself that you aren’t forever alone!) deff not a personal experience

enji todoroki<3

pls don’t kill me

have you seen his thighs?

and/or his titties?

i’d let him suffocate me in either of them

plus i think he’s grown out of the whole misogynistic/ sexist front so there’s that too

 and there is no way this man is 6’4 and doesn’t have a magnum dong

he’d wreck my pussy them ask me to get palates for him, and i would

and his whole breeding kink thing, definitely into that

overall: 7/10

y’know the five kids thing, that’s a lot

ukai keishin<3

this is understandable

not technically a dilf, but accepted in the community as the technical team father and i’m good with that

how could anyone pass up being fucked on the counter of his shop, exactly, you can’t

in real time, right now, he’s 32

so he definitely has some experience, he knows where the clit is

this man tears you like royalty in public then fuck the shot out of you when you get home

100% dilf material

(not that anyone was doubting it)

overall 9/10

i will never not think about being fucked over the store counter, never

ikkei ukai<3

JUST HEAR ME OUT

he knows where the clit it

and he still has a fair amount of stamina left in him

and he still has muscles, he could throw his grandson onto the floor sooooooo

seems unconventional, but he would be a good sugar daddy, no question

overall, 8/10

he’s definitely really sweet to you too

silver fullbuster<3

look at him

he has big strong arms

and abandoned his son, but that doesn’t matter

he is also a villain, but that doesn’t matter either

this man would dick you to the end of the earth then ask you what’s for dinner

plus, he has earrings which is an immediate pussy getter

and he has a really hot voice, like really really hot

overall: 9/10

he’s a total asshat, but definitely would rearrange my cunny

ryuuji azuma<3

he likes food

doesn’t gain weight

it all goes to his dick, that’s cannon

he also has a hot voice, and i would actually die if he called me a good girl

he’s like 31 so it’s not that bad and he used to be a swimmer so he has a hot body

i could go on and on about how much i want to do this guy

he has a blog to do real dad behavior!

overall: 8/10

i love this man, have a nice day!

the milfs<3

mitsuki bakugo<3

yup

hate to bring this up but: boobs

i feel like she would take good care of me too

she would let you wear the bakugou family matching slippers too

but you do have to deal with katsuki, sooooooooo

overall: 8/10

she’s just a regular, extremely attractive, milf

irene belserion<3

she’s a pretty bad person

but that makes her a perfect mistress, or maybe a dominatrix

lemmie tell you, i would be this woman’s submissive in a heartbeat

plus her thighs are out of this world

no but she would definitely treat you great, no objections

overall 9/10

she’s still sweating vengeance for things that happened 400 years ago but we can move past that

hoshiumi’s mom<3

i literally don’t know what to say about this woman other than i would let her use me as a step stool

thank you

midnight<3

i feel like this is self explanatory too

i would be her fuck toy

plain and simple

this was short, but it said a lot

overall: 10/10

i would let her do literally anything to me

[no-droids]

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here.  This is like.  You remember that one game, Mercy?  The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous.  Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares?  It’s child’s play.  It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person.  You never have been.  It’s just not part of your nature.  If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else.  You just… do you.  You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good.  And if it’s bad, it’s good.  Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit?  Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open.  “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron.  What are we doing?  Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up. 

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl.  You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench.  “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today?  Thursday?  Friday?  Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day.  Thursday, then. …Thursday?”  You shake your head.  “Ugh, see?  Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.”  He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers.  It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now.  Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that.  Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it.  “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation.  To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small.  Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here.  “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap.  You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are.  “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink.   “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron.  First and last word, that’s all it takes.  And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?”  He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel.  “ Easy credits.  Just begging for it.  Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust.  As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly.  Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him.  “You just turned my money into a sex object.  It was vile.  I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging.  You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it.  “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now.  Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?”  You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them.  Withdrawal stage, ha.   “Of course it’s all that bad.  It’s horrible.  It’s the fucking worst.  And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this?  Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to.  “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you.  “I did not.  When the fuck did I cheat?  I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more.  He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire.  “Okay, first of all?  Rude.  I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright?  I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him.  And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good.  He smells… unbelievably fucking good.  Always.  Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on.  It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit.  No such luck so far.  

“Whatever.  The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.  “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want.  In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming.  “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is.  “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?”  He goes on, completely ignoring you.  “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen?  You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm?  No snorgasms?  Hmmm?  No happy naps?  No captain midnights?  No mattress fracking?  Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked.  “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again.  You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one.  “Anyways.  Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!”  You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting.  And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills.  Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems.  “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!”  You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation.  “There it is!  You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself!  Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both.  Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum?  This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused.  He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath.  “Sorry.  But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal.  And descriptive.  “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right.  Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh?  I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.  

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me.  Not right now.  Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh.  Something occurs to you, something… sinister.  Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long.  It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before.  You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan.  You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away.  A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?”  You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?”  Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more.  “Now many times did you cum in your sleep?  Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?”  He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time.  “It was involuntary.”

You shrug.  “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.���

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious.  “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?”  You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with.  Instead, your voice is soft, questioning.  Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait.  You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape.  The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,”  he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought.  Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this.  The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous.  “It’s your room, too.  Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there.  You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?”  You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number.  You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them.  “Red-Six.  Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder.  “Or, wait… Neah.  No—it was… Nalal.  Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter.  “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest.  “It was starting to get obnoxious.  Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is.  “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should.  Lower than it should.  You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls?  Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel.  “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head.  “Sometimes a sabbatical is good.  I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment.  “I’m sorry?  And… you’re welcome.  I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long.  The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable.  At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together.  I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block.  He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus.   You have to control yourself.  You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless.  It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this.  Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever.  One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option.  “This isn’t a good idea.  It’s… not healthy.  I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him.  “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing.  It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit.  “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection.  “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp.  “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—”  You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?”  Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky.  Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding.  Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast?  This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself?  “Finish it.  Sooner, rather than later.  Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident.  Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive.  Fuck.  Dameron, and you, in bed.  It could be mean.  It could be rough.  A fight for dominance more than anything.  He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now.  Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning.  Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?”  Are the first recognizable words that can be heard.  “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips.  “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance.  It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working.  Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before.  Of course.  Stupid.  Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air.  You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed?  A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet.  You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think.  Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences.  You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off.  This is different.  This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable.  A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…”  Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you.  There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him.  Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal.  You don’t like it.  You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead.  The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong.  “I mean, y’know.  Theoretically speaking, and all.  If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before.  Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something.  This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you.  Shit.  You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.  

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin.  You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done.  What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation.  You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it.  Stop it.  Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation.  How dare he?  How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses?  You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him.  Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier.  “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet.  No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright?  Don’t talk to me.  You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight.  And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it.  It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has.  Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least.  You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it.  You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving.  It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds.  A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons.  Mainly, the nerve of him.  The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,”  You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space.  You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare.  “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge.  “You’re… plotting.  Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship.  “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it.  Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty.  Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it.  “Something that you like, that gets you going.  Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further.  “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should.  It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not.  This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable.  The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?”  You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same.  “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart.  “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks.  Default to normal, default to normal.  “Your fucking attitude.  Your demeanor.  The way you talk down to me.  You don’t listen.  You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen.  You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?”  He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second.  This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here.  He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on.  “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back.  “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it.  There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity.  Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed.  “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily.  “Have since the moment we met.  And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it.  You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?”  You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak.  “Pop the top on this bitch.  Put me out of my fucking misery, right now.  You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait.  And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up.  You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way.  He deserved that.  You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake.  Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you.  Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders.  It’s not sexual.  It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating.  He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline.  His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter.  They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.  

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret.  “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need.  Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words.  To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit.  You feel like you’re literally burning up with it.  You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire.  “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone.  “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember.  Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it.  How long’s it been?  Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless.  Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?”  You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes.  Oh fuck, be cool, be cool.  “You think this is gonna work?  Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek.  The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs.  How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard.  “Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second.  Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow.  “Beard or no beard, makes no difference.  Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere.  You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone.  “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious.  Maker, how long until your shift is over?  You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league.  “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?”  Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder.  “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself.  Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going.  “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next.  “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me.  But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist.  Resist .  You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios.  Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting.  “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you.  Go nice and slow.  I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away.  I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it.  How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker.  This is a trick.  It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it.  You can’t fucking fall for it.  It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all.  He’s lying to get your guard down.  He laughed at your flirting.  He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him.  You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback.  You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say.  Your room.  It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now.  Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register.  “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see.  I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to.  Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out.  And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm.   Your bed,” he eventually decides.  “I want you comfortable.  You shower at night.  Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep.  That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point.  And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while.  However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening.  Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through.  Maker, it’s fucking painful.  You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?”  You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time.  Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body.  “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in.  Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before.  Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other.  Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies.  Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy.  It hurts to lose a first name.  But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design.  He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it.  Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now.  It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two.  You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea.  Nothing about it comes out right.  The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself.  Oh Maker, can you imagine?  How fucking proud of himself he’d be?  You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it.  Where’d it go?  Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it.  Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false… 

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear.  You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you.  Like… teakwood, maybe?  Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind.  What the fuck does teakwood even smell like?  “Maybe it’s just what I need.  You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low.  It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls?  Just a little bit?  That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad.  That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…”  You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now.  “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it.  “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato.  It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low.  “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.  At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs.  “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage.  “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this.  Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be.  You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want.  And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move.  Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body.  You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder.  “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you.  He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side.  “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—”  Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down.   But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second.  As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise.  The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use.  Fuck , it’s been so long .  You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now.  It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks.  “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs.  “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion.  The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone.  Fuck, he almost made you cum.  He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide.  You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again.  You have to close your eyes.  You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more.  “Shhhit.  I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it.  Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless.  “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck.  Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back.  They start… moving slightly.  Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize.  He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm.  Dameron might cum in his pants like this.  Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum.  You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight.  You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving.  “One… one more.  If you want.  You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you.  “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.”  You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether.  His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb.  The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure.  Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger.  He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time.  He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat.  Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief.  Genuine, not embellished.  He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go.  You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this.  You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again.  It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?”  Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that.  He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly.  “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you.  Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet.  Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much.  You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes.  It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it?  You could.  You could cum right now.  What’s two weeks of pay?  You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence.  Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear.  “Be nice.  I’m being nice.”

You should bite him.  Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now.  Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again.  Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying.  You need air.  Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this.  If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all.  Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore.  “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit.  Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half.  He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that.  Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good.  Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good.  Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in.  Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?”  He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them.  “How clearly do you remember the rules?  What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt.  No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer.  “Tell me.  No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind.  But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore.  There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement.  The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it.  “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends.  Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—”  The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out.  “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine.  “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does.  The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it.  You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout.  You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it.  You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves.  The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space.  He doesn’t even acknowledge it.  “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest.  “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens.  Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you?  Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck.  “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order.  “Right now.  Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it.  “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally.  The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm.  You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it.  Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day.  First names hurt.  You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence.  Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks.  A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Seven Demon Lords’ Pet Human

So I’m quite fond of the idea that the lesser demons see MC as the brothers’ dumb pet human up until MC is revealed to be a five star badass who can control the brothers on a whim. But Himiko isn’t okay with being referred to as anyone’s “pet”, and after a very bad day, she’s going to let the brothers know that.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Genre: Half Crack Half Fluff

Warning: This story features my MC, who uses she/her pronouns, if that makes you uncomfortable no harm no foul, see you next time

“Just their pet human,”

“Aw, they let their cute widdle pet walk around all by herself~.”

“The brothers’ new pet looks so delicious…”

Himiko Nanami was not one for demeaning nicknames. She had told Luke over and over again that the reason people kept calling him a chihuahua was because he gave them a reaction, but she just couldn’t follow her own advice. A pet… the brothers’ pet… what complete and utter shit.

She had forged pacts with the seven lords of Hell. She had escaped death more times than she could count. On her first day at RAD, she had gouged out a demon’s eye with her headband for trying to eat her. She had walked Cerberus and survived. Himiko was no dainty little pet.

It was a tragedy that some of the demons that wandered the halls of RAD couldn’t see that. Not all the demons were irredeemable anti-human trash, some were quite sweet. But it only took one weird squishy grape to make Himiko refuse to eat the rest of the bowl. That’s how that saying goes, right?

It was supposed to be a good day, it was a Friday for Christ’s sake! But no, the world at large was conspiring to make Himiko’s forehead vein burst.

First period with Satan went normally for the most part, until the two paired up for an assignment and Himiko decided to give Satan a few pats on the head. A few snickers coming from a few rows behind her drew her attention, and right after Satan left to use the bathroom, that’s when she heard it. The first comment of the day.

“Aww, a pet petting her master, how sweet.”

When Satan returned, Himiko was holding a broken pencil.

To her credit, she didn’t dignify those idiots with a response, but their comment managed to burrow its way into her brain and settle there right when she snapped the pencil.

Second period shouldn’t have been so shitty, Himiko had friends in that class. Friends other than the brothers and the other exchange students, but no. Everything sucks in the Devildom.

Paimon had so sweetly offered to share some of his chips with her when he heard she had skipped breakfast. Himiko was in the middle of happily chowing down when some asshole decided to ruin the cute friendship moment.

“Geez Pai, I thought you’d be more responsible than that~.” A demoness a few rows ahead cooed. “Feeding other people’s pets without asking~.”

Paimon choked on the chip he was chewing on while Himiko gave the demoness a bone chilling glare.

“Sh-she’s not- I’m not-”

“How about you mind your own fucking business?”

The demoness only rolled her eyes and turned back to giggling with her friends. It was truly a shame that at least 60% of all the demon ladies in the school were incredibly mean and/or homicidal, a shame for Himiko because she’s a raging bisexual.

With her appetite lost, Himiko forfeited the rest of the chips to Paimon.

Lunch went by as normal as it could have gone. She sat with the brothers as usual and happily watched their antics. When she left the table to throw her trash away was when all hell broke loose.

“-Pet,”

“-Pet…”

“-Pet.”

“-Pet!”

All those damned whispers reached Himiko’s ears and if she had any less patience she would have pulled her hair out and screamed. When she got back to the table, she spent the rest of her lunch period in silence.

What’s worse was that her next class was with Solomon, and the only seat available was next to him. Great…

“Grouchy today, ms. Nanami?”

“Annoying today, mr. Wizard?”

Solomon let out a quiet and carefree laugh and rested his head on his hand. “Oh Himiko, you know I’m always up for being a little annoying.”

Himiko rolled her eyes and tried to pay attention to the teacher. “Whatever…”

Class went on, but Solomon didn’t let up on his quiet pestering.

“Himiiiiii, tell me what’s wrong, I won’t laugh.”

“Go to hell.”

“Poor choice of words, you’re there with me.”

“I hate you.”

“So mean, I’m just trying to help. Solomon the Wise is known for giving great advice!”

Himiko turned and looked at the immortal sorcerer next to her and saw his pitiful attempt at what looked like puppy dog eyes. She rolled her eyes again and turned back to her work.

“I thought you were known for ordering a baby to be sawed in half.”

“Hey!” Solomon huffed, crossing his arms. “The baby did not get sawed in half. The saner of the two women got to keep the baby, I was being smart.”

“Sure, sure.” Himiko couldn’t hold back a bit of a smile. To her own surprise, Himiko began to weigh the pros and cons of actually telling Solomon what was going on. Hm, on one hand, Solomon was the only other human that might possibly understand what Himiko was dealing with, on the other hand, Solomon was a known shifty bastard and could barely be counted as human at this point. In the end, human solidarity won out.

“Solomon,” Himiko began. “Have you ever gotten called a pet before? Like a demon’s pet..?”

Solomon thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Probably. I’ve been alive too long not to have been called every name under the sometimes lack of sun, but I’ve always been more widely known as someone who makes demons into his pets.”

“Mmm, sure.”

“But fret not Himiko, those closest to you know the truth. You’re no pet.”

Not exactly the heaps of comfort Himiko wanted, but at least Solomon answered truthfully and didn’t say anything that would get on her nerves-

“I don’t know why you’re so upset about that nickname though, you’d look amazing in a collar.”

For what happened to poor Solomon right after he said that, let’s just say a palm reader could read Himiko’s future off Solomon’s face.

In fourth period, Himiko had to hold herself back from bitchslapping someone else who decided it would be a good idea to test her. A quick word of advice to anyone in the Devildom who would like to survive an encounter with Himiko, never, ever, fuck with her headband.

“You fiendish demon!” Luke yapped, trying to help get Himiko’s headband back from the nasty awful no good demon who decided to pluck it off her head and hold it out of reach. “Give that back!”

“N’awwwwww, pet buddies!” The taller demon laughed and dangled the headband a little closer. “So cute! Someone get a picture for Devilgram-”

Luke slammed his foot directly into the demon’s kneecap. The demon practically shrieked and doubled over only to be met with Himiko’s knee in his gut. She daintily plucked the headband from his grasp and quickly pulled Luke out of the room.

“Are you okay?” The moment the two were far enough down the hall, Luke began to fuss over Himiko like a tiny nurse. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No buddy, I’m fine.” Himiko held out her hand for a high five. “Up high,”

Whack!

“Down low,”

Woosh!

“Too slow.”

“Hey!” Luke whined. “No faaaaaiiiiir!”

———————

No one wants their human to be grumpy, especially not the brothers, so when Himiko spent the rest of the time until dinner holed up in her room, they were a tad concerned.

“My human’s all saaaaaaaaad,” Mammon rested his chin on the table and whined. The rest of the brothers sans Asmo were sitting at the table awaiting dinner. “Himiko said she didn’t wanna play the Game of Life, and it’s like, the one game she’s good at…”

“Yeah, she’s been pissy all day.” Belphie added before quietly yawning. “What’d you do, Mammon?”

“Me?!” Mammon sputtered, practically scrambling out of his seat and pointing an accusatory finger at his brothers. “I didn’t do shit! What about you idiots?!”

“Well, let’s look at what we know,” Satan said, waving off Mammon. “During first period we partnered up for a project, I left to use the restroom, then when I came back she looked upset. During lunch when she left, she came back and didn’t speak the rest of the lunch period. Any theories?”

Beel raised his hand, and Satan nodded to him. “Himiko has terrible separation anxiety now, she can’t go too long without us.”

Satan gave Beel a few nods, then turned to the others. “That’s one guess. Anyone else?”

Mammon raised his hand, and Satan promptly ignored him.

“Oi! Pay attention to me!” Mammon stuck his hand in the air and waved harder. “She’s angry because she’s failin’ a class! Every time we’re not distractin’ her, she remembers!”

“I would have heard if she was failing a class.” Lucifer finally piped up from the head of the table, his face was buried in RAD’s newspaper. “You on the other hand, Mammon, are failing three of your four classes this semester.”

Mammon slid back into his seat and scratched the back of his neck. “About thaaaaaat, I need money for uh… for new books n’ pencils n’ shit. That’s why I’m failin’, you’ll lend me money, won’t ya big bro?”

Lucifer didn’t get to respond as Asmo burst into the door of the dining room with a pot of pasta that was almost half his height. “DINNER IS SERVED~!”

As everyone settled in to eat, Himiko finally made her appearance and plopped herself down in her usual seat next to Mammon and helped herself to the pasta with rosé sauce.

“It’s good! It’s good right?” Asmo peppered the group with questions about the food and how good he did. Himiko had to admit, this was damn good pasta. Smooth, creamy, cheesy, all that was missing was garlic bread. In a matter of minutes Himiko had cleared her first bowl and was going in for seconds.

“So Himiko,” Satan said as Himiko continued to shovel pasta into her face at a pace that could rival Beel. “We’ve noticed you’ve been looking a little upset today, care to satiate our curiosity?”

Himiko paused mid bite, which wasn’t doing wonders for her appearance considering she had sauce on the tip of her nose. But still, how sweet of her boys to notice, it made her cold dead little heart swell with love.

“Oh you know, just idiots at school not worth my attention.”

“What have they been saying?” Asmo asked, his voice unusually stiff.

“They’ve been calling me you guys’ pet.” Himiko grumbled. “How ridiculous is that?”

The clattering of forks and the chewing of food halted as the boys went completely silent. Himiko shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she looked around. Had what those demons said been a greater insult to the boys than she-

“Pfff- HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Mammon erupted into laughter and the rest of the brothers followed suit.

“G-Geez,” Belphie snickered, feigning wiping a tear from his eye. “Humans are so sensitive.”

“Excuse me?!” Himiko gripped her fork so hard she was sure it would leave indents.

“I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, Himi,” Levi said between bouts of cackling. “But you are a teeny tiny little normie human surrounded by well… us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! That I should just roll over and take it!?” Himiko immediately turned and pointed at Belphie. “Don’t you dare.”

Belphie’s mouth was open to make a comment about Himiko’s poor choice of words, but the pact activated and any words died in his throat. Belphie flipped her off and Himiko returned the gesture.

“Himiko,” Beel was sweet enough to not laugh at Himiko’s predicament. “It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, people love their pets.”

As sweet as Beel thought his words were being, Himiko really wanted to send him to bed without dinner.

“Yes, yes, Beel’s right.” Satan took a deep breath and collected himself after his laughing fit had finally ceased. “It’s nothing to worry about, Himiko. It shouldn’t be bothering you. Just don’t listen.”

Himiko somehow gripped her fork even tighter as she levelled her ice cold glare at Satan. “Thank you so much for demonsplaining how I should deal with and feel about the very human problem of people seeing me as some toy.”

The venom in her words seemed to snap the rest of the table out of their giggly stupor, and Mammon gave Himiko a few pats on the back.

“Ah don’t worry about it, Himiko. I’ll fight any bastard who says anythin’ like that.” Suddenly realizing he hadn’t been a tsundere for five whole minutes, Mammon went red and snatched his hand away. “Ya know, just because you’d probably use the pact and order me to anyway…”

“I’m not a dere~” Levi began to softly sing, Himiko perked up and grabbed Mammon’s cheek.

“A tsun-tsundere~”

“Not that song again!”

That should have been the end of that whole debacle. Himiko’s decent mood had been restored and all was well! The gang chatted amicably for the rest of dinner. Himiko made sure to heap loads of praise on Asmo for his amazing pasta. She felt a part of her die when she went in for fourths and the spoon scraped the bottom of the pot.

Too bad nothing ever goes smoothly in the Devildom.

Since it was Asmo’s night to cook, it was Himiko’s night to do dishes, so she got up and began to clear the table. As she began to collect the unused knives, Lucifer, not looking up from his newspaper, handed Himiko his plate.

“Thank you, pet, that’ll be all.”

Himiko stopped dead in her tracks and her grip on the plate tightened. “Repeat that, Lucifer?”

“Thank you, pet, that’ll be all.”

A tiny smirk spread across Lucifer’s face, which only served to make Himiko’s blood boil. If he thought he could make a joke about that while she was still mad he had another thing coming.

As quick as a flash, she had whipped the plate straight at the ground, shattering it into dozens of tiny pieces, before Lucifer even had a chance to say anything, Himiko was standing in front of him with a frigid glare on her face.

“Lucifer, put your hand flat on the table and spread your fingers. Keep quiet.”

With no choice but to obey, Lucifer slapped his hand down on the dining table, though, the glare he was giving her wasn’t any less murderous. Not caring, Himiko’s gaze remained cold and calculating, she turned to the other brothers, who were rooted in place from sheer shock. “Stay.”

“I’d just like to get something out there to you seven,” Himiko said calmly, holding one of the knives in her right hand and waving it around like it was the most casual thing in the universe. “I, am no one’s pet,”

Himiko turned and slammed the knife right between Lucifer’s middle and index fingers, imbedding it deep in the table.

“Arm candy,”

The second knife was slammed right in between Lucifer’s middle and pointer finger.

“Or accessory.”

The final knife went between his index and pinkie finger. Himiko’s next words were slow and deliberate as she stared the strongest of the brothers directly in the eyes.

“I am your friend, and equal, I won’t accept being anything less, whether it’s a joke, or not. You agreed to those terms the day we made our pact, didn’t we Lucifer? Have you changed your mind?”

It was so quiet you could hear Henry 2.0 swimming around in Levi’s room upstairs. No one dared to breathe as the seconds ticked past.

Finally, Lucifer responded, his voice tinged with exasperation. “No Himiko, I haven’t.”

“Good,” A small triumphant smile appeared on Himiko’s face as she removed the knives from the table and finished up cleaning the table. “That goes for the rest of you boys too, got it?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Mhm.”

“Yes…”

As Himiko walked into the kitchen to do everyone’s dishes, they quietly reminded themselves exactly who they were dealing with. Himiko Nanami was no dainty little human, no no no, she was the one master to rule them all, and by god was she going to make sure no one ever forgot.

——————

AAAAAAAA THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE!!!! I really need to write more stuff with Himiko! Inspiration struck at like… 10 this morning and I just ran with it.

Now on one hand, I can see that people might think that Himiko overreacted to Lucifer’s little joke a tad. Buuuuuuuuuuut she’s gotta shut down that shit early, right? She doesn’t want “pet” to be the next “chihuahua”.

Lucifer’s probably trying to stick his nose back in his newspaper as he wonders whether he’s incredibly enraged or unbelievably turned on.

Hope you all enjoyed! Now back to the regularly scheduled shitposting.

[stateofloveandnegan]

Dinner - Negan Smith

My new and very lovely friend @txmlinsonw gave me some prompts to write and here’s the first one! I hope you enjoy this very soft thing i wrote.

pairing: negan x reader

short summary:

You hate making dinner, but Negan makes you do it tonight, so with some sighing, you give in. Almost all is going well, until it’s cooking and you and Negan are enjoying a good make-out session. That’s where you still manage to mess up.

warnings/notes:

fire. food burning. soft negan.

word count: 1.6k

MASTERLIST

It had been a good while since you and Negan were able to move into a proper house in Alexandria.

After having managed to build the community up again, as much as possible, it was time to put people into the new homes.

You and Negan had been together ever since he was still held in the little prison, though it was still a secret back then.

When he became a free man, the ‘news’ got out quite quickly, considering you two were really bad at keeping your hands off each other.

Most of the people left you be, though. Only a few of them started treating you differently, but in times of feeling beaten up by that, Negan was always there to cheer you up. Always had his arms open for you if you needed to be held.

“Don’t let them get to you, sweetheart. They’re brainless fucks.” His soft voice would often soothe you, knowing just how to make you forget about the negative and focus on the positive.

It was funny, really, how perfect you and Negan were for one another. He brought out your tougher side, you brought out his softer side. You two had the most fun, never got bored together, had an insane amount of chemistry; there was literally nothing either of you missed in your relationship.

A big pro were Negan’s cooking skills. Something you definitely missed in your own set of skills. Cooking had never been your forté, so when Negan cooked for you that first night of you living in your new house, you couldn’t be happier. It tasted like fucking heaven on earth.

You tried cooking every now and then, and sometimes, a decent meal came out of it. Often when Negan tried to get you to cook, you put up your puppy eyes and convinced him to make another great meal, earning a roll of his eyes and a chuckle from your boyfriend.

Tonight, though, that tactic didn’t work. “It’s your cooking or nothing, doll.” His deep voice rumbled through the kitchen, that shit eating grin on his face. He only showed that around you these days.

The reason behind Negan wanting you to cook was the fact that you looked absolutely adorable while doing so. All focused, eyebrows knitted together in a frown, the tip of your tongue poking out. He loved seeing you like that, all in your own world.

“Baby, pleeaaaaaase.” You tried, but he didn’t budge. So, defeatedly, you moved around the kitchen to gather ingredients for the meal you were planning on eating tonight; pasta with vegetables.

Sure, it wasn’t that hard of a dish to make, but somehow, you always managed to mess, at least,  one step up.

As you were cutting the vegetables, Negan moved around to get the table set and ready for your meal. He finished long before you were ready, though, so he decided to go up and take a shower while you moved onto the next step.

A long string of profanities left your mouth as you messed up one of the steps (blame Negan and his vulgar language for that). But after taking a deep breath, you continued and managed to get through it all without any more mistakes.

Your boyfriend came down just as the sauce and the pasta were on the stove, wearing his pyjamas and his hair all messy from the shower. He looked absolutely perfect, as always. “How’s it going, sweetheart?” He asked and you smiled proudly, “It’s cooking. We just need to wait until it’s finished.”

A proud and satisfied expression entered Negan’s face and that made you feel a little something. That look on his face; it had your knees weak.

It was as if he could read your mind as a grin took over, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Something on your mind, doll?”

Oh god, that voice and the way he spoke; he knew the effect it had on you. “Negan, dinner’s almost ready.” You warned, to which he chuckled, moving over to you and pulling you into his arms. “Nothing has stopped you from having a quicky before.”

With a soft gasp, you gently smacked his chest, a blush creeping up on your cheeks. “Shut it! I’m not going for a quicky now.”

The laugh that left him and the way his arms moved to hug you against his own body told you that he was only teasing, and soon you melted completely into his embrace. Your head moved to rest in the crook of his neck while his hands gently moved up and down your back.

“I love you, you know that?” his soft voice, barely above a whisper, pulled you out of your little daydream, a warm smile entering your face while you moved back just enough to be able to look up at him. “I know, darling. I love you, too.”

You knew about his past, about the wives, about his actual wife, Lucille, but it didn’t matter to you. You knew, with the way Negan held you and looked at you, that his love for you was real. It didn’t matter how many people he’d been married to in the past. The past was in the past, that was that.

The two of you seemed to get lost in each other’s gaze before he leaned down slowly. His lips brushed over yours lightly before you connected them fully, leaning up just a little.

Soon enough, you were entirely lost in the man who held you so dearly. Your arms snaking around his neck and pulling him even closer. A hum escaping his lips is muffled by yours before he gently lifts you up in his strong arms, his hands beneath your bum to support you while he carries you over to the living room area.

The kiss wasn’t sexual or heated, at all. It was passionate, yes, but there were no intentions behind the action. You and Negan just wanted to be close to each other. To feel each other and be happy together, and kissing one another like that? That ticked all the right boxes.

“I’m so fucking glad I met you.” He mumbled against your lips, his hand now cupping the side of your face as you sat on his lap on the couch. He could feel you smiling against his lips, so he pulled away slightly to give you a confused look, “what?”

“Language.” you said in a stern tone, to which he let out a laugh. “Don’t you even start, little lady. I heard you while cutting those damn vegetables.”

You joined in with a chuckle before he kissed you again, your own hands carefully playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “So am I.” your voice whispered, letting him know that you, too, were ‘fucking glad’ you met him. And you were. In fact, you couldn’t imagine a life in this world without him, anymore.

No other words were exchanged as you went back to kissing, getting lost in each other. All you could feel, smell, think of… was Negan, and you wanted it no other way.

Your thoughts about your very loving boyfriend were rudely interrupted when you suddenly smelled something other than his scent. Pulling back from the kiss just slightly as your brows furrowed while you tried to figure out what it was that you smelled.

“Something wrong?” Negan asked, watching your features closely with a somewhat concerned expression. You took a moment before your eyes focused on him again, “Don’t you smell that?”

He had no idea what you were talking about for a good few seconds, until he suddenly smelled it, too. A frown entering his beautiful face before his eyes widened. “Dinner! Fuck- get off, love.”

He practically pushed you off his lap (albeit gently) and onto the couch before he ran into the kitchen. You followed suit, jumping up from the couch and running after your boyfriend before you saw the horror going on in your kitchen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!” you cursed, frantically looking around for anything that could help. While you were looking around like a headless chicken, Negan actually took some action and managed to bring the flames down to nothing. It was a good thing the flames hadn’t gotten around the stove.

When Negan was sure the fire was gone, he stood back a little, letting out a deep breath. You just stood there and blinked, slowly looking up at the back of your boyfriend’s head. “I’m sorry,”

Your voice was smaller than ever, and Negan couldn’t remember you ever speaking like that to him. As if you’d done something very, very wrong. His tall form turned around and as soon as he saw the look on your face, a frown appeared on his own.

“Baby, it’s okay, it’s fine. This wasn’t your fault.” He quickly moved over to where you were standing and cupped your face in his rough, calloused hands. “Hey, c’mon.”

A small smile played on his lips, trying to lighten the mood. “If you really didn’t want to cook, you could’ve told me, you know?” There was the teasing that always managed to cheer you up, a chuckle falling from your lips before you let out a bit of a sigh.

“Very funny.” You rolled your eyes, but Negan knew he’d managed to do his trick well. “Now, we can either stay here and clean this mess up, or we can continue what we were doing and leave this for tomorrow?”

He didn’t have to repeat the question, your hand was already in his and dragging him back to the couch. Fortunately, you weren’t that hungry anyways. You’d had a late lunch. And Negan? He was used to not eating much, and he’d much rather enjoy a good make-out session with you, anyway.

[luminnara]

Pro Hero Bakugou + cam girl!reader fluff 18+ ONLY

I wrote this for myself c: i’m a SWer and i gotta live through my self inserts sometimes lol

Warnings: nsfw language

part 2

requests are open!

Everyone always expected him to end up with another pro hero. After all, he was Dynamight, a determined, powerful man with an even more powerful quirk. He had his own agency, he kept his area of the city in check, and he had a near perfect record. It only made sen that he would want to date someone equally as impressive and passionate about hero work, someone who could keep up with him and match him on every level.

Nobody ever expected that he would end up with someone like you, least of all...well, you.

You held off on telling him what you did for a living for a while. You weren’t ashamed of your profession by any means, but you had developed too much of a crush on Katsuki to risk ruining everything if he didn’t share your viewpoint. What if he hated your job? What if he thought you were an embarrassment to his name? No, it felt better to just tell him that you did something mundane, letting him believe you were an accountant or something rather than a full time online sex worker.

You were absolutely certain that the great Dynamight wouldn’t want the news getting out that he was dating someone like you, so even though it felt like you were lying to the man you were falling in love with, it also felt...better. It felt safe.

So imagine your surprise and horror when he casually brought it up on his own.

“What, you thought I didn’t know from the start?” He rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up on your coffee table as he raised a beer to his lips. “You think I’m stupid or somethin’?”

“What? No!” You said quickly.

“Then why’d you lie?”

You looked down in embarrassment. “Because...I didn’t know how you would react.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“A lot of guys get jealous, or just...shitty about it.” You sighed. “I figured that you wouldn’t want my job ruining your reputation as a pro, too. So...I just never said anything.”

Katsuki was silent for a moment, taking another drink. He seemed like he was thinking about your words, and with each second that ticked by, you grew more nervous. Was he about to yell at you for hiding such a big part of your life? Was he going to break up with you right then and there?

“Don’t be a dumbass.” He finally said. “I don’t give a shit what you do, long as you like doin’ it.”

His voice was harsh, but it made your heart soar.

“Thank you,” you said, letting out a relieved sigh.

“For what?” He grunted.

When he saw the sappy look on your face, he groaned and motioned for you to come closer. When you came and stood near his legs, he rolled his eyes, reaching out with one strong arm and pulling you down to straddle his lap.

“I don’t fuckin’ care what your job is.” He said, a big hand settling on your ass. “Kinda pissed me off that you kept hidin’ it from me, but I figured you’d bring it up at some point. Then you just fuckin’ didn’t, so I did.”

“How the hell did you find out?” You asked, suspicious that he had gone through your shit or something.

In that moment, the great Katsuki Bakugou actually blushed.

“Uh...” he looked away, avoiding your eyes. “I...mighta caught a livestream once.”

Your eyes widened. “You what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, I tuned in once or twice.”

“What? When?” 

“I didn’t go lookin’ for you specifically like a creep!” he said roughly. 

When you just quirked an eyebrow, he sighed. 

“It was right at the beginnin’. Remember that first date we went on? You were wearin’ that green dress...”

“Of course I do,” you smiled. 

Bakugou readjusted his grip on you and you settled in against his chest. “You wore that fuckin’ dress, ‘n you got me so god damn worked up with that.”

“Did I?” You teased, already knowing the answer. You were well versed in the world of horny men, and you could very vividly remember all of his awkward shifting and not so stealthy readjustments.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he groaned. “Had a hard on the whole night. Thought I was gonna explode by the time I got home.”

“Well, you’re pretty good at exploding,” you laughed, leaning your cheek against his chest as you looked up at him. “You could have invited me in, you know.”

“Nah, I was bein’ a gentleman. I mean, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous, princess...but I asked you to dinner because I liked you. And when I ask a girl to dinner, I fuckin’ do it right. After I got home, I had to go rub one out...’n that’s when I found you on that camsite.”

You blushed. “Yeah, I, uh...remember going home and deciding I should go live for a few hours, since you made sure to have me home by nine.”

He rolled his eyes at your joking tone. “Yeah, yeah. I saw you under the now online tab, ‘n I couldn’t stop watchin’...”

“That was a good night,” you grinned. “I went straight from having some of the fanciest food I’ve ever tasted to having one of my work nights ever. I mean, I remember hitting my tip goal in like, half an hour! Because my highest tipper was some new guy and—“

You paused, realization dawning on you.

“Wait just a goddamn second.” You leaned back, sitting up to look at Katsuki suspiciously.

The shit eating grin on his face confirmed your suspicions.

“What, babe?” He drawled. “You were gonna tell me all about your highest tipper. Don’t stop now.”

“My highest tipper,” you jabbed your finger into his chest, “was a new guy whose username I had never seen before, who had to have a lot of money to pay what he did.”

“Yeah, well. There’s all kindsa rich people on those sites. They love gettin’ off to pretty pieces of ass like you.”

“And he even ended up tipping enough tokens to cover my bills that month,” you rose up on your knees, straddling him again. “He had to have been a celebrity. Or a CEO. Or a pro hero.”

His grin only widened. “Musta been.”

“Katsuki, I cannot believe you!” You laughed, lightly slapping his chest. “All this time, you’ve been watching me from a burner account?”

“Well, I can’t exactly just put my hero name out there,” he chuckled.

“Because it would be all over the tabloids?” You guessed.

“What? No, because you woulda found out right away. Like I said, I wanted you to come to me first.”

“That’s...really sweet of you, actually,” you sighed. “Thanks, Katsuki. For not telling everybody.”

“Well...”

“...you told Kirishima, didn’t you?”

“I was excited about how hot my new girlfriend was!” He said defensively. “‘N it’s not like he was gonna do anythin’ bad, anyways.”

“Yeah, there’s not a mean bone in that man’s body,” you laughed, sliding back down onto your boyfriend’s chest. “I just can’t believe you. How are you so good at keeping secrets from me?”

“You tried to do the same thing to me,” he pointed out.

“Well, now we’re even. But...I don’t exactly think the world would like knowing that a top hero is dating a camgirl.”

“Like I care.” He rolled his eyes. “You know how popular you’re gonna be when rumors start flyin’?”

“Rumors?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Oh, yeah. Everybody’ll wanna find out if that’s really the pussy that the best pro hero is poundin’ every night.”

“Katsuki!”

“What? It’s true.”

You were quiet as you thought for a moment. “You know, if you sign a model release, your dick can be on cam...”

His face lit up. “You wanna suck this cock in fronta all your loyal fans, baby? Wanna show em what a fuckin’ size queen you really are?”

“Full of ourselves tonight, aren’t we?” You asked dryly.

“You’re gonna be fulla my cum soon enough,” he flirted, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “C’mon, Princess. I gotta get my practice in before I can be your stunt dick.”

[keiluvsu]

— nasty , k. bakugo.

↳ pairings: pro hero!katsuki bakugo x female reader.

↳ genre: pro hero au, nsfw.

↳ warnings: kitchen sex, spit play, spanking, teasing, edging, oral sex (receiveing).

“don’t wanna wait on it, tonight i wanna get nasty.”

“ah, cmon!” you rolled your eyes as you peered over at the tv in the living room. you were watching family feud, as you were also cooking. “you shouldn’t get distracted while chopping vegetables,” your husband’s voice rang in your ears and you scoffed at the thought. nonetheless, you paid attention to the vegetables you were cutting.

your eyes quickly flickered from the green onions on the cutting board to the clock on the wall; 7:24, it read. you were humming a song in your head when the door swung open. “shit!” you jumped a little, quickly dropping the knife on the board. “dammit, katsuki!” you rolled your eyes, your hand on your chest.

“you scared the crap out of me!” you wiped your hands on a paper towel and walked out the kitchen to the front door that was left open. you closed it and immediately turned to your husband, seeing the distress on his face. you shivered as you locked the door and walked over to him, crossing your arms.

“what happened?” your face softened as he sat on the couch. “i had a stressful fucking day, that’s what fucking happened.” he grumbled, not daring to look at you. you didn’t say anything but walk behind the couch, resting your hands on his shoulders. he tensed up more and you quickly moved your hands, rolling your eyes before walking back in the kitchen.

it was silent, other than the sound of the tv in the living room. you finished cutting the onions and dumped them in the frying pan, humming at the sizzle. you went back to the counter, putting the cutting board and knife in the sink. you were about to take off your apron when you felt big, calloused hands wrap around your waist and a head fall onto your shoulder.

“what the— katsuki?!” you sighed, your hands resting on the edge of the counter. “you and your fucking mood swings..” you mumbled as he left kisses on your neck. “cmon, i need to get some rest before i have to get back to the food,” you tried to get him off but he pressed himself onto you more.

“katsuki...” you partly whined as he started sucking on the skin of your neck. “shut the fuck up, i need this stress relief.” he muffled into your neck, but you heard him completely. “kat-” you got cut off by bakugo pushing your back down onto the counter.

he pulled down your shorts, smirking at the sight. “aw, you’re wearing my favorite panties.” he chuckled, sending a harsh slap to your ass. you let out a whine, making his dick harder. he pressed himself onto you, grunting at the friction. “katsuki, shit— please.” you tugged your lips inbetween your teeth, feeling yourself get wetter by the second.

“please? please. that’s all i get? you can do better, i know you can.” he stopped moving, making you whimper. “katsuki- please, just- shit..please...” you closed your eyes from embarrassment. you hated begging. “please? please what?” he cocked an eyebrow. “...please, touch me— just- just touch me..” you begged as best as you could.

he wrapped his left hand around your neck, forcing your head back so you could look at him. “look at me.” he deadpanned. you opened your eyes and saw that stupid fucking smirk on his face. “aw, my baby looks so embarrassed. is that right? you’re embarrassed?” he laughed, sending another slap to your ass. your body jumped as the sting flowed through your body.

he crashes his lips onto your, his hand still forcing your head back. his warm tongue entered your mouth, making you moan into the kiss. his fingers then pushed your panties aside, pushing one in. your face scrunched up as you two continued kissing.

he then added another finger and slowly curled them inside as they went deeper. you struggled to kiss him back as you breathed heavily. a smirk curled on his face again and he pulled away from the kiss. “open your mouth.” he demanded. you obeyed him and moans escaped your lips as he rocked his fingers in and out of you. your moans encouraged him to go faster and your body was starting to shake from the feeling.

he spit in your mouth, “swallow it.” he let go of your neck and you obeyed, moaning again as he picked up the pace of his fingers. “i’m— shit— i’m gonna cum!” you cried out, gripping onto the table as hard as you could. bakugo’s fingers went deeper inside of you and he curled them harshly, hitting the spongy part inside of you.

“oh my- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckkkk!!” your face scrunched up as you came all over his fingers. “katsuki- oh my god-” you breathed out shakily as he finger fucked you through your orgasm. he took out his fingers and put them in his mouth, sucking them clean. your head was on the counter and your eyes were closed, you chest heaving up and down.

you didn’t notice that bakugo had turned off the stove and he walked right back up behind you, pulling down his pants along with his boxers until you felt his tip press against you. “wha— you’re not...you’re not done?” you gripped the counter once again. “of course i’m not fucking done, who the hell do you think i am?” he laughed, gripping your waist as he pushed himself inside of you. “shit!” you moaned out, biting your lip harshly.

he slowly pulled out, and went back in. he did thst a couple of times, “katsuki— just fuck me...please- just fuck me!” you whined out, pushing your ass back to try to get him inside of you. he harshly slapped your ass again, making you whine and stop. “relax, you damn brat.” he pushed into once again, making sure he went all the way in.

“fuck!” you yelled out loud enough that you thought the neighbors would hear you. his tip kissed your cervix everytime he thusted into you. he pulled your hips back into him during every thrust, the sound of your ass slapping into him and his balls hitting your clit filling the room. “you’re doing so well for me baby, fuck— just like that.” a faint blush was dusted over his cheeks as he thrusted into you.

“katsuki,” you moaned out his name in an attempt to talk. “yes, baby?” he cooed, making you clench on him. “g- shit...i’m gonna...cum...again....” it was hard for you to form proper words, seeing as you were getting fucked like crazy. he didn’t say anything, instead, he stopped moving and pulled you up so your back was against his chest.

he moved one of his hands under your shirt, massaging your breast as the other found its way to your clit. he began thrusting again and you leaned your head back onto his shoulder, moans and whimpers coming out of your mouth. he started rubbing your clit as he fucked you, getting you closer and closer.

you were about to cum when he pulled out of you. you body went limp in his arms and he held you up, chuckling at your fucked out expression.

“why..why’d you— you stopped...why did you stop?” your breath hitched. “because i can.” he simply replied, hearing you whimper. he turned you over so you were facing him and lifted you up, placing you onto the counter. he got onto his knees and opened your legs. he practically drooled at how wet you were and immediately attached his lips to your clit. “oh yes...” you whimpered, tangling your hands in his hair. he nipped and sucked on your clit, bringing you close again.

he stopped again and you whined, “what the hell? again?” your body shifted, begging for a release. “like i said before, relax you fucking brat. be patient.” he stood up and moved you to the edge of the counter. he picked up one of your legs and put it on his shoulder. he put his hand on your hip and pushed into you once again, groaning.

you twitched around him, immediately gripping him. “shit baby, tryna make me cum already?” he hummed, slowly pushing in and out of you. “faster, kat, please...” you whined, not caring what you were saying. “only since you asked so nicely,” he sarcastically said, thrusting faster. after every thrust you would grip around him, making him fuck you harder and faster.

he leaned his head on your shoulder, looking down at how he was going in and out of you rapidly. “kat,” you whined. “i want you to fill me...cum inside of me...please...” you mumbled, feeling fucked out. bakugo cant say he hasn’t fantasized about filling you up with his cum, thinking about your expression as he fucked his cum inside of you.

“i’m- fuck, kat— i’m cumming!” you moaned breathlessly, clenching around him. “fuck, baby, cum with me.” he started fucking you even harder, your moans encouraging him. the word ‘fuck’ left his lips a few times before you came all around him, your hips bucking. he held you tight and close as he went all balls deep inside of you, filling you up completely.

your pussy fluttered in pleasure as you panted heavily. your arms gripped onto his shoulder as he fucked his cum deep inside of you, also helping you ride out your orgasm. you guys stood there for a few seconds, before your eyes widened.

“the foo-” you let out a sigh of relief seeing the stove off. “kat...i need to finish dinner. you didn’t eat yet.” you sighed.

“i’ve had my fill for the day baby.” he kissed your neck lightly, pulling out of you. “cmon, let’s get you cleaned up.” he helped you off the counter.

[shoutogepi]

His Reaction When His S/O Reveals They Have a Breeding Kink

with Hawks & Todoroki Shouto

genre : [ ✘ (NSFW!) ]  

hc prompt : how would he react when you reveal you have a breeding kink?

author’s note : so this is uhhhhhhh nasty but y’all asked for it (not that i hated writing it or anything heheheeee)

Hawks

honestly you’ve been waiting for a long time to tell him about your dirty little secret. it feels shameful to have such a weird kink, something that gets you dripping wet when you think about it. and you certainly have thought about it, many a time before when he’s thrusting into you. you’ll close your eyes, imagining him whispering those nasty words to you, instantly making you clench onto him— and he has absolutely no clue that your mind is racing with such sin.

it’s taken, well, an embarrassing amount of time for you to finally sack up and just tell him, and now that you’re here underneath him, your heart is racing in your chest. before he’d gotten home you’d been so confident that today is the day you’ll tell him, but now that he’s sucking his mark onto your throat, his rough and nimble fingers slipping underneath the hem of your panties to tug them down your thighs, your voice is silent.

when you finally manage to squeak out his name, hawks stops his assault on your neck and leans back to look at you. the tone of your voice immediately alerts him that you’re uncomfortable, and it startles him into moving his hands from your thighs to rest gently on your hips, those gold eyes peering into yours. “what’s wrong, feather?” he asks, the usual playful tone absent as his thumbs stroke across your skin. “not in the mood?”

you shake your head and look away, heat rising to your cheeks as the moment of truth approaches much sooner than you’re ready for. “i am, i just… i wanna tell you something,” you say, eyes trailing back to lock with his. “and if you don’t, i mean— it’s kind of, uh, weird— so if you’re not comfortable with it, please just forget i ever said anything in the first place, and we’ll just continue like normal, okay?”

hawks is looking at you thoughtfully, and he takes you by surprise when he presses a chaste kiss to your warm cheek.

“well, ‘yanno you’re dating a birdman, so i'm used to weird... but alright, go ahead, dove.” this man never fails to make you smile, even if this time it’s less than half-hearted, the blood rushing in your ears.

after a very uncomfortable pause, you finally say it.

“i kind of have an, um… breeding kink.”

you’re not looking at him but hawks’ eyes are the size of dinner plates. he’s absolutely floored that his sweet little bird indulges in such nasty thoughts— that something so intimate and rather, well, primal could possibly make you squirm.

you take his shocked silence as a rejection, just wanting for this embarrassing confession to be done with, and forgotten. your hands cover your face in mortification, hiding your skin so you can’t feel his judgement “oh god, we can just— please just forget I even—“

his hands grab your wrists, secure enough to pull them away from your face, but gentle enough not to shake your mess of emotions further. a sentiment unlike any you’ve seen before fills his half-lidded eyes, which hold your gaze almost magnetically.

“don’t be so mean, birdie. you’re gonna take it back before we even get to try it out?”

your flushed back hits the cool sheets as he pushes you down, crawling up your body so he hovers above you. it’s your turn to look at him with wide eyes, and that cocky grin is on his lips once more.

“want me to put a baby in you, dove? god, that’s fuckin’ sexy,” he groans, hand dancing along your jaw and dipping his thumb between your lips for you to suck on. his knee slips between your legs, pressing against your pussy so he can feel you twitch in anticipation.

red feathers shiver behind him, the only visible sign you can see that conveys how truly excited he is by the premise of breeding you. well, that and the raging erection he presses into your naked hip, his thin pair of briefs doing their best to hold back his throbbing cock.

“gonna fill you so good, feather, you’re gonna look so good all round with my kid— fuck,” he groans, ripping off his underwear and lining up his swollen tip with your slit. he’s achingly hard and a trail of precum dribbles down his length, another sign of how into this he must be.

he moans as he slips into you, and your back arches as his hips bump yours, his cock nestling all the way inside your ready core. he starts off slow and passionate, taking your leg and slinging it over his shoulder to reach even deeper.

he will not stop his impassioned assault until you’re begging for more— for him to fuck you harder, rougher, faster. and hawks is definitely a tease in bed, so he’s gonna be pretty playful, even while he’s humoring your kink.

“yeah, dove? you want me to fuck you faster? need ‘ta feel these balls fulla my kids slap your pretty pussy?”

“take it, feather— take this cock and show me how bad you wanna carry my kids. fuck yeah, louder— wanna hear you sing for me.”

“god, you’re fuckin’ soaked. y’like hearing me talk about knockin’ you up? y’like it when i tell you i’m gonna make you my mama bird?”

hawks wants to fuck you as deep as he can, so when he cums his seed covers your womb as much as possible. he knows you love it, and it drives him crazy when your pussy clenches onto him as he’s climaxing— like you’re desperate to milk him dry and take every drop of his load, so your body can become swollen with his kids. knowing that only makes him orgasm harder, and maybe he even shoots out a few extra ropes of release because of it.

he will certainly incorporate this new kinky knowledge into your regular sexual routine, and you can safely bet that he will also use it to his very satiating advantage when he’s dealing with his ruts.

GOD when he’s in a rut, this birdman will take you to the next level. his hormones are already screaming at him to mark and claim and fill you, and that extra awareness that you want the same thing just feeds it even more. pray for your pussy during these times. and thank god he has the salary he does, because you’re gonna have to keep buying new sheets, again and again.

hawks will never make you feel judged for having such a kink, because he himself embraces it wholeheartedly. it makes his cock so hard knowing that the premise of him putting a kid in you makes you that wet. he will indulge you to the absolute fullest, and when he’s finished breeding you each session, you’re gonna be worshipped like the absolute queen he regards you as.

Shouto

so if you’re dating shouto be prepared for your friends to assume you like vanilla sex. it’s not that they don’t think he’s not physically capable of fucking you into next year (he’s a pro pero, like, have you seen his muscles?), it’s that shouto has always seemed more of a reserved, analytical kinda guy to most. but as his s/o, you’re exposed to the real shouto, the sassy, suave, and kinky motherfucker.

even if he is kinky, you’re still a bit hesitant to let him know about your breeding kink. the kink is, after all, not the most conventional, and it’s a bit of a… raw and crude kink, compared to others. and of course, you’ve never really revealed this part of yourself to any of your other lovers, because you hadn’t realized you even had the kink in the first place until you met shouto himself.

but the thing is, shouto is such a kind and understanding boyfriend, that you don’t feel too intimidated to keep the kink to yourself for long. actually, it kind of just slips out one night when he’s already balls-deep inside of you, taking you from behind as you’re bent over the kitchen sink.

his fingers are hooked in your hair, bending your spine to his will with his other hand firmly planted on your waist to keep you in place. he’s fucking you so roughly that your submissive nature is oozing out of every pore, your face probably twisted into the most lewd ahegao expression possible.

it’s clear that the reservations of your natural state are tossed out the window in front of you, and it’s not like shouto is holding anything back either with the way his hips are slapping into yours, groans tumbling from his lips.

at some point he’s shifting your leg up onto the ledge of the counter so he can drill his cock into that familiar sweet spot of yours, which coincidentally is located deep inside of you, close to your cervix and therefore your womb. the stars that dance along your vision cloud your brain, and you start babbling numbly as he finds the exact spot with precision.

“p-put a baby in me,” you whimper, pussy quivering to hug his intruding length, your legs nearly shaking at the intense stimulation.

shouto’s hips halt immediately as he sucks in a sharp breath, heterochromatic gaze connecting with yours in the window reflection. for a second he’s wondering if you mean you want to start a family with him, but after examining the carnal lust simmering in your eyes, he realizes what you’re truly asking of him.

and it turns him the fuck on.

“you wanna have my baby, hmm?” he growls and thrusts into you particularly hard, slamming into that sensitive spot and drawing a broken moan out of your breath-starved lungs. the hand on your waist travels to splay against your abdomen, long fingers pressing into your soft skin. “want me to fill you up,” thrust, “flood this pretty pussy with my seed,” thrust, “and make this perfect body swell with my child?”

you’re crying out as he starts pistoning into you, this time much harder and faster than before. he’s jabbing your g-spot with the head of his cock, the veins that decorate his thick length rubbing deliciously against your velvet walls. you can’t even form words, the premise of him knocking you up dominating your brain as you beg for more, for him to give you a baby.

your pleading is really getting him there, his cock aching to just stuff your pussy with his load already, but shouto wants something more. in no time he’s flipping you around, pushing your legs up so your calves rest against his broad shoulders. his hands gripping your waist, thumbs rubbing over your stomach as he eyes your flesh, he frantically pumps himself as deep as he can inside your heat. you can’t help but clench at the look on his face, his eyes fixed on your stomach as if he’s imagining what you’ll look like, belly round with his baby.

and oh my god, his dirty talk is absolutely sinful. he’s really finding enjoyment in exploring this new kink with you. 

“you’re gonna look so gorgeous carrying my baby, angel.”

“i promise i’m gonna give you load after load, ‘til you’re round and full and— shit, you really like that, huh?”

“you’re gonna be a good girl for me, right y/n? be a good girl and say ‘thank you sir’ when i give you this cum— fuck, come on, baby— say it.”

when you both finish (it doesn’t take very long after that), you kinda just laugh together, and even though you’re still a little embarrassed that you were the one to bring it up, shouto makes you feel safe and accepted, because he seems just as into it as you.

it’s safe to say, that isn’t the last time you two explore your breeding kink. after the pair of you have become more comfortable with the kink, shouto finds himself getting perhaps even more into it than you.

he’ll research what positions he can go the deepest in, and will not be afraid to bend you into them because he knows you love it when his cum seeps into you as deep as possible.

he buys you a plug to keep his cum inside of you— “you thought i was gonna stop after just one round? don’t make me laugh, baby, we’ve got another two gos at least until you’re full enough for me to use the plug.”

his mischievous ass will make you wear it out in public, dragging you out on a date or to grab lunch with his siblings. and you have to pretend that everything’s fine, that your pussy isn’t packed to the brim with his seed while you make small talk with his clueless sister.

when fuyumi asks if you enjoyed the meal, he’s quick to answer for you, his eyes meeting yours and glittering with something darker. “oh, y/n’s absolutely stuffed. isn’t that right, angel?”

you’re sure as hell getting dessert when you return home too.

➥ masterlist

➥ prompt party masterlist

[ri-ahhh]

good taste

Grayson puts his money where his mouth is — or maybe the other way around — after their last encounter; pt 2 to good vibes

warnings: smut, pretty much unedited sorry

***

“Are you asking me to eat you out? Because that sounds like a challenge you know I can’t refuse...”

“Maybe when I find out what your mouth can do, I’ll consider you competition for the vibrator. You need to be knocked down a peg or two, Dolan.”

It’s been three weeks since the incident on your couch between you and Grayson. Three weeks of things almost being normal, maybe with some added flairs.

Like the one day when he came over right after you had finished your Pilates workout; instead of throwing the shirt on you had discarded in the first ten minutes of the video to answer the door, you had decided opening it wearing only some tiny Nike pro shorts and a matching sports bra was perfectly acceptable. His eyes lingered knowingly, his signature smirk that oozed confidence — and subsequently made you ooze in your panties — playing at his lips.

Or that one night where all of your friends gathered at the twins’ house to have a good old movie night. You and Grayson somehow ended up together on the loveseat section of the giant cloud couch, and he convinced you to sit on the elongated cushion between his bent knees so he could try and braid your hair. It felt nice, and you didn’t really care your hair was in knots by the time his fingers started scratching up and down your back to lull you even further into bliss. You ended up reclined against his chest, slouched down with a blanket thrown over both of your legs and a giant bowl of popcorn plopped in your lap that he would reach over your shoulder to dig his hand into and playfully shove a handful of kernels into your mouth.

You remember ethan eyeing the two of you peculiarly from the opposite end of the couch, but you ignore him, because he undoubtedly knows what happened between you and his brother. You can admit that the scene of that night was more domestic and comfortable than what one would expect from two close friends who had just hooked up, but you can’t be bothered to care what other people might think about what’s going on between you and Grayson.

And then there was earlier today at the beach, where you both simply couldn’t take your eyes off each other, especially under the inconspicuous camouflage of dark sunglasses. But in a moment where you caught him with said glasses perched on his head, blatantly admiring the tiny black triangle covering you between your legs while you tan, you felt bold and confident enough to call him out on it.

“You know, you’re being a lil pervy.”

“Says the girl who’s been eye fucking me all day.”

You blushed. “Shut up.”

Grayson grinned and crawled from his towel to your own, stretching out next to you with his head propped up on his elbow. His fingers reached over and toyed with one of the ties on your bikini bottom teasingly; you bit your lip and trailed your hand up his tanned arm until you were squeezing that massive bicep appreciatively.

“It’s hard, knowing what’s underneath there now,” he said quietly, fingertips trailing then across the top of your bikini, along your lower belly.

You smiled. “It’s hard or it’s hard?”

Grayson threw his head back with his loud, signature laugh, then groaned and rolled onto his back next to you. “Both, baby. Both.”

Now, later that night, you’re at the boys’ house again, chilling on the couch watching old episodes of Parks and Rec that you’ve seen a million times already. You feel nice and relaxed, your body tired from being in sun and saltwater all day, but your mind content with how good of a day it had been.

Ethan and Kristina have already gone to bed, and Gray is in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner. You should be in there helping him, but you tell yourself you’re too comfy to get up right now.

And maybe you’re still a little on edge — vibrating, if you will — from the unresolved energy of your and Grayson’s moment on the beach.

The light shuts off behind you, and you hear his heavy footsteps make their way towards the living room.

“You look comfy,” he remarks with a grin, plopping down on the couch right next to your feet. He lifts them up and shifts over so they’re resting in his lap.

“I mean, it is a big comfy couch.”

Grayson sighs and drops his head to the back of the couch, pressing his thumb into the sole of your socked foot. “You look really pretty right now, too.”

Your heart stutters a bit, completely caught off guard. It’s a chaste and surprisingly sincere statement given the romanticism between you two so far has been purely sexual.

You should say ‘thank you’ — that’s all you have to say. But you’re an idiot, and your brain short circuits, and your first instinct is to deflect. “I’m pretty sure my nose got burned. And not in a cute way.”

“It is cute.”

You deadpan him. “And I can feel my hair frizzing by the minute because you don’t have conditioner.”

“Adorable.”

“You’re impossible.”

Grayson pretends to be offended, but the facade is broken by the smile he can’t hold back. “I’m just being honest!”

You shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching. “If you were being honest, you’d admit you’re just saying that cuz you wanna see me cum again.”

He shrugs. “Two things can be true at once, sweetheart.” His big hand starts dragging up your bare shin, and your eyes follow his touch. “I can think you’re absolutely stunning with a sunburn and smelling like my shampoo, and want to see you cum.”

He pauses, and you’re silent, until you look up at him with your lower lip caught between your teeth to find him already staring at you. The heat in his gaze makes your pussy flutter, and your eyes almost threaten to shut at the feeling... especially with his next confession.

“I want to make you cum. Me.”

A tinkling, disbelieving giggle escapes you before you can stop it. He’s unreal. “Still think you can outdo my vibrator, huh?”

Grayson winks at you — you hate how much the simple, cocky little action turns you on so much instantly. “I’ll never know until I try.”

He’s right. Desire clouds your rational reasoning, and you’re also justifiably curious. And horny. And maybe your heart is warming to him more than it should.

“Okay.” Grayson looks surprised for a fleeting second, then he’s grinning and starting to crawl over your body, but you stop him by placing the foot he had just released from his hand on his shoulder firmly. “In your room. No interruptions.”

His eyes darken, and he nods in agreement. He doesn’t get up right away, though; he watches your face intently as his hand continues it’s way up your leg, making circles on the sensitive inside of your knee. You don’t know what your expression says, but it must convey your approval, because his fingers go higher until the tips of them light upon your covered center.

The barely-there touch makes you gasp, and before you can stop yourself, your hips are hiking upwards to make the contact more direct.

As expected, Grayson smirks smugly. “You want more?”

You nod, and gasp again when he bypasses your shorts altogether now in favor of slipping his hand into your panties. You both let out tiny little groans when he touches your wet folds, his middle finger trailing up and down your slit to test out the moisture leaking from you.

“There’s one question answered,” he says lowly, grinning when he finds your clit and starts rubbing slow circles into it with the pad of his finger. “I can get you wet no problem.”

“Mmm,” you can’t help but moan, both at his touch and his words, despite the ones you speak yourself. “Stop — stop being such a... such a douchebag.”

Grayson just chuckles lowly, because he somehow knows you love it. You indulge in his touch for a few more seconds, before reach a hand down quickly to grasp his bracelet-clad wrist. “Your room, now.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. Grayson plants his feet on the ground and pulls you to stand with him, leading you by the hand down the hall to his bedroom.

You flop back on the bed and scoot up to rest your head on the pillows as you watch him lock the door before joining you in the cloud of white sheets and blankets.

He crawls to you, stopping on his knees in front of you and batting your hands away from where they’ve just gripped the waistband of your shorts to tug them down.

“I didn’t get to do it last time,” he explains roughly, his demeanor changed some now that he’s so close to getting what he wants. He’s less cool, calm, and collected and more hurried and desperate. “I wanna do it now.”

You can only lift your hips in response, nodding once he’s tossed them to the side and takes hold of your panties now. When those are gone, he groans louder than before and settles on his belly as he pushes your thighs open wider to both get a better look, and to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he exhales harshly, breathing in deeply in the next moment to take in the heady smell of your arousal.

He looks up at you with dark hazel eyes, and you bite your lip nervously as you wait for him to make another move.

You don’t have to wait long at all, because not even a second later he’s sucking two fingertips into his mouth, then placing them directly on your clit to pick up where he left off just a minute ago.

“You have a pretty pussy,” he says, like it’s a normal compliment to give. You flush anyways, unsure of what to say to that.

“Are you implying there are ugly pussies?”

He shrugs. “Some are just nicer to look at. And yours is just... wow.”

You blush harder, moaning when he presses a little firmer into your clit. “Thank you.”

Grayson smiles up at you. He moves away from your clit, exploring the rest of your pussy with a genuine curiosity and hunger on his face that makes you clench with every little touch and glance he gives it.

“Yeah,” he sighs, trailing the fleshy outside lightly. “Smooth.” His fingers part your lips. “Pink.” Hisnother hand squeezes one of your thighs, pushing it back and out a bit so you’re more open, allowing his middle fingertip to brush over your hole. “Fuck. And so wet.”

“Grayson, please,” you whimper, reaching out to brush your hand against his cheek and coax him to your pussy, unable to wait for him to get his mouth on you any longer.

He’s just as impatient, because he’s already halfway there by the time your hand makes contact with his stubble. You’re crying out with his rough moan at the first swipe of his tongue up your slit, your hand instantly sliding up to find purchase in his hair.

“Fuck,” he growls, pulling back to stare hard at your pussy as he spreads around the fresh rush of srousal that had just graced his tongue with his fingers once again. He dives back in, delving his tongue deep inside you before dragging it all the way up to your clit. He circles it, flicks it, suckles it a few times. “Oh fuck.”

There’s no gentleness, no sweetness, no innocent exploration in how Grayson eats your pussy for the first time — very unlike any other guy you’ve been with when they did it initially. There was always some level of hesitance or fear that they were doing something wrong, or trying too hard to figure out what you liked.

Not Grayson. Like most other aspects of his life, he’s fully confident in his abilities, and seems to just be enjoying the experience of eating you out with a voracity you’ve never been on the receiving end of before. It’s infectious, makes you want him that much more, makes you throw a leg over his shoulder and press your heel into his back while you drag him closer by the hair.

Happy to have his face completely buried in you, Grayson moans, really moans, into your center. He sucks on your clit, relishing in the curses and whines it elicits from you. He looks up at you through hooded kids while he sneaks his hands under the oversized hoodie you’re still wearing — he must feel the throb of your clit against his mouth when you simultaneously meet his eyes and he squeezes your breasts firmly, because he grins into your pussy.

“You taste so good,” he hums, more of a whisper than anything else, but with enough vibrations to make you shudder.

You cover one of his hands with your own squeezing harder and grinding into his mouth with steady, insistent thrusts against him. “Please!”

Grayson likes that. He sighs again and pinched your nipples before making sure you keep your hand there as he brings his down to wrap around your thighs. He shakes his head deeper into your folds, dipping down just enough so his lips are exploring every crevice of your pussy and leaving his nose to brush against your clit teasingly every now and then.

The noises of his mouth are almost too much. Loud and sloppy and wet as he quite literally slurps you down with every lick, suck and swallow, spitting back onto your swollen pussy a mixture of your cum and his saliva.

When he suctions his lips around your clit again and starts making those quick flicks of his tongue over it, too, you just about lose it. Your mind is in another dimension, so far gone you barely register you’re giggling because it feels so good.

“Oh my god! Holy shit!”

You’re writhing against him, unsure if you’re trying to escape or get even closer. Grayson looks up and watches your face contort and fall apart because of him, and he can’t stop grinding his own hips into the mattress for some form of relief. He’s always enjoyed this to some extent, but he can’t believe just how close he is to getting off without so much as a touch from either you or his own hand.

He grunts and moves his hands to lay firmly across your tummy, holding you down so he can get you there exactly how he wants.

And he does get you there, the pitch of your moans getting higher and higher until you’re forced into silence by the overwhelming pleasure that explodes inside of you. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, even clenched around his head, your fists gripping wads of the sheets as you gasp out his name like a stream of consciousness.

Grayson pries your legs from around his ears and brings you down with gentle licks and touches to your skin — over your legs, your abdomen, even clutching your hand in his to help anchor you some.

It’s that strange bit of intimacy that helps ground you the most, and you’re barely coherent by the time he sits up and shifts onto his knees. You open your eyes, taking in the huge bulge in his shorts and reaching out to it without even thinking.

He mumbles your name, but you’re on a mission; even in your post-nut haze you reason it’s the least you can do after that... orgasm is too bland of a word. You want him to feel even an ounce of the pleasure he just gave you.

You fish his dick out easily, and it’s definitely not the best handjob you’ve ever given by any means, but he doesn’t seem to need much, anyways. He moves closer to you, taking your hand off him long enough to lubricate it in the slick coating your pussy. He puts you hand back on his dick for you and holds up his shirt while you work him over, until he’s grunting and moaning out, “I’m gonna cum...”

There isn’t a less messy option, but you wouldn’t mind even if there were, so you stick your tongue out and jack him off into your mouth. Grayson grips the back of your mussed hair to keep you there, groaning harshly with each spurt of his cum that lands on your proffered tongue.

You stare up at him as you squeeze out the last of what he has to give, lick your lips to catch any stray drops, then you collapse together back into the pillows. Both of your chests heave, and you stare at the ceiling together as reality starts to set in of what the two of you just did.

Like the last time, it doesn’t feel wrong. But you’re not ready to face the changes it means just yet. For now, you’re happy to snuggle into his side, and pretend things are even a little normal. Whatever that means, anyways.

“So. Was it good?”

You hum and chuckle. Your body is so heavy now, you can’t even move your head to look at him. But there’s the normalcy you wanted — Grayson looking for praise of his obvious talents.

You decide to not even try and tease him. Or bullshit him, because how could you? You think back with a clearer head to how you writhed and moaned for him, blushing at how easily he made you lose control of your inhibitions.

“Yeah, Gray, it was good. Really good.”

“Better than the vibrator?”

You yawn and smack his chest weakly. “All I’ll say is, as long as you’re around to do that, she won’t be seeing the outside of my underwear drawer.”

“Good.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I will be. Around to do that, I mean. I loved tasting you.”

If you had any capacity to be turned on again, that might have done it, but for now it just makes your chest warm. He’s also making you think too much again.

“Can I sleep here? I can’t move.”

Whether he understands your inability to reply or not, he chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “Of course.”

You sigh gratefully. “Night, Gray.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[icollectyoursins]

Prosciutto x Homebody!Reader NSFW

Anon asked: "May I request some wholesome Prosciutto x homebody reader who doesn't go out much so they have a stay at home date? (Bonus if it includes nsfw then light bondage with reader tied to the bed + soft dom Pro and orgasm denial + praise kink) thank you so much 🥺"

During a dinner date at home, Prosciutto notices that you’re positively burning up and, being the excellent life partner he is, decides you need to rest in bed until you’re better. Or until you’re begging for him to let you cum, which ever comes first.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Vibrators, Prosciutto being an ass but like... hot? And kinda sweet? Helping your partner eat their food (not in a kinky way, more in he’s an ass kind of way patronizing almost. With lots of innuendoes), light praise kink, bondage, anal fingering, orgasm denial.

Word Count: 1400

     Prosciutto elegantly placed your plates on the table, ignoring your squirming. The smell of delicious food floods your nostrils, making your mouth water. You flicked your eyes up to him, smiling sweetly when he did the same. A chuckle rumbled through his chest as he looked over your body. Though you tried to stay still, you couldn’t help the small tremble that coursed through your body. 

     To anyone looking in from the outside, they would have thought you were cold. You two, of course, knew that was far from the truth. Nestled between your legs, humming against your most sensitive parts was a vibrator. A vibrator that he controlled from his phone. 

     “You seem to be enjoying yourself, (Y/N).” Hearing your name on his lips made a soothing warmth spread throughout your body. You hummed, twirling pasta around your fork.

     “It’s not very often my man makes me such a delicious dinner. I’m a little beside myself, Prosciutto.” You both laughed softly.

     “If you enjoy your dinner that much, wait for dessert.” His eyes narrowed in a way that made your heart jump. If this was just the first course in what he had planned for you tonight, then you were very excited for what happened after. What seemed like a million images of him pleasing you floated through your head, making you all the more desperate to finish eating.

     You took your first bite and god, it was delicious. Prosciutto had outdone himself. You would need to ask for dates like these more often. Or maybe just for him to cook for you more. Since you were the one spending most of your time at home, it was agreed that you would do a large portion of the housework during the days he was away and he would come home with flowers every weekend or new clothes that he would make you model for him.

     He also had chores to do when he was home, but it was mostly handy stuff like fixing the sink, the washing machine, putting in new light bulbs, etc. Because he was away so often, most of his time was spent with you in his arms on the couch, making up for all the kisses he should have given you. Though, there were a few instances where you pretended things were broken again just to see him take off his jacket, roll up his sleeves and flex his muscles while trying to figure out the problem. He caught on pretty quick, but hey! If it lead to sex later and a smile on your face, he’d pretend to fix things all you wanted.

     Moments pass with the vibrator still on a low buzz. You start to wonder if he forgot or if he was just trying to be nice while you ate. Idle conversation about your days was made to keep the silence at bay until you had come close to finishing your plate. There were only a few forkfuls left when the buzz got stronger, making you moan out of shock. 

     “Problem, baby?” He purrs, knowing full well that there was indeed a problem. You weren’t stretched open over his girthy cock. That was the problem.

     “No, dear. Why would there be a problem?” You teased, obviously lying.

     “Good,” Prosciutto said, scooping up the last of his pasta into his mouth before getting up to clean the plate.

     Just as you were about to put a rather large mound into your mouth, the vibrator shot up in intensity again, eyes growing wide as you moaned again. This time, your hips bucked into the air of their own accord. You looked over to him, just to see what he was doing. His back covered most of his movements, you couldn’t tell if he was playing around with the settings on his phone or-

     “AaAah!~” You practically shrieked as the vibrator changed its pattern from a single pace to one that flicked on and off at a quick tempo.

     “Oh, (Y/N).” Suddenly, Prosciutto was beside you, humming your name while brushing his finger along your cheek. “Can’t finish your dinner?” You silently cursed him for being such a coy asshole. The back of his hand rested against your forehead. “Hm. Your face is rather hot, are you sure you’re okay?”

     You struggled to speak without moaning, but eventually, you were able to spit out his name through gritted teeth. A chair is pulled up beside you and his hand begins to rub your back softly.

     “Here, let me help you.” He takes the fork from your hand. “Trying to fit so much in your mouth while you’re like this? Tch. You should know better than to bite off more than you can chew.” You roll your eyes while he gathers the ‘correct’ amount of pasta, bringing it up to your lips. “Open. Good, that’s it. So good for me.”

     You groan in annoyance, finishing the bite before talking. “Stop making this hot.” Prosciutto laughs, leaning into your neck, breath tickling your skin.

     “Do you want to get right to dessert, (Y/N)?”

     “Please,” you huffed, bringing your hand to his thigh, slowly trailing it up to the bulge in his pants. 

     Without another word, he lifts you out of the chair, tossing you over his shoulder and making his way to the bedroom. You couldn’t help the warmth that pooled over you whenever he made you feel so weightless. All you wanted him to do was spear you on his cock while pinning you to the wall. One of his hands drifted up your thigh, squeezing your ass cheek, making you moan, headily, dazed from your lust-idled mind. 

     You were set down onto the middle of the bed, clothes quickly discarded to a pile in the corner. Prosciutto cages you underneath him, kissing a trail from your lips, down your neck right to the tips of your fingers, then, he attaches the first strap to your wrist. You can’t help but moan and squirm under him as he repeats the same action to the other hand. It was time for your legs now. The anticipation made you squirm, gently bucking up into him.

     “Patience, (Y/N). You’ll get what you want.” He leaves another trail from your sternum down to your knee, extra careful to not touch your aching genitals in any way. He bends your legs, teasing you as much as he can. You moan and keen under his touch, so close to your release. “Oh, right. Don’t move.” 

     With a chuckle, he gets up, walking back to the kitchen where he left his phone. He returns promptly, standing in the doorway with a prideful look on his face. As if you hadn’t been through enough, he turns up the vibrator again. You cry out, hips lifting up off the bed, then he turns it off. 

     “Prosciutto, p-please.”

     “Please, what?” Prosciutto pulls out the rope from under the bed. 

     He slowly crawls back onto the bed, taking his place between your legs again. Carefully, he ties the rope around the middle of your shin and thigh, leaving you immobile. Once he’s done both legs, he pulls a bottle of lube out of his pockets and squirting some onto his fingers. Fucking men’s pockets. You didn’t get the chance to think of a follow-up. His fingers were already on your aching hole, massaging your back door.

     “Ugh, just fuck meee.” You whine. The first finger is slipped in and you cried out again. Slowly, he finger fucked in and out of you, dragging against your walls at an agonizing pace. A second digit was added, then a third, stretching you open. “P-pleaaasee. I -uhnn~ I’m so close.”

     Prosciutto simply hums, continuing the slow pace while your cries get louder and louder. Soon, you’re writhing under him, eyes rolling back into your head. You arch your back off the bed, a telltale sign that you were just one push away. Your practically screamed out release was cut short by his fingers retreating, leaving you so, so empty. 

     Coming down from the shock, you realized you were crying. You hated that he could make you such a mess like this. But then that first finger was back at your ass again and you melted, begging him over and over again to wreck you; leave you limping in the morning. He chuckles, kissing your inner thigh.

     “Not yet, darling. Not. Yet.”

[atsukashii]

❝jealous, love❞ // e. kirishima

SYNOPSIS: ➛ contrary to unpopular belief, Eijiro Kirishima does get jealous, especially when sleazy guys are trying to hit on his girlfriend

» CHARACTER PAIRING: eijiro kirishima x fem!reader

» WORD COUNT: 2.1k

» GENRE: aged up characters, post u.a

» WARNINGS: fluffiest of fluff, protective kirishima, y/h/n - your hero name

« masterlist || ao3 »

Being a pro hero and trying to juggle your personal life is harder than you anticipated. There are things that you see people take for granted that pro heroes physically can’t. Like being able to plan dates with your boyfriend of three years. 

You and Kirishima had learned the hard way that it was almost impossible to plan dates. This is purely due to the fact that you would and can be called into work at any moment of time. After multiple dates that ended up with either you or Kirishima having to run out because of it, you both decided the next time you really wanted to go out and do something, you were requesting the day off, so there would be no interruptions of any sort unless the world was ending. 

As you glance down at your phone out of pure habit, you have a feeling that the world would not in fact end tonight. Instead, you and your boyfriend are going out to a fancy dinner that you had prepared for, two weeks in advance - just to be safe.

Threading your golden earrings through your lobes, you stand up straight and tilt your head slightly at your reflection in the mirror. You’d decided that you were going all out for your date with Kirishima tonight. Dressing yourself up with full glam makeup, and brand new red dress you know Kiri will love, that now brushes your thighs. The look completed with your nude strappy heels fastened to your feet, you were finally ready. 

You check the time once more before grabbing your clutch from the dresser and leaving your bedroom, stepping down your hallway towards the kitchen. Kirishima leans against the island bench of your small kitchen, texting on his phone as you enter. As soon as he hears your heels click against the wooden floors though, his attention snaps to you and the phone almost falls from his hands. For a second, you both stand in complete silence, until Kirishima breaks by moving towards you. Gently, he takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“If you weren’t already my girlfriend, I’d date the hell out of you.” he breathes, making a giggle escape your lips.

“Well it's a good thing I’m already your girlfriend isn't it then.” You smile, looking up at him. God, he looks so attractive. He’s outdone himself for your date tonight as well. A black button-up shirt stretches tightly across his chest and matching slacks makes it all too much for your brain to comprehend.

“That’s what I tell myself every day.” He says grinning. Even after all this time, compliments from Kirishima make you blush - and really, you should be used to it with the amount of verbal loving he puts on you on the daily. The man is seriously smooth, and the ultimate confidence booster. You love him dearly for it. 

“You good to go?” he asks, offering you his arm. You don’t bother to bring a coat with you as you wrap your arm around his. It’s summer and with a jacket, the heat would be way too much, which is the only reason you can afford to wear a dress right now. 

Together, you leave your shared apartment and walk to the restaurant that's located just a few blocks from where you live. You’d seen it one day on your way back from work and decided that you and Kiri just had to visit. With classic white tablecloth covered tables, flowers, and dim lighting, it was the perfect romantic setting for a date with your long time boyfriend. When you’d stepped inside, you were seated at your table and quickly ordered before holding up your now delivered wine glass to your boyfriend with a small smile.

“To the first date and relaxing evening in far too long.” Gently, he touches the tip of your glass to his own and beams at you.

“And to many more.” 

❀ ❀ ❀

It’s late when you leave the restaurant, but you both decide that the night itself is still young. On your way home, you decide to stop in at the store to get some wine to have at home. Walking into the store, you both give the man behind the till a kind smile before you slink down the aisle currently displaying too many types of wine for you to choose from. You are about to turn to your boyfriend for help when his phone goes off. His eyebrows furrow as he pulls his phone from his back pocket. You go to check your own, in case the world seriously has it out against you and is, in fact, about to end, but Kirishima places a hand on your arm. His phone already pressed against his ear.

“It’s not urgent, pick whichever one you want babe. I’ll be right back.” He explains and places a tender kiss to your brow before walking away for privacy. Obviously, he didn’t want to ruin your good mood with work talk, and it's that kind of forethought that is one of the reasons you love Kirishima. Your happiness and health are always at the forefront of his mind, whether it be taking care of you when you're sick or comforting you after a heavy day at work, he’s an actual godsend. 

Your eyes scan over the numerous bottles of wine, still unsure of which one to get. Now that Kirishima’s gone elsewhere and not here to help, you’re tempted to close your eyes and point to one in hopes to find an option. Suddenly, the artwork on one catches your eye and you reach towards it, only to stop when a voice fills your ears. One that's definitely not your boyfriend.

“Need a hand with anything darling?” Your eyes move to the stranger, standing a few feet from you with a smile on his face. Your hand hangs uselessly in the air as you watch his eyes track slowly from your face, down your front, and back up again. Even though his smile seems somewhat kind, the look in his eyes screams creeper and is grossing you out. Your eyes track from the man, looking over the top of the aisles in hopes of finding your red-headed boyfriend, but you can’t seem to find Kirishima anywhere. Placing your attention back to the stranger, you resist the urge to wipe your now sweaty hands on your dress and instead give him a kind smile in return.

“I’m good, thanks for the offer though.” You say, hoping that this means the conversation is over. But apparently the guy doesn’t get the hint and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“Say aren’t you that pro hero, y/h/n?” He asks. You honestly didn’t think you would be noticed tonight, your boyfriend yes, but you? Not so much. Though, much like Kirishima, you were climbing the hero ranks at a speed that seemed to be catching attention. I shouldn’t be surprised, you think; as yesterday you helped your close friend and fellow pro hero Chargebolt bring down a villain that was very publicly known. The media had been spreading the story like crazy, and it wouldn’t blow over for a while. Or until you were outshined by another top hero or something major happened. You don’t mean to make it sound like it's nothing, because you’re proud of your skill and your job, you’re just not a fan of reporters and media is all. 

“Yeah, that's me. But I’m off duty right now.” You explain, suddenly reaching forward and grabbing whatever bottle of wine off the shelf you can get your hand on, to get out of the conversation. As you turn to leave, the creeper’s eyes trail down your torso again, his lips lifting in a satisfied smile. He just graduated from creeper to pervert. You’ve been trained on how to best communicate with people, but pervs still and always will creep you the fuck out. 

“What's a pro hero like you doing here all alone on a Friday night?” Gross.

“I’m here with-”

“Sorry about that babe, Bakugou was just having a go at me about some paperwork.” Kirishima’s voice interrupts and you’ve never been more glad for your boyfriend's presence then you are right now. Once he reaches you, Kirishima looks at the perv and instinctively wraps his arms around your waist. 

“Picked one yet?” He asks you, nodding to the bottle of whatever in your hands. 

“I think so.” You say, feeling a lot more relaxed with Kirishima’s arms around you. 

“You’re Red Riot.” The guy says making you both rotate your attention to him. Kirishima gives him a tight smile, that to anyone but you would look completely genuine. But you know Kirishima, and he’s pissed at the way the stranger is looking at you.

“Nice to meet you.” Kirishima nods, before letting his hand slide down from its perch on your waist until it rests on the small of your back, right above your ass. It’s a possessive move and one that makes you relax slightly against him. Kirishima isn’t normally a possessive person, except for when it comes to you. You know that he hates that people tend to pay attention but he has never made it out to be your fault. It’s a similar thing when he’s in hero costume and guys and girls alike drool over your boyfriend's ripped physique - you amongst them. 

Kirishima suddenly turns his back on the stranger and you instantly become weak at the heat in his eyes. It’s not just attraction swirling in his ruby gaze, but jealousy. Something that he doesn’t usually express often. 

“Ready to go beautiful?” He asks, laying it on thick. You nod your head in response and begin walking to the counter with the bottle of what you now see to be red wine, with Kirishima right behind you. You know there’s logic to the reason he’s sticking to you like glue so that the perv can’t see your frame from behind Kirishima’s bulking one. At the register, you’re practically sandwiched between the front counter and your boyfriend, who somehow has the coordination to simultaneously hold you and try to tap his card to pay for the wine before you can, but he fails. He had demanded to pay for the dinner tonight, so you’d requested to pay for the wine, which he agreed to. Sighing in defeat, he slips his wallet into his back pocket as the guy behind the till wrap’s it all up. You lean back into Kirishima’s chest as you feel yourself finally relax again, Kirishima follows by resting his head on your shoulder. 

“Thank you. I love you, Eijiro.” You whisper to the air, and you know he’s heard you when his arms squeeze around your middle in response, a silent code that he returns the sentiment. 

Saying a kind thank you to the worker, you and Kirishima walk out of the store. Once you’re outside, he can’t help but glance over his shoulder and outright glare as if the shop has physically harmed him. 

“Babe,” you say, trying to smother a giggle. Kirishima looks back at you with raised eyebrows and an innocent look on his face.

“What?” shaking your head at his antics, you both stop at the traffic lights and wait to cross the road. 

“Are you jealous, Kiri?” Your tone is teasing, and the bulking man lets out a dejected sigh, pulling you once again tightly into his side as if he can’t bear the act of not touching you right now. His arm wraps around your waist as the lights change, allowing you to keep walking. 

“I hate it when people stare at you like that. Can they not see that it makes you uncomfortable? And to do it so blatantly, that guy was gross as hell. Are you alright?” He asks and you nod in agreement, whilst falling for him a little bit more.

“I’m okay, and I'm glad you were there to save the day, Mr. Hero.” You smirk and the beaming grin that covers his face makes the awkward encounter completely worth it.

“Whenever you need me, babe, I'm there.” You both know it's corny as hell, but you don’t care. Kirishima practically drags you across the road before stopping you, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lips. Your heart flips inside your chest at his actions, something that hasn’t changed since your first kiss.

“I love you so much y/n.” Grinning against your boyfriend's lips, pure euphoria floods your system. 

“I love you too big guy.” You pull back, entwining your fingers with his and begin to walk backward, pulling him alone. “Let’s go home and drink this hopefully not crappy wine and watch tv.” 

“Babe, you know just what to say.” He fake groans whilst walking next to you, the bottle of wine in a paper bag tucked under his arm like a ball. God, he’s perfect. 

©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

[lordoffiction]

Thor’s Lightning: Chapter Three.��

☞: Chapter Three is finally here! After being three days late, I finally finished it. I’m not happy with this chapter, I know I could have done better than this, but I don’t think I can do any more than this. I promise to add some more Ivar in chapter 4!

I hope you all enjoy it! Please make sure to give feedback, it would mean a lot to me! ♡

WORD COUNT: 4,654. 

WARNINGS: death, gore, blood, swearing, some nsfw, self-hate, naughty thoughts. 

gif isn’t mine. all credits to the owner.

                           ___________________

You walked through Kattegat with a smile plastered on your lips, smiling at the people who were putting away their stalls for the night. You had a good day with the Ragnarssons in training and at the Great Hall, besides the fact Hvitserk poured half his drink over you for you mocking him, earning a swift punch to his arm in return. 

Torches lit up the town when the darkness of the evening settled in since fire was the only source of light in this time. It always made you somewhat anxious, burning fire next to wood and other flammable things, you couldn't understand how nothing had been caught alight yet.

Your mind drifted back to Ivar’s suggestion of you coming to the raid with them tomorrow to prevent you from the danger The Seer had warned you about. You had told them you’d have to sleep on it and give your answer tomorrow morning when they were due to leave. It wasn’t an easy answer for you to give, you mean, you would have to kill people there. And clearly, unlike every blood-thirsty Viking in this town, you were a virgin when it came to murdering people. But then it would take you away from the lingering and suspenseful danger here. 

Pro, you’d be away from danger here and be with the Ragnarssons.

Con, you’d be expected the murder people and still be in danger. 

Your hut came into view, letting out a sigh of relief as you thought about finally laying in your bed after today. Sleep was the love of your life, you could never get enough of sleeping in a warm, cozy bed. 

Wait. 

Your steps slowed down, noticing the hut door swinging open. That was strange, Embla always scolded you for leaving it open. She insisted on keeping it shut at all times to preserve the heat in there. 

So why would she leave it open? Especially in the evening when the air gets colder. 

You could see the fire from the fire pit flickering inside, so that means she’s home. 

A sickening feeling stirred in your stomach, something was wrong. The smile on your face started to fall as you approached the door.

“Embla?” You called out, stepping into the hut, your heart dropped as you saw the mess in front of you. 

The hut looked like it had been tipped upside down, the small wooden table was now on its side with one of its four legs broken off, the bedding had been torn up and the pot that Embla would normally cook dinner in had been chucked aside from the where it originally hung above the fire pit, the contents that were once in it was spilled out onto the wooden floors. 

“Embla!” You called out again, louder this time. Had you been robbed? Was she here when it happened? 

Your E/C orbs trailed over to the one floorboard in the corner of the room that had markings on it you said had looked like a face. Pacing to it, you knelt down, prying it open with your fingertips. A relieved sigh left your lips. 

Your backpack was still there.  

Embla had told you to hide your belongings a while ago, in case something exactly like this would happen. 

A noise from outside the hut startled you, putting the floorboard back in place and standing yourself back up as you slung your backpack onto your shoulder. You walked towards the source of the noise, thinking it could be Embla coming back. 

“I don’t want to startle you, Embla, but I think we might have been robbed.” You stepped back out, opening your mouth to carry on but stopped when you couldn’t see her. 

Where the fuck is she? 

You stepped forwards, the sole of your shoe squelching into the soil beneath you. 

But it hadn’t rained today, so why was the ground wet? 

Your stomach twisted into a knot again, anxiety and fear taking ahold of every nerve in your body. 

Something isn’t right. 

Looking down, the dirt was disturbed and scuffed up as if something had been dragged round to the side of the hut. The air began getting more thick around you as you tried to slow your racing heart. You automatically moved into the direction it went, peering around the corner of the hut as an excruciating pain erupted in your chest. 

“Oh my god.” You heaved out, freezing in place. 

You barely saw her in the shadows, her silhouette outlined by the moonlight. 

Embla was already lying on her back in the dirt when you spotted her, staring up at the sky as she gurgled out a choke, her own blood splattering back down onto her face. Her pallid throat had been slashed open, the skin around the edge of her wound was peeled back jagged, showing that it was brutally inflicted by a blunt blade. 

You snapped out of your shocked state when you realised she was still alive, her breathing was gasps of breaths, desperately trying to cling onto the little bit of life she had left in her. Your legs began to move despite feeling like they were being weighed down by anchors, sprinting over to her and kneeling down in the mud beside her. 

“Embla! Oh my god, what happened?!” Your voice quivered down to her, your E/C eyes scanning over her neck. 

You knew to put pressure on a wound to stop the bleeding, your bare hands wrapping around her throat. The warm, maroon liquid seeped through your fingers as you pressed down. God, there was so much blood. The metallic smell from it almost made you gag. You knew the cut had reached the major artery in her neck, you knew you wouldn’t be able to save her in this desperate attempt at trying to stop the flow of blood from escaping her body. But you had to try, you refused to let her die. 

It wasn't her fucking time. 

You begged her, pleaded her to stay with you and stay awake. You screamed for help over your shoulder but no one came, too far away from the people who were still in the market. 

Her hair was matted with blood and dirt from where she had been dragged by her legs. Her fragile hand lifted up, fingernails filthy as she reached up weakly to put her hand over your blood-soaked ones. Her hand was ice cold, one of her fingernails had been torn off from trying to defend herself from whoever did this to her. 

Even in her moments of death, she chose to comfort you as she choked and suffocated on her own blood.  

The action made you let out a raw sob, hot tears streamed down your reddened cheeks. You would never forgive the person who did this to her.  

“Who did this to you?” You cried out, not understanding who could have done this merciless, unforgiving act on her. The woman who had saved you was now dying in front of you. 

You couldn't save her.

A small sound left Embla’s lips, her brown eyes drifting off past you and into the distance, the last remaining bit of life in her slipped from her. 

You froze as your crying paused, eyes widening as you stared down at her lifeless eyes. Your mothers' ones flashed for a moment over hers, reminding you that death followed you wherever you went. 

The area around you blurred out, only being able to see the pale face of Embla looking back at you, her hand still on top of yours. A rage you had never felt before boiled inside you.

A blood-curdling scream pushed out of your lungs, being robbed of all its oxygen and past your lips in an attempt to try and release the crippling pain inside you, echoing throughout Kattegat. Lightning struck through the clouds above you like a whip, thunder boomed with your scream as if Valhalla had heard you, Thor himself feeling the rage you felt. 

It had felt like you spent hours trying to save her or seconds. Time didn’t feel real to you at that point and you couldn’t even tell how long you had been kneeling next to her body. You gently brushed the hair that was stuck to her skin from dry blood out of her face, the lump in your throat burning the inside of your nose as you slowly closed her eyelids for her with your fingers. 

Embla had died in front of you, in your arms. Someone had murdered her in cold blood. 

The thought made you freeze, looking up your eyes scanned around your surroundings. 

Someone had murdered her. 

A chill prickled up your spine, looking towards the darkened forest ahead of you. 

Whoever it was could still be here, they could be watching you right now. 

You quickly pulled yourself up onto your feet, ignoring the fact your legs were numb and felt like jelly, you ran into the direction of the Great Hall. You didn’t dare look back as you feared you’d see someone running after you, your legs carried you as fast as they could, vision blurred by the salty tears streaming down your face. 

You knocked on the doors of the Great Hall desperately, pounding onto the wood with the side of your fists until a brunette thrall opened it, her face stricken with shock at the sight of you. 

Your mustard coloured sleeves were stained red, dirt and blood on your face. You were visibly shaking from the shock, barely holding onto your breath.

Hiccuping a sob out, you asked where the Princes were. 

“They’re by the docks, getting ready for their raid tomorrow.” She said cautiously, looking behind her as the thrall from earlier that day approached you. 

“Y/N!” She gasped out, walking over to you and pulling you inside to the warmth of the Hall. “Saga, go get the Ragnarssons. Tell them that Y/N is here and they urgently need to return.”

The brunette thrall nodded, eyes wide as she left the Hall to sprint to the Docks. 

                          _____________________

“We leave at the first sign of light,” Ubbe said plainly, looking up towards the thundering sky. "Hopefully there isn't a storm coming."

“And how many men do we plan on taking with us?” Ivar looked up from the barrel he was sat on, his legs had been a nuisance today, aching under the pressure of his metal leg brace.

“Fifty, at least. It’s only a small Christian community, I doubt they’ll have a whole army there waiting for us to arrive. It will be an easy raid.” Ubbe shrugged, the furs wrapped around his shoulders blew in the breeze.  

“Hm, I wouldn’t be so sure, Ubbe. Christian’s coming here without some sort of protection? It sounds a bit strange to me.” Hvitserk piped up this time, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Then we’ll bring some more men if it’ll put your mind to rest. And what about Y/N?” 

“What about her?” Hvitserk looked over to his brother, shifting slightly. The subject of you also made Ivar's blue eyes look up at his older brothers. 

“If she decides to come, who will protect her?” Ubbe looked at him as if he was daft. 

“She doesn't need protecting,” Hvitserk glared. “She can protect herself. She’s a good fighter.”

“But against people who are actually trying to kill her? Men twice her size?” 

“If she struggles then we’re all there to look out for her.” Ivar stood up with a pained grunt, leaning onto his crutch. “She’s a big girl, she can look after herself.” 

“Princes!” 

The Ragnarssons looked over to the end of the dock, seeing one of their thralls run over to them, pointing back to the Great Hall. 

“Saga,” Ubbe frowned. “What is the matter?”

“Princes,” She gasped out, trying to catch her breath. “Forgive me for interrupting you all but something has happened to Y/N. She’s at the Great Hall with Eydis now.” 

Hvitserk stood up straighter, walking up to Saga. “What do you mean something happened?” He had a look of pure rage on his face. The thought of something happening to you made his blood run cold. 

“I don’t know, she just turned up with blood over her, she was crying,” 

Before she had time to finish, Hvitserk had already set off to the Great Hall. The word ‘blood’ was enough to get his legs sprinting to you.

Ivar grunted as he walked past the thrall, cursing his legs that restricted him from getting to you quicker. 

                           ___________________

You were sat at the table, chin trembling whilst the moment of seeing Embla slip away replayed over and over in your head. You had realised whilst waiting that you were at fault for this. 

It was your fault Embla was killed. The Seer had warned you about someone coming for you and instead of listening and taking precautions, you went and trained instead. You didn’t even tell Embla about it, she had no clue as to why she was murdered. 

The same with your parents, if it wasn’t for you arguing with your father, they’d still be alive too. 

The thrall from earlier, whose name you had learned was Eydis, poured you a cup of ale and placed it in front of you. 

“To help with the pain.” She said softly. 

You said a small ‘thank you’, your voice cracking. It was hoarse, sore from the uncontrollable sobbing and screaming. Your eyes had swelled up, red and puffy. A pounding on your forehead made you wince whenever you looked towards the burning flame ahead of you or whenever someone made a noise.  

The front doors of the Hall slammed open, making you jump out of your skin, you looked over to the doors, half expecting to see the murderer there to finish the job on you. But you see Hvitserk enter instead, chest heaving under his clothes, his eyes desperately searched for yours and letting out a sigh when he finally saw you. 

Did he run here? You thought. 

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes again as you stood up, he looked over you for any sign of you being hurt, frowning deeply when he saw how much blood was covering your clothes. He walked over to you, hands gripping the top of your arms. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked softly, though there was a stern hint to it to hide his anger. He stared down at you, making your E/C meet his burning green ones. His eyes seemed different at this moment, softer and more compassionate. 

You shook your head, sniffing slightly. 

Relief rushed over his body, you had no idea about the fear he had when he was making his way here. How it felt like someone had reached into his chest and twisted his heart. 

You opened your mouth to tell him what you had seen, but nothing came out. 

Hvitserk’s eyes softened, moving his hands from your shoulders and wrapping his large arms around your body, pulling you into him. You could feel his fingers rub on your back, comforting you as you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace, wrapping your own arms around his torso. 

Despite the sickening pain and crippling feeling of grief that resided in your stomach, the feeling of being in Hvitserk’s arms made a small part of it tingle. You finally felt safe after this whole ordeal.

You pushed your face against his chest, deeply inhaling the scent of him. His aroma was like the forest after it had rained, fresh and slightly musky. It wasn’t the smell of any luxury cologne back at home that men would normally wear, but this was his smell. The smell that instantly calmed down the feeling of rage and self hate brewing inside of you. A part of you didn’t want him to let go, afraid your frail body would crumble and break. 

“What happened, Y/N?” His hands found their way to your face, cupping your cheeks. His hands were cold from being outside, but it soothed your burning skin. 

“It’s Embla,” you hiccuped. “S-she’s dead. Someone killed her, they slit her throat. She was barely alive when I got there, I tried to save her, I really did but there was so much fucking blood, Hvitserk. I didn’t know what to do and I-”

“Y/N,” Hvitserk’s stern voice brought you back from your spiral, wiping away the tears that you hadn’t noticed fall from your cheeks. “There was nothing you could do. If she was barely alive then how could you possibly save her?”  

He was right, in some sense, though you could have helped her. You could have told her that someone was after you, you should have realised sooner that you were putting her in danger too. 

“I think the attack was meant for me but I wasn’t there, so they got to Embla instead.”

Your words caused Hvitserk to growl lowly, almost taking you by surprise at how low his voice had actually gone. His emerald eyes clouded over with anger from the mere thought of someone harming you.

“No one is going to hurt you, do you understand? I’ll rip their fucking throat out before they touch you.” He warned. The threat made your stomach dip, your heart rate increasing under his gaze. You simply nodded. 

The doors of the Great Hall opened again, both Ubbe and Ivar stepping in. Ivar looked at you in Hvitserk’s embrace, his face twisting in anger. If his legs were normal, it would have been him with your arms around him, not Hvitserk. 

“What happened?” Ubbe asked, coming up to you as he put his hand on your shoulder. 

Hvitserk spoke before you did, which you thanked by giving him a small smile. You didn’t think you could manage to say it again. 

“Embla’s dead. Y/N found her when she went back to the hut. She believes the attack was meant for her.”

“Is she still there?” Ubbe asked, looking to you as you nodded. “We should send some men there, get her body prepared for burial and then find out who did this. Where will you stay tonight?”

“With me,” Hvitserk said, not looking at you as he said so. Your cheeks prickled a deep rouge, looking anywhere but at the brothers. You could feel someone staring at you, their glare burning into you. 

“Perhaps Y/N doesn’t want to stay with you, hm?” Ivar’s head tilted to the side, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Maybe she would like to stay with someone else.” 

Hvitserk glares at his younger brother. What could he mean by that? Who else would you want to stay with? He thought.

“Now is not the time to see whose cock is bigger,” Ubbe spoke. “Y/N comes first. Hvitserk, take her back to your room. Ivar, you’re coming with me to deal with this.” 

Ivar didn’t say another word, only looking at you with anger in his eyes before leaving the Great Hall. 

                             _________________

Hvitserk opened the door to his room, letting you step in first. It wasn’t what you expected it to be. 

The room was dim, you couldn’t see much of it but you saw the bed. It was a king-sized bed, dark oak as the headboard, there were carefully carved patterns over it. There were different furs scattered over it, wolf furs, foxes furs, the lot. 

“I’m guessing you get cold at night?” You laughed weakly. You were exhausted and all you wanted to do was strip out of these clothes and get into that bed. 

Saga knocked on the door softly, a nightgown hung over her forearm. 

“Here are the clothes you asked for, Prince Hvitserk.”

He took the clothes off her, not bothering to thank her and closed the door again, walking over to you and passing it to you. You had placed your backpack into a more suitable bag, putting it onto the large bench at the foot of his bed. 

“Here, I'll look away whilst you get dressed.” 

You smiled, you were glad he didn't stand there and gawk at you. “Actually, I need your help to get this thing off.”

He turned around to see you gesturing to your leather armor you would wear for training, helplessly trying to undo the strings at the back with your stretching fingers. 

“Embla would normally untie it for me,” you said quietly. “Since I can't reach it.” 

“Turn around,” Hvitserk said, his voice soothing as he approached you. His slender fingers played with the string at the back of the armor, loosening the crosses and knots. He was used to undressing women, he had done it many times before now with women he couldn't remember after the night was over. But normally it would be quick movements, rushed to rip their clothes off to devour them, to fuck them senseless. 

But this was a different feeling of intimate to him, this was more. His fingers moved carefully, afraid that if he was rough you would break under his fingertips. 

Oh, how his hands wanted nothing more than to roam over your body, feeling how your skin felt in unseen places, to comfort you in the only way he knew how to comfort a woman. To lay you on your back, burying his face between the valley of your thighs and digging his tongue through your folds to find the treasure of your most sensitive bud. The candlelight would highlight your skin, the thin veil of sweat would glisten in return. He wanted to feel your body squirm and twitch under his watering mouth. Your back would arch into a perfect curve, fingers tangling into his braided hair, pushing his face closer to your clit, begging to have your knotting release. Gasped moans would fill the darkened room, echoed for everyone near to hear. His name would slip carefully from your plump and reddened lips as—

“Thank you.” You said, snapping him out of his erotic thoughts. The leather fell off your body, placing it onto the wooden bench at the end of his bed. Hvitserk cleared his throat, turning around before you noticed the painfully swollen bulge beneath his clothes, adjusting it into a position where it was less visible.

You peeled the blood-soaked tunic off of you, cursing the material that you would never wear it again. You would burn it, cut it into little pieces, throw it into the sea. As long as you never saw it again. Though you still folded it delicately, placing it next to your armor. You still would wear your underwear from the future, especially your bra, to keep everything in place whilst you trained. You hated the feeling of the underwear here.

Your trousers followed next, stepping your legs out of them. Your skin riddled with bruises from training, old and new ones. 

You grabbed the nightgown, slipping your arms into the sleeves, pulling it over your head and letting it fall down your body. 

“Done.” You smiled, seeing Hvitserk turn and look at you, his cheeks flushed. “Are you okay? Your cheeks are red.”

“I’m fine.” He said rather quickly, watching you move to his bed, throwing back the covers to climb in. His eyes watched the material of the nightgown fall into your curves as you moved, teasing his eyes on what you look like underneath. He began to peel off his own clothes, layer by layer until he was left in his underpants. 

You watched him from the bed, eyes trailing around the tattoos that patterned his skin. It wasn’t like you’ve never seen a man's body before, you had seen your ex-boyfriends. But Hvitserk’s was different, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his toned back, seeing his muscles contract under his skin as he moved to take his clothes off. 

The air was thick with tension, it was slightly awkward but also... sexual? 

Hvitserk grabbed one of the furs from the bed, going to the chair in the corner of the room where he sat down, getting comfortable before throwing the fur over his body. 

You stared in confusion, tilting your head to the side as you quirked an eyebrow. 

“What are you doing?” 

Hvitserk opened one of his eyes, peering at you through his lashes. 

“Sleeping. Why?”

“On the chair?”

“Well, yes.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling back the covers on the other side of the bed. 

“Don’t be an idiot, Hvitty. Come and get in bed with me.” You smiled at him. “I won’t bite.” 

You didn’t have to tell Hvitserk twice, standing up from the chair and climbing in beside you. He was glad you told him to join you, he was already freezing from sitting on the chair and he was sure that he would have frozen to death by morning. 

He rolled onto his side to look at you, his eyes finding their way to yours. 

“Hm?” You hummed, questioning why he was staring at you. 

“Nothing, I just-” He exhaled loudly through his nose, blinking slowly as a smile appeared on his face. “I’m just looking at you.” 

“Don’t, I look hideous.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

His large ones reaching up to move them. His face looked gentle, the flickering candlelight highlighted his face. 

“You don’t.” It came out barely a whisper before silence fell between you both.

You could hear the pounding of rain on the roof and outside on the muddy floors, matching your rapid heart that banged on the bones of your ribcage as if it was imprisoned. You felt something stir inside you when you looked into his eyes, your eyes breaking from his emerald ones and down to his lips, where they parted under your stare. You watched Hvitserk move forward.

You knew what was going to happen and yet you stayed still. You didn’t want to push him away or turn your face away from him. His lips were inches from yours, the same as when you first met him a month ago. You could feel his warm breath mix with your shaky one, yearning for the feel of his lips against yours, every tastebud on your tongue begging to taste him. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, the both of you closed your eyes as he finally pressed his lips against yours. 

The world blurred around you, you could feel your heart pounding harder, almost painfully. His lips were soft, yet rough from being out in the cold all day. You could taste the mead he had drank earlier lingering on his lips and for a moment, just a moment, you had forgotten what had happened today. For the first time since it happened, you didn’t see Embla’s face. 

His hand let go of yours, cupping your cheek instead as yours found its way to his bare chest, guiding your fingertips and palm over it, feeling all the scars he had gained in his past battles and fights. Over his tattoos and up to his neck where your hand cupped the side of it. You could feel his pulse under your palm, drumming to the rhythm of the kiss.

You felt his tongue brush against your swollen lower lip, a small moan escaping when you felt your tongue meet his. The sound made Hvitserk’s primal instincts come to attention, he could have torn your clothes off right there, taking all of you. But it wasn’t the time, it wasn’t right. 

You knew that too, though the pressure in between your legs reminded you just how much you wanted him more than this. 

The kiss broke after a few moments, both of you slightly panting. You both had forgotten to breathe during the kiss, leaving you dizzy and flushed. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” Hvitserk groaned, resting his forehead against yours again. “What are you doing to me?” 

_____________________________________

tags: @youbloodymadgenius​ @thebookisbtr​ @aproperthottie​ @adreamersince1996​ @greeneyedcreature​ @tragicmisfits​ @littlelunaticfringe​ @maybe-a-winchester​ @localtrashopossum​ @gracethegeek9902​ @chloe-loves-flannel​ @florenceivy​  @pastel-devil-06​ @vaisabu​ @hopefulcolorcollectorsthings​ @another-internet-sensation

[plush-rabbit]

Smothering Feelings

5. - “Sometimes I wonder if you even like me…it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.”

40. - “Stop being a fucking dick.”

Genre: SFW

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3.7K

A/N: This boy is always so hard to write for because I can never get his personality down right. I hope you enjoy!

Life was fine. You had a decent job with good pay, had great friends and even lived with one of them. And yeah, maybe your roommate wasn’t exactly the kindest person you ever met, but he was a wonderful cook and always paid his half of the rent on time. When people would ask you what it was like living with a pro-hero, you’d smile and say it was great and when they pressed further and asked how you had even gotten a pro-hero, especially Bakugo Katsuki, as a roommate, you’d shrug and say you got lucky- which isn’t far from the truth. You had both known each other for some time and had even become good friends, and by the time your lease was up at your old apartment, he had offered to room together, as long as you paid your half and didn’t make a mess and of course you agreed, his place was much nicer than yours and while the rent might have been a little high, it was manageable. Plus, he was a great friend to be around with; he might have a bit of an anger problem but it doesn’t diminish the rest of his redeeming qualities. He’s brash, outspoken, and teases you, but he’s a good friend to you. And ever since you moved in with him, you both have gotten closer.

But you can’t forget that he’s still a pro-hero, one who puts his life on the line to help people. There’s nights when you eat dinner alone and fall asleep without a goodnight, only to wake up to loud curses where you find him in the bathroom- crouched down and rummaging through the cabinet looking for aspirin with ash on his face, a hand clutching his side where no doubt a bruise was beginning to form. Those are the nights where you stay up with him, taking his hands and telling him to go to bed and wait- that you’ll be there in a few and he’ll listen without putting up too much of a fight. At first, you’d find him a muscle shirt on, only allowing you to clean the wounds that he was allowing you to see, to press an ice pack against his skin and hand him water but as time went on, he wore less, allowing you to rub aloe vera if he got burned, rub alcohol on some of the smaller cuts that didn’t require stitches or the help of a healing quirk, only to breathe cool air on him when he hissed in pain. Things had changed slowly. You were breaking down his walls, you weren’t met with sarcastic comments, instead you were met with silence. Narrowed eyes turned into slack ones, his gaze unreadable as you cleaned his face from any grime that lingered. It’s those nights where your fingers graze against his skin, where he’s silent and when you’re done, he’ll get dressed while you watch him with worried eyes, your hands twitching at your sides when he grimaces. At some point, he started to crawl into bed and stretch his arms, his hands gesturing you to come lay down next to him. And at first, you both kept to your respective sides, knowing that he probably wanted the comfort of knowing that he was okay, that he had lived to see another day, but like everything else, it evolved into something more. You two started off holding hands, his grip soft on your hands, his fingers ghosting above yours and then on a practically rough night, where he held you so tight that you thought you’d bust, he pulled you into bed and held you, his hands tightening around your back every time you shifted, a soft and silent plea for you not to go, for you to stay the night with him, like every other night but this time closer. Following those nights, you wake up to him making breakfast. The air is different those nights, you never knew how to approach him, never knowing if he wanted to talk about it or if he would prefer that you didn’t bring it up, that you didn’t bring up his moment of weakness and selfish want. But like everything else in your friendship, things changed, you’d ask him how his bruises were feeling, if he needed aspirin or anything else, you’d touch his shoulder, turning him around to meet your eyes. He’d roll his eyes and scoff, a smirk coming to grace his lips; he’ll he say he feels fine and he’s thank you, his voice so soft that if it weren’t for the silence in the kitchen you were sure that you have missed it. And then life goes back to normal. You two will banter over a plate of breakfast, talking about how you’ll too tired to go back to work and he’ll give you a face and you’d shrug your shoulders, the tips of your ears heating up while you take another sip of coffee.

Life around him slowly got more comfortable. You two had been close before, teasing each other, but after nights would pass when you would take care of him, to remind him that he was still strong, you two feel into a rhythm. He’d make your favorite breakfast and wait for you to wake up, only to eat together while watching the morning news, he’d message you during his lunch, often with a picture attached of food that looked so good it was absolutely sinful, and whenever he wasn’t able to come home early, he’s send you a message telling you not to wait up for him followed by a goodnight message. It was nice and felt good.

You’d be lying if you said feelings didn’t start to bubble within you- seeing him smile at you, taunting you about meager things, like when you couldn’t mince properly or if your air was at a weird position when you’d wake up and how he’s run his fingers through your hair, smoothing down the random strands that were sticking up. You tried to push the feelings down. You didn’t want to have a crush on a close friend who also happened to be your roommate; you knew it would never end well. He’d either reject you or have mutual feelings and then if you two broke up, there would be so much tension in the room that you would have to move out and no doubt lose him as a friend. So you held your tongue, you pushed down any thoughts when he would buy you snacks on his way home, how he would ask you to help him in the kitchen, humming a tune under his breath, how at nights after you would bandage him up, he’d hold your hand with a soft grip, his fingers ghosting above yours. You entertained the thought that perhaps he might have seen you as something more, you reasoned to yourself that he wasn’t exactly the softest person around and the fact that he let you see him in such a vulnerable way, strengthened your case but the thought of having things become awkward and tense and then potentially losing a friend invaded and cut off all rationality. No. You were not going to risk anything.

But of course, he’s make it difficult.

“What are you watching?” He asked, entering the apartment with two bags of groceries in each hand. He shook you off when you started  to rise up from the couch.

“If you say so,” you replied, sitting down your back facing towards the television, your attention soley on him as he walked into the kitchen. “It’s this new anime. It’s about like three kids and a film studio where they want to make an anime.”

“Sounds meta.” You heard cupboards being opened, bags rustling and the cans clanking against the counter.

“Not really, but it’s super cool and the animation is super neat.” You were already starting to get giddy. You loved sharing about things and you so badly wanted to rush off about the plot and the characters, but you couldn’t rush into it, you had to wait until you had his undivided attention so you could really start to geek out about it.

“Of course you’d say that nerd.” He walked out the kitchen, a small, purple bag in his hands. He walked to the side of the couch where you changed your position, giving him your attention. He tossed the bag towards you, your hands clasping around the plastic near your chest. “I got you something.” He said, taking a seat next to you.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it my birthday? You’re never this uncharacteristically nice.”

“Stop being a dumbass and take the snack,” he snapped, pressing the play button and watching the anime with mild interest.

You turned the bag over in your hand. “Ooh, fruit gummies. You know me so well Katsuki.”

He grunted in response, telling you to focus on your show before he changed the channel. He stretched his arms, letting them fall to rest on the back of the couch, and you looked at him, gripping the bag tighter in your hands.

“Fucking needy today,” he scoffed. “Get over here.”

You perked up, shuffling your way towards him and leaning against his side, popping a gummy into your mouth and reaching above to press one against his lips. You felt him tense underneath you, feeling the gummy leave your fingers and bringing them down.

“’Nother one?” You asked, already reaching above and letting it hang there, waiting for his reply.

“I bought these snacks for you.”

“I like sharing.”

“No you don’t.” He gave out a sharp snicker. “Remember when I ate you bag of chips.”

You lightly swatted him in the stomach as you popped the gummy into your mouth. “That was different. I had a rough day and I had even hidden those.” You paused for a second, shifting your weight. “I like sharing with you. When you know, I offer.”

He only gave you a hum in response, the sound of the television filling the silence that has grown between you. Once again you raised your hand, offering a snack to him and like always when you offered him something, he took it. The bag laid crumpled up in your lap, as the show continued to play.

“What do you feel like eating?” He whispered, his arm coming down to rest above yours, fingertips hovering above your arm.

“Maybe chicken?” You mused, letting yourself sink into him deeper. “What do you want to drink? We were running low on drinks, by the way.”

“I bought lemons.”

“Lemonade then.”

“We should probably get up and get started then.”

“Making lemonade doesn’t take that long to make.”

“Yeah, but I’m hungry.”

“Then get off.”

You sat up straight and rolled your shoulders, stretching your arms above your head. “Okay, let’s go then Kit-Kat.” You slapped his knee and made your way to the kitchen, giggling when you heard him groan about what a stupid nickname that was.

You tied your hair back, and began to prep the materials that you would need. You scrolled through your phone, looking for the perfect playlist to listen to while he cooked and you made lemonade.

You both hummed to the music, slowly raising your voice till you were singing to the song, trying to match the tune but not hitting the notes quite right. You were bopping along to the sing, nudging him with your hip when you passed him after placing the pitcher in the fridge, grooving to the beat of the song and singing to your heart’s content.

He turned around to stare at you, his arms crossed across his chest accompanied by a soft look on his face. You opened one eye to look at him, grabbing his hands and pulling him into a dance where you brought your arms back and forth, into a seesaw motion, his feet staying firm before copying your motions, shaking his head and muttering how ridiculous the both of you looked.

You looked up at him and brought yourself close to his chest, your arms extending outwards and standing straighter to peck at his cheek, returning to the dance, his arms limp in your hands and his expression slack. You were too preoccupied singing to the song, your eyes shut and when the song ended, you stopped in you tracks, bringing both of your hands down. He looked at you, his expression unreadable and you opened your mouth to ask him what was wrong and then you felt his lips on yours. His hands left yours to cup your face, pressing deeper into you. Dumbfounded, you slowly raised your hands to grab at his biceps, hand digging into the muscles. You two stayed in the position for what felt like eternity but only lasted for maybe a few seconds. You both pulled away, his eyes slightly wide and mouth opening and closing, looking for the right words. You let out an airy chuckle, and pressed a light kiss to his lips, pulling away and telling him that the chicken might overcook. He snapped out of his daze and asked you to set the table. You brought the plates next to the stove and still giddy you bounced with every step you took. He served the plates while you filled the glasses with the drink you made.

Despite the sudden kiss and lack of mention, everything went smoothly. Lunch was fine and you two still joked, often catching him looking at you before turning his head down. The atmosphere felt light, you didn’t feel pressure or tension, it just felt like every other time but now under a new light. But then you catch him squeezing the fork in his hands, the way he grips the glass a bit too tight and he won’t meet your gaze, his answers to your questions start to fade into one-worded answers and your smile falters. You want to ask what’s wrong, is he okay, does he feel nervous? Does he regret what he did? Was it just a spur of the moment? Did he get carried away? Your thoughts rush to your head and you can’t think, you can’t feel, you only feel sick and the burning sensation on the tip of your ears.

Lunch is over and you offer to clean up. He says he’s going to go get drinks at the store and that he’ll see you later. He doesn’t come home that night and he doesn’t answer your messages. You fall asleep watching the news, a part of you hoping that he’ll be in it and another part of you dreading to see him mentioned.

When you wake up the next day, you smell pancakes. You rise up from bed and go to the kitchen. He spares you a glance and apologizing that he didn’t reply to you last night, he met up with Kirishima and his phone died. You tell him it’s fine. You ask if you two will have breakfast together and he tells you that he’s already ate and that he has to go to work. He’s out the door without a goodbye. And you smother the gross feeling in your stomach with pancakes, trying to rationalize to yourself that everything is fine.

The next few days are met without him. He’s gone before you can wake up. Leaving a hand written note saying he had to go to work early and you believed him because you knew his work was important but then the notes stopped to happen and you tried to bottle up any feelings towards him. You couldn’t deal with this rejection. This silent rejection was horrible and it crawled over you like tar, heavy and sticky all over you.

When you two happen to be in the same room, he doesn’t tease anymore. He doesn’t touch you. He gives you a forced smile and sits at a respectful distance away from you. When you tried to lean on him, he stiffened under you and stood up five minutes later and retreated to his room. It all felt horrible and you wanted to cry and scream and ask him why he was being so distant but the only end result that you could see was whatever situation you were in, becoming worse and forcing you to say goodbye to a friend. So you held you tongue and gave out pleasantries when you saw him. You stayed away from him, only seeing him when you two would have the occasional meals together. But the air now hung heavy with tension, so you could never properly enjoy whatever was on your plate.

You can’t take it anymore. This silence, this distance that he wedged between you. So when he was home, you went to his room and closed the door behind you. You stood at the end of his bed and pulled out his earbuds, sitting up straight. Before he could get a word in you opened your mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice broke. You were never one for confrontations, always too emotional, too passive. “Did-Did I do something? You’ve been weird ever since,” you trailed off not wanting to finish the sentence.

He was silent for a while, his jaw twitching as a reflex. He opened his mouth to answer, a hand reaching out, fingers outstretched. And then his phone rang. He looked at you one more time, and answered the call, tearing his gaze away from you.

“What is it Mina?”

“I’ll be in my room,” you whispered, your face burning with shame and embarrassment.

-

You two don’t talk for a day, he’s gone before you can wake up and you stay home, ordering in and watching any show that’s been known to make you cry, looking for an excuse to cry over anything else other than him.

You don’t let your mind linger on him for long, you don’t want to think about him. You know you should start looking for a new place to live, but you try to be optimistic and hope that he’ll talk to you and maybe you could put the kiss behind you and laugh about it the next week. You don’t want to lose him, and you’ve concealed your feelings before, you can do it again.

-

It’s late when he comes home. The television is playing some random show from the ninety’s and you’re barely paying attention, listening to the actors have a heartfelt moment only to have the audience ‘aw’ and ruin the moment. He stays at the door for a minute watching you but you ignore him. You’re curled up, your head lying against the arm rest as you try to keep your eyes open.

You feel the couch dip on the opposite side of you. There’s no greeting, there’s no joke, no plea for you to massage his back like how you’ve done before. It’s silent. And you can feel tears brim your eyes. Any sort of optimistic thought is wiped away. You already lost him as a friend, who knows how much longer it is until he suggests you should move out.

Without fearing much else to lose, you break the silence with a broken whisper. “Did I do something wrong?” A tear slips out and you want to wipe it away but you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. “Was the kiss that bad that you had to ignore me?” You try to joke about it but the laugh comes off pitiful. You grimace. You can feel his eyes on you but he still makes no motion to say anything. “Can you just say something please? We were so good before. It felt- it felt like you had even liked me. Sometimes I wonder if you even like me… it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.” You take in a breath. “Especially right now.”

“I don’t hate you,” he says.

You rise up into a sitting position, the blanket that covered you falling down to pool around your thighs. “Then why are you ignoring me?”

“I just,” he stops and stands. He turns on the lamp and turns off the television; you wipe away at the tear mark and watch him with heavy eyes. “I just, really liked you. And then we kissed. And I don’t know. I’m not good with feelings. I never expected to like you. And I guess, I got scared that you’d reject me.”

“Don’t lie. I kissed you back. Give me the real answer right now Katsuki.”

He groaned and rested his elbows on his knees, hands covering his face. “Fine. I liked you and I kissed you, and I thought we could make this work but then I thought oh shit,” he’s raising his head and he’s getting louder, “what if this is for nothing. I’m not exactly boyfriend material and well what I do is public, and if someone hurt you because of me,” he clenches his fist and tightens his jaw. He looks at you through narrowed eyes before softening and looking away. “I thought it would be better if you hated me. But obviously that didn’t work.”

“I don’t like being ignored for a stupid, but valid reason Katsuki.”

“I know.”

“And?” You pushed.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” He leaned over to you, a calloused thumb drying the tear stain. “I didn’t take into account how you’d feel.”

“So we’re cool again?” You ask, feeling your chest tighten.

“If you’re okay with it, of course we are,” he looks at you and is already reaching out seeing your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

“Can I have a hug then?” You ask. And when you feel his hands wrap around you, you break down into his shoulder, fisting his shirts in your hands and nuzzling into the crook of his neck, while he rubs your back and tells you that he’s sorry and that he won’t do this shitty thing again.

“Just,” you take in shuddering breaths, pulling away to wipe your eyes with the back of his hand. You grab his hand and pull it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “stop being a fucking dick.”

He lets out a sharp laugh. “No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

You nod into his hand let him hug you again, feeling him place a chaste kiss to your shoulder.

[meganshinsou-tm]

Sugarcoated. (m)

↳ chapter one: sourpuss

❧ genre: pro-hero hitoshi, adoptive siblings, happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: workplace harassment,unsolicited flirting

[multi-chap masterlist] [next chapter]

"Wait, for how long?"

A low and exhausted sounding voice sighed on the other end of the line.

"Three months Hitoshi, you should be able to handle that."

The purple haired hero groaned as he stood from his seat and exited the train he occupied and made his way down a familiar street.

"You know I'm still working full-time at the agency until next month right? Even then - when I start that teaching job, I'll still work at the agency every other weekend. There's two problems here; Eri gets out of school at what 1pm and on weekends I work what am I supposed to do with her, I can't leave her alone or bring her along."

"You're her brother Hitoshi, I'm not going to just hand her off to someone we don't know. I don't leave for another week, so you have time to figure something out. Look for a nanny or someone to be there when you can't be, you have friends." Aizawa exclaimed through the speaker.

Was this man serious? Dropping this bomb on him out of nowhere! How could he possibly find a nanny in just a week.

"If I could even make that work, what about when I won't be coming home from my job until I don't even know when?"

"Ask them to board with you then, it's only three months. I take care of her 24/7, 7 days a week, with an extra hand you'll be fine. Now, I have to go, let me know when you find someone and don't forget about Sunday, your sister is looking forward to dinner."

With that, the call ended and Hitoshi shoved his phone back into his pocket with a sigh.

In no time he had made it to the café he sought out and entered, the smell of sweet treats and coffee filling his nostrils and making his stress suddenly disappear. He was greeted by one of the familiar waitresses as he walked to his usual spot in the corner. Sitting down, Hitoshi took his phone back out and scrolled through his contacts, hoping that one of his friends would seem somewhat suitable for the problem he now had.

Running a hand through his wild violet locks he sighed, "Where the fuck am I going to find someone dumb enough to live with me and that little brat for three months?"

You sulked down the street with your hands in your coat pockets, listening to the music that flowed through the wire of your headphones and ignoring the now normal whistles and coo's from the men that passed. One guy held up a his hand and licked the back of it, making you roll your eyes and flip him off.

"I need this job, I need this job," you chanted quietly as you tried to pull down the short outfit you wore, hoping that by some magical way it would grow more fabric.

While walking to your job you thought about how dehumanizing the short and somewhat revealing onyx colored maids outfit was. The hem of the dress hit you mid-thigh, revealing the garters that connected with your white stockings. A choker that resembled a collar with a bell adorned your throat and matching fluffy cat ears nestled in your (h/c) locks.

"I wonder if it's normal for every female college graduate to sink this low just to pay off their crippling student loans," you thought to yourself nearing your destination.

It was a lousy job at an animal-themed maid café but you had to live somehow until you found a better job. Since you majored in culinary arts and focused more on baking you figured a café to start out with would be perfect, you were a beast when it came to baking delicious sugarcoated treats; plus working at a fan-service type cafe would earn you even more money with tips. Which it did, but it also earned you a handsy boss, public humiliation and unwanted attention during walks to and from the establishment. At first you didn't know how long you'd manage but each day the nervousness and giving a fuck wore off.

You walked into the back door of the café and shuddered as a chilly wind slammed the metal door shut.

"These outfits really are a health hazard in this weather Mr.Lee!" You snarled passing your tall dark-haired boss, going to the work lockers.

He chuckled, his dark eyes following and drinking in your legs.

"Well when you can come up with a solution of some sort, please feel free to bring your idea to my office," he retorted in that husky and wrongfully attractive voice of his, his hand ruffling your hair as he walked out of the room.

"Tch, what a douche."

Removing your jacket and headphones, you put the items in the locker and closed it, moving to the bathroom to look over yourself one last time before clocking in.

"Oh (Y/N), good you're here! Shinsou is back!"

Your coworker informed as she rounded the corner. Pouting your lips and looking towards the ceiling you wondered why the universe was tormenting you so suddenly.

"I care why?" You groaned with a fake disgusted look.

"Oh stop, you know why! Now hurry and clock in so you can wait on him."

Nodding and waving her away you went to the bathroom and primped your hair. Looking at your reflection, a whine followed upon seeing how your cheeks were already flustered and feeling that your heart was already beating faster than humanly possible. This happened every time that cursed name was brought up.

Hitoshi Shinsou.

Taking deep breaths you calmed down and straightened the outfit and mentally prepared yourself. Since you started working at the café, Hitoshi seemed to take a liking to you and you grew friendly with each other. It was odd though how so alike you were, some days you'd butt heads and others you'd get along just fine. It was an strange relationship but he tipped really well and he was easy on the eyes, the worst of it though was how he had this hold and affect on you that couldn't really be explained and it drove you mad making him the bane of your existence.

You sighed and walked out of the bathroom to the door that separated the café floor from the locker room. Door cracking open, you peered around it until those crazy purple locks came into focus, making your heart flutter. At the same time matching colored eyes looked up and straight in your direction as they smiled. You fully looked at his face and saw a smug grin on his lips as he mouthed what seemed to be a short and simple 'Hi'.

Just as you were about to fully open the door and exit, it was pushed closed and a force pushed you against the surface of the it. Gritting your teeth the blood started to boil in you from the feeling of hands trailing down your hips and playing with the straps of your garters.

"You know, I think that hero really likes you kitten," a hot and disgusting voice whispered in your ear.

"What the fuck does it matter to you," you hissed and elbowed the man making him chuckle and retract.

"Nothing really, now run along and make him happy."

Rolling your eyes you readjusted the now frazzled attire and looked at your boss with hate filled eyes. "Whatever you say creep!"

Mr. Lee tilted his head and smiled smugly, "I'm sorry what was that kitten?"

"Yes sir!"

Soon the sound of heels and a bell coming closer made Hitoshi look up from his phone and to the cute waitress he had been expecting. His purple brows quirked though as he saw an aggravated look on your face.

"So, it's one of those days for both of us huh," the hero mused internally.

You finally stood before him and crossed your arms behind your back, looking at him with a tilt of your head.

"What do you want today?"

Hitoshi chuckled and crossed his arms on the table, giving you a sly smile.

"Hello to you too sourpuss!"

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Love, Maybe? {24}

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Cursing, Plot

Word Count: 3.8K

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

Note: Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

**Slightly Edited/Proofread**

***Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️ ❤️

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Chapter 24: Mama Don’t Preach

-Vixen-

  “We think a June grand opening would be more than feasible,” Kassius informed. Your jaw dropped.

   “June as in six weeks away June?” He laughed and nodded.

   “Precisely and that is just stretching it. I have the projected dates that everything will be completed. I’m just overestimating at this point.”

   You spun around the space that was still under reno but was shaping up very nicely. The last few weeks were design intensive and you’d nearly pulled out all your hair with all the back and forth. No one seemed to understand your vision. That was until Nexus stepped in with a mock-up. She got it fully and made sure they did as well. the estimated time was always around summer for the opening anyway you didn’t know why you were so shocked.

“Are you okay?” You looked back to Kassius and nodded.

   “Yes,  I’m sorry. I was just—surprised.”

  “I understand. The next few weeks will just be finishing up design and setting up décor. My marketing team has been savages when it comes to marketing and we have a pretty big buzz. If it’s one thing Los Angeleans love is to not cook so a new eatery has everyone excited.” You laughed at his joke and were so grateful that the breakup with Zack didn’t made anything weird or switched up any terms.

   “Wow, okay. So, this is your sweet spot besides a few meetings here or there your only focus is what you’re a pro at, recipes, menu planning, staff, distributors, vendors, that sort of stuff.” At the mention of recipes and menu planning you got excited. It was cool and everything to run your own restaurant, but you took the most pleasure in the cooking aspects, the creative points.

   “All right. What do you say we head out then?” You nodded and looked around the space once again, butterflies began to flutter, it was a mix of nervousness and anxiousness. You followed Kassius out the door. Once outside the two of you said your goodbyes and you made your way home to begin the fun part of this whole partnership.

   One stop for snacks and ice-cream turned into an extended stop at the mall where you spent the next two hours shopping. You didn’t even need anything but still you shopped, you only did this when you needed a release, but your kitchen was too far. Last night’s conversation with Chris was still fresh on your mind. You’d gone over it with Nex already and the two of you had come up with a few things.

   Nex was happy he didn’t hate you, although you thought he did underneath everything but just was afraid to tell it to your face because of how much he wants Ella. You reasoned that he probably thought if he pissed you off that you’d make it difficult for him to spend time with Ella. That wasn’t the case, you wouldn’t do that. Nex believed as she’s believed for weeks that he liked you. you disagreed, he probably wanted to have sex with you, but he didn’t like you. She pointed out things he said in the conversation that to her were dead giveaways but everything she pointed out you turned right back around as the opposite meaning. It was always like this, you liked to be realistic and Nex had a tendency to have the rose-colored glasses on. When she called you jaded you didn’t object. You were jaded. You would rather remain jaded than give anyone the chance to turn your life upside down.

   When you made it home it was almost six and there was an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Part of you thought it was Chris and your stomach did somersaults. When you walked inside you could heard playful giggles and whispers. After kicking off your heels you tip-toed down the hall and into the living room to see Nexus laying on the couch with some guy on her. You’d seen worse than this in your lifetime. Glancing at the baby monitor on the table you saw Ella was napping. You leaned against the wall and cleared your throat in a loud and obnoxious manner. The figures on the couch lurched. The man jumped off her and stood to the side. Your eyes widened.

   “Anthony?!” he smiled widely and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh, hey there Vixen.”

   “I can explain,” Nexus began. You looked to her with an amused look.

   “Oh you better but there is no need, I have eyes I know just what is going on here. What the hell Antony! Do you respect my sister at all?”

   He looked confused. “What? Of course I do, I respect her a hell of a lot.” You took a step to him.

   “It sure doesn’t look like it. it looks like you’re over here creeping trying to get in her panties. What is it with you actors who think every woman is at your beck and call?”

   Anthony raised his hands defensively. “No, Vixen you’ve got it all wrong. It’s not like that.”

  “Oh really? So you’re not trying to fuck my sister?”

   “Just now? No I wasn’t,” he quickly responded.

   “Uh-huh, and you’re saying you don’t want to fuck my sister.”

  With that he snapped his mouth shut and looked to Nex who gave him a look, offering him no assistance. He looked back to you as you crossed your arms before you and gave him your best confrontational look. “I can’t lie to you, I wasn’t trying to just now, but eventually when we both develop more feelings for each other--.”

   “Feelings? Oh ho, what in the hell kind of feelings are you talking about? Sexual ones huh, it’s always sexual with you guys.”  Again, Anthony looked to Nexus for help but she offered none.

   “Nex what did I tell you? They are all the same.” Nex looked down but it was then Anthony stepped closer to her.

   “No, we’re not all the same. I am not like anyone else Nex. Since the moment I met you I felt something between us, I couldn’t explain it for the longest but after meeting you I knew I had to see you again. every time I saw you I just fell harder and harder for you. you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met and I love that you don’t take my shit and you call me out, a lot. I even love that you’re so damn stubborn. I am not looking for a quick fuck and a notch or a side piece I’m looking for a partner, someone to ride with, travel with, grow with and build with. I want it to be you Nex. I really, really like you, like a lot.”

   You stood there smiling unable to hide your amusement. He’d fallen for it hook line and sinker. You could see the tears in Nexus’ eyes and knew she had fallen for him just as hard as he’d fallen for her. She peeked at you and broke character with a giggle, you couldn’t hold back anymore and laughed along with her. Anthony looked between the two of you confused.

  “What the hell is wrong with the two of you?”

   “I was just kidding Anthony.” You smiled again and he looked at Nexus finally getting that she was in on it from the beginning.

   “You played me Nex?” she laughed louder. Anthony shook his head faking hurt feelings. “Wow, that’s cold.” Nexus softly caressed his cheek.

   “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad. Come here.” She wrapped his arms around her waist and gazed into his deep walnut colored eyes. “I really, really, really like you too.” He searched her face for any hint of a joke.

   “Really?” Nex nodded and smiled widely. “Boy duh, no other fool would have me all in my feelings, just your gap toothed ass.” He smiled wider then laughed before he dropped his lips to hers. You stood there witnessing their genuine feelings for one another and you were so happy for them but it also made you feel empty. When they pulled apart they looked to you and laughed.

   “Don’t mind me, I’ll just get to cooking dinner.”

   “That was dead wrong Vix,” Anthony expressed. You smiled widely. “But you should have seen your face—priceless!” Nexus snorted and dropped back onto the couch.

   “Shit, maybe you should change careers, there is hope for you in acting.” You laughed and walked out the living room before you poked your head back in.

   “Oh by the way, after that declaration you won’t ave to wait much longer for the fucking.” Anthony’s eyes bugged then looked to Nexus who was having difficulty keeping a straight face.

   “Oh, is that right? How much longer have you calculated.” You snorted. “I’d say tonight it your lucky night, sisters know best.”

   “Oh-ho, really?” he looked to Nexus who didn’t say a word. “Is that right?” Nexus looked right into his eyes before she spoke. “Sisters know best.” Anthony’s jaw dropped before he turned into a devilish smirk, one Nexus giggled at. With that you made your exit to begin preparing dinner.

   Forty minutes later halfway through making dinner the doorbell rang and Nexus was the one to get to it before you. from the hall leading from the kitchen you heard her gasp. “Mom, dad, what are you doing here?” you began to panic. You hadn’t expected to see them until opening night. You wondered why they were there. As you approached you heard your mother ask Nexus who the man was. You stopped and waited to see how she would handle it. after a short pause she spoke. “This is Anthony, my boyfriend.” You smiled widely at her guts. When you stepped out you saw a big smile on your mother;s face as she stared at Anthony.

   “Vixen, honey. Did you know Nexus had a boyfriend?” you smiled at Nexus and Anthony, standing next to each other with smiles as big as Spain. “No mom, I had no idea.”

   “Wow, she’s only been here a few months and has a boyfriend. See, it’s not hard, Vix.” You shook your head and knew you were in for one of those nights.

   Nexus ushered them inside the house and you took note of their luggage. They were going to be here for more than a few hours. Your parents happily chatted with Anthony asking him all the polite getting to know you questions  while you and Nex scurried to the kitchen under the guise of getting wine.

  “What the hell Nex, what are they doing here?” she shrugged. “I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything.” You closed your eyes in annoyance. This was not what you needed now. “They have luggage Nex, bags. This is not a pop in and see you later. This is a stay for a few days thing.” You paced the kitchen, your mind running a mile a minute. you tried to figure out a way to get them out of LA but every idea you came up with either left you being the asshole or the worse daughter in the galaxy. You tried to decide which one you’d hate the most. You could honestly take either one.

   “Let’s just act normal and get through tonight.” You both nodded, she took the bottle of wine and some glasses and walked back out while you returned to cooking. You knew that it was only a matter of time before your big secret came out.

   Dinner was only slightly uncomfortable. Your mother fussed over Nexus and Anthony and asked every single question in the book. Anthony was a charmer and answered accordingly. As he spoke you could see how much Nex liked him written all across her face. If you didn’t know any better you’d think she was already in love with him. It made you happy, she deserved all the happiness in the world.

   Your mother slipped sly comments in about your single status and even went as far as to ask Anthony if he had any brothers or friends that were single he could set me up with. You nearly laughed out loud because if she only knew. You were proud of yourself, you focused on Ella and eating and didn’t say one thing that was slick or that could be taken as you mouthing off. You let everything she said roll off you like it hadn’t been said. You didn’t know how you did it, but you did. You weren’t angry either.

   By the time dinner finished Anthony made an excuse to leave as did Nexus stating she was his ride. You knew better, you knew you wouldn’t see her until the morning, or mid afternoon. Hell, at least someone was getting their back blown out. When they left your mother helped you clean up while your father kept Ella busy. It all felt like old times, except things were different now. You knew you had to tell her. It would be ten times worse if Chris showed up and they met him and saw the resemblance.

  After you put Ella to bed you decided now was as good a time as any. You were nervous because you knew what she was going to say. You knew what she was going to ask and how she was going to respond. That was probably why you stayed in Ella’s room longer than necessary just watching her sleep. It always calmed you. When you went downstairs your parents were talking amongst themselves. You smiled because you’d always admired their marriage, they’d been married for close to forty years and they still looked so in love. When you were younger you always said you’d find what they had but as you got older you realized what they had was probably extinct. Watching them from the doorway you chickened out. This was not the can of worms you wanted to open right now. Calling to them you showed them their room and said good night.

   Lying in bed that night your mind wandered to Chris and you wondered if he’d had better luck than you.

   -Chris-

Oh she was fuming. She was angrier than he’d seen her in a long, long time. When he told his father that morning he was surprised but he took it well considering. Yeah he was angry because he knew what being a father meant, he knew what an important thing it was and for you to have taken it away for so long was vexing. After he’d cleared the air and they’d had a talk about things that stretched well past you and the situation into the kind of man he’d been and how his actions had an impact on this alone, things calmed down.

   When he showed his father the picture of Ella he melted. Apart from normal questions, when did it happen, why did you keep it from him, and what’s his plan to do the right thing, he was really chill about it. They had breakfast and talked about the current season of baseball and the standings of his teams.

   This was fifty times different. His mother paced back and forth in front of him not saying one word. She hadn’t spoken since he began with his explanation. He sat there feeling like a child who’d broken all of his nana’s fine china. He remembered how he felt when he’d just broken one dish. He was scolded for a good hour. He tried to gauge her anger by studying her face, her body movements and ultimately how thin was the line of her mouth. All he could decipher was she was pissed, pissed. Suddenly his mother stopped and looked at him. Her mouth was tight and her cheeks red. Oh boy, he thought realizing she was more than pissed. She was livid.

   “Say that one more time.” Her jaws were clenched, and he could tell it took great effort for her to get the words out. She was trying to hold on tightly to her anger. He took a deep breath and slowly released it then cleared his throat.

   “Three years ago, almost three years ago when I was in Vegas. I met someone and we had a quick fling. I hadn’t seen her since and a few months ago I saw her again and she now has an almost two-year-old who is—my daughter.” The room was quiet again. From behind his mother he saw his siblings peering into the window from the front porch where his mother banished them. They’d come for a show and she denied them the amusement.

   “So, some woman hid the fact that she has your child.” This was the philosophical teaching voice, he shifted in his seat being extra cautious. “Wait, you had unprotected sex with some random woman? In Vegas of all places? Christopher!”

   “I know ma, it was stupid.”

   “Don’t interrupt me when I am speaking young man! It was beyond stupid. Stupid is driving after one drink. This—what you did--it was reckless!” Her voice bounced off the walls and slammed into his ears. “We had this talk decades ago--.”

   “I know ma, I know.” She narrowed her eyes. He realized he’d interrupted her again. He lowered his eyes from hers as if she were a charging lioness and he had to refrain from eye contact to stop her attack. He knew the preaching was going to begin.

   “Of all the stupid, reckless, dangerous and infuriating things you’ve ever done, this has to take the cake. I’ve told you from before you started having sex to always wear protection. I even stressed it much more when you began acting. While the world is filled with good women it is also filled with it’s equal share of opportunists who will seek to use you and take from you. Now look!” She shook her head and he could feel her disappointment. He hated her disappointment; it was worse than her anger. "What kind of woman hides a child? That is underhanded.” He nodded, he expected this.

   “Are you sure the child is yours?” He dug out his phone and found Ella’s picture and showed her. The anger in her face faded and her features softened. He watched on as her entire demeanor changed. She sighed and sat down in the seat across from him. “Chris. Wow.” She looked up and he saw the tears in her eyes. Her emotions made him choke up.

   “You have a daughter. Oh my god, you’ve wanted a child, we spoke about it and I prayed on it for you honey. I prayed really hard for God to show you your way and light your path. Oh, Chris.” His mother crossed to him and wrapped her arms around him. He was stunned and didn’t move; afraid this was some trick. This was not what he expected at all. He expected shouting, disappointment, anger and maybe some , not this, well not right away.

   “She looks just like you, my god. She’s gorgeous.” He nodded and smiled allowing the tension he’d held for the last two days to dissolve. Just as he relaxed he felt her hit him on the back of his head.

   “Ouch! Ma!”

   “That’s for not listening to me.” He sighed then relaxed again. he soon felt another hard slap at the back of his head.”

  “Ma!”

  “That’s for not wearing protection. Really Chris this could have been very different than a secret child. Not that a secret child is a walk through the park. This screams messy. What in the world. What are you going to do?”

   He rubbed the back of his head and took another deep breath hoping there were no more hits coming his way. “Be involved. I’ve been spending time with her, getting to know her and she is pure joy. She’s amazing. There is no way I couldn’t be involved.” His mother smiled and nodded.

   “That better have been your answer or so help me God your brother and sisters would have had to pry me off of you. I raised you better than to be the kind of man to run away from his responsibilities.”

   “Of course not ma, I’m running toward the responsibility. I want it all.”  She smiled and nodded.

  “I can’t wait to meet her.” He smiled at the thought of seeing his mother with a child of his own, the thought made a new wave of emotions fill him. he really did start to think it wasn’t in the cards for him. Turned out he’d never been more wrong.

   “What about her mother?” Taking some time to gather his thoughts he tried to form the right sentence.

   “She’s not a bad person.” She took his hand then sighed before she spoke.

  “Are you sure about that? Are you sure you’re not seeing what you want to especially since you may be in love with her?” His head almost snapped off his neck from the force of which he looked at her. She didn’t speak again she just had that all knowing smile on her face. It was the same smile she had every time she was right about something.

   “Well shit, this took a turn.”

   “I’m not—it’s not like that. We’ve talked. While I don’t condone what she did, I understand ma. I hate to admit it, but I was a mess then, I was an asshole--.” With the stern eye of his mother he dipped his head. “Sorry ma, I was a--.” He searched for the right word, a respectful one.

   “In my day we called men like you players,” she filled in. He snorted and nodded, then shook his head. She loved calling him out. Still it was better than what Shanna and Carly had called him.

   “Okay, thanks ma. I understand why she kept this to herself.” His mother nodded and took a deep breath.

   “So, you’ve forgiven her.” He made a face. That definitely wasn’t the case, but it may not be too far off. “I wouldn’t say forgiven, I can empathize with her. I want to move forward ma, I don’t want to throw things at her and make things difficult, I want to find a way to parent with her.” His mother continued to study him, and he wondered if she’d call his bullshit. She took a deep breath and lowered her head to look at the picture again.

   “Do I say congratulations for finding out about your child you had out of marriage?” He looked at her and she snorted then laughed.

   He couldn’t stop himself from joining her. When his siblings peeked again they stood there with their mouths gaped no doubt shocked just as him that this was so easy. He knew if he would have told her or any of them the other half this would not have gone so smoothly.

   “When do we meet her?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

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[lets-talk-appella]

i’m nobody’s but yours

Chapter 13/25 - Chloe

Summary: Beca is straight as an arrow. 100%, totally, completely straight. Except for one problem that 100%, totally, completely changes everything: Chloe Beale.

Title borrowed from Calum Scott’s “If Our Love Is Wrong.”

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M (for dark themes, homophobia, masturbation, and eventual smut in later chapters)

AO3, FFN, and below.

“Chlo? Where are we going?”

“Shh.”

“Not one hint?”

“Shh.”

“Is it going to be horrible?”

“Do you want me to tape your mouth shut?”

“Can you do that without taking the hood off?”

Chloe takes her eyes off the road momentarily to look to her right, where Beca sits buckled into the passenger seat with a Hood Night hood over her head.

“If you keep complaining, I can always get my handcuffs,” she grins, expecting Beca to dissolve into a mess of awkward sputtering.

Instead, Beca shoots back, “Save those for later.”

The speed of the response is shocking and more than a little arousing. It makes Chloe’s grip on the wheel tighten and her foot press more firmly against the accelerator, sending her car zooming forward through traffic and closer to their date destination.

Chloe supposes she should have known better than to goad Beca; over the past week, Beca has become more comfortable with making quips like that. Chloe’s normally the flirty one, but having Beca flirt back has been enthralling.

It’s been a week since their first date. They haven’t kissed. They haven’t told the Bellas, they haven’t had a lot of alone time, they haven’t labeled their relationship, and they haven’t kissed.

To compensate (because sometimes Chloe feels like she’s going to die if she doesn’t touch Beca), she might brush by Beca closer than strictly necessary so their bodies can touch. Or her hand will find Beca’s thigh under the table at dinner and rest there. Or Beca’s head will fit itself against her shoulder while they cuddle under a blanket at Bella Movie Night. They’ve done that before, but now with the added bonus of linking their hands under the blanket.

Touching Beca is intoxicating. She needs it like she needs air to breathe.

Chloe pulls into the parking lot of their date destination, biting her lip to keep herself from squealing in excitement. It’s somewhere Beca never would have gone by herself, and she hopes Beca won’t totally hate her for this, but she knows that they’ll have fun. Once Beca takes a second to process, anyway.

She finds a parking spot between an SUV and a smaller car, then pats Beca on the knee.

“Don’t take off the hood yet,” she warns.

“But –”

“Let me help you out and we’ll take it off outside so you can get the full effect.”

“Oh, joy,” Beca deadpans, but Chloe knows she’s just putting on a show. By the way Beca’s right knee bounces, she can tell Beca’s excited, too.

With a final smile at Beca, even though she can’t see it through the hood, Chloe jumps out of the driver’s side and hurries around to Beca’s passenger door. She takes a quick look around before opening the door – it would put a bit of a damper on their date if some good Samaritan were to call the police on her for hauling around a person with a hood on their head. After making sure they’re relatively alone, Chloe opens Beca’s door and takes her right hand.

“Okay, just climb out,” Chloe says. “I’ll make sure you don’t trip.”

Beca grumbles but unbuckles her seat belt and allows Chloe to guide her slowly out of the car. Chloe is sure to keep her hand protectively between Beca’s hooded head and the frame of the car – Beca getting a concussion would also put a damper on the date.

Once Beca is completely out of the car, Chloe steers her by the shoulders so that she’s facing the building they’re parked in front of.

“Ready?” she asks.

“This is a kidnapping,” Beca complains, but Chloe can hear curiosity in her tone.

“A sexy date-kidnapping,” replies Chloe, grinning when Beca’s shoulder muscles tense under her hands. “Here we go!”

Smoothly, Chloe lifts the hood from Beca’s head and moves so she can see her face. She watches Beca blink, first at the brightness of the day, then in confusion as she registers the letters on the side of the building, proclaiming Ricky’s Roller Rink and Arcade. A symphony of emotions cross Beca’s face: first recognition, then surprise, then horror, which finally eases into exasperation.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Chloe. No way.”

“Yes!”

“I’ll die!”

“I’ll catch you,” Chloe promises, crossing her heart.

“I’ve done this, like. Twice,” Beca groans.

“I know. I’ll hold your hand.”

Beca rolls her eyes, and Chloe already knows she’s won. “I took you on a nice, stable grounded picnic, and you’re doing this to me? Making me rollerblade?”

“Well…” Chloe hedges, taking mercy on Beca. “It’s really more the pizza and arcade that go with the rollerblading. We’ll only do that part if you want to.”

“Oh!” Beca stops, surprised. She seems to think for a second before shrugging, if reluctantly. “Well. In that case, I guess it’s fine. For the pizza.”

“Aca-awesome,” Chloe smiles, then laughs when Beca rolls her eyes.

She reaches down to link their hands together and, pretending she doesn’t notice Beca’s furtive glance around the lot, leads them inside the building.

They’re greeted at the welcome desk inside the front door by a teenage boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen, dressed in the arcade’s brightly-colored polo and wearing a neon orange hat with the name of the rink splashed across the front of it in black text. He has braces and a smattering of acne across his cheeks, but that doesn’t stop him from grinning at them enthusiastically when they walk in.

“Welcome to Ricky’s!” he greets. “What kind of ticket would you like?”

“Um,” Chloe replies, scanning the display behind him. “Let’s go with the couple’s special. That includes laser tag, right?”

Beca’s hand tightens around her own, but the teenager doesn’t even bat an eye.

“Yep, the couple’s special comes with laser tag, a pizza and drinks, five arcade games, and a set of rollerblades. Is that all?”

“Sounds perfect,” Chloe smiles, digging in her purse for her wallet.

“I can –”

“I’ve got this, babe,” Chloe cuts off Beca’s attempt to chip in on the tickets. This is her treat.

“Uh – thanks,” Beca replies, looking at her a little strangely.

Chloe pays for their arcade passes, then they turn to survey the building. It’s massive, set up in a sprawling design that probably only makes sense to the preteens who frequent it on the weekends. The roller rink is on the far side, taking up almost the entire right half of the building. A dining area with a pizza stand and a pop bar separate the rink from the scores of arcade games placed haphazardly in what might be a rectangular pattern. Beyond that, a doorway with a sign proclaiming “Laser Tag” set up above it seems to branch away from the main arcade area. Thankfully, for a Thursday afternoon, the place is relatively empty, with only a few older-looking teenagers running around.

“So,” Chloe breathes, suddenly nervous. “Is this an acceptable second date?”

Beca looks at her, her expression giving nothing away. “Well…” she starts seriously, before her face splits into a wide grin. “Only if you’re ready to have your ass kicked at air hockey!”

“In your dreams,” Chloe scoffs, and then they’re off.

Chloe knows Beca is a competitive person – you don’t co-lead a world-renowned a cappella group with someone and not realize how competitive they are – but she had no idea that competitive spirit bled over into something as simple as arcade games. She soon learns, though.

Because they have five arcade games to play with their tickets, they first decide on air hockey, foosball, Skee-Ball, and Dance Dance Revolution; Chloe is horrible at foosball, but wins the game of Skee-Ball, and they tie at Dance Dance Revolution. That’s when, instead of choosing a game they haven’t played yet, Beca insists on a second round of air hockey because she lost the first time.

“Alright,” she says seriously, cracking her knuckles and rolling out her shoulders while Chloe tries not to giggle at her. “This game is it. This is everything. Whoever wins this becomes Grandmaster Champion of the Universe.”

“Oh?” Chloe asks, arching an eyebrow. “I noticed that rule didn’t apply when you missed all but two cups during Skee-Ball.”

“Didn’t count then,” Beca insists with as much dignity as she can muster. “This is, like, the tie breaker. Of everything.”

“Okay,” Chloe says, deciding not to point out that even if Beca wins this game, they’re still technically tied evenly in arcade game wins.

Beca waggles her eyebrows grandly and, with all the seasoned confidence of an air hockey pro, drops the puck onto the table and nearly knocks it into her own goal.

“I meant to do that,” she insists when Chloe laughs. “Throw you off guard.”

“Mmm.”

Once Beca does successfully start the game, she plays with an intensity that Chloe has only seen her display on stage of their bigger performances. Her eyes are zeroed in on the puck, tracking its every movement, and she moves her paddle with grace and agility, concentrating so hard on the game that Chloe doesn’t think she’s even aware of the way the tip of her tongue pokes out from her mouth.

It’s kind of hot.

That is, until Beca’s fingers, dangling over the edge of the wall and into the “rink” area, are smashed by a poorly-aimed puck from Chloe.

“Fuck! Ouch, shit, dammit –”

“Are you okay?!” Chloe exclaims, running around the table to get to her. “Here, let me see –”

She pulls Beca’s hand into both of her own, examining it for damage, just in time to register the telltale clunk of the puck dropping into her unattended goal.

She looks up from Beca’s (red and bruised-looking) fingers to see a supremely smug look on Beca’s face.

“Shouldn’t have let your guard down,” Beca grins, nodding at the score. She’d won with the last goal.

Chloe huffs in mock annoyance; if Beca can still get a goal with her uninjured hand and brag about it, she’s not badly hurt.

“Cheap move!” Chloe protests. “You distracted me!”

“You’re the one who smashed my fingers!”

“Shouldn’t have dangled them over the edge like that,” Chloe says, then follows with, “I’m starting to care more and more about your fingers lately.”

The shock and understanding that flash across Beca’s face make losing the game totally worth it. With a wink, Chloe leans in and presses her lips against the more bruised-looking fingers on Beca’s right hand.

“Yeah, well,” Beca huffs, apparently recovering. “That helps.”

“I’m glad,” Chloe grins. “So, Grandmaster Champion of the Universe, you wanna get some pizza?”

As if on cue, Beca’s stomach rumbles loudly.

“Great,” Chloe says, taking that as an answer. “Let’s go order.”

They walk over to the dining area and put in the order for a cheese pizza, and while that’s cooking, Chloe manages to talk Beca into trying a couple laps of rollerblading.

The rink is wide open, apart from a couple of teenagers still zooming around it. Chloe leads Beca to the side of the rink, where they pick out their skates. Chloe tries not to laugh when Beca has to hunt for a size small enough to suit her.

When they have the skates in hand, they go to the little outcropping in the blading area and strap them on. Once they’re both ready, they sit, Chloe waiting for the go-ahead from Beca that doesn’t seem like it’s going to come. Beca’s not saying much, which raises a red flag in Chloe’s mind.

“Hey,” she says, resting her hand over Beca’s for a second. “We don’t have to, if you really don’t want to.”

“Hmpf,” Beca grumbles. “First you smash my hand, now you’re gonna strap wheels to my feet and expect me not to die.”

“I won’t let you fall. I promise,” Chloe reassures her quietly.

Beca’s expression softens. “I know you won’t,” she says. “I trust you.”

Chloe isn’t quite prepared for the warmth that washes over her at that simple phrase. It shouldn’t trigger that much emotion, maybe, but the way Beca says it and the way she looks at her makes Chloe think that when Beca said it, she meant a different three-word phrase.

“Okay, right,” Chloe says, trying to shake that from her mind. “Let’s, uh, try it. We’ll go slow.”

And they do go slow. Beca’s left hand never leaves Chloe’s right as they half-skate, half-wobble around the rink two, three, four times, until Beca’s movements smoothen and she becomes more confident with every stroke. By the fifth lap, though, the man working the pizza stand is waving them down, and Beca looks too relieved at the idea of getting the skates off her feet for Chloe to be able to justify continuing.

They wrap up their final lap, find that same outcropping in the rink, and pull the skates off their feet in favor of their regular shoes before heading over to collect their pizza. Beca grabs them a table, across the dining area from a group of four teenage girls, and they sit to eat.

“See?” Chloe can’t resist asking. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Beca shrugs, pizza in hand. “It could have been worse. Thanks for not letting me fall,” she adds more sincerely.

“Of course,” Chloe answers. “We can’t have any more injuries.”

Beca flexes her hand, checking it for damage. “I think I’ll survive,” she grins, then takes another bite of pizza.

Chloe’s just about to reach for her third slice when one of the teenagers from the larger group across the room arrives at their table.

“Uh, hi,” the girl says a little awkwardly. “It’s my friend’s birthday, and we wanted to play laser tag, but we’re two players short. Would you like to…” she trails off, gesturing toward the laser tag area.

Chloe looks beyond the girl at the three others sitting at the table, all watching them carefully. She waves in their general direction, not sure which is the one with the birthday, before checking with Beca.

“I’m okay with that if you are?” she asks. “We have the ticket for it, anyway.”

Beca glances toward the girls, too, then looks down at the pizza.

“After you’re done eating,” the girl says in a rush, turning a little pink. “You don’t have to –”

“No, it’s okay,” Beca interrupts. “We’ll do it on one condition.”

The girl nods enthusiastically and Chloe waits, not sure what Beca’s going to say.

“Take a picture of us?” Beca asks, extending her phone to the girl, whose eyes widen.

“Sure!” she agrees enthusiastically. “Oh, I’m the best with Instagram and finding filters, I’ll make you two look so good…”

She rambles on, but Chloe’s stopped listening. She’s too focused on Beca moving her chair closer to her, pressing into her side. When Beca wraps an arm around her waist, Chloe sinks into it so naturally that it’s like they’ve been doing this for years rather than barely a week. Beca’s hair tickles her cheek, but Chloe refuses to pull away. She just smiles for the camera, already knowing she’s going to make Beca send that to her so she can make it her new lock screen.

The girl takes multiple pictures from multiple angles, all the while assuring them they look “super cute,” and hands Beca back her phone with a smile.

“Thanks,” Beca says, scrolling through the pictures quickly to check them.

Looking over her shoulder, Chloe has to agree with the girl; they look good together.

“So…” the girl prompts, and Chloe stands to get to-go boxes for their pizza. They could have finished the last two slices, but it’s pretty obvious the girls at the table are impatient.

She and Beca join them, make introductions, and file past the arcade games to get to the laser tag area. There, another teenage employee explains the rules and splits them into teams: two of the girls plus Beca on the Blue team, and the other two plus Chloe on the Red team.

“You’re going down, Beale,” Beca hisses under her breath as the clock times down to start.

“Nope,” is all Chloe says, knowing it’ll only make Beca even more competitive. Sure enough, Beca huffs a laugh and starts bouncing in place, full of energy.

The buzzer goes off and Chloe steps inside the dark maze, blinking so her eyes adjust to the blacklight filling the room; she glances down at herself, the whites in her clothing and shoelaces glowing in the semidarkness. It’s confusing, at first; all she can do is keep moving, hearing the five other people with her shuffling along behind the maze walls. At one point, one of the girls on her team flies past in front of her, and Chloe has to stop the knee-jerk reaction to aim and fire at her own teammate.

But then, rounding a corner, she sees a one of the girls on the Blue team crouched and peering around a wall, her back to Chloe. Grinning to herself, Chloe raises her laser gun and aims. Before she can fire, though, something latches onto the back of her vest and tugs, and she’s sent careening backward with an inelegant squawk of surprise.

“Shh!” Beca laughs, her teeth bright in the black light as she pulls Chloe into a corner of the maze. “You’re gonna get their attention!”

“Is this a plot?” Chloe asks suspiciously. “Are you trying to make my team lose?”

Beca grins and shakes her head, looping her arms around Chloe’s waist to pull her closer. “Nah. I just wanted to say hi and didn’t think it was fair to shoot from behind... like you were about to do.”

“Yeah, I’m not above that,” Chloe admits casually, heart fluttering at the proximity to Beca.

“Clearly,” Beca agrees, then speaks even more softly. “Those photos of us are really nice.”

“They are,” Chloe says, hands landing on Beca’s hips. The thought of where this might be going makes her feel like she needs to steady herself.

“And, earlier,” Beca continues, whispering now, their faces only inches apart. “I liked when you called me ‘babe.’”

“When?”

“At the desk. When we came in.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Chloe breathes honestly, her eyes dropping to Beca’s slightly parted lips.

“I liked it.”

Beca’s leaning in then, until she’s so close that Chloe’s not sure if the pounding pulse she hears is her own or Beca’s. Chloe closes her eyes, shivering when she feels Beca’s breath ghosting over her lips. Their noses nudge together, sending a thrill through Chloe’s body. All it would take is one final tilt in from either of them, and the entire world would shift.

With a shaky breath that Chloe can both hear and feel, Beca closes the distance.

Beca’s lips are soft and warm against hers. They’re both still, lips just touching, until Chloe pulls back to lightly rest her forehead against Beca’s.

“Bec…”

Chloe’s not sure who leans forward this time, but then they’re kissing again and everything else is wiped from her mind. Beca’s lips grow more direct and she changes the angle gently, and Chloe can hardly believe that this is Beca, finally kissing her, but when she reaches forward to rest her hands on Beca’s waist, the solid presence reassures her until she’s giving in completely. Chloe tilts her head more into it, parting her lips to make the kiss softer, warmer, and drawn-out, nestling Beca’s bottom lip between hers.

A sound leaves Beca then, just a little hum in the back of her throat, not quite a whimper but almost, and it makes Chloe’s hands tighten on Beca’s waist. She feels Beca’s hands trace up her arms, dancing over her collarbones to rest lightly on either side of her neck. Leaving tingling, twitching skin in its path, Beca’s left thumb traces under her jaw until Chloe’s certain Beca can feel the fluttering of her pulse.

Beca’s lips turn more insistent, pressing even closer. One of Beca’s hands slides into Chloe’s hair, cradling the back of her head. This time, Chloe’s the one to make a noise, a breathy gasp that makes Beca chuckle against her lips. Chloe’s hands slide around Beca’s hips, tracing up her lower back until they encounter the laser tag vest.

Chloe’s not sure how long they kiss. A few seconds, maybe a minute at most, but when the kiss reaches its natural end and she pulls away, her head is spinning and she can’t stop smiling. Beca’s smiling right back, the flush on her cheeks visible even in the semidarkness.

Chloe steps away carefully, her hands dropping from Beca’s sides. Her lips tingle where Beca had kissed them, and she wants more than anything to continue it, but they are still technically in public with a group of teenagers running around somewhere in the laser tag maze.

She feels like she should say something, but doesn’t know what.

That’s when Beca, grinning cheekily, lifts her laser gun and shoots Chloe point-blank, making her vest buzz and light up.

“Gotcha.”

***************

“Wait, why’d you swipe no on him, he was cute!” Stacie protests, peering over Chloe’s shoulder.

“Eh, not my type,” Chloe dismisses, scrolling through some brunette’s profile next.

“Cute isn’t your type?” Stacie asks sarcastically.

“Guess not,” Chloe snaps back. She’s tired of this stupid app. She swipes no again.

“Ooh, her!” This time, Stacie practically pounces on Chloe to get her to swipe yes on an admittedly very attractive blonde woman.

Chloe swipes no and closes the app. “Look, this is stupid. I’m really not into anyone on here.”

“How?” Stacie asks with wide eyes. “Chloe, you’ve been single for as long as I’ve known you. That’s… like three years. That’s insane.”

“I date,” Chloe replies defensively, crossing her arms.

“Okay, you go on dates. That’s different from dating.”

“I – there’s no one I’ve liked.”

That’s only partially true. Yes, she hasn’t really clicked with anyone, but that has nothing to do with their own shortcomings and everything to do with the fact that they aren’t Beca.

“No one?”

“Nope,” Chloe replies, standing from the couch. “Listen, I’m pretty tired, Stace, I’m gonna head up to bed.”

No matter how hard she tries, no matter how many dates she forces herself to go on, Chloe can’t shake her feelings for Beca in favor of a stranger. It’s just not going to happen.

“But –”

“Good night!” she interrupts, heading for the stairs and hearing a soft, “Night,” thrown at her retreating back.

She deletes the app a few days later, despite the large number of unread messages in her inbox from both guys and girls. It doesn’t matter how many of them she could have tried to date; no stranger can replace the increasingly powerful feelings she has for Beca.

***************

“Bye! Happy birthday!” Beca calls, waving after the group of teenage girls. Chloe smiles goodbye at them, though she’s still not entirely sure which of the girls’ birthdays it is. She carries their leftover pizza in her right hand, her left intertwined with Beca’s. Like the boy at the welcome stand, the girls didn’t give them a second glance for holding hands and acting like a couple.

After the girls are gone, Beca looks at her, eyes alight. “Blue team kicked your team’s ass.”

Chloe grins back and replies, “Only because you distracted me.”

“Excuses.”

Chloe bumps her shoulder into Beca’s, both laughing as they make their way to Chloe’s car. Chloe feels like she’s glowing from the inside out; their second date had been just as wonderful as their first, perhaps even more so, with the kiss.

“Beca! Chloe!”

Chloe stops dead in her tracks, dropping Beca’s hand instantly at the familiar voice. A dense dread settling deep in her stomach, she turns in time to see Beca’s dad, Warren, and his wife Sheila climbing out of their car in the row adjacent to where she and Beca are parked. They’re both smiling, not looking at her with anger or suspicion, so they must not have seen her and Beca holding hands.

“Shit, fuck –” Beca swears softly beside her, then, more loudly, “Dad! What are you guys doing here?”

Chloe winces; she hopes the panic in Beca’s voice is only obvious to her.

Warren and Sheila walk over, weaving between a few parked cars to draw closer to them. Beca shifts her weight, putting distance between her and Chloe; Chloe hears the scuff of pebbles under her feet, acutely aware of every inch newly separating them.

“Don’t sound so pleased to see us,” Warren says with a smile when they’re near enough. “We’re here for a Barden faculty event.”

“At a roller rink?”

“Well, Beca, even us old people can have fun sometimes.”

Chloe glances at the ground, the muscles between her shoulders tensing in response to the strain she feels pouring off of Beca in waves. Chloe’s desperate to reach out and touch her, but she knows she can’t.

“How’re you, Chloe?”

Warren’s question startles her. “Good,” she replies hastily. “Great. You guys?”

Sheila nods, looking around the parking lot. “We’re good, all good. Are the rest of the Bellas still inside?”

Chloe’s blood turns to ice. There’s no way they can lie.

She tries to shift even further from Beca without Sheila or Warren noticing.

“Uh, no,” she replies, thinking quickly. “We figured – that is, Beca and I – figured we could use some, uh, captain bonding time. You know, just prepping things for when Emily takes over,” she finishes, gesturing vaguely.

It doesn’t really make sense – there’s no need to bond as captains now that they’ve graduated, and exactly what “prepping” they could do at a roller rink is beyond Chloe – but Warren and Sheila don’t question it.

“Right,” Warren nods grandly. “I suppose Emily will be taking over, now.”

“Yep,” Beca replies, her voice clipped. “It’s all very… is there anything else, or…?”

Warren’s eyebrows draw together and he looks at Beca quizzically. Chloe wishes a hole would open under her feet and drag her down and out of this situation.

There’s a pause, then out of nowhere, Sheila asks, “Have you heard anything from Jesse?”

Chloe’s stomach jolts.

“What do you mean?” Beca asks quickly.

“Well, you know. I mean, he was always such a nice boy.”

“I…”

“It’s just a shame to let the good ones go, you know. I don’t want you to regret anything,” Sheila says, leaning closer to emphasize her point.

Chloe closes her eyes briefly, hoping it looks like she’s shielding them from the sun.

“It’s for the best, the breakup,” Beca replies firmly. Chloe reopens her eyes; from Beca’s tone, she can tell Beca’s struggling to remain calm. “He’s still my friend, but that’s it.”

Sheila purses her lips. “Well. I’m sure if you asked, maybe he’d be willing to be more than friends again. He’s good for you, Beca.”

“I’m really okay.”

Sheila’s eyes narrow at the icy tone, then turn on Chloe. Chloe swallows, hard.

“And what about you, dear?”

“Sheila…” Warren clears his throat, looking embarrassed, but Chloe can tell Sheila still expects an answer.

Chloe forces her face into what she hopes is a polite smile. “What about me?” she asks, nervous.

“Are there any men in your life?”

Pebbles shift again where Beca stands as she moves another inch away. The anger radiating from her small frame tastes sharp and metallic.

“Oh, no, no men for me…” she tries to answer without placing inflection the “men” part.

“Really?” Sheila’s eyebrows lift. “Honey, with your looks, you should be able to get any cute boy you want.”

From the corner of her eye, Chloe sees Beca look down at the ground.

Chloe doesn’t know what to do but try to laugh it off, panic mounting in her chest by the second.

“I guess… just busy, you know,” she says, fighting to keep her tone even. “With Worlds, and... and I’m applying for internships different places around the country,” she replies, hoping Sheila will take the hint and ask where she’s applied.

“Ah,” Sheila nods. “Right, I’m sure once you move on out of this town, get settled, then the dating will pick up for sure. Between you and me,” her voice drops to a stage-whisper and she grins conspiratorially, “they make them better out there than they do here.”

“They make them okay here,” Chloe replies without thinking, feeling Beca’s wide eyes on the side of her face.

“I’m sure,” Sheila nods amicably.

Warren clears his throat more loudly and makes a show of checking his watch. “Well, I think we should let you girls go. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of – um, bonding activities planned,” he smiles at them.

Chloe hopes her answering laugh doesn’t sound as hysterical as she thinks it might.

“Bye, Beca,” Warren nods at his only child, placing his hand on Sheila’s back to steer her toward the entrance to the roller rink. “Chloe, until next time.”

Beca makes a sort of grunting noise, and Chloe tries for a smile, her cheek muscles feeling stiff. They watch Warren and Sheila go. It’s only until they step inside the roller rink that Chloe realizes she’s holding her breath; she lets it out in a whoosh, the start of a headache mounting in her temples.

She turns to Beca, mouth open, though whether to apologize or ask if she’s okay, Chloe isn’t sure. But the look on Beca’s face, equal parts mournful and exhausted, traps Chloe’s voice in her throat. Beca shakes her head, looks at the ground, and without a word, goes to Chloe’s car and climbs into the passenger seat.

Chloe stares at the car dumbly until her body catches up with her brain. She lurches forward, numb inside, and gets into the driver’s seat, closing the door and muting the world outside.

It’s silent in the car. Chloe doesn’t know what to say.

She risks a glance over. Her chest throbs at the sight; Beca’s leaning her head against the glass of the window, eyes locked on something outside.

Have you heard anything from Jesse?

Well. I’m sure if you asked, maybe he’d be willing to be more than friends again. He’s good for you, Beca.

For the first time, Chloe understands what dating Beca might mean for both of them.

Chloe’s hands grip the wheel so hard her knuckles are white. She can’t bear to look at Beca, scared of what she might see, terrified that their first kiss might be their last.

She starts the car, and, leaving the radio off, backs out of the parking spot, and drives toward the exit.