#converse pro leather

[dippedanddripped]

Converse pro leather hi spray painted with krylon mambo pink

[chromet]

Bandulu X Converse Pro Leather mid

Available HERE for purchase on grailed​

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel.  You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home.  The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

(Patreon)

[blqstar]

: ̗̀➛ K. BAKUGO | PERSIAN RUGS

» [summary] ── you get a phone call from your old best friend Bakugo and end up doing more than just catching up.

cw: (2.7k) x black fem reader, p in v, this is my first time writin a fic so bear with me if its not particularly the best😭 (would love constructive criticism though), swearing, not proofread ngl

Low, honey-colored lights finely lit the room as you look into the tavern. Sultry jazz music reverberates throughout the space, as people gather around the bar. Men and women dressed elegantly sit in the red leather booths, engaging in long, meaningless conversations. Glasses clink, drinks being passed around to the folks circling the lounge. You walked into the bar, the familiar sounds you haven’t heard in so long washing over you like a warm wave.

You never thought you would come back here despite all the memories you’ve had under this roof. However, an unexpected call from your phone ultimately led you right back here. Where you and your old best friend first met.

You vaguely remember him sitting in one of the booths by the bar, slightly drunk from the number of drinks he gulped down since he’d been there. It was a funny interaction, to be quite honest. You didn’t know how famous he was at the time but you recalled his spiky hair and his scarlet eyes and knew that he went to the same high school as you.

You sat down and tried to talk to him but he started blabbering on about himself and bragging about how he would be the #1 pro-hero in Japan. You knew him to always be like this, never fraying from his goals.

His name was Katsuki Bakugo. A man with a fiery temperament, undeniable strength, and fierce loyalty to all who were lucky to be his friends. And surprisingly, you were one of them. Honestly, the closest friend to him to say the least.

You had an unbreakable bond, a friendship forged in the fires of shared feelings and unyielding support. You both connected on such a deep level that the magnifying connection could never disappear.

You spent countless hours talking to each other, ranting about meaningless things. Late-night calls and conversations happened frequently between the two of you, staying up till the crack of dawn just to listen to each other’s voices and hear the stories that happened over the day during your time away from each other.

But little by little as time went by, those calls soon turned into texts, and later, texts turned into absolutely nothing. You knew Kats had a lot on his plate, quite aware that he was one of the most famous pro-heroes in Japan now. But it still hurt a little that he wasn’t texting or calling as much as he used to. It felt like you both were just drifting away from each other. Until a few hours ago, you got a phone call from him.

“Hey, Kats. What’s up?” Your heart thumped when you heard his voice, hearing him let out a slight sigh. You hear people talking and glasses clinking in the background before he speaks again. You sensed a feeling of anxiousness from him but you let it be, only curious about what he was calling you for at such a late hour.

“Hey. You busy right now by any chance?” You’re surprised by his question.

“No, not really. What’s up?”

You audibly hear him clear his throat. “I was thinking…remember that bar where we first met? The one where I was drunk as a lord?”

“Oh, of course. How could I forget, ‘future #1 pro-hero’?” You answer, letting out a little giggle. Katsuki grumbles quietly, “You know I didn’t mean to say that out loud—shut up! Anyway, I was thinking maybe you should come by.”

You gasp sarcastically. “Are you actually inviting me to hang out? This is new for you, Kats.”

Katsuki stutters slightly, sounding a bit flustered. “Don’t get any weird ideas! It’s just…I haven’t seen you in a while, and I figured it’d be nice to catch up.”

Your heart started to beat faster at his response, feeling your face getting warm to the touch. You can’t deny, you had feelings for the man but you could never tell him that. He already has lots of tasks to do. For him to pursue a relationship with you would be a one-in-a-million occurrence, especially with how much fame he’s gotten now. Nevertheless, you digress.

You give him a soft chuckle. “I’d love to catch up with you, Kats. What time should I be there?”

“Just…whenever. I’ll be here. Just don’t take forever, alright?” Katsuki replies, a hint of excitement in his tone.

“Okay, okay! I’ll be there soon. See you.”

…

You made your way to the bar, ordering a drink while glancing around. Your heart raced a little at the thought of seeing him again, your feelings for him rekindling like embers that had never truly died out. The last time you were together had been a welcome filled with unresolved feelings—now, here you were, not knowing if you were seeking to get a long-lasting friendship back or perhaps something more.

As if summoned by your thoughts, he appeared. Katsuki, with his signature spiky blonde hair and those fiery red eyes, looked just as intense as ever. Dressed casually in a fitted black shirt and jeans, he exuded confidence, but there was a softness in his gaze when he spotted you.

His eyes went from studying your face to looking at your body, looking at the orange dress you had on. The way it fits your curves so perfectly made his cheeks go red. You even had his color on too. He gulped and realized he was staring a little bit too long and his expression flickered to a genuine smile, disguising his admiration toward you.

"There you are, finally decided to show up, huh?" he said, crossing the space between you with that familiar swagger you remembered so well.

You chuckled, trying to hide the butterflies in your stomach. "I couldn't resist the call of the infamous Katsuki Bakugo."

He scoffed, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. "Whatever. You just missed my last explosion. Would have impressed you."

You took a sip of your drink, feeling a rush of warmth as he leaned against the bar, his shoulder almost brushing against yours. "I've seen enough explosions for a lifetime, but it’s nice to see you again. How’ve you been?"

The conversation flowed naturally, with laughter and teasing remarks exchanged like old times. As the minutes turned into hours, the noise of the bar faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared history. However, an undeniable tension started to hang in the air, thickening with every glance, every lingering touch.

As Katsuki continued to talk to you, he brushed his fingers against yours while he spoke, a spark igniting where he touched. Your heart raced with the accidental contact, the proximity between you becoming closer and closer.

This is when you take a really good look at your best friend. His fitted black top clings to his muscled frame, accentuating the curves of his biceps and the hard line of his shoulders. The fabric is cut just low enough to reveal a teasing hint of his toned abdomen, each subtle movement highlighting the power beneath his skin.

His voice fades out as you drool over his physique. Within seconds, you zone back in as he calls your name, eyes focused on his face now.

“S-sorry, what’d you say?” Katsuki stares at you, aware of your reverence for his body. He smiles slyly at you. He feels the tension as much as you do, his eyes in a haze as he starts to speak.

“Hey,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, “are you doing anything later?”

Your breath hitches. “Not at all. Why?”

His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching. “What do we say we get out of here? My place is nearby, and I…I don’t know, I just feel like talking somewhere a bit more private?”

Your pulse quickened at his invitation. You felt a thrill of excitement course through you and without thinking too much about it, you nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

…

The air outside was cooler, the summer night alive with the sounds of distant traffic and the chirping of crickets. Katsuki led the way, his pace brisk and confident. You walked beside him, heart hammering as the anticipation built within you. What would happen next? Would the tension that had been brewing all night simmer over into something more?

When you arrived at his apartment, he opened the door with a casual ease, stepping aside to let you in. The space was cluttered but cozy, with a few mementos from his UA days scattered around, remnants of the determined hero you had known and admired.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, tossing his keys onto the small table by the door, then heading to grab something to drink. You took a moment to soak in the nostalgia before following him to the kitchen.

As you leaned against the counter, he poured a glass of wine and handed it to you, the heat of his presence growing palpable. You could feel the weight of his gaze as he watched you drink from the chalice, and for a moment, the silence stretched between you—a heavy, pregnant pause charged with unspoken desires.

“Katsuki…” you started, unsure of what to say or how to breach the growing tension.

“Just… let’s not pretend,” he interrupted, closing the distance between you, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine. “We both feel it. This is more than just catching up.”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, the heat radiating off him enveloping you.

You stare into his piercing orbs. There was a fierce intensity in his eyes as he searched yours for confirmation of your unspoken feelings.

“I know,” you replied softly, your heart racing. “I’ve always felt it.”

He moved even closer, pushing you against the counter. He shifts to the side of your face and puts his lips close to your ear.

“So what are we gonna do about it?” He whispers, his voice low and raspier than before. You press your legs together, warmth building up in your lower region.

“I-”

Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a fierce kiss, igniting a fire within you. His lips were warm, and demanding, sending sparks shooting through your veins. You melted against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you returned the kiss with equal fervor.

Katsuki deepened the kiss, his hands roaming your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was everything you had imagined and more—intense, passionate, and primal. You could feel the heat radiating off him, matching the storm brewing inside you.

You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in his spiky hair as he explores your mouth with his tongue.

Katsuki's hands roam down your body, cupping your breasts through your dress. He squeezes them gently, his thumbs brushing against your hardening nipples. You gasp at the contact, your hands moving down to grip his firm ass, pulling him against you.

"I want you," he growls against your mouth, his breath hot on your skin. "I've wanted you since the moment we met."

You look at him in surprise. You then smile against his lips, your body buzzing with desire. "Then what are you waiting for?" you whisper, biting his lower lip playfully.

Katsuki growls in response, picking you up in his strong arms and carrying you towards the bedroom. He kicks the door open, laying you down gently on the soft bed. You watch as he strips off his shirt, your eyes roaming over his well-defined chest and abs. He kicks off his shoes and removes his pants, leaving him standing before you in nothing but his boxers.

You sit up, your hands reaching for the zipper of your dress. You slide it down slowly, revealing your curves inch by inch, enjoying the hungry look in Katsuki's eyes as he takes in the view. You slip the dress off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your lacy red bra and panties.

Katsuki's eyes darken even further as he takes in your near-naked form. "So fucking beautiful, mama" he breathes, climbing onto the bed to join you. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss as his hands roam down your body. He cups your ass, squeezing it gently before hooking his fingers into the sides of your panties and sliding them down your legs.

You shift, helping him remove your panties, your eyes never leaving his. Katsuki sits back on his heels, his gaze burning as he takes in the view of your wet pussy. "She’s so fucking pretty, ma," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire.

You feel your face warm up at his compliment and nod, lust taking over you. He lowers and bites your inner thigh, licking at the mark afterward. A low moan bubbles in your throat when his tongue starts lapping at your entrance to your clit. “Fuck, Katsu.”

Your legs tremble as one hand pins your hips down to the bed, the other hand spreading your thighs to accommodate his broad shoulders. He eats you like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have. His plump lips wrap around your throbbing clit as he sucks harshly, making you keen.

You felt the knot in your stomach appear and before you could come undone, he stops and hoists his head up from your pussy. You whine at the loss of friction. Katsuki lifts his hips, sliding down his boxers, his hard length springing free. You bite your lip as you take in the sight of his thick, erect cock, your pussy growing more wet at the thought of feeling him inside you.

"Your turn to get comfortable," you purr, pushing him gently onto his back. You straddle his waist, your hands roaming over his broad chest. You lean down as you kiss him deeply. Katsuki groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your hips as you begin to grind against him, your wet core brushing against his shaft.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he gasps, his head falling back as you continue to move against him. You reach between your bodies, guiding his cock to your entrance. You tease him, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit before sinking down slowly, impaling yourself on his length.

Katsuki hisses at the sensation, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "You're so tight," he grunts, his eyes screwed shut as he enjoys the feeling of being encased in your warmth.

You bite your lip at the stretching sensation, slowly lifting yourself up and down on his cock, getting used to his size. Katsuki opens his eyes, watching you ride him with a hungry look. "That's it, fuck yourself on my cock," he growls, his hands gripping your ass, helping you move.

You moan, picking up the pace as you bounce on his lap. Your breasts bounce with each movement, your sensitive nipples grazing his chest with every downward motion. Katsuki sits up, his mouth latching onto one taut peak as he sucks and nibbles gently.

"Oh God, Katsuki!" you cry out, your head falling back as pleasure washes over you. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

Katsuki smirks against your skin, speeding up his thrusts as he meets your movements. His cock slides in and out of your tight pussy, the wet sounds of his hips meeting filling the room. "You like that, huh?" he teases, his free hand moving down to rub your clit in circles.

"Yes! Oh yes, right there!" you cry out, your body trembling on the edge. "I'm so close, please don't stop!"

Katsuki growls, his mouth claiming yours in a passionate kiss as he increases the pressure on your clit. You cry out into his mouth as your orgasm hits you hard, your body shaking uncontrollably as waves of pleasure ripple through you. Katsuki continues to thrust into you through your climax, his own approaching fast.

"Cum for me, baby," he grunts, his eyes locked on yours. "Let me feel you tighten around my cock."

You whimper, your sensitive walls clenching around him as your orgasm continues to wash over you. Katsuki groans, his hips stuttering as he reaches his own climax. "Fuck, I'm cumming!" he roars, his body tensing as he fills you with his hot release.

You collapse against him, both your bodies sticky with sweat as you try to catch your breath. Katsuki hugs you tight, pulling you into his embrace.

“Hey,” he starts. “Y’know I like you too, right?”

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

I've always, always, always, argued that SJM's racism is intentional. People undermine the conversation about racism in SJM by arguing that her racism is just a little, fickle mistake. I really aggressively need to push back against this point - I don't think SJM is an idiot blonde woman who does not recognize the racism in her writing. If anything the reason why I've persisted this long talking about the problems in her story is because I was initially taken aback by just how intentional the racism is.

For example, the Illyrians. We talk about how ambiguous they are, but I think its one of the biggest examples of intentionality in the texts. The Illyrians purposely operate in this realm of uncertainty. Whether or not they are actually men of color has always been a moot point - it's about the intentionality of creating this race of men that embody these very weird, intentional traits. SJM knew that she wanted these men to be dark, violent, and warrior-like, but she also don't want them to be specifically categorized as men of color because the story simply doesn't see these men of color as desirable (see: Tarquin, Helion, Thesan - think about how they are characterized). It's also why I've argued that the story purposely doesn't associate the Illyrians as lesser fae, even though for all intent and purposes they are. The Illyrians are simultaneously the best (leathers, weapons, fighting) and the worst (culture, misogyny, hyperviolent). The story is also very intentional about how it characterizes the Illyrians concerning Rhys. Emerie just so happens to be the only one of her entire friend group that's not drop-dead gorgeous; notice how Amren is also described similarly when she is introduced initially. Everyone in the IC is gorgeous, beautiful, the most beautiful, but Amren the only explicit person of color, is described as being just plain.

The point is that these are very intentional writing choices - eerily specific, in my opinion. SJM is very intentional about the ways in which she chooses to 'represent' people of color in her series (see: Nehemia, Sorcha, Nesryn, Nuala, Cerridwen, Emerie, Fury, etc). Even think about the ways in which characters like Alis border on minstrelsy in their depiction. It's not just the representation, its the way certain traits are aligned with certain people, specifically people of color. I remember I made a post on my last blog about the ways in which SJM has her characters of color operate in this permanent semi-disposable position. There is always a way in which their white (white-passing) peers are always explicitly better (see: Hunt/Baxian, Helion/Nesta, Tarquin/Feyre, Yrene/Aelin - I have words for this one too).

In short, I don't think SJM is ignorant - not in the way people think. I actually think she is much smarter than even her own fans give her credit for and its why both her own stories and booktok/tube/gram have honestly gotten worse. I feel like oft times the pro and anti sides are just observing the same things (literally - the arguments are identical), but the difference is the pro sides don't think its a big deal partially because they believe that SJM is a whimsy white women who just can't understand she's wrong. Its why the argue that SJM is 'working to get better' even though she's written, at this point, over fifteen books.

[zablife]

Benny x the Bookworm

A/N: Requested by @hufflepuff1619 who wanted to see Benny fall for a shy, academic type reader who works in a bookshop.

Benny Cross Masterlist

📓 You barely noticed the bell chime above the bookshop door as you turned the page of your novel, but the overpowering scent of petrol and the slow crack of leather quickly alerted you to the biker standing over you.

📓 That's the first time you met Benny Cross, his cool blue eyes piercing into you as he asked to use your phone, promising it wasn't long distance.

📓 You didn't know what to think of the handsome stranger who made your cheeks flush at the language he used when demanding someone from "the club" come get him.

📓 However, he was as gentle as a lamb with you, attempting to ease the tension in the air with a joke. “In case you’re wonderin’ that wasn’t my book club, darlin’.”

📓 The giggle you hid behind your hand made his eyes twinkle, fingers idly leafing through the book on the desk in his dazed wonderment. You barely noticed the grease stained fingerprints smudging the pages of your book until he muttered an apology, along with an offer to buy what he'd ruined.

📓 You couldn't have known then that the reason he insisted so vehemently was to keep a piece of you close to him. He tucked the paperback into his jacket and kept it there for weeks as he carefully read every word, including your cramped notes in the margins.

📓 You'd nearly forgotten the encounter when you noticed his motorcycle parked outside one stormy afternoon. Heart pounding at the sight of his rain soaked hair in the shop window, you invited him inside to dry off, wondering what he could possibly want. When he produced the tattered novel along with a myriad of questions, you couldn't contain the brightness of your smile.

📓 He tried to pay attention to every word as you spoke, but found himself distracted by the adorable way your glasses slipped down the bridge of your nose as you leaned forward to point out a favorite passage or how you clasped a hand to your chest when reciting a heartfelt line.

📓 As his visits to the shop became more frequent, you were more than happy to share your love of learning, eventually leading him to another of your haunts, the public library.

📓 There you took him by the hand, loading his sturdy arms with a stack of classics you couldn't wait for him to read next. And overcome with giddy delight you might have indulged in a few stolen kisses between the shelves.

📓 Benny readily accepted the academic challenge you presented despite the teasing from the guys when he'd choose to furrow his brow over some long dead author over a more enticing game of darts. He wanted to be able to discuss every detail with you later to see the spark of excitement in your eyes and to prove he was smarter than he looked.

📓 However, part of him was driven by his doubts. You were so educated and worldly compared to him, a high school drop out, and he worried you would tire of him in favor of someone better.

📓 But you could have cared less about his lack of formal education and often told him so. What you loved about Benny was his curiosity and tenacity. He was able to teach himself anything, proven by the way he could repair motorcycles.

📓 You soon found yourself begging to learn all about his hobby, a fact that had Benny grinning like an idiot. In fact, nothing made him prouder than the day he brought you to your first race and you held a conversation with Cal like a pro.

📓 When he caught your gaze from across the field as he revved his engine, he found your eyes shimmering back at him with pure joy, and he knew you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. In that moment he knew the feelings of mutual adoration were turning to something much stronger.

[enbyenvy666]

personal pornstar part 2/? - cis!ver

After your first date with the Pro Hero pair, they invite you to their home, where things get a little spicy and not just from the food.

established!kiribaku x masc!reader part 1 | trans!ver word count - 2.6k

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, eating food, sex work, reader has nipple piercings lol, anal sex, kirishima doesn't have sex but he's there lmao, swearing, slight size kink themes, possessiveness from bakugo, murder mentioned (characters watch a horror movie), no beta we die like men

The giddiness from the date didn’t wear off for days, making work a little more tolerable. But the threat of impending bills had you eager to set up another meeting with the heroes. And they seemed to reciprocate that feeling. 

Kirishima would text you daily, having conversations with you that lasted all day, with some input from Bakugo when he felt like chiming in. Sometimes he would send you a selfie of the two of them, Kirishima with his signature bright smile and Bakugo with a scowl. Getting to know both of them made meeting up with them a little less intimidating, so when they invited you out for dinner again, you felt less nervous than last time.

This time dinner would be at their place, which was a nice, two-story home in the suburbs away from the bustling city you were used to listening to at night. Standing at their front door, you took a shaking breath before pressing the doorbell button. You could hear it softly chiming inside the home before the door swung open, revealing Bakugo who scowled when he saw you.

“Don’t you have any other clothes?” He barked. You had worn the same button-up and slacks again because, well, they were your only nice clothes. He dragged you inside and gestured to a pair of slippers by the door. He marched past you to the thin grey wood table near the coat rack which had a bowl for their keys and other little knickknacks. He grabbed the pristine leather wallet that sat upon it and pulled out some more dollar bills, stuffing them into your hands.

“Here, get yourself something else to wear.”

“I can’t-“ you argued, trying to give him back the money. He shook his head and tried to practically shove it into your pocket. You reached into your other pocket to pull out your wallet which had the change from the taxi money from the last time you saw them.

“I still have this.”

Bakugo took the money he was trying to give you and put it in your wallet before putting it back in your pocket. It was slight but you still noticed the way his hand slid a little further back as if to reach around your thigh to your rear.

“The whole point of this ‘service’ is that we pay you for being with us,” he grumbled as he took your hand, leading you through his home and into the kitchen. The smell of herbs and spices filled the air, making your stomach rumbled and mouth water. Kirishima was standing by the stove, idly stirring whatever was in the frypan so it wouldn’t burn. The redhead smiled when he saw you, quickly moving out of the way as Bakugo stomped to the stove, grumbling about his husband ‘doing it wrong’.

Kirishima retrieved some glasses and a bottle of wine before exiting the cooking area, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he passed, walking over to the nearby dining room table. He popped the cork off the wine bottle, making you jump at the sound. He chuckled and apologised as he poured the wine into the glasses. He placed a glass in front of a chair and gestured for you to sit. You quickly complied, taking a sip from the glass. He sat down at the head on the table beside you and once again held your hand on your table, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

He made some small talk, asking how the trip over was and how you had been since you last saw him. You asked him about his work and what being a hero was like, but when you could see the tiredness in his eyes while he answered, you couldn’t help the guilty feeling bubbling up. Just as you felt like the conversation was dying, Bakugo marched over and (somewhat aggressively) placed down three plates of food on the table.

“Hope you like spice,” he smirked, sitting down across from you. Just the scent of spice from your plate was making your throat burn. You could handle spice but this… this seemed extreme. The first bite was bearable, the next a little less so, the third had you sweating. The wine didn’t help to cool your mouth, and eventually, you had to admit you needed some water.

“Aw, can’t handle it?” Bakugo teased but still stood from the table to retrieve a drink for you. He came back with a glass of milk, which you thankfully gulped down. Kirishima’s ruby eyes were trained on your lips and the white, creamy liquid. He cleared his throat, averting his gaze as his cheeks grew pink.

“It took me a while to get used to his cooking,” he chuckled, trying to distract himself. Thanks to several glasses of water and milk, you managed to get through the meal. It was very tasty, you couldn’t deny that, but the heat that came with it was almost unbearable. You attempted to help clean up, but the two heroes wouldn’t let you lift a finger. Even when you argued you were here to provide a service for them, they would just chuckle and tell you to sit down.

After the dishes were cleaned, Kirishima took you by the hand and led you to their lounge room, guiding you to sit on the couch. A movie had already been queued up, some kind of horror movie from the 80s, possibly indie as you didn’t recognise the title. With a hero sat either side of you, the movie began, the soft light from a floor lamp in the corner casting a soft, warm glow through the room.

The movie had a bit of a slower pace, and soon you found Bakugo’s muscular arm around your shoulders, and Kirishima’s large hand on your thigh just above your knee. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, the same smell of cologne intoxicating your senses,

“Y’know, Kats tried this same trick on me when we started dating. Played a scary movie so I would get scared and he would protect me.”

“But you’re a lot braver than I expected,” Bakugo smirked, playing with the baby hairs at the back of your neck, goosebumps rising across your arms. As the movie progressed, it came to the classic sex scene while the masked killer stalked the young couple. The scene was more sensual than what you expected, with lingering shots of beads of sweat running across the mounds and valleys of lean, tan bodies. Sexy music accompanied moans and whimpers, hands groping thighs and breasts.

You had to adjust the collar of your shirt, your whole body growing warm as you watched the scene unfold. A shot of the woman’s face twisted in bliss had you glancing away. To the shelves around the TV, and some of the arty paintings on the wall, until you spotted Bakugo beside you, particularly the rise in his pants between his legs. It appeared that the scene was affecting him too, and maybe the wine made those feelings stronger. Seeing how much enjoyment he was getting from the movie reminded you of why you were here in the first place.

Your palm slid over his thigh, fingertips brushing against the hardness of his crotch. His head snapped down, searching for the source of the soft feeling. Finding you were the source of the gentle touches, he smirked, his arm falling from your shoulders to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. Your gaze flickered between your hand and his face, watching for any reactions that told you to stop. Every time you would palm his cock harder, his eyes would flutter close, and you could just hear the sighs he let out over the increasingly tense music from the movie.

His head lolled back onto the backrest of the couch with a hum, his fingers occasionally twitching against your side. After twisting around to face him, you started to unzip his pants. But he could feel how your hand shook and hesitated, lifting his head to meet your uncertain eyes.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable.”

“This is what I’m here for, isn’t it?” With his pants unzipped, you wrapped your hand around his cock, the fabric of his underwear still in the way. He cursed under his breath, thighs tensing. He reached over to cup your cheek, pulling you even closer against him so your chest met his.

“Fuck you’re cute,” he muttered before finally kissing you. His lips were softer than you expected, and you could still taste the spice from dinner on his tongue. His cock became impossibly harder in your hand, his underwear growing darker over his tip as you stroked him. He reached down, his hand roughly groping your ass, hand perfectly fitting the fatty globe. You gasped into his lips, drawing out a chuckle from Kirishima.

“Don’t play too rough Kats,” he warned light-heartedly, his larger hand stroking your back as if trying to soothe you. Bakugo parted his lips from you, and stared at you with hooded eyes, waiting for a response.

“I don’t mind,” you whispered, receiving a toothy smirk from him. With a rough push, he had you on your back on your couch, your head on Kirishima’s lap. Bakugo started to unbutton his shirt, and you quickly did the same, albeit with shaking hands. The cooler air made goosebumps rise on your now bare torso. Bakugo’s crimson eyes stared down at your chest, his tongue running over his lip.

“That’s fuckin’ hot.” He reached down, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your nipple before gently playing with the metal balls at either end of the bar piercing the bud. Little sparks of pleasure shot through your veins from the touches, biting your lips to silence your mewls. 

With your legs around his hips, Bakugo helped you remove your pants and underwear, pushing his own down enough to reveal his cock to your prying eyes. Feeling it was one thing, but seeing it was another, and it looked way bigger than you were expecting. Long, with veins running along the sides, pearls of precum glinting in the light of the TV.

Stroking your cock in his soft hand forced gasps and whimpers out of you, gripping the couch cushion in one hand and Kirishima’s knee in the other to ground yourself. Your toes curled as he stroked you, precum slowly pearling at your tip.

“You like that baby?” He teased, smearing your precum with his thumb as it circled your reddening tip. You could feel Kirishima shifting, and the sound of a draw opening, but you were in too much bliss to care.

“Mhm,” you moaned, lip pinned between your teeth as your back arched. Over your head, Kirishima handed Bakugo a small bottle, which you correctly assumed to be lube. The whine that left your lips when he let go of your cock was needy and desperate. Watching him with hooded eyes, he squirted some of the lube onto his hand and wrapped it around your hard cock.

You couldn’t stop the flurry of moans he pulled out of you with each slick stroke of your cock, scooping up some of the clear liquid that dripped down to your sack in his other hand. Two fingers circled your hole, slowly making the muscle relax until he was able to push the digits inside. Your gasp was like music to his ears, scissoring his fingers inside you to stretch you enough to fit his cock. Kirishima laid his hand on your cheek, thumb soothingly rubbing over the warm skin to keep soothe you through the bliss Bakugo was giving you. 

With the lube still coating his palm, he let go of your cock (much to your disappointment) to stroke his own, coating it in lube. After fitting a third finger inside you, he removed them as well, lining up his tip to your entrance. But he hesitated, one hand holding your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Even with his pupils blown wide with lust, there was a seriousness in his eyes, like he was ready to stop at a moment's notice.

“Yes,” you whispered while nodding. With your consent, he slowly thrust himself inside you. Feeling his head pop inside of you made you flinch, he was a lot bigger than you were used to. He stretched you to fit him perfectly, slowly pulling his hips away before thrusting back in quickly. It hurt, a slight soreness accompanying each thrust but it was quickly overtaken by pleasure that made your body tingle.

“Bakugo~” you whimpered when he gripped the underside of your thighs, pushing them further apart so he could thrust his cock deeper inside.

“Katsuki,” he corrected, thrusting faster and harder till your eyes were rolling back.

“Call me Katsuki or I’ll fuck you till you forget your name.”

“Katsuki,” you moaned, even though his threat sounded intriguing. Kirishima continued to gently stroke your face and play with your hair, softly cooing down at you while his husband fucked you like he couldn’t resist. Even as your fingernails dug into his leg, he still touched you calmly. Katsuki was balls deep inside you with every thrust, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass and thighs echoing through the room, drowning out the screams of the people being murdered in the movie.

He moaned unabashedly, your back arching as you felt a coil start to tighten in your stomach, your hole tightening around his cock at the same time.

“Gonna cum pretty boy?”

With hearts in your eyes, you nodded quickly, unlatching your death grip on the couch cushion to stroke your dick, bringing you that much closer to bliss. Katsuki’s brow was knitted as his thrusts grew erratic, hips barely falling into a rhythm as he chased his high. Tighter and tighter, the coil finally snapped, making you call his name in pleasure, white ropes of cum coating your stomach and chest in streaks. The way your hole clamped down around him brought him to his orgasm, painting your insides white. His shallow thrusts pushed his seed deeper inside you as if to claim you as his.

Curses flew from his gritted teeth, hips finally stilling, balls deep inside you. Releasing the grip on your thighs, he steadied himself on the couch as he panted, leaning down to press a passion-fueled kiss to your lips. Kirishima’s hand finally left your face, instead gently pushing Katsuki’s hair back from his damp forehead. The blonde sat back up, sitting on his shins as he gripped your hip to keep you still. With gently coaxing, Kirishima got you to let go of his leg so he could stand up, lifting your head off his lap. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, Katsuki already breathing normally. Damn, that pro-hero stamina.

Kirishima returned, and upon seeing him, Katsuki slowly pulled his softening cock out of your stuffed hole, dragging a whimper from you with it. Kirishima handed a wet cloth to Katsuki, which he used to clean himself with. A second cloth was swiped over your torso, the coldness making you gasp and flinch.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Kirishima said with a pouty smile, quickly but gently cleaning you.

“Cold,” you whimpered, mind still in a haze. He chuckled, removing the rag once he was done. Katsuki stood from the couch, pulling up his pants and underwear, retrieving your tossed-aside clothes. Sitting up, you started buttoning your shirt as you were handed your underwear and pants. The movie had ended long ago, left on the title screen as it had been forgotten. Pulling your pants up and finding your phone still in your pocket, you pulled it out and checked the time. Shit, it was late. With hurried goodbyes, you left their warm, comforting home to go back to your dingy apartment. ------

a/n - first smut ahhhhh, please tell me if there's any ways i can improve! also the fic name is a bludnymph song, hopefully i'll figure out how to link it eventually lol

[midnightlazule]

{NSFW} Breeding [Sabo x AFAB!reader] (2023 KT)

Summary | After neglecting your needs for a few weeks, you finally figure out what had Sabo so adamant on staying out of the bedroom.

CW | AFAB reader / She/her pronouns / p in v sex / breeding kink

To say Sabo had been acting weird recently was an understatement. The man had been going through great lengths to keep the topic of sex out of any and all conversations. Anytime you'd bring up having some bedroom fun with the man, he'd immediately shoot it down and claim he had work to get done, or he was simply just too tired.

It had begun to worry you.

Maybe he was no longer interested in seeing your body? Was he no longer attracted? You didn't know the answer, but you hoped it was nothing bad.

-----

You had came back from a recent mission, having been sent by Dragon to recover information that was useful for the revolutionary army. As you made your way back towards Dragons office, you couldn't help but overhear the sound of Sabo talking with another female coworker. You could hear her giggling while Sabo talked in a hushed town.

Was this the reason why he hadn't been wanting to spend time with you in the bedroom? Had he been seeing someone else behind your back? You shook your head, Sabo wasn't that kind of person, if he had a legitimate problem then he'd talk it out with you.

He was likely just stressed.

Continuing on your way, you tried to push all the thoughts of Sabo and whoever it was in there with him out of your mind, not wanting to let it put a damper on your mood. Approaching Dragons office, you knocked, announcing your arrival before opening the door.

The man himself was sitting at his desk, looking through some documents, grumbling to himself. "Sir?" you questioned, "I have the intel you wanted me to grab" setting it down on his desk, he gave you a nod.

Turning to leave, you were stopped by the sound of him clearing his throat. "___, something on your mind?" he questioned, looking up at you with that stone like gaze of his. You shook your head, "nope, just typical ol work stuff" you answered, looking at him with a neutral expression. He motioned for you to sit down, "Sir, I promise I'm fi-" he glared at you, "sit down, that's an order."

With a heavy sigh, you obeyed, sitting down in one of the leather chairs. "What's bothering you, surely it's no one in the office?" he asked, "No, no, it's no one in the office, at least I don't think it is.." you muttered, "at least you don't think it is?" Dragon repeated. "It's just.." you trailed off, looking down at your hands.

"Does this have anything to do with Sabo?" he asks, leaning back in his chair. "Yes but it's all relationship stuff, it doesn't have anything to do with our jobs" you picked at the skin on your fingers, "besides, it's nothing you should concern yourself with, sir, you have a lot on your plate already.. you shouldn't be worrying about my relationship problems" you chuckled awkwardly.

He hummed, looking at you with a calculated gaze. "Very well" he motioned his hand for you to leave. Giving a polite nod, you got up from the leather chair and left, closing the door softly behind you. On your walk back, you passed by Sabo's office once again, all that was audible was the shuffle of paper.

"___!" Sabo called out, getting up from his desk. "How was your mission? You never stopped by after you got back, it had me worried" he approached you, stepping out of his office. You gave a soft, almost forced smile, "I was going to but it sounded like you were busy discussing things, and I didn't want to intrude." You didn't fail to notice how his face paled just the smallest bit.

"Oh- well, did you hear anything?" he asked, not at all realizing just how awful that sounded. You stared at him for a moment, before crossing your arms "what do you mean? Is there something I shouldn't know about?" you frowned, looking up at him.

"Well, yes and no?" he chuckled awkwardly, "listen.. I- I can understand how strange that sounds, but I promise it's nothing bad, okay?" he puts his hands up, clearly more nervous than before. "Then tell me what it is" your frown deepened, "because surely it doesn't have anything to do with you seeing someone behind my back" you growled.

"What?! No, god, ___, no I would never.. Look, just.." he looked around the hallway before grabbing you by your shoulders, pushing you into his office and closing the door behind himself. You stared at him expectantly, clearly irritated and on the verge of yelling at him if he didn't fess up to what he was actually doing.

"Look, ___, I.. I was talking to Koala about.." his face flared up, rubbing the back of his neck. "About?" you questioned, "look Sabo, if you're cheating on me can you please just fess up? You've been avoiding having sex with me for past few weeks, if you're no longer attracted to me then just say it instead of keeping me in the dark!" you could feel your throat beginning to burn, tears were threatening to spill.

Sabo looked like he'd seen a ghost after hearing what you just said, "___, no-" he sighed, what why was this so difficult for him? "I was talking to Koala for advice about kids, since she's more knowledgeable about all of that" you raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a strange look.

"What?" you said, "so you went to Koala but not me?" you scoffed, "I'm leaving" you walked past Sabo, but felt his hand grab your wrist. "I talked to her about it because I want to have a child with you, ___" he spoke quickly, his voice shaking. You turned around to look at him, brows raised, "...what?"

"I want to impregnate you, ___, that's why I have been hesitant to have sex with you because I've been afraid that I wouldn't be able to control myself" the words fell from his lips quickly, and you struggled to keep up. "I've been wanting to just.. fill you with my seed, to watch your stomach grow in size" his face grew an even deeper red the more he continued to talk.

"I want to breed you" he coughed into his hand, looking away, almost shamefully.

It was your turn for your face to flare up, looking at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

"I know it's weird and I'm sorry-"

"Stop" you held up a hand, Sabo looked deflated. "Let me get this straight, you didn't want to have sex with me because you were afraid you'd impregnate me without my permission?" you looked up at him, and he nodded. "Sabo.. god, you big goof, why didn't you just speak to me about it?" you sighed, a relieved laugh leaving your lips.

"You've said before you didn't want kids" he shrugged, eyes downcast. He felt bad for leading you to believe that he'd do such awful things behind your back. "Sabo, I said that six years ago" you stated, "having your child would be an absolute blessing, but there's no telling if Dragon would allow me to take it easy" you sighed, "I can talk to Dragon, I'll take up any extra work in order to keep you from doing too much" he said quickly, a hopeful sparkle in his eyes.

Crossing your arms, you looked at him with a smile, "you already know he wouldn't have you do more work than you already do" a chuckle left your lips, "he'd likely just keep me from going out and getting intel, he's not going to force a pregnant lady to go out and do dangerous jobs, he's not an asshole."

"So does this mean.." he trailed off, looking down at you with a hopeful gaze. "We'd have to get a nursery set up" you chuckled, Sabo was absolutely beaming, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. "Sabo-" you patted his shoulder, not being able to breath from his tight embrace. Releasing you with a quick apology, he wraps his arms around your waist, leaning down to give you a kiss on your forehead.

Smiling, you opened your mouth to say something before a knock sounded at the door, interrupting the moment. "Sabo? May I come in?" It was Koala. "I have that paperwork you asked me to get" she walked in, stopping in her tracks when she noticed you in the room. "Oh! I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"No, not at all, me and Sabo were just talking" you smiled at her, giving Sabo a subtle wink. "I'll leave you both to your business talk, I have things to get done" you gave Sabo a quick peck on the cheek before walking past Koala, giving her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

.........

"You two looked happy" Koala teased, smirking at Sabo, "did you finally grow the balls to tell her?" she asked, watching Sabo as he sorted through some of the paperwork she'd given him. "I did, yeah" he said, clearly not fully paying attention. "What?! Really? How'd she take it?" Koala sat up, looking at Sabo with a wide grin.

Finally paying attention, his face reddened. "She took it well, but scolded me for hiding it from her" he chuckled, "I'm happy I told her though, I just hope Dragon doesn't mind her taking time off once the baby bump starts coming in" Koala scoffed, "of course he wouldn't mind, he's not an asshole!" Sabo snickered, it seemed both you and Koala knew Dragon well enough to know he wouldn't force a pregnant lady to work.

Although even if he did, he'd likely never hear the end of it from everyone, especially Ivankov, they absolutely adored you.

"I just hope I'll be able to protect both ___ and our child" Sabo looked up at the ceiling, "I don't think you'll have to worry about that, ___ is a strong woman, she'd kill a whole army of marines before she'd let them lay a hand on a child" Koala smiled, she really did admire you.

"Say.. Koala, I still have yet to speak to ___ about it, but.. If she's okay with it, and if you're okay with it, I want you to be a god parent to our child, just incase anything ever happens to us" Sabo looked at Koala, a serious expression on his face. "You already know I'd accept that in a heartbeat Sabo, you and ___ are like family to me" she smiled softly, "anyways, sorry to cut this conversation short, but Dragon did request to see me after I got done giving you the paperwork and what-not" she waved a quick goodbye, leaving the room.

Sabo leaned back in his chair, a small smile on his lips.

A wistful feeling stirred in his gut, he wished Luffy and Ace were here, he'd love for them to meet his future kid.

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

Evening time rolled around rather quickly, sitting in the cafeteria with Koala, the both of you were talking about really anything that came to mind. "So, now that you know Sabo wants to have a kid with you, when are you both going to get busy?" she smirks and wiggles her eyebrows. You lightly hit her shoulder in a friendly manner, trying to fight off your rising blush. "That's none of your business" you gave her a look, smiling.

"Oh come on! Everyone here has been waiting to hear the good news of Sabo fessing up, they want a mini you and Sabo running around" she said rather loudly. "Koala! At least keep quiet, jeez! I don't need everyone here knowing that we're planning!" you tried to make yourself appear smaller.

"Sabo finally told you!?" a loud voice sounded from behind you. You felt your soul leave your body, if Koala wasn't loud enough, than Moda surely was. The girl looked down at you with a wide eyes and a happy smile, hands clasped together. "Shhh! Please! I don't need everyone knowing-"

"So he finally fessed up? good for him, I was getting sick of waiting" Ahiru chuckled softly, looking down at you with soft eyes. "Don't worry, ___, we already knew about Sabo wanting to have a kid with you, just glad he said something or I would've told you myself" she joked. You sighed, rubbing your face with mild annoyance.

Before the three women could continue to pester you further about the fact that you and Sabo were planning on having a child, the man himself walked right through the cafeteria doors. He looked around, searching for you before his eyes finally landed on your form. You had your elbows on the table, rubbing your temples the same way you do every time you're annoyed.

With quick strides he made his way up to the table, giving the three women surrounding you polite nods. "___, we got some paperwork to fill out, Dragons orders" he spoke, looking down at you with a glimmer in his eyes. You peered up at him, "what is it about?" you asked, "important matters, so come on" Sabo said, ushering you to get up and follow him.

Getting up from the table, you waved a quick goodbye to the three girls. "Don't shake the bed too much!" Koala yelled out, the other two women laughed. You looked back and gave each of them a playful glare, even though you were in fact annoyed, you couldn't help but crack a smile at their jokes and friendly jabs. "Seems like they were giving you trouble" Sabo hummed, pushing open the cafeteria doors for you.

"No, not at all" sarcasm laced your voice, "anyways.. what was it that Dragon wanted us to work on?" you asked, Sabo chuckled. "Well, Dragon didn't actually have anything for you to help with, I just fibbed a little so that I could get you into my office without causing too much of a fuss" he smiled. "And I'm glad I did, those three wouldn't let us hear the end of it if I told you I needed you in my office for no reason"

You snickered, "so what, you just wanted me to sit in your office while you worked? No other reason?" you smirked at him, winking. He smiled, holding a finger up to his lips, "that's confidential information that I can only share behind closed doors."

Rolling your eyes in a playful manner, you decided to refrain from asking anymore questions, knowing he wouldn't answer them until we were in the privacy of his office. The walk was comfortable, keeping up with his pace with ease, he was walking a little quicker than usual. Whatever was on his mind had him eager to get back to his office.

.......

Approaching his office, he opened the door for you, holding it as ushered you inside. His desk was covered in a couple small stacks of paperwork. It was all neatly placed, which was no surprise given the fact that Sabo preferred to be neat and tidy.

"So.." you turned and sat against the desk, crossing your arms. Sabo locked the door behind himself, turning to face you he smiled. "About that 'confidential information'?" you asked, cocking your head to the side. "Right.. right" he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully, "what? turning shy on me already?" you purred, pushing yourself off the desk you approached him.

Placing your hands on his chest, you dragged them up to his collar, fixing it. He stared down at you, taking your hands into his. "I wanted to do something special with you, since it's been a little while since we last had sex" he brought one of your hands to his lips, leaving a delicate kiss against the back of it.

You hummed, "I would like that" a smile spread across your lips, "but.. because you left me waiting for so long and led me to worry, I'm going to take it upon myself to punish you" you smirked. "It's only fair" giving him a sultry look. Before he could question, you removed your hands from his grip and lightly pushed him over to his desk.

"Is my punishment you having me do my work instead of fucking you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "because I feel like that's also punishment on your part, especially since this can take hours to complete" he finally sat down, watching you with curious eyes. "Oh no, darling, you'll see soon enough" your smile was cruel.

.......

"How is this fair?" Sabo groaned, trembling as you sat on his lap. He laid his head down onto your clavicle, you could feel warm puffs of breath against your skin. You had decided the best way to punish the man was to cockwarm him. Despite the fact that he was all for the idea, he was really beginning to regret it, having you clench and flutter around him for what felt like hours.

His head was spinning, and he could barely focus on anything, he knew he had work to get done, but how was he supposed to concentrate? Thank god Dragon didn't expect him to get it all done within one day.

You were sitting there silently, rolling yourself against him each time you felt him grow even a little flaccid. He could feel your slick dripping down onto his base, completely soaking his pubic hair, god how he wanted to fuck into that sweet, dripping cunt of yours.

"___, please." he whimpered, hands circling around your waist, he was struggling to keep himself from humping up into you. Beads of sweat fell from his temple, trailing down the side of his face. "I think you're capable of waiting, I mean, you did make me wait weeks, you should consider yourself lucky that I'm even giving you this" there was a sickly sweet smile on your face.

The grip around your waist tightened, and Sabo felt himself slowly lose control, "Please, baby, please" he whimpered, a sharp groan leaving his throat when you clenched around him. He could feel the chuckle that vibrated through your body, one that was cruel and completely unsympathetic, "why are you begging? You're already inside of me."

He hissed out, no matter how easy it could be to bend you over and take you, he knew he couldn't. This was his punishment for the way he had neglected your sexual needs, all because of his own kinks he was too afraid to open up about. "You know I'm not going to do anything until you give me the okay" he groaned.

You hummed, clearly pleased by his answer you decided to reward him by lifting yourself just a little hearing his choked moan as you sunk back down. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take, a pitiful sob fell from his lips at the feeling of your pulsing heat around him, holding him like a vice.

It was getting harder and harder for you to keep your composure, despite the fact that this was meant to be a punishment for your lover, you couldn't help but slowly grow needy as well. His thick cock constantly throbbed inside of you, pulsing against all the right spots. But no matter how much you wanted to give him permission to move, you wanted to keep him like this for just a little longer.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door.

You felt Sabo flinch against you, "Sabo?" a voice called, though it was muffled, you recognized Koalas voice instantly. You turned your head to look at Sabo, his eyes wide, 'don't you dare' he mouthed, grabbing hold of your hips, attempted to keep you in place. Giving him an innocent smile, you rocked your hips into him, watching as he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his bottom lip in attempts to not make noise.

"Pretty sure they left early" another voice sounded, and you could hear Koala laugh. "Come on, lets go see if we can find Hack, he'd be delighted to hear the news" you listened as their talking and giggles slowly faded away. Feeling Sabo blow out a hot puff of air as he relaxed, you couldn't help but snicker. "You're a cruel woman, ___" Sabo breathed.

You mocked a pout, "calling me cruel.. especially when I was just about relieve you of your punishment." You reveled in the look he gave you, tilting his head back, he couldn't help but whine. "Baby, please" he begged, he was growing desperate. His usual calm and collected demeanor was slowly but surely crumbling, leaving nothing but a man desperate for release.

"How badly do you want to fuck me?" you asked him, "I want to- badly, please darling" he trembled against you. "Do you think you've been punished enough?" you asked, Sabo breathed, giving you a look. He knew that was a trick question, "no, I deserve much less than this- you are too kind, my dear" you smiled, "I think I've punished you enough, my love" you felt his arms tighten around you, but he refused to move.

You couldn't help but admire just how well he knew you and your tricks. Every offer you made was a trick in disguise, one that would further his suffering. No matter how badly his cock was aching, or how much his mind screamed at him to bend you over and take what was rightfully his.. He wouldn't until you gave him direct permission.

"Sabo.." your low and sultry voice caught his attention, looking at you with lidded eyes, he rubbed a hand against your hip to show he was listening. "What a smart little thing you are" you leaned closer to his face, leaving small kisses along his jaw. He whimpered, you could feel his fingers tighten over your hips, on of them sliding down to hold your thigh.

Your kisses made it up to his ear, grazing your teeth along the outer shell, you left another kiss on the tip of it. "Earlier you said you wished to breed me, yes?" you said lowly, "yes, I want to, so badly" Sabo's voice trembled, "then do it" you smirked.

Lifting you off of him, you couldn't help but whine from the feeling of no longer being filled, but Sabo wasted no time. Pushing you back onto the desk, you hissed out in pain from the feeling of it digging into your back. Sabo muttered a quick apology, grabbing and lifting your legs, he placed them on his shoulders.

You nearly screamed when he thrusted himself back into you, the desk creaking and loud squelching from the slick that had collected over his base sounded around the room, letting everyone who was passing know just what was happening. "S-sabo!" you called out, his thrusts were rough and desperate. "That's it" a low groan left his throat, "call my name, say it loud, let everyone know who's pumping you full... gunna breed you so good baby" he growled.

His words caused the coil in your stomach to snap, a silent cry left your lips as white overtook your vision. Your body shook, and the pressure in your abdomen went by in waves, you heard Sabo growl something, but the ringing in your ears was far too loud. Sabo's thrusts stuttered, feeling your cunt squeezing around him tightly as you came, he groaned, his rhythmic relentless pounding turned into sporadic deep thrusts as he got closer to his own release.

"Yes, yes, yes, ye-" Sabo repeated the same word like a mantra. Spreading your legs further, he leaned forwards, placing his hands on both sides of your head. He gripped the edge of his desk, using it as a stabilizer as he ground his hips into yours. The new position had the both of you seeing stars, you could feel your second release building up as Sabo was chasing his with desperation.

Despite your body feeling like it was boneless, you raised your legs, and wrapped them around Sabo's waist, pulling him closer to you. This seemed to do him in, groaning out, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he rutted into you, hips stuttering as he finally came, filling you. The roll of his hips against yours brought you to your last orgasm, your cunt fluttering and clenching around Sabo, practically milking him of every ounce of semen he had to offer.

A weak chuckle left his lips, lowering himself against you, he panted against your sweaty skin. Raising a hand, he placed it against your stomach, "gunna be so happy..." he said breathlessly, "can't wait to see you all swollen with my child" nuzzled against you.

"Did such a good job" he breathed tilting his head up to look at you. "Give me a little bit and I'll help you clean up" though you said nothing, you raised a hand and ran it through his hair, not at all minding the sweat that accumulated on his scalp.

The both of you laid there for a little while longer, enjoying the afterglow of your devious deed. 

[dippedanddripped]

MY CONVERSE COLLECTION (MUST SEE 👀)

[wordywarriorwrites]

Feels Like Home

Feels Like Home | AO3 | Rating: M | Main Masterlist​

Pairing: Javier Peña x F! Reader

Summary:  They say you can't go home again, but maybe for you and Javi, home isn't a place - it's a person.

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Language.

Getting Chucho Peña back up on his feet after a bad fall from the hayloft – that was all you’d been tasked to do.

But you hadn’t considered the prodigal son.

You hadn’t thought about all the ways dark, earthen eyes – eyes that had seen too much – could be so compellingly, devastatingly, hauntingly preoccupying. Hadn’t really thought of how the stories of this larger-than-life individual would pale in comparison to the actual person. Hadn’t really believed that this man and this town would get to you, become so much a part of you that you’re thinking about rejecting a career-changing offer that would see you moving on to bigger (though perhaps not exactly better) things.  

Four seasons have passed, and yet, you haven’t felt the itch to pack a bag and hit the road. And because you stuck around, Javi, Chucho, and you have become los tres amigos. Reading books and watching Cheers. Exchanging cards and gifts on birthdays and at Christmas. You host dinner at your place once a month. Javi occasionally pops in during your meal break at the hospital to bring you something decent to eat. And sometimes, his dad will call you nenita – a term of endearment that feels far too precious to be directed toward a drifting, wayward soul like you.

It’s hard not to mull over the what-ifs – especially with how Javi looks beneath the sparking lights of the convention center. Exuding confidence, chit-chatting, and mingling with your coworkers like a pro, all understated power and authority. He stays still while everyone else gets pulled into his orbit, revolving slowly around him, like planets circling the sun. He steers you in that way, too, pulling you into his atmosphere, making it painfully impossible to keep your gaze averted from the fine figure he makes in his charcoal gray suit.

This isn’t the first fundraising event he’s escorted you to. In fact, he’s graciously played the role of plus-one several times. Haughty conversations, dry chicken dinners, watered-down drinks, and office politics – he’s been there and done that. And for a man who says he hated it, that he’s left all that bullshit behind, he’s really good at it, reading the room and owning his space within it better than most of your puffed-up peers.

It’s difficult not to admire him. Get attached to him. To feel as if you’ve made a real, true friend. You don’t have many of those and neither does he. It’s as if you’ve somehow been chosen. That out of all the people in the world, he’s picked you.

Bowling on Thursdays. The little snort that sometimes escapes when he laughs. His gentle manner with horses. The scent of his cologne; a blend of leather, wood, and oakmoss. The way he always refuses dessert, but somehow, ends up finding room for two servings, especially if it’s your homemade peach cobbler. His shoulder – the one you lean on when you nod off during a football game. His arm – the one you grip during scary movies. His ear – the one he lets you talk off when the day has been too hard and too bloody, and you can’t fall asleep.

If you leave, you lose it all. You lose him.  

“Is it just me,” Javi prompts with a slight nudge, turning away from the inner circle and leaning in close to speak directly into your ear. “Or are all the doctor jokes really fucking terrible this year?”

His voice – low and amused – cuts through the chatter and clinking cutlery, guiding you out of the spiral of dark thoughts and back into the present. You glance up at him and wonder if that inquisitive, clever mind of his has worked out how you really feel and uncovered what you really think. And if he knows, has he just been too polite to say anything? Even if it’s only to let you down gently?

“Maybe you should teach them a thing or two,” you manage to quip, burying your emotions by taking a rather undignified gulp of merlot.

Javi snorts and shakes his head, “With their egos? Not likely. Look, can we get outta here? Go get some real food?”

You nod, placing your now empty wine glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and snagging your purse up from the table. Javi is quick to take your arm and the lead, guiding you both through the throng and a seemingly endless stream of polite farewells. The elevator, the parking garage, the drive-thru – none of it really registers. It’s not until you’ve fallen into the cushions of your couch, a heavy bag of tacos in hand, and two beers on the coffee table in front of you, that your brain gradually starts to come back online.

“M'starving,” Javi announces, snatching up the takeout bag and plopping down next to you. “Remind me next time to eat before I pick you up.”

He peels off his jacket. Kicks off his shoes. Wriggles his sock-covered toes into the plush carpet and sits forward on the cushion just far enough to reach the table. Large, deft hands drop napkins – one onto your knee and one onto his own – and then, he’s unfurling paper and distributing a half dozen oversized carne asada taquerias onto two paper plates. A brief pause. A rather ferocious bite. A long, low groan.

“Fuck me, that’s good,” he mumbles, cheeks puffed out and comically overfilled.

“Emily Post would not be impressed,” you teasingly chide.

Javi grins and juts his chin, “Hey, get my tie? It’s the one you got me for my birthday, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

Once his messy hands are out of the way, you do as he asks, working the knot free and slipping the silk off with a careful tug. You pop a few buttons for him, too, and he gives you a nod of thanks before digging back in with renewed gusto, washing it all down with long pulls on his beer.

You don’t know how he does it, but his steady, calm demeanor always manages to soothe you. You unclench your jaw. Relax your shoulders. Even eat with him. Once the food’s devoured and the mess is cleaned up, you offer him a nightcap that promises to be better than what he’d been served at the fundraiser, and he happily accepts.

With tumblers in hand, the two of you migrate out to the patio. Javi is quick to indulge in his after-dinner smoke, bringing flame to paper-wrapped tobacco with a practiced flick and inhaling deeply. He fills his lungs with nicotine a few more times before turning his attention to his glass, bringing it to his nose before taking a slow sip.  

“Dios mio,” he appreciates aloud. “What is this?”

“Macallan,” you tell him.

“That’s damn good whiskey.”

“It ought to be for five grand a bottle.”

Javi chuckles and lets out a low whistle, “You lift it off a truck or something?”

“It was a gift,” you admit, taking a seat on the outdoor bench. “From Brad.”

He blinks slowly, “Your ex?”

You nod and shrug slightly, “Bastard always did have good taste.”

Javi doesn’t pry – he just smokes and paces, seemingly content for you to either share or plead the fifth. You take a sizable gulp for courage and finally tell him about Alaska, about the brand new, state-of-the-art facility, and what an opportunity it is. You explain the position. Tell him it offers better pay and an extremely generous housing stipend. A year there, maybe two, and you’ll have your pick of any hospital you want to work at going forward.

Brad’s presence, his role as department head, his status as your ex-fiancé, the wholly inappropriate “welcome gift” he supposedly sent on behalf of the entire staff – a gift you’re certain was pilfered from his dad’s private collection – none of it matters. You’re going there for work because you go where you’re needed, nothing more.

“Got the papers inside,” you say quietly. “Just gotta sign ‘em.”

Javi curses. Drops the butt of his cigarette into the remaining inch of whiskey. Sets the glass down a little too hard on the window ledge. It’s tense now, the air between you, the atmosphere filling with acridness neither one of you is accustomed to. He rolls his jaw. You tap your nail against the tumbler. Javier runs a hasty palm over his mustache and then, much to your surprise, he sits down next to you.

Your glass is taken and hastily put aside. Slowly, carefully, as if giving you the chance to pull away, Javi slots his fingers between yours. When you don’t protest, he holds on tight and brings your knuckles to his lips. His palm pressed to your palm; he lowers his head until his furrowed brow meets the back of your hand. It’s so achingly, intimately tender, so unexpected and jarring, that makes your eyes well.

You swallow hard and clear your throat, “Look, Javi, I’m –”

“Don’t,” he interjects with a slow, purposeful shake of his head. “Just… Don’t.”

The moment stretches, unbearable with the weight of the unknown, all nerve-wracking and heady at the same time. Javi eventually looks at you – eyes searching and examining and questioning. Head slightly tilted, a wayward chunk of his hair tumbles out of its’ carefully coiffed place, and you don’t consider your actions when you take back your hand to carefully brush it off his forehead.

“I don’t want you to go,” he murmurs.

You frown and stroke his cheek with your thumb, “I don’t want to, either.”  

Javi’s fingertips brush your forearm, and when he leans forward, you meet him in the middle. Your mouths join. Lips brushing, breath stolen and returned. The two of you are traversing unmapped and uncharted territory, but it’s so easy. It's as if you’ve been touching like this, kissing like this, for such a long time.

All languid and unhurried until he licks into your mouth, coating your tongue in hints of vanilla, nutmeg, and smoke, and then, you’re both in pursuit of more. Tripping over each other to get back inside. Both of you going for his belt, and then, your underwear – no finesse or thought of the bedroom just steps away because the couch will work just fine.

Knees sunk into the cushions and cheek mashed into an armrest. Heels kicked off and the skirt of your ankle-length dress tugged up over your hips. Javi explores and discovers you from behind, tongue tasting the unmistakable evidence of your desire, and fingers stoking the flame until you’re begging him to put you out of your misery.

“Condoms,” you croak, gesturing blindly. “In my work bag.”

A low growl. Nips and licks and sucks to the back of your thighs, the curve of your hip, the rounds of your shoulders. You’re melting to the floor, rolling into your back, eyes barely able to focus as he snatches up your battered canvas tote and upends it, the contents spilling out messily and noisily across the carpet.

“Preparing for an orgy?” he teases, letting the line of rubbers unfurl above your head.

“Shut up,” you sass, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You know I had to teach that sex ed class today.”

“Did the hospital supply bananas?”

“Actually, it was cucumbers.”

Javi laughs. Tears open the package. Rucks up his shirt. You watch, gaze hooded as he slides the rubber on. You toss out a compliment to his technique, and he flushes, all hasty to push your legs apart and make room for himself between your splayed thighs. 

“It’s been – I haven’t done this in a while,” you admit, bravado lessening slightly.

Javi clicks his tongue, thumbs making small circles on your kneecaps, “Me, neither, cariño. Been saving myself for you.”

Your spluttered laugh brings out his hidden dimples, and then, he kisses you. Smiles gradually fade, amusement giving way to urgency, prompting you to reach for him, guiding him until he’s slowly sinking into you, filling you. And it’s a snug fit, but it’s just right, and when Javi rocks his pelvis, you’re remade. Suddenly cast adrift, in search of an anchor, you dig your fingers into his hair. Seek out his shoulders with your hands. Follow the curve of his spine and twine your legs around him just so you can feel the way flexes and stretches into your touch.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper against the shell of his ear. “Javi, please… Please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promises against your throat. “You feel so good, mi corazón. Feels like you’re mine. Like you’ve always been mine. Fuck.”

His words thrum through you, wreaking havoc, curling your spine, bringing even more heat to your cheeks. There’s no hiding the way your legs are trembling, no stopping your body from bearing down, from clenching hard, from trying to keep him deep inside for as long as possible. His name spills out from your lips like marbles on a wooden floor, the reverent mantra smothered only by his mouth seeking yours.

“Say you’ll stay with me,” Javi demands, teeth nipping your chin.

You nod frantically, “Yes. Yes, I’ll stay with you.”

In possession of you, of your agreement, Javi’s hold becomes unforgiving – fingertips digging into the meat of your hip and the nape of your neck. His thrusts turn pointedly devastating – retreating and surging forward, all precise and measured, purposeful in the way he seems to take control, bringing you to orgasm for the third time with a broad, self-satisfied smile that isn’t as humble as he probably thinks it is.

When he finally comes, he buries himself to the hilt, hips stuttering, stubble rubbing against your cheek as he muffles his groans of pleasure into the crook of your neck. As the two of you lie together in the afterglow, his head pillowed by your breasts, your arms and legs wrapped around him, breaths slowing until they match, the truth of you, of him, becomes undeniably clear.

Home isn’t a place. It’s a person.

And you’ve finally found each other.

[ellenhghg]

˖⁺‧₊˚Final Fantasy 7 boys and Beach dates˚₊‧⁺˖

Its way too hot here, so here are some Beach date headcanons for Cloud, Sephiroth pre- and post Nibelheim, Zack and Reno

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Cloud Strife ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

♡‧₊˚ Cloud is the type to pretend he's too cool for beach activities, but secretly loves building sandcastles with you ♡‧₊˚ Cloud is a low-key beach bum. He loves just lying on a towel, soaking up the sun, and napping the day away with his you by his side ♡‧₊˚ He's the kind of person to get sunburned easily, so you always have to remind him to reapply sunscreen. It's adorable how he wrinkles his nose at the smell. But Cloud would also be very vigilant about reapplying sunscreen on you, worried about you getting sunburned ♡‧₊˚ He gets flustered when you ask him to rub sunscreen on your back ♡‧₊˚ He's always vigilant, scanning the beach for any potential threats to your safety. Lifeguard Cloud is on duty! ♡‧₊˚ At night, he'd suggest a moonlit walk along the shore, holding hands and sharing deep conversations

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Pre Nibelheim Sephiroth ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

♡‧₊˚ Sephiroth arrives at the beach in full leather, refusing to change until you convince him ♡‧₊˚ Seph treats beach days like a military operation. He has every activity planned and scheduled, from sunrise yoga to sunset strolls ♡‧₊˚ He's the type to rent out an entire private beach just so he and you can have some uninterrupted alone time ♡‧₊˚ Sephiroth is an expert at beach sports. He'll dominate at surfing, jet-skiing, and paddleboarding, all while looking effortlessly cool ♡‧₊˚ He's not big on PDA, but he'll make an exception for holding you close while watching the sunset over the ocean ♡‧₊˚ Sephiroth would surprise you with a romantic beachside dinner, complete with gourmet cuisine and expensive champagne

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Post Nibelheim Sephiroth ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

♡‧₊˚ Lets be real he will probably think such dates are beneath him. But lets still imagine him. Post-Nibelheim Seph sees the beach as a reminder of his own godhood. He'll stand at the shore, arms outstretched, declaring his dominion over the waves ♡‧₊˚ He's the type to use his powers to create unnatural phenomena, like parting the sea or summoning a storm, just to impress (or terrify) you ♡‧₊˚ Sephiroth becomes obsessed with the idea of "purifying" you in the ocean, seeing it as a twisted sort of baptism ♡‧₊˚ He's not above dragging you into the depths, convinced that they'll emerge reborn as his perfect, submissive mate ♡‧₊˚ He becomes possessive, not wanting anyone else to lay eyes on your beach body. He'll glare daggers at any admirers ♡‧₊˚ He's oddly fascinated by seashells, collecting them obsessively and presenting them to you as "tributes"

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Zack Fair ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

♡‧₊˚ Zack is the ultimate beach himbo. He'll spend hours splashing in the waves, building sand sculptures, and playing beach volleyball ♡‧₊˚ Zack is the type to bury himself in the sand and pretend to be a merman, complete with a seaweed tail and shell bra ♡‧₊˚ Zack loves any excuse to show off his toned physique. He'll "accidentally" flex while applying sunscreen or challenge you to a swim race just so he can dive into the waves ♡‧₊˚ He loves to surprise you with underwater kisses, dragging you beneath the surface for a playful smooch ♡‧₊˚ He'll insist on taking a million couple's selfies, wanting to capture every moment of the perfect beach day together ♡‧₊˚ He'd be the type to buy matching couples' swimwear, insisting on wearing cheesy printed shirts ♡‧₊˚ He's a pro at giving piggyback rides through the waves, making sure you have the best time

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Reno ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

♡‧₊˚ Reno sees the beach as his own personal playground. He'll spend hours surfing, cliff-diving, and getting into all sorts of mischief ♡‧₊˚ He would "borrow" a jet ski and take you on a wild joyride, complete with daring jumps and 360 spins ♡‧₊˚ Reno is a shameless flirt and will use every cheesy beach pickup line in the book. "Is that a sunburn, or are you always this hot?" ♡‧₊˚ Would get drunk on beach cocktails and serenade you with off-key renditions of summer love songs ♡‧₊˚ He's the type to start a water gun fight with strangers, using his Turk skills to dominate the beach battlefield ♡‧₊˚ He'd suggest sneaking off to a secluded cove for some skinny dipping and underwater makeout sessions ♡‧₊˚ He's terrible at applying sunscreen evenly and ends up with the most ridiculous tan lines, much to your amusement

[scuttling]

I Can Handle Me A Dangerous Man - Ch 6

Fandom: True Blood (TV) Pairings: Eric Northman/Female Reader or Eric Northman/OFC Word Count: 6,247 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dream sex, Masturbation, D/s situations, Knife play, Blood sharing Summary: Eric and Cam return to Melanie's, and on the way back, something changes between them.

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

She knows she’s dreaming, because Eric is beneath her, and since she’s known him he’s always been towering over her, covering her, leaning into her space.

Her knees are spread around his waist and sinking into the fluffy comforter they’re on top of, his hands high on her thighs as he helps her bounce and grind on his cock. She feels the ghost of him inside her, knows pleasure in this dream, but it’s nothing like the real thing, doesn’t compare to even the real life press of his palm against her lower back. 

“I need more. So close, so close,” she chants, whimpering while his broad hands slide up to her breasts to squeeze them roughly, to close around her throat and make her face heat with the pressure. 

“I’m right here,” dream-Eric comforts, brushing his thumbs over her bottom lip. “Daddy’s right here, just give in. Please just give in, baby.” 

Her hairline prickles with sweat in this dream, the room warm and almost stifling around them as she works to bring herself off using his strong, gorgeous body. She drops a hand to her clit, rubs furiously until she’s coming and squeezing hard around his cock, crying out with the blissful feeling of release, of his hands, now on her hips so tight they must bruise.

She collapses on top of him, catching her breath against his chest, his hands moving soothingly up and down her back, over the sore spots on her skin. He praises her, perfect, Camila, good girl, makes her drift so far into another world she can’t remember anything but the sound of his voice in her ear.

She wakes up with no marks on her body, but one sticky hand between her thighs. 

Cam receives a text the next night - I’m hiring a new bartender. Will you come by and help me vet him? Pam will pick you up.

Eric is looking unfairly handsome when she arrives, especially after that goddamn dream of hers. He’s got a low cut tank on, baring his chest and throat, with a leather jacket thrown over the top—she almost feels underdressed in her turtleneck and jeans, but it’s still early evening and the club is closed, so she doesn’t think it makes a difference to anyone but her. 

“Camila, welcome,” Eric says, standing and walking toward her. He takes her handbag and shows her to the table where the prospective employee, Darren, is seated. The man stands when she approaches, and he’s good-looking too, with dark hair and blue eyes, a killer smile he unleashes the moment she takes his hand. 

“Hi, I’m Darren,” he greets, and Eric hands Cam’s bag to Pam and pulls out a chair for her. She smiles back and introduces herself, then sits down and waits for Eric to push her chair back in. Darren sits too, drums his fingers on the table between them. “I’m, uh, 29, used to bartend at The Regal before the manager ‘went in a different direction’—girls in low cut tops,” he explains. “I’ve been doing it for about five years, and I think I’d fit in well here. I’m definitely pro-vamp, you know, and I’ve hung out here with my friends a few times. Love the vibes,” he says, looking to Eric, who appears bored by the conversation.

Cam listens in to the things he’s not saying, like that he actually got fired for hooking up with the manager’s girlfriend, one of the aforementioned girls in low cut tops. She doesn’t think that’s a deal breaker for Eric, gives him a gentle smile. 

“Well that’s great to hear. Fangtasia gets all kinds, so having someone charismatic and open minded at the front of the house is important to us. It makes all of our guests feel at ease.” She lets a bit of flirtatiousness seep into her tone, a test, and he grins. 

“Well I’m all about making everyone feel at ease. They come here to have a good time, you know?” She nods, probes his mind again—just some low grade horny stuff, typical human thoughts, and he’s thirsty. She stands from the table and crosses over to the bar, grabbing a pitcher of water and a glass, then fills it and takes it back to him. When she sets it down, he thanks her, lets his fingers brush hers as he lifts the glass. “Do you come here to have a good time? Or are you strictly business?” 

“That’s not exactly relevant,” Eric speaks for the first time, leaning forward in his seat. Cam instinctively moves her chair a little closer and sits down beside him, clears her throat. 

“How are you with cash?” she asks Darren, whose smile has dimmed a little at Eric’s comment. He takes a sip of water and nods. 

“All good, I have a business degree and I’m great at math, so I always balance. And I tend to make pretty good tips.” 

She doesn’t doubt that, with his toned arms and charming smile; they talk a bit longer, and his thoughts corroborate what he says, no red flags or reason for concern she can pick up on. 

After the makeshift interview, they all rise and Cam shakes his hand, tells him they’ll be in touch. Though Pam already has his contact information and resume, he jots down his phone number on a napkin and hands it to her personally, “in case you have any more questions for me.” 

Eric doesn’t shake his hand, but he does pull the napkin from her grasp and crumple it up into a ball when he’s gone. 

“Hey,” she says lightly, following his long strides as he walks toward the trash can behind the bar and sinks a basket. “What if I had more questions for him?” 

“That wasn’t an offer for another interview, and you know it,” he replies, pouring a glass of water and handing it to her with an expressionless look on his face. “He wants to sleep with you.” 

“He wants to sleep with pretty much every girl he sees,” she counters, taking a grateful sip. “Including his previous manager’s girlfriend, which is the real reason he’s seeking work at your fine establishment.”

“I don’t know if he’s right for us.” Cam arches a brow, but Eric makes no effort to explain himself, so she’s left trying to figure it out on her own. 

“Because he cheated? I feel like that’s the least of your worries. He didn’t skim, he has no criminal background, he’s never gotten into an altercation with a customer. He’s not part of any anti-vampire groups,” she ticks off with her fingers. Pam’s initial research was very thorough, and Cam was actually kind of impressed. “He makes drinks and looks hot, which is really all you need.” 

She’s surprised when he moves closer, because even though that’s part of his usual MO, this time is different. His steps are slower, more purposeful; she’d think he was trying to intimidate her, if she didn’t know better. Or maybe turn her on? She can’t help that things like that cross the wires in her brain, how sometimes he’s even more attractive when he’s angry with someone or roughing them up.

“Is it all you need?” he asks when he’s in front of her, his voice sultry and low. “Or do you need more?” She exhales softly at his words, strangely similar to the words she’d uttered in her dream, and he brings a hand up to rest at the base of her throat, pressing his fingertips into her flesh. 

She does need more, wants more, from him—as good-looking as Darren was, she can’t imagine getting what she needs from anyone but Eric now. He is the man of her fantasies, the one who knows more than she does about her own desires, but she knows she can’t have all the things she wants, even if he’s willing to play along when they’re alone. 

And suddenly they aren’t alone, as Pam walks back into the room and clears her throat. 

Eric steps back, takes his hand off of her, and after a long moment of continued eye contact, she grabs her bag from behind the bar and heads for the door. 

“Just hire him,” Cam calls over her shoulder as she leaves.

She doesn’t hear from Eric for three days, until he shows up at her door just after the sun has set. He’s wearing a suit, all black, the first couple buttons of his shirt undone, and he both looks and smells absolutely mouthwatering. Whatever expensive cologne he’s got on is really working for him. 

“There’s another party at Melanie’s, and she was so impressed with you last time that she’s asked for your services again. Are you willing?” She nods, takes a step back to invite him into the apartment. 

“What does she want to know?” she asks, closing the door behind him.

“She and her pet have found another couple they’d like to play with,” he says, following her to her bedroom, where she tugs open the closet doors to inspect her options. “The dominant partner is human and Melanie would like you to get a read on him.” 

She nods, flipping past hanger after hanger because nothing feels quite right for a party like Melanie’s; she stops when Eric moves closer with a soft hum of interest and pulls out a clingy little black dress with short ruffled sleeves and hem. It’s not what she would have selected, a little too cute, and she turns to him and says so. 

“Won’t they expect me to look… I don’t know, sexy?” He holds the dress up to her, adjusts the neckline.

“They’ll expect you to look exactly the way your dominant wants you to look,” he says without making direct eye contact. “You’re free to choose, of course, but I think this one is perfect.”

When he does look at her face, he seems… Thoughtful, serious, almost smoldering as the silence between them evolves from a few seconds to a long, charged moment. They’re both breathing, but that’s all, eyes locked, bodies still, until she takes a step back and pulls her sweater over her head, tosses it onto the bed behind him. She’s not wearing a bra—though he can only see her from the back, now—but the dress doesn’t allow for one anyway, so that’s just one less step as far as she’s concerned.

Cam takes the hanger from his hands, slips the dress on, then unbuttons her pants and kicks them off, leaving them on the floor where they land. She tugs her hair out of the ponytail it’s been in all day, combs her fingers through it and then pulls it over one shoulder, exposing her back to him. 

“Will you zip me up?” she asks, and he runs a hand over her hair, wraps his fingers around her arm, and pulls up the zipper slowly, purposefully, until it’s secure. Fixing her hair, she thanks him with a soft smile, then grabs a pair of shoes and sits down on the bed to buckle them up.

The drive to Melanie’s is strangely tense, and she can’t stop herself from looking over at him, at his silhouette in the dark. She can’t see his eyes, but her gaze lingers over his jaw, his chin, his Adam's apple, his lips… She’s not sure if it’s because of their stolen moment at the bar the other day, or the dreams she’s been having about him, but just looking at him turns her on and she only manages to look away when he turns his head and catches her. 

His stoic expression cracks into a smile, but she doesn’t think too much into it, knows that her want just makes him enjoy their little game all the more.

This party of Melanie’s is a bit more private than the first, with seven couples in attendance, including Eric and Cam. A few of them she knows from the last get-together, a few she’s never met—including the reason she’s there, the couple Melanie wants her to check out before she commits to a date with them.

“That’s the one,” Eric says into her ear when they first walk into the room, and Cam spots the man he’s referring to right away. He looks to be in his fifties, wealthy, handsome, with dark hair and eyes, and a beautiful blonde vampire who appears to absolutely adore him. She is wearing a single strand of pearls and a wine-colored dress, hanging on his arm and his every word. 

“I can see why Melanie’s interested,” she whispers back, and Eric puts his arm around her waist, maneuvers her in front of him as if guiding her from behind. It feels nice to be taken care of by him, and it’s what their fellow partygoers expect, so she goes with the flow, let’s him lead her where he wants, to Melanie and her pet at the bar. 

“Eric, Camila. You two look positively gorgeous,” she says with a toothy smile, looking both of them up and down languidly. Her dark hair is in bountiful ringlets, and she wears a navy blue suit, which pairs nicely with her pet’s silky pink mini dress and silver heels. She wears her collar, of course, which tonight is connected to a matching silver leash that Melanie holds carefully between her fingers. 

“And the both of you are beautiful, as always,” Eric says, removing one of his hands from her body to take Melanie’s and kiss it. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“You’re always welcome here,” she says, and her eyes rake over Cam again, to her surprise. Why she’s looking at Cam when she has Eric’s attention is beyond her. “It’s a shame you aren’t the type to share, but I do love seeing you nonetheless.” 

Cam knows better than to indicate her confusion, to look like she’s questioning him here, so she holds her tongue for the rest of their brief conversation. 

After they grab drinks, Eric walks her to an armchair on one side of the room and sits down, his legs spread just enough that she understands it’s an invitation perch on his lap. That’s new, and it makes her shiver, but she figures it’s just practical—they can’t talk here without whispering, and it won’t look as suspicious if she’s sitting in his lap and murmuring in his ear.

“What was that about?” she asks as she settles on his lap, his thigh firm and cool beneath her. She wraps her arms around him, one behind his shoulders and the other slung over his waist, and he keeps her close, rests his hand on the bare skin of her leg.

“With Melanie? Nothing.” 

“You promised you wouldn’t lie to me, Eric,” she reminds him with an edge to her voice, because she’ll call an Uber and leave this party if he insists on keeping information from her, she has no hesitations about that. 

He sighs, then moves her hair away from her neck and brushes his lips along her throat. 

“I told you they were looking for another couple to play with,” he whispers in her ear. “She asked me first—if you and I would be interested. Obviously, I declined.”

She hums her understanding—certainly not because of the way his mouth trails along her neck, his hand resting between her thighs. She wants to be mad at him, because he’s obviously trying to soften her up, distract her, and cover up their conversation all at once… and because it’s working. Then she thinks, screw it, because he’s never going to stop teasing her this way, playing his game, and in that case, she might as well enjoy it.

“That explains why she’s looking over here like she’s starved for a meal.” Eric nods against her skin, runs his hand up and down her leg, and Melanie’s attention is even more targeted, her stare unyielding. Cam’s not looking directly, but she can feel her eyes on them and wants to make sure there is no doubt about their commitment this time. “You should kiss me,” she says quietly, and when he pulls back to look at her she meets his gaze. 

Whatever he sees there, that’s all it takes for him to comply; his mouth is on hers in an instant, his hand moving from her legs to her face and cradling it as they kiss. She can feel her body warming up, and his, as he grows hard against her ass, and she brings a hand up to his shirt, rubs at the bare skin exposed by the undone buttons.

“Mmm, daddy.” Her voice is breathy when she says it, but he groans and breaks the kiss, looks at her with eyes so dark it’s hard to tell they’re blue. She licks her bottom lip, and he leans back in to kiss her again, rougher this time, his hand deliciously tight on her jaw. 

When they part, she assumes it’s because of something Eric hears, because he seems reluctant to stop kissing but does it anyway. He runs his thumb over her lips, then slides his hand between her thighs again, but doesn't bother straightening his rumpled collar—which she finds out of character, and which she enjoys all the more for it. 

A few minutes later, Melanie brings over her prospective partners and introduces them as Joel and Amanda before slipping away to tend to other guests. They curl up on the sofa beside Eric and Cam, talk a little about themselves, what they do for work, for pleasure, listen intently when Eric talks about the bar and what it’s like to be a sheriff, and Cam. He talks a lot about Cam, how they met, how smart and capable and beautiful she is, and she knows it’s for show but lets herself be warmed by his praise anyway. 

Melanie and her pet—who Cam now knows is called Catherine—join the conversation soon after, snuggling up to Amanda and flirting with Joel, making the both of them laugh happily. Eric sips his drink, offers Cam hers, and because she feels strange just sitting silently in his lap she cards a hand through his hair, toys with the open buttons of his shirt between her fingers. He relaxes into her touch almost immediately, tilts his head just slightly like he’s enjoying it and wants more, and she leans in to whisper in his ear. 

“All good so far. He’s genuine. And horny,” she adds, though it feels obvious. “He’s enjoying the thought of dominating two vampires, if that’s something Melanie’s up for, but overall he’s pretty mild. He isn’t even thinking about the blood.”

Eric doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t expect him to, just continues to rub his hand up and down her thigh. She figures she deserves that for teasing him too, and slips back into conversation easily, continues filtering Joel’s thoughts for anything untoward.

It’s early morning when they leave, and Cam needs Eric’s guidance—more because she feels a pleasant humming in her mind, her thoughts hazy from all of the kissing, the touching, all of Eric’s attention, than because they’d been drinking. The friendlier Melanie and Catherine became with Joel and Amanda, the more physically comfortable, and when they would pause the conversation to kiss or pet a little, Eric would keep them busy by making out with her slowly, drawing patterns against her skin with his fingertips. By the time they make it to the car, she’s aching with want, and she knows Eric can feel it, smell it, see it. 

She spends the first half of the ride squeezing her legs together, trying not to think of his breath on her neck, his teeth at her ear, and then he reaches his hand toward her across the console, palm up like he wants her to take it. 

She takes it, and he squeezes softly, eyes never leaving the road. 

“You may touch yourself,” he says, low, and though she immediately flushes with embarrassment, the reaction is short lived. “Come in your panties like a good girl. You were so good for me tonight,” he praises, his voice like honey. “You always are.”

“Thank you,” she says almost automatically, and she runs her hand over her own thigh, a ghost of his previous touch. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, and she moans softly, earning Eric’s gaze. 

“Camila,” he murmurs, and she closes her eyes, eager but nervous, so horny it hurts her. He’s watching, but if she’s not watching him watch her, she’ll be less self-conscious, and more… uninhibited. She’ll let herself feel good because he’s given her permission to, clearly wants her to, and god, does she want to please him. 

She pushes her skirt up, knows he can see the purple lace panties she’s wearing, the ones she guides to the side so she can run her fingers over bare flesh. She’s wet, that’s no surprise, and she knows this is going to be quick, quicker because Eric is rumbling desire beside her and she wishes it were his fingers slipping through her slick. 

“Mmm. Ooh,” she sighs as she slides her hand over her pussy, her lips easily spread and warm beneath her touch. She arches her back a little and rubs harder, a little faster, to feel that electric shock through her body. “Oh, god.” 

“That’s it,” Eric encourages, squeezing her unoccupied hand, and her legs open wider almost instinctively, her hips tilting off the seat so she can press open her heat and ease one finger inside. “You’re fucking perfect,” he all but growls, and it vibrates through her, makes her buck her hips like she had in her dream, taking him in deeply, completely. “Another finger.”

She complies, sinks another finger inside; her hand is barely moving, it’s her rocking body that’s doing all the work, and part of her feels shameless and dirty, but the other part knows Eric wants this, is proud of her, maybe even worked her up on purpose so he could get her to do this in front of him. Either way, it’s a task she’s happy to perform, and when she comes on her own fingers she can hear the hitch of his breath, the wet snick of his fangs dropping.

The sound is almost enough to get her going again, but she’s exhausted and blissful, so she just hums her contentment before withdrawing her fingers and resting her hand on her thigh. 

They’re parked on the side of the road, she realizes when she opens her eyes, in a remote area that looks kind of familiar. She blinks through her lashes, then turns her head to look at Eric, who… god, how could he even get hotter? But he is, his eyes blue like sizzling fire, his lips parted; neither of them speak, but he takes her other hand and wipes her fingers clean using the inside of her dress before they have a chance to make her uncomfortable. With a gentle touch, he fixes her crumpled panties, then leans in to brush his lips over hers again and again and again.

Eric gets her home, gets her cleaned up and into bed, and she reaches for him, wants him near. He understands why, and he knows he shouldn’t have pushed her that far in the car, that it was a selfish idea, even if it was spur of the moment; still, it happened, and he is as responsible for taking care of her now as he is for her previous arousal. He stays as long as he can before the sun threatens, laying in her bed and holding her until her breathing evens out in sleep.

That morning when Eric dreams of Cam, she is covered in blood: it’s a mixture of his blood and hers, leaking sluggishly from wounds he’s created with his fangs, with a sharp knife, its handle made of bone. Her wrists are above her head, tied together with a cord of leather and fastened to the post of her bed, and she writhes and whimpers as he thrusts his fingers into her soaked pussy, as he sucks at the juicy artery of her inner thigh.

“Please, please,” she repeats like a prayer, her eyes squeezed shut and then open and nearly rolling back in her head. “God, Eric, please.” 

“You’ll take what I give you,” he says, leaning up, letting blood dribble from his mouth onto the soft flesh of her stomach as he kisses it, and she gasps, nods her head. 

“Yes, daddy,” she corrects, though she shifts her hips up for more contact like a greedy girl indeed. “Whatever you give me, I’ll–I’ll take it.” 

“Yes you will. Good girl,” he praises, licking at the spilled blood, and then swiftly flips her over, imagining the gorgeous smears of crimson she’ll leave on the fresh white sheets. 

He pushes into her from behind, presses forward on his palms until he’s fully sheathed inside her tight, fluttering heat, then clamps a hand down on the back of her neck, rough and possessive. 

“Take it, sweetheart, that’s right,” he mumbles as he fucks her, enveloped in the pleasure of her body, of the sweet sounds she makes for him, ones he’s actually heard firsthand; he’s craved domination since she first kissed him, maybe sooner, and he knows if she gives herself to him like this in reality, during the night, he will be lost. “Camila,” he pants, then leans in so he can press his cheek to hers. “Camila.” 

“Eric,” she moans as he pounds against her, as his fingers twist into her hair and pull, undoubtedly making her roots ache. “Eric.”

“Camila. Camila. Camila.”

It’s barely night when Cam all but bursts through the front door of Fangtasia, wearing a pair of black pants and a white tank top, her hair loose in flowing waves. She looks serious, concerned, beautiful. “Hey. Pam called, came to pick me up—what’s going on?” 

He knows he must look taken aback, because he didn’t have time to prepare his expression for that kind of questioning. He barely had time to register her presence.

“Nothing, I—Pam called you?” he verifies, and then Pam walks in the door, hovers behind Cam, though she doesn’t try to explain herself to him. Cam just nods and moves closer.

“Yeah. She said you needed me, that it was urgent,” she says, her eyes flicking over his face, his body, the line between her brows worried. This is so different from their last interaction, and he has difficulty wrapping his head around it.

“And you came.” He says it flatly, is able to conceal his… what is it, wonder, that she could care about him so much? As if she can tell anyway—and she probably can—she reaches for him, rests her hand on his forearm.

“Of course. Are you alright? Do you need me?” 

“I think you should drink my blood,” he says before he has half a second to even think about the implications of it. Cam clearly feels the whiplash of his statement, blinks slowly a couple of times as if processing it.

“Sorry, what? I must have missed some of the conversation,” she tells him, and Pam perks up over Cam’s shoulder, nodding rapidly. 

She’ll have to wait, because Cam is looking at him like he’s growing a second head.

“I think you should drink my blood. It would further strengthen our bond—you’d feel me if I were in distress, as I feel you. And I would be able to find you, if something went wrong. It’s more reliable than other forms of communication.” 

He thinks briefly about the ways they already feel each other and wonders absentmindedly if this will be the thing that actually pushes him over the edge of sanity. Cam considers him seriously and eventually nods.

“Okay. I should—I mean, we should do that, right?” she asks, looking up at him for confirmation. It makes him feel… special, to know his opinion matters this much to her. “Are there any side effects I should know about? I know your blood can heal, and I just consider that a perk.” 

Eric nods, and sighs, hopes what he tells her won’t put her off the whole idea.

“You may feel some physical changes for a while after you drink, like stronger senses, a bit more speed and agility. Mentally, you might find that I cross your mind more often. It’s part of the enhanced emotional tether we’d share. We’ll be even more attuned to each other’s state of being than we are now.”

She sets her bag down on the bar, but doesn’t appear phased by his admission.

“That’s good. It will help with the… stuff. The work, and the protection, mostly. So how do I—I mean, do you cut yourself, or bite yourself, or do I have to bite you?” she asks, gesturing to his neck. “I’m not sure I can bite that hard.” 

“I would cut or bite myself to bleed for you,” he assures, his throat nearly closing up as he says the words. Five minutes ago this wasn’t an option, and now they’re discussing the specifics like it’s about to become reality. He’s surprised to find himself overwhelmed. “It is a very strong bond, Camila,” he says as a final disclaimer, giving her time to think this over if that’s what she needs. “Very strong, but breakable, in time.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she says more quickly than she probably should. Part of him wishes she would worry—that he’s bad for her, that he’s pushed her this far already, that he wants her like he’s never wanted in his existence—but her tone is determined and sure. “Can we do it tonight?” 

“Yes,” Pam answers for him, walking up beside her. Cam drops her hand where she’d been touching Eric and takes a half-step away from him. “You can go do it now, in the office. It’s nothing ceremonial, just a quick nip and you’re on your way,” she says with a saccharine smile. Cam looks at her, tilts her head, and eventually looks back at Eric. 

“She’s being way too nice. Does she gain anything from this? Commission, or something?” Cam asks, half-joking, and it does lighten the mood and bring a huff of a laugh to Eric’s lips. He shakes his head.

“No, she’s just nice sometimes; I know it can be unsettling.” He puts his hand on her shoulder, walking toward the back of the bar and bringing her along beside him.

“Very,” Cam says as she glances over her shoulder at Pam before walking through the office door. 

Eric closes it and pauses, taking a deep, unnecessary but very needed breath.

“I know this is sudden, and what I’m asking of you is no small thing. If you need time to think it over…” Eric begins, his gaze soft on Cam’s face. Cam shakes her head.

“I know, and the same goes for you. I’m sure you’ve been thinking about this, weighing your options, and I want you to know I understand that it’s important to you, sharing your blood like this. I don’t take it for granted.” 

It takes him a moment to let that sink in, she thinks, can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes.

“I appreciate you saying that. It’s not something I do every day, but I am sure, if you are.” 

He steps closer to her, gently touches her face, and she flashes back to that night at Melanie’s, the ride home after. Her throat constricts and her heart pounds in her chest. 

That’s not what this is, she reminds herself. This isn’t dedication to each other, or something done out of lust or love. It will benefit them both, and Eric has decided the reward outweighs the risk. That’s all it is. 

Still.

“I’m sure.”

With that, he nods and steps backward toward the desk, then leans against it and tugs up the sleeve of his v neck sweater, displaying thick, pale forearm and smooth, unmarked wrist. His eyes, darker than usual—probably due to the dimness of the office—linger over her lips, then meet her own gaze, and he lets his fangs fall without the usual fanfare. 

She steps toward him and takes his hand, an acknowledgment of the seriousness of this, of the preciousness of this thing he’s offering; when he lifts his wrist to his mouth, their fingers are wrapped together. 

He punctures his own skin like he would a human’s, two small wounds welling up with blood—and the way he looks at her as he does it, like they’re already tethered, like he’s seeing into every corner of her… it makes her heart race, her face flush. She does what feels natural—and maybe that’s taking it a step too far, but she can’t help herself—and sinks to her knees, bringing their hands to about thigh level before catching the slowly falling drops with her tongue. 

At first, she sucks in a way that feels graceless and a little humiliating, so unfamiliar with this action in this context, but when Eric moans at the pressure of her mouth it becomes pure hunger. She takes his offering for the gift that it is, bunching the fingers of her other hand into the fabric of his sweater just over his stomach, and she drinks, and drinks, and drinks. 

It has to be more than enough, she thinks around a moan of her own—it’s less about the taste for her and more about the feel of it, slick on her lips and warmer than she would have expected—but when his free palm falls to the top of her head, pushing her hair back from the curve of her face, all she knows for certain is that she never wants it to end. 

It does, though, like all good things, and then Eric guides her to her feet and leans in for a deep, long, kiss that she feels with her entire body. He easily shifts their positions, so she’s the one propped against the desk, and then he pushes her onto it, curls his fingers around the back of her neck and keeps kissing. 

They trade groans as their mouths move, frenzied, her hands grabbing at his shoulders, his careful but possessive on her face and throat. Her legs are parted, and she wants to wrap them around his body, pull him in closer and closer until they’re as tightly pressed as she needs them to be, but he slows his kiss and ultimately, unfortunately, backs away. 

Icy blue eyes peer into hers as he moves fingers to her chin, tipping her face up so she’s locked in his gaze. Her chest heaves, and her body trembles like there’s something inside that wants to burst out of her skin and present itself to him, though she’s not sure what that may be.

“You will feel me, now,” he says, back to business as if he hadn’t just kissed her until she was lightheaded and thrumming with desire, as if he’s not hard in his pants, from the blood sucking or the kiss, she’s not sure. “I will find you, wherever you are.” 

“And I’ll find you,” she confirms, wetting her lips; she’s almost surprised to taste his blood there, metallic but sweet, even more surprised when he swipes his thumb through it and brings it to his own mouth. 

“All you need to do is call for me, and I promise I will come.”

“Why did you call her?” Eric asks Pam later, after Cam is long gone and the bar is closing up. Pam rolls her eyes and counts a stack of cash.

“Because I’ve had enough. You were moaning her name in your sleep,” she says, with an unsubtle hint that she finds the thought nauseating. She pauses her counting and flicks her eyes up to his. “I don’t normally like mixing business with pleasure, but I still think things would be better if the two of you just fucked already. And now that you’ve shared blood—” she begins, but he stops her with a look.

“She drank mine. I still haven’t tasted hers.” 

For some reason, that lights her eyes up, puts a smirk on her merlot-painted lips.

“Really?” she asks in a lilting tone. “I would have figured you’d taken a sip during one of your, ‘investigations.’”

It’s Eric’s turn to roll his eyes, and he walks away, but unfortunately, Pam follows.

“Why would she want me to? Why would she want someone like me? With the desires I have for her?”

“She’s not exactly an angel herself,” Pam tells him, and he turns abruptly on his heel, knows she must see fury in his eyes. She raises her hands in apology. “Easy. All I mean is, I’ve seen the two of you together. She knows you, darkness and all, and she still wants you. She’s practically shown her belly trying to submit to you—either that or she deserves a good damn Academy Award.”

“That doesn’t mean I should take advantage—”

“Eric, come on, you love taking advantage,” she says sternly, hands moving to her hips. She looks like a teenager, and he finds that agitating.

“Not like this,” he says, pointing a finger at her, ending the conversation effectively with just that gesture and a few final words. “Not of her.”

He doesn’t dream of Cam that night, doesn’t need to: he can practically feel the slip of cotton over her skin as she changes into pajamas, the softness of the pillow when she lays down her head.

[pimosworld]

Only if you catch me

Pairing-Frankie Morales x f!reader

Series Summary-You meet Frankie when you least expect it. Both of you hiding from your past and trying to find each other won’t be easy, but it’s worth it if forever is with him. 

Series Warnings- 18+,MDNI, NSFW, Angst, hurt/comfort, Slow-ish burn, Explicit Smut, D/S dynamics, canon typical violence, Tom is mentioned (but dead), The boys got the money, Frankie helping reader open up in the bedroom, mentions of past abusive relationships, recovering addict, PTSD, tough family relationships, healing through therapy, protective Frankie, protective TF boys, found family, reader is a photographer , no description of reader other than the nickname Flash. 

WC-7k (who am I?)

A/N- This introductory chapter got me so excited for this. I hope you love these two as much as I do.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 1. Aperture

This should be a simple shoot.

  In and out. 

  Easy enough to dust off the cobwebs and get your name out there in a new city. An amateur boxer about to go pro. He needs a promo bill for some huge fight he has coming up. The details don’t really concern you about why. It’s the who. 

  Capturing a good shot isn’t about the camera or the angle, it’s not even about the time of day or lighting. That’s all secondary to who and what is in front of the lense. The emotion makes the image feel one hundred times better than the camera could ever try to capture. 

  You figured this would be a good way to dip your toes back into working. 

  You're early. An odd habit you picked up from knowing that the most meaningful shots are captured when everyone’s guard is down. When the family is setting up or when the bride is hanging out with her friends. When everyone is too preoccupied to pose…that’s when the magic happens. 

  It’s a modest gym, warehouse style on the edge of town. Thankfully not far from your new apartment so you didn’t have to stress about still not knowing your way around. Judging by the minimal trucks in the parking lot it’s a private shoot. That helps your nerves settle a little more not having to be in too large of a crowd. 

  You can tell you’re stalling so you brace your hand on your tote bag and the other on the door handle and haul yourself out of the old green Jeep. The most tried and true possession you own besides the Nikon Z nestled neatly in its case. 

  ****

  Low rumbles of men’s voices hit you when you enter the gym. The scent of sweat soaked leather and old wooden floors. The faint hint of liniment and gym mats. 

  The front desk is empty but you wait there for a brief moment. Taking in the clean front entry way  with various pictures on the wall. Some posed and some candids of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen. Just beyond the desk is a large framed photo of some of the men and one brunette clad in military gear. 

  A huge roar of laughter sounds from the other room, a welcoming sound that you feel yourself being pulled towards. So you take a deep breath, shrugging your strap higher on your shoulder and venture towards it. 

  You wanted to look nice,professional on your first job. Now the heels clicking against the wood, signaling to the men that a woman is approaching seems like the worst idea you’ve ever had. All eyes land on you as you enter the main area of the gym. There’s two men in the ring. One man is hunched over, dripping sweat as he looks like he ran several miles. A tall blonde leans on the ropes, looking the opposite of exhausted as he does nothing to disguise the way he rakes up and down your form. A huskier version of him is making his way towards you, a look in his eyes almost like he’s stalking prey, yet there’s something familiar there and it dawns on you that they were in the photo. 

  Another man across the room leans against the wall, his broad back turned away from everyone while he talks on his phone. His hand flits nervously to the back of his neck as he continues his conversation in hushed words. 

  “You’re early. I like that.” The man extends his hand and you compose yourself briefly to offer a former handshake than he expected. You can see it in his eyes as he releases it. “I’m Will, that’s my brother Ben in the ring that you’ll be taking photos of.” 

  “Hi sweetheart.” Ben blows you a kiss with his gloved hand and you raise your eyebrows at the forward gesture. Handsome, cocky, definitely not your type. 

  “Ignore him.” 

  “It’s kind of my job to do the opposite.” You offer up as you make your way to an open bench and he laughs genuinely. 

  You can feel the nerves rolling off you in waves as you open your bag to set up your camera. You know they’re watching, waiting for instruction and something about having the cool heavy metal in your hand always turns you into a bit of a bossy bitch. You don’t mean it but you can tell around these men you’ll have to hold your own or run the risk of being treated like a joke. 

  Will had already gone over in great detail via email what his vision was for Ben’s promo. The man was meticulous in his description of how he wanted his brother to look. You could tell how much he cared about his image in the way he wanted you to capture his youthfulness and passion for the sport. You didn’t need any further direction when you squared up alongside the ring. 

  “You here to capture my boyish good looks?” Ben flexes his muscles as you take a photo catching him slightly off guard. 

  “Just pretend I’m not here.” You gesture towards the other man in the ring who’s finally gained some composure. 

  “That’s James, don’t worry about him. He likes getting his ass kicked.” 

  “Oh…I guess you would know.” Ben scoffs and Will has to hide his smile behind his hands at your banter. Not one to back down from a little teasing and unbeknownst to Ben capturing candid photos while he tries to flirt. 

  You flit your eyes to Will in a silent communication. 

  “Ben! Focus please.” 

  It’s almost immediate the way he switches to fight mode. Dancing around his opponent, toying with him like he’s a child. He doesn’t seem phased by the snap of your camera as you take a few test shots. 

  The way he bites his lip when he’s squaring up his opponent. How he bounces left to right when he doesn’t have a good shot. Maybe only you notice because you’re watching him so intently when he realizes he’s found his opening. His vision zeroes in and his movements cease. 

  That’s when you take the shot. 

  “He’s too photogenic.” The low sultry voice registers behind you but it doesn’t cause you to startle. 

  “Disgustingly so.” 

  He laughs, and there it is again. The boldened, unadulterated laugh that these men have a lock on. 

  You don’t have to turn around to know the mysterious voice is accompanied by the man that you’ve been eyeing since you got here. He’s confident enough to penetrate your bubble of safety to occasionally peek over your shoulder as you check the shots you're getting. 

  If he notices you flinch at the sound of leather meeting skin he doesn’t say anything. 

  “It’s a shame such a handsome face chooses to subject itself to such torture.” You say as you continue to adjust the angle. He glances over to you, watching you work. Trying to keep his eyes off your legs exposed in your knee high sundress. 

  His body is closer to you now, this stranger. 

  “He doesn’t make a habit of getting hit.” He smirks when you look at him and there’s no cover for you as your lips curl into a smile. “It’s easy to not pretend that he’s so good looking.” 

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” 

  He looks at you then as he brushes his fingers along his lips. Chocolate brown eyes piercing into you and you can’t help but snap a picture. 

  It’s brief. The moment of apprehension from him as you study the photo on your lense camera. This stranger is awaiting your approval. Likely not having his photo taken in such an intimate setting in quite some time. Another one of the handsome men from the front desk picture. 

  It takes you by surprise when you see it. 

  If he notices he doesn’t say a word. 

  He’s beautiful. An old world beauty with all hard lines and soft eyes. He sidles up next to you and the warmth emanating from him is enough to have you delirious. 

  “So…what’s the verdict?” 

  You bite your lip and hold on as you glance up at him. His mouth slightly parted in an o shape as he watches you release it. 

  “You’re a natural.” 

  “Francisco.” 

  You give him your name and he says it like a command. 

  “Hey, I’m not paying you to take pictures of his ugly mug.” Ben’s voice cuts through the little moment you were having with him as he flips his friend off, looking a little sheepish at having displayed it in front of you. 

  You send him an apologetic look as you get back to work. You occasionally check the images to make sure the lighting isn’t off. It’s glaringly obvious that Ben is posing and it’s throwing you off. You want him to look more natural but instead it’s coming off like a cheesy catalog. 

  “So…you borrowing that camera from Andy?” There’s that voice again, so close to you and you can’t deny it does something that you wish it wouldn’t. 

  You smirk glancing down at the black and white label just above your lense. 

  ANDY

  “No, that’s her name…Andromeda.” Offering up no further explanation you continue shooting, walking around the ring because you have to find a way to work around Ben's chaos. 

  He’s following closely behind as his heavy footsteps creak on the old wood floors. His arms crossed against his chest as you look over your shoulder. His face reads exactly what you would expect from purposefully leaving someone in the dark for your own amusement. 

  “Andy because Andromeda wouldn’t fit…Andromeda was rumored to be the most beautiful and…” You trail off as you admire it in your hand. “She’s the most beautiful in my collection and the most important to me.” 

  Running his tongue over the front of his teeth you think he wants to make fun but it’s quite the opposite. You’re distractingly beautiful and cute and if he was feeling adventurous he’d call you Andromeda but he’s not confident enough to dish that one out. So he stays quiet. 

  Too quiet. 

  You’re panicking thinking how you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of this handsome man and you should back pedal. Explain away your ramblings because you’re so used to not being understood. Yet he surprises you. 

  “I have a heli named Lucy.” 

  He mentions all casually and you have to register that he means helicopter. Subtle 

  “Francisco.” 

  “Frankie, my friends call me.” 

  “Frankie…you own a helicopter?” 

  Will stepped into the ring to let Ben know he can stop torturing James. Frankie has to thank his friend as he sees him grab Ben to keep him from intruding on one of the best conversations he’s had in awhile. 

  “It’s not meant to be a brag, but yes.” 

  You hum in approval as you turn to look at him. Your eyes pin him to the spot and he feels his face grow hot. 

  “Lucy is a lucky lady.” 

  It’s the gleam in your eyes. The way his stomach does a flip when he gets a whiff of your perfume. He’d throw away all notions of the cliche love at first sight because maybe he finally sees how it’s possible. It also welcomes another uneasy feeling. The feeling that people are so quick to settle for less, something he’s done most of his life because that’s what he thought he deserved. His last few relationships he settled just to feel comfortable and one of those almost took him under. 

  “So did you turn me into a model or what?” Ben slaps Frankie on the back and he’s never wanted to strangle him more. “Or what.” Mumbled under his breath and he catches your smile ear to ear. 

  You don’t answer as you see Will approaching already knowing who has the final say. 

  Ben’s ribbing him, sending all sorts of suggestive eyes at Frankie as he wraps his sweaty body on his shoulders and you slink away to handle business. 

  ****

  “These look great.” You know Will is being nice when it comes to your work…you don’t want nice. You want honest. 

  “They could look better.” He snorts as he looks over at his brother shadow boxing Frankie.

  “Tell me more.” 

  ****

  You’d said your goodbyes and made your way out of the gym with your dignity intact. Stepping out into the parking lot to take the first deep breath in over an hour. 

  Will was thoroughly impressed with the photos. So impressed that he asked you…practically begged you to photograph Ben's upcoming fight. You think this may have just been an audition for that but you can’t be mad since he paid you for today and you got to meet Frankie. 

  He could sense your apprehension and assured you that the fights are nothing but professional and he would be there if you had any concerns. Of course you were secretly hoping Frankie would be there as well. 

  Since moving to Tampa Florida a year ago you knew dating was out of the question. The dramatic fashion in which you ended up here was enough to have you swearing off all forms of a relationship. As the months passed and you watched your savings dwindle you knew it was only a matter of time before you picked up your camera again and tried to find that sliver of hope that you hadn’t lost the passion for something you once loved. 

  Meeting Frankie was unexpected and it makes you wonder if you’re even ready for this. It seems you’re getting a little ahead of yourself because all you received when you left him was a polite nice to meet you. You didn’t miss the way his friends looked at him as though he had more to say. 

  You put the keys in the ignition of your old Jeep praying to anyone listening that it will still turn over. You know it’s on its last leg but you definitely can’t afford a new car right now. The weak ac blows in your face as it roars to life and you curse yourself for having chosen a place so humid that everything clings to you to the point of suffocation. 

  Your phone is buzzing in your tote and you already know who it is before checking. 

  “Hi Dom.” 

  “How’d you know it was me?” You take a long pause and hear her chuckle on the other end. 

  “Dominique, you’re the only person I talk to.” 

  Your sister, the only family member you can still stomach talking to. The only sane one who understood your struggles and didn’t dismiss your need to separate from your toxic mom and stepdad. 

  You felt bad leaving her behind but she had a family of her own that kept her afloat. Her wife Elise and your adorable nephew Casey were the only family you acknowledged at this point. 

  “So how was the shoot?” You can hear it in her voice. You know what she’s really asking. Are you okay?

  “It was great honestly.” You pause long enough for her to seem worried. She always worried, being your older sister. 

  “Hmmm.”

  “I’m being honest. It went a lot better than I thought. I was having second thoughts at first with this being my first one, but the second I started it was like riding a bike.” 

  “And you were fine with the fighting?” A beat of silence. 

  “Yes…it wasn’t really fighting, more so just throwing a few punches and dancing around.” You clear your throat. “The boxer is actually a sweetheart. His friend and brother were there too and they were really nice.” 

  “Ohhh tell me more about this boxer.” 

  “Oh no he’s not the one.-“ You hadn’t stopped yourself in enough time to catch the way you specified that there was one. 

  “The brother…wait no let me guess.” You groan at your sister’s incessant detective skills. “It’s the friend isn’t it?” 

  “It’s no one actually.” Which isn’t quite a lie. “Oh shit.” 

  You hear your sister frantically asking what’s wrong when you see Frankie exiting the gym. It looks like he’s coming right towards you but maybe he’s just parked near you. You don’t seem to be that lucky when he rounds the side of your car and taps on the window. 

  “Give me a sec Dom.” 

  You roll down the window as you try to calm your beating heart. He leans against the side slightly ducking to shield himself from the sun and you notice how snugly his shirt fits around his bicep. 

  “This Jeep has to be almost twenty years old.” He glances in at the pristine interior admiring your mini camera charm hanging from the rearview mirror. 

  “Wow, we’re starting off with insults.” You smile and he can’t help the way it’s already so easy with you. 

  “It was meant as a compliment.” The way he drops his voice and his close proximity has you sweating, or maybe the humidity is taking over. “Anyway…I just wanted to let you know I’ll be there on Friday. Will said you seemed a little nervous.” 

  You groan as you hide your face in your hands “Was it that obvious?” 

  He hesitates as he looks at the worry lines between your brows, wanting to smooth them out with his thumb and he thinks me might actually be losing his mind over you. “No…I’m sure it was fine.”

  Fine

  He removes his cap as he runs his fingers through his hair and it’s not evident if he’s doing it on purpose or if it’s a nervous habit but you wish he would stop looking so handsome. 

  “I look forward to seeing you and Andy on Friday.” His eyebrow arched and his lips curled up into a smile. 

  You plop your hands dramatically on the steering wheel. “I’ll be the awkward one with a camera if you can’t find me.” You both laugh and a moment passes as you wait for something, you’re not sure what. “Bye Frankie.”

  You roll up your window and sigh at the cool air hitting your damp skin as he takes one last look at you over his shoulder. You think he’s heading to leave but he retreats back into the gym and you realize he came out here looking for you. You are so fucked. 

  You shakily hold the phone up to your ear. “Dom, you still there?”

  A shriek echoes in your ear as you hold the phone away. 

  “I’m deaf now…are you happy?” You can practically see her face on the other end. All teeth and tongue as she tries to contain her sarcasm. 

  “Who’s Frankie, how does he know about Andy? What’s happening on Friday?” She’s spiraling now and you don’t have the patience to sit in this parking lot any longer. 

  “I gotta go Dom, I’ll explain later.” 

  “Don’t you dare hang up-“

  ****

  Friday

  You’d been nervously counting down the days leading up to the fight for several reasons. The thought of seeing Frankie again and the fact that Will had a lot of confidence that you were going to be perfect for the job. Despite never having watched a professional fight let alone photographed one terrified you. 

  Blood made you squeamish and the thought of possibly witnessing any broken bones had you sweating through your shirt. 

  You’re early again but Will was impressed by that. The fight is being hosted at a much larger gym so you wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost on the way. Giving yourself a once over before hopping out of your car with your tote and Andy in tow. 

  Heels didn’t seem appropriate for a fight so you went for a casual look of jeans and some thrifted tee shirt from ages ago that had Mike Tyson on the front. 

  Going anywhere alone always gives you anxiety but you muster up the courage to head inside. The moment you step through the door it’s an assault on your senses. The unmistakable scent of stale sweat and cheap cologne greets you. There’s a lot of people already here crowding around the ring and taking their seats. The air vibrates with a hum of conversations, discussions of strategy and predictions. 

  There’s a clear divide of supportive colors, some people clad in red and other patrons in all black with Miller boxing on the back of their shirts. 

  You’re thankful no one seems to notice you as you mill about searching for that one familiar face you’re hoping is here like he said he would be. 

  You’re taken aback by a promo poster of Ben along the wall. The image of the tall blonde flexing with his arms raised, looking proud as a peacock was definitely a photo you took the other day. Whoever designed the poster did an amazing job at not taking away the raw charm of the original photo. 

  “Admiring your work.” Will steps up next to you, arms crossed as he stares proudly at the photo. 

  “This poster looks pretty good for such a quick turn around.” You told him with a genuine smile. 

  He shrugs his shoulders. “I dabble here and there with photoshop.” 

  He notices you glancing around him, a small smirk gracing his features. “Looking for someone?”

  This isn’t the first time you notice how obnoxiously intuitive he is. “No, just taking in the scenery.” It’s a lie he'll let you get away with for now. 

  “I’m actually glad you’re early, if you don’t mind snapping some shots of Ben in the locker room.” He gestures towards the large double doors across the room. 

  You have to laugh at him. “I don’t mind doing my job, Will. It’s what you hired me for right?” 

  He starts walking and you follow close behind. “Sorry, I’m used to giving orders to men and asking for permission from women.” 

  “Will, please don’t ever apologize for that.” You add before he opens the door stepping aside to usher you in. His presence is so reassuring, it’s dizzying being around men that actually make you feel safe for the first time since you left home. 

  Will whistles and it echoes off the walls in the locker room. Ben glances up from his hands being taped and shoots you a nervous smile. You can tell his attitude is in fight mode, his adrenaline no doubt focused on his opponent. The bouncing, jovial man from the other day is subdued, concentrating on the task in front of him. 

  Your hands instinctively reach for your camera  to capture the pre-fight moments. There’s a woman taping his hands with red hair and strikingly beautiful green eyes. She doesn’t seem to mind as you close in on their space to get a shot of her intricate tape. Ben’s hands shake slightly but he does his best to hold them still. 

  He’s clad in all black shorts and shrugs off the Miller boxing shirt when she’s done taping. He can’t help himself as he turns to you and flexes. 

  “I think this is your signature pose.” You say as he turns to his brother, sending him a look of  ‘I told you so’. 

  “Don’t encourage him.” The woman adds as Will slides up next to her planting a kiss on her cheek. 

  “I think you both forgot why she’s here.” Ben gestures to you. “Yours truly is the main event.” 

  “I don’t know how the other guys gonna fit in the ring with Ben and his ego.” Will and the woman laugh as Ben looks less than amused and you snap a photo, candids being your favorite. 

  “I’m sorry, excuse my manners.” His hand placed gently along her lower back as he ushered her towards you. “This is my wife Amber.” 

  She raises her eyebrows at him as you offer your name and you look slightly confused as Ben scoffs. “I’m his fiancé, but I should be flattered at how eager he is to be my husband.” 

  “Wife has a better ring to it.” He leans in kissing her again and Ben just groans. 

  “They’re like this all the time. It’s obnoxious.” He says with mock disgust. 

  You snap another photo of the intimate moment, since they didn’t protest the first. I think it’s beautiful. 

  ****

  Still no sign of him

  But you can’t think about that right now as Benny prepares to enter the ring. The bright lights surrounding the room and the raucous noise is starting to get to you but you take a few deep breaths and hope you can hold out. 

  Amber and Will are preoccupied on the sideline, hyping Benny up as he sized up his opponent. Who somehow seems two times the size of the young blonde. Something tells you not to underestimate him as the stone cold look washes over his features, making anyone who stands in his path sorely regret it. 

  The crowd roars as the bell signals the start of the fight. Your camera poised and ready with your nerves and excitement swirling in equal measure. If you thought Ben sparring the other day was bad, you were wildly unprepared for the sound of the first blow to his opponent’s face. You wince behind your camera flash as the distinct grunt of a possible broken nose is evident. Ben takes a wide shot to the ribs but he doesn’t falter. Blow after blow and it seems you’re getting more comfortable with the onslaught of violence for some odd reason. 

  Perhaps it’s the way Benny has handled each one or the fact that you’re finally getting the shots you so desperately wanted the other day. He’s actually focused on what’s in front of him and not on you. You can drown out the rest of the noise besides Will's coaching and Ambers cheers of encouragement. The shutter of Andy is all you need. 

  “Sweetheart, you should take my picture.” 

  You recoil at the sweaty palm on your lower back and the pungent smell of cheap liquor invading your senses. It’s no surprise when you turn to see a random man, bloodshot eyes from too many long nights and too much booze. You already knew by the sound of his voice that it wasn’t who you’ve been expecting. 

  “No thanks.” You gesture to your camera. “I’m sort of working here.” 

  You continue to try and focus back on the fight as it seems Benny has him on the ropes and it’s not too long before the other man is going down. 

  He’s closer now, caging you against the ring as his hand threatens to move lower and everyone is too preoccupied to notice that you want to crawl out of your skin. 

  “Come on hun, you don’t have to be bitch.” The last part he practically spits at you and with his opponent keeled over momentarily Benny’s eyes flash to you like a caged animal. 

  You think for a brief moment he might jump over the ropes but he flashes you a wide grin and continues to back up as the ref gestures his hands for the countdown. 

  The pressure is suddenly off you and you feel like you can breathe again, as you whip around to see where he went. “You know you shouldn’t touch women without their permission.” Frankie’s large palm is gripping the man’s shirt as he struggles to get out of his grasp. 

  “Get the fuck off me Morales, I know you’re not gonna hit me.” Frankie's eyes flash to you briefly in worry, a signal that he knows this creep and doesn’t want to be associated with him. 

  Frankie drags him by the collar just out of earshot as he sees you turn back to the fight so as not to miss any important shots. 

  “Listen up Jones.” He grits out through clenched teeth. “You’re gonna get yourself in some real trouble one of these days.”

  “Hey, Morales I didn’t know she was your lady okay.” 

  “She’s not…” He lets out a sigh of frustration. “Just quit fucking around, I can tell you’ve been drinking again. If I don’t see you at a meeting this week I’m gonna throw you into the ring with Ben and see if he can knock some sense into you. Comprende?” 

  He releases him with force as he shrugs his shoulders, trying to smooth out his shirt. “Ya ya, you’ll see me.” 

  Frankie watches the man disappear into the crowd toward the direction of the bar and just shakes his head. You’re still there as the ref signals that Benny won the fight and he shoves his way back through to you on the sideline. 

  There’s a look of relief and something else on your face when you turn to him. 

  “Benny won!” You flash him a bright smile as he laughs to himself. 

  “He always does.” It’s said assuredly and proud as you turn back to the ring. His arms lean protectively on the ropes beside you, careful not to touch you but close enough where no one would try to push you out of the way. 

  You glance down at the monitor to take a deep breath as you feel him behind you. His woodsy cologne mixed with the fresh body wash wafts towards you. That mixed with the fact that he was so instantly protective of you has your head spinning. 

  Trying desperately to focus back on your job you realize the last shot Benny’s slightly blocked by the ropes. You let out a huff of frustration as Frankie leans down close to your ear. 

  “Everything okay hermosa? Is it Andy?” No it’s you

  You close your eyes as you let the deep lull of his voice calm you. The voice you’d waited hours to hear. The one you couldn’t stop thinking about since that first day. 

  “Ya everything is fine.” You laugh to yourself at his genuine concern for your most prized possession. “I just can’t see very well.” 

  He worries his lip hoping he’s not overstepping after your encounter earlier. “I have an idea.” 

  Intrigued, you turn to him as he gestures to the side of the ring. “Step up.” You tilt your head at him and he raises his eyebrows and points to the ledge. 

  “Frankie.” 

  “I promise I won’t let you fall.” You falter for a brief moment, but the crowd cheers as Benny runs around the ring and you can’t waste another shot. 

  He steps up behind you, careful not to touch until you’re ready as you take one hand and hoist yourself up with the rope. Your other hand is securely on your camera. You think you’re fine but the rope gives a little and you start to fall back but the breadth of his shoulders is right behind you as he instructs you to lean on him. 

  Your heart is going to pound out of your chest as you realize how intimately he has you wrapped up. His arms around your thighs hold you steady and yet you can tell he’s doing it with the utmost composure to make you feel comfortable. 

  Benny runs over to you, flexing his arms with his signature pose, coined by you. Your hands still aren’t moving and Frankie nudges you slightly. 

  “I’ve got you.” You sure hope he does for your sake. The way he’s looking at you and holding you right now, you don’t think you’d be able to stand up on your own. 

  You turn back to Benny and snap a few shots of his winning smile. 

  “Fuck me, the flash is on.” You make a few adjustments and disable the automatic flash. The bright lights surrounding the ring provide plenty of light amongst the room. 

  Frankie has to take a few deep breaths, especially when your choice of words has him thinking things he shouldn’t with your body as close to his as it could get. He’s trying to be professional, he did suggest this after all and it would be rude to take advantage of the situation. 

  He can tell you’re relaxing as you go back and forth between glancing at the screen and Benny. Your ass is perched  perfectly along his shoulder as his arms protectively bracket your legs to keep you upright against the ropes. He can smell vanilla and something familiar, even through your jeans which he’s grateful for, if not for them his cheek would be touching the smooth skin on your thigh. 

  The crowd starts to disperse as Will and Amber join Benny in the ring. Benny playfully jumps on his older brother as he shrugs his sweaty body off of him. Despite you not taking any more pictures Frankie still has you wrapped as they come over to join you. Amber sends you a knowing look and your face grows hot as you halfway pretend to look over photos. 

  “So…how did it turn out?” Ben bounds over with a gleam in his eye. Adorned with a few scrapes and bruises but otherwise untouched. 

  He leans on the ropes as you hold out the camera flicking through a few of your favorite shots. His arm draped over you and the sweat and adrenaline is rolling off him. You can’t be too upset, the man just single handedly pummeled his opponent like it was just another day. Frankie swats him playfully to save you from the post fight stench about to seep through your tee shirt. 

  “Sorry, he doesn’t really know what personal space is.” You glance down to Frankie and realize how ironic that statement is coming from the man who's been the closest to you physically in over a year. 

  “Oh shit, she got a perfect shot of me crushing his nose.” Ben jumps up and down as Will sends you a half apologetic look. 

  You’re slightly knocked off kilter as Frankie tightens his grip on you. 

  You look over to see another handsome dark haired man pulling himself up to the ropes next to you. 

  “Who might you be?” His aquiline smile and toned muscles rippled through his shirt as he grips the rope. You recognize him from the photo on the desk but opt to stay silent. Assessment was your strong suit and he seems like the type that likes a challenge. 

  Amber looks like she’s going to say something but doesn’t get the chance as you’re quite literally swept off your feet. Your grip on Frankie’s arm tightens as he pulls you away from the ropes and the sickeningly sweet man beside you. 

  “Relax hermosa, I’ve got you.” He gently sets you down and grabs your hand, pulling you even further from the prying eyes as you try to catch your breath. 

  ****

  Santiago points at you and Frankie as he shrugs his shoulders. Indignation dripping off his features. 

  “Oh, I know he’s frustrated when he’s gone non verbal” Ben teases as he ruffles Santi’s hair. 

  Will sidles up next to his fiancé, wrapping his arms around her as he leans in. 

  “You’re staring at her like a piece of meat babe.” 

  “Sorry.” She hisses under her breath. “It’s just…she would be perfect for the wedding.” 

  “I know, but why don’t we give her some space. Let her get settled in.” He nods his head toward the two of you. “Also maybe give Frankie a chance to ask her out before you ask her to photograph the wedding. It would be awkward if she said no to him.” 

  “How do you know he’s asking her out?” 

  Will lowers his voice as Santiago raises an eyebrow at him, doing his best to pay attention to Ben and eavesdrop. 

  “Look at his stance, he can’t stop moving from one foot to another.”

  “He’s taken his hat off twice.” 

  “Now his hands are in his pockets, and I can almost guarantee he’s sweating.” 

  ****

  You’re not sure what to do as he stares at you. His scent envelopes you even now that you’re apart. 

  Frankie clears his throat awkwardly as he bounces from one foot to another. He’s nervous and you’re not entirely sure why, seeing as though you’d spent the better part of the fight attached to his shoulder. 

  “I ugh…hope this wasn’t too traumatizing for you.” 

  You laugh as you dip your head. “It was definitely eventful. But you made it a lot easier to handle.” 

  He tries to hide his smile as the red creeps up his neck. His obvious nervous tick as he takes off his hat for the second time, running his fingers through his hair. You have the sudden wild urge to do it yourself as you busy your hands with the hem of your shirt. 

  “We usually go out for drinks after his fights to celebrate.” He leaves it open ended as he watches you visibly tense. 

  Shit 

  Shit

  “It’s been a really long day.” Not entirely a lie. 

  You can see his demeanor go from nervous wreck to utter panic and you can’t leave him out on a limb. 

  “Listen Frankie, I have to be honest with you. I don’t drink. I’m not a buzzkill or anything but…”

  “I’m sober.” He doesn’t mean to shout it at you but it comes out all rushed and now he can feel the sweat dripping down his back. “If that changes anything, if not I understand.” Frankie feels like he’s scrambling and realizing how much easier this was when he wasn’t sober. 

  You let out a sigh of relief as you glance to your right at the small audience huddled around the ring. Santiago quickly turns around while Amber and Will do an awful job of seeming interested in the ceiling. Benny flashing you a thumbs up as you chuckle to yourself. 

  “I would love to join you guys, another night maybe. I think I’ve had enough action for one day.” You hope the open ended invitation isn’t completely shutting you off from any chance with Frankie. 

  Every nerve ending in his body is screaming at him to stop but you do something to him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. That small subconscious part of his brain knows if he leaves it like this he may never work up the nerve to say something. 

  “Would you be up for dinner? Maybe sometime next week?” His voice cracks a little at the end like he’s some kind of pubescent boy. If the floor could swallow him whole or Benny could come over and just put him completely out of his misery that might suffice for the next few weeks. 

  You bite your lip, consciously or unconsciously. He doesn’t care either way. Some wild part of his brain wants to reach out and pull it down with the pad of his thumb. 

  “I would love to go to dinner.” 

  Relief floods his features and you have to fight the grin that crosses over your face. 

  “So it’s a date.” 

  Fuck a date. 

  You haven’t been on one of those in ages. 

  “Ya Frankie, it’s a date.” 

  He’s finally stopped fidgeting and he seems so much more confident now that you can really appreciate him. 

  You're both in your own little bubble of flirtation and you could care less who or what’s going on around you. 

  “Would it be okay if I hugged you?” 

  You smile. “I think after how close we were for the last hour it would be weird if you didn’t.” 

  His arms wrap around you instantly and that familiar scent is becoming so comforting for you. You have to fight the urge to deeply inhale as your nose is pressed against his chest. His touch is so delicate and grounding all at once and you fear you’ll grow to associate him with someone safe. 

  Why would that be a bad thing?

  The last time Frankie was this impulsive he got himself into a lot of trouble. This doesn’t quite feel the same as he tries not to inhale the scent of your shampoo as his cheek rests on the crown of your head. The way your body molds perfectly into his. The way he has to gain some level of composure when it comes to you and yet all reason has gone out the window. 

  It’s dizzying when you finally break apart. Your shoulder bag slipped slightly down and he reached over to secure it for you. 

  “Well, I should say bye to everyone.” 

  “I’ll do it on your behalf if you want to make a break for it.” He winks at you and your knees might give out right then and there. 

  Letting out an exasperated sigh. “You’re a lifesaver Francisco.” 

  You wave goodbye to more than a few confused faces and exit the gym to a mostly empty parking lot, inhaling the fresh night air. 

  ****

  “Did she let you down easy?” Benny teases as his brother smacks him on the back. 

  “Yee of little faith gentleman.” Amber says as she directs her attention to Frankie. 

  “As a matter of fact, we’re going on a date next weekend.” 

  Amber squeals and Benny pats his friend in the back as Santiago looks thoroughly annoyed at still being left in the dark. 

  Will's phone pings in his pocket and he pulls it out, the widest shit eating grin plastered on his face. 

  “Our boy is a little rusty.” 

  All heads turn to Will confusion written among their faces. 

  “You’re gonna need her number if you’re gonna take her on a date, Fish.” 

  Okay, so maybe he was a little rusty but he had a date. With you. 

  “Alright boys…and Amber. Let’s get some drinks to celebrate.” Benny jumps over the ropes like it’s nothing and heads toward the locker rooms as the rest of the men follow. 

  “Is someone gonna tell me who she is!?” Santiago yells out to them as they all leave him seemingly in the dark. 

  At least for now, Frankie’s gonna keep you to himself. 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Taglist- @sawymredfox @morallyinept

Next

[ejzah]

Would you be interested in writing a little something related to Kip and Deeks? I’ve always wanted to read about how Deeks tells Kip about Kensi. Obviously he knows a bit of his feelings/attraction based on how he was teasing Deeks. Would love to read a few small snippets of conversations between them.

I love your writing. It makes my day to see a new post.

A/N: Hi anon! That’s so sweet of you. Thank you!

I probably have written a version of this before, not that I recall exactly what (😂), so if this seems familiar, I do apologize.

***

Just Between Two Friends

2011

Deeks first met Kip Brigham in sixth grade. Back then, Kip was a skinny little kid five inches shorter than Deeks and on the quiet side. They played basketball every chance they got; sometimes with Ray or a couple other guys, but mostly just each other until they got on the high school team in ninth grade.

Since then, their friendship had experienced ebbs and flows. Before NCIS, Deeks hadn’t seen Kip in months due to his undercover work.

Now, they were spread out on Kip’s couch—a ridiculous leather thing that probably cost more than all of Deeks’ furniture combined—after spending the morning surfing.

“You know, if you hadn’t been all about pursuing justice and all that crap, you could have gone pro,” Kip commented, slouched in one corner with his feet up on a glass table in front of him, an overpriced smoothie bowl in his lap. Deeks didn’t begrudge Kip’s success at all, but he certainly didn’t mind the perks.

“I’m glad you think so highly of my former professional aspirations,” Deeks said, grinning to let him know he didn’t take it to heart. “You know if I’d try to surf full time it would have ruined it for me.”

“Right, because you’re too good to be rich, Saint Marty Deeks.”

Deeks dodged Kip’s elbow jabs, digging his phone out of his front pocket as it buzzed twice. There were two texts; one alerting him to a new case and the other asking if he wanted a ride.

“Who’s Kensi?” Kip asked, peering over his shoulder. Deeks shoved him away.

“Hey, personal space, man.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a new ‘ladybird’.” Nodding in approval, Kip held his hand up for a fist bump.

“I don’t. She’s my partner.”

“Ah, partner. Is that the new term for friends with benefits?” Kip said, smirking.

“No, and if she heard you say that, she’d knock you down without breaking a sweat and smile the entire time,” Deeks warned him.

“Ooh, she sounds like my kind of girl. Is she hot?”

“I’m done talking to you,” Deeks informed him, standing up.

“Oh Marty-Mar, don’t be like that. I won’t tease you about your girl anymore. Sit down and finish your smoothie bowl.”

“Once again, she’s not my girl and I have to go to work.”

“You keep telling yourself, brother!” Kip called after him.

***

2012

“And that, my friend, is a slam dunk, and you owe me five dollars,” Deeks panted, basketball tucked under his arm as he jogged back to Kip. “Pay up.”

“You were a much better winner when we were 15,” Kip informed him. “I told you I tweaked my calf yesterday, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Deeks held out his hand, waiting until Kip slapped the money into his palm.

“Whoever wins this round, buys lunch.”

“Since you’re a professional NBA player, that seems slightly unfair, but alright,” Deeks replied dryly. He paused to check his phone for any missed messages. It was a Sunday, but that meant little when it came to bomb threats and international incidents.

There was a string of texts from Kensi, and he chuckled under his breath as he read them.

“Alright, who’s making you smile like that, Martin A. Deeks?” Kip asked suspiciously.

“It’s just Kensi,” he answered reluctantly, anticipating Kip’s delighted grin.

“Oh really? So what did your “partner” say to make you look happier than the day you got accepted into law school?”

“She was just telling me about this professional development training she’s at.“ He couldn’t get much more specific than that since the topic was interrogation techniques. “Apparently she made one of the guys in her group cry.”

“I take it that’s a good thing,” Kip guessed. He paused a moment. “What’s this Kensi look like?”

“Brown hair, brown eyes, little taller than average.”

“Oh man, you gotta give me more than that. Is she pretty?”

Deeks huffed the softest of laughs; Kensi was the most gorgeous women he’d ever met. “She’s gorgeous,” he allowed.

“Alright, now we’re getting somewhere. Now tell me about how she looks in a bikini—”

“And it’s time for round three,” Deeks interrupted, ignoring the flashes of Kensi in said bikinis flashed through his mind.

“Oh, you got it bad, man.” He heard Kip say from behind him.

***

Early 2013

Deeks glanced around the bar, noticing the peeling wall paper and rickety tables. He and Kip used to come here all the time backs when Deeks was a broke college student and Kip hadn’t made his millions yet. Somehow it seemed a lot more depressing now as a fully grown adult.

“You know my partner, Kensi?” he asked, twisting a half-empty beer bottle between his palms, head lowered so he didn’t have to see Kip’s expression. He’d only had a couple, but it was enough to encourage his already melancholy mood.

“You mean brunette, makes you laugh like a school boy and go all starry-eyed Kensi?” Kip confirmed, rolling his eyes when Deeks looked up in surprise. “Man, you only talk about her every time I see you. Kensi likes sushi, Kensi is so pretty. Kensi beat up a guy twice her size and I thought it was really hot.”

“I did not say that,” Deeks protested. He took a long drink of his beer, holding up a finger. “Though she admittedly has beaten up a lot of guys.”

“Like I said.”

Deeks shifted uncomfortably, hunching over the table. He didn’t know why he’d brought Kensi up here and now of all places.

“So, what about your Kensi?” Kip prompted, and Deeks didn’t bother denying that Kensi might be his.

“I think I’m in love with her,” he sighed. Kip outright laughed at that, slapping his knee.

“Well thank god you finally figured that you. Took you long enough. What finally tipped you off?”

Deeks glared at him, but didn’t have the will keep it up for long. “I guess I’ve known I had feelings for a while. I convinced myself that we were just friends, and colleagues, but she makes me happier than I’ve ever been. She makes the suckiest day better and,” he stopped, raising his hand slightly as he tried to find the words to explain exactly how much Kensi meant to him. “When I’m with Kensi, I feel like I’m not just some broken, screwed up guy.”

“It sounds like she’s a good woman.” For once, Kip didn’t go for a joke and Deeks appreciated it.

“She is. She has the most amazing smile.” He looked slightly beyond Kip, smiling himself as he imagined the way her face lit up, and how much he adored it when he was the source of that happiness. “And she has the most insane laugh. It’s like a cackle. It’s crazy, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I’d do anything for her, which is kind of terrifying if I think about it too much.”

“Oh brother, you’re really gone,” Kip commented.

“Yeah,” Deeks agreed softly. He didn’t add that he’d willingly followed her into bomb-rigged buildings and would jump in front of every bullet if he could.

“So what’s keeping you from taking the next step? Don’t tell me she’s not into you.”

Deeks shrugged. “Sometimes I think she’s interested, but uh, I think she might be as scared as I am. Besides, it’s kind of frowned upon since we work together.”

“Well, that’s a load of crap,” Kip declared bluntly. He took a long drink of his beer. “Ok, here’s what we’re gonna do. We finish these beers, take my limo over to your lady friend, and then you express your undying love to her.”

“Oh god,” Deeks groaned. “Kensi would kill both of us.”

“What if we throw in a couple dozen roses and a trip to my bungalow in the Caribbean?”

“That’s a wonderful offer, but I don’t think we’re just ready for grand declarations of love.”

“Well, when you are ready, my bungalows and limousine are at your disposal,” Kip told him, raising a slightly unsteady finger. “With the promise that you tell me all about it.”

“You got a deal,” Deeks agreed, because he doubted that moment would ever come.

***

A/N: I hope I did Kip, and his and Deeks’ friendship, justice.

Thanks for the prompt!

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Sixteen - Prompt: Binge @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 731 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Barty ignored Frank’s good-natured prattling with this bloke with the in-progress dragon tattoo and focused on the door that he’d heard slam closed after Evan walked by. He was fairly certain that it was the one that led out to the smoking area. The urge to chase after him was strong, but he knew better than to act on it.

His hands flexed against the sides of the table when he heard the faintest rumble of Evan’s voice. A phone call, maybe. Barty hoped it wasn’t with another bloke. Murder would be a shit way to start this week.

“Yeah, it can be rough the first time,” Frank said, leaning forward to squeeze Barty’s shoulder. “When you’re an old pro like Barty here, it’s nothing. How many times have you fallen asleep on my table, mate?”

Barty cleared his throat, but his voice still came out strained. “No idea. A lot.”

He wasn’t sure if Frank was trying to relax him or warn him. Either way, the message was received. Barty hated how perceptive his flatmate was.

“You fell asleep? Really? How?” dragon tattoo said.

“The vibrations are relaxing.”

Frank lifted the back of his own shirt and pointed. “Happens more often than you’d think. See this one, on my back? Passed out for a full four hour session. Best sleep I’ve ever had.”

Dragon tattoo gaped at him, shaking his head. Frank grinned and swivelled back around. He loved to show off for the newbies.

“I can’t imagine that!” Dragon tattoo said, eyes wide. “I’m just trying not to tear up in there.”

“Rosier can be a little heavy-handed, but he’s bloody good too. You definitely want him for a piece like that. He’s patient.”

Barty nodded in agreement as he glanced back at the bloke Evan was working on. Dragon tattoo had introduced himself when he wandered over, but Barty wasn’t paying attention and hadn’t caught his name. What he did catch was Evan storming out after Barty’s comment about him being brilliant.

He is brilliant though. It wasn’t a lie.

“Good to know! This is my kid’s artwork, so I wanted to do it justice.”

Kid? I was right then. He’s probably straight.

That was more comforting than it probably should have been. Evan was a professional. It cost Barty an obscene amount of money and multiple weeks to convince him to break his “no clients” rule. Now that he’d broken it though…Evan could do it again.

Frank's loud, booming laugh interrupted his thoughts. “Yes! I prefer to wait until all the episodes are out and binge that whole season!”

“Same, but I have no self-control,” dragon tattoo replied. “I can’t help myself!”

Barty twisted at the waist to meet the bloke’s gaze. “Better fucking try.”

“What?”

Frank tensed his grip on Barty’s leg. That was definitely a warning. He knew he was acting irrationally, but he didn’t care.

“Control yourself,” Barty said, glaring pointedly at the bloke. “Around him.”

Dragon tattoo stared at him incredulously, then blinked very slowly. “Him who?”

“Ignore him. He’s obsessed with Rosier.” Frank shoved Barty back down onto the table roughly. “Calm your tits, arsehole.”

“The tattoo artist? Why would I—”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Frank said, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s a bit dramatic, that’s all.”

Dragon tattoo made a hasty exit from the conversation as soon as the door slammed again, announcing Evan’s return. Barty tried to peer over his shoulder, but Frank still had his hand pressed in the middle of his back.

Look at me, Evan. Come on. Say something. Anything.

“Alright, Rosier?” Frank called cheerfully.

“Fine.”

Barty forced his muscles to relax and pressed his cheek against the cold black leather. A strong scent of antiseptic leached out of the fabric. The familiarity of it grounded him a little.

Even if he couldn’t see, speak to, or approach Evan, Barty needed to be near him. He couldn’t stay away. Hearing his voice was comforting. It was only a one-word answer forced out with half-growl, but it was something.

Frank leaned forward and flicked the back of his ear hard. “Don’t be an arsehole or I’ll kick you out. Not everyone wants to have their guts rearranged by your ex.”

“Then they’re idiots.”

“His dick is that good, huh?” Frank teased. “Are you addicted to it?”

“Love is a serious mental disease,” Barty deadpanned.

“Prat. Which one was that?”

“Plato.”

Next Part>>>

[enbyenvy666]

personal pornstar - part 2/? - trans!ver

After your first date with the Pro Hero pair, they invite you to their home, where things get a little spicy and not just from the food.

established!kiribaku x masc!reader part 1 | cis!ver word count - 2.6k

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, eating food, sex work, reader has nipple piercings lol, kirishima doesn't have sex but he's there lmao, swearing, slight size kink themes, possessiveness from bakugo, murder mentioned (characters watch a horror movie), reader has had top surgery and hrt, t dick, afab anatomy (but masculine terminology used like boy cunt etc), no beta we die like men

The giddiness from the date didn’t wear off for days, making work a little more tolerable. But the threat of impending bills had you eager to set up another meeting with the heroes. And they seemed to reciprocate that feeling. 

Kirishima would text you daily, having conversations with you that lasted all day, with some input from Bakugo when he felt like chiming in. Sometimes he would send you a selfie of the two of them, Kirishima with his signature bright smile and Bakugo with a scowl. Getting to know both of them made meeting up with them a little less intimidating, so when they invited you out for dinner again, you felt less nervous than last time.

This time dinner would be at their place, which was a nice, two-story home in the suburbs away from the bustling city you were used to listening to at night. Standing at their front door, you took a shaking breath before pressing the doorbell button. You could hear it softly chiming inside the home before the door swung open, revealing Bakugo who scowled when he saw you.

“Don’t you have any other clothes?” He barked. You had worn the same button-up and slacks again because, well, they were your only nice clothes. He dragged you inside and gestured to a pair of slippers by the door. He marched past you to the thin grey wood table near the coat rack which had a bowl for their keys and other little knickknacks. He grabbed to the pristine leather wallet that sat upon it and pulled out some more dollar bills, stuffing them into your hands.

“Here, get yourself something else to wear.”

“I can’t-“ you argued, trying to give him back the money. He shook his head and tried to practically shove it into your pocket. You reached into your other pocket to pull out your wallet which had the change from the taxi money from the last time you saw them.

“I still have this.”

Bakugo took the money he was trying to give you and put it in your wallet before putting it back in your pocket. It was slight but you still noticed the way his hand slid a little further back as if to reach around your thigh to your rear.

“The whole point of this ‘service’ is that we pay you for being with us,” he grumbled as he took your hand, leading you through his home and into the kitchen. The smell of herbs and spices filled the air, making your stomach rumbled and mouth water. Kirishima was standing by the stove, idly stirring whatever was in the frypan so it wouldn’t burn. The redhead smiled when he saw you, quickly moving out of the way as Bakugo stomped to the stove, grumbling about his husband ‘doing it wrong’.

Kirishima retrieved some glasses and a bottle of wine before exiting the cooking area, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he passed, walking over to the nearby dining room table. He popped the cork off the wine bottle, making you jump at the sound. He chuckled and apologised as he poured the wine into the glasses. He placed a glass in front of a chair and gestured for you to sit. You quickly complied, taking a sip from the glass. He sat down at the head on the table beside you and once again held your hand on your table, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

He made some small talk, asking how the trip over was and how you had been since you last saw him. You asked him about his work and what being a hero was like, but when you could see the tiredness in his eyes while he answered, you couldn’t help the guilty feeling bubbling up. Just as you felt like the conversation was dying, Bakugo marched over and (somewhat aggressively) placed down three plates of food on the table.

“Hope you like spice,” he smirked, sitting down across from you. Just the scent of spice from your plate was making your throat burn. You could handle spice but this… this seemed extreme. The first bite was bearable, the next a little less so, the third had you sweating. The wine didn’t help to cool your mouth, and eventually, you had to admit you needed some water.

“Aw, can’t handle it?” Bakugo teased but still stood from the table to retrieve a drink for you. He came back with a glass of milk, which you thankfully gulped down. Kirishima’s ruby eyes were trained on your lips and the white, creamy liquid. He cleared his throat, averting his gaze as his cheeks grew pink.

“It took me a while to get used to his cooking,” he chuckled, trying to distract himself. Thanks to several glasses of water and milk, you managed to get through the meal. It was very tasty, you couldn’t deny that, but the heat that came with it was almost unbearable. You attempted to help clean up, but the two heroes wouldn’t let you lift a finger. Even when you argued you were here to provide a service for them, they would just chuckle and tell you to sit down.

After the dishes were cleaned, Kirishima took you by the hand and led you to their lounge room, guiding you to sit on the couch. A movie had already been queued up, some kind of horror movie from the 80s, possibly indie as you didn’t recognise the title. With a hero sat either side of you, the movie began, the soft light from a floor lamp in the corner casting a soft, warm glow through the room.

The movie had a bit of a slower pace, and soon you found Bakugo’s muscular arm around your shoulders, and Kirishima’s large hand on your thigh just above your knee. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, the same smell of cologne intoxicating your senses,

“Y’know, Kats tried this same trick on me when we started dating. Played a scary movie so I would get scared and he would protect me.”

“But you’re a lot braver than I expected,” Bakugo smirked, playing with the baby hairs at the back of your neck, goosebumps rising across your arms. As the movie progressed, it came to the classic sex scene while the masked killer stalked the young couple. The scene was more sensual than what you expected, with lingering shots of beads of sweat running across the mounds and valleys of lean, tan bodies. Sexy music accompanied moans and whimpers, hands groping thighs and breasts.

You had to adjust the collar of your shirt, your whole body growing warm as you watched the scene unfold. A shot of the woman’s face twisted in bliss had you glancing away. To the shelves around the TV, and some of the arty paintings on the wall, until you spotted Bakugo beside you, particularly the rise in his pants between his legs. It appeared that the scene was affecting him too, and maybe the wine made those feelings stronger. Seeing how much enjoyment he was getting from the movie reminded you of why you were here in the first place.

Your palm slid over his thigh, fingertips brushing against the hardness of his crotch. His head snapped down, searching for the source of the soft feeling. Finding you were the source of the gentle touches, he smirked, his arm falling from your shoulders to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. Your gaze flickered between your hand and his face, watching for any reactions that told you to stop. Every time you would palm his cock harder, his eyes would flutter close, and you could just hear the sighs he let out over the increasingly tense music from the movie.

His head lolled back onto the backrest of the couch with a hum, his fingers occasionally twitching against your side. After twisting around to face him, you started to unzip his pants. But he could feel how your hand shook and hesitated, lifting his head to meet your uncertain eyes.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable.”

“This is what I’m here for, isn’t it?” With his pants unzipped, you wrapped your hand around his cock, the fabric of his underwear still in the way. He cursed under his breath, thighs tensing. He reached over to cup your cheek, pulling you even closer against him so your chest met his.

“Fuck you’re cute,” he muttered before finally kissing you. His lips were softer than you expected, and you could still taste the spice from dinner on his tongue. His cock became impossibly harder in your hand, his underwear growing darker over his tip as you stroked him. He reached down, his hand roughly groping your ass, hand perfectly fitting the fatty globe. You gasped into his lips, drawing out a chuckle from Kirishima.

“Don’t play too rough Kats,” he warned light-heartedly, his larger hand stroking your back as if trying to soothe you. Bakugo parted his lips from you, and stared at you with hooded eyes, waiting for a response.

“I don’t mind,” you whispered, receiving a toothy smirk from him. With a rough push, he had you on your back on your couch, your head on Kirishima’s lap. Bakugo started to unbutton his shirt, and you quickly did the same, albeit with shaking hands. The cooler air made goosebumps rise on your now bare torso. Bakugo’s crimson eyes stared down at your chest, his tongue running over his lip.

“That’s fuckin’ hot.” You felt your heart sink at his words. This was all going so well, he couldn’t be a chaser, could he? He reached down, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your nipple before gently playing with the metal balls at either end of the bar piercing the bud. Your anxiety washed away, realising his fixation was transfixed on your nipple piercings, rather than the scars that ran along the underside of your chest. While your nipples were mostly numb, there were occasional pleasureful sparks from his touches.

With your legs around his hips, Bakugo helped you remove your pants and underwear, pushing his own down as well, just enough to reveal his cock to your prying eyes. Feeling it was one thing, but seeing it was another, and it looked way bigger than you were expecting. Long, with veins running along the sides, pearls of precum glinting in the light of the TV.

Stroking your smaller cock between the knuckles of his forefinger and middle finger forced gasps and whimpers out of you, gripping the couch cushion in one hand and Kirishima’s knee in the other to ground yourself. Your toes curled as he stroked you, feeling your hole becoming slicker by the second.

“Your cock sensitive baby?” He teased, the thumb of his other hand teasing your entrance, coating the digit in your fluid.

“Mhm,” you moaned, lip pinned between your teeth as your back arched, his fingers finally slipping inside you while he continued to stroke your T dick. You couldn’t stop the flurry of moans he pulled out of you with each stroke inside and outside of you. Three of his fingers thrust inside your tight hole, your slickness coating his fingers down to the knuckles. Retracting his fingers from your spongey walls, you mewled sadly as he also let go of your cock. Kirishima laid his hand on your cheek, thumb soothingly rubbing over the warm skin to comfort you.

Using your slick fluid left on his fingers, Bakugo coated in cock with it before lining up his tip to your boycunt. But he hesitated, one hand holding your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Even with his pupils blown wide with lust, there was a seriousness in his eyes, like he was ready to stop at a moment's notice.

“Yes,” you whispered while nodding. With your consent, he slowly thrust himself inside you. Feeling his head pop inside of you made you flinch, he was a lot bigger than you were used to. He stretched you to fit him perfectly, slowly pulling his hips away before thrusting back in quickly. It hurt, a slight soreness accompanying each thrust but it was quickly overtaken by pleasure that made your body tingle.

“Bakugo~” you whimpered when he gripped the underside of your thighs, pushing them further apart so he could thrust his cock deeper inside.

“Katsuki,” he corrected, thrusting faster and harder till your eyes were rolling back.

“Call me Katsuki or I’ll fuck you till you forget your name.”

“Katsuki,” you moaned, even though his threat sounded intriguing. Kirishima continued to gently stroke your face and play with your hair, softly cooing down at you while his husband fucked you like he couldn’t resist you. Even as your fingernails dug into his leg, he still touched you calmly. Katsuki was balls deep inside you with every thrust, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass and thighs echoing through the room, drowning out the screams of the people being murdered in the movie.

He moaned unabashedly, your back arching as you felt a coil start to tighten in your stomach, your walls tightening around his cock at the same time.

“Gonna cum pretty boy?”

With hearts in your eyes, you nodded quickly, unlatching your death grip on the couch cushion to stroke your T dick, bringing you that much closer to bliss. Katsuki’s brow was knitted as his thrusts grew erratic, hips barely falling into a rhythm as he chased his high. Tighter and tighter, the coil finally snapped, making you call his name in pleasure. The way your walls clamped down around him brought him to his orgasm, painting your insides white. His shallow thrusts pushed his seed deeper inside you as if to claim you as his.

Curses flew from his gritted teeth, hips finally stilling, balls deep inside you. Releasing the grip on your thighs, he steadied himself on the couch as he panted, leaning down to press a passion-fueled kiss to your lips. Kirishima’s hand finally left your face, instead gently pushing Katsuki’s hair back from his damp forehead. The blonde sat back up, sitting on his shins as he gripped your hip to keep you still. With gently coaxing, Kirishima got you to let go of his leg so he could stand up, lifting your head off his lap. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, Katsuki already breathing normally. Damn, that pro-hero stamina.

Kirishima returned, and upon seeing him, Katsuki slowly pulled his softening cock out of your stuffed hole, dragging a whimper from you with it. Kirishima handed a wet cloth to Katsuki, which he used to clean himself with. A second cloth was pressed between your legs, the coldness making you gasp and flinch.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Kirishima said with a pouty smile, quickly but gently cleaning you.

“Cold,” you whimpered, mind still in a haze. He chuckled softly, removing the rag once he was done. Katsuki stood from the couch, pulling up his pants and underwear, retrieving your tossed-aside clothes. Sitting up, you started buttoning your shirt as you were handed your underwear and pants. The movie had ended long ago, left on the title screen as it had been forgotten. Pulling your pants up and finding your phone still in your pocket, you pulled it out and checked the time. Shit, it was late. With hurried goodbyes, you left their warm, comforting home to go back to your dingy apartment. ------

a/n - first smut ahhhhh, please tell me if there's any ways i can improve! also the fic name is a bludnymph song, hopefully i'll figure out how to link it eventually lol