#season 4 slaps so hard

[femboypussy420]

they could've used the green day cover of i think we're alone now in tua s4 and i think the fact they didn't should be a crime actually

[plague-of-insomnia]

“I’m totally normal about the new kuro anime,” I say, as I rewatch the two episodes for the 100th time and listen to the OP song for the 10,000th

me and seb, totally normal people

[icewindandboringhorror]

It always seems a bit unbalanced on The Great Food Truck Race when there will be multiple teams who are cooking a wide variety of complex dishes with 10 different components and a bunch of prep work, and then there's that one team who like... exclusively serves plain crepes with some premade nutella on them, or plain waffles with just some whipped cream and cut up strawberries lol...

[sasaranurude]

Me and my friends finished reading i7 part 5 today... I think Idolish7 is one of the best things in the world

[idolomantises]

Wasn't sure when it would be the best time to discuss this, but since the ending is drawing near... yes, Bugtopia is ending.

It was a decision I really wrestled with myself for months over it, before finally concluding that letting it end after 40 episodes was the better option. Just to be clear, webtoons did not force me to end the series. They even offered to give me a pay raise to continue the series. It was my decision due to a multitude of personal factors. I'll just repeat what I said on my patreon:

I just want to say, first of all, thank you all so much for patiently waiting for my series to release and for supporting my work as I began developing the series. Bugtopia was a series I genuinely loved and adored and it made me feel so incredibly happy that people were turning their heads towards a series about weird bugs and their natural lives.

However, as you can probably guess, it pains me to say that I am concluding the series after season 1. I had 4 seasons planned with new characters to introduce, but unfortunately, I cannot see myself continuing to work with Webtoons and I want to pursue other projects.

This decision was due to a compiling number of issues with the company, the final straw was when they had a mass layoff, fired my editor that I've been working with for two years, and did not inform me for a week, leaving me in the dark until they randomly assigned me with someone else. My new editor is great and I'm glad I'm working with someone so patient and understanding, but this decision to fire my previous editor, the one who got me the job to begin with, without prior warning made me feel disrespected and disregarded, and it killed all motivation I had for properly completing the series.

I also felt incredibly overworked, I was spending vacation days working on comics and avoiding time with family just so I could get something done for webtoons once I come home. I feel like so much time was being wasted away for a company that paid me so little that I had to work twice as hard building up funds on my patreon. Bugtopia just ate up so much of my time. The pay also didn't make up for it. It's commonly assumed that webtoons authors make about $800 for the episodes they do, but that's not true. In fact, you can make far less depending on the amount of panels expected for your contract. It doesn't help that the artwork i did for banners and promotions were all things I had to draw and didn't get paid for, and the work I gave was either tampered with or scrapped, making me feel like I spent more hours of my day wasting time. There were also comics I had to censor and scrap, likely due to another series being in hot water for its racially insensitive content. But it was just extra work I wasn't being paid for. It also frustrated me because I was seeing other series with far more explicit content getting away with a slap on the wrist (turns out you can't say "fuck" anymore without it being hit with a mature rating, disappointing!)

In all honesty, it just felt like webtoons needed me more than I needed them. I was making more money from patreon in a week than I was making from webtoons in a month.

Personally, while I don't really regret my time with Webtoons and met some great people along the way, I honestly don't think any artist should work with them. You will be severely overworked and underpaid, and will barely be featured in ads unless your series becomes an instant hit immediately. It doesn't really matter how successful you are, you're just a product to Webtoons, put yourself above the corporation.

I have tried my best to provide you all with a satisfying conclusion to Bugtopia, even if some episodes may feel rushed or incomplete, but I completely understand if the conclusion isn't to your liking and I do apologize, but I could not continue working on this series if this was the mistreatment I was going to continuously get. I owe a massive thank you to my editor and assistants for helping me complete the series, I truly don't think I could have ever finished it without them.

Though I am done with Bugtopia, that does not mean I want to stop projects entirely, so please don't feel bad for me. I have a lot of upcoming projects and ideas in the works, and I'm still continuing the Monsters and Girls series.

Will Bugtopia ever return... possibly. I retain complete ownership of the series after a few years, and I wouldn't mind continuing the canvas series (or possibly starting over). Unfortunately I don't think I can continue the Webtoon Original as it belongs to webtoons now, but never say never I suppose!

[gothcsz]

Obvious | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 4 of Unscripted Desire | ~12k wc | Series Masterlist | gif cred | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Life after quitting the porn industry.

Tags: halloween vibes, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex (protected), getting bent over in a parking garage, frankie heavy beginning (they had us in the first half not gonna lie), speaking of frankie he wears the ghostface mask while hitting it, connie has entered this little universe, masturbation with vibrator (f), clit stimulation, dirty talk, pussy slapping, JUST THE TIP!!!!, no use of y/n, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: surpriseeeee, i woke up a little too inspired to write and voila, out came this beautiful chapter that i was not expecting to get out so soon. again, this fic has def taken off in ways i never imagined but uhhh, we out here 🖤 thanks to everyone for the support, frankie girlies (gn) i hope i did your man justice 'cause i was feeling a little too feral for him. as for my just the tip stans... we did it joe 🤠 i hope you guys fucking love this the way i do and that you ruined your underwear... just as i did 🖤

The cool autumn breeze sweeps over you as you walk out of the movie theater with Frankie, the Halloween spirit in full swing. Scream 2 was as thrilling as ever, and your favorite of the trilogy.

The fall season always makes you feel nostalgic, and tonight has been no exception—dinner, a movie, and Frankie by your side for the past month has made things feel better than they have been for quite some time now.

“It’s not that hard to escape the bastard,” Frankie says confidently, as if he’d be the first to survive the whole ordeal. “He’s just some guy—or girl—wearing a mask with a knife. I’d have them handled in five minutes. Tops.”

You laugh, humoring him. “Oh, I’m sure you would.”

The parking garage is mostly empty, dimly lit as you make your way to his truck, parked at the top level. You’re talking casually about the film when he suddenly slows down, a mischievous smirk creeping across his face. He corners you slowly, backing you against the cool metal of the truck, his presence looming as you feel the tension rise. 

“Or,” he says, voice dropping lower, “I could be a real kickass Ghostface.”

Your eyes flick to the mask in his hand, the complimentary one that came with the tickets, and then back to him. His dark brown eyes gleam with playful intent, and a thrill shoots through you. “Oh yeah?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

He grins, slipping his cap off and pulling the mask over his face. Oh, shit. You’ve never had a mask kink before, but something about Frankie wearing it like this, his body pressing closer, has your pulse racing. 

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He asks, his voice lowering to mimic what’d you just seen, a smooth yet eerie tone. It’s almost too good, too convincing, and you suddenly understand why people fantasize about this kind of thing.

You bite your lip, your mind swirling with desire as his hand slides down to your hip, squeezing gently. “I don’t have one,” you say, teasing him. You can barely see his eyes through the mask’s slits, but the way his head tilts makes your stomach flip.

“Oh, c’mon, hermosa,” he purrs, “don’t lie to me.”

You giggle nervously, feeling the heat between you both intensify. Glancing around to make sure you’re still alone, you place a hand on his chest, letting it slide down slowly until it reaches his belt. He grunts in response, his free hand gripping the back of your head tightly. The pressure sends a shiver down your spine, and you whimper softly.

“You’re liking this, aren’t you?” He asks, voice muffled slightly by the mask but dripping with lust.

“More than I’d like to admit,” you breathe out, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. And before you can process it, your jeans and underwear are being pulled down to your mid-thigh. Frankie wastes no time, maneuvering you into the backseat of the truck. You’re bent over, ass out, hands pressed against the cool leather as you hear him undo his belt, the sound of his zipper punctuating the quiet.

He’s quick, efficient, rolling a condom over his thick cock before positioning himself behind you. His hand grips your hip as he thrusts into you, and you gasp as he fills you, the mask still firmly on his face. 

It’s fucking amazing. Frankie fucks you like no one ever has—not like it’s for show or performance, but feverent and real. Each thrust hits the perfect spot inside you, sending your vision into a haze of stars. You’re more vocal than you’ve ever been, moaning his name, asking for more.

“Harder,” you whine, and he obliges, his nails digging into your hips as he pounds into you relentlessly. His grunts mix with your moans, the sound echoing in the empty parking garage. 

When he’s close, he finally pulls the mask off, tossing it aside before leaning down, kissing and nipping at your neck. His fingers move below you, rubbing at your sensitive clit as you clench around him, your orgasm rushing through you.

His teeth graze your skin as you both reach your peak, your body trembling as he groans, his release following yours.

He stills inside you, breathing heavily against your neck, and for a moment, everything is still—just you, him, and the night. You smile, feeling content, and he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder before slowly pulling out, leaving you both breathless in the backseat of his truck.

“Well, fuck.” Frankie curses under his breath, tying the condom off with a quick motion. His hands, now gentler, reach for yours as he helps you up, both of you quickly fixing your clothes and appearances.

Once you’re situated, you spin around to face him, your fingers lightly brushing his jaw as you lean in to kiss him. It’s sweet, and the soft smack of your lips echoes through the empty parking garage.

“That was amazing,” you say, still a little breathless, your heart still racing in your chest.

A smirk plays on his lips as he puts his cap back on and tosses the used condom in a nearby trash bin. “Gonna have to hold onto this,” he says, nodding toward the Ghostface mask, now thrown carelessly into the backseat. There’s a playful gleam in his eyes, that flirty, teasing edge you’ve come to expect from him.

“It was definitely a heat-of-the-moment thing,” you say, trying to play it cool, though you can’t help the little grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Mhm, sure it was.” He winks, sliding into the driver’s seat beside you as he starts the engine, the rumble of his truck echoing as he pulls out of the garage.

The streets are alive with the Halloweekend night crowd. People spill out of bars, laughter and chatter drifting through the air as Frankie navigates through the bustling costumed scene. You catch sight of a group of friends stumbling onto the sidewalk, and you’re grateful that your apartment’s entrance is around the back, away from all the noise and chaos.

Frankie pulls up across the street from your place, parking the truck and turning to you with a slightly furrowed brow. “Not really a fan of your current living arrangement,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes serious.

You shrug, reaching for your purse. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” though you can’t deny you’ve felt the same way. The cramped apartment above a rowdy bar wasn’t your dream setup, but it’s what you’ve got for now.

Leaning over the console, you peck his lips once, twice, then again. What starts as a series of playful kisses quickly turns into something more, your hands finding his stubbled jaw as his fingers graze your thigh. Before long, you’re fully making out again.

When you finally pull away, your lips tingling, you ask softly, “Wanna come up?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes search yours for a moment, considering something. But then, with a slow nod, he says, “Yeah, okay.” His voice is steady, but there’s that familiar heat beneath it, the same one that had you wrapped up in the backseat earlier.

The following morning is spent with the both of you lazily lounging around your apartment, only leaving to pick up  a late breakfast from your favorite spot around the corner before you’re back in bed, sleeping the day away.

You’re barely aware of the warm breath ghosting over your inner thighs as you shift in your sleep, legs lazily spread across the bed. A sleepy moan slips out when you feel soft lips pressing against your pussy, then a firmer kiss followed by a slow drag of a tongue. 

You stir, half-dazed, your fingers instinctively moving to the unruly curls of hair between your legs as the sensation intensifies. Frankie’s lips latch onto your clit, sucking gently, and it sends a shock of pleasure through your body, waking you up fully.

“Oh,” his name slips from your lips like a breathless confession. 

You can feel his grin against you, hear the low groan vibrating through your sensitive flesh as he takes his time, his tongue swirling around you in lazy circles, savoring your taste.

Just for a second, a flash of something—or someone—else crosses your mind. Javier. The thought of him, of the way he’d made you fall apart that day in the elevator, flickers in your mind like a flame.

Your eyes fly open in shock, and you gasp, but Frankie is none the wiser. He assumes your reaction is all because of him, and that only spurs him on. His lips press harder against you as he brings two fingers up, spreading you open gently before sinking them inside. 

You shake your head, mentally shoving him back into the recesses where he belongs.

With a determined focus, you let yourself melt back into the pleasure, letting go of everything else. “Pussy tastes so good, hermosa,” he mumbles, as he works his mouth and fingers together, creating a messy, perfect rhythm that has your thighs clenching around his head.

It’s all too much, too good, and you can’t help the way your body writhes beneath him.

Your moans fill the room, louder and more desperate, hips lifting and chasing the pleasure as the tension in your spine coils tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, and you come undone all over his lips and fingers.

Frankie doesn’t stop right away—his lips stay on you, moving with less intensity now, just soft kisses as you come down from your high. He places a final, lingering kiss to your clit before he crawls up your body, kissing a path along your skin. You’re still wearing his t-shirt, your body half exposed, and he grins down at you, his dark eyes sparkling with satisfaction. 

“Figured you needed something to help get you through your shift,” he says, his voice teasing yet full of affection.

You give him a lazy, fucked-out smile, still catching your breath. “It’s gonna help me with more than just my shift, mister. You just gave me something new to add to my spank bank.”

He shakes his head playfully. “Spank bank, huh? Glad to be of service,” he adds with a wink, leaning in for another kiss, slower this time. You can’t help but run your hands over his arms, admiring the small scars, the beauty marks that dot his tan skin.

“Are you coming back tonight?” You ask softly, your fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him down for a peck.

He sighs against your lips before shaking his head. “Can’t. I’ve got Elliana this weekend,” he says, his tone softening as he mentions his four-year-old daughter. You haven’t met her yet, the two of you keeping things casual and slow.

Neither of you wants anything serious, but hearing him mention his daughter always adds a layer of sweetness to him that makes you feel warm.

You nod in understanding, pulling him down for one final kiss before you force yourself to get up and start getting ready for work. He watches you, that same teasing, affectionate glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but smile back at him, grateful for whatever this is between you two.

“You just got fucked, didn’t you?” Connie’s voice hits you the second you step behind the bar, her eyebrows wiggling with mischief as she leans against the counter, arms crossed over her Princess Peach costume that’s not really a costume—just a pink tennis dress with the signature crown atop of her head. 

“Hello to you too, Connie.” You give her a sarcastic smile, securing the half apron around your waist. It’s a routine now—her prying into your business like an investigative reporter for the gossip section.

Reminds you of another blond, and now you wonder if they’re all just like this.

Your firecracker of a coworker is an E.R. nurse who took on this bartending gig a few months after you did. The fact that she has to hustle for tips despite being in healthcare is one of those cruel ironies you both bitch about during slow shifts. You’d think a nurse would be raking in cash, but there are nights here at Lucky’s where she pulls more than at the hospital.

“I’m just saying,” Connie continues, mid-lemon slice, her eyes narrowing in exaggerated suspicion. “You’re wearing your cute jeans, your shirt’s actually clean, and—wait, is that makeup on your face? Please don’t tell me you’re in cat ears!” She pauses, blade in hand, smirking at you like she’s cracked some secret code.

Your face warms up as you adjust the stupid cat ears on your head. Yeah, she’s nailed it—hooking up with Frankie before your shift definitely put some extra pep in your step tonight. A little effort never hurt, especially when looking put-together meant better tips.

It’s Halloween, and people tend to tip better when you’re festive. So, why not milk it for all it’s worth?

“Just capitalizing off the holiday, Con. Is that a crime?” You say, bending down to grab the ice buckets for a quick refill before the evening rush hits.

“No, what is a crime,” she says, not missing a beat as she narrows her eyes at you, tossing the lemons aside, “is you skimping out on the juicy details of your love life.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that slips out as you hip-check her on your way to the ice machine. “I’m not skimping. It’s not like I’ve been hiding some wild love affair. We only started fucking, what, like two weeks ago?”

“And?” She leans forward, hands on her hips, waiting like she’s tuning in for the next episode of her favorite drama.

You bite your lip, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “It’s… fucking amazing.”

She whistles, then throws her hands up in celebration. You can’t help but laugh—loudly—your mood is too good to even pretend to be embarrassed.

Grabbing the freshly filled ice buckets, you lug them back behind the bar, your arms burning slightly from the weight, but you’re not complaining. Between lugging buckets and keeping the bar stocked, who needs a gym membership?

“I’m so jealous. I can’t even remember the last time I slept with a guy and actually enjoyed it,” She says with a dramatic sigh, leaning her elbows on the bar.

“Trust me, I was in the same boat for the longest time. Then Frankie just… showed up,” you say with a small, satisfied smile. It’s true, he kind of did swoop in out of nowhere, and it’s been surprisingly easy with him since.

But, of course, there’s that brief hiccup in your mind that involves Javier. 

You push the thought of him away, like you’ve been doing for weeks. What happened earlier in bed with Frankie was just a slip-up, your subconscious messing with you.

“Well, I need a guy to just show up and fuck me so I can think straight again,” she half-jokes, and the two of you burst into laughter, the kind that shakes your shoulders and draws a few curious glances from nearby patrons.

As the night picks up, the bar gets busier, and the usual rhythm settles in. You and Connie move in sync, the crowd buzzing with energy.

Costumes, chatter, and the clinking of glasses surround you, but you’re in your zone. It’s not until about two hours later, as you’re pouring someone’s vodka soda, that you catch sight of a familiar face sliding into a barstool in front of you.

“Long time no see, stranger,” you greet Steve over the music, already reaching for his usual piss beer and uncapping it before sliding it across the counter.

“Work’s been fucking ass,” he replies, taking a long, much-needed gulp from the bottle. You can see the exhaustion in his eyes. 

“Robbie still being an asshole, I presume?” You ask, shifting away to take another patron’s order while keeping half an ear out for whatever fresh hell your ex-boss has put Steve through now.

Steve’s attention, though, is fixed on something—or rather, someone—else. His gaze locks on Connie, who’s busy putting on a little show for a group of birthday girls. She’s expertly pouring a line of shots, lighting them on fire, and sliding them toward the group, who erupt into cheers.

“She seein’ anyone?” He asks, leaning in closer, like he’s trying to keep the question discreet. Between the thumping music and the lively chatter, Connie wouldn’t hear him even if he shouted.

You raise a brow. “Like I told you last time—and like she told you the time before—no.”

“Then why’s she always shuttin’ me down?” He frowns, frustration creasing his face.

You shrug, wiping down the perpetually sticky counter. “Probably because you only approach her here, when you’re halfway through a six-pack. Connie’s not looking for bullshit—she deals with enough of that here and at the hospital.”

Steve scoffs, taking another hefty swig of his beer. “Right. You bartenders are tough to crack.”

You smirk, knocking your knuckles on the wooden bar top. “Maybe, but we’re worth the effort.”

Steve chuckles at that. “Now, spill. I’ve barely seen you since I quit.” You’re curious, and maybe just a little petty.

He groans, tipping his head back as if the memory of work physically pains him. And a part of you—maybe the slightly vindictive part—waits eagerly to hear about how Robbie’s screwing up, still secretly wishing for your old boss’s downfall.

“Longer shoots for lesser pay. And the fucking guys he’s been hiring— Christ Almighty. S’been a fuckin’ shitshow since you walked out,” You feel pride swell up in your chest at the remembrance, how good it felt to stick up for yourself. “But especially since Javier kicked his ass to the curb. I’m the last one standing.”

You barely have time to absorb this before a rowdy group of frat boys descends on the bar, demanding drinks with the enthusiasm of toddlers in a candy store.

You want to wring their necks for interrupting your train of thought, especially since curiosity about what happened with Javier is gnawing at you.

Why do you care? That small voice in your head questions, but you put her on mute and focus on fulfilling the orders of these insufferable college students.

Noticing you’re tied up, Steve hops down a few barstools, positioning himself in front of Connie, trying to charm her again. You can’t help but catch snippets of his pickup lines as you whirl about behind the bar. To your surprise, Connie seems receptive this time, laughing and engaging with him instead of brushing him off like before.

Good for her—she deserves a bit of fun, especially after just saying she needed to get laid. You hope Steve has learned a thing or two from all those shoots.

Amid the chaos, you break through their flirting when Connie has to prepare another round of shots. “So, Javier quit?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can hold them back.

Steve, clearly happy as hell that his advances have finally worked, shoots you a smug grin. “Yup. Him and Robbie were arguing more and more then he pulled a you and stormed off set. It’s just him and his agent now. He isn’t signing on to just one production company anymore. Don’t be surprised if you see him sellin’ tricks on Figueroa.”

A frown tugs at your lips, the bittersweet news settling in your chest. You can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Javier.

“Why are you askin’? You miss him or somethin’? Thought you were still bangin’ it out with that camera guy from Malibu.” His tone is teasing, reminiscent of a little brother trying to get under your skin.

You snort, rolling your eyes and collecting the empty glasses into a plastic bin. “ I’m just surprised. This is like, his whole thing.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, he hasn’t been working as much. I’ve never seen the guy be this… still. Told him maybe it’s a good thing—he can finally chill the fuck out and give his dick a break.”

You can’t help but laugh, handing him another beer. “I can’t even imagine what else he’d do. Can you seriously picture Javier Peña working a 9 to 5?”

Steve grins, scratching his chin as if pondering the idea. “I dunno, he could be a good car salesman. Maybe even insurance?”

You both chuckle, but as you excuse yourself to put away the dirty dishes, your mind lingers on Javier. It’s like a weird domino effect: your departure had shaken things up, and now a small part of you feels somewhat responsible for this mess.

No, you shouldn’t feel this way. He’ll figure it out. You really shouldn’t waste this much time ‘worrying’ about him. He means nothing to you. End of story.

The rest of your shift flows smoothly, and you end up pocketing more tips than you anticipated. Even the late hour—almost four in the morning—doesn’t faze you as you and Connie finish cleaning up and closing.

“You can stay the night if you want. I’m sure you don’t want to wait for the bus this late,” you suggest, watching her mop with a satisfied smile.

“Actually…” She pauses, wringing out the mop head. Your brows raise at her tone, and she bites her lip. “My ride is waiting for me out front.”

You piece it together in an instant, halting mid-count of the twenty-dollar bills. “No way, you finally gave in to Steve!”

Connie’s face lights up with a sheepish smile. “I thought he was cute since day one. I just couldn’t let him get to me so easily. Play hard to get, you know? See if he really wanted me as badly as he said he did.”

You hum, shaking your head with a grin as you resume counting. “Atta girl. Enjoy yourself, you deserve it.”

As you finish up, you hug Connie goodbye, watching as she excitedly jumps into Steve’s Jeep. You trudge up the creaky stairs to your place, feeling a bit lonely now.

The remnants of Frankie’s presence linger in your cramped apartment: his side of the bed still mussed, a crumpled T-shirt on the floor, and takeaway containers from earlier scattered on your small kitchen table.

With a sigh, you take off your cat ears and head straight for the shower, hoping to wash away the lingering thoughts of both Javier and Frankie before slipping into the quiet of your own bed.

Frankie stands in your living room, his expression serious but soft, while you sit on the couch, staring up at him.

You foolishly didn’t think this would happen—at least not this soon, only two months in. His words are steady, measured, like he’s practiced this. “Elliana’s mom and I… we’re trying to work things out.”

The lump in your throat rises, but you refuse to let it crack your voice. You won’t give in to the urge to cry. It’s not like you didn’t expect this on some level—dating a man with a child meant his ex would always be in the picture. And now, she’s front and center. 

“I understand…”

He exhales deeply at seeing you like this. He sits next to you, close but not invasive, and his presence—still so familiar—only sharpens the ache. You don’t pull away, though everything inside you screams to. Even if this is the right way to end things, you have every right to feel a sting. 

You weren’t serious-serious, but you’d gotten used to him. His easy warmth, the random dates that brightened your week, the small slice of domesticity you didn’t realize you’d grown to like. And the sex… God, you’re not ready to give that up, either. 

“I didn’t mess around with her while we were together. You have to know that,” he adds, his voice low, calm, as if trying to make sure you’re not left with any doubts. He rests his hand on your knee, grounding you in the moment, though you wish he wouldn’t. 

“I know you’re not that guy, Frankie. It just sucks being broken up with,” you say, forcing a smile, lightening your tone as if to keep the tears at bay.

He sighs again, his big brown eyes—those damn puppy eyes—locking onto yours. “I really enjoyed my time with you,” he says, sounding sincere. “It was great. You’re great.”

You nod, just wanting this to be over so you can sink yourself into your sheets and rot for the rest of the day. 

“Likewise, Frankie. Now go make sure your daughter’s got a stable home to grow up in.” You try to smile again, but it’s weaker this time. He can see through it, you know, but he nods anyway.

You walk him to the door, making a quick detour to your bedroom to gather the few t-shirts he’s left behind. When you hand them to him, he grins, trying to lift the mood. “So that’s where these went.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a t-shirt hoarder,” you joke back, your voice hollow.

He pauses at the door, his eyes lingering on you longer than you’d like.

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too, hermosa,” he replies, the affection in the word making your heart squeeze.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you let yourself collapse against it, sliding down until you’re sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to your chest. The tears come silently at first, just a slow trickle, but soon they’re streaking down your cheeks as you curl into yourself.

You hate dating. You’ve always hated it. It feels like a cycle of disappointments: either you’re stuck with some dud or, worse, you find someone worth a damn, and they leave anyway. 

After crying it out for a few minutes, you force yourself to wipe away the tears. The ache in your chest lingers, but you’re determined to distract yourself, dragging your feet over to the entertainment center. Your hand glides over the familiar spines of DVDs and VHS tapes, searching for the right kind of escape, something to pair with the bottle of wine you’ll snag from downstairs.

You reach the end of the row and stop on Pretty Woman, about to pull it out, when your fingers brush against a few unmarked DVDs shoved haphazardly in the back. Curious, you pull them out, and your breath hitches.

They’re your old shoots—the first ones you ever did with Javier. The raunchy titles leap out at you, and suddenly, memories of being on set with him flood back. The chemistry, the heat, the way he looked at you when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Your pulse quickens. You should put them back. But you don’t. You weren’t prepared for this— especially not today, freshly dumped, on the verge of a sexual drought, and with your head all messed up.

Fuck it, you have nothing to lose, so you randomly pick one. Pretty Woman gets shoved aside as you clutch the DVD case, a weird thrill running through you.

As if possessed, you march to your bedside table in your bedroom, frantically rummaging for your long-neglected vibrator. It’s been gathering dust since Frankie showed up, but now… now you’re hoping, praying it still works. When you finally find it, you flip it on, and the gentle hum tells you it’s fully charged.

Thank you, past me. You have no idea how much present me needs this.

With a deep breath, you return to the living room and pop the DVD into the player. The screen flickers to life, and you settle onto the couch, heart pounding in your chest as the film begins. 

The anticipation builds as the usual no-piracy warning flashes on the screen, followed by the production company’s intro. Finally, the familiar jazzy porn music kicks in, setting the mood for what’s to come.

You can already feel your pulse racing, knowing what’s next. This one, you remember—it was one of the first outdoor scenes you shot.

The setup was simple, classic: a woman stranded on the side of the road due to car trouble, waiting for a tow truck to save her. The main star, gorgeous as ever, is dressed provocatively in a tiny miniskirt, platform flip-flops, and a tube top that screams easy access. The camera lingers over her, capturing every curve of her body as she fakes helplessness, playing her role perfectly.

Then comes the rumble of the tow truck, and Javier steps out, looking rugged and sexy in dirty jeans and a rumpled denim shirt with a generic towing company patch stitched onto it. His presence alone is enough to make your skin prickle with heat.

“Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be stuck out here like this,” his voice fills the room. God, you hate to admit it, but you’ve missed hearing him—his smooth tone, the way he used to make every line sound like a promise.

Maybe it’s the leftover emotion from Frankie’s breakup that’s doing this to you, making you feel too much.

“Thank goodness you’re here to help me out. I just... I don’t have any money on me right now to pay for it,” the woman pouts, lips glossy, eyes fluttering up at him like she’s the most innocent thing alive.

Javier cocks his head, eyes traveling over her like she’s a piece of candy. “Don’t worry,” he says, that signature smirk appearing on his face. “I think we can figure something out.”

And just like that, they’re fucking. Raw, desperate sex. He has her spread out on the hood of the car, and her tits bounce with every hard thrust. Javier holds her legs wide open, his rough hands gripping her thighs as he slams into her.

The scene is pure, animalistic lust, and it has your head spinning.

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your moans mix with theirs from the TV, and the steady buzz of your vibrator pulses deep inside you. You match the rhythm of Javier’s thrusts, watching as he pistons his cock in and out of her, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling your living room.

You remember that day on set vividly. You’d been sick, your body still sore from the remnants of a cold, and you’d been eager to get it over with so you could go home and collapse into a warm bowl of pho.

But now, watching the scene play out in front of you, it’s like you’re seeing it for the first time—every detail heightened, every movement burned into your mind.

Javier’s fingers dig into her skin as he holds her in place, his hips grinding into her with force. Her face twists in bliss, and you can’t help but imagine what that must feel like, that deep, toe-curling sensation as he hits just the right spot. You let out another moan, the vibrator buzzing relentlessly as you try to keep up with the scene, your hips rocking in time with theirs.

When he leans down, wrapping his lips around her nipple, it’s like you can feel the phantom of his mouth on your own skin. You bring a hand up to your chest, pinching and twisting your nipple, slicking your fingers with spit to heighten the sensation. It’s almost too much, but you can’t stop yourself.

Your breathing quickens as you turn up the setting on the vibrator, the pleasure building, your back bending off the couch. You close your eyes and let your imagination take over, the image of Javier on top of you searing into your mind—his body, hot and heavy, pressing against yours, his teeth grazing your neck, his hands everywhere at once. You can feel him, hear the grunts and groans from the screen, but in your mind, it’s all for you.

“Nena, look at you,” Javier’s voice murmurs, low and rough in your mind, as he hitches your leg higher around his waist, his words melting into your skin like liquid heat. “Told you you’d look so beautiful spread out like this, taking my cock so well.”

A sharp gasp escapes you, your breath catching in your throat as your pussy clenches tightly around the vibrator, which suddenly feels less like a toy and more like him—big, thick, and filling you completely. You can almost feel the weight of him pressing against you, the way his cock would stretch you just right. Your lips part, another whimper escaping as the scene in your head becomes even more vivid.

“And those noises you’re making?” His voice, rich and dripping with desire, keeps echoing through your thoughts. “Baby, you drive me fucking,” his hips snap forward in your imagination, rough and unrelenting, “crazy,” another thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. Your neck arches back, exposing your throat like you’re inviting him to claim you, his mouth finding the sensitive skin behind your ear, marking you, biting you. His lips would feel so good, so possessive, leaving trails of heat wherever they touch.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers against your skin, his breath hot in your ear. “Even after not seeing your pretty face for two months, all I see when I close my eyes is you.”

His teeth graze your earlobe, and it sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Your hand moves from your breast down to your clit, fingers rubbing the tender nub with an urgency you can’t hold back any longer. You’re so close, so fucking close. 

“Oh, J-Javi,” you cry out, your voice breaking. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

The orgasm slams into you, cutting off your words, drowning your thoughts in white-hot pleasure. Your body spasms uncontrollably, juices dripping down as your vibrator hums between your legs. You’re shaking, utterly spent, your breath ragged, skin on fire.

“Good girl, nenita,” his voice purrs, the Spanish rolling off his tongue like honey. “Mira que belleza. It’s okay, I got you.”

It takes a moment for reality to snap back into place, the haze of pleasure lifting just enough for you to realize that he didn’t say it at all. It was the Javier on the screen, whispering sweet praise to the actress as he fucked her.

You lay there, boneless, too tired to care as the movie continues to play. But something feels off now, a strange sense of emptiness replacing the satisfaction you usually feel.

You pull the vibrator from between your legs, the wetness from your climax glistening on it as you flick the switch off and toss it carelessly onto the coffee table. You’ll clean it later.

Your body slumps against the cushions, head falling into your hands. “What the fuck did you just do?” You whisper to yourself.

Watching porn to get off? That’s normal, right? It’s what it’s made for. Lots of people do it. So why do you feel so… guilty? Is it because it was Javier? Of course it is. No matter how hard you try to push him out of your mind, he always finds a way back in—whether he’s there in front of you, or haunting you in the fantasies, you can’t seem to put him to rest.

And the timing? Not even an hour after being broken up with, and already you’ve let him worm his way back into your head, back into your body. It’s like he’s got you tangled up, literally and figuratively, even when he’s not here.

Unable to take any more of their exaggerated moans and whimpers, you reach for the remote and switch off the TV, the screen going dark as you eject the disc and shove it back into its case. You finally grab Pretty Woman, tossing it into the player without much thought, your head still spinning.

It’s only then that you remember the wine, the one thing that might actually help clear your head. You stand, sluggish and sore, pulling your clothes back on and heading downstairs to fetch that much-needed bottle, your thoughts still racing, still trying to untangle the mess that is Javier Peña lodged firmly in your mind.

“Just know, I didn’t plan this.”

Steve’s words make you squint in suspicion as he slides onto the barstool next to you, his usual spot. You’re about to ask what he means when your heart plummets—there he is. The familiar broad frame of the handsome man you’ve been trying—and failing—to scrub from your mind ever since your breakup two weeks ago. Hell, before then too.

“What’s he doing here?” you hiss, shooting Steve a glare so sharp it could cut glass.

“He caught me off guard, okay? Basically invited himself. Don’t make it weird,” he mutters, clearly trying to avoid your wrath.

You bite down hard on your tongue, trying to keep your frustration in check. But then your gaze collides with Javier’s, and it feels like the wind has been knocked out of you.

Those deep brown eyes, glinting beneath the dim lighting, pin you in place, stirring up everything you’ve been trying to bury. It’s infuriating how he seems even more attractive than the last time you saw him, like life just decided to up the ante on making him impossible to forget.

Clearing your throat, you force yourself to look away, frantically trying to busy your hands. Anything to keep from talking to him. But it’s hard to focus when every cell in your body is hyper-aware of his presence just a few feet away.

“I’m going on break!” Connie’s chirpy voice feels like nails on a chalkboard, and you don’t miss the way she winks at Steve before grabbing his arm and leading him to the back.

Ah, so that’s why he’s here earlier than usual. 

“Thirty minutes!” You shout after her, but your heart’s not in it. You’re too preoccupied with the fact that you’re now alone at the bar with Javier and a few of the happy hour regulars.

He leans forward on his elbows, casual but impossibly magnetic in a jean jacket and a cream-colored shirt. His sunglasses hang from the unbuttoned portion near his collarbones, and you can smell that familiar scent of cigarette smoke and cologne that’s been seared into your memory. “So this is the illustrious Lucky’s,” he says, his deep voice wrapping around you like a slow burn.

“The one and only,” you manage to reply, keeping your tone clipped.

“Been doin’ okay?”

“I’ve been managing.” Your words come out a little too quick, a little too defensive, but you can’t help it. 

He tilts his head, his gaze steady. “Still seeing that guy?”

There’s an unmistakable tinge of jealousy laced in his voice, and your heart skips a beat. You meet his eyes for a moment before going back to drying the cheap chalices your boss insisted on for an upcoming theme night.

“That guy has a name,” you correct him coolly. “But no. That ship sailed two weeks ago.”

A low hum escapes his throat, and he drums his fingers lightly against the countertop. “A shame.”

“Can I get you anything?” You ask, a little too forcefully. The question feels like a challenge, and from the way his eyes glint, you know he feels it too.

He lets the tension simmer between you for a moment before finally answering, “Just a Corona.”

“Lime?” 

“Of course, nena.”

That fucking term of endearment hits you like a punch to the gut. It’s what he’s always called you, ever since the very first time you met. And damn it, it’s the same name he whispers in your ear when you imagine him thrusting balls deep inside you, filling you with every inch of his cock.

Your breath hitches before you can stop it, the heat rising in your cheeks as you fumble for a lime. You slice it, hands shaking ever so slightly as you wedge it into the bottle, sliding it across the bar to him.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, his gaze burning with the unspoken tension that always builds when you’re around each other.

You can feel it too—the weight of all the unsaid things hanging in the air. All the desire. All the frustration.

He thanks you softly. “So, Steve finally got himself a girl.” He tries to continue the mundane conversation, amused as he leans in, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You try not to notice the way his neck muscles work when he takes a sip of his beer, but it’s impossible not to. You hate the way your body responds, the small flutter in your stomach that you wish would just stop.

“Yeah, he’s been chasing her for months, and she finally gave in. Probably the best thing that could’ve happened for both of them.”

A patron calls for your attention, and you gladly take the opportunity to escape the moment, throwing yourself into mixing a drink with practiced ease. But even as you pour and stir, you feel his eyes on you.

“You look happier here.” His voice breaks the silence when you return, the words almost lazy as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Fake happiness. It’s what gets the tips.”

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he says, leaning in a little, eyes narrowing. “But the way you’re moving back there—you know what you’re doing. I don’t think I ever saw you crack a single smile while we were on set.”

“I did,” you shoot back, feeling your pulse quicken. “Just none of them were directed at you.” The animosity in your tone surprises even you, and you catch the way his brow furrows, a flash of hurt crossing his face.

You quickly smooth it over with a smirk. “Besides, not much to smile about when people are getting fucked stupid in front of a camera.”

“Back to the familiar song and dance, huh?” His voice is steady, but there’s a sharpness beneath the surface.

You scoff, shaking your head as you wipe your hands on your apron. “What are you doing here, Javier?” This time, the question comes out more straight to the point.

He looks at you for a beat, partially confused, “Drinking a beer…”

“At this specific bar, where I’ve worked for two years and you’ve never once showed up until today. Why?” 

For a moment, the two of you stare at each other, locked in a silent standoff. He’s reading you just as you’re trying to read him, both of you too proud—or too scared—to make the next move. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“You want the truth?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“I’ve missed you, nena.”

Your stomach drops and you force yourself to keep your face neutral, but it’s hard. “I regret asking,” you mutter, glancing at your watch. Connie has fifteen minutes left on her break, then you’re done for the night. You’ll be free—at least from the bar, if not from the weight of this conversation.

“Ever since you left,” he continues, not giving you the out you desperately want, “I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re so standoffish. You say it’s because you don’t like me, but I just don’t think that’s true.”

“Well,” you bite out, “assuming has never gotten you anywhere worth being at, right?”

He rubs a hand over his mustache. He’s thinking, trying to find the right words.

“Right,” he finally agrees, tone softer now, more thoughtful. “Listen, I’ve never been good at the whole… talking thing. It’s been my downfall for as long as I can remember.”

Despite yourself, you give him a look that encourages him to keep going.

“And the shit between us? It’s weird. I’d like to move on, but I can’t. You’ve somehow managed to get into every fucking corner of my mind, and no matter what I do, I can’t shake you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You suck in a sharp breath, your fingers gripping the wooden countertop. His words hit too close to home because they echo the feelings you’ve been wrestling with since you walked away from him.

Do you admit it? Do you tell him that he’s been haunting your thoughts just as much? Or do you keep it all locked up, close to your chest, where it’s safe and won’t blow up in your face later?

“What do you really want, Javier?” You don’t have time for games, and if he’s here to throw another curveball into your life, you’d rather snip it before it gets any worse.

He pauses, running a hand through his hair, then looks back at you with an expression you haven’t seen in a while—one that’s sincere. “I just want a moment to talk to you,” he says softly. “No bullshit this time. Just you and me.”

You wrestle with yourself, unsure if you want to give in. You’ve heard him talk like this before, but something feels different. He seems like he’s laying all his cards out, but you’ve been hurt enough to know better than to let your guard down too quickly.

Your eyes flick to the clock on the wall, counting the minutes until your shift ends. You chew on your lip, deliberating with yourself, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you try to make a decision.

Finally, after a beat, you let out a long breath and nod. “I’m off in twenty minutes,” you say, voice steady. “We can talk at my place, but this is the last time we have this conversation, Javier. No more of this back and forth.”

His face lights up, unmistakably relieved, and for a second, you see that glimmer of hope in his eyes. He sits a little taller, less tense, and his smile is soft but genuine. “Thank you,” he says, almost under his breath, like he wasn’t sure you’d agree. “I parked a few blocks down. I can come get you—”

You cut him off, pointing upward. “I live upstairs.”

Javier blinks, then chuckles, the tension between you easing slightly with that simple realization. “Oh,” he says, a little sheepish. “Okay.” For some reason, that small exchange makes both of you laugh—genuine, real laughter, the kind you haven’t shared in a while. It’s a brief moment of lightness before the weight of everything settles back in.

But before either of you can say more, you’re pulled back to the present as the place picks up with a small rush. The door swings open, and a few regulars take their usual spots, dragging you back into your role behind the bar. Javier moves out of the way, leaning back against his stool, watching you as you work.

It doesn’t take long for Connie to return, looking slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed from whatever she and Steve were up to in the back. You raise an eyebrow, giving her a teasing smirk as she approaches. “Thirty minutes, huh? You sure you didn’t need forty?” You quip, poking fun at her the same way she did to you on Halloween night.

She narrows her eyes at you, but there’s a playful glint in them. “Shut up,” she mutters, straightening her apron. “You know I could’ve dragged it out longer if I wanted.”

You shake your head, chuckling as you hand over the bar to the guy coming in to replace you. Your shift is finally over, and you can feel the tension easing from your shoulders. With one last glance at the clock, you turn toward Javier, who’s still waiting, watching you with that familiar intensity.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice more casual than you feel.

He nods, pushing off the counter to follow you out. Thankfully, Steve had left, but as you pass Connie, you don’t miss the way her eyes widen when she sees the sexy guy trailing behind you. She gives you a look—half amused, half impressed—and you can practically hear her thoughts.

You give her a small wave, shrugging off her knowing smirk as you push through the door, stepping out into the cool evening air.

He follows behind you silently as you climb the narrow staircase to your apartment, the low hum of the bar fading with each step. You can feel his presence like a warm current, that quiet intensity that always seems to wrap around you when he’s near. The proximity makes you hyper-aware of every sound—the creak of the steps beneath your feet, the soft rustle of his jacket as he moves, his shaky breaths from his lungs working overtime due to his constant smoking.

When you finally reach the top and push the door open, you step aside to let him in. He takes a slow look around, his eyes sweeping over the small but cozy space. Despite its shabby appearance—the chipped paint on the walls, the secondhand furniture—it’s undeniably yours.

The throw blankets on the couch, the mismatched mugs on the kitchen counter, the books scattered about. It’s lived-in and comfortable, and you catch the way Javier’s lips twitch in what might be a smile as he takes it all in.

“Okay,” you say, arms crossing as you stand by the kitchenette, keeping a reasonable distance between you. “What now? We’re here. It’s just me and you. What do you have to say to me?”

He hesitates for a moment, running a hand through his hair like he’s bracing himself. Then, he just… spills his guts. “I want you to give me one chance. Just one date,” he says, the words tumbling out faster than you expect. “I know I’ve screwed up before, and I know I’ve been cocky, but… I like you. Like, really like you. More than I’ve let on.”

You blink quickly. You weren’t expecting this—certainly not Javier Peña, of all people, to stand in your apartment and confess to having a legitimate crush on you. “No way,” you mutter, in time with your thoughts, a nervous giggle escaping before you can stop it.

It sounds ridiculous in your head, and even more absurd out loud. He likes you? He doesn’t even know you!

His frown deepens, his jaw tightening as if your reaction stings. “I’m serious,” he’s insistent, his dark eyes locking with yours.

You shake your head, still struggling to process this. “You just got tired of screwing around with all the pretty stars, so now you’re going after someone different. Trying a new flavor of the month by chasing after a girl on the crew.”

“Technically, you’re not on the crew anymore—” he starts, but cuts himself off when he sees the daggers you’re sending him.

He steps a little closer, his tone quieter but more earnest. “You told me earlier that assuming has never gotten me anywhere worth being at. So take your own advice, nena, and stop assuming I’m chasing after you for all the wrong reasons.”

There’s no trace of his usual bravado, no cocky grin or smooth line to disarm you. Just sincerity. And it’s that, more than anything, that makes you pause. For real this time.

“So I’m not just someone to scratch off your list?” You ask, daring him to lie.  

“Wha— no.”

“You really mean it?”  

“Do I need to get on my knees to convince you I’m serious?”  

“That’d be the least serious thing you could do.”  

His mouth twitches up into a half smirk. “So? Will you let me take you out?”

This feels like if you so much as blink, the moment will dissolve—nothing but smoke and mirrors. 

“Okay,” you breathe. “But if it doesn’t work out… then that’s it. You don’t come around here again. You leave me alone. For good.”  

His eyes narrow, but he nods, accepting the ultimatum.  

“Fair enough.” His voice dips into something dark and velvety, a timbre that’s all too familiar. It’s the same voice you’ve heard behind the camera, in the tape that you got yourself off to—low, coaxing, a caress in itself. And damn him, it’s working on you again. “I promise, you won’t regret it.”  

“When?” You ask him.

“You’re the one who works weekends. You tell me.”

“Next Saturday?” You offer, trying to sound casual.

“It’s a date.”  

A flutter of nerves skitters through your chest and you almost laugh again, so giddy, but you clamp down on it.

“Alright... I’ll walk you out.” Your voice sounds awkward to your own ears, but your feet stay rooted to the spot. So does he.  

His gaze sharpens. “You know,” he starts, rubbing his jaw in that infuriatingly familiar way, “Robbie kept saying you ‘broke’ me after that Malibu shoot with Mariella.” He air quotes broke and your expression turns confused.

“Well… he’s an idiot.”  

“He’s not wrong, though,” Javi murmurs, stepping closer, the space between you vanishing.  

Your breath hitches. “Javi…” you warn, but it sounds weak—like a plea dressed as a protest.  

“You were right.” His voice dips again, softer now, but no less dangerous. “Sleeping with barely-legal girls felt... wrong. The whole scene was just fucked. It took me too long to realize it.” He leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “But that’s not what broke me.”  

Your pulse stutters. “Then what?”  

“You,” he whispers, moving closer, until the heat of his body presses against yours. “Your voice. Your eyes.” His gaze dips to your mouth, and your knees threaten to give out. “Those soft lips you won’t let me kiss absolutely fucking broke me.”

Your lower back presses hard against the counter, pinned by the sheer gravity of him closing in. His scent is dizzying.  

Your nipples harden, tightening with each shallow breath you take, the heat between you wrapping around your body like a fever. Now that you’ve stopped fighting it, the tide of lust pulls you under, dragging you into the undertow.

He can’t just say these things to you and expect you to remain sane. Especially not after all your wet dreams he’s been the star of.

“The others don’t do it for me anymore and I’m not popping a pill to get fuckin’ hard.” He cages you in, planting both hands on the counter at your sides. His arms flex, his body crowding yours, then he leans in, his nose brushing the tip of yours in the kind of touch that feels both too soft and too intimate.

“Just standing here with you…” His hips roll forward, pressing against you. The solid ridge of his cock rubs against your stomach through his jeans, and the friction sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

You gasp, lips parting as you go weak.

“Oh…” you breathe, shakily, your voice barely more than a whimper. You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to keep some semblance of control, but his gaze locks onto the movement.

“I want to take care of you, nena. Por favor.” His voice drips with need, every word laced with intent. “Let me make you feel good again. I need to make you feel good.”

Memories flash like lightning—the way his mouth felt between your thighs and how it left such an impression that you quit your fucking job (okay maybe not because of that necessarily but it was a butterfly effect)

“Javi…” Your voice is a strained warning, as you press your hand to his shoulder, ready to push him back if you needed to throw some metaphorical ice on this heated moment to chill both of you the fuck out. “I’m not going to fuck you right now.”

“I’m not asking you to…” His hand comes up to take yours at his shoulder into his, bringing it up to his lips to give it a gentle kiss.

God, you just about come right then and there.

“You want to go down on me again?”

He groans, his mouth grazing your knuckles as if tasting you again. “I’ll always want that. Always.” His voice is strained. “But tonight, pretty girl, I just—fuck—I need to feel you.”

“But you just said—”

“I know baby,” he cradles your face and you let him, horny out of your mind and absolutely under his spell. “Just let me put the tip in.”

“What?” You ask, moving back from him to stare up into his eyes.

“The head of my cock. Let me put it in and feel how wet and warm you are.” 

Your thighs clench instinctively, the ache between them growing unbearable. Images of his cock flood your mind—thick, veined, and heavy, flashing like a montage you can’t shake.

The thought of him, so close, pressing inside just enough to tease, makes your breath catch in your throat.

“I-I’ve never done that before... isn’t that—” You shake your head, struggling to wrap your mind around the idea.

“It’ll feel so good, I promise. If you don’t like it I’ll pull out and leave.”

His eyes still hold that sincerity from before, and it tugs at your heart, which has moved its pulse downstairs at the thought of feeling just a little bit of him.

It’s intoxicating, giving you the power to decide just how much of him you’ll take. How deep he’ll bury himself. How much you’ll let him fuck into you. 

A moan slips from your lips, unbidden, and his eyes darken, his jaw tightening at the sound. He’s holding back, but barely—waiting, craving, needing your consent like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

“Fuck,” you whisper, already lost. “Whatever, just do it. Do it before I change my mind.”

You squeal as he spins you around, your hands coming up to steady yourself against the counter.

You went out and bought a mini denim skirt after seeing it on the pornstar he fucked in the tow truck scene because you thought it was cute, and now you’re sort of living out that fantasy here with him as he pushes it up high on your hips, exposing your very lackluster underwear.

“Damn…” His hands are all over you, kneading your ass, the rough squeeze of his palms making you whine, back arching instinctively for more. “These are hot as fuck.”

Your cheeks heat up, because no way he thinks your mauve colored hipsters are hot.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and drags them down your legs, letting them pool at your ankles. You step out of them, still in your sneakers, feeling utterly exposed. But the way he looks at you makes you feel desired.

With a firm hand, he presses against the small of your back, coaxing you into a deeper arch. His hands glide down your thighs, strong fingers gripping where your knee bends, lifting your leg and placing it on the counter. The shift spreads you open for him, your slick, swollen folds glistening in the dim light.

“Fuck...” His voice is pure gravel, rough with need, as he drinks in the sight of you. And then he drops to his knees, right behind you, and buries his face between your legs.

“Oh my—fuck!” you cry, jerking forward against the counter, totally unprepared for the onslaught of his tongue.

He doesn’t hold back—doesn’t ease you into it—just dives in like a man possessed, his mouth working you over with fervor. The obscene sounds of his tongue dragging through your wetness and the desperate groans vibrating from his throat make your head spin. You’re shaking, trying to catch your breath, but it’s useless with the way he devours you.

He licks every inch of your pussy, his tongue flat and broad one second, sharp and focused the next, flicking across your clit with precision. When he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, the wet suction sends sparks shooting through your body.

Your forehead thuds against the cabinet in front of you as you babble out his name in breathless, broken curses, pleasure building in tight, pulsing waves. Your legs tremble under his relentless attention, and it feels like he’s not just eating you out—he’s worshiping you, savoring every moment like a man starved.

“Javi—oh my—fuck!” You can barely string two words together, the intensity of it dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he buries his face deeper, groaning like he can’t get enough of you. And god dammit, you love it. You love the way he’s lost in you, the way his tongue moves like he knows exactly how to pull you apart. It’s filthy, messy, perfect.

He pulls back after a few minutes, reluctantly breaking away from the warmth of you, even though every fiber in his body begs him to stay—tongue, nose, and fingers lost in your sweetness for hours, watching you unravel again and again. He forces himself to move, savoring the way your breath stutters in frustration at the loss.  

The soft metallic clink of his belt buckle being undone makes your heart race, and your pussy clenches reflexively, aching to be filled.  

“Mmm, she’s ready for me, isn’t she?” He’s so smug, watching the way your cunt flutters at the mere thought of his cock sliding inside you. Even just the tip.  

You don’t answer—you can’t answer. The anticipation has stolen every word, every coherent thought from your brain. All you hear is the pounding rush of blood in your ears.

Javier steps in closer, the heat of his body pressing against your back. His hand snakes around you, rough fingers brushing your chin before hovering just beneath your lips.  

“Spit,” he commands, his tone low and firm.  

Like the desperate thing you are, you part your lips without hesitation, letting a hot thread of saliva drip into his waiting palm.  

A deep, approving grunt rumbles from his chest. “Good girl.”  

Your cheeks burn at the praise, and you clench again as he takes your offering, wrapping his wet palm around the thick length of his cock. He strokes himself slowly, hissing through his teeth, the slick sound of his fist dragging over his shaft making your breath hitch.  

Then, without warning, you feel the velvety head of his cock glide through the slick folds of your cunt.  

Both of you shudder—your soft whimper mingling with his guttural groan.  

He drags the swollen tip along your slit, gathering your arousal, and when he nudges it against your throbbing clit, your hips jerk instinctively.  

“Relax, bella,” he warns, his hand tightening on your waist to steady you. “Unless you want me to bust my load all over this pretty clit right now.”  

That filthy mouth of his makes you want to slap him—and kiss him—until you both can’t breathe.  

He keeps teasing you both, swirling the sensitive head over your clit again, tapping it lightly against the swollen bundle of nerves. Your thighs tremble with need, and your pussy clenches again, desperate to take him inside.  

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice gravelly with restraint as he lines himself up with your entrance. “So fucking wet…”  

He tilts his hips just enough to press the head of his cock against your dripping hole, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him.  

“¿Lista?” he whispers, his voice softer now, more intimate. He leans in, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck, trailing gentle kisses over your skin between ragged breaths.  

You nod frantically, not trusting your voice to form words.  

Then, slowly—achingly slow—he pushes the tip inside.  

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear.  

A sharp, breathless moan escapes you as he stretches you open, your cunt greedily sucking him in. The sensation is electric, overwhelming—just enough to tease, just enough to leave you craving more.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Why the fuck does this feel so good?

Javier groans, forehead pressed to your shoulder, his cock twitching inside you as he fights to keep from plunging deeper. “Puta madre nenita, this pussy esta tan rica.” 

He stills, savoring the way your tight heat wraps around just the tip of him. His blunt fingernails dig into the skin of your hips as he struggles to keep his hips from moving.

But you can’t help it. Your hips move on their own, rolling back just enough to take more of him inside, the smooth slide of his length sending sparks through your body. A whimper slips from your lips as your walls clench around what little of him you have, the stretch so good it has your eyes fluttering shut, your head tipping forward.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” he growls, low and dangerous, and the sound of it shoots straight to your cunt.

You whine softly, biting your lip, as he drags the inches you stole back out, leaving just the swollen head nestled at your entrance. The tease is unbearable, like dangling water in front of someone dying of thirst.

“Javi, I can’t help it,” you moan, the frustration bubbling over into a pout. Your hand drifts down between your thighs, fingers brushing your slick, needy clit. You need something—anything—to relieve the pressure.

His hand is lightning fast, grabbing your wrist and yanking it back to the counter. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He sounds almost offended.

“I need to feel something,” you whimper, shifting your hips desperately against him.

He clicks his tongue, as if scolding you, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re already feeling the head of this cock, aren’t you? And you’re still being greedy, trying to touch this pretty little pussy after I told you I’d take care of you.”

His hand slides from your waist, gliding lower, fingers hovering just above where you need him most. The promise of his touch makes your thighs quiver, and you let out a desperate little whine, arching your back in a silent plea.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, his voice low and rough, thick with control barely held in check.

You know exactly what he looks like—jaw tight, eyes burning with hunger, teeth gritted as he holds back from sinking all the way into you. And it makes you ache even more.

“Touch me, Javi, please,” you beg, your voice a breathy, needy little mewl. You throw your head back against his shoulder, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, batting your lashes shamelessly.

A low, satisfied hum vibrates from his chest, and his fingers finally press against your slick, swollen folds. He groans softly as he feels how you’re stretching around the head of his cock, his fingertips tracing the puffy lips before circling lazily over your throbbing clit.

“Ohhh, just like that,” you moan, the sound slipping from you naturally, raw and unfiltered—nothing like the exaggerated performances he’s used to. This is real, and it only makes him harder.

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his breath hot against your neck, “I can’t wait to ruin this pussy, nenita. Gonna make you feel better than any malparido before me.”

His fingers keep working your clit, slow and steady, each stroke dragging you closer to madness. Your hips start to grind against his hand and the blunt head of his cock, desperate for more, for everything.

And the way he’s talking—like you’re his to wreck, his to please—makes you feel like you’ll lose your mind.

You suck in a sharp breath, feeling the jealousy dancing on his fingertips as he works your clit faster, his movements switching between precision and wild hunger.

He rolls the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it just hard enough to make you gasp. Then, his touch softens—soothing circles, spreading your slick everywhere—before he tugs at your swollen nub, sending shocks of pleasure deep into your core, like fireworks are exploding down there.

“Tell me,” he growls, voice rough with possessiveness. “Did he fuck you good?”

The blunt tip of his cock stays snug at your entrance, and every pinch, every flick of his fingers makes your walls clench greedily around it, desperate for more.

“W-Who?” you whimper, genuinely lost in the haze of his touch. Your mind has melted, everything but the sensations he’s feeding you slipping away like vapor.

That answer pleases him—makes something wicked curl in his chest. His grin presses against your neck, and the wet heat of his tongue drags a slow, deliberate stripe along your skin. Then, he bites down, sucking hard, marking you in that one spot you’ve only ever dreamt of him nipping at.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs, voice dripping with satisfaction.

Your hand finds his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your neck. The heat swirling in your belly tightens to a near-breaking point, your orgasm creeping up on you with every flick of his relentless fingers.

“Javi—fuck—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, voice breaking, sounding needy and pitiful.

“I know, baby,” he rasps. “I can feel her gettin’ all tight and messy for me. C’mon, nena, let it happen. I’ve got you.”

He keeps his pace steady—no sudden changes, no wild moves—just the same focused rhythm he’s built up, making your nerves sing, each flick and stroke a perfectly calibrated promise of release.

Your body responds like it always does for him: beautifully. His name falls from your lips like a sweet song. Your hips grind instinctively, chasing the steady friction of his slick fingers.

“More, Javi—oh, please—more,” you gasp, knowing exactly what you need, what only he can give you. You’re ready for him to shove deep inside, to fill you, stretch you, ruin you with the thick cock still teasing your entrance.

If you had said this maybe five minutes ago, he would have obliged, but he’s got a point to prove now. And that point is restraint—his self control.

“Not tonight, pretty girl,” he murmurs darkly, laden with lust and dominance. “You’re gonna come just like this.”

Then, without warning, his hand shifts, and he slaps your pussy—once, twice, three times. The sound is wet and obscene, and the sharp sting sends a shockwave straight to your core.

That’s what breaks you. Your orgasm crashes over you like a violent, unstoppable wave, ripping through your body with terrifying force.

“Fuck—Javi!” you scream, your walls fluttering and pulsing wildly around the head of his cock, soaking his hand in your release as your legs threaten to give out beneath you.

He groans, watching you unravel for him, every twitch and spasm feeding his ego. His fingers don’t stop—stroking you through the aftershocks, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body.

Your vision swims, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the euphoria leaves you floating, weightless. And even though he hasn’t buried himself inside you like you wanted, somehow, this feels even more intimate—like he’s branded himself into you without needing to fuck you at all.

The way your pussy grips him sends a shudder down his spine, and with a strangled curse, his balls tighten, his climax hot on the heels of yours. 

“Fuck—” he groans, yanking his cock out just in time, the thick spurts of his cum painting your slick, swollen pussy, making a filthy mess.

Both of you pant, trying to catch your breath, the room heavy with the scent of sex. A sharp hiss escapes your lips as his fingers slide lazily through your soaked folds, mixing the remnants of both your pleasure. When he gathers the sticky blend on his fingers and brings them to your mouth, the hunger in his gaze makes your heart race.  

“Have a taste, baby.”

Without hesitation, you part your lips, taking his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them with obscene enthusiasm. You moan at the heady, salty taste—like liquid sin on your tongue. It’s addictive, and you suck greedily until his fingers are spotless, releasing them with a wet pop that makes his eyes darken further.  

You glance up at him over your shoulder, lips slightly swollen from your efforts. 

“You okay?” he asks, his tone soft.

You nod, still dazed, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. “Better than okay. That was... wow.”  

His soft grin blooms into a cocky smirk, and he helps clean you up before gently moving your leg off the counter. As he tucks himself back into his jeans, you adjust your skirt, smoothing it down with shaky hands.  

“Where are my panties?” you ask, glancing around, still floating in the afterglow.  

He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling them out with a sly grin. “Oh, these?”  

You reach for them, but he swiftly lifts them out of reach.  

“I think I’ll hold onto them.”  

Heat rises to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes at him, but the lazy, satisfied smile on your lips betrays your mock indignation. “Why? Perv.”  

His grin widens, unabashed. “A little memento… to remind me of this. I’ll give them back next Saturday.” He slips them back into his pocket.

You roll your eyes, too blissed out to care. “I can’t believe we just did that.”  

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you, the warmth of his embrace catching you off guard. After all the resistance you’ve given him, letting him hold you like this feels foreign.

“Told you it’d feel good,” he murmurs smugly, his lips brushing your temple. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to cave first and beg for the whole thing, though.”  

You scoff, giving his hip a playful pinch. “I got caught up in the heat of the moment, okay? You might’ve scored a date and... a semi-fuck, but I’m still sticking to those boundaries. For now.”  

“Does that mean I still can’t kiss you?”  

Oh, hell. He’s already been inside you—well, kind of. What’s one little kiss? But no. You’re trying to make a point here.  

“Nope,” you reply, stopping him with a finger pressed lightly against his lips just as he leans in. “Not until you buy me dinner first.”  

His smirk deepens, and instead of protesting, he kisses the tip of your finger. 

“Deal.”

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🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories

@greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl .

🏷️ : @pasc4lfuzz . @sjc7542 . @almostfoxglove . @shy-taylorsversion . @theredvelvetbitch

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[hookingminor]

4 times you took care of him + 1 time he took care of you - nico hischier

a/n: rewrite of an old fic of mine

cw: brief mentions of blood, stitches, alcohol

word count: 7.4k

summary: nico is the cute neighbor boy across the hall

-

1. 

Sunday nights were your nights. After a long week of studying and working crazy hours, you only had one day to yourself where you weren’t running around like a chicken with its head cut off and could take five minutes to finally breathe. 

Sundays were also the only days you actually took the time to make yourself dinner. Most of your days were either spent in class or at the hospital, so you never prepared anything that couldn’t be done in less than ten minutes. Sometimes you were so lazy that you just counted on cafeteria food and granola bars to hold you over before having cereal for dinner and crashing by eleven o’clock.

Tonight’s specialty was your own take on a carbonara with some grilled chicken on the top. It wasn’t anything fancy, but you had been working on a recipe to perfect this for nearly three months now, and you were almost satisfied with the results.

It was in the middle of adding the finishing touches by combining the pasta and the sauce when you heard a knock on your door. Setting the towel on the counter and reducing the stove heat to a low simmer, you made your way to answer the door.

“Oh, hi, Nico,” you said with surprise when you saw your neighbor on the other side. He lived across the hall from you, but you rarely saw him in the building. Still, it wasn’t hard to notice that he was incredibly attractive.

“Hi,” he greeted you. The smells of your dinner wafted over him, and he peeked over your head to catch a glimpse of what you were preparing. 

“I just stopped by to drop this off,” he said, handing you an envelope. “They keep mixing up our mailboxes.”

“Thank you,” you replied as you glanced down at the letter. “I have a few for you as well, hold on just a second.”

You turned away from the door and walked back towards the kitchen to where you kept a stash of his mail. You’d been meaning to drop it off, but your hours at home never coincided with each other. 

Granted, you could have slipped it under his door, but you really just wanted an excuse to talk to the cute neighbor boy. You were just waiting until you worked up the nerve to knock on his door.

Nico took a few steps into your apartment, not wanting to overstep but also not wanting to stand in the hall awkwardly as you rummaged through some papers. As he waited, his eyes wandered back over to the stove where you were cooking some type of pasta. 

His stomach growled lowly as the smell of seasoned chicken and sauces flooded his senses, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything in nearly five hours.

“Sorry,” he said with a blush. There was no way you hadn’t heard that grumble. “Guess I forgot to eat something after practice.”

“Did you want some?” You asked almost too eagerly. “I mean, I made quite a bit,” you backtracked quickly, “I usually survive the week on leftovers.”

“No, it’s okay,” he chuckled, but Nico wanted nothing more than to shove a forkful of whatever you had made into his mouth. “I’ll probably just order something for delivery.”

“Please, I insist,” you persisted, “I made a lot, and your food won’t be here for, like, another hour at least.” God, you were coming off as desperate, and you mentally slapped yourself for it.

He looked at you hesitantly, obviously not wanting to intrude, but damn if he wasn’t really hungry.

You didn’t wait for his reply before dropping the mail back where it was and crossing the kitchen to the stove. Pulling out an extra plate, you began piling it with pasta and chicken, and Nico figured it was too late to refuse you again.

“Take a seat,” you suggested as you plated a dish for yourself. “You’re not an intrusion, I promise. I don’t get a lot of company anyways.”

“Busy life?” Nico asked. It was then that he realized he really didn’t know much about you despite having run into you multiple times in the hallways.

“You could say that,” you chuckled humorlessly. It was a combination of being both busy and having no friends, but you weren’t about to tell him that. 

“What do you do?” He questioned as he rested his elbows on the table.

“I’m a nursing student, so I spend all my time studying or working at the hospital,” you explained as you brought the plates over to the table. He mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ when you set his food down in front of him. It looked delicious. Nico’s skills in the kitchen were subpar to say the least; he couldn’t make anything that didn’t come with box instructions or wasn’t baked chicken and vegetables. So having an actual home cooked meal was starting to feel like Christmas.

“Is that why I only ever see you coming home at midnight?” He wondered, picking up a fork to take a bite.

Nico was right, it was delicious. 

“Yeah, hours are a little crazy for me right now, but they should settle down once I graduate,” you replied as you took a bite. It was your best carbonara yet, but it wasn’t quite perfect. “What about you? Why are you always coming home at midnight?”

You’d never talked to him much after that first day when he helped you with a couple boxes as you moved in. Most of your interactions were restricted to passing each other in the halls and the polite conversation about how your day was going and the weather.

“I, uh, play hockey,” he started, “and we get back from road trips really late sometimes.”

“No shit, really?” Your eyes widened in shock, “like you play for the Devils?” You weren’t well versed in sports in general, and even less so in New Jersey sports. However, you did hear chatter around from your classmates and coworkers about various games.

Nico nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah, I’m the captain.” Every revelation about him continued to shock you.

“So I’m dining with New Jersey royalty then, huh?” You teased after a moment. Even though you didn’t know much, you did know the Devils were doing exceptionally well at the moment.

He blushed at your compliment, “I’m not royalty.”

“Your team’s current record says otherwise given the team’s horrendous past ,” you commented, dropping the little bit of knowledge you knew as you overheard your lab partner go on about the Devils’ hot streak.

Nico raised his eyebrows in surprise at your statement.

“I’m not an actual fan, so don’t test me,” you chuckled at his surprise, “My lab partner is always talking about the Devils, and I may have unknowingly processed some of the information.”

“It’s not because of me. The team’s just doing well in general,” he brushed it off casually, but you knew that wasn’t totally the case. The team may be good, but good leadership can be what makes or breaks them.

“So you’re not a big cook then, I presume?” You asked instead, changing the subject to something else. Nico probably talked about hockey enough with other people, you didn’t want to bore him even more.

“You could say that,” he said, repeating your phrase from earlier. “If it’s not something a seven year old could make, it’s not something I could make.” He had barely registered that he’d finished off everything on his plate by now while you were still finishing yours.

“Did you want more?” You asked, noticing his empty plate, but Nico shook his head.

“No, thank you, this was more than enough,” Nico insisted. “I’ve bothered you enough tonight.”

“Really, I don’t mind,” you said, clearing off your plate. “It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t asking me about upcoming exams or patient reports or asking for more painkillers.”

“It’s nice not talking about hockey, too,” he agreed.

Rising from your seat, you took his plate and yours to the sink as you were both now finished.

“I got this,” Nico said quickly, following you to the sink and lightly hip checking you out the way. “I do know basic manners. You cooked, so I’ll clean.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but the look on his face said the conversation was already over, and he grabbed the sponge with one hand. Deciding to leave it alone, you held your hands up in surrender and backed away from the sink. While he was busy, you packed up the leftovers into a plastic container.

“I make dinner every Sunday,” you said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “So, if you want, you’re always free to join me.” You didn’t look at him when you said this, trying to keep it casual and so he wouldn’t see the way your face was riddled with embarrassment. You were trying to subtly ask him to come over more, and you didn’t want to be faced with his rejection.

You heard the sink shutoff and saw his body turn towards yours out of the corner of your eyes as he leaned against the counter.

“I’d really like that,” he said, “but I do have one condition though.” You looked up and met his gaze with raised brows.

“You have to teach me how to cook,” he continued with an easy grin as he dried off his hands with a towel.

“You’ve got a deal,” you agreed, matching his smile with one of your own.

You sent Nico home that night with the leftover carbonara and his mail despite his protests, but you argued that he couldn’t live off takeout forever and that you could always make more food whereas he could not.

The next Sunday he had showed up around dinner time once again, this time bringing over a plate of cookies that he most definitely bought at the store but tried to play off as baking them himself. He had said if you were going to be doing a majority of the work, the least he could do was bring you something in return.

Every Sunday after that Nico was at your place. On the off chance he was out of town, he always left you a note on your door saying he wouldn’t be making it and notifying you of when he’d see you next. You didn’t need the notes, he didn’t have to tell you whether or not he was coming, but they made your heart flutter every time you came home and saw a blue sticky note waiting for you. 

You taught him a few staple dishes, mainly how to cook pasta and rice and some salads. His capabilities weren’t all that vast, and he wanted to remain in the realm of foods that weren’t too complicated so he couldn’t fuck up.

Making dinner with Nico turned into messing around in the kitchen for a couple hours most of the time. You teased him about his chopping abilities and he teased you every time your small hands dropped something due to your lack of coordination, to which you complained how not everyone could be a professional athlete. 

And every time you two ate at your same spots at the table, sometimes splitting a bottle of wine that Nico would bring over. 

Every once in a while Nico would arrive with a bag of takeout in his hand, declaring that you needed a break from all the cooking. There was no reason to have dinner together since it wasn’t under the guise of teaching him something new, but you still welcomed him nonetheless.

Sundays were no longer your nights, but that was perfectly fine by you as long as you could keep sharing them with Nico.

-

2. 

Nico was getting a little desperate. 

Two months had passed since he started coming over for weekly dinners, and he was making no progress. It’s not like he was really trying, though. If he was being honest, he wasn’t quite sure how to flirt with a woman without the intention of sleeping with her.

Which isn’t to say he didn’t want to sleep with you because he definitely did, it just wasn’t all that he wanted.

He hoped he conveyed interest on his part, but he wasn’t positive you were picking up on his hints. Or maybe you just weren’t into him.

So, he decided to take it one step further. He bought some plants.

Nico knew next to nothing about plants other than that they needed water, but he’d noticed you kept a few in your apartment near your large window.

Once again, he found himself knocking on your door, but this time you weren’t expecting it.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked him when you opened the door. It wasn’t like him to show up to your place out of the blue.

“I wanted to ask you a favor,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got a week long roadie and was wondering if, maybe, you’d look after my plants?”

“Oh yeah, definitely, I can do that,” you said with a smile.

“Do you have a minute right now? I can show them to you really quick,” he asked, gesturing with his arm to his door. You nodded your head in agreement, and Nico took a few steps backward to let you into his apartment.

You followed him through the entrance and paused briefly. His apartment layout was the exact same as yours only flipped. He walked until he hit the same balcony window where you kept your plants, and you saw he had about four small pots along with a large pot that sat in the corner.

“This is the gang,” he introduced, spreading his arms to show them off.

“This is so cute,” you chuckled, stepping closer to get a better look at the plants. You noticed one of them was also one you had.

“I’m going to be honest,” he started. “I only recently bought them, so I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Well, they seem to be still living, so you haven’t done anything too bad,” you teased lightly.

“Oh, let me get the spare key for you,” he said suddenly before he turned and left you alone to fetch the key.

Nico returned less than a minute later, small black key fob in his hand. You opened your hand for him to place it in your palm.

“When will you be back?” You asked, stretching back up from your squatted position.

“Next Wednesday,” he clarified, “and I leave tomorrow.” You nodded.

There wasn’t much more to say, so you told him a brief ‘good luck’ on his roadie before leaving. Returning to your own, you made a mental note to check in on his plants tomorrow.

The following afternoon, you let yourself into Nico’s apartment with the key he’d given you. You read the sticky note he left for you on the counter, the words reading ‘in case of an emergency’ along with his phone number.

You rolled your eyes at the note, laughing lightly at his phrasing of ‘in case of an emergency.’ You hardly thought watering plants would cause a catastrophic event, but the gesture was cute.

Filling up a few cups of water, you made your way over to his plants and distributed the water throughout until you’d gone over all of them. Before you could think better of it, you snapped a picture of the plants in the window before opening a text thread to Nico.

You: First day all done! :)

He didn’t reply for a few hours, but that was okay because you hadn’t expected him to reply at all.

Nico: They’re looking better already!

Ever since that first day, you began exchanging messages. His replies were sporadic, but you didn’t mind; he was a busy guy. Still, he managed to text you whenever he could, and your conversations quickly turned away from his plants to other subjects. 

You recommended some new shows for him to watch while he was on road trips, and he told you where his favorite takeout restaurants were when you felt too lazy to cook. 

Honestly, Sundays didn’t feel the same without him, but you didn’t tell him you stopped cooking when he didn’t show up.

Even when Nico was back in town, you found yourself texting him frequently in your classes and also on your breaks, and Nico found himself waking up every morning looking forward to whatever message you’d sent after he’d fallen asleep.

-

3. 

The incessant pounding at your door woke you up from your sleep. You knew who it was immediately as there was only one person who visited you, and you were ready to yell at him after you answered the door. 

Throwing on a sweatshirt, you stomped your way to the door and shouted out, “I’m coming!” so Nico could take the hint to shut the hell up.

“Oh my god, Nico,” you groaned as you threw open the door, “It’s two in the fucking morning.” But it wasn’t Nico you were greeted with.

Or rather, he wasn’t the only one outside the door.

“Uh, hi,” a man said as Nico leaned against him, very obviously drunk.

“Hi?” You asked, your eyes flicking over to the drunken Nico.

“I think he lost his key,” the stranger said, “and then he was knocking on your door before I could take him back to my place.”

“Of course,” you sighed. “You love bothering me, don’t you, Nico?”

“Y/N,” he slurred your name when he heard your voice. “I told you she was beautiful, Hughes.” He clearly meant to whisper the last part into his friend’s ear, but his impaired state changed his whisper into a quiet shout.

“Alright, buddy, let’s keep it down,” his friend said with a chuckle as he tried to spare him from saying something else embarrassing.

“Do you still have my key? I forgot mine,” Nico asked instead, lifting his eyes to yours.

“I left it in your apartment last time I watered the plants,” you answered and Nico let out an annoyed groan.

“It’s fine, he can stay here tonight,” you said, addressing his friend this time.

“You sure? I don’t want to bother you,” his friend insisted. “I can just bring him back to my place.”

“Don’t worry about it, you already dragged him all the way here. I can handle it,” you said and opened the door further.

His friend lugged him into your apartment and led Nico to the couch, plopping him down on the cushions.

“Thanks for doing this. I’m sorry for waking you,” he apologized once Nico was settled.

“No problem, I’m used to him interrupting my nights,” you chuckled lightly, though it sounded more sexual than you intended for it to.

“Yeah, well,” the stranger said with an awkward laugh, “I’ll get out of your hair then.” And then he turned to leave. “Hischier! Text me in the morning!” He called out one last time and Nico grumbled his acknowledgement. Then his friend was gone, leaving you alone with a drunken twenty-something year old.

“Alright, Nico, let’s get you ready for bed,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. He was splayed out on his back on your couch, head lolled against a decorative pillow. If it weren’t for his indecipherable sounds, you would’ve thought he was asleep.

You left him alone for a minute as you retreated back to your room to grab a couple extra blankets and a pillow that wouldn’t end up hurting his neck.

When you returned, Nico was now on his stomach with one arm dangled off the couch.

“Feeling okay, bud?” You asked gently, brushing back a few strands of his hair to check if he was still awake. He hummed a quiet ‘yeah’ and you lifted his head to replace the throw pillow with a fluffier one from your bed.

You draped one large blanket over his body and then set another smaller one on top of that. Nico sighed in content and you made a quick trip to the kitchen to retrieve a couple Advil pills and a glass of water.

“Can you drink this before you fall asleep?” You asked when you got back to the living room. 

Despite his intoxication, Nico managed to sit up just enough to swallow the pills down with a drink of water before flopping his head back down. You set the half-full glass on the coffee table and leaned over to turn off the lamp.

“You good to sleep?” You questioned, and Nico nodded his head to the best of his ability.

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” you said finally, making your way back to the hallway.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said quietly before you were out of hearing range, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nico,” you murmured with a small smile.

-

4.

“How the hell did this even happen? Sticks are supposed to remain on the ice, you know,” you wondered with curiosity. 

Nico knocked on your door at nearly midnight, hair still damp from his shower and still in his Devils sweats. If it weren’t for the fact that you were awake and watching a movie, you wouldn’t have noticed the knocking. 

When you opened the door, you were met with split stitches and tired eyes. Ushering him into your apartment, you led him to the bathroom where you kept the first-aid. 

Nico pushed himself up so he could sit on your counter and gave you a sheepish smile.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “They stitched me up after the game, but they came out.”

“So, why didn’t you contact your trainers or something?” You inquired, opening your kit and grabbing the alcohol.

“Because I have a perfectly good nurse here at home to stitch me back up,” he answered with an easy grin. You gave him an incredulous look.

“It seems like I’m constantly getting the short end of the stick in this relationship,” you said as you stepped between his legs to inspect his face. It wasn’t anything serious, just a few stitches that broke. In all honesty, he probably could’ve survived the night without fixing it, but you weren’t going to turn down an opportunity to be this close to him.

“Close your eyes,” you ordered before he could say anything back. Nico followed your instruction obediently, fluttering his eyes shut as if he had all the time in the world.

Using a small pair of scissors, you snipped at the remaining stitches. You took the tweezers next and gently pulled at the broken strands, slowly removing them from his cheek. Nico’s eyes twitched slightly at the discomfort, but he said nothing as you reopened his wound.

“You’re really good at this,” he stated, and you noticed that he had opened one eye to watch you. You blushed at his compliment, your cheeks heating at the warm feeling you got when you looked into his eyes.

Averting his gaze, you muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ before opening an alcohol pad.

“You’re going to want to really close your eyes for this, it might burn,” you recommended. The cut was along his cheekbone, stretching about three inches and oozing just a little bit of blood.

You cleaned along the cut lightly, one of your hands cupping his cheek while the other managed the wipe. After throwing the bloodied pad off to the side, you brought out the small bottle of lidocaine you had stashed away underneath all your bandaids. You squeezed a bit onto a cotton swab and dabbed the area around the cut. The lidocaine took a few minutes to kick in, so you busied yourself by preparing the thread and sanitizing the needle.

“I want you to know that I’m not actually a certified nurse yet. I’m still in training,” you explained. “So, if this hurts it’s your fault.”

“I trust you,” he said simply with a smirk.

“I would hope so,” you scoffed, “You’re letting a nursing student with a needle stitch near the eye of the New Jersey Devils Captain.”

“Besides, if you fuck up, I’ll just blame it on you when we lose after I can’t play because I’ve been blinded,” he teased.

“Don’t even joke about that, Nico. All of New Jersey would burn me alive,” you said, slugging his arm in response.

Was he about to let a beautiful, uncertified girl stitch him back together just because he wanted an excuse to spend more time with her? Absolutely.

He gave you a light chuckle as he leaned back on his hands, the fabric of his t-shirt stretching deliciously over his broad chest. It took everything in you to not linger your eyes over his arms and how large they looked right now.

“Is it numb yet?” You asked instead, refocusing your attention on threading the needle.

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied, bringing a couple fingers to poke at his cheek, but you swatted his hand away before he could do more damage.

Taking the same position as before, you stood between his legs again and angled his head slightly to the side so you could examine it under better light.

“Just let me know if it hurts, okay?” You insisted, holding the needle between your tweezers. You waited for Nico’s nod of agreement before starting.

You punctured the skin with the point and crossed the wound before poking through the other side. Nico’s hands instinctively reached out to grasp at your hips as he breathed in a sharp breath of air. 

“Oh my god, is it not numb?” You panicked, pausing all your movements as you gauged his face for any signs of pain.

“It stung a little bit,” he replied, but the tightened grip on your waist said otherwise. “I was just a little shocked, is all.” He added that last part when he saw the worry spread across your face as your eyes widened in fear of hurting him. “Keep going, I’m fine.”

You gave him a hesitant look, not wanting to continue if it was going to cause him pain. This time when he squeezed your sides, it was to reassure you and encourage you to continue. 

Nico kept his hands where they were, sliding his thumbs just underneath the hem of your shirt to trace soft circles into your skin. Recommencing your movements, you repeated the same crisscrossing threads over his cut, trying to work as quickly as possible.

When you’d finished, you knotted off the ends, clipped the remaining thread, and applied a salve over the sealed wound.

“There you go,” you said as you finished touching him up.

“And my kiss to make it feel better?” He asked with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at his presumptuousness but leaned in to press a light kiss near his stitches.

“Can I trust you to not pull them out again?” You retorted, stepping out of his grip to clean up your supplies.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off as in deep contemplation, “I might need you to spend the night and keep an eye on me.”

“Nice try, bud,” you chuckled, “but it’s not going to happen.” He pouted. 

“And if you do tear them again, I’m not restitching it.”

You finished packing away your materials and walked Nico back to your front door.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said when you opened the door. 

“Anytime,” you replied, “Goodnight, Nico.”

Leaning forward, he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek in appreciation before crossing the few feet to his door. You hoped he couldn’t see the way your eyes widened in shock, but if he did see, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

-

+ 1 

For the first time since you’ve met Nico, it was finally your turn to cancel on dinner. You really didn’t want to, as the dinners with him were the highlight of your week, but you knew if you broke concentration for even a minute to entertain him, your mind would be thinking about him even after he left. And you were not going to pass the NCLEX if Nico was invading all of your thoughts. You’d been studying for this exam for months, but now it was a week out and it was crunch time.

You: Gotta cancel on dinner Sunday, sorry :(

Nico: Going out of town? Got a hot date?

You: The only dates I’ll be having for the next week is between me and my millions of notes for my board exam 

Nico: Stressed out?

You: You wouldn’t even believe, so if I’m MIA for a few days, don’t worry 

Nico: Are we still on for next Sunday?

You: Yes. We will either be celebrating or commiserating, so get your wine ready

Nico: I’ll bring over the best since we’ll be celebrating :)

You didn’t know how to reply, so you reacted to his message with a thumbs up before leaving him on read.

-

For the next few days, you studied your ass off. Sunday came, but when six o’clock rolled around, you couldn’t help your thoughts from straying from your studies and over to what you would be doing with Nico if it weren’t for this stupid exam.

And as if he had read your mind, your phone dinged with a new text message.

Nico: Open your door

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you read the text, and you were just about to tell him off for disturbing you after you already told him you didn’t have the time.

However, that wasn’t the case because when you opened your door, Nico was nowhere to be found although a paper bag rested on the ground in front of you. 

Cautiously, you picked up the bag and brought it inside, immediately smelling the tzatziki sauce from your favorite Greek restaurant.

You: What’s this?

You texted him, along with a picture of the bag.

Nico: Even if we aren’t making dinner, you should still eat, and I figured gyros were better than cereal 

He was right. You had planned on pouring yourself a bowl of cereal when the hunger became too much and forced you to take a break. And gyros definitely were better than Frosted Flakes.

You: You’re a lifesaver, truly. Thank you!

Nico opened the message and didn’t reply, even though he really wanted to, but he knew you had studying to do and the last thing he wanted was to distract you.

-

After pulling an all-nighter, Sunday slowly turned into Monday, and you had finally decided to go to bed at nine on Monday morning. The few hours of sleep you got were welcomed, but rest did little to calm yourself down. The exam was on Friday, and you still had four years worth of material to remember. 

So, you dragged yourself out of bed around three in the afternoon and plopped yourself on the ground in front of your couch where all your notes were still spread on the floor.

You’d gotten through about four chapters in your review book before you heard a knock at the door. 

Pushing yourself up by your hands, you crossed the length of the apartment to the door. If it was Nico, he was about to be really turned off by how messy you looked.

And once again, it wasn’t him. 

Just like yesterday, something awaited you in front of your door. This time, it was a four cup drink tray filled with different coffees. 

Picking them up off the ground, you walked it back into your home and set it on your kitchen counter. There was a blue sticky note attached to the top in true Nico style, and you were smiling at the familiar handwriting before you even read what it said.

Thought you could use a pick-me-up :)

PS: I didn’t know what you liked, but you’re NOT allowed to drink these all at once

You chuckled at the last sentence. Of course he would send you four different orders because he didn’t know what you wanted. In all honesty, you could survive on just plain black coffee with nothing added if needed, but the fact that he sent you options had your heart swelling. 

You scanned through each cup, reading the labels on each one as they ranged from a standard black coffee to a sweet caramel latte, all of them iced (you had mentioned once that you only drank iced coffee, even in the middle of the winter). It didn’t slip your mind that this was from that expensive shop a few blocks down, the one you could only allow yourself to go to once a month because you knew it would drain you quickly.

Deciding to tease Nico a little bit, you stuck a straw in every single lid. You connected all four straws in the middle and closed your lips over them and took a drink. The resulting taste wasn’t fantastic, but it was worth the funny selfie you took drinking them that you sent to Nico.

You: What was it that I wasn’t allowed to do? Your note wasn’t clear 

Nico: I’m never sending you coffee again

-

On Tuesday, Nico sent you a bouquet of sunflowers. They were massive and bright and you couldn’t see over them as you placed them on the table.

Hope these sunflowers brighten up your day

-

On Wednesday, Nico got back from his short roadie. Maybe it was the constant studying, or maybe it was the little gifts Nico sent you, but your stress levels seemed to calm down as the week went on. There was still the pressure to do well, but every time Nico sent something to you, it was as if everything became a little bit more manageable.

You invited him over to hang out for a little bit, just to thank him for the things he’d done for you. You expected him to stay for a few minutes, maybe a half hour at the most, and then you’d send him home with some cookies you’d baked for him. Instead, he grabbed the plate of cookies and made himself comfortable on your couch.

“You just made these?” He asked with a mouthful of cookie as he picked up a stack of flashcards. You nodded as you took a seat on the opposite side of the couch.

“What’s the therapeutic drug level for theo… theoph…” he began to say, but trailed off, “Never mind. I was trying to help, but I can’t pronounce any of these words.” He ended the sentence with a chuckle before flicking the flashcard over to you.

“The word is theophylline,” you laughed, “and the answer is 10-20 micrograms per deciliter.”

“I understand none of those words, so that probably means it’s right,” he said as he finished his second cookie.

“If you want to help me I know something you can do,” you said eagerly, “And you don’t even have to speak, just sit there and look pretty.”

“That I can do,” he agreed with a nod and sat up to place the cookies on the coffee table. “Where do you want me?”

“Right there is fine. I’m just going to do a standard routine checkup like you’d get at the doctor’s,” you explained, grabbing your small bag of medical tools.

You ran through your procedure, checking your notes periodically to make sure you asked all the questions. Nico had no problem being your puppet, even answering some questions with ridiculous answers.

“And are you sexually active?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked with an eyebrow wiggle. You gave him an unamused glare.

“It’s part of the questions, dumbass,” you rolled your eyes and Nico laughed. “Never mind, I already know the answer anyway.”

“That was one time!” He groaned as he flopped his head back against the cushion. You were obviously referring to the one time you had a run in with one of his hookups. “I haven’t had anyone here since then.”

“Thank god for that,” you muttered, “but she did seem like a nice girl.”

Nico gave you a disbelieving look. You’d ran into them as you were returning from an overnight shift at nearly seven in the morning as Nico was trying to get rid of her, but she was hoping to get another date out of him before she left.

It was an awkward interaction to say the least, and Nico immediately called over to you to get your attention. The girl was displeased because you were interrupting their conversation and also because Nico had used you as an excuse to get out of scheduling another date.

“Oh, Y/N, you still needed me to fix that thing for you, right?” He had asked when he saw you walking down the hall. It took you all of two seconds to process the situation and Nico’s panicked and pleading eyes before you were agreeing. You even threw in the fact that it was urgent and that he needed to help right now, to which the girl gave you an eye roll.

Needless to say, Nico thanked you profusely for saving his ass and never called the girl again. That was over three months ago, and you had yet to see another girl leave his apartment.

“Well, I think I’m done with all the questions,” you concluded finally. “I think it’s safe to say you are in impeccable shape, Mr. Hischier.”

“Is this your subtle way of kicking me out?” He asked.

“Technically, I never invited you to stay. You kind of just sat here and made yourself at home,” you replied.

“I’m sorry for wanting to catch up with my friend after not seeing her in a week,” he joked.

“And you’re going to have to wait another few days for that, bud,” you chuckled.

“Fine, fine,” he conceded, “I’ll go, but I’m taking the cookies.”

“They were yours to begin with, idiot.”

-

On Thursday, you received one final package. It was a wrapped box, obviously done by someone who’s never wrapped a gift in their life. 

Opening it, there was Nico’s same scrawl on the familiar blue sticky note.

Something to look forward to after you ace this exam tomorrow!

Underneath the note was a ticket to a Devils game on Sunday against Vancouver, but it wasn’t the only thing in the box. You pulled out a red sweatshirt with the New Jersey Devils logo on the front. There was nothing on the back, but the number ‘13’ could be seen on both sleeves.

The thought of Nico sending you something with his number on it had your cheeks heating instantly. He’d been teasing you about coming to a game, and it seemed you finally had a reason to go now.

-

After you took your exam, it was like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Your school days were behind you now, and you could now start your career. The exam results still took six weeks, but you were feeling pretty confident in yourself.

Nico had texted you instructions to wait for him after the game on Sunday. He wanted you to try and meet him somewhere, but your navigation skills were terrible and you were sure to get lost in an arena you’d never been in.

So, you met him outside his car in the parking lot where the team parked.

“There he is,” you called out, clapping, when you saw him exit the arena, “First star of the night with two goals, Captain Nico Hischier!” You gave him your best announcer voice.

“Shut up,” he replied with a chuckle, but his face was beaming with a wide smile.

“Good game tonight,” you said with a smile of your own. “Trying to impress someone?”

By this time, Nico had reached the car, and he was dropping his bag on the ground before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground in a hug.

“I’m always trying to impress you,” he mumbled against your hair before he set you back down.

“Well, consider me impressed,” you gushed. 

“I was thinking...” Nico said after a moment.

“Uh oh,” you interjected with a worried look.

“Don’t be a dork,” he chuckled. “I was thinking that instead of going back home and making dinner I can take you out tonight instead.”

“Celebratory dinner for your win?” You questioned.

“And for your exam,” he added, “And also maybe as a date?” Nico said the last part quietly and quickly averted your gaze.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nico?” You asked for clarification, but the smile on your face was spreading wider as the seconds passed.

“Yes, I am,” he said with a deep swallow.

You squinted your eyes, as if in deep contemplation.

“Well, I’ve only been waiting, like, months for you to ask me,” you teased. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” He asked, eyes bright as he reached out to pull you closer to his body. You hummed in agreement and connected your hands behind his neck.

“I was starting to think you’d never get the hint,” you said quietly.

“I was just waiting for the right time,” he insisted, hands resting on your hips, “And if I’m being honest, I really want to kiss you right now.”

You didn’t answer him in words. Instead, you pushed up on your tip-toes and leaned in to connect your lips to his. The kiss was soft, neither of you wanting to push too far too fast. He moved his lips against yours gently, taking his time to convey how he felt about you.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, you both had stupid looks on your face as you were both giddy with joy.

“Atta boy, Cap!” A loud voice shouted across the lot along with some hoots, and you let your head fall against Nico’s chest as you chuckled to yourself.

“Fuck off, Jack!” Nico yelled back before dipping his head down to kiss the top of yours. “Ignore him, he’s annoying. Let’s get out of here before they try and come over.”

“Lead the way,” you said, breaking apart so you could climb in his car. 

-

Six weeks later, your results came in.

You let yourself into Nico’s unlocked apartment. Ever since you started dating, it just seemed a lot easier to leave your apartments unlocked during the day so you could easily bounce between places.

“Nico, it’s here!” You exclaimed, spotting him on the couch. He looked up from whatever show he was watching and paused it immediately when he saw the envelope in your hands.

You basically sprinted across the room and plopped down onto his lap before shoving it into his hands.

“You open it, I can’t do it,” you murmured against the side of his head, your arms slinging over his shoulders as one of his arms wrapped around your waist.

Nico chuckled as he ripped open the paper and pulled out the letter.

“What does it say?” You asked, your head tucked into his neck so you couldn’t read the results.

“Babe…” he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” You asked worriedly, peeling yourself from his neck to read the letter yourself.

Congratulations! You have passed the NCLEX exam!

You didn’t even bother to read the rest of the letter once you’d read those first two sentences.

“You asshole, that wasn’t funny!” You said, pushing his head away from you as he laughed.

“I thought it was kind of funny,” he replied, “And now my girlfriend is officially a sexy nurse.” Nico pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You better get that idea out of your head right now,” you said warningly, already knowing where his thoughts were headed.

“All jokes aside, I’m proud of you, baby,” he said happily.

“I probably would’ve combusted from stress had it not been for your little gifts,” you admitted.

“What can I say? I was so whipped for you,” he said.

“You really were, weren’t you? The flowers and the sweatshirt with your number on it…” you teased, and he poked your side in retaliation.

“Kidding,” you giggled happily, “and I’m whipped for you, too, Nico.”

[brionysea]

when it comes to the umbrella academy, a lot of people seem to think that the first half is great and the second half is terrible. personally, I think only the first *season* is great, or even good. here's why:

the mission statement at the end of season 1 is fixing viktor, but viktor isn't the only broken one, so you can infer that they're all going to have to fix *each other* - as a family, the one thing their abuser never let them be. and the world's burning down around them because of the most dramatic sibling confrontation to ever grace the earth, but they're holding hands and escaping together and surviving the impossible with the intent to move forward, even if that means momentarily moving backwards. it's a masterful allegory for finally growing up, accepting responsibility for your personal trauma and tragedy and how they shaped you, and the moment you take that power back by choosing to heal your inner child, only after being slapped in the face with the fact that if you don't, it *will* destroy everything you've ever built, ever cared about, and ever could.

and then the rest of the show forgets all of it. as it were, it goes in the *exact opposite direction.*

on the surface, the second season isn't *as* bad as the subsequent ones are. but season 3 and 4's faults can be traced back to season 2 by how it pivoted away from the serious subject matter that the story (not the plot - the *story*) was heavily baked in, leaning hard into the goofier elements instead, without ever understanding the contrast that those conflicting elements served to highlight. it made them both more powerful; the jokes were funnier because you were just devastated, and the trauma was more devastating because you were just in tears laughing. the emotional roller coaster is key to understanding these people, and you *have* to take the serious stuff seriously for it to work. at least half of the show doesn't, and as a result, the emotional moments feel hollow.

controversial opinion: as a character, luther is better in season 1 than he is anywhere else. he's more unlikable, but that's because he's implicitly there to show what *not* to do - even if he'd succeeded narratively by locking viktor up and saving the world, he still failed thematically by emulating their father and continuing the cycle of abuse - so luther's a character that's being very effectively used to add to the core theme of the story. he feels like a real, frustrating person, whose brain chemistry got messed up by years of abuse and isolation, all for the crime of thinking his father loved him and wanted the best for him. not like a made up guy on your screen doing silly stuff solely for your entertainment.

season 2 was also the start of the characters getting love interests instead of storylines, which season 1 never would have *dreamed* of; klaus and dave's tragic romance only served to further klaus's character arc, viktor's creepy boyfriend was actually manipulating him the whole time, five's fractured-psyche-mannequin was a narrative tool to let us see into the head of such an emotionally reticent character, and so on. the romance served the character, but fairly quickly into the show's progression, it felt like the character started serving the romance. five was immune to this curse for a long time due to aidan gallagher's age, which is why he's (for the most part) the best, most consistent character across the show, because they had to use their *imagination* for him and actually *write an arc* instead of falling back on tired romance tropes that any selection of characters could slot into to fill the dead space.

after season 1, the umbrella academy is entertaining, but it doesn't have anything to *say.* which is extremely disappointing when the show initially made such a strong case for what it wanted to be.

[dwaekkicidal]

"Heats" with Puppy!Seungmin

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Day 4 of my Bboki-Dwae collab with @bbokicidal <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: ~800

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, lots of marking (bites+hickeys), spanking, rough sex mentions, light(?) manhandling, breeding, some cumplay, like 1 overstim mention, i mightve missed one

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: wish i could have made this longer but i've been so busy :((

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

❥ Jealous. Jealous. Jealous. J e a l o u s.

❥ These mating season fits tend to get him very aggressive and standoffish. To everyone.

❥ One simple glance at you from any person in the vicinity will send him into a fit of rage. But, thankfully for you, he doesn’t act on this in public! That’s saved for the bedroom, where you’re held down in his favorite position- downward doggy, for hours at a time.

❥ Does not care about any excuses anybody has to give. The second he notices that somebody is too close to you or even “looking at you for too long”, you’re getting dragged home to be shown your place

❥ Expect to be absolutely covered in bite marks and hickeys, ones that he “tries” to keep in spots where they won’t be seen. But, let's be real... We all know he gets a hard-on and a huge ego boost when they’re in obvious places and you just so happen to be out in public

❥ Looooves to leave deep bite marks on your neck and shoulders (some may or may not even have little holes from where his sharp canines dig into your skin hehe)

❥ He loses his mind when he sees these marks on your tummy and thighs from the prior night, him having completely forgotten that he even left them. Obviously, nobody will see them. But knowing that you’re fully marked up in the “most important” areas will get him instantly ready to go again

❥ Usually will be very apologetic about the bites that have wounds from his teeth but, if he’s particularly aggravated, he will start doing it on purpose.

❥ He gets real mean when he’s like that; a deep frown on his face and a low growl bubbling up in his throat as he pins you to the bed and berates you over things you had no control over. You both know that, but that won’t stop him from using it to fuck you nice and rough. And it surely won’t stop you from enjoying each and every time his hips slam into yours.

❥ Has such an obnoxious knot!!!!! You can’t tell if it’s all in your head, but when he’s extra cranky and giving in to his instincts to breed you, his knot feels like it's double the size.

❥ And he’s always so mean about it :( he’s a little shit and likes to tug his hips away from yours right after his knot fully expands, testing the limits of how far it will actually plug you (spoiler: it does not come out)

❥ If he’s rather eager, his knot can last up to half an hour. Which, may or may not be to your demise, usually ends in him reaching over into your nightstand, grabbing his favorite toy so he can overstimulate you out of boredom while you cockwarm him <3

❥ Breeds you until your stomach hurts from the number of times he’s came deep inside <3 Tells you that it better take or else he’ll just have to fuck you over and over and over again, which leads to you drooling from overstimulation and dripping cum all over the sheets

❥ Surprisingly he’s not one to get upset about you “wasting” his seed. In fact, it’s the only mess that he actually likes.

❥ To the point where he will pull out after knotting you just to sit there, tapping his dick on your messy folds with a big dopey smile on his face

❥ Absolutely loves the wet plap noises your cunt makes when he slaps his cock against you. So much so that it’s subconscious as he keeps himself occupied during downtime, usually the few minutes you get between rounds before he’s re-entering you, ready to breed you again and again.

❥ Is big on wrapping a hand around your neck, be it on your nape or on the front of your neck, and holding you down. It lets him force you to take everything he has to give while limiting how much you wiggle around

❥ Pairs this with stinging slaps to your ass cheeks, and a comment about how you’re his and how nobody else will ever have you like this, in order to get your pretty pussy even wetter around him

“I should fuck a litter into you. Then maybe people will stop fucking looking at what’s mine.”

“You’re gonna be such a hot mother for my pups. Shit- Gonna keep you nice and full of my offspring.”

“Stop fucking moving, I need to mark you.”

“Take this fucking knot, puppy. Yeah? Fuck yeah~”

“Such a pretty pussy. All nice n’ messy from my cum.” As he rubs his tip through your folds, sometimes poking your clit to watch you shake ><

“I have to keep us entertained until my knot goes down, so you’ll let me play with you a bit- right, Jagi?”

Taglist:

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez

[rafecameronssl4t]

Chasing Smoke || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off season 2 ep 4 where Rafe and Barry visit John B's house while they were all hiding

Warnings: gun use, swearing, drinking, if theres anything else lmk

Word count: 1,423

A/n: boy do i love writing canon fics hehehehe. I’m also compiling a bunch of fics in my queue because I’m going to be busy w school so pls put in your requests!!!!!

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

You were sipping on your fruity drink as you conversed in conversations with a few of your girlfriends, Rafe standing just a few feet away animatedly chatting with his friends. “Bro, the kick on a Glock 17, man. You load it up, line it up, and it's like—" he mimed the motion enthusiastically. Before you could warn Rafe about the guy sitting close behind him, he had already backed into him. "It knocks you off your freakin' feet."

"Hey, excuse me," the guy interjected, his expression one of clear annoyance. "Yeah?" Rafe responded, completely unfazed. "Do you mind?" The man stared at Rafe in disbelief. "I'm so sor—" you began, trying to smooth things over, but Rafe cut you off. "Hey, hey, don't apologize. Let me handle it, yeah?"

Rafe turned his head around, leaning casually on the counter. "I'm sorry?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm. The man raised an eyebrow, his irritation clear. "I said, do you mind?" he repeated, his voice growing sharper.

Rafe took a moment before replying, "Yeah, I do mind, Bob." He smirked as the man scoffed in disbelief. "Take a shot with me, pussy," Rafe challenged, his voice dripping with mockery. You slapped his shoulder, "stop it," you hissed at him.

"Come on. Take a shot," Rafe continued, his voice steady as he poured his drink onto the man's hand. The man shot up from his seat, shoving Rafe hard. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?" he yelled, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone around. Your eyes widened in alarm as heads turned.

In the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Kelce rushing towards you, his expression frantic and urgent. His footsteps echoed in the dimly lit bar as he approached, weaving through the tables and chairs.

"Take a seat. That's what you need to do," Rafe commanded firmly, his voice cutting through the tension as he pushed Bob back into his seat. The atmosphere was full of unease, the murmurs of other patrons now audible as they glanced over at the commotion.

“Whoa! Whoa!" Kelce interjected, his hands instinctively reaching out to grab Rafe's shoulders, attempting to calm him down. You exhaled a breath you didn't realise you were holding, grateful for Kelce's intervention. "Go get the manager. He's crazy!" Bob's voice rose above the murmurs.

"Eat shit," Rafe retorted sharply, his frustration palpable as he resisted Kelce's efforts to pull him away from the conflict. Kelce persisted, trying to redirect Rafe's attention. "Hey," he began, his tone soothing yet urgent. "What?" Rafe snapped, his gaze still locked on Bob with a mixture of defiance and irritation.

"Calm down, all right?" Kelce urged, his voice steadier now, trying to reason with his friend. Rafe rolled his eyes in exasperation, but the tension in his shoulders began to ease slightly. "I swear to God, 20 minutes ago, I just saw John B and your sister, bro."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your lips parting as your mind struggles to process Kelce's words. "You're joking, right?" you managed to utter, searching Kelce's face. "I'm not kidding! They're alive," Kelce insisted.

Rafe and you exchanged a stunned glance. "Me and my girl are just tryin' to relax, and you're telling me this bullshit?" Rafe responded, disbelief and annoyance laced in his tone.

"I know you're trying to relax, bro, but I saw them buying beer at Geechie's!" Kelce pressed on. "That's bullshit," you interjected, not believing him. "Do you guys wanna go see for yourselves?" Kelce challenged, his eyes darting between you and Rafe. "I'm telling you, I saw them. Go sober up, man." Without waiting for a response, Kelce dragged both of you towards the exit. "Hey, put it on Cameron!" Rafe called out.

~

"I need to know who's over here at John B's spot," Barry's voice cuts through the tension in the car, his grip on the gun drawing your annoyance. "Barry, could you please not hold the gun like that? Seriously, I don't even know why I'm here!" you groan from the backseat, frustration evident in your voice.

Rafe turns around from the passenger seat, fixing you with a stern look. "You're here because I told you to be, alright? So just be quiet," he grumbles, turning back to Barry.

"Listen, I don't know if he's there, okay? I just know he's on the island," Rafe says, trying to reason with Barry. "That's a complete lack of discipline, man," Barry shakes his head, irritation coloring his tone.

"Then what's your suggestion? We're about two minutes from the fuckin’ place, alright?" Rafe snaps back. "We do some recon," Barry suggests firmly. "Why don't you just follow my lead for once and shut up? all right?" he adds, frustration clear in his eyes as he looks at Rafe.

"Recon, huh?" Rafe mutters under his breath, clearly not thrilled with Barry's suggestion. "This is ridiculous," you interject from the backseat. "Yeah, Princess here agrees. Why'd you bring your girl out here with us, Rafe?" Barry questions, prompting an eye-roll from Rafe. "She's here because I told her to be, alright? Just shut up and drive," Rafe retorts, his tone edged with impatience.

~

"Tranquillo. You feel me?" Barry says to Rafe as he pulls up just a few meters from John B's house. "Tranquillo?" Rafe repeats skeptically, his gaze fixed on the house ahead. "Tranquillo, baby," Barry reassures him as you roll your eyes at the two.

"Let's be smart," Barry advises as you all exit the car. "Rafe, just to be clear, the gun is just for show, right? You're not planning on shooting anyone," you whisper urgently to Rafe as he hums in affirmation, as you exchange a look with Barry.

You follow closely behind the two men, your senses heightened as you scan the surroundings. "Okay, check it," Rafe whispers as the three of you huddle behind some bins. "All right, I ain't see shit, what 'bout you?" Barry asks quietly.

"Nothing," you add nervously, your eyes darting around anxiously. "No. They can't be far though," Rafe whispers, his voice tense with anticipation. "Right, here's what we gon' do," Barry begins, and you lean in closer to hear him clearly. "I'm gonna go inside. I'm gonna flush them out if they're in there. I want you to flank left, meet me out there by the porch."

"And princess, well, you're gonna be with Rafe, aight'? Make sure he ain't gonna do something he'll go cry about later on to us," Barry instructs, loading his gun that you were unaware he was carrying. "You have a gun too?" you whisper sharply at him as Rafe quickly covers your mouth with his hand. "'Course I do. Now, let's go!" Barry commands, rising from the cover, and Rafe pulls you along with him.

You and Rafe step cautiously into the front yard, your hand gripping his arm for reassurance. You point silently to the recently extinguished fire pit, sharing a worried glance with him. Rafe clicks his tongue in frustration, muttering under his breath, "Where the hell are you?"

~

You flinch instinctively at the sharp sound of glass shattering nearby, turning with Rafe to see Barry angrily tossing aside a few bottles. "Yo!" Rafe calls out, his voice tense with frustration as Barry storms out of the house, slamming the door open. "Anything?" Rafe asks urgently.

Barry scoffs, his expression darkening. "No, ain't shit in there, bro," he replies curtly, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. Rafe closes his eyes briefly, disappointment evident on his face. "No? Nothing?" he presses, hoping for a different answer.

"No, nothing, Rafe," Barry responds firmly. "They were obviously just here though, judging by the smoke," Rafe points out, scanning the surroundings. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Great observation, boy scout!" Barry retorts mockingly, earning an eye-roll from you as you observe the banter between the two boys.

"They can't be far, you know?" Rafe continues, his voice tinged with determination. "Smokey the bear! Look at you, bro!" Barry laughs with sarcasm. "They gotta be around here somewhere," Rafe reassures himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration, while you sigh and settle onto a nearby log.

As the tension mounts, Rafe falls silent, his gaze shifting towards a massive tree nearby. Both you and Barry follow his gaze, noticing the initials carved into the bark. "P4L," Barry reads aloud with a chuckle, and Rafe joins in, shaking his head in disbelief. He makes eye contact with you as you stand up from your spot.

"So your sister's a pogue for life, huh, Rafe? Who would've thought?" you mutter under your breath, a hint of irony in your tone, prompting a laugh from Barry. Rafe remains quiet for a few seconds, shaking his head in frustration. You immediately regret your remark as his anger visibly simmers.

"Shit!" Rafe suddenly erupts in anger, causing you to flinch back instinctively. Barry moves swiftly to place a hand on your back, his expression shifting to concern. "Rafe, chill, man," he urges calmly, sensing Rafe's escalating temper. You gulp nervously, knowing Rafe was beyond furious right now.

Without warning, Rafe starts shooting his gun wildly at the tree, bullets whizzing dangerously close to you. The loud bangs echo in the quiet surroundings, and you instinctively cover your ears, fear gripping you. "Hey! Whoa! Hey, chill, bro! Rafe!" Barry intervenes, grabbing Rafe's shoulders in an attempt to restrain him.

Your hands tremble as you yank the gun out of Rafe's grip, your voice shaking with anger and fear. "What the fuck, Rafe! You're going to get us caught, you idiot!" you yell at him, adrenaline coursing through you.

Barry looks around anxiously, realizing the precariousness of the situation. "Let's bounce, let's bounce. Let's go!" he urges urgently, starting to move away quickly. You follow suit, grabbing Rafe's arm firmly. "Hurry up!" you plead, snapping him out of his daze, and together you rush back to the car.

[yournightmary]

Vi HCs

content warning:: i guess there’s some angst? but it’s arcane so it’s nothing new

AN:: just a mix of different headcannons to get me through season 2.

pitfighter!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’m sorry but she smells so bad. I’m not talking about a little stink- she smells fucking rancid. It’s a mix of sweat, alcohol, blood, hair dye and sometimes even puke. I don’t think she even showers properly, she just runs a wet towel over her body and calls it a day.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She dyes her hair with the cheapest hair dye in front of her cracked mirror- that’s why it’s so shitty. Doesn’t buy enough and ends up not covering her ends every single time.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Barely has any clothes. Owns 3 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts, all of them ragged and stained. Doesn’t even wear the shirts most of the time, she just wraps her chest with bandages.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ At first she didn’t want to do the eyeliner thing but a few fellow fighters told her it’s something to be recognized and remember for. For the first few times she actually payed attention to how she’s applying it, but after that she said fuck it and just slapped it on. Also she doesn’t use proper eyeliner, maybe something like water-activated face paint.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Really craves touch. She’ll glue herself to random girls (bonus points if they have dark blue hair) at bars and blame it on being drunk. Nothing sexual, just plain affections.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her every day looks the same. Wake up in the middle of the day, sulk on the shitty mattress that she calls her bed, work out, put on her make up, head to the pit, drink till the morning. There’s literally no difference in them.

young!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I don’t know where i’ve read it I think it was like an interview or something but she’s literally just a girl. She didn’t want to be the strong fighter that everyone knows not to mess with, but that’s who she has to be to survive in the Undercity.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Definitely gave music a try. Like be so fr, she has a saxophone on her bed. Maybe she found it on a job and thought it was too cool to sell. Always wanted to play guitar but it was out of her price range.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She knew she liked girls from very early on and so did everyone around her. She didn’t hide it from anyone, there was literally no reason to. In season 1 you can even see she has a poster of a half-naked woman next to her bed, like come on now.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’ve seen people saying that she doesn’t know how to make food but hear me out. I think she’s actually a pretty good cook due to her being the ‘caretaker’ when Vander couldn’t do it. Definitely cooked for Powder when she woke her up in the middle of the night because she was so hungry it was bordering on being painful.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She cuts her own hair. One time she fucked up so bad she had to shave her whole side and it just kind of stayed with her.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Never does anything for herself. Whenever she finds something- like clothes or food- she gives it to someone else. Always makes sure the others have enough before she takes something for herself.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She feels so guilty after stealing stuff from other people. She’s not stupid and she knows how hard life in the underground is, and that it justifies her actions but still- she’ll roll from side to side instead of sleeping, thinking about how much of a shitty person she is.

dating!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Literally the best girlfriend out there and I will die on this hill.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s so touch-starved it’s unbelievable. When she was a teen she didn’t really experience anything relationship-like and then she got locked up for a few years. She’ll always have her arm around you, her hand on your hip or waist.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Oh my god her hugs are so good ahhhh. It’s just like being wrapped up in a warm blanket. Really likes to give hugs from behind too.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves cuddling, especially if it involves her lying on top of you. She doesn’t need any pillows if she has you and your lap, stomach or chest.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She is such an acts of service girl. And it goes both ways! If you make her dinner or plan a whole date by yourself she’ll feel so loved.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She stares so much it’s borderline creepy. She’ll just look at you in silence for a few minutes before turning her head away with a smile, thinking about how lucky she is to have you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ You’ll be cuddling with her before sleep, scratching her back or scalp for the whole time. Once you think she’s asleep you stop and she immediately looks up at you with furrowed brows, asking why you stopped.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ While she is proud of her physique and stuff she does feel self conscious about her hands. Mostly because of all the scars and bruises, maybe a little because of how manly they look.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She was a victim of being treated like a guy because she’s more masculine presenting than feminine. Pay for her food at a restaurant, do her makeup, tell her she looks pretty not handsome.

[velvette-creations]

Bite the bullet and run

The Boys: Billy Butcher x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI) 

WC: 1.9 k 

Prompt: Held at Gunpoint for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: spoilers for season 4, injury/blood, oral (f receiving), fingering, c*m eating, overstimulation, a bit of angst, alcohol consumption, anger, hallucinations 

Summary: Billy Butcher is living on borrowed time

Billy is staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, and he knows it. The trigger is cocked, bullet warm in the chamber, just itching to fire into his brain. Karmic retribution; he’s done his fair share of lousy shit under the guise of being a hero, and now it’s catching up to him. Took the V and paid the price. He’s living on borrowed time as the tumor destroys his brain, bringing him closer and closer to death. He knows it, but he can’t admit it. Even as the hallucinations of Rebecca and Kessler make it painfully honest.

He wonders how long he can keep spinning out of control, keep blacking out, and keep pushing reality down; god knows it’s already wreaked havoc on his mental state. It’s not like he can escape it; eventually, the cold, hard reality will come knocking on his front door. His mind flickers briefly to the thought of you and the citrus smell of your perfume, of leaving you behind to handle the mess. You’re a cold-hearted bastard, Bucher; just admit, it will do you good, Kessler sneers. But he’s not; Billy Butcher is flesh and blood, human, and he’s not ready to bite the bullet just yet.

He downs the shot, the whiskey burning his throat and dulling his senses. The liquor won’t change anything but allows him a moment's sweet respite from reality. He can hear Kessler’s sardonic laughter from the stool next to him, the outline of him in Billy’s peripheral vision. He’s not fucking real, the cunt ain’t there, Billy seethes in his head.

That’s where you’re wrong, Billy Boy. I’m a part of you now; better get used to it—the devil on his shoulder.

Billy orders another shot, nearly jumping out of his skin when your hand presses against his shoulder. He’s ready to throw an enraged punch to your face until he realizes it’s you.

“What has you so pissed off that you were ready to knock me through a wall?” you ask dryly as you slip into the stool beside him, Kessler’s form dissipating. You turn toward the bartender and order two shots: one for him and one for you.

“A bit of this, a bit of that, love. This Neuman business has got us all on edge, don’t it?” he grumbled, wrapping his blunt fingers around the shot glass. You want to slap him right across the face. You know it’s more than that.

You hmmm softly before downing your shot, then tap your fingers against the sticky bar counter.

“Sorry, but I’m not buying that bullshit. You’ve been off for weeks. You’re hiding something.” You don’t mean to sound so accusatory, but you’re tired of dancing around the issue. It pisses you off that he’s withholding, and you’re tired of letting him crawl between your legs so he can avoid reality.

“Ain’t none of your business, love,” he snorts, and you slam your hands against the bar.

“Fuck you, Billy! It is my fucking business! If I’m gonna wake up to you dead next to me in bed one morning, I deserve to fucking know,” you growl, making heads turn in your direction.

Tell her, Billy. You don’t have to be alone. I don’t want you to be alone. Sweet, sweet Rebecca, the angel on his other shoulder.

He glares up at you, anger dancing in his dark eyes, but you can see the pain pushing through. You’re ready for the explosion; you welcome it. Anything to prove that he still has a fight inside of him, that he isn’t giving in so willingly. Glass shatters as he slams it against the bar, tiny pieces embedding in his skin and blood oozing from the shallow cuts. You hold your hand out as the bartender storms over.

“We’re going,” you assure him, leaving enough cash to cover the shots and a generous tip to compensate for the disturbance and broken glass. You grab Billy’s upper arm and tug him towards the door.

The bartender was kind enough to lend you a clean rag to wrap around Billy’s injured hand, and you guide him toward your apartment, which is a couple blocks away. The silence is deafening as you both sit hunched over in your small bathroom (the light is better there) as you remove the glass from Billy’s cuts with tweezers. Once you’re assured you’ve gotten them all out, you wash and disinfect his hand before wrapping it in a clean bandage. How many nights have you spent cleaning blood and stitching up wounds, avoiding the hospital if able? How many nights have you spent with his mouth hot on your cunt as his tongue brings you to the edge of sweet oblivion? Intimate in so many ways, yet the art of communication is lost.

“I ain’t trying to lie to you, love. I just don’t wanna say it,” he murmurs, his gaze cast to the floor, counting the white tiles to glisten in the bright light.

Tell her, Billy

You gently grasp his uninjured hand, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles. “Are you sick?”

He nods.

“Are you living on limited time?”

He nods again. He’s told you all you need to know without saying a word.

“Will you let me be there for you?”

There is a hesitation before he nods a third time. He can see Rebecca smiling at him from over her shoulder.

“Thank you. I won’t say anything to the rest of the team,” you assure him. Secrets are for him to share, not you. You won’t betray his trust in that way.

“Thanks, love.”

“Come on, you can crash with me tonight.”

You find a show to watch that isn’t under the Vought umbrella and share Chinese takeout with Billy, squished together on your small couch, the space he’ll be sleeping on tonight. You made it painfully evident with the extra pillow and blankets sitting on the small coffee table in front of the TV. The truth may have been revealed, but you’re not ready to completely mend fences.

“Night, Billy,” you whisper, brushing your lips over his warm cheek, feeling the soft stubble of his beard scrape against your skin.

“Night, love,” he sighs, and you disappear into your bedroom.

Eventually, you’re finally caught in the hazy space of sleep and the waking world when you feel the mattress dip. Billy’s warm body settles against your back, and his bandaged hand rests on your hip.

“I’ll go if you want me to, love, but I’ve missed you,” he whispers in your ear before his lips ghost along the curve of your neck. Need palpitates in your belly. You don’t want him to go. Maybe you’re more forgiving than you thought.

“Don’t…don’t go, Billy,” you beg, your words holding a heavier meaning as tears sting your eyes.

“I’m right here, love, I’m right here,” he assuages, pulling you closer with his other hand before it slips under your tank top to cup one of your breasts. His thumb circles around your nipple until it hardens. His cock presses against the swell of your ass. Your citrus perfume tickles his nose.

You rut against him, grabbing his hand and moving it down your belly. He plunges into your shorts, his warm palm finding your damp cunt immediately. His rough fingers stroke your folds, gathering up your arousal.

“Billy,” you whine. His bare chest radiates warmth, and you yearn to curl into it.

“I’m right here, love,” he breathes as two fingers slip inside you. You clench around him, rocking your hips as needy mewls spill from your lips. It never takes much for him to make you come completely undone. You try to push away the thought that he’s living on borrowed time, which could be one of the last moments you share with him. Might as well make the most of it.

Your eyes roll back as his fingers pump steadily in and out of your pussy, making your toes curl before you spill into orgasm. Animalistic lust surges through you as Billy removes his fingers and tugs your shorts down your legs. You roll over, tugging off your tank and his boxers before lowering your mouth to suck on the tip of his cock. Once he’s coated in your salvia, you mount him, sinking deep onto his cock.

“Bloody hell,” he groans, his good hand gripping your hip tightly before slipping up your belly to take a handful of your tits.

You bounce on his cock, working your muscles and riding him like it might be his last night. You try to push away the thought that it very well might be. You reach down to cup his face as sweat pools down your back.

“Billy, fuck, Billy,” you moan, tracing your thumb around his plush lips.

“Love the way you scream my name, darlin’,” he grins, all cocksure. There he is. There’s your Billy.

“Don’t I know it,” you purred, squeezing around his cock as his hips thrust beneath you. A chill sets in the outside air, but inside is all heat. His flesh is sweaty and salty, and you can’t get enough of it.

Billy finds his fire and his strength, remaining buried inside you as he changes positions, placing you on your back underneath him so he can pound you. Your legs tighten around his waist as he leans down to capture you in a fiery kiss, one where you can taste his passion and the salt of his skin. Your nails skim down his back as flesh smacks together. Wet sounds fill the air, intermingling with his grunts and your pants. You tremble beneath him as you reach your peak, and he spills inside you, making you milk him for all he’s worth. He stays pressed against you as your fingers drag lazily through his damp, dark hair.

Billy gazes into your eyes, thinking it was well spent if this was his last night on earth. Better to go out with a bang and in between the thighs of a woman he loves. Not that he’s ever uttered those words out loud. Almost feels as if he’s betraying Rebecca, but fucking hell, how long can he hold onto ghosts? He gently slips out of you, leaving kisses along your neck, over the swells of your breasts and your belly, before he reaches your soaked, swollen cunt. He can’t help but swipe his tongue over the mess of himself mixed with you.

“Billy,’ you gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair as you squirm against his mouth.

“Indulge a dying man, would you, love? Don’t deny me my favorite last meal,” he murmurs against your damp thighs.

“Oh, you’re an asshole,” you laughed, giving his hair a sharp tag.

“Don’t I know it?” His tongue swirls against your core, dipping inside you.

You’re oversensitive from earlier, and it doesn’t take long for you to cum against his mouth, feeling absolutely spent by the time he’s finished. You’re coated in sweat, and a shower sounds so good, but you can’t be fucked to move. You barely muster up the strength to drape yourself over Billy’s naked chest, holding tightly to him. His bandaged hand rests lightly against your lower back. You snuggle your face against the crook of his neck, committing his scent and flesh to your memory.

Billy Butcher is staring down the barrel of a gun, but for now, he only cares about the feeling of you in his arms. He’ll bite the fucking bullet another fucking day.

[cheol13wh0r3]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭!𝓙𝓸𝓼𝓱𝓾𝓪 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼!

w/c; 1.4k

Warnings: Use of Vibrators, sexting, praising, spanking, (MINORS DNI - I am not responsible for the media you consume)

‧₊˚ ┊ Boyfriend!Joshua who loves, loves, loves~! To praise you! Oh you did something today? Oh well he’s proud of you! You ate a full meal today? That's good! You got compliments for your new perfume? Well obviously! You're just so so pretty, nice and you even smell great too! Isn't he lucky to have you as his girlfriend ! He will praise you any time he can!

➶ He loves to praise your body! Especially when you're having sex!

➶ The feeling of you clenching around him after he praised you, only makes him harder, and crumbles his resolve further as he fucks you harder. Wanting to make you cum together!

➶ Shua, shua, shua! You kept moaning out his name as he fuckes you harder, he can feel himself closer and closer to his orgasm, as you kept moaning out his name. He presses your knees further into your chest, as he brings his hand down and plays with your clit !

➶ You nod in pleasure as you start to squirm. Joshua groans as you get tighter and tighter around him. “F–Fuck.. y-you're so.. fucking–tight” You moan as you feel yourself squirt for the first time. “Oh, would you look at that, huh,” He plays with your clit harder, “You're such a good–good girl for me, squirting all ‘ver my cock, yeah?” He kisses your knees as he pushes them further. Making you see stars~!

‧₊˚ ┊ Boyfriend!Joshua who hate, hate, hates it, having to punish you ! Oh, you didn't respond to him and ignored him for 4 hours? Oh it's fine! He’ll just give you a good scolding and tell you not to do it again, yeah? Oh, you sexted him while he was at work? Oh, you're really going to get it when he comes home, aren't you?

➶ So when he comes home with a hard on, and you're still refusing to take responsibility and act dumb? Oh, he’ll make you dumb on his cock alright.

➶ So when he walks through the bedroom door and sees you wearing a loose nightgown, sitting on the bed. Immediately running to him and hugging him, he wastes no time pushing into you, kissing you roughly while hastily taking off his clothes. He suddenly feels you pull back for air, you giggle for a bit until he suddenly lifts you up by your ass. And lays you down on the bed ass up. He wastes no time taking off his shirt, and nipping at your neck, you can only giggle at his neediness. “Oh? What's gotten you–so worked up, baby?” You move your hips to tease him, but Joshua’s hands goes down and holds your hips in place before whispering in your ear, “What's gotten me so worked up is you sending me videos of you fucking yourself with a dildo molded to my cock.” He slips his hands down and feels your wet, naked pussy clamping on nothing. “Awhhh, you’ve been waiting for me since this afternoon huh? Waiting for me to fuck you dumb? Fuck this needy–fucking pussy dumb?” He circles your pussy and hears how you gasp and get wetter, he stops and strips himself of all his clothes before slipping his hands and playing with your nipples.

➶ “Want this don’t you, hm? Acting like a slut, when I’m not home, screaming my name fucking yourself on that dildo.. such a desperate baby, my desperate baby.” The condescending tone of his voice makes you wetter, his hands remove the clothes covering your body and slaps your ass. “Count. After this, I’m fucking you full of my cum.”

‧₊˚ ┊ Boyfriend!Joshua who loves to see you in matching cute outfits to flaunt you in front of other people ! He loves the stares both of you get when you’re outside in your cute matching outfits ! No matter the season, weather or date, if he can match with you, he will ! Wanna match hats, shoes, aesthetics? He’s already looking and buying, no need to use your pretty little head !

➶ So when he was away, he made a little shopping trip and bought you a few multiple, dresses of different styles and colors that he knew would fit you !! But then he knew any style or color would fit you! With a body like yours? He knew that he’d be wrapped around your fingers with just seeing you in it!

➶ “Hm.. how about this shua?” You replied to him as you spun around showing him how the dress fit you like a glove. “Hmm,” Shua’s lips curled into a sly grin. He stood up and wrapped his arms around your body, behind you, and whispered in your ear. He licked his lips and nuzzled his face into your neck, deeply inhaling your sweet, sweet scent. A deep hum reverberated from his chest and sent shivers up your spine. “You smell so intoxicating. So good, like a sweet little lamb, needing to be taken care of.” His large hands settled itself by your hips and his mouth kissed your neck and you whimpered at the noise his mouth made on your neck. His hands went lower, and lower until his hands were now in between your thighs. Your head rolled back as his hands caressed your thighs and squeezed your thighs playfully.

➶ “J-Joshua..!” You desperately called out to him, begging him to touch you, to take you. He looked at the mirror still in front of you and his eyes dangerously lingered, a lustful look taking over. His hands took themselves off of your thighs and held your waist tightly and whipped you around. Facing him, “Want me to touch you? Want me to make you feel good, hm?” His hands cupping your breast as you moaned in pleasure, nodding your head eagerly for his touch. “Use your words darling..”

‧₊˚ ┊ Boyfriend!Joshua who loves to see you squirm ! He loves to see you squirm especially in public ! The thought that only he knows that there's a vibrator inside of you only spurs him on and makes him harder !

➶ He loves seeing you come undone especially when the 2 of you go shopping! Don't you see he’s just trying to let your sales associate help you? I mean–why don't we just cut our shopping spree short and come next time?

➶ “Oh, baby, are you alright?” He asked as the 2 of you were shopping for clothes. He held you close to him and you started to tremble, his hand supporting you as he noticed you gripped the clothes a bit too.. tightly. He looked intently at you, looking if you’d slip up, suddenly your sales associate came back in the room, bringing with them a few pieces of clothing Joshua suggested, his face returned from his normal, carefree expression as he saw them walk up to you, clothes on hand. They saw the state you were in and their eyes immediately went wide as they fussed over to you, “Oh.. ma’am, a-are you okay?” Their hand reached out for you and you immediately tried to mask your embarrassment.

➶ “Oh, dear, If I may, would the two of you like to sit in the vip section of our store for a few minutes?” Your sales associate asked you, a hint of sadness in their voice. “Oh, yes please, we would be grateful.” Joshua replied in such a sickly sweet tone. As the 2 of you followed the sales associate to the room, they set aside a few of the pieces he asked for and sat the 2 of you down in the vip lounging area. When the 2 of you were finally sat down, you rubbed your legs together as you felt the vibrations getting weaker. “Oh, Sir Joshua? Would you like me to bring you both water?” They asked, patiently waiting for a response. “Oh, yes please,” He responded with a soft smile at your sales associate.

➶ When the sales associate finally left the room, Joshua leaned in closer to you and placed a hand on your thigh, you whimpered at his touch. “J-Joshua..” he leaned closer to you and whispered in your ear. “Don't you dare cum, okay baby? You don't want them to see you making you cum in such a public place do you?”

[ace-race-ace]

Lance and his old men ✨

-How I see each relationship-

1. Felipe Massa

His first old man - back when he was still an innocent little rookie. I don’t see him being actually physically attracted to him, but the attention and mentorship does something for him. He also gets introduced to many older men through him with shared parties/events. It lights a little spark but overall it stayed professional. (Though the body language in the picture…insane. So he was already quite affectionate.)

2. Checo Perez (aka. Chelance)

His first true seduction. Lance learned a lot about Checo from Esteban before he replaced him. So he comes in guns loaded, acting coy and flirty to get a rise out of him. Checo indulged him, flirting back, giving some subtle physical touch. Lance tries his best to make his attraction obvious but Checo always finds a way to change the subject. Still, his own attraction to the younger driver slips through the cracks. His eyes wander to his soft curves more than a married man’s should. He can’t help but reach out and touch sometimes, a hand to his waist, his shoulder, or a hug that lasts a little too long…but he holds himself back.

Until he gets just a bit too drunk one night, and Lance looks too pretty. Lance pouts at him, pleading him to give in. It doesn’t take much more than that and they fuck hard and nasty. Sergio feels extremely guilty for sub coming. He tries to put some distance between them and spend more time with his family. Then Covid hits and he finds himself yearning for Lance, unable to wipe the memories. The first time they see each other again, Lance has grown out his hair, and Checo can’t help but pull him aside to yank on that beautiful mane as Lance sucks him off. They keep casually sleeping together throughout the rest of the season.

3. Sebastian Vettel (Seblance??)

Complete hero worship. Lance is down soooo bad for Seb. Who wouldn’t be? He tries to be casual about it but Seb clocks him immediately. He’s been on the other side of this dynamic himself so he sees right through Lance’s teasing and nonchalance. Seb isn’t as confident in his looks anymore, feeling his youth slip away but Lance seems to only cherish that further which easily leads to mutual affection. Lance makes the first move, sneaking into his hotel room to ‘talk’ but Seb just laughs and brings him to bed. Worth noting though, Seb doesn’t fuck - he makes love. He’s no longer that excited world champion contender and instead spends hours teasing and taking Lance apart beneath him. Lance sometimes wishes he’d just fuck him fast, but that’s not his style. Still, it’s not too bad as his affection also comes in the form of kisses, which Lance loves. He pouts dramatically until Seb can find a moment to pull him aside and kiss him tender~~

4. Nico Hulkenberg

A short fling but damn they were nastyyy. Nico finds out Lance absolutely adores sucking dick and he take full advantage of that opportunity. That man shoves Lance down on his knees any chance he gets. Loves grabbing Lance’s dark hair as he fucks into his mouth. Lance looks up at his with the most glass-eyed, doe-eyed expression as saliva dribbles down his chin. He doesn’t even care that Nico leaves him high and dry most of the time, he just loves having cock in his mouth.

5. Fernando Alonso (Strollonso)

Lance’s one true love - my OTP….

There is so much to say about them, it would take hours to write it all. But essentially, Fernando is everything Lance needs. He’s a great mentor, pushing and encouraging him to do better. Loves to fuck, pounding into him until his legs are jelly. But he also has his more tender moments where he just cares for Lance and wants to see him happy. Lance realizes it’s always been him. He remembers even back at Williams that time Fernando squeezed his hip to congratulate him~~~ Lance just love the physical affection Fernando shows him. The neck squeezes, the kisses, holding his waist…and when the opportunity arises, a playful slap to his ass.

Fernando is the perfect balance between absolute sex degeneracy and kindness and understanding. He’ll take Lance anywhere but then spend hours taking care of him, praising him. Their dates are frequent and special - nice dinners, traveling…Fernando just loves to spoil his princess. Speaking of which, PET NAMESSS they absolutely call each other by pet names in their languages. So cute and sweet…

There’s so much more but I think everyone already knows 😌

[revelboo]

Heya~ hope your doing well! And I hope you had a swell bday!! 🎉

It's been a bit since you've done anything for Prowl, are you still writing for him? Have you seen the new Earthspark season? 🥺🥺

I haven’t seen the new season, just yet, but will. I don’t really track these, just writing whatever as it occurs to me so my posting schedule can be a bit… weird

Stand Too Close Pt 4

IDW Prowl x Reader

• Sitting in his palm, clinging to a servo since he’s not holding you in his hand like normal and you don’t want to fall, you try to gauge his mood from his blank expression. And to figure out why he’s not yelling, yet. As much as the rest of them seem to think the tactician is always in control, always calm- you’ve seen the other side. That anger he tries so hard to hide from the other Autobots, but not you. “Do you hate me?” He asks, tone almost bored as he walks to his quarters.

• “You locked me in a drawer,” you retort, shifting so your back is to him so he can’t try to analyze your expression. “Remember?” You sound more tired than angry to him. And by some miracle you don’t feel the need to point out that he’d ruined your life, your favorite jab. Venting, he mulls over that and wonders if maybe he should have left you with Bumblebee or any other Bot. Someone you could relax around and not constantly fight with. Why does that thought bother him so much? Because some twisted part of him enjoys the verbal sparring and the challenge of someone as poisonous as he is. As angry.

• “Then behave,” he says and despite your decision to ignore him, you glare up over your shoulder at him. “You ran out in front of me that day. You didn’t watch where you were going,” he adds and you’d almost swear one corner of his mouth is twitching like he’s trying not to smile. Like it’s funny to him as your face reddens. You don’t even realize you’re already back to his quarters until he tilts his palm and you’re forced to slide off onto his desk as he pulls out his chair. And the reaction is immediate and unthinking. Yanking off one of your sneakers and beaning him in the face with it.

• “Excuse me?!” You screech, face redder than he’s ever seen it as he just stares. You’d dared to hit him one of your little feet coverings? Challenge him? “I was in a crosswalk,” you yell, throwing out an arm and your level of fury is almost endearing, because you don’t have to play nice. You can scream all you like and what must that be like? To not bottle everything up all the time? You’re pulling off the other covering to throw when he places his palms on the desk and mass shifts, vaulting up onto the surface with you as he shrinks. And you scramble backwards, tripping and going sprawling on his data pad. Mouth falling open in shock, but still managing to throw that stupid covering at his him.

• Swearing as your shoe bounces off his chassis, you scramble to get away as he stalks your way, optics pale and angry. Your mind clawing for sense of the fact that he can apparently shrink, that fact second to that he’s angry and you don’t want those big hands on you when he’s this livid. A hand grabs your ankle to drag you back and you kick him in the jaw with the other leg without thinking, catching him by surprise as his head snaps back. And you freeze as he reaches up to slide a thumb over his lip, growling as it comes away wet with energon and oh, no. You really shouldn’t have done that. His glossa slides over his thumb, door wings trembling. “Come here,” he snarls.

• Little brat. You try to crawl away and he drags you back again, flipping you into your back and straddling your hips this time so you can’t kick him in the face again. And you go ballistic, screaming profanity in his face, your own face scarlet as you try to hit him and he bares his denta, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head when you slap him, squirming under him like a wild thing. “You only landed a blow because you caught me by surprise,” he growls as your eyes flash with hate and you bare your little teeth at him, hips bucking under him. “Clearly no one’s ever taught you how to defend yourself.”

• Swearing, you try to wriggle your hands loose and give up when he tightens his grip in a subtle warning. Your anger faltering when he slaps a palm against the desk by your head and leans over you. Too close, you can feel him venting against your throat, his face right above yours. Suddenly very aware of the way he has you pinned and the heat of him. “Next time, put up more of a fight. Make it last,” he whispers, one corner of his mouth curling and it’s like a punch to the gut, the shock of that rueful little smile overwhelming you until you can’t breathe. Too aware of him and the fact that you like that cocky smile as much as you hate him. Panic claws at you, because you’re not sure this is anger anymore just that you want him off of you. Can’t get free of his grip, but he’s so close and he freezes, optics narrowing when you lift your head. And bite his already bleeding bottom lip as hard as you can.

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[kitkatpancakestack]

Just re-watched some eps in s4 and I know it's all been said before but I'll say it again. My favorite thing about one Evan Buckley? His anger. He has so much pure, burning anger in him. This man is not just a "hothead," he has some mfing demons. The scene when he blows up at his parents? All of his flashbacks in Buck Begins, especially when he crashes his motorcycle? Up until season 4 we just see Buck as this idealistic, kind of ignorant and gullible, boneheaded frat bro with somewhat good intentions. But Buck has been egregiously hurt throughout his life. Also he's enormous. He could be a really mean dude. He could be rough and aggressive and violent and spiteful.

But he isn't.

We are all paradoxical but damn do I love the flavor of paradox that is Buck.

And I know we all like to bemoan Buck's screen time and his storylines but tbh he did start the show in such a place (age, demeanor, kind of an impressionable blank slate) that afforded him an advantageous position. And nothing is perfect but like, his story kind of slaps though. And season 4 cracks him open in such a fantastic way and I honestly wish they would explore the internal struggle of that more. I mean, what would it take for him to snap? How much does he have to battle those demons? Was he always like this or how did he learn to quiet his anger? Show me THIS. The entire lightning strike arc was a big ass flop to me sorry.

Anyway, long story short, the best part about Buck is that he isn't this pure uwu baby that needs to be taken care of and coddled, and I won't let the growing faction of Buck stans who just get hard-ons for pouty white boys, and who have clearly never watched the source material, permanently defile his character. He has some serious darkness in him, and he could have so easily turned out different. Buck is the master of facades no matter how mature he becomes. Choosing kindness and goodness is always more work than the other way around. And that's why Evan Buckley will always have a special place in my heart. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.