#but because they know you'd do the same and HAVE done the same at every turn for them and for your goals

[outtathisworld-imagines]

Call for a good time

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Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader

Warning: Smut! +18 MDNI!, intercourse (F & M rec), fingering, masterbation, dirty talk, phone sex, mild drug mention, swearing, unprotected sex- pls wrap before you tap. Not proofread

A.N: been wanting to do this idea for a while because I am a sucker for a sweet oblivious Bob

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

You struggled to get comfortable one evening on the sofa, shuffling from side to side and then groaning. You flicked through your phone, boredom and tiredness settling in your bones so you decided to head to your room.

You bumped into someone on the way “Oh, hey!” Bob smiled. “I’m grabbing a soda, you want one? Anything?” He asked.

Your heart fluttered at how much he put effort into the little things. Even if it was just offering a soda to anything at all in the world- you were certain he would have done anything to get it for you. You shook your head no. “I’m a little tired so I’m just heading to bed,” you told him. “I’ll watch some Netflix until I fall asleep- thanks though.”

His head bobbed up and down with the same smile on his face. “Well, goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight Bob,” you turned away and headed to your room.

He stood there, watching you walk away, a piece of him desperate to ask you to stay. To stay with him.

He murmured a swear under his breath and went to grab a soda before tossing himself on the couch. He wish he could just let you know how he felt. How you brought a smile to his face every time he saw you, how you’d do your own dishes to be more considerate to him, how you’d sit with him for sometimes hours on end whenever he felt himself being drawn back into the void.

Bob unknowingly sat where you had, he could almost smell the faint traces of your perfume. It drove him wild. The sweet smell that lingered around you, how he would smell it with his eyes shut, his head sunk onto his pillow and using his hand to pleasure himself wishing it was you.

He also tired to make himself more comfortable, that’s when something jabbed the back of his thigh. His brow creased as his hand went between the two cushions on the couch and pulled out a baby-pink coloured business card that read ‘Call for a good time’ followed by numbers and a time between 12am and 3am.

Bobs interest peaked and he tucked it carefully into his trouser pocket. He turned on the TV and then pulled it out again. The corners were a little frayed, but the numbers were taunting him to the point that he almost reached for his phone there and then.

He snorted at himself, putting the card away and wondering whose card it belonged to. He could place every single penny he had on a bet that it was John’s. He glanced in the direction of his room and shook his head, of course he’d carry a card like that. 

After an hour, Bob went to his bedroom, the delicate card in his pocket was almost weighing him down. It was reaching midnight, he wondered if putting a voice to his fantasies was wrong, knowing that he was visioning you while someone else talked to him through the phone.

But at this point, after months of pinning, he was desperate, and he was too nervous to actually admit to you how he really felt.

He took out the card and practically punched the numbers into his phone, his thumb hovered over the call button momentarily, swallowing hard and almost deleting the number and calling it a night.

But he pressed dial.

It rang three times and then the person on the other side answered. “You’ve called for a good time?”

Bob was already sweating, he wasn’t quite sure from nerves or internal embarrassment that he found himself in this predicament.

“Hello?”

He realised he hadn’t actually spoke. “H-hi! Hi! I’m here,” he swallowed “I’m here.” He said releasing a shaky breath.

A giggle floated through his speaker “Well hi, how can I help you tonight, honey?” The voice was almost as thick and as sweet as it.

Bob cleared his throat and scratched his head. “I…I don’t really know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

That giggle again. It was gonna be the death of him. “That’s okay, I’m here to help you with whatever you need.” Bob nodded, as if the person on the other side could see him. “If it makes you feel any better, this is relatively new to me too so we might be in this together.”

Bob let out a sigh of relief “It does.”

“And we don’t have to go through anything you don’t wanna, this is your call. We can be as filthy or as mild as you want. Or we can even just talk. I’m all yours.”

Bob settled back on his bed and closed his eyes “I think I wanna tell you to touch yourself for me.”

There was a pause then that knee-weakening giggle “You think?”

Bob began palming himself over his jeans “I know I wanna tell you to touch yourself.” He placed the phone between his head and shoulder as he quickly unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down to his knees, finding a surge of confidence. “I want you to sink those fingers so deep into your pussy that you think they are still gonna be there when you pull them out.” He heard the breath hitch on the other side “C’mon baby,” Bob began stroking himself, pre-cum already oozing from his cock and his eyes squeezed tight enough that he could see you. “Tell me what you’d do to me. Tell me what you wanna do to me.”

A soft whimper left the lips of the person on the other side of the phone. “Oh honey, I’d have that huge cock of yours hitting the back of my throat while you watched me playing with myself just like I am now,” they said and Bob sunk deeper into his mattress, about to cum already at this heightened experience he was going through. His grip tightened around both his phone and his cock. “Then I’d give you my pussy to fuck. Fuck me all night if you wanted. Want you to fill me up baby, can you do that for me?”

The begs mixed with the moaning and gentle slick nosies in the background sent Bob over the edge “Oh fuck! Yes! Fuck yes I’ll fill you so good.” He groaned as a rush of pleasure filled his body. His legs and feet stretching out as he tried to hold on for a little longer “Shit, I’m gonna cum so soon.”

“You can always call me again, honey.” The voice sounded gentle, reassuring.

“I want you to cum first, please.” He said in a broken voice, beads of sweat dripping down his face. “Please- fuck!”

“I’ll let you listen baby,” the phone went from a soft whispering voice to wet, slick, sloppy noises. Bobs whole body jolted at the noise of the pussy being played with for him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, you wanna hear me cum for you baby?”

“Yes!” Bob gritted between his teeth “God yes! Fuck!” Moments later, Bob’s ears filled with the sound of a stranger cumming for him over the phone, loud moans softly subsiding into laboured breaths.

“Cum for me baby, I know you wanna. Imagine you’re cumming all over my tits, cumming all over me.”

“Oh, fuck- gonna- give you it all,” Bob’s voice was strained, he was convinced he was going to have a sore throat tomorrow. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m cumming,” he said as warm white sticky streams coated his own stomach wishing it was yours. Wishing it was your voice. Wishing you were here with him. “Fuck…” Bob drawled.

“Better let you go and get cleaned up.” The voice said and Bob softly smirked.

“Wish you were here to help,” he said almost cumming again at the fluttery giggle. “But seriously, thank you, I needed that.”

“Well whenever you need it again, you got my number, honey.” They said. “Trust me, with how wet you got me, I’ll pick up within one ring for you.”

Bob caught his breath as he said “I’ll be having you on speed-dial.”

—•—

It had been almost a month since Bob had used the services of a stranger, most nights with his cock in his hand picturing you as a voice encouraged him on.

“Hey Bobby!” Johns voice brought him back to the room. “You good with this movie?” The team were curled up on the couch. He mindlessly nodded and then looked at the time, it was 11:30pm and he always called his phone-sex stranger on the dot at 12am.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message. ‘I’ll be calling a little later tonight- sorry.’

“I’m just going to grab a drink, anyone want anything?” You asked standing up and received a choir of ‘no’s’ in return.

You pulled out your phone, it buzzed with a text, you smiled as you text back.

Bob pulled out his phone, he could feel you sinking down beside him upon your return with a drink in hand.

‘That’s okay,’ the text began ‘You’re gonna just have to make it up to me, baby 😘’

He turned to you and sent you a small smile, if only you knew what he did behind closed doors.

Yelena groaning in disgust brought everyone’s attention to the scene on the screen. “Oh god,” you muttered as two people practically broke the bed, you and your dysfunctional family watching on. “Of course you’d put on a film that’s essentially porn, Walker!” You chided.

“Oh come on! That’s soft-core at best!” He tried to defend.

“Fast forward it!” Yelena had her eyes covered.

Bob’s eyes glanced from the tv to you, your head softly shaking with a small smile. You caught him and shrugged with a nervous smile, not seeing how red his face really was thanks to the dim lights. The scene playing was a similar scenario to what he and his mysterious stranger over the phone reenacted alone in his room.

You pulled a pillow to your chest and hid your head in it “At least mute the TV! Jesus, these noises are so fake!” Your voice was muffled by the pillow.

John snorted “Girls always moan like that.”

“No they don’t,” Bob said quietly thinking that no one would hear him. But everyone did. You blinked in surprise. “Well at least the ones who aren’t faking it.”

The soft gasps and ‘oohs’ from the team made John shift in his seat. “Good one,” you stuck your hand out for Bob to high-five, his hand against yours sending a spark of electricity up your arm. You remained on the sofa cuddling the cushion, wishing it was him instead.

An hour and a half later Bob ran to his room and pressed his recent call log. The affectionate fake name of ‘Honey’ at the top. And the most called.

“Someone’s a late boy…” a soft chide from the other line gave him a hard-on already.

“I know, honey, I know. I’m sorry.” Bob said as he skilfully removed his bottoms. “But I’ve thought about us all day, been wanting this all day.” He shakily breathed into his own phone as he gripped onto his cock. “Wanna cum for you, want you to cum for me.”

“Steady baby,” the voice cooed “Wanna take my time with you tonight since you were late…”

Bob groaned in desperation, ready to implode. “I’ll try, honey, I’ll try.” He hissed giving his swollen cock a gentle stroke. “Shit I’m so pent up.”

“Tell you what, baby,” the smooth as silk voice said. “Let’s get you out of this pent up state and tomorrow night we can draw this out a little longer? Huh?”

“Fuck, are you sure?” Bob asked, already quickening his pace.

That giggle again. “Of course I am, wanna make you happy, baby. Let’s make you happy.” Bob barely made it to his bed before being brought to his knees in sheer desperation for release.

“Fuck, you got me on the floor, baby.” He was breathless speaking to the person on the phone. “Gonna cum so quick.”

“Yes baby! Cum for me, just imagine me under you with my mouth open and my tongue out ready for your big load just for me.” Bob yelped in pleasure visioning it was you under his body and his cock against your tongue as he came, how he would have pained your face, and neck, and tits, and stomach with how much he came.

He looked down and saw the spray of white in front of him. “Shit,” he hunched forward “The mess I’ve made baby,” he laughed, laced with exhaustion. “The mess I’ve made because of you.”

“I should let you clean up.”

Bob paused for a moment “Can I actually just hear your voice for just a little longer? Please?”

Bob couldn’t see the smile through the phone but it was there. “Of course you can.”

“Thank you,” he sat back a little, still on the floor. “What are you doing right now?”

“Talking to you of course.” The voice replied amused. “Just lazing on my fluffy sheets wishing it was your fingertips grazing me,” Bob bit down on his lip. “Wish I had you all over me.”

“I need to see your body,” Bob blurted out. His internal thoughts being spoken.

There was a silence, Bob pulled the phone back to see if the call was still connected. It was. He then wondered if he had crossed a line.

“That’s extra.”

Bob’s eyes widened, his palms suddenly sweating at the thought that this could happen. “I’ll pay. Whatever it is I’ll pay.” His voice spilled out, almost desperately.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Bob snorted. “Why’s that relevant?”

“Just tell me.”

“I like pink.”

“Ohh takes a real man to admit that. Why pink?” The voice fluttered.

“Because I dream of your perfectly pink pussy. That’s why.” His voice was rough, ready to see a glimpse of the person finally, further enhancing a vision of you for his fantasy.

“Fuck, honey, don’t say things like that because I’ll soak my sheets.”

“Good. God, I wish I was there to lick it up,” the voice moaned at his words. “Tomorrow. Midnight. I want you ready for me.”

—•—

Bob was shaking as the clock struck 11:59pm. He was in nothing but his boxers because if the other person was going to be half naked then he would be too, making it a shared experience.

His level of phone sex was about to be taken to another level entirely.

He pressed his FaceTime button instead of the call option, pointing it away from his face. It rang and then connected.

“Fuck,” Bob’s eyes were on a baby pink lingerie set that hugged the curves of the body it was on perfectly. There was his honey, body engulfed in that furry sheet mentioned before with a hand toying with the hem of the underwear. “Holy. Fucking. Shit. You’re so gorgeous.”

“Well if I was gonna have that greeting I would have done this sooner with you.” The voice laced around him and his own hand moved down. “You’re stunning, I wish I was really there with you.”

Bob softly exhaled “If only.” He nervously ran his sweaty palm down his abs. “I’m pretty nervous…”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” The comforting tone of the voice made him nod.

Bob looked at the phone, the beautiful body before him and swallowed hard. “Please touch yourself for me,” he asked “I’m begging you.” He pleaded.

He imagined it was you on the other end as he watched slender fingers trail towards the pink panties. Bob began touching himself through his boxers and closed his eyes momentarily. “Wish it was your fingers teasing me…” he watched as the fingers traced over the material.

“Fuck yeah, baby, that’s it,” Bob moaned as his eyes fluttered shut and then, before he knew it, got so lost in the moment he murmured a name he kept hidden behind his lips all this time. “Yes, Y/N, fuck!”

Bob didn’t notice the hand freeze.

“You…know my name?”

His eyes snapped open. “Sorry?”

“You said the name Y/N?”

“I didn’t- ah shit,” Bob fumbled with his phone and his face was now on the screen.

“Wait a second…BOB?!” The camera turned around, your face suddenly looking his face as you sat up quickly in bed. “Y-you’re the one that’s been calling?!” Your voice was tight and quick, you tried to hide your semi-exposed chest with your hand. “What?!” He was pretty sure the entire tower had heard his name being screamed at the top of your lungs.

“You’re her?!”

“Oh I’m gonna kick your ass!” You grumbled and hung up the phone. You grabbed your dressing gown and threw it on over you, you paused for a moment, a feeling of conflict now swirling inside you.

You had always wanted Bob to be more than a friend, spending countless mornings waking up breathless and in a pool of sweat after having a dream about him having his way with you, your ache remedied by touching yourself at the thought of him. Your feet however quickly rushed to his door, battering on it with a closed fist. “I know you’re in there!” You banged again and Bob opened up, you strode into his room as he shut the door behind him.

“Y/N-“

“Oh no, no, no,” you pointed a finger at him. “Do not open your mouth.” You warned. “Not after you’ve been getting off on me for weeks!”

Bob blinked and his jaw dropped “I’m not the only one here doing that!” He now pointed to you. “You’ve had your fair share of good times courtesy of me!”

Your chest was heaving and your body shaking from rage and something more seeing him in the flesh in nothing but his boxers. “How’d you even get my card anyway?”

“Oh like you didn’t give it to Walker?” Bob snapped back, a slither of jealously laced in his words. “Bet he’s always the next one on the line…”

Your brows furrowed in confusion “WHAT?!” You yelped “Walker has never called me?”

“Oh yeah? How come I found your card in the sofa then?” He asked folding his toned arms over his equally toned chest.

You groaned and tapped your hips, imagining your jean pocket there instead of your dressing down. “Ah fuck, must have fell out my pocket…” you turned on your heel away from him.

The room was silent, thick with tension. The pair of you internally debating who should speak first. “I’m just as unsure what to say now from the first time I called.” Bob finally broke the silent sound barrier. “Your voice sounds so different over the phone.”

You glanced to him over your shoulder “You were the first,” you admitted “Tried to feign some confidence through that call.” The memory of it sent a chill down your spine. “You were the only one that ever called.”

Bob twiddled his fingers “What made you do it?” He asked and you turned to give him your full attention. “What made you set up a line?”

You perched yourself at the end of his bed, you had spilled enough with each other, one more confession wouldn’t make it any less strange than it was now. “A friend suggested it. They said it might have helped, and to get a bit of money too,” you smirked. “So I got a new phone and followed their advice. In all honesty, I did it because it thought it would help me.”

“Help you how?” Bob asked, his feet bringing him closer to you.

You looked up to him through your lashes, surprised at how close he had gotten. “Help me release some…tension…” you carefully admitted. “Release the tension I had of you.” Bob gulped hard, you heard. “Why did you call?” You asked while shifting on the spot, the fabric of your dressing gown slipping down your shoulder and exposing some skin. Bobs mouth went dry.

“I-I- uh,” he scratched the back of his neck. Your eyes flickered down to his growing bulge in his boxers.

Another wave of confidence washed through like it did on that fateful first night. “Did you want a good time…honey?” Bob’s eyes quickly looked at yours then fell to the rest of your body. How he touched himself mere moments ago over it dreaming it was you.

His dreams had come true.

“Y-yeah…” he just about managed to choke out. “I had tension built over you too.” He stepped closer, you extended a leg out and brought him towards you with it. “Every time I came,” his hands gently moved the fabric from your other shoulder, exposing the lacy material you wore for him underneath. “I came thinking of you.”

You craned your head and with your own hands slipped off your dressing gown, a soft gasp left Bob’s lips. “I came thinking of you too…” you whispered. It didn’t take much force for Bob’s fingertips to push you to the bed, your foot still wrapped around the back of his calf. “Long before those calls…”

Bob watched as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, he watched you shimmy out of your robe “You’re so beautiful,” his hand reached out, tentatively tracing his fingers over your bare skin and coming to a sharp holt when he reached the edges of your underwear.

His eyes flickered up to yours from the noticeable wet patch on your underwear that he was almost drooling over. “Will we make our phone call a reality…?” You softly nodded, a soft gasp leaving your lips as his fingers slowly moved to your clothed core. “Is this the way you’d touch yourself?” He rhetorically asked, fully knowing from the moans before it would have been. “Is this the way you tease yourself waiting for me?”

“Yes,” you brokenly admitted, gasping when he applied a delicate amount of force.

“Shit, so wet already,” his voice was gruff at the warm, wet feeling on his fingertips. How he wanted to lap it up desperately. How he wanted his cock to be coated in it. “Fuck,” you watched him lick his lips and you smirked.

You hooked your thumbs under your panties and slowly dragged them off for him, a string of swears leaving his lips like he was chanting a prayer. You went to unhook your bra but he stopped you. Bob leaned forward, his lips inches from yours as his eyes looked deep into your own as he undid your bra for you. The material falling down onto your lap as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

He went to pull back, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck bringing him back to your lips with an almighty force. He moaned as he collapsed on top of you, giggling at your eagerness. “No teasing me now, Reynolds.”

“No teasing, got it…honey.” Your heart fluttered at the nickname, you tossed your bra to the side and Bob’s hand grabbed your tit, rubbing your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. You moaned as your tongues battled for dominance in each other’s mouths, soft moans becoming louder and hands becoming widely uncontrollable.

You felt Bob’s cock twitch against your thigh and you smirked. “You’re overdressed,” you teased and he playfully rolled his eyes, capturing your lips with his again before pulling back and stripping off. You propped yourself up on your elbows, your jaw almost hitting your chest at the sight of him. “Jesus, I don’t think my phone screen would have fit you. Would have done you a great injustice.” Bob turned away with a blush on his face, rubbing a nervous hand through his hair. “Hey! Don’t be bashful,” you giggled.

‘God that giggle’ he thought. The same one that brought him to his knees every night.

He jumped back on you, his hands roaming every inch of your skin. “So beautiful, and all mine,” he murmured against your lips. “Needed you for so long, Y/N,” he admitted and let his hand roam to your pussy. “You ready for me, baby?” He asked, almost sounding drunk on the fumes of lust that filled his room. He stroked his fingers over your slit and you moaned at the contact. “Oh, you’re really ready for me.” Bob brought his fingers to his mouth and groaned as his tongue wiped away the glossy mess you had made off of himself. “You even taste like fucking honey.”

You giggled again, Bob couldn’t take it any more and sunk his cock inside you without any warning. “Fuck! Bob!” Your voice being ripped apart by your lungs as he stretched you out.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” He lay there for a moment feeling your pussy squeeze around him. “Couldn’t wait any longer for you. Shit, I need you so bad.” He breathlessly admitted.

“Well,” you batted your eyelashes “I’m all yours.”

He started grinding his hips, slow and gentle, a string of moans escaping his lips at the sight of you under him. “Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy. Gonna do what we talked about in our first call. Gonna give you all my cum, gonna soak you in it.” He started to quicken his pace and you gripped onto his wrists. “Is this even real, good fucking god, are you real?” His voice was dipping up and down, almost sounding delirious. He felt delirious. He felt like the room was spinning in the best way. He had never felt like this before, about someone and how they made him feel.

It was like he had taken ecstasy. Bob was higher than he had even been before.

“I’m real,” you panted out between loudening moans. “This is real,” your hand reached up to cup his cheek. “Bob, I’m gonna-fuck!” Your hand fell from his cheek, your limbs frantically reaching out and gripping onto his sheets. He watched you cum with a loud moan, spread out like an angel before him with your arms acting as if they were wings.

He opened his mouth to speak, tell you how ethereal you looked. For him, under him. But the only thing that left his mouth was a guttural scream as he came inside you, pulling out in just enough time to also coat your stomach and tits too, painting you like you were his masterpiece. He stroked himself until every last drop was on you, he sat back and watched as he poured out from your pussy. A perfect ribbon of white against a pink canvas.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, steadying himself on his knees as he watched you become more composed. He lay down next to you, the pair of you wanting to share a moment of bliss before getting cleaned up.

“Well, you called for a good time,” you tirelessly giggled. “Did you get one?” You asked fully knowing he got that and more.

“Oh trust me,” Bob turned and looked at you “I got the greatest fucking time of my life! I’ll be calling again.”

“I’ll always pick up for you.”

[comehereoohlala]

vastness

summary: you and andrew are briefly long distance for the first part of his tour. the distance is proving to be more difficult than anticipated for the both of you.

rating: mature (16+)

tags: emotional hurt + comfort, established relationship, long distance, phone calls

words: 1,416

note: i really don't like this - it's not great. just swishing around some ideas i want to pull out and properly explore in other stuff. just know it was an impulse decision to post it and it may be impulse deleted

fic under the cut ❊

It's a late Sunday night. Everything feels empty without him. The house is too quiet. No one is here to usher you to bed, to tempt you with sweet gentle kisses or words that would land you both in the second circle of hell for eternity.

When you finally make your way to the bedroom, you find the bed is far too cold. Missing the warmth of his large frame that you could press yourself in to. His jacket doesn't hang over the chair. Only yours.

It's only a few weeks you tell yourself again. Until everything is done and you can spend three months following him around on tour. Three months of hotel rooms together. Of backstage kisses. Of dressing room shenanigans.

You moved in with him in the new year. Leaving everything and everyone you knew behind. New job, new college. New everything. People judged - but you had known each other for years and been together for… well the exact start of your romantic relationship was hazy, but that's another story for another day. This story is about distance, and how it was killing you both. So he spent all of December with you and your family, exploring and saying goodbye to the only place you'd ever called home. And he had asked over and over if you were sure; you said yes every time.

Wicklow became home quickly. Andrew's family and friends had done nothing but shower you in love since you arrived.

But he was the reason it was home.

Any and all symptoms of homesickness were easily cured by the taste of his lips, by the morning coffees made with love and delivered to you in bed, by his cooking, by the sound of his guitar fiddling, by his ever loving touch.

But now the house is silent, your cooking is loveless and only just edible, and you crave nothing but the softness of his skin.

That's when the phone rings - you don't even open your eyes before answering it.

"Hey… who's this?"

"Andrew."

You sit up. "Andy?"

You hear his deep breath through the phone, "I didn't think you'd pick up."

"Aren't you meant to be on stage?"

"Delayed. Weather. God it's so good to hear your voice."

His voice is so quiet. You cling on to the sound of it like a child with a blanket. Time differences have made it so difficult to call, you've mostly been talking through messages sent and read hours apart.

"Andy…" you close your eyes, "I miss you so much."

"Fuck I wish you were here… and I know, it's important that you stayed because you're your own woman and you're pursuing your dreams and doing amazing incredible things and I'm so proud of you," he rambles quickly, "but god… if I could fly you out here right now I would."

"You know I wish I could… but I don't want to screw all these years of work up now."

"I know… I'm sorry. You've worked so hard, I don't want to be the reason it doesn't work out. Really, I'm the one who should be there with you. I'm being so selfish."

"No, no, Andrew. Please. We're both just stressed and overtired. Two weeks baby. I'll be with you in two weeks."

"Two weeks," he says it like a mantra, like a prayer to keep him going. "…Hey darli-" he gets cut off by a knock on the door and a rather stern voice.

"Andrew! Come on we need to get you mic'd up! We called you like five minutes ago!"

You laugh. He's so predictable sometimes. "Good luck tonight," you say with a small smile, tears stinging your eyes.

"…I can't hang up," he admits, and you can hear the same pleading in his voice that's in yours.

You close your eyes, holding the phone close to your ear, as if it were him. "I miss you so much."

"Me too. I miss you too."

"You have to go," you say quietly, "…there's only thousands of people waiting for you," you try to joke, but it comes off more melancholy than you would have liked.

"I'm going to be thinking of you the whole time."

"Can I call you when the show ends?"

"I'll call the second I get back to my bus. Promise."

You smile, "not that I'll be waiting by the phone or anything. I am a very busy woman."

"Trust me I know you are. You've always been difficult to get alone," he teases, voice laced with sarcasm, and you can hear him walking down the hall.

You shake your head in disapproval, "now go be my rock star."

"And you go be the smart, beautiful woman you always are. Oh and get some sleep please. I love you darling, so much," he yells that last bit, clearly away from the phone having passed it on to his stage manager, who says a quick hello and apologises to you for having to prematurely end your conversation with your boyfriend who you never get to talk to these days. Not that you're bitter with her, you're just bitter with the universe.

You wrap a blanket around yourself and watch as peoples posts from the show start to slowly roll in. You don't know why you do, but sleep felt so impossible, and the way you were missing him was almost so unbearable that it felt nice to see what he was doing oceans away. Watching the way he glows up on that stage, his smile when the crowd sings back to him. Fully in his element.

A few minutes after the final videos come through you call him again, butterflies in your stomach like your a fan hoping to talk to the man whose posters you have hung on your wall.

He answers, "you're still awake?" He breathes out, you can hear him talking to and thanking people backstage.

"I saw your show… well I was up watching videos," you say quietly.

He giggles a little, "what did you think?"

"There was one guy who was really hot. Long hair. He could even sing a little. Play guitar too."

"Yeah," he says, you can hear him better now, the background nose dissipating a little as he walks.

"You sound flat, is everything okay?"

"Just tired, and frustrated, I feel like the world is against this tour and I miss you. I want to see your face, let me call you back."

You flick the light on in your room and lay on your side, trying to fix your hair a little.

Just the sight of his eyes when you answer the call and it's like everything makes sense again.

"Hey," he says softly, "that's better."

You nod, "much."

"What time is it for you?"

"5 am… I can't sleep. I haven't slept properly all week." Tears sting your eyes, and all of your strength and resilience from before seems to have dissipated whilst he was on that stage. "Please Andrew, I don't care anymore, I'll get on a flight as soon as I can. I'm so lonely here."

He nods, his eyes so full of love, glistening with tears, "I'm right here. It's okay."

"But you're not. Not really. This house is so big and so quiet and so cold."

He nods, "if I could be there right now I would be darling."

"I know. I'm sorry," you wipe your eyes.

He stays on the phone with you. Promises you that you have nothing to be sorry for.

He doesn't hang up even as people come in ask him to come do things, even as he eats, as he makes his way back to his bus and gets ready for bed. He tells you about the show, about the food he ate that day, and the coffee he drank and the little rain delay and everything else in between. You weren't always fully processing what he was saying, but the sound of his voice eventually lulls you into sleep.

When you wake up, your phone is dead. You blindly dangle your arm off the side of the bed and reach for the charger, rubbing your sore tired eyes while you wait for it to turn on.

The message he left you lights up your screen.

Keep going baby. You're the strongest, smartest woman I've ever met. You can do this. I can't wait to see you in two weeks. Then I'm going to spend every second I can with you and you'll end up being so sick of me. Promise. I'll call you as soon as I can. You know I love you. Beyond the telling of it. 🖤

[tawghasa]

I endorse all of this.

I had to change careers in my early 30s (grant-gunded research scientist + four years of no grants in my speciality = redundancy with no hiring opportunities). Here are a few things I learned from that journey:

Consider doing the same job for a different employer. I spent 5 years working for a lab that, in retrospect, had a really terrible workplace culture. I got a position in another lab in the same institute, and the experience was a LOT better.

(It was still rough at times, due to the bullshit I had internalised clashing with similar bullshit my lab supervisor had internalised. But I cried in the bathrooms WAY less.)

There can be a LOT of jobs that are tangentially related to your current job, that no one in your current job is really aware of. Or if they are aware, they overestimate the barriers to getting there.

(E.g., I moved from medical research into intellectual property. I assumed that you would need some kind of legal background for that... But nope!)

On a related note, be sceptical of any career advice you get from people at your hell-job. If they haven't gotten out themselves, they are sharing conjecture, not facts.

Most people have bad resumes and weak cover letters/responses to selection criteria. I highly recommend checking out Askamanager.org, in particular this masterpost of advice for resumes and cover letters. Alison also has a guide for preparing for job interviews that I've used with success (it's free when you sign-up to her mailing list. I think I've gotten maybe two e-mails in the six years since I signed up to get the free pdf).

Being older can be a benefit in the workplace. Some recent hires at my job are in their 50s, and were REALLY surprised they made the cut... But they both have so much experience under their belts, they're very familiar with the norms of a 9-to-5 job, etc. (They're also less likely to look for another job before they retire than younger hires.)

Also, you just know more stuff. You have more experience in having a job, talking to people, doing things. You have more years under your belt of troubleshooting, finding easier workflows, cleaning up messes.

E.g., I hated my time in retail but I know a LOT about how to talk to people: how to give someone bad news without them yelling at me, how to tell them they stuffed up without them yelling at me, how to tell them I stuffed up without them yelling at me...

I have an excellent phone manner and a "customer-centric commitment to issue resolution" which has been a huge asset in both of my post-retail careers - but neither of those jobs had any kind of intentional training/mentoring in those areas! Those are skills I developed in THE shittiest supermarket in South Australia while developing bone damage in my feet because I was standing for 10 hours a day.

A few other bits of advice:

It's hard to be productive outside of work when you work a terrible job that is corroding your soul. It's hard to write a good resume/apply to further education/whatever when you hate your job and you're exhausted and everything is pointless. Don't beat yourself up if it takes longer than you'd like to get anything done.

Make things easier for yourself by asking for/accepting help. Use the Ask A Manager resources, ask friends and family (ideally ones who have jobs they like) to help you with your job search and your application materials.

(Are we mutuals? Do you want some help with a resume? Send me a DM. I can also hop on a Discord call and chat with you about interview prep and technique.)

Try to start prepping now, BEFORE the dream opportunity crosses your path. It's easier to have an up-to-date master resume that you can tailor to the role, than to scramble to pull one together the night applications close.

Reddit can actually be really helpful. There are subreddits for a lot of careers/industries, with posts every few months asking how to either break in or get out. They can also be a good place to ask what the day-to-day is like in a career you're thinking of switching to, which can help you identify any skills you already have that would be an asset/consider whether you'd enjoy the reality of the job. Keep in mind that it's all subjective, and no two people's experiences will be the same.

If you've read this far, try to find time to update your resume this weekend. Even if you like your current job. (That's usually the best time to look at other jobs - you're not desperate, so you're in a strong position to negotiate any offers.) Because if you've read this far through a thread about changing jobs/careers, you're probably interested on some level in doing the thing.

I’m thinking of doing a complete career switch- or at the very least, making an attempt to start it- and the idea is frightening for so many reasons- money, feeling like I’m behind, insecurity, family- but then i think of just sticking to the path I’m on and it sends me into a crying fit so. I think I’m going to have to be brave

Be brave! I changed industries at age 41 and it was so good for both my career and mental health.

It sounds silly to have to outright say, but if the thought of going to your current job makes you cry every day, it is time to LEAVE. You are not the first person I have had to give this advice to this week. The longer you stay in a dead-end job, the more your skills will rust and the inertia will drag you down.

It feels frightening, but you can get through the imposter syndrome by becoming a thorough note taker (assuming you are white collar, but a lot of this also applies to blue):

Capture every conversation you have

Immediately distill meetings and emails into to-do lists

Review your to-dos daily

Most importantly: write down your accomplishments, no matter how small, at the end of every week

Notes by hand helped me so much, and my little treat to keep going was to begin a fresh mini-notebook every 2 weeks, which I could decorate with ink stamps and washing tape. I used a different color gel pen every day, too. My notebooks were fun and super helpful with keeping me organized.

You will catch up soon enough. It sucks to be an older person in a junior role, but you will be more mature and hopefully adept at handling work drama. I hit senior at age 47 after doing my time, and now I'm pretty indistinguishable from the folks who beat me here.

People aren't meant to do the same thing for all their lives, if it means sacrificing other opportunities. It's ok to say goodbye to a career or hobby or whatever else, to make room for something new. Don't feel guilty sampling from life. Specialization is for insects.

[starrvsn]

ꕮ ˚₊ ꒰ EVAN BUCKLEY & EDDIE DIAZ ⁾⁾ LIVE WHILE YOU’RE YOUNG!

OVER THE INTERCOM ⠆this is soooo self indulgent... also putting off watching the rest of season 8 because i know it'll break me aka me reading one frat-boy!au of buck and being obsessed ever since also i love these two men so much i had to make a whole mood board! (also if you have any requests about these two men pls flood my inbox <3)

WORD COUNT ⠆5.5K (5,582) not super satisfied with how this came out but love it nonetheless

PAIRING ⠆evan 'buck' buckley x fem!reader x eddie diaz.

CATEGORIES ⠆afab!reader, frat-party, college!au, ravi as a pledge, suggestive, descriptions of alcohol, drugs, sloppy kissing?, buck and eddie being the double trouble that they are, reader is a bit shy :p, mentions of a revealing outfit (a basic one at that, average party girl fit so fell free to imagine it any way you want!), may is her college bestie, not 9-1-1 canon in the slightest, all characters are used in complete fiction!

here’s a playlist to give a listen, a vibe enhancer perhaps ;)

﹡some dialogue is italicized, just thought it flowed better over text!

with college life comes traditions.

with your friend group every frat party, you pick two pieces of paper from a hat and those are your dares for the night, also called frat-cap roulette. the only rules being: no back outs! and you must tell your experience the day after. partying isn't just about the free booze and oogling at hot eye candy all night, its also about having fun and living your life! to live a little and do things you've never done before.

the dares you pulled out for the night are definitely things you've never done before.

1) do a keg stand! even if you dont like the taste of beer! think of it of impressing the hot guy holding up your legs. 2) a menage a trois! more simply three way kiss, what's better than not only kissing two guys but at the same time! go get em tiger!

you think you might faint, you didn't go to frat parties much didn't even know which houses threw the best ones but everytime you did, the girls insisted you pick from the hat. ones you've gotten in the past were more manageable like having someone ghost smoke into your mouth or getting a shoulder ride from a pledge, those are what you'd consider more tame but these? you might have to skip out on this one and any ones in the future, you almost shiver knowing if the ones you had were bad, there had to be worse in that hat.

"oh come on y/n" may whines flopping onto your bed. after getting your dares for the night you were terrified! so what if everyone was drunk and high out of their minds to even care, it would still be weighing on your conscious, way too much for your liking. you thought, initially you were just trying to psych yourself out so you busied yourself with getting ready, your hair and makeup. by the time you finished it started feeling real, very real, too real that you stopped not even bothering to change and reluctantly told may you didn't want to go any more.

"no! i can't, i don’t care if i break the rules.” you practically cry out “these dares are like crazy i'm gonna make a fool out of myself." plopping down on your vanity chair with a huff, no way you were gonna embarrass your way out to transfer out.

"babe, thats the point! no ones gonna remember it the next day and who even gives a fuck if they do?” may attested, getting off your bed to stand in front of you, hands on her hips like a lecturing mother. “this is like a once in a life time experience, we're living our lives remember?" her eyes soften to look at you, head tilting. then insisting if you weren’t going she wasn’t either and may was never one to miss a party.

you caved.

only bribed by may who swore she’d do your laundry and give you a few of her meal swipes if you went. she of course, as well picked your outfit. a black mini skort, thank god for the safety shorts– the fabric over left little to the imagination and a deep red lace halter that dipped low into your cleavage. the girls are out to show tonight! may whistles, proud of her work you’re gonna have no problem getting those dares done, now let’s take pics! you barely get your shoes on before she drags you out to the common room for pregame and pictures. feeling yourself and buzzed, your worrying thoughts slipping from you, this was already going better than you thought.

the alcohol is doing little to keep you warm as you walk to the frat house. hands linked with may as she practically skips towards the party, your friends behind you blistering about their dares and latest flings. you chose to keep yours to yourself, thinking if you shared them it'd create more pressure for you.

tonight’s house of choice psi sigma tau a house full of hotties may tells you, going on to say the last party they had they were all dressed as firefighters. shame you missed that one. you weren't super farmilar with greek life and who was apart of it but you know, your biochem lab partner, ravi was currently a pledge for this very frat. once coming in insanely hung over with streaks of paint on his face- telling you all about it, forgetting your assignment, focusing instead on retelling every moment of his previous night. you were in for a treat. it makes your nerves spike. you practically felt thumping bass of the music before you even reached the house. the house stood at the end of the street, porch light flickering and door wide open, an invitation to all. as you approach the stairs off the lawn, there’s people spread sporadically across the grass, red solo cups in hand, laughter and shouts spilling into the street like a wave ready to crash.

you took a deep breath, the bass shaking in your chest matching the rhythm of your beating chest. just one night, you told yourself. following behind may. at the door a chest full of shooters, a whole variety of them. with a sign, scribbled messily with uneven letters: entry fee, down a shooter! mama aint raise no bitch!

'wow they really pull all the stops' you murmur, picking up a pink whitney shooter from the ice, cool against your warm fingers. 'yep, thats why we like coming here, most parties dont have a guest list' your roommate, addison tells you downing her shooter in one go, you wince, cracking yours open and doing the same. the alcohol burning your throat, the pink lemonade aftertaste lingering in your mouth making you smack your lips in distain.

your group stands by in the doorway, at the base of the stairs. sage—your proclaimed mom friend of the group and creator of frat-cap roulette, gathers your group of six to set down some ground rules. 'okay ladies! remember have the time of your lives, dont throw up unless it's in the toilet, be safe and live your fucking best lives and do your dares!' she yells over the music, your friends shouting in agreement, hooting and yelling, eager to have fun before all splitting off. you and may are left, encouraging smiles and compliments bouncing off the two of you. she tells you to be safe and you mirror her words, shouting 'i love yous' before she disappears into the crowd to god knows where.

now that leaves you alone, the air was thick—sweat, cologne, alcohol, and the faint trace of weed clung to every surface. a haze of smoke floated through the house. the kitchen flooded with people people taking turns at beer pong or slapping hands in loud celebration, the living room turned into a dance floor, with a makeshift DJ booth at the wall, blasting whatever 2000s club playlist they could find. the house is dark but illuminated by strobing lights of blues, greens and reds. bodies pressed together, swaying and grinding on the nearest body they can find, the party is at it's peak.

come y/n fucking live for once! you got this. your inner conscious yelling at you, your hands are already clamming and feeling little sweaty from the heat radiating off everyone, you take a deep breath, straightening yourself before diving into the crowd, moving through until you get to the kitchen, for a drink. through the crowd you see ravi, wearing a stupidly tight crop top that says 'tomorrow isn't promised, we need to fuck now' in big capitalized red words, not ignoring the imprint of his abs to the exposing ones down his stomach. you laugh as you pass, ravi catching you and insisting you shotgun a white claw together. he drags you to the kitchen, loud and full of people playing beer pong.

"nice shirt!" you laugh, watching as he hands you a white claw from one of the coolers, he sways a little, steadying himself with a hand on your shoulder. "hazing, they picked out the shirts and we wear." yelling into your ear, pointing over your shoulder to another pledge wearing a shirt that said 'i wish i had serotonin instead of a huge cock' these hazing activities seemed so wholesome, brotherhood seems good here. ravi drukenly hypes you up as you puncture a hole into the base of the can, he hands his phone, recording, to a frat brother before cheer-sing you. here goes nothing, putting your lips to the puncture and fingers at the pull tab, you crack it open, tilting your head back as you chug it, the cool carbonated seltzer burning your throat as you drink, breathing through your nose whilst the burn down your throat made had your struggling. ravi finishes before you, chugging it in 2 big gulps, it takes you four– usually you never finish it or end up spitting it out so this was a win for you. you hear cheering an whooping as you finish up, as you set the can down you see two men who have joined behind ravi.

‘well look who have here,’ a man with devestating blue eyes pairing well with the pink birthmark above his his eye, tall and broad, standing before you, next to him a man with tan skin, brown eyes that felt like warm honey, and a dimple that betrayed his calm demeanor, backwards hat sporting his head, they’re insufferably attractive making your stomach twist with attraction, or maybe it was the alcohol. the dimpled man wordlessly points to your chest where a trail of the seltzer dripped in between your cleavage, cheeks flushed you clean yourself with a napkin on a nearby counter, he throws you a wink when you do so.

at the sound of the voice, ravi turns around and bursts with excitement, turning to the two men beaming smiles and crescent eyes as they talk. you see them pointing at you over ravi’s shoulder making you feel light headed and tingly, heart racing. ravi turns and grabs your arm pulling you into the conversation ‘this is eddie and buck, two peas in a pod’ he slurs, the two men shake their head at the title ‘they’re always together, like each others shadows it’s kinda freaky’ ravi mutters, really yelling– though it was only meant for you, everyone heard. '

‘so you’re friends with gunslinger here?' eddie pipes up, tipping his cup to you, honey brown eyes catching yours. you feel like a fish out of water, looking at him, the alcohol and nerves making it hard to even think of what to say.

‘this is y/n i have her in lab’ the pledge finishes for you, the two nod eyes focused on you- taking in your presence like they were trying to memorize your every feature, eyes not so subtly dragging up and down your figure, ravi is quick to pull away from the conversation as someone calls his name, something about body shots in the living room. leaving you to deal with two men that were way out of your league, or so you thought.

hm, new pretty face. would've remembered you if you were here last time buck grins, eyes smoldering.

his words make you scoff a laugh ‘use that line on all the girls?’ you may be drunk but you aren't stupid, your eyes challenging his.

‘only on the special ones’ he replies coolly, a stupid smirk on his face that makes you a little weak in the knees.

‘sorry, originality isn’t his specialty.’ eddie’s quick to retort his voice low but smooth, teasing just enough to make your spine tingle. he tips his head slightly, letting that lazy smile tug at the corner of his mouth. it’s the kind of smile that says he’s used to getting what he wants, but not in the way buck is. buck’s energy is all flash and flirt, while eddie is something else entirely—smooth and confident, the type of nonchalant where things come to him a little too easy.

you shoot him a look, biting back a smile, alcohol practically speaking for you. “good thing i like a little unoriginal charm,” you toss out, eyes flicking between the two of them.

buck’s brows raise, impressed. eddie chuckles softly, and god, the way it rumbles out of his chest should be illegal. “oh, shes trouble,” he murmurs to buck, not bothering to hide the way he’s still watching you. his gaze lingers on your lips a beat too long.

“what’re you drinking?” buck asks, leaning closer, close enough that you catch the scent of cologne and beer, something woodsy and warm clinging to him. you hold up your nearly empty white claw, shrugging

“basically air at this point,” you say, tipping the can upside down.

“tragic,” buck says with mock sincerity. “come on. we’re getting you a real drink.”

“define real,” you shoot back, but you follow anyway, trailing after the two of them as they lead you further into the house, deeper into the party.

they take you to a makeshift bar set up on a foldable table in the sun room, attached to the kitchen and just adjacent to the backyard. plastic bottles of questionable mixers, a few crushed limes, and one brave soul attempting to make jungle juice in a salad bowl.

“what’s your poison?” eddie asks, nudging your hip with his. it’s casual, but it leaves a spark where he touched you. his arm brushes yours as he reaches for a red cup.

“something that won’t kill me,” you answer, watching as he mixes you something, his hands moving with ease. meanwhile, buck grabs a bottle of tequila and dramatically pours three shots, heavy handed ones at that– almost filled to the top of the shot glasses “not what i meant,” you laugh, shaking your head.

“too late,” buck grins. “cheers, trouble.” the newfound nickname rolling off his tongue far to easily.

you hesitate for only a second before grabbing the cup and clinking it against theirs, chugging it down with a distain. immediately shoving a lime in your mouth to smooth the burning alcohol on your tongue. you feel their eyes lingering on you, like they’re awaiting your next move that hopefully involves them.

eddie’s the one who speaks first. “you’re not usually at these, are you?”

his voice is smooth, with a thread of curiosity running through it. he doesn’t sound like he’s judging, more like he’s trying to figure you out. there’s a quiet steadiness to him that contrasts buck’s energy, who’s already leaning against the counter beside you, eyes roaming with that familiar frat boy smirk.

you turn toward eddie, eyebrows raised slightly. “how can you tell?”

buck grins, answering for him. “easy. it feels like you're waiting for something to happen, like you're not the type to let loose like this” it didn't mean to come off rude or condescending but it was the truth, you always had your guard up, drinking was fun but you didn't let yourself indulge. he saw right through you.

you huff a small laugh, swirling the drink in your cup. “maybe i’m just good at blending in.”

“nah,” eddie says, eyes catching yours like they’ve hooked onto something. “you’re trying not to be noticed. not the same thing.”

he’s not wrong. you were trying to blend in. trying to distract yourself with drinks and familiar faces while pretending you weren’t running through worst-case scenarios in your head about the dares tucked tightly in your memory. just thinking about them made your stomach flutter—and not in the good way.

“well,” you reply, “i pulled the short straw tonight.”

“you got dared?” buck asks, lighting up with interest. “frat-cap roulette, right?”

"you know?" you were definitely thrown out for a loop now, you knew it wasn't exclusive to just your friend group but with how your friends spoke about it, it almost seemed like fight club.

"oh yeah," buck replies, going on to tell you how they've been roped into some. involving receiving a lap dance, getting flashed and eddie having to switch his entire outfit with a girl wearing a less than nothing dress, buck almost pulls how his phone to show you a picture but eddie is quick to stop him, giving him a look that makes his best friend stop in reluctant defeat. your entertainment is short lived when they ask about you, what your dares entailed for your night. you don’t answer right away. instead, you take a sip from the red solo cup of whatever eddie mixed up for you, eyes scanning the crowd behind them—anywhere but their faces. it’s not like you’re ashamed, but you are trying to hold onto whatever courage you have left. if you say it out loud, it makes it real. and you’re not sure you’re there yet.

buck catches on fast. “you’re dares must be good ones, lots of freaky shit in that hat.” you drink from cup eddie slides you, hiding your grimace, if only he knew.

“or a bad one,” eddie adds, voice lower, teasing. “you’re drinking like you’re preparing for battle.”

“what makes you think i’m not?” you mutter under your breath, offering a coy smile, regaining yourself quickly.

that earns a laugh from both of them. it’s warm, easy. and dangerously charming.

you should probably leave. find may. hide in the bathroom. but something keeps you planted, drawn in by the magnetic pull they both seem to exude without even trying.

you nod toward ravi, who’s just re-entered the kitchen from god knows where—his crop top now speckled with something neon green. “this place always like this?”

“basically,” eddie says, arms folded over his chest, biceps flexing under the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“we host ragers, a perfect place to exercise your free will with no regrets,” buck adds with a wink.

“what does that even mean?” you tease, the edges of your nerves softening just slightly.

“it means if you’re about to do something crazy,” eddie leans in slightly, voice dropping, “you picked the right house.”

you raise an eyebrow, letting the pause stretch between you before replying. “we’ll see.”

“c’mon,” buck nudges your elbow. “just tell us what your dare is. we’ll help.”

you smirk into your drink, letting your voice drop just above a whisper. “where’s the fun in that?”

you watch their expressions shift—buck looking like he’s just been issued the most exciting challenge of his night, and eddie watching you with that same steady gaze, like he’s trying to memorize the way you carry your mystery.

“alright, then,” buck says, straightening. “we’re playing it your way. but if i catch you doing something ridiculous like… surfing down the stairs on a mattress again-”

“again?” you ask with a grin.

“long story. involved ravi, some random girl playing frat-cup roulette, lots of pillows and my football helmet.” listing it on like a bad memory, probably explaining the slight dent in the wall at the stairs.

“right, ill keep that in mind,” you laugh.

eddie takes a slow sip of his drink, still watching you. “you’re not just here to watch, though. that much is obvious.”

you shrug, letting the silence answer for you. you feel the alcohol buzzing through your veins, the heat of the party loosening your limbs. the music thumps harder now—bass vibrating through the kitchen floors.

“alright, mystery girl,” buck leans in just a bit closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “if you won’t tell us the dare, at least let us keep an eye out. make sure you don’t end up on the roof in a tutu or something.”

“tempting offer,” you say, glancing between them. “but i think i’ll take my chances.”

“oh, she’s definitely planning something,” buck mutters to eddie, who only laughs softly and nods.

you take one step back, flashing them both a smile. “i guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

and just like that, you disappear into the crowd—leaving them standing there, drinks in hand, the smell of tequila and possibility in the air.

buck whistles low, shaking his head. “so… are we following her?”

eddie finishes his drink in one sip, quickly replying “absolutely.”

you melt into the crowd, bodies pressed together, people whooping loud at a pair making out, drinks spilling from cups, and loud bass ringing in your ears. lights strobe over you in flashes; green, red, blue— hidden in anonymity under the dark room. you’re buzzed enough now that your confidence is catching up to your adrenaline. your drink is finished, long forgotten on some windowsill, and the room spins just the tiniest bit when you finally spot the keg.

it’s in the backyard. lit by a string of tangled fairy lights, surrounded by a small, rowdy crowd yelling encouragements at the poor guy currently upside down, foam and beer pouring everywhere. he slaps the keg, yelling who's your daddy from the top of their lungs, practically ripping their shirt in half as their friends cheer him on. how were you supposed to top that?

you were psyching yourself out again, swallowing your pride in an effort to let the alcohol take over and just do it. you can do this.

you have to do this, even if you didn’t want too. curse sage and her rules.

“need a lift, sweetheart?” you turn at the voice. it’s buck grinning, eyes full of mischief. eddie stands just behind him, adjusting his hat hiding his locks, that unreadable look on his face again like he’s still trying to solve the puzzle that is you.

your stomach twists, not unpleasantly. you cross your arms over your chest, lifting your chin. “what makes you think i’m gonna do it?”

“because you’ve been staring at that keg like it'll just magically give you what you need.” eddie says, stepping forward.

you huff a laugh, caught. “okay, maybe it’s one of the dares.”

buck whoops triumphantly, pointing at you. “i knew it.”

“not like i want to do it but you know… never hurt to try something once right?”

“never, it’ll make a good memory.” eddie replies, trying to lighten you mind, eyeing your tense shoulders.

“yeah if i don’t eat shit and die,” you say, raising your brows, “but i need some support.”

“what, to cheer you on?” buck asks.

“to hold my legs,” you reply, voice light but firm. and just like that, their smirks drop into something heavier.

eddie finishes his drink and sets the cup down. “we’re in.”

“obviously,” buck adds.

you pull your already short skirt down, hoping it wouldn't ride up. you’re tipsy, but determined, your whole body buzzing now—not just from the alcohol, but from the way they’re watching you. curious. amused. impressed. maybe even a little turned on.

buck crouches low, fingers flexing. “you sure?”

“no,” you admit with a breathless laugh. “but what the hell.”

they lift you with surprising ease—buck at your knees, legs over his shoulder. eddie crouched beside you holding your skirt with chivalrous grace, your skin practically burning at his fingering brushing your thighs as his other holds the keg nozzle. holding it to your mouth waiting for your okay, your arms practically feel like jelly as you hold on the rim. he looks at you softer now, no judgment if you suddenly back out but now theres a burning determination in your stomach when your eyes catch his. you take a deep breath, already bracing for the bitter cold beer. eddie nods in encouragement as buck whoops behind you, a crowd already forming. you nod and eddie presses on the side of the nozzle. you squeal when the cold beer hits your lips. the crowd around you cheers, counting loudly.

“one! two! three—!”

you barely make it to six before tapping out, coughing through the foam, the burn in your throat too much. they lower you gently to the ground, hands lingering a little longer than necessary as you regain your balance, eddie is quick to fix your appearance, flattening your hair and pushing some behind your ears that fell when you were upside down. his tenderness not going unnoticed by you and its incredibly attractive.

you wobble, giggling, wiping beer from your lips with the back of your hand.

“okay,” you say, breathless. “that went better than i thought.” buck and eddie giving you triumphant high-fives as their attentively at your side, bucks hand warm on your lower back.

"you killed it, done it better than either of us." eddie praises, he's just saying that but in reality its true. one party buck drunkenly convinced himself that he can do it on his own, practically doing a hand stand on the keg that almost landed him in the hospital.

buck leans in, smug. “so what's left not the table?” obviously trying to get you to spill your second dare.

you glance between them, still not giving in fully. “you’ll know when it happens.”

eddie raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “is that a threat or a promise?”

you don’t answer—just tilt your head, letting your eyes drag slowly from eddie to buck.

“depends on how tonight plays out.” you say easily, already making your way back into the house. beer still dripping from your top, heart racing. you don’t know how long you’ll last before the second dare gets you, but you know exactly who you want it to happen with.

the pair are already tailing behind you, "we'll be there when it happens." buck quips, fully enticed with what you may have up your sleeve. admittedly they've never had a girl capture their attention like you did. like their was a gravitational pull leading them to you and they weren't upset about it

“good,” you say, turning to head back inside, tossing a look over your shoulder. “you’ll need to be.”

you think you lose them when you somehow make your way into a bathroom, questionable stains on the sink and towels haphazardly throw everywhere. you groan and make quick work in cleaning yourself up. the easy part was over, the keg stand wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be, the beer still lingering in the back of your throat making you nearly gag if you thought about it for too long. desperately telling yourself you didn’t need to throw up when the toilet was looking at you way to enticingly. the hard part came next. a three way kiss, you didn’t think you’d get this far into the night and there was so way out of it. now entangled with eddie and buck, so invested with your dares– you think you could just sneak out and hopefully never see them again, just deluded to the memories of your night so far but something in you was tell you not to. this was the most play you’ve gotten so far in the semester and you wanted to kiss them and you know they did too, that’s what scared you– you weren’t as smooth or half as charming as they were, but all you knew is that you needed another drink before you can even think of attempting the second part.

after another shotgun with ravi with little to no convincing on either parts, you find yourself on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room. the floor is pulsing like a heartbeat, bodies moving with the beat, lost in the throb of bass and smoke and strobe. you slip into it easily, your body already warmed from the keg stand and a new buzz from the shot gun, your skin still tingling from their hands.

you’ve lost yourself to the music, dancing with friends you know from previous lectures, even with ravi– twirling you into a dip, you were having fun, the dare slipping from you mind as you laugh and sway amidst the music.

you feel them before you see them. eddie’s presence behind you, broad and steady, and buck’s just off to your side, playful energy radiating like heat. you don’t look back.

you just sway your hips to the rhythm, letting yourself fall deeper into the music, letting the beat pull you under. arms up, eyes closed, the crowd pressing in—someone’s back hits your shoulder, someone else’s arm brushes yours, but then they’re there.

eddie’s hands settle lightly on your hips, grounding you. he doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush, he just follows your movement, letting his fingers flex against the bare skin beneath your top. buck’s closer now too, eyes trained on your mouth, lip caught between his teeth, now in front of you.

then, you open your eyes.

“ you gonna just stand there or are you gonna do something?you shout over the music, glancing between them with a teasing smile.

“thought you were the one with the dare,” eddie replies, voice low and right in your ear.

“and if i am?” you ask, tilting your chin toward buck.

his smirk deepens, a nonchalant shrug with his words “maybe we’re just waiting for you to pick who you want.”

you hum at that, heart pounding harder. the adrenaline and booze taking over your senses, in the heat of the moment, buck looking so attractive in front of you, his eyes roaming and lingering on your lips, you don’t miss a beat.

you look at buck through your lashes, prettily enough as you lean closer to him. just long enough for him to see it coming. then, you reach for him, sliding your hand around the back of his neck and pulling him in soft lips crashing into yours, a ghost of a smile against your lips. his hands falling to your waist pulling you close.

he gets rougher as you kiss, like he’s been waiting for this to happen, making the most out of it like you’re going to disappear into thin air. hot opened mouth kisses as his tongue brushing yours, teeth grazing yours, nibbling at your bottom lip as you tilt your head back to deepen the kiss. he groans softly into your mouth, his hands all over you, cupping your jaw before lacing his digits in your hair– tugging gently. pulling a soft whine from you. he leans into you as you pull away, a sound of dissatisfaction leaving him.

you break away just long enough to turn.

eddie’s closer now, his eyes dark and lust fueled as they lock onto yours. lifting his hand to brush your jaw, he’s eager but awaiting your permission before you lean in. the kiss is slower and deeper, lips warm and sure against yours.

he kisses like he means it, like he doesn’t care about the dare or the party or the people around you, just the feel of your lips on his. his lips mold against yours, soft and deep tasting the remnants of your strawberry flavored lip gloss, hands on your hips pulling you against him, long and fluid like he’s savoring it. he takes his time kissing you, you thread your fingers at his nape feeling as he gets rougher, tongue pushing past your lips, swirling around yours chasing for more.

your forehead pressed against his as you inevitably pull away. buck behind you, chest rising– incredibly turned on as you kiss his best friend. you feel lightheaded as you pull away, kissing both men you’ve been pinning over all night.

their eyes intense on you as your hands rest on both of their chests, your body wedged deliciously between them. they’re staring at you like you just flipped their world upside down.

lips swollen and eyes blown out, a bit breathless. you bite your bottom lip, eyes darting between them. “now, the dare.”

they don’t need more than that.

buck leans in first, eddie following like second nature, and then—your lips meet again, all three of you this time, tangled in a brief but electric collision. soft and wild and ridiculously hot, a mess of lips and breath, wandering hands and someone’s teeth catching on a lip and a muffled fuck as buck smiled against her mouth and eddie pressed a hand digging into your hip a little harder like he forgot to hold back. just long enough to taste each other, just long enough to make your knees weak.

when you finally pull back, all three of you are breathless. buck’s eyes are wide, his grin lopsided. eddie’s gaze lingers on your mouth like he’s already thinking about doing it again, rubbing soothing circles on your hip.

“so,” buck says, voice rougher now, “what else is in that hat?”

you laugh, dizzy and still reeling. “guess you’ll have to wait ‘til the next party.”

eddie’s hand slips around your waist, pulling his hat off and drops it onto your head, his free hand soothing his mess of hair as buck drapes an arm around your shoulders, throwing you a wink. the three of you moving together as the music swells around you.

the night you were waiting to be before dissipated into not wanting to leave, they made it into something worth while, something that felt like more than just those stupid dares. you could care less about how your friends are definitely going to drag this story out until graduation. you feel... good. lighter than you have in weeks. achieving more than what you could ask for tonight with two men by your side with no plans to leave.

you definitely are living your best life tonight and it definitely won't be your last.

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[sos-gone-deeper]

I Could Be A Good Mother (Travis Martinez x Reader) (Part 4 - Final Part)

Part 3

Winter is gone, and spring brings new beginnings, new people, and new memories in the wilderness. Post rescue, you and Travis adapt to your new life together.

Notes:

- More talk of childbirth in this chapter

- Takes place during season 3? or maybe a little bit before it, and also a larger time jump towards the end.

- I've said it once but this isn't accurate to the plot at all lol

- I didn't name the baby because I literally did not know what to choose lmao

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

Winter was harsh. There was no denying it. After what had become of Jackie, everyone worried for the day that the cold got to them. Especially when the cabin burned down.

But winter finally left, and when it did it left you with a new purpose. A new purpose that only came after tireless pushing, angrily yelling at Mari who was joking too much for your liking, and squeezing Travis' hand until you were sure you'd broken it. You'd nearly done the same as Shauna did and passed out. You didn't let yourself slip away until you heard the baby cry, and even then you were afraid that in this scenario, passing out could lead to you dying.

So there you laid on the floor of yours and Travis' makeshift hut, feeling the worst you ever had but also somehow the best. Javi was waiting outside somewhere, and you'd only let a few of the girls come in. While Misty tended to you, you tried to stay awake by listening to the girls talk to your baby in an effort to soothe it. Travis was holding the baby, but his eyes weren't leaving you.

"It's a girl." Misty said. "She looks like you."

She was beautiful. You remember that being your first thought when Travis put the baby in your arms. And she really did look like you, just so much more tiny. You were so in love.

And so was Travis. All the restless nights and blood that had been shed melted away, and for a moment it was just him, you, and the baby, not a care in the world.

Everyone loved her, especially Javi. He got over his whole 'I wish it was a boy' mindset the second he held her. He carried her all over, showing her the people, the surroundings. Van and Tai would help by taking turns holding her on the nights where it felt impossible to calm her down. Akilah would hold her bunnies up to the baby, smiling at the giggles that escaped as her tiny hands grabbed at the bunny's ears.

Travis was obviously the most in love, other than you. It was hard for you to connect this Travis back to the grumpy Travis that was always sitting in the bleachers, either watching with a grimace or studying the ground, the Travis that claimed to hate the Yellowjackets. He was constantly asking if you were okay, if you needed him to take her. He carried her everywhere in the sling he had made from some old clothes, patting the top of her head every now and then. He'd splash with her in the lake as you washed clothes nearby, watching and laughing. And on the off chance that he wasn't completely engulfed by her, he would be clinging to you, kissing all over your face, following you as you did chores, practically stuck to you.

You were really starting to enjoy yourself out there. Sure, it was dirty still, and you were still hungry and desperately waiting for rescue, but you were starting to enjoy life again. Being postpartum meant you couldn't do much heavy lifting, and you couldn't stray far from your baby, so you helped Akliah with the animals. It felt nice to have something to keep you busy. You really started to appreciate the little moments of the life you were starting to build: midday naps in the hammock where all 3 of you managed to sleep at once (a rare occurrence), Javi playing with her the best he could while you and Travis tried to get stuff done around camp, watching her laugh as Lottie gently baptized her. Lottie insisted, much to your dismay. "I don't want the wilderness freak dipping my baby in the lake." You'd said to Natalie at dinner after Lottie brought the idea up.

One night, after a particularly good day, Travis was holding the baby while you worked on stitching a hole in a blanket. The sun was starting to set, and you two were the only ones currently around the campfire.

"I want to get away from this." Travis said out of nowhere.

"Me too." You said, still working at the blanket.

"She deserves a real home in the real world. You deserve that."

"Well so do you." You were quick to say. You turned to face him, and tried not to melt over the way his big arms were so gently holding your tiny daughter.

"Well, when we get rescued, what do you want? I mean, where do you want to live? What kind of house?" Travis asked.

"I don't care how big it is, just enough room for the three of us. I want a dog- no, two dogs. And a farm with lots of animals. And I want to be close to home." You knew these things were probably unrealistic to want. Neither of you had finished high school, and your return to the real world was surely gonna be a lot harder than anticipated. But in the moment, you just let yourself think about what you really wanted.

Travis decided that night that he would make it happen. And he did.

The following years were strange, to say the least. Cameras following you everywhere you went. Trying to relearn how to fit in with society while also learning how to be parents. A lot of the Yellowjackets lost touch. Lottie was in the hospital, Nat was in rehab, Shauna got married (You and Travis attending, of course), and the rest of the girls were out there, somewhere, struggling. But you never forgot them, never forgot the pain you all went through together.

The stormy weather was done and over with, and you realized that sitting on the porch one night. The sunset was painting the sky purple and pink, and Travis was in the chicken coop, pulling a baby chick up into the pocket of his overalls. Your daughter was waiting patiently next to you on the porch swing, her legs kicking back and forth. Javi and Travis' mom had left at the same time your parents did, thanking you for the Friday night dinners at your house that they hold so dear.

"Hold your hands out." Travis said, sitting on the other side of her. The chick spilled out of his pocket and into his hands, helping your gentle toddler hold it.

You spent a lot of time admiring your family, especially in moments like this. Travis was glowing, strong from finally having a balanced diet again, and you could see his personality being lit up again the longer you were away from the wilderness. And your daughter, who was growing up faster than you had anticipated, was the light of everyone's life, always reminding you that there was good in the bad.

You were so used to being just content that you often were worried this wasn't real, and you'd wake up in that cabin, afraid and sullen.

But this was real. And both you and Travis were perfectly okay with this. Just the three of you, in this big house with a farm, filled with constant laughter and love.

That night, after the whole farm was asleep in their pens and barns, Travis came inside to find the downstairs empty, but the nursery lit up with the dim nightlight. You were pacing back and forth in your daughter's room, patting her back and singing Landslide by Fleetwood Mac. The song brought Travis back to that fall night, watching you sing to Javi. He stood in the doorway, smiling gently, watching as you gently laid the girl in her crib.

Travis often found himself thinking that his first dream about you was some sort of prophecy, and in a way, maybe it was. The house. The baby girl. Everything had come true, in some way.

You nudged him out of the doorframe, quietly shutting the door behind you.

"I always liked hearing you sing that song." Travis said, taking your hand in his. He ran his thumb over your knuckles, catching on the wedding band you wore. It wasn't the biggest diamond, Jeff had pointed out at his and Shauna's wedding, but Travis knew you never cared about those material things.

"Oh, believe me, I know." You said, kissing him.

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

Yay final part! So sorry for how long it took me to write this my life got super hectic and I also hit writers block lol. I also don't rlly know how I feel about this chapter, but I hope you guys enjoy!!

[crossdressingdeath]

Varric: But being a leader isn't about having all the answers yourself: It's about knowing who does.

See, this is why I really don't understand those posts whining about how Rook isn't the coolest member of the Veilguard and everyone else has much more useful skills and whatnot. Rook may not necessarily be the fastest or strongest or smartest member of the team, but what they do have is the ability to make plans, improvise when those plans go wrong, inspire their allies, earn their trust and love, encourage them to work together and put aside their differences, and use each one of them to the fullest extent of their abilities to further the team's goals. A leader doesn't have to have all the answers or be the best fighter or have the most interesting and detailed backstory (hell, you really don't want that last point for the PC of an RPG), they have to be able to lead. The best fighter or cleverest trickster in the world is useless in a position of authority if they can't use that authority effectively without alienating their allies. And Rook ultimately is able to lead, probably better than anyone else on the team could, because that's where their skillset lies. People really need to get rid of this idea that the role of The Leader automatically goes to whoever's "coolest". It's not a reward, it's an incredibly demanding job that for best results has to go to whoever is best suited to carry it out. Rook doesn't have the flashiest skills, but they do have the skills required to lead well and win loyalty, and for the leader of a team like this that is infinitely more important.

[jaesblogstuff]

Not again

That one awful time you got a UTI because you didn’t pee after and it ruined both you and Simon for days...and the future.

Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore.

It’s distant. Slow. Boneless and heavy and floating at the same time—like you’re made of liquid, spilled across the bed, soaking into the mattress where Simon left you.

Everything’s sensitive. Your thighs are trembling. The inside of you feels warm in a way that shouldn’t be possible—so full, so sore, still twitching from the way he held you down and ruined you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. it’s all Simon.

You might’ve fallen asleep. You’re not sure.

Then you hear him shift.

You don’t move.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble into the pillow.

He exhales slowly through his nose, amusement crackling under the surface of his voice.

“It’s been thirty.”

You groan, long and dramatic, and turn your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “You said you’d wait.”

“I did. And I have.” He leans in, mouth brushing behind your ear. “But you’ve got to get up now.”

“No, I don’t,” you mumble, lips barely moving.

“Yes,” he says, not unkindly. “You do.”

“Fuck off.”

“You need to pee.”

You sigh with a full-body shudder. The last thing you want is to move. Your thighs still twitch with every shift, every reminder of how hard he’d been in you—deep and rough and mean, the kind of mean only Simon can be when he knows you like it.

And now?

Now your brain’s caught somewhere between satisfaction and irritability.

You squirm an inch and hiss at the soreness. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I literally can’t feel my legs.”

He hums again. Not arguing. Not pushing. Just present.

And then you snap, just a little. Not angry, just done.

“God, why are you like this?” you bite. “You get off, and suddenly I’m a project.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, with that same frustrating calm “I get off because I wreck you, sweetheart. But I also remember what happens when you don’t move after.”

You're quiet.

“Yeah.”

You groan again. “Don’t bring it up.”

“I am bringing it up.”

He shifts beside you, moving the hair away from your damp cheek.

“You remember what happened last time.”

You do.

Unfortunately.

That time when you’d passed out immediately after sex—sore, blissed out, perfectly used—and slept the whole night through. Didn’t pee. Didn’t think to. And the next morning?

UTI. Full force.

Your insides were on fire. You couldn’t sit down without wincing. Couldn’t even have him look at you, let alone touch you.

You were grumpy. Snappy. Miserable.

He was worse.

Because not only were you suffering, but he couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fuck you. Could barely cuddle you without getting a sharp “Don’t touch me, Simon.”

He was all but climbing the walls by day two. You'd heard him mutter “This is hell” when you snapped at him for putting the wrong tea in your mug.

And even then, he never said I told you so.

He just brought you cranberry juice and heated pads and ran you a bath and kissed your temple like he didn’t feel half-insane.

Now?

Now he’s not risking it.

“You were a nightmare,” he mutters, rubbing your lower back. “And I didn’t get to fuck you for a week.”

You roll onto your side to glare at him. “It was your fault too.”

“Exactly why I’m carrying you.”

You pout harder. “I’m not talking to you.”

“You’re literally talking to me right now.”

“Simon—”

He sits up and leans over, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. “I'm not doing this again.”

You huff, but you don’t fight. Your limbs flop against his chest like dead weight. You nuzzle into his collarbone, still grumbling.

“You’re annoying.”

“Mm.”

“Bossy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I still can’t feel my legs.”

He chuckles and carries you across the room, his big palms smoothing over your bare skin as he holds you close.

Once in the bathroom, he sets you on the toilet like something precious.

And instead of stepping back or giving you space, he stays.

Right in front of you.

He’s standing tall, bare chest in your face, warm hands on your shoulders—guiding you gently forward until your cheek rests against his stomach.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter.

“And you’re soft,” he says. “All bark.”

You don’t respond.

Your body’s buzzing. Your thighs are still trembling. But when you finally relax enough to pee—

“Oh—oh my God—”

You jolt.

The pressure. The release.

Your muscles seize instantly, twitching with overstimulated nerves. It’s not just peeing. It’s like a second, slow-burning orgasm. Your body shakes with it, cunt fluttering around nothing, your legs twitching like Simon’s still inside you.

You gasp against him, trembling. It's not even about the release—it’s the aftershocks. The sudden emptiness as your muscles unclench. The way your cunt spasms around nothing as your body reacts to being let go.

Simon holds you tighter.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of his sweatpants.

His hands drop to your back.

“Easy, love. Just let it happen.”

Your knees buckle where they’re spread. You squeeze his sweatpants for balance, forehead still pressed to his stomach as you twitch through it—little pulses, flutters, everything still too much.

Your voice breaks. “Feels like—feels like I’m coming again.”

“I know.”

“Still—God, it’s still in my spine—”

You twitch again. His arms stay firm. He pets down your back, anchoring you, holding you upright as your body finishes unwinding in slow, shaking pulses.

And you do. You feel everything. His hands rubbing your back. The warmth of his chest under your cheek. The way he steadies your thighs when they jerk.

And when it’s over—when your breath evens out, and the spasm finally dies down, you just stay there. Arms weak. Legs numb. Whole body ruined.

Simon strokes your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “You did perfect.”

“I’m mad at you,” you mumble, voice muffled in his skin.

“You always say that.”

“You didn’t have to go so hard.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘don’t stop.’”

You groan. “I was lying.”

“You were begging.”

You slap his thigh half-heartedly. “I hate you.” He grins and helps you stand, supporting you like your knees might give out again—which they might, honestly.

You lean on him as he cleans you up, wipes you with practiced tenderness, and carries you back to bed without another word.

Once there, he slides one of his shirts over your head, tucks you under the blanket, and stretches out beside you with one arm around your waist.

Your face is buried in his chest. His heartbeat is slow, steady, solid.

[absentlyabbie]

seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

[kissmaybank]

EX BOYFRIEND!RAFE

ex boyfriend!rafe who refuses to move on. in his mind, you're still his and he won't let that go. no matter why the two of you split, he doesn't want any other girl. to him, no one comforts him the same, cusses him out when he's being crazy, and he knows no other man will ever come close. still calling you his "princess," picking you up for parties, and showing you off to everyone like you were still dating.

ex boyfriend!rafe still buying you shit—whatever you want, he'll buy it. not because he thinks it'll win you back, he loves seeing you in things that he got for you; makes him feel like he still has some sort of control over you. no other girl would ever receive gifts the way he spoils you—new bags, heels, the finest jewelry, all of it. rafe even had the audacity to gift you a necklace with his initials engraved in it, and knew you were still hooked on him the moment he seen you wear it. rafe especially loves getting your nails done—he chooses the color, length and everything, just to see what looks prettiest wrapped around his cock when he shows up to your house for sex.

ex boyfriend!rafe always lurking wherever you are, almost like he's stalking (even though he won't call it that—he know's he's obsessed). every party you attend, even if he shows to your house unannounced, he's always around. it's no secret how irresistible you'd always been, rafe's blood boiling anytime he fights off other men from trying to speak to you—and if you'd always known anything, it's that rafe didn't care about being violent, if it meant having you to himself then it'd be worth it. watching you flip your hair, giggle as your cheeks flushed and hips swayed in whatever mini dress you wore, appearing silent yet deadly when he'd snaked his arm around your waist like a claim.

ex boyfriend!rafe smug since he knows you won't hesitate to fuck him if he just asks. anytime, any day, you're easy to crack through in his eyes. all he has to do is show up smelling like cedar-wood and whiskey, speaking in that low, rough voice, and that signature, smug smirk he always gave—you'd melt right into his arms, and right onto his dick, like always.

always a quick text saying something like, "let me in pretty girl." even when you roll your eyes, your feet never fail to carry you across the floor. though, you didn't stand a chance anyways—the way he looked at you, smirking as his gaze burned down your figure. "missed me?"

arms crossed, you stared right back into his piercing, ocean colored eyes. "far from it rafe..."

"yeah, yeah, whatever...go upstairs and wait on me."

and you listened.

ex boyfriend!rafe who will always want you at the end of the day. he never misses a birthday, christmas, and even the date of your anniversary. rafe had always been someone you'd depend on. you knew he'd always defend you from creeps, comfort you whenever you weren't feeling your usual self, and you always did the same for him.

[differenteagletragedy]

On domesticating Simon Riley.

Simon knows people, knows how to read them and how to get what he wants out of them, in a general sense. He also knows women, their bodies and how to handle them. How to pick one out that wants the same thing he wants, how to approach them and then how to cut and run.

What he doesn't know is how to stay. How to let someone else know him, even see him. What makes a home.

So you're going to have to teach him.

He has the most minimal wardrobe you've ever seen -- a few pairs of jeans, a handful of t-shirts, a couple of hoodies and one pair of boots. After a few weeks of watching him lace up those boots every time he takes out the trash, you check them for his shoe size then order him a pair of crocs to wear around the house and when they arrive, you leave them by the door, where he keeps his boots.

"The fuck are these?" he grumbles that evening when he goes to grab the boots while you're cleaning up after dinner. They're too big to be yours, but he knows they're not his.

"I got them for you," you answer, coming to stand beside him. "Just something to wear when you need to step outside for a minute or if your little feet get cold and you wanna wear something around inside."

"I don't have ... fucking hell," he says, pointing down to the shoes. "They've got holes all in them."

"That's so you can accessorize!" you say proudly, pulling out a little bag full of charms that you picked out for him.

It's ridiculous. It looks absolutely absurd. But he wears them anyway, because he's learning that when people care about each other, they make little gestures like this, and if there's a way that he can wear your love for him around like a badge of honor, then no matter how goofy it looks, he'll be proud to do it.

Simon chews his fingernails down to the quick, a nervous habit that he's had for as long as he can remember. After catching him with a couple of bloody fingers after one particularly bad evening, you tenderly pull him into the kitchen, wash his hands and dry them, then sit him down at the kitchen table and leave for a moment, only to come back with nail polish.

"Really, love?" he asks, looking up at you with a smirk. "Gonna give me a manicure?"

You roll your eyes, pulling one of the chairs closer to him and reaching out for his hands, replying, "What, too manly to have your nails done?"

"Yeah, that's what it is," he smirks, all sarcasm, then says, "Why though?"

"It's the taste," you explain, shaking a bottle of black polish before taking the cap off and carefully leaning in to start on his right thumbnail. "The idea is that when you go to bite your nails, the polish will make it taste bitter so you stop."

He can't help but smile a little to himself as he watches you work. He doesn't care one way or the other about his nails, but it's cute, watching you so focused on him. Still, something about it nags at him, because while it feels good, having you care, it doesn't quite feel right, not all the way. Not just yet.

"Not hurting anyone with biting them," he says quietly, his eyes on his hands as you finish up.

You give a little sigh, capping the bottle before meeting his eyes, and you tell him, "You're hurting yourself. And that's not ok, not with me."

He doesn't do birthdays, not his anyway. Not in a dramatic "I hate my birthday" way, it's just not something of note to him. He knows the date, acknowledges it to himself when it comes just as a reminder that he's 40 now, not 39, nothing more. The first birthday he has with you comes after you've been together for several months, and you only hear about it after the fact.

"My sweet boyfriend," you coo at him one night in bed, a little tipsy from the wine you'd had with dinner. "My beautiful, beautiful boyfriend."

He chuckles, still marveling at how much you seem to marvel at him. Your hands are on him, gentle and doting, and he hears you giggle as you ramble on.

"Sweet and kind and handsome and strong," you say, running a hand through his hair. "He always watches out for me. He always takes care of me. My favorite person."

"You're drunk," he points out, smiling softly, cheeks red.

"Am not," you reply. "Even if I am, the truth is the truth."

You go on, praising him for everything you can think of. Pretty blonde hair, pretty smatterings of freckles, pretty dimples that only you ever get to see. It's almost unbearable, hearing how much you adore him, but in a good way. Like it's stretching something in him that's been closed for far too long.

You're breaking him in, slowly and carefully.

"Have you ever," you ask him at one point, "ever in your entire 39 years, thought that you'd get a girlfriend as thoughtful and loving as me?"

It's a playful question, but of course he's never thought that. His chest aches at the thought of just how much you've given him, and how much you let him give you in return. So instead, he dodges it.

"Not 39 anymore, sweetheart," he says softly.

Your brow furrows immediately, not understanding, and he laughs quietly, his hand on your stomach under the blankets sliding to your side to pull you closer.

"A few weeks ago," he explains.

"Your birthday was a few weeks ago?"

"It was."

"And you just ... didn't think to say anything?"

You're serious now, almost concerned, and he can't stand it.

"It's not a big deal, love," he says, leaning in to press kisses against your forehead and temple. "Just another day."

"It is a big deal," you argue, pulling back to look at him. "I would have ... I don't know, I would have gotten you something. Treated you special. Thrown a party, something."

"One, I don't like parties. Two, you treat me special everyday. Three, you've already given me more than you know, I don't need anything else."

All those things are true, but it still takes much longer than he'd like to get the frown off your face.

The next day, you ask him to run some errands for you. You need the oil changed in your car, some things from the big grocery store on the other side of town, but you need to stay home and take care of some things that need done around the house. He agrees easily. He likes taking care of you.

When he comes back later that afternoon, he goes for the kitchen, ready to put up the groceries he'd picked up, and there you are, leaning against the counter and smiling at him like you were waiting for him.

The homemade cake on the counter beside you, with candles sticking out and "Happy Birthday Simon" written in icing on top, tells him that you were.

Every time you do something like this, perform some little act of kindness that comes so naturally to you, it feels like something gets unlocked inside him. Like there have always been chains wrapped around his mind and his heart, keeping him tight and cold and alone, padlocks piling on top year after year, keeping all the hurt secure inside. But somehow you have the key, and you take your time, undoing them all.

Undoing him, completely and thoroughly, until he's open for the first time. And it's raw and new, and it hurts, but something in him knows that the pain will give way to something beautiful.

He watches as you step up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head against his chest.

"Happy birthday, Simon," you say softly.

He can't say anything, not now, so he pulls you closer to him, strong arms cradling you against him, and you're close enough that he can feel when the corner of your mouth turns up into a smile

Another lock coming off. Another piece of proof that he can be something different, something better, with you.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Ghosts, Heroes, and Too Little, Too Late

It had taken every ounce of courage Danny had, standing in the town square, ectoplasmic energy flickering around his hands and the wind tugging at his white hair. His human-blue eyes stared out at the crowd of Amity Park citizens, waiting for the fear, the rejection, the anger.

But none came.

Instead, Mr. Lancer had stepped forward, teary-eyed, and clapped a hand on Danny’s shoulder. Mrs. Tetslaff brought out a homemade casserole "for the hero." Even Dash had muttered something like "Guess you're not that much of a loser."

They embraced him. Their Phantom. Their kid. Their protector.

The news had gone national in under twenty-four hours.

Fourteen years old. Half-ghost. Protector of Amity Park. Had kept the town safe for two years from ghost invasions with no backup, no mentor, no safety net. Just his friends, his sister, and the town that eventually came to understand.

And with that understanding came anger.

Because for two years, Amity Park had reached out. Calls, letters, reports. Pleas to the Justice League. Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman—someone. But nothing. The reports were dismissed as hoaxes. Phantom was "probably another shapeshifting villain." Amity Park was written off as exaggerating, maybe even hallucinating. The town was left alone with a half-dead teenager standing between them and whatever the Infinite Realms threw their way.

And now, two years after Danny had made peace with the Ghost Zone and secured a treaty with the Realms, they came.

A gleaming ship descended outside city limits, adorned with the Justice League insignia. Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, and Flash stood at the front. Behind them were sleek representatives, press, and cameras.

Danny stood there, sixteen now, hovering a few inches above the cracked pavement of the park's old basketball court—his favorite haunt for aerial maneuver practice. He looked older, stronger, but his expression was unreadable. Not angry. Not happy.

Just… tired.

The League stepped forward, Superman’s cape billowing.

“Danny Fenton,” he began, his voice the same calm, commanding tone that had graced a thousand crises. “We’d like to formally invite you to join the Justice League. Your skills are remarkable, and we believe you'd make an excellent addition—”

The crowd behind Danny didn’t cheer.

They booed.

Old Mr. Schuster, who ran the bakery, shouted, “Oh now you care?!”

Mrs. Dugan from the library yelled, “Where were you when the Plasmius guy turned Main Street into a battlefield?!”

Someone threw a moldy muffin. Superman dodged it.

Flash winced. “Wow. Not the welcome we were expecting.”

Jazz stepped forward, arms crossed, expression fierce. “He was fourteen. He nearly died multiple times protecting this town. He bled for it. You called him a hoax.”

“We didn’t have confirmed data,” Batman said flatly. “There were too many false alarms in that region, and we—”

“You ignored us,” Danny said, finally speaking. His voice was quiet but carried across the park. “You ignored me. I begged for help once. Right after I got my powers. I didn’t know what I was. I was scared. Your hotline sent me to voicemail.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. Wonder Woman looked… ashamed.

“You didn’t want me when I was just a kid begging for answers,” Danny continued. “You want me now that I’ve already done the work? After I nearly died saving this dimension? After I signed a ghost peace treaty that your people tried to torpedo without understanding what the Realms even are?”

There was a low hum of agreement from the crowd. A few shouted, “Tell 'em, Danny!”

Danny stared at them. “I didn’t do this for a badge. I didn’t do it to be recruited. I did it because no one else would.”

There was a beat of silence. Superman stepped forward again, trying to soften the moment. “You’re right. We were wrong to ignore you, and we’re sorry. But if you join us, you can get real training. Resources. Help.”

Danny looked up, locking eyes with Superman. “I don’t need a League that shows up after the fight.”

And then he turned his back on them, his town behind him, arms crossed or lifted in support. The League stood there, unsure of what to say.

Danny floated up, cape rippling, energy crackling faintly at his fingers.

“I’m Phantom. Guardian of Amity Park. Protector of the Realms. You want me on the team? Then you start by fixing what you broke. With us. Not over us.”

The League left not long after.

The invitation was not declined—but it certainly wasn’t accepted either.

And Amity Park?

They slept easier that night, knowing they didn’t need the Justice League.

They had something better.

They had Danny.

[writerpeach]

Provocation

ITZY Shin Yuna x m!reader

15k words

“That’s not true,” Yuna argues, arms folded as if this is the most ludicrous thing she's had to explain. "Despite what everyone thinks, I don't sleep around. Maybe a few guys on the weekends, but during the week? I like to have a one-guy policy."

You don't believe her one bit—but you'll play along. "Just one guy? That's it?"

Yuna shrugs her shoulders. "Of course. One guy at a time. One guy on Monday—maybe Tuesday. And Wednesday. That's it."

"That's three, Yuna," you laugh, shifting in your seat to face her a bit more. She takes a sip of her drink, stirring it around before bringing it back up to her pouty, red lips—the ones that cause nothing but trouble.

"Exactly. A different guy each day of the week. I don't think that's a lot. If anything, Yeji gets around way more than me."

Now you know she's lying.

The way you can tell is when her lips move. That's the telltale sign. When a word slips out between them, you always know the words will be objectively false. 

Because this is Shin Yuna, the girl who flaunts every facet of her beauty like it's her job. This is the girl who wears skirts short enough to flash the entire bar a glimpse of her perfect little ass. The one who always leaves the house wearing a bra on purpose, her top always sheer enough to show the shape of her perky breasts. The same girl who would give head to a random guy just because he asked for a stick of gum.

"Yeji? Are we talking about the same girl?" you question, doubting that girl would even have a quarter the sex that Yuna has in one night. Yeji's definitely attractive, but reserved and soft spoken—nothing like the track record Yuna has.

"Hey, don't get it twisted," Yuna protests, nearly spilling some drink when she sets her glass down. "Yeji isn't some innocent church girl. She's a lot hornier than people think. Almost too much. As much as she acts all pure and sweet and innocent, she's a freak."

You'd say you believe her, except it's Yuna—so it's not probable in the slightest. "Right. She's totally a freak and you're an absolute saint."

"Glad we're on the same page." Yuna grins, stealing your drink to take a sip without even asking, leaving those red lips staining the rim of the glass. "She's more insatiable than me."

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, Yuna.” 

Yuna ignores you entirely. "I mean it—that girl is probably getting dicked down as we speak. Or if she isn't, then she's got a new vibrator that's getting the job done, watching some of the most depraved porn out there. That girl is obsessed."

"Obsessed with dick or obsessed with porn?"

"Both. You can't imagine some of the toys she has hidden."

Yuna keeps speaking, but she could say anything at this point, and you know there wouldn’t be an ounce of truth in it. She's gotten more than a couple drinks deep now. And her tight skirt rides up, each not-so-subtle movement revealing more thigh as she shifts, not even the slightest concerned who can see underneath.

"If she's a freak, what the hell does that make you, then?" you ask in all earnest, trying to change the subject, because Yuna clearly can't be trusted around alcohol. This girl and oversharing go together far too well.

"Me? Oh, I'm the best fuck of your life—the one who will choke on your cock like a goddamn whore and let you blow your load all over my pretty face." 

You don’t even look at her when you reply. "Forget I ever asked." 

"But you did ask. And now you're going to take me home so I can demonstrate exactly what I do to those poor, pathetic boys every weekend."

"Absolutely not. I don't recall making an invitation."

"Do I need one? Doesn't feel like it," Yuna asks, with a quick tilt of her head. "Doesn't daddy wanna spend all night fucking this tight little pussy?"

You nearly vomit hearing Yuna's poor attempt at seduction. "Stop it. Please, for the love of god, don't ever call me that again."

She simply laughs it off, leaning close as she rests a hand on your thigh, those nimble little fingers giving a good squeeze, when it wanders just a little too high. 

"Come on," she insists. "The second you’ve got your cock inside me, you know there won't be any pulling out. Daddy won't be able to control himself."

"I'm leaving you here. Take a cab if you have to," you warn, standing up from the barstool without even the slightest look back in her direction.

Yuna sighs. “Okay, fine,” she says as she grabs your wrist, keeping you from going very far. "I won't call you that anymore. Just take me home and fuck my brains out. Please?"

That voice, the desperation, it's hard to resist. Not to mention the pleading look, those big, round eyes staring, and when your focus falls down her shirt, barely even a shirt, the curves on this girl she dares to flaunt in your face. Yuna wants you to know that you'd be a fool to turn her down.

"What's in it for me? Aren't there plenty of guys lining up for a chance to fuck you here?" 

"This place is boring—and none of them can handle me." 

You're not even sure you can handle this girl and her attitude, but when Yuna stares like that, this longing look that begs for attention—it's difficult to say no. "Are you saying that just because you want a ride home?"

"It's a reason, yes." She can't hold back the smile, no matter how hard she tries. "You take me home, and then I'll suck your cock until your legs give out. Won't you help this poor, helpless little slut?"

Against your better judgment, there’s this temptation you can’t ignore. A devil resting on your shoulder, and on the other side, also a devil in the form of Shin Yuna herself. You can’t refuse that smile, those batting eyelashes, or those eyes without a hint of innocence in them. You’re already a lost cause. 

Yuna can’t help but smirk, seeing her prey lured in with such ease as she grabs her coat, one hand slipping in yours, and not even needing a response when the both of you know where this is heading. "No more daddy—that's a promise."

You don’t believe that for a second, but you also don't care one bit as you head out, Yuna clinging to your arm on the way to the parking lot. 

And this might be your biggest mistake yet. 

Neither of you even make it out of the parking garage to your apartment. Yuna has you backed up against the cold, concrete wall, in a dark corner that she swears doesn't have a camera—but even if it does, who fucking cares when the sight of her on her knees takes precedence, getting your cock wet between her lips as fast as possible.

And the sound of her greedy slurps echo off those same walls, somehow a thousand times louder than usual. 

"You know my apartment is right up there," you manage to say in between gasping breaths. Yuna's barely listening, staring straight into your eyes, with her cheeks hollowed to no end and every inch of your cock taken down so easily. She spits over your length a few more times, spreading it along your hard shaft before her lips swallow you whole, not breaking her gaze once for even a single breath. 

With another loud, sloppy suck with those red lips around the tip of your shaft, that's the only time she answers, a small pop filling the air when she backs off, stroking you slowly with her fist.

"That's two floors up. Why wait, when I can just suck your cock here? That elevator takes ages." she argues innocently, running her tongue underneath that most sensitive area of your shaft. "Unless you really want me to stop—"

"N-no. Fuck, no. Don't you fucking dare." 

"That's what I thought,” Yuna replies, and she has no intention to, burying her nose in your abdomen with every last inch consumed by her warm throat. And her wet mouth gets so noisy, so starved, these desperate slurps that could probably be heard all the way to the top floor of the parking garage. 

It's so completely Yuna: her lack of restraint, the enthusiasm as she bobs her head in a blur without any sign of a gag reflex. The way her lips tighten around your shaft and stay there for an eternity without pulling off even for a second, like she needs your cock down her throat for survival. It’s goddamn relentless. 

“God, Yuna, this fucking mouth—" you curse under your breath and place a hand on her head for guidance, wondering how the fuck Yuna manages to take so much at once while looking so beautiful at the same time. It's her lips wrapped around every inch, the way she stares into you, her lipstick all smeared along the base of your shaft with a fresh layer of spit glistening along the length of it. "Why the hell is your mouth so good at this?” 

It's a compliment that's only going to feed that inflated ego, as if that's even possible at this point. But you can't hold back the praise, when her lips feel this incredible, wrapped so tight with all the warm, wet suction you can handle, taking you back into the deep end of her throat like nothing. 

"I’ve told you…” Yuna starts with this smug little grin as she draws out every reaction she can out of your features with a messy kiss to your swollen cockhead. "Suck enough dick, and you have it down to a science. Nobody gives head better than me. Not Yeji, not a single person you've met."

Can’t say you find any fault with that, for once. The rare occasion when Yuna speaks the truth, with how good her mouth feels on you, slurping away to get these groans spilling that reinforces her point. How could anybody come close? 

“Don’t let it get to your head.” 

“Too late,” she says, with her playful little chuckle when you escape from the heat of her mouth. She continues to pump her fingers along every spit-soaked inch that sets you on edge, slowing down only so she can drag it out, savor the look of desperation etched across your face. Then she’s right back down, lips flush to your base in no time. 

“Shit, those fucking lips feel so good. Who knew you had any other skill other than being an obnoxious fucking brat.” 

Yuna doesn't even fight you for that one, giving your length a sloppy kiss, before sliding her mouth down to latch around your balls and suck hard. A tight fist strokes quicker than before, twisting so perfectly while her mouth is occupied, a motion that makes you completely unable to hold back the strangled noises that she gets off on. 

It all feels too good, with her full attention devoted to your aching cock that throbs in her fingers, these lewd slurps of your sensitive balls that drive you towards the edge faster when her mouth gets all hot and wet around you.

“F-fuck, fuck, Yuna—“ 

It’s so clear, the sheer enjoyment written across Yuna's features when she pops off your balls with a loud, wet pop. and then gets your cock right back in her mouth where it belongs.

There’s no stopping her this time—not when she gets a good grip on your thighs for support, so she can slobber on your cock with reckless abandon. A fucking shameless display, saliva dripping down her chin, a messy string that connects from her lip to the tip of your swollen cockhead while she takes you straight into the back of her throat, again, and again, not taking a breath unless she absolutely needs to. 

And then she’s jerking your cock right in front of her face. 

“Almost ready to cum for me, aren’t you? Don't you wanna fucking finish all over my pretty face? Don't you like how nice it looks when I'm covered in your thick load?"

Fuck, do you ever—and it doesn't help when Yuna tightens her grip and gives these rapid strokes that have your head spinning. All you can do is watch as she furiously jerks your cock straight towards her gorgeous face, tongue out so eagerly as she awaits every bit you're ready to release.

When it hits, the first explosive burst shoots across her forehead, streaking right over her hair. The rest follows, finding a place splattering all across her face. All over those open pouty lips—hot, sticky spurts that Yuna catches with her tongue as each shot paints a different spot of her features, the excess dribbling down her chin. 

Yuna laughs through it, trying not to close her eyes so she can watch you unload all over her features, a mess that has no end in sight. More hits her cheek, a nice shot across her nose as your cock pulsates in her tight fist, and the hot spurts continue to paint her in white streaks across her flawless face. A final few bursts land across her open mouth, a taste that gets her smiling so wide through a cum-stained mess.

"Fucking christ, Yuna," you exhale, out of breath as the high lingers.

Yuna lets your throbbing cock rest gently against her cheek, your orgasm slow to subside. Even when every last drop is wrung from the tip, she refuses to take her mouth off you, sucking your shaft clean with a few long slurps and flicks of her tongue that make you nearly collapse. 

"Just look at all that fucking cum. I'm covered in it, like a good little slut should be," she marvels, staring at the exhaustion plastered across your face. "Bet that felt good, huh? God, there's like a week's worth of cum here. All milked out of your thick fucking cock."

And Yuna has never looked better. 

"H-hold on, I'll get something to clean that up—"

Yuna gets to her feet, stepping in to shut down the idea before you can finish. "No need. I'll keep it on until we get to your apartment. Plus, I look the prettiest when I'm dripping with your cum."

It's insane—the words this girl will casually throw out in public, and how she wants to spend the entire elevator ride looking like that. Even if it's late enough that hardly anybody uses this elevator, there's always a chance you could run into someone who lives here. But saying no to this girl was never an option, already heading back the direction of the elevator without giving much a chance to argue, much less a chance to slip your pants back on.

Shin Yuna is quite possibly the worst influence—and yet, here you are.

Once she's all cleaned up, it's just pure unadulterated lust, from both ends as you find a spot on the couch to crash into with Yuna straddling you. Not an ounce of innocence in the kiss. Nothing but hot breath and moans, not even a second to break for air. The alcohol, the ride back here, the blowjob in the goddamn parking garage, you can't even contain yourself anymore. You let this girl get to you in the best of ways and give into this sinful temptation with an absolute desire to ruin her.

Yuna groans as you plant these rough, messy kisses along her neck—god, she tastes so good, like strawberries and sin and everything you're addicted to. She writhes under you, fingers tangled through your hair and you're not leaving your lips off her for a single second. 

"Keep doing that, please, f-fuck," Yuna pleads, and you flip her around effortlessly to do so, her tight little body flat on her back underneath you. You leave these marks all down her neck—sucking hard on that sensitive skin so easy to bruise, and sinking your teeth in at every opportunity. All these whimpers fill your ears and the louder they are, the harder you bite, the rougher your kisses grow.

This relentless assault leaves her breathless, an abrupt change from the usual confidence and arrogance that defines her. Right here, under you like this, Yuna makes it so easy to have her body entirely at your mercy—even more when you strip her shirt off and toss it aside, revealing those breasts fully to the chilly air. You barely have time to admire the sight of them before your mouth moves to devour the newly exposed flesh.

"You have no idea all the things I want to do to you, Yuna," you growl as you take a nipple between your lips, a sharp suck and a light nibble that makes her squirm even harder against the couch cushions.

"Like what? Tell me everything you want to do to me, d-daddy—"

You glare up, eyeing her intently and there's this sudden moment of silence while you refuse to get your mouth back onto her tits. 

"S-sorry, it just slipped," she says with this unabashed laughter, her apology as believable as anything else that escapes from those pretty lips. "Every guy I fuck loves hearing that. Force of habit."

"Don't make me leave you on this couch alone, Shin Yuna. Because I'll fucking do it, no hesitation."

"You'll never hear it again, I promise. Never, ever—now come on, back to what you were doing."

You raise a suspicious brow for a moment, but then it's back to your ravenous mouth focusing all over her chest, kissing up all over when you alternate between them. She loves it too—every hot and heavy kiss, every time you lick right at her most sensitive spots, latching onto her stiff nipples and sucking so hard. Yuna grips tightly at the back of your head, her fingers deep in those locks while you devour her tits and enjoy the softness of them against your face, skin flushed when you switch to the other breast.

And god, this sound that escapes her throat—when you travel down her body and kiss her abdomen, these soft little kisses that make her sigh harder and squirm more, getting lower and lower until the fabric of her skirt blocks your progression. It's this whimper from her lips when you swipe your tongue right above her belly button, a slow drag that tastes as much of her as possible.

"Skirt on or off? Your pick." You kiss at the top of her thighs, waiting eagerly for an answer as you toy around with the zipper.

"Whatever d—" she stops herself halfway. "You want. Whatever you want. On. Just fuck me with it on—can't wait, need you between my thighs already."

Can't say you're disappointed in the decision—pushing her skirt up her thighs to reveal that pretty purple lace that contrasts her pale thighs. But before you have the chance to put her out of her misery, you get a little more comfortable, stripping down to nothing but your boxers while Yuna bites her bottom lip and watches in silence. She keeps staring, wide eyes filled with anticipation as she catches the slightest glimpse of the way you're hard for her already.

"See something you like?" you ask her, Yuna shifting underneath with her skirt neatly bunched up her waist. 

"No, not a single thing," she answers, unable to hide her laughter for a second.

"Good, then I guess I can just go jerk off in my room or something," you tease, about to remove yourself from the couch until her hands lock tight around your shoulders, keeping you planted there.

"Shut the fuck up and eat me out. Can't wait a second more, ruin me with that amazing tongue of yours."

"Not even a please?"

"Absolutely not," Yuna insists, growing more impatient by the second. But it's a good thing you're generous—and more than raring to get between her thighs as much as she needs you to. 

She can hardly contain the noise when you grab the waistband of her panties and drag them down those long legs, Yuna lifting up just slightly to help guide them off. And when they slide past her feet, you don't hesitate one bit, spreading her thighs apart just to admire the sight—exposing her glistening wet cunt in all its glory.

"See something you like?" Yuna echoes your own question right back, flashing a smirk which only fades when you respond with a brief flick of your tongue. 

"Yeah, a perfect place to dump a huge load of cum," you remark back, licking a long stripe up her wet slit before ending in a gentle suck of her clit. "God, you're so fucking wet, Yuna. Dripping like crazy down here."

"Who's fucking fault is that?" 

"Not mine. You're the one who begged me to take you home because you were too scared to find a stranger in the bar to fuck."

The first few long licks do the rest of the talking for you as you bury your head deep between her spread thighs, tongue exploring her deliciously wet pussy. So sweet on your lips the more you taste, a suck of her clit every now and again, these unimpeded moans that can’t help spring free from her lips. 

"F-fuck, oh my fucking—first off, I did not beg. Second, don't pretend like you wouldn't fuck me if I found someone better," Yuna manages to get out mid-way through an absolutely filthy groan, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to push your face against her pussy.

"You're saying you could find someone better than me? In that shitty little dive bar?"

"S-shut up. Your ego's fucking broken," she argues between her desperate moans. You roll your eyes at her and get back to work—watching the way Yuna attempts to cover up her mouth with the palm of her hand. 

"Is that why you're struggling so much not to moan for me? You think any of those drunk idiots at the bar could do what I do to this pretty little pussy?" You're so determined to see her at a loss for words, lapping away at her clit, but that's all this girl brings out of you. It's difficult to play the nice guy when all her lips do is incite a response out of you like this. 

"You talk t-too much. Shut up and eat my cunt, so I can cum on your face already."

That you can do—more than happily. With a hand against her abdomen, Yuna's being pinned to the cushions as your tongue lashes away at her delicious folds to really lap up all her sweetness. It's addictive, the way you suck and lick away, from her swollen clit, right down to the bottom of her glistening wet slit, this intense groan tearing right through her as she locks eyes to watch you devour her cunt.

"Forgot how fucking good you taste—god, you taste fucking amazing.” 

“You forgot? Nobody forgets how good I taste. Not when you're addicted to eating my pussy as much as you are—"

That's a ridiculous enough statement to ignore, but you also can't bear the idea of stopping what you're doing, with your tongue exploring in slow, steady laps of every delicious morsel. Not when the sweet taste of Yuna fills your mouth and threatens to drown out everything else you feel, because she's so damn wet. It's the way your head is trapped between her thighs, keeping you right where she wants, smothering your face with her dripping cunt and forcing your tongue as deep as it can possibly reach. 

"Fucking shit—your mouth, that's so good, god. Fuck, fuck, y-you're gonna make me fucking cum! Don't stop—"

Like you could ever. Not when you have Yuna writhing against the cushions, watching the way her features contort into absolute bliss with just a harsh suck of her clit. 

Her mouth hangs open, head thrown back and the lewd, whiny little moans that you're so familiar with come right out. There's a rhythm of breathing that follows—heavy and erratic the more you try to break this girl. She struggles to even control herself when all she's reduced to is a soaking mess in front of your eyes, grinding against your face, needing to cum more than her next breath.

And that's the perfect opportunity to deny her what she wants so desperately. A split-second pause, watching the lust transform into absolute desperation. 

"N-no, please," she protests, urgency in her voice the second she feels your tongue stop. 

"Something wrong?"

"You ass—don't fucking stop. I said not to stop!" 

That's enough incentive to get back to it, fingers plunging right inside that wet heat to give your mouth a much-needed rest. Which only gives you these drawn-out moans, and fuck—there's not a single thing tighter than Yuna. Two fingers sink in with such ease, so wet, so warm, just taking whatever you'll give her at this rate. Nice and slow at first, so you can admire her reaction as you curl them inside, reaching spots that make her back arch right off the couch. 

"P-please, I'm so fucking close, fuck—"

Now she's begging, needing release at a level that's quite rare to see from Yuna. You pick up the pace, plunging those digits deep inside her sopping wet walls, hitting that same spot that makes her hips jolt so violently. 

"Is this what you needed? Come on, I know you're right fucking there. Fucking cum, Yuna. Cum like the needy little slut you are." 

You're not sure if it's the words that do her in, or the merciless assault of your fingers—both together is what gets the job done, the constant wet squelch that echoes with every furious plunge deep into her slick warmth. It's unmistakable when her cunt gushes around your thrusting fingers—spraying all over your hand, the couch, and god knows what else is just destroyed at this point. 

Yuna turns into a relentless, gushing mess, until she grabs your wrist to keep those fingers moving, filling the air with an even more delicious series of sobs.

Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it when her body spasms the more you pump into this sensitive little cunt. Your fingers are so drenched, with the juices that spill like a fountain, these choked moans that escape with every thrust. And when that begging for more turns into pleading to stop, you're not interested in withdrawal, not until you wring a second orgasm out, a third, however many it takes for her to finally tap out. 

"S-stop, you're gonna fucking kill me, stop—god, it's just too much," she cries out, every ounce of strength left in her failing. Only do you pull out when Yuna forces your arm away, thighs still quivering in the aftermath as you get a good look of the damage done. Flat on her back, she can hardly move on her own. A mess all along her creamy thighs, along the couch, and who knows where else. 

"My poor couch."

"Your poor couch? What about my poor fucking pussy? Look at what you fucking did, I came like five fucking times—"

Even in the aftermath of an intense, messy climax, Yuna can’t help being Yuna.

"I didn't hear any complaints when you were squirting all over me,” you say, and bring your wet fingers to your lips to suck the delicious taste off. 

"Because your fucking fingers felt so fucking good, you asshole—" Yuna's so worn out, completely unable to do anything but just revel in the mess she's made.  

"You're welcome."

"That wasn't a thank you—oh my fucking god, look at my skirt, you fuck," Yuna groans, eyes shifting to the state bunched up above her waist. 

"This is your fault, don't even start."

"Because you fucking made me ruin it, this is like a $300 skirt!"

"My condolences," you say, without a hint of guilt, the damage to her skirt not even the least of your concerns. Especially when you unzip it to slide it right down her slim figure—revealing every inch of her gorgeous body naked for you to drink in. "Excuse me, princess. However can I make it up to you?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she snaps, and even in her weakened state she's not any easier to deal with. "I'm too tired to ride you right now, so you're just going to have to fuck me until my legs don't work." 

"Still not hearing a please," you remind her, slipping out of your boxers at last, your stiff cock finally freed after seeing Yuna's naked frame laid out so perfectly.

"You can take your please and shove it right up your fucking ass. I'm not saying it."

"Fucking brat," you curse, grabbing her waist to position Yuna right where you want her. "I'll do all the damn work then—you're not going anywhere but into this couch."

"Good, about fucking time."

When she's finally done complaining, her gaze falls back to your rock hard cock aimed at her soaking entrance. You shift forward, a hand on her slender waist for support, the head of your shaft nudging her wet cunt.

"Come on then, I haven't got all night—are you gonna fuck me, or just stare?"

"Yes you do. What the fuck else are you gonna do? Go fuck somebody else you won't even remember the next morning?" Angling yourself just right, you don’t waste a second longer to slide inside, right up to the hilt—feeling that tight, heavenly cunt consume every inch.

"My fucking god, Yuna—"

She's never felt more incredible, or so goddamn tight, impossibly wet, warm—every sensation just overwhelming, getting used to it all over like it's the first time inside her. A feeling that doesn't disappear, even before you move one bit, with these beautiful legs spread wide apart as they'll go.

"Forgot how tight my little pussy was, huh?" she taunts, loving the groans that it pulls from your mouth. "You haven't changed at all. Still have that same cute little face you get when you've got your cock inside me. My pussy just ruins every other girl for you, doesn't it?"

"Too tight, god—why are you so fucking tight? Greedy slut gets pounded by twelve guys a week and still this tight? Fuck—"

"Less talking and more fucking. Move your hips—fuck me like the filthy little whore I am, come on."

Your only response is to get your hands right on both sides of Yuna's tiny waist, sliding outside with just the tip of your cock remaining, before slamming your entire shaft to fill her again. The first thrusts alone have her clutching the couch cushions to brace for more, each one a little rougher, a little deeper, the walls of her cunt clenching so hard the more of your throbbing shaft fills her. 

"Don’t hold back. I wanna feel every inch of that thick fucking cock in my wet little cunt," Yuna breathes out with this demand in her voice. "Come on, harder—ruin my poor little pussy, f-fuck."

"That's the fucking plan." All this tension you've built up between each other has reached its boiling point, the frustration, the annoyance, all coming out here and now. Because once Yuna is under you like this, everything changes, your hips pulling back only to shove in again, a relentless rhythm on repeat. 

"Better be. Why do you even need other girls when my perfect little pussy is always here waiting for your cock? You already have a pretty fucktoy to use, don't you—"

"Yuna, stop fucking talking already," you groan with no patience for anymore of her rambling. "Your schedule is a little booked up right now, in case you haven't noticed."

That's when your thrusts hit without holding back, hard enough to get a reprieve from that bratty attitude—watching her pretty features contort as you keep drilling inside that intoxicating heat. Not letting up once, the sound of her slick pussy soaking every inch of your shaft with every slam fills the room, barely audible over the sound of her loud moans. And that tightness, god—it’s unfathomable, unforgettable, each delicious clench driving your hips so you’ll feel more of it. 

"Then I'll fucking clear my schedule. As long as you promise to fuck me like this—I'll put you in my calendar every fucking day."

That's not exactly the solution, and you can't imagine being with Yuna day in and day out, even if that comes with the prospect of having access to this pretty, warm little wet hole whenever you feel like. No, not worth the hassle—maybe for a weekend, but beyond that you'd go insane.

"Once a week is enough. Maybe twice if you can keep your fucking attitude in check."

"You love my attitude. Just like the rest of this body that you can't keep your hands off."

She has a point—a painfully accurate one, but not one that you're willing to admit when you keep trying to silence Yuna with these violent slams that have your balls ready to unload sooner rather than later. Her tight cunt drives you absolutely wild, almost distracting enough from that infuriating mouth of hers.

But even more distracting is the look in her face while you fuck her, and you can't resist staring with every thrust as she continues to keep those legs parted just for you. That's until they wrap tightly around your waist, the heels of her bare feet digging into your lower back, forcing you deeper into this perfect tight body.

"What the fuck are you—"

Yuna's light giggle interrupts your question, the look in her eyes almost enough of an answer on its own. "Just making sure you're not thinking about pulling out. Want every drop you have. Fucking dump it in me."

"God, will you shut up," you groan, face burying into the crook of Yuna's neck, unable to take another second of her mouth running while your hips keep up this unforgiving pace. This tightness, this wetness, it's more than you can handle, using her cunt to fuck every bit of annoyance building inside from what feels like forever. 

"I'll shut up when you cum inside me. It's been way too fucking long since you finished inside me, since I've heard you moan when your balls empty. Does every girl you fuck let you finish like this? Bet none of them do."

You're not even interested in playing this game with her, not when she has you so close already, your pistoning hips driven by such immense desire to flood Yuna's dripping cunt. She's even clenching harder than usual with those slim legs locked so tight, a grip you can't possibly slip from no matter how much you tried. Not that you even would. 

Thrust after merciless thrust, you keep your lips sealed to her neck, sucking so hard like it's the only thing to keep you anchored. All you can do is keep moaning in her ear, keep hammering her greedy little cunt, faster and faster—

"I'm about to fucking cum, Y-Yuna—"

The words leave your mouth right before you've reached your limit. Your mind's elsewhere, not even in control, as your balls tighten and every muscle in your body tenses. Not even a word on her end, like Yuna was waiting for this moment the entire night. There's just hot breath on her neck, your cock pounding so hard into this soaked pussy, every pump taking you further past the point of no return—until that first surge shoots deep inside her wet walls.

A hot, sticky load floods right into her pussy in a violent throb of bursts, pumping one spurt after the other deep as possible. Yuna wraps her legs tighter with each, keeping you buried completely while everything unloads inside her. Everything goes blank, losing track of how many shots fill her tight cunt, a complete blur while your hips move on repeat, fucking it all deeper into her slick warmth. 

"F-fuck, there's so much," Yuna groans, struggling to find the words, feeling every ounce of your hot load spill inside, threatening to overflow before you even finish.

You just continue to drive into her without mercy, until your body begins to give out, sweat dripping all along her pale frame underneath. By the time you're done, you’ve collapsed into the comfort of Yuna's neck, planting gentle kisses along the marks you've left behind while you ride out the high. She stays quiet for a moment—no taunting, no attitude, letting your still throbbing cock rest inside her with your thick load slowly seeping out.

It's the most deserved orgasm you've had in a while, you think. Putting up with Yuna—just to unload everything you have inside, where it belongs. All her annoying remarks, that shameless, filthy fucking mouth all seem to fade into obscurity after everything. For a few seconds, there's bliss. A quiet bliss. 

Bliss that doesn't last very long at all. 

"Did that feel good? Emptying your big, heavy balls inside me?" Yuna asks you, resting her long arms around your body. It's almost calming, the light scratches down your back that lull you into a state of relaxation. Something you didn't think was possible with this girl.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out against her neck, struggling to catch your breath as you linger in the warmth of her tight pussy that can’t stop clenching for more. "I came inside you, now get off me—"

"Never, you're still fucking hard. My legs still work, and I haven't even gotten to ride you yet," she reminds you, staring straight into your eyes with her legs staying perfectly in place. "That load was just an appetizer—daddy." 

You groan—louder than ever before, but not in pleasure.

"What the fuck did I tell you about calling me that?"

Yuna shifts beneath, legs relaxing enough to release the hold—allowing you to slide your cock free from the overwhelming heat.

"What's the matter, a nice, thick creampie in my tight cunt isn't enough for me to call you whatever I please?"

You're ignoring her, in as many ways as you can when you move your gaze between her thighs to admire the sight—the beautiful mess that's dripping from her pussy, so full of your hot cum. "Go home, Yuna. If that's what's you're going to keep doing, then we're fucking done here." 

"You're no fun. It's after midnight, you're not going to send a little innocent girl like me out alone like this, are you?"

Again, you ignore her, standing up from the couch in complete disarray and making a path to the bathroom instead. "I need a shower, but you can sleep on this couch you've defiled for all I care. Please be gone in the morning."

It's a bit heartless, you know, but Yuna brings out this part in you that rarely sees the light of day, when she refuses to listen. Even more so when her footsteps follow closely behind, her petite naked frame and that mess between her legs still dripping without any ounce of shame.

"God, you're such a mood killer," Yuna sighs, grabbing your wrist to pull your attention her way. "I'll stop fucking teasing you. I'll stop calling you daddy, you big fucking baby. Just let me shower with you. Please? I won't even talk. I promise."

That's a hard one to trust, given her track record. But she sounds far too exhausted to even try any tricks, pleading so hard to convince you to let her share your bed tonight. And it's hard to turn down that pout, those bright, widened eyes that stare you into submission.

"Fine. Not a single word in the shower. And if you call me that even once, Yuna, I'm never shoving my cock in you ever again. Do you understand?"

"Of course. Swear it on my life. Promise. Never ever ever—that's it."

And just like that, this look in her eyes when she steps inside the shower after you suggests she'll live up to that word. You'll see. If anything, seeing her naked under the hot steam is enough to commit to whatever terms you've created. A selfish, yet regrettable decision.

A nice, relaxing shower where this brat doesn't utter a single sound, not a single dirty comment—that's better than anything in your wildest dreams.

Things move to the bedroom, as they usually do with Yuna. The two of you are completely devoid of any clothing, because modesty with her around simply doesn't exist. She slides into the spot beside you, resting her head on your chest, delicate fingers in a relaxed grip around the length of your shaft. And you’re happy to do nothing but watch the smile on her face while she gives these magical strokes, not nearly enough pleasure to take things any further. 

"Whenever you're ready to put this big thing back inside me, let me know," Yuna says as casually as possible—as casual as someone can get while palming their hand around your cock.

But you're hesitant to leave this moment—her body curled so perfectly against yours, to the point where you can almost tolerate her. Almost. That being the important thing in all this.

"I already filled you twice today. Not enough for one night?"

"Never enough," she insists, giving a firm squeeze that makes you reluctantly agree. "Plus, you haven't filled my ass, and we both know what a huge fan I am of that.” 

"Obsessed is more the right word. You might be more into me fucking your ass than I am, and that's saying something. Like, I could live inside there."

She giggles, her delicate little fingers tracing down your shaft while she keeps stroking. "Can you blame me when I have an ass like this? You should be the one begging me instead of the other way around." 

"I'd never beg you for anything, Yuna. You're a pretty girl with a nice ass who spreads their legs on command, I don't need much more than that from you."

Yuna responds with a tug at your balls, almost painful in nature to get a point across. "Tell me that again when you want to bury your face in my ass. See if that's true then. Let's see how long you last without getting to eat my ass."

"Okay, okay—point taken."

"Not everybody gets to tongue my ass. It's a privilege."

"So lucky, my life is complete now that Shin Yuna allows me the honor of worshiping her ass." 

That makes her squeeze your cock all too hard in this agonizingly slow stroke. "My ass is fucking amazing. The only word for it, and it deserves some appreciation. I don't even let anyone else but you fuck me there."

"Why do I not believe that?"

Yuna drops a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your chest. "You don't have to believe it. I'll let half a dozen guys all have turns fucking me at once—until they cum inside me or on my face. Nobody but you gets the luxury of pounding my ass though."

“I’m touched.” 

"You should be. Every guy I fuck should be on their knees, begging me for the slightest chance to worship my body, especially my ass." 

Nobody has confidence like Yuna does, even if it's wildly inflated. As much as her very presence annoys you, it’s hard to say you could survive long without that tight ass. Whether it’s bouncing on your cock, your face, or just existing in front of your hips to have a handprint against it. That doesn't mean you'd ever drop to your knees and grovel for her, but there's no denying how much power that ass has.

"Nobody has a better ass than you, Yuna. Not even Yeji. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She laughs—this sinister laugh, while squeezing your cock in her tight little hand, nodding all excitedly in agreement. You know it's going to go to her head, but the alternative is much worse. "Good, now can you just jerk me off in peace?"

“Fine,” she says, with a defeated sigh. “If that's what you want. I won't make another sound. You can just relax. Pretend I'm not here. I'll just keep jerking off this nice, thick cock until you cum again." 

"Now you're getting it."

You close your eyes and appreciate the silence, knowing this might be the only time when Yuna doesn't find some excuse to run her mouth. Her hands keep busy, and god, are her hands just heaven when she's so slow and focused. The one time she doesn't say a fucking word, just pumping your cock until you're ready to explode all over her.

You don't even remember falling asleep. The last thing you remember is Yuna straddling you, riding with all the energy in the world despite her earlier exhaustion. Hair draped over her face as she bounced up and down, hips so frantic and needy, groaning while you slipped a finger to toy with her ass. And then it's all a blur. Sweet, uninterrupted slumber, and that's how you ended up like this.

But now, Yuna isn't anywhere to be seen. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. So, rather reluctantly, you rise from the comfort of your bed, grab a fresh pair of boxers, a clean shirt, and stumble right into the kitchen for some semblance of routine. 

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, a normally welcome start to the day. This time it's different—it's burnt. Far from the rich aroma of a good cup, the one you've brewed on your expensive coffee machine you imported just months ago. Something's amiss.

There's the culprit. Yuna is standing there, fiddling around with the machine like the controls are in a different language. She's dressed at least, kind of, barefoot in what appears to be your shirt, white and loose fitting, barely covering her delicious bare ass when she's bent over trying to figure out the buttons.

"Morning," Yuna says over her shoulder, as if completely oblivious to the damage she's caused. "Think your coffee machine is broken."

"Did you break it?"

She takes a good hard look at the machine, as if in disbelief, before turning back around. "No, not a chance. It was like this when I got here."

"Yuna, did you break my fucking coffee machine?" you ask again, in dire need of the very thing she's about to deprive you of. 

"What did I just say? It's not broken. Look, if you press this button it comes out with this weird looking water and if you do this—fuck."

This is unbelievable. As if you needed another reason to kick her out the second you're awake, because you know first hand that Yuna should never be allowed in a kitchen. Any kitchen. Not after the burnt chocolate incident. 

"Let me handle this. Before you destroy my kitchen too."

"Hey, rude—I was just trying to be helpful. But you have some weird fucking coffee maker that you need a PhD in three different languages to understand."

She takes a step back, sighing in defeat as you take over and deal with the chaos left behind. "This is why I don't have company in the morning. A pretty girl comes over and immediately tries to burn my entire place to the ground."

There's this surprised gasp that escapes from her lips as you start everything over from scratch, dumping out whatever awful concoction that was brewing earlier.

"Wait, pretty? You think I'm pretty?"

"That's what you're focusing on right now? You really are insufferable," you mutter, with Yuna's eyes fixating on you while she just beams at the compliment. A few adjustments here and there, a fresh pour of water, and the aroma of fresh coffee starts to linger, slowly clearing up the disaster zone Yuna has left behind.

"You didn't answer my question." 

You have nothing in you but an eye roll.

"Yes. You're very pretty," you finally relent, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet above. "I could do worse than waking up to that in my bed. With my ruined coffee machine."

"Hey, it's not ruined, you jerk. It's working now, isn't it?" 

For now. Not the point you want to argue about right now, because you need caffeine in your system more than you ever have. At least you can enjoy a proper cup on the balcony with Yuna, even if that means putting up with her presence. Which maybe isn't as bad as you once thought, given the eye candy alone makes it slightly tolerable. 

Days pass. Uneventful, mostly, without anything much but the occasional lewd text from Yuna at random points throughout the day. Which you'll admit, is preferable to her showing up at your place unannounced, because you think getting off to the nudes she sends without having to hear her whining in person is a much better alternative. 

It's the weekend, and you don't have anything planned that doesn't involve sleeping it all away. An hour at the gym, maybe. Catching up on laundry, cooking yourself a nice dinner—trying that new bottle of wine that's been sitting in your cabinet untouched for months.

But you’ll never get to any of that. 

"Guess who?" 

That’s all Yuna says before forcing her way into the apartment, like she's already expecting to be let in without a second thought. This bright, happy smile on her lips, strutting into the living room in a small little crop top, and these ridiculous white shorts that are tighter than they have any right to be. "I know you missed me. So I'm here to return your shirt. I washed it. Or the dry cleaning people washed it. Doesn't matter."

"Thanks. Just leave it on the counter, and then you can leave."

Yuna frowns, far more offended by this suggestion than any other you've laid out for her. "But you missed me, haven't you? So I'm going to stay for a couple of days, and you're just going to have to suck it up."

So much for peace and quiet. 

“Absolutely the hell not. Don't you have your own apartment to wreck? You're not staying here."

"Why not?" she asks, tossing your shirt on the counter, just like you said. But just as quickly, she takes a seat on the couch and makes herself entirely too comfortable. "My place is a fucking mess, and I'd rather have some company. Plus, you have that really nice bed that's a thousand times more comfortable than anything I own." 

"You're not staying," you reiterate. "Why are you even here? Did you just get done with a dick appointment, so you're coming here now? This isn't a hotel."

Yuna stretches out on the couch, not bothered in the slightest. "No. I haven't been fucked in three days. How crazy is that? We need to catch up, so I figured I would stay with you—"

"We? Try again. I'm sure there's a gangbang going down somewhere, or an orgy you can crash. I am not letting you stay."

"What, is having me in your life such a terrible fate that you'll die if you don't have a moment's peace? A hot girl on your couch and the first thing you think of is getting rid of her?"

"That's exactly right. I have things to do today. important things. Things that don't involve babysitting you."

Yuna cocks her head at you, wide-eyed. "What could you possibly have to do today that's more important than this ass? Huh? Name one thing."

This girl is the definition of exhausting. Trying to tear your attention away from her brazen attitude is harder than it should be, with her figure slumped against the back of the sofa—arms spread wide and long legs extended so invitingly. That top riding higher and higher each time she so much as breathes, offering a full view of her toned abdomen. You can't find the strength or motivation to fight this, when Yuna looks the way she does. And you're certainly no stranger to sleeping with her.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. There are a thousand things more important than giving you attention. Now get off my couch and go find someone else to annoy."

The demand only earns a childish scoff, Yuna folding her arms across her chest. "Oh come on—look, I'll be good. I'll sleep on the couch, I'll cook you breakfast and dinner and clean whatever the hell I mess up. I won't bother you. Promise."

"You're not stepping foot in my kitchen after you almost broke my coffee maker."

"Almost. Keyword, almost," Yuna adds, barely getting to the end of her sentence before standing up and making her way across the living room to your side. "If I can't cook or clean or do anything, how do you suggest I pay you back for letting me stay here, hmm?"

You clench your fists so hard while exhaling, staring daggers into this psuedo-innocent expression that doesn't have any weight behind it. Knowing damn well what those gears turning in her head have planned. 

"Don’t worry, you're not staying here. So there's no need to pay me back." A simple rejection doesn't seem to deter her. It never does. 

She’s no stranger to the word no, but it doesn’t stop her from taking another step forward. And another one, closing the distance between, almost as a test to see how far she can go before the resistance starts. Then she steps back. Only to spin around, those tempting hips and ass pressing right into the crotch of your sweatpants, using the armchair nearby like support to push a little harder. 

And when she's looking like that, the way Yuna throws that devilish look over her bare shoulder while wiggling her ass is such an easy sell, a perfect visual that causes blood to rush down towards your cock. "If you prefer, I could just pull them right off…"

Somewhere deep inside, you want this—to give up this charade and indulge yourself in every inch of her. In that ass you have memorized to every detail, in that perfect fucking cunt that's yours to taste anytime you please. But the second you give in, there's no turning back.

Because you can't keep pretending that you can control yourself around this girl. Every shred of composure you try to have is fleeting when Yuna's there offering herself up on a platter.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had someone spank my ass? Two weeks? Maybe even three. Nobody hits harder than those big, strong hands. Nobody can put me in my place like you do. And I've been such a bad, bad girl.” 

Staring at the view presented before you, your knees feel a little weak. The things you want to do to this bratty little tease are practically limitless, sending your imagination racing when you follow the curve of her hips. Because maybe it’s about time she got what she deserves. All those handprints, her sensitive flesh just bruised by your palm, the sight of her bent over and spanked relentlessly—maybe her punishment is your reward. 

It's inevitable at this point. And the worst part is, Yuna knows this all too well.

"What are you waiting for? Spank my ass, make it yours. Make it hurt so good. Please."

That please is what does you in. Because you can picture it now, feeling the supple skin of her ass bounce under every smack of your hand, and that high pitched yelp tearing through her throat the second you really put power behind each strike.

It doesn't help those goddamn skintight shorts that hug her ass, a perfect invitation to have your way. 

You sigh under your breath. Because you’ll fold like always, giving in to those desperate pleas. If only to satisfy the lust that builds for Yuna’s tight body. The way your cock will feel buried inside her ass, while you get so rough fucking her. Until she can barely stand on her own two feet anymore.

Fuck. She knows she's already won.

"Fine. You fucking brat. But not here, not on the couch. I'll need a drink for this."

With a final look at her—looking like sin and sex on two legs, you drag her towards the kitchen to look for the strongest thing you have, looking past the bottle of wine that will have to wait. Yuna waits silently by the counter, with that same knowing look in her eye. A look that has no chance to fade even once you pop open a bottle of something to help wash the regret down.

"God, you're going to regret wearing those shorts," you tell her, not bothering with a glass and taking a huge swig straight from the bottle. And then another. 

"I don’t regret a single thing in my life. Now where's mine?" Yuna asks, pout on her lips as she ignores the fact that those shorts are coming off the first chance you get. 

"You're annoying enough sober—you don't get shit until I've had enough to tolerate you." 

She giggles. Which at this point is more infuriating than cute. "So never?" 

Yuna watches the bottle return to your lips for another long sip. You don't even deny that—instead, your eyes are glued to her shapely figure while you wait for the alcohol to kick in. 

"Give me your belt.” 

You slam the bottle down and stare straight ahead at the puzzled look on Yuna's face—but there's no objection. Instead, she complies and unfastens the clasp before sliding the white leather strip right out and handing it over without asking a thing. 

And that's when you do the honors. Unfastening the front button of those ridiculous shorts and tugging the zipper down. Her shorts are so impossibly tight that even after all that, they still take a little extra strength to tug down past the full curve of her ass. But you do manage to peel them down, staring at the tiny scrap of blue cotton and lace that hardly covers a damn thing—what those shorts are concealing beneath, this small string nestled just between her smooth, bare asscheeks. 

“Surprised you even wore panties at all today.” 

“I wore them so you’d rip them off me. It’s no fun if I don’t make you earn it first.”

That cocky little smirk doesn’t falter—not until you grab her ass like it belongs to you, fingers digging in deep, rough enough to make her squirm. Yuna wants to be manhandled, you know that already, so you squeeze harder, spread her wide and knead every inch, marveling at how much of her there is to take.

Her thong barely counts as anything, just a bright blue string that disappears between her cheeks. It's the only thing standing between you and burying deep inside.

"Fuck, I can't wait to feel your hands hurting this ass so fucking hard," Yuna groans, rolling her hips back into your grip. 

You don't respond—because now you've got your teeth hooked into the flimsy fabric of her thong. One swift tug downward snaps the thin fabric and tears right through so you can get right to that incredible ass of hers. No sooner have the scraps of her panties fallen to the kitchen floor before you've got a solid grip on each bare cheek, sinking your teeth in just enough to mark her pale flesh.

Laughing under your breath as you run fingertips across those creamy cheeks, you shake your head in disbelief. "You think I'm going to be using my hands?" you ask while picking up her discarded belt, an almost forgotten strip of leather until this exact moment.

Yuna looks back over her shoulder with the biggest grin.

"We're doing this my way.” 

Dropping your sweatpants right around your ankles for some relief, she can't help but stare at your bulge. And a smile perks up on her lips the instant she catches sight of the leather belt in your tight fist. Surprisingly, Yuna stays silent, even as you test the belt out between the palm of your hand, the crack of leather echoing around the kitchen. "You wanna get spanked? Then you're gonna get spanked. Bad girls don't get a say in this."

"Can't wait," she responds, not obedient, but almost daring as her hands clutch tight to the kitchen counter to brace for the first impact. Neither can you. 

"Eyes forward then, slut," you demand, running the leather down her skin, tracing along every curve until she has no choice but to face away. Before any warning, the satisfying crack of leather connects right against her bare ass, ripping a startled yelp from those bratty lips. A strike so forceful it jolts her body forward and leaves a light imprint on her delicate flesh. 

It puts a smile on your face when you get the same reaction. Another sharp crack cuts through the silence, right against the flesh of her ass with even much force. Another welt, another moan, as this bright red mark begins to form as the color spreads across her flesh. "M-more, please—that stings so fucking good. F-fuck, more."

The next smack sends her hips slamming back into the counter, another strangled noise coming from her mouth right as you hit her harder without thinking. “If it's too much, speak up." 

But the noise she makes is barely coherent. All you can see is the look of excitement on her face as you deliver more stinging slaps to her same cheek, over and over until you've had enough—only switching to the other for an identical treatment and marking the unblemished skin just the same.

"N-never. I love the pain, love the feeling of this belt on my ass—please keep going." Even with the crack in her voice, the smack of leather against bare skin overshadows her cries while you up the ante and show no mercy. 

Over and over with these slaps all over her cheeks, fueled by frustration with Yuna yelping each time you send the belt flying into that sore, marked skin. But she still grinds her hips back at you for more, eager for any ounce of pleasure, and every ounce of pain that comes alongside.

The entire time Yuna stays bent over, loud gasps and pathetic whines for another while these harsh spanks rain down so she can feel the sting that lingers right after. Hard enough to leave her speechless and biting back to not beg you for even worse. She grips the countertop like she'll simply fall over if she doesn't. And after a well-timed hit, you force a break that she doesn't ask for—a moment to collect herself and catch her bearings. A moment to admire the redness that's not going away anytime soon.

"Still want more?" you ask her with a tug at her hair, the belt grazing her tender skin. 

"M-more. Give me everything you fucking have," she can barely breathe out between whimpers, gripping even tighter onto the kitchen counter, so that your next hit to that reddened ass leaves behind an unmistakable imprint on those plump cheeks. "Fucking make it hurt, don't treat me like I can't take it. Harder."

You can certainly oblige her. Harder is exactly what you'll do—each vicious snap of the belt a little more relentless, no pauses between several loud cracks against that aching flesh, causing the most delectable noise as Yuna gasps every single time. Even as you step back, inspecting the artwork you've left on her backside, Yuna is far from satisfied. "I said to fucking make it hurt. But you're holding back on me, stop doing that."

Oh, let her fucking complain. Even with a burning sting on her ass, Yuna can't help but provoke you a bit further, with your grip in her hair tightening. But those slaps only come faster—each vicious hit with the leather cracks over her raw ass, moans muffled as her cheek gets pressed right up against the cold countertop. 

The belt swings wide again, hitting both cheeks at once and making them jiggle, the redness across Yuna's round little ass making a stark contrast against the pure, porcelain skin. And she hears it first before feeling it. 

Another cry of ecstasy that escapes her throat right as the belt brings about more stinging slaps, until you let the folded length of her own belt linger in the air, so she doesn't even know when the next swing will happen. You love nothing more than watching her body tense up—every single nerve on edge knowing another hard smack will come her way the second she even breathes, her reddened ass ready to receive whatever you have left in store for it.

"Like doesn't begin to describe it. I'm fucking crazy for it," she gasps out, when the belt stays far enough away that you give her some sense of relief—until it brushes over the sore, sensitive skin, making the softest touch seem worse than an outright strike. Then it cracks over her cheeks in succession, her thighs clenching together as she takes it. 

"My god, nobody has an ass like this, Shin Yuna. Nobody. Especially now with all these pretty little marks, and those noises you make when I spank you, I could listen to those all fucking day."

You put the belt down and stroke over the red welts from where you may have gone just a little too far, not that Yuna would ever object. She glances back over her shoulder with the biggest smile, even through the tears staining her cheeks.

"That’s as much as you deserve, you desperate little slut.” 

Up her body you wander, pulling her upright and stripping her of that small crop top so your hands have better access. Then straight into the clasp of her bra, cupping her tits once you’ve freed them, kneading with a little force the way you know Yuna loves. 

"I can handle so much more than this, I swear. I could take so much more," Yuna insists with another cute sniffle. The problem is, you know she can. All you have to do is glance between her thighs, and the mess on the tiles tells you enough. 

"I know you can," you breathe in her ear, hand trailing up around her throat until your fingers close tightly around it. Yuna lets out this short and sweet moan in your grasp when you apply more pressure. “But you got what you want. Now it’s my fucking turn.” 

Yuna drips at the thought. There's no sense in resisting her, no point in pretending this wasn't inevitable from the moment she had herself bent over with those tight fucking shorts. You'll give into everything she wants despite pretending to do the opposite. 

"What's that fucking word you keep calling me?" you ask her, the grip around her neck making her thighs clench even harder this time. "Go on."

"D-daddy. That's it. But you said never to—"

"Doesn't apply here. One time, this one time, use it. Use it while I'm shoving my cock in your needy little asshole, understand?"

"Yes—I fucking understand. Y-yes, daddy. Just this once."

A quick release of her throat so Yuna can turn her body in your direction, the tears in those alluring eyes yet to dry up. Your free hand palms over her ass once again, getting a nice, possessive squeeze as a reward for everything she's endured already.

"My ass fucking hurts," she says, laughing it off between shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle. "G-god, this belt fucking hurt more than your hand ever could."

"Are you complaining or bragging?" you ask as your lips meet, hot breath against one another as her slender fingers grasp against the hem of your shirt, up and off within seconds so she can slide her fingers up and down your bare chest. 

"What do you think?" 

Your boxers come off last, not even hitting the ground before Yuna is stroking your stiff cock with this playful expression on her features. Then it's in her grip the entire time you walk her down the hallway and into the bedroom. As expected, she can't keep her hands off of you for more than a second, right up to when the bed frame hits the back of her knees and the only option is falling back onto the mattress.

"God, Yuna, the things I'm going to do to you—the ways I'll ruin you." With her legs spread wide, and thighs glistening with arousal, you get to indulge in the view while Yuna plays with her clit in lazy, drawn-out circles.

“Need you in my ass, daddy—need it now. Isn't that clear?" Oh, how unexpected that she’s going to abuse the permission of that one single word. 

"I can assure you the feeling is mutual," you insist, and join her on the edge of the mattress, taking her hips and flipping her over until she's lying right on her stomach with that sore, marked ass up on display, raised up off the mattress.

She props herself up on her elbows so she’s in position, right in the center of the bed. The sight is perfection—this shameless, insatiable fucktoy, sprawled across your bed with her legs parted, knees sunk into the bed, ready and waiting for you. 

Just as she opens her mouth to say something, you bury your face into those pillowy cheeks, the tip of your tongue swirling against her tight fucking asshole.

"F-fuuuck, it's been so long since I've had your tongue in my ass, daddy," Yuna moans, your spit lubricating her puckered hole all over, the softness of her cheeks pressing deep against your face as she tries to grind back. You shove your tongue deeper, tasting, savoring everything—eating her ass like it's the only reason you let her stay here tonight. The reason why you even opened the front door.

There's nothing better than the unfiltered moans while you plunge your tongue deep into the depths of her asshole, face first against it and greedy, spreading her wide apart while you slip in, those cries of pleasure getting higher. 

You taste—no, you devour her, tongue exploring, thrusting in and out of that tight little ring that clenches around each swipe. This delicious tongue-fuck that gets better the more desperate Yuna sounds, writhing around your sheets and pushing back, all in hopes to keep your mouth where it belongs. 

"This ass belongs to me," you remind her, a harsh slap on the still reddened flesh to make the pleasure even better. 

Yuna spreads her cheeks wider so you can plunge as deep as possible, so you can hear her delicious moans as your spit covers her glistening hole. One long, sloppy lick in and out, tongue so deep in her asshole that all she can do is whimper helplessly for more. 

"D-don't act like you didn't miss this," she says, still as cocky as ever through a breathless groan of satisfaction. Your tongue teases one last time, a thumb replacing it to press into the ring of muscle that's already relaxed, seeing how easy it is to sink into.

She’s more than ready, but you need one more taste before grabbing the lube so you can slide a wet digit right inside the puckered hole of Yuna's ass—fingering her the same way you've done countless times already. 

She's tight, of course, that’s a given, but even as a finger curls inside, this grip around your finger won’t begin to compare once your cock is in the same place. Two fingers is the limit, plunging them deep enough to stretch Yuna just enough so your cock will slide right in. "Only I get to fucking pound your asshole, yeah?"

"O-oh fuck, it's only you, daddy. Nobody else, nobody but you, I promise—your cock in my ass, right where it belongs. J-just you." 

Your fingers finally pop out, and instead the slick, swollen head of your cock is pushing into the tightest, most inviting hole—one long, deep thrust right up until the base, so her asshole can swallow every last inch in a single motion. 

Yuna clutches the sheets so tight, arching her back to push that ass up into the air. She's so tight that you can't even fathom it, this delicious clench around everything stuffed to the hilt—and there's nothing like this. Nobody gets this privilege, you believe. Nobody gets to indulge in the luxury of fucking Yuna's perfect, tight little asshole. Not a single person but you gets to make her moan quite this way. 

"Stop wasting time and fuck my ass. Pound me, p-please. Don't make me fucking beg." 

So much for savoring any of it. You sink your fingers right into her ridiculous hips, gripping her harder than usual to drag her backwards onto your cock. Hard enough to force this groan out of her—so needy and pathetic in the midst when your hips meet her bare ass. A brief moment to take it all in, before sliding almost entirely back and rocking forward with full force. 

"Oh my fucking god—my ass feels so full, shit—"

She's barely breathing between words, and you don't intend on helping her out in that regard at all when you're too busy staring at her red, tender cheeks, loving how they jiggle with every rock of your hips.

“Did you expect anything else?" you ask while giving her a good, harsh slap to that same spot where red is still clear as can be. With such a good view, it's impossible to do anything other than drive deep and begin pounding her mercilessly. "A pathetic fucking slut like you deserves nothing but a rough fuck. And that's what you're gonna get." 

Yuna does little but spew moans and throw her head back when your cock buries deep in her ass. This tightness never gets old, your hips on a mission to bury in her and hit all the places Yuna loves, enough to get her drooling all over your pillows. But her asshole—as snug, warm, and irresistible as it is, you can’t fathom how hard she squeezes every time you drill forward, showing no signs of restraint.

"S-so good," she lets out through short gasps, her face buried in the pillows and her teeth biting your sheets hard. “Love when you treat me like a fucking toy, daddy—"

"Yuna, that's exactly what you are," you tell her while you're so deep in her ass it's almost overwhelming. "So tight, I'll never stop pounding you, fuck. Tightest little hole I've ever fucked."

Yuna glances over her shoulder, while you get a good, tight grip on her hair and tug so she clenches harder, with every stroke balls fucking deep—as rough as you think she needs it. Even as the sound of your cock reaming her ass echoes throughout the entire room, nothing could possibly be enough. 

Your unrelenting, deep thrusts into Yuna's asshole cause the whole damn bed to creak from the violent force of your strokes, pulling her hair harder for that extra roughness she loves. 

No break, not the slightest pause until you absolutely have to—because you could do this all day and not grow tired of the way Yuna moans or how her cheeks bounce when you slam into them. Those cheeks that you get a tight handful of—palms full, and dig your fingers in for some leverage while your thrusts turn animalistic, barely in control at this point. 

But Yuna can take it, you can see it in that fucked out expression. The pleasure written all over her features while her mouth falls open as you show her no mercy—spreading her ass just so you can marvel at your cock hammering in and out, stretched out so wide around you.

"So good, g-god, so deep, love how deep your cock goes," Yuna can barely get out, like it takes all the energy out of her. You know you're not anywhere near wearing her out, not while watching your dick destroy her asshole.

"Not enough?" 

“N-not even fucking close. Give me all you've got, come on," she pleads for in this broken, muffled whine with her face shoved so far against your sheets she can barely breathe. 

Another deep thrust, enough force behind that slams the bed against the wall, loud enough to compete with the sound of her ass slapping against your hips. And when you draw back again, you grab her delicate little wrists, pulling her arms behind her back and using them as leverage—so Yuna can't do anything at all but let her asshole get wrecked.

"More, more—keep fucking pounding my tight ass, come on. D-don't stop, daddy. You know I'm fucking addicted to this fat cock," Yuna pleads so pathetically, immobile and helpless, taking whatever comes next with her arms hostage and your cock impaling her to the hilt.

Your hips do exactly that. Fucking her ass in quick strokes until all she does is cry out for you to destroy her, and then some. Yuna takes everything, the groans and yelps when you give no chance for recovery, the thrusts so deep and noises more depraved by the second. Her wrists pinned by the small of her back so she doesn't even have the chance of touching her swollen clit.

"That cock in my ass feels so fucking amazing. Oh my fucking god, fuck me, fuck my asshole as deep as possible."

When you yank her body back, your hands stay locked around her wrists with enough force for her to gasp. But you’re too busy pummeling her ass to even get a word out—too focused on that impossible tightness wrapped around your cock, the  perfect grip around every inch like it's trying to force you to cum.

"Better get used to this, slut. My cock is going to keep wrecking your tight little ass over and over again for the next two days. And maybe even longer if you really deserve it."

Her wrists go free, only for your hands to find her delicious hips again, slamming back in and using all the momentum to crash into Yuna as hard as your body can muster—until she's pinned flat onto your mattress, trapped right under you without a single break between the thrusts that hit at a different angle. 

With your legs spread on either side of her, your torso stays flat against her naked back, keeping your weight right down over her small frame. The bed shakes each time you enter the deepest parts of her ass, every single stroke her greedy hole swallows up and demands even more than you can possibly offer. 

"That's it, j-just like that. Just keep fucking my ass, love the way that you ruin it—"

"Yuna—" You bring a harsh smack down across her reddened, sore cheek to really punctuate each thrust. "You think I wouldn’t when your ass is squeezing my cock so fucking good?"

Every bit of movement between the two of you happens right where your skin is pressed against hers—sweat on her body indistinguishable from the sweat on yours. Hands around her hips so you can keep a nice, possessive grip while you relentlessly drive forward to pound her body into your mattress, no chance of lasting much longer now. Not with the way you're drilling her, no chance at all.

And yet, you can't tear your eyes away from how her ass looks getting pounded, bouncing every time your hips make contact with the reddened cheeks of her ass.

"If you fuck me any harder, you might actually break this bed," Yuna gasps out, laughter still coming to her lips despite how ruined and breathless she is. That sounds like a good option, if you can’t help it, no matter how rough you need to be with her. Yuna is beyond that—insatiable and incapable of getting satisfied for very long at all, the way most people would. 

But that doesn't mean you won't give your all for this performance. So you get back on your knees, getting each hand full of Yuna's plump ass, sinking your fingertips as much as humanly possible to watch your cock destroy this perfect girl. 

"Then I'll keep going, until we've destroyed my entire goddamn bedroom. That's how much I love pounding your ass."

She just giggles until a moan replaces it, lost in all these noises. You won't stop, not if your legs give out from exhaustion. Every hard and deep thrust has your eyes fixed upon where your hips meet those decadent cheeks. With Yuna face down on her stomach, there’s no better view to watch how well your cock stretches her hole open. 

"You're getting there, I can feel it," she taunts. You hate that you can’t even see her face, but you know she’s grinning. Smug little brat. "Go ahead, fill this tight, little asshole. Use it until you cum."

And she just gets you so riled up, that it's inevitable, as soon as those words leave Yuna's mouth. "I cannot believe I went this long without my cock inside you. When you say it out loud, it just sounds—"

"Crazy? Come on. I know it drove you crazy. The only time you're actually fucking happy is when this big dick is buried in my ass. Not just inside some random girl who's not me, or a warm mouth who's not mine."

God, do you hate when she's right. Hate it with every fiber of your being, but you don't even have time to think about anything else, because these soft cheeks you're palming so hard is the thing that's about to break you first. That same voice that you can't stand on most days, is what helps you unravel—what brings you to that delirious edge and drives your hips with full force for these last few deep thrusts that rattle the bed. 

You start to lose full control, snapping your hips a little too fast, once, twice—before finally bottoming out with her name on your lips and erupting deep inside her ass. It's unstoppable, filling her with your thick, messy release in each deep throb when your cock pumps Yuna full, her asshole accepting it with each final burst of tightness.

"There you go, fucking cum in my ass," Yuna moans out as those harsh clenches milk everything out of you. You ride that high for as long as possible, each furious thrust pumping your seed deep inside, each hammering her body into the mattress—again and again until your balls have nothing left. 

Even after then, your hips don’t cease, fucking the rest of your load deeper inside her tight, filled hole. You can already see your release trickling out, her ass stuffed too full and overflowing with your cum already. "F-fuck, there's so fucking much, it's so thick—oh my god, daddy came so much…” 

Yuna sighs out into the silence, while you're left holding those sore cheeks to catch your breath. Both of you struggling to recover. 

"That's like, several days worth of cum in your ass," you say, dragging your spent cock out of her to get a good look, holding her cheeks spread apart as it flows in a thick mess between her thighs. Your fingers slide right into that gaping, ruined asshole, pushing back whatever cum threatens to drip out.

"Jesus, Yuna. Look at how much is spilling out. Was worried I actually broke you there for a moment when you're this tight."

"Nope. Still perfect. And it's still not enough," Yuna says, insatiable as ever. Only then do you start to peel yourself off of her, her worn-out body a complete sweat-covered mess.

“Too bad. You fucking drained me dry, you greedy slut."

Yuna laughs, and when she rolls over on her back to face you, she's the image of perfection: hair matted all against her forehead with sweat, makeup a bit smeared, her lips and cheeks redder than usual—ruined but still absolutely stunning.

“Like you could ever run out. Not when I'm around…” 

Yuna shifts right in front of you until she's directly in front of your gaze and kneeling between your legs. She smiles up at you and her mouth gets right back on your throbbing, sensitive cockhead. Each obscene slurp makes it a little harder to convince yourself that she shouldn't be staying for the weekend, because you might not ever let her leave. While not a day goes by without you hating her guts, not a day goes by without wanting to pin her up against a wall and fuck her senseless.

Her mouth slides deep, cleaning off everything, and her lips, her tongue running against the slit, and the cute expression the whole time, god—this girl is going to be the death of you.

She drags her tongue in slow, gentle swipes around the head, sucking every single drop clean and looking for more. There's not a single bit of reluctance—her wet mouth eagerly cleaning up your shaft in long strokes. Then she slides both hands around your hips and shoves you back, knocking you off balance until you hit the mattress. Yuna doesn’t give you a second to recover, already between your legs again. 

Now you're the helpless one, that hot little mouth working to fit the entire thick length down her throat. You don't even care about the overstimulation, not with this view of Yuna bobbing her head, those lips sealed tight. 

"Fuck, you’re crazy—“ you let out, running fingers through her messy hair, while Yuna ignores you and devours your spent cock, balls deep down her throat until she gags the slightest bit.

"You love it, though. Because it means you’re gonna fuck me harder now.” 

Maybe you do regret ever opening the door for her and letting her inside your apartment to ruin her. Or maybe you're the one ruined instead. You're not entirely sure at this point. 

"You're gonna have to wait, not everything is at full capacity yet." Yuna cocks her head to the side, stopping her full strokes so she can crawl up and get comfortable on top of you, until you're face to face, inches apart. 

"Daddy got too worn out pounding my ass? Is that my fault?"

All you have the energy for is to brush away strands of her disheveled hair out of the way, so you can stare at her gorgeous face. "Yes. And you can stop calling me that. One time thing, remember?"

Yuna giggles. "No—one time won't be enough. You know I like saying it."

You can’t even hide the sigh that escapes. But you should have known better, you suppose, for letting the floodgates open and allowing her that one time. Now you'll never hear the end of it, and it's going to be rolling off her lips the next time she begs you to fuck her again.

"You'll never listen to anything I say ever, will you?"

You already know the answer to that. But you’ll still indulge in her lips, this unexpected soft kiss after all the roughness. After all the debauchery of tonight, it’s what you both need. 

"Definitely not," Yuna replies, eyes wide and bright. “You’re just gonna have to find a way to shut me up—daddy."

You hate that word with a passion, you'd hate it if you were to hear anyone else say it to you—but for some reason, hearing that coming from those pouty lips, you hate even more that you might grow to love it the same amount. "You get to stay the weekend, and not a minute longer. Got it?"

There's this knowing glint in her eyes, all too confident that you'll break and think otherwise. "Don't be so sure about that. After one more night, you'll be begging me to stay an entire month. Begging me."

A roll of your eyes, and a laugh that’s far too loud escapes, because in truth, she's most certainly right. It's this push and pull between wanting her far away and wanting her around more than ever.

"Yuna, don't push your fucking luck," you warn, the last remnants of trying to distract from the truth.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think? I've pushed far past my limit. Might as well just start moving my things here."

That's a step too far. You'll fuck her brains out as many times as she needs, you'll even allow her to sleep in your bed for as many nights as she wants. This is already too domestic for your liking, but the thought of her staying here without giving you a moment's break? You'd rather perish.

"Absolutely fucking not. Don't even joke about that, Yuna."

"I was kidding," she insists, playing with the locks of your hair, not bothered at all by the agony on your face. "I'm here to get dicked down, that's it. I don't need to take over your whole apartment just to make sure my asshole is stretched." 

"Jesus, Yuna. Why the fuck are you so—"

"Insatiable? Hot? Good at deepthroating you until you explode down my throat? Because it's fun to see you get so flustered, daddy." 

Another one slips past her lips. You're just going to have to live with it at this point, she's so obsessed getting a reaction out of you, and you make it so easy for her. "Fuck off, I do not get flustered. And you need to stop saying that."

"No fucking chance. I'm going to call you that every single time you pound me. I'm going to scream it while you shove my face into your pillows and fuck the shit out of me, while you fold me up and choke me, get me on my knees and gag me until I'm drooling—"

"Yuna, I am not fucking you for at least another hour. Maybe even two."

"That's fine. We don't have to fuck at all, because my ass still fucking hurts,” she says, letting out a noise somewhere near a giggle and a sigh all at once. “I'm going to feel those welts you left on me forever, that belt made my ass so fucking sore that I'm surprised I can even walk. Just thinking about it makes me fucking drip—“

"Could you be any bigger of a slut than you already are?" 

Yuna shakes her head, this soft smile as if your insults only spur her on, as they seem to do. "Never. Not even if I tried." 

[kismetlotts]

cw: abusive relationship (not physically), breaking up with Simon, reader is not a pussy, Simons ego is big, Johnny comes to the rescue, taking best friends ex-girlfriend trope?, if you cant treat her right I will, mentions of sexual content, hickeys, angry Simon, mentions of cheating, I wrote this while being half asleep

You were absolutely fucking seething in fury. Red, raw anger pulsing through every envious blood cell of your body because he promised you things were over with her. Swore on lives of everyone he's ever loved, spoke words of rotten lies that fed to the image of him he had made in your mind. A loving boyfriend-truly a fucking manipulative abuser and this time, Simon wasn't getting away.

No more hook-ups, no more late night selfies in another woman's bed just because the two of you fell out- he knew your insecurity and played it like a game of chess and yet somehow; no matter what moves you took, he always knew how to win. Not this time, you'd throw the board before the game is even finished.

Slamming open the dark, wooden doors as the soles of your loved-in trainers slapped each tile of marble. A fancy restaurant that Simon and his friends knew well- full of prestige and pretention. A place where snobby losers and rich cocksuckers can converse without regular, hard-working people being in the way. Perfect for your boyfriend- and soon to be ex.

His gaze flicked to the door, slowly as if he owned time and could use it how he pleased. Reaction not changing in the slightest when he finally saw you almost like he already knew you were the one entering his private dining room. John and Kyle looked over in confusion, John's fingers tracing the stubble on his freshly shaven chin as Kyle leant back in his chair. The both of them oblivious to the drama that was about to unfold and to the way Johnny's eyes struggled to leave yours. Catching his full attention with just an entrance.

"What the fuck 'you want now?" Simon grumbled, lips parted and looking anywhere but your face and you assumed he was embarrassed- not because of his actions, no, of course not. But because you were now seen associated with him. All the men in the room were in their best wear, harsh black suits of charcoal and a contrasting white shirt, the same shirt you ironed, folded and put away for him like a little maid.

And among it all you were stood at the front of the room, dressed in whatever crap you reached for in your wardrobe. Too full of emotion to care, overflowing with feelings to the point you didn't know what to do with yourself but Simon would never understand that. Emotions were a waste of his sweet sweet time.

"I want to let you know, I'm leaving." You spat out, head held high because why on earth would you ever be scared to stand up against him. How could you shy away after he had abused your love and took you for granted? Clenching your jaw tight while wetting your lips, balling your fists up to stop and hide the small tremble the adrenaline left.

The dirt of his pupils holding on yours a little longer than necessary, like he wanted you to say it again and crawl inside yourself- you would've, usually. You would've nodded along to his degradation before walking out silently, making sure to hold your breath until you're in a safe place to cry it out.

Repeating his harsh words when he would call you nothing then ask what you were, trying stop the quiver in your lips when he shouted for you to stop crying but now you weren't his bitch to tamper with. If you wanted to cry and scream you will- without his permission. You'd gauge his eyes out if the two of you were alone and you'd fucking enjoy it.

"Alright then, off you go?" The tone mocking and without even looking down at his chapped lips you could hear the fuckers silent smirk.

"I mean I'm leaving you. Dumping your ass? Breaking up with you because you're so self entitled you have to go fuck other women to hurt me and then fix me up to your standards? I'm done with you, Simon Riley. Officially over." Your shaky hands reached behind your neck as you unhooked the delicate necklace he had brought for you before throwing it with all your force. Hearing the metal clink and sink into his plate of food before turning and heading for the door.

God, it felt good to be free.

The doors shutting behind you with a thud and the same thud sounded in Simons heart. No woman- no fucking whore like you breaks up with a guy like him.

A huff of a laugh left his lips as he reached for the small packet of cigarettes on the table, digging a hand into his suit trousers for a lighter and feeling a soft sheet of sweat coat his back as he moved.

He wasn't scared, or embarrassed- you were on one of your pathetic tantrums again and by the time he gets home you'll have the bed made, food ready and your gaping mouth open and gagging for his big cock. You loved him- sure he tolerated you a little more than the other girls, but you really had a thing for him and it made him feel great. Made him feel powerful that someone needed- relied and only wanted him.

Popping one end of the cigarette in his mouth as Johnny's chair squeaked against the floor. Excusing himself as he cleared his throat and straightened his tie. Simon huffed out a laugh.

"Don't bother, she's fine- used to it." But for some reason, Johnny didn't stop walking.

In fact, his gentle stroll to the exit you had previously left from had a developed a little skip in it. Like a little happy child, knowing something good was about to come to him- come for him.

"Oh, I know." The Scotsman voice flooded with an edge of determination. A hint of challenge- humour, whatever it fucking was Simon's gut churned at the sound.

Johnny wouldn't try anything with you- he wouldn't go up against Simon because he knows his worth. Simon is just so much fucking better, he wouldn't fucking dare. Even if he tried, you wouldn't allow it anyway, you always came crying back to him. There was nothing for him to be worried about.

"Then where are you going?" His thumb traced the ridges indented in the lighter before pulling it down and harshly burning the end of his smoke.

Johnny's hands hit one side of the door as he pushed it open, looking over his shoulder with raised eyebrows because- mate, wasn't it obvious?

"To show her how a real man fucks, what other reason could it be, Simon?" The door banged shut behind him. Simon looked over at John who let out a laugh before looking over at Kyle who breathed in heavily before looking at Simon. The three of them were all lost but only one of them was delusional enough to not take it seriously.

Only Simon.

Opening the door to your apartment once the three of the finished up and paid. Seeing the pretty lamp on beside your couch and your figure sat there snuggled up. Nose deep into your book as you breathed softly, reading in the warm lighting. He barley looked at you when he first let himself in because he knew you would be like this.

All forgiving and back to being his precious baby again. Neglectfully dumping his blazer and tie on the countertop, barley folding them up as he ran a hand through his head, noting the silence. A groan left his lips- you were still pissed at him but a little sweet talk from him would do the job.

"Baby, I'm sorry- it was a one-time thing.." He mumbled softly, the lying in his voice so sickeningly obvious even Simon could wince. His large frame approaching you as he leant down closer to your innocent face.

Hair wet and freshly washed from your shower, all comfortable in your favourite pyjamas. His ears perked up at the soft sound of music coming from you and he figured you had your earbuds in. Fingers reaching out to move the hair behind your ear but his eyes locked onto the purple bite marks scattering your neck and trailing down further. His heart fucking dropped. No, you were his.

You turned your head to face him, brows furrowed as you swallowed down the angry words at the tip of your tongue you so desperately wanted to shout out and you bit the inside of your cheek to muffle the hysterical laughter that threatened to surface. His face dumbfounded, shocked and vulnerable. A side of Simon you had never seen before and a side he clearly hadn't either.

His eyes blinking rapidly like he couldn't believe what was right in front of him- like he had lost control of the one thing he had in his grasp. Damaging the artists brushes, breaking the record player not the vinyl- it hurt him because it made him feel weak, you took back what he operated on and you fucked his best friend. His throat ran dry and he opened his mouth to speak when a hand gripped his shoulder firmly with warning. Warning for him to watch his fucking mouth.

And when he turned and looked, there was Johnny MacTavish. Stood equally as wet as you with nothing but a flimsy towel on his waist and a face of pure, smug victory.

"Don't worry, I've got this one from now on, LT."

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Your Five Truths

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: You have five simple truths. But when your relationship and your life are put on the line, you start to question what you believe in anymore. Warnings: reader is a bau tech analyst, serious angst, aaron is being mean, big argument, mentions of haley's death, references to foyet arc, home invasion, graphic descriptions of violence Words: 3.5K

Masterlist

a/n: there will be a part 2.

1. Aaron doesn't yell at you. 

If all else was unsure, then this was one of the five things you knew for certain. You weren't sure if he yelled at all. Maybe at work with criminals, but never with you.

This was still true.

Right now, he wasn't yelling at you. He was speaking in an even tone, but you knew him well enough to notice the difference. His voice was as cold as his rigid stance, like ice ran through his veins. His arms were crossed, and so, even if you weren't a criminal—even if you knew you were his fiancé—you sure as hell felt like one.

Standing on the other side of the kitchen island, you were in opposition of each other in every sense of the word.

You took a deep breath before speaking. "Aaron—"

He cut you off before the words could even leave your mouth. "We've had this conversation before. I've already told you how I feel about it."

You repressed the urge to take another breath, knowing he was a profiler. Knowing he could profile the discomfort all over you, regardless. But you picked up a few profiling tricks, too.

You could see the way he was staring at you. Like you were an idiot.

Maybe you agreed on that.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot— 

You took the breath, anyway. "Aaron, I said I'm sorry."

You tried to step closer to him, and he didn't move away. But he didn't usher you into his arms, either.

And despite the fact that Aaron doesn't yell at you, you could tell he really wanted to.

"And I'm saying you shouldn't have to say sorry. We shouldn't be having this conversation because you shouldn't have done it," he scolded.

You took another step closer, rounding the counter like your body was trying to get him to physically understand, to remind him that you were on the same side.

"What was I supposed to do?" Your voice was desparate now, almost like you actually wanted him to answer. "You were working. I had to work. You weren't picking up the phone—"

"That's right," he cut you off again. This time, he stepped closer to you. "I was working. You weren't."

2. You have an equal relationship.

The second truth was what had you tilting your head. You were already flushed from the heat of the argument, but now you could feel yourself getting a little angry.

"What do you mean I wasn't working?" you questioned. "Yes, I was. Garcia said you called everyone in; you said to get there stat."

He was quick. "I meant everyone that was necessary. You aren't."

You could feel the cut immediately, etched deep into your skin. It didn't matter how he said it, frivolous or not—the words were sharp enough to cut you effortlessly.

You aren't necessary.

The words echoed through your head. Words you'd heard before, but never from him. Never from the man who swore to be better than everyone else who ever hurt you.

Yet, no matter how much you'd been hurt in the past, it hurt a thousand times more to come from him.

You waited for him to say something else, waiting for any sign of regret to cross his face.

Nothing did.

There were many times when you wished you had Aaron's poker face, but right now, you didn't have to try. The sadness flooding your body remained internal; the only thing that showed on your face was rage.

Your eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hotch doubled down, staring you right in the eye. "It means your job is an accessory. Garcia does the same job as you—you aren't needed."

That was a lie so blatant it made you scoff. You were a technical analyst for the BAU, and you'd proven yourself time and time again. Hotch was the one that hired you—he's the one that said he saw something in you.

Apparently not.

"I'm not needed," you echoed, sarcasm lacing your voice. "Right. So when an alert comes out that there is an active hostage situation and a potential terrorist threat, what do you expect me to do? Not come into work?" 

"Yes," he deadpanned. "Not when you're picking up my son."

You ran a hand through your hair, stuck in disbelief. "You can't be serious—"

"When you're picking up my son, what I expect is for you to take him home."

You spoke over him, countering, "I brought him to a place where I knew he'd be out of harm's way. You weren't picking up the phone. I did what I thought was best—"

"You brought him to Jessica—"

"I brought him to his aunt—"

For the first time since the conversation started, Aaron raised his voice just enough for it to stop you dead in your tracks. "You don't get to bring him to his aunt. You are not his mother!"

3. You are not Jack's mother.

You knew that. God, you knew that. You were there to see the carnage in the Hotchner household after Haley's death. The blood that splattered the walls. The boy who was too young to spell the word devastation but still felt it in his bones.

You knew you were not Jack's mother. You lived in a house with her pictures on the wall. Jack was a mirror image of her; he was her son, and you knew that. It was one of the truths you held the most conviction in.

It was the truth.

But you still recoiled, almost like Aaron had slapped you. A part of you thought maybe that would've hurt less.

All the fire you had was extinguished. You didn't have a rebuttal for that. What could you say? It didn't matter if you loved Jack like he was your own—that didn't change the fact that he wasn't.

You avoided Aaron's gaze, choosing to stare at the pattern of his tie instead and trying not to succumb to the sting in your eyes. You liked this tie; it was one of your favourites. You were close enough to him to see all its beautiful details.

But, at the same time, you'd never been further away from him.

Aaron still hadn't said anything, and out of fear that the dam would break if the silence continued, you spoke up. "I—" your voice cracked. "I know I'm not Jack's mother, and I'm not trying to be." You paused. "I was just doing what I thought was best."

You left it there, not knowing if the right words to say the right thing even existed. Saying the right thing was always Aaron's thing, not yours.

But whatever words he was going to say were cut off by the shrill pinging of a cellphone. Two cellphones.

Aaron picked up his first, sighing immediately. You didn't have to guess what it said. "We have another case." The heat in his voice was gone; he sounded like himself.

That didn't mean you felt any less burned.

"Okay, um—" you couldn't stop yourself from sniffling even if you tried. "I'll stay here and watch Jack. You go."

Another sigh left him. "Y/N—"

The sound of your name leaving his mouth almost made you cry, but you persisted, "No, you can go, it's fine." You chuckled if not just to make light of it for yourself. "I'm not needed there, anyway."

"Y/N."

"Aaron." You fingally looked up at him, and you saw it. Remorse swirling in his brown eyes. The same eyes that crinkled at the sides when you said you'd marry him. Somehow, that made it worse, knowing that it was the same person who said both of those things. Who built you up from scratch just to bring you right back to the bottom. 

You repeated yourself, "Go." The team needs you, you wanted to say. The only reason you didn't say it was because he'd already accused you of trying to be his past wife; you didn't need to prove him right.

You could practically hear the churning of his inner turmoil, torn between staying and leaving. It was pointless; you both knew what his decision would be.

When he reached for his go-bag, it was final. And in some ways, he was leaving more than just the house.

As if he could sense that, he turned around. "We'll finish this discussion when I'm back," he said. That was an anchor: telling you something about the present by talking about the future. When I'm back meant that he'd be back. Discussion meant you had something to talk about, a two-sided activity. We meant you were still one unit; you were still a we.

Maybe that's what he meant by it. If you scoured through his words and read between the lines, maybe you'd find the beginnings of an apology—in his own way, at least. But he wasn't sorry, not for what he said. If anything, he was only sorry that he said it.

You wouldn't profile him and ascribe meaning to words that didn't mean anything. We'll finish this discussion when I'm back meant you'd finish the discussion when he was back. 

When you replied, that was what you were replying to. "Okay."

You weren't okay.

This wasn't okay.

Aaron cast one last look at you before he crossed the threshold. You looked away.

And then he was out the door, leaving you in a house that no longer felt like your own.

—

"Y/N, my love, I thought I'd die without you!"

Penelope was on you as soon as you walked into the bat cave, shooting up from her chair and hugging you so tightly that you would've thought you'd been gone for ages. Really, you were only gone for a night.

You told Aaron that you wouldn't be coming in, and you were holding true to that, but you weren't gonna make Garcia work alone if she had to, even if she was perfectly capable of it.

You knew you weren't needed. Hotch was right: this ship could sail just fine without you. But you could help.

You'd just dropped Jack off at school, so now you were here, ready to work until you had to pick him up again.

You forced yourself to laugh at her words, causing her to hit your back. "No, I'm being serious! You're my oxygen—I can't live without you."

At that, you snorted. "Okay, Penelope."

She pulled back, resting her hands on your shoulders. "Seriously, though." She looked deep into your eyes, seeming to be looking for something. "Are... are you okay? I don't even think you've taken a sick day since... since forever."

You smiled at her exaggeration, even if it didn't really reach your eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine, P. I just have to leave early to go get Jack, and um... I'm gonna stay off camera today. And off the phones." You shifted your weight. "Not like it matters or anything, but I just don't really want Hotch knowing I'm here. I just want to stay in the background today, if that's okay?"

Her brows raised, but she quickly affirmed, "Yes, that's okay! Totally okay. We'll keep this 100% incognito."

It was in Garcia's nature to ask questions, so you knew she had them, but she didn't voice a single one.

You talked about work, and new bureau technology, and your next girls night, and everything but what you asked of her.

You'd never been more grateful.

—

It'd been two days since the team left, two days of bouncing back and forth between the office and back home with Jack. The son that wasn't really yours. The son that felt like yours, anyway.

If you were doing as good as you thought you were, then nobody knew you were even there. Garcia was telling the rest of them that you were sick. Your phone had been flooded with get well soon messages from everyone except the one person you really wanted one from.

Aaron hadn't spoken to you since he left. You wished it didn't hurt as badly as it did.

"Okay, Jackers! I think it's time we head to bed."

"What?" You held back a laugh at the incredulity in his voice, knowing that—for an 8 year old—this was a very serious matter. He looked at you with traces of shock, somehow looking everything and nothing like his father at the same time. "But it's only ten o'clock!"

"Ah, and yet it is still past your bed time. Mine, too."

Jack frowned—and there it was. There was that bit of Aaron you were looking for. "You say that, but you're just going to stay up after I go to sleep."

You couldn't suppress the smile on your face any longer. "No, Jack. I promise you I'm so tired, I'll be out as soon as my head hits the pillow." You ruffled his hair, your smile becoming a grin as he groaned. "Now go brush your teeth, little man."

Jack got up from the table, his little feet pitter-pattering across the floor as he made his way to the stairs. It didn't sound much like a pitter-patter anymore now that he was getting older, but he would always be the same little boy to you. So, "pitter-patter" it was.

Until suddenly, you heard a different noise.

Not pitter-patter.

The door.

Your eyes darted to Jack as he stopped in his tracks, then they darted to the door. The knob, turning lightly, gold glinting in the light. The sound of your own heart beating was just as loud as the turning. The person got impatient, the knob turning faster now, like someone was trying to pry it open.

Fuck. Fuck.

Your mind ran a mile a minute. That wasn't Hotch. You weren't expecting anyone, and whoever was at the door certainly wasn't asking for an invite in.

They were trying to force their way in.

Somebody was breaking in to the house.

With that realization, you were moving. "Jack." You caught his attention easily, spotting the fear on his face right away. More than fear. 

Familiarity.

He went through his before. Oh, your Jack. He'd been through this before, and he would know what to do. You did.

Conversations with Aaron flashed through your head, just-in-case scenarios, if then statements. Emergencies.

You knew what to do, too.

You just never thought you'd have to.

You grabbed onto Jack's shoulder, immediately feeling how his body was trembling. "Jack, I need you to listen to me." The knob got louder. You lowered your voice. "I need you to work the case, okay? Like with your dad. Do you understand me?"

His eyes went wide. "Wait, Y/N. What about you—"

"Jack. Do you understand me?" He went quiet, and then he nodded, making you sigh in relief. "Okay, take my phone. Call 911, but don't make a sound." You handed him the phone, and then you let go of him. "I love you." Your throat closed up. "Now go."

Jack ran up the stairs, and you were up automatically, trusting he'd do as you said.

It was like someone else was in your body, telling you what to do. You opened the pantry, looking where you'd never looked and typing numbers into a keypad you'd never touched.

Why do we need a safe in the kitchen? you had laughed at the time.

In case of an emergency, Aaron had said. You thanked his forward thinking.

The only way you knew that you were still there was by the violent shaking of your hands as the cool metal touched your skin. You'd only ever operated a gun once or twice. Did you even remember how to load it?

The door banged, making you jolt. You had to remember now. Come on, Y/N. Load the fucking gun. 

You thrusted the magazine into the well and then pulled back the slide. Another bang. You turned the safety off.

Hold the gun with both hands.

God, Hotch, when will I ever need to do this?

Well, I hope you never have to. But we can never be too safe.

Another bang hit the door, this time more forceful. We can never too safe. Tears flooded your eyes, and you promptly blinked them away.

Then. There was another bang, and this time, the door hit the wall.

You intook a sharp breath, hearing footsteps thump against the floor. You closed your eyes, focusing on the noise. One set of footsteps. 

Aaron's voice echoed throughout your head. Are you sure?

You screwed your eyes shut tighter, straining your ears. Yes. One person. Loud. Heavy. Male.

Okay, that's good. What else do you know?

You knew they spent a long time fiddling with the door knob before busting the door open. That could either mean they lacked physical strength or they were trying to taunt you. The second option. You knew this was a low-risk neighbourhood. You knew your car was out front. This wasn't about money. This was personal. Intentional.

You knew this was an FBI agent's house. You knew—

Wait. You strained your ears more, following the footsteps. They weren't heading for your direction. No. No, no, no, no.

Jack was upstairs.

You couldn't let this man go up there.

4. You love Jack Hotchner unconditionally.

Knowing number four makes you act fast with a determination you'd never felt before. The pantry door swung open as you left the enclosed space, instantly raising the gun in the air like it was weightless. 

You pointed it at your stairwell where a masked man stood, motionless. 

"You better stop right there, you son of a bitch," you threatened, cocking the gun like it was second nature to you.

The man raised his hands into the air slowly. He tilted his head at you as if he was trying to mock you.

And then he smiled.

Before you could even realize what was happening, he was running at you. Your eyes widened, pulling the trigger. You barely got to see if your shot made it before he was tackling you to the ground, knocking the gun out of your hands.

The back of your head hit the ground, making a sickening crack. You gasped for air, and then you were wheezing as the man's hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing tightly.

You looked up into his demented eyes, hearing not the sound of your own voice but Hotch's. Use what you see. Frantically, your eyes flew all over the unsub's body until you saw red staining black, right at his shoulder. 

Without thinking about it, you stuck your finger into the wound, hearing him scream. He was stunned enough that he loosened his grip, giving you the chance to kick him off of you.

You scrambled to your feet, searching for the gun and finding it in the middle of the living room floor. You dove for it right as he got back up, getting to you before you could try shooting again.

His hands wrapped around yours, trying to wrestle the gun from your hands. You held on like your life depended on it because it did. Your life depended on it— Jack's life depended on it. 

You fired a shot into the ground and then another into the wall as he fought you, knocking a picture frame off the mantle. You couldn't see where the gun was pointing anymore, but then, suddenly, pain radiated throughout your lower abdomen, and you knew it was pointed at you.

You gasped, looking down and seeing blood spreading through the white of your tank top.

You looked back up, seeing the asshole smile at you with his teeth. They were pearly white. So clean for a man so dirty.

You sought to make them red, too.

In a surge of energy, you twisted the gun out of his grasp and didn't think before pointing it at his head and firing.

You watched the bullet penetrate his skull before he fell to the ground. Like a domino, you followed, crumpling against the couch.

The gun slipped out of your hands and they immediately went to your wound, making you hiss in pain. You pressed down on it, feeling blood flow between your fingers like a river. 

Keep swimming. Keep your eyes open.

The fatigue hit you like a train. You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open, but they felt so heavy.

Jack. Jack was upstairs. He called the police.

He was okay.

You heard sirens in the distance. The police were coming.

You could sleep now.

And so, as you remembered your fifth truth, your eyes started to flutter closed.

5. You love Aaron Hotchner. And he loves you.

You let yourself fall into a dreamless sleep, hoping that somehow, on some plane of consciousness, he could hear you say I love you one last time.

You loved Aaron Hotchner. You knew that for certain.

You just hoped he still loved you.

[springintosummerxx]

i don't want you like a best friend

op81 x childhood best friend! reader

song: dress by taylor swift

in which oscar yearns and pines

warnings: suggestive, sexual themes, angsty, mutual pining

word count: 1.8 k

masterlist

our secret moments in your crowded room, they got no idea about me and you

oscar finds you the same way he always does: he feels where his heart tugs, deep and familiar, and when he looks up, there you are.

you look at him a, half a second after his eyes land on you. because you know, you always do.

you squint, a little tipsy, dress ruffled. he relishes in the way you smile at him, that special one with your teeth showing, pretty lips stretched pink on your face.

he studies the way your cheeks plump, under the dim light of the party.

his stomach swoops when you shrug, strap slipping off of one delicate shoulder. he flushed pink when he realizes he wants to bite the smooth skin there.

weird.

you cock your head.

he nods, and you lope over to him, very ungracefully.

he wraps one arm around your waist, the same way he's done since parties in high school.

the two of you bid your friends goodbye.

charles kisses the side of your face, and then alexandra too, smiling her own farewell.

you wave to the rest, and let oscar practically carry you out the door.

later, when he tucks you into bed and curls his body protectively around yours, he hears you murmur something.

"i love you, oscar."

he swallows, those four words that have pained him to hear for the past three months lodging something thick and unknown in his throat.

"yeah, sweetheart. i love you too." he manages to grit out, despite how desperately he wants-

he needs you to want, to love him the same way he needs you like he needs to breath, like a car needs an engine.

he tries to think of a comparison to how he loves you, but he can't.

because he's never loved anyone, anything like this before.

that thought scares him, but he holds onto you as you drift to sleep anyways.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

all of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting

oscar has never been violent.

his sisters have always taken advantage of this when they all fought as kids, but he has never, ever hit them back.

the one time he ate the last cookie in your fridge when you guys were 11, he'd let you tackle him to the hardware floor of the kitchen, laying there until you relented and made him promise to make you more.

but he wants to right hook the sleazy finance bro that has been eyeing you up all night.

you'd forced (batted your lashes twice and he'd caved) him to come out and celebrate his maiden win, to distract him from mclaren's shit-show of a strategy.

the dress you're wearing, tight, short and black was very distracting. alex, with her sharp brown eyes has already caught him looking at your ass twice.

he'd danced with you, watched your drinks like a security guard while you danced with alex, kika and rebecca, and waited outside of the bathroom for you.

he'd left for like thirty seconds (5 minutes, the line was long) to get drinks, and this asshole had already claimed the seat next to yours.

which was his. it was always his. he made sure of that.

in every room, every country.

"excuse me," his tone not a bit excuseful, "you are in my seat."

the guy turns, and he realizes with a start that he's handsome.

like how lando and charles are handsome, charmingly roguish.

he could never be like that; he's too awkward, too quiet.

for the first time since he was a teenage, oscar feels insecure.

it's a disgusting feeling, sticky like the spicy marg he's holding for you, clinging to his skin and eyes.

"oh, sorry" the guy says, moving, "didn't know she had a boyfriend. my bad."

his eyes widened, then, recognizing oscar.

"oh, shit. oh, man-"

you roll your eyes, plucking the drink out of oscar's hand, sipping.

when the guy finally leaves, you frown at him.

"you scared him off," you pout, and oscar suppresses the urge he's had to kiss you again, "he was like, okay looking."

"sweetheart, that should not be your standard," he snorts.

you stare at him, eyes a little glassy, and then you do something that makes him choke on his own drink.

you cup his face, fingers smoothing over the moles on his face.

"no one can compare," you murmur, "you're the prettiest, oscar."

his heart explodes, right in that club in hungary.

into a thousand little pieces, each of them attaching to you.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

say my name and everything just stops

"oscar, baby! you did it, you did it again!" you cry into the speaker phone, your voice crackled and broken because of all the miles and time difference, but that's okay.

oscar holds you, carefully cradled and remembered in his heart, no matter where he goes.

"yeah, sweetheart," he laughs, "i know."

"i hate you! how are you this calm? hold on, hattie wants the phone."

he chatters with his sisters, his mom. but when the phone is handed back to you, you whisper his name, the same way you do in his dreams.

reverent and adoring, your tone giving him too much hope that maybe one day you would love him the same way he loves you.

"oscar," you murmur, and it reminds him of that night in the club in monaco, "i'm so proud of you. you've worked so hard."

he wants to cry a little. desperately, he wants you here.

but when you say his name, everything just stops.

he sits in his hotel room, time irrelevant outside of this long distance phone call.

oscar relishes in your voice, and closes eyes and pretends that you're waiting at home for him, as his.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

i don't want you like a best friend, only bought this dress so you could take it off

"-and his arms, alex! i want him to like, choke me out," you giggle, "i think i want him to use me as a chew toy. sorry, sorry, tmi."

oscar is rounding the corner of his kitchen, and stops in his tracks when he hears you.

he feels the exact moment his chest tightens, so much that it's hard to inhale, and the beer he had earlier with lando swirls in his stomach.

"you're seeing someone?" he blurts out. alex gawks at the two of you, oscar with what he's sure is a painfully twisted expression, and you, who is turning red from embarrasment.

"i'll leave you two. it's been a long night, charles and leo are probably..." she doesn't even finish the sentence in her slightly accented english, before darting out, slipping a hand on your shoulder as she goes.

you're still wearing the pale yellow sundress from tonight, after the 2024 season finish dinner the grid had hosted.

you look ethereal, tanned and glowing.

he wants to kick himself, for not saying anything.

for not offering his undying affections.

it's too late now, but he has to try.

you are meant to be together, he knows that.

all his friends, shit, all of your combined friends know that (and tell both of you so, too), and your families have been waiting with baited breath for this to happen.

"i love you!" he nearly yells.

you yelp in response, eyes wide with shock.

"oscar-"

"no, sweetheart, please, let me-let..." he can't talk, but you nod, as he crosses the kitchen to scoop your hands into his.

he kisses them, each fingertip, each knuckle. he prays that another man hasn't held you, not like this.

he feels you gasp, but he only tugs you closer.

"i have loved you, since we were teenagers. and i've been a coward, i think. because i was selfish and i need you, every moment of every day, and i didn't tell you." he confesses, and your hands press against the thump of his heartbeat.

"i will be everything you want," he promises, "please, just give me one chance. i'm going to do right by you, i swear. i'll win championships and i'll provide, and when you're ready, i'll get a ring and a big house and we can have kids. if you want. or just a dog." he's rambling, and then he realizes that your eyes are teary.

"i wasn't going to say anything," he repeats, "but you were talking about someone else, wearing that dress, and i-"

"i only bought this dress so you could take it off."

"i don't want you like a best friend," you cup his face, sliding into his hair, twisting until he sighs, from the pressure on his neck, and your words.

"i love you too, oscar."

he shakes his head, huffing out a shaky breath.

"say that again," he demands.

you do, and he scoops you over his shoulder, nearly sprinting to his bedroom.

that night, while he slowly took of your dress and more, he whispered "i love you" into your skin more times than you could count.

⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎ ⚡︎

i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

when oscar wakes, he does so with a shit-eating grin on his face.

last night, he fucked you deep into the mattress, you bodies intertwined the same way your souls have always been. he'd made you come 3 times, and then again when he took you in the shower.

it's like you were made for each other, every single scientific reasoning for attraction etched into your cells.

he frowns, realizing you're not in bed with him.

then you slip back into the room, wearing only his t-shirt, holding a plate of eggs and toast.

his mouth waters at the sight of you (not the eggs, but later you'll swear you heard his stomach grumble).

"hi, baby." you smile happily, squinted eyes and stretched pink lips.

he takes the plate and sets it down, pulling you back down to cuddle.

"hungry?" you ask.

"for you?" he presses his front to the bare swell of your ass, "always."

"oh no, i've created a monster," you laugh, turning in his arms, lips pressing to his.

he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding to lick, hot and heavy into your mouth, stealing your breath the same way you stole his heart at age 14.

"incorrect, you've unleashed me," he mutters into your jaw as his fingers pulled up his shirt from your morning-warm body.

you giggle and let him, and oscar thanks his lucky stars that you are finally his, the same way he's been yours since he could remember.

[cptkitten]

Blue October - Hate Me