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dungeonpuppykai · 1 month

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Based on this mood prompt that @captregina told me to elaborate on.

Warning(s): Power imbalance, misogynistic husband Steve, spanking, degradation, dumbification, panty sniffing, infantilization. Minors do not interact.

Pairing: 40's breadwinner wallstreet worker husband!Steve Rogers | Housewife!You.

"I am sorry" Steve, your lawfully wedded husband, had to do a double take as he put down his work bag that you had refused to accept in your hands. "What was that, honey?" As you huffed and crossed your arms in response before putting one foot out and raising your chin up high, your newfound defiance caused him to raise a puzzled eyebrow at your smaller form.

"You heard me" you hmphed out your words.

"No" now it was Steve's turn to cross his massive arms -thanks to your hearty cooking and his knack for working out- across his broad chest as his sky blue eyes began to narrow down at your form. "I don't think I did" his head tilted to the side. It was a sign for you to stop; rethink your actions. "So tell me, dear. What was that, just now?" But you were beyond annoyed with him today.

You had been for a while.

"Ugh, aren't men supposed to be smart?!" You rolled your eyes that he usually adored with his whole heart. "I said, reheat your own food!" Now his other eyebrow shot up to accompany its companion.

Your husband had been at it for days and you just could not do it anymore. After you worked so hard all day long so you could spend some quality time with your hardworking husband who either had his nose buried in files or his ear glued to the telephone all day long, the man would show up late and tired at odd hours. Then he would expect you to understand -which you tried your best to but Lord you had needs too!-, reheat and ruin the food you always went the extra mile to prepare, eat with him while listening to him rant about things your domestic mind did not understand, then making him a drink with which he would watch tv and you would clean the kitchen before going to sleep cuddled up only to repeat the same day again!

Sundays -the only days when he was free- were not much different because he would always have plans with his friends that were getting fancier by the day and though you liked the get togethers, they held no measure to some one on one time with your dear husband!

Steve's fingers flew to your wrist before wrapping around it to pull you back and towards him when you went to stomp away to the bedroom. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To bed, obviously!" He was in disbelief when you went to yank yourself free. Good girls didn't turn their backs to their husbands. "Let go, I am done!" You refused to slave for someone who did not care for your requests even after you had communicated your feelings so many times at this point.

Your husband snorted. "And since when can you decide what happens around here, honey?"

"I am deciding for myself! You can do whatever you please like you do anyways!" He did not appreciate your tone.

"Come on, baby" your strength was no match to your husband's so you could not make him budge much. "I know why you're acting out, but I already told you why this is so important for us and our future" he got you to turn around rather easily despite your struggle. "Don't you remember?" Cradling your pretty face in his hands he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs tenderly. "Or has your little brain forgotten that already?"

You pouted, not in the mood to cooperate. "You can secure your future however you desire, Steve" he was so used to you calling him by affectionate endearments that the use of his name stung like an insult. "But I am done with working hard all day long and staying up past bedtime for nothing!" You had hated chores with a passion before marriage as it was. "Since you're oh-so-big and smart I am sure you can figure out how to reheat your dinner!"

"Hey now" his eyebrows furrowed as the movement of his thumbs ceased. "Watch that tone, little girl" you were hanging by a thread but you were far too irritated to care.

"You watch your tone!" Your fingers curled around his to try and pry them off. "And let me GO!" Another huff escaped you as your eyes hit the back of your head to express your annoyance.

"You really wanna do this right now, young lady?" Steve had made it very clear when he was courting you that he did not like any of your sassy little habits.

Talking back, complaining, pouting, huffing, stomping around, disobeying, eye rolling and misbehaving.

"I just wanna go to bed, ugh!"

"Okay, you did this" your body had been hurled over one of his shoulders within the next second and while it thrashed in his hold, Steve easily walked over to the couch with one protective hand draped over your ass that he was determined to bruise now.

"Ugh– OWIE!" One of your legs kicked in protest and pain when his palm struck your clothed ass cheeks. "Stop, you meanie brute!" Your husband grunted under his breath as he steeled your knees in his hold before draping you over his lap.

"I should have known" both your cheeks received a spank each in quick succession. "It has been a while since your last maintenance session, hasn't it, baby?" You went to retort with something petty in response but the bratty way in which you started gave him a good idea and so he cut it off with random strikes all over your poor butt. "Aw, honey, of course!" Your backside had already started to sting like hell so when he yanked your panties off before pushing the hem of your dress up to your waist, you couldn't help but whine. "Your little girl brain forgot, didn't it?" The way he caressed your cheeks caused you to gulp for your sake.

"O- Ow… stop!" But that only made him raise his hand high to finally administer the first of many skin-to-skin spanks to come.

"Silly girl thinks she can tell her husband to stop" the hits were becoming more frequent by the second, your husband was settling on a rhythm. "Or tell him to do anything, really!" Your ass was blushing already and your pucker blinked up at him with each strike. Steve could not help but bite his lip at the sight but he knew discipline came first. It always did. He could not afford a mouthy brat for a wife. "Such an ungrateful little thing I've here" your hips tried to scurry left and right so Steve placed the elbow of his free hand between your shoulder blades before ceasing the side of your body facing away from his own until you were so sore you caved.

"I am sorry, oh my God, hubby, I am sorry!" A satisfied smile spread across his handsome features and his chest puffed outwards in pride.

"I am sorry, I couldn't quite get that over the sound of brat, honey" his palm was still unrelenting as he went about further reddening your sorry butt. "Why don't you try a bit louder and more convincing now?" It was a rule in your household; you had to mean your apologies.

Your back arched as you whined in frustration, hanging from his legs limp and resigned to your fate. "I am sorry, dear! I really am!" Your moans morphed into wails when he began to target your sit spots every few hits. "I am sorry for– owwwiee!" Your toes curled when a particular smack caught your pucker in it. "... F- For being ungrateful and n- not appreciating my husband's hard work and sacrifices for us and our future babies!"

"That's right" he made a point of sitting you upright and right on your sore ass. "And why do you think that was?"

You whimpered submissively as you lowered your head, unable to hold his authoritative gaze in this state. "B- Because my mind i- is too small to understand or remember such things for too long, hubby" reaching for the hand he had used to punish you, your fingers cradled the crimson palm. "But thanks to you sacrificing your hand for my well being after already working so hard all day long, my small brain has had its much needed reminder that you only mean well" looking up briefly to press an appreciative kiss to his cheek, you squeezed his hand. "Thank you for setting me straight, hubby" the most smug smile etched on his face.

"Oh, sweetie, that's completely fine" Steve's tone was tender but it switched up into an intimidating one briefly, "although mind that I did not appreciate it one bit" when you lowered your head further with a snivel, he continued but in a reassuring manner. "But of course, you're just a girl, aren't you?"

You nodded wordlessly without looking up.

His hand snaked out of yours to dip between your legs, the blunt action causing you to gasp aloud. "Tsk, look at all this mess, honey" your face became hot in an instant and your teeth pulled your bottom lip between them. "So worked up from your punishment, hm?" His face dipped closer to yours and you couldn't help but mewl shyly as you buried your face in his shoulder. "Is that why you were so frustrated? Because you weren't getting the kind of attention that you needed from hubby?" You nodded. He clicked his tongue. "Does my little girl also need to be reminded of the rule about verbally responding when spoken to, sweetie?"

Oh, yes.

The house rules.

Magnetized to the refrigerator.

"N- No, hubby. I- I remember…" Your eyes focused on his tie and you began to loosen it like you were supposed to after receiving his bag when he got home.

"Good girl" your eyelids fluttered at the way he kissed your cheek, lovingly caressing the inside of your thigh. "So, tell me, honey. Was that so?"

"I- It was, hubby" now you relieved him of his first few buttons. "J- Just need you so bad all the time… C- Can't think straight without you…" Steve had a shit eating grin on his face at this point. His ego -and something else- was so inflated that he did not even care about chastising you for your much forbidden actions tonight any longer.

"Go serve hubby his warm dinner and he'll consider" you obediently jumped to your feet in an instant and bustled to the kitchen with such speed that you didn't even remember to take your discarded panties with you.

Steve nodded to himself as he watched the way you had disappeared, pulling free the rest of his tie knot himself as he stood up with your underwear in his hand. "Now that's about right." With a deep sniff of the moist article, he walked off in the direction of the bedroom to freshen up.

MASTERLIST

Let me know what you think, feedback is much appreciated <3

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #captain america #marvel mcu #steve rogers x y/n #marvel smut #mcu smut

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multifandomwhore-003 · 7 months

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Random Hazel Callahan headcanons that have been rotting my brain for the past couple of days:

Pairing: Hazel Callahan x female! reader

Summary: Not needed

Genre(s): a little angsty at first, after that's it's just pure fluff

Warnings: mentions of trauma and maladaptive daydreaming

A/N: I'M GONNA WRITE MORE FOR HER BECAUSE I NEED IT SO STAY TUNED, also I listened to False God by Taylor Swift the entire time I wrote this.

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk , join tag list here

• She has horrible listening skills, usually her house has been a pretty noisy and chaotic place, even before her parents divorced, so she's learned to mute the outside world.

• It tends to annoy pretty much everyone else outside the fight club, the only exception being PJ, she perhaps got annoyed more than anyone.

• When you first noticed you had to repeat yourself at least five times whenever she was around, you tried to come up with different ways for her to keep up, like texting her as you spoke so she could read it as much as she needed to.

• Later on you found out it wasn't just about losing track of a conversation, as you asked to borrow one of her headphones one time, you were shocked her ears weren't bleeding right then and there.

"Fucking hell, Hazel! Are you trying to break your ears or something?" your ears hurt for a second.

"It's not loud at all" She placed them on her neck.

"Baby, I can hear the music coming out of those things like a concert speaker,"

• You decided to invite her over to your house as often as possible, demanding a no-headphones rule.

"Why not?!" she complained.

"Because you're gonna be completely deaf at the age of 40!"

"And you'll be there to teach me sign language, right?" she hugged your waist.

"You're saying you prefer not hearing my voice for the rest of our lives?" you lifted a brow.

• The realazation dawned on her.

• To this day she hasn't worn headphones a single day in her life.

• Maladaptive daydreaming is also something she struggles with, not as much now as she used to in middle school and the first two years of high school, but it still happens sometimes.

• You found out when you decided to surprise her by coming to her house one day

• Mrs. Callahan said she couldn't get in contact with Hazel, for whatever reason.

• Most likely her phone turned off since it was out of battery.

• So she texted you she was gonna be missing all night, permitted you to stay the night, and told you to take care of Hazel.

• You found her in the kitchen yelling, it sounded as if she was yelling at someone.

"Are you ever gonna choose me over a booty call?! How is it that Jeff's dick is more important than me?! Your daughter! You fucking pushed me out and you still can't even ask me how my grades are doing and shit!"

• Your first thought was —Her mom's plans must've been canceled—

• As you approached the room as quietly as possible, you looked through the rim of the entrance, there was no one.

"Hazel," you spoke quietly through her screams.

A shiver went down her spine, he face turned white, she blinked a couple of times before turnind her head, "How much of that did you hear?" she avoided your eyes.

"I've never heard you like that," was all you could mutter as you approached her slowly and then embraced her in a hug, "I know you're not insane by the way," you whispered in her hair.

She began to cry.

• She didn't want to talk about it for the next few days

• When she did, she stumbled upon her words, talked too fast, and teared up every once in a sentence.

"Call me first," you cupped her face, "I'll never judge you for whatever you have to say,"

• She wanted to kiss you right then and there, but just rested her forehead on yours, an act of ultimate intimacy.

• I could get into the divorced parents' trauma for hours because same

• But for now I'll move on to the happy part

• Physical touch is the absolute most pure form of love she can give

• If she's not hugging your waist at all times, she's holding your hand, resting her head on your chest, shoulders, legs, etc. pretty much everywhere she can

• If you have long or medium hair she'll attempt to braid your hair, keyword attempt

• If you have short hair she'll buy little elastic ponytails to tie them around your head everywhere she can

• Her reasoning behind this is that her favorite plants are cactuses

• That's it, that's all the reasons she needs

• If you happen to be bald she'll rub your head while singing the chorus to Diamonds by Rihanna

• She plays ukelele

• She knows how to make a few origami figures and if she tries a new one, as crumbled and sweaty as it is she gives it to you

• You have a whole shelf in your room dedicated to every piece of folded paper she's ever done for you

• If you're more of a fem! girl, she'll try something of yours whenever she comes over and stare at her reflection for hours

"Good thing, god didn't make me straight, she knew I would be a menace,"

• You can only roll your eyes and laugh at her twirling and pretending to dance ballet in your dresses and skirts

• If she happens to go shopping without you, she'll try something you'll like and send you the photo after

"If it looks this good on me, imagine how AMAZING it'll look on you,"

• She once asked you to put makeup on her, she'll say she was just curious how she'd look

• She wasn't lying, but she also didn't mention she just wanted to recreate this picture:

• If you happen to be more of a masc! girl, you'll trade clothes as often as you can think

• More than once you have arrived at school with something she likes and just drags you to the bathroom to for you to make the exchange

• It's not her clothes and your clothes anymore, everything you own is hers and vice versa

• More often than not you're no longer sure what used to be only yours

• This goes for accessories and shoes as well, even if they don't fit her, she'll fill them up with toilet paper until they fit just fine

• You'll match AT LEAST once a week, as per her request of course

• She tries all kinds of chips (or crisps for my British luvs) she has tried every flavor and seasoning, but her favorites and the flaming hot ones, even if she ends up chugging your waterbottle after finishing the bag

• Although her parents are rich and taught her from a young age to be a precise wine taster, she's a tequila and vodka girl

• She hates gloomy and rainy days because they bring down her mood, but spending the day binge-watching cheesy movies and stuffing her stomach with all the snacks o her house makes it up

• She's ABSOLUTE SHIT at Karaoke, but my god does she have the spirit

• Her go-to song is Lies by Fleetwood Mac, but if she's drunk enough to gain confidence she'll request Easy On Me by Adele

• If she insists for long enough and you decide to sing with her, she 100% will try to recreate the following musical numbers:

• Lay all you love on me -Mamma Mia

• Every duet there is in Teen Beach Movie, her favorite childhood movie

• The cellblock tango -Chicago and Ex-Wives -from Six, if the rest of the fight club joins as well

• Popular from Wicked, strangely enough, she's Glinda

• Seventeen -Heathers

• Candy Store -Heathers featuring Isabel as Heather Mc Namara, Josie as Martha Dunnstock, and PJ as Veronica (She was heavily forced to after Brittany suggested it)

• Smooth Criminal -The Glee cast cover

• If you're a good singer, or at least a decent one, at the end of the song she'll hype you up more than anyone in the crowd, even carry you (this also applies to my plus size! lovelies, DON'T YOU WORRY, she has muscles)

• If you're a bad singer, then you'll be shit together, the worse your voices sound, the better you'll enjoy it

• Onto the kissing and overall more stereotypical relationship stuff, aka the not-so-comfortable part of my asexual-spectrum girlies.

• As previously shown in the original material

• Kissing is slow and passionate, she likes to enjoy your lips as much as possible, taking in every movement, taste, and breath

• Hands on your jaw and neck EVERY FUCKING TIME

• The first few times you offered her some chapstick or lipstick, or lipgloss, or lip oil, or anything, she would kiss you making you chuckle in surprise

• Now you don't even need to ask, she'll just be like

"Hey, your lips look beautiful," and peck you on the lips

• If you're alone it definitely turns into a whole makeout session

• She just claims it tastes too good not to do it

• Every once in a while she'll hug you from behind and aggressively kiss your cheek

• Good luck kisses before every test

• Her favorite kind of dates are picnic dates

• She takes pictures of the sky whenever she feels it matches your vibe

• She takes A LOT of pictures of you ANYTIME, ANYWHERE, she even went as far as to buy a film camera because they make everything more magical

• She reads A LOT

• She obviously knows too much about social injustices and everything regarding that realm, but she likes other things as well

• Avid fantasy reader, I DON'T MAKE THE RULES,

• Going back to this need for escapism, she was heavily raised by George R.R. Martin and Leigh Bardugo

• Definitely screamed, jumped, and overall looked like she was in a sugar rush when both Game of Thrones and Shadow and Bone came out

• She wasn't exactly allowed to watch Game of Thrones at the time it came out, so she watched when she was 16 instead

• Shadow and Bone, however, oh boy, it was whole event

• She cosplayed Sturmhond and made you cosplay as Zoya

That's it for now children, if I come up with anything else I'll do a part two or even better write something more complete

#hazel callahan bottoms movie #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan fanfiction #hazel callahan fluff #hazel callahan angst

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wandasfifthwife · 2 months

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a quiet mind is the devils playground

—ceo!wanda x fem!reader

tw: hurt/comfort, reader is described to have a form of toxic friends/bullies before, reader is described to have bad social anxiety, mental health spiral, angst w/ happy ending, crying, mentions of break up, Wanda is kind of snappy for a moment but apologizes :)

a/n: not proofread, I wrote this in like 40 mins lol— enjoy :)

Yesterday it feels like you had only just met her when you’ve known her for five years, plus three years of dating. What also feels like it was only yesterday, was knowing friends who cared to make it feel like it was hard to breathe, causing you run into the bathroom to try and compose yourself.

It’s years past, but your mind cannot forget the feeling. At any moment where it feels like history is about to repeat itself, you run away.

Wanda had stayed, helping you with your inner dialogue and discomfort with possible rejection. What she didn’t help plan for as when this feeling might be triggered by her.

Most jobs have their respective requirements to help the employee know what the expectations are if you wish to keep it. It was no different for Wanda, having a job that required the standard 9-5 as well as hours outside of work because accidents happen or something comes up.

It was accepted and expected.

You usually came and visited her during her work hours, choosing to drop by when you knew she had a moment in her schedule as well as yours. This time another woman occupied the chair you usually sat in.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something—I can go—“ you mumble, moving to shut the door.

“No, please come in,” the woman, you find out her name is Juli, replied, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

She leaves a second later, telling Wanda that they’ll have to discuss it over lunch later in the week before heading out. Wanda had smiled and pulled you into her lap, asking about your day and everything else besides her felt less important in that moment.

It was a second time around that you saw her near Wanda. A hand on the counter near her, smile resting on her face as she listened to Juli explain something to her and a group of girls surrounding them. For the first time in almost half a year you felt a similar feeling stirring within you.

You wanted to run away.

Instead you didn’t. You stayed outside of the lunch room, sitting in a nearby chair and listening to everything happening around in the office. It would have been just fine to have walked in and stood by her, but it wasn’t too big of a deal, right?

Not like it really mattered in the end. She would come out eventually and walk alongside you back home. Unless it was an odd day where she didn’t and you had to walk back yourself.

The third time you felt all of the past insecurities rise when you began to stalk Juli on social media. A bigger following, trendy, beautiful, funny. The ugly feeling began to rise within you again, saying that she was going to leave you just as everyone else did before.

It caused you to cry that night, fear taking over as you wondered if your overthinking was right as it has proved to be in the past. She still came home to you. Still texted you. Nothing had changed but you. You were scared of the chance it could as it has before.

It was a rabbit hole, digging itself after one thought, one small action of seeing someone conventionally seem to have life better than yours caused you to spiral.

The fourth was going ahead and taking a day off to rest. It would help to be more active and think on the subject a bit. It would be better you thought to try again.

So you had, trying to reach out to her in multiple ways. Social, in person, but it felt stagnant as when it did with Wanda. It felt overwhelming trying to force a conversation out of her.

Were you ugly, is that why they’re not talking to you?

It was overstimulating. Three girls in front of you, all giving each other a look that made your eyes begin to burn and leg begin to shake. It felt all too similar.

You had left, saying Wanda was calling you but that was a lie. It was helpful, using it to propel you into shoving yourself out the door and going into the bathroom again.

Frustration and hurt lined your heart. You were being silly. You always overthought. You need to stop being this way, you’re causing a scene. You hate your personality.

It was spiraling again, a dry sob coming from you. Tears filled your eyes and you gasped for air. But it felt stupid, all of it so as quickly as it began it stopped. You were so close to going back out again, wanting to seek your girlfriend when the two of the three girls came in, laughing.

You had no idea if it was about you or not but you just had to be selfish again and assume their gossip was about you. It could have been about the third that wasn’t present, about Wanda— but your mind filled the blanks in with your name written all over it. You waited until you were sure they left before you too took your own leave, heading to your car and going home for the night to try and recover.

The fifth time was when Wanda had called you, voice curt over the phone asking why it feels you’ve been ignoring her. You had questioned in your mind whether or not to be honest, but you choose to keep it hidden— not wishing to worry her. It was apparently the wrong answer.

She had taken a minute to lecture you, wishing you would be more upfront and honest with her. She wished you wouldn’t lie, you did too. You don’t know why you’re this way but it caused you to tear up, the bottle inside you beginning to crack at the edges. It grew to be too much when she hadn’t stopped after almost four minutes.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you sobbed into the phone, “I can’t be perfect. Okay, I know how much I mess up. I see it compared to other’s who have it come so easily. If you want that then why don’t you just break up with me?”

You ended the call halfway through her calling your name, hands pressing in your eyes as you again register what you just did, immediately regretting it like all of your other actions this week. It felt like it was too much. You needed time to go by, you needed to feel like you weren’t as annoying or using up so many “get out of guilt” free cards.

You don’t want her to break up with you. The thought alone had you crying again, reaching for the phone that was already ringing.

“I’m sorry,” it was the first thing that came out, “please don’t break up with me.”

“I’m not, pодная. Oh my love, how long have you been feeling like this? I’m so sorry for speaking like that to you.”

“Don’t apologize, please. I should be sorry for a lot of things.”

“You have no right to be sorry, you’ve done nothing wrong. I just spoke terrible to you, I’m so sorry, my love.”

You wipe at your face, head already beginning to ache with how hard you were just crying. You lean back into the bed, whispering for her to come home, and were pleasantly surprised when you heard her keys in the front door. She calls your name, face frowning even more when she sees you.

“I was able to get off work earlier today. When I called you earlier I was going to call and ask if you wanted to do something together but instead I took my stress out on you,” she says all of this while coming and resting beside you.

Your hand wraps around her waist, head comfortably on her chest, “I’m happy you’re back. Can we sit in silence? I don’t feel like talking.”

She hums, closing her eyes and rubbing small comforting circles onto the palm of your hand. You closed your eyes, shutting off another set of tears when you thought that this moment could have possibly never happened again. You shut it all off as you drifted asleep, smiling when you feel her kiss your head.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x you #ceo!wanda x fem!reader #ceo!wanda x reader #ceo!wanda #wanda maximoff x you #wanda #hurt/comfort

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daisynik7 · 1 year

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Dirty Thirty

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: thigh riding, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking, spit play, vaginal sex (doggy, cowgirl), cockwarming, use of pet names (princess and Master)

Word Count: ~5.6k

Summary: An alluring stranger gives you a special treat on the night of your 30th birthday.

Notes: Kishibe is in his mid 40s. Also, apparently he is 6’4”, so reader is shorter, below 6’. This is very self-indulgent considering my own 30th is in a few days (shout out to all my fellow Pisces babes)! Also, I started this after finishing Chainsaw Man a few weeks ago, so this is a result of heavy Kishibe brainrot.

Additional Note: Check out Part 2 here: After Last Night! Reblogs, likes, and/or comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!

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The bass of EDM music reverberates through the speakers at the DJ’s booth. This particular bar you frequent turns into a club at 11 PM. College kids from the university down the street congregate in this establishment on the weekends, like today. You and your friends have been here since an hour ago, drinking and chatting in a booth hidden away to the side of the dancefloor. After dinner, you stopped by for a quick drink. With the booze and vibes just right, you ended up staying.

Tonight, you celebrate your birthday. It’s the end of an era, really. You’re officially thirty. You’ve been dreading this day for the past few months, sad to bid farewell to your twenties, which wasn’t all that anyways. The number of times your friends reassure you that your thirties are the new twenties only brings you mild comfort. Glancing at the crowd tearing up the dancefloor, you can’t help being envious of their youth.

Maybe it’s your buzz talking. You’re not one to feel sorry for yourself, especially about something as inevitable as aging. Thirty is young. Who cares if you’re the only one in your inner circle who’s single, unmarried, or childless? There’s no shame in it. You’re sick of women being scrutinized each year they get older for not doing what society tells them they should do. Who the fuck cares if you don’t have a ring on your finger or haven’t popped a baby out your vagina yet? It isn’t on your radar, and that’s perfectly fine. Men don’t get this much shit for remaining bachelors well into their forties or fifties, why should you?

You fidget with the glittery Dirty 30! sash you wear over your little black dress. A shimmering tiara sparkles on top of your head to complete your ensemble. Your friend’s voice in your ear snaps you out of your thoughts. “Hey birthday girl, how’s it going?”

Smiling, you hold your half empty glass up towards the middle. “Good. Thanks so much for coming out to celebrate tonight!” You’re ready to chug the rest of your liquor so you can head to the dancefloor. The other three women in your group cheers, clinking their drinks with yours.

You’re about to suggest dancing when your friend says, “Shall we call it a night?”

It catches you off guard. The music just started and it’s not even midnight yet. You’re not ready to go back to the real world; it’s your special day until you fall asleep, which you don’t plan to do for a few more hours. You’re silent though, listening as the other girls repeat a similar sentiment.

“My husband is waiting for me at home, so yes.”

“And my babies have an early morning play date tomorrow!”

Your friend beside you turns to you and asks, “Ready to go?”

Contemplating for a moment, you respond, “I think I might stay, actually. Have another drink or two.”

They stare at you bewildered, surprised you want to be here alone, which is unusual for you. “Are you sure?” they clarify.

“Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll be fine! I’m a big girl now,” you joke, standing up to hug them. They kiss you on the cheek, greeting you one last happy birthday before leaving together to go home to their husbands and children.

Craving another drink, you abandon your booth to approach the bar. You order your favorite: a vodka cranberry, your comfort cocktail throughout your 20s. A reminder that you’re still the same you despite moving up a decade.

You close your tab, promising yourself this is your last, and go back to your table. It’s now occupied by an older man in a black coat, sipping on amber liquor. Annoyed, and slightly intrigued, you sit opposite of him in the same booth. He lifts his head up slowly, noticing you.

“Hi there,” you greet him. Even in the dim light, the stitched scar on his left cheek stands out. The metal piercings on his ears glisten, the strobe lights reflecting off them from the dancefloor.

“Can I help you?” His voice is low and raspy, either naturally or from the alcohol.

“I was sitting here earlier. The other tables are all occupied, and I really don’t want to stand around on the dancefloor by myself. Can I sit here until I finish my drink? There’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You put on your most charming smile.

“Where are your friends? I’m sure you’d rather sit with them instead of with an old man like me.”

“They ditched me to go home. Besides, it looks like you could use the company.” You tip your cocktail into your mouth, keeping your gaze on him.

He watches you, skeptical. “How old are you?”

You glance down at your sash, which is now twisted so that the answer to his question is on your back where he can’t see. You grin at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

He hums, unamused. “I’m not keen on hanging out with girls in their 20s. Not really my style. Not tonight, anyways.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Narrowing his eyes at your tiara, he responds, “You’re wearing a crown, drinking a cranberry vodka at a bar that plays this shit music. I’d say you’re 23.”

This amuses you, like getting asked for your ID does, which is becoming rarer nowadays. It’s flattering.

“Hey, you’re here too. The only difference is that you’re drinking a whiskey,” you tease him, pointing at his glass.

“In my defense, I finished work nearby and this shitty cesspool was the closest bar I could find.” He takes a swig of his alcohol. “So, am I right?”

Sliding the sash to face him, you answer, “Nope. You’re wrong. Lucky for you, today is my birthday. And I just turned thirty.”

He cracks a smile at this, giving you a flutter below your belly. You’re not typically into older men; however, this guy has piqued your interest. There’s something about him that is alluring. Exciting.

“Happy birthday,” he says, swallowing the rest of his whiskey. “Get anything good?”

“No. But the night’s not over yet.” You’re full-on flirting now, not at all ashamed of how brazen you’re acting. Fuck it. You only turn thirty once, right?

There’s distance between you, but the tension is so thick, you could smell the bold scent of liquor coating his lips. He leans closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s my responsibility now to give you something good.”

~~~

Minutes later, you’re in the back of the cab, riding towards an address he mutters to the driver. He holds you, interlocking his fingers with yours, peering out his window in silence. You focus on your entwined hands resting on the middle seat, the intimacy of it all distracting you from the fact that you’re about to hook up with this attractive stranger.

The driver arrives to a swanky apartment complex. Once inside, Kishibe doesn’t give you enough time to marvel at the beautiful interior of the room. In an instant, his lips are on yours, both palms cupping your cheeks assertively. Breath hot and chalky from the mint you saw him savor earlier in the car. It barely masks the lingering taste of that cigarette you witnessed him drag waiting for your ride. He didn’t have the same type of smoker’s breath that you’re sick of from your coworkers. With him, you don’t mind it at all.

His hand trails down your neck, thumb carefully brushing over a pulse point right below your chin. His skin is rough and calloused compared to yours. The scraggly facial hair scattered along his jaw is scratchy on your cheeks.

He breaks the kiss, gazing at you while he removes his overcoat, hanging it on the rack in the corner, kicking his shoes off in the process. There’s a small bar cart in the kitchen, where he pours himself a whiskey. At the freezer, he reaches for the ice, dropping three cubes into the dark liquor with a plop. You stand still, observing him, nervous and thrilled about what this mysterious man will do to you tonight.

At the couch, he takes a seat, thighs spread wide, his wrist hanging low between them, gripping the top of the glass with his fingertips. “Come here,” he beckons.

Removing your heels quickly and abandoning your purse, you step towards him, ready to sit beside him until he demands, “No. Not there.” He pats his thigh with his free hand. “Here.”

Your body trembles with lust as you straddle him, pussy pulsing against his muscular thigh. He studies you, from your hazy stare down to him between your legs, savoring his cold liquor all the while. You gulp loudly, obediently waiting for his next command.

Gently removing the crown atop your head and tossing it aside, he asks, “What do you want from me, princess? It’s your birthday after all.” Hearing him call you princess gives you a rush you can no longer contain. You start moving on his thigh, riding it to feel the glorious sensations on your clit.

His chuckle vibrates through his chest as you grasp at his collar to hold you steady. “This is what you want? Okay. Take what you need. Come on my thigh. I’ll watch.” His gravelly voice in your ear makes you ride him harder, grinding against him until your creamy mess is soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. You clench his tie, loosening it around his neck. He continues to watch you, sipping on his booze, enjoying his own private show.

Once the glass is empty except for the melting ice, he sets it down on the coffee table, pulling you in closer, his hand behind your neck. Lightly blowing cool, whiskey breath along your lips. You lean forward to kiss him, his tongue slipping past to explore your needy mouth. The longing for his touch on every inch of your body grows stronger by the second as you moan into the kiss, bouncing on his leg.

“Can you come by yourself? Or do you need my tongue on it? I can lick it up real good if you’ll let me.” His obscene suggestion surprises you, as if you weren’t already performing lewd acts on his lap. You tug at his tie to pull him into another fierce kiss before sitting next to him on the couch, lifting the hem of your dress up to reveal your wet undergarments.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. But I’m not calling you Daddy,” you tease, spreading wide for him.

His voice is low in his throat, kneeling on the carpet, face positioned between your thighs. “Good, because I prefer to be called Master.”

You roll your eyes at him, to which he responds, “What? You don’t like that? I bet I’ll have you screaming it all night long.”

This has you speechless as he drifts towards you, staring at the wet spot soaking through your lingerie. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He hooks his fingers around the fabric, stretching it to the side to expose your sopping cunt. Leaning in closer, he flicks his tongue gently onto your clit, causing you to squirm above him.

He’s testing the waters, starting slow to gauge your limit. It’s gentle at first, toying with your bud until it’s plump and sensitive. Until your wanton moans are bouncing off the walls of his big, fancy apartment. There’s no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s obvious this man has years of experience beyond you. Having this stranger swirl his tongue on the most intimate parts of your body makes you weak in the knees. This is the first time all night that you’re thankful to be turning thirty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this apartment, getting wrecked and torn apart by him.

“I’ve always wanted a plaything I can ruin,” he breathes out, finally wrapping his lips around you. “Will you be my pretty plaything tonight?” He surrounds your clit, drawing an erotic whimper from your mouth.

“Fuck, Kishibe. Yes. Use me as your plaything, fuck.”

He eats you out noisily, emphasizing every wet sound his mouth makes on your swollen bud. Several times, he spits on it, spreading his saliva up and down your pussy, plunging his tongue into your entrance to get it lubricated with his own drool.

“You’re fucking drenched down here. When’s the last time you let a grown man eat you out like this? I bet you’ve never been with someone like me, huh?”

You shake your head, swiping through his hair, spreading yourself wider for him. “Never.”

“I can tell,” he says, slipping his middle and ring finger into your entrance. “So fucking wet for me. I love it.” He pumps into you, curling his digits just right, resonating all the way down to your toes. His lips latch onto your clit, drinking you up to quench his insatiable thirst.

“Hold these for me,” he says, guiding your fingers to your panties. “Want to stroke my cock while I eat this gorgeous pussy out.” You hear the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of him shoving his fist into his slacks to jerk off. The vibrations from his moans tickle your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper into your arousal, practically drowning in it, flattening his tongue to smear his warm saliva all over. You whine in ecstasy, heedless of attracting any neighboring attention to your explicit blubbering.

“Come on my face,” he muffles, too busy lapping up your clit to pull away, fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny and sleek with your slick.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your orgasm, pleasure jolting through your body while he works you until you’re overstimulated, twitching from the euphoria. He laughs softly, face glistening with your essence, taking a seat beside you. You watch him in a daze as he sticks his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You want a taste, too?”

You nod, disoriented from your intense climax. He drags your bottom lip down using the pad of his thumb, mumbling, “Open.”

Obediently, you stick your tongue out for him, knowing fully well what he’s about to do. Your pussy throbs again, ready to be fucked for real by this provocative stranger you were so fortunate to meet tonight.

He grazes your open tongue, then spits in your mouth. “Swallow,” he demands, voice husky with desire. You do, making sure to gulp loudly, incredibly aroused and needy for his cock.

“Show me,” he whispers, opening his own mouth to mimic you. “Ah.”

You show him your tongue again, a dumb expression on your face while he inspects. Satisfied, he grunts, “Fuck, you’re bad. You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” He reaches down to your soaked panties clinging to you. “Take these off.”

He slides out of his trousers, revealing briefs that barely conceal his obvious bulge. As you slip out of your underwear, he removes his, displaying his impressive cock. “You going to ride this cock now?”

Without a word, you nod. You’re already anticipating how fucking amazing he’s going to feel inside you. Your brain is jumbled with naughty thoughts of him taking you in all positions in every room of his apartment.

There’s a hungry gleam in his eyes as he watches you mount him. You hoist your dress up, stripping it from your body. He unclasps your bra, baring your breasts to him while he still wears his dress shirt and tie. For some reason, you want him to keep it on. Get it nice and dirty with slick and sweat.

You reach behind you to position him at your entrance. Once aligned, you slowly sink onto his cock, allowing yourself a few seconds to adjust to his size. Given his stature, it’s not surprising how big he is, both in length and girth. When you bottom out, he lets out a raspy fuck, holding your ass to squeeze your plush cheeks. “I’m ready whenever you are, princess. Like I said, take what you need from me. Milk me dry. I know you want to.”

Spurred by his provocative encouragement, you ride him, rocking your hips back and forth onto his lap, gripping his cock tight with your wet cunt. Forehead pressed to his, lids closed, jaw hanging open, experiencing the best fuck of your life. With a brief glance, you catch him watching you, a similar dazed expression on his face. You bounce on him faster, his dick pounding into you over and over again, determined to feel every inch you possibly can.

“Fuck, Kishibe, feels so fucking good,” you moan, directing his fingers down to your clit. “I want to come all over this cock. Make me come, Master.”

Bingo. His eyes widen as soon as it slips from your mouth. It’s the magic word. The trigger.

Without hesitation, he brushes his thumb ruthlessly onto your swollen bud. “Say it again,” he demands, pressing it hard as he massages it, eyes wild with lust.

“Fuck, make me come, Master. Make me come.” You’re riding him so fucking good, couch creaking, clutching his shoulders tight, his carnal stare locked on your every movement.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he growls.

“I’m close, I’m close!”

Suddenly, he pulls out, cock covered in your arousal, wet and stiff against his abdomen. Strings of slick cling to the hem of his dress shirt. You’re about ready to yell at him for teasing you. Before you can, he stands up, grabbing your wrist to lead you into the bedroom. His breathing is heavy as he points to the bed, hastily removing his clothes. “On your knees, ass up. I’m going to fuck you so good. Make you squirt all over my fucking sheets.”

The anger immediately subsides and you’re back to being eager again, knowing damn well that he means every fucking word he says. You do as he commands, wiggling your ass to entice him. He chuckles behind you. “I’m sorry for denying you earlier. I just really want to see this ass bounce on my cock like this.” He teases you with his tip, tapping your clit, sliding it along your pussy lips.

“You’re not forgiven,” you pout, growing impatient.

Placing a soft kiss on your lower back, he laughs again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about this stranger you met mere hours ago, it’s that he is a man of his word.

He guides his cock into you slowly, stretching you little by little until you’re squeezing him, his entire length inside you. “Look at you, sucking me in again like you were made for me.” He starts thrusting, holding you steady to penetrate you deeper.

“So fucking good!” you cry out, fists bunched on his silky sheets, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth.

“I know, princess. It’s amazing for me too.” His heavy balls slap your damp skin with every brutal thrust of his hips, fucking you hard, dipping into your sweet spot until you’re woozy with pleasure. “You take it so good. So fucking sexy.” He tightens his grip on you, increasing his pace. “So fucking beautiful.”

You throw your ass back, arching your spine to get the perfect angle. With your cheeks bouncing obscenely against his thighs, you beg, “Spank me, Master. Spank me like a bad girl.”

Not wasting a second, his rough palm connects with your ass, the loud smack ringing in your ears. He spanks you again and again, your pussy clenching him tighter while you continue to thrust back onto his cock. You’re about ready to burst, desperate to reach your second orgasm after being denied earlier. You play with your puffy clit, electricity rippling through your body upon contact. Whimpering, you rub your bud faster as he pounds into you, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck,” he moans, staring at your ass jiggle after each fresh slap he delivers. “Come on my cock, princess. That’s it. Get it creamy. Just like that, fuck.”

Waves of pleasure sweep over you, the intensity of it causing you to tremble before him. In the midst of your climax, you plead for him to finish inside you, greedy for his cum. It doesn’t take long for him to fill you up, staying nestled deep in you as he releases his warm load, letting out a husky fuck.

He pulls out, his warm release leaking from your pussy, dripping onto his sheets. He ogles at the pornographic sight in front of him, pleased with himself.

“Like what you see?” you tease, lowering your torso and relaxing on the bed.

“You are a naughty, naughty girl,” he says, collapsing beside you. “Can’t believe I let you seduce me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You were the one who offered to give me something good for my birthday.”

He raises a brow at you. “Did I succeed?”

You gaze at him, properly examining his appearance. Scruffy facial hair, eyes that are perpetually tired, the striking scar aligned with his frown. You find yourself wondering what his story is; someone this fetching must have a story.

“Considering the mess we made, I would say you exceeded my expectations.” You lay your palm on his firm chest, his now steady heartbeat lightly thumping against your fingertips.

“I’m glad to hear I wasn’t a disappointment.” He doesn’t take his gaze off you. Normally, you’d be intimidated by such intense eye contact. With him, it’s different. You feel safe. He places his hand on top of yours, rugged thumb gently caressing the skin of your knuckles. The two of you stay like this, enjoying each other’s presence in an easy silence.

“We can’t do this again,” he mutters, finally looking away from you. He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, your hand still snug under his.

“Why not?” The shift in energy surprises you. This is not the typical pillow talk you’re accustomed too.

“I’ll keep wanting to see you if we keep this up,” he admits. Although it’s a sweet sentiment, he’s deciding to end it here and now, not even waiting until the morning like in a typical one-night-stand.

Matching his candid demeanor, you ask, “What’s wrong with wanting to see me again?” A strange feeling of unease swells in your chest, anxious for whatever truth he’s about to reveal.

He takes a breath before explaining, “I’m a Devil Hunter. The best in the world. My job is very dangerous. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t get attached to me. My life is expendable.” He avoids you while he speaks, eyes laser focused on the ceiling, barely blinking. It’s as if he doesn’t want to say it; rather, it’s part of a script, forced to recite the lines like it’s standard procedure. How often has he had to deliver this sober spiel to his ex-lovers? You start to pity him, speculating how detached he must remain to the outside world strictly because of his risky profession.

You continue to stare at him, letting the information sink it. The air is thick with a serious tension. It’s a sudden switch from the wild romp you just experienced. Choosing not to pester him further, you decide to lighten the mood. You scoot towards him, mouth skimming his ear, muttering, “Well, l didn’t really like you anyways.” The cold metal of his piercings contrast the soft warmth of your lips.

He turns to you again, the tension in his brows easing slowly as he gives you a small smirk. “Oh yeah?”

You nuzzle your nose against his. “Yeah.”

“Good. It’s better this way,” he says, planting a kiss on the forehead.

Sighing, you ask, “Can I at least spend the night?”

“Of course. I’ll even cook you breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean a cup of coffee with a splash of whiskey and a couple cigarettes,” you joke.

He chuckles. “I’ll throw in some eggs for protein, does that work?”

“Sure. I’ll take whatever I can get, since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes at you. A minute passes and he reaches for you, grazing your cheek delicately. You feel comfortable in bed with him. Protected. You snuggle into his chest, his arms wrapping you into a bear hug. Cozy in his embrace, you listen to his rhythmic breathing, lulling you to sleep.

~~~

In the morning, you wake up alone, tucked under the covers, clothed only in a dress shirt, barely buttoned. The bedroom door is wide open, the sound of a pan scraping on iron ringing in your ears and the inviting smell of food cooking wafting from the kitchen.

You spot a pack of baby wipes on the drawer next to you, noticing that your body is fresh and clean, opposite the sticky mess you fell asleep to. Next to it is a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste. With these items in hand, you tip-toe into the bathroom, appreciating his thoughtfulness.

When you’re done, you study his bedroom for the first time, and probably last. There are no pictures hung anywhere, no personal touch to anything. Only small traces of a man whose entire existence is his job. Several ties scattered on his dresser next to a metal flask. A mini calendar on his nightstand with random scribblings of future work commitments. Hamper in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with white dress shirts, black slacks, and a couple of mismatched argyle socks. You’re slightly tempted to investigate some drawers to see the type of weapons a Devil Hunter of his caliber carries, but you don’t.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him in the kitchen. He’s in a plain white t-shirt with navy-blue pajama pants. As promised, he is cooking a batch of scrambled eggs over the stove, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, spatula in the other. Looking domestic and sexy as hell. His words replay in your mind. You shouldn’t get attached to someone like me. You almost regret sleeping with him, knowing you’ll miss him after you leave.

Quietly, you stroll towards him until he notices you. When he does, he takes a sip of coffee and mutters, “Morning, princess.”

Positioned behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist, raising your heels to place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. It’s only now that you realize how much taller he is than you. “Good morning, handsome. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I told you I’d cook you breakfast, didn’t I?” He cranes his neck to face you, smirking.

“You did. I’m pleased to see you keep your promise,” you tell him, resting your cheek on his back. “You’re truly a man of your word. I think that deserves a reward.” You slide your thumbs under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, teasing him.

“If you tempt me, you won’t be able to taste this delicious meal I prepared for you,” he comments, setting his coffee mug down the counter and turning off the burner. His hand covers yours, maneuvering it over the growing bulge in his pants.

“Maybe I’m craving something else for breakfast.” You start palming his erection, suddenly hungry for him rather than the food.

He turns to face you, looking at you up and down in his dress shirt, your legs clenched together to hide your arousal. Still smirking, he says, “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.” He slowly pushes you against the counter, running his fingers up your inner thigh, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt.

You moan, anticipating another round of intense fucking, this time in his kitchen. It makes you want to christen every part of his apartment.

“How are you this fucking wet for me already?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb on your throbbing clit. “You’re so sexy, it’s driving me insane.”

“Kishibe,” you breath out, struggling to steady yourself. “Fuck.”

“I got you. Get on the counter for me, princess. Spread those legs so I can lick that pussy clean.”

With his hands on your waist guiding you, you hop up, opening wide for him. Knees bent and body folded forward, he starts licking your clit, palming his erection through his pants. You come within minutes, gushing over his tongue as it glides along your slit, nose digging firmly onto your swollen bud.

“Fuck me, Kishibe. Want that big cock inside me. Want you to fill me up again with your cum.” You hop back down, turning around and lifting the hem of the dress shirt past your ass, ready to get railed right there on the countertop.

“Not like this,” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “Wait for me in my room. We’re going to have breakfast in bed together.”

Minutes later, a tray with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon set on top is temporarily forgotten as the two of you fuck on the other side of the bed. Him sitting up, back pressed to the headboard, you riding him until he spills inside you, causing you to orgasm again all over him.

You slump forward, resting your head on his shoulder, tired and satiated from another amazing fuck. Attempting to slide off him, he kisses you on the lips, his grip firm on your waist, unyielding. “Keep my cock inside you. Can you do that for me?”

In your blissful state, all you can do is nod, getting comfortable on his lap. He reaches for a slice of bacon on the tray, letting you take the first bites before he finishes it, doing the same for a piece of buttered toast. He feeds you forkfuls of scrambled eggs, using the same utensil for himself. It’s pleasantly intimate for two people who just met. Playing the role of a long-term couple, indulging in simple delights together, like breakfast in bed.

Plate cleared, both your bellies full of nourishment, you stay in this position, kissing each other leisurely, no rush to separate. He whispers your name, fondling your breasts through the fabric of his dress shirt that you’ve made yours. He repeats it a few more times, relishing how it feels on his lips before he never has to utter it again.

It’s bittersweet, knowing it’s ending as soon as it begun. You have no reason to be so smitten with him. You’re two people who hardly know each other. Still, you find yourself not wanting to say goodbye yet. Something’s there. A tiny spark flickering in the distance. Maybe you’re one of many women he’s done this with before. Maybe you’re nothing special. But in this fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it’s real.

The two of you reluctantly part after an especially long, passionate kiss. You dismount him, grabbing the wipes to clean up the mess that was made earlier. He gives you a smooch on the forehead before getting out of bed to exit the room, returning in less than a minute to hand you your outfit from last night. You briefly recall carelessly discarding it all over his living room floor right before you pounced on him. Is it too soon to consider that a fond memory? It hasn’t even been 24 hours and you’re reminiscing about him already.

He leaves you alone in the bedroom to change. Before you undress, you bring the sleeves of the shirt to your nose and inhale deeply, memorizing his scent. You almost want to keep this shirt as proof that this happened. That Kishibe is real.

Back in your black dress, you sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his return. When he walks in, he points at the sash and tiara next to you on the bed. “You’re not going to wear that?”

Shrugging, you respond, “It’s no longer my birthday, so it feels silly wearing it. Just toss it.”

You check your phone, estimating the time of arrival for the ride you requested. Any minute now, they’ll be here, ending your short-lived tryst. He offers to drop you off, but you refuse, not bothering to explain that doing that will result in you dragging him into your own apartment and keeping him a willing hostage for another few hours. It’ll only make it more difficult to not get attached. He doesn’t question it, probably understanding this himself.

The ping from the app chimes through your phone. You stand up, smiling at him, swinging your purse over your shoulder. “That’s my ride.”

He walks you to the door, waiting for you to strap on your heels. Once they’re on, you smile. “I guess this is it. Thank you for a fun night.”

“Thank you too. This was fun.” It could be wishful thinking, but you hear a waver in his voice. Is he a little bit sad too?

You face the door, ready to turn the knob, when you feel his grip on your wrist. He spins you towards him, kissing you feverishly, his hand caressing your cheek, the other behind your neck. Yearning for one more moment of intimacy with you. He breaks away, resting his forehead against yours, eyes shut as he says goodbye with one last whisper of your name. You avoid his gaze as you exit, walking out of his life.

It’s better this way.

#kishibe #kishibe csm #chainsaw man #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #kishibe x y/n #chainsaw man smut #csm smut #csm kishibe #kishibe brainrot #chainsaw man kishibe #dirty thirty

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 14 days

Note

aita for being aggressive towards my parents?

i've(teen) become more aggresive in recent days. my parents(in their late 40s) always argue with very loud screams and i have to hear that. my mother is egoistic, all she wants is drama, so she screams at me for little things everyday.

yesterday was a really difficult day for me. i came home from the performance tired and my mother began to put pressure on me: "why didn't you wear what i told you? you look terrible in that shirt. why don't you listen to me?" and she repeated it many times. she has weird habit of repeating the same words again and again. she got angry for strange reason.

an hour passed, my father came too, she was screaming at me for the whole time. but then mother switched to father, complaiming about me: "your daughter is a difficult child". father agrred with her. he said: "I'm tired of taking her to performances". but this was the first time dad ever took me to the performance. "she's autistic". but i don't have autism.

my mother quickly changed her mood, she was talking to me with smile like nothing happened. but the resentment and anger overwhelmed me so much that i started yelling at her, i started hitting things. i wanted to hurt my father for calling me autistic and lying(i felt betrayed by his words. also, he loves to lie about that he will always support me, but it turns out him saying to mother that "i don't want to support her, i'm tired. het her do her own things."), so i broke the comb by accidentally threwing it on floor and almost cried. my mother started to scream and press on me me again.

this is not the first time i lost control. i broke many things, i started to cause scandals with screams. when everything is good, when they're happy, i need to make it worse by complaining about their annoying behaviour. and while i complain, i get angrier and angrier, so i start to scare them with hitting things

i understand they're horrible, but what if i went too far? i feel very guilty. i feel guilty for my behaviour

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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louisupdates · 19 days

Text

By Marcelo Fernández Bitar [translated from Spanish]

In just over 24 hours, Louis Tomlinson passed through Buenos Aires and caused a commotion, with hundreds of fans crowding at the door of his hotel singing and shouting his name, and also occupying almost the entire block where there is a FM radio station where he went to give an interview.

The fanaticism generated with his solo career by the former singer of One Direction in Argentina is so great that in fact he will give a recital in the same stadium where he was in 2014 with the mega-boy band. It will be on May 18 in Vélez Sarsfield.

Louis Tomlinson already has two solo albums and is touring the world presenting the most recent, Faith in the Future. It came out in November 2022 and surprised with his most rocky sound, close to the Brit-pop of his beloved Oasis, and less pop. It was number one in England and three singles came out, Bigger Than Me, Out of My System and Silver Tongues.

Hurricane Louis

The visit was really fleeting with the purpose of promoting his show next month, the old-fashioned way, when the artists toured the countries to advertise albums or tours, something they currently do on Zoom or with posts on their official accounts.

Louis arrived on Friday night and spent Saturday fulfilling an intense schedule of activities, to leave early the next day.

First he went to the Vélez football field for a television interview which will be televised later by TN, and then he went to the radio station Los 40 Principales, where his fans filled the entire Gorriti street, between Ravignani and Arévalo, to witness an interview where eight listeners joined to ask him a question each.

He finally arrived at 4 p.m. at the Four Seasons hotel, where hundreds of other fans were screaming for him. There he gave a series of reports and chatted with Clarín in a room equipped as a small television set, with lights and a set with his name and the cover of the disc.

"Never, not for a second, did I think I would be going through some of the same experiences," he said, "that I was lucky enough to live in the band. I thought that was something unique. So being able to come here and feel the level of love and the incredible reaction on today's radio station, means a lot to me. When I imagined what my solo career would be like, I really didn't know what to expect.

Re-filling stadiums

At 32-years-old, Louis Tomlinson has the experience of having been part of one of the greatest pop phenomena of the last 20 years, with sales records and sold-out shows in stadiums around the world. And now he is repeating the fury alone, just as it happened just a little earlier with his ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

In Louis’ case, he first sold out the closed Movistar Arena stadium in 2022 and now he goes through a huge soccer field like Vélez.

Q: Did you think that being a soloist you had to start from below and sing in smaller places?

Louis: Yes, exactly. But it turns out that I can still play in big places, so it's great.

Q: Can we really talk about a mania of a "louistomlinson-mania"? Does it happen everywhere or is it special in Latin America?

Louis: I think that in terms of the level of similar intensity, and seeing what happened a moment ago on the radio station, that certainly doesn't happen to me everywhere. Let me put it this way: it's incredible to be so far from home and feel that level of love. I'm very excited to think about what the show will be like here.

Q: It's incredible that almost exactly ten years have passed since the last time you filled Vélez. How do you feel when you return to the same stadium?

Louis: I feel very lucky to be able to play in those places again on my own. I also feel very, very proud of myself and my fans. I feel like we have created something that is quite special and we did it together. With them as listeners, but also as facilitators. That really helped my confidence and made me feel good on stage. It's a lovely relationship and I'm very proud of it.

Q: This tour started almost a year ago, how did it evolve with respect to the first shows?

Louis: I definitely feel in a good place right now with the show. Anyway, in advance I was excited about this tour because this album was designed for the live show. So I was excited to see how the songs would work. And the energy is great. I am very excited to show Faith in the Future to Latin America.

Q: How did the idea of making a live cover of Arctic Monkeys come about?

Louis: Arctic Monkeys grew up about 20 minutes from where I live. It was something very close, very fresh in the mind and obviously huge. I was growing up and I'm also a big fan. I usually do the song 505 because it's very pretty.

Often, with the versions, I probably think more about what I would like to sing than about what I imagine that everyone else would like to hear, which may be misjudged, but I'm enjoying it.

Q: When you were a teenager you sang Oasis songs and now you have a rock band that sounds very Brit-pop, almost closing a circle.

Louis: Thank you. I am very, very fortunate to have the band I have, but they also perform sonically and visually, everything that is really important to me. They sound absolutely incredible. I don't think I would be able to do this without my band.

Q: Live you also perform songs from One Direction. Did you feel that kind of shadow at the beginning of your solo career and now you are more comfortable looking back?

Louis: I think a bit about both things. I think that at the beginning of my career I would have been a little more worried about putting too many One Direction songs in the repertoire. What I wanted most was to spread my wings and show who I was. But I think that as time went by, the nostalgic moments are really charming. So it's like a beautiful mixture of nostalgia and it's very nice to do it.

Ping-pong

Q: This is the third time you have visited our country. If you had to describe your Argentine fans in three words, which one would you choose?

Louis: Passionate. Loyal. Affectionate. That’s okay, isn't it?

Q: The soccer player Kun Agüero said that there is a lot of talk to you through Instagram or Twitter. Have you ever met him in person?

Louis: Actually, we have never seen each other in person. Over the years we've talked a little here and there, but I never found time. I have a kind of crazy hope that he can come to the show.

Q: If you had to choose one of your songs, either from Walls or Faith in the Future, that reflects how you feel right now in your life, what would it be?

Louis: I would say that the name of the album (Faith in the future) represents where I am right now, but I think that in the future I would like to always be optimistic.

Q: And if all the One Direction discography was deleted and a song had to be saved. Which one would you save?

Louis: It's interesting... I would probably say Story Of My Life. That seemed like a real milestone. I would say it's a little more serious. And I also think it's a bit of a crazy song.

Q: You are a big soccer fan, do you have any preference for an Argentine club?

Louis: I'm very afraid to say something wrong... I'd better say that I love you all. (laughs)

Photos

Links

#louis press #louis tomlinson #fitfwt24: buenos aires #6.4.2024 #clarin

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searchingforakeythatdoesntexist · 3 months

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Day 9: "You too." – Good Omens

[TW: Angst, The Flood, and after]

(A tribute to the sad yet poignant 4th Chapter of “Anatomy 1.0.1”, a fanfiction written by Fyre/ @amuseoffyre.)

“I can’t,” Aziraphale cut across him, holding up his hands, trying to stop the words and the reminders and the bodies and the screams.

“Can’t?”

“Can’t,” he repeated. Can’t say anything about it. Can’t do anything about it. Can’t… understand it. Can’t… can’t anything. He took a shuddering breath, shaking his head. It was… a lot. Too much. To stand by, to watch, to listen, to do nothing.

All at once, there were hands in his hair, carding through it, over and over.

“Hey, stay with me, angel.” Crawly was in front of him, so close, wriggling closer, almost in Aziraphale’s lap. (…) At once, damp skin pressed to his, and Crawly wrapped himself utterly around Aziraphale as if trying to press his heat through every point of contact into Aziraphale’s cold, shivering body. His hands ran in widening circles at the points where wings would emerge, palms rough and warm and gentle.

There was something comforting in the weight of his body, the warmth, the tangible solidity of it.

“It’s a bastard of a thing,” Crawly said softly, close to his ear, the warmth of his breath sending a ripple down Aziraphale’s spine. (…) “They’ll pick themselves up, dust themselves off, get back on with things.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed in a whisper. There was no reason for his eyes to be wet or for his body to feel utterly weighed down with exhausted grief for people he didn’t even know. Not really. Names, yes. A little of their lives, yes. But could he ever know people like that? Mortals lives were so short, a blink and they were gone.

Crawly leaned back a little way, searching his face. “You too,” he said.

Excerpts from "Anatomy 1.0.1", chapter 4, by Fyre aka @amuseoffyre.

[Previous] [Next Day] [First Day] - Don't forget to 💕/ reblog ;-)

Personal challenge: a simple sketch each day

Goal: forcing me to keep things simple - inking, shading, just a few sashes of colour

Improvement pursued: to get the movement, the emotion, finding how to add depth, learning how to leave things barely finished

Max time allowed: 2 hours instead of 8-20 on my previous projects 3h30, because I had to. It's one of my favorites fanfictions ever, and for so many reasons.

Today's theme chosen by me:

There's a relatively classic headcanon in the fandom where Aziraphale and Crowley are present for the 40 days of the Flood. If Crowley then does everything in his power to save as many humans as he can, Aziraphale has to abide by his mission to protect Noah and the Ark – thus, not seeking to save anyone. He can only watch, hear and feel without being able to act in any way while countless people die around him, some quickly, others after several never-ending days, tossed about by the waves.

In a fanfiction written by Fyre, this headcanon is remarkably well used. Aziraphale going through such an event is atrocious, painful. But what comes after is almost worse. The shock of the rescuer who has remained helpless in the face of horror and death – a situation behind real PTSD among emergency doctors and first-aiders – is shown with an accuracy and a respect which left a deep mark on me. Aziraphale remains shocked and torn apart, while questionning his trust in Heaven for forcing him to do nothing but watch. What would have become of Aziraphale, devastated and in a middle of a metaphoric Falling, if Crowley hadn't been there to catch him during the Flood?

"Anatomy 1.0.1" is an E-rated fanfiction striving to describe the evolution and the feelings of Crowley and Aziraphale through the ages, as supernatural beings but first and foremost as a literal couple. Those who have read and enjoyed this story – like me 😊 – will tell you that the terrible passage of the Flood is not representative of the story's spirit and I would agree, this fanfiction is mostly appreciated for its sensuality and eroticism. And yet, this scene from the 4th chapter brings, for the first time, the sincerity and the depth of the feelings between the two characters to the light. I find it to be one of the most touching and realistic scene I have ever read in this fandom.

#Good Omens #Crowley #Aziraphale #Aziracrow #Ineffable husbands #Ineffable lovers #David Tennant #Michael Sheen #ElenthyaAndGoodOmens #ElenPersonnalChallenge #tw angst #cw angst #Fyre #amuseoffyre #Anatomy 1.0.1 #AO3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #You'll never know how much I love this one.

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izvmimi · 1 year

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cw: a repost! fluff, minimally suggestive in the last line.

rare are the days that you’re up before kuroo, but today is one such morning. it’s a bit odd to wake up and not be greeted by the smell of coffee or the clackity-clack of his mechanical keyboard as he gets through a full email inbox before heading off to work, you consider as you curl up comfortably on the couch and open up your laptop.

there’s a big deadline in the next 24 hours and kuroo sternly vetoed yet another all-nighter, so here you are, technically cheating, trying to get some words on the screen as the birds chirp at the crack of dawn. you wonder if he’ll be disappointed in you when he gets up, maybe wonder if you woke up in the middle of the night against his wishes and left him alone in bed, or maybe he’ll be grumpy because you didn’t make the coffee this time.

maybe you should make some coffee.

a short break later, and now caffeinated, you can focus a little better, or maybe it’s just placebo. regardless, there’s a new flow to your writing that you’re thankful for, gentle music to keep you grounded barely audible in the background. progress is made.

by the time you find yourself at a stopping point, kuroo stands at the entrance of the living room, and he’s frowning.

“babe.”

sleep is in his eyes still, and he rubs one of them open. but he is disappointed, crossing his arms over his bare chest. however, the Look doesn’t last, because he yawns and you laugh, and he gives up and stretches completely, lean muscles elongating as he raises his arms over his head.

“morning, sleepyhead,” you murmur, closing your laptop.

he blows air out of his nose meant to be a scoff but makes his way towards you, and anticipating him, your work device is placed on the coffee table gently before he lays his entire weight across your lap.

he purrs exactly like a cat and is just as warm.

“you don’t listen,” he mumbles as he nuzzle into your thighs.

“i like having a job, tetsu.”

“you don’t need one,” he replies. you expected this, slapping him on his ass once. he yelps exaggeratedly, but then grins, biting gently onto your arm.

“it’s true!” he repeats, turning onto his back so he can face you. from this vantage point, you can be the one to look at him with narrowed eyes. “it’s simple. you quit, i make a lot of money and stockpile it away, and then i retire and we spend our 40s traveling the world while we’re still spry. foolproof.”

he pauses, waiting for your reaction, smile still plastered on his face as if he hasn’t suggested this a million times already. you fight the urge to poke his dark eyes out, instead kissing him on the forehead.

“get off me, you’re heavy,” you pout.

“give me a kiss on the lips then,” he replies.

“with your morning breath? absolutely not.”

he genuinely looks shocked for a second, enough that it makes you laugh again.

“what about love conquers all?”

you roll your eyes, and shift for him to get up.

“i need to take a shower. you probably need one too,” you tease.

he springs up like a board and turns around to look at you, positively reeking of playful lust.

“love it. let’s go.”

before you can stand, he’s already whisked you into his arms and carries you off for a little morning release.

#kuroo x reader #tetsuro kuroo x reader #hq imagine #thoughts: kuroo #daydreams: hq #mimi's notes

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sequinsmile-x · 4 months

Text

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Fifty Seven

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends,

As ever, thank you so so much for your love on this fic. It means so much.

This chapter contains a conversation I've been planning on them to have since Emily had Lily back in Chapter 40!!

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.2k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She barely speaks to him on the way home, her eyes fixed out of the window as he drives, his spare hand fixed on her thigh. Her demeanour changes the moment they pick up Lily from daycare, a switch he’d be surprised by if he didn’t know her so well, her ability to compartmentalise second to none.

Their evening at home is relatively normal. She feeds Lily and he then gives the baby her bath, the weight of grief that had been heavy on his chest for days lessening as his little girl giggles as she splashes water at him, her smile already the same as Emily’s. Once they’ve put Lily down to sleep the happy facade shatters, broken shards of it on the floor around them as they both sit on the couch, the baby monitor occasionally crackling from its place on the coffee table.

Emily doesn’t know how to feel. Her emotions are wrought, overwhelming in a way she hates, as the doctor’s words play round and round in her head like a grim tape she can’t switch off. She wonders if it’s better this way, that the decision was taken out of her hands even though, in her heart of hearts, she knows what she would have done.

“What would you have wanted to do?” She asks, the question surprising her almost as much as it does Aaron. They’d been sitting in silence ever since Lily had fallen asleep, the minutes stretching out into hours as they sat in their grief and sadness, “If…if I hadn’t lost it what would you have wanted to do?”

He looks at her, his eyes fixed on her profile as she continues to look straight ahead, her gaze lingering on a picture of Lily when she was a newborn - the photo taken in the hospital when Emily held her for the first time. He isn’t sure how to answer the question, not wanting to upset her any more than she’d already been upset, but he’d never lied to her, had made a promise a long time ago that he never would, so he sighs, his gaze dropping to his lap as he speaks.

“It’s your body, Em,” he says carefully, “It would have been your call.”

She snaps her head to look at him, anger she knows he doesn’t deserve thrumming under her skin as he unknowingly repeats a phrase she’d heard in two pivotal moments of her life. The first when she was pregnant at 15, coached by Matthew who was the same age as her, the assurance that she could do what she wanted strange coming from someone whose voice had only just broken. The second was a surgeon when they confirmed she was a match to donate her liver to her mother, a reassurance that she didn’t have to do it, even though Emily truly felt like there was no other choice.

She doesn’t want pleasantries from him. She wants the truth. Wants to know what he would have wanted if they had been left to make the call themselves.

“Aaron,” she says, clenching her teeth slightly when he looks up at her, “Please tell me. I…” she clears her throat and shakes her head, “I need to know.”

He maintains eye contact with her, and the desperation in her eyes makes him ache. He swallows thickly, trying to push down the lump in his throat, and he blows out a steady breath.

“I would have wanted to do whatever was safest for you,” he says, the thought of losing her, something he’d had to consider more than once over the years, almost too much to bear, “I need you, Lily and Jack do, I can’t risk that,” he can’t read her face, can’t see what she’s thinking and he hates it. He clears his throat and looks down at his lap, “I wouldn’t have forced you to do anything you didn’t want to, but I would have wanted to listen to the doctor.”

Even though she knew that was what he would say it still makes her suck in a harsh breath, her lungs too full of sadness and grief and misplaced anger to fully let it settle, forcing it back out in a humourless laugh.

“You sure came to that decision quickly.”

It’s unkind and she knows it, but it was easier to be mad at him because she knows he loves her, that he’d forgive her. She could feel the anger brewing like a storm in the bottom of her gut, making it twist and ache in a way she’d become painfully accustomed to over the last week or so. She knew, if she was really angry at anyone, it was at herself. At her doctor. At the universe for putting her in this position, the collision of her past and present that had left her feeling so unsteady.

He clenches his jaw at her response, irritation making his body tight and his nerves start to fray. She wants an argument and he knows it. He’d loved her long enough to know this was how she dealt with things, how she put off actually feeling what she needed to feel. He’d barely slept in a week, spending his time either worried about her or making sure she was okay, hardly giving himself time to think about what he’d lost too. Suddenly he’s overwhelmed with memories, with the longest hour of his life as he waited outside an operating room as Emily had emergency surgery to have Lily, his fear that he might lose one or both of them something that still would wake him sometimes in the night.

Later, when he looks back, he��d know that’s why he said what he says next, his turbulent emotions winning out over his usual ability to not bite at that bait dangled in front of him.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had to consider it.”

His words hang over them, heavy and suffocating as they suck all of the air out of the room. Emily stares at him, her lips pressed together as he stops talking, any other comment stuck in his chest.

“What does that mean?”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he wishes he could unsay it, that he could take his comment back, but he can’t. “When you went down for your c-section I pulled the doctor aside, and I asked her if she could only save one of you, to save you.”

It feels like a blow to her chest, winding her as she struggles to suck in a breath. She frowns as she looks at him, the mere thought of it enough to make her put a bit more space between them.

“You…” she chokes on a sound between a laugh and a sob, “You asked them to do what?” She asks, her voice dripping with something so close to disgust, something that makes him clench his teeth even harder, “What about our little girl-”

“Don’t you dare imply I don’t love our daughter,” he says, cutting her off before she can say something they both know she’d regret. He looks at her, his gaze fierce, unyielding in a way he hadn’t looked at her in since long before they fell in love, “I’d die for her, for both of you, you know that. But I didn’t know her then. I knew you. And I…” he drifts off, clenching his jaw as tears press at the back of his eyes, “I can’t lose you, Em. You’re the love of my life. And god help me, I’d say the same thing tomorrow if I had to. You’re the most important thing in any of these situations. Even more so now Lily is here. It’s not just me anymore. She needs you too.”

She watches as a tear slips free from his lashline, painting a treacherous path down his cheek. All the righteous anger she’d felt disappears so quickly that she physically wilts, her shoulders sagging as she looks at him.

“Honey,” she says, shifting towards him, closing the gap she’d created. She places her hand over his and squeezes, her heart aching even more when he doesn’t look at her, doesn’t squeeze back, “I’m sorry. I know you love her, I know that,” she says, squeezing his hand again, “It’s just…you never told me that before.”

They’d never talked about it in any depth beyond an initial conversation once she and Lily were home from the hospital. Aaron had never told her anything in any real detail from his point of view. Instead, he’d simply been there for her. Helped her through her physical, and mental, recovery from a labour that hadn’t been anywhere near what she wanted it to be. She feels guilty for not checking in on him more, for not thinking about how he felt after it all happened because she was so wrapped up in the exhaustion of having a newborn.

She didn’t have to imagine how it felt to sit in a hallway as the person you loved was in surgery. It was something she was intimately familiar with, a kind of fear she wouldn’t wish on anyone, let alone the man she loves.

He smiles at her. It’s crooked, self-deprecating, and not the smile she knows and loves. But it’s something, and it warms her up from the inside out regardless.

“It’s not something that just comes up,” he says, squeezing her hand, his jaw tight as another tear slips free. She reaches up and wipes it away, her touch delicate against his skin. He turns his head to kiss her palm. She shifts closer to him so she’s tucked up against him, settling into his side as he wraps his arms around her, an edge of desperation to his embrace. “I…I can’t lose you, sweetheart.”

She lifts their joint hands and kisses his knuckles, “I know,” she says, kissing his hand again before she clasps it in both of hers. She rubs circles on his skin with her thumb, hoping she can press her love for him into his skin, that it’s something he can carry with him everywhere, “I can’t lose you either.”

It had been 18 months since Foyet had attacked Aaron. Their lives had changed so much since then. They had bought a house and got married, they had a little girl. Despite all that, there were moments when she felt like she was still right there, outside his old apartment with her gun in her hands as she heard Foyet taunt him. She still struggled sometimes when he didn’t answer his phone, when a little too much time lapsed between contact. Those precious few minutes she’d spent talking to Penelope that night enough to leave him permanently scared, something she still felt guilty about even now.

In comparison to when she had Lily, what happened with Foyet was a lifetime ago. Aaron was still processing it all, and maybe he always would be. She knows it’s something they’ll face when they do decide to have another child in the future, her fear of losing another pregnancy she knows she won’t shift, the comparison between Rome and now something that was forever solidified in her brain, alongside his fear of what would happen when the baby was born.

She knew they’d get through it just like they did everything else - together.

“I know it would have been the right call,” she says, tears pressing at the back of her eyes, “It wouldn’t have been easy, but I would have done it. For you, for Lily and Jack,” she sighs and her chin trembles, “I spent the last week trying not to compare all of this to Rome,” she says, pressing her hand to her abdomen, “I was even the same meds for fuck sake,” she shakes her head, “I guess I just always hoped it wasn’t a decision I'd have to consider if I ever met someone and started a family.”

He pulls her closer so she’s all but in his lap, her legs swinging over his as he holds her tighter, his lips against her forehead, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

She turns her head to kiss his jaw, “It’s not your fault,” she pulls back to look at him, her eyes shining and her smile faint, “Although we are going to have to be careful since we really do seem to be the most fertile couple on the planet.”

He chokes out a laugh, the sound wet as it catches in his chest, and he nods, pressing his lips against her forehead fiercely, “We’ll figure it out. I’ll go buy condoms in that pharmacy down the street with the smart-mouthed teenager on the checkout.”

She nods and smiles, leaning in to stamp her lips against his, “I love you.”

He presses his forehead against hers and cups the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, “I love you too.”

She knew that as long as she had him and their family, she could make it through anything.

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

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#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss fan fic

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sigridstumb · 4 months

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An apology to the past

Dear everyone who knew me in my 20s-30s, and, heck, early 40s. I'm sorry for my unwarranted certainty, specifically as it related to judging harmless things.

Catan is a lovely game, not to my taste, but a lovely game nonetheless.

Kpop is wonderful, country music is wonderful, rap is wonderful, I had no reason to look down on any of it and I was being a judgy shit.

Romance novels are fantastic, even the tropes that I dislike.

You like to cook for big dinner parties? Great! You like to eat microwaved cheese off of a plate and chase it with cold coffee? Great!

I used to struggle greatly, and still am working on, a need to categorize and rank other people's traits and characteristics so that I understand which scripts to run when talking to them. I still use scripts 99.5% of the time, but I am trying to get rid of ranking the groups I slot people into (so that I may interact with them using the appropriate Social Interaction Script Package.)

If something brings you joy? Have fucking fun with it.

If something gives you a moment's peace or respite? Take all the time you need, buddy.

If something comforts you in despair? For chrissakes, do it!

The world can seem very grim at times. We make our own joy, we make our own hope, we make our own strength to go on. If you love putting on a full face of makeup in the morning -- hell, even if you don't 100% love it, but it still brings you a sense of comfort and strength -- you do it. If you love wearing your bunny-ear hat around town, that is a great hat and I love to see it. If all that makes you relax is listening to aespa's "Drama" on repeat all your waking hours, good for you.

There is no cringe.

There is no loser.

There is no dweeb.

There is no basic bitch.

There is no basic bitch, except that there is, and it is a great place to be. Why WOULDN'T you love these things that thousands, millions, of other people love because it is fun and easy and brings joy???

Love what you love. Do what you do. Make what you make.

I'm sorry, dear existence, that I was shitty about this for decades. I'm sorry that I am still sometimes shitty about it.

There is a desperate need for joy in the world. Don't quash yours, and don't shit on anybody else's.

(* CAVEAT: As long as you are not harming others.)

#actuallyautistic #autistic #hyperfixation #special interest #spark joy

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racha-recs · 2 years

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stray kids reactions | to you sending them this text

a/n: i wrote this when i was high last night and it’s kind of cracky but also. kind of accurate? also MINORS DNI.

listen to singularity while you read this to set the mood

chan

gets flustered. doesn’t remember the exact song but goes through his playlists meticulously to meander down the list into three possible candidates. gives them a listen, appreciating the songs like he does, and narrows it further into two candidates. sends them both to you and tells you he can’t remember which one it is ‘but they’re both good so give them a listen!’

lee know

knows the song. of course he knows what song it is. but he denies it, vehemently claiming that he doesn’t know what you’re talking about because he wants to seem cool and collected. you see through it because it’s him. he’s not a good liar and he’s kind of endearingly predictable like that. you try to pry it out of him for a few minutes but he won’t budge. you leave the conversation in a huff, not answering his last message. a few hours later, he sends you a link to the song and doesn’t say anything else.

changbin

‘honestly i was high the entire time.’ barely remembers eating you out, let alone the songs that were playing. asks if he was good. you tell him of course he was. he shuffles bts songs during his day since you put him in a rather good mood, and gets excited when the song plays because oh! he does remember. sends you the link with a series of cute emojis.

hyunjin

he has a perfectly curated playlist of songs he plays when he’s doing the dirty. so he knows exactly what song it is, because he hand picked it when he put it there and he’s quite proud of his playlist goddamnit. doesn’t send you the link though, he responds with a winky face and a ‘we can repeat it tonight if you want to find out’. you’re over at his a couple hours later.

jisung

knows the exact song you’re talking about. sends you links to three different version of the song. gives you the history of why it was created and why it’s only one member of the song instead of all seven singing it. you tell him you just liked the beat you didn’t need to know all of that. he tells you the song is so cool. you ghost him for a while.

felix

first off, this boy does not answer your text for hours. because he didn’t see it. when he finally reads your text it’s with a cute little surprised face because he’s a bit scandalized, but it quickly turns into a smirk because he’s also a bit pleased. when he finally does answer, he says ‘why do you want to know?’ you say so you can play it when he comes over tonight. he sends it 10 seconds later.

seungmin

doesn’t even need to pretend he didn’t know what song it was. because he genuinely doesn’t know what song it was. he’s like, ‘i just play top 40 hits to get down to on spotify’ he doesn’t actually know which songs are on it. he then asks if you want the whole playlist? sends it before you can answer. and then doesn’t talk to you for the rest of the day.

jeongin

blushy boy knows exactly what song you’re talking about. remembers exactly what face you were making when he looked up at you during the high notes. but he takes a few minutes to answer because he was embarrassed and then hits you with a ‘i think it’s this song? but i’m not too sure’ even though he’s very sure.

#stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #incorrect stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x gender neutral reader #stray kids x stay #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids crack

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the-slasher-files · 10 months

Text

[CALL OF DUTY]

A LIFE WITH HER

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY x FEM!OC

Hello friends! It has been a while, but I'm excited to return and do more exciting things! So, this piece is an introduction to a new oc I have been working on, Simon's girl. Her name is Cholena "Raven" Belanger, name is pronounced Ko-LEE-nah. A beautiful, powerful and now civilian Metis woman. This fic is angsty comfort with hints of smut and gore... I hope you enjoy as much as I do 🔪🤍 MASTERLIST

A long sigh departed from rose tainted lips, the breath was deep and bone rattling. Almost 40 hours straight in the hospital, running around to codes of all types, tending to wounds, directing 3 teams beneath her, and doing all the paperwork as coworkers shifts changed over and over again.

"... Fuck..." Green eyes cascaded down to the blue gloves that were now drying in deep brown once bright crimson.

"Stay with me now, solider," the thumping of the helicopter blades above you drowning out your strained voice. The words were more for yourself as you held your teammates shoulder together. You could feel his heart pounded with the blood that drenched the bandages. "... Almost there"

He was fading and you didn't have enough medical supplies here, not in the air, all you could do was give directions through the radio for the medical staff on the grounds to be prepared for 3 soldiers you saved. You saved them. You hoped you did as the man's breath below you wanned. "Come on... fuck..."

Finally, the helicopter landed. It had felt like hours, painful, hopeless hours sitting in that plane, and you were left there. Slumped on your knees as the men were taken away, your men that you prayed to any god listening that they would go home to their families, but you knew that there was no god above you as the red faded to brown.

"Cholena?" There was a faint voice, "... Hey, Cholena?"

Keen emerald eyes flew upwards as the gentle hand squeezed her shoulder, flinching it off in the wake of a flashback.

It was her coworker, the one who was her equal and switching her out on the shift, took a step back with his hands face up in defence and presenting no threat. Jonathan knew of your past, obviously not understanding it completely, but there were times she spilled the truth of her PTSD.

"Sorry," He whispered, "...hey, it's ok. He lived,"

There was a held breath that she released, one she wasn't aware that was held. Relief washed over her tense frame as an innocent man riding his motorcycle home and was struck by a car could go home tonight. But, she couldn't ease the tension as that feeling of relief was quickly numbed. This woman lived through wars, saw death more than anyone in her team would ever know, and faced it multiple times herself, somehow living today. She was numbed to this. It was just another day.

"Co, please go home... get some sleep and long shower, okay?" Jonathan stared at the dried blood on the once sterile gloves, then back to her eyes. "Text me tomor—"

Interrupted by the coder on his lanyard going off, quickly giving a pat on her shoulder and running off down the white-walled hallway, "Go home! Get sleep!" He yelled back, trying to be some type of light to get her to smile... and it worked.

With a shake of her head, the smile slowly faded, peeling the nitrile gloves off and getting herself ready to go home. Home. A strange word to her as she spent the past 2 months more between the cold cement walls of the hospital than in the comfort of a home she shared, half the time alone. One more week. It repeated in her head, that British accent across the gritted phone lines.

Tense muscles guarded by heavy black tactical gear stood in front of the sink, emerald eyes, bloodshot and staring as the water washed you clean. It was too hot but you couldn't feel it. Just scrubbing over and over again the pores of your skin, rubbing them raw and steam coating your face. The water ran clear long ago, but all you could hear was the screams calling your name to help, to save them.

"Raven... Raven, shit" A voice lay unheard.

Quickly shifting around your frozen body, he turned off the tap, grasping your shoulders and turning you to look at him. Look within the deep amber masked in smeared paint. Grounding you as your hands shook desperately clawing at his vest, tears streaming heavy and collapsing within solid arms that held you up.

"I couldn't save them... I could've. I-I could've... Ghost" Your body broke against him, sobs caught into him like he could take care of it all, and he wished he could. On days like these, he wished you never thought about being in the military, you should be home, nestled in the arms of your lover and watching some dumb tv show and falling asleep in peaceful bloom.

"I know angel, I know," He clenched tightly around your frame, protecting you "One more week, just one more week"

Throwing the bloody scrubs away into the neon hazard bins, Cholena changed into some jeans and just threw on a larger, much larger hoodie that kissed halfway down her muscular thighs, the smell faded but it was still his regardless. Saying goodbye with silent waves, the exhaustion began to creep in as each step led her closer and closer out of the god-forsaken building.

Shrugging her military-issued backpack on one shoulder, she walked through the automatic sliding doors and stepped into the pitch-black night as it was softly raining. Rounding to the back of the hospital and towards the train station, beaming street lights above had her attention drawn to a black truck and a man leaning against it, cigarette in hand.

"No trains tonight, sweetheart," The familiar voice, one of comfort and home, hit her like a bullet, a gunshot clapping like thunder, it made her stop for a moment to process that he was actually here.

"Simon..."

He walked forward, tossing the cigarette to the cold, wet pavement and she walked faster, meeting him more than halfway under the warm glow of the lamp above. Reaching only a foot apart, Simon's body covered in hers in an everlasting shadow, his phantom that she welcomes whole. Sweet lotion of shea butter and coconut met fire and metal that mixed together in cascading rain making reflections at their feet.

This was something they always did when meeting again and again, no matter the territory, sand, snow, rain, concrete, rubble, blood and gore. They let their senses adapt to each other before utter absorption.

"You're home," Soldiers don't have homes, but he made one in her.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be" Simon admitted the truth openly for her to bare and she took it all without question.

Wrapping her hands around his thick neck, green eyes meeting warm hooded amber, easily, as if she was nothing, he lifted her with strong hands supporting her thighs. As many times as he would hold her, she never failed to seem so small. At first, it was out of place when Ghost held her, like a rabbit seeking comfort within the paws of a wolf, but something in their souls fit together in a bloody puzzle and now it was home.

"God, I missed you," she exhaled all her stress as if he could ease all her pain and tucked into his neck, shuttering with exhaustion and the overwhelming feeling of having him back.

He didn't respond, and he did not need to. The rumble of a storm at sea grew within Simon's chest, and she heard it, clinging closer as if it was possible. Slowly, the scent of tantalizing pine and musk sprouted as her nose brushed under the mask. It was just the simple balaclava allowing you to see the shape of his face and the yellow that brushed through brown wartorn eyes. She never pushed for him to take it off. It was his security and his alone. When Ghost was ready to fall into the shadows, he would, always there beneath the skin, but that was when she would protect him the most.

Secure gloved hands began to wander, muscles flexing each time he could feel her shake within his hold, and Simon brought his head back, about to speak, but she beat him to it, tensing slightly, "J-just a long shift,"

Another rumble, softer this time, rolled through him, "Well, let's get you home, pigeon,"

Whenever Simon called her that, he knew it would earn a smile, perhaps a huff of sweet laughter, one that he wished he could hear forever. Everyone called her Raven. It was her call sign. Even her family used it as an honour, and no one questioned it. The onyx long hair, her feather-light touch even while stitching brutal wounds, the way she was ever graceful with sniper and was a beacon of life and death altogether. Not to count out her indigenous roots calling to her the title, a feather often within her hair on the battlefield, creative, cunning with an intuition like no one else on the team. She was a raven, glorious to him in every way, so the fact that he called her pigeon would almost be an insult.

Moving effortlessly, Simon placed her in the passenger seat of his truck, the leather slightly squeaking when Cholena took off her backpack. Eyes watching as the love of her life got into the seat beside her, a warm smile gracing her as he looked massive within the closed space.

The armoured truck was parked in the dimly lit garage of the safe house. Everyone had found a spot in the old farmhouse to settle in for the night, but you couldn't sleep, and neither could he.

"Ghost," Your moans filled the truck. Trying to stifle the noises begging you to scream, "Please. Fuc-"

"That feel good, huh?" Accent thick with pleasure as he leaned across the middle console, your head buried within the crook of Ghost's neck. His devastating hands taking what he wanted and giving what you needed. "So fucking needy for me,"

He hummed lowly, sounding more like a growl as calculated eyes watched his fingers slip in and out of your cunt, dripping on the seat and cascading along inked skin. Curling knuckle deep inside sent a shockwave through you, shaking and biting his jacket with gentle mumbles and whines. Ghost could feel you were close, fisting your soft black hair to make you pull back with a hiss.

"Look at me when you cum," He groaned feeling your walls clench tightly around strong fingers and you let go. Your teeth biting hard on your bottom lip to not make a sound, your legs shaking and dark brown eyes observing you, eating you whole as you came undone. "Such a good girl"

Ghost whispered now, the hard skull of his mask bowed against your forehead. You saw him, not the commanding force but the man beneath the bones and viscera of a legend, and he allowed it. He was safe with you between the fogging windows. It was just you and him in your world, cupping his jaw as he mirrored the actions.

"Such a beautiful girl," Simon spoke, barely above a whisper as Cholena nuzzled into his hands. Green eyes speaking to his brown in a dead language they brought back to life.

"Such a handsome man," She replied smoothly "my handsome man"

His eyes crinkled with a smile beneath the mask, placing a kiss on her forehead. Simon was still adjusting, not quite ready for his lips to feel hers, for him to feel 100% human yet. His mind was still half inside the battlefield being the embodiment of his callsign and haunting over the ones he protected with his life.

Cholena's soft fingers grazed down Simon's body, releasing her own tension and grounding him back to her at the same time. "Let's go home," She found herself whispering, eyes becoming heavy and body letting go in his presence, relaxing and easing, slumping into the seat as he gruffly nodded.

As he drove away from the city, the rain and darkening of fewer city lights lulled her into a soft sleep. Their fingers interlocked naturally together the whole drive, brown eyes floating over to watch her peaceful state reminding him that he was safe, he was home and he was hers.

Pulling into the driveway of their forested home just outside of the busy city, Simon turned off the truck and released a sigh. A shutter rolled through him this time, sharing a similar exhaustion and flood of relaxation. It was time to be a man again. Pausing for a quiet moment, his eyes closed, the freehand holding the steering wheel reached up to the soft fabric on his face and pulled the balaclava off. Strong, chiselled features made his face, scars and healed broken bones made him who he was, a man she loved wholeheartedly, but someone he strayed away from most of his life. Keen amber caught his reflection in the rear-view mirror and he stared almost as if he couldn't recognize who he was without the skull mask.

"Simon," She whispered groggily, even half asleep she could feel himself begin to crawl within his own head and her small hand flexed on his.

Cursing lowly he got out of the truck, rounded the vehicle and opened her door. Simon grabbed her bag first before he picked Cholena up bridal style trying not to shift or wake her much.

Flashes of fire, blurred black and white melted together in your vision. You could taste the copper and feel the smoke burning through you. It was hot, pure violent hellish heat consuming your soul. Were you screaming or crying as your breath felt like broken glass slicing through your ribcage? No one was listening except the reaper. It didn't matter.

It was a landmine that went off and no one could see it until bodies were broken and the building beside you had collapsed. Concrete, rebar, wood, and electrical had all come down within seconds and you were gone. The world turned and your team was gone.

Blood seeping through your gear made wide streaks in the dirt around you, barely able to lift your head, but your body tried to crawl away on pure instinct. In and out, the world faded. Tasting your life force being torn away so brutally. And you couldn't hear the voices on the radio anymore, no screams or calls for you, everyone checking on position and counting the injuries.

"SHE'S HERE"

A black shadowy figure stood before you, it was him, death coming to take you and your lids closed.

"S-stay, NO, STAY WITH ME. RAVEN... Cholena, keep those eyes open!" A barking scared tone made your eyes flutter open, only seconds at a time before falling back into darkness.

A white skull now covered in soot, bore down at your helpless frame that was clinging to life. He kept talking, orders yelled and words directed at you that were no longer understood, Ghost had never spoken this much in war but the rumble in his chest kept you sane. With every jostle of your body, you felt something horrid, it would catch on soaked clothes and send violent shocks through you. It was bone being held together by your gear. It was your spine.

"Simon..." Your voice was weak but you whispered his name, his real name over and over. He wasn't your reaper.

"Simon..." Cholena whined, nuzzling into his hoodie as she was set down on the big comfy bed, "don't go"

"I'm not going anywhere, angel... Never"

#finally done!!!!!#im so excited for this and to make this character #hope you love it!#my writing #Cholena Raven Belanger #oc #orginal character #simon ghost riley #cod #call of duty #x reader #x you #imagine #cod fandom #fanfic

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