#but whatever. most people don’t care either way
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I’ve decided that from here forward I’m writing Tommy and Buck/Evan as long term canon. In the words of Buck himself “Who cares?!”
I get the feeling that Tommy is difficult to get really angry. Mostly based on his past. And his general roll with the punches attitude thus far. So I don’t foresee a lot of strife or fighting in his future with Buck. Except the first time Tommy experiences the after of that big marshmallow Evan Buckley doing something really dangerous and reckless..again.
And Tommy who never gets angry, who never shouts at Buck, who flew a helicopter into a goddamn hurricane in the middle of the ocean, really loses his shit this time because Buck cannot understand why Tommy is so upset that he dropped into a dangerous situation against orders AGAIN.
Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from shouting “Bobby told you not to go in. He told you not to risk it. That the floors were too unstable”
“There could have been someone left” Buck replies “Someone needed to check. It had to be me”
“Why? Because you’re fucking super human? The great Buck Buckley from the 118 who scoffs at danger, has survived a tsunami, getting trapped beneath a fire truck, throwing a blood clot, and was officially dead for three minutes after getting struck by FUCKING LIGHTNING!”
“How do you know about all of that?”
“That isn’t what matters”
“I think it is” Buck takes a step toward Tommy “Have you been stalking me babe?”
Noticing the mischievous smile Tommy shakes his head “Oh no no no. You are not going to adorable your way out of this”
Bucks shoulders sag and he sighs “I’m ok Tommy. Not even a scratch”
“I can see that” Tommy lets out a deep exhale “I understand the risks of the job. I’m not like your exes who would get all distraught over you removing a cat from a tree. But for fucks sake, you are worse than the EOD guys when I was in Afghanistan with the walking - or in your case running or jumping- right into the worst case scenario with no thought of your own safety” Rubbing his forehead he continues “Evan. You’ve got a savior complex and it’s noble and selfless..”
Buck cuts him off “It’s not a savior complex. I’m not stupid. I understand that sometimes no matter what you do you can’t save them. But sometimes maybe you can, and in those cases, I just make the most sense”
Tommy crosses his arms to keep from strangling him or kissing him stupid again to shut him up “How is that? How does you possibly dying make any sense?”
“They all have people that need them. They all have someone they belong to and..” he trails off with a small shrug
And Tommy hears the words he doesn’t say. He is…expendable. And just like that all of the anger drains out of Tommy to be replaced by a something else. “Evan” he says softly.
“I know” Buck interjects “I know that people love me and they would be sad, especially Maddie. And I don’t want to die. But I don’t want someone who has someone they need, and that needs them, to die either. I couldn’t live with that”
Tommy closes his eyes. This man..How can he be so adorable and selfless, yet so completely stubborn and a pain in the ass about his own safety?
Once he calms his thoughts and finds the words he wants to say, he opens his eyes to see Evan looking at him calmly. Like he expects Tommy to see the sense in what he said.
“Evan. I know we haven’t really put a label on this. On us. But that’s because I don’t want to pressure you. I’m the first man you’ve been with and you’re still figuring out who you are, and I understand that. But let me clarify something for you. I need you to come back to me. Ok?”
Buck blinks “Huh”
“I need you to come back to me” he repeats “Like Bobby needs Athena, and Karen needs Hen, and yes like Maddie needs Chimney.
“And Jee-un. Jee-yun needs her dad”
“Yes, and in that same vein, Christopher needs Eddie” he agrees, trying not to give in to his exasperation. “I need you. I am that person who needs you to come home Evan”
Evan stops whatever he was about to say. Startled awareness creeping into his eyes..Tommy sees a mix of emotions flit across his face. Surprise, joy, fear, everything just races across that expressive face and then Evan sinks onto the barstool at his kitchen island. His hands coming up to cover his face.
Tommy’s stomach clench’s. He pushed too hard, too soon “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I do care and want you to come home but..”
Buck looks up at him “Don’t you dare take that back”
“I’m not taking it back. I just don’t want to push you”
Something else crosses Evans face at that..but he tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. “You aren’t pushing. You aren’t pressuring me. I am in this just as much as you. I just don’t know how to say what I want to say without it sounding lame and emo as shit”
“Did you just hear me? You can say anything to me Evan. Whatever it is”
Buck rolls his bottom lip between his teeth again. “I’ve never questioned why I do this…I mean it’s the whole reason I was born. To save my brother. To save Daniel. That’s what I do, that’s who I am. It’s why I became a firefighter. To be the one who saves people. The 118 is my family. And I would do anything to protect them from harm”
“I’m not asking you to stop. I would never ask that. I just want to remind you that you matter to a lot of people, and you also have someone who is waiting for you”
Bucks voice is thick “I know that. I get that. But…Nobody has ever. I have never belonged to anyone, like that”
In a sense of deja vu Tommy closes the short distance to Buck. Tipping his face up, he kisses him. Not soft and gentle like their first kiss in this kitchen. But bold and deep. Branding Evan with his mouth. Pulling back he says fiercely “You belong to me like that. For as long as you want..you belong to me and I belong to you, like that”
“I will ALWAYS need you to come back to me Evan”
#yes I called him both Evan and Buck#it makes situational sense in my head canon#yes this idea was part of my 3k word barf#but I’m breaking it up into bits#911 abc#evan buckley#tommy kinard#buck x tommy#evan x tommy#911 spoilers#bucktommy#kinley#this ship will be canon goddamn it#wrote this on my phone
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God, I’m so fucking tired of romance.
Like seriously! It’s everywhere! And where it’s not? People try to say it is! Like is that all you alloromantics think about? Is it that great that most people, consciously or not, believe they need it to be happy? Is it addictive or something? Why does it belong everywhere? Why is it that the moment there’s any sort of aromantic rep, people are trying to prove that they’re not aromantic? Why is it that, if I explain my ideal relationship to an alloromantic person, they’ll probably just tell me it’s actually romance? Why is my sexuality considered nothing when half of the romantic bullshit out in the world literally has no substance?
Why am I considered less? Because aromantic people are. We’re considered less queer, less lgbt, even by people who aren’t exclusionists. Not only that, but aromantic, along with asexual, is considered to just be a modifier: this is a straight person who doesn’t want sex (never mind that isn’t what asexual means), this is a bi person who isn’t interested in a romantic relationship (again, not what aromantic means), this is a non-binary person, their sexuality is nothing!
Did you know that there’s literally no scientific studies on aromanticism? Did you know that conversion therapy for us is very much still legal in almost every single country? Do you know what it’s like to learn your identity in a community who’s modo is “love is love!” to find out you can’t fall in love? Do you know how fucking dismissive it is when people say “oh, but there’s platonic love! There’s other types! Just because you’re aromantic doesn’t mean you can’t feel love!” when someone so much as comments on aphobia in a post very much directed towards romantic attraction? Not to mention how fucking cruel it is to look at aromanticism like that. Like it’s unfortunate. And how saying we can still feel other types of love isn’t even true to all aromantics.
The first time I heard of asexuality and aromanticism was in an exclusionist’s post. I was on Instagram, which is a fucking cesspool, but I was also 13, so I didn’t know. And you know what happened? I believed it. For the next three years, I believed it! And all I can think, as I look at some of you, is that if exclusionist didn’t include trans people and weren’t terfs, you’d be silently agreeing with them. That you are agreeing with them when it comes to the aspec community. Because I’ve gone down the exclusionist pipeline before, and you guys? Some of you are already in.
#lol it’s 4 am and I’m tired but. idk. i just read something that set me off#it was my own fault. I knew it’d be about romance. but.#but I don’t know. i guess I’m just tired of expecting aphobic comments every time I read anything romance related#what does it matter? most the people who read this will also be aspec. the ones that aren’t are mostly already good allies.#and the rest can go fuck themselves I don’t have the energy for them#I’m tired. so tired. in a way that’ll never go away. or more accurately wont go away until I don’t have to see romance everywhere#and this isn’t abt seeing couples in public or seeing gay ppl talk abt their romantic relationships. it’s really not.#it’s about how if a show had a canonical qpr so many people would see them as a romantic couple. act like they can’t be anything but#it’s about how the few times I’ve posted abt aro hcs ppl have gotten mad at me#it’s about how romance is referred to as something more. fuck y’all for that one. seriously. y’all suck#and yeah it’s been worse and it’s getting better but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m tired#a better future doesnt erase a worse past#but whatever. most people don’t care either way#aro#aromantic#arospec#asexual#aroace#oh yeah the aroace nonbinary person is me and that actually happened ❤️#queer#lgbtqai#aphobia tw#ace#aspec#acespec#happy pride. I’m going to sleep
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ppl clearly just hate veganism because the idea that something you’ve done since you were born is bad is uncomfortable
like no vegans are not more likely to be eco fascists whst the hell are you talking about
like i can see the reasoning but it doesn’t make it true
yes there’s vegan fascists just like there’s fascists who will follow basically any philosophy you can find
you just have a problem specifically with veganism because it makes you uncomfortable
#vegan stuff#yes gathered some genuine worries some people have about veganism but like vegans know about em#if you’re worried about what vegans are saying about ppl who can’t only eat plants to live you can just ask vegans#some of them will be assholes who don’t care but much more will understand and give you the actual answer that#we don’t want people to die either#vegans take medicine tahts most certainly made off the back of animal suffering in some way#but people need meds#people think of veganism as a plant based diet but it’s much more than that#you don’t even ‘need’ to be fully plant based if you can’t do it physically or financially or logistically or whatever#probably expressing myself bad but who cares it makes me mad
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ALRIGHT YALL I HAVE A REQUEST TO MAKE
As most of you know, my birthday is in 19 days and I wanna attempt to do something like the failure of a QnA that I did last year, except make it not a failure
Which brings me to my latest dumbass idea
I want you guys to make shitty fanfiction about me! You are free to do whatever the fuck you want, your only restriction is no nsfw. I am giving you the power to write whatever you want here, if you can think it you can make it
Once it’s done, post it literally anywhere
It could be here on Tumblr, over on ao3, you can make a terrible Wattpad fic, you could post it using the community tab on YouTube, just put it somewhere that I can read it for a video (with credit to everyone of course)
Y’all have till like, the 16th or something so if you wanna help out there’s your deadline
#random rambling with starly#of course nobody is obligated to do this#writing is hard#and since back to school is happening in most places right now people don’t have as much free time#so I won’t blame you if you can’t get anything done#but either way whether you can or can’t I will greatly appreciate you either way#btw this is mostly just me telling people write whatever the fuck you want and stop caring about other peoples opinions#but we’re birthdayifying it
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something i never see anyone talk about is how lonely autism can be. not because we don’t fit in or whatever, but because our love languages are so fundamentally different from the rest of the world.
i won’t always hear it when someone tells me they love me. i won’t always understand it when someone shares a kindness with me. sometimes it hurts to be touched. sometimes i interpret genuine care as mocking or insincere because i’ve been burnt so often, and i have no way of knowing otherwise.
when i spend time in my room engaging in interests i enjoy, but i leave the door open to let my friends come in and out and interrupt as they please, that’s love. when i send someone a long ramble about something i care about, that’s love. when i let someone hug me, that’s love. when i try a food even though it’s not a safe food, because my friend made it and is very proud of it, that’s love. when i take the time to tell you when i need space and that i’ll come back when im able, that’s love.
i don’t think people hear me when i tell them i love them. i don’t know if i can hear others when they say it either. i feel very alone most of the time, like there’s a glass barrier between me and the rest of the world. i can see them mouthing, i love you, i love you, but how can i believe them? they’re nowhere near me. no warmth and no life in it.
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i think one of the greatest disservices of my life is i never really had any older role models to look up to and who cared for me and had my best interest in mind
#i had a few good teachers or whatever but like#overall i’ve always clung to people older than me hoping for some sort of guidance or care#and they either fuck me over or break my heart or are awful to me#or worst of all just don’t give a fuck about me#and it’s really sad#i’ve always just wanted a good influence#i’ve always wanted something and someone to aspire to and talk to and see me#but it’s just never been there#and it’s a really tricky and problematic void to try and fill most of the time!#but it’s ok#sometimes i just wish i had like. an aunt or uncle#or an older sibling or a cousin#just fucking Someone anyone who i could talk to honestly and who would guide me and be real with me and be non judgemental about it all#but you know#life for me doesn’t work out in a way that’s good or anything
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Oscar Isaac Characters Eating You Out
Minors DNI
Featured Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Moon Knight System, Basil Stitt, Anselm Vogelweide, Blue Jones, Poe Dameron, Nathan Bateman, Duke Leto Atreides, Prince John, Santiago “Pope” Garcia x afab!reader (Pronouns and descriptions aren’t used for the reader)
CW: SMUT (did you look at the title?), pet names, slight size difference, fingering, face riding, mention of periods, slapping, toys, anal, dub-con, sub and dom roles, squirting, overstim/crying, untranslated Spanish, and possibly some other things (All are just brief mentions)
These are just some short, dumb little rambles/headcannons of mine, so it’s not written the best. Not proofread or heavily edited.
(Lmk if you want more in the future)
Miguel O’Hara - Across the Spiderverse
Miguel is a tired man, always overworking himself with the Spider Society. All because he’s extremely thorough, never leaving something to be completed at a later date. Because of this, it’s not often he gets the chance to destress.
So, when it comes time to pleasure, he’s just as thorough. Miguel makes sure you feel just as much pleasure as he does.
Of course, because of his lack of free time, Miguel doesn’t care where or when it happens, he’s eating you out.
You’re in his office? Bend over.
You’re on your period? I guess he’s not beating the vampire allegations.
Pick a time or a place, he’s there, willing to thoroughly please you in whatever way he can.
Miguel is on his knees with your legs over his shoulders. His claws gently pricking at the soft of your thighs as he holds you still.
If you squirm too much, he is glaring at you from overtop your heat, pinning you in place with one of his massive hands.
His tongue runs laps in your cunt, teasing your clit and slurping you up. He’s eating you like a starved man, letting out small growls every now and again.
Miguel will refuse to touch himself until you’ve climaxed multiple times. He has the stamina to keep going for hours, and this is just a warm up for him. Besides, he’d rather see either of your pretty lips wrapped around his length over his hand.
When you’re a trembling, sopping mess underneath him, he’ll finally stop. His lower face is shiny as he licks his lips and hungrily smirks at you.
“Don’t think this is over, mi amor. This is just the beginning…”
Marc Spector / Steven Grant / Jake Lockley - Moon Knight
Marc wants you to feel as much pleasure as possible, because while he denies it, a part of him is a people pleaser. He always puts his partners above himself, including during intimate moments.
Marc is experienced and he will take the time to know what you like. Marc practically memorizes your body and what gets you riled up. But if he has the choice, he has you on your knees as he eats you out from behind.
Marc has you bent over as his tongue hits that perfect spot, causing you to tremble and moan in pleasure.
He loves seeing you grasp the sheets as you bury your face in your pillow, to him it’s a sign of validation, evidence that he’s making you feel good.
His hands grab at your thighs and ass as he goes to town. If he feels you try to pull away, he’ll swat your rear until you stay still.
When his mouth starts to ache, Marc will pull up and insert his fingers instead. He’ll move them in the way that has your toes curling and has muffled screams coming from your pillow.
Of course though, he finishes the job with his mouth back on you, drinking up every ounce you give him. He’ll lick his lips clean and kiss your cunt in praise.
“You did so good for me, darling…”
Steven is the most insecure of the boys. He never had the chance to date before, so he’s always worried about making you feel good. He especially worries when he hears how Marc talks about your guys' time together. Steven wants to make you feel just as good.
But Steven isn’t as affirmative as Marc or Jake.
Steven will keep you on your back, his hands feeling his favorite parts of your body. He loves to caress you.
Steven likes to be thorough but also to go slow. He wants you to feel every little moment he makes.
His tongue hits the spots you love, but it’s methodical, careful.
Steven pleasures you as though you could fall apart if he were to be too rough. But if you grind your hips or grab his hair, he’ll go a bit faster.
He lets you have control, his goal is to make you feel good, so why wouldn’t he listen to you?
Despite being focused on you, Steven won’t hesitate to make himself feel good too. Whether it’s with his hand or just humping at the mattress in front of him.
He definitely gets pussy drunk, babbling as dines on you.
“So pretty… so pretty…”
Jake, on the other hand, prefers to be a bit risky.
As much as he loves private moments with you (like the other boys), the thrill of getting caught makes it more exciting for him.
He’ll absolutely eat you out in his car or in an empty alleyway. All because you dressed up pretty for him or gave him that perfect smile of yours.
Jake likes to be quick but efficient with you, at least in public.
Jake sinks to his knees and pushes you against the brick wall. His hand stays on your stomach, making sure you don’t scramble from his grasp.
He’d start slow, intentionally making you panic about getting caught, but as he gets quicker, you become a moaning mess above him.
Jake will smirk as he makes quick work of you, making you finish quicker than you thought possible.
“Tan perfecta/o, mi vida… tan perfecta/o para mí…”
All of them love you so much, so sometimes after a hard day, they’ll each take turns making you feel good.
Steven most likely starts, being that he’s the most gentle. He’s a good warm up and he’s good for calming down without actually stopping. But with the other guys there too, he definitely is being a bit more aggressive to keep up.
Marc and Jake will take their turns, teasing and riling you up. Just between those two alone, your position is constantly changing, there’s no chance you’re getting sore from being stuck in one place.
Each of the boys will make sure you feel good, prioritizing you above all else. They even monitor each other through the many mirrors littered throughout the apartment. They just want their darling to feel good <3
Each will take their time, only stopping when you’re an overstimulated, crying mess.
Soft kisses and cuddling definitely ensue afterwards.
“Our beautiful darling…”
Basil Stitt - Lightningface
Basil, the pathetic, desperate, possessive loner. He will do anything for your attention. He will follow your every order. You don’t even have to touch him, he’ll cum just from eating you out. He loves you that much.
Basil is aggressive as he eats you out, desperate to make you finish. Because if you finish, you’ll stay, despite his scars.
He moans and whimpers more than you do as you pull him deeper into your cunt. His hands grapple at every curve of your body, desperate to make sure you’re real, that you want him.
Why would anyone want a monster like him? Even his own girlfriend cheated on him before his accident happened.
As he tastes you, he desperately chases your climax.
He needs you to feel good. He needs you.
When your legs tense around his head and you start praising him, he starts crying and finishes as well, his seed staining the floor below him.
His head falls against your inner thigh as his tears fall fast. He grabs at you harshly, his fear causing his chest to ache.
“Imsosorry… staywithmeplease…”
Anselm Vogelweide - Big Gold Brick
Anselm is a weirdo, a big horny weirdo, let’s get that out of the way.
Anselm will touch you and do whatever he wants whenever he wants. This kinky switch of a man will eat you out in any way possible, and it’s never simple.
Per his request, he lies tied up with you over him. His arms are completely restrained as he lets you control the situation.
Your glittering heat flutters as he blows on you, smirking at every little reaction you have. He loves your noises, especially when you’re loud.
Eventually you sit on his face, and groaning happily, he licks up into you.
Your hips rock back and forth on his face, his nose hitting your throbbing clit harshly. You’re breathing heavily as Anselm eats you up, his beard scratching the back of your legs as your hips move.
Despite being such an odd man, he absolutely knows what he’s doing, like— he’s extremely talented with his tongue alone. With every squirm and noise you make, he’s watching you like a hawk.
Your high builds and comes crashing down quickly. But when you start to move off, he harshly demands you get back.
“We aren’t done yet, doll. If you don’t get back on, I’ll kill myself.”
Blue Jones - Sucker Punch
Blue doesn’t eat you out for your pleasure, no- it’s to prove a point.
He owns you, just like he owns all the people working for his club. And because he owns you, he has to make sure you know how good only he can make you.
You were in the dressing room when he approached you, his eyes hungrily scanning your body.
Whether out of fear or attraction, you do everything he asks. So when he asks you to strip bare, you do exactly that.
With his head between your thighs, it’s hard to remember that this man could kill you without a second thought. He’s just too talented with his tongue.
Running a club has its perks, including having lots of practice in making others feel good. With all this practice, this man will do anything to make you squirt. He sees it as a sign of victory, that his toy likes him the best.
Your back is arching as Blue hits your sweet spot. Your hips lightly hump his face and nose, chasing your high. His hands grip your legs, letting you ride his face more and more.
You squirt all over his face, causing him to hum in approval.
When you finish, he licks a stripe through your arousal. Blue’s eyes meet yours.
“Bunny, do you act like such a desperate whore with all the clients?”
Poe Dameron - Star Wars
Lover of the sky, Poe is known for being quite flirty. With the constant travel, Poe has had his share of hookups and romantic partners.
Which is why, of course, Poe would do anything to make you feel as much pleasure as possible.
He’s cocky, sure, but when he brags about how loud he makes you scream, you know it’s the truth.
After a long day of travel, Poe is clinging to your cunt.
As his tongue runs laps through your folds, you tightly grip at his curls.
He’s already made you finish at least twice, and he’s desperate for another.
Your cunt is trembling from overstimulation, broken moans escaping your lips as you lazily try to pull him away.
With every faint tug of his hair, he pulls your body closer towards his mouth, not letting you escape.
His tongue circles your clit like a dehydrated man, wanting you to release and give every drop of yourself to him again and again.
When Poe gets you to release over his tongue once more, he doesn’t back off, speaking as he licks every drop.
“Just one more… Can you handle one more for me, baby?”
Nathan Bateman - Ex Machina
Nathan doesn’t eat you out normally, he much prefers using his fingers if he has to.
This man prefers making himself feel good above all else, he only tolerates making you feel good. Which is why he always makes you finish quickly or sometimes not at all, moving on to make sure he can get his pleasure from this exchange.
The only time he has eaten you out was when he walked in on you having a wet dream, mumbling his name as your legs spread under the blankets.
You wake up moaning loudly, Nathan tucked between your thighs, mouth to your aching core.
As he hits your sweet spot, you instinctively grab his head. His buzzed hair provides nothing to grip to as your hips sleepily grinds his face.
Everything feels extra sensitive and good, the lack of previous priority making you extra needy.
His beard provides a scratchy and satisfying feeling as his tongue laps up your soaked folds.
He doesn’t even acknowledge that you’ve awoken, now on a mission to make you finish on his mouth.
His hands grope at your waist and ass, gripping at all the soft flesh he can.
When you finish with trembling legs, he lifts his head, his beard glistening in your juices. His hand palms over his cock as he sits on his knees and stares down at you.
“Get up. It’s my turn.”
Duke Leto Atreides - Dune
Leto is a very busy man, but he does worship you when he gets the chance.
Constantly being needed by everyone, it feels nice to relax and give himself to the one person he wants to: you.
Sure, sometimes you’re under the table servicing him, but it’s not often he gets the chance to do the same for you.
He’s on his knees, worshiping your pussy like it is a divine god. Leto is praying to you with his tongue.
Leto is so focused on you, he can’t even acknowledge his own pleasure before he knows you’ve had some release.
He has to give his baby some extra care while he has the chance <3
His hands touch every inch that he can, worshiping all of you that he can.
Leto’s nose bumps your clit as he watches you like prey, he just loves your blissed out expression.
When you two make eye contact, he makes his assault that much more pleasurable. Whether that’s adding in his fingers or reaching deep into you with his tongue. Man loves his eye contact.
When you climax, he’s smiling and peppering kisses over your inner thighs.
“I still have time, shall we go for another?”
Prince John - Robin Hood (2010)
John is a man of pleasure, and he will devour you as long as he gets some in return. Just… never mention your ex or past relationships, he gets jealous.
He loves different positions and experimenting with you, as long as you’re both having fun or a good time, then he’s more than happy.
John, the whiny man, is begging into your cunt as you two eat each other up.
Your mouth is wrapped around his length as he laps up your warmth.
With each stroke of your tongue, he moves his in tandem. Every moan you gain from him, wonderfully rumbles your pussy.
His hands grasp and pull your ass cheeks, kneading the soft flesh.
John eats you like a starved man, because despite his regal status, you are by far the best meal he’s eaten.
At least that’s what he’d be saying if it weren’t the end to your guys night of pleasure, and John didn’t need an heir.
He probably isn’t the most thrilled to be eating his and your cum out of your pussy, but it's you, so he can’t complain.
Together, you finish and clean each other of every last drop, leaving both of you exhausted.
John pats his shoulder.
“Come, rest your head.”
Santiago “Pope” Garcia - Triple Frontier
Santiago loves to tease you. No matter the situation or place, he will edge you until you’re crying.
He likes seeing you as a whimpering mess, begging for some relief.
You were just on the cusp of finishing when Santiago pulled away, watching as you begged him to let you cum.
He’d chuckle and hold your hands hostage, not letting you get the chance to finish what he started.
As you start to come down from your high, he’d go back in, licking and eating your cunt out.
As you squirm, chasing your release, he’d cage your legs in place with his arms and hands. You’re not allowed to escape him or his constant teasing.
When he finally lets you finish, you’re a trembling mess, your hole clutching at his tongue as he eats every last drop.
“You’re so cute like this… maybe I should go again?”
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Thanks for reading!
Lmk if you want me to add more of his characters or do a different set of characters (like Genshin men for ex.)
#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#moon knight x reader#moon knight smut#moon knight x you#basil stitt smut#basil stitt x reader#anselm vogelweide smut#anselm vogelweide x reader#blue jones smut#blue jones x reader#blue jones x you#poe dameron smut#poe dameron x reader#poe dameron x you#nathan bateman smut#nathan bateman x reader#nathan bateman x you#duke leto atreides smut#duke leto atreides x reader#duke leto atreides x you#prince john x reader#prince john smut#santiago garcia smut#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia x you#oscar isaac characters#smut
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so I’ve been gaining a lot of insight into the animation industry recently, especially in regards to pitching & the creation of new shows. There’s a few ways to go about it.
First, there’s pitching to a studio. When you pitch, it has to be SHORT and CONCISE. You may write a lovingly detailed pitch bible that perfectly breaks down episodes and characterizations, and it might barely even get read. First impressions, first impressions, first impressions!
Most peoples’ first projects don’t get picked up. I’ve heard a few stories from directors that said they tried pitching a story they’d had for years, which got rejected, to then spend a week or even several hours in their car coming up with a new idea, only for that to get greenlit.
But that’s not the end of it. Just because a show gets greenlit, doesn’t mean it will ever get finished. There’s lots of things that can happen. Sometimes, unexpected major world events (like… a global pandemic) can cause projects to get chopped. Sometimes, a CEO change or studio merge means a single person can decide a project “no longer fits with the company’s brand.” Sometimes, the one producer that was rooting for your project gets laid off, and no one else cares enough, so it gets shelved. Sometimes, a streaming service decides to create an animation department, and then they decide they don’t want it anymore. Sometimes, the studio will be simultaneously be developing another project that was too similar to yours and they just didn’t think to tell you until they decide yours is the one with less potential.
On top of that, almost everyone in the industry is saying that “studios just don’t pick up original content anymore.” Studios want something they can franchise, something that will bring in money. New content is risky. Established fanbases are safer.
However! Studios can still be a very good thing. They can be unionized. They can provide better benefits and resources. They can have connections and infrastructure and a larger volume of workers. At a studio, you can divide the labor and produce more in less time. Longer episodes, longer seasons, more consistency in quality.
But this comes with all of the disadvantages of having more in the kitchen.
The alternative is indie animation.
With indie animation, you have total freedom. Full artistic control. It doesn’t even matter if your idea sucks ass, because there’s no one to tell you you can’t make it. You could make it anyway, and you can make it whatever you wanted.
The thing is, making animation is hard. In my production class last semester, the average maximum animation one person could make in that timeframe was 30-60 seconds, and that’s not even counting background design, sound design, or cleanup/color. To make a 5 minute animated short, you should probably have at least 5 people.
And it is CRUCIAL you have a production manager. Ideally someone who’s not already doing art for the project. Most projects without a production manager will fall apart pretty quickly. Once the adrenaline and impulse-fueled motivation wears off, you need someone to hold you accountable and enforce deadlines and proper time management.
Speaking of time, that’s also hard to get. The more people you have, the more likely schedules won’t line up. Most people will have school, or other jobs.
And it costs MONEY!!!!!! You either have everyone work for free and volunteer their time & energy, or you establish a business as a proper indie studio, with people who may or may not have experience on how to handle paying someone else’s salary. And the money has to come from somewhere, so you have to rely on crowdfunding like patreon or kickstarter. (This, by the way, is why I could never fault an indie animation for releasing merch with their pilot.)
And like, maybe you wanna do a series, and all your friends agree to volunteer their labor and time to make the first episode, but it was unanimously not sustainable. Deciding not to produce a second episode until you can raise enough money is not being suddenly greedy, it’s attempting to compensate people rather than expecting them to be continuously taken advantage of.
You have to consider your output as well. There are some outliers like Worthikids, who afaik does all his animation himself, and afaik can work on it full-time thanks to his patreon subscribers. And he still has only produced a total of 30 minutes of animation (for Big Top Burger specifically) in the past 4 years. This is an IMPRESSIVE feat and this is with using a lot of 3D as part of his pipeline!!
Indie animation also has the complication of being more accessible for fandoms. When you’re posting your Official Canon Content on youtube, it doesn’t look a lot different than the fandom-created video essay in the sidebar next to it. What’s canon vs what’s fanon becomes less distinguishable. The boundaries are blurrier. When the creator is just some guy you follow on twitter, it’s easier to prod them for info regarding ships and theories and word-of-god confirmation. They don’t have a PR team or entire international tv networks to appeal to. And this is when creators get frustrated that their fans snowball and turn their creation into something they don’t recognize (and no longer enjoy) anymore.
So it’s tricky.
Thankfully, the threshold to learn animation is fairly low nowadays!! There are TONS of resources online to learn it on your own without forking over a couple hundred thousand to a private art college. There are conventions and discord servers and events where you can network, if you know where to look.
I know it can seem discouraging in the face of capitalism, but I think that’s all the more reason why it’s so important to BE DETERMINED about animation!! We’re already starting to see the beginning of an indie animation boom, and I think it’s a testament to humanity’s desire to tell stories and create art. Even if there’s no financial gain, we do whatever it takes to tell our stories anyway.
#animation#2d animation#indie animation#long post#not 100% sure why I made this post#all this to say: I’m still not sure what direction I want to go towards for my own show#ngl!! i think im confident i could get people to like my show. i think I could find an audience#i have some experience at this point getting people to like my ocs#its just a matter of MAKING the damn thing
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until I come back alive
summary. in which you come back injured from a particularly unlucky battle, and Astarion realizes his feigned affections for you are not feigned at all.
warnings. angst, fluff, Astarion being bad at feelings
pairing. Astarion x GN!reader
a/n. this is super long omg ALSO TYSM for the love on my previous fic! It was my first post so I didn’t realize more than like two ppl would see it!! Kind of scary but also I can write more astarion so oh well 🙏
“The way they look at you is different from the way they look at us.”
Astarion raises a brow at this, glancing at Karlach who adjusts a log in the campfire paying no heed to the flickering flames brushing against her skin. She smiles to herself, genuinely, and he questions if she’s finally gone mad.
“So have you said the big ‘L’ word yet?” she asks excitedly, turning to him with a big grin. He shifts away from her, the increasing heat radiating off her body but she doesn’t seem to care, too busy staring at him expectantly.
“The what?”
“You know! The ‘L’ word,” she says the last part in a hushed whisper, as if it’d be a sin for anyone else to hear. Occasionally it baffles him how childish she can be, though he’d never voice these concerns out loud considering she could snap his poor body in half if she really wanted.
He also knows that she’s more emotionally capable in how she approaches these relationships (though one could argue it’s just innocence)—in ways he’s lost over the past 200 years. Though, he makes an effort to shove these thoughts to the deepest corners of his brain for the sake of his own sanity.
“If you’re speaking of ‘love,’” He emphasizes it with a strange accent. “No. I have not. Nor have they.”
She appears puzzled. “Why not?”
He sighs irritably, bringing a hand to adjust the cuffs on his hand. “Must everything be put bluntly? So glaringly obvious?”
“You love each other, don’t you?”
At this, he falters, just the slightest before plastering his usual grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love is a wide spectrum, dear. Tav and I are whatever they want us to be.”
A late night partner would be the most positive thing he could refer you to. A fling, an amusement, or whatever words people described the arrangement between the two of you as, he didn’t care for it. He’d given himself to you, and you to him—-physically, at least, and you’d seem more than content with it. In return, he received protection, which was a sufficient payment in return for his hushed words of affection and kisses. A fair trade, he deemed.
Sure, he could’ve chosen anyone else in the camp. But he’d seen the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, surely dazed at his flirtatious tendencies. You’d been an easy target. A survival tool.
And yes, maybe he’d played with your innocent feelings, but could you really blame him? He’d given you the nights of your life, for something so simple in return. It was a transaction.
Karlach waves a dismissive hand which brings him back to the present, propping herself on her arm behind her. “Life’s too short for that bullshit. Either you love someone or you don’t.”
“Fortunately for me, I have all of eternity,” he snorts. “Unless I were to suddenly lose the unwanted visitor inside my head and step into the sunlight, I’ll be here to watch the world fall and rise a dozen times over I’m afraid.”
“But they don’t,” Karlach frowns. “Tav doesn’t have eternity.”
He ignores the way his jaw clenches. He’s afraid, he thinks, of losing the freedom he’s just gained.
“Did you call me?”
Both the vampire and tiefling turn to your voice, where you stand blankly with an armful of logs clutched to your waist. Karlach opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion is faster.
“Nothing, darling. Just answering a few curious questions from Karlach here.”
“Oh,” you blink at him, shrugging before setting the logs beside the fireplace. “Well, Gale, Shadowheart, and I are going to the village across the forest tomorrow morning to check on the goblins appearing there recently. Won’t be back till noon so don’t wait up.”
“Don’t worry,” Karlach laughs. “I’ll keep the camp in order while you’re gone. If Astarion tries to bite Lae’zel, though, his fate’s inevitable.”
He rolls his eyes, opting to stand from his spot and take your hand. “Come along, darling. Any longer near this damned fireplace and my skin may melt.”
You nod with a smile, waving at Karlach before you follow him into his tent without a word of protest.
Easy, he thinks. Too easy.
He soon finds himself staring up at you from his place, laying his head on your lap as you read through a few scrolls you found throughout the day. He clicks his tongue and you look down, offering that sickeningly sweet smile again. “What’s wrong?”
“You have the most handsome person in this camp on your bloody lap and you want to read?”
You snicker at this, setting the scroll down beside you. “What do you suggest I do? Worship the very eyelashes on your face?”
“My body deserves much more praise than just the eyelashes.”
“Hm…” you pretend to be in thought. “That mole on your face is very obvious too.”
He gasps, immediately shooting upward as he grabs at his own face. “Tell me you’re lying.”
Your laughter rings throughout the tent, airy as you pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding, mostly.”
He stares at you as you recollect yourself, finding himself gazing at you far longer than he’d like to admit. Quickly, he adjusts, fiddling with the hand mirror he always keeps under his pillow as he watches you through it. “Karlach spoke of something ridiculous today. She said you were in love with me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” he rolls his eyes. “That woman lives in a fairy tale I tell you. How she went through 10 years in Avernus is beyond me.”
There’s slight hesitance in your voice, and if he’d not learned your body language early on in your arrangement, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Astarion, have you ever been in love?”
He pauses at this, meeting your eyes head on now. There’s a heavier thickness in the air between the short distance between the two of you, and he immediately gauges what you want him to say. A lie readies itself at the tip of his tongue, his gaze searching yours for whatever fantasy that lives behind them.
Instead, your expression is blank. He finds nothing.
“No.” He’s not sure why he responded honestly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Have you?”
You look to the side. “I’m not sure anymore.”
“Anymore?” He shifts his head when you turn your chin further away, avoiding confrontation. “Has someone captured your impenetrable heart as of late? How intriguing—do tell.”
His teasing tone drops when you don’t smile at his usual antics. He’s not stupid—far from it. He knows you’ve begun to fall for him. It’s an obvious result from the 200 years of instinctive flirting he has tucked away in what remains of his soul, and it’s what he intended. What he needed.
The more enraptured you are, the longer he has protection.
He gently tilts your chin toward him, his fang visible through the grin that stretches across his face. “Tell me, pet, do you love me?”
Your eyes drop to his lips. “Do you want me to?”
A bunny caught in the fangs of a fox. It would be so easy to indulge—to go as far as to make you nothing but a puppet he toys with for his own personal gains. He can sense the way your finger twitches, itching to lace them with his own, and the crueler side of him forces his hand to stay put.
He wordlessly leans toward you, his lips grazing against the side of your neck. You shiver at the touch and he smiles wickedly to himself, drinking in the gasp that escapes you when he tilts your neck to the other side, where he usually drinks.
He doesn’t even have to ask. “Just—be gentle. Please.”
“Of course.” He unhinges his jaw, ready to plunge the knives of his teeth into where the sweet liquid gold rushes to your face, his shoulders finally relaxing when—
“I love you,” you whisper under your breath.
He stops.
Though unsure why, he freezes. Completely and utterly freezes.
“Astarion?”
He pulls away slowly, staring at you for a long moment before offering another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You look exhausted, my dear. I think that’s enough for tonight.”
“But you didn’t even feed?”
“I can handle myself, darling, as much as I appreciate your worries,” he stands and holds the flap of the tent open, practically a silent demand for you to leave.
He should be ecstatic. Gleaming with joy from being offered a drop of your blood, but instead, he feels knots forming in his stomach. And the longer he watches you, the worst they seem the get.
Hurt flashes across your face and he ignores the sudden tightness in his chest.
“Okay, well,” you say, stepping out hesitantly. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, my dear.”
And as he lies wide awake in the middle of the night with nothing to accompany him but his own thoughts, he finds that all of them are overruled by his endless need for warmth. Not just anyone’s but the one he’s become accustomed to the past few months. No matter how much he curls up in his bedroll, all he can feel is the chill of his own body.
And he hates it more than he expected.
——
By the time he awakens, you’re long gone.
He’s rather productive. Taking walks, gathering supplies, catching up on his reading, he refuses to sit and lie around as the others await for you and your companions to return from the goblin village.
He even entertains sitting through one of Karlach’s dances, which somehow ends up being more entertaining than he’d imagined. While she didn’t fall flat on her face (which he admittedly looked forward to), it burnt through time regardless.
The peace is broken when he hears footsteps rushing toward the camp. He’s memorized everyone’s intervals when sprinting or pacing, so he’s quick to identify Gale and Shadowheart. He listens keenly for your own footsteps.
There are no third pair of footsteps at all.
Shadowheart stumbles into the camp, in a panic compared to her usual self, as she points toward a spot on the ground and snaps at Gale to put something down.
He only sees when she moves out of the way that this something, is rather someone.
You’re writhing in pain, eyes shut in an unconsciousness that’s surely preferable to what you’re feeling. You’re sweating, groaning in your sleep and everyone is immediately rushing to you.
His face would’ve gone pale, if it weren’t for the fact that he was already as ghostly as a sheet.
“What happened,” Lae’zel demands in place of him, and he opts to mindlessly push Gale to the side, who doesn’t say a word from the expression on Astarion’s face. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but from Gale’s reaction, it’s better he never know.
“Damned poison arrows,” Shadowheart hisses. “I’m completely out of magic for today. I need to make an antidote by hand before their condition gets any worse than it already is.”
Astarion brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek. The creases between your brows soften for the slightest moment before they’re back again.
Lae’zel and Shadowheart are arguing again—something about how one thing would’ve happened if another thing hadn’t. He’s not even sure what they’re arguing about, but in an instant, rage flickers in his chest.
“Do something!” He snaps, suddenly making the camp go quiet. “Or are you just going to stand there and watch them die?”
He suddenly feels a hand grab his, and his eyes shoot down to see your own. Even in your sleep, you reach out to him. Even in the deepest part of slumber, you search for him. It makes him feel like the shittiest and luckiest person alive, especially as the your hurt expression from last night flashes in his mind.
“Help them,” the words spill out against his will, his tone breaking down into something more desperate. “Do something. For God’s sake, anything.”
In the moment, he doesn’t care about protection. He doesn’t give a shit about any of that because the second he’d seen you in genuine pain, it was all he needed to completely forget about the stupid reasons why he approached you in the first place.
All he cared about was your life.
Everyone glances at one another knowingly, but even Lae’zel doesn’t break the silence. Shadowheart spares him a furrowed glare before rushing to gather the antidote.
You only awake hours later. Certainly during the middle of the night, to the ceiling of a tent that’s certainly not your own. You slowly urge yourself to sit up, a pounding headache ringing in your skull, but your worries about it vanish when you hear his voice.
“Quite the nap, darling.”
You snap around to see him on the other side of the tent, albeit only a few feet away from how crunched it is. Fascinating, he thinks, that even with your disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he finds you more beautiful than before. “What happened?”
“You nearly died.”
“…how?”
“Poison,” he’s fiddling with his dagger, refusing to look at you. He can’t. In fear of what he might say. “Caused a reasonable panic too. Seems like our companions have grown more attached to you than anyone’s expected.”
You purse your lips, and he quickly mortifies at the exceeding need to part them with his own. You don’t seem to notice. “You too?”
“I was certainly worried our esteemed leader may kick the bucket earlier than anticipated, yes.”
“No, I mean,” you scrunch your eyes sheepishly, and he thinks it’s adorable. Gods he must be going insane. “Have you…grown attached?”
He raises a brow. “You just woke up from a life threatening experience and that’s what piques your interest?”
Your cheeks turn a shade darker. He wants to touch them. “I just…I was worried all day. About us. I got too distracted and of course, that’s on me, but one of the goblins took advantage and—“
He wants to climb into a coffin, guilt eating away at what remains of his organs. But when you fidget with the ends of his bedroll blanket, he can’t tell if his stomach is churning from shame or something else.
You stop, close your mouth, then open it again. “When I passed out, I was just thinking about how I would hate for us to part like that. I didn’t want last night to be our last moment.”
“No,” he says firmly. “While you’d been asleep, I’ve had quite some time to think, darling. And more time to wallow in my self pity for being stuck with an actual weirdo. I mean, do you hear yourself? Worrying about such a stupid encounter while on your deathbed? You should’ve been cursing me with all the strength you had left if you were going to think about me of all people!”
You smile a bit, and he grits his teeth at the way his throat goes dry. “I’m just glad.”
“For getting poisoned?”
“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off by telling you I loved you. I was afraid we wouldn’t talk like this anymore.”
His body wills him to freeze up again. To push you away, and to force the fantasy that his feelings towards you were nothing but manipulative. That you were nothing but a way to survive to him. But no, he couldn’t stand such cowardice any longer. Not after nearly losing you.
You offer him a pathetic laugh. “I don’t expect you to say it back, nor for you to feel the same way. I just—felt like you needed to know. It doesn’t change anything between us I hope. It just felt wrong to keep it to myself any longer and the way you reacted just made me regret it so much-“
He wraps his palm in front of your mouth, his other hand pulling you closer to his side in an instant. With your faces inches apart, he sighs irritably. “As much as I’d like to keep hearing your voice, I can’t stand its contents any longer I’m afraid.”
He lowers his hand, staring straight at your wide eyes as he narrows his own. “I do. Like you, I mean. A lot more than I’d like to admit, quite frankly.”
You blink as if you’re staring at a miracle.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles with a scoff. “I’ve had these feelings for a while now, I just didn’t wish to face them. When you said that to me yesterday, I just didn’t know how to respond, and for that, I am sorry. But losing you—I’m not sure what I would have done, but it’s certainly not a pretty sight.”
Your eyes soften and he’s certain he can lose himself within them for years. “I’ve never heard you sound so—sincere.”
He raises your knuckles to his lips, keeping them close even as he speaks. “I approached you out of necessity, I’ll admit. But it seems you’ve grown on me in a way I haven’t experienced since I’ve turned into a spawn. What you are to me—it’s difficult to describe.” He pauses. “Sometimes, I can still feel my heart beating with you.”
As your fingers brush against the side of his face, he swears he can feel it again. He almost feels warm, maybe even safe. And he’s sick and tired of denying himself of your embrace when death is around every corner.
You’re soon curled up into his chest, with his chin atop of your head. He’s not sure how much time passes—maybe hours, or even days as he continues to observe your face, committing each and every detail to his memory. And when your breathing steadies, falling into deep slumber, he finally has the courage to whisper the words against your hair.
“I love you.”
#astarion ancunin#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate astarion#bg3 astarion#light angst#angst with a happy ending#fluff#comfort#bg3 x reader#bg3 x tav#astarion
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Hi! Can I ask how the slashers would feel if they ever accidentally hurt their s/o? Gender and everything is up to you!
How slashers would react to Accidently hurting their S/O
Thank you so much for my first ever request ah! I hope you enjoy 💖
Requests are open!
Warning for blood/injury - mild sexual content/reference to sexual activity and power dynamics -unhealthy relationships (I think?)
Reader is gender neutral!
Bubba sawyer
Most likely happened via bubba playing to hard and Accidently pushing you over or squeezing you to hard. If it’s a case of them mistaking you for a victim and catching you with their chainsaw before stopping they’ll be even more in inconsolable.
Stops and stares for a minute to process what’s happened before devolving into full blown panic
She’ll drop whatever she’s doing to carry you back to the house, even if that means letting the victim escape and having Drayton yell at her.
Will hurriedly explain in rushed sign to either choptop or nubbins to go take care of the victim as he’s busy caring for you
Checks you over frantically. Please explain you’re going to be ok and help them calm down.
Once he knows you’re not in any danger he’ll feel absolutely awful about it and whine apologies to you even if you tell him it’s ok and it wasn’t their fault
Please comfort them once you feel better and reassure them.
Will insist you come up with a verbal and nonverbal sign to give if they’re Accidently messing around to hard.
Will make you agree to stay in the house out of the way when victims are around so you don’t Accidently get hurt again.
Thomas Hewitt
After another night of Hoyt berating him for things out of his control Tommy storms off to the basement to cool off. You follow him wanting to comfort him. You touch him despite him not liking physical touch without warning thinking it might help and he grabs your wrist a little to hard and you wince.
He snatches his hand back as soon as he realises what he’s done
Tommy will bring you to Luda may to have her check you over and assess the damage
Once he knows you’re safe he’ll confine himself to the basement for a few days, only coming out to eat but even then it’s tense
He’s truly sorry and feels like all those people who called him a monster and an animal were right, he hurt the one he cares about most after all
After a few days apart, a lot of hushed words of affirmation and kisses/nose bumps he’ll feel comfortable being with you again
You know to let him cool off by himself and come to you when he’s ready after a heated argument now.
Michale Myers
You jump out At Michael thinking it would be funny to catch the shape off guard for once and not the other way around. Unfortunately this backfires and he swings his knife at you, thinking it may be an intruder since you’ve never pulled something like this before. You manage to jolt out of the way but the knife still catches you in the shoulder. Thankfully it’s only superficial and will heal but it still looks like it needs medical attention.
Initially Michael looks at you unamused, granted it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling under the mask. He gives you a kind of “well If you weren’t being dumb this wouldn’t have happened” attitude. However this is a front for the actual panic he refuses to show on the surface.
Having a few cuts and scratches isn’t super uncommon when your with Michael considering his tastes involving knives in bed 😌
Usually hurting others comes naturally and without remorse to Michael and it shakes him that he’s actively worrying about your wellbeing.
It disturbs him that he actually cares about someone enough to feel remorse for his actions.
After unceremoniously pulling your shirt off and looking the wound over he makes you go to A&E
Since he’s basically an escaped criminal he can’t casually walk in the hospital with you, however he will stalk you the entire time, lurking not far behind to make sure you arrive and leave safely.
Although he usually has his guard up he vows to try be a little less bristly with you from now on if it means he doesn’t have to see you hurt and feel that awful tug of regret/worry in his chest.
Jason voorhees
You went out looking for Jason one night after he hadn’t returned to the cabin by his usual time. You were worried he’d been overpowered by a group of trespassers and didn’t have any way to communicate that to you since the woods is so vast.
Whilst looking for him you get your leg caught in a bear trap he had set for the trespassers. You howl in pain as you hear the sickening snap of your ankle between the traps jaws.
Jason was on his way back to the cabin when he heard this. Knowing that wasn’t a trespasser as he’d already cleared them out alarm bells went off in his head. He stormed to scene as fast as he could.
He could have sworn his undead heart stopped for the second time as he saw you sitting there in agony, murky blood seeping into the forest floor.
He rushes to your side and looks frantically between the trap and your teary face, he knows he’s going to have to disengage the traps and for you it’s going to be..not so pleasent.
He signs for you to grip onto his arm as he’s doing it. Since he’s already dead and regenerates he feels it’s the least he can do to let you grip his arm for dear life as he wrenches the trap from your shattered ankle. If you cause any damage to his arm (which is very unlikely) it will heal up in no time anyway.
Once he’s carried you back to the cabin he’ll be frantically following Pamela’s directions in his head for what to do and how to clean/ wrap it.
If the damage is extensive he’ll relent and let you go to the hospital, only if a trusted friend takes you though and he’ll be sitting by the window your shared cabin every minute until you return back to him.
Your no longer aloud to be out in the woods after dark alone it he’s set traps. You both carry whistles now so if he’s not home and you need to know he’s safe you can whistle to each other.
Billy Lenz
Interacting with Billy when he’s having an episode is never a good idea. You thought it would be ok to just he in the room though. As you enter Billy is in the midst of trashing his attic once again, the disgusting feelings bubbling in his chest to much to bear. You enter just as he’s thrown an old glass christmas ornament at the floor that the sorority had kept in storage in the attic. It shatters and flecks of glass scatter along the floor. One piece catching you in the hand in a nasty glass splinter. You swear under your breath and rush of to take care of it.
Billy doesn’t even realised what’s happened until you return to him after he’s exhausted himself. You bring him a sandwich and juice knowing he’ll need it after all the energy and tears he just used up.
As his hand touches yours whilst accepting the plate he noticed the bandage.
Billy essentially bristles up like an angry cat at the idea of someone hurting his piggy and demands to know who did it and what happened.
Once you tell him it was actually from the ornament he feels horrible. He doesn’t even remember it happening in the state he was in.
He snuggles into the crook of your neck and mumbles apologies into your skin.
Billy will place sloppy kisses over it as an apology until you forgive him. (Not exactly hygenic since it’s an open wound but i mean…you’re dating the attic rat)
Brahms Heelshire
When living with Brahms there isn’t usually much to injure yourself on considering the estate is fairly out of the way from the rest of the village. You most likely caught yourself on a pair of sheers. Brahms is being stubborn about you being out of the house and slings the sheers in your general direction from the door frame when you ask for them. You don’t even notice you caught your hand when catching them until you see a patch of blood on your gardening gloves about ten minutes later.
You come in to grab a tea towel to wrap your bleeding finger in, not really fazed as it’s only a small cut. Brahms was lurking from the window as you tended to the hedges, not wanting to be away from you but not yet brave enough to tempt leaving the house he’s been in all these years.
As soon as he sees it he’s panicking, it’s only a little cut and you’re not concerned but to Brahms you may as well have just came in with an arm missing. He’s instantly flittering around you asking if your ok and if your need a hospital.
You stifle your laugh at his over the top concern because you find it rather sweet, it’s not his fault he’s a little sheltered.
After cleaning the cut and bandaging it it’s totally fine. If anything Brahms needs more reassuring and coddling than you do to get him to settle.
He apologises a thousand times for his attitude because he knows If he hadn’t been stroppy about you leaving the house and passed the sheers nicely then you wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. He promises to try be more composed when he starts getting antsy.
He may need some ✨punishment✨ in order to encourage his behaviour change and to feel forgiven 👀
He begrudgingly lets you back outside to garden after about a week.
Asa Emory
If you’re the pet of Asa then it’s likely most of your injuries are purposefully given from him and are no mistake. You’re poked and prodded often at your place in the collection. Wounds from experiments and correctional punishments when you disobey or refuse to submit are not uncommon at all. So it doesn’t bother him since he inflicted them. This also assures he cleans them with clinical precision. If you were anyone else in his collection he would leave the wounds to fester and if you died from a complication then that was just inconvenient. Not you though, you’ve caught his attention and heart. He loves you in his own domineering way.
If the wound was created by him and an accident he would give himself a hard time.
For example if he had more trouble with law enforcement than he thought he would and that led to you to spending way more time in the trunk than you usually do. You develop a sore from sitting in one cramped position for so long.
Asa would realise your hurt once you’re let out of the trunk and hiss in pain as you stretch. He makes you show him where it is so he can inspect it.
Despite Asa’s stony face his stomach is actively sinking. He knows your hurt because of him and it want even on purpose. He sees this as fault in his care of his pet and a blow to his god complex due to making mistakes. Gods don’t make mistakes.
He’ll make sure to clean it for you and even stop putting you in the trunk for a while. This does still mean you’ll be attached to him via leash or chain connected to the ring sitting on his hips where he keeps his keys. Just because your hurt and his favourite doesn’t mean he will except anything less than your complete and total submission.
He’ll be more tender and soft handed with you than usual to a while after. Punishments will be withheld until you heal. Then it is back to normal as expected.
Predator/yautja
You were wearing a new perfume you’d picked up at the market. You were only supposed to be getting meats and maybe a new fur for the bed but once the alien at the stand had convinced you to sample it you fell in love with it.
Your mate picks up on an unknown scent entering the house and stalks towards it. As soon as they catch the heat signature they throw a wrist blade in warning.
Their eyes widen and they rush to the door as they smell your tangly blood hit the floor of your house on yautja prime.
The new perfume hid your familiar scent from them and made them believe the house was being intruded on. If their face could loose colour it would as they see the wrist blade sticking through your palm, groceries discarded at the door.
They start talking at you in rapid clicks before they realise you can’t understand. After making sure to keep the object in your hand so it doesn’t bleed more and that your not going to pass out they insist on carrying you their medic instead of finding a human one.
They argue that their medicine is far more advanced and will heal your wound much more efficiently then your “ primitive ooman medicine”
Thanks to yautja medicine being far more advanced the wound is stitched shut and you’re given some kind of injection. It will heal like nothing ever happened in around two weeks.
Your mate purrs and clicks for you deep from their chest the entire time you’re having the blade removed to try calm you.
They beg for forgiveness despite it being an accident and will need reassurance that they haven’t failed you as a mate. Once you’re healed they’ll bring back an impressive skull from a hunt as an apology even if you’ve already forgiven them.
Whilst it’s healing you’re probably going be kept in the nest of furs and pulled against them whilst they purr and sooth you.
My requests are open if you’d like to send any prompts or ideas for me to write!
#slasher x reader#slashers x reader#asa emory x reader#asa emory#the collection#bubba saywer x reader#bubba sawyer#texas chainsaw massacre#thomas hewitt x reader#thomas hewitt#texas chainsaw massacre: the beggining#jason vorhees x reader#jason voorhees#friday the 13th#brahms heelsire x reader#brahms heelshire#the boy 2016#billy lenz x reader#billy lenz#black christmas#slashers#michael myers x reader#michael myers#halloween#predator#predator x reader#yautja#yautja x reader
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hey! love your stories
can you do a story where Matt/chris x Reader have to hide their relationship from EVERYONE (including the internet) but one of them slips up and exposes everything.
if you can make a story like this thank you!!!
EXPOSED
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a tiny slip-up causes the fandom to go a little cray cray.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FLUFF, swearing
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 505
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: thank you for 1.5k i love you guysss!
“why are you so heavy.” you groan as chris is hugging you, his legs wrapping around your waist.
“that’s harsh,” he says, and you roll your eyes.
you’ve known chris for a while, becoming good friends along the way. what people don’t know, including his brothers, is that you guys are dating.
you don’t want to get bashed online by preteens, and he’s just not ready to reveal it quite yet either.
your best friend laughs, snapping a pic of you guys for fun. the three of you are on a sunset walk on the street, soaking up the outdoors.
“don’t hate me.” she starts, and chris finally lets go. “you guys would make such a cute couple.”
cheeks becoming red, you feel chris’ stare on you. he smirks. “nah. that’ll never happen.”
a few days go by, and yes you’ve seen the tweets, but thankfully the fans don’t believe it. i mean, they already know you guys are close friends. nothing suspicious about that.
today’s different. you wake up from your afternoon nap with your phone blowing up. mention after mention.
QUEEN WE NEED ANSWERS @y/n_l/n
@y/n_l/n and chris??? hello???
no SHOT chris and y/n are dating😭
you pause at the last comment.
‘no shot chris and y/n are dating’
what?
confused as ever, you open up the most reliable source: twitter. twitter knows everything about everyone.
you scroll, seeing hundreds of tweets about you and chris. there’s also a video attached, what seems like a clip from the triplets’ new podcast.
you tap on the video.
nothing exciting happens for the first two seconds, just them yapping about whatever the fuck. then the camera cuts to chris. “yeah, my girlfriend y/n—” he starts, stopping when he notices.
that son of a gun.
matt’s face scrunches. “your girlfriend y/n?”
“i meant my good friend y/n. i was talking too fa—"
“i knew it!” nick exclaims, causing him and chris to get into a bickering match.
the video ends, and a message pops up.
chris <3
i’m outside
you sigh, uncovering yourself from your blanket and heading to the front door. you open it, your boyfriend smiling fake at you. he can’t tell if he’s in trouble or not. “it was an accident.” he says, almost fearful.
your eyes widen, nodding your head along with his rambling. “i wasn’t thinking. my mouth was moving faster than my brain. it came so naturally because you, you know, are my girlfriend. my girlfriend; that i love so much. who i will never betray. who i can never live without. who i—”
“chris, stop,” you say softly. he for sure thinks he’s in trouble, but you honestly don’t care about the tweets and tiktoks. it was a silly slip-up, but in reality, you guys couldn’t hide your relationship forever. “it’s okay. it was bound to happen, honestly.”
“you’re not mad?”
“no.” you giggle, cupping his neck and pulling him into a kiss.
“i love being your good friend y/n.” you say jokingly, chris smiling on your lips.
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @idkhowtosleep @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree
#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo smut#sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo fluff#✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!
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gonna take up on the request opening bc i love these lil blurbs you do with your moodboards! maybe "how they defend you online" esp charles and lando but if you feel like adding others its up to you !!
THE BOYS DEFENDING YOU FROM ONLINE HATE | F1 GRID
★ — LANDO NORRIS (4)
lando was streaming when you came home one day. once he heard the front door being closed and then your footsteps, he excused himself with his friends and viewers and went to greet you. when he came back, there were several texts from his friends letting him know of some not-so-friendly comments about you. suddenly, lando had something else to do and ended the whole thing. he did not tell you anything, lando simply waited until his next stream for what he wanted to do. it was very simple and definitely something lando would do; and staring right into the camera lando let the world know that if they don’t support his relationship, then he just doesn’t want their support at all. from then on, lando just blocked everyone who didn’t have anything good to say. you’re the most important person in his life, how can anyone hate you? and so, lando made a promise to himself: show the world the amazing girl you are.
★ — CHARLES LECLERC (16)
even way before you started dating charles, receiving hateful comments and messages was a common occurrence. of course your boyfriend knew about it, everyone could see what was happening just by choosing a random picture on your instagram and reading the replies. it was sad, awful. but you didn’t want charles to do anything, you stopped him a lot of times because you didn’t want to bring too much attention into the whole thing. charles loves you and that is all that matters to you. it was, well, okay… until things became a little to real, a little too much, and charles couldn’t sit back and do nothing. so with a little bit of help from his team, he managed to write a very good and long statement about the whole thing. there were mixed opinions but things quiet down a little. and you weren’t happy at first, but something as simple as seeing your comment section hate-free made you forgive him sooner.
★ — OSCAR PIASTRI (81)
oscar is a man of very few words and never engages in online drama or gossip. if and when he’s online, oscar just wants to see cute and funny videos. he’s a formula one driver and people should only be interested in that part of his life, but he knows that will never be the case. however, he’s still surprised to see various comments around twitter about you. they are not about how beautiful or intelligent you are or how happy you seem to make oscar with your pretty smile and sense of humor – not that they would know that. not that they deserve to know that, either. some part of him wants to reply to those people who definitely don’t know you, he’s angry, disgusted. and the rational part of him tells him to simply don’t say anything because they don’t deserve it. so, oscar just clicks to make a new tweet and begins with a simple phrase “you don’t know anything about me or my life…” and so on. maybe he sounded a little harsh, maybe things will get worse; he couldn’t care less, as long as you’re not mad with him, he can live with being the center of the drama. oscar will never let anyone disrespect you.
★ — MAX VERSTAPPEN (33/1)
max doesn’t care what people think and have to say about him, that ship has sailed a long time ago. but he can’t ignore when people say mean things about you, he just can’t, so, he doesn’t. max replies to every single tweet and comment on both his and your instagram that he sees, he goes directly to the point and if he’s mean then, who cares? maybe it’s a little bit childish but he doesn’t care, max will not allow anyone to talk shit about his girl. and if he needs to make a video or do an interview or whatever he needs to do to make people understand that you are part of his life and forever will be, then he will be more than happy to do them. max is almost never online, so when all of this happens he makes sure to make time to be online, to post a picture of you on his instagram story, to post a photo of your vacation together on his feed, to say how much he loves you via twitter, to mention you when he has the chance during an interview. he loves making you blush and seeing you trying to hide your smile when you see all those things. max also loves pissing people off.
★ — ALEX ALBON (23)
alex tries to be friendly. when he sees someone say something not good about his girlfriend, he doesn’t hesitate to prove them wrong and defend you. he knows you’re more than capable of doing it and has seen you doing it before; he loves it. but there’s this something inside of him trying to break free and just let everyone know the funny, pretty, amazing, kind girl he’s lucky to call his girlfriend. so, alex lets it free and goes liking, retweeting and replying to every single comment about you and how shiny and nice your hair is, how you seem to make alex so happy and how he’s always smiling around you (he makes sure to let them know why is that), how lucky alex is to have you by his side, and so on and on and on until there’s nothing more for him, until he can’t think about the mean things people said, until you are laughing next to him and calling him obsessed and kissing him like your life depends on it.
★ — DANIEL RICCIARDO (3)
daniel chooses a catchy song and changes some of the lyrics, then sets his phone down and sits with a big smile and his guitar. when the video starts, he simply says “this is dedicated to all of the assholes thinking that is okay to hate on someone’s girlfriend just because.” and then he starts singing. there are a lot of bad words and cursing and long pauses looking directly into the camera without losing that big and pretty smile he has. daniel then uploads the video to all his platforms with a little paragraph about why bullying is bad and why you should mind your own business because he’s not that interesting anyway and it won’t make him break up with you because some trolls are practically begging him to. he ends up getting in trouble for not consulting with his team before doing what he did, something that has him going viral, so viral that people outside of formula one and people who don’t even who he is talk about it. exactly what he wanted.
★ — MICK SCHUMACHER (47)
the moment mick has to hold you in his arms as you cry because you’d read something mean about you, it’s the exact moment he decides to do something about it. he doesn’t want to cause drama or make things worse, so, it takes him a little while and some long calls with his sister to know what to do. mick puts the poetry classes you two take a few months ago to good use and writes the most beautiful and romantic poem you and everyone would ever read. it is about you, about his love for you, about what you mean to him and everything he likes about you. he posts a little phrase to his instagram stories and sets a time and day for when it will be posted it. when the day cames and you get to read it, you end up crying again but for a whole different reason. it’s not that you didn’t know mick loved you but it’s the gesture, the time he spent doing it, the fact that he wanted to do it and wanted the whole world to read his love letter to you, something that will forever be there.
© VERSTAPPEN-CULT ⎯ do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.
#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 grid x reader#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagine#max verstappen x reader#f1 x reader#charles leclerc fluff#max verstappen fluff#f1 fanfic#oscar piastri x reader#lando norris x reader#lando norris fluff#f1 imagine#daniel ricciardo x reader#daniel ricciardo blurb#alex albon x reader#mick schumacher x you#alex albon imagine#oscar piastri fanfic
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Trailer Park Steve AU part 4
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
September
He doesn’t talk to the Munsons much. (Doesn’t talk to anyone, really, aside from his mom and Robin and that one older woman who keeps renting and returning Gone With The Wind as an excuse to leave her house.) He keeps his head down and his nose clean, doesn’t care to make friends with the neighbors; just wants to get by.
One day Eddie approaches their door, waving a gas bill that got mixed up in their mail, and Steve greets him pleasantly enough.
“Stab anyone today?”
“Eat glass, Harrington.”
So it goes.
Steve watches the world pass and the weather turn, lets the hours bleed into weeks and squeezes his eyes shut against the flashbacks when they threaten to overwhelm.
Things with his mom are weird.
They don’t really speak, preferring to shrug their way past each other with careful, tight-lipped nods, and his mom takes these pills the doctor gave her that keep her perfectly pleasant and calm. Silent. Physically present but not really here.
And he can’t imagine how it feels to be her: Florence Harrington, ripped from the comforts of the upper crust and left to rot in a tin can seven miles across town. She spends most of her time letting out weary little sighs as she swans from room to room, drifting like a shade on the banks of the River Styx. (He can make that reference now because Robin won’t shut up about mythology. “It’s so gay, Steve. The Greeks were literally so gay.”)
Anyway.
Shit’s weird with the kids, too. He still drives them around — lets them loiter at Family Video when it’s slow; hangs around when they need a ride to the arcade or the movies or the skating rink; and he’s still on the hook for ‘ice cream. for. life,’ so…
It’s just not the same.
Like. Not to be dramatic, but who the fuck is Steve Harrington without the house and the pool and the free-for-all fridge? Just some kid with a car and a bat and a punchable face. And he can barely afford to keep the car now, anyway, so pretty soon they won’t need him for that, either. They’ll learn to drive; they’ll get their own jobs. Maybe Lucas builds enough muscle to take over as the party tank.
Maybe it’s better if he shelfs himself now before they realize he’s become obsolete.
“Oh, my god, you’re being pathetic,” he groans to himself. His voice is muffled where he’s lying face down on the couch. Ridiculous behavior, because everything is fine; Steve is fine. In the grand scheme of things where there are monsters and melted corpses and all kinds of crazy, horrible shit?
Yeah.
He’s being obnoxious. It’s a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon with just the right Autumn breeze going — gentle but cool; long sleeve polo weather; his favorite kind — and he’s sitting inside throwing himself a pity party.
Fucking absurd.
…Five more minutes.
Just five more minutes, then he’s getting off this couch.
He gets to a minute and a half when he hears the crunch of tires against the gravel, the clanging of a little bell from the handlebar of a bike, and then:
“STEVE!!!”
And that’ll be Dustin, trying to bang the door off the hinges and piss off the whole park at the same time. Kid’s nothing if not a multitasker. Steve lets another aggrieved groan loose into the couch cushion.
His mom’s out with the car; the lights are all off. Maybe he can just play dead ‘til Dustin leaves? He loves the kid, he really does, but his left ear is full of static, and he just wants to fucking sleep. Or sulk. Or both.
“STEVEN CHRISTOPHER, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”
Jeeeeesus Christ. “Okay, chill,” Steve grumbles as he hauls himself upright and throws open the front door. His limbs feel like lead; there’s drool on his chin. “Wake the whole goddamn neighborhood, why don’t you?”
“It’s two in the afternoon.”
“Yeah, and half the people here work nights.”
“Oh-kayy,” Dustin drags out the word, “but you don’t.”
Ugh. Whatever. He’s not gonna be shamed by a toothless teenager for his depressing loser tendencies. “Did you need something?”
Steve scratches at his belly hair through his shirt, feels a muscle twinge in his shoulder and send a spark of nerve pain skittering up to the base of his skull.
Dustin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve’s body is falling apart where he stands, because he just rolls his eyes and says, “Uh, yeah. I need to know why you’re avoiding everyone? Mom’s tried to invite you to dinner six times now.”
“I was working.”
“All six times?” Dustin glares. Steve feels a little pinned by it, feels guilt seeping through the cracks as he fidgets with his bad ear. This kid’s gonna be the scariest lawyer some day. “She’s worried.”
Goddammit.
Guilt squeezes hard behind his ribs; he knows Dustin uses his mom as a mouthpiece for the feelings he can’t express. “I’m fine,” he sighs, letting his eyes and voice go soft. “Honest.”
Dustin holds firm, gaze fierce and fists clenched. “Bullshit,” he insists.
“Man, don’t—”
“Bull. Shit.”
Suddenly, their impromptu interrogation gets interrupted by a crashing drum fill, a shriek of electric guitar as Munson’s van squeals into the lot. He’s blasting some melodramatic metal shit about wizards or whatever; Steve doesn’t know. He only knows that the skitter of nerve pain he felt is ramping up to a fullblown migraine now because this guy has to listen to his racket at full fucking volume, apparently, and isn’t this all just “fucking great.”
—
part 5
#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steddie fic#trailer park steve au#steve can have a little depression as a treat#robin buckley#dustin henderson#claudia henderson#my writing#my fic
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OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU
synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.
tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc
wc: 5.2K
In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.
You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.
“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”
You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.
Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.
“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.
Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.
He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.
“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.
“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.
“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.
“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.
“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.
Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.
“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.
“Then what’s the damn problem?”
The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.
“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.
Dream walker.
At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.
The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.
Until Okumura Yukiko.
At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.
When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.
Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.
Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.
Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.
Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.
Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”
Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.
Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.
And then everything stops.
Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.
Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.
“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.
The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.
“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.
“Do you go to school here?”
“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”
Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”
Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.
You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.
Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.
Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.
Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.
“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”
“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.
“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”
Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.
But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.
The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.
A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.
A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.
They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.
“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”
Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.
You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.
“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”
Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.
With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.
You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.
You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.
Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.
You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.
You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.
Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.
It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.
Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.
The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”
Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.
It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.
Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.
One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.
Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.
Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.
“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”
Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.
Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.
Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.
“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.
“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.
“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.
“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.
“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.
Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”
You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.
“You remembered this old thing?”
Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.
Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.
You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.
“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.
“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.
Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.
“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.
He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, “What do you mean?”
You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.
Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”
His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.
You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.
“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.
“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.
“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.
“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”
You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. You wanted to be the one to do it.
“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your smile. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.
“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.
You give an emphatic nod.
“How mad is Kacchan?”
“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”
There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.
“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”
You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way back is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.
Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.
“I’m home,” he says, throat rough from disuse.
Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.
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uhm enjoy this totally self indulgent hurt/comfort pornstar!gaz x reader where you fake an orgasm on set (:
Two hours isn’t an uncommon amount of time for a shoot. Even for the most experienced of actors, there are plenty of position changes, water breaks, and directions to be given that always bogs down film time in some capacity. You’re used to it. You’d been in that industry for years, so you know how to pass the time, especially when filming with Kyle. He always knows how to make you laugh, how to strike up a conversation as lights and camera angles are adjusted — it’s always nice with him.
But something is different about today. It feels painfully long, like you’ve spent a majority of your day there rather than just a handful of hours. You’re more quiet than usual, and when Kyle attempts to strike up a conversation, your responses are just as empty as your eyes. A terrible glossiness has taken over their usual beautiful sheen, yet you still push through in all the obnoxious angles the director has you contort into in order to give the viewers the best visual possible.
Kyle notices almost immediately. There’s something empty and numb in the way your body reacts to his touches. Your pretty moans sound dull when he pumps two thick fingers into you, and your brows don’t pinch together when he whispers in your ear. When he sinks his cock into your cunt after an overly drawn out foreplay period, you don’t flutter around him like you normally do. All your little tells — those delicious tells — have suddenly vanished off the face of the earth, leaving the studio feeling empty as he ruts into you.
Really, you’re just glad your face is in the mattress while Kyle fucks you, because you don’t think you could look him in the eyes. Not when you’re feeling like that. It’s as if some void has taken up the space in your chest just for something rotten and vile to fester in the darkness. Nothing feels good. It doesn’t feel bad either, it’s just so far out of your reach you don’t even bother trying to chase it.
You’re so… tired. Tired of filming, of being there in that fucking studio as people peer at you from behind cinema cameras and lights so bright you’re all but promised a migraine later. You just want it to be over; to go home and sleep until whatever that darkness is finally passes, so you do the unthinkable.
You’ve never had to fake an orgasm with Kyle before. He always takes such good care of you, always is so attentive and in tune with your needs and desires, but you’ve done it so many times before with other actors that it’s easy. It’s easy to wrench your eyes shut as you force your thighs to tremble, and you moan and groan like a pathetic bitch in heat just how you know the viewers like. What makes it difficult is that Kyle’s pace slows, as if trying to gently fuck you through the orgasm that was never even on the crux of arriving.
The moment he pulls out and tells the director he’s done for the day, you know you’ve fucked up.
“Huh?” the director asks as if baffled.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Kyle repeats.
“We’ve got Viagra on hand if you need it,” the director says, trying to convince him to go longer.
“I said that’s enough.”
You bury your face further into the fresh linens at Kyle’s biting tone. You’ve never heard him sound so stern before; not the playful and teasing Kyle Garrick. It was enough to get the director to give in, and you hear a symphony of sighs echo throughout the room as everyone starts to tear the set down. Though all you wanted to do was go home, you couldn’t bring yourself out of the sheets. Maybe you didn’t really want to go home at all; just melt into the bed until there was nothing of you left.
Plush fabric brushes against your back, causing you to jolt. Kyle smooths your robe over your body as he gently urges you to sit up so you can get your arms through the sleeves.
“C’mon,” he quietly prompts, “let’s get cleaned up.”
Once you are both properly wrapped in your robes, Kyle keeps an arm snug around your waist as he leads you into your dressing room. Usually the two of you go your separate ways once the cameras stop rolling, but he doesn’t this time. He closes and locks the door behind both of you as you mindlessly wander towards the counter. Pressure begins to build behind your eyes as white hot shame boils in your stomach, climbing up your chest and into your face.
Kyle lets you run away for only a short moment before he’s crossing the distance between the door and the counter, hands ready to mend whatever is broken. You want to retract, to continue to hide away instead of facing the beast eating you from the inside out, but your fortitude breaks the moment his hands reach your shoulders.
“Doll,” he says, voice so soft it’s as if he fears he’ll shatter you with words alone. “Where’s your head at?”
You refuse to look at him, and instead your eyes keep glued to his chest as you keep your head lowered. The biting sting of tears builds in your eyes just as your bottom lip begins to tremble. It’s impossible to articulate the way bile eats at your esophagus just at the thought of trying to spill your guts to anyone, let alone Kyle. You try in vain to keep a straight face, but your sniffling has already given you away.
“You know you don’t have to fake it with me, yeah? If you’re not into it, we can always stop,” Kyle then says.
Wide eyes suddenly pierce through Kyle’s face as you look up at him, bewildered. “You could tell?” you ask as your voice cracks.
It’s difficult for him to find the words to explain how familiar your body is to him. How he has every inch of it ingrained in his mind as if it had never been separate from him at all. Yet you give him no time to even think before your hands are pawing at your eyes as you try and wipe away your tears.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong. Everything feels so off, but everyone was already getting set up and I just- I don’t know,” you ramble.
“Hey, hey,” Kyle shushes. His hands glide from your shoulders to your cheeks where he holds your head in place, forcing you to look at him. His touch is almost as warm as his eyes are as he studies your face, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he continues. “You don’t have to explain anythin’ to me. We all have those days. Just… promise me next time you’ll talk to me. I don’t wanna fuck you if you’re not into it.”
His words destroy you in a way nothing else has, and it’s enough to really get the waterworks running. Despite it all, his gaze is soft as his thumbs brush your cheeks, and you begin to melt into him as your hands reach for his chest for stability.
“I promise. I’m sorry, I promise,” you sob.
Kyle cradles the back of your head as he holds you in the tightest embrace you’ve ever received. The soft fabric of his robe soaks up your tears as your body rattles with each cry that escapes. Soft kisses press against the crown of your head as he holds you together, refusing to let you crumble.
He doesn’t pull away until you do, and you wipe at your wet face. Crying doesn’t make you feel any better than you thought it would, and if anything it leaves you feeling emptier than before. But Kyle doesn’t give up on you. It isn’t long before the dressing room fills with steam from the running shower and he’s leading you in there with your hand in his.
Hot water washes over your body while Kyle scrubs you clean. There’s something holy about the way his hands glide over your skin, as if he’s cleaning you from the inside out. Neither of you say a word, you just stand there and let him work at you until your muscles loosen and you’re so tired you’re certain you’ll fall asleep on your feet.
Kyle guides your heavy head up to look at him, and you watch his eyes take in the sight of your tired lids. Concern is still etched deep into his features even as his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip. Gears begin to visibly turn in his mind, and you feel your chest expand with something warm. His mouth twitches before it lands on yours, stealing you away with a kiss. There’s something different about this kiss. It’s leagues different from the ones he normally gives you on set; the primal, messy kiss where his tongue slips into your mouth as if he’s trying to devour you.
No, there is something different in the softness of it all. How he’s not trying to devour you as much as he is trying to know you. When his lips break away from yours just to dive back in for more, you nearly confuse it for love. You’re not sure what it is, or what it’s supposed to be; all you know is that it leaves you feeling a little less empty and only wanting more.
#pornstar!gaz#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x reader#gaz x reader smut#kyle garrick x reader smut#f!reader
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Dude, I read the one where you talked about pregnant reader and you said it'll be a cute fic.... are you really gonna write it!!? Poly moonwater with pregnant reader!?? Will you? Will you? Will you!!?? Please, will you!!!!!???
well.....since you asked so nicely........👀
poly!moonwater x afab fem!reader who finds out she's expecting
CW: mentions of pregnancy, how people get pregnant (nothing discussed in detail, SFW and minors), reader is concerned the boys will leave her, reader wishes to keep the pregnancy, based off a discussion on this post.
Now that you knew, you weren’t sure how you could honestly feel surprised. In fact, now you were kind of surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner.
For all the claims that wizardingkind makes to be ahead of the curve in comparison to muggles, they don’t exactly have the best contraceptives.
Potions are fine if you remember to take them, the same can be said about charms, and condoms are a foreign concept to the likes of wizarding society.
You’d been feeling so incredibly exhausted lately, and it had gotten to the point that you couldn’t make it through the day without having at least one nap. It was when you’d actually fallen asleep at the dinner table that Regulus started to fret, though Remus found it terribly funny at the time.
Then came the aches and pains that never seemed to dull no matter what you did. You’d tried potions, over the counter muggle medications, hot baths, cold showers, lying flat, sitting up – nothing stopped the aches that seemed intent on plaguing you. Remus had even given you full body massages that, whilst absolutely heavenly, did absolutely fuck all.
“Maybe you’re coming down with something?” He’d queried, holding the back of his hand to your head. “Reg? Can you bring me the thermometer?”
You swore you heard whatever Regulus had been fussing with in the kitchen fall unceremoniously onto the counter in his haste to come over to you.
“Why? Is she poorly?” He asked severely, placing the back of his hand against your head like Remus had, only far more aggressively and to the point that it actually made a slapping sound as it made contact.
“Och, babe! If she wasn’t poorly yet she’ll surely have a concussion now!” Remus chided, pushing Regulus’ hand away and cradling your head protectively to his chest.
Needless to say, the thermometer didn’t pick up a fever either.
So, when you woke up the next morning and spent most of the day hunched over the toilet bowl, Reg insisted you see a Healer.
Once the Healer started to ask the more...pointed questions, the pieces all started to click together in your mind.
Are you sexually active? Yes.
When was your last menstrual cycle? They weren’t exactly regular so... you supposed it had been late.
Any nausea? Yes.
Fatigue. Uh-huh.
Body or muscle pain? Fuckin’ hells.
So now you were standing outside of yours, Remus', and Regulus’ shared flat with a copy of your test results in your hand wondering what in the buggering fuck you were going to do now.
Both Regulus and Remus were pretty set on not wanting children of their own. They loved children, and they were both really good with children (in their own, very different ways); but with Regulus’ past, his family's reputation, and “the sodding inbreeding, amour; I’d be surprised if it didn’t come out with everything upside down and backwards”, he was sure that it’d be better for everyone if he stayed childless.
And Remus.
Poor, sweet Remus.
Too ashamed of his own affliction to a) pass it onto his own biological child or b) force any child to live with the knowledge that they had a ‘monster’ for a father.
And that was that.
Children just wasn’t in the cards for you three.
Yet here you were...
Suddenly, you weren’t just worried; you were terrified.
They didn’t want this, they never wanted this. They had always been clear about that. They could have been more careful to prevent this, but here you were.
Here you were.
There you stood; outside of your shared flat, unable to bring yourself to open the door.
They were going to leave you; they’d leave you, surely. Yeah?
They didn’t want this.
They wouldn’t want you.
Fuck.
“For the love of Circe, I’m jus- Salazar’s saggy balls, Y/N!” Regulus said as he stumbled in the doorway, startled after having been in the middle of shouting something over his shoulder only to nearly collide with you. “How long have you been standing out here?”
You stared dumbly at him; you weren’t ready to go inside. You weren’t ready to have this conversation.
Too bad.
“Not long?” You stated in the form of a question. He furrowed his brows and looked you up and down before offering you his hand up the two steps to your doorway.
“I was just opening the doors and windows; you’re lovely boyfriend tried to make us dinner.” He explained with a fond eyeroll, stepping into the flat and squinting through the smoke flooding the living space.
“Yeah, yeah. Last time I try something new in the kitchen.” Remus muttered as he threw away an entire baking dish.
“What was it supposed to be again, sweetheart?” Regulus asked with a mischievous smirk you knew he picked up from spending too much time with Remus, Sirius, and James.
“Just never you mind, you tosser. Hi dove.” He muttered to Regulus, though his tone changed dramatically once he turned to you, his eyes softening as he took in your form.
“How was your appointment?”
Your appointment? Your appointment. The appointment you just had. The appointment where you found out. The appointment where you were told you were pregnant. That appointment. The appointment you were still holding the slip for. The slip with your results. The slip with your pregnancy test results. The slip with your positive pregnancy test results.
That appointment.
“I-”
And you took off to the bathroom, slammed the door behind you and heaved into the toilet.
There was a gentle knock on the door as you sat back against the tub with your knees to your chest, trying to catch your breath. “Dove?”
Another knock.
“Okay, we’re coming in.” Came Regulus’ more authoritarian voice through the door before it slowly opened to allow both of them entrance.
Remus had to fold himself a number of times in order to sit on the bathroom floor beside you whilst Reg flushed the toilet (while you flushed in embarrassment) and closed the lid to sit on it, facing you and Remus.
“Did you get any answers from the healer?” Regulus asked quietly.
You smothered a humourless scoff and nodded your head in the affirmative.
The boys let you sit there with your head laid back onto the edge of the tub and your eyes closed before Regulus couldn’t seem to handle it anymore.
“And? Are you... okay?”
You took in a deep breath and pulled that paper - now crumpled within your fist - cast a gemino duplication spell on it and handed one to each boy.
You curled yourself inward and rested your forehead on your knees, reminding yourself to breathe even though you knew these two men now knew that you were expecting, that you were expecting their child.
It could have been moments, or it could have been hours; but it was Remus who broke the silence.
“Pregnant?” He whispered on an exhale.
You cautiously raised your head to look over at him by your side, noticing that his eyes were shining with unshed tears.
You brought him to tears.
He never wanted this.
He wouldn’t want you.
“You’re really pregnant?” He asked again.
You nodded and swallowed around your gag reflex; unsure whether the nausea was nerves or...pregnancy related.
“You’re...” Reg started, still looking down at the paper in his hands. “You’re... gonna have a baby?” He whispered in awe.
You felt your brows furrow when you heard an emotional chuckle from beside you.
You turned back to see Remus wiping tears away from his eyes as he looked back down at his own paper in front of him.
“We’re gonna have a baby?” Remus corrected, nudging Regulus’ calf with his foot.
“Wait, you... you guys aren’t upset?” You asked urgently. Both boys snapped to attention to look at you in various degrees of worry or horror.
“Upset!?” Remus gawked as Regulus started shaking his head emphatically.
“Why? Why would you be worried of such a thing?”
You shook your own head and looked down at your hands as you began picking at your nailbeds. “Neither of you were ever interested in having kids of your own.”
“Oh, dovey.” Remus cooed and quickly pulled you into his side. “When was the last time we talked about this, huh? When we first graduated Hogwarts? I think we could manage a kid now, yeah?”
“Or four.” Regulus added, causing you and Remus to straighten up significantly.
“Four!?” You and Remus chorused.
“Since when did you want kids?” You questioned incredulously.
“The moment I saw you hold Harry for the first time.” He answered without hesitation.
“Ha ha.” Remus taunted. “Mine was watching her shop for Lily’s baby shower.”
“What!?” You nearly screeched.
Regulus sighed before ultimately moving to sit on the floor on your other side; you knew this was very serious considering he was a notorious germ freak.
“I was always a little afraid of having kids of my own, you’re right. I mean, you’ve seen the way that Sirius and I turned out, yeah?”
You and Remus scoffed at that.
“I just hated the idea of ever being anything like my parents, because that’s all I know. Or I guess, that was all I knew. But... I think you guys have taught me an awful lot.”
You watched Regulus’ stormy grey eyes as they moved between you and Remus. “You’ve both taught me to slow down, to be more patient, to see the fun in the mess and the burnt food and the change of plans. You’ve taught me that I won’t perish if I sit on the bathroom floor for a minute. And, I think most importantly, you’ve taught me how to love. And when I see how happy Harry is, I realize that’s all a kid really needs, yeah? Love?”
“You... you really want a child? This child?” You asked in a whisper.
Regulus’s face turned heartbroken for a moment. “You’re child? Absolutely, amour. There was never any doubt.”
“I always thought I’d pass on only the worst parts of me to any child.” Remus added, turning your attention to him. “But I find I’m only ever my best self when I’m around the two of you. And any child that’s even a fraction of either of you, well, I’d be one... one lucky man to call them mine.” He whimpered the end of his sentence before breaking out into a sob.
“Oh, Rem.” You murmured empathetically, pulling his larger frame into your side. He chuckled through happy tears as he moved one of his hands tentatively to your abdomen.
“A baby...” Regulus breathed, looking back at the paper in his hands. “We’re really going to have a baby?”
You and Remus exchanged a shy glance, understanding seeming to pass between the two of you before you both turned back to Regulus.
“We’re going to have a baby.” You concurred.
#ask elle#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#remus lupin#regulus black#remus lupin x regulus black#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x you#regulus black x reader#regulus black x you#moonwater#moonseeker#poly!moonwater#poly!moonwater x reader#poly!moonwater x you#poly!moonseeker#poly!moonseeker x reader#poly!moonseeker x you#kid fic#fem!reader#ellecdc fics
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