#hE WAS HAVING A FULL PANIC ATTACK IN MY TELEVISION | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sourcherryandsprinkles · 11 months

Note

Conrad's panic attack at the end of episode 3 but instead of Steven, reader goes after him. Maybe they no longer speak and had a huge falling out

Seeing that scene gave me so many flashbacks of scary times. When it happens, you sometimes don’t know what is happening and there’s so many things happening at the same time. I often get them at night. Waking up unable to breathe, heart palpitations, shaky legs and feeling so hot no amount of cold air makes me cool enough. Or during ptsd moments.

Warnings: panic attack

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You were all gathered in front of the television, ready for a movie night. It happened one night filled the screen, a choice made by Belly, but no one was mad about it. Though the seating arrangements caused a few initial hiccups, everyone managed to find a comfortable spot. Belly and Taylor sat closely on the right end of the couch, Jeremiah and Steven on the left, and you occupied the middle. Conrad had the loveseat all to himself.

As the movie began, you couldn't help but steal a glance at Conrad, secretly wishing you were sitting beside him. However, things had changed between the two of you, and you hadn't spoken in months — not since the funerals.

Beside Steven, Jeremiah's soft laughter echoed, reminding you of the good times you all used to share. It felt like a brief return to the past.

A few minutes in, Conrad’s phone buzzed, drawing your attention. His expression shifted as he read the message, the light amusement on his face falling, the movie now entirely forgotten. He quietly got up, trying to not disturb anyone, and left the house through the backdoor.

A sense of concern washed over you as you watched him go. You couldn't help but wonder what the message on his phone could have been and why it affected him so deeply. Your first thought was that it was about his mom, but Susannah was gone now. So, it was either school or his dad.

Without hesitation or explanations, you stood and went after him. Steven opened his mouth to ask where you were going, but you ignored him.

Forgetting about shoes, you let the door slam shut behind you, only thinking about Conrad. You hurried down the deck, seeing his figure walking down the beach in the darkness of the evening. The beach and the sea had always been a safe place for Conrad, he found the sound of crashing waves created soothing.

‘’Conrad!’’ you called out in the distance.

He didn’t turn or stop. He kept walking to the shoreline, his back was hunched as his breathing became rapid and shallow. Like he was struggling to find air. You saw him place a hand over his chest right before he stumbled and fell to his knees in the sand.

Your eyes widened with worry, and you could feel your heart racing. ‘’Conrad!’’

This time, you ran up to him. The sand was getting between your toes, a feeling you absolutely despised, but you ignored your own discomfort and focused on Conrad. You fell down on the sand beside him, saying his name again.

Conrad looked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes wide with fear and vulnerability. His breaths were erratic, and it was clear he was struggling to regain control of the rising panic within him. His eyes were filled with distress, not understanding what was happening.

‘’I-I can't breathe,’’ he managed to say, his voice trembling. ‘’My chest feels so tight, I—’’

Your heart sank as you realized what was happening. Conrad was having a full-blown panic attack. You should have guessed faster. You knew the signs all too well. They can be overwhelming and debilitating.

‘’You’re having a panic attack,’’ you explained calmly, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

Conrad's gaze locked with yours, searching for some form of reassurance. ‘’Make it stop,’’ he stammered, his voice still shaking. ‘’Please, make it stop.’’ He clutched at his chest, gripping his shirt tightly, the air unable to pass through his lungs.

You had been taught a few techniques to come back from a panic attack, but you figured the fastest one would work best on Conrad.

You took his hand and put it over your chest. Conrad tried to push you away, but you didn’t let him. ‘’Follow my breathing.’’

It felt overwhelming to be touching you, to be so close to you. It made Conrad’s heart want to jump out of his chest. He tried his best to follow along, trying to focus on your breathing instead of how you made him feel. It was evident that he was struggling, but he made an effort to control his breaths, to follow your pattern.

Gradually, Conrad's breathing started to stabilize, and his panicked expression softened. ‘’That’s it. Keep breathing with me,’’ you encouraged him, offering a sense of safety and stability in the midst of his distress.

As the minutes passed, the panic attack began to subside. Conrad's shoulders relaxed, and his grip on your arm loosened. The crashing waves provided a natural rhythm for his breath, and he started to find a sense of calm.

Once he was in a better state, he looked at you with gratitude in his eyes. ‘’Thanks for…helping me,’’ he whispered, his voice still shaky but filled with appreciation.

‘’You don't have to thank me, Con,’’ you replied gently.

Con. You had not called him that in a while. It felt strange on your tongue.

‘’I want to,’’ he insisted. ‘’If you had not followed me out here, I would not have known what to do.’’ Conrad looked down, brushing sand off his jeans.

‘’Well, I’m glad to have helped you. I…I’m gonna go back inside, now. I know you don’t want me to be here.’’

His words had been harsh when he saw you arriving with Jeremiah yesterday. They stung, but you didn’t expect him to be happy to see you either. Not after your breakup at Susannah’s funeral.

‘’It’s not true.’’ Conrad lifted his head, but kept his eyes on the sea. ‘’I always want you to be there. Even when I say I don’t.’’

You looked at Conrad, surprised by his honesty and vulnerability. It was rare he would speak his emotions out loud. He was more of a bottling things up and rarely, if ever, expressing them kind of person.

‘’I'm sorry for what I said to you. For everything,’’ he said, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest. ‘’I never wanted to hurt you, but I did. I should have taken the hand you were holding out for me instead of ripping it off and seeking comfort in someone else's arms to hurt you enough that you'd hate me and go away.’’

As Conrad poured his heart out, you could see the pain and regret in his eyes. For once, he wasn’t pushing you away. He was opening to you and making confessions you never thought you would ever get.

He kept going. ‘’No matter what I do or say, you'll always be there. Here.’’ Conrad clawed at his heart and then dropped his hand. ‘’You’re engraved in my heart, Y/N, and I can’t get you out. I tried. I tried really hard, but something always pulls me back to you.’’

You took a moment to process his words, then spoke. ‘’Have you ever heard of the Red string of fate?’’ Conrad drew his eyebrow together, so you continued. ‘’It’s an ancient legend that originated in East Asia. The legend speaks of an invisible red string tying two together those who are meant to meet, no matter how far apart they live or how different their lives are. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.’’

Conrad traced over your pinky, as if he was visualizing the red string there. ‘’Do you think this string is— that our string is tied to each other?’’

You looked down where he was touching you, feeling a slight shiver at his touch. You looked back up into Conrad's blue eyes. ‘’Maybe,’’ you replied, reaching out to gently touch his hand.

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1

TSITP taglist: @msmarvelknight @maritaleane @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher fanfic #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty imagine

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lethalchiralium · 1 year

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Will Never Be Enough | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: i am so sorry, but i’m trying to make this series as realistic as possible so that would include natural things that happen. :( it wouldn’t be a lethalchiralium series if there wasn’t angst… also the 141 are ride or die for you and the kids. it’s just canon i have nothing else to say 🤷‍♀️

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of blood, miscarriages, vague descriptions of panic attacks. Mentions of babies and children.

summary: "Simon, I need you." The Lieutenant dropped the papers he was holding, they flew across the office floor. "I'm on my way." OR, Simon comes home to find you in a puddle of blood.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

It had been a couple weeks since the appointment, and he didn’t expect you to feel sick for this long after. It worried him, but you assured him that it was fine; you had been sick for a while with Mellie, that you would be better soon. He took your word for it and let you rest.

He had made Winnie her breakfast of strawberry pancakes and sat her in front of the television, he held Mellie against his chest. She was sated, little belly full of formula and snoring away on his shoulder. He had made you food and was waiting for you to come down to eat, but he wasn’t worried about when you did. He was satisfied knowing that you would have had something to eat, that he would hopefully beg Price nice enough to come home early. His one arm that held Mellie kept her snug against his chest, he was putting up plates in the cabinets from washing them the night before. He made the mental note to get more baby spoons because Mellie had no longer liked most of them.

“Dad! Done!” Winnie called from the coffee table, he looked over his shoulder to her. She was holding up her clean purple plate so he could see, strawberry stained the front of her face. He closed the cabinet and grabbed a tea towel, moving from the kitchen and into the living room. The chestnut haired girl bounced on her feet to meet him in the middle, he kneeled and gently wiped her face.

“Is Mama still sick?” Winnie moved her face away from the tea towel, but he still cleaned her face as she moved awkwardly to miss his massive hand.

“Yeah, duckling.” He nodded and stood, walking back into the kitchen while his small daughter followed. He tossed the tea towel onto the counter, making a note to put it in the laundry later, before moving towards the fridge. “You still hungry?” He opened it, glancing over the leftovers he had for you last night, beverages, and jars of baby food to look for those little oranges Winnie liked.

“Nuh-uh.”

He closed the fridge when he didn’t see them, glancing down to the baby in his arm before he looked to his oldest daughter. “Get your bag, love, gonna go check on Mum.”

The girl in pigtails her father had put in earlier bounced on her feet, disappearing back into the living room. Simon turned towards the counter across from the fridge, grabbing the plate of food with a fork on it before making his way upstairs.

Mellie’s little hand gripped onto his t-shirt when he nudged his bedroom door open, making his way to your side of the bed in the light that seeped through from the hallway. He quietly settled your plate of food on your nightstand before moving back out of the room, towards Mellie’s room. He opened the door and quickly moved towards her crib, peeling his little one from his chest before placing her delicately on her back on the small mattress. Her crib creaked when Simon leaned forwards to kiss her forehead, he was quick to move away and out her room - when the door closed, it was silent. He slipped back into his bedroom and to your side, he could see your silhouette in the middle of the bed underneath the plush duvet.

He leaned a knee onto the side of the bed, a hand settled on your cheek as he spoke, “Sweetheart.”

You grunted in annoyance. “Don’t wake me unless someone is dying or the house is on fire.”

Simon chuckled, petting your hair. “Put your food on your nightstand, I’m takin’ Wins to school soon.”

Your arms moved to stretch over your head as he leaned forwards, his lips meeting yours. A smile on your lips, your hands now found his chest to gently pull him off. “Baby, I’m still sick.”

“Don’t care.” He mumbled, pressing another kiss to your lips before his hands began to tug down the duvet. He moved himself down the bed, quickly tugging up his old t-shirt on you to press his lips to the small swell of your stomach, where that little baby was growing. His little baby, half of him and half of you. “Quit makin’ your mum sick, all she’s doin’ is lovin’ ya.”

With a final kiss to his unborn son, he moved back to place his lips on your forehead, feeling the skin a lot warmer than he had expected. He leaned back into his knees, nodding towards the food on the nightstand. “‘m takin’ Duckling to school, Mel’s asleep. You need to eat.”

You nodded, your hand reached for his and he instantly took it. He pressed his lips to your knuckles, you smiled at him.

“I won’t be long, tryin’ to get Price to let me off early.”

You shook your head, dismissing it. “I’ll be fine, baby. I’ll call you if I need you.”

He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, a promise that he would be home soon.

—

Ghost desperately wanted it to be a slow day, but no. Active drills and testing on soldiers, Laswell was in for a debrief this morning, and a mention of a new deployment soon. He wasn’t very happy about it, but he said nothing. He would discuss it with you when he got home.

He had papers in his hand as he marched down to Price’s office; sergeants and privates diving out of his way to avoid his so-called ‘wrath’. All it was was a stare or the occasional pin onto the wall, nothing serious. In his hands were training reports on seasoned soldiers, descriptions of how their skills have improved and all that bullshit.

The man was tired, all he wanted to do was go home and lay in his bed underneath the dog pile of his daughters and wife. Maybe eat a sandwich or go for a run, but he had to be on base. He didn’t even have the time to look at Price this morning, this report was his saving grace to go home and make sure you were okay. He was itching to leave right this moment, but you’d never tell from his mask.

He knocked on Price’s door, not even waiting for permission to enter before he swung open the door. He shut the door behind him, moving to stand in front of Price.

“Got the reports-“

Ghost’s phone rang in his pocket, papers in his clutch as Price‘s voice died in his throat. His captain gave him a nod, letting Simon fish his phone out. He saw your pretty face on his screen and pressed the phone to his ear, concerned why you were calling him at one in the afternoon. He was about to get Price to let him leave earlier so he could take care of you and the girls.

“Hi, are you okay?”

“Simon, Simon-“ Your sobs were loud. “I need you.”

He dropped the papers he had onto the floor of Price’s office and booked it. “Baby, hey, I’m on my way.” He said, shoving past privates and his friends, who called after him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Ever-Everything, there’s- There’s so much blood- I think-“ A loud sob. “I think I’m losing the baby.”

He felt like throwing up.

His hand went to his pocket, ripping out his keys but dropping them onto the concrete. He didn’t even have the time to pick them up before someone else did, he looked up to see Price.

He couldn’t see how badly he was shaking, all he could do was listen to you say, “It hurts so much.” Price moved around to the other side of his car, getting into the driver’s seat while he got into the passenger seat. He felt the car move as the back doors opened, he knew it was Soap and Gaz. Price didn’t even wait for them to close their doors before he pressed the pedal to the metal.

“I’m comin’, baby. Hold on.” He answered. “Talk to me, sweet girl.”

“Please,” Your voice cracked, sobs followed after. “Simon.”

His hand was shaking so bad, he could feel it now. His brain shut off, he could only feel fear as it tore through his entire being like fire. He couldn’t lose you, he wouldn’t ever dare to - not when it took so long to find you.

The fifteen minute drive home was made in seven, flat. Simon was out of the car before Price even put it in park. He ran. He sprinted into the house, not caring that the front door slammed against the wall. He’d fix it later. He took the stairs three at a time, hearing his daughter crying in your en-suite bathroom. He frantically ran down the hall, opening the bedroom door. The light from the bathroom lit up the room, he didn’t stop running until he almost went face first into the door frame. He was breathing hard, eyes now fixated on you.

Blood stained the floor of the bathroom and the bottom of the shirt of his you were wearing. Mellie was sat in your arms, tears stained her cheeks as she cried loudly. Your face looked paler, tears dripping down onto the crown of your daughter’s head. Your face was contorted into one in pain, one hand on the small bump of your belly.

“LT!” He heard Soap call, he turned his head towards the doorway of his bedroom.

“Up here!”

He then came to your side, kneeling beside you as the rumble of boots against the hardwood stairs were loud, making Mellie cry harder. Your hand reached for him, gripping onto his uniform as his own hand settled on your cheek. He glanced down at the blood that pooled around your legs. “What happened?”

“I-I felt sick and-and I got up and- there was-“ Sobs kept falling from your mouth, chest trembling and making the eight month old screech. “I can’t-“ Your face went to your daughter, pressing a kiss to her head as she kept crying. “Mels, please, baby-“

He was quick to remove his hand from your face, taking his daughter in his grasp before turning towards the bedroom. Gaz and Soap stood in it, Price behind them, all of them gazing through the doorway. Every single one of his friends’ faces had concern written all over them.

“Gaz.”

The Sergeant immediately came forwards, taking the little one in his grasp and leaving the bathroom. Simon turned back to you, grabbing your other hand and squeezing. You tried to take a deep breath, but hiccuped harshly. “It hurts, Simon. It hurts, it hurts.“ Your eyes screwed shut, he felt your knuckles pop as you kept squeezing his hand.

“I know.” He murmured, moving one arm to go underneath your knees. Your body was shaking, he was shaking, he didn’t know how to stop it, he wanted to stop it.

Your voice was nothing but a whisper, body trembling as he picked you up. “My baby.”

“Simon, what’s happened?” Price spoke, he probably noticed the blood on the floor that had seeped through your underwear. Simon felt his skin grow cold when he felt the blood against his forearm, moving into the bedroom before grabbing a blanket from the chair next to the dresser. He did his best to cover you, Soap immediately came to his aid. He pulled the blanket up to your neck while Simon awkwardly wrapped you in the gray blanket.

As soon as Soap had moved away, Simon was gone. Down the steps, through the hallway while hearing his infant daughter screeching in the kitchen. He kept his eyes on you, your eyes screwed so tight and hollow sobs echoed from your lips.

He didn’t hear Price tell Soap to go get Winnie from school, he didn’t listen when Price told Gaz to stay with Mellie, that he was going with Simon.

It was like the world was in slow motion when he stepped down the front porch, but it zipped by when Price’s hand landed on his shoulder. Simon didn’t even turn to look at Price.

“She’s miscarrying.”

———

hi. simon is great dad and you can’t convince me otherwise, he’s the best husband he can be so part 2 will be soon i promise :(

———

#simon ghost riley x afab!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon riley #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x you #simon riley x wife!reader #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium

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dynamightmite · 2 years

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Some of the responses to my last post have made me realize that maybe Bakugo's trauma isn't as well understood as some of the other characters', and, because I have free time today, I figured I might as well break it down in chronological order and work from there (warning you now: this will be long).

To begin with, there's a lot of obvious things about the Sludge villain incident that would be traumatizing for basically anyone. And as much as Bakugo tried to shove off the after-effects, we know he was scared:

But there are a lot of Bakugo-specific reasons why the Sludge villain really fucked with his confidence and sense of self-worth. For one thing, while we see Midoriya getting attacked, he's rescued by All Might almost instantly. He barely has time to realize he's suffocating before he's free. Bakugo? Not so much. It's unclear how long, exactly, the Sludge villain holds him hostage, but it's at least a few minutes. Which doesn't sound very long until you remember that Bakugo was fourteen, couldn't breathe, and, because he isn't stupid, was completely aware that multiple pro heroes were basically standing around watching him be brutalized and doing absolutely nothing to help.

The only person who did help was Deku. The only person. The only person who gave enough of a shit about Bakugo to try and save him was the person he has the most complicated relationship with: his rival, his victim, his childhood friend, the person he feels both the safest and most exposed with. The person he measures himself against constantly, and internally finds himself lacking. So not only is all of this happening, but Deku—who just hours earlier Bakugo was mocking for being weak—is the one person strong enough to try and do something, and gets front row seats to Bakugo's own weakness.

Then All Might shows up and saves Bakugo from what is, at that point, the most humiliating, terrifying thing that has ever happened to him. But of course Bakugo isn't happy about it; he never wanted to be saved by All Might, and meeting his hero for the first time the way he did? What Bakugo wanted, desperately, was to prove himself to All Might, and instead he's just another dumb kid that got saved from a villain attack by the greatest pro hero who ever lived.

Not only that, but this was in public. It was televized. Bakugo was made so famous for it, people recognized him years later on the street based solely on his face. And while theoretically that's great exposure for him, imagine if the worst, most degrading moment of your entire life was broadcast on live, national television, and constantly brought up like some funny anecdote by people who don't even know you. He was fourteen years old being physically assaulted and strangled in front of the entire country and unable to do anything about it. Not only did that damage his pride, but it really fucked with him mentally. Look at what Midoriya even says about him:

That's not even to begin talking about how much pressure he puts himself under to be the best, no exceptions. He has a full-on panic attack when he loses in Deku vs. Kacchan 1 because he ties his self-worth so completely to winning he thinks of himself and worthless without it. Look how deeply it affects him:

That's not just bruised pride, that's Bakugo dealing with every single one of his insecurities being laid bare in public again. It's gonna just keep happening, too. And sure, like with this fight, sometimes he brings it on himself, but. Holy shit, this poor kid.

Then, of course, we have the kidnapping.

Despite their misapplication of their information, the LoV actually understands Bakugo pretty well. By that I mean, they figured out what affects Bakugo the most and capitalize on it to try and win him over to their side. They attack his image as a hero. Which seems kind of lame and generic, except it really hits home. Why?

Because that's his biggest insecurity, his deep, dark shame: Bakugo doesn't think of himself as heroic.

He's an excellent fighter and strategist, he's fearless, able to work well under pressure, adaptable, quick-thinking, and extremely powerful. All incredible traits for a hero. What he doesn't have is an instinct to save others. Deku does; he'll reach his hand out to anyone, without thought, no matter the cost to his safety/happiness. But Bakugo consistently struggles with this aspect of being a true hero. He's very aware of how important it is—every time he talks about Deku looking down on him, the thing he was laughing at Bakugo for? Yeah, this is it—and how very much he lacks it. And the LoV rubs his face in the fact that not only do a bunch of villains see him as being villainous, but the public he's supposed to be well on his way to protecting do, too. Yeah Aizawa defends him, but of course that whole experience negatively affects Bakugo. Especially because of what comes after.

Deku vs. Kacchan 2 is probably the closest Horikoshi comes to stabbing the audience through the brain with a knife labeled "Bakugo's trauma".

The whole fight is just Bakugo baring his soul in the most raw, heart-wrenching way possible. Look at what he asks Deku:

None of these lines should be ignored. This is Bakugo admitting that he is terrified that every bit of praise he's ever received is meaningless in the face of reality, which has proven that he is not worthy. All Might didn't think so, otherwise why wouldn't he have picked Bakugo to be his successor? Every ounce of skill, all the effort Bakugo has poured into his dream, it all means nothing. Why? Because Deku is inherently heroic, and Bakugo is not. Bakugo knows it, Midoriya knows it (why else would he be laughing in Bakugo's face if he wasn't intimately aware of his failures?), All Might knows it—hell, the whole world knows it. And because Bakugo is his own worst critic, he's gutted that someone like him, someone unworthy, destroyed the Symbol of Peace. His hero.

Does this not look like trauma? Does this not look like a kid poorly dealing with PTSD who's lashing out and trying to punish himself? And trying to purge his emotions the only way he knows how, through fighting? Who is desperately seeking some kind of compassion and connection in Deku, because he is losing his mind and can't keep going? He's a kid who's been given basically zero support, who's been expected to deal with not only being kidnapped and psychologically tortured, but also being the direct cause of Japan's sudden criminal uprising. That is so much pressure to put on a child. Any single bit of Bakugo's experience would be traumatizing by itself, but put together? It's like a personalized hell for him.

And then we have the Moment. The my body just moved on its own moment. Bakugo is so afraid for Deku leading up to this:

And afterward? It really affects him.

He's scared for Deku. He's beating himself up for not supporting him better, for not getting over himself and taking Deku's hand. He thought his closest person was going to die in front of his eyes, and then that person ran away. Of course that traumatized Bakugo.

Now, the reason Bakugo's trauma often gets overlooked (both in canon and in the fandom space) is, in my opinion, because he doesn't express his trauma in a way that's easy to romanticize. It often comes out as anger and violence, loud and obnoxious and toxic. His trauma responses hurt other people, specifically Deku. And in a character that isn't going for poor little meow meow bloodthirsty vengeance-based criminal or abused child with terrible social skills but a heart of gold, it's hard for people to wrap their heads around the fact that Bakugo isn't really a bad kid so much as he's a kid who has had a lot of crap dumped on him and hasn't been given any tools to heal. He doesn't know how to express his feelings easily or clearly when he isn't in the middle of a fight, and he has very few coping skills to help him deal with his crippling self-loathing and inferiority complex. So when he reaches his mental limit, he—pun intended—explodes.

That isn't to say that Bakugo isn't responsible for his trauma responses, the same way every other character is. He absolutely deserves to be taken to task over them, and the narrative has done a good job of giving him one consequence after the other. But at the same time, he really is just a child who is doing his best in a fucked up situation. And while his actions definitely have hurt other people, the amount of mental torment Bakugo finds himself in on a regular basis deserves more sympathy than I think he sometimes gets.

I understand why characters like Shoto get more of the poor baby treatment, because he's the perfect victim: faultless, and his anger is almost 100% directed at the perpetrator, his father. Comparatively, Bakugo's trauma is messy and overflowing and directed at all the wrong people. But that's neither unrealistic nor even all that surprising, given what we know about him. And part of that is because his trauma isn't nearly as straight-forward, since it's so wrapped up in his own self-esteem issues that he blames himself, and then tries to refocus his hurt and anger on Deku to mitigate his own pain.

It's a big part of why I like Bakugo so much; he represents the unappealing side of trauma responses that are so common, but so often get overlooked because they're unappealing. He's a victim who doesn't act the way we want a victim to act, but rather the way they usually do, and for that I applaud Horikoshi on his realism.

#bnha #bakugo #bakugo meta #bnha meta #bnha spoilers #character analysis #long post

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siremasterlawrence · 1 year

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Brother Boyfriend Redux Part 3

Fire Within

Cowboy Grayson is currently rolling in his bed lost to time as he smirks falling in to a void of nothingness.He free falls in to darkness in the abyss of it all he can see is four walls of glass coming to a head. He ricochets back and forth shattering one glass after another entering one dimension to the next. In the light of golden yellow protection hover over it descending on to him carrying him to the side.

Spinning through time Richard sees me in the middle of the space floating with such of control. I open his arms outward taking a turn he is wide open with excitement the shattered pieces rain over him.His body hit a hard surface upon impact he woke up sigh a large gasp of breath coming from his mouth.His face full of sut covering him in large dark patches he attempts to crawl to a chair but it’s burning hot.

He can hear the sound of a fire truck loudly emerge through the chaos of the city streets and he smirks. The plan is a go as Master Lawrence his ole God perfect in everywhere has depict to come to fruition.The fire truck stops parking in backyard the teams scream planning out the attack to get the fire to cool off. One of them Fire Fighter Brandon breaks in through the hard cold glass smashing the glass on to Brandon.

The man knelt down removing the building remains off of him kicking things inside he lifts him up in his arms facing the exit he is checking the entire area out for every way available. He races towards the window he leaps in to the air crashing through the window he felt scrapes over his body and he lands in h r backyards and puts him down to due a medical check.

He stops finally come to he stares into the surrounding completely in shock to see his crew completely disappear not even a trace of his team is left and all of it comes to ahead. Brandon’s body feels faint, his head began to spin spiraling, internal fiery super hot heat overtaking him, eyes rolling back up into his eye sockets then his body shuts down.

The hour flies by his eyes pop open in to a whole new world his existence became a non starter he cannot recognize anything in his sight he can feel a shadow overcast him. A man emerges from the back of the room a gigantic empty space fill to the broom with I’ll intention he can sense the pain shoot up from his legs upward to his body.

The man he saved from the eruption of the well to planned fire with television coverage and the sound of sirens causing the citizens to panic on to the streets screaming in a will of dismay and shock. The young man places both of his hands on both of his shoulders holding him down to the ground he struggles hoping he could fight and escape though it a failed effort at best.

The other man he calls Master Lawrence his God with gloved hands out stretching in to the air, he knelt down next to him placing his hand on his chin he swivels his face to look at him. Brandon face becomes on of utter disgust his expression of fear is quite sexy if I mist admit it for the world and I have it I mean have to have him I think pulling him in to a kiss.

“Sorry about all this! I set up a trap.”

“I figured that you bastard.”

“Oh! I like them feisty”

“Do you ? You won’t break me”

“Will see about that fucker”

“Fire Fighter pretty boi”

“Fuck you “

“Fine!”

“Gag him, tie him up and drug him”

“Yes Master”

“As you wish”

“No! Stop Please”

“Zip your pie hole”

“Master will displeased “

“Now open up that smart mouth”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“No! Wait”

“Mmmppphhhfff”

“Exquisite”

“You did well”

“Mmmmm”

“Tend to me now”

“Suck me off”

“Enjoy the show pretty show”

The end

Hello Teacher

Reaching the core of his being, receiving the absolute control mentally, emotionally, and physically ownership of the entire life of his being because now my slave Brandon is all mine.

His younger brother Clark who is a moonlighting professor who is also reporter to Major Company The Daily Planet News Paper a rag that I cannot stand to read happens to pass by hoping tocatch him.

He parks the car happily with a bright smile on his face sitting outside of his my home he settles in turning off the engine, he removes his keys placing them back in to the car as he unlocks the door, and steps out of the car slamming it shut.

He starts to walk up the stairs to the front of the door knocking on the front door it opens up greeting him at the mat is his brother Brandon they hug tight.

Whether he knew I am in the shadows he is aware of my presence as his brother leads him inside waving at me with a signal to get the plan going I race down the staircase to get things rolling.

He smirks with love his left hand crosses it’s fingers cementing his own implosion at the hand of his brother the two stand by the couch when Brandon wraps his hand on his neck.

The super muscular hand slicks into his way tight pants pocket digging in to find the prep needle he yanks off the cap pressing it up in the air and the spurts flew in to the air it is all ready.

He raises it up injecting him with it harshly upon impact the syringe goes in deep sinks very quickly the liquid formula soaks in very deep transforming him from the inside he is re-written.

Clark’s eyes roll back face palming in to the ground automatically he starts to fall in to a state of shock he begins to shake frantically speeding in to the wall he is knocked out cold yet again.

Brandon laughs so hard at his brothers own undoing I join them in the room taking his sly hand in mine with his arms wrapping on to me Brandon kisses me slowly our tongues push past each other.

I snap my finger in the air signaling a heavy change with eerie sea air washing over the room cooling everything follow by the dark window shades blocking the sun causing the room to spin.

The furniture start spring backwards freeing the space entirely for all of us to wonder about, the floor pulls apart beneath us an elevator shaft booms on under us descending through a cave below the base the house.

“Brandon carry him to the medical slab in the middle of the room and don’t ask any questions.”

“Yes Master Lawrence! “

“Sir Yes Sir”

“He is set up”

“Excellent! Perfect boi”

“Kneel in front of me”

“Waist on my hips”

“Grip me tight”

“Inhale my scent “

“Mmmmmm”

“Yes Master”

“Now sleep”

“Aaaahhhhh”

“Priceless”

“On to bigger and better things”

“Electrodes, strap and machine check, and check and check.”

“Initiate the transfer “

“Beginning in five…four…three…two…one”

The end

#brandon routh #tyler hoechlin #hypnosis #mind control #hypno slave #hypno submission #mind control slaves #boyfriend/brother

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curlytheintrovert · 1 year

Text

My Favorite Papa Joel Moments (Pt. 4):

🦠 I thought it was touching how Joel was so discretely loving to Ellie in Wyoming. He was in full father mode. The panic attacks are obviously on her behalf. The look on his face when he wakes up to find her on watch is so bewildered and afraid. How could I? How could I put her in danger like that? The way he told Ellie to get down from the boulder as she star gazed, clearly ALWAYS thinking of her safety. When he automatically knew she loved Sally Ride, because he knows her. The speed in which he grabbed her hand when they were ambushed, and how quickly he pushed her behind him. Joel is such a tender person when it comes to Ellie. He has plenty of darkness and strength in him but he’s still such a cinnamon roll somehow. I adore this man!

🦠 The way Joel implodes when he talks to Tommy…it may be one the most vulnerable, emotional moments I’ve seen from a man on television, period. The way he talks; soft, almost manic, and shaking with emotion is just—I can’t handle it. The way the depth of his fear, equally motivated by his love for Ellie and the nightmare of losing a daughter again, makes him so tortured and vulnerable…It’s so strong he blurs both his girls together and he’s been stuck there for months. He’s already been stuck for 20 years, rooted to the spot where Sarah died in his arms and now every connection with Ellie makes it even worse. The only thing Joel can think to do is to hand her off to someone he believes will do a better job. Though you can tell it hurts, he says “I have to leave her” like trying to convince himself that’s what’s needed. Like it’s his final, tearful bid to rid himself of this nightmare, even if it takes his beloved girl away, he’ll at least be sane. But there’s even a sadness in this revelation too, cause it’s almost too late. He knows she’s like a daughter to him now, no matter what. Our boi just needs a hug! 😩 (and again can we give Pedro every award, cause this is some of the best acting I’ve ever seen!!)

🦠Then after seeing ALL that emotion from Joel, the way he tells Ellie they’re separating is so profoundly different. Gone is the crying, soft man we saw just moments before and he’s replaced with the gruff, closed off version we’re all used to. Showing he puts a lot of effort into that persona for her and everyone around him. “Do you give a shit about me or not?” I love how the immediate answer is “Course I do.” He says it like he’s upset about that being so viscerally true, like yes it’s true, that’s why I’m making this impossible choice. But the moment Ellie mentions Sarah it’s over. He shuts down the moment he hears her name, showing why no one has spoken it around him up until now, not Tess, not Tommy, not Frank or Bill, no one. This is the first time he’s ever truly angry with Ellie and he uses that momentum to try and effectively cut off their relationship. “You’re not my daughter.” But the moment he leaves the room and is away from Ellie’s eyes he’s crying all over again. Yeah, like anyone believed that one, Joel. 🤷🏽‍♀️

#curlystloumetas #the last of us #ellie & joel #joel williams #ellie miller #joel and ellie #joel tlou #tlou show #tlou hbo #joel the last of us #tlou #tloudaily #i can’t stop #i love them so much #papajoel

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errantnight · 9 months

Note

Oh my god, hold on! Is it wierd that I'm a girlie who loves angst (probably because I can relate to some e.i panic attacks) - so your whump!Cloud wheel made me feel things! The urge I have to pick one prompt but there's so many... The easiest route for me would be "panic attacks" but I'm craving some "sleep deprivation..." one 'cause I always have been into psyche and dreamlike stuff 🥺

Sorry this took so long, I really liked that prompt too because Cloud almost never sleeps in Remake at all! I think he gets maybe one uninterrupted nights sleep.

You're not weird, I'm a lady who adores whump and hurt/comfort and I'd say more than half of us into it are women!

Here's your story!

Cloud couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep. Hells, he’d just like to have more than two or three hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness… something twitched uncomfortably in the back of his mind, that he didn’t want that actually, nonsensically insisting he’d slept enough for the rest of his life. He’d fall asleep and inevitably jerk awake an hour later - an hour if he was lucky that is.

Rolling over, he stared at the blank wall his bed was pressed up against, eyes burning and head swimming with exhaustion. His body ached and no position was particularly comfortable as his muscles twitched restlessly. He was tired, he should be tired, he’d barely slept the day before and he’d not stopped going all day - all night he’d spent running, riding, fighting and fighting and fighting. It wasn’t as though he was soft or something, a SOLDIER First had a much more strenuous workload so he should be used to this…right?

There was nothing he could do to fight it as he curled in on himself, a spike of pain flaring at the base of his skull and shivering beneath his scalp in a way that made him cringe. He clutched at his head, the room glitching around him like a faulty television full of static and the green glow of… of…

Cloud swallowed against the nausea as the fit, whatever it was, passed. He wondered how long he’d been lying there, the room still spinning slightly. Bright light leaked in around the edges of the door, casting sickly yellow rays of artificial sunlight across the floor and ceiling. Had it been hours?

He slumped back against the thin mattress, the rickety bed frame creaking as he tried to get comfortable. For a moment, just a few seconds, he winced as the headache returned - this time followed by a sick and heavy feeling in his chest. His eyes slipped closed, a sound nearly getting trapped in his throat - a whimper, as he writhed against the bed. He felt hot, and then cold. So cold. Cold as Mount Nibel in winter.

There was nothing physical trying to weigh him down but he felt heavy regardless, his instinctive struggles weakening until his muscles relaxed. HIs hands clutched at the sweaty sheets beneath him as he arched back against the… whatever it was. Going slowly limp, a soft voice followed the feeling of ghostly hands on his shoulders pressing him deeper into the mattress.

“Sleep,” a deep, dark, voice whispered into him and he couldn’t help but chase after it. Gods, yes, he wanted to sleep.

“Please,” Cloud shuddered, invisible fingers stroking down his face. He let go, sighing, yearning towards the nothingness beckoning him to relax and give in.

“Sleep,” the word was so seductive, the need to obey so powerful, “and dream the sweetest dreams.”

A sensation like falling began to drag him under and he went willingly, desperately, and the sharp gasp of air in his lungs felt like knives as something brushed over him and pulled him awake. Fists pounded on the door, making him roll to his feet to answer. The danger lent him enough adrenaline to get up, to grab his sword, to keep going again. Always again.

He closed his eyes briefly, stumbling down the stairs more on autopilot than deliberately, and through himself into the fight. He’d sleep… sometime… he hoped.

Anyone else want to spin the Cloud Whump Wheel?

#whump #ffvii #ff7 #cloud strife #ffvii remake #writing prompts #prompt #angst #sleep deprivation

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littleb00ger · 7 months

Text

Enter Sandman

CONTENT WARNING(S): agere (age regression) and self soothing, mentions of alcohol and w(ee)d, cigarettes, mentions of night terrors, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks.

-hurt/comfort genre

-gender neutral reader

-reader lives with Cliff, or maybe Cliff lives with them (ie. roommates, whatever your preference)

-THIS VERSION HAS BEEN CENSORED FROM CURSE WORDS!

Summary: You have been suffering from terrible insomnia. You know exactly what you need to do to get a full night's sleep- you've just been putting it off. You were so worried about what Cliff would think. But one night, you were home alone. You had a chance. The only thing you didn't think through was how Cliff would find you when he returned. Would he be accepting?

Notes: This was written for my own personal comfort. Please, please be nice. (Btw I am not very good at writing complete paragraphs lol.)

It finally happened.

You were finally able to sleep.

After months of restless nights- twenty-four hour periods turned to excruciating forty-eight hour periods without sleep. The sweet dreams finally came, and you were in the sandman's cradle.

Before tonight, you tried it all; the melatonin capsules, night lights, meditations, yoga, benadryl, cutting out television an hour before bedtime. You even tried beer and weed! Lord knows there was enough of that in the house, at least.

Surely those two substances combined were enough to virtually knock your lights out!

But nothing seemed to work. You felt like you tried everything in vain. The agony of staying awake for so long made your focus little to none. If sleep was even fortunate enough to grace you with its presence, it would never stay the course. And then came a time where the night terrors were seemingly endless.

All your past traumas would come flooding back to you- chasing you.

Reminding you.

It was embarrassing to wake up thrashing and screaming so loud, Cliff would rush into the room to calm you down- and Cliff slept like a bear. Under any other circumstances, you couldn’t wake him up for anything!

He’d probably sleep through a world war, if it happened.

You were fed up with the night terrors.

He'd help you through the panic attacks every time. And still, shame would pour upon you each time you apologized for waking him.

Cliff was even kind enough to let you sleep beside him, sometimes. But it felt ultimately useless. It felt like nothing was gonna get you to stay asleep- if you did at all. He kept urging you to see a doctor. A psychiatrist, a sleep specialist….something!

You couldn’t keep living like this. Slumber would hit him like a ton of bricks- and you would be left to lay there with eyes wide open, listening to him soundly snore. You would often wish that you could snore along with him; to come with on a joyride to the good dream realm, for once.

But not tonight.

You hadn’t let yourself regress in so long, but you knew deep down that it was the answer to all your sleeping troubles. It would always calm you down and aid in a very good night’s sleep. Your age regression never failed. But you were stubborn.

No, you couldn’t- not in the same house as Cliff Burton.

He was such a smart and talented man. In a way, you certainly looked up to him. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself, the way he stayed so calm all the time- and you were always on the edge of a freak out. The sleeplessness sure didn’t help that matter, either.

Most folks didn’t understand age regression. Too many chalk it up to be something it should not. So you didn’t like to talk about it. You didn't want those closest to you getting the wrong impression.

Just imagine if Cliff found out reverting yourself down to a mere toddler was what you called “Heaven”. You were always the happiest when you were small. The pleasures were simple, and life felt joyous.

There was no way. He would tease you for sure.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Cliff may not have shown it, but he was worried about you.

Age regression was a trauma response.

You were good at suppressing those feelings, even when the regression was abrupt or involuntary. But masking was exhausting, and you were already tired enough. "Somethings gotta give." You thought.

So tonight, you took a chance.

Cliff invited you to go out with friends that evening, but wasn't surprised when you turned down the offer. He knew you really didn’t have the energy, but still wanted to be nice. He felt bad, knowing there wasn’t much he could do.

“Alright, well just try to relax,” Cliff told you. He tapped a brand new pack of Marlboro reds against his palm while saying this.

“Chill out, order in and watch a movie or something.” He bit the tip of a fresh square between his teeth. “I rolled an extra joint, if you’re interested.” He grinned real wide with the cigarette still poking out through his choppers. “I left it on the dresser for you.”

That man and his weed.

You thanked him, even though you weren’t very keen on smoking. It’s the thought that counts, and you knew he was trying his best to help you in whatever way he could. He patted your shoulder before he left, as a way to reassure you.

When he left, you took a deep breath. You were diving into a big leap of faith- and honestly, it was about time! Regression truly felt like your last hope; your last chance to get the rest you’ve been waiting for.

So you pulled out your toys and threw on your cozy clothes, determined to have a blast. And more importantly- determined to get to sleep.

And after hours of playing, relaxation, and watching cartoons, here you were- snug as a bug in a rug. You were wrapped up in a blanket with your favorite plush and your binky tucked between your teeth. Everything was perfect. Finally.

It was about twenty past midnight when Cliff returned.

Entering the home, he was puzzled to be greeted with silence. Usually the tv was on or some type of noise was stirring. But all he could hear was the faintest ticking of the clock. He shut the back door behind him and shed his shoes. He mosied into the quiet living room, hoping that everything was okay.

Cliff dismissively threw his keys back into his pocket while approaching the living room entrance. He stopped in place and raised an eyebrow when he saw you, on the couch fast asleep-

….With a pacifier?

Now Cliff was even more puzzled about what was going on. While on the other hand, he was absolutely relieved to finally see you sleeping. He was ecstatic for you, it was a miracle! He almost wanted to jump with joy and cheer! At last, you were asleep.

He looked at the surrounding area and puffed out a breathy chuckle while seeing the childish toys laying around. Rattles, toy cars, blocks, Little People figures with their playsets- you name it, you had it. Of course, he knew you always enjoyed toys, you had a whole collection growing on your shelf! But he never saw you display these toys before.

Cliff lightened his steps as he crept closer. You looked so peaceful and cute.

He may have had a thousand questions running through his head about what was going on, but none of that really mattered, right now. A kind and gentle smile spread across his face while kneeling beside the couch.

He couldn’t help but just watch you. Not in any demeaning sort of way- but Cliff was truly fascinated. He's never seen anything like this before.

And on top of that, he was stoned. Like usual. That only seemed to enhance his fascination.

Soft hazel eyes scanned over the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. He saw the way your eyelids would twitch, and the front of your binky wiggled whenever it was sucked. The redhead wanted to reach out and pet your hair, but refrained from doing so, seeing as not to wake you.

Cliff watched you for another moment, hearing your quiet breathing. He wondered what you were dreaming about. "Hopefully it’s something good.” He thought. He didn’t notice the keys he’d so carelessly shoved into his bell bottoms were dangling away from the fabric. He was solely focused on you.

And all within seconds did they slip out, loudly clunking to the carpet in a big metal pile.

Crap.

You immediately stirred and opened your eyes before Cliff could even react. Things were groggy; it took you a couple seconds to realize that he was kneeling right next to you. Your eyes immediately widened with fear like saucers. Wait. Where the heck did he come from?!

Your mind was racing, trying to put the pieces together in your tired and fragile state of mind. What time is it? How long had Cliff been staring at you? Why was he staring at you? Even more importantly-

Did Cliff still like you? Was he angry about the mess? Did he think you were weird?

Is he going to think this was something bad like all the others?

There were so many questions and in your childlike state of mind, you couldn't take it. You couldn't handle feeling so crowded. You trembled and pulled away from the blanket and cushions of the couch. You recoiled into yourself from such a startle. No, this was not a good way to be woken up. Not at all.

“Woah. Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Cliff put on a soft tone of voice. He held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. “It’s okay, you’re safe.” Even though every single curse word in the English language was racing through his brain, in this situation. Those stupid keys.

You shook your head. Your mind was like a light switch, shifting back and forth from adult to child. It finally dawned on you that you still had the binky planted in your mouth. Your teeth had bit down, holding on for dear life as your fight or flight mode was exposed. It was like you couldn’t move aside from a tremble.

A murmur erupted from your throat. “I-”

You finally pulled it away from your mouth and threw it off to the other side of the couch. “I can explain!” The much louder words flew out of your mouth so fast, you didn’t even realize it made you drool. Now you must’ve looked even more like a child to Cliff.

You wiped your chin on the sleeve of your sweater and looked up at the tall man before you. You felt defeated. Dog tired and defeated.

“Shh.” Cliff shook his head and continued to be tender. “It can wait until later.” He remained cautious of your frail mindstate, while putting his hand on your shoulder for comfort. “Everything’s okay. Just breathe.” He would often take deep breaths along with you, during your anxiety attacks.

All you could think was- “please don’t cry, please don’t cry, please don’t cry.” But you did the best you could. You were breathing along with him with quivering lungs.

You almost didn’t want him to touch you. He read your emotion clear as day after noticing your shoulder inch back from him, ever the slightest. Cliff pulled his hand away while keeping his calm demeanor. "It's alright." He wasn't offended. His face was soft, and his half-lidded, stoner eyes kept a caring gaze of concern.

“Want me to get you a glass of water?”

Water was good. Hydration was good.

You shrugged your shoulders. It was hard to maintain eye contact. The shameful feeling heavy on your shoulders was making it nearly impossible. Your eyes kept darting around the room in a frenzy. Without another word, the redhead stood up fully and went to the kitchen; you assumed for the glass of water he offered.

You brought your knees up to your chest and buried your face into them, hugging yourself while still breathing. It was this.

This.

This crap was exactly what you were afraid of.

“He’s never gonna look at you the same way again. You’ve messed everything up.” You were mentally scolding yourself over it. Thinking that way was doing nothing to help your anxiety. It was self-sabotage at its worst. It was all too familiar.

In contrast, Cliff remained very positive. He may not have fully understood what he walked in on, but he had a hunch. But what you experienced was so much more than just basic nostalgia. It was sheer comfort. Whatever it was, he knew one thing was for certain-

If it helps you relax enough to actually stay asleep, he was going to encourage it. Without a doubt.

Who was he to pass judgment?

You were brought back to reality by the gentle ‘clink’ of a glass being set on the coffee table. You looked up from your knees to stare at the cup of water, then finally, up at Cliff. Dear Cliff- bass extraordinaire.

“Here you go.” He smiled at you. Despite your wide eyes being tearful, he found your stare to be ingenuous; childlike, even. Not that it was even surprising, given the circumstances of how he found you.

Cliff watched you slowly start to untangle yourself from the ball that you were curled in. He wanted to titter at the way your socks were too big for your feet; they fell away from your calves and bunched at your ankles.

You were cautious while reaching for the glass with both hands, which were still shaky from the aftereffects of fright. You sipped the water successfully without dropping it. All the times in childhood you were yelled at for spilling, briefly went through your mind. The memories made you want to cringe.

Small children use sippy cups and tumblers with straws for a reason.

But at least you didn’t have to worry about that, right now.

Cliff didn’t want to make his staring at you obvious- that probably did more harm than good for tonight. He was still discreetly annoyed with himself for causing you such agitation. So he decided to clear up the toys left on the floor, stashing them all in one pile to be put away later.

Every time he leaned over, he took the opportunity to pass you a glance through his long red locks.

Oversized sweater ten sizes too big; big slouchy, mismatched socks; boxer-style underwear that was printed with little green aliens? Come on!

You were adorable to him.

He could almost feel his freckled cheeks start to heat up in a blush. He turned away and grinned to himself while hearing one of your toys rattle as it was moved. He imagined how cute you'd look while playing with these.

After a few sips, you set the glass down while scooting yourself to the very edge of the seat. You took a deep breath, using the moment to contemplate your next move. Your eyes were starting to blur from holding back the emotions for so long, and your leg was bouncing from restlessness.

Being so nervous was making you stutter. You were finding it difficult to force your words out.

“I’m gonna-”

Hold on, what were you gonna do, again?

“Go pee.”

You shook your head. “Wait, ew. Rephrase yourself. Don't say it like that!”

“Uh, go to the bathroom. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Your words spewed out so fast, you almost felt like Regan from The Exorcist. Projectile-barfing out green vomit everywhere- except in your case, it was words. Word-vomit.

You finally found the strength to stand up on your wobbly legs.

Cliff was returning your puzzle pieces back into the box, when he turned his head to you and nodded. “Take your time.” His voice sounded sincere. Definitely not sarcastic in any way.

There was a brief awkwardness surrounding the living room. You just stood there, twirling your fingers around the fraying hems of your sweater sleeves. Why was Cliff acting so….nonchalant? It felt suspicious.

“You don’t have to clean up after me, you know.”

Again, your words mumbled and sputtered like a dying engine. In Cliff’s high state, he almost had to take a second to realize what you said. He sealed up the box of puzzle pieces and set it aside. “You’re good, I don’t mind.” He grinned at you with hopefulness.

There could have been a chance he was lying, but Cliff was an honest man. He was always the type of guy to just tell it like it is. You had to remember he was also under the influence.

Okay, so maybe it's not so suspicious.

You said nothing while nodding your head. You were light on your feet as you slipped past him to the bathroom down the hall. Your vision was blurring the whole way there. As soon as you closed the door, everything broke loose.

There was no more holding back. Tears started pouring out like a fountain, bringing all the unwanted anxiety, guilt, and shame to the surface. Choking down your sobs the best you could with your head in your hands. You felt like there was no going back now. There was no way to undo this- this mess you caused.

There was no way for Cliff to unsee what he saw.

“Why did I take the stupid chance?” You thought. All hope must be lost. You felt so pathetic.

But what you didn’t know was that he didn’t want to unsee things. He wanted honesty. He wanted to witness the real you. And he wanted to be there to help you power through the trenches, so long as you let him.

Cliff was patient.

It felt like you’d been in the bathroom for so long. The tears were finally slowing down, leaving your eyes aching. Now you feel even more exhausted than before. You flushed the toilet and turned to the sink. The reflection in the mirror felt haunting to you.

He’s gonna know you’ve been crying.

You took one straight look at yourself and turned away. It was like a trap to get you to start crying again.

You ignored the mirror while washing your hands, then splashed your face with water. It was going to take a minute to prepare walking out. Best case scenario, Cliff stopped caring and went to bed.

Nah, Cliff was a night-owl. Even more so than that, he was not one to abandon his friends when they may be vulnerable. He wasn’t going to leave you alone and upset like this.

After drying your hands and face, you took a deep breath. Your body felt frozen in place with your hand on the doorknob. You looked over at the mirror again. Red eyes, red nose, still looking all sorts of pitiful. So many insults were crowding your brain again. Just like always. But you remembered why regression worked so well for you-

It replaced some of your bad habits. Much nastier ones.

“Shut up.” You mumbled and turned away from the mirror.

Those were old habits; ones you’ve grown out of. As ironic as it was, letting yourself be a child again has done wonders in helping you grow as a person. It was almost like therapy.

There was a sliver of confidence that helped you open the door again. You turned the light off behind you, hoping to leave all the tears and terrible thoughts behind.

Cliff was now sitting in the armchair with a lit square between his fingers. He was staring off at nothing in particular while looking deep in thought. He turned to you, offering another hopeful smile when you returned.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I guess.” There was a pause between your words. You sat back down on the couch rather stiffly, staring straight ahead without expression.

Cliff’s smile quickly faded. He noticed your facial features still reddened and damp from crying. Smoke exhaled from his lips. “Come on, don’t lie.” His tone of voice remained neutral. Caring. "You know you can always talk to me."

You could see in the corner of your eye as he stubbed his square into the ashtray. The hair fell into your face while lowering your head. You stared down at your feet awkwardly. He was right. This mess wasn't gonna resolve itself.

“I’m sorry.”

That was all you could think to say. You sniffed back another myriad of tears, mopping your cheeks with your sleeve. The redhead wasn’t sure how to respond. Why did you feel sorry?

You didn’t do anything wrong.

He rose from the seat, moving over to the empty spot beside you. You felt his big hand rest on your back. He was just sitting beside you, trying to bring some comfort. You cursed under your breath while wiping away even more unwanted tears. They should’ve been all dried up by now.

“What’re you sorry for? I’m not mad.” Cliff assured. You felt him start to lightly rub up and down your back. That was instantly calming. You wanted to purr like a kitten and lean into his caress.

Laying beside him was your plushie. He smiled to himself and picked it up. He could tell just how loved this little toy was. Some of the seams appeared loose. The fabric was worn and matted in some areas, but it was still soft and cuddly-

And cute. Just like you.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You could finally tell by his tone that Cliff was being sincere. So why the heck were you still so afraid? Why couldn’t you let him in? You were on a rollercoaster full of emotions, and you just wanted off. You didn’t want to be afraid.

Your head eventually lifted to reveal the exhaustion in your puffy eyes. “You don’t understand.” You sighed.

After a few seconds, you finally had the courage to look him in the eyes. Cliff has such a wise, old soul; you could tell just by looking at him. You were starting to trust that he wasn’t going to judge you.

“I want to. But I can’t if you don’t let me.” He rubbed your back again. His words remained gentle and empathetic. You nodded. Cliff settled the treasured stuffed animal into your arms, presenting another smile. You loved the way the corners of his mouth dimpled when he smiled. You finally smiled back- just a little.

“I just don’t wanna talk about it.” You made eye contact again while cuddling the plush to your chest. “I mean, I don’t think I can, right now.” You rubbed your fingers over the toy's fabric.

He nodded his head with all his understanding. “Like I said before, everything can wait until later.” He tousled your hair. “I’m not going to push you.” He poked you lightly in your side with his index finger, while sticking out his tongue- as a way to lighten the atmosphere.

Good ‘ol Cliff.

“P’omise?” You lisped. You looked at him with trusting eyes.

"Course I promise.” Cliff chuckled a little. "We can talk about it when you're ready." You noticed him look over toward the clock. It was ten after one. “Besides, we need to get you back to sleep.”

Cliff pulled your discarded binky from where it was thrown. It was laying between the cushions in the corner of the couch- but certainly not forgotten. He wiped off the rubber part and offered it to you. “If it helps you fall asleep, you should really use it.”

You looked at the binky he held up to you, then back at him before finally taking it. There was a tiny part of you that dreamed of this one day happening. Of Cliff actually encouraging you to regress, maybe even playing with you-

Maybe even look after you.

Your face sizzled with shyness, spinning the binky around in your hands. After contemplating for a short minute, you brought it up to your mouth. You latched on again and immediately started to feel better. Who knew such a mundane object would make all the difference.

The front of your binky wiggled a few times while you looked up at Cliff, who was now standing up with a big grin on his face. You trusted that he wouldn't laugh.

“That better?” He gave your head a few gentle pats.

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Tank 'ew.” You were starting to slip again and you were too tired to fight it. Way too tired. Your eyelids were growing heavy- in fact, everything was starting to feel heavy. Your body felt like a rock- a boulder, even.

You slumped backward into the cushions and watched as Cliff picked up the throw blanket, giving it a shake. You looked so sweet to him. Your plushie was still in your arms, being clutched to your chest.

“You must be so tired.” He helped you lay down. You curled up and made yourself as small as you could, rubbing your cheek against the soft, fleecy fabric of your sleeping companion. He draped the blanket over you and watched you snuggle in.

“There you go. Everything’s alright.” He brushed away some strands of hair from your face. He wanted you to feel nice and peaceful.

Cliff was cooing to you as if you were just a little child.

The little child you've always wanted to remain.

“It’s okay.”

He knelt down beside you, just like he did before you woke up. He whispered tender nothings to you, in between humming. His voice was like butter in your ears. Your head was empty, you didn't even know what song he was humming. All that mattered was that you were warm and safe beside him. Nothing could hurt you.

He continued to hum a low melody while stroking your hair. The weight and warmth of his hands, his crooning- it was all too much. Sweet slumber was inching closer and closer by the seconds. And before long, you just couldn’t keep your eyes open any further.

After all these months-

The nightmares had finally come to an end.

#I'm so scared to post 😭#agere blog #sfw smolspace #safe agere #sfw agere #sfw interaction only #SAFE. FOR. WORK.!!#sfw age regressor #sfw regression #sfw fanfic #agere fanfiction #age regression fanfic #hurt/comfort genre

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inverseinvert · 1 year

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DGM Danny Phantom WIP

Prologue

AO3 link here

For a while, Amity Park had been debating going worldwide with ghosts. There had been full scale council meetings discussing the matter, with votes and paperwork and everything! (A few younger members of the public had even tried to segue the meetings into repealing the Anti-Ecto Acts, but got ignored by the much older council.)

The main thing stopping progress, however, was credibility. Or rather, lack thereof.

While yes, the Doctors Fenton had papers published in ectobiology and cryptozoology—that anyone could access with a quick internet search—and a few videos had made it to YouTube, the town was largely seen as a tourist trap and a hoax.

Regardless, Amity was determined to go public. They'd take professional videos, update their website, whatever they had to do to prove to the rest of the world that ghosts existed.

But all those plans came to a screeching halt when an emergency alert broadcast worldwide.

Their need for funding, aid, and support against the nuisance of a ghost infestation became inconsequential in the face of true monsters.

Demons.

Akuma.

Hundreds of thousands were dead, thousands still missing and unaccounted for all over the world.

Originally, it was declared a series of bombings and terrorist attacks; but each incident was too varied. News agencies tried their best to sweep things under the rug and governments were clearly shaken; but amateur videos pushed through. Clips flooded the internet, showcasing the devastation as several dozen mechanical creatures descended with cannons, spewing poison and death.Killing without discrimination.

When it became obvious that this was no hoax, that the governments of the world could no longer deceive their citizens—there were just too many videos, too many witnesses—an emergency broadcast was published.

"The New World Alliance may seem ill-prepared; but I promise you, they're not." A dark-haired Asian stood behind a podium, white beret and coat (accented by black) reflecting brightly in the spotlights. Microphones from news stations around the world crowded his face like a pack of hungry dogs as he glanced down through grey glasses at a sheaf of papers.

Even viewed through the screen of a television, the air of gravity was almost palpable.

“My name is Komui Lee and I'm here because I'm the Chief Officer of the Black Order's European branch. Opperating under the direct command of the Vatican, the Black Order has been defending the public from the Akuma threat for close to a century. We've managed to keep collateral damage and loss of life to a minimum. Until now.” His voice turned melancholy, face drawing downward. Eyes staying locked to the teleprompter, he reached for a large ivory mug and started to lift it. Hand faltering just inches above the table, Komui's frown deepened.

The cup was significantly lighter than it should be.

“We are aware that in this instance we have failed in our due diligence; and for that, we ask your forgiveness.” At this, he set down the empty mug and took a deep breath, pushing his shoulders back and holding his head high.

“We come to you in the hopes that you will understand the good work that has been done up until now and ask that you support our exorcists. In the interest of this, please try your best to stay out of harm's way and report any Akuma sightings to your local police or our helpline which should be displayed at the bottom of your screen.”

Attention shifting back to his documents, the worn man—who clearly had been running on pure coffee alone for at least the past week—began to list general safety procedures: what would be required for people to avoid attacks and what to do when they happened.

Lifting his eyes, he ended the speech with, “I must stress that this is not a constant danger. Do not panic and do not engage with these creatures. Ordinary weapons will not work and they take specialist training to combat. Please let the professionals do their jobs. It is, after all, what we're here for.”

He swept a hand left and gestured to the two individuals standing at parade rest beside him.

The shorter of the two had strikingly similar facial features to Komui, but softer, suggesting a relation to the man. Her hair was also marginally lighter and fell all the way to her shoulders. The woman's older partner, by contrast, had legs for days and a sharp expression, with long, blonde bangs hiding an expansive, jagged scar that surrounded her one visible eye. Clinging to her shoulder was a monkey that vaguely resembled a silvery marmoset, regarding the room with massive pupils.

Both women's outfits were made from a thick, black cloth, their accents and embellishments unique to each individual. They may not have matched perfectly, with one showing little skin and the other leaning more fanservice-gothic-lolita, but like a rook and a knight in chess, it was obvious they came from the same set.

“All exorcists will be wearing uniforms like this when on active duty. Please leave them to their work and do not interfere.”

“Thank you for your attention. We will not be taking questions at this time.”

Finished with the announcement, Komui gathered the paper sheets off the podium and aligned them with each other before placing them under an armpit. Gripping his mug in his other hand, the head Supervisor turned to the camera and dipped forward in a curt bow. As he exited stage left, the two women accompanying him copied the gesture and followed their boss off screen.

When compared to the outside world, Amity Park suddenly was "A Nice Place to Live".

The quaint city enjoyed their haunted reputation, its many shops filled with gimmicky graphics and souvenirs. The citizens knew just what to do in a ghost attack and weren’t truly scared. Either the spectres would move on or Phantom would rescue those truly in harm's way.

No one had actually died in a ghost attack, despite many close calls, and ghosts could be reasoned with. They had personalities and morals (no matter how many people said otherwise).

Their town could never function the way it did if they had Akuma in place of ghosts. The idea of it was downright sickening.

Akuma were fiends of true horror and demise. A distinctly alien mindset that could not be related to in any way. Trying to make light of them was nothing short of stomach-turning to anyone with sound ethics.

So Amity Parkers forgot about trying to ask for help. They’d made it this far on their own and would continue to do so for as long as possible. Government resources should be spent on helping those actually in need. If staying off the map prevented more deaths, then so be it; they could muddle through.

They just hadn’t considered that the ghosts might reach out publicly before the humans would.

Please let me know what you thought. No promises on updates or when they might happen as I am still unmedicated for my ADHD 🥲

Also interested to see what people want to see.

MASSIVE thanks to @weshney for their incredible editing skills. They made sure this was actually legible.

#danny phantom #d.gray-man #d gray man #danny phantom crossover #komui lee #lenalee lee #klaud nine #lau shimin #dp x dgm #dpdgm #dp dgm #my art #my writing

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porchlightfairy · 11 months

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The Angel x Eddie

horror fic

a/n: this is just a little blurb to exercise my writing. i just feel like i can't write for anyone anymore.

You would think Eddie would start to feel bad for what he was doing. But he didn’t really, the Angel opened his eyes to how these people really felt about him.

They treated him like a charity case. Motherless, Fatherless, no family values, no sign of success in this one. The Angel told him what they could hear. They could read minds. And they would tell Eddie anything he wanted to know. Soon Eddie’s once good and noble heart blackened. He felt no pity for these people. How dare they look down on him.

“There’s a curfew in place now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get you anyone tonight.” Eddie stands at the border of the woods near the school. There is no response, just a whistle in the air. He sighs, “Come to my place, and you can have me.” Still no answer but Eddie is satisfied with that. He turns on his heels to walk back to the school.

Later in the night, Eddie sits on the couch and watches the television. He wasn’t really paying attention though. His mind was on the Angel who hadn’t come by. Maybe they found their own food tonight. That was least likely but they’ve grown independent.

Just then a there’s a knock at the door. Eddie jolts up, the Angel doesn’t knock. Who could it be at this hour? He opens the deadbolt and looks through the screen to see Dustin at his door. He stares at him wide-eyed. “Dustin what the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted to come by. I bought some new mini figures and I was wondering if I could paint them here.” Dustin smiles.

Eddie’s heart sinks as he stares through the mesh and past the innocent boy. In the darkness of the woods he feels the intense stare of the Angel. As if in slow motion, the winged monster flys from its hiding place to attack the boy.

Immediately, Eddie throws open the screen and yanks Dustin inside but he isn’t fast enough to close the door. The Angel crashes through the screen door and into the house. As the creature stands at their full form Eddie begins to panic.

Dustin crawls backwards out of fear backing himself into the far corner of the room. Eddie steps in front of the boy, “Not him you can’t take him.”

The Angel hisses and paces from floor to ceiling. Eddie tries to remain calm but his hands were shaking. He holds up one to the monster and the other to protect Dustin. The monsters eyes don’t move from Eddie.

“Eddie what the hell is going on?” Dustin says shakily.

“Just be quiet.” He takes a few steps forward causing the Angel to back towards his room. “I’ll get you somebody else okay?”

“Are you behind those disappearances? And that basketball player?!”

“Dustin, I really need you to shut up right now.” He keeps pushing forward eyes staring at intense black pools. The Angel laments before retreating into his room. Eddie closes his door to catch his breath. But only for a second. “Dustin I really need you to not tell anyone about that okay?”

“Like hell?! That thing is a monster! And you’ve been feeding it.” Dustin scrambles to his feet and rushes for the door.

Eddie grabs him by his shirt and slams the smaller boy against the counter, “I’m telling you right now Dustin. If you leave with even so much as a thought of going to the cops, They will come after you and make sure you are never found. I’m not saying it for my safety I’m saying it for yours, you understand?!”

Dustin looks at Eddie’s bedroom door. He swallows then nods. “Okay.” He says meekly.

“Good.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #cami speaks #eddie munson blurb

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servin-up-surveys · 1 month

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survey #208

What is your absolute favorite hobby? Who got you interested in it? It's probably feral animal RP, at least when I'm in the mood to write. I discovered it myself through the OG Meerkat Manor Animal Planet forum.

What color are the squirrels where you live? Brownish gray.

Have you ever fostered an animal? No. I would struggle immensely to let it go.

Have you ever dated a fat person? Yes.

Have you ever dated someone with a fine ass body? Yes.

What are two foods you think taste good with whipped cream? I hate whipped cream, it's a texture thing.

If you eat it, what is your favorite way to eat beef? On a burger.

Do you have any medication that you keep with you at all times? Yes, an inhaler for asthma but also a med for anxiety or panic attacks.

[TW: ABUSE] Have you ever had a significant other who hit you? No, I would never in a thousand years allow this.

Do you own any exercise machines? Yes. I have a stationary bike in this spare room and there's a treadmill in the living room.

Do you have a dining room in your house? Yes, but we don't really use it unless there's a large number of people over. It's more seating.

Are you in the process of watching or re-watching a series at the moment? No.

Has anyone you know gotten a new pet recently? Ummm I'm not sure.

How old were you 10 years ago? Who were your closest friends at that point? I was 18. I was dating Jason, and close friends included Summer, Girt, Tez, Sam, and possibly still Hannia?

Do you still speak to any of them? I'm dating Girt, I'm close with Tez and Summer, and while Sam and I don't really talk nowadays, I still consider him to be basically my big brother.

Have you ever kissed someone of another race? I started saying no, but I guess actually yes; Girt's father was full Native American. I sometimes forget that; you'd never guess looking at him and his sister.

Are there any races you wouldn’t kiss? Absolutely not, it's 2024.

What is your favorite thing about your best friend? I know I can trust him. I genuinely never DON'T trust what he tells me, we prioritize healthy communication and honesty big time.

What do you mostly have in common with your best friend? We both love video games. We're also very introverted and love metal music.

Do you like it when men shave their chests? If you are a guy, do you shave? I have no preference.

What is your favourite kind of video game? Horror.

Do you watch anime? If so, what are some of your favourites? I'll watch it if I'm with someone who wants to watch TV, I have nothing against it other than television shows just normally don't entertain me as much as YouTube videos. I like Fullmetal Alchemist (+Brotherhood), Ginga Densetsu Weed, and Deadman Wonderland. I've watched a good deal of Attack on Titan and enjoyed what I saw, Girt and I eventually just drifted into watching other stuff.

Do you have any siblings? If so which one of them do you get along with the best? Yeah, a few. I think I get along best with Nicole, my youngest sibling.

What’s your favorite TV show? And who’s your favorite character from it? My favorite television show of all time is Meerkat Manor, and Mozart is my favorite meerkat.

Do people think you look like either of your parents? Does that offend you? I've heard both. As a child I remember hearing I look like my dad wouldn't really offend me, but I didn't like/get it until I was older. Not all physical traits are gender-specific.

Do you prefer regular bacon or turkey bacon? Regular, by a long shot.

Do you think it’s weird when people talk to their pets like people? I don't think this at all. Even if your pet doesn't truly understand you, I feel the interaction can't be bad for them; I would think it benefits them, at least with most animals you can have as pets. You're including them.

What is the last place, other than home, that you stayed overnight? The ER after my asthma attack.

What is the furthest you have traveled alone? The Chicago area of Illinois.

Have you ever dated someone simply for their looks? No.

What was the name of the main character in the last book you read? Ponyboy Curtis; I re-read The Outsiders. I still enjoyed it very much, but not as much as when I was in middle school.

Do you prefer pizza or hot dogs? Pizza.

What is your favorite pizza topping? I've been into pepperoni + sausage together lately.

Is anyone in your family currently in the military? Not that I know of. Definitely no one close.

What is your favorite dog breed? I have too many I consider my "favorite," but I can tell you I have a specifically soft spot for beagles.

Do you own a bikini? God no, you couldn't pay me to wear one with my current body. I'm completely for big girls wearing whatever the fuck they want, but *I* couldn't do it.

What are three of your favorite bakery items? Cinnamon rolls, donuts, muffins.

Which book series could you read again? I'm really not a re-reader; recently doing so with The Outsiders was VERY unlike me. The only reason I was really able to do it again was because I'd forgotten like... everything.

Is your last ex currently in a relationship? *shrug*

Who was the last female you were introduced to? My new psychiatrist.

Who was the last male you were introduced to? The doctor who did my colonoscopy lmao thanks for checking out my colon 👍

Is there any band out there that you like every song by them? Nope, not even Rammstein or Ozzy.

Have you ever smoked? No.

Have you ever been in a lighthouse? No. I was supposed to visit one on a 4th grade field trip, but the ocean was way too aggressive so instead we stopped at a nearer island where wild horses live. It was very fun.

Do you know anyone who always makes themselves out to be the victim? Colleen, who I haven't associated with in years and never plan to again.

How far away do you live from the house you grew up in? Like... 20ish minutes.

Have you ever been to a same-sex wedding? No.

What’s the most difficult experience you and a significant other have gone through together? Distance, with Sara. It was very difficult sometimes, especially when we really wanted the comfort of each other's presence. It got much worse once we actually met in person and got to feel what being together was like.

Would you like living on the coast? No, the effects of hurricanes along coasts are no joke.

Honestly, do you enjoy arguing? NO

Are you scared of losing the person you like to someone else? No, not really. I acknowledge we may not be together forever, but I certainly don't expect him to cheat on me. He's BEEN cheated on and was very affected by it, so it'd be a wild world where he did that to me. Early into our relationship we shared dealbreakers and cheating was one for both of us.

Do you have a hard time making decisions? I get choice paralysis FOR REAL, like it's ridiculous.

If there was a large spider in your room, would you stay in the room? I'd get the spider out.

What’s your favorite kind of meat? (vegan/vegetarian options count!) I don't know, really. I eat the most chicken, but I'm very limited in the kinds of preparation I like for chicken.

What’s the coolest or most memorable animal you’ve ever seen at a zoo? The most exciting for me was definitely meerkats, but I think the objectively "coolest" thing I saw was a leucistic alligator.

What video game have you played the most hours of? If you don’t know, just make a rough guess. So you can type /played into World of Warcraft to see exactly this and my time is FUCKING DEPRESSING, there is no game that competes against that shit.

Have you ever modeled before? No.

What’s your best friend’s favorite color? Teal.

What color was your senior prom dress? Black. I regret deleting all those pictures, I was beautiful and so fucking happy.

Which YouTuber do you feel like you could be friends with easily? Gab Smolders.

Who do you know personally that has a nice singing voice? Girt.

If you met your favorite musician, what would you ask him/her? god forbid, I would be so embarrassing lmao

What’s something you used to believe in that you don’t anymore? The Christian god and devil.

What’s something you believe everyone should have? Food, water, shelter, fun.

Who do you know that wears the most makeup? My friend Summer, she's an artist with it.

Are you anyone’s first love? Maybe, idk.

How much does your mother know about your sex life (or lack thereof)? She goes to my doctor appointments so she knows we don't have actual sex right now. She's aware we do "things," but I absolutely won't share details with her, not that she's ever asked.

What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever had an obsession with? Do you still like that thing? I'm actually very embarrassed that my hyperfixations tend to be celebrities, I guess because it makes me feel like a pre-teen. I'm oddly WAY more private about this off the Internet, though, and I don't totally understand why.

Have you ever played any of the Animal Crossing games? Do you have the new game, or do you plan on buying it? No and no.

When was the last time you were nauseous? Do you know what caused the feeling of nausea? It was the morning of my colonoscopy prep, drinking way more water than my body wanted. I couldn't finish the last cup I was supposed to have.

What brand of earbuds/earphones do you own? Do you like them? Oh I have no idea, but they're very basic earbuds. Cheap ones you can buy in bulk.

Can you remember the last time you saw a rainbow? No.

Do you have any plants or flowers in your house? What kinds? Do you like having plants in your home? Mom keeps some plants. I don't know what they're called, though. I just know they're nothing exotic or anything.

#survey #surveys #random surveys #random questions #personal surveys #personal questions #questionnaire

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stefankarlfanblog · 2 years

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A translated interview with Stefán Karl, conducted by Silja Björk Huldudóttir for Morgunblaðið on the 4th of October 2017.

"Have a lot to say"

🔴 Stefán Karl Stefánsson is working on a book about his acting career

Photo caption: Popular Stefán Karl in his role as Robbie Rotten in 2004. Credited to Morgunblaðið/Ómar

Actor Stefán Karl Stefánsson is currently working on a book in collaboration with Mark Valenti, who was the head writer of the TV series about Lazytown.

"The book will focus on my involvement in Lazytown on the one hand and the play How the Grinch stole Christmas," says Stefán Karl, who lived and worked in the United States between 2004 and 2014, where he made the park famous as Robbie Rotten and the Grinch. "Most of my working life I have lived abroad and dedicated my life to these two roles.

These are such large characters and extensive productions that it has been a full-time job to take care of them," says Stefán Karl, recalling that he has played the Grinch about 600 times all over the United States for about two million viewers.

"I have a lot to say there," says Stefán Karl, pointing out that the book is due to be out in English in the United States at the end of next year and will probably also be published in Spanish. At this moment, it is unclear whether the book will also be published in an Icelandic translation. [email protected] »30

"Open for new adventures"

🟤 Stefán Karl Stefánsson is working on a book about his career outside🟤 Aiming to do stand-up at the end of the year

Preparation Stefán Karl and Hilmir Snær in make-up by Valdís Karen Smáradottir shortly before the final show. Credited to Morgunblaðið/Eggert

I'm a bit behind, of course, but still comfortably tired," says actor Stefán Karl Stefánsson when Morgunblaðinn's reporter caught up with him the day after the final performance of Stones in his pockets by Marie Jones, directed by Ian McElhinney, was broadcast live on Ríkissjónvarpið last Sunday evening, but the recording will be available in RÚV's library collection until December 30. In the play, Stefán Karl and Hilmir Snær Guðnason play a total of fourteen different characters at various levels of the social scale.

"I was tempted to take a look at the recording when it was on the library collection last night [Sunday] and I couldn't see better than that it had turned out very well," says Stefán Karl and points out that it is difficult to make a theater return on television, but it was very successful under the strong leadership of Egils Eðvarðsson, Broadcasting Director and Salóme Þorkelsdóttir, Assistant Broadcasting Director. "It was extremely successful in all respects and I can't help but be satisfied," says Stefán Karl, noting that he appreciates hearing how well the broadcast went down with the audience.

To recoil or leap

Was there added stress to having ten cameras in the hall and realizing the possibility that all the nation's citizens are in front of the screen at home?

"No, not at all." If I went on stage thinking about what others might think of me, I wouldn't be in this profession. Then I'd just lying at home with a panic attack thinking about what won't happen. Of course, it is strange to play with ten cameras in the hall, but it isn't anything more stressful. I never feel any real stress going on stage. I get butterflies in my stomach and get excited with the audience, but it's necessary. If we actors weren't excited to go on stage, there wouldn't be much fun in this."

The show was originally premiered at the National Theater at the end of 2000 and staged again in 2012, both times to very good reception from the audience. It's not often that actors have the opportunity to return to the same role, let alone the same adaptation, as is the case here. How have you found this process?

"This has been a unique opportunity. We've been looking for similar examples to this, but haven't found them yet. I first played the show when I was 25, then 37 and finally 42. Many things have happened at this time in life. An actor never leaves himself in a dressing room. It means that one's experience and maturity goes with one on stage, which means that as actors get older, their interpretation often deepens. That has certainly happened in this case. This is a unique and great opportunity. Hilmir and I are both great acting professionals, we could even be described as acting professional nerds. It involves a certain precision but also two or three drops of carelessness that keeps things organic. The opportunity we have had to develop ourselves and these characters is unique. This has been a great school," says Stefán Karl, noting that he wishes that all three versions of the show had been filmed in their entirety. "Because it could have been great acting technique material."

When performances started again at the National Theater's Great Stage on August 31. I was definitely not the only theatergoer to admire your endurance and strength on stage knowing that only a few weeks had passed since you had a difficult operation.

"I've actually had two surgeries in the last year. ten months along with radiation and chemotherapy. When we premiered, only six weeks had passed since I was discharged from the hospital after the second operation," says Stefán Karl, recalling that he had a severe infection after the operation and spent much longer in the hospital than originally intended. "The whole month of June and until July I was in the hospital. When I was discharged, I went like crazy around the country with my family for three weeks."

Wasn't it a bit crazy to go into this at that time when it was clear that you would be on stage for the whole show and you would have to dance and jump?

"No, not at all." It was either recoiling or leaping. When you are condemned to struggle with such an illness, you have two choices: to lie down sick or to get out of bed. I decided when I woke up in the intensive care unit that I was going to get out of bed. I know firsthand that I've helped a lot of people get out of bed, much sooner than they thought they would, and even people who have been bedridden for a long time. It's so easy when you get sick to rule yourself out, but we can't do that. It is precisely at these critical moments that we must look in the mirror and say: "Now I'll heal myself" because no one does it for you. Making the decision to play this show was an important part of getting better sooner. It doesn't matter what tasks we undertake in life, no one completes them for us. I've learned this during my illness and I say for my part that I would have liked to have learned this much earlier in life and in a different way. I just hope that I can share my experience in a positive way, because life is now," says Stefán Karl, thus adopting the slogan of Kraft, a support group for young people aged 18-40 who have been diagnosed with cancer and their relatives.

Life is now valid for everyone

"These slogans motivated me to rush off on the round trip around the country in order to make memories with my family. I don't know how long I have left - but no one does. The slogan applies to everything and everyone. Life is now, whether you have cancer, struggle with another illness, or think you're perfectly healthy."

Now that you've said goodbye to Stones in his pockets for the last time. What's happening with you now?

“Yes, now this chapter is over. As Dr. Seuss said, “Don't cry because it's over. Smile that it happened”. Now I'm going to take my sick leave, which I really should have already taken. I know that my doctors will be extremely happy to read that I'm finally going on vacation," says Stefán Karl with a smile. "My family and I are going to go abroad and enjoy life for three weeks. When I get home, I'm on my way to a scan, which I always go for every ten weeks to check for a recurrence of the disease. I aim to be clean and fine and ready to go for another ten weeks. So I'm preparing a one-man show, some kind of stand-up show that Ari Eldjárn has been helping me with," says Stefán Karl, who plans to see Ari's stand-up show at the Soho Theater in London next weekend.

Comrades Stefán Karl and Hilmir Snær in their roles in Stones in his pockets in the National theater, which was shown on RÚV over the weekend. Credited to Freyja Gylfa.

"I can't help but support our man. Some follow the national soccer team all the way to France. I'm going to accompany Ari to London, because it's amazing how far he's come as a stand-up artist." According to Stefán Karl, neither the time nor the location for his stand-up show has been decided, but it can be expected that it will find its way to the mountains either side of the new year. on short notice.

Wants to use the illness for good

"I am open to new and fun adventures. I am a permanent employee at the National Theater this winter, and the director of the National Theater and I are looking at which projects might be suitable for me. Of course, due to my illness, I can't take on everything, but there are lots of fun projects ahead. I think it's a great acting year and I'm looking forward to watching my wife [Steinun Ólína Þorsteinsdóttir] go on stage in Efa in the new year, since she hasn't been on stage for over 12 years."

Is book writing something in your vision?

"Yes, Mark Valenti and I are currently working on a book about my career outside. It's a mix of travel and work stories," says Stefán Karl, pointing out that Valenti was the head writer of the TV series about Lazytown. "The book will focus on my participation in Lazytown on the one hand and the play How the Grinch stole Christmas," says Stefán Karl, who lived and worked in the United States between 2004 and 2014, where he made the park famous as Robbie Rotten and the Grinch or the Troll. "Although Lazytown was filmed in Iceland from 2004, you can actually say that I left the country that year and didn't return until 2014. Thus, I have spent most of my working life abroad," says Stefán Karl, pointing out that he has actually dedicated his life to two roles.

"Although I have played one and two roles in between, I have dedicated myself to Robbie Rotten on the one hand and Grinch on the other, which is very special. But these are such big characters and have such extensive updates that it's been a full-time job taking care of them. I played the role of Grinch about 600 times all over the United States in front of about two million viewers. I have a lot to say there," says Stefán Karl, pointing out that the book is due out in the United States at the end of next year, and there is every chance that it will be published not only in English but also in Spanish. "I have a large and wide fan base in the Spanish-speaking world," says Stefán Karl, pointing out that he wants to use his illness for good.

"My illness has found its way into all the major tabloids of the world, and because of this, many people know who the man behind the make-up and the mask is, which gives me the opportunity to reach people with a positive message, and of course I want to take advantage of it." I've always been of the opinion that we should make the best of ourselves. We shouldn't cover up our mistakes and weaknesses, but learn from them and use them for good," says Stefán Karl, confirming that he will send out a traditional biography. "Myself, I'm not much for biographies and I think this book is more for fans of Lazytown and those who like to look behind the scenes in the theater. I always have something to write. I don't know if those thoughts will end up on the stage, on the big screen, on the TV screen or in a book. Everything will be revealed."

#stefan karl stefansson #stefan karl #stefán karl #stefán karl stefánsson #personal life #lazytown #how the grinch stole christmas #robbie rotten #life is now #stones in his pockets #2017

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hannahssimblr · 5 months

Text

Chapter Twenty (Part 2)

It’s a home gym, windows on all sides of the room with the evening light pouring through. It’s so big that there’s room for two treadmills, a punching bag, a weight machine and even a couch for, I suppose, when you’re finished with your workout and want to sit down and watch something on one of the flatscreen televisions fixed to the wall. I let out a low whistle. “These rich people are something else, aren’t they?”

“Mmm.” Dean says. “I’ve looked at all of the rooms already, they’re all massive.”

“Is that what you were doing while I was in the pool? Just poking around?”

“Yeah of course.” He smiles impishly and takes a discarded water bottle off a chair, examines it briefly and then tosses it onto the couch. It rolls off the cushions and falls onto the floor with a hollow thud, but he doesn’t pick it up. He just idly walks around the room touching, moving things, opening the door to the adjacent shower room like he’s in his own house.

“Do you think we should be in here?” I ask him guiltily. “I feel like Marnie’s ban on certain rooms of the house probably extends to the gym.”

“Is she going to release the dogs?” He wonders. “Plus, all we’re actually doing is looking, it’s not like I’m going to rob something.”

“True.” I glance at my reflection in a full length mirror, looking skinnier than I’ve ever looked before. The layer of muscle I used to have is all gone now, and I look weak, brittle, and a little bit anaemic. Drops of water stream from my hair and create paths down the sides of my neck and through the centre of my ribs. My eyes shift to Dean as he walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, bending down a little to kiss the skin beneath my ear.

“Hi.” I say.

His voice is low in my ear. “Did I tell you before that you’re hot?”

“Yeah.” I laugh gently, and then watch my smile disappear in the mirror as he strokes his hands over my belly in slow circles. I sigh and lean back against his chest, watching the way that his eyes darken as he looks at me, and I hold his gaze in the mirror as he cups my breasts and touches me through the damp material of my bikini.

Desire surges inside me, the same way that it always does when he does these things with his hands, but my mind keeps getting pulled to the ceiling to floor windows of this room, the absence of any real privacy, and the fact that once again, I’m completely sober while he’s completely not. He interrupts my thoughts by tilting my head towards him and kissing me. I sigh gently into his mouth and then he drops one hand down my body, trying to work a finger into the elastic leg of my swimming togs. I clamp my hand around his wrist to halt him.

“Come on, Dean.” I whisper.

“You come on.” He murmurs back. “It’ll be nice, you’ll like it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

I sigh and step away, turning around to look at him with his wild eyes and the front of his t-shirt wet with the imprint of my hair. “It’s too public, anybody could walk in and catch us.”

He gives me that crooked smile. “Isn’t that what makes it exciting?”

“No, that’s what makes me feel like having a panic attack. And look at these huge windows. Who knows what neighbours of theirs could see into this room.”

He scratches the back of his head and stares down at the floor. “Okay, grand so.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want you, Dean, it’s just like, why is this all we ever do? You just get high and then we have sex.” I don’t bother saying my usual, tired piece about how he once promised he’d never be on drugs around me. A promise he broke after three whole weeks of sleeping together. I’ve learned by now that it’s a conversation that never ends up going anywhere pleasant or worthwhile.

“If you would try it once, you’d get it.” He tells me, and I cross my arms. “Try what? What are you on right now?”

“Just yokes. I have more if you want some.”

“I don’t want yokes.”

“Evie.” He holds the tops of my arms and stares at me with his blown out pupils. “Everything is better on them. Everything. Once you’ve tried sex on MDMA you’ll never want it another way.”

I twist out of his grasp and turn away, pulling anxiously on my hair and tucking it behind my ears. “I don’t like the idea.”

“I was just offering, and they’d be free.”

“Yeah I know.”

He reaches for me again and pulls me into him so that we’re pressed together. He links his hands at the small of my back. “You’re fine, you probably don’t need them, but you do need to relax more.”

“Yeah well I’m not fucking you in Marnie’s home gym, if that’s all that’s on the menu tonight.”

He looks annoyed and lets his hands drop.

“Why don’t we ever do anything else?” I protest. “Like can’t we just hang out and watch movies together? Or just talk? You know some people actually stay up late and have conversations about things, all you ever do is bring me to nightclubs and then fall asleep on top of me.”

“It’s like you think that you have something interesting to say.” He quips. “Like if I were to try and talk to you that it wouldn’t be the most boring conversation I’ve ever had.”

“What?”

“Like sorry, but you’re not very smart, and you don’t have a lot to say, so I don’t know why you’d think I’d want to stay up late and have a conversation with you. About what? About how you cry at Disney movies and how your dad likes whiskey more than you? Boo hoo.”

I shake my head. “Do you know how horrible you are sometimes?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah you’ve said this before.”

“I need to go for a walk, I don’t want to be around you.”

“You’ve said that before too.” He comments. “But I’ll see you in about an hour when you come back to me again.”

The door clatters behind me on my way out.

It’s actually three hours before I come back to him, and it isn’t even deliberately. I come in from the garden a little after midnight in search of the toilet only to stumble upon a congregation of art students lounging on a crowd of armchairs and couches around a low, glass topped coffee table. There is a portable speaker blasting music that’s so bass heavy I’m concerned that they’ll blow. I see that Dean is with them, the back of his head lolling over armchair cushions next to Marnie’s and I try to move by stealthily.

“There’s Evie.” Fiona announces before I can go any further, and everyone looks around.

“Hello.” I say sheepishly, unable to stop my eyes from flicking to Dean despite my predetermination to ignore him.

“Come sit.” She smooths the empty seat next to her on the couch and for some reason, maybe it’s my lowered inhibitions from the countless vodkas I’ve had tonight, or my sense of rising hopelessness that maybe my life actually can’t possibly get any worse than it already is, but I go over and I sit with her.

“You have a drink?” She asks me, moving slightly in and out of focus in front of my eyes, and I shake my head. “I was going to get another one maybe soon.”

“You’re a bit pissed, are you?” She laughs, glancing quickly at Marnie. “You’re some lightweight.”

“Am I?” I don’t think I am. I just drink so inconspicuously that no one ever seems to notice me doing it.

Marnie is grinning at me from across the table. “Are you sleepy, darling? You look sleepy.”

“I’m alright, thanks.”

She juts out her plump lower lip. “Oh, well you just look so tired. You’re so cute. If you want to go to bed you can sleep in my brother’s room.” She touches Dean’s arm. “You were right about her, she really is adorable.”

“I’m alright.” I repeat, and glance at Dean who’s now staring disinterestedly into the middle distance.

“Oh” She says, nudging him again. “Can I have the…” He snaps her fingers and then holds out her hand to him as he comes back to reality and digs around in his pocket.

“Did you forget it?” She says impatiently.

“No, just wait a second.” He rummages for another moment and then pulls a small, clear bag out. I’ve seen this enough times now to know what it is. That fine, white powder is roughly about one hundred euros worth of cocaine. Dean looks right at me when he hands it to her with eyes that seem to challenge me to say something about it, as if I would. As if I’d ever bother having this fight again.

“Oh, amazing.” She says and grins, waving it around excitedly like it’s a polaroid picture so that there are no doubts about what it is. “Who’s in?” Murmurs pass around the table as everyone agrees, but I don’t, I just sit there and wonder grimly if they invited me over here for the sole purpose of making me watch them do lines, thinking that it’s great fun to corrupt my innocence or something.

The glass table is the ideal surface, and I watch as Marnie spills a little bit out, then takes a black metal Mastercard out of her purse and starts pushing it into neat little rows. I don’t get up to leave, I just sit there stoically, because the sight of it doesn’t shock me anymore. I’ve seen Dean doing it off his keys, the tip of his finger, kitchen counters, the screen of his phone, he even asked to do it off me once, not that I let him, but sometimes I think that one day he’ll ask again and I won’t care enough to say no.

Marnie does a line, and then Dean does, and then the guy next to him, and then Fiona, and then when eyes fall to me, Dean’s gaze is visceral. Unreadable. He smirks at me before saying. “You having a bit, Evie?”

“She didn’t pay for it.” Marnie declares. “Can she afford to do a line?”

I stare at her. “You’d make me pay for one line?”

She raises her eyebrows in mock enlightenment. “Oh, you wouldn’t have the money for it, would you not?”

Dean leans back confidently in his seat and drags the side of his hand under his nose. “If you want to do it it’s on me.” and then I see that thing about him again, that thing that I always pretend not to see when he’s looking into my eyes. That there is nothing behind them, no warmth or feeling or compassion. He’s blank, and he’s vacant and he’s hollow and he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like me even a little bit. He looks handsome now, but frighteningly so. His beauty is like the razor sharp edge of a blade.

He gestures to the table with a broad sweep. “Go on, it’s on the house.”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more worthless in my life, so consumed with self hatred and self pity and I wish I was anywhere else in the world than at this party, but really, it can’t get worse, only marginally, chemically better, so I get up, lean over the table and press my thumb against my nose.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 2 #sims 4 story #simlit #tw: drugs #tw: abuse #tw: bullying #tw: sex #tw: alcohol

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literarygoon · 2 years

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So,

When I padded out to the living room just past 2 a.m. back in March 2021, Rogan was sitting on our leather couch smoking a Belmont cigarette and toting one of those orange and grey shotguns from Duck Hunt. He was wearing a zipped up black hoodie up around his face and a pair of baggy black sweat pants that pooled around a pair of fur-lined slippers. It had been six months since I’d seen him last, and over three years since his medically assisted death back in Victoria. The tumour on his back was gone now, there was a cluster of sun-freckles across his cheeks, and he had a pair of aviator sunglasses pushed back into his shaggy blond hair.

I was relieved to see him.

“I figured now that I quit smoking pot you weren’t going to show up anymore,” I said. “Since you’re just a hallucination and all.”

He chuckled at me affectionately, took a long drag off his smoke, then ashed into a nearby can of iced tea. “Since I’m just a hallucination, you don’t mind if I smoke, right?”

“Not if you bum me one.”

Rogan frisbeed me his whole pack, his cigarette clenched between his teeth, then turned back toward the television and began firing his little Nintendo shotgun. Animated starbursts erupted on the screen as the cartoon ducks plummeted down to the eagerly awaiting dog. He had the sound on low, but the music reminded me of my childhood. One of these days I would have to get a video game console for my kids, but that was still a few years away. I shook a cigarette into my hand and raised it to my lips, luxuriating in the ritual.

“Gwen fucking hates it when I smoke. Says it’s making my sleep apnea worse.”

He shrugged. “She’s not wrong. You do snore like a motherfucker. Remember the Yukon? You should’ve gotten that shit checked out years ago, really.”

“My sleep has been so messed up these past couple of months,” I said, slow-blowing smoke at the ceiling. “You have no idea the shit that’s going on in my head. Just grief and panic and self-loathing. I lay there for hours just hating myself and fighting off suicidal thoughts. I wouldn’t wish this shit on my worst enemy.”

Rogan pumped his shotgun triumphantly, then took another drag. “Yeah, I heard you were having a hard time. Making a big scene of it on social media too, as per usual.”

“That’s how I process shit. Put it out there in public, get some solidarity if I can.”

The last time Rogan visited me was after my sister Kat died at Christmas, facedown in her bed from alcohol poisoning. I’d conjured his presence at his memorial bench in Vancouver, and he’d reassured me that she’d successfully reached the other side. This was before I lost my mind, before I purposefully crashed my car into a concrete median and jumped a posse of Victoria cops in the throes of a psychotic delusion. I’d spent three weeks in the psych ward, kicking holes in walls and screaming in isolation, before my family circled the wagons and moved us into a new three-bedroom house in Nanaimo. Now here I was with two kids and a wife, trying to be a normal person.

“You’ve always been prone to bleeding in public,” Rogan said. “But this shit is next level. It’s like you’re turning grief into a full-time job.”

“You have no idea, man. It’s like my brain is trying to kill me. I have these panic attacks where I literally feel like I’m going to drop dead on the spot. I’m all fucked up. I’ve been dredging up gross old memories that I feel ashamed of and telling them to Gwen, just to purge them from my skull. It’s like all my repressed trauma is coming unleashed.”

He laughed, and pointed his shotgun back towards the television. “I tried to warn you. Back when you started becoming chronic, remember? I told you this shit was going to bite you in the ass eventually. You and your sister, man. Neither of you could handle moderation.”

I hung my head. “You should’ve seen Kat towards the end, man. It would’ve broken your heart into a million pieces, man. It was like watching someone beat themselves to death slowly over the course of multiple years. She had bruises all over her body. She smelled like poison.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and paused the game. “Actually, that’s why I’m here.”

“To talk about Kat?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ve gotta take you for a ride.”

In the months since Rogan and I had last hung out, I’d had plenty of time to scour the scorched earth of my headspace. There was a perpetual sadness that hung in my shoulders, a persistent heat behind my eyeballs that never let me forget that death was looming nearby. I felt a sort of arrogance about my grief, like I uniquely understood the tragedy of the universe. When I looked into my sister’s dead face, with my infant daughter riding on my hip, I’d felt like my finger was on the white hot jugular of God. The blood had pooled unevenly in her cheeks and her tongue was swelling out of her mouth as she lay there, wrapped up in blankets like a pharaoh. It was the closest to Enlightenment I’d ever been.

Three months later my son was born, his head emerging with a rush of blood, down at the Nanaimo General Hospital. For a moment I saw his puckered blue face and thought he was dead, but then he opened up his lungs and began to sing like a dinosaur. Sweaty and wracked with guilt, I laid beside Gwen in her recovery room hating myself for how badly I wanted to die. This kid needed me, but all I could think about was checking out.

“You know, this is a pretty nice place,” Rogan said, pulling back the curtain and peering out into the darkness. “You’ve got a pretty epic view of the ocean.”

“Trouble is we don’t know anyone, you know? We’re so isolated here.”

He shook his head. “You’ve always got something to bitch about, don’t you?”

Before we headed out, I told Rogan I had to check on Gwen and my kids. He pulled on a leather jacket and told me he’d be waiting out front. I was worried that it was so late, because lack of sleep always led me dark places, but I wasn’t going to miss the chance to hang out with him. I missed my university days, back when we’d drink ourselves stupid and sleep in until 2 p.m. the next day. Was this what it felt like, becoming an old man? Was I going to be a boring teetotaler for the rest of my life, unable to have fun without losing control of my fragile mind? I felt broken in a way that couldn’t be fixed. As I pulled the front door closed behind me, I could feel my pulse thrumming uncomfortably in my throat.

“We’re taking your car,” Rogan said. He was carrying a large black hockey bag.

Once we climbed in, he rolled down the window so we could keep smoking. I figured these cigarettes didn’t count, since they were imaginary, so I started another one. We backed out of my driveway and the night wind danced across my face. A light drizzle of rain pattered against the windshield while Rogan fiddled with the CD player, pulling out my Simon and Garfunkel CD and replacing it with Hozier.

The song “Take me to church” came on, and he turned it up nearly as loud as it would go.

“I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife,” Rogan sang. “Offer me that deathless death, Good God, let me give you my life.”

Listening to his voice, grief hit me like a fist to the chest. Years ago I had called him my wife, back when we lived together in a two-bedroom apartment by UVic. We had an intimacy that was deeper than what I shared with my various university flings, and he was a part of all my future planning. Years later, when he got his cancer diagnosis, I could barely contain my fury at the universe. Of all the people to take, it had to take him?

“I’ve missed you, man. I miss our little life we had together.”

He shrugged, exhaled a ghostly plume of smoke out his window. “You’ve got a pretty good thing going now, though. With Gwen and the kids, I mean.”

I nodded. “It’s stupid. I wish I could be more present for them. I feel like I’m letting everybody down, being like this. I can’t tell if it’s the meds, the cannabis withdrawal, the grief or just garden variety depression. But every day I wake up feeling like a piece of shit.”

“This is all temporary. Grief has a season, you know? An expiry date.”

I took a deep breath through my nostrils. “I don’t feel like I’m ever going to get over this.”

“You’ve got to be strong, dude. It’s like that Game of Thrones quote: you have to kill the boy so the man can be born. You’re not a kid anymore.”

We sat in silence for a few blocks while I thought about that, Rogan pointing out the directions. The streets of downtown Nanaimo were mostly deserted, except for a few meandering homeless types, and I ran through some blinking reds because there was no traffic. “Take me to church” concluded and “From Eden” came on next. It had been a while since I’d listened to Hozier, and it was bringing up memories from my years as a reporter at the Yukon News. During that time I’d been pretty disconnected from my life on the coast, but Rogan had come to visit multiple times. We’d gone together to soak in the healing pools of Kluane Hot Springs.

“Okay, pull into that park there,” Rogan said. “Take the last spot on the left.”

I turned off the RAV’s engine and clambered out to the concrete, pulling my plaid jacket tight around me. I could smell the ocean nearby. Looming trees were silhouetted against the purplish black of the night sky. The cold wind tugged at our clothes, and I smelled a faint whiff of pot. A few tents were rustling nearby, rain-slicked. It occurred to me that this was a radically different setting than my living room, and I wondered why Rogan had brought me here. I trusted him, but at the same time I felt nervous. I blinked away the moisture in the air.

“What are we doing here?” I asked Rogan, as he lit another cigarette.

“Some dirty work.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Rogan took a few drags before he replied. I could sense that he was dreading what came next. He explained that once you’ve passed away, you’re granted a sort of omniscience which allows you to peer into the minds and souls of the people you love. Ever since his death four years ago he’d been haunting me, hoping to influence my life in a positive direction, despite the fact that ghosts aren’t really allowed to intervene. He’d been there on my wedding day in Beacon Hill Park, he’d shadowed me while I was institutionalized, he’d watched both my son and daughter’s births. But he could also tell that I was carrying around baggage that I hadn’t quite processed.

“Pot withdrawal’s no joke, man. I feel like I was using it to treat like five different things, now I have to deal with all of them at once. My sleep shit, my depression, all this shame I’m carrying around for no good reason. Not to mention all the meds they’ve got me on to treat my bipolar disorder. I try to explain it to Gwen, to my Mom, but nobody really gets it. I’m sitting here hating myself for shit that happened decades ago, just micro-analyzing every mistake I’ve ever made.”

He nodded. “Only you get to be you.”

“Right. I’ve been off pot for nearly two months now and every day I fantasize about it, about the relief. I feel like I need that escape, but I know it won’t lead me anywhere good. I can’t be a father who smokes pot every day, you know? My kids don’t deserve that. It feels like this is my last chance, like if I can’t kick it now then I won’t ever be able to.”

“Well, for what it’s worth: I think you’ll manage.”

The meds typically keep me pretty level, so I hadn’t cried in months, but tears welled up regardless. Rogan coughed uncomfortably and unloaded the black bag from the back, tossing it over one shoulder as he stepped on to the grass. There was a large field with a gloomy pavilion in the distance, surrounded on all sides by the woods. Waves crashed rhythmically in the distance.

“You know, Gwen comes from a Catholic family,” I said. “We actually baptized Carissa when we were visiting her family in St. Catharines.”

He laughed. “I knew you’d get lured back to Christianity eventually.”

“I dunno, man. I’ve been saying I identify as meta-Christian. It’s different once you’ve had kids. I’m not so arrogant anymore. It’s like I’m getting comfortable with the mystery. Or maybe uncomfortable with it. Scared of it.”

“They call that the fear of God.”

The ocean wind was starting to get icy on my face. I figured it was probably 3 a.m. by now, the sky overcast and completely black. I could barely make out Rogan’s silhouette in the darkness as he worked his way towards the pavilion, his bag thumping against his back with each step. In the distance I could see some dancing shadows, and what looked like flames beyond the trees. Something was moving up there. Suddenly I was feeling anxious for no reason, a feeling I was becoming increasingly accustomed to. Sweat erupted in my hairline, my jaw clenched, and for a moment it felt like I was going to shit my pants. I desperately wanted to smoke a joint, somewhere safe, maybe back in my living room. I didn’t want to be on this ghostly errand; I wanted to be with Gwen.

Just as this thought occurred to me, I heard a patter of footsteps in the grass behind me. I swung around in a panic, just in time for something black and unforgiving to wallop me in the mouth.

***

During the first week after I quit smoking pot, my dreams had been immersive and exhausting. Sometimes I relived pleasant memories from my younger years, there were sex dreams featuring totally inappropriate people, and then there were the nightmares. Most of them featured Kat, maybe drunk in my backseat or passed out on the floor of my parent’s living room. Sometimes she was drowning, far our in the ocean, further than I could swim.

It was nobody’s fault, what happened, but I still felt like we could’ve done more to save her. She’d been crying out for help for years and none of us could rescue her from herself — not her husband, her siblings, or her parents. In these dreams I begged her to love herself, begged her to believe that one day she would be free from addiction. I wanted her to get married and have kids, so our minions could grow up in tandem. Sometimes I held her while she was dying, listening to her last breath, feeling her heart go still against my chest. My counsellor told me I was dealing with a one-two punch of trauma and grief, and that I had to be patient with myself through the recovery, but I felt like I’d been broken in a way that could never be fixed.

As I floated back to consciousness, increasingly aware of the throbbing pain in my face, an image of Kat as a young competitive swimmer retreated into the blackness. I could taste blood. I blinked a few times and raised my head slowly, gazing down at a forest floor covered with fire-lit pine needles. I was rocking on my knees, my hands bound behind my back, while my wet hair dangled in my face.

“He’s awake,” someone said. A female voice. “Guys, he’s waking up.”

Somebody kicked me in the back, and suddenly my face was pressed against the dirt. I struggled to breathe through the blood as rocks and sticks dug into my cheek. I turned to one side, and found myself face-to-face with a young woman. She had curly red hair pulled back into a ponytail, with a line of black war paint streaked across her eyes. She was carrying a tiki torch.

“Hailey?”

“Surprise, fucker.”

“What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Before she could answer, two men lifted me roughly to my feet from behind. My Blundstones dragged on the ground as they carried me to a small wooden bench and dumped me there. I frantically searched my surroundings for Rogan, who was standing with his arms crossed amidst a mob of masked figures. He was staring at the ground.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“They forced me, man. They said they’d go after my mother if I didn’t cooperate.”

“Cooperate with what?”

Hailey came between us then. She still looked the same as she did in university, when we were studying visual arts. She was doing a double major in music and played the bass. Back then she’d been one of my best friends, a strident feminist type who liked to host costume parties. For a while I’d wondered if we would date, but we were just too alike. Instead I was always going after all her friends, which became a sort of running joke in our circle — a joke at my expense. I respected her deeply, and admired the way she tackled life head-long, but there was a secret between us, a shame that I kept hidden. Seeing her in-person made it all come burbling back. I’d betrayed her, and two of my other friends, by taking topless photos of them without their permission while we were at a nude beach. My girlfriend at the time, Paisley, had discovered the photos on my computer and confronted me about them, which was possibly the most humiliating experience of my life. I was a perv and a peeping tom and I had no defence.

She had exposed my secret, even as I begged her not to.

It was a secret that hadn’t stayed a secret long. Hailey eventually told other people, and the story spread. This was during the early days of the #MeToo Movement, when everybody was calling out toxic masculinity and making a spectacle of crucifying abusers. I knew right away that I was guilty, and the self-hatred washed over me like a tidal wave. I was a worthless, porn-addicted peeping tom unworthy of his female friends. I ended up in the psych ward, having my first in a series of manic episodes, ranting to my nurses about domestic abuse, rape culture, and Rihanna. I wanted to repent, but I didn’t have anyone to repent to. Instead I had to soak in an acid bath of sin, watching it burn away layer after layer of my self-worth.

Hailey gave me a sinister, curling smile. Behind her the half-crescent of women were starting to hoot and howl and bark, their tiki torches swooping skyward. Some of them stamped their feet or jumped up and down like monkeys. They’d been waiting so long for this moment.

Hailey brought her face within inches of mine, and produced a nine-inch knife from a sheath on her hip. She casually dragged it down my back, and I could feel my flesh split open like an overripe fruit.

“Now,” she said. “We’re going to make you sing.”

The Literary Goon

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onehappyhufflepuff · 2 years

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what if... matt murdock didn't get blipped? matt murdock x reader

okay i hate myself for this but recently people have been questioning whether or not matt got blipped at the end of infinity war. i think he did (cause of kingpin in hawkeye), but, what would have happened if you were his friend and the both of you didn't get blipped while karen and foggy were? my brain is full of ideas if you guys want more than just one part

WARNINGS: extreme loss, grieving, panic attack cause by being overwhelmed, basically just really sad :(

pairings: matt murdock x friend!reader

word count: 1,085

A typical workday at Nelson & Murdock. Foggy, Karen, and I ate Chinese take-out for lunch, the news about aliens attacking New York playing quietly for some background noise. Matt had taken the day off, probably to do some Daredevil-ey things. We sat around Karen's desk and laughed at a stupid joke Foggy told.

"Knock, knock," Foggy said, beginning another joke as I stood up to throw my garbage away.

I sighed, "Who's there?" expecting a classic Foggy dad joke. No response came. Maybe that's the punchline? But they weren't there.

"Ha-ha, hilarious guys. How'd you make it out of the room so quietly?" I questioned as I began to wander the office looking for them. Then, I heard the screams. Horrible, gut-wrenching screams coming from everywhere. I felt so overwhelmed by the sudden noise. I ran to the window and threw it open, only to see clouds of dust floating up into the air. Sprinting back to the television, I turned the volume up, watching in horror as calls came flooding into the news station about people evaporating into dust. Slowly turning around, I feared the worst. I walked to where Foggy and Karen had been sitting and noticed what looked like ashes where they should've been. They were gone.

Before I could think, I was running. Two of the three people I cared for in the world were gone. I bumped into other running people on the street, doing the same thing I was. None of us cared enough to stop and apologize. As I ran, I hoped, nearly prayed, for Matt's safety. Approaching his apartment complex, I noticed the lights of his apartment still shining through his windows. Whenever he was home, he'd have the lights on just to let us know he was safe. This did little to ease my fear, however. I ran up the stairs to his apartment and burst through the doors. At first, I couldn't find him, scanning the entirety of his living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom for ashes like Foggy and Karen had left behind. I stood there, the world spinning in circles around me before I heard a faint heaving. I followed the noise to the broom closet adjacent to his fridge. Slowly, I opened the door to find Matt curled upon himself. He was covering his ears and, from the way his chest was moving, I could tell he was hyperventilating.

"Matt, oh my gosh," I whispered, kneeling down to match his height. "Hey, Matt. Matty. It's okay. It's okay. You're safe. I've got you." I comforted the man, gently easing him from the closet and onto the sofa. I sat with him saying nothing. From what I'd seen before, I knew that when Matt was overwhelmed to this extent, all he needed was someone to sit with him quietly.

After 10 or so minutes, the screaming finally quieted, and Matt's breathing began to even out.

"I felt their hearts stop," he murmured, voice barely louder than a whisper.

"What?" I said the question half out of genuine shock and half from my inability to understand what he said.

"I felt– I just felt half of New York's hearts stop," he stuttered between breaths.

"Matt, oh gosh," I said, unable to find words. The pain he must've felt. And– oh, the screams. He'd always been sensitive to loud sounds, but millions of people screaming for who knows how long, that must've been torture.

"When–" he started. "When I first felt it, all I could think to do was search for your heartbeats. Your's and Foggy's and Karen's. Oh, God. Did they…?" Matt said, his voice cracking. His realization struck deep in my heart; they were truly gone. Faded away into ashes in the blink of an eye. And there was nothing either of us could do. A lump rose in my throat as tears rose to my eyes. Matt must've sensed me tense up because he wrapped his arms around me. We stayed like that for a long time, tears threatening to stain each other's shoulders as we found solace in the other's arms.

Eventually, we pulled away from each other. We sat shoulder to shoulder in shock. This wouldn't finally settle in for days. We sat in silence for what felt like forever until Matt spoke.

"I can't– I can't do this alone. Please, please, don't make me do this alone. Don't leave." Matt was clearly terrified that now, with Foggy and Karen dead, I'd leave him to be alone in his sorrows. He'd distanced himself from the three of us when things as Daredevil began to pick up, and, despite the tries from the three of us, he'd never felt safe being close with us again. His fear of my departure was anything but unfounded. But I wouldn't leave him. Neither of us would survive being alone.

"Oh, Matt," I sighed out, the persistent lump in my throat challenging my ability to speak. Pulling him into another hug, I said quietly, "I promise I'll never leave you. I promise." This response to his fears warranted a shakey sob into the crook of my neck. He buried his face farther into my neck as he sobs wracked his body. I did the same as he pulled me impossibly closer, his hand intertwining into my hair.

We stayed like that for the rest of the day, taking turns crying to each other and trying to cope with this massive loss. It was nearly impossible to wrap our heads around what happened. The Avengers spent weeks doing damage control, explaining to the public what had happened. That an alien snapped his fingers and willed away half the population of the entire universe. Crimes rates plummeted at first. Daredevil made no appearances and work was far from anybody's mind. The sudden loss forced everyone into a state of shock. Barely anyone left the house, especially not the two of us.

At first, our days were spent quietly reminiscing about the past few years with Foggy and Karen. After a few weeks, it turned to a more public discussion where we'd sit in Matt's living room and laugh about our friends. After a year, it turned to gentle mourning. We'd have our moments of grieving, but the supernatural cause of death and the knowledge that there was nothing we could do eased our pain. The blissful peace that was each other's friendship similarly aided in the process. Grieving with Matt was always better than grieving alone.

#matt murdock #daredevil #reader insert #no use of y/n #the blip #the avengers #x reader #gender neutral fanfic #grieving #foggy nelson #karen page #matt murdock x reader

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r0zyp0zy0zy · 3 years

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Too Much

Masterlist

This was in the works for months. It’s apart of my sort-of series where the BNHA boys get hit with some type of lust quirk

Words: 3795+

Warnings: smut, oral, face sitting, needy Izuku, overstim, use of toys

Ft. Midoriya Izuku x FEM!reader

Summary: Midoriya shields someone from a succubus quirk

Deku, more often than not, was usually on the news. Specifically live television, helping civilians, stopping crime, and kicking ass. So it was no wonder that you tried to avoid that channel at all costs so you didn't risk having a panic attack at your boyfriend's activities. But Izuku, on the other hand, watched the news channel like it was his lifeline. He was watching out for new heroes, villains, and people in need of help. Izuku was typically pretty good about changing the channel when he left for work, but there were some occasions where he forgot.

Like today.

You were originally planning to watch some Netflix as you worked from home, plopping yourself down onto the couch and grabbing the remote. What you should've done was press the Netflix button as soon as you turned on the TV but alas, you didn't and now your eyes were glued to the screen, watching your boyfriend struggle to get handcuffs on a woman with deep red skin.

"—and Pro Hero Deku has done it again! Peacefully arresting an aggressive woman with a succubus quirk. How does he do it? The self restraint on this man is absolutely amazing! I know if I was in that situation I wouldn't've made it out sane! Ahahaha! And back to Yū-san for the weather—," the reporter was cut off by the news' slogan, and you turned off the TV.

"Fuckin' hell. A succubus?!" You mumbled, reaching for your phone and standing up. You tapped on the Reddit app and searched up the Pro Hero subreddit for more information. There was already a whole thread about Deku's most recent predicament, comments about how hot the succubus lady was and people wondering how Deku even had the ability to resist her.

You somehow felt the call on your phone coming, and threw on your jacket before it rang.

"Hello, this is y/n speaking," you answered, fishing your keys out of your pocket.

"Hello, this is Deku's agency. Are you able to pick him up at his office?" The receptionist said, simultaneously typing something on her keyboard.

"Already on my way," you sighed. "Thanks for calling me."

You quickly hung up and shoved your feet into your shoes. You shut the door behind you and locked it up, walking down the driveway to your vehicle. You knew that something was up, because if there wasn't they wouldn't have called you to pick him up. You kind of expected what Izuku was going through right now, but you didn't know how severe. He would've cracked on live television if it was really bad, right?

You rounded up to the gated parking lot meant for staff and heroes, and drove up to the curb. Deku was still in his hero costume, and he clutched his suitcase in his left hand, the other one buried in his right pocket.

You rolled down your window, "alright, what's the damage?"

Uravity stood awkwardly next to Izuku, expecting him to answer. When he didn't, she sighed and explained, "Deku-kun, uh, got in between a woman with a succubus quirk and her victim... and received the full force of her quirk..."

Izuku's eyes were cemented to the ground as if looking at you would trigger an explosion. You could see the glow of his flushed cheeks, and he nodded slowly, "y-yeah..."

"Did the doctor say anything or...?" You questioned.

"Ah- he just said Deku-kun has to— erm, ride it out. It won't do much damage because the real problem is the succubus' ability to... kill you with pleasure..."

You nodded in understanding at the uncomfortable girl, and unlocked your car, "alright Izu, get in. We have a long day ahead of us."

Izuku squeaked at your words and blushed harder, opening the back door and scooting inside. He held his suitcase in his lap, and stared down at it.

"Thanks, Ochaco-san," you smiled. "I might be stuck at home for an undetermined amount of time, so I'll let you know when Izuku is back to normal."

"Alright," she nodded. "Um, enjoy the rest of your day?"

You chuckled as you rolled your window up and locked the vehicle, looking back at Deku— who immediately whipped his head away. The ride was quiet besides your music, and you wondered what would ensue once you got home.

Izuku was unusually quiet on the ride home, not even pointing out his favourite collectable shop when you drove by it. His fists clutched the edge of his suitcase, staring a hole into the back of your head. You could feel his intense gaze

Ever since the arrest of that woman, Izuku's cock throbbed. The public didn't seem to notice his erection, and for that he was thankful. But as soon as he slipped away from the public's eye he couldn’t help but groan. He didn't feel like he was functioning; actually, he wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't function until he found sweet release. Deku gulped as he fantasized about you, stealing glances at you from the driver's seat. He desperately wanted you to pull over, and leap onto his cock. His head span as he imagined you saying the lewdest of things, and he mindlessly dipped a hand into his pants.

Izuku's vision fizzed when he imagined you sitting on his lap, grinding into his crotch. He let his suitcase fall to his feet, and he spread his legs a little wider. His head rested on the tinted window as he gradually increased his pace, fogging a spot on the window with his hot breath. Izuku didn't realize that he was crying until he tasted his salty tears on his tongue. He leaned his head back and keened loudly, thrusting his hips up as much as he could while wearing a seatbelt.

"Baby?" You asked, looking into the rear-view mirror. "Hold in there Izu, we'll be home in a few more minutes."

Midoriya nodded silently with watery eyes, biting back a moan at the nickname you called him. You were so... good to him, he thought. Always making sure he's ok, calling him cute things, sucking his d—, "oh shit," Izuku squeaked quietly, leaning forward suddenly and rutting his hips up.

"Izu, look at me ok?" You said, watching him through the mirror again. He met your gaze with almost a pained face, letting out short breath-moans. "You're doing so good, it's ok. You can let everything out."

At your words Izuku leaned back again and lifted his hips, opening his mouth in a silent groan. His green hair stuck to his forehead like glue, and saliva gathered in his gaping mouth. "Yes, y/n, fuck. So. Good. Hnngh, you're so— god you're so fucking pretty," he fisted his cock like his life depended on it, lewd sounds rolling off his tongue. He choked on his saliva as he came, splurts of cum landing on his hero costume.

"Feel better, Izu?" You asked, but Izuku was already on his second round. The cum frothed around his cock, squelching noises filling the car. You squirmed in your seat at the uncomfortable amount of slick that coated your underwear, trying to focus on the road.

"More..." Izuku mumbled, "need more— ah~ need more of you, y/n," his pants were fogging up the back windows, and he lazily drew a happy face on one. You rolled your eyes playfully at him.

"We'll be home soon, baby. Hold on a bit longer for me, ok?" You instructed, hoping that your 'bedroom' tone would make him listen.

Izuku whimpered as he nodded along to your words, still desperately fisting his cock. It was hard to not look at him with how utterly wrecked he looked; eyes rolling back, soft chanting of your name leaving his lips. His cheeks were glowing a pretty rouge once you took another peak at him through your mirror. When you finally parked the car in the driveway, Izuku was still babbling nonsense as he rutted into his hand. His trance broke once he saw your hand go in front of his face, and he moaned pathetically at the thought of you giving him a handjob.

You made sure to wipe the cum off of your boyfriend's suit, careful to tuck his hard cock back into his pants. He whined in complaint, but once you said something about snoopy people and their cameras he 'sobered up' and put on his best facade to seem completely normal and fine. Izuku held his briefcase over his crotch, trying to look childish as he carried it to the front door to avoid suspicion from the possibility of prying eyes.

As soon as the pine-haired man entered the house, he fell to his knees, humping his forearm that was pressed to his clothed cock. He moaned in need, not noticing when you began to take off his hero gear. Izuku shuttered when you took off his belt, trying his best not to beg for you to touch his twitching cock.

"P-pleeease,~" he whined when his self control faltered. "Y/n, I can't— I can't! I need it!"

"Need what, Izu?" You leaned down to peer at him. "You have to tell me what you need."

"T-touch me," Izuku's small voice whispered as he started grinding harder against his forearm.

"Let's get you in the bath, baby," you ran your fingers through his hair, "once I clean you up I'll make sure you feel good."

He huffed in protest, but followed you nonetheless, scrambling to stand up. You helped him sit on the countertop, filling the bath with lukewarm soapy water. You examined the bubble bath soap that you had, and went with the scentless option as to not overload your poor horny boyfriend. You heard Izuku whine as you bent down to add the soap, and you could feel his hot gaze on you.

"Y/n," he whimpered. You turned back to look at him, and quirked an eyebrow when you watched him tumble out of his tank top and spandex boxers. You helped him out of his clothes and guided him into the bath.

Izuku watched with heavy eyes as you soaped up the loofah in your hands, biting his lip in anticipation for you to finally touch him, even if it was not exactly with your hands. He gasped when you scrubbed his chest, washing the sweat off his body, and accidentally rubbing his nipples. Izuku choked out a moan and threw his head back, gripping his thighs to keep himself sane. He begrudgingly lifted his arms so you could wash those as well.

"You're doing so good, 'Zuku," you reassured as you poured water over his sweaty green locks, dumping some on his face too.

Midoriya choked on the water as he groaned. Your fingertips massaged shampoo in his hair, gently pulling and rubbing his scalp. He gasped when you massaged the hair on the base of his neck and lurched his hips up, making the water in the tub slosh around. Your boyfriend heaved whiny breaths as you continued to wash him, and he was trying not to squirm from how you were touching him. Izuku let out a pathetic cry when you washed his thighs, and his hands wandered up his chest to pinch his nipples. Tears formed in his eyes as his erection bounced onto his stomach at the amount of desperation he was in, and he was silently sobbing when you finally unplugged the bathtub.

"Shh, shh, Izu. It's ok, we're all done here, let's get to the bed now," you helped up a shaky Izuku from the bath and wrapped a fluffy All Might towel over his trembling body. You laid him down gently and kissed his forehead.

"Please," he heaved in almost a panic, "please touch me! I can't take it!"

You threw off your shirt as quickly as you could, and you sat between his legs. Izuku's eyes were closed tightly, and his cheeks were stained with cold tears. He whined out a huff once you finally gripped the base of his cock and jerked up, firmly fisting him in your hand. You dragged your palm over his almost purple glans, gathering his pre-cum to use as lube.

Izuku yowled and gulped down the saliva that he was producing, arching his back in need. He silently urged you to go faster, harder, but was too breathless to. He sobbed when you did just that, and he sucked in harsh breaths into his poor lungs.

"Cumming!" His head flew back on his pillow and he whined loudly. "Y/n it's so good, oh fu-ck~."

Your eyes widened as you pumped him through what you believed to be his third orgasm, marvelling at how much cum came out to land on his stomach and chest. You slowed down and gave your boyfriend a sloppy kiss.

Izuku complained when he felt you dip off the bed, upset that you weren't blessing him with overstimulation. His neck lulled to the side and watched you pull out a few toys. He felt his dick leap when he saw you take out a powerful vibrator, along with the ring attachment. Midoriya took a shaky hand and smeared his fingers with his cum, watching it drip down his cock. He fisted himself before you came back over and swatted his hand away.

"Let me take care of you, hon," you fretted, plugging the toy into the wall. You quickly rid yourself of the rest of your clothes before scooting forwards.

A shiver ran throughout Izuku's body when you switched it on. You carefully dragged it over his glans, watching him writhe beneath you.

"Oh fuck," he huffed in satisfaction when you slipped the lubed ring over his still aching cock, and he gripped the sheets under him.

"Your balls are so puffy, 'Zuku," you purred. "Lots of cum in there, hmm?"

"Yes, yes so much. So much— please get it out!" Izuku begged. His eyes rolled back when you switched up the vibration.

"Don't worry baby," you cooed. "I'll get it all out for you."

Midoriya's eyes widened when he felt your hot, wet tongue lap at the tip of his cock, and he moaned deeply. With the mix of his cum and your spit, his dick was easily sliding with the toy.

Dragging down the silicone ring to the base of his cock, you wrapped your lips around his glans and sucked greedily, trying to milk him once again. You thought you heard Izuku crying from pleasure again, so you sucked a bit harder.

"Hah!~" the man huffed, struggling to stay still. His hips uncontrollably rutted upwards into the warm cavern of your mouth and a harsh groan ripped from his throat.

Izuku's legs began to shake when you flicked up the vibration to the highest setting, and if he wasn't out of his mind, he would've been extremely embarrassed at the shriek he let out. He huffed for breath as his back arched and his head was thrown to the pillows.

"Ghgh," Izuku let out a strangled groan. He fisted the sheets harshly and he floundered against the bed, feeling as though he was sinking into the sheets with what he was experiencing. "Gagh! Oh! Oh, y/n pleasepleasepleeeeaseee~," Izuku was full on sobbing now, begging frantically that he had to cum.

"'Zuku, cum for me ok? Cum all over your chest, baby. I'll lick it all up," you encouraged, keeping up your pace.

"Thank you! Oh- th-thank— AHGnm," Izuku growled, body tingling all over and shaking fiercely.

You quickly turned off the vibrator and pulled it off of his still hard cock. Midoriya watched almost cross-eyed as you licked stripes up his belly to the valley between his pecks, slurping up his cum lewdly. You met his gaze and smiled at him, leaning up for a kiss. Izuku groaned at the taste of him on your tongue and he bucked his hips up, already silently begging for more.

"Jeez 'Zuku, how much you got in there?" You asked in awe, slowly pumping his still hard cock.

"Mm, dunno," he mumbled, "doctor said the quirk'll make me produce lots."

"I don't know if I should keep going, baby..." you hesitated, slowing your movements.

"No!" Izuku keened, "no, please no! Keep going please, y/n."

You grabbed Izuku's fleshlight from the side drawer and angled his cock to fit into the silicone. You shushed your boyfriend as he whined, slowly dragging the toy up and down his length.

"Gonna sit on your face now, yeah? That alright?" You cooed, batting your eyelashes at Izuku.

"Yes!" He groaned, laying his head back on his pillow in preparation.

You switched positions so your thighs were on either side of Izuku's skull. His hands crept up and held you steady, already lapping and sucking at your clit. You sunk the fleshlight down on his cock again and you shivered at the whine he let out. You ground your hips against his face as you slowly pumped the toy. It was harder for you to focus on your boyfriend's pleasure when his lips were wrapped around your clit, his face buried between your legs. You managed to keep your movements steady for the most part and after Izuku came again, you kept going at that same pace.

"Mmph fmmph phmo fmmd," the man beneath you moaned. He picked up his pace and you gasped, your strokes faltering.

"Fuck, 'Zuku," you groaned. Your head flew back and your mouth opened wide. "Shit, baby."

"Myhp bmph," Izuku pulled back to suck in a breath. "Y/n, touch my balls, please, pleaseplease."

You did, lying yourself fully on your boyfriend and reaching your unoccupied hand to caress his still puffy sack. A deep groan rumbled in his throat, and he continued to feverishly eat you out. Tonguing at his thighs/pelvis, you sucked gently on his skin, kissing over the faint marks. You weren't quite sure, but you thought you felt Izuku's tears on your thighs; his moans getting steadily louder.

"You close, baby?" You panted on his skin, picking up your pace.

"Mhm," Izuku answered.

"Such a good boy, letting me milk him while making me feel good," you purred. Your breath was ragged and you felt your stomach twist in pleasure as Izuku whined on your heat. "Go on and cum for me, 'Zuku."

Izuku's hips bucked slightly into your pumps, and you saw more cum leak out of the bottom of the fleshlight. You slowed to a stop and pulled the toy off of him, groaning when you saw two orgasms worth of cum leak out of the toy. Letting the toy fall, you gripped Izuku's thighs for support as you swivelled your hips on his face.

"Fuck, 'm close baby. Make me cum, ok?" You gasped as your boyfriend honed in on your clit, moaning unintelligible praise against your folds.

Your grip tightened and you rolled your head back, moaning loudly as you felt yourself fall over the edge. Your legs shook as you came, and you heaved for breath. Izuku slowed and didn't stop until you lifted yourself off of him.

"Th-thank you," Izuku licked his lips, your slick covering his chin.

"We have to clean up now, 'Zuku," you cooed, running your fingers through his sweaty hair.

"N-no!" Izuku whined, jutting his lip out. "Wan-wanna be in you. Want you on top of me."

"Ok Izuku," you sighed, cupping his cheek. "But after this, I'm cleaning up and then you have to go to sleep. Alright?"

"Yes!" He nodded frantically.

Izuku watched curiously as you rummaged around in the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom.

"Wait- we haven't used one of those in ages. Aren't you on birth control?" The man asked as you rolled on the latex.

"Babe, you're under the influence of a quirk. I don't know what type of shit that chick did to your semen," you refrained from saying anything about you getting pregnant in fear that it would light a fire within him.

He nodded shakily, grinning dumbly as you hovered over him. A whimper left his lips as you rubbed him through your folds, making his cock slick with your arousal. He gasped as you sat down on him, his cock slipping in with ease. A moan rumbled in Izuku's throat once you started to roll and buck your hips.

"Sh-shit," Izuku squeaked, pulling his hand up to bite his fist. His other hand laid on your hip, occasionally tightening his hold when you moved a certain way. "You feel so good, baby. Feels s'good when you bounce on my dick."

Izuku took his fist out of his mouth and used a shaky hand to rub tight circles on your clit. Even if he was delirious, he still had the mind to make you feel good too.

The expressions on your boyfriend's face made your core tighten in excitement. The way he reacted to every little thing was making you go insane. Every rut of your hips, every breath you let out, was overwhelming him.

"Pleasepleaseplease cum," Izuku whimpered, "need you to cum, y/n. Want you to cum before me."

You watched as tears formed in his eyes and you moaned throatily. Your nails dug into his chest as your face contorted in pleasure, letting the tingling of your toes travel up your body.

"Oh fuck, Izuku," you cried, "close! Oh my god fuck— I love you so much Izu."

Midoriya couldn't control the whole body shiver he had as he came, your walls squeezing him rhythmically as you came immediately after him.

"So good," Izuku whined. "Want one more..."

"No no, baby," you cooed as you cleaned him up with baby wipes. "Remember, I said that was the last one. Now I'll get you a warm cloth and some water, ok? And then we can have a nap."

"Ok," Izuku huffed dejectedly.

He didn't notice when you left, but you came back into the room holding a sports water bottle and a cloth.

"You did so good baby," you said softly. "Hopefully you'll feel better when you wake up."

"Mhm," Izuku hummed absentmindedly, squirting water down his throat.

Midoriya struggled to get his sweatpants on so you dressed him in comfy clothes, and laid him back down. You got his fuzzy AllMight blanket and wrapped it around him.

"Good?" You asked as you lay down.

"Yeah," he mumbled into the blanket. "Thank you, y/n."

He snuggled closer to you and fell asleep rather quickly, leaving you to slowly doze off into a light nap as your boyfriend clutched onto your side.

#anime #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #izuku midoriya x reader smut #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #deku smut

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