#tw: mental health
Note
I love your headcanons!
Why do you think Tommy has a difficult relationship with sex and how does that show?
Also do you have any more ideas about the emergency contact one? Like the first time they get a call from the hospital...
Yessss thank you so much for asking about those headcanons! I’ve been wanting to talk about these.
I actually just got another ask about the emergency contact and I’m going to go super in depth for that, so stay tuned!
But why do I think Tommy has a difficult relationship with sex? I’m so, so glad you asked. This is one of my biggest headcanons.
However! Please read with caution. TW: for a form of self h*rm involving sex, self hatred, and internalized homophobia.
Tommy was extremely closeted for most of his life. When he was at the 118, he couldn’t even accept himself. But at some point, he stopped being able to ignore it. For me, this might be when he realized he liked Sal (see my other post).
Now for some people, exploring your sexuality includes a *ahem* wild phase. To me, Tommy had two parts of this phase. The first one was…not great.
Tommy was a self loathing closeted man. He hated himself for being gay. He wanted to be “normal”. So when he stopped being able to ignore it, he thought he could “get it out of his system”. So he went to bars outside of LA (he wasn’t risking bumping into anyone he knew) and hooked up with any man who showed interest. He wasn’t picky. He was just more focused on getting out of this “phase”.
So he hooked up with a lot of men. And he didn’t care about himself at all. In fact, he out right hated himself every time. So it devolved. If something didn’t feel good, Tommy leaned into it because he saw it as punishment. He used sex to punish himself and to hurt himself.
I’m not quite sure about how he pulled himself out of it, but we’ll go with this. My idea is that he had a sexual partner who caught onto what was going on, that Tommy secretly hated something happening but refused to stop on his own. The partner shut down the event and when he called out, gently, Tommy on what was happening, Tommy broke down. The partner held him and listened to his garbled story and talked him through it. Instead of the hookup, they spent that night just talking, with the partner trying to get Tommy to see what was happening and get him out of the slump.
And it didn’t fix it. Tommy continued this pattern for a couple more hookups, but he started to get discontented and uncomfortable. Around this time maybe, the 118 got Bobby Nash and the dynamic started changing. Sal was gone and working with Hen, an openly queer firefighter, started to shift how he looked at himself.
So Tommy stopped the hookups and started working on himself. He couldn’t quite face himself still, but he worked on liking himself outside of his sexuality. He started laying down boundaries when he hooked up. And then he left the 118 and started therapy. He was ready to start over. He was tired of the pain and the self hate and the cycle he’d been stuck in for so long. He wanted what he’d seen others have. He saw Hen with her wife and he wanted a bond like that and he knew it could never be with a woman.
Skip forward all this time and he’s learned to be gentle with himself. He finally loves himself. He has embraced his sexuality. Maybe he’s still friendly with that past partner or maybe they never spoke again, idk. He’s had some relationships but nothing’s really stuck. Then he meets Evan Buckley.
He meets Evan Buckley and he feels the sun for the first time. And Evan is still figuring himself out and Tommy not only really likes him, but also wants to make sure Evan doesn’t make the same mistakes he did.
Does that answer the question? Let me sum it up.
Tommy used sex to punish himself and those were his first real experiences with guys. So even now, in healthier relationships and with better mindsets, he doesn’t do the hookup game anymore and is very shy of having sex too soon. He doesn’t have sex without knowing and trusting the person.
Y’all I have no idea if this made sense, but this is literally the premise of a story in my brain.
#911 abc#9-1-1#911 show#tommy kinard#911 season 7#lou ferrigno jr#bucktommy#evan buckley#911 spoilers#tk6 answers#tk6 muses#911 meta#tw: mental health#tw: self loathing#tw: self destruction#read the tws
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JJK "2008 Myspace glitter girly shitpost" edits! Really just giggling like an idiot making these, super fun! So Far we got:
Gojo ☆ Choso ☆ Geto ☆ Sukuna ☆ Nanami
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk edit#these are deranged pls help#but also i wouldnt mind doing more lol#gojo satoru#choso kamo#geto suguru#sukuna ryomen#nanami kento#tw: mental health#tw: death#i dont know if the warnings are necessary but i would rather be safe than not
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someone new
Synopsis: Post-war!AU. It’s the quite moments that Touya enjoys the most. Sometimes he still has a hard time believing they’re real. That you are real.
He has no problems allowing you to remind him of the latter.
Word count: 16K
Paring: Dabi x Reader (fem!reader)
Warnings: Mentions of post surgical interventions, Touya has hints of survivors guilt and some suicidal idealization if you squint, Smut and additional warnings listed below and on A03 so Minors or Ageless Blogs please DNI. This is rated 18+
Playlist: Omar Apollo - Evergreen (You Didn't Deserve Me At All)
Authors notes: Written for @shibaraki Komorebi collab! Thanks for having me love! Hope you enjoy!
Title is from Someone New by Hozier
**You can read it on A03 here if the formatting on Tumblr is throwing you off! I cross-post all my works onto my A03 account!
Sometimes Touya wonders how he got here.
It’s a loaded question and he knows as much. He knows exactly where he is, and he’s painfully aware of the series of events that led him to this moment in time – but he often finds himself struggling to believe it.
A part of him doesn’t want to believe it – a gnarled, still-angry part of what remains of his soul is convinced that it’s all part of some elaborate dream – one that will fade away and leave him alone and bitter once more as soon as he opens his eyes.
He falls asleep again and again, trying to prove his theory, but every time he wakes back up, he’s still in the same place:
He wakes up in your sun-lit apartment, more often in your bed, with you – always close by, never too far away.
It’s where he is even now: nestled into the soft sheets of your—no, the bed you shared together, even though it’s pushing noon on a Tuesday. Despite his body screaming at him to move, he can’t bring himself to get up just yet.
It’s not like it matters if he stays in bed anyways, he doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have his court mandated therapy appointment until Thursday, and it’s not like he has a nine to five job like most people do. Christ, he can’t even leave your apartment building without you or a Pro-hero escort with him. (Who, ninety-five percent of the time ends up being Shoto, since he’s about the only person who wants to deal with him these days aside from you, his mom, and sometimes Fuyumi and Natsuo.)
He rolls over slightly and listens for you, trying to hear the tell-tale tread of your footsteps echoing through the halls, or the sound of you humming a gentle melody under your breath as you do your menial chores around the apartment; before it finally occurs to him that it’s a weekday and you’re at work.
He stifles a groan as he finally pushes himself up, and makes his way towards the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him.
That was his biggest problem these days: not wondering when his next meal would be. Not obsessing over ruining his father’s life as he had done his. Not charring himself past the point of no return as a means of exacting vengeance upon the world of Pro Hero’s that had long since turned their backs on him. No. That was all in the past.
For the first time in his life, it was boredom that was getting to him.
That was a joke if he ever fucking heard one.
Looking at himself now it’s hard to believe that he was once a homicidal serial killer, with a rap sheet several miles long.
He looks different now. He fights the urge to snort as he turns away from his reflection in your bathroom mirror while he goes about his business.
Like a snake that sheds it’s skin every couple of years, he’s changed his form once again; though this transformation wasn’t up to him. He had no choice in the matter; what happened to him after the war was decided for him. His opinions be damned. (Though, if he thinks about it, he didn’t really give All For One and his fucked up scientist permission to piece him back together after he incinerated himself up the first time. The irony almost makes him laugh.)
He forces himself to face his reflection in the mirror as he begins the painstaking task of his skincare routine – burning turquoise eyes staring a little too long at who looks back at him.
The worst of his burn scars are gone, though the shadow of them remains. His two-toned flesh has been concealed by pale, raised skin, but he can still see the lines in his face from his first Escharotomy – a reminder of Dabi; always lingering, never fully gone, even if he wears a different face.
The rest of his body is like that as well. No longer is he marred by wicked burn scars and surgical staples; he is one even skin tone now. He is complete by all accounts, even though he feels anything but whole. The skin grafts aren’t perfect – they’re textured and prone to drying out, and the skin around his eyes always looks bloodshot – but for the first time in years, when he looks in the mirror; the person staring back at him actually looks like Touya.
It's not a perfect visual, but it’s still closer than he ever thought possible.
Truth be told, he still has a difficult time looking at himself in the mirror. It’s jarring honestly. He’d gotten so used to seeing the horrific scarring on himself, that seeing his reflection without them makes him feel like he’s staring at someone new.
The skin grafts he received at some point after his barely responsive body was all but dragged off the battle field, still itch sometimes, but he knows it’s all in his head. He can’t feel anything. He hasn’t been able to feel anything since he was discharged from the hospital he been taken to after he collapsed.
His memories of that time are hazy – he had been doped up on heavy narcotics and other nerve blockers as he was subjected to surgery after surgery in a desperate attempt to fix his scorched body – so much so, that he doesn’t know how long he was out for, or how much time passed while he was in recovery.
He remembers Shoto coming to visit him shortly after waking up from the worst of his many surgeries, and explaining that while the doctors had been able to successfully graft new skin onto him, (how his mangled body had been able to withstand another set of skin grafts was beyond him), they hadn’t been able to fix his damaged nerve endings, and had opted to cauterize the few that still worked; leaving him completely numb to any and all feeling.
Truthfully, he hadn’t cared at the time, he hadn’t been able to feel much of anything for years before that, and the little he was still able to feel was nothing but chronic pain, so at the time he has seen the news as a blessing.
And then he met you.
Shortly after that, he found himself cursing the fact that he couldn’t feel anything at all.
-----
He remembers the first time he met you.
After he had been cleared to leave the hospital, he had been taken to a heavily fortified psychiatric ward, eerily similar to the med-bay in Tartarus: all sterile white walls and armed guards. His room hadn’t been much better: just a mid-sized white box with a cot and a small window for him to look out of, though there wasn’t much of a view outside. He had no idea where the fuck he was anyways.
There he had started his rehabilitation.
It was hell. The first few months he spent there, he adamantly refused to speak to any of the doctors or physiatrists who came to work with him. Some were more persistent than others, poking their nose into his past (like he hadn’t just aired his dirty laundry out for all of Japan to witness), and those were the ones he got pissed off at the most.
In another life, Dabi would have had no qualms about turning the doctors to ash, just like he had done to everyone else who had annoyed him in the past, only; he wasn’t Dabi anymore. He wasn’t sure who he was now.
It didn’t help he had been hopped up on quirk blockers that canceled out his quirk, otherwise he probably still would’ve tried to incinerate them. But he couldn’t, and for the first time in his life, Touya Todoroki was fucking cold.
Turns out his quirk did a wonderful job of insulating him against the ice he kept hidden inside his chest all along.
He supposed he couldn’t blame them for rendering him quirkless while at the facility. Hell, he’d render himself quirkless if he was a staff member, having to deal with someone like him. Footage from the fight with his father and the all-out brawl with Shoto had been leaked to the public, showing his quirk’s true power in all of its devastating glory.
He had been told the aftermath of both fights had done irreversible damage to the surrounding areas, and no one was sure if they’d be able to fix the carnage he had created.
Good. The bitter, angry part of himself thought when he had been inadvertently told of the news. Suffer like I am.
He had been kept in isolation most of the time as the doctors tried to figure out what to do with him. His family hadn’t been allowed to visit him yet, and for that he was grateful – he hadn’t been particularly keen on seeing them after his recovery anyways. It was still too soon to face them, and he wasn’t ready to deal with the inevitable aftermath of what was to come. In the meantime, he still refused to respond to any of the medical staff who came to try and work with him, outside of sarcastic remarks and biting jabs that made the whitecoats squirm in their seats, much to his enjoyment.
Curiously, during one of the very few times he did speak to one of the doctors responsible for his treatment; he found himself asking about what happened to the rest of the League. Of course, no one would give him any answers aside from the fact they were alive and they were in custody.
He was more relieved than he thought he would be.
More time passed, and he still refused to open up to any of the staff who came to see him, though he had become more vocal with them – aggressively so – to the point he started to notice there was a continuous rotation of people now; it wasn’t just the same staff he was used to seeing when he first arrived at the facility.
Turns out, even the professionals were still scared of him – quirk or no quirk, his fiery reputation preceded him.
Eventually, the facility couldn’t keep cycling through their therapists, so they had switched tactics. Whether it was out of desperation, or the fact he made so many professionals break down after a session with him, he wasn’t sure, but he can’t say he regrets his actions, because in the end, he met you.
He remembers the day you met for the first time.
He had been forced out of his little cell and taken to one of the treatment rooms where he spent most of his time outside his own room. He had been shoved in there before he could make a snarky retort, and then… he saw you.
You had been sitting on the couch adjacent to the spot where he normally sat during his apptioments. He had been so stunned to see someone new, he’d been rendered silent. You’d looked up towards him, and for the first time since he arrived, you smiled at him.
“Hey.” You’d greeted him casually. He hadn’t responded, still unsure of who you were and what you were doing here instead of the usual staff.
You nodded to the couch across from you. “You wanna sit?”
He sat.
He fully expected you to introduce yourself, but you hadn’t. You’d just leaned back into the couch you were seated on and crossed your legs, giving him a content smile as you regarded him casually.
A few beats of silence passed. You didn’t speak and neither did he. A few minutes passed, then a half hour, and then an hour. Finally, one of the assistants came to bring him back to his room.
He stood up to go but you still didn’t say anything. He’d allowed himself to be taken back without a fuss but, he didn’t think anything more about it. The next day it was the same thing. He was taken out of his room back to the same treatment room, and surprisingly, you were already there waiting for him.
You gave him a little grin and nodded to the couch opposite you, and just like the last day, he sat.
Once again, you didn’t say anything, which was unusual, since all of the other doctors had always started off the conversation, but you sat in silence across from him – the gentle smile never leaving your face all the while.
A half hour of silence passed before he finally broke. “So, what exactly is this?” he remembers his voice sounding dry and scratchy after weeks of misuse. “This the part where you try and butter me so I’ll talk to you?”
You’d grinned at his remark. “No.”
“No? Then what the hell are you doing here? Is this some new technique the therapist’s showed you to try and get me to spill my guts to you? Reverse phycology or some shit?”
“Nope. None of that I can assure you. Actually, if I’m being honest, I’m not even a doctor.”
That caught his attention.
“The hell do you mean you’re not a doctor? How the are you in here then?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”
He remembers being completely caught off guard by your answers, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit intrigued by you. He remembers squinting at you carefully – taking you in – and for the first time, he saw you. Really saw you.
He could tell that you weren’t lying to him about not being a doctor. You were dressed casually, though you were still covering up a fair amount of skin – no doubt something they told you to do ahead of time. You looked more alive than the rest of the staff in this place as well.
He was loathed to admit it, but you were pretty.
He remembers you flashing him a knowing grin, clearly able to tell he’s been shamelessly checking you out, and it was enough to make him recede back into his shell; his walls going back up once more, as he rolled his eyes condescendingly at you.
“So what’s your angle then?” He’d asked you. “You’re not a doctor but you wouldn’t be in here with me if you didn’t want something from me.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I was simply here to talk?”
That had gotten a laugh out of him. A short breathless laugh, but it was the first one he’d uttered since he’d tried to incinerate himself along with his father. It felt weird leaving his throat, foreign even, and he’d cut himself off as soon as the sound exited his mouth. So, he settled for snickering instead.
“Really now? You want to talk to someone like me? Why do I not believe that?”
You had sighed, and leaned forward so your forearms were supported on your knees, fixing him with a stern gaze. The intensity of it had made him flinch before he remembered who he was. He returned the look best he could, but it hadn’t deterred you in the slightest. Instead, you sighed again.
“Look I’ll be honest with you: the staff here filled me in on your situation. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but from how it was explained to me; your family wants you back home with them. They’ve made a bunch of deals with the authorities about getting you out of here and not spending the rest of your life behind bars, but you have to successfully go through rehab first. The reason you’re here is so they can determine that you’re not a threat to society or to yourself, but the staff don’t seem to be having much luck getting through to you, and they’re desperate. They sent out a request to bring in outside help and I applied. They picked me because we’re the same age, and well… no one else really wanted to. Turns out most people are pretty scared of you.”
“Fucking figures. And you’re telling me you’re not?”
“Of you? No.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not. I’m a little nervous maybe, but I’m not scared.”
That had made him pause. He’d swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling like it was packed with cotton.
“Why’s that?” he’d finally asked you after a moment.
You had gone quiet, seemingly mulling over his question before you finally responded: “I think you have a lot to say. More than you already have, and more then what people think. To be honest, I want to hear it.”
He had laughed again, but this time it sounded forced, even to him.
“If you watched my broadcast then you know it all already.”
“Oh, trust me, I think the whole world saw your broadcast, not just Japan. No one would shut up about it for weeks. But I think there’s a lot more to you. I think a part of you wants to talk to someone else – none of that scripted bullshit – and I want to talk to you. Honestly, I think you’re pretty fascinating.”
He had been very tempted as ask you if you had a thing for villains, but he held off.
“You must be crazy if you find talking to me enjoyable. The other quacks can’t even stomach me, let alone stand to be in the same room as me for more than a few minutes. Just how fucked up are you really?”
You’d grinned and wiggled your eyebrows mischievously at him as you leaned back and spread your arms out along the back of the couch. “The only way you’re going to find that out is if you agree to talk to me. I don’t just give up all my secrets willingly you know.”
It was his turn to go quiet as he thought about your words over and over in his head, taunting him. He hadn’t been in any rush to leave the facility and go back to his old house, even if his mother and siblings were waiting for him. On the other hand, this was the most enjoyable conversation he’d had with anyone since coming to this white hellhole they called a hospital.
He figured maybe he would entertain you for a little while. If nothing else it would get you off his back.
You were lucky you were attractive.
The sound of your voice calling out his surname brought him back to the present.
“Mr. Todoroki?”
“… Fine.” He had finally relented. “We’ll see who you really are, and for fuck’s sake don’t call me that. I’m not my fucking father.”
“What do you want me to call you then?”
“D—” he stopped short. Was that his name any more? Did he get to call himself that after everything was said and done? It was the name he had given himself when Touya died all those years ago, but for some reason, saying it now just seemed wrong.
“…Touya.” He finally muttered. “Just Touya.”
You had smiled at him and for some stupid reason, it made his heartrate pick up. Just a little.
“Okay then. Touya it is. It’s nice to meet you.” You extended your left hand, and he had clumsily fumbled around for a moment before shaking your hand. As soon as your hands touched, and he felt the gentle pressure of your hand in his own, he was struck with the realization that this was the closest to human he’d felt in God knows how long. The other doctors that would come in and out of his cell treated him like he was some kind of feral animal, but you had extended your hand to him without any shred of fear or disgust.
Once you’d both settled back into your respective couches, he’d shrugged.
“So, what now then?”
“Now we talk I guess.”
“About what?”
“I think that’s up to you. The people who brought me in here didn’t specify what we have to talk about, but I am supposed to tell you that I can’t talk to you about the UA students, politics, current or former hero’s, or the League.”
Fuck. It didn’t seem like he’d be getting any answers out of you regarding his former group either.
“…fine. Ask away, I guess.”
To his surprise, you shook your head. “Can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I’m the one doing all the asking, then we’re only going to talk about things from my perspective, which isn’t the point. The only way this is going to work is if you talk to me first.”
That’d had thrown him through a fucking loop. Ever since he had arrived at the ward, all the doctors had done is talk at him, hoping he’d respond eventually. You may not have been a doctor, but you made for a better conversation then any of them ever did.
“…Well… Where am I supposed to start?” he’d finally asked, feeling like an idiot. To his immense relief, you’d simply shrugged.
Wherever you want. From the beginning maybe? It might be easier that way.”
He remembered swallowing hard. “Alright… from the beginning then.”
He remembers pausing and looking up at you, taking you in. “What the hell is your name anyways?”
You told him with a smile, and that was how it started.
For the next year, you came to see him almost every day.
He was taken to the same room where you were always waiting for him without fail at the same time every day. Even though at that point, he’d rather choke than admit it; he began to look forward to your visits – finding that they gave him a reprieve from his mundane existence at the mental ward.
He knew the doctors were always listening and recording everything you talked about during the hour you were together, but he found he didn’t care as much as you managed to keep the meetings interesting.
True to your word, you wouldn’t talk to him about current political events, or any news related to heroes (he knew better then to ask anyways), but you were open to chatting with him about anything that he wished to talk about, even though conversations were often hard for him to start – but you were kind and patient with him, more so than anyone had ever been to him for the majority of his miserable life.
He found himself growing found of you, the little smiles you give him when he’d sit across from you, bringing a hidden grin to his own lips, though he was quick to push it down, never letting his passive façade drop for more the a few seconds, lest his supervising doctors notice and assume shit, as they tended to do.
You may not have been a licensed doctor, but you helped him more than any of the ones who worked at the medical ward did.
There was a gradual shift in your relationship as time passed. Around the six month mark he could feel it, and he was almost positive you could too.
Your conversations had become more fluid, more casual. You were relaxed as you could be around him, and he found himself opening up more and more to you without being prompted. Most times he liked to keep the conversation light, but every so often, he’d tell you bits and pieces about his childhood – before everything had gone to shit. He never bothered telling you about everything that happened after Sekoto; he didn’t want to tell you about the years he spent on the streets, or his time in All For One’s medical center with the other children turned Nomu’s, and to his immense relief, you never asked him to.
In return for his openness, you rewarded him with tidbits from your own life growing up. You didn’t name anyone specific (he couldn’t fault you on that one), but you’d tell him about your childhood and some of the adventures you’d had when you were young, well into your teen years.
He learned that you were born an only child to your parents, raised in a caring household. All the idealistic, quaint things that he had wished from his own family. He’d told you as much one day, prompting you to laugh softly.
“Not always.” You’d told him quietly. “I had my own pressure on me when I was growing up. My parents and I fought a lot. We rarely saw eye to eye – they didn’t agree with a lot of choices I made when I was younger, but it was okay aside from that.”
“Still sounds like your parents were better than mine.” He’d told you with a bitter smirk. “My dad’s an abusive asshole, and my mom—”
It was then he realized that he struggled for words to properly describe her. Broken images from his fire fight with Endeavor had come back to him, and he remembered his mother’s fierce determination to try and cool him down – to save him – even as the heat was melting her flesh. She had thrown herself into the fray to try and stop him from ending it all without a second thought for her own safety. Up until very recently, he would’ve described his mother as weak and submissive, always bending to his father’s whims, even though he knew she didn’t have much of a choice back then, but now… that description didn’t seem to fit her anymore.
“—she used to be a doormat for dear old dad to walk over when I was a kid… but she’s changed. She’s a lot stronger than I remember her being.”
“I saw bits and pieces of your fight with… him.” You’d admitted quietly then. “I saw the aftermath. Your mom, your siblings… they all ran in to save you.”
He’d fallen quiet at that, not truly knowing what to say, but when he looked up again, you had offered him a gentle smile. “I’m sorry if this oversteps a boundary but… they never forgot about you Touya. Even if it felt like they did, they never stopped thinking about you.”
For once, he remembered being grateful that his tear ducts were permanently sealed shut, because he suddenly found himself in danger of crying. The tell-tale prickling behind his eyes caused his face to scrunch up as he pushed the thought of his mom and siblings down. He had quickly forced his expression to go back to neutral, and prayed that you hadn’t noticed the switch, but if you had, you didn’t comment on it – another thing he liked so much about you.
Instead, you asked him something that caught him off guard.
“Have you seen them? Your family? Since you were placed here?”
“No. Didn’t think they were allowed to come here. Why?”
“I think… maybe you should let them come see you – your mom and siblings I mean. Not you know who. I don’t think you’d be doing yourself any favours.”
“Why?” He remembers pressing you. “Have you seen them?” You’d shook your head.
“No, I’ve never met them, but I think it might help if you sit down with them and actually talk to them one on one. You must be getting so bored just talking to me day in and day out.”
“No!” he remembers saying a little too quickly, causing another one of those knowing smirks to creep up your lips. “I—no, you’re fine. I like talking to you.”
“Do you not want to see them?” you had asked him seriously. “Is it too soon? I understand if you’re not ready. That’s a decision you have to make on your own. No one can make it for you.”
“… I’ll think about it.”
Because in truth: there were things he wanted to say to them, and conversations he wanted to have.
In the end, it was you who finally convinced him to let his family visit. They had been cleared to see him at the faculty a few months prior, but he had always declined a visit from them, not wanting to see them so soon, since the last time they were all together had resulted in him almost melting his mother, Fuyumi and Natsuo.
There had been strict rules set in place for his family’s visitations: only one person could see him at a time so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed. they weren’t allowed to talk about outside events with him, and finally, under no circumstance was Endeavor allowed anywhere near the faculty. He was fine with his mother and siblings coming to see him if they wished, but he didn’t want his father to be anywhere near him.
He wasn’t ready to see him again so soon. Even after his apologies. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to see his father again.
Thankfully the faculty had minimal difficulty honoring his last wish, as it seemed that Enji didn’t want to be around him either – or maybe he was purposefully keeping his distance. Either way, the old bastard wasn’t around him, and he figured it was for the best.
Once again you had been right; seeing his family again had been as cathartic as it had been terrifying.
There had been tears (from his family – he still was unable to cry), and there had been a lot of long, overdue heart-to-heart conversations with them of things that should’ve been said long ago.
It had been hard to sit down and listen to each of his family members without feeling the intense urge to get up and run when the guilt became almost unbearable, but he had forced himself to sit through it all for their sakes (and even his own), and soon he found himself scheduling more visits with his family, as well as seeing you for your daily interactions.
You never prompted him to tell you how his now daily visits with his family went, but he’d told you anyways – not what was discussed, that would stay with him – but he had told you about his favourite visit. Hilariously, it had been with Shoto; something he never thought he’d ever say.
He’d told you about how Shoto had brought him lunch from the outside the day before. It wasn’t anything special; just piping hot udon noodles with vegetables in pork broth. They had sat down in silence and eaten together, sharing a meal for the first time in their lives. Nothing had been discussed, and yet everything had been said.
It had been nice. Comfortable, even.
He remembered telling you with a soft smile on his face, and you had pointed it out, causing him to scoff and wave you off.
“It’s better food then the shit they feed me in this prison. Seriously, that was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”
“Well, once you’re cleared to leave, I’m sure you’ll be able to eat all the udon you want with your brother.” You’d told him as you tucked your feet under you. He’d shrugged, brushing you off, but you were ever observant, and had called him out on it.
“Do you not want to go back to them once you’re able to leave this place?”
It was a simple question in theory, but it wasn’t easy to answer.
He’d shrugged again. “Don’t really know if I can. Not after everything. I won’t go back if he’s there.”
“I don’t think they’d push so hard for you to come back to them if he was.” You reasoned with him gently. “Where would you want to go, if not there?”
You and your questions. Most of the time they were harmless, but sometimes they really made him think. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had an answer for you at that point, and you had quickly switched the conversation topic.
At that point, he’d be lying if he said he was thinking about what he’d do once he was released. Truth be told he hadn’t thought about it much at all. To him, it felt like he’d be in the psychiatric ward for the foreseeable future. He had no real plans for what he’d do once he was out. Maybe he would go back to his old house with his family, or maybe he’d try staking out on his own since that was what he was used to, if he was even allowed to go off on his own. He wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do once he was let out – but he certainly wouldn’t be free, he knew that much.
Maybe he’d try and reconnect with the League – assuming that any of them were even allowed to be released from custody.
It still bothered him on some level that he had no idea about what happened to them after the dust had settled. He had been carted off the battle field before any of them, after his attempt at going nuclear failed, and had been in and out of the hospital and the physiatrist wing ever since.
When he had first arrived, he’d asked the staff about what had happened to the remainder of the League, but they hadn’t told him anything aside from the fact they were alive – but he wasn’t sure how much of that he believed.
The only one he’d really trusted in the whole building was you. He knew you weren’t allowed to talk to him about any villains or heroes, but maybe if he asked you discreetly, you’d be able to tell him something more than what the medical staff had. He didn’t want you to get in trouble, but the curiously was eating away at him.
Finally, one day he risked it, and asked you if you knew anything about the fates of his former teammates.
You had paused after he’d voiced his question, and went quiet for a moment, seemingly debating on what you could say to him. For a moment you looked like you were almost about to tell him that you couldn’t say anything, but the look on his face must have been desperate enough that you cracked.
You had given the cameras in the room an unreadable look before sighing loudly. “I don’t know where they are exactly. I never looked into it, and it isn’t public knowledge anyways.” You told him gently. “What I do know is that they’re alive, and they’re in different treatment centers receiving help. I know they were beaten badly and some of your friends almost died – but as far as I know, they’re doing okay.”
You’d then sat straight back up on your chair and loudly proclaimed, “I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to say that much to him, right? Don’t take it out on him or me once we’re done here.”
It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but at least they were alive, and were in similar situations to him. It made him feel slightly less alone.
When the timer beeped shrilly, signaling that your hour was up, you had stood up to leave just as you always did, but before you could say goodbye to him, he’d quickly lunged forward and grabbed your hand, incasing it with his large cold one.
You’d stared at him in shock, as he’d never made a move to touch you once in the six months, you’d been visiting him, but before any of the guards could rush in and pull him off, he’d let your hand drop, but not before muttering a quiet “thank you” under his breath to you, before backing off and allowing the armed guard to escort you out of the room.
He distinctly remembers feeling the pressure of your small hand in his own, but he hadn’t been able to feel anything else aside from that. He hated it. He suddenly found himself hating that all of the nerves in his body had been severed, rendering him unable to feel anything. He couldn’t feel the texture of your skin against his own, or if your hands were cool or warm like his.
He was forced to admit to himself that for the first time since he’d left the hospital; he wanted to feel something again.
He wanted to feel you. But he couldn’t, and it aggravated him more than anything.
There was another thing he remembered distinctly about that day as you were leaving him behind: For the first time since you had started your daily interactions with him; you had looked back.
You had looked at him like you were seeing him in a different light.
He didn’t see you for a few weeks after that. When he had been pulled from his cell, and into the room where you usually met him, he was instead greeted by several doctors that had overseen his treatment when he first arrived.
He had asked them where you were, and when they refused to answer his question, he had immediately become hostile and threatening. The walls that were slowly starting to lower since he first met you went straight back up, and Touya turned into Dabi once more.
For the first time in roughly seven months, he lashed out (quirk be damned), and was immediately taken back to his room and put on lockdown. He wasn’t allowed visitors, and the only times he was allowed to leave his cell was to go back to the same room with the same doctors who poked and prodded him – asking him increasingly invasive questions, until he shut his mouth and refused to speak to them once more. One last act of defiance on his end since he still didn’t have use of his quirk.
When it had become apparent to the doctors and specialists that he refused to speak to any of them, they stopped taking him out altogether. He spent countless hours staring out the tiny window in his room, basking in the weak sunlight and taking in the menial views he could see from his window.
He had wondered where you had gone; if you had been forcefully sent away after he had asked about the League. He hoped that wasn’t the case – he liked you, probably more then he should if he was honest with himself – and you were just about the only person he could actually carry on a conversation with in this shitty place.
A few more weeks in solitary had him about to snap. He had reached a point where he was about to try and strike a deal with the overseeing doctors about bringing you back if he answered their shitty questions, when one of the armed guards opened up his door and guested for him to follow.
Once again, he had been taken back to the same observation room, but to his pleasant surprise; you were there waiting for him.
You had beamed at him and before he could think about what he was doing, he had crossed the room towards you in three long strides until he was standing directly in front of you. He had begun to lift his hand up towards you, only for his action to halted by a curt bark from the guard who was still standing at the door. You had shaken your head, motioning to the guard you were fine and sent him on his way. As soon as the door had closed, he rounded on you.
“You left.”
You had nodded, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I did, yes. Not really by choice though.”
“Why did you go?”
You’d barked out a laugh. “I’ll be honest, the supervisors weren’t too happy with me when I told you about the League. I broke one of their rules, so they told me I had to go for a bit.”
He’d narrowed his eyes, confused. “But now you’re back.”
You’d given him a slight smirk. You turned to sit down on your usual spot on the couch, but this time, instead of having him sit across from you, you’d gestured for him to sit beside you, which he’d done so embarrassingly fast.
“You’re very stubborn.” You’d told him with a light laugh. “From what I was told, you refused to talk to anyone after I left – heard you got downright nasty with some of the staff, and they put you on probation. They called me a few days ago almost begging me to come back. Guess they felt you made the most progress when you were talking to me.”
You’d given him a look that was hard for him to read. “Why did you snap at them?”
He figured there was no point in lying to you – you’d find out somehow. “Didn’t know where you went. Fuckers wouldn’t tell me, and they kept prying into my shit. Didn’t want to talk to them so they put me in solitary.”
He remembers you looking sad at his answer. “I heard you were in there for several weeks. I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Not on my account. I didn’t… I don’t want to be the reason your release got delayed.”
For some reason, it bothered him that you blamed yourself for what happened, and he reached out to gently take hold of your wrist. To his surprise, you hadn’t stopped him, or made any move to pull your hand away from his, so he allowed himself to rub circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, even though he couldn’t feel it.
“Not your fault. Don’t worry about when I’m getting out. It’s not like it really matters anyways.”
“Do you know why they were pushing you so much?” you’d asked quietly, still not making any more to remove yourself from his hold. He’d shook his head and you’d simply leaned into him, damn near making him freeze up in surprise at your boldness.
“They told me that they’re planning on releasing you soon – with restrictions of course – but they were thinking that you’d be able to leave here sooner than expected. That was before your outburst, but if you’re willing to just hear them out and answer their questions, it’ll help speed up the process.”
“They seriously think that I’m fit to send out into society again?” he remembers scoffing, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Pretty sure the majority of them think I’m an irredeemable sociopath.”
“They’ve seen the way you act around me and your interactions with your family. You’re not perfect, but you’re trying, and sometimes that’s all you can do.”
“You do realize I have killed people, right? I’ve maimed countless others. They’re… not exactly wrong about me.”
Surprisingly, you’d simply rolled your eyes at his statement, acting like he’d just told you the sky was blue. “Of course I know that Touya. I’m not overlooking what you did. But they—your family – are fighting hard to try and get you another chance, a fresh start. They think you deserve it, and they’re out there right now, day and night, trying to convince others that you deserve a second chance too.”
You had twisted your hand in his so your palms were kissing, fingers laced together, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears as you gave him that damn smile of yours.
“You’re right: the past never dies, but that doesn’t mean that it has to be your future as well.”
That simple statement had stunned him. For the first time in a long time, he hadn’t had anything to say in response to you.
He remembers fighting an internal battle in himself, trying to find something to say to rebuttal what you were telling him. A part of him understood why his family was fighting for his uncertain future outside the psychiatric ward, but on the other hand… he didn’t necessarily believe that he deserved it.
What kind of life would he be able to have even if he was allowed to be released? He had never planned on living this long, as morbid as that was. His original goal had been to go out in a fiery hell-blaze with his bastard of a father, but clearly that hadn’t happened. He was known a global terrorist, the right-hand to the symbol of fear. His quirk was legendary for all the wrong reasons. How could he possibly be allowed to live on the outside? There was no way the rest of Japan wanted him released, let alone wandering around. What kind of future could he possibly be allowed to dream about? Did he even dare to think about it? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what he might do if he was ever allowed out of the ward from time to time, but now that his impending release seemed like more of a possibility; he was starting to think maybe it was better for everyone – and maybe even himself – if he stayed locked away.
Thankfully, you and your perspective nature had picked up his internal struggle. You’d leaned into him and taken his hand in both of your own, allowing him to breathe again.
“What do you want Touya?”
What did he want? Christ he wasn’t sure.
“I… don’t know. Honestly: I never planned on living this long from the get go. Everything has always been decided for me. I kinda figured that this would be the same.” He had admitted quietly, the gentle pressure of your hands on his own, grounding his rapid thoughts.
“Do you think you’re ready to leave soon?” You’d asked him gently, prompting him to laugh, a bitter, ugly thing, but you hadn’t flinched.
“No.” he’d admitted after a moment, scrunching up his nose. “Dunno if there’s much of a point. I’ll never be free. No matter where I go, I’ll always be a prisoner. What kind of life could I even have outside of here? I don’t know how to live any other way aside from how I’ve been living since I escaped that damn—” he’d cut himself off last minute, reminding himself that you didn’t know about All For One’s hellish medical facility he had woken up in, and he had no plans on telling you about that.
“I just…” he remembered breathing out hard through his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts, focusing on the faint heat he swore he could feel emanating off your hands and leaching into his cold skin. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if they decide to let me out. Dunno if I can go back to the old house after everything that happened, and I’m not sure if I could bring myself to live with my mom or my siblings after… well, you saw bits of what happened on TV already.”
He hadn’t needed to say it for you to know that he felt a tremendous amount of guilt towards his mother and siblings – especially Fuyumi and Natsuo – for nearly charring them in the heat of battle. He may have held onto so much resentment and anger towards his family for his mistreatment as a child, but he was also self-aware enough to know that it hadn’t been their faults, and they had tried to help him in the only ways they knew how.
You had been quiet as you let him vent to you. You hadn’t said anything for a while afterwards as you mulled over what he’d told you. Finally, you had nudged his shoulder with your own.
“I think that everything you just told me is proof enough that you deserve a chance to have a life outside of these walls.” You admitted. “What you said isn’t something an ‘irredeemable sociopath’ would say. That’s something a self-aware person says. You’re not perfect Touya, but Christ if you’re not trying. I can see it, your mom, sister and brothers see it, and I think a lot of your other doctors are starting to see it too. I think there’s a point, even if you don’t think there is.”
In that moment he’d been convinced that if he could cry, he would’ve been.
“Yeah? Well, thank you sweetheart.” He’d muttered into your hair, fighting hard with himself to try and keep his voice steady. “I have no fucking idea why you’re so nice to me, but it’s… yeah.”
“I think someone needs to treat you like a normal human being, because I don’t think anyone did for a long time.” You’d looked up at him pointedly, but he’d seen traces of something else in your eyes when you’d asked him, “Did they?”
A simple flat look from him had been answer enough for you, and prompted you to squeeze his hand. “Didn’t think so.”
You’d both lapsed into a comfortable silence aside from the steady ticking of the clock, and he’d known without looking up that your time with him was coming to an end. Now, he was dreading it more then he normally would’ve been. You’d spoken up again, but what came out of your mouth next, had shocked him.
“When you’re released… If you’re still unsure of where you want to go afterwards… I could… if you can clear it with the people overseeing your progress once you’re cleared to leave… Maybe… you could come stay with me.”
He remembered staring down at you, shocked. “Is that even allowed?”
You’d shrugged in response. “I’m not sure. I think you’re going to have to initially stay with your family for a while, but if you’re really having a difficult time staying there… maybe I could work something out with your family, as long as it’s approved. It’ll probably take a while, but I can try.”
He had a difficult time allowing what you were implying to sink in. How? How could you be so trusting? To even suggest the idea of someone like him staying with you? Forget if it was even possible or not, the fact you’d even offered in the first place was mind-blowing. Before he could think about what he was saying, he’d voiced his thoughts to you:
“I’m sure your parents would be thrilled, you bringing a villain back to your home.”
You’d simply given him a small smile. “I’m sure they wouldn’t like it… if they were around that is.”
“Oh. They not in the country, or—”
“We’ll go with that.”
Ah. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one with secrets. That was fair, you were allowed to have your own. He wouldn’t pry.
“Sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know.”
You’d both fallen back into the same silence from before. You were still leaning on him, his hand trapped in your smaller one, yet he’d made no move to remove it from your grasp. Honestly, he was shocked the guards from before hadn’t barged into the room and forced him away from you. The close proximity must have been violating a rule of some kind, and yet no one had made any move to separate the two of you, Maybe the medical staff really had been as desperate as you’d claimed, and were willing to let some things slide. Either way, he wasn’t complaining.
“You’re a lot colder than I thought you’d be… with your quirk being what it is and all.”
He’d glanced down at you, only to see you staring down at your intertwined hands. You’d squeezed the appendage again, prompting him to respond.
“It’s the quirk suppressors. Haven’t been able to use my quirk since before I got here. The quacks made it so I’m hopped up on suppressors around the clock, just in case. Turns out I’m pretty fucking cold without my flames. Must be from the ice side, but I can’t use that either.”
“Well, maybe if you keep being nice, you won’t have to be on them indefinitely.” You had tried to give him a hopeful smile, but he knew what the likelihood of that happening was, and you must have too, since you didn’t say anything else on the matter.
The timer had sounded then, signaling the visit was over. Before the guard could come to collect you, he’d quickly pulled his arm out of your grasp, and had wrapped it around you tightly, much to your initial surprise. He’d begrudgingly let you go so he could help you stand, sending the guard at the door a pointed look as he’d seen him casting an unsure look between himself and you. You hadn’t been the least bit bothered by the anxious glances the guard was trying to send you as you stood slowly and sent him one of your little smiles he’d come to expect from you.
“You’re coming back?” he’d blurted out before he could stop himself.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.” You’d told him confidently as you’d turned to leave, brushing your knuckles against his. “Don’t worry Touya. I’m not going anywhere.”
For the first time since someone had promised him anything in a very long time, he’d believed you.
In the end, you’d kept your promise.
It had taken close to another year before he was allowed to leave the psychiatric facility (some minor setbacks had pushed his initial release date back), but you had come to see him almost every day at the same time.
Over that time, you’d grown exceptionally close to each other, even more so from when you’d first started visiting him initially. It was almost impossible for him not to grow attached to you – you were his constant source of company, his companion. You were the one person he could tell anything to and not have to worry about being scrutinized for his thoughts. You were his safe space – something he’d never thought he’d ever say about someone else – and once he’d worked out how he saw you; it had been game over. He’d fallen for you fast and hard before he’d realized it, and by the time he did, it’d had been too late. He was hopelessly and utterly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.
Surprisingly, you’d felt the same as him.
You’d openly admitted it to him one day near the end of his stay at the ward – even at the cost of possibly being prevented from seeing him again, since both of you knew you were crossing boundaries you hadn’t been meant to cross. He’d warned you as such, heart pounding in his ears at your confession, but you’d told him that he’d deserved to know with a simple shrug.
“Besides; if you keep up the good behavior and don’t have any more outbursts, you’ll be out before the end of the year anyways. Even if they don’t let me back after this – you can find me on the outside.” You’d told him matter-of-factly, boldly taking his hand in your own, before sending a shit-eating grin to the cameras set up around the room – knowing the doctors were monitoring every move.
He'd been certain that he could’ve kissed you right there and then.
Surprisingly, the medical staff had allowed you to continue coming back, even though it was apparent both of you cared for each other in ways that crossed professional boundaries. As much as the doctors were against how close the two of you had become, they couldn’t deny how far he had progressed since meeting you. He had gone from being the bitter, angry husk of a man, to someone who was still, and would always be forever scorned by the past, but overall, in a better place mentally.
Not too long after he’d sorted out his own feelings for you, he’d made you a surprising request:
He wanted you to meet his mother and siblings.
The meet up had taken almost a month of careful planning on the medical staff’s end, and had initially been met with some hesitation on both sides, but eventually you had agreed to it, and you’d sat down with him and the members of his family who he kept in contact with.
His father hadn’t been invited for obvious reasons.
The medical staff had allowed him out of his normal room so he could meet with you and his mother and siblings in one of the spacious sitting rooms normally reserved for guests. A row of floor to ceiling windows lined the far wall, allowing him to get a view of the outside gardens. He remembered the outside weather was slightly overcast that day but warm rays of sunshine would occasionally stream through the gray clouds, as you and his family slowly met with one another under his watchful gaze.
His mother had taken to you almost immediately, as well as Natsuo – both seemingly happy he’d bonded with someone who was relatively normal – Fuyumi and Shoto had taken a little more convincing. Shoto was more curious of you, while Fuyumi had been downright distrustful. She’d asked you right off the bat what your intensions were with him, but he’d seen right through her: she was concerned that you were somehow affiliated with the now disbanded League, or maybe even the Paranormal Liberation Front.
Thankfully, you weren’t so easily put off by her upfront questioning. You had been calm, almost amused, as you answered her questions; reassuring her that you were in no way affiliated with any criminal organizations, and how you were someone who’d been presented with an opportunity to help with his rehabilitation, and had taken a leap of faith when no one else would.
“Why though?” he remembered his sister pressing you. “Why would you want to help him even after knowing everything he’s done?”
You and him had shared a look then, and he’d known what you were thinking before you said anything.
“I guess I wanted to understand why things went so wrong.” You’d told her honestly, your shoulder brushing with his as you spoke. “I wanted to get his side of the story – the unscripted one. When the chance to talk to him in person came up, I took it. Everyone deserves to have their story told, and I wanted to hear his.”
“You’re a lot closer than just a support person to him.” Fuyumi had countered, making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping at her to back off with her invasive questioning, knowing that he’d only land himself in trouble with the medical staff overseeing their visit if he had any outbursts.
To your credit, you’d simply shrugged, totally unbothered by her statement. “Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you see someone basically every day for over a year. Same time, same place. For as clueless as he is at normal relationships, your brother can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”
He’d been pretty sure the only reason you were outright lying to his sister was to try and make him look better in her eyes, but he almost hadn’t been able to stop the laugh that threatened to escape past his lips. Almost.
His sister had almost deflated then. Whether it was from disappointment in being unable to shake you, or relief, she’d simply nodded; finally accepting your answers.
“Well… if he’s happy… then that’s all any of us really need, I guess.”
The rest of the visitation had gone incredibly well, not that he was complaining. Plans for future meetings had been put in place, and from there, you and him had gotten into a semi-regular routine of seeing his mother and siblings, or whoever was available to come.
He never wanted to admit it to you, but the visitations you helped arrange with his family made his transition from the psychiatric hospital to his eventually moving into his mother’s new house after he’d been cleared for release, far smoother than he thought it would’ve been.
Eventually though, he was proven right about his earlier assumptions on living with his family – or rather – his mother and his siblings, again after so long:
He couldn’t do it. It felt almost wrong.
He’d felt like a ghost, wandering up and down the halls, looking at the pictures that lined the hallways of his mother’s house; comprised largely of his younger siblings. He’d watched as they had slowly grown up in each one, filling him with sense of melancholy.
He’d missed the opportunity to watch them grow up. They’d done that without him. That was time he couldn’t get back – memories that weren’t there.
He’d felt isolated, and no amount of comfort or reassurance from his mother could change that deep-rooted feeling in him. Not even Natsuo’s constant presence in the home made him feel better, much to his younger brother’s disappointment, though thankfully he understood.
He’d lasted two months before he’d finally cracked and called your number which you’d given him immediately after he was released. You’d both stayed in contact, texting every day (under strict monetization from police tech sectors), but you hadn’t been able to see him in person since he’d gotten out, as you’d both agreed that it would be better if he focused on trying to settle into his new home. He’d missed you terribly during that period – not used to not seeing you for such a long period of time.
He'd called you in the dead of night, and asked if your offer to have him come stay with you was still open. From there, you’d gotten in contact with the authorities in charge of his release to try and gain permission for him to come live with you, while he had the difficult task of trying to explain to his family why he couldn’t stay with them any longer than he’d already had.
As expected, you’d been met with resistance on both sides, but eventually his overseers had come to an agreement: he would be allowed to live with you, but he always had to have a tracking monitor on at all times, he had to be on constant quirk suppressors, he couldn’t leave your building without you and a Pro hero escort of some kind, and finally, he had to attend mandatory therapy sessions at least once a week, as well as call his probation officer weekly and give them updates about what he was doing. If he failed to meet any of the rules set out for him; he’d earn himself a one-way ticket to Tartarus, no questions asked.
As much as he’d wanted to argue some of what they wanted from him, he’d agreed to their stipulations, knowing full-well unless he agreed to their terms, he’d be stuck at his mother’s for the rest of his life, and while he didn’t hate living with her and his siblings, it was too awkward for him to try and face them every day, knowing his past atrocities towards the rest of the country and even them, would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days.
He couldn’t pretend that he was still the same person he was when he’d burned up at the tender age of thirteen. He was different, older, harder. Things would never be able to go back to what they’d once been, and honestly: he didn’t want them to. He couldn’t go back to living with them after such a long time apart, because he had no idea how to co-exist with them normally.
Thankfully, as much as he knew it hurt his mother to hear him express his innermost thoughts, she seemed to understand how he felt the most, and had simply told him that he was always welcome in her home, and she still wanted him to come stay with her from time to time.
“You’re my son Touya. No matter how old you get or no matter what you do, you’ll always be my baby.” She’d told him gently just before he’d left her house, wrapping him into a tight hug.
Sometimes he found himself grateful he couldn’t cry anymore. He’d just wished this side of his mother had been more prominent over ten years ago. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if it had.
He’d seen you then for the first time in several months when you’d come to pick him up. He’d managed to keep himself calm while you spoke to his mother, but secretly he was elated to see you again after months apart. His excitement over seeing you again had probably shown on his face, since you’d made it a point to keep yourself close to him as his brothers had moved his important possessions into your car.
It was as you were talking to his mother; he’d learned that you had moved to a new apartment building some weeks ago, following the news that one of Japan’s former most wanted was coming to stay with you. Naturally, the people in your old building hadn’t been pleased, so you’d forced to switch buildings to an apartment located near several hero agencies, where the residents hadn’t been as concerned about an ex-super villain moving in, due to the multitude of patrolling heroes in the area. The change had been frustrating for you, but it was the only way he’d be able to stay with you without anyone kicking up too much of a fuss.
Eventually you’d both been on your way back to your apartment with Shoto in tow to help with moving his things into your apartment. Your new place wasn’t massive, but it had two bedrooms and a decently sized living room and kitchen. Shoto had helped him set his things up in the spare bedroom before departing, but not before giving you his number with instructions to call him if you ever needed help.
As soon as the door had shut, he’d been on you.
He’d slammed you up against the door, causing a started yelp to escape your lips, as he grinned down at you wolfishly.
“What’s the matter sweetheart? Nervous? It’s not like we haven’t been this close before.”
You’d turned beet red as you shyly traced your fingers up his chest. “No, but we certainly haven’t done this.”
He’d grinned as he dipped his head down so you and him were eye to eye. “Tell me no then. Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t feel the same as me.”
He’d listened to your breath hitch, watching with delight as the flush deepened on your cheeks. “You wanted me to talk right? To be open with you about how I’m feeling? Well, I want you, and I think you want me too.”
You’d looked up at him through your lashes, reaching up to lace your hand around his neck. “I do.” You’d told him gently, and your simple admission had made up his mind.
“Fuck.” He’d muttered, just before he’d dipped down and captured your lips with his.
The effect had been instantiations. His lips molded with yours, breathing in your air, as his hand cupped your cheek, long fingers curling around the back of your neck to keep you close to him.
You’d slowly peeled yourself off the door and grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling him with you further into the apartment, and into your bedroom. You’d managed to slam your door shut, just before he’d pushed you onto your bed – his lips never leaving yours as he pressed you further into the mattress.
He couldn’t keep his hands off you as you helped him take your clothes off. He could touch you, really touch you the way he’d wanted to for so long now. Nothing was there to hold him back, no cameras, no guards, no medical staff dictating his every move. It was just you and him.
He’d almost froze when he’d seen you’d laid out bare beneath him, soft and glowing against the pale sunshine streaming in from your bedroom window, warming your frame. You’d beamed up at him, tracing your hands up his arms.
“You can touch me.” You’d told him gently. “I trust you. Just be gentle.”
Gentle. Now that was a word he was certain he didn’t have in his vocabulary – but for you, he’d try.
He’d traced your curves gently, listening intently as your breath hitched, or how a small moan would escape past your lips when he touched a particularly sensitive area. Finally, you’d reached up to tug at the hem of his shirt, but he’d grabbed at your hands, making you pause.
“It’s not… I’m not… the scars… aren’t much better under there.” He’d tried to warn you. You’d given him a gentle smile, cupping his cheeks with your hands.
“I don’t mind Touya. You know I don’t care about all that.” You’d smoothed your thumbs over the raised skin of his face. “I love you for you. Regardless of what you look like.”
Love. You… you loved him, didn’t you? Even after everything he’d done while he was an active criminal – you’d somehow grown to love him, while most of the world hated him.
He didn’t necessarily think he was deserving of your love, but hell if he was ever going to point that out to you. He’d almost been tempted to ask you if you were a little bit crazy yourself, but you’d even told him when you had first met that he’d have to find that out for himself.
Maybe you were – just a little bit – but that suited him fine.
A normal girl would never have been able to handle him anyways.
He’d allowed you to help him out of his clothes then, and to your credit, you hadn’t batted an eye at the less than perfect skin covering his body. He may not have been held together by surgical staples anymore, and his body may not have been a mess of burnt patchwork skin like it used to be, but the new skin grafts were raised and patchy – never fully settling properly. It wasn’t often that he got self-conscience about how he looked, but you were different.
You had run your hands up and down the length of his body and marveled him like he was some work of art. He didn’t think he was, but you clearly saw him differently. You’d kissed his marred skin, and if he’d been able to cry, he would have.
You had pulled him down onto your bed and climbed on top of him, much to his surprise. He’d tried to prop himself up, only for you to gently push him back down onto your mattress, giving him a knowing smile all the while.
“Let me take care of you.” You’d whispered to him softly. “We’ll go slow. Gentle. It’s just me and you now.”
It wasn’t like he’d never fucked someone before, but it had been a while, and it was just that: he’d fucked, never loved. He wasn’t sure if he knew any other way when it came to sex, but he knew that he didn’t want to be rough with you like he’d been with his past flings, and so he had relinquished control to you.
He had allowed himself to relax into the mattress as you’d hovered above him, lining him up with your entrance. He was already painfully hard, his body reacting to yours as soon as he’d kissed you. You’d bent down to kiss his throat, relishing how he’d let out a shuddering breath as you’d sunk down onto him. He’d cursed as your tight heat had enveloped him, leaving him boneless and shaking.
He’d brought your face down to his to kiss you as you started moving, moaning as you slowly moved up and down on his shaft. You’d knocked the breath out of his lungs as you whimpered against his lips, still moving your hips against his own.
“Shit.” He’d growled as he’d reached up to wrap an arm around your hips. “Fuck baby. You feel so good. You’re so good for me.”
“You feel so good.” You’d sobbed. “I want you – want to make you feel good.”
“You do. Fuck you do. I want you. I need you.” He’d grunted as he planted his feet into your bed, pistoning his hips up into your body.
“Fuck.” You’d cried out, as you continued to bounce on his cock. “Touya!”
“I’m here. Fuck I’m here, with you. I love you.”
He’d remembered your eyes blowing wide at his confession, just before your body had stiffened up, and your mouth had opened up into a silent scream, as your orgasm had ripped through you – your end triggering his own.
You’d both stayed there for a moment, trying to regain your breath, before you’d slowly separated yourself from him. He hadn’t let you go far – pulling you down to lay beside him, and wrapping himself around you as you nestled into the broad expanse of his chest.
“Stay.” He had rasped as he held you close to him, curling around your smaller frame protectively. He’d known what he was saying was nonsensical – he was in your apartment, you weren’t going anywhere, not really – but thankfully, you seemed to understand what he was trying to say without him outright telling you. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere Touya.” You’d breathed, placing a kiss on the side of his temple. “You’re home now. With me.”
That simple sentence had brought him more comfort than he’d experienced in recent memory. He’d passed out sometime after with you still nude and curled into him, sharing in his warmth.
That had been the best sleep he’d had in years.
After that, he’d fallen into a steady routine of normalcy with you. You’d go to work, while he’d keep himself entertained during the day. Normally, he’d open up the windows in your living room and perch himself on the couch near them, soaking up the feeling of gentle sunbeams on his face, and watching the outside world go by as he waited for you to return later in the evening. You had set up therapy appointments for him every Thursday, and either you or Shoto would take him depending on your schedules. Life settled down, and the outside world continued on around him, even though his world now consisted of your apartment and what he could see outside from your windows.
It wasn’t a coincidence that three pro heroes moved into the building roughly a month after he had moved the last of his menial things into your apartment.
He couldn’t say that he was surprised by the less then subtle way the newly reformed hero commission chose to keep an annoyingly close watch on him, but he was still allowed some freedoms with you, so he figured he could keep his jabs to himself for the time being.
All and all, life with you was simple easy. For the first time in his life, he could say he was appreciating the little things he never could’ve before his life had turned into a living hell.
For the first time in a very long time, he had hope – something he’d never allowed himself to have before, because what had been the point? He had fully planned on taking himself out in the final fight against Endeavor… but life was strange, and it turned out that it had different plans for him.
While he couldn’t be sure what those plans were yet, they had brought you to him, and that was enough.
He had you, and in the end, that’s all that really mattered—
-----
The sound of one of his skin care products hitting the floor snaps him out of his reprieve. He blinks, and once again, he is standing in your bathroom with the sink running, halfway through the skin maintenance routine that you forced on him once he came to live with you.
He swears under his breath as he bends down to retrieve the plastic tube with his right arm, only to freeze as he suddenly remembers:
His right arm is gone. He tore it clean off in the brawl against his dad.
He finds it surprising how often he forgets he doesn’t have both his hands anymore. Half the time he swears that his right arm is still intact because he can feel the damn thing, only to look down and see it’s still gone from mid bicep down. You once called it a ‘phantom limb’ and he thinks you might be onto something with how often he’ll go to do something with his right, only to remind himself the arm doesn’t exist anymore.
It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Natsuo had offered to set him up an appointment to get him fitted for a prosthetic, but he hadn’t made up his mind on it yet – finding most things pretty manageable even with the lack of his right arm – but he does have days where he wishes he had all of his limbs, and there are certain tasks were having two hands would be more useful than one.
His extensive skin care routine is one of those tasks.
Hilariously, it was one of the conditions of him coming to stay with you initially: for the first time in his life, he was being forced to look after himself.
He had protested initially when you had come back home one day with a plethora of different specialty products for sensitive skin – not seeing the point – but you had insisted that he use them to take care of the newer skin grafts, telling him that if he wanted to continue to stay with you, he’d have to start properly taking care of himself, or you would do it for him.
He had begrudgingly accepted, and he gradually incorporated it into his daily routine. Realistically, he knew he didn’t have much to complain about: he didn’t have many responsibilities as it was, and you had promised him if he kept up with it, you wouldn’t tell his parole officer that you weren’t forcing him take his quirk suppressor medication – one of the conditions of his release.
He grins inwardly to himself as he turns the sink off and pats his face dry. You hadn’t seen the need to enforce that particular rule, seeing how you were quite confident he wasn’t going to burn down your apartment building, and he didn’t have any plans to – lest he be forced to return back to his mother’s home.
Besides, after spending over a year feeling unnaturally cold without his quirk, he was in no rush to return to the weak, powerless state the psychiatric ward had left him in. Even if he couldn’t use his quirk to it’s full, destructive potential like he used to, just knowing that he still had use of his quirk intact was a comfort to him.
He makes his way out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him and, pads over to his side of your shared closet, stripping out of his sleep clothes and pulling on a loose shirt and baggy sweats, before heading out into the small living room.
If his younger self could see how he lives now, he’s sure he would’ve turned his nose up in disgust before calling him a sell-out, and a gnarled part of him still thinks that to some level, however; when he thinks back to how he used to live on the streets for close to a decade, he’ll take the easy, comfy life-style you allow him to live in your home in a heart-beat.
He used to wonder about where he would get his next meal – now his biggest inconvenience is that he’s bored whenever you’re not at home. How the times change.
He turns on the T.V. and sets it to a low volume as he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a few miscellaneous items and setting them on the counter, before getting to work on prepping the food.
He doesn’t eat much, even now his metabolism is still messed up from the years of cumulative damage his body sustained, but he found himself making food for you when he first moved into your apartment as a way to keep himself occupied while you were at work. Most of his cooking attempts consist of cup noodles, and whatever else was easy to make, but every once in a while, he’d put a bit more effort into what he made, so long as you had the ingredients for it.
He curses to himself as he painstakingly prepares an easy meal of miso soup and yaki, his lack of a right arm slowing down his progress. Eventually he finishes his meal prep and puts his creation away as he waits for you to come home, moving to his usual spot by the window on your living room couch, before sitting down and indulging in some mindless reality T.V. show.
He watches the show absentmindedly, barely paying attention to what’s playing on the screen as he basks in the warm sunlight streaming in from outside. He glances over to his left to see his reflection staring back at him from a hanging mirror across the room, and has to fight the urge to flinch at what’s staring back at him.
Even after all of the love and tenderness you allowed him to experience while living with you, he still looked rough, and there were days where he felt it more than others. He may not have been able to feel pain in the normal sense, but his body aches constantly and there are additional issues he deals with daily.
He’s painfully aware that he probably doesn’t have a lot of time on the earth. He’s in his late twenties, too damn early to be faced with his own mortality, but he knows there’s no use in trying to dance around the subject. With his body being what it is, he’d be surprised if he made it to fifty, but he knows better than to voice that out loud. The one-time he had confessed his inner thoughts to you, you had damn near burst into tears, and he found that he couldn’t stand to see you like that, so he keeps his morbid thoughts to himself.
The sound of the apartment door opening snaps him out of his depressing reprieve. He looks up, only to see you closing the door to the apartment, hanging your keys up and kicking your shoes off. He gets up off the couch and pads over to you, greeting you with a little smile.
“You’re home early.”
You turn around to face him, smiling. “Yeah, I finished early today. Figured I’d come back and see what you were up to.”
He snorts as he takes your bag from you, setting it down on the small bench you had set up near your front door. “Not much, you know that. S’not like I can leave the building without you or Shoto escorting me.”
You roll your eyes, gracing him with a teasing smile. “How is he anyways? You talked to your family at all recently?”
He shrugs. “Not really. You know my phone usage is heavily monitored anyways.”
“I told them that – your mom reached out to me recently – she was hoping to meet up with you for lunch soon, and she hadn’t heard from you in a bit.”
“Ah. I don’t look at my phone very often. Tell her that I’m down. I’ll reach out at some point.” He nods towards the kitchen. “I made dinner.”
You beam at him. “You didn’t have to do that.” You lean in to press a kiss to the rough skin of his cheek, and he feels his heart speed up in his chest. Even though the physical affection you gave him isn’t anything new, it’s still amazing how much of an effect you had on him.
The fire that he keeps buried in his chest flares to life as you turned away from him briefly, but he doesn’t let you go far. He snakes an arm around your middle, pulling you back to him, causing you to look up at him.
“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles quietly into your hair. You simply wrap your arms around his torso and snuggle into his chest.
“Missed you too.” You tell him quietly. He swallowed thickly, as he allowed his hand to splay further down your back.
“I really missed you; I mean.”
You smile up at him gently, wiggling your eyebrows. “Did you now?”
“Mmmm.”
His hummed response causes your grin to grow wider. “Wanna show me?”
He doesn’t humor you with a response – instead opting to take you by the hand and lead you towards your shared bedroom with teasing grin of his own. He allows you to kick the door closed behind you, before dipping down to bite on the skin of your neck, causing a giggle to escape your lips as his hands wander up and down your frame.
“Off.” He grunts, tugging on your clothes. You smirk at his demand, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck to get him to look at you.
“I think you could ask me a bit nicer, right?”
He rolls his eyes at you. “Please.”
“That’s better.” You smile sweetly at him, separating yourself from him long enough to shimmy out of your pants and strip out of your shirt, leaving you in your bra and panties before him.
He kisses the back of his teeth as he closes the distance between you, wrapping a muscular arm around you as he captures your lips with his rough ones. He feels you sigh into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck.
It wasn’t often that he initiated physical contact like this – he not shy by any means, but he’s not used to having such close relations with another person. He’d been a loner for such a long time after escaping the hospital, and any physical contact he somehow managed to receive from woman he’d met in sketchy bars during those miserable years had never been meaningful or fulfilling. He wasn’t used to being wanted.
But you wanted him, and you weren’t shy about letting him know just that.
He had no problems letting you remind him of the latter.
He feels your hands travel down from around his neck to the bottom of his shirt, tugging on it. “Off please.” You murmur against his lips, and he separates from you long enough to yank his shirt off, before coming back to embrace your soft body with his own hot one.
He presses you back against the bed, gently pushing you down to lay on the mattress as he hovered above you. He dips back down to seal his lips with yours, as he feels your fingertips trail down the rough skin of his stomach until they reached the waistband of his sweats. He smirks as he feels you undo the drawstrings and push them down his slender hips, pushing them down low enough for his cock to spring free.
“Seems like you’re just as eager as me.” He sniggers as he sits up long enough to shuck them off, giving you a moment to unhook your bra and toss it across the room.
You don’t humor him with a response as you sit up to stroke his cock, causing him to hiss as your fingers wrap around his shaft. He lets you have your way for a moment before gently pushing you back down onto the mattress, causing you to look up at him quizzically as he shakes his head.
“Not today babe, let me do the work.”
He feels his heart pound in his ribcage, as a look of realization passes over your pretty features. A smile pulls at your lips as you open your arms and beckons him down to you, which he eagerly accepts. He nips and kisses the skin of your neck as he makes quick work of your panties, causing you to moan softly as he runs his fingers up the length of your dripping slit.
“God.” He groans as he attacks your lips again. “So, fucking wet for me. You want me, right?”
“Yes Touya.” You breathe against his lips, allowing your fingers to trace patterns into the scarred expanse of his back. “Always. Always you.”
He feels his destroyed tear ducts sting slightly at the sincerity of your confession. Even though you’ve assured him you only want him countless times before, it was something he never quite got used to hearing.
The entirety of his life before you was spent in fire and hardship. Kindness was something foreign to him, and being allowed to be vulnerable with another person was something he never even considered. He never thought he’d live long enough to be able to do so regardless – accepting that he destined to spend what was left of his life alone – and so the thought had never crossed his mind.
But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Not since you had unexpectedly come into his life.
He had you. Body, mind and soul, he belonged to you. He knew there was no way he would ever have the words to tell you that, so he hoped that he could convey his message clearly enough by showing you just how much you meant to him.
He taps your leg, getting you to wrap your legs around his lean waist, as he lines himself up with your opening. You thread your fingers through his soft white spikes as he slowly begins to push himself into your pussy, causing you to whimper as he begins to stretch your walls out.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” He growls as he bullies his way into your tight heat. “You’re perfect for me. Just you – you’re the only one I want.”
“Me too.” You gasp as you dig your nails into his shoulder to ground yourself. “I’m so glad I got to meet you. S-so glad you’re here with me—”
Your eyes open impossibly, as he suddenly snaps his hips forward and drives himself home deep inside your walls, causing you both to moan. He barely gives you any time to recover before he starts moving. He fists his hand in the sheets beside your head as he focuses his energy into keeping his thrusts deep and strong, just how he knows you like it.
He grins down at you almost sadistically, watching as your eyes roll back from the force of his thrusts. “S’matter? Don’t tell me you’re giving up already?”
“N-no.” you moan as he gives you a particularly hard thrust. “I just—oh, fuck!” you wail as you feel him hit a practically sensitive spot inside you, causing him to grin wickedly.
“Eyes on me gorgeous.”
“You’re mean.” You huff, but center your attention on him regardless, causing him to chuckle, and reward you with another harsh thrust.
“I know.” He practically purrs as he shifts his weight to his knees. He grabs the meat of your hip, and starts pounding you harder than before, making you keen and fist your hands into the sheets as his pelvis brushes up against your clit deliciously.
“Fuck, Touya! I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, warning him of your impending release, but it only makes him double down and fuck you harder, determined to see you climax before him.
“Yeah? Well, go ahead sweetheart: come on this cock. C’mon, c’mon; I know you’re going to, I can feel you squeezing me just right, so do it. Let go for me pretty girl, just let go.”
He feels your walls convulse around him and your back arches slightly off the bed as you climax with a desperate cry at his words. The sight of you coming undone beneath him is so hot it does him in a few strokes later, spilling deep inside your walls with a feral growl of his own.
You both stay like that for a few minutes, fighting to catch your breaths, before you unlock your legs from around his waist, allowing him to pull out of you. He pulls back to grin at the combination of your fluids that leak out from in between your legs, and you roll your eyes. He makes a move to the bathroom to grab you a towel, only for you to shake your head.
“Later.” You murmur, as you pat the spot on the bed next to you. “Come lie with me for a few minutes.”
He laughs quietly at your antics, but obliges your request, and climbs over you to collapse into the vacant space on the bed next to you, and you don’t hesitate to move over to him.
“God, you can be relentless sometimes.” You pant as you curl up into his side. He simply snorts at your assessment as he drapes his arm around you protectively.
“Maybe. I am a villain after all sweetheart.”
“You were.” You manage to grumble as you make yourself comfortable, eventually settling on resting your head on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat. “You’re not now.”
“Yeah, well. Attitude never changed. Surprised you put up with me for as long as you did.”
“You weren’t so bad.” You murmur softly, tracing shapes into the rough skin of his stomach. “If I thought you were, I wouldn’t have come back after we first met.”
“Why did you come back after the first time anyways? I can’t remember if you ever told me.” He suddenly raises his head so he’s looking at you. You meet his blazing turquoise irises with a calm gaze of your own and wink at him teasingly.
“I’m crazy remember?”
“Must be, if you came to see one of Japan’s most wanted almost every day for damn near two years straight. But seriously, why?”
You’re quiet for a moment before you answer him. When you do, you shift your head slightly on his chest so you can see his face better.
“I suppose it’s because all your rage… all your anger towards the injustice of everything you’d gone through up until that point… it reminded me of myself, in a way.” You admit softly, causing him to quirk a snowy brow at your confession.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things you said on your initial broadcast—" you continue on before he can ask. “—like how there were a lot of shitty things about hero society you weren’t wrong about. Honestly, for a long time there, I felt just as pissed off with some of those so-called “Pro’s” as you. Some of them were only doing it for the money and fame, you could tell.” You exhale through your nose.
“But, on the other hand, there were so many good things happening to change those problems that you didn’t see because you were on the outsider.” You fall silent for a moment before adding:
“You just seemed so hurt, so raw with everything you were saying. I told myself there and then, if I ever got the opportunity to meet you, I’d show you not everything is as bad as it seemed. Never thought I’d get the chance honestly, and yet, one day, the opportunity to meet you face to face practically dropped into my lap. How could I not take the offer?”
“Was I what you’d thought I’d be?” he finds himself asking you, not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. You simply send him one of your glowing smiles that sends tingles down to his stomach.
“No, you were better.”
He snorts, shifting his arm so he’s tracing his warm fingertips up and down your nude body. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
“I’m serious. Even now, you’re doing so much better with handling everything then I thought you would. You’re resilient, and you adapt when you need to, but you’ve definitely changed… in a good way. You’re not as hateful anymore… you’re calmer, more accepting.”
“Yeah well, the shrinks have you to thank for that. Far as I’m concerned, they don’t do anything. I just see them so I can stay with you.” He grumbles, prompting you to giggle, before shifting you so you’re lying on your sides, facing each other.
He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, inwardly softening as he watches you lean into his warm touch, before dropping his hand back down in between your bodies.
“I know I’m not very good at these sorts of things, but… you know I love you, right?”
He’s hopeful that you understand. He doesn’t say it often to you, and he knows he probably should, but even after all the time he’s spent with you, that involves you showing him what a healthy relationship looks like, it’s still not an easy thing for him to say. Hell, he has a hard enough time saying it to his own mother, let alone anyone else.
He’ll probably always have a difficult time admitting it. Love is an emotion he’s never had a good understanding of, seeing how it was so sked for him a s a child. Even now, the concept is a foreign one for him to understand, but thankfully, you seem to be more aware of this than anyone else.
You find his hand with one of your own and lace your fingers together, squeezing it tightly.
“I know Touya. I’ve always known.”
FIN
#dabi#touya todoroki#dabi x reader#dabi x you#dabi x y/n#touya x reader#touya x y/n#touya x you#post war!au#mha x reader#bnha x reader#dabi x reader smut#touya todoroki x reader smut#tw: mental health#see a03 for more detailed tags
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Irondad Prompt #204:
Tony is planning to adopt Peter (May’s dead? AU? It’s up to you). However, Peter worries that if Tony finds out he struggles with mental illness, the man won’t want him anymore. Peter tries to hide his symptoms from Tony.
#iron man#irondad#peter parker#tony stark#irondad and spiderson#spiderson#irondad prompts#spider man#irondad and spiderson prompts#spiderson prompts#mcu peter parker & tony stark#mcu tony stark & peter parker#mcu peter parker#mcu tony stark#tw: mental health#tw: mental illness#mental illness#peter parker is mentally ill
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Photo
Erika Rothenberg
Greetings
I.C. Editions, Inc., New York, 1993
Brand X Editions, New York
#erika rothenberg#political art#female artists#contemporary art#tw: violence#tw: r*pe#tw: mental health#tw: genocide#set
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Battle Scars // Bob Floyd
-> An Official Flight Deck Blurb
Summary: Robert Floyd doesn’t take his shirt off at the beach. But when the shirt stays on during sex? You start to wonder what he’s hiding.
Warnings: Mentions of parental Abuse. Mentions of Child Neglect. Foster Care Systems. Mentions of family trauma. Bob Floyd x Female!reader.
Word Count: 2.1k
Author Note: Day Nine of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: ‘Scar reveal’ Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.
Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist
People have secrets they keep close to their chest. Some are small enough to not cause a ripple effect onto others, and some are big enough to destroy lives, crush dreams, alter realities.
Bob Floyd wore his secrets across his chest. Scars that made his torso look like the Rocky Mountains. Littered with small to medium size scars that healed wrong, healed over, or healed with anger.
They weren’t pretty. If anything he wore a roadmap of abuse on his body that was hard to face in the mirror every morning. He never wanted to subject anyone to the sight of his scars, some red and raised, others faded but turned a deep purple in the cold.
“Mornin’ gorgeous—“ Bob's morning voice was something you’d never get tired of hearing. Those lazy Sunday mornings where you’d wake up to find the Naval Aviator already awake and reading whatever book he brought with him in his overnight bag were starting to become your favourite thing. “How’d you sleep mama?”
“Like a log.” You yawned, creeping closer and closer to where Bob sat on the opposite side of your bed. His T-shirt clad back pressed up against the headboard while his legs stayed covered by the sheets and covers of your warm, inviting bed. “I thought I had an early body clock.” Being a single mum and small business owner left little to no time for sleep-ins, which usually meant you were up before the sun got a chance to kiss the horizon good morning. “But here you are, Mr Military Man with your internalised alarm system.”
Bob couldn’t help but to chuckle as he closed his book and placed it on the bedside table you cleared just for him. Whatever this was between you and Robert Floyd you really liked it. He was the first man you’d ever paid attention to since your fiancé died. Bob was like a breath of fresh air and so was North Island. No one knew you, no one judged you, no one cared about the demons that haunted you.
“Force of habit I guess.” He shrugged before he sunk lower and lower, meeting your eyeline once again as you both settled in under the warmth of the covers. “How long do you think we have before Oliver wakes up?”
“Hmmm—“ You tried to hide your eagerness through a hum that kept your lips pressed together in a fine line. “He knows Sundays are bacon and egg roll mornings.” You began as your arms wrapped around Bob's shoulders.
His lips were hot against the supple skin of the juncture of your neck, in response your body ignited, sending waves of energy through your body that only Bob could create. He was just different.
“So like, five? Ten minutes maybe?” Bob looked up from where he’d been leaving small
but affectionate kisses against your collarbone and met you with a lust filled gaze. He was falling head over heels in love with you. “Because I only need like two—“
“Oh well in that case we have time for two rounds.” You teased before rolling yourself up and over to straddle Bob's waist. He let you easily. If he wanted to, he could have fought back. The thing with Robert Floyd was that he had a sleeper build. He wasn’t as buff as some of the other Naval Aviators that frequently stopped by the Flight Deck for their morning or mid afternoon caffeine hit. With the amount of sugar and caramel syrup you dosed Hangman with on a regular basis you weren’t entirely sure how he managed to maintain his muscle density.
But for as much as Bob was a gentle soul, he was strong and fast. He enjoyed a long run every now and again. But for all intents and purposes—he let you be on top. He liked the view. After all, he was just a simple man. Boobs were pretty cool. Especially your boobs.
“Can I ask you a question?” You cooed all the while Bob's hands trailed up your hips. You wore nothing but one of those silk nightgowns that made you look like an angel. The bed hair was cute, Bob liked you first thing in the morning. It was a side of you only he got to see. The side before the makeup, before being put together�� he liked it. The authenticity. For what it was worth, Bob just really liked you.
“Depends what the question is?” Bob replied as his hands squeezed at your hips, rolling you gently back and forth over his boxer brief clad length. “I’m kidding, ask away.”
He had been expecting the question sooner rather than later. And with how things were going between the two of you Bob knew he would have to come clean. He was just afraid of what you might say. What you might think, and if his scars would be a deal breaker. They were, after all, a part of him that he couldn’t get rid of.
But even expecting the question to come didn’t make it any less hard to hear.
“How come you never take your shirt off?” You wanted to approach the question as politely as possible. “You don’t have to tell me, if you aren’t comfortable, I just—I’ve just noticed.” You saw the hesitation in Bob's baby blue eyes as he searched your face for any kind or fear. “Again, you don’t have to tell me.” You reminded the man lying beneath you as his hands stilled on your hips. “But I want you to know that if you’re hiding some sort of third nipple under there—I’m all for it.” You tried to make the conversation a little more lighthearted, Bob could appreciate that. He smiled softly at you while his hands needed at your hips like dough.
Bob didn’t say much after that, he simply laid beneath you stroking his hands up and down your exposed thighs as his mind ran rampant with memories. He hated his scars, but most of all he hated the people who gave them to him.
“You’re a waste of space!” The memories were all too prominent even after all these years. “I wish I never gave birth to you!” His mothers words were as cruel as she was violent and unpredictable.
“You’re the abortion I wish I fucking had.” The abuse Bob endured went with him everywhere, even well into his adult life. He learned not to complain, to cause a scene. “Stop crying for fucks sake kid.” He learned not to show emotion when it wasn’t asked or needed.
“You did this to yourself, if you had stayed out of the way, none of this would be happening.” But most importantly he blamed himself, for hiding his scars that clearly showed how strong he really was.
Bob sat up to meet your eyeline. For a man haunted by so many scars he certainly had the softest of eyes. He gently tucked your hair behind your ear and placed a fleeting kiss against your forehead, all before he reached up and over to take his shirt off over his head.
What you saw rendered you speechless for a few moments as you took in the terrain that was your, well, you wanted to say boyfriend but Bob wasn’t even officially that, torso—littered with scars he surely would have called ugly on the best of days.
“It’s a lot.” Bob whispered just barely above an audible level as he chucked his shirt off to the side. “But they’re not going away, ever.” It was almost as if Bob had struggled with that notion himself. He wished he could have them removed—expunge from his record. The tales of parental abuse he suffered before collecting more in the foster care system.
“Oh Bob—“ You tentatively reach out to glide your fingers over one of the many scars that were angry, red and what seemed to be risen. “You don’t have to hide these from me, ever.” Bob's heart was racing a million miles inside his chest, no one had ever touched him the way you were now. With so much love, with kindness, with understanding. “What happened here?” Your fingers gently glided across the scar down near the waistband of Bob's boxers. Right above his hip bone.
“One of the kids in one of the foster homes I was in.” Bob began, you could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it, but you didn’t stop him. You knew if anything he would stop if he didn’t want to talk about it. “I think his name was Ryan, had an old bow with those barbed edges on it.” You knew where the story was going. “It got wedged in there deep when we were playing around, but our foster parents didn’t have insurance, so they weren’t gonna take me to get it removed—so they ripped it out and poured bourbon over it.” Your heart sank into your stomach. “I was nine.”
“That must have hurt a lot.” You replied gently as Bob laid back down in your bed with his hands resting behind his head. His roadmap of scars on full display. “What happened here?” You moved your hand to the longer scar across his left peck. It seemed less angry, more healed, but the story attached was just as heartbreaking.
“When I was eighteen I went back to see my parents.” Bob's eyes were tearing up. He hadn’t ever spoken about this to anyone. Not even the people he trusted with his life. You were the only one. “It was a mistake, I shouldn’t have, but I needed some closure.” Your fingers gently ran the expanse of the scar that had never been touched but another person. Bob wanted to stop you out of fear you’d leave—but he willed you to continue because it felt comforting to be touched with such warmth. “My dad ran at me with a knife the second he saw me—I remember he was rambling on about how I broke my mum's heart when I went with CPS. I’m lucky it was only a graze, he still got me good enough to leave a scar though.”
“Bob, honey, I don’t even know what to say.” You were a mother yourself. You couldn’t ever imagine doing anything of the sort to your son. Bob reached up to guide your hand across his torso to his wrist—you’d seen those small circle cluster scars time and time again but never bothered to ask what they were from.
“These are from where my mum and my foster mum would put their cigarettes out on me.” Again, it made your heart sink, but Bob never faulted as he guided your hand around his body, back up to his stomach just above his belly button. Ridged abs peaked through the softness of his skin. “This one is from when I had to have surgery after I got an infection. Doctor said I could have died if my friend and I didn’t walk ourselves to the emergency room.”
Bob wanted you to touch every last scar that littered his body, he wanted your gentle touch to heal his old wounds. So you let him guide you as your straddled his waist and looked down at the roadmap of torture.
“These smaller ones are from when my dad swung the whipper snipper at me, I was in his way, I shouldn’t have been there, I remember they wouldn’t stop bleeding and ruined a bunch of my shirts.”
“None of these are your fault.” All his life, until he joined the Navy and ran as far away as he could, Bob had been told every scar he collected was his fault. The abuse he suffered as a child, from his parents and in foster homes, was his fault. “Someone who loves you doesn’t do this to you.” You reminded the man who laid beneath you. He could hardly breathe with how hard his heart was hammering in his chest as your hands trailed over the expanse of his torso. “Bob I don’t know your history, but from what I can gather about you in the present you are all but the problem.” You were the first person to ever tell him he didn’t deserve the scars he wore, the scars he hid.
“You’re a really good person, you know that right?” Flashes of your own war blinded your vision for a moment. The lies and haunting rumours that had you running as far away as possible could came flooding back to you in a blur as Bob sat up to kiss your lips softly, tenderly, and all so lovingly. “You don’t know how much you mean to me baby.” The term of endearment sent a shiver down your spine you weren’t expecting. But you welcomed it nevertheless. Bob was a dream, your new beginning.
“I reckon you’ve got about three minutes to show me.” You teased, deciding now was not the time to bring up your dead fiancé. “With the shirt off—“
***~***~***~***~***~***~
Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt
#ailesswhumptober2023#leahs whumptober masterlist#bob floyd x female reader#flight deck // bob floyd#bob fliyd angst#Bob floyd whump#bob floyd x reader#top gun bob#top gun imagine#top gun fan fic#tw: parental abuse#tw: mental health#tw: scars
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Perfect For Me (Steven Grant x Reader)
Words: 2.2K
Warnings/Themes: Angst,Self-hatred, body insecurity, hurt/comfort, fluff, light nudity (non-sexual)
Characters/Pairings: Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector
liavaleska asked:
Hellooo! How are you? I hope you are doing great. Can I request something where reader comforts Steven Grant when he is feeling insecure about his body? Ty❤️
A/N: Sorry it took me a while to get this up! But here it is and I hope you enjoy it. It came out a tab bit angstier than I intially wanted but I'm quite proud of this one! Let me know what you think :)
Tired eyes mindlessly watched the little goldfish bob around its tank. The only sound filling the apartment was that of the tank’s filter. Rain pattered against the windows. Each door that opened or closed in the building had her peeking at the door through the tank. It was a quiet evening. As it had been for the past few days, nearing two weeks.
Nearly two weeks of silence. All because the other occupant of the apartment was hardly around anymore. Something was up with one of the boys. She had hoped one of them would have confided in her. But they are alters of Marc Spector. Mr. Secret.
The notion of her husband keeping secrets saddened her. It wasn’t hard to suspect that something was wrong. Steven would be up before her and leaving for work earlier than usual. Before he would wrap himself tighter around her when her alarm would go off, begging her to stay in bed for a few more minutes.
He had also picked up the habit of jogging. At first, she had been happy for him; happy he had found a healthy hobby. But now she’s questioning how healthy it really is. The bags under his eyes darkened with the passing of each day. Getting up early, going on jogs, and working as Khonshu’s personal plaything, had to be tiring. Not to mention she didn’t really see him enough to confirm that he had eaten that day.
“At least you’re around, huh, Gus?” She murmured, chin resting on her palm. The fish swam into his pyramid. A groan left her as she hung her head. Great. Even the fish didn’t want to spend time with her. Pushing out of her seat, she decided it was time for bed. The clock on the wall read 1am.
A quick glance at her phone showed that her messages had been read. But there had been no response.
‘Hey, love. Just wondering when you’ll be home. Any ideas for dinner?’
Read at 7:30pm.
‘Hey, again, you’re probably busy so I wrapped up dinner for you. Chinese takeout, your favorite! Love you <3’
Read at 10:46pm
With a heavy heart, she typed out one last text.
‘Going to bed now. Love you, darling’
She didn’t wait for a reply and stuck her phone on the charger. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stared at the empty bed. This would be the sixth night in a row that she would be going to bed by herself. The cold, white duvet laughed up at her. Sniffling, she padded over to the closet and pulled out one of Steven’s hoodies, and tugged it on. His scent filled her nose but didn’t bring the comfort she craved. Rather, it broke the dam holding back her tears.
She wished she could help him. Wished he let her help him. Wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone in whatever he was going through. If only he would just let her in. Her teeth bit into the soft flesh of her lip as she tried to stifle the sobs. Curled up on the bed, she hugged Steven’s pillow to her chest.
Keys knocking against the door had her freezing. The door slowly creaked open and heavy, tired footsteps entered the apartment. The sound of a duffle hitting the floor broke her out of her trance and had her shooting up.
“Steven?” The figure outlined by the light of the fish tank shuffled over to the bed, standing at the foot.
“No, sorry…” Marc said, voice low and, dare she say, sad. She quickly flicked on the lamp on her nightstand, beckoning him towards her.
“What’s wrong, Marc? Are- are you guys okay?”
Marc was silent for a few heartbeats, his silence giving her time to think of every possible thing that could be wrong. Steven doesn’t love her anymore, Khonshu’s asking too much, they have some terminal disease… Her lip wobbled more with each new possibility.
“No… No, we’re not okay.” Marc whispered, “Steven doesn’t want me to tell you… but I don’t think he’s okay.”
He sounded so tired, and his eyes didn’t even come up to meet hers as he spoke. Whatever was wrong, it had been going on for a while and it’s become too much for Marc to handle. With a frown, she grabbed his hand to tug him onto the bed.
While she wasn’t in a romantic relationship with him, Marc was still important to her. He was like a brother to her. Without him, she wouldn’t even have Steven.
“Tell me, Marc… Tell me what’s wrong,” she begged softly. If he closed the door now after letting her get a toe in, she might completely break down. He sagged forward with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“I just wish I could have protected him better… All of this is my fault. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know this has been hurting you too, but I don’t know how to help him. He won’t eat; he runs until we have blisters… Hell, he’s been fronting during almost every fight and I can’t make him give me the body…”
It was as if once the words started pouring out of his mouth, they wouldn’t stop.
“The only reason I’m fronting now is that I think he was just too exhausted to…” The sigh that left him was far beyond his age. It was the sigh of someone too tired to continue. “You gotta help us, Y/N… You gotta help Steven.”
With a tear-streaked face, she nodded.
<><>
Marc had showered and changed into Steven’s favorite pajamas before climbing into bed. Y/N lay on her side of the bed, wishing that it was her husband she was falling asleep next to. She wanted to hold him close, to protect him from the dangers of his own mind. She could only hope that when she woke up, it would be Steven kissing her awake as he used to.
Her sleep was a light and fitful one. An odd form of sleep paralysis. She could hear the sounds of their apartment, and Marc’s heavy snores next to her. But she couldn’t move. Worry and fear gripped her body like a vice.
Time seemed to still be flowing as one moment she was hearing Marc’s snores, then the next Steven’s much softer breaths. Unconsciously, her hand drifted toward her husband. Her love. Her partner who needed her help.
She couldn’t be sure if her hand ever touched him. Because it was his strained whispers that had her fully conscious. The lamp in the living area was lit and he stood in front of a full-length mirror.
“You overstepped, mate. I told you not to tell her.”
She blinked heavily, unsure if this was a dream or not. A quick hand over his side of the bed told her that it was not and that he hadn’t been gone for long.
“I don’t care! If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here with a big bloody scar on our chest from that fight! Or the other dozen scars everywhere else!” His voice started to rise.
She couldn’t help but stare at his back as he whispered furiously into the mirror on the other side of the apartment.
“She’s not gonna… she wouldn’t want a human scratching post. Y/N deserves more than… this. I mean, look at us…” He inhaled a shuttering breath. His strong hands gripped the edge of the standup mirror. “A million scars, rubbish bags under our eyes… gross stretch marks, unflattering dad bod.”
His final whispered confession had her finally jumping out of bed.
“I just wish I could be the man she deserves.”
She gave him no time to react before she slammed into his back, wrapping her arms around his middle and bunching the fabric of his shirt in her hands.
His breath caught in his throat, shame filling him. He could feel her sobs more than hear them. Gods, he made her upset. That had been the last thing he wanted to do, but Marc’s words from earlier rang through his head.
“You’re hurting her. Leaving early, coming home late, not making love with her, and keeping the lights off when you do. It’s hurting her. She told me so.”
A sob forced its way from his throat, and hot tears fell down his cheeks. His teeth bit harshly into his lip as he bowed his head, unwilling to look at the reflection of Marc’s pitying look.
“I’m so sorry…So, so sorry.” His hands grasped hers over his chest, right over the scar that had started this whole thing. She shook her head, whimpering into his shirt.
“No, please, Steven.” She took a shuddering breath, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m not mad; or upset with you… I’m upset for you.”
His eyes screwed closed, his lips pressed into a line to suppress his cries.
“I wish I could take this pain away from you. I wish I could love these thoughts out of your mind. You do such an amazing job of protecting me; I wish I did a better job at protecting you.” She pulled her hands from his to drift to his sides and gently turned him to face her.
He kept his head bowed. The shame, the self-hatred, the ugly expression on his face, it wasn’t something she needed to see. The flinch he gave when her gentle hand cupped his cheek was uncontrollable. Her hand dropped back down to her side.
“Steven, let me help you. Whatever you’re trying to keep from me, whatever it is you are trying to hide, I will still love you. Nothing will ever make me not love you; nothing will ever make me think you are undeserving. You are the only man in this entire universe that I will ever love.”
He didn’t flinch when her hand touched him this time. Instead, he pressed his tear-stained cheek into her palm. They both let out heavy breaths. A hand littered with scars he hated so much, gripped her waist. The other, just as scarred as the right, cupped the back of her neck and he brought their foreheads together.
“I’m sorry that I’ve upset you, love. I just... I don’t know how to… how to let someone help. But I know I need it.” Steven swallowed the lump still stuck in his throat. “I am truly fortunate to have you be the one to help me, though.”
“I’m even luckier to have you,” She whispered before leaning forward to press her lips to his. His grip tightened and he pulled her flush to his chest. Flames followed in the wake of her fingers tracing up his stomach to rest on his chest, lovingly stroking the raised skin of the scar. His heart was thundering and he was sure she could feel it under her fingertips.
Salty tears blended on their skin, hiccupping sobs breaking from his sweet lips. As if touching glass, she wiped his tears away, cooing and shushing him. Chocolate eyes locked with hers. Walking backward and not breaking eye contact, she tugged him by the hand towards the bed. Steven followed obediently while wiping his tears with his sleeve.
The bed was cool against her skin as she leaned against the pillows, opening her arms for him. The air was thick with tension as he stood still, watching her. The stifling air was broken when he pulled his shirt over his head with shaking hands. His body is on full display in the dim lighting. While the suit heals wounds, it doesn’t erase scars.
It didn’t seem possible, the amount of love and acceptance in her gaze. It made his breath catch in his throat and warm goosebumps break out over his skin. Wishing for him to be in her arms, she made grabby hands for him. The action made his lips quirk up.
Slowly, he crawled in between her legs and she sat up to wrap her arms around his middle. Soft lips ghosted over the scar as her hands smoothed over his sides. His head was nuzzled into her hair and his arms wrapped around her back.
After breathing each other in, she leaned back and guided him to rest his head on her chest. His strong arms constricted around her middle. Her socked foot caressed his calf while her lips kissed the top of his head.
“If I get too heavy, I can move.” He couldn’t help but mumble. Gentle fingers carded through his hair and trailed down his back. Painted nails lightly scraped over his skin, leaving a trail of more goosebumps.
“If you dare move, I’m going to handcuff you to myself and swallow the key,” she threatened.
Steven let out a breathy chuckle and relaxed more into her. The patterns she was tracing into his skin were hypnotic and slowly, his eyes began to drift closed. A low sweet hum filled his ears.
As he focused on her fingers, he realized she wasn’t just doodling random patterns. It was letters. Words.
‘I love you’
‘Perfect’
‘Strong’
Tears pricked his eyes once more. He tilted his head to press a lingering kiss to her collarbone.
“I’ve got you, Steven. I’m not going anywhere. Not when I’ve got the perfect man for me in my arms.”
#my writing#grace writes shit#fluff#reader insert#request#steven grant#steven grant x reader#angst#tw: body insecurity#tw: mental health#tw: self loathing#moon knight x reader#moon knight#marc spector
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🫶
#grace#pathologic#мор#морутопия#Ласка#well here go the trigger warnings#tw: death#tw: alcohol#tw: mental health#tw: abuse#tw: trauma#tw: alcoholism#tw: addiction#so many tw's#but i feel a certain comfort in complicated subjects rn#ah well#anyway here's an attempt at a comic for what its worth lol
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Somebody Does Love | MYG
Pairing: BestFriend!Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Idol au
Synopsis: You never wanted to burden Yoongi with your problems, he was healing and you weren’t even close but he was your best friend and he’d always turn up for you.
Warnings: Depression, self depreciation, implied self harm.
WC: 2.1k
Posted: 18 August 2023
It didn't take much for Yoongi to worry about you. He could tell something was wrong by something as simple as the way you worded a text or how you carried yourself on a particular day. In fact, he knew you better than you knew yourself. Habits, tastes, quirks. Some of which he'd tell you, others he kept to himself because he didn't want you to stop doing them, because he knew you'd stop if he did.
He knew you well enough that you'd stop all the things he loved most about you if he uttered a word about them, it was a habit of yours he hated. You never did it consciously, of course. It was like it was programmed into you that the second someone told you they loved a feature, you’d change it or one of your quirks, you'd stop doing it almost instantly.
And that list of things he loved was long. He'd probably have to write a book, but there were things he hated, one in particular.
You never wanted to bother him with your problems.
It drives him mad.
He's your best friend, Yoongi would remind you constantly. You're problems were his problems and vice versa. someone broke your heart? They broke his. Someone mistreated him? They mistreated you.
One thing always remained certain for both of you, no one would argue it. You'd take a bullet for each other in a heartbeat.
"You've been staring at the same screen for twenty minutes, hyung." Namjoon broke the silence of Yoongi's studio, interrupting the elder's thoughts.
"Sorry, You wanted something?" Yoongi asked nonchalantly as he swung his chair to face Namjoon, greeting him with a forced smile.
Namjoon held up a set of headphones he'd taken from one of the shelves in Yoongi's studio. "Mine broke, I knew you had a spare."
Yoongi rolled his eyes endearingly, a small breathly laugh slipped out.
"It wasn't my fault this time!" Namjoon protested his innocence.
For once, it actually wasn't the clumsy man-child’s fault.
"Ah yes, it's the little man that mysteriously comes in your studio and breaks all your stuff," Yoongi teased.
"Uhm, It was, actually." A blush rose on Namjoons cheeks, whether he wanted to admit it or profusely deny it, he could give a tomato a run for its money. "Jimin was in.. he.. sat on them."
"Suuure," he teased further, "I'm sure that’s what he, no, the two of you, were doing."
"Hyung!"
"Dongsaeng?" Yoongi hummed, giving Namjoon a knowing look.
"Back to the original point," Namjoon deflected. "Are you okay? You were miles away."
"I'm fine," Yoongi looked back at the lyrics on the screen, his expression changing instantly. "It's y/n."
"Is she okay?"
"I don't know" He rested back on his chair while running his hands through his long, fluffy hair. "I haven't heard from her in two days. I was meant to have dinner with her and got really into writing this song and I had an idea for the beat and went all in. She knows I get like that sometimes, and that's the reason when I don't reply."
"Sometimes." Namjoon rolled his eyes jokingly.
"I messaged her that I was sorry and we should have breakfast, no reply. I text about dinner an hour ago, and it's not even delivered."
"You're telling me this like you've never just welcomed yourself into her apartment a million and one times." Namjoon reminded him with a raised brow.
"I really have to fin.."
"GO!" Namjoon ordered his hyung. "Leader privileges," he defended quickly when he realised how abrupt he was while still pointing towards the studio door.
He didn't wait a second longer. Even leaving the studio in his slides, forgoing the Nike dunks by the door. Leaving Namjoon to save his work and sort all his equipment which he gladly did. He was worried about you too, more so because you meant so much to someone that meant equally as much to him. Thirteen years isn't easily forgotten, and you were there too.
He made it to your apartment twenty minutes later, letting himself in like it was his own home.
The sight he saw was enough to cause an ache, vice like grip on his heart.
Quickly making his way to be by your side.
With gentle calloused fingertips your best friend tilted your chin up, his smile was warm and inviting, but his eyes were filled with worry and sadness, even guilt for not noticing something was wrong sooner.
The pad of his thumb wiped away the tears that stained your cheeks, neither set of eyes straying from the others, you only briefly cut eye contact to blink away oncoming tears as they clouded your vision.
You weren’t there, not really. Yoongi knew better than to pressure you into talking, so he stayed silently knelt in front of you for a moment, his large hands engulfing your little ones before bringing them towards his lips for a quick peck before he took a seat beside you. He took you into his arms and kept you close until you stopped crying, not a care for the time that went by or the fact that his phone kept going off. It wasn't important, not right now.
“You're gonna be okay,” He talked softly, quiet as a mouse like he was afraid to startle you.
He repeated himself over and over, followed by 'i love you', 'you're safe with me" and every other sweet thing he’d ever told you. Your cries eventually turned into quiet hiccups to unsteady breaths and eventually a quiet calm, the room filled with nothing but your breaths and the noises from the street outside.
You stayed like that, in the comfort of his arms, in silence. An hour went by, maybe more.
He looked down at you, almost falling asleep from exhaustion, your entire face red and puffy from so much crying. All the overwhelming feelings all on your own, so intensely burst like a dam. He wasn't leaving your side, music would have to wait. For as long as you needed him, he was going to be there.
"Don't sleep, jagiya. Let me make you something to eat, alright? We'll get you cleaned up and in some fresh clothes. You can sleep after that."
You shook your head.
"Yes," Yoongi told you sternly, not too harsh, but he wasn't going to let you keep doing this to yourself, not on his watch. "I will chew it for you and spit it in your mouth like a mother bird, if i have too."
You scrunched up your face in disgust, causing Yoongi to chuckle softly.
"That's what I thought."
You didn't protest when Yoongi ushered you into your room, you didn't want to hurt him. He was getting you in the bath regardless. It wasn't like he hadn't seen you naked before, definitely not under the same circumstances, but it didn't faze him then, and it won't faze him now.
He went into the bathroom and starting filling the bath, picking your favourite bathbomb and dropping it into the bath, smiling to himself as it turned purple and a light lavender scent began to fill the air. He grabbed some towels and put them in the dryer to warm up for you before coming to help you out of your clothes.
"Do you trust me?" He asked.
"Always," you replied in a coarse whisper.
He was careful, gentlemanly, checking your face for any sign you were uncomfortable. You were okay until he went to help you out of your tracksuit bottoms, he watches your hands clutch tighter to the bedsheet and the faint hitch in your breath.
"I'm sorry," you tell him before nodding in permission for him to take them off.
He took one look at your thighs before looking up at you, leaning up to press a light kiss on your forehead. "Don't ever apologise for how you feel, I just wish you'd told me it was getting this bad again."
He wrapped his arm around your body, helping you toward the bathroom and helped you step into the bath. He relaxed a little when he heard you hum as you lowered into the water.
"Is it hot enough?” he asked, watching for any discomfort.
“S’good.” you hum, tracing over the bubbles with the tips of your fingers. Yoongi watched on with a little smile before he sat himself on the edge of the bath, reaching for your favourite body wash and a soft sponge, opting for the soft option rather than a loofah.
He squeezed a drop of soap onto the sponge and scrunched it together in his hands until it was covered in vanilla scented suds.
“Tell me to stop if you want me too,” he told you, leaning forward to get a look at you when you didn't reply. You nod for him to go on, even though you were miles away. He could tell by your eyes, he decided to just get on with it. He moved gently around your back, air in the bathroom filled with it's vanilla scent, mixing with the lavender. It was even making him sleepy. He watched you close your eyes beginning to relax as he continued on.
Once he had you covered in bubbles he rinsed you off with a cup he had sitting near by in the water and began washing the bubbles off. He saw your back rise and fall with a deep breath, a yawn he came to realise. He glanced at your face and your eyes in a fight to stay open as you moved your hands up to your face slowly and rubbed at your eyes for a moment before dropping your hands back into the water. Yoongi smiled. You looked adorable, if he was honest.
He was equally as gentle when washing your hair, missing some of your routine but the goal was to get your freshened up and comfortable, not Miss Universe.
“You can lay back now if you want.” Yoongi offered, you sighed and slumped in the tub, body sinking into the bubbles.
"Why do you do this for me? You're always there." You finally spoke more than one word.
"Because even if everything else was to disappear, I know you'll always be there."
"What if I'm not strong enough?"
"You are," he told you, leaning down to kiss your forehead again before he left for the kitchen to make you a quick snack, knowings it’s probably all you could stomach or be bothered to eat.
Crackers and a makeshift topping would have to do because it was all you had.
He brought everything you two would need for the night including the hot towels from the dryer to the bedroom before Yoongi helped you out of the bath, taking you into the bedroom wrapped up in the toasty towel to get you dried off and into some PJs.
“Which Pyjamas do you want?”
You pointed to him with a sweet, innocent smile.
“My top?” he chuckled. “Really?”
“Please?” and like clockwork you put on your best puppy dog eyes. Jungkook taught you well because Yoongi could never say no.
He rolled his eyes playfully and took off his shirt, pulling it over your head for you and smiled contently when he took a look at you. “You’re so adorable,” he smiled up at you before instructing you to sit between his legs with the hairbrush he had in hand.
You sat in front of him, lightly snacking away on the food he gave you when you sat down while he brushed through your hair, effortlessly putting it into two french braids. He’d watched you do it enough times and he was a quick learner, especially if it was taking up his cuddling time with you.
When you finished eating, Yoongi went to tidy up while you got yourself into bed. Half asleep when he came to join you, he switched off the light and climbed into bed with you.
Instantly cuddling into him with your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you began to drift off to sleep.
“Can I play you a song I’ve been working on?” he asked, cuddling you in close.
Yoongi presses play on his phone as you nod.
Somebody does love but I'm thinking ‘bout you.
He watched as you drift off to sleep, running his hands through your hair, softly singing along until his eyes fell heavy and he drifted off too.
Maybe one day he’d tell you the song is for you.
Authors Note: A huge thank you to @sopebubbles /@sopebubbles-replies for encouraging me to write this fic and proof reading, it's been a long time coming for her, you have no idea! also my bestie @lifeinakpopbubble who never thought she'd see this day.
#yoongi#bestfriend!yoongi#min yoongi x reader#yoongi fic#min yoongi#tw: depression#tw: depressive episode#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#reader fic#tw: mental health#bts#raplinesprince writes
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The whole thing about Robin "going mad" several times over his long and mostly lonely afterlife really adds a whole extra layer of horror to the ghosts existence.
Like sure you can't physically feel much pain, you can kick and beat each other up and not break any bones or bleed and it doesn't seem to hurt all that much.
But you can still get seriously mentally ill if you're left in isolation or with the lack of emotional support. Even Thomas we see lose it a bit as he goes through his withdrawal and hallucinates.
Kinda adds more to Alison’s whole comment about how the ghosts are "crazy" at the start of the series, because they have all been cloistered together for so long without much entertainment from Heather or knowing about the world. And one of the reasons she comes to feel compelled to help keep them talking and interacting becomes less about keeping her own sanity and more about saving theirs.
Something something this show and all the important themes it has but honestly how it emphasises the importance of having a community and enjoying new things no matter how limited your options might be because of disability or chronic illness or neurodivergence etc. It's why I love it so.
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“Are you okay?” Levi asks you.
“No.”
“I know, you don’t look it. What’s wrong?”
“Everything is wrong, Levi. I’m exhausted…I wonder what it’s like to have a brain that functions the way it’s supposed to.”
His eyebrows furrow slightly. “Your brain is fine.”
“But that’s the thing, it’s not!” You say exasperatingly. “It’s wired differently and so it makes everything more difficult. I switch between three modes: Not wanting to exist, Surviving, and Beyond Surviving. Guess how much time I spend in each mode?”
Levi doesn’t say anything in response. His expression shows more concern than confusion this time.
“Fine, I’ll tell you. Most of my time is spent surviving. Some of my time is spent not wanting to exist. And just a little of my time is spent beyond suriving…what kind of life is that?”
Levi’s eyes look at you with sadness. “Not much of one, to be honest…but it’s yours and you only have one.” He counters.
“Well, I don’t even know if I want it half of the time. Y’know, someone told me that life is basically climbing mountains. You climb a mountain, which represents a challenge or obstacle, once you get to the top you enjoy the view for a moment…then you climb back down and do the same thing all over again. Rinse and repeat.”
Levi seems to identify with what you’re saying and he knows you’re frustrated right now but he needs to keep you from spiraling. He’s not letting you give up. That’s not the way. “It’s what we have to do, Y/N.” He says gently.
“And what if I don’t want to do anything? What if I don’t want to climb fucking mountains? What if I don’t want to constantly be challenged and given obstacles? What if I just want to sit at the top of the mountain and just be?”
Levi knows these feelings all too well…he’s wrestled with them a few times throughout his life but he’s continued to push through because that’s what you just do. And you’re going to do the same even if he has to do the pushing for you. You snap Levi out of his thoughts with your next statement.
“It would be so much easier if I just…”
“Stop.”
“But-“
“Stop.” He repeats sternly, his steel eyes boring into yours.
You grunt angrily. “You’re not even real, Levi!” You yell out at him. You’re not angry with him. You’re angry at the world, angry for the universe and your parents for putting you in this predicament, angry for placing you into a world that doesn’t accommodate you. “You are a 2-dimensional character I use to cope. There’s no way for you to actually soothe or help me. You. Are. Fictional.”
Your words don’t seem to phase him. He shrugs. “I’m real enough.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I’m real enough to you. Y/N. You are the one who brings me to life. You are the one who decides how real I should be. What does it matter if I’m not a real person?”
“It’s silly.”
“Who says it’s silly?”
“I don’t know, a bunch of people.”
“Well, fuck all of those people then. Just fuck them.” He states as if it’s obvious.
You sigh. “It doesn’t work that way, Levi…”
“So make it work that way. No one else is keeping you alive but yourself.”
“And you…” You say softly.
Levi shakes his head. “I don’t do anything. Like I said before, you’re the one who does the all the heavy lifting. I exist because you want me to. I function the way I do because you want me to.”
“So I control you?”
Levi rolls his eyes at that. “Don’t be a brat. What I’m saying is I’m just an outlet for you.”
You pause, thinking of his words. He’s not wrong. He’s just a character but he’s also not just a character because of you. “I wish you were real.” You admit sadly.
“I wish I were real too…for you.” He sighs as he runs a hand through his raven hair. “But it doesn’t matter if I’m real or not. I still occupy your brain. I still make you happy, that’s all that matters. As long as you let me live in your mind, I’m always going to be here for you.
You nod, not saying anything further.
“Okay?” He asks.
“Okay.”
“Good.”
#I don’t know what this is I’m just not well I’m on my period and I’m sick and I go back to work in about a day and I just feel awful#Life is SO exhausting and I’m so upset about it#I don’t even know what to title this so I’m not going to#It got a little meta because I also got upset that Levi’s not a real person#Everything’s just a hot mess#I have to laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry#Anyway sorry for this weird ass…whatever it is#As always I hope you find some comfort in it#You’re not alone#We’re all buddies here#levi#levi ackerman#levi aot#levi x reader#levi x you#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman x you#levi drabble#levi x y/n#tw: mental health#tw: sui ideation
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yandere gyutaro headcannons !
✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🖇 ୧・request; " I really liked your yan kokushibo headcannons, can I get akaza, doma and gyutaro next plss?? "
✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🪴 ୧・author's note; here's pt. 2!! as promised :) If you want to view akaza's click here, to view kokushibo's click here. next up should be inosuke then doma! i lowkey made gyutaro sound like the joker lmfao
✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🍃 ୧・ pairing; gyutaro x g/n reader! {you/your pronouns!}
✧༉‧₊˚୨ ✖ ୧・trigger warnings; manipulation, isolation, kidnapping, stalking, vague mentions of physical abuse, psychotic behavior, possessive nature, jealousy, abuse of power, love-bombing and grammar errors. If you are sensitive towards any of these themes please dni for they will be mentioned. {proofread.}
⚝. Just a reminder I don't tolerate nor do I encourage the following topics in reality; I like keeping it strictly to fiction.
꒰🪴꒱. Gyutaro is mesmerized by you. You were simply a treasure that needed to be preserved from the harsh reality of this cruel world. He couldn't lose you to the others who were out to get you for their own selfish desires and needs! The others only wanted you to suffice their own egotistical needs of theirs, they didn't care for you. They didn't for what you were. They only needed you for their own purposes, afterwards, they would simply discard you as if you meant as little as a speck of dust. A germ. An imperfection.
꒰🍃꒱. Well, that's what he thought about the others around you - so despicable and disgusting. They always reminded him of his past, when he was weak, feeble, a good-for-nothing, a useless, ugly child. All he wanted was to protect the ones he loved; his precious sister, Ume. He'd risk his life just for her, she was his everything and the only one who didn't frown upon him.
꒰🪴꒱. Unlike his fellow demons (Kokushibo + Akaza), you two never actually encountered eachother. It was more of a love-at-first-sight situation honestly. While at the Entertainment district one faithful night, he saw you from the shadows whilst Daki was busy capturing more victims to add to the food supply. You were walking and minding your own business as his eyes sage-green eyes glowed almost perfectly in the darkness which he watched from, a soft orangey umber lightly glistened to compliment his pupils. Those eyes followed your every move and trait you exhibited right there and then.
꒰🍃꒱. Gyutaro found you rather intriguing. Something radiated off of you, and that something wrapped him around your pinky. Was this some kind of spell of sorts? You were so alluring! But again, you were human. Those same disgusting creatures which he utterly despised. They could be so cruel. So unforgiving with no compassion for those in a position lower than them. He wanted to get away from you; you could've been of the same breed, a repulsive soul.
꒰🪴꒱. Surely, that could potentially be the case, however, why would he be so captivated by you if that were to be true? It didn't add up! He hasn't felt this way towards anyone but Daki; and it's safe to say, she isn't human. Not anymore at least. However, this felt stronger and it had more of a certain grasp on him than previously thought. What was he doing being so caught up with a simpleton?
꒰🍃꒱. He kept watching. The further you walked into the district, he began moving from roof to roof, still keeping himself hidden but still able to sneak glimpses of you. Your hair swayed in the chilling gale as an angelic smile plastered itself along your face, he watched how your face crinkled from your smile. It was so adorable.
꒰🪴꒱. He blushed. The heat was ever so slowly rising to his face as he kept watching you in all your beauty, you were a natural charmer, possibly. Gyutaro had never been so caught up with someone let alone a human like this before! But it could've been petty feelings due to the given moment. It wasn't a puppy crush after all, he would most likely never see you ever again. Yet, that was something he didn't want to happen.
꒰🍃꒱. He was so torn between letting you go or keeping you for himself. He is a bit selfish. As the night was still young, he took this time to his advantage. Meticulously taking his time to watch you, looking about to see if you talked to specific persons, your interests? Maybe even mannerisms and habits you exhibited at the time. Honestly, he did find you a bit strange even if you had him head-over-heels. Yoshiwara was known for sex work and having many prostitutes; who knew what you went there for.
꒰🪴꒱. Hours upon hours went by, it felt like mere minutes to Gyutaro. At that time, you've already done your business at the district and was focused on making your way back home. He couldn't lose you like that! Not after you captured his attention that is. He needed to know more about you to know you inside and out.
꒰🍃꒱. He finally made up his mind. He was going to follow you home; so creepy! But he did what had to be done. He followed you from afar still keeping you in his line of sight and made sure to remember where you lived. He had to retain that information, it's not like he'd see you often at the district.
꒰🪴꒱. Within a matter of 2-3 weeks, he observed your routine. Likes, interests, habits, eating patterns, sleeping patterns and all. Keeping tabs on you nearly always (when he could at least). The nights were spent with him carefully peeking through your window, watching your chest rise up and down as you slept peacefully, unaware of the green eyes resting themselves on your figure.
꒰🍃꒱. I am a firm believer that the demon tends to take things of yours just before you head to bed/not in the room at the time. He's sneaky and cunning with it as well; only small stuff though! Things such as a small fragment of clothing or trinket in your room that still has lingering touches of your scent. Something not so detectable.
꒰🪴꒱. As for rivals, he'd never dare to hurt them well maybe one or two, but what's one human less? Gyutaro is more of a person, well demon, to sulk in his own mind and overthink that'd you'd always prefer that person over him; after all he's an ugly, pathetic demon. That's all he is right? He just hates the thought of you belonging to another besides him.
꒰🍃꒱. It doesn't take him long to inform Daki of his new found strange behavior (sneaking out at nights all the time). And she is astonished, he older brother having a crush over someone? They must be great. If only it was a simple crush and not a full-blown obsession. However, as soon as Daki hears it's a human she's partially skeptical over this whole situation, yet she wants her beloved brother happy. Even when he rants for ages about you like a fangirl.
꒰🪴꒱. Honestly, it doesn't take him long to finally take you as his own; with the help (and permission) of Ume of course. He truly cannot withstand seeing you interact with those others. Who knows what their intentions may be? And after so many years of pining after you,, he needs to feel you. Just feel the soft warmth of your skin against his for once, his only wish.
꒰🍃꒱. At last, he took you to your new home! where he and his sister resides at the district. He felt so ecstatic that you're finally near him, now he doesn't have to make it a chore to find you every night. Isn't that great? You'll be right next to him every second of every day! In contrast to Gyutaro, Daki seems to be harsher towards you. Don't get me wrong she likes you, for her brother's sake, but you're a mere human. You better not try anything with her brother.
꒰🪴꒱. As expected, when you awoke you would freak out. Both of them would obviously have to explain themselves, more importantly, your fanboy had to. He was nervous and jittery, being in your presence sent him sky high! But he wasn't the most - good looking; he knew this well and clear.
꒰🍃꒱. Therefore, he opted to win you over with gifts. Maybe have Daki go and get you a nice outfit to suit your beauty, how about flowers? Many people like that! A home-cooked meal? Well he usually eats his meals raw.. but will try just for you! He just wants to have your love all to himself. Tying you up and night or holding you tightly within his arms. Sniffing at your hair and eagerly cherishing your scent. Wishing for you to be his yet doubt lingered in the back of his mind. It hurts him. Please, don't try to even fight back; it will not end well, especially if Daki is around - she can be ill-tempered.
꒰🪴꒱. You better get used to your new normal. It's not changing for even a moment.
© angelic-dew, please don't translate or reclaim without permission <3
#headcanon#yandere#yande.re#tw: yandere#yandere demon x reader#yandere demon slayer#yandere gyutaro#gyutaro#kny x you#yandere kny#kimitsu no yaiba#tw: stalking#tw: mental health#tw: long post#ahhhhh its done#demon slayer#demon slayer hcs#demon slayer x you#demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer fanfic#kimetsu no yaiba
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Prozac: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Words: 2.4k
Warnings:: Mentions of blowjobs, female masturbation, swearing, kissing, fingering, oral (f! receiving), praise (can I write anything without praise? No) This fic deals with mental health, mental health medication, and the possible side effects of them, including sexual dysfunction and the shame that can come with it. Please skip this if any of these are triggering for you. MINORS DNI
Authors note: This is definitely softer than what I usually write 😅 Based off of this post This subject is very personal to me, I hope I did it justice
You switch your vibrator off with a huff, throwing it off the side of your mattress onto the floor. You feel your eyes well up with frustrated tears. It’s been months. Months since your last orgasm.
Since being prescribed Prozac for your depression six months back, you’ve felt broken. Your sex drive had significantly decreased, and when you were in the mood, you couldn’t get off. You would get so wet and desperate and close but you just couldn’t cum.
It was like all the sensations you used to enjoy, your vibrator or your fingers on your clit, felt dull. You found yourself desperately trying to get off, but it was no use.
Eddie, your boyfriend of a few months, had been so patient with you when it came to sex. You were putting it off as long as possible, terrified you’d scare him off once he realized your problem. You could always fake it, but you didn’t like the idea of lying to him.
Instead, you settled for blowjobs, hoping they would keep him satisfied enough to forget you weren't having sex. Unfortunately, you had no such luck.
You’re flat on your back on Eddie’s bed, him hovering over you with his knee slotted between your spread thighs. You kiss him hungrily, feeling yourself starting to soak through your panties as he grinds his knee into your clothed core.
You moan against his lips as he uses his hold on your hips to grind you down against his thigh. It feels…fine. You can feel the pressure of him against you, but it’s fleeting. You don’t need to be able to feel much to enjoy this, right?
Eddie pulls away from your lips to whisper into your ear, “Can I touch you, please baby?”
You stiffen against him. “Wouldn’t you rather a blowjob?”, you ask hopefully.
Eddie shakes his head, nosing his way down your jaw, teeth scraping over the hinge. “Wanna make you feel good.” He presses hot, wet kisses down your throat.
“Don’t you want my mouth?”, you try again, hand shooting out to grab at his zipper.
Eddie stops you with a gentle hand. “Of course I do, but I want you to enjoy yourself this time babe. You never never let me get you off.” He nuzzles your neck, his hair tickling your cheek.
“It’s fine”, you mumble, reaching for him again. This time, Eddie’s hands are more firm when he bats yours away. “Hey, come on. Something’s wrong." His eyes rake over your face, desperately trying to read you.
You're panicking. You knew this would come up eventually. You were hoping to enjoy another few weeks of utter happiness with him before Eddie found out and broke up with you.
“Is it me? Did I do something wrong?" His tone is so gentle you could cry. You feel the familiar prickle of tears in your eyes. Fuck.
"No. Of course you didn't do anything wrong." You're doing your best to keep your breathing steady as you hold back tears.
Eddie slides off of you and sits up. "Baby", he grabs your hand and squeezes. "Please tell me what's going on."
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, tears finally escaping. "You know how I take medication for my depression?", your voice quivers.
"Yeah?", Eddie reaches up to wipe away a stray tear, eyes darting back and forth between yours. He had always been so great, setting an alarm when he was with you to remind you to take your pill.
"Well. I-there are side effects." Your eyes flick up to look at Eddie, then back down to the covers beneath you.
"I don't understand", Eddie shakes his head, brow furrowing.
You screw your eyes shut, cheeks burning with shame. “I can't get off since I started my meds, okay?"
Eddie’s eyes instantly soften when he sees the distress on your face. "Jesus Christ baby, I'm so sorry." He tightens his hold on your hand. "Why didn't you tell me?"
You let out a watery laugh, "I didn't want you to leave once you realized I was broken."
A choked laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips. "What? Why would I leave you?"
"Because! Everything is defective now", you gesture to your lap. "I can't get off and sometimes I can barely even feel sensations like I used to."
Eddie pulls you into his chest. “Sweetheart. You are not broken or defective, alright? I'm so sorry you felt like you couldn't talk to me about this, but I appreciate you telling me now." He runs his hands soothingly up and down your back as you sniffle into his chest.
"I don't-I don't want to push you, or anything", he says carefully. "But if you're up for it, I'd like to touch you."
"What's the point?", you mumble into the fabric of his shirt.
"The point is", he pulls you away from his chest to look into your eyes. "That I want to make you feel good."
"But I", you interrupt.
Eddie shakes his head. "No buts. Making you feel good doesn’t have to have anything to do with getting off.” He cups your cheek gently and pulls you into a deep kiss, tongue tangling with yours.
Your eyes flutter shut as you melt into the kiss, arms wrapping around his neck to tug him closer.
He pulls you into his lap with a hand on your lower back to urge your forward, fingers exploring your skin as his nails trail over your back and down your sides.
“Can I take this off?”, Eddie whispers, one hand resting over the fabric bunched at your waist. He slips it up and over your arms when you nod, throwing it behind him.
You’re starting to squirm in his lap, his hands gripping your hips as he rocks you down to grind into his erection.
He leans down to mouth at your neck, your collarbone, and finally your cleavage. “This okay?”, he murmurs into the soft skin. Bringing one hand around to hover over the clasp of your bra, he waits for your answer.
“Yeah”, you look down to watch as he grazes his teeth over your skin softly, earning a quiet gasp.
He looks up at you through his dark lashes, lips twitching into a soft smile as he undoes the clasp, pulling the straps down and off.
You giggle as you watch Eddie’s eyes settle on your bare chest. “Jesus”, he breathes, low and admiring.
Your breath hitches as he kisses down your sternum, his warm hand cupping one breast. He runs the stubble on his cheek back and forth over your other nipple, humming when it hardens under his touch.
His tongue darts out to trace the nub, swirling the tip around before wrapping his lips around it, sucking gently.
“Does that feel good?”, he asks against your skin, grinding his erection up into your ass.
“Yeah”, you exhale, head tipping back.
A smug smirk spreads across Eddie’s face. “Exactly my point. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want, but I think you do want me to touch you, and you’re just too scared to let me.”
“That is an accurate assumption”, you grumble, not meeting his gaze.
Eddie laughs softly, “That’s what I thought. C’mon”, he lifts you from his lap, setting you gently against the mattress. “Lay back.”
Once you’re settled back into the pillows, he turns his attention to your other breast, licking and sucking on your nipple. When he grazes the nub with his teeth gently, you thread your hands in his hair and cry out.
“Are you gonna let me?”, he asks, lips leaving your chest to kiss down your stomach. “Gonna let me touch you?” He stops when he gets to the top of your jeans, chin resting on your tummy as he looks up at you, waiting for your answer.
He smiles up at you when you unbutton your jeans for him, taking over to ease them and your panties down your legs to drop onto the carpet. He settles between your thighs, face hovering over your core.
He leans in to lick teasingly over your clit, and you feel your eyes well up with tears when you can barely feel it. You had been so hopeful a few moments earlier, when his touch had felt amazing.
Sensing your frustration, he grabs your hand and tangles your fingers together. “C’mon, I want to try something.” He presses a quick kiss to the inside of your thigh, “Touch yourself for me.”
“Eddie”, you sigh.
“Trust me, please?”, he looks up at you from between your thighs, begging you with his big brown doe eyes. “I promise I’ll stop if you ask me to.” You can’t say no to him.
He squeezes your hand before bringing your fingers to rest right above your heat. “Just relax. Do what you would normally do if I wasn't here.”
Your shaking hand moves down to tease your slit, fingers dragging through your wetness before delving into your folds. You're nervous, you've never touched yourself in front of anyone before.
Eddie lays his head on your thigh, watching as you touch yourself, desperate to learn what you like, what makes you moan and your breath hitch.
You circle your clit slowly with your fingertips, pressure slowly building from teasing to firm as you choke back a whimper.
He turns his head and presses kisses to the soft skin of your inner thighs, sucking and biting when it gets a reaction out of you. He stops at the crease of your thigh where your wetness has already started to spread.
His tongue darts out to taste, and you can feel the vibration of his groan against your skin, “Fuck, you taste so good.” He takes his time, lapping up every last drop of your wetness he can get.
Once he’s tasted all he can, he nips and sucks on the sensitive skin again, the stubble on his jaw scraping against you. You can't help but squirm.
You move your fingers from your clit to circle your hole, dripping with your arousal. A whine rips from your throat as you plunge two fingers in.
“Yeah?”, Eddie asks, eyes transfixed on you touching yourself for him. He’s imagined this so many times, his very own porno. “Can I help?”
“Please”, you whine, head dropping back against the pillows.
Eddie presses one last kiss to your thigh before shuffling closer. “I think”, he says, placing a soft kiss to your clit.
He smirks when it elicits a soft, shaky gasp from you. “That maybe you just need a little extra time and attention to relax and get into it. To get out of your head and let go.”
“Mmhmm”, you hum, eyes fluttering shut as he presses another soft kiss to the nub, tongue darting out to swipe over it.
He pulls back to lick a hot stripe over your slit, nose bumping your clit as you gasp. “How’s that feel?”
“It-it feels good”, you moan, hand finding his shoulder to grab onto. “So fucking good. I still don’t think I’ll be able to-”
“Shh”, he soothes. “Relax. I have nothing better to do than eat this pretty pussy.” Eddie hums against you, tracing the tip of his tongue over your clit. “I have all night.”
He dives in, lips latching onto your clit as he alternates from firm, slow laps of his tongue to quick, barely there licks. You’re starting to really feel his touch, pussy so swollen and sensitive you feel like you could cry every time his breath fans over you.
Your hips buck off of the bed, grinding yourself into his mouth. Unable to focus on fucking yourself any longer, your fingers still and slip out of you to wind their way into Eddie's hair instead.
He replaces your fingers with his, pumping in time with the rhythm of his tongue on your clit. You clench around his fingers when they slot against that spot inside of you, making you feel like you might actually cum.
“Fuck, fuck”, you whimper. “Please don’t stop.”
Eddie hums against you, “Not stopping.” He burrows his face further into you, lapping and sucking on your puffy lips. “You’re doing so well for me. Being so good.”
A high, desperate whine escapes you at the praise. You feel out of control, completely at his mercy. The now foreign feeling of your pussy throbbing, muscles tensing as your orgasm builds catches you off guard.
You tighten your fingers in his hair, legs trembling as you lock them around his shoulders. “Eddie”, you gasp. “Baby, baby I’m gonna cum.”
Eddie moans against you, tongue lapping flat against your clit with firm pressure. With one final jab of his fingers into your spot, you’re coming undone with a wail.
You’re sobbing, body shaking as you finally tip over the edge you’ve been looking over for months. It just keeps going, every wave of pure pleasure making you feel like it’ll never stop.
Eddie guides you through it, murmuring praises into your skin. "There we go. Good girl. Good fuckin' girl. Knew you could do it for me."
Once your orgasm fades, you're left a panting, shaking mess. Eddie gathers you into his arms and holds you tightly, pressing kisses to the top of your head.
After a few beats, you reach for Eddie’s belt, but he grabs your hand and presses a sweet kiss to the back. “Don’t worry about me. Tonight was all about you.”
He shifts back against the pillows, spreading one arm against the them as an invitation. You slot yourself against his side, head pillowed on his shoulder.
You throw your leg over him wrap around his hip, burrowing into the crook of his neck. Humming as you feel yourself relax into the mattress, you still as you feel a cool damp spot against the inside of your knee. “You came, didn’t you?”
Eddie freezes for a moment before a laugh rumbles from his chest. “Possibly.”
You snort. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to return the favor", you tease.
Without warning, Eddie rolls on top of you, wrapping himself around you tightly. “Give me five minutes and I can be hard again", he says before pulling you into a deep, slow kiss.
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THE WITCHER (2019)
" What Is Lost "
#yennefer of vengerberg#tissaia de vries#the witcher#tv#ours*#meli*#thewitcheredit#witcheredit#tw: mental health#dailytvwomen#userblues#fybadassladies#yenneferedit#dailynetflix#twnedit#tvedit#tuserpurple#dailycolorfulgifs#cinemapix#tw: depression#filmtvcentral#witcherladies#witcherdaily#flashing#flashing lights
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