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subtly-a-selkie · 2 years

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I think I and lots of other people would really appreciate a part two of the Tadashi story? Pretty please with a cherry on top!

Here you go!! Sorry for the delay there was a slight dilemma on what perspective to put it in but i did my best! You can always request a specific perspective when you request if you prefer a different one. Everyone who showed any interest in a part two was tagged so please let me know if you would prefer not to be.

Word Count: 1800 ish (whoops)

Warnings: grammatical errors and weird formatting (even though it was written on my phone the formatting shouldn’t be that bad) slight angst (?) posted/written late at night so possible weird phrases

You fumble with the remote, switching through the channels in search of something--anything interesting. Anything that wasn't what was previously on to be honest, lately all the news could talk about was the fire and the loss of Professor Callaghan and student Tadashi Hamada. You did not want to think about that thank you very much. Finally settling on a news report about six new superheroes of all things, you go back to what you were doing which was giving the kitchen a much needed scrubbing.

After the news of Tadashi's death you shut down, not even managing to go to his funeral. Looking back on it now you figured that was for the best considering you hadn't yet been introduced to his aunt and little brother. Shaking yourself out of those thoughts before it became too much you aggressively scrub at the counter attempting to remove the crust that adorned it. Luckily for your sanity the kitchen was the last room to clean.

"Ew." you say to no one in particular, except maybe the cat that was making it increasingly difficult to clean the kitchen. The news story finished and switched to something else, and although it wasn't what the news had been obsessing over it did hit a little too close to home. You switch off the television and resume cleaning in a almost stifling silence, left alone with your thoughts and a very unhelpful cat.

Your house was so clean you could practically see little sparkles like the ones in cartoons and all you had to do is hang back up the pictures. You had an assortment of photos, a few of your cat as a kitten, some of your family and friends, and some of Tadashi. Some of the photos of Tadashi included you and some were just him. You even had one of him, his aunt and his brother. You debated putting that one back up as it was slightly weird to have a photo of people you had never met. Tadashi was the one who had put it up in the first place. Your riveting debate with yourself is cut short by the doorbell and you place the photo with the rest.

You open the door and your eyes go wide with shock, although you had never met Hiro in person you certainly recognized him from the pictures and videos Tadashi would show you.

“Are you Y/N?”

“Oh! Uh yes… please come in Hiro.” You stumble over your words, mind rushing with questions on why he was here. Your eyes widen even further on seeing the giant marshmallow of a robot behind him.

“Baymax?” You realize that you are blocking the both of them from entering and quickly move aside, fingers worrying at the small necklace Tadashi had gifted you. “Oh! Sorry. Uhm. I didn’t expect you.”

“Baymax showed me the videos you and Tadashi had made.” Hiro replies gently picking up one of the photos of you and Tadashi that you had already put back. You both smiled at the camera, eyes lit up by the sun. Your nose was scrunched and your arms thrown around him and his hair was ruffled from the breeze.

“You were his girlfriend?” Hiro asks quietly.

“I was.” You pause and glance at him still holding the photo “That picture was taken at the beach, he loved to take me there.”

“Why didn’t he tell me about you?” He asks more to himself than you. You could tell he was struggling with thoughts about his brother lying to him.

“He was going to tell you after you got into SFIT.” You say, your voice cracking. “I thought that you were having a hard enough time without having to deal with making room in your family for me.”

“Tadashi was reluctant to agree with your choice.” Baymax says causing you to startle, you had almost forgotten that he was there.

His torso began to light up and you and Tadashi come into view.

“Hiro was at another bot fight last night.” Tadashi said working on what seemed to be one of Baymax’s arms.

“I could tell.” You laughed gently, placing your hands on his shoulders. “You fix Baymax a lot more aggressively when he does.” The two of you stayed like that for a bit before you spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it Dashi?” You moved your hands forward, clasping them together and leaning against his back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He put the tools down and turned towards you so you were standing between his legs, kissing your cheek in return.

“I’m worried for him you know? i can’t protect him forever and once he gets older there will be real consequences for his actions.”

“He graduated high school at thirteen. He wants to keep learning and be challenged and bot fighting is what’s scratching that itch.” You smiled fondly “I remember you being the same way in high school although luckily I was horrible enough at math that tutoring me kept you from bot fighting.”

“I don’t think I would have ever turned to bot fighting. Even without you to ground me.”

“Of course you wouldn’t have, you had Hiro to take care of. You had to step into a father figure role and you weren’t able to do anything reckless when you had had him depending on you.”

“So I have two options, get someone for him to tutor or have a kid and die forcing him to grow up.” You laughed lightly at that.

“Or you could find something else to challenge him in a not illegal way.” You paused, prompting him to figure it out himself. “Something that is similar to the things he enjoys about bot fighting?”

“You’re a genius Y/N, thank you!” Tadashi exclaimed, pulling you down to his lap for a proper kiss. You smiled into it before pulling away.

“Being a genius is your job. I just know teenagers.”

“Even more of a reason for me to introduce you to him.”

“After.” You smiled brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“After he gets in to SFIT?”

“It be a bit too much for this big transition to happen and him needing to accept me into the family.” You paused. “After he settles.”

“You could help him settle! He’ll see you anyways because you’re here most of the time.”

“Okay.” You agree. “After he gets into SFIT.”

He kissed you again before you maneuvered yourself out out of your grasp.

“Go talk to him!” You said pulling him up by his hands.

“My lab is a mess.” He said in reply gesturing to the pieces of Baymax strewn about.

“I’ll clean it.” you shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to do, my big test was yesterday.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He smiled and kissed you again before leaving.

You began to clean when something on Baymax caught your eye.

“Oh! How long have you been recording?” You said to the robot. You smiled into the camera and spoke again. “Now don’t tell Dashi this but i went to go see Hiro bot fight a couple times. He’s got all this talent he just needs to focus it. I’m sure he’ll love it here, there’s all these resources for him to draw from and teachers that will be happy to teach him.”

Feeling around the camera you frowned, “Now where is that off button?” You evidently found it as the picture froze.

Hiro breaks the silence that had settled after the recording. “You came to watch me bot fight? How did you even find me?”

“There’s only so many illegal bot fights. It wasn’t too hard to find the one you fought at.” The silence grew and you speak again. “Would you like anything? I have tea and little cookies? Dashi’s favorite.” You quietly add “We can talk if you would like.”

“The little cookies sound good are they the chocolate ones?”

“Yes.” You smile faintly and invite him and Baymax to the living room.

“Tea can be very hot and dangerous. I shall accompany you.” Baymax states shuffling past you to the kitchen. Your faint smile grows at the memory that caused Tadashi to program that phrase and you follow after.

Returning to the living room with the tea and cookies you see Hiro looking at the pictures you had spread out. Setting the tray down on the table you sit next to him, smiling at the photo he holds. It’s Tadashi and a little girl about a year old, he was lying on the couch and holding her gently, one hand resting carefully on her back and the early morning light softly illuminating their faces. She was still asleep and clutching to his shirt, her pacifier that had been gently clipped to her light yellow onesie resting on his shoulder. He was pressing a kiss to the top of her head and his free hand was entwined with yours.

“Who’s the baby?” Hiro asks quietly and you smile at him.

“She’s my cousin. I babysit her when my aunts have date nights.” He places the picture back on the table and picks up another, the one of him, Tadashi, and his aunt. “That was Dashi’s.” You explain.

“Oh.” Hiro replies and lowers it back to the table, choosing a different one to hold. “And this one?”

You explain the story behind that photo too, and than another and another until you run out of pictures. Both you and Hiro are smiling at the end of your stories and he helps you find places to put them all.

“You should come see Aunt Cass!” Hiro says excitedly. “She would love you.”

“Are you sure she wouldn’t be upset that she didn’t know I was dating Tadashi?” You question adjusting the picture frame of a photo of your cat when you first found her.

“I think that she would be upset that Tadashi never told her but not upset at you.”

“I’m the one who insisted on it.”

“Trust me that wont really register.”

“Okay.” You smile at him already feeling like he was your own little brother.

“Great let’s go!”

“Oh! Uh now?”

“When else?”

“I suppose we can go now I just need to put away the tea and-”

“Okay okay.” Hiro cuts you off “Just hurry up!”

People tagged <3

@sillyfreakfanparty

@katerinaval

@discount-izukumidoriya

@heyyo-peeps

@soleil-lei

@weigheddownbyfandoms

#tadashi x reader #tadashi imagine #tadashi hamada #bh6 tadashi #hiro hamada #baymax #big hero 6 x reader #big hero six #big hero 6 #bh6 fandom #san fransokyo #sibling bonding #i love you <3 #tadashi hamada x reader

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pullhisteeth · 1 year

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(Possibly Triggering) Kind of a self comforting request, but could we get a story where the reader has bulimia and Eddie kind of puts the pieces together and tries to help? Like a hurt/comfort fic?

just want to say I love u and u got this <3 been there and I know u will be okay. hopefully this helps you feel a lil better for the time being x

I wrote this from Eddie's pov because I think it fits quite well. :)

cw/tw for eating disorders, vomiting, body image issues, difficult convos. Eddie and reader fight and make up. fem!reader, petnames, angst, fluff. hurt/comfort. [3.3k]

Eddie worries about you. He thinks it's normal, and he's sure you'd agree; he can't help it and doesn't wish to stop. He worries about you walking home from work at dusk, worries about you when you're out with friends, bar-hopping in downtown Hawkins, worries about you when you don't get dinner because work ran over and you want to sleep. He also knows you're an adult who can take care of herself so he worries from afar most days, but today he can't let it go.

So far, since you arrived at his trailer four and a half hours ago, he's asked you if you're okay seventeen times. The last one was an hour ago, when you snapped at him to stop.

You've just finished a six-day work week and now you're dozing on his lap while he reads a book, fingers carding through your hair. He's soothed by the almost imperceptible sound of your breathing and the feeling of your chest expanding and deflating beside his thigh, so he's very content to stay where he is and let you get some rest. You never snap at him. He thinks you must be tired.

Eventually he feels you stir, twisting round so you're on your back, head still resting on his lap so you can look up at him. He peeks down at you over the top of his book and it makes you giggle, a broken, sleepy laugh that he can't help but smile at. You rub your eyes and reach past your head to stretch, arching your back off the bed and sighing.

"Good sleep?" he asks softly, turning down the corner of his page and closing the book. He drops it unceremoniously on the bed beside your hip.

You hum in response and he takes it as an affirmative. His hand, fingers splayed, moves to rest on your stomach under your shirt, and you wince and laugh again at the contact.

"Your hands are so fucking cold!"

"Sorry," he says through a grin, slightly disingenuous. "You are boiling. My own personal furnace."

"Mm," you hum happily. You're in a good mood, clearly better for the hour of sleep. "What're you readin'?"

You reach beside you and take the book, bringing it over your head to squint through sleep-fuzzy eyes at the cover. As his hand smooths up and down your stomach, he begins to tell you.

"Mike let me borrow it. It's a fantasy series, he said it's really good."

"Hm, it looks like a Mike book."

"What does that mean?!" he laughs, incredulous at your insinuation.

"I dunno, it just looks like those graphic novels you guys read."

He can't argue with that; the cover is a vibrant cacophony of mythical creatures, treasure and dungeons and fire.

"Well, it's good so far," he says playfully, snatching the book from you and hanging it out of reach. You squirm to take it back, arms extended up, giggling when his splayed hand inches up and digs into your side.

"C'mon," he says, throwing the book to the other side of the room and ignoring your teasing protests at his abuse of something so precious. "We gotta have some dinner."

You physically deflate when he says this, and the worry creeps back, settling uncomfortably under his skin. He watches your arched back lie flat against his bed and the smile lines disappear from beside your eyes. On your stomach his hand resumes its soothing, this time partly for you but partly for himself, too.

"What d'ya wanna eat?" he tries, dodging your body language and hoping he's misreading it.

You hum again, a sad and uncertain sound, before saying, "not that hungry."

"Oh, come on," he says, hoping his tone is playful enough that you don't notice that he's playing a part. "You've not eaten all day."

Groaning, you roll over and look away from him. Now he can only see the back of your head and the side of your face, but even then he can still make out the disgruntled look on it. His hand is on your side, where it slid as you turned over, so he continues his attempt to soothe you while he tries again.

"How 'bout some fries? Got some in the freezer, I can just shove 'em in the oven."

He listens to your breathing as you fail to answer him, and wills himself to not get frustrated. This has happened before, your tendency to avoid this conversation, and even when he's tried to ask why he gets nowhere. Over the many months you've been together, plenty of which you've spent almost living with each other, he's not failed to notice the strange ways you interact with food, and slowly but surely he's been piecing it together.

He also knows this is something you have to come to him about, so he'll wait for you. Forever, if he has to. And while he does, he just wants you to get some decent meals in.

Finally, you roll back over and look at him. Your expression is strange, almost sad but also smooth and there are no worry lines. He hopes this is because he's calmed you down.

"Okay," you say, smiling, and his heart does a skip. "Fries sound great."

He leans down, one hand back on your stomach and the other in your hair, and kisses you. It's stilly and awkward because you're at a ninety-degree angle, but he dots more up your nose and across your forehead, relishing in your light giggles.

"Up ya get," he demands, hands creeping underneath you to push you up and off his lap. As he slides out from under you and swings his legs round to stand, you let yourself flop back down onto his bed, into the warm indent he left behind. He watches you curl up in a ball on your side and dramatically shove your face into the comforter, sniffing loudly with your nose scrunched.

"You're so fucking weird," he declares as he stands over you with his hands on his hips. You look up at him, pouting, batting your eyelashes. "And beautiful, of course," he adds, grinning. He leans down again and kisses your cheek, lingering for a second to feel you smile. You reach up and hold the side of his face, thumb on the apple of his cheek.

When he stands back up, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and says, "you stay there, I'll give ya a shout when they're done, okay?"

"Okay," you respond, wriggling to get comfortable and shutting your eyes again. He leaves you be, closing the door softly behind himself, though not before stealing a look at you splayed on his bed dozing off.

He busies himself with dinner, putting some fries from the freezer into the oven. He tries his hand at cooking some vegetables, too, because he wants you to have some balance. As he chops carrots and broccoli and fills a pan with water for boiling, he thinks about the fact that he has never before in his life felt this dedicated to another person. He doesn't feel like what he imagines parents feel like, but he does want you to have the best of everything, all the time. It's a strangely comforting realisation.

As everything cooks, he creeps back across the trailer to his room, where he prises open the door and treads inside quietly. You're asleep again, uncurled somewhat from the ball he'd left you in. He watches you for a moment, enjoying how peaceful you are, face squished into the comforter and hair all over the place.

He steps over to the other side of the room and finds the book he'd thrown earlier. Picking it up, he leaves the room and retakes his spot on the counter by the stove.

He only gets one more chapter in before the timer dings. He drains the vegetables and plates them with the chips on two plates, giving you a few more for good measure, and then he returns to his room to gently shake you awake.

When you stir and attempt to grumpily protest, he says, "food's ready, c'mon."

You stretch again, like a cat basking in the sun, and get off the bed slowly, rubbing your eyes. You follow him to the kitchen and he watches you as your hunger seems to take over. Sitting down at the table, you say, "thanks, Eds," and start eating, seemingly without thinking – vegetables first, as always. He eats too, though always with his eye on you.

When you get halfway through the chips, he sees your expression change. It shifts from a peaceful one to one that is unmistakably uncomfortable, though you carry on, stealing worried glances at him every now and then.

"Okay?" he asks fondly, hand laid on the table for you, an offering. You don't take it, though.

You hum and put your fork down. Wordlessly, he takes both plates and sets them on the side, while you get up and take a seat on the couch. He can tell there's something bothering you but chooses to let you come to him, so he just joins you, switching the TV on as he passes it on his way. He wraps you in one arm and you settle, still silent, into his side, watching whatever mindless show is playing.

A few minutes pass of this quiet, and though he doesn't mind, he, of course, worries.

You wriggle out from beside him and stand, saying "be back in a sec."

He watches you head to the bathroom and shut the door. Willing himself to leave you alone, he tries to focus on the television. But you don't come back, and after a few minutes he decides he'll busy himself with the dishes.

And then he finishes the dishes, and you're still in the bathroom, so he reads some more, perched back on the kitchen counter.

But after another chapter, you're still in there.

So he gives in.

Knocking softly, he murmurs, "you okay in there?"

He hears some shuffling, and the sound of the toilet lid closing and the flush. And then you say, loudly, "yes, Eddie, I'm fine thanks," with a sharpness that makes him wince. That same sharpness as earlier, when he'd asked you if you were okay for the seventeenth time.

Except this time, he's not taking a lie for an answer.

"Honey, I know something's wrong. Talk to me."

You're silent on the other side. He knows this silence; this is you thinking.

He waits on the other side of the door for you. It takes you a couple of minutes but he breathes a sigh when he hears the lock click. You peek out from behind the door and he feels his stomach drop when he sees your eyes.

You're all blotchy, skin wet and raw, and it's very clear you've been crying.

"What's going on?" he says quietly. "Please talk to me."

You sigh, close your eyes, and open the door slowly. He makes room for you to come out and, turning the light off on your way, you stand in front of him and look down at your hands.

"I can't," you say, voice pained.

"Why though? It's only me," he responds, voice equally as sad.

"Eddie, I just can't, I don't know, I-"

"I'm not taking that. It's what I'm here for, I want to look after you."

"I don't need you to look after me," you say coldly.

"Oh, don't give me that."

"I don't, though."

"Yes you do," he insists.

"No, I don't."

"You clearly do."

"Stop being mean."

"It's okay," he urges you.

"No, it's not."

"It's okay," he repeats.

"Eddie, stop it."

"It's okay to need looking after, you know."

"No, it's not! I'm an adult, I should be able to eat a fucking meal and not throw it back up afterwards," you snap.

Eddie doesn't say anything. He can't, too stunned by your confession.

Scrunching your face when you realise what you've admitted, you push past him with your shoulder and a groan.

"Stop," he says, holding his arm out for you but you're too quick for him, striding through the living room to his bedroom. Hot on your heels he follows you and wedges himself between the door and the frame as you try to shut it.

You're crying now, and he's nearly there himself because this is his fault.

"Please just let me help," he pleads, letting himself in and standing on the side of the bed closest to the door. You're around the other side, facing him, hiding your face in your hands. "I want to know what I can do."

"There's nothing you can do," you say through wet hiccups.

"I can listen," he tells you. And he means it – it's all he wants to do.

You heave a deep breath and lower your hands. He nearly falls to his knees when he really sees you, your tired eyes and wet face, but he holds his resolve and stands patiently.

You sit, giving up, back to him. He sits too, with his back to you, knowing that if you wanted to you could ask him to turn around, or sit next to him. Perhaps not having to look at him will make it a bit easier for you.

"I can't do this," you sigh behind him. He feels his heart break at the break in your voice, but focuses on listening to you.

"It's just me, baby," he says. "I'll wait here 'til you can."

The bed bounces beside him as you flop down on your back, the same way you did earlier – only this time you're exasperated, groaning. There's no giddiness, no giggles. He hates it.

"It's been happening for years," you tell him.

"What has?"

You're quiet for a minute, before you say, "me being sick after I eat."

"You make yourself sick, right?"

He's been looking straight ahead, but now he twists to look down at you. Around your head your hair's splayed everywhere and even when your eyes are all red round the edges and swollen, he thinks you look like an angel.

Toying with your hair, his fingers dance their way to your scalp, where they rest on your forehead. Between your brows he smooths the skin that's scrunched in concentration and feels you relax ever so slightly under his touch.

"Yeah," you sigh. "I wish I could stop."

"How long's it been goin' on?"

"A few years. On an' off since I was, like, fourteen."

"That's so long," he says. And then he tries, "Ever had help for it?"

"Once," you answer, "in high school. Worked for a bit but it started again when I left."

"I love you," he reminds you.

"Love you too," you say back, letting your eyes close and keening into his hand where it now rests on the side of your face. "Sorry I never told you."

"It's okay," he assures you.

"I shoulda said something, instead of sneakin' off after meals."

"It's okay, really. Just glad I know now."

After a beat, you say, "I've never told anyone before. Except the therapist, obviously."

"I'm honoured," he says with a low laugh, though he means it. "You're the most important thing to me, ever. I'll do whatever ya need."

You reach up and hold his wrist, and use it to pull yourself up to spin round and sit next to him. Resting your cheek in his shoulder, you hum, and he brings his arm around you, smoothing it up and down your arm.

"Wanna eat anythin' else?"

"Hm, no. Can we go out for breakfast, though?"

"Sure can, sugar. Benny's?"

"Yes please," you say, grinning. Bringing your legs up, you swing one over Eddie's thighs so you're straddling him, and wrap your arms around his neck.

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck. The vibration tickles and he squirms underneath you. Bringing his arms around your middle, he squeezes back.

"Nothin' to thank me for, baby."

You pull back and hold his face in your hands, surveying his face with a funny expression.

"What?"

"How'd I land such a handsome-" You kiss his face to punctuate each word. "-Smart, kind, brilliant boyfriend?"

"Dunno," he responds, kissing back. "Same as I dunno how I landed a gorgeous, brave, perfect girlfriend."

You kiss the skin under his ear and again on his jaw.

"Wanna go to bed?" he whispers as you look at him. Your faces are an inch apart, so you rest your forehead on his and close your eyes.

"Yeah," you breathe, the air warm on his face, and he can't help but chase it and lean in to kiss you. He does so softly, feather-light, and when you break away you say, "don't, I probably taste gross."

"Don't care," he replies, kissing you again, warm and like home.

"Seriously, Eds," you giggle against his mouth, pushing firm palms on his chest. "I gotta brush my teeth."

"Nuh-uh," he says loudly, gripping you hard around your waist with his arms. "Hold on," he warns. With all his might he lifts you, with his hands slid under your thighs, as he stands. When he does he wobbles a bit, making both of you laugh into each other's mouths, and as he regains his balance he walks you across the room. You kiss sloppy, happy marks down his neck and across his shoulder through his tattered old t-shirt, while he makes his way to the bathroom where he sits you on the lid of the toilet.

Once he's rinsed it and added toothpaste, he hands you your toothbrush and does the same to his own. You stand there in relative silence, brushing until you're satisfied. When you spit in the bowl he jabs your side and you make eye contact in the mirror, where he makes to spit into your hair. You wriggle away, squealing, hands covering the crown of your head, and he laughs as he stands back up, rinsing both brushes again and replacing them in the cup. After a routine splash of water to your face, which you swat away as always, he takes your hand and follows you back to the bedroom.

"Love you," he tells you as you lie in bed, slotted into one another.

There are a thousand other things he wishes he could tell you, too, like how he's pretty sure he'd be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren't for you, because he can't seem to keep his own head screwed on right most days; like the fact that even though you hate him telling you this, he loves nothing more than when he comes home from a gig to find you asleep, mouth hanging open, drooling all over his pillows; and like the fact that he's certain now that this is all that he wants, forever, and that he knows he's gonna marry you.

Maybe he will tell you that one. One day.

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