#tw: mental health

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 20 - Reason

What went before.

So many good fics posted today you really don’t need any more but this has been on my mind most of the afternoon so I’m posting to stop myself tinkering further otherwise I have zero self-control and it’ll become even more of a monster. Ignore it until tomorrow and read the other stuff first.

This section didn’t go the way I thought at all. I had a very definite plan but… in the end, it felt trite and certain characters weren’t yet in the place they could either adequately deliver or receive the lesson that is needed. It’s not the right time.

So… instead we have Scott making some questionable decisions and Virgil… well… um... you know… *gestures helplessly*

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“Hi short stuff… I missed you.”

Virgil’s eyes widened momentarily then narrowed before he turned away and started pointedly at the ceiling.

“Stop it.” The whisper was quiet but the command was clear.

“Stop what?” Scott hissed back.

“Stop pretending.”

“I… I’m not!”

The hurt indignation nudged both the pitch and the volume of his denial up a notch too far and Alan was suddenly bolt upright. Scott didn’t miss his youngest brother’s hand curling protectively over Virgil’s. Where Scott’s should have been.

“Alan, please would you fetch Grandma?”

Virgil tensed and shuffled closer to Alan, whose gaze darted between the two of them like a puppy not knowing which whistling owner’s heel to run to.

“But… Scott, she said… I mean… um…”

“Damnit, Alan I’m not going to hurt him!” Scott’s voice cracked painfully and he gritted his teeth to steady his jaw.

“If you’re not here to do your job and give him his life back I don’t want to talk to you.” The voice from the bed was deadly calm.

“Alan, Grandma. Now.”

Alan prised his hand from Virgil’s grip and hastened to the door with many a panicky backward glance.

Scott collected himself and walked slowly and around the foot of the bed towards Alan’s vacated seat, focusing hard on maintaining a relaxed, unthreatening posture. Which clearly didn’t work at all because he was surprised by the snarl from the bed

“Get away from him. You’ve done enough.”

Scott couldn’t restrain the double take. Nor could he ignore the sinking feeling as he noticed how, despite having shuffled into a seated position, Virgil’s hand remain curled on the sheet as if Alan still held it. And… there was the cat-like movement of his brother’s head as he leaned into a ghostly hand for comfort.

Scott retreated hurriedly until his back hit the wall, sending a throb of pain through his left shoulder. What was he doing? This was precisely what the psychiatrist, via Grandma, had warned him about. But he just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

He couldn’t just stay away.

Which was why he was edging forward again, but on the other side to where… the other one… appeared to be. He knew he mustn’t pose a threat to… it. Him. Ugh. He bent to pick up the sketchbook and placed it carefully on the bedside cabinet.

Alright, so for the moment he had to pretend be Dad. Ironically not a new role for this life-long Jeff Tracy understudy. Only… this time he needed to handle things better than his father had. Taking a breath he tried to ignore the feeling he could combust under his brother’s glare and to work out how best to defuse the situation.

The height difference wasn’t going to help, so he crouched again, wincing at the strain on soles of his feet and looked up into the brown eyes with as much love as he could convey.

“I’m sorry, Virgil.”

“Hmmm.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or scare you.”

“It’s not about me!”

“Or Scott. Or any of you.”

Virgil’s hand curled tighter over the sheet.

“I’m sorry I left. I didn’t mean to.”

Virgil glared at him and Scott fought the urge to gulp and look away. In the end Virgil broke eye contact first with a sigh and redirected the laser gaze to the ceiling again.

“This is pointless. I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

“What don’t I get? I want to get it.” The eye roll encompassed Virgil’s entire face. “I really want to understand. What I did. Please tell me what you are thinking… I promise I didn’t mean to leave you all… I didn’t know…”

“For goodness sakes Dad get your head out of your ass! This isn’t about your accident.”

Scott mentally scrambled to regain control of his jaw.

“Then… what?”

Virgil emitted the kind of frustrated yell usually reserved for when he found celery crunch bar wrappers in Two’s air intake for the third day running. Only worse. Much worse.

“It’s what you left behind.”

Dad would probably have some kind of a clue what this was about… so Scott tried to pretend he did too, forcibly restrained the bewildered look trying to make its way on to his face and inclined his head encouragingly the same way he did to ranting Board members… the same way he remembered his father doing those times when younger Scott got himself all worked up over a problem.

“Go on. Please.”

Virgil seemed distracted by whatever… whoever… he saw on his left… Scott recognised the eyebrow-based form of argument usually directed at himself when they were in public. Then he shushed the interloper impatiently and turned back.

“It’s Scott… you shouldn’t have… it’s too much! It’s not right! He…”

Suddenly something snapped inside. Scott found he couldn’t sit there and calmly listen to Virgil tell his father why it was a mistake to have left them in his care, that he wasn’t coping. That he wasn’t enough.

He had to fix this.

He grabbed his brother’s right hand in both of his and struggled to his feet.

“Virgil? Virg, buddy it’s me. I’m Scott. Please… I… I need you to see me. Please look at me. Really look. It’s me.”

His little brother stared at him, his eyes full of pain and confusion. His expression softened for a moment and Scott’s breath caught as he hardly dared hope. But then he looked to his left and up, tilting his head slightly as if listening to someone Scott couldn’t see or hear. Someone the same height as him who inspired that look of devotion Scott had never even realised was there until it was gone. The ‘other’ Scotty - the one Virgil seemed to be putting his trust in right now.

Real life Scott did not trust him one bit and his racing heart was pumping blood so cold a tiny part of his mind was distracted by wondering if his organs could get frostbite.

“Prove it.”

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#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #earth&sky #earth and sky #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #resurface fic #thunderangst #Tw: psychosis #Tw: mental health

[irondadmadlads]

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

[nobrashfestivity]

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

[ohtobeleah]

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

[grace-writes-shit]

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

[arradraws]

🫶

#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

[raplinesprince]

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

[imdefyingmavity]

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.

#bbc ghosts #robin the caveman #thomas thorne #alison cooper #found family #tw: mental health

[starrylevi]

“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

[angelic-dew]

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

[corrodedhawkins]

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.

Tag list:

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@khaleesibubblegum

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #tw: mental health #Melissa writes

[witchesnet]

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

[allelitewrestlings]

...because I am a man.

#hangman page #adam page #jon moxley #wrestlingedit #aewedit #aew #aew dynamite #all elite wrestling #tv: dynamite #dynamite: s04e41 #ours: gifs #maker: s #* #feud: moxley vs hangman #tw: mental health #tw: medication mention

[uselesshunger]

Girl, Interrupted (1999)

#filmedit #girl interrupted #winona ryder #moviegifs #winonaryderedit #girl interrupted 1998 #tw: depression #tw: mental health #*thingamabobs #*gifs

[abiiors]

hot chocolate ☕ // matty healy x reader

promptober '23 - day 19

a/n: for all my girlies with the big sad, the cold months approach :/ cw: discussions of mental health, mentions of depression wc: 1.1k

matty has a pit of worry in his stomach. he’s had it for about two days now, for as long as the house has been unusually quiet. he’s alone in their dimly lit kitchen, barely any sunlight streaming in. whatever manages to sneak in through the parting of the clouds, gets diluted by the sheets of rain falling from the sky. 

it’s dull and grey. exactly the kind of weather she hates. 

matty gives the brewing pot of coffee another look and decides on abandoning it. 

he knows what he will see when he walks into the bedroom—she will be in bed, in the same three day old pyjamas, messy and unbrushed hair, “taking a nap”. not that he cares about how she looks. it’s just the niggling pit that doesn’t let him sit still. 

“darling?” he calls from the door, watching for any signs of movement under the duvet. “you awake yet?”

she should be, he thinks to himself. it’s nearly noon. he wants to make them some lunch but she doesn’t move, doesn’t reply to his question. matty gnaws on his bottom lip and walks in. 

“i’m making something for lunch…” he says again, sitting by her side of the bed and resting a hand on her back. matty knows she’s not asleep. her breaths are nowhere near deep and even. 

“i know you’re awake,” he says softly, moving his hand to her forehead, checking for any signs of an illness just in case. but deep down he knows the illness is not physical. 

when matty threads his fingers through her hair, it’s not the usual soft and smooth strands he’s met with. his fingers get caught up in the greasy knots, accidently pulling on some hair. she winces.  

“go away, matty, ‘m not hungry,” she mumbles into the pillow, voice feeble and barely audible. “‘m sleepy.”

he tuts. it’s a lie—if he’s right, and he suspects he is, she hasn’t properly slept in days, tossing and turning at night. and yet she has left the bed only a handful of times in the last few days. 

he’s tried giving her space, to let her sort things out on her own because that’s usually what she prefers. but he draws the line at skipping meals. 

“sleep after lunch,” he counters, and goes to draw the duvet off her. 

it’s not even a moment later that matty fliches, appalled when she slaps away his hand. 

“i said i’m not hungry!” she snaps, turning away from him, cocooning herself further, shut off from him, from the world. 

he stills and for a moment the only sound in the room is that of the rain hammering against the window. it’s haphazard, nowhere near a soothing beat. this rain sounds more like an anxious heartbeat—loud, odd and out of sync. 

then he hears the sniffle and his heart breaks. 

“baby…” he approaches again, trying to at least slide the duvet off her face. “hey, look at me please.” 

he doesn’t care that she snapped at him or slapped his hand away. right now, he cares that something is deeply wrong, and he’s ready to beg if that means she’d tell him. 

“g-go away, matty,” she tries again, tries so hard not to let her voice waver or crack and yet he hears it. 

matty decides enough is enough, and pulls the duvet off her entirely. 

her pyjama top is wrinkled and bunched up around her waist, and if he’s being honest, she smells a little bit but he can take care of that later. showers and perfumes and oils can wait. everything else in the world can wait. 

“i won't,” he declares firmly. “now you can either keep fighting me or you can tell me what’s wrong. either way, i’m staying right here.”

she looks at him through dull eyes that widen slightly with every word, jaw clenched to keep her chin from wobbling even as her eyes turn pink first, then watery until the tears fall one by one. matty doesn’t shush her, he just quietly pulls her into his chest, letting her cry it out. 

“i’m so cold…” she says after a few minutes. her voice is already hoarse, a whispery shadow of what it’s like on the good days. today it’s barely more than a squeak. “so cold. all the time. i just…i’m just so tired, i can’t. i don’t know what to do. and whatever i do, i can’t g-get, can’t get warm.”

she breaks into another round of tears by the time she’s done—loud, gut-wrenching sobs that break his heart but he lets her be. his only job is to be there and hold her. he just needs to be the sun.

“i know what will help,” matty mumbles into her hair, pressing a small kiss to her head. “give me two minutes?”

and he does return two minutes later as promised. matty practically makes a mad dash to and from the kitchen, balancing the mugs in his hands and his socks sliding on the wooden floors around the corner. but the liquid in them stays unscathed. 

“there we go,” he announces as soon as he’s back in the bedroom. a tiny pang goes through his chest when he sees her sitting up in bed, arms hugging her middle. she looks small, smaller than he’s ever seen her. but there’s a miniscule spark of curiosity in her eyes. 

he’ll take that spark. he’ll nurture and rekindle it. 

“chef matty’s hot chocolate,” he presents it with a flourish smiling at her raised eyebrow. 

“i know you said you weren’t hungry and you were cold. so i thought this would be a good compromise?”

for a moment she doesn’t say anything, only takes the mug from him and cradles it close, lets the steam waft over her face. hot chocolate won’t do anything for a cold that goes bone-deep. but it’s a start. he can do the rest of the work. 

“take a sip?” he nudges, sitting back in the same spot as before. he brings his own mug up to his mouth, nudging her to mimic him. together they drink their first sip. 

instant sweetness floods his mouth, comforting warmth creeping down his throat and settling into his stomach. he can only hope it does the same for her. 

and he will be there for the rest of it. for all the cold days that come after this. 

lemme know what you think <33

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