Idk if you still do mha since you haven't done it for a while. If you don't then you can ignore it.
The Todoroki family reaction to Enji having a child before Rei. Basically M!Reader is their older step brother and has a perfect quirk like Shoto.
Secret love child
Tw! Cussing, endeavor
Male reader who’s probably early-mid twenties
A/N: I am still doing MHA, it’s just most of my requests have been demon slayer and if Endeavor doesn’t have any haters then I’m dead or kidnapped
Enji
The way this man would excuse your existence. The audacity
He was like “Well Shoto is my backup if this one failed.”
He sees this as no problem but I feel like he does know the problem
He just doesn’t give a shit
Will most likely dump you on Rei like he did with your biological mother
Rei
This makes her loose a bit of her sanity again
She’s obviously upset but she’s a mother
She will mother you even if you’re not hers biologically
She checks in on you and your mother a lot, no doubt you both have some sort of trauma from Endeavor (who doesn’t?)
She calls you her child. Not because of endeavor but because she wants to
Toya - Dabi
He’s rightfully pissed
All that abuse, all that training, all that pride for nothing. Nothing.
Like Rei, it makes him a loose a bit of his sanity
Unlike Rei, he doesn’t accept you into the family
He comes to picture you as more of an older cousin than an older sibling but that’s better than having him hate you
Fuyumi
She really tries to make the best out of the situation even though it’s killing her
She’s probably the one who makes the most effort to bond with you and have you be apart of the family
She wants to get to know her eldest brother
She’s trying to out her family back together again, even though it’s not the same as it was
Natsuo
Takes this as another reason to hate endeavor
He’s definitely the most wary about you
What if you were just like him? What if you turned out like Toya? What if-
Like Toya, he doesn’t see you as family but he does see you as more of a family friend
Shoto
He probably takes this the worst
Learning that he was only a replacement for you, hurts.
Learning that you have the same quirk as him does spark some interest in him
With some convincing from his sister, mom and Izuku, he tries to form a healthy bond with you
Dad! Dabi lets you cry into his jacket at the most minor inconvenience. you dropped your lollipop, you can cry. you missed your cartoon on the TV, you can cry. you tripped on air, you can cry. he needs to wash your plushie and it's going in the washer, sweetheart you can scream and punch and cry as much as you want.
becuase being able to cry, to feel pain, and to feel tears on your cheek instead of blood, and not having to worry about whether or not you are loved and cherished by your family is arguably on of the greatest gifts that anyone could be born with. and him? he had his taken away.
hii!! I was wondering ( if u are comfortable with if ofc!!) if you would be ok writing a comfort/hurt fic with dottore and a reader who is struggling with an eating disorder? If not then no worries!! I really loved your dottore sh x reader fic (as someone who has struggled with sh in the past ) it was so beautifully written!!
💕🙃
໒⦂ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐔𝐏 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄.
notes. hello anon, tysm for the request! glad to hear that you enjoyed the sh fic & i hope that you are doing better now! as for your request- i can do my best! although there are several eating disorders so i’m going to try and keep this as vague as possible so that it’s inclusive to all types- hope thats ok!
genre. hurt / comfort
tw. eating disorder, starvation / loss of appetite, nausea, forced feeding, mentions of vomiting ( vaguely described ), panic attack, use of ‘dear’, self degradation, mentioned dissection ( dw nothing happens ), injection ( just electrolytes )
dottore x gn!reader.
gripping the fabric of your clothing beneath the table, your gaze fell to the spread that had been placed before you, watching as each of the harbingers present served themselves- your partner included.
a dinner party, dottore had mentioned only a few hours ago with a sigh, as though it had been interfering with his work in some way, which was.. mostly true — he was in the middle of something when the invitation had been delivered to his lab, but it was at the request of her majesty.
and if he wanted to continue his research without complications, unfortunately he had to comply with these social gatherings. even when he knew he was not entirely welcomed by his fellow colleagues, apart from the ninth.
though that might have been diplomacy from having replaced his lungs and prolonged his life, for all he knew. but it mattered little- he had you to attend with him and make the ordeal just slightly more bearable.
but you were silently falling apart in your seat, feeling your stomach ache in protest of the many dishes — so beautifully crafted.. you were almost sure that the staff had spent the entire day cooking to perfection for the most important figures of the nation.
and all you could do was stare down at delicate porcelain — the finest of quality, straight out of liyue. perhaps a gift from one of the harbingers during one of their expeditions.
maybe.. maybe if they spoke among another and busied themselves with the food — it might deplete quick enough. where conversation would tune out your existence and the food would diminish into nothing.
alas, your lover never missed a beat, no matter how newly established your relationship was.. he picked up on even the smallest of details.
usually.
because of how busy he was, it was relatively easy to get away with some of your habits. he often ate on his own terms due to his irregular work roster, and since you had work of your own — it was easy to not draw much attention to your own, near nonexistent meal schedule.
but now — met with an occurrence that drew attention to the one thing you’d been carefully trying to hide from him.. it was putting you on a spot that you prayed you would never have to face.
just a little longer until your habits were gone with the winds of time, you kept trying to tell yourself.. and the day has never come.
nor would it ever.
“oh dear, has your head floated off into the clouds?” dottore inquired lightly, snapping you from your thoughts as your frame stiffened, gaze lifting to your left before looking down.
pristine ceramic.
..there was no denying it now, was there?
observing silently behind the mask he wore, the second harbinger leaned over to pick a little bit off of each entree when you didn’t act, placing them carefully atop your plate in the way he often would at back at the lab.. when dissecting subjects or constructing devices.
however, it reminded you more of a parent instead. making sure that their kid ate their vegetables, truthfully, which made your face burn with shame, as he was your lover- not your father.
several sets of eyes drifted towards your exchange with him, and with each passing second, you couldn’t help but feel impossibly smaller.
was it too impolite to excuse yourself without having eaten or spoken much? would the tsaritsa think you to be disrespectful or ungrateful for her generosity? would the harbingers begin to whisper among themselves while your lover dealt with the humiliation? would you disappoint your him no less with the condition you had never been able to bring yourself to tell him — a doctor — about?
your world was spinning.
“lovely, that should do it. no need to shy away from partaking, there’s plenty to go around, and my colleagues would certainly not want you to starve..” he encouraged, returning his silverware to his own plate — half eaten.
more than you’ve held down in the past week.
the mini selection taken from each dish gazed up at you invitingly, and your stomach growled in want equally as it did in warning.
“it would be rude to not eat after he went out of his way.”
“you would not want to be ungrateful, would you?”
“people are truly starving elsewhere without access to food.”
picking up your fork and knife with shaky hands, you nodded despite yourself, lowering your head. “sorry, guess i was lost in my own thoughts..” you tried apologizing, plastering a smile that you’d hoped might be convincing enough of your case. there were too many people around, making it far to easy to be picked apart from where you sat — vulnerable to characters that had power comparable to that of the gods.
your partner included.
cutting into the piece of meat that he’d taken for you, you swallowed down your nerves, bringing the piece past your lips as you chewed slowly.
pleasant, as expected.. yet poisonous all at the same time — weighing your tongue as though on the precipice of booking your next trip to the nearest washroom.
but you couldn’t just sit there, silent and pretty for the rest of the night with a singular bite of food awaiting to be spat the minute everyone retired to their chambers. you were expected to eat, and by most table manners.. finish what was on your plate.
pained as you were, humiliating your partner and yourself by association was not what you wanted tonight — not ever, for that matter.
and so you cut into another piece.
savory, quality venom slid down your throat, and the rest followed — each quicker than the last. you were hungry, after all, no matter the never ending lack of appetite.
porcelain, now marred with residual hues stared back up at you almost mockingly, and it took all of you to remain in your place. leaving abruptly after scarfing down your plate was far too sudden, greatly suspicious, and highly offensive. they would piece it together quicker than bullets could pierce flesh; patience was necessary.
even if you could feel it knocking in the back of your throat, warning you through the way your stomach twisted itself into knots of that all too familiar nausea.
every ounce of your being pleaded silently for time to be kind just this once — to tick faster on that ancient clock, but it only seemed to go slower. a wicked mockery.
conversation dragged on without any intent of being saved for another gathering, although your lover had seemed.. more attentive than ever before.
in fact, while you ate — there was just this sliver of crimson that you could swear was in the peripheral of your gaze each time you leaned forward for a bite.
nothing slipped by him.
nearly digging your nails through the fibers of your attire, right into the flesh of your thighs, you nearly jumped when dottore suddenly rose from his seat, black-azure appearing before your eyes. “would you join me on the terrace, my dear? some fresh air might do us good, it’s a full moon tonight, after all.”
lifting your gaze from his hand to his masked face, you silently thanked whoever might have been watching over you for being ushered away from the dinner table, though you’d cursed them all the same.
he was going to find out.
your hand lowered tentatively into his as you stood from your own seat, nodding slowly. “i’d like for that, yes.” you muttered back, turning to his coworkers before tipping your head forward. “t-thank you for the meal.” it felt like pulling teeth to get the words out, but you had to. for dottore, and your own credibility.
the halls were quiet, save for the measured click of boots, as you kept to his side. but rather than the balcony, like he’d mentioned.. you found yourself being brought elsewhere.
an all too familiar venue.
your heart nearly stopped, shriveled and crumbled in your chest.
“zandik — why are we-”
“rest assured that you have my word on us going to the terrace, but i’d like to assess you first, dear.” the man in question cut in, lab doors hissing open with the scent of antiseptic permeating the air.
swallowing back the acid teasing cruelly at your oesophagus, you followed with shaky steps towards the examination table.
dottore’s hand seemed to leave yours when you stopped in front of it, a soft hum leaving his lips. “take a seat, i’m going to get a few things. when i return, i better find you in this exact spot and upright. am i understood?”
it wasn’t to say that you’d never heard him speak this way before. if you were ever injured or feeling unwell — it was like flicking a switch from lover to doctor. frightening, but strangely caring.
maybe a little more frightening this time around, however.
you obliged nonetheless. “yes, zandik.”
cold metal blanketed by a thin sanitary sheet greeted your rear as you shivered despite the warmth of your attire, willing your nerves to remain confined to your stomach. an effort you had yet to master, truthfully.. but you had to try — even if this lab had seen worse than someone’s coughed up dinner.
the thought alone had a hand clamping over your mouth, tears prickling at the corners of your lashes.
thankfully, dottore was ever the attentive type, arriving without delay wheeling a small trolley of things. a cup of mint tea, a cloth floating in bowl of icy water, a syringe of a something you couldn’t name, rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs and a bucket.
he knew.
the harbinger started by bringing the cloth to your forehead, pushing back whatever hairs might have been in the way to place with the cool towel. “you forced the food down.” he remarked without delay, not wanting to beat around for once.
which was typical when it came to health related exchanges.
biting back a whimper, you nodded because what good was lying to him now, averting your gaze. “i.. didn’t want to make a scene.”
a pensive noise left him, hands withdrawing from your forehead to reach for the needle. “and how long has this been going on for?” he then followed up, clinically, holding his hand out for you to offer your arm.
you did, still facing away as not to witness the injection. “awhile..” came your murmured response, eyes squeezing shut at the prick that broke your skin with such frightening precision.
he was quiet after that, running a dampened ball of fluff on the puncture before returning your arm to your side. “were you ashamed to tell me?”
chewing on your bottom lip, your head bobbed thrice in agreement, brows knitted together. “i thought i could break out of it on my own and leave it a distant memory once i was better.” you paused, cradling your hand in your lap. “but it just.. persisted, and now here we are.” caught red handed, under the care of your partner when he was meant to be with his colleagues.
a sigh left his lips as he shook his head, discarding the cotton. “foolish thing. i’ve told you plenty of times before to come to me no matter the issue — certainly over something that has carried on for this long.” he muttered, reaching for the teacup as he held it out to you. “at least if i knew, i would have come up with a viable excuse for the two of us to skip out on this dinner, and i..” a slow breath. “would not have forced that meal upon you.”
taking the ceramic into your hands, you stared down at your warped reflection for only a second before placing the cup beside your thigh, taking his cheeks into your hands.
like clockwork, he leaned down just a little to meet your lips, unable to reject the exchange — especially if he had brought you, his beloved, discomfort.
the one person he had wished to never hurt.
“it’s not your fault — i.. should have told you this sooner, rather than opted to handle it all on my own..” you spoke up after breaking away not long after for breath, if only to spare him.
he understood it well enough, back away to give your space with a hand lingering at your thigh for reassurance. “i hope dragging you away for treatment might make up for my actions, then.”
taking the cup back into your hands, you nodded slowly, allowing your appendages to quirk with something more real, albeit tiny. “i appreciate it, even if it made my anxiety spike up a little..” you chuckled quietly, bringing the porcelain to your lips for a small, careful sip. “that said, i’d still like to go outside after this.”
“then we shall, after you’re stable enough and ready.” he promised, gently squeezing your leg. “for now, slow sips for me.”
notes. this was longer than expected but i’m hoping i explored this okay — and if you are dealing with this ( and anyone else reading ), please be sure to seek out the necessary help to take care of yourselves🫶 don’t try to handle it all on your own.
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
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The House of the Hearth is quiet in a way that feels intentional.
You’re used to silence here — not the peaceful kind, but the kind that listens back. The children have been dismissed for the night, corridors dim, lanterns burning low. You’re finishing paperwork you were never meant to see, fingers stained with ink and secrets, when you feel it: presence before sound.
Arlecchino doesn’t announce herself.
She stands across the room, hands folded behind her back, sharp eyes assessing not the work — but you. There’s no warmth in her gaze, but there is focus. Precision. Ownership.
“You stayed,” she says, voice calm, unreadable.
You tell her the work needed finishing. That the House runs better when things are in order. You don’t mention that you wanted to prove something.
She steps closer. Each footstep measured. Controlled. You’ve faced monsters that roared louder than her silence, yet your pulse betrays you now.
“Loyalty,” she says, circling you slowly, “is not proven through exhaustion.”
She stops in front of you. Tilts your chin up with one gloved finger — not gentle, not cruel. Just exact.
“But you continue to choose this place. To choose me.”
It’s not a question.
Arlecchino does not offer comfort or soft confessions. What she offers instead is protection sharpened into a blade. When she leans closer, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous, you realize this is her version of intimacy.
“Remain useful,” she murmurs. “And nothing in this world will touch you without my permission.”
Later, when her coat brushes your shoulder as she leaves, you notice she’s extinguished every other lantern in the hall.
She didn’t want anyone else seeing you.
Dottore (The Doctor)
You should have known better than to wander into his lab alone.
The air smells of antiseptic and ozone, machines humming like they’re breathing. You’re halfway through cataloging data when the door locks behind you with a soft click.
He emerges from behind a partition, mask tilted slightly, eyes alight with interest that has nothing to do with kindness. He circles you the way a scholar circles a hypothesis.
“You show no fear,” he notes. “Or perhaps you simply hide it well.”
You tell him you trust him.
That makes him laugh.
“Trust is an inefficient survival strategy,” he says, stepping closer. He lifts your wrist, examining your pulse like it’s a fascinating malfunction. “But I do admire your consistency.”
Dottore does not love in any way that resembles safety. His affection is attention — invasive, consuming, relentless. He remembers everything about you: your reactions, your habits, the way your breathing changes when he stands too close.
“You are not replaceable,” he says casually, as if discussing spare parts. “I’ve tested the theory.”
When you ask what that means, he only smiles.
Later, when an experiment goes wrong — violently wrong — you’re pulled behind him without warning, his body shielding yours from debris and flame.
He doesn’t comment on it afterward.
But the next day, your name is etched into a restricted-access file, red-stamped DO NOT TOUCH.
No one else ever dares.
Sandrone (The Marionette)
The workshop is her sanctuary — and now, somehow, yours.
Clockwork limbs hang from the ceiling like suspended thoughts, metal shells half-assembled across long tables. Sandrone sits among them, small compared to her creations, eyes distant as her automaton looms behind her like a silent guardian.
She doesn’t look up when you enter.
“You’re late,” she says.
You apologize. She hums softly, adjusting a gear with delicate precision. You watch her hands — steady, confident, capable of building things that could crush cities.
“You don’t fidget,” she notes suddenly. “Most people do.”
You shrug. Say you like being here.
That makes her pause.
Sandrone’s affection is quiet. Observational. She shows it by making space for you — by allowing you to sit beside her, by handing you tools she doesn’t trust to anyone else. Sometimes she asks you to hold a piece steady, your fingers brushing hers, sparks jumping not from machines but something far more fragile.
One evening, you find a small automaton on your desk. Crude compared to her others, but unmistakably personal.
“It watches,” she says, not meeting your eyes. “If you’re harmed, it will alert me.”
You ask if that’s concern.
She hesitates. Just a fraction.
“It’s… efficient.”
But later, when you’re tired and resting against a worktable, you feel something gently draped over your shoulders — her coat, still warm.
She never takes it back.
Pantalone (Regrator)
Power follows money, and money follows him.
Pantalone’s office overlooks the city like he owns it — because, in many ways, he does. Ledgers are stacked like fortresses, contracts signed in ink that might as well be blood.
You stand beside him as he negotiates, watching opponents fold under his smile.
Afterward, he offers you a seat. Wine. Time.
“You see the world clearly,” he says, studying you over the rim of his glass. “That is a rare talent.”
Pantalone’s affection is indulgent. Calculated generosity. He buys you things not to impress you, but because he likes seeing his influence reflected in your life. Every gift is a reminder: I can provide. I can protect.
When threats arise — political, economic, personal — they vanish quietly. Debts forgiven. Names erased.
“You are an investment,” he tells you one night, fingers brushing yours as he passes a document. “And I never allow my assets to depreciate.”
But in rare moments, when the masks drop, he lets you see the exhaustion behind the ambition. The fear of losing control.
And when you reassure him — genuinely — he holds onto that far tighter than any coin.
Childe (Tartaglia)
With Childe, everything is loud.
The sea crashes. Laughter rings. Fights break out and end just as quickly. He drags you into his world with a grin and doesn’t let go.
“C’mon,” he says, grabbing your hand. “Just one spar. I’ll go easy.”
He doesn’t.
But afterward, bruised and breathless, he’s laughing like it was the best day of his life. Like you are.
Childe loves fiercely and without strategy. He worries about you even when he pretends not to. Checks your injuries. Brags about you to people who definitely shouldn’t know you exist.
When danger comes — real danger — the shift is immediate. Playfulness gone. Eyes sharp.
“No one touches you,” he says, stepping in front of you, voice low. “That’s not negotiable.”
Later, when the adrenaline fades, he’s quieter. Sitting beside you, shoulder pressed to yours.
“I don’t know how to be careful,” he admits. “But I’ll try. For you.”
With Childe, love is chaos — but it’s honest.
And he’d fight the world with a smile if it meant you stayed standing beside him.
Request extracted from my old account (@phantombstone).
Dottore x Reader (Genshin Impact)
Part of my Insecurities Serie.
Word count: ~500.
Content warning: hurt to comfort.
Within the walls of the section directed by Dottore, a rumour had recently spread. It was as silly as annoying, the kind of afternoon tea and butter biscuits gossip that was not necessarily intended to be destructive, but which inevitably made me nervous, as I was one of the two people being targeted.
It was nothing new that everyone assumed Dottore and I were a couple because of all the time we spent together, but now there was a new element that seemed to be attracting everyone's attention: the question of kissing.
"Do they kiss when they're alone?".
"Why do you even care? Help me move this thing".
"But think about it: isn't it funny? One covers his eyes, the other covers their mouth. They match!".
Laughter, because it was absurd, and then hypothesis after hypothesis about what we might be hiding. Chronic conjunctivitis? Strabismus? Medusa's eyes? Vampire teeth? A cleft lip? What if there was no mouth at all? That's how it usually went.
A more straightforward and realistic colleague had guessed right at some point, at least with me: ugly crooked teeth and, as a result, an awkward smile.
They never noticed me, but when I heard them, my hand instinctively flew to my mask to make sure everything was perfectly covered.
When I returned to the laboratory, Dottore was bent over a sheet of paper covered with sketches and messy calculations. Before I even had a chance to say hello, he surprised me with an absurd question: “So, what are you hiding under that mask?”. He asked it in an amused tone that he rarely used, and after a moment of shock, I realised he was referring to the rumour.
"Did it reach you too?".
"There was a group of newbies talking about it. They were having fun, but when I fired them, they didn't feel like laughing anymore", he sneered. Evil, I thought, but despite that, I found myself laughing heartily.
"The ones I caught today were particularly... nasty", he continued, putting down his pen and looking up at me, taking a break from all his frantic scribbling. "You must have heard them too, since I saw you freeze and change direction. Those idiots didn't notice a thing".
I had heard them, yes, and they were particularly interested in the theory-non-theory of crooked teeth and strange smiles. I didn't reply, but Dottore had more to say.
"You see, I really can't stand gossip and unconstructive criticism, especially when it's unfounded and senseless. What they said about you in particular went far beyond stupidity and idiocy".
He crossed his arms over his notes and when he leaned a little closer to me, a slight smile appeared on his face. At that moment, he looked like Zandik the youth, not the serious, macabre, frightening and moody Dottore everyone knew.
"That smile and those teeth had no flaws when I kissed them".
I love your twisted wonderland doodles sm <3 Wanted to suggest something with Leona, maybe a neck kiss while cuddling? or anything you like! I just love that lion :,)
Just now realised the neck kisses part so you get a bonus doodle ‼️
As a slow artist that also gets bombarded by school work I don't get to put out that much fully rendered artworks </3 so seeing how I managed to do four fully rendered Leona pieces in 2025 is quite an achievement for me HSKAJSJAHA IT'S NOT A LOT BUT IT'S MORE THAN WHAT I PUT OUT LAST LAST YEAR AND THAT'S GOOD‼️‼️‼️ let's hope I can make more this year 🥹 (maybe more focused on my yumeship/OCxCanon stuff too.....? 👀)
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