#plus I tend to bury stuff I make under ten thousand inane reblogs

[mypunkpansexualtwin]

For the hurt/comfort prompts could you do 17/22? If it's not to much of a bother of course.

Absolutely! I was watching Sojiro’s social link again and getting emotional about it again. Apparently I’m just having a Time to Hurt Futaba Week. Sorry in advance? Under a cut cause I have no idea how long this is gonna be, and also trigger warning for references to her past neglect.

17 - “Hey, listen to me. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you.” 22 - “They won’t take you away from me ever again.”

Send me a hurt/comfort prompt and I’ll (hopefully) write you a thing!

It had been three days since Youji Isshiki’s most recent unannounced visit. Three days since he’d threatened to report Akira to the police for having the gall to not let the man deck him. Three days since Isshiki swore he’d sue the clothes off of Sojiro’s back and the cafe into the ground. Three stressful days of waiting and stocking up on medicine in preparation for Joker’s first solo trip into Mementos in the many months since he’d become a Phantom Thief.

Sojiro didn’t know that last part. All he knew was he’d found himself awake in the middle of the night, probably somewhere closer to morning than midnight but not close enough to sunrise to warrant actually waking up. The house was quiet, he was perfectly comfortable, not to mention still tired enough to be sleeping, which meant why he’d even woken up was a mystery. And then something clattered loudly in the kitchen downstairs, followed by a sharp yelp. Futaba. Sojiro didn’t actually think she was hurt, not really. She was perfectly capable of fixing herself a snack and tended to be up at all hours of the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. Really, there wasn’t any reason for him to be concerned, but... it was better to go down and check just to be sure.

He’d expected to find Futaba raiding the fridge, maybe dusting off and muttering curses at an eating utensil that had jumped out of her hand while she was cooking. Instead, she was curled up on the floor, hands pressed to the headphones over her ears and holding on with a white-knuckled grip, tears streaming down her face as she watched the broth from an overturned instant yakisoba spread across the kitchen floor. His daughter shrunk further into herself when she noticed him standing nearby and her shallow, hiccuping breaths were quickly approaching out-and-out hyperventilation. It had been a long while since Futaba had had any issues with food, not like she did when she’d first arrived from her uncle’s care, if one could even call it that. With his surprise reappearance, it wasn’t much of a surprise that she’d relapsed.

In the early days when Sojiro had just taken her in, the only indication she’d eaten anything was the occasional package of instant noodles or container of leftover curry gone missing, “stolen” from their usual spots. A few weeks of reassurances and a well placed sticky note in the lid of a particularly good batch of curry finally got through to her. Sojiro had never once failed in that promise to feed her whenever she asked, no matter what or when, and frequently even made a point of pushing her to eat after she’d started locking herself in her room. Even if she’d healed considerably since then, there were still days the old fear of going hungry or being screamed at for needing to eat lingered and while those scars on her heart may have faded, they never really went away.

It was just one more thing Sojiro hated not knowing how to fix for her. At least he had plenty of practice talking her through it. He stepped over the cooling puddle of broth and settled on the floor next to her, then slowly raised a hand to put on her shoulder. Futaba flinched away at first, but then pressed into the touch. She made no effort to move from where she was hunched on the floor, though, so Sojiro settled for running his hand over her hair.

“ ‘m sorry,” she hiccuped, “I wasted--”

“Futaba.” His voice was gentle, but firm when he cut her off. “Just breathe. You could have dumped out a whole week’s worth of curry for the cafe and I wouldn’t care. Are you alright? Did you burn yourself?” She shook her head. “Can you tell me what happened?” She nodded. “Alright. Deep breaths. Take as much time as you need.” Futaba gulped down a few breaths and inched a little closer to Sojiro as he kept petting her head.

“I had a... had a nightmare. I was at U-uncle’s again because he won... he won custody. He wasn’t letting me eat,” she explained shakily. “Ak-kira was in jail because of me and-and-and you were on the street b-because he took the cafe and... and he was right, I really am cursed--” she sobbed and buried her face in her hands.

“You are not.” Sojiro pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight while she cried. “That deadbeat wouldn’t know a good thing if it punched him in the nose, and you, Futaba Sakura, are the greatest blessing in this old man’s life.” He squeezed her once for emphasis, and she hugged him right back. They sat like that for a few minutes while she got her breathing back under control.

She let out a trembling sigh that shook her whole body. “I just wanted to make myself some food, remind myself that I’m okay. That’s all. Didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry.” Futaba mumbled against his undoubtedly tears-and-snot soaked nightshirt. She took another shuddering breath and tensed in his arms again. “He’s gonna try and take everything from you because of me, because we haven’t been able to--” His arms tightened protectively around her.

“Hey, listen to me. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you. He won’t take you from me ever again. Nobody will.” Sojiro assured her adamantly. “I will do everything in my power to protect our family, understand?” She nodded, arms still locked tight around him.

“Way to go, super dad,” Futaba chuckled weakly, still muffled against his chest.

Sojiro patted her head again with a chuckle of his own. “Nothing super about doing what I should’ve from the beginning.” And then her panicked babbling finally registered in his head. “Wait, what did you mean ‘we haven’t been able to’? Haven’t been able to what?” He asked flatly, pulling back just far enough out of the hug to see the sheepish look on her face. Sojiro fixed her with his best Stern Dad Look in return, then shook his head. “Y’know what, forget I asked. Help your old man up, will you?”

If a bright red calling card turned up with Youji Isshiki’s name on it, Sojiro didn’t need to know anything about it. It wasn’t as though he could be mad, not when he just said he’d do anything to protect the family. Expecting anything else of the two Phantom Thieves under his roof would just make him an old hypocrite.

Futaba disentangled herself and offered him a hand. He pulled himself up to his feet with a grunt and set to cleaning up the sad, cold mess that had been his daughter’s intended comfort food.

“I’ll replace this in the morning.” He said as he dumped the soggy mess into the trash. “So, you have your heart set on instant yakisoba, or can I heat us up some curry before we go back to bed?”

The way her face lit up was answer enough.