#also baby it probably is you who is the severely wounded

[berilynzoe]

“Who’s the severely wounded? Is it me?!”

Joseph Quinn in WareFare 2025

[julymusings]

Jason is the type of person to put on some shitty romance movie only for his date to fall asleep and for him to get strangely invested.

are you still watching?

i saddle up my horse and I ride into the city. i make a lot of noise 'cause the girls they are so pretty. riding up and down broadway on my old stud leroy, and the girls say...

or; 3 times Jason Todd gets hooked on your television choices [3.7k]

jason todd x fem!reader; this is so real...and so clever!!! i LOVE the concept. i did get a little carried away and lost the plot unforch...pt3 is just a sex dream ab cowboy!jason so. also I apologize for taking forever to respond. tw...klance mentioned💀 & suggestive but not explicit. and i do bash on voltron in pt2 a little but it's all in good fun🫶i did my time with them divider

i.

“Baby, I love you, but if you don’t pick something soon I’ll call Dick in here to entertain us with his backflips.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you huff. Though as you scroll, once again, through all the options on Netflix, you fear his threat may be serious.

You reach the bottom of the page, having found nothing. You peek at Jason from the corner of your eye and hover the cursor over the ‘Back to Top’ button.

“No.” He reaches to grab the laptop from you, but his injuries hinder his usual swiftness. You shriek in objection and roll away to the other side of the bed, computer held tight in your clutches.

“Babe.” He groans. He tries to reach across the bed to you, but his grasp falls short by mere centimeters as you frantically begin another scan of the site.

“I will find something, I promise!” You say. “Just one more minute!”

He rolls his eyes. “You said that ten minutes ago. And I’m the one who’s injured, shouldn’t I get to pick?”

You spare him a glance, pondering over his wrapped foot elevated on a pillow, and the bandages around his torso. His arm has fallen flat on his bed, having given up on its attempt to catch you. That alone should guilt you into saying yes; his childhood bed is just shy of too small for his adult self, so being unable to reach the other end speaks to the severity of his pain. And to add salt to the wound, you know he isn’t exactly fond of staying at his father’s house, but he is in no shape to recuperate alone.

“I would say yes, but you don’t know any good shows! All you watch is Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.”

He scoffs. “I thought you liked that show!”

You scoff back, imitating him. “I did. But a person can only stand so much of Guy Fieri talking with his mouth full.”

He quiets, probably searching for a rebuttal, but you can’t imagine he’ll find any. You use the opportunity to resume your search unimpeded. 

After a few minutes, you perk up. “Ooh, they added New Girl on Netflix!” You scoot back over on the bed to his side, satisfied with your choice.

“What is that?” Jason asks.

You whip your head to him. “You don’t know New Girl?”

He pushes a stray hair behind your ear, eyes narrowed. “Should I?”

Your eyes flit to the computer screen, then back to him, and you sigh. “No, I guess not.”

You’re about to press play on the first episode but stop yourself. “Do you want to choose? You’re already hurting enough, I don’t want to torture you with this too. Besides, I’ve seen it, like, a million times anyway.”

“No, it’s okay.” He turns the computer towards him and presses play. “I don’t need any of my siblings barging in and catching me enjoying Guy Fieri. I’d never hear the end of it.”

You titter at his remark and set your laptop in the middle of you, a little farther away so you don’t have to crane your neck to see the screen. He lifts his arm to drape it around you but struggles with raising it past shoulder level. You meet him halfway by ducking underneath his arm and settling it over your shoulders. He kisses the top of your head in thanks.

Leaning against his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing is too hypnotic for you to focus. Paired with the warmth of his skin, bare so as not to obstruct access to his wound dressings, you are quickly lulled to sleep.

It must be several hours later when movement against you disturbs you from sleep. The room is almost pitch black, save for the dim glow of the computer, still on and resting on your legs a few feet away. The air is thick with late-night silence, and fighting against the heaviness of your eyelids is so laborious that you have to use your hand to pry them open. Jason is squirming next to you, hand outstretched, low huffs of pain slipping from his mouth.

A shot of adrenaline courses through you and you stumble into action.

“What happened? What hurts?” The laptop tips off your legs and falls to the bed, landing on its side as you scramble to your knees and face him. “Should I get someone?”

“What? No, I— I’m fine, why?” He squints at you through the darkness.

“You—” Your throat catches and you take a deep, steadying breath. “It sounded like you were in pain.”

“No, honey, I’m fine. It’s okay. You can go back to sleep.” Jason takes your wrist and gently pulls you back into his side. You don’t budge.

“Then why were you moving?” You scan him for any signs of a worsening injury. Downplaying his own pain is not something you can put past him, unfortunately.

“I…” His eyes look past you for a quick second. He swallows. “I wasn’t,” he says, unconvincingly.

You narrow your eyes at him, then turn around to see what he is looking at, despite his (false) reassurances. Your laptop, still on its side, lies awake and open to the Netflix website. You pick it up to get a closer look at the screen. The player has gone dark, and overcast in white lettering; ‘New Girl: Are you still watching?’

You turn back to Jason, dumbfounded. “You risked hurting yourself…for this?”

Now adjusted to the darkness, you can see his cheeks tinged with pink. “No?”

“Jason.”

“You’re the one who put it on!”

You check the clock in the corner of the screen.

“It’s three AM, Jay. You need to sleep if you want your body to heal.” You argue.

“It wasn’t on purpose!” He defends. “I can’t sleep sitting up, and I need help lying down.” he fails to meet your eyes as he says this.

You cross your arms, tilting your face to catch his gaze. “And what am I doing here?”

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” he mumbles.

You just stare. It takes fifteen seconds for him to break.

“Fine. I was enjoying the show. I wanted to keep watching. Happy?” He punctuates his statement with a shrug but groans through a clenched jaw, remembering the injuries to his upper body.

“Okay, just—” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers. “It’s too late for this. Can we please go to sleep?” You don’t wait for an answer, shutting the laptop and placing it on the bedside table.

He leans off the headboard so you can help him shift his body down the bed and lie flat, and you lie down next to him.

“Comfy?” You ask.

“Yes.”

“Need anything?”

“No.”

“Okay. Goodnight,” you whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jason says quietly.

You snuggle into his side. It’s quiet for a few minutes, but you can tell by his breathing pattern that he’s still awake. He whispers your name into the darkness, hoping you’re still awake.

“Yes, honey?” You answer.

There is a beat of silence. Then, “When do Nick and Jess get together?”

“Go to sleep.”

ii.

Jason leans against the kitchen counter behind him, hands in his pockets, as he watches the microwave dish spin in a slow circle. It whirs under the yellow lightbulb, the flat paper packet puffing up among raucous popping. With sixty seconds left to kill, he searches the cabinets for a large enough bowl to fit the family-size packet of popcorn, as well as the various add-ons you adore.

The first time you invited Jason over for a movie night, in the beginning stages of your relationship, he looked on in wonder as you combined the grocery store’s entire snack aisle into one salty, sugary, buttery abomination in a jumbo Hello Kitty bowl.

“How do you even come up with something like this?” He had asked, ripping open the bag of pretzels as you emptied the fresh batch of popcorn into the bowl.

“Wait!” You stopped him just before he could pour the pretzels in. “Sugary stuff first. While it’s still hot. Then it gets all melty and good.” You dumped an entire bag of mini marshmallows, caramels, and M&M’s in, and gave it a few stirs. “And to answer your question, I was in high school and experiencing intense munchies.”

You gave him the OK to add the pretzels, so he did. “I envy your dentist,” he said, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

Now, with plenty more movie nights under his belt, you trusted him enough to assemble your party mix on his own while you select something to watch.

The microwave beeps. As he rips open the popcorn bag, you yell from the living room.

“Hey, what about The Bourne Identity?” You call out. “Have you—? Wait.” You cut yourself off.

“What’s it about?” He yells back. You don’t answer. “Babe?” He calls again.

“Never mind! I’m gonna keep looking!”

He adds the sugary snacks first, stirring them until they melt, just how you like it. He’s tearing into the bag of pretzels when he hears you shriek.

He drops the bag and bolts to the living room, pretzels scattering all over the counter and floor.

“What happened?” His eyes bounce around the entire room, scanning for any threat.

He’s unsure what he expected to find, but it was a tad more perilous than you simply sitting on the couch, staring open-mouthed at the TV.

“Uh…nothing. Sorry.” Your face flushes. The remote is still raised and pointed at the screen.

“Vol…tron?” Jason reads from the title sequence that plays in the preview window. “Is this some kind of anime?”

“No…sort of, maybe,” you say. “It doesn’t matter. I'm just surprised to see it is all. I loved this show when I was younger.”

“Is it any good?” He asks.

You look to the side, thinking about it. You settle on: “Define good.”

His forehead wrinkles, mouth falling slightly open. “Did you…enjoy watching it?”

“Define enjoy.”

“Okay, forget I asked.” He sighs and goes back to the kitchen.

When he returns a few minutes later, floor pretzels in the trash and counter pretzels swept into the bowl, you’re already watching the first episode.

“This your choice?” He asks. You take the bowl in your lap and he settles down next to you, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Definitely not. Just wanted to reminisce until you got back.” You frown at the bowl. “Where are all the pretzels?”

He chuckles. “That’s what you get for screaming. Dropped ‘em on the floor.”

You pout. “I didn’t scream. I was surprised. Now the ratio’s off, there’s not enough saltiness to balance the sweetness.”

“Poor baby,” he croons sarcastically. “Only getting a quarter bag of pretzels ‘stead of a full.”

You were going to switch the television to a movie you both liked, but you spent the entire first episode bickering about the important role each ingredient plays in, what you call, “The Party Mix Experience”. The next episode auto-played on its own, and you let it.

During the second episode, you and Jason were absorbed in a competition to see who could catch more flying popcorn pieces in their mouth (Jason), which then devolved into seeing who could dodge more popcorn kernels thrown to the face (also Jason).

By the beginning of episode three, you settled into meaningless chatter while paying half-hearted attention to the TV screen, and by the end, you were laid out on the couch, head in Jason’s lap, while you scrolled on your phone and he stroked your hair. You drifted to a light sleep, coaxed by his fingers scratching at your scalp. 

When you wake from your nap, there’s a blanket draped over you and Jason’s hand is still settled in your hair. You push yourself up to sit beside him, speaking through a yawn. “How long was I asleep?”

Jason adjusts the blanket so it covers both of you. “Um…I dunno. Three episodes, maybe.”

“You’re still watching,” you remark, as the end credits for episode six begin to roll.

He says nothing. You both stare as the auto-play timer for the next episode counts down. Next to the remote, his fingers twitch.

You purse your lips, suppressing a grin. “You know, there’s quite an online community for people who like this show.”

“Ha. Were you part of it?” He muses.

“Yup. And I deserve a medal of valor for my time in those trenches.” You kiss his cheek and stand up, stretching your arms. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he says. His voice is low and gravelly with weariness.

You turn toward the bedroom when a call of your name stops you.

“Is it just me, or is something goin’ on between the red guy and the blue guy?”

“Oh, honey,” you sigh. It’s loud and pitying. You bend down to cup his cheek and draw him in for a kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Babe!” He yells after you as you disappear into the bedroom. “You didn’t answer my question!”

iii.

It’s only a Hallmark movie, but with how he’s reacting, it might as well be six hours of paint drying. Jason is not eager to spend his night watching some boring, formulaic cliché, but it's late and you don't have anything better to do.

“That is absolutely not true,” he says when you counter his protests with this excuse.

“It’s two o’clock in the morning, Jay. Is there anything else to do, except sleep?” You rub your tired eyes. Both of you could use some sleep but, burrowed as you are under a pile of blankets, moving all the way from the couch to the bed seems impossible.

He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear. “I can think of a few things.”

His warm breath tickles your neck, and you feel a shiver despite the heat you’ve conserved in your little blanket burrito. The faintest of kisses is pressed behind your ear, and his eyes glint with familiar mischief when he pulls back.

You brush him off, rolling your eyes in amusement. “Do any of those things involve flannel-wearing farmer hunks or the True Meaning of Christmas?”

Turning back to the television, you take the remote from his hands, catching the tail end of a disgruntled mumble about how ‘I can buy a flannel…’

He grumbles a few more complaints during the movie’s first act (‘he’s not even that hunky’) before you scold him to silence. Once he’s quieted, and you settle more comfortably into him, your head is nestled securely in the crook of his shoulder with arms wrapped around his bicep. The warmth of him has you fighting against the tempting call of REM. Right around when the independent, successful, businesswoman protagonist discovers the handsome, flannel-clad man who helped repair her car is also the single father who runs an honest family business, you start to drift off, falling asleep amid thoughts of wearing plaid in the countryside.

You open your eyes to find yourself standing in a vast, open field. 

Thump. Thump.

It’s unclear where the sound is coming from, but a splash of red in your periphery stands out. You turn; there’s a barn off in the distance.

Thump.

Your legs carry you in its direction. Growing closer by the second, the thumping sound echoes louder in your ears. When you round the corner of the structure, the front doors are propped wide open by cement blocks, and bales of hay are stacked outside the doors. A large figure, whose back is to you, is lugging a bale by its straps. He hauls it onto his shoulder, and his shirtsleeves tighten around his thick arms. He brings it to the barn, tossing it onto a pile of more hay bales. It lands with that same thump.

When he turns around, it’s in slow motion.

The sleeves of his plaid flannel are rolled up his arms, exposing his large, veiny forearms. Under the flannel, he sports a simple white t-shirt, jeans, and work boots that give him an extra inch of height. His face and chest are shiny with sweat, and his shirt is soaked through. He holds a toothpick between gritted teeth.

It’s Jason. In a cowboy hat.

He takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. Its dampness makes it stay slicked back rather than settling into its usual shape where little curls are always falling over his eyes. Then, he sees you. A slow, sly grin spreads across his face. He puts his hat back on and removes the toothpick so he can speak.

“Hey there, little lady,” he drawls lazily, the Gotham accent you’re so accustomed to replaced with a southern twang. It does something to you that you’re a little embarrassed to admit. He looks you up and down, pausing above your knee for a split second before continuing.

“Hi,” you say, averting your gaze from where it had zeroed in on a droplet of sweat running down his neck. Your face burns redder than his beautifully sun-kissed cheeks.

He chuckles. “You jus’ gonna stand there or you gonna lend a hand? Compost ain’t gonna turn itself.”

He easily hauls up another bale, and you follow him into the barn.

You watch as he shirks it onto the pile, then repeats with the remaining few bales. He seems to forget you’re standing there as he gets so absorbed in his work, expression tightening in focus. You lean on the wooden post behind you and soak it in; every sound, every flexed muscle, every display of firm strength has you feeling like the air has been punched out of you. He carries the final bale into the barn and his low grunt as he throws it off his shoulder has a swooning sigh escape you. It catches his attention.

Your chest tightens in embarrassment as he prowls closer. He leans over you, hand against the wooden post right above your head. With him this close, a smattering of freckles is visible over the bridge of his nose, likely due to all the sun exposure. Huffing and sweaty, his eyes drag down your face and stop at your mouth. He swallows hard, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

He lifts his free hand to trace over the thin strap of your top. His fingers ghost over the skin, barely touching. “This is pretty,” he says, voice low. “What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ all the way out here?”

And you just can’t help it anymore. You lurch up to him, desperate to close the space between you. You kiss him hard, and he kisses you back, his hand rising from your shoulder to grip the side of your neck. His thumb brushes your jaw, and your hands grip the material of his flannel, yanking it down to bring him even closer. You pull him against you so roughly that your head bumps the post behind you from the force. He smirks, teasing, into the kiss as his hand comes to cup the back of your head.

“Easy, sweetheart. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” After getting his fill from your lips, he slowly graces a path to your neck, kissing, licking, and nipping as he goes. His relaxed leisure perfectly juxtaposes your frantic hunger for him.

You grip his face and pull his mouth back to yours, kissing him with even more fervor. You take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting down with little care for gentleness, and tug at the skin. He groans, and it rumbles deep in his throat. You soothe the spot with your tongue, and your eyes roll back into your head at the salty taste of his skin. As his tongue slides between your lips, he removes the hand that’s leaning onto the post and settles it on the skin of your thigh. It drags upward, feeling every inch of skin on his fingertips before disappearing under the hem of your skirt. At the same time, your hands slide down his body. His touch explores higher, and yours slips under his shirt to ground yourself on the hard skin of his abdomen, which has become slick with sweat.

The sound you make is debauched, coming from the deepest recesses of your stomach. He pulls back, wearing a cheeky smile. He opens his mouth to speak and says—

“Wait, what the fuck?”

You jerk awake. Jason is yelling.

“Why would you go with him?” He exclaims at the TV, and then turns to exclaim to you, “Why would she go with him?”

You stare at him, agape, trying to process your surroundings and asking yourself what just happened.

“Shit. Were you asleep?” Jason puts his outrage on hold.

You nod. “Yeah— yes.” Your voice comes out scratchy and hollow. “I was.”

“Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says. His eyebrows furrow. “Are you hot?”

“What?”

“You look warm.” He presses the back of his hand to your flushed neck. “Is it too many blankets?”

Though his hand is cool, you feel even warmer, the image of his hand gripping that same spot of your neck flashing through your mind.

“I’m…good,” you say. “I think I’ll go to bed.” You dig yourself out of the shell of blankets and stand, but he doesn’t follow.

“Oh.” Jason glances at the TV, which is still in a commercial break. “You— did you want me to come?”

You don’t know what to say.

“The, uh…” He runs a hand through his hair, and you have to stifle a gasp. “The guy from her successful city life tracked her down to the small town to get back together. She said yes.” Then he sighs, sounding genuinely distressed. “There’s no way they’d end it like that, right? He was awful to her!”

At this, you crack a smile. “Do you want to finish the movie, Jason?” A hint of satisfaction seeps into your tone.

He clears his throat. “…Maybe.”

You plop back down on the couch with a hum. He interlaces your fingers and kisses the back of your hand before redirecting his attention to the screen.

“Babe?” You ask.

“Hm?” He answers, not looking away from the movie.

“Do you own any flannels?”

SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOYYYYYYY

love when u leave messages and feedback it feeds my praise kink

for part one: cut to me sitting up in bed shrugging my shoulders over and over again to see which muscles it uses and if that coincides with the injuries i gave him to see if that action causing him pain makes sense (it was inconclusive so i made his injuries vague oopsie)

for part two: the bourne identity (2002) is a movie about a guy named jason who wakes up not knowing where or who he is and somehow has elite training in combat and surveillance, though he doesn't know where it's from. he runs around functioning on pure instinct to survive while getting bits of his memory back, remembering that whoever he worked for was cutthroat, expected him to obey no matter what, and forget the person he used to be before joining their mission. sound familiar?

for part three: cut to me genuinely tweaking while proofreading bc i let my friend read it and so rereading it, knowing that she read it, was so embarrassing. i was screaming into my pillow & it took 20 minutes to get through 2k words bc i had to keep taking breaks. not an exaggeration

If any of you saw me change the theme of my masterlist 5 times yesterday only to change it back to what it was before…no you didn’t

[abbyfmc]

Yandere Emperor! x Female! Reader #3:

Continuation of the previous part.

-"I like to see those wounds, because I know that I was the one who caused them to you."- In the event that the yandere emperor is a sadist, and there is a chance that you disobey him or catches you in an escape attempt, of course the emperor himself would punish you and then heal your wounds and perhaps caress them in a moment, kiss or something like that.

-"What's wrong? Do your wounds hurt? Well I'm glad and I hope this reminds you of what will happen if you dare to run away."- It would be the same as the previous case. The emperor would punish you physically and then heal you himself.

-"I wait for you tonight / Wait for me here tonight."- If we see possible historical records of the emperors and their harems, there were what were "night services in bed" for both the concubines and consorts, as well as for the empress (legal wife of the emperor) in which the emperor could have fun with them or just sleep. You would not be the exception; so the yandere emperor would summon you to his room, he would take you by force, or he himself would go to your room and close the doors behind him.

-"Take off your clothes, I want to see that beautiful body. Do it for me; I want to see and touch every area of ​​your body, as well as lick every fold of your skin."- During night services in bed, he will like to have you at his complete mercy. There is no further explanation for this.

-"I will allow your parents to visit you, only if you behave well to me."- In the past, they rarely let the empress or concubines be visited in the palace by their relatives. The yandere emperor would use this to his advantage, as well as keeping a close eye on every visitor you receive.

-"There's only one thing I'd like you to do, and that is have our children."- Many emperors used their empress or concubines to expand the imperial family. There were emperors who expressed love for their empress and the occasional consort or concubine, and children were born from these unions, but then there were women from the harem who were simply used to have babies. Here the emperor loves you madly, and obviously he will want you to get pregnant probably not once, but several times perhaps.

-"Anyone who dares to attack her will be severely punished publicly as a warning not to mess with what I love."- The yandere emperor obviously won't let even his own empress (if you're just a consort or concubine) or any of his other imperial women touch you or insult you. The thing is worse if the person who trates you badly is a guard or servant, but whoever it is, the emperor could punish him with: slaps, whippings, forced labor, capital punishment, capital punishment to his family or clan of origin, etc.

-"How dare you slap my beloved? Who do you think you are?."- Well, that's what the yandere emperor would say when he sees how the imperial women or some other servant hurt you.

-"I want to surrender to your majesty, but only if it ensures the well-being, safety and happiness of my children. You must also promise not to harm my babies or the children of the other women in the imperial harem."- If you have seen a few historical records, as well as some historical palace dramas (especially those that come from China), you will know that there have always been fights and palace intrigues between the harem women and their children to reach the top; for reasons such as favor, family pressure, safety and well-being of their children, etc.; leading to things like: accidents, poisonings, attempted murders, attempted abortions, and more terrible things.

Well, although I cannot manipulate the thoughts of the dear reader, I imagine that if you live in an environment of this style, in which you have children who could be in danger, you will want to take advantage of the loving obsession that the yandere emperor has with you to protect your children and ensure them a happy future, right?

10. -"Try to kill me? You are very naive."- There isn't much explanation. You tried to kill the yandere emperor and he stopped you in time, teaching you a lesson in the process.

11. -"If you have a child with another man, I will have no shame in sending the brat away and killing the idiot."- Just another stern warning.

12. -"Like, what am I doing here? Did I scare you? I think I did because those eyes of yours looking at me with fear… I love it."- It is likely that the yandere emperor is capable of sneaking into your room at night while you sleep, and that on one of those nights you woke up when you felt him lay down next to you and gave you a tremendous scare.

-The End.

[ghost-proofbaby]

the seasons pass (but you never do) - e.m.

summary: he knew your reputation. he knew you had you way with half of hawkins. it was never going to end well - but that didn't stop him.

warnings: reader is NOT a good person (need to emphasize this), billy hargrove is involved and sort of ooc, smut, oral (fem receiving), a lot of hurt, not a 'happy' ending, reader has severe issues with self-esteem (not in the usual obvious way), very self-sabotaging reader. mentions of reader having adult relationships with multiple male characters. NOT A 'HAPPY' ENDING. minors dni - 18+

pairings: eddie munson x fem!fuckgirl!reader (with mentions of steve x reader, johnathan x reader, and billy x reader.)

wc: 8.4k+

a/n: i cannot emphasize enough - the reader in this fic is very toxic. she is not a good person. this does not end well. also, be wary, as billy is used as the easiest companion who can align with her being a bad person, so she is friends with him. this probably won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's been a year in the works! thank you to anyone who reads. <3 also, HUGE thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for making that banner for me. i am undeserving of your talents baby.

oh, also, here's a fun playlist to go along with it.

SUMMER, 1988

It was always going to end this way. It’s how it’s supposed to go - you met him, you wanted him, you got him, you left him. There was never any illusions on your part as to what this was. He knew your reputation. He knew the ending. You knew the ending. 

It was always going to end this way. 

There was no amount of flowers he could have got you, no amount of midnight rendezvous to change this course. It never mattered how his laughter wound your chest tight or how his fingers fit a little too perfectly between yours. You didn’t do long-term relationships, and he always asked for too much from you. You could give him a summer, no more and no less. He knew that, you knew that, all your previous flings knew that. There was only one ending ever in sight for the two of you.

So why does it hurt so much when you catch sight of him around town with her? 

Chrissy Cunningham is beautiful. She’s all shades of sunrise pinks, flavors of sweetness that spur stomach aches - the epitome of enchantment and a type of softness you couldn’t compare to. And when you see her arm in arm with him, you can see that beauty of hers painted across him. Her pinks paint roses on his cheeks, her laughter etches dimples into his cheeks you’d only ever seen in the late hours of the night. She makes him happy. She makes him look lovesick. She doesn’t hide him in the darkness, she flaunts him in the light, and he looks devastatingly beautiful without the shadows. 

You should be happy for him. It shouldn’t phase you; you didn’t bat an eyelash when Steve Harrington had taken to dating every other girl in the town after your spring with him. You never winced when Johnathan Byers started dating Nancy Wheeler after a flirtatious fall with you. Billy Hargrove had been on the same page as you, ready to brave a chilling winter with you and accept when the ice melted along with the infatuation, returning your winks when you spotted each other with your newest one night stands in shared bars. 

But Eddie’s summer stuck to your skin. No amount of showers run cold, no amount of new partners who you won’t allow to spend the night, wash you clean of him. The change in the leaves only amplified the ache left in your chest when August turns to September. The flowers weren’t the only things wilting when September flashes into October. 

You miss him terribly, and it’s all your fault.

You let him stick around far longer than you should have. You let his wandering lips slot between yours and you let him sleep at your side from the very first night. When it was all said and done, you were the one that broke every single imaginary rule you had set for yourself, and the blame was yours to carry. Eddie Munson was never going to be a three month memory to wipe away with the steam of your mirror. He’d done it, he’d left his mark. He’d managed to make the streets of Hawkins feel cold and empty in his absence, to make everything dull in comparison to your life before him. 

You empty the last of your glass of wine, all bitter and tinged on your tongue, and chuckle internally as you watch Eddie’s hand’s find Chrissy’s hips from across the bar. Go figure. 

SPRING, 1987

The Hideout was busy as ever, booming with business on a Saturday night as you reentered the scene. Your ‘date’ for the night was still outside the bar, surely not even entertaining the thought of coming back inside. 

He hadn’t taken to you breaking the news that it was over kindly. 

“You never let them down easy, do you?” Billy chuckles as he leans against one of the standing tables near the bar. He had seen the look in your eyes when you dragged the nameless boy out the front door; he’d seen it plenty of times before. Starry eyed boy, ever-fleeting girl. They were fools, and they should have noticed your wandering eyes and lack of commitment from the get-go. 

“Never,” you smirk back as you approach him. The live band had just finished, the music over the speakers nothing compared to the deafening screams of the guitars that had played, “It’s not my fault the boys in this town never learn their lesson.” 

Billy only shrugs and throws back the last of his whiskey, “What did it this time? Did he drop the big L? Maybe he brought you flowers like Harrington did that one time?” 

“Oh, God,” you place a hand over your heart dramatically, “Please don’t remind me. Breaking his heart nearly broke my nonexistent one.” 

“Yeah, right,” Billy cackles, “Still can’t believe you ever gave the sap a chance. Or what about Byers, hm?” 

“Couldn’t break a heart I never had. He always had eyes for Wheeler, that’s what made it fun,” you shrug and grab at a fruity drink that had been abandoned at the table, “To answer your question, he got clingy. All jealous because I was making eyes at the lead singer,” you tip your chin towards the stage that’s now empty and take a sip of the cocktail, “Say, what happened to your date? She looked pretty.” 

“You were making eyes at Munson? Doll, I knew you were getting desperate after me, but him?” Billy cuts himself off with a low whistle. 

“Shut up,” you take another long sip of the drink. It’s sweeter than your preference, but free alcohol is free alcohol, “Tell me what happened to the blonde you were chatting up.” 

“I’m more into redheads.”

“Aw, but it looked like you two were really hitting it off.” 

“I had to have three shots before I could stomach her laughing at my jokes.” 

You reach over to pinch his cheeks, receiving sharp slaps against your wrists.

“Hot,” you coo before leaning back and ending his attack against your hands, “You know, if we both strike out tonight, we could always go home together.” 

“You struck out, the night is still young for me,” Billy grins wickedly and looks around the busy bar for emphasis. 

There’s a small commotion at one of the doors to the side of the stage, and you glance over to catch sight of the band that had been playing exiting. 

The lead singer, Munson as Billy had referred to him, was just as stunning when taken down from his stage pedestal. His hair had been pulled back into a low bun, his torso once exposed on stage now covered in a faded Judas Priest tour shirt, but his Cheshire smile on his face was just as brilliant without the stage lights. Dimples hidden by the dark bar lighting, plush lips and scruff framing his face. 

Billy catches you staring at him.

“Maybe you didn’t strike out,” he hums, “You gonna go for it, hot stuff?” 

You smile in return. Something dangerous, something evil yet inviting, “I might. I do need a new play thing for the summer, after all.” 

“Careful. I’m sure there’s a line of groupies willing to fight you for the Eddie Munson.” 

Billy had been mocking you with a shrill voice, but he had been wrong. 

There was no line of girls for you to compete with as you approached Eddie. And if there was, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. From the moment you had smiled at him, uttering your name into Eddie’s ears over the bass of the music, placing a careful hand on his shoulder and telling him how much you just adored his music, he had been hooked. You had him in your grasp from the start. 

And maybe Billy knew that as he flashed you a sly grin over a redhead’s shoulder as you dragged Eddie behind you later that night, heading for the restrooms that patrons notably didn’t use. 

It was your lipstick smeared over Eddie’s neck that night, it was your name falling from his lips as you pressed him against a stall wall, it was your hair that he tangled his hands in as you sat pretty on your knees before him, it was your nails digging into his jean-clad thighs as he fucked your mouth. No, other girls never would have stood a chance. 

By the end of that night, you hadn’t even cum, but you thought nothing of it, still smug that you’d found yourself a new supposed victim. You’d never considered which one of you truly held the match, which one of you might bleed gasoline rather than crimson blood. 

All that you considered was the fact that you’d wanted Eddie, and you’d got him, just as it always went. 

That was only the first night. 

SUMMER, 1987

You fall for him in the summer. You convince yourself you’re in control still, but it’s fruitless - you’d lost control the moment you’d tasted him on that dizzy spring night rather than waiting for the arrival of summer’s heat. 

“Come over.” 

Two simple words, yet the moment you’d spoken them over the line, Eddie had wasted no time to speed his way across town for your apartment. He was officially at your beck and call. You said the word, and he was at your dispense. 

It was the fastest he’d ever arrived at your doorstep, rapping his knuckles against familiar rosewood and listening to the familiar weight of your footsteps approaching the door. 

“Hey, you,” you sigh softly once you catch sight of him in your porchlight. The creatures of summer buzz as background noise as you drink him in. Same wild curls, same deviant smirk. There looks to be new rips in his black jeans, and his shirt is wrinkled, but none of that shatters the dreamy image of him to you. 

You still want him just as badly as you had the first night. 

“Sorry I took so long,” he teases, leaning into the doorframe you rest your hip against, “Traffic, you know.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just terrible this time of year,” you play along. You both know he’d made the fifteen minute drive in under ten minutes. But there’s something in the warm air, something electric and fluttering and addictive and palpable. You’re sure if you were to rest your hand flirtatiously against his chest as you normally did with your rotation of partners, that he’d burn you. 

Something new. You tell yourself it’s just the excitement of a fresh Summer plaything, and you ignore the voice that whispers with the reminder that this started in the Spring. 

“You gonna let me in?” he nods in the direction of your apartment behind you, bathed in a soft yellow from the dusk and the lamp on the table beside your couch. 

You bring a hand to your chin and tap a finger mockingly, “Hm, I don’t know. Should I?”

“You should,” he leans even closer.

“I might need convincing.” 

His breath washes over your cheek, so gentle you could have mistaken it for the summer breeze. You can smell the spice of his cologne, the stubborn smoke from his last cigarette. It makes your head spin.

“Convincing, you say?” he murmurs as his lips graze your earlobe, “I’ve been known to be convincing.” 

This was something you enjoyed about him. He wasn’t like other boys - he didn’t fall to your feet and praise the ground you stood on, not directly. He didn’t follow you like a lost puppy. He took the time to dance with you, to entertain you with banter and to enrapture you with the chase. Maybe that’s why Spring and Summer felt the same when it came to him. 

“I call bullshit,” you laugh breathlessly as his lips connect with your neck, making a trail of pecks until he reaches the bare skin of your shoulder. “You still haven’t convinced me to listen to Metallica.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” he whispers against your skin as his fingers sneak beneath the strap of your tank top, “Just be patient.”

The pet name strikes a kink in your armor, and in an instant, your hands are on his shoulders and dragging him into the living room, barely remembering to slam the door shut behind him. 

You never let them call you nicknames normally. Billy had been the only exception. 

But when he calls you baby, something blooms in your chest. And it’s vines and thorns alike twist and prick your gut, deflating your better judgment as the two of you are a mess of clumsy limbs that can’t seem to navigate your hallway fast enough. You can’t seem to get him to your bed fast enough. 

“Off,” he demands against your lips when you finally have him sitting on your comforter, thighs straddling his as his hands tug at the tank top’s hem. 

“What happened to patience?” you tease, but you’re already complying, shucking off the fabric and exposing yourself to him. You’d foregone a bra - it was too hot in Hawkins this time of year. 

He doesn’t offer you an answer, hardly taking the time to suck in a deep breath before his mouth wraps around one of your peaked nipples and his large hand spans across your back to press you as close to him as he can get you. You’re already moaning too loudly, sure to receive noise complaints from the neighbors tomorrow. But you’re not thinking about the neighbors or tomorrow, you can only focus on his tongue and lips, working soft magic over your body as he twists the two of you so that he’s hovering over you. 

“Fuck,” you blissfully breathe out, fingertips raking through the roots of his curls. His mouth has moved on to your other breast, leaving blooming petals of bruises in its wake. 

Another thing you’d never allow to happen with any of the other boys. 

No marks. A simple rule. A forgotten rule when it came to Eddie. 

“You like that?” he chuckles as he places a final chaste kiss to your chest, lifting his head and staring up at you with his bambi eyes. He had the kind of eyes you could get lost in, wander and wade through for hours if given the chance. Shadows of brown and honey intertwining, beckoning to you with a promise of the adoration you seeked out. 

You do like that. As a matter of fact, you love it. 

“I like it better when your mouth is busy, rockstar,” you say as if you wouldn’t listen to him talk for hours, as if you hadn’t listened to him speak about nonsense as the time passed the two of you by. 

He takes his cue, and he does as you ask. He traces roadmaps down your stomach, across your thighs and hips, not uttering a single word until he’s pulled away your cotton shorts and lace underwear. 

When he’s face to face with your heat, he finally speaks again. 

“Beautiful.”

It’s just a word. If any of your previous flings had spoken it, you’d smack them away and declare the moment over. In fact, you’d done just that with your autumn boy from last year. You weren’t here to be called beautiful, to be held carefully or to be praised as you let them take you however they pleased. You were here to get one thing and one thing only - your own pleasure. 

Your back still arches when he says the word, your vines still crack your ribs just as they had reacted to the utterance of baby. 

The thorns prickle beneath your skin when he makes you cum with his tongue once, twice, thrice too many times. When he pulls your body to his, when you allow him to forego the protection of a condom and you let him sigh contentedly into your mouth when he slides in, it all pierces you the same. 

And when your voice has grown hoarse from chanting his name and your lips have gone chapped from kissing him desperately, you break your final damning rule.

“Stay with me?” 

The plea comes out soft and heavy as your head rests against his chest. Even with your window open, the night breeze drifting in, the heat is stifling. It’s too warm to stay pressed so closely together, but it doesn’t stop you from clinging your body to his. 

He doesn’t hesitate in his reply, “Of course.” 

The two of you sink further into your sheets and each other. It wasn’t the first time Eddie Munson spent the night in your bed, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. 

AUTUMN, 1987

“You like him more than you liked the others.”

It’s not a question - it’s a fact secured in concrete that falls from Billy’s lips as the two of you lean against the brick exterior of the Hideout. A cigarette is half-gone and held limply between his lips, yours freshly lit and clung to tightly between white knuckles.

“I don’t like him,” you scoff, “He’s a good fuck.” 

You weren’t here on your normal business, scoping for another warm body to join you in your bed for the night. Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, was performing one of their weekly shows. 

“Right. A good enough fuck to live to see the fall,” Billy presses, raising his eyebrows at you as he takes another drag and let’s the whisps of white smoke carry off into the cool night. 

You’d just been striking out. That’s what you had told yourself. It was bound to happen eventually; you’d hit a dry streak, and you’d have to eventually find a repeat offender. Eddie was just that for you. Someone easy to fall back on. It didn’t hurt that you also enjoyed his company, especially when he’d swing you around in your kitchen while the two of you made dinner in your apartment or when he’d let you cuddle into his neck during the scary movie marathons you’d began to take part in with Halloween now looming around the corner. 

“I haven’t seen you getting lucky,” you snap, a sudden defensiveness taking over. A lie, of course. You hadn’t frequented the bar enough lately to even know the last time your former fling had gotten laid. 

Billy throws up his hands as he discards the butt of his cigarette, “Hey now, don’t get so feisty, doll. It’s okay to admit you’re going soft.” 

Soft. Soft like Eddie’s hands when he pulled your hips against his night after night. Soft like Eddie’s eyes when he watched you in the shower during the mornings after, quick to swipe away any shampoo that drips down your forehead and dangerously close to your own eyes as you wash your hair. Soft like your voice every time you asked him to stay, over and over, never learning your lesson. 

“I’m not going soft,” is all you say as you put out the cigarette, not even half-finished, and move to go back inside. 

You’re not having this conversation. There’s nothing more to dissect. You weren’t going soft and you couldn’t like Eddie, it wasn’t in your nature. 

It’s a mantra you repeat to yourself as you take in the sight of him still setting up the stage. You catch his eye and he grins at you, and you remind yourself you’re not soft. No, whatever this feeling is, it’s not soft. It is angry and loud, it is demanding and sharp. It is copper on your tongue and it is raging storm clouds in your mind. It is the opposite of everything he has been to you; it is every contrast possible to the way he treats you. 

He treats you like a human being. You’re not a prize, you’re not an idol – you’re just a person, and sometimes, he treats you as if that’s the greatest thing you could possibly be. 

When the show is over and rounds have been bought for the band, he comes home with you. He staggers on his feet and you know he’s had too much whiskey for his own good. Normally, any guy this drunk would be told to piss off.

He’s not any guy. He’s Eddie. 

And so you take his drunken state in strides. You let his body lean into you as you guide him up the steps to your front door, you only smile when he gets handsy, you offer weak laughter at his terrible jokes. 

“You only want me for my body,” he teases you between kisses when you hook your fingers into his jean’s belt loops to keep him close and upright, “Don’t you?” 

This is the part where you tell him yes. You’re supposed to tell him he’s nothing more than a cure for the looming loneliness. 

You shake your head. 

“I’m not, but I can’t ride your personality, can I?” your fingers retract from the loops, and trace their way up his chest, memorizing the muscles beneath the t-shirt. It’s too faded to see the band logo once advertised. 

“You could try,” he sways, and your wandering fingers curl into fists into the cotton material, “P-Probably be pretty hard, though. Just like me.” 

He takes one of your hands and places it over the bulge in his jeans. 

If he were any other guy, you’d play into it, because if he were any other guy, you’d be expecting to get something out of this night for your own selfish needs. 

“Not so fast, rockstar,” you bring your hand back up to his chest as he hiccups, brows furrowed at your subtle rejection, “Let’s get you inside, yeah?” 

It’s an uphill battle of gangly limbs and stumbling steps. He falls against your hallway walls more times than you can count as you guide him to your bedroom and allow him to splay out on the mattress. The laces of his combat boots are impossibly knotted, but you win the war in the end and tug them off of him. He wiggles his toes within his socks, and watches you with half-lidded eyes.

“This is the part where you try to ride my personality, right?” he tempts you, the wiggling in his toes flowing up to his eyebrows, eyes alight with mischief. 

Your hand is gentle as you grab his ankle, exposed from jeans that had ridden up into scrunched material around the bottom of his calf. “Right. Let me get you some water first.” 

You leave him to rush to the kitchen, gathering the glass of water you’d promised along with a bottle of painkillers from your medicine cabinet. For a moment, you take in the silence and lean your palms onto the cold kitchen counter. 

Five months. Two months too long, technically, if you were comparing it all to your track record. He’d seen the eggshell white walls of your apartment more than your own mother, more than your closest friends. At this point, even on your most lonesome nights, you found yourself leaving an Eddie-sized space on the sheets beside you. One of your pillows now permanently smelt like him. There was a mug in your cabinet reserved for him and his ridiculously sweet coffee preference. You’d bought his favorite brand of cigarettes just last week, far stronger than your preferred menthols, and you’d found one of his socks discarded in your dirty laundry. 

No, this wasn’t soft. It couldn’t be.

When you finally return to your room, he’s already asleep. You still leave the water and the pills on the bedside table for the next morning, when he’d need them. You try not to think too hard about the way that even in his drunken slumber, he’s left a perfectly you-sized space beside him, arm thrown out perfectly so that you can curl into him once you’ve brushed your teeth and dressed down into pajamas. 

The last thing you remember before you fall asleep against him is the way your soft hand grazes over his stomach in soothing circles, and the way your brain softly whispers in the hope of his hangover not being too cruel to him come morning light. 

WINTER, 1987

“Eddie! Stop it!” you squeal when he nearly takes you down with him as his back connects with the polished ice beneath the two of you. 

Ice skating wasn’t the best idea for two people who were notoriously uncoordinated. But he’d asked you to come with him, and you’d put up little resistance. 

“Ow, fuck,” he groans, still laying flat on his back with his eyes squeeze shut, legs spread wide as you wobble on your skates, “That fucking hurts.” 

“I bet it does,” you nearly giggle, childish with your rosey cheeks and pink-tipped nose. Your smile is infectious once he opens his eyes and catches sight of you fighting back your laughter.

It was the first time the two of you had ever gone out before dark with each other. Although, you were sure by the time you two had finished your goofing off inside the indoor ice rink, it’d be night. 

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, struggling to lift himself onto his elbows, “Laugh it up, chuckles. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your first fifty falls.”

“Fifty?” you squeak, forcing faux offense, “I only fell twice, thank you very much.”

It takes a bit for him to finally find his footing once more, plenty of hesitant and awkward movements to simply stand up right before you. Once you’re nearly face to face again, he’s pouting. “Kiss it better?” 

Your feet shuffle beneath you, struggling to keep your balance. Your hands fly out and grab onto one of his forearms for balance, “Where’s it hurt?” 

“Right here,” his free hand lifts to point to his lips, accentuating his pout further. 

“Funny,” you muse, “I don’t recall you falling on your face - this time.” 

He huffs as you begin to lose your balance again, one of your hands slipping down his wrist until your fingers are intertwined to the best of your abilities given the angle. His hand is freezing from the ice. Even despite his teasing, he’s quick to work with you, keeping the two of you standing straight with ever-shuffling feet. 

“Residual pains or whatever they call them,” he waves off, tapping his lips again to make a point. You roll your eyes, but you’re still quick to lean forward and peck him. 

“That’s all?” he whines, already moving in for another kiss. 

Any onlooker would assume it’s a date. But it couldn’t be - you didn’t do dates. It was two friends, two acquaintances really, hanging out for the sake of fun. Just as you fell back on Eddie when your nights grew forlorn, he had seeked you out for comfort on his isolating days. It was just another perk of your arrangement. 

An arrangement that had dragged on for eight long months. 

“You’re greedy,” you mumble against his lips as he tries to deepen the kiss and you deny him. 

“Of course I’m greedy,” he replies, nipping at your bottom lip playfully, “Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?” 

You couldn’t, you really couldn’t. You’d had your fair share of possessive types in the past, the kind that felt the need to always claim you as your own. And you would have found it hot, too, if it didn’t feel like they reduced you down to nothing more than some trophy to parade around town. 

Eddie didn’t do that. He was still greedy, he had still gotten daring with marking you as his own as of late, but he never reduced you. He never forced you to shrivel in size, never tried to compact you into the box he needed you in. He took you as you were. 

You were enough for him. For the first time in a very long time, you were enough.

If you thought about it too long, you would have become dizzy out there on the ice with Eddie. So you don’t think about it. You indulge yourself in banter and echoing laughter, in the scolding looks from nearby parents when one of you makes a crude joke loud enough for their children to hear. You claim your indulging him with the incessant kisses, but you know deep down they’re also for you. To feel his lips on yours. To feel his hands on your hips. To feel his fingers between yours. 

To feel like enough. 

You’re both still giddy when you approach the counter after several hours have passed, dropping your rented skates on the counter as you glance to the arcade filled with patrons. Glowing lights and trilling noises emit from the area, tangling with giggling that you can’t quite place as coming from there or the ice. It’s loud enough that Eddie has to lean in closer to the teenager working the cash register. 

He insisted on paying. You’d tried to fight him on it, but he insisted it was his treat. 

It’s during this momentary separation, in which your worlds’ briefly stop revolving around each other, that you spot him. He must have been here for as long as you and Eddie had been, and you must have just been too wrapped up in enough to have noticed him sooner. 

Just as you see him, he sees you. Just as you prepare to turn on heel, to return to hiding into Eddie’s enough, he’s calling your name. 

It’s loud. It mingles with the sounds already coming from the atmosphere. Eddie doesn’t hear him, but you do. 

“Steve,” you try to greet him with a friendly tone through your clenched teeth, taking a few steps further away from Eddie, away from enough and blissful delusion, “I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“Yeah,” he looks as if he’s seen a ghost as he approaches you, “Yeah, not since, uh- well, you know.” 

Not since the night you’d officially cut all ties with him, somewhere between Jonathan and Billy. You’d broken his heart. You’d nearly broken your own. 

Your lips are pressed into a tight lip smile as you try to redirect the conversation, “How’ve you been?” 

“Good! I’ve- uh, yeah, good. You?” 

I’ve been on a downward spiral of breaking every single rule that I have spent my entire life curating for my dating life, and I know you’re aware of this by the way you just looked at Eddie over my shoulder, and the way your brow is furrowing, and I get it. I get it. I fucked up. 

“I’ve been alright,” you force your jaw to relax, you force a kind and shy smile. It’s almost akin to the ones you’d originally flash him to get him in your grasp, “How’s Nancy?” 

Nancy Wheeler. After you left Steve the first time, letting whatever situationship that had begun just fizzle out, he’d ran into her arms. From the get go with Jonathan, you’d always known you were a placeholder for her. Even Billy had made a damn pass at her once you guys gave up at spring’s dawn; he’d claimed it might as well be a tradition now, only laughing as Nancy shot him down as expected. 

Nancy Wheeler was everything you weren’t. She could promise these men security, stability, commitment, a future. She didn’t hide them. They weren’t dirty secrets forced to only wander into her arms late at night, they weren’t kicked out at the end of each night once she’d had their way with them. 

Nancy probably never had her way with men, you realized, more likely letting them have their way with her.  

“We broke up,” Again. He forgets to add the again. 

They’d gotten together after that first time, been together while you had fun with Jonathan, broken up the moment you were finished with Jonathan and he could go to where he belonged – with Nancy. 

Of course, when Jonathan chose a different university to go to, somewhere far away from Nancy, those two had broken up. Steve had swooped in again. It was a never ending headache of small town gossip you had grown tired of hearing about. 

“I’m sorry,” you aren’t really, “That’s… forget I’m asked,” you’d feel worse if you hadn’t seen the girl waiting to the side for Steve. His date, no doubt. 

“No worries, it’s been a while since it happened anyways,” he shrugs it off, but you can still see the hurt in his eyes. 

He’d once called you drunkenly, going off on how he was going on all these dates trying to find you or Nancy again, how none of them were you or Nancy. Which, at the time, just irritated you because Steve, why do you still have my number? But now? Now, you almost get it. You almost understand the pain of searching for a familiar face in the eyes of strangers because any time you had gone to your usual haunts these last seven months, you found yourself searching crowds for wild, messy curls and warm brown eyes. For shades of honey and the scent of tobacco drowned out by cheap cologne.

You hadn’t been striking out anymore, the realization hits clear as day. It’s not even that you were being as picky as you normally were – none of the guys were Eddie. None of them had freckles below their right eyes that made your breath catch, none of them had the same calluses along their fingers from years of guitar practice. None of them had the same boyish grin that shone through the dark of your room at two in the morning, leaving you with no choice but to let him stay. They weren’t Eddie.

“You like him more than you liked the others,” Billy’s voice reverberates from the back of your mind. 

The truth seeps into your bones like ash and flames, a fever burning you from the inside out. 

Steve only fans the flames when he nods over your shoulder at Eddie, “So, are you and Munson a thing now?” 

Flames. Hot coals in the back of your throat, lively embers trailing down your spine. You’re watching the entirety of who you had worked so hard to become over the years bursting into flames. 

“What?” you whisper, not realizing Eddie had finished paying behind you, “No. No, we- no. We aren’t anything. We’re just… we’re just friends.” 

Even the word friends whispers away into smoke, choking you up. 

“Friends? Looks like you two were on a date, like he’s your boyfriend or something.” 

“Well, we’re not. He’s not.” 

Steve hardly buys it, but when Eddie joins your side once more, you don’t even offer him a glimmer of a farewell. You grab the wrist of your friend, your not boyfriend, and you high tail out of there. Still choked up, still running, still reeling. 

It’s still light when you leave the building and your hand drops from Eddie’s. You’ll both pretend the cold is from the weather, and not the distance you put between him and yourself. 

And if he heard your conversation with Steve, he doesn’t bring it up. Not that night, at least. 

SPRING, 1988

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You got him in the spring – it makes sense that you lose him in the spring. 

“What do you mean?” you play dumb, painfully coy as you continue to rinse the dishes. Plural. Dishes that the two of you had just dirtied through a painfully tense dinner together. In your apartment, at the counter of your tiny kitchen, knees not even so much as brushing. 

“This,” something has broken inside of him. Snapped, shattered, splintered. “It’s been a year, and I keep telling myself that you’ll come around, but-”

“Come around?” you cut him off with a laugh, one that stabs not only through his chest but your own. A double-edged dagger that has been sharpening itself for a year now, “Come around to what, Eddie?” 

He hadn’t expected the way you lash out, the cold storm that you had been consumed by since the winter night where Steve had looked at you like something had changed in you. As if you had finally gotten better, as if you had had something sour in you all along and Eddie had managed to magically drain you of it.

He couldn’t. He never was going to be able to. 

“Me?” he’s not sure of himself, voice wavering and eyes sparkling as they widen with tears of frustration, “Us? Fuck, I don’t know, but I can’t keep-”

“You thought I would come around to the idea of us?” your voice is cool and collected, nothing like his, as you finally turn around, “What, like we’re dating?” 

You were. A year of this back and forth, and you were too stubborn to just accept it. It was your downfall. It was the bleeding wound for not only yourself, but for Eddie – for this, as he had called it. 

You like him more than you liked the others.

So, are you and Munson a thing now?

A good enough fuck to live to see the fall.

You were never going to be enough for him. In your lifetime, you’d always known what you were good for, and it wasn’t for boys like Eddie Munson. 

“What else do you call this?” he motions vaguely to the dishes, to the fridge that holds his takeout, to the hallway he had tumbled down more times than you could count, “We’re more than just good friends, sweetheart.”

“We both knew what we were getting into.”

“Did we?”

Come over.

I might need convincing.

Stay with me?

You should have been smarter. You should have been more careful. 

It’s a brutal fight, and it’s the everything you had been waiting for. The illusion of softness finally breaks. Whispered words of care have become sharp insults, all the small moments where you had made mistake after mistake with him are now weapons. If the dated walls of your kitchen could speak, the tiles would murmur of all the blood being spelt as brutal defenses are sent back and forth from both sides. 

“I need more.”

“I can’t give you more.”

“You could, you just don’t want to.” 

“What’s the difference, Eddie?”

You were never going to be enough. You should have seen that, clear as daylight from the beginning. You were something rotten from the moment he met you, and he had just been too stupid to recognize all the decay. 

Of course I’m greedy. Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?

Why couldn’t he just accept what you were willing to give? Why did he have to push, to persist, to insist upon you laying more of yourself out for him? You had already dissected yourself beyond repair, made the cuts that would never heal and bared your innards in a way that you never should have to begin with. 

Stay with me?

You wish you were still just lazing in between your sheets with him. A you-shaped space at his side, a pillow on his side of your bed. You wish he had never picked a fight he had every right to rage. You wish, you wish, you wish.

Stay with me?

And then you lose, you lose, you lose. 

“You were just some idiot who thought you could change me,” you seethe at some point, aiming damning arrows for every exposed bone he’d ever given you a glimpse of, “What made you think that? Hm? Was it when I paraded you around the town, calling you my boyfriend? Or was it every time I told you just how much I loved you? Was it when I fell to my knees and kissed the ground you walked on, Eddie? Go ahead. Tell me.”

You were just rubbing salt in the wound at that point. Saying everything he had wished for over the last year, that you never gave him. 

You never called him your boyfriend. You never told him you loved him. You never did, and you never would. 

When it’s all said and done, it’s everything you had expected. A screaming match that the neighbors will complain about the same as they’d complained about every late-night rendezvous between the two of you. An effective cutting of ties that you’d been anticipating for a long twelve months. If it were the movies, maybe the fight would have been more effective. Something that would delve into the lead up of love confessions, an ending where you wind up in his arms and he’s whispering every which way that he still cares for you, even with your teeth bared and your sharpest knives poised. 

It’s not a movie. It’s everything you expected. 

But you hadn’t been prepared for the ache. When your own vicious words left a taste of ash on the tongue, when his eyes flashing with something harsher and less caring for you left a hollow ache that rang in your ears longer than his voice did. You didn’t think that you’d feel the cutting of ties. Every nerve ending in your body feels that jagged edge that saws through all that you two had tried to build over the last year, but it’s far too little and far too late. The foundation was cracked – you were damaged. 

You lose him. The world doesn’t end; the night carries on even as he grabs his leather jacket and leaves behind the sock in your dirty laundry. And when he exits out your front door, hiding away any tears that might have slipped free, just as you were, you feel that unexpected whisper inside of you. 

Stay with me?

You sleep alone that night. For once, the smell of tobacco and his shampoo makes you throw the pillow that was once his across the room. 

SUMMER, 1988

She deserves him.

Chrissy Cunningham deserved Eddie Munson far more than you ever had. She was enough. 

Summer can stain, but it can’t erase. Even in the months of aftermath, even for every tear shed in private and wave of yearning that would drown you in the dead of night, you never changed. It had hardly taken weeks after Eddie had walked out of your life for you to return to your old ways, going back to the bars and seeking out the latest warm blood to lose yourself in that night.

It didn’t matter that you compared each and every single smile to Eddie’s. It didn’t matter that you’d have to grip your sheets until your knuckles turned bloody to avoid touching the strangers hovering over you, hoping to feel familiar skin and a comfort long lost instead of whatever poor soul you’d dragged home with you. 

He deserves a love full of life. A love that breathes him in and doesn’t drain him. One that could let him feel the sun on his skin rather than hiding him away in the night.

A love that doesn’t tick away each passing season, because it’s a love that doesn’t have a ticking time bomb attached to it. 

“Never thought I’d see the day Cunningham got her claws in Munson,” Billy mumbles around a cigarette at your side. 

He didn’t tease about Eddie those first few months. One look at you, and he had known. 

“She didn’t get her claws in him,” you say, monotonous as you reach for your drink once more, “I’m happy for him. They look happy.”

They do. They really, really do. A love that burns like summer, and has never been touched by a dying autumn or cruel winter. The type of happiness Eddie would have never been able to find from you, try as he had. 

Billy taps some of his ash into the tray at the center of your shared table. Surely, he had better things to do, but he stays. It was probably entertaining, watching you pine and regret for once in your life, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Their’s don’t. I bet you that there’s a ring on her finger before next summer.”

You don’t want to imagine the pain that would ignite in you. That’s the type of emotion that would far surpass any regret you currently feel. But you seem to enjoy torturing yourself, eyes still zeroing in on her left hand, as if you already see the glint of whatever diamond Eddie would seek out for his worthy lover. 

“And I bet if that happens, you skip town within twenty four hours of finding out.” 

He’s right. Nothing was truly tying you to this sleepy town, and the reminder of your worst mistake, your most terrible slip up of all time, would easily send you running with your tail between your legs. 

“Probably,” you sigh, no longer putting up a front. You hadn’t even tried batting your lashes at a single man since Eddie and Chrissy had arrived at the bar. You were striking out tonight, on your own volition, “Maybe I’d move to California. I hear the men there are easy enough.” 

“They are,” Billy laughs, throwing his head back. It’s enough to garner attention across the bar, numerous girls being enticed as if he might be a siren beckoning to them, “Take it from one. The girls on the west coast are prettier, though, so you can’t blame ‘em.”

The girls on the west coast probably resemble Chrissy. Golden skin, golden auras, golden light. Honeyed words and the sweetest of blushes across coy cheeks. They probably embody every sunset and sunrise simultaneously, and you can only stand there green with envy.

“You are awfully easy,” is all you can offer in reply. The banter has started to fall flat since Eddie. You’re no fun – hardly taking any bait that Billy will hand over so generously. 

Maybe, if you had tried a little harder, you could have been one of those girls. Clear blue skies, not a sight of the storm clouds that you still let consume you. 

Maybe Eddie would have stayed if you had tried a little harder. 

There’s no real hope for it now. You’re left to being nothing more than a conglomeration of pathetic pity parties and the taste of cheap beer these days, hardly worth the chase once the boys get close enough to see the rot. You’ve stopped trying so hard to cover it up; you’d ripped yourself open for Eddie, and had never found a way to properly suture yourself back together so that anyone new might not get a glimpse of all the bad. They could spot it from a mile away these days. 

It doesn’t help that you no longer try to cover it all up with overly sweet perfumes or sickly sweet pickup lines.

Billy’s laughter didn’t just draw the attention of the girls around the bars. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a pair of whiskey eyes find the two of you, locking on you far too easily to have not known. 

You notice, because of course you notice him. But when Billy notices, it catches you a bit more off guard. 

“Like I said,” he drawls, and you nearly panic when he grabs his drink off to leave you behind, “Looks can be deceiving, hot stuff.”

Your eyes find Eddie’s quickly, not listening to a word that Billy is saying. Chrissy is saying something, something surely important, but her boy isn’t listening. Her boy, her conduit for all her sunshine, is staring right at you and has no plans on looking away any time soon. 

He’s seen the rot up close and personal. He’s the one who’d handed the treacherous scalpel over to your shaking hands, encouraging you to open up in all the ways you never wished to. 

You shouldn’t do it. You’ll regret it. You really shouldn’t do this.

“They never learn their lesson, do they?” 

You don’t know who Billy is talking about.

Eddie, who almost seems to be under your spell, taking a slow slip of his neat whiskey, staring you down as if he’s brimming with bad ideas that he hopes you can hear from across the room. 

Or you, who should know better. You hurt him, you broke his heart, you don’t deserve him. And yet, you’re selfish as ever, mind reeling with possibilities of how you wish the night would end.

You can hear the bad ideas. Clear as day. Especially when Eddie only breaks eye contact long enough to lean in to Chrissy and whisper something that effectively dismisses her, leaving Eddie all alone and in your gaze. 

“They don’t,” you say, throwing back the last of your drink.

You know where he’s heading. And you know where you’re heading. A moth to his flame, going only where he will allow you. You’re a ghost of the menace you once were. The other men, the other bodies that kept you warm these nights; none of them were him. You didn’t want them. You weren’t soft with them. They never stayed, because you never asked them to. There was only one man in this bar, in this entire damn bar, that would ever fill the hole left behind in you after Eddie’s summer. Eddie’s spring, Eddie’s autumn, Eddie’s winter. 

And he was walking outside the bar, almost tauntingly as he sauntered through the doors, beckoning you with each and every step. 

Perhaps this time, Eddie’s the one who needs a summer plaything. 

“This isn’t going to end well,” Billy taunts you as he takes a few steps back, knowing damn well as to what was about to happen. Bad ideas, downright terrible ideas. 

Eddie is playing the same game as you were once a master in. It dawns on you; Chrissy Cunningham wasn’t his newest love. She wasn’t his sweetest sunrise or gentle spring. She was a passing wind, just like all the boys you’d enticed before him. She’s already moved along, pretty hand resting on the shoulder of a new beau and not even paying any mind to Eddie’s absence. She may deserve him, but she doesn’t have him.

Nor do you. The roles have been switched, and you should know better. He’s leading you to an inevitable death, whether it be a little one or something of catastrophic value. He is leading you right into your own demise. Just as you used to do with every new victim you’d set your mark on before him, before your summer, before it all. 

All your old tricks, turned to weapons against you.

And you’ll let him. A moth to his flame. A dog at his window sill. 

“It never does.” 

Stay with me? 

Maybe, this time, you’ll be the one staying. If only for the night, and if only for Eddie.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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[nonbinarylocalcryptid]

Me: hm, I should take a break from my thesis

Also me: *opens another incorrect quotes generator*

This time, Telemachus & Astyanax edition feat Odysseus

Telemachus : Fuck.

Astyanax : We've got to work on your cursing.

Telemachus : Why? I'm pretty good at cursing already.

--

Astyanax: I'm a reverse necromancer.

Telemachus : Isn't that just killing people?

Astyanax : Ah, technicality.

--

Telemachus , tending to Astyanax 's wounds: How would you rate your pain?

Astyanax : Zero stars. Would NOT recommend.

--

Astyanax : I learned some very valuable lessons from this.

Telemachus : I’m guessing they are all horrible distortions on the lessons you actually should’ve taken away.

Astyanax : Death isn’t real, and I’m basically God.

--

Telemachus : I was arrested for being too cool.

Astyanax : The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence.

--

Telemachus : Must be hard not being able to laugh

Astyanax : I do have a sense of humor you know

Telemachus : I’ve never heard you laugh before

Astyanax : I’ve never heard you say anything funny

--

Astyanax : You fuckers don’t know about my knife stick. It’s a knife taped to a stick and it’s the ultimate weapon.

Telemachus, not looking up from their book: Spear.

Astyanax : BLOCKED.

--

Telemachus : Astyanax , keep an eye on father today. He's going to say something to the wrong person and get punched.

Astyanax : Sure, I’d love to see Odysseus get punched.

Telemachus : Try again.

Astyanax , sighing: I will stop Odysseus from getting punched.

--

Telemachus : Why are you on the floor?

Astyanax : I'm depressed, my homeland was raided when I was a baby

Telemachus : ...

Astyanax : Also I was stabbed, can you get father, please.

--

(during the suitors fight etc)

Telemachus , to Astyanax : My life is in the hands of an idiot!

Astyanax , motioning to himself and Odysseus : No no no no no, TWO idiots! And one of them shares DNA with you!

--

Store Worker: Would the Prince Telemachus please come to the front desk?

Telemachus , arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?

Store Worker: points to Astyanax and Odysseus

Store Worker: I believe they belong to you?

Astyanax and Odysseus , simultaneously: We got lost :(

Telemachus : I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-

--

Telemachus : What do you think Astyanax will do for a distraction?

Odysseus : He’ll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do.

*Building explodes and several car alarms go off*

Odysseus : ... or he could do that.

--

Telemachus : We need a distraction.

Astyanax : Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises?

Odysseus , whispering: My time has come

Telemachus: what's wrong with you two??

Astyanax: Tele, my bro my guy my dude, have we ever tell you about the time we get lost at the sea FOR TEN YEARS???

--

Telemachus, holding a python: Guys I impulsively bought a snake, what do I name him

Astyanax : You did WHAT–

Odysseus : Polyphemus Poseidonius the First

--

Telemachus : *Screams*

Astyanax : *Screams louder to assert dominance*

Odysseus : Should we do something?!

Penelope , observing: No, I want to see who wins this.

--

Telemachus : *Gently taps table*

Astyanax : *Taps back*

Odysseus : What are they doing?

Penelope : Morse code.

Telemachus : *Aggressively taps table*

Astyanax : *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

--

Telemachus : You are now one day closer to eating your next bowl of olives

Astyanax : That's the most hopeful thing I've ever heard.

Odysseus : But what if I die tomorrow and never eat any olives?

Penelope : Then tomorrow is olive lucky day.

--

Odysseus : Why are Telemachus and Astyanax sitting with their backs to each other?

Penelope : They had a fight.

Odysseus : Then why are they holding hands?

Penelope : They get sad when they fight.

--

Telemachus , banging on the door: Astyanax ! Open up!

Astyanax : Well, it all started when I was a kid...

Odysseus : No, they meant-

Penelope : Let them finish.

And that's all for now

[sugarlywhispers]

s.sanemi x reader (fem) | time-travel!reader x hashira!sanemi

a.n; it's placed somewhere before the confrontation with Muzan lol honestly, probably a lot of things are OC cuz i’m still catching up with the anime and i haven’t read the manga, sowy 👉👈🥺 — but i had this idea in my head that’s bugging me and i had to write it lol a.n2; this MONSTER was split into two 🙃 — next part will be posted next week. 😉 i decided to cut it there cuz next part is gonna be DARK and sad, probably not for everyone. so if you just like fluff, you can enjoy this part no worries~ next part is for the babies like me who loooove some tearing, ugly-cry angst with characters' deaths😜 (not Sanemi tho, that man will not die in ANY of my writings💚)

It’s been several months. Months since you appeared out of nowhere in this world. 

Nobody knows why, but you haven’t been the only one. Alongside you, two others appeared. A little boy of six years old, named Riko and another boy of seventeen years old called Minato. None of you have ever met before you three appeared in the middle of the woods, right in the middle of a drawn pentagram on the ground.

You didn’t understand what was happening or why, yet your instincts screamed for you to protect them. And that’s what you did. The moment the monster appeared –of course, at the moment you didn’t know it was a demon– your body moved to stand in front of them to protect them, even though you didn’t know what to fucking do.

To sum it all up, the altercation ended with you pretty harmed, dangerously wounded, and in high levels of pain. For a moment, you thought you were in a dream –actually, a fucking nightmare. But the pain was too real for your mind to fake it. You lost consciousness holding the two boys in your arms.

When you finally woke up three days later, you were in what looked like a hospital gurney. Your wounds had been taken care of and the pain was low considering what you have been through; but still there, making you grimace here and there when you tried to move. The two boys flew their arms around you in a hug when your eyes opened and you smiled, glad and relieved that they were okay.

A man with black shoulder length hair and a scar running down from his forehead til under his eyes was standing a few meters with another one next to him. This other one looked bigger, taller and muscular, with spiky black hair and a prominent scar running horizontally across his forehead. Both of them looked… strange. They weren't looking anywhere specifically, but you knew their attention was on you three.

That first man introduced himself as Ubuyashiki Kagaya and he explained what had happened. Including why, or better explained how you came to be there. I mean, their way of dressing and talking said much. He also explained what the term Hashira meant, introducing the guy next to him as one named Himejima Gyomei.

The demon that encountered you and the two boys was considered an Upper Rank demon, still not part of the Twelve Demon Moons, but just as powerful; able to manage time and dimension. That way it could bring humans who didn’t exist in this era and eat them, smartly going completely unnoticed by the Hashira.

“There hasn’t been a demon able to do this for centuries… I’m glad we were able to put an end to his harm, before Muzan got more interested in its power. And that’s mostly thanks to you,” Ubuyashiki had said to you with a small bow in your direction; the other guy, the Hashira, also followed suit with a bow, lower to show his respect.

The girls standing close to the door in silence gasped at the action of the men, following and bowing even deeper.

You weren’t that stupid to not comprehend that what was happening was something important.

What he explained next was that thanks to something you did, another of the Hashira was able to find where you were and helped you three just in time. What exactly you did to make this happen was not quite clear to you. Or more specifically, Ubuyashiki didn’t detail it willingly. For now.

He explained everything else quite thoroughly, patiently even when Riko would ask something more than twice. He looked like a smart kid, but you could perceive how difficult it was for him to assimilate the fact that this was another world, another time period. Truth is always hurtful. In addition to that, there was no way of going back to where you three belonged. You couldn’t avoid caressing his head each time he asked again something, trying your best to comfort him. He hadn’t cried yet in front of you, and you were preparing yourself for when it happened. You wanted him to feel that he wasn’t alone; by the way Minato also patted the kid’s back and held your hand, you knew he felt the same way.

That same night, when the three of you were alone, you did have a talk with them. You had to make it clear for them to understand the main theme here: You three were in another universe, another world. And there was most likely no way back home.

Minato, being the eldest, understood. He looked of course a bit down, but he accepted the circumstances. Riko, on the other hand…

“So… I’m not goin’ to see my mommy again?” His question broke your heart.

Both your hands cupped his cute chubby cheeks, thumbs caressing in comfort, “I’m sorry, buddy.”

The tears were there in your eyes, yet you refused to let them free. Minato though had to look elsewhere to not let the kid see his tears.

“So… If the three of us are here together, does… Does that make us friends?”

“Oh, sweetheart…” You picked him up, sitting him over your crossed legs and hugged him, “Of course we are! We can even be family if you’d like.”

“I would like that…” His little voice broke and you hugged him tighter, rocking him side to side. Minato sat closer to you and joined the hug. 

“We are going to be okay.”

It was a promise. You didn’t know if it was possible to promise something like that, but you did. You didn’t say it out loud, but you promised you would take care of them with all your being.

This is how your life in this new world began.

So, after a month, you have already settled in the Butterfly Mansion, helping Aoi, Kanao and the other girls with the injured demon slayers that came from time to time. You decided you have had enough with just one encounter with demons –thank you very much. Instead, you preferred helping the ones who needed after those encounters. It hadn’t been your choice completely, but after one boy called Kamado Tanjirou came pretty wounded, with burns around his body that no one knew how to treat due to the infection they had –not even Shinobu– you decided to step in. Your grandma had taught you a lot about herbal medicine, her also being a certified doctor specializing in dermatology contributed to the knowledge. It took you two days of constantly cleaning and applying the ointment you have prepared for his burns and staying by his side to control his fever and symptoms. He woke up on the third day and everyone hugged you in thankfulness. After that, Shinobu asked you to help her to run the manor alongside the rest of the girls. Of course, you said yes.

By the time Tanjirou woke up, you had already been told all about who the boy and Nezuko were. Their history was kind of harsh and admirable too. And after meeting the other boys that joined too, Agatsuma Zenitsu and Hashibira Inosuke, it didn't take much for Minato to follow their steps of becoming a demon slayer.

You were a bit worried if you’re honest. Riko and Minato had become the closest thing to a family, little brothers, in this time for you. Even though Minato was agile and hectic, you couldn’t avoid feeling worried and afraid something bad would happen. The topic even brought a discussion between you two that ended in him yelling at you, “You are not my fucking mother or my sister!”

It hurt. His words had hurt you, however, you could see the regret in his eyes after he said them. He was still a teenager, you could understand his swing moods.

“Apologize, now!” Tanjirou yelled back at Minato just as he entered the kitchen, where you and Minato were discussing. “She might not be related by blood to you, but she almost died for you when you appeared here. She has cared for you and Riko more than anyone since you have been here... Y/N might as well be like your sister by now.”

The moment had been tense, yet Minato accepted Tanjirou’s words and apologized with his head hanging low before leaving the room. You nodded in Tanjirou’s direction thanking him and then sighed. 

That same night you spoke with Minato, both more calm, while sitting outside watching the night sky.

“It wasn’t my intention to–”

“I know, Y/N. It was my mistake. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that… or said what I said,” he admitted, playing with a little ball in between his hands. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could sense his regret. “Tanjirou’s right, you know… After everything we went through, you are like my sister. You are the only family I have now.” 

You felt your eyes fill with emotional tears at his slightly broken voice and one of your hands flew immediately to his shoulder and squeezed it in comfort.

After a moment of silence, and with all the worry swimming at the mouth of your stomach, you said, “If… If being a demon slayer is what you really want to be… then you have my support.” Minato looked at you, face all lightened up with shining eyes that showed how excited he was. “Only one condition…”

“Yes, anything!” He interrupted lively, kneeling next to you and holding your hand.

You looked at him directly in his eyes, before saying, “There’s nothing braver than admitting when is time to fight and when is time fly. Promise me you will choose what’s braver.”

He looked down for a moment, assimilating what your words truly meant, and when he looked back at you he nodded, firm and sure, accepting your condition. You patted his cheek lovingly before he stood and ran inside, probably excited to tell Tanjirou, Zenitsu and Inosuke the news.

You stayed there for a few more minutes. You couldn’t shake the bad taste off your mouth at the idea, still, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. When you finally got up to walk inside and turned, you saw Shinobu standing at the doors with a smile on her face that made you smile back.

“It will never go away…”

“What?”

She put a hand over your shoulder, reassuringly, once you stood in front of her, “The feeling that he’s on the verge of death.”

Her crude words made you recoil a bit, not expecting them at all. But she kept talking.

“With this mission we have, of fighting against demons, we can’t promise anything. We never know what might happen and would be just cruel to do so, for us and for our loved ones. Yet, you didn’t make him promise that he would be back alive. You made him promise to choose braver,” she smiled again, closing her eyes, showing content. “I think that’s a loving way to ask someone to choose life quite wisely… and unique. He will remember that now every time he is on that verge. He will remember you, and I think that’s the only comfort for you to hold onto to subside that feeling and breathe. He will choose braver.”

The tears ran down your cheeks freely and the squeeze on your shoulder suddenly turned into a hug.

Shinobu has become one of your closest friends since then. Sadly, she wasn’t around often, she is a Hashira after all. But when she was around, you enjoyed it the most. Shinobu taught you many things about what she did and her techniques, but always left you wanting to know more.

You also watched Tanjirou, Zenitsu and Inosuke train some days, now joining them too was Minato. Each of the experienced three boys had their own styles and their own techniques. But none other caught your attention quite intently as much as Tanjirou’s. With some sways of his katana, they would change colors. It was almost imperceptible, but you could see it. Sometimes, they were blue and white, which reminded you of water waves. Other times, they were a mix of deep red, yellow and pink; almost as if there was lava dancing around him and his katana. You became pretty curious about those particular moves. But you didn’t dare to ask him, so you kept to your work.

Now it’s been six months, and by this time, you’re considered a great healer. Especially after a huge attack that left you taking care of and healing almost half the Hashira men.

It had been chaotic that morning. Aoi came running to your bedroom, profusely apologizing for waking you up so early and begging for you to hurry towards the infirmary section. You dressed as quickly as you could and sprinted.

Three of the Hashira men, alongside other demon slayers and corps, were being treated by the girls, Shinobu included. She barked orders here to there to everyone as she tried to hold down a convulsing big man. You recognized him immediately. Himejima Gyomei.

“What happened?” You quickly acted, helping her to keep him still, or at least to try not to let him fall from the gurney.

“A fuckin’ demon is what fuckin’ happened! What sort of stupid question is that?!” A guy yelled from the gurney next to Himejima.

That’s the first time you met Shinazugawa Sanemi.

You were surprised by how tall and muscular he was, the gurney looked too small for him –just like for Himejima. Yet who of the guys wasn’t? Almost all of them were big and bulky. Yet Shinazugawa somehow looked different to you. He had spiky short white hair that made you think not everyone could pull that look and still be considered handsome. Everyone but him. And he had large almond-shaped eyes with purple irises that, for a split of a second, left you out of breath. Well, that could have been more thanks to the force you were using in trying to maintain Himejima as still as possible for Shinobu, right? However, it's the amount of scars on his face that got your attention. He looked like he had done this job for years. And when one of the girls helped him out of his bloodied haori and shirt, his body said so too. Plus the new ones. That was kind of… sad.

“Let go of me, idiot! I’m fuckin’ fine! Go help the others!”

Yep, no, he was a douchebag.

You choose to not answer him back and focus on immobilizing one of Himejima’s arms so Shinobu could finally inject him with some antidote and he stopped thrashing around. Of course, all of this under the yells, protests and insults of the guy on the adjacent gurney.

Once the big Hashira was calmed, Shinobu sighed tiredly looking at the guy behind you, who was protesting quite loudly. She looked at you, shrugged, and turned to help the other hashira, Obanai Iguro.

“Fuckin’ let go!”

You turned around to face him. Shinazugawa Sanemi was half standing from the gurney, pulling back and forth his own haori with the little –and completely terrified– girl who was only trying to do her job and heal him. And at that, you completely lost it.

“Enough!” You exclaimed firmly at him, catching his immediate attention. And everyone’s. “Fucking listen to me, we are trying to work here and your yells are distracting and annoying. You are bleeding profusely from your shoulder, which means you’re going to pass out at any moment now if you don’t fucking stop moving around and get stitched up. So, I suggest you shut the fuck up and leave so we can do our job in peace. Or shut the fuck up and let the poor girl heal you so your stupidly annoying ass doesn’t die and can get the hell out of here. Either way, stay fucking quiet before I put you to sleep!”

Silence. No one said a thing or moved for a whole minute, expectantly. Of what exactly? You’re pretty sure of Shinazugawa’s answer and reaction.

Your eyes were directly connected to his, both sets firing daggers at each other, trying to win a battle just the two of you were part of. It’s heavy, the energy around felt charged and ready to explode at any second. And you were ready for it. This was your place, your job, and he was being a problem to everyone with his annoying remarks. He had to understand that you were the boss here.

And he did.

Everyone was witness to how Shinazugawa Sanemi sat back down on his gurney, grumbling under his breath, but didn’t say any more as he let the girl finally attend to his wounds. Two seconds later, he lost consciousness. You rolled your eyes, approaching and helping Kiyo with the hot-blooded Hashira.

After that day, everyone showed deep respect towards you. You have tamed the Shinazugawa Sanemi, the stubborn and wild Wind Hashira, and that by no means was something small. The word had even spread towards the Master, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, who Shinobu told you had laughed so hard over what happened that he cried.

Therefore, from that moment on, every time the hashira gets hurt after confronting some powerful demons, you are the one sent to heal him.

Because you’re the only one he doesn’t protest against or yell at when you’re treating him. He doesn’t even speak to you more than necessary. He went from insulting your guts one day to not even looking at you on the other. It is weird, but quite honestly you preferred it that way.

Even after several years have passed, he still hasn't said more than necessary whenever you treat him. Only informing you of his condition for you to do your job. But the moments only the two of you share during his healing are spent in silence. However, there is one time he actually says something different.

You are applying an ointment on his forearm due to a burn pretty similar to the one you once treated on Tanjirou, very concentrated on your actions. Gently, you hold the inner side of his forearm as your fingers from the other hand apply the cool and fresh ointment over the burn in slow, tender circles. Shinazugawa never moves or makes any sound when you are healing him, which you find weird considering the deep wounds he sometimes appears with for you to heal. But even though he mostly never reacts, you still treat him with gentleness. You know his wounds must hurt.

You have been like that for a couple of minutes, doing your job while he stays silent. Until he speaks.

“H-happy birthday,” Shinazugawa suddenly mutters, making you look up at him surprised. You then look towards the old clock hanging high on the opposite wall, which marks the end of the day and the beginning of the new one. It is indeed your birthday.

Your eyes travel back at him, but he is looking the opposite way, his typical grumpy expression on his face. You smile slightly.

“Thank you.”

He simply answers with a “mmh”, acknowledging your thankfulness, and proceeds to not say anything else. You try not to smile more than the small curve of your mouth, knowing fully any other sound will cause another argument with this temperamental man. He was leaving with your permission in the morning due to an important mission. Of course, under strict conditions, he would have to travel with the ointment and apply it at least four times a day. He agreed, so you were actually showing him how to use it. The few small pots with the ointment were ready wrapped in a cloth over his bed.

After telling him to send Sorai in case he needed some more, you bow slightly goodbye before leaving the room.

The next morning when you wake up, you find a red benibara flower on your bedside table. Somehow, you know it’s Shinazugawa’s birthday present for you and you can’t help but smile throughout the whole day.

The worry though is still latent.

It’s been years already and the worry you feel is still ineluctable every single time you have to treat any of the hashira or the demon slayers. But especially with Shinazugawa. He is a freaking Hashira –and one of the strongest in your opinion– which means he goes on the most difficult and dangerous missions. He wins mostly every time, but he also breaks his own body with each of them.

You always worry for Shinazugawa, you can’t avoid it. It’s almost like a string always pulling you towards him. Whenever something big happens and everything is chaos around, your body moves on its own and doesn't stop until you find him. Sometimes he’s alright; when your eyes find each other he nods, a sign that he is okay and that you can go and attend to others. Other times he’s a mess; gravely injured, bleeding profusely til he almost loses consciousness. Those times your whole being only focuses on him and you don’t leave his side until he’s completely out of danger.

You don’t know how to explain it. You feel… like you need to protect him every time you look at him.

Is this… some kind of… love?

You snort, sipping carefully from the little cup of red tea you decided to enjoy in the manor’s garden. It’s barely morning and everything is quiet and peaceful. Mornings like this help you analyze things in your head you mostly don’t speak to anyone. Shinazugawa Sanemi is one of those.

How could this be love when you barely speak to each other? Clearly, it’s just infatuation, right? The man is hot –you have eyes, for god’s sake. He is a man who walks with a purpose, filled with a confidence you have never seen before. That’s very attractive.

Now, he opens his mouth and he turns into an ugly ogre. It makes you want to slap your forehead in disbelief. He’s always yelling and bad-mouthing at someone, right in their face. Always threatening to kill, destroy, and many other harsh threats. It completely infuriates you when he treats the training corps –who are too young in your opinion, just kids– like that too.

Even so, he never treats you the same way. Shinazugawa hasn’t even raised his voice at you again since that first encounter where you yelled back. Why? Why does he never treat you like the others?

“MISS Y/N! MISS Y/N! Master Sanemi is in need of your attention! Hurry!” Sorai crows loudly at you, appearing out of nowhere after the first shine of the rising sun appears on the horizon, catching you by surprise just when you are about to walk inside the manor.

“What?! Where? There isn’t any–”

And just as you’re about to finish what you’re saying, Shinazugawa falls from the air. His stane is as cool as always. One leg stretched behind him while the other flexed, his forearm supporting himself after the fall in that one as the green residue from his technique disappeared with the wind he brought. You frown, he doesn’t look injured, his clothes aren’t even thorn or bloody. You could have even bet he just appeared like that and in that position just to brag about his skills.

But he doesn’t move from his position nor look up, which makes you feel something’s weird. “Shinazugawa?” You look more intently, eyes really focusing on his persona, and then you see it. The controlled and almost imperceptibly trembling in his whole body. Oh, his breathing technique is actually what is keeping him so still. Meaning, something’s definitely wrong.

You drop your cup of tea and run towards him when he lets his katana fall to the ground and his body sways a bit to the side, almost losing his balance. 

“Go find someone inside!” You yell at Sorai, who obeys you immediately and flies inside the manor.

Your arms surround the hashira’s torso when you approach him, helping him stand by putting his arms over your shoulders. You realize then how actually big this man is and as he stands, he towers completely over you.

“Hey, I got you,” you whisper, looking up at his face with both of your bodies impossibly close.

His eyes look down and find yours, but they look quite disoriented, and you know he’s minutes away from losing consciousness.

Shinazugawa lets a smart snort out of his nose and a crooked grin flutters on his face for a split second, which, if the action hasn't made you realize the blood inside his mouth and worry, you would have thought that expression was sort of cute, attractive even. But fucking blood is coming out of his mouth!

“You got me?” He whispers softly, tenderly even. He’s clearly in some sort of delirious state and that worries you even more.

“Yeah, I do,” he nods at your answer, his forehead then resting over yours and closing his eyes for a moment; but you decide that’s a bad idea when his trembling legs and your weak strength make you both sway back and forth, unstable. “Hey, no, don’t. Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.”

He obeys instantly, taking a long deep breath as he stands straight and more firmly on his feet. It’s clear his technique is the only thread that keeps him conscious enough. His eyes now look more direct at yours, after several consecutive blinks that help him focus.

“Good, good,” you repeat, putting all the strength you can around his torso as you press him against you. A smile then spreads on your face after looking down at your bodies stuck together. “You look like trash,” you joke looking up at him.

He lets out a breathed laugh followed by a grunt of pain and another sway in both your stances that almost makes you both fall, “Don’t– Fuck! Don’t make me… laugh…”

“Sorry, sorry… I’m sorry!” You cry worried, cursing yourself for your stupidity. He’s barely holding up and you go and joke about it.

He moves one of his hands then to hold the back of your head and makes you hide your face in his neck. It feels… odd. The tenderness in which he moved you. You could swear it’s his way of telling you to not worry. However, you think he’s doing it more for him, to ground himself. You then feel his chin rest over your head.

“Breathe, Sanemi. Breathe…”

You feel him take another deep inhale of air and hold it for a moment, before slowly releasing it in very tiny puffs of air.

“That’s it. You’re doing great,” you praise, and the slightly more firm grip from his hand on the back of your head is answer enough that he’s listening to you. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay…”

You promise. Even though you didn’t say it out loud explicitly, you did promise.

And, after eight days of constant attention during the day, sleepless nights sitting next to his bed and caring for his wounds very thoughtfully when he finally wakes up, you can’t help but really cry.

You have fallen asleep, sitting in that rough wood chair next to his bed, body bending forward with your arm used as a pillow over a small space on the side of the bed, right next to his hand. It is what actually woke you, his big hand patting weakly and softly on your head. You sat back uptight, eyes opened wide as he blinked several times, adjusting to the daylight entering the infirmary.

Shinazugawa then looks at you, a tiny curve on his mouth resembling a smile on his face, “You do got me, huh?” His voice sounds hoarse, painfully thick.

And that’s all it takes for you to start sobbing and weeping like god damn kid. You hide your face in your hands, letting everything out as you bend over again towards the bed. His hand goes back to patting your head softly, comfortingly. He never asks you to stop crying; in fact, his touch feels more like he’s encouraging you to let it out. And you do.

Relief finally settles in your body… just as that other feeling that warms your chest and makes your body shudder with goosebumps at his gentle touch.

Is this really… love?

[catsharky]

Are we still gonna get more of the Rolan comic?

I've gotten a couple of asks about this, so sorry to the other people who asked previously and didn't get a reply!

There is absolutely going to be more! The rest of the Rolan comic is completely written and partly roughed out, and I do intend to see it through to the end. Unfortunately this has been a pretty accurate depiction of how 2024 has been treating me:

It's been Flat Stanley-ing my ass.

I will get back to it, it's just been a case where something had to give and unfortunately my comics wound up being the thing I had to put on the backburner 😭

If anyone is curious, I rambled about what's been up under the cut:

The long and short of it is that early this year my partner and I very suddenly and stressfully went from being part-time to full-time parents, in a house that is not big enough to have a family of 4 living in it full time. We also gained 2 additional pets at the same time, bringing us up to a total of 4 (2 cats, 1 snake and 1 hamster).

While that would make it cramped enough, my partner and I have lost a combined total of 5 family members in the past 3 years, and ignoring the emotional toll, we wound up being responsible for the belongings of three of them. Every time we manage to get our house a little bit cleared out, another person dies and we have to find room for another house's worth of stuff!!!

So I have been hanging on to my sanity by a thread cause it's hard to concentrate on comics when I am stuck working in a room where Fortnite or Minecraft youtubers or worse are all but constantly playing in the background.

On top of all that, all of the windows in our house had to be replaced because they hadn't been updated or well maintained since the place was built and the frames were rotting and growing mold. So we got to spend a couple of months trying to tetris our house into a state where the window company could have room to work last week.

And if that wasn't all enough, my little old man of a cat (who is my baby and largely my responsibility) developed keratitis- which despite all efforts continued to worsen over the last several months-, was diagnosed with diabetes, and finally had to have his eye removed this week. I've discovered new stress responses I didn't even know I had thanks to that, and I've been sick with a hellcold during both this and the window replacement 🙃

I've also been unemployed since December, which is both a blessing and a curse because on one hand I think I probably would have had an actual mental breakdown by now if I'd had to deal with all this while working full time, but on the other hand we can't move until I have a job again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So basically this year has been very AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and I would really love it if whoever is controlling the game of the sims I'm living in would stop putting me in the torment nexus right about now, please and thank you.

Joke's on them though because I'm both a creature of spite and incapable of giving up, so in the words of Disco Elysium, 'Life gets hard but we go on' and we do!!! 😤

[sunroxic]

pairing: logan howlett x mutant! fem oc

warning: a bit depiction of blood and wounds, protective logan, oc is erik's daughter, NOT BETA READ ( idk maybe missed something )

word count: 1,7k

a/n: i'm not the best writer, i just write this bcs logan is the loml so sorry if this is terrible

“I know, cut him some slack, Lo,” She chuckles to the phone line as she drive her car back to the mansion. She just finished buying some things from the grocery store as she called Logan on her way home.

“Nah, it's fun seeing lil’ Scotty get all riled up,” The older man replied from the other side of the call. His low chuckles quickly follows. “On your way home, bub?”

“Yep, already close. I’ll get there in maybe 2 minutes. Got your be-” She answered, but her answer was cut off by a loud crashing sound.

From her right side, a drunk driver drove in a high speed carelessly as he was barely sober. It’s too late for her to realise as he already crashed his car onto hers.

“Bub? What's goin’ on? Nan?” Hearing the crashing sound, Logan began to worry. It makes it even worse that she didn't answer him but he can still hear the other end of the call.

A groan of pain. Her voice. Logan puts the piece together and he quickly goes downstairs to get where she is. He met with Scott as he walked at such a speed.

“Why the rush?” Scott asked as he quickly just walked past him when he usually bicker with him first.

“Nanda got into accident.” He replied as he look was looking for the bike key. Hearing that, Scott quickly turned around and follow him. He doesn't need anymore explanation, all the unusual from Logan is enough tell.

Scott snatched the car keys from the table, “I'll drive. Too dangerous if you drive.” He quickly open his car and start the engine. In normal circumstances, Logan would not agree to this but right now what matters is they get to her fast and also safe. His head is way too hazy because of his worry.

On their way to her, Logan kept the call line connected and kept talking to her even though he's unsure whether she can hear him or not, “Baby, hang on, we're almost there.”, “Bub, i'm almost there.” His voice cracks ever so slightly from trying to hold back his tears.

When they arrived at the scene, Logan quickly jumped out of the car, walking through the crowd trying to find his girl, Scott swiftly followed from behind.

In the centre of the scene, there's the car she drove, severely damaged. The drunk guy's car who crashed into her seems to not take that much damage, but hers seems very bad.

“Sir you cannot be here.” A police officer trying to push Logan behind the barrier the police has put. “Get the fuck away from me!” Logan pushed him away at ease. He spotted her inside an ambulance was about to be taken to hospital. He quickly ran to it.

“Are you family?” A paramedic asked him. “Yes, yes i'm her boyfriend.” He answered but his eyes still locked on her. The paramedic let him in to travel along in the ambulance to the hospital.

He never expect he would see her in such state. Covered with blood and cuts, almost unconscious, barely any pulse on her. He reached to held her hand gently,

“Please, i can't lose you, baby, i can't.” The tears that he has been holding finally caught up. He can't cope if he has to lose her.

As they arrive at the hospital, she immediately get brought to the operating room. Logan waited outside, his head still unable to fully work. Doesn't take long til Scott and the others arrive there, they waited there with him.

“Logan, how is she? Is she going to be okay?” Erik came in rushed, his face full of worry. That's his daughter that is getting operated inside that room.

“No idea, they just brought her in.” His voice sounded rough and hoarse, probably because of the crying before everyone arrived.

While everyone was sitting in silence, waiting for any news about her, a police officer came approaching.

“Family of Nanda Lehnsherr?” He asked. This officer is the one who try to push Logan way back in the scene. But he's not alone, he's with a guy who Logan remember seeing back in the crime scene too. He has a few freshly treated cut on his face and arms but nothing much.

“I would like to ask if family would be pressing charges against Mr. ( l/n ).” The police officer asked.

“This fucking guy is who did it?” Logan stand up as he ask the officer, which alert everyone at that very second, he seems like he smell something, “You're fucking drunk, asshole?” Now his eyes are toward the drunk guy.

His claws stick out, he walks forward to the guy wanting to hurt him so bad for what he did to her. Scott stopped him by standing in front him and held back his shoulder.

“Not worth it, Logan, let's focus on her and get this guy the punishment he deserves through justice.” Scott said in a low voice, trying to calm him.

He still looks at that guy like he's gonna rip the guy's heart out of his body alive. But he did retract his claws and slowly back off to where he was.

On the other side, there's also someone that is very close to killing that guy for what he did to his daughter but he knows he needs to collect himself for her.

“Yes. We would like to fucking press charges.” Erik said in a very sharp tone as he gave the drunk guy a threatening glare.

After that the police officer left with that guy, leaving the x-men in there, still waiting for any news about her condition.

It took about 2 and a half hour until the door open, revealing the doctor coming out. They all stand in unison, anxious about the news gonna's she's about to tell.

“How is she? Is she gonna be okay?” Logan is the one who asks, his tone is a mix of worry and hopeful.

“The operation was a success. She already went through her critical condition and now we just have to wait until she wakes up.”

Those two sentences. Everyone felt relieved. For the first time after their phone call, Logan seems to finally take a breath. He thought he was gonna lose her for a moment.

“She will be moved into a room immediately.” The doctor continued. She then went back inside the operating room.

For what seems like eternity, she is finally moved to a room where they can finally see her. Her eyes closed, her face looks very peaceful as she is still in deep sleep. Yet everyone is so grateful that she made it, after what she went through.

Logan is sitting beside her, unmoving despite his friends telling him he needs some food or bath or even sleep properly, ready for her when she wakes up. He has her hand on his, softly caressing her hand, not wanting to let go.

For a whole two days Logan sat there, he kept whispering to her, asking her to wake up soon, apologising for not being there sooner, telling her how much he loves her, everything.

Even the big wolverine can eventually fall asleep after two whole days staying awake, but his hand never let her hand go even in his sleep.

Slow but surely, her eyes flutter open. She winced as her eyes were hit by the light of the lamp after being in deep sleep for days. She could feel her body felt like it was hit by a car. Her eyes roamed around, looking at the room she was in. Eventually her eyes found him, her boyfriend, sitting on a chair next to her, holding her hand.

A small smile appear on her chapped lips, she wiggle the fingers of her hand that he is holding which easily wake him up by how alert he is in his sleep.

“Baby? You awake?” His eyes beamed, he looks at her and after such a long time not seeing her beautiful eyes, he finally get too see that again.

“You smell like shit.” She said in a hoarse voice. Come to think of it, she probably should say something else after she woke up.

“Yeah, like I fucking care,” He replied with a smile on his lips. He scoots his chair closer to her bed, “How’re you feeling, bub?” His hand gently strokes her hair then moves to stroke her cheek.

“Like I just got hit by a fucking car,” She throw a terrible joke followed by a smile on her lips, “God my throat hurt so bad.” She whined, still in a very hoarse voice. It has been days since she could physically drink water, of course her throat would hurt

Logan chuckled, this girl just woke up from a coma and she could make a terrible joke. He then helped her to drink some water from the glass next to her.

He kissed her hand that is still in his, “Thought I'd lose you, baby,” Tears rolling down his cheeks. Though losing her eventually will be inevitable, he still never could be ready for when the time comes.

“Hey, James, look at me.” She softly calls him out with his first name, the one she loves to call him when she is being very affectionate.

He lifted his head up, meeting her gaze which also glazed with tears. “You won’t lose me that easily, I promise you, love.” She assured him as her fingers softly wiped his tears.

He leaned to her touch, giving her hand more kisses, “I’ll protect you, bub. From anything in this world, i’ll fucking protect you.” He promised, not only to her, but also himself. He would do whatever it takes to give his girl anything in this world.

“I know, love, I know. I love you, James.” Her eyes filled with tears as she said it. It’s a lie if she says she wasn’t scared back there, she thought she was gonna die and she was gonna die alone, without him.

“I love you too, bub.” He replied as he moves forward to give her lips a gentle and soft kiss.

Fin.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Warnings: mentionings of torture, injury.

Don’t Tell Him

The pain is greater and more agonising than all the beating he got in that filthy cell in Serbia, because this pain isn’t just physical. Sherlock knows that if he answered John’s insistent questions about who the shooter was, it would break John’s heart, despite what Mycroft says.

“Tell him, brother mine,” Mycroft urges. “John is far more resilient than you give him credit for, and his feelings for you…”

“Don’t!” Sherlock snaps. “The love of his life shot me in the heart. I refuse to add that burden to his confused mind.”

“I agree that he is confused, but not for the reasons you think, Sherlock,” Mycroft says cryptically.

Sherlock closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. He’s not only in constant pain, but he’s also exhausted with all the emotions that this whole business regarding Mary Watson throws his way. It’s so much harder to stay focused and aloof when the painkillers leave his brain all foggy and relaxed. His pining for John comes to the surface, tugging at his heart.

“Go home to Mary,” Sherlock urged John before Mycroft arrived. “She needs you more…”

“I’m staying,” John interrupted in his stubborn tone. “Just fetching some clothes and stuff before I’m going with you to Baker Street tomorrow. Non-negotiable!”

He had lifted his chin in defiance, daring Sherlock to protest. His last words are a puzzle Sherlock still hadn’t been able to deduce.

“You need me, and I need…to…”

***

John has gone to Aldi to buy milk, bread and eggs, wile Mycroft stays to keep an eye on his brother, with strict instructions from the good doctor to call if anything changes regarding Sherlock’s pulse, heartrate, temperature, and several other unnecessary trifles. (Sherlock’s words)

“John, for Christ’s sake, go!” Sherlock says exasperated. “I’m fine.”

John looks sceptically at him, grabs his wrist and takes Sherlock’s pulse. When he’s satisfied, he hurries out of the bedroom and descends to the front door, probably running all the way to the shops to reduce his absence to a minimum.

“Are you still convinced that he only has friendly feelings for you?” Mycroft asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“Don’t tell him, Mycroft! He can’t know. If he’s ever to realise how much…I…I wish she had finished…”

“Sherlock!”

Mycroft rarely raises his voice but when he does, it speaks volumes.

“I would not survive your demise, brother mine. She can count herself lucky that she didn’t kill you. Even John’s plea for her life would’ve been in vain, her pregnancy notwithstanding.”

Mycroft’s voice trembles with emotions, which is odd to witness.

***

Sherlock has no sense of time anymore, but he thinks it’s been days since his conversation with Mycroft. Something is being delivered, and John’s steps are heavier than usual when he ascends the stairs.

Carrying something. Not groceries. Two bags. One over each shoulder.

When John brings his meds later, Sherlock observes that something is different. John’s face is displaying a variety of conflicting emotions. There’s determination and insecurity, sorrow and relief, anger and hope. The last deduction does something to Sherlock’s shattered heart.

“What’s happened?” Sherlock asks calmly, although he’s terrified of the answer.

John’s voice sounds mechanical, as if he’s rehearsed what he’s about to tell Sherlock.

“Mary left a note. She’s gone. The baby isn’t mine. Her name isn’t hers. She’s apparently an assassin. Worked for Moriarty. She shot you. You knew, and you wanted to shield me. I want you to stop doing that.”

He sheds his clothes down to his pants and tee and climbs carefully into bed. Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat.

Is this real, or a hallucination?

“It’s real, Sherlock,” John tells him, as if he’s the one who’s become a mind-reader.

He lies down beside Sherlock, letting his palm rest over the wound, over his heart. The heart that beats solely for John.

Does he know? If so, how?

“You’re not as subtle as you think, Sherlock. What I saw traces of before this, became clear as day when your brain function was compromised by painkillers. Am I wrong?”

Don’t hide. Tell him.

“No, John. You’re not,” Sherlock says and places his hand over John’s.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @raina-at

@helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear

@meetinginsamarra @topsyturvy-turtely @phoenix27884 @jolieblack @221beloved

[inoreuct]

I've been lurking in the Zosan tag and I'm super in love with the snippets you've been posting! For a prompt, I really enjoy them being soft and taking care of each other after fights? Also love outsider POV if that seems fun to you.

wahshdhdhhs THANK YOU 😭 i’m having so much fun writing them and i had fun writing THIS :)) made it short and sweet and mostly from nami’s pov; soft but also they bicker because. when do they not. enjoy!

Nami huffed as she made her way to the galley, peckish after the battle. Sanji was probably there, but loathe as she was to admit it she’d feel a little bad to ask him to make something; that fight had taken a lot out of all of them, and she’d gotten off easy— The last she’d seen him he’d been wrapping his forearms with his shirt and trying to staunch the bleeding from several wicked slashes.

The door was cracked open when she got there. Strange. Sanji was meticulous about keeping it shut to keep Luffy out, but she supposed if he was to be lax at any time, it would be when he was injured. 

That was, until she heard the voices.

“Stop moving, shithead!”

“I’m not moving! The fuck are you—”

She peeked through into the kitchen and almost stopped breathing, hunger forgotten, fatigue banished, grin growing by the second.

“If you don’t stop fucking fidgeting it’s gonna leave a scar,” Zoro warned, tugging Sanji’s hand forward again and rolling his eyes at the cook’s dramatic sigh.

Sanji was perched on the dining table, one arm outstretched as Zoro shoved a needle threaded with fishing line through his skin. He tried to hide his wince at a particularly tender spot, shoulders jumping before they settled at Zoro’s soft sound of apology. Nami took a note at the back of her mind to get Luffy to befriend more doctors.

Still, looking at the arm that Zoro had already finished, the stitches were neater than Zoro would have done on himself; she’d seen the scars that he’d gotten from sewing himself up. They didn’t look like they’d had half this much care put into them.

“You’re lucky they aren’t that deep. The hell’d you go and do this for, shitty cook? You need your hands,” the swordsman mumbled, brows furrowing and actually sounding a little confused, and Nami simultaneously felt sorry for him and like she wanted to clobber the big idiot upside the head. 

“Ah, you know me,” Sanji sighed, slouching to the side dramatically but keeping his arm still. “Always the martyr—” Zoro levelled him with an unimpressed stare, cutting a stitch with a dry snip, and he faltered. “Well, I— I don’t know, marimo.” He shrugged, swallowing. His eyes were staring at something on the table. “I saw you there and just moved.”

Nami gathered her context clues and had to stop herself from pumping her fists. It was finally happening. The two idiots had been dancing around each other for ages; She and Usopp had a running bet on who would get their shit together first, but hell, at this point she didn’t even care who won.

Zoro sighed heavily, short and sharp, pushing Sanji’s skin together to finish off the last stitch. “Just— Don’t do it again.”

“The hell do you mean don’t do it again, you ingrate?!” Sanji squawked, outraged and hissing through his teeth when the fishing line was tightened. “I saved your life!”

“I would’ve been fine!”

“You would’ve been hurt—”

Zoro tossed the scissors and needle aside, brandishing a roll of gauze in Sanji’s face. “And what if you couldn’t cook anymore?!” 

“Well maybe, just maybe—” The cook snatched the gauze, gripping it in his fist with his eyes ablaze, “Really think about this, now— I care more about you than that, you moss-brained oaf.” He took a measured inhale, jaw working as he looked away. Nami was about to do a victory lap around the deck. “Good God, how long is it gonna take to get it through your thick skull…” 

“Curly-brow.” 

Sanji remained resolute, face turned to the side even as Zoro stepped closer.

“Oi, cook.”

He wound the gauze between his fingers, looking down.

“Sanji,” Zoro murmured. “Baby. Come here.”

Nami clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as coins. This was a thing. They were already a thing. Oh, Usopp was absolutely going to lose his shit. 

Sanji swallowed, unable to escape when Zoro had callused hands on his knees and was dipping down to nose at his cheek. “First you want me to stop moving, now you want me to—” He cut off when Zoro kissed him, simple and sweet, thumb rubbing circles over his kneecap. “…Mm. Right, yes, I suppose that’s… a valid reason.”

“Thank you.” Zoro set his jaw, looking up at Sanji earnestly. “I mean it, curls. I know how much cooking means to you. And you said...”

Nami watched as Sanji’s face softened, his hand coming up to cup the side of Zoro’s face. “Of course, mon chou.”

The swordsman chuckled low in his chest. “Did you just call me a cabbage?”

“Wh— No.”

“Yes, you did.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“Our navigator doesn’t just have maps. Found a French dictionary lying around.” 

Shit, she’d been wondering where that had gone. Green-haired bastard.

“Said navigator’s been here since five minutes ago.”

Double shit. 

Sanji whipped around with a scandalised noise as she gave up the act and stood in the doorway properly. “Nami!”

“I didn’t see anything!” she cackled, just barely sheepish, hands up in a gesture of peace as she turned and hightailed it out of there. The smart thing to do would be to blackmail the shit out of Zoro—

But she thought of how gently they’d treated each other, the looks in their eyes, and sighed. She’d let them have this.

(But getting her to admit that they were good for each other or that she was happy for them would be harder than pulling teeth, she’d make sure of that.) *

“Go get me a wet cloth, darling, there’s blood in your hair.”

“You think she’ll snitch?” Zoro asked, running the tap over a clean dishcloth and wringing it out before walking back.

Sanji hummed, non-committal and slightly amused. “Would you mind if she did?” he asked lightly, seemingly unbothered as he wiped at the red drying tacky in Zoro’s hairline from where he’d been whacked over the head.

The swordsman laughed under his breath. He could feel the tension in Sanji from the way he was sitting, spine too straight as he wrapped his arms around the cook’s waist, hipbones pressed into the table’s edge between his thighs. “…Not really, no.”

“Nothing to worry about, then,” Sanji said, cool and composed, but this time he didn’t bother hiding the relief in his smile. “Now.” He pursed his lips, scrubbing the rest of the blood out of Zoro’s eyebrow. “To the showers with you, and then bed.”

Zoro held up the gauze. “Still gotta wrap your stitches.”

Sanji rolled his eyes again, the corners crinkling as he smiled. “Fine. Wrap, shower, bed.”

“Mm,” Zoro hummed, pulling him close and leaning up for one last kiss. “Perfect.” 

fin.

[sleeplesssmoll]

Other effects of Pain Tolerance?

This is mostly a bunch of ideas that my brain didn't want to let go of so now I subject everyone to them.

Let's say Vertin is someone who's pain tolerance is very high. This could warp her perceptions of pain. Things we normally find painful are less painful to her, therefore it's tolerable/normal. This is something we see done all the time in other media.

But what about the other effects this could have? Pain is a super important sense that also makes people relate to one another. We know the pain of stepping on a Lego or stubbing your toe. It's a very human (although Vertin is an arcanist) experience and while it's annoying, it connects us to one another. Here are some other things that popped up in my head. Note the brain is just storming so it'll be everywhere (like everything else I do, honestly)

Lack of sensation leading to appreciation

Pain and pleasure are very much intertwined so if she can't feel pain, it's probable other sensations are lessened too. For example, let's use hugs. The first sense we think of is touch but there's more than that.

There are differnet stimuli involved with that contact from heat, their weight against you, their scent, their breathing. If they start talking you can feel that little rumble in their chest. While she can't feel many sensations we take for granted to their fullest, there is alot more engagement in these interactions and it makes her appreciate them more. Or let's use her favorite thing: holding hands!Lines on palms, the size of each individual finger, cold/hot, the pulse, they way their hands fit together, etc. She notices things we don't think about since the interaction registers differently in her head. Her lack of feeling actually makes her more touchy because it's still one of the easiest ways to feel a connection to people, even if it's not in the conventional sense.

Arcanum Shenanigans

Vertin's actually holding hands with people to feel out their emotions through their arcane fluctuations. Maybe she can't feel her own pain, but she can feel your's. She can also sus out things that aren't pain like sincerity or hidden motive but she needs to touch you first. Except when arcane fluctuations/emotions are so intense she can feel them without contact. Things like bloodlust and desperation. We know she can sense arcane skills so this is one step further.

Fear/Hesitance

Vertin recognizes that maybe her pain tolerance messes with her perception and therefore is sometimes afraid she might hurt someone else. She has a very compassionate personality and the idea of accidentally hurting someone makes her hesitant and she restrains herself from otherwise normal interactions. This could also feed into that gentleness we see in her. There a dash of fear in that empathy. Note, I'm not saying that's why she's so nice but it could also be contributing factor.

She'll also overreact to her people's pain because of her skewed perception while being unaware the severity of her own wounds. I write this one a lot 🫠

This side of her could also make an appearance in a intimate/vulnerable settings where the chances of accidentally hurting the other person are higher. Super touchy at first but then hesitates because at the back of her mind she needs to show restraint and be mindful. I bet in impulsive arcanists it'd be doubley awkward cause they're so connected to their emotions. While Vertin has a clear disconnect with her own.

In other words, she overthink a LOT when it comes to anything that puts someone else in a vulnerable position.

Another example: she gets nervous about holding babies. While she can hold fragile little foggies and juvenile birds with no problem, holding a tiny person make her uneasy. Meanwhile her teammates are the type to rough house the baby. Kids? She loves them. Actual babies? Just frozen in place, waiting for someone to save her while she holds the child like it'll break if she blinks to hard. She won't even try to put the baby down in case she "screws up". Someone needs to come get the baby from her.

Of course, she can learn to get over this with time. Needs to unlearn her doubts and over-corrections. She will become the one who throws the baby in the air because they laugh when she catches them once she does. She'll carry them like a dad. If you know, you know.

Open to any other weird ideas about how a high pain tolerance could effect other parts of her life. Could also be a cool exercise that can apply to similar characters!

[uchihaharlot]

Hi, I hope you're doing well, I don't know if requests are open, but if they are. Can you write an angst about a reader who is pregnant with Shisui during the same period of his death?🥺

Nonny!!! ❤️ my heart is so so so broken for him and you. Also I’m sorry this took forever 😅 work is a drag; and I rarely have enough energy to do anything afterwards.

My grandmothers most famous line, and I’m not bullshitting you; was: to get over one man, you should get under another.

N/SFW; angsty—overtly depressing?; not proof read; and now I’m sad 😔 DESCRIPTIONS OF VERY VERY SAD SHIT; nonny, Shisui is crying in purgatory because of you—he wants to hold his baby!! And sorrynotsorry but I’m definitely blurring the timeline of the show for dramatics, sue me.

But that’s not the case for you, is it? Especially not when the only thing tethering Shisui to your plane of existence grows within the soft swell of your stomach. Too small to show, and to much to bear.

That night will for be engraved in your mind. The way your knees buckled; almost falling face down into the dirt had it not been for Itachi-san. Him too, crouched with you as you both ugly cry. It was hard for him to be that torn, let alone see you shredded. Barring teeth with snot; the most gutteral outcry of pain.

Of course it’s not easy for you, this whole thing will never be easy. You can’t sleep, can’t eat. Hell, half the time it feels like you’re just going through the motions. It’s hard to be grateful for new beginnings when recent endings are so fresh, the wound not even cauterized. It just seeps and oozes into the deepest crevices of your soul, a permanent branding. It’s hard to be grateful for new beginnings when recent endings are so fresh. The cascading tidal wave of emotions is exhausting, and it’s mostly due to your hormones. Grief, anger. Desperation, longing and joy.

Was it really this fair to feel a little bit happy when Shisui is somewhere, nowhere to be found? His corpse endlessly floating— no. Full stop. You don’t even want to go there, how many times have you pictured it? How morbid of you, you think; to wish to see him. Even in that state. That if it were the only way to see him again, you would.

And you get angry, on very bad days, shut the world out. How can live when it’s the end of the world? How can people, Uchiha or not, be so nonchalant. In fact, the only person who really shares your grief is Itachi. And he’s pitted as Shisui’s aggressor, his means to an end. But that’s not the case.

Slowly, you come around. Itachi is there, and both your griefs are endless. Sometimes you feel that his is more vast; and it probably is. Definitely is. So you tell him your secret, hoping it would bring joy. Though it nearly broke him all over again. There, in the midst of chaos and confusion and mayhem. Is still a little piece of Shisui.

But, this is the most inopportune time for happiness. You see, dear old Itachi-san has a secret; one he cannot tell you. The government coercion behind the curtain, his upcoming mission. The happiness he shares with you in this brief moment of reprieve from your darkest days is short lived. The feeling of his presence changes, making you uncomfortable with sharing this news.

Itachi’s final words to you are devoid of emotion and severely cold, ‘if you know what’s good for you, you won’t tell anyone else.’ It’s a threat and a silent plea all at once. You soon find out later about that, and it’ll all make sense.

Pregnancy feels so uneventful to you. After the massacre, you’re one less person to share your grief and it only grows more once the details are revealed. Your life; your baby. Your Shisui. It feels like everything around you won’t ever stand on solid ground. As a good mother you buck up and slowly integrate back into a mundane routine.

First milestones are less than exciting, but still hold weight. Those tiny black images, hung on your fridge. They bring momentary happiness each time you pass them. The first time it’s little heartbeat echoes off the walls in the medical room make your heart feel less empty, but you still cry over the sink eating your lunch like a rat.

Eating is more of a challenge, but eventually the cravings will make sustaining your growing body easier. The vitamins help too, but it’s still difficult to find your stomach from time to time.

I think the only day you aren’t a complete mess is when your water breaks while you’re waiting for a decaf tea. Two weeks early, figures. Nothing goes according to plan, you’ve become accustomed to expecting the unexpected. And this day, this is when the weight of Shisui’s loss is wayfared into the world, and placed in your arms.

Smol, tiny. Itty bitty little hands. Big and soft dark eyes, just as his were. In fact, as time passes by. There’s not a day you don’t think your baby is more Shisui than you. He’s all you’ll ever see in them, and some days you’ll feel a twinge of sadness. But mostly it’s pure unadulterated love.

[sanest-bsd-delegate]

Alternatives

Headcanon: Parent! Reader with Teen! Dazai, Chuuya and Akutagawa A/N: Ch 109 made me write this.

MASTERLIST

✧Dazai

⤷Humm I mean look at him? He screams attachment issues. I am pretty sure he hides the fact he wants affection, but lets be honest Parent's instant and He gets a hug.

⤷As a kid, he would be the type of person (kid?) who gets sugarrush just by taking one piece of candy. Lets be honest, the minute he eats one, its the time your whole house is covered in glitter and gold.

⤷He has difficulty opening up his thoughts, or rather, sharing his real views on anything, but I feel like he would have once in a while mental breakdowns and you can do nothing but hug your kid, and support him. (He is adoptive kay?)

⤷He LOVES whatever you make for him. He would be the type of person who would never skip a meal when it comes to you eating with him as a family.

⤷GIVE HIM HUGS PILLOW AND KISSES.

⤷A LOTS OF GOODNIGHT KISSES

⤷You read him a bedtime story. (You cant deny that)

⤷He once got kicked in his nuts as a kid, and honestly you cant blame the kid, your son's actions are questionable [PLEASE]

⤷You both will have Parent-son hangouts, considering how much you both tend to drift apart due to work.

⤷You once had a breakdown in front of him and he gives the warmest hugs.

⤷As he grows, (and you grow older) I feel like he would just randomly lift you from the floor and twirl you around.

⤷Also, he is the person who would prob come up to you in the middle of the night and say, "Mama/Dada I peed on the bed" (I cant stop laughing writing this)

(I wouldnt comment on his um depression cause cant we have a genuine fluff headcanon?)

✧Chuuya

⤷A pure good boy

⤷He doesnt like to disappoint you which is honestly cute and concerning

⤷I think he might as well get valadation issues.

⤷And anger issues. He is just built that way

⤷"YOU DONT UNDERSTAND MY PAIN" Phase

⤷Probably had a jewellery obsession phase in middle school. But you wouldn't blame him, everyone has concerning phases in middle school.

⤷You and him have movie nights.

⤷He gets annoyed when you give him a goodnight kiss on forehead, but secretly love it.

⤷As a kid, he would prob try to hide his crying whenever he got hurt, but you could see his eyes holding back tears. You just look at him and go over him, holding his hand while kissing it, saying the boo-boo while go away. (He thought you had magical kisses to heal wounds till 6th grade)

⤷He might as well have nightmares, but that doesnt stop him from waking you up at the middle of the night, (even though he will hesitate) and sleep with you.

⤷Kid! Chuuya would probably love playing dress ups and now he regrets it because everytime he finds an old albumn, he will see himself in a pink tutu.

⤷He was once being bullied in school because of his height, and he kicked the guy in his nuts. #neverbeensoproud You gave him icecream as a treat.

⤷You accidently caught him drinking wine when he was a teen in highschool. Now you have two options, either go bizzare or drink with him.

✧Akutagawa

⤷ 10/10 had an emo phase in middle school

⤷You once opened his music app and well you know...

⤷He doesnt like when you waste money on him, like why are you even buying him merch of his favorite band??

⤷He doesnt speak much with you, he is a quite kid of the school.

⤷He aces his test, like full?

⤷Yeah even he got validation issues, but severe.

⤷Okay but why can I imagine him as a kid, he would probably enter your room in the middle of the night [he gets scared or nightmare occurs] and just stare at your sleeping figure questioning whether to wake you up or not. Ofcourse, being a parent you became a light sleeper, so imagining your kid staring at you at the middle of night is something-

⤷He believes EVERYTHING you say. Monster in the closet? Monster under bed manifesting if he doesn't sleeps? YES EVERYTHING.

⤷My little baby just needs a lots of hugs.

⤷Okeh buts its honestly so sweet of him to try bake a cake for you when its your birthday.

⤷He can cook, he can clean he can cough

⤷He would randomly come to you and give/get a hug from you while you try to process why your 'don't touch me' kid was hugging you

⤷He might as well be stealing eyeliners from you or buying it secretly.

⤷Also you regret opening his search history. (Don't ask)

A/N: AHHHHH I know this is like short and stuff but I literally have angst ideas at the moment and seeing the fandom condition i am speechless. I mean you all just made #bungou stray dogs trending on tumblr. P.s Chapter 109 made me loss my ability to write.

[quitealotofsodapop]

more Soft Boiled!

[the little red ribbon in her hair!!! And she has her own version of Macaque's scarf!!]

the red ribbon was meant to be phoenix feathers like Wukong's cap, and I like ti think her scarf may actually be a piece of Macaque's original scarf. the one he wears pre-death is different from his scarf post-resurrection, so maybe after he died Wukong wanted to keep a momento for himself/his unborn daughter. Macaque comes back to life and assumed the scarf, which was a gift from Wukong in the first place, had been rescinded as a show of them no longer being together. that is, until he recognizes the fabric hanging from the shoulders of a familiar black-furred child that just broke his nose mid shadow play.

[Wukong about to get a talking to the second his adoptive family gets a hold of him. Once the monkey recovers from the early labour, and has emotionally recovered from the rollercoaster that was Yuebei's birth ofc.]

I can imagine PIF helping as a sort of midwife through the whole thing, and being very supportive and giving a lot of great advice, having gone through a similarly rough pregnancy not overly long ago herself (I also like to think Red Son, due to the fire causing the pregnancy and birth complication, was also a premmie). aaanndd then the moment Wukong is ok again after Yuebei is confirmed ok she's turning into the most foul-mouthed, harshest, rage filled person in the room. the others don't bother scolding Wukong much, taking softer tones in despite their concern and annoyance, partly because she said it all first, and partly because they feel bad about how utterly devastating her rant was.

[It would be so cute if Yuebei first started crying over something completely normal - for some reason, I'm thinking it's something like Zhu Bajie trying to pull a funny face for her. Wukong is so relieved to hear his baby crying that he doesn't even scold his pilgrim brother for scaring her!]

she's awake, but barely, and still so, so quiet. then, admist the other pilgrims quiet fussing over her, Zhu Bajie tries to lighten the mood by making a face. she starts wailing. Wukong, who was just about ready to go out like a light, instantly is next to the crib, picking her up and both trying to comfort her and himself as he cries in joy and relief. the others have a similar joyous reaction, except for Bajie, who is very wounded by the thought of being ugly enough to make a baby cry.

[Wukong would be so protective of his little Moon Comet Star. She was so sickly and weak as a baby, that he worries about ever letting her leave places he knows to be safe.]

maybe another lasting affect of her brief encounter with the fire is sever asthma. not great for a premature newborn. I imagine it would be something that sticks with you if your baby is constantly wheezing, coughing, unable to really make sounds, struggling to eat, struggling to breath, and maybe even stops breathing entirely entirely at times. And with almost nothing you can do, as back when she was born their wouldn't really have been much treatment or medicine for things like asthma. the constant worry of Yuebei suddenly not being able to breath probably means she never really got to go places, especially without her Baba. heaven forbid is she also has any seasonal allergies. not to say Wukong was a total helicopter parent, but he definitely worried.

Wukong is aware enough to understand that this is not a normal, or ideal childhood, so now that she's a bit bigger and stronger he's really trying to not lose his mind with anxiety every time MK takes her somewhere new off island without him. he even tries to encourage her to go out, so even if he has worries and a few different concerns when MK mentions the noodle shop all got tickets plus an extra one for the his daughter to a shadow play he tries not to stifle anyone's fun.

[That and I can imagine Wukong took her to stay with Guanyin on her unaging island for a while to help her health improve.] + [I bet even with Guanyin, "Cousin" Nezha, and the very rare corespondance with PIF and Red Son, Yuebei spends a lot of her childhood lonely]

as mentioned above, with her having been so sick she def would have spent a lot of time at Guanyin's. she's a renowned healer, and Guanyin is someone he trusts dearly to boot, so going to the goddess is a win-win in his eyes.

and yeah. between not being allowed to go out to new places much due to being a sickly child, and Wukong's reputation and not having anyone to connect with other then busy celestials, there's not much chance to go exploring. the monkeys are fun, but they and her baba treat her very delicately even when playing. her baba is awesome in her eyes, and its one thing for your parent to be someone you can call a best friend, but its a little different when your parent is your only friend. its why, despite not liking him much, she jumps at MK's offer to take her off island and into the city without her baba sometimes.

I feel like she'd make fast friends with Bai He once the LBD fiasco is over.

[Yuebei is gonna have a time when she starts understanding whats really going on with the Noodle Gang, and why her family "suddenly" can't remember her. Wukong blames himself for not explaining it better to her earlier, but hadn't wanted to dump so much loss on his babygirl all at once - it was a lose-lose situation.]

Yuebei learning and coming to understand what's happened probably ends up being the b-plot of an episode. maybe "Amnesia Rules", instead of Wukong getting his memories back by getting hit over the head, it happens because he realizes through Yuebei having an emotional breakdown over the others, and now her own father, having forgetton her and he realizes that she's describing them having reincarnated and he's like "ah! that's what happened." and explains more indepth what that means to her. the others hear of her feeling about "them forgtting her" for the first time during this, and can't help but feel bad and try and help Wukong explain. she probably clings to her baba for a long time after, and stops being as cld to the others. maybe even kinda apologizes to MK for thinking he stole them from her.

maybe. not sure how well the idea works.

[Yuebei doesn't like Macaque, but she doesn't completely abhor the idea of him and her baba becoming close again. She just doesn't want either of them to get hurt again.]

she doesn't protest her presence much, as her baba seems... hopeful (though still a little sad sometimes) when he's around, and she also doesn't hate the idea of having her second baba around. but she also doesn't let him off scott free, glaring over Wukong's shoulder at him when macaque gets to close to soon, clinging to Wukong when he tries to talk to her, not talking much around him even if he addresses her directly, and generally not being very receptive. she probably at some point goes through a "rebelious phase" where she does things to test if he'll "really stick around even if she's troublesome". as far as she knows, he didn't even want her in the first place, or at least didn't care that Wukong was having her, so to her it seems like a reasonable thing to question.

[Azure Lion about to get decked in the face the second he comes around. When did the monkeys multiply? Why is he on fire?]

what can Yuebei say? she's fiercely protective and not happy about someone trying to take away her baba again.

[Wukong is just watching Yuebei tear into their enemies like; "I love my strong little girl." <3]

probably been said before, but no matter the universe; Wukong is a proud dad to all his kids at all times

Prev.

[Macaque comes back to life and assumed the scarf, which was a gift from Wukong in the first place, had been rescinded as a show of them no longer being together. that is, until he recognizes the fabric hanging from the shoulders of a familiar black-furred child that just broke his nose mid shadow play.]

I'm sorry but that is the cutest/saddest gotdamn thing ever. Wukong was so distraught at losing Macaque that he couldn't bare to leave behind his most cherished possession. So he took the scarf. Wrapped it around himself when he felt cold. Maybe even used it to swaddle his new baby girl. Yuebei dragging it around the cave as her security blanket. It being carefully washed and repaired so many times that it's barely red any more.

In the end, Wukong wanted Macaque to be there with him through all of This.

And once the reality sets in, Macaque is sobbing at the sight of Yuebei wearing her beloved scarf as he once did.

And I just love that my reoccurring theme with Macaque in the Egg aus is;

[aaanndd then the moment Wukong is ok again after Yuebei is confirmed ok she's turning into the most foul-mouthed, harshest, rage filled person in the room.]

PIF is terrifying when she's genuinely angry/worried - and once Wukong and Yuebei are safe/healthy post-natal, she starts yelling.

Wukong now finally understands what Macaque meant when he said his "ears are burning". Once the woman calms down, she wraps Wukong into a near-crushing hug, thanking and begging him to never ever do something so stupid again. Even if it saved her baby, Wukong nearly lost his. And PIF would never forgive herself if little Yuebei had been lost to the fire.

Yuebei gets a tearful kiss on the forehead from her auntie before PIF leaves the room, content with the words spoken.

Wukong makes sure to hug DBK when he sees him next, knowing that the Bull feels the same as his wife over the matter.

[the others have a similar joyous reaction, except for Bajie, who is very wounded by the thought of being ugly enough to make a baby cry.]

HAHA! XD Bajie would take it as an insult - but at least his little bro is happy to hear the baby make noise. A loud piglet is a healthy piglet. And little Yuebei was a real quiet piglet for a long time... at least she stops being afraid of ol' Uncle Bajie when she gets a little bigger.

I immediately thought of a scene from Hero is Back where Bajie is trying to calm down the baby Silly Girl by pulling a face, only for the baby to start screaming at him.

[maybe another lasting affect of her brief encounter with the fire is sever asthma. not great for a premature newborn.] + [heaven forbid is she also has any seasonal allergies. not to say Wukong was a total helicopter parent, but he definitely worried.] + [and yeah. between not being allowed to go out to new places much due to being a sickly child, and Wukong's reputation and not having anyone to connect with other then busy celestials, there's not much chance to go exploring.]

Oof. This hit me as an asthmatic preemie myself. Cus so much of my health was compromised as a little kid, I wasn't very active or adventurous - something thats easy to regret as an adult.

Wukong is so scared of how fragile his cub is. He's immortal, he's indestructable - but that means nothing to him if he can't protect his baby. He knows that mint and licorice, and anti-muscosal formulas help people with poor lungs, but the science back then wasn't 100% sure, and he sure as Diyu wasn't letting his daughter smoke datura cigarettes like the western doctors reccomended! At least the Eqyptians had Kyphi - an incense mixture (multiple formulas) that was frequently repurposed into asthma treatments.

All he can really do is to have a fully-stocked pharmacy inside Water-Curtain Cave, and make sure Yuebei stays away from pollen-rich flowers.

Wukong cries with relief in the early 20th century when Ventolin, Antihistamines, and Epinephrine become common knowledge.

Bonus: Interesting article I found on asthma treatment in Traditional Chinese medicine.

[as mentioned above, with her having been so sick she def would have spent a lot of time at Guanyin's. she's a renowned healer, and Guanyin is someone he trusts dearly to boot, so going to the goddess is a win-win in his eyes.]

Yuebei probably sees Guanyin as an aunt/grandparent figure. Hard not to when the bodhisattva is so doting over the tiny girl. Yuebei finds a lot of her lessons and treatments boring, but at least for a long time she had Red to hang out with.

Guanyin knows Wukong wouldn't trust Yuebei's care with them lightly. Even if Guanyin was present to bless Yuebei's arrival, the Monkey King is hesistant to let anyone tend to his little girl for a long time. The goddess is honoured to be so trusted.

[she jumps at MK's offer to take her off island and into the city without her baba sometimes.]

It's the thing that allows her to open up to MK a little more, even with her burning jealousy of how he's spending so much time with her baba + the Noodle Gang family + him getting to have a "normal" life pretending to be a healthy human cub.

She likes arcades but they get very loud for her at times. MK is quick to notice when the "Monkey Princess" (as he calls her) gets overstimulated, and suggests that they check out a quieter activity.

Like a play.

[I feel like she'd make fast friends with Bai He once the LBD fiasco is over.]

Little girl gang! And if Bai He is a foster kid/orphan like I hc, then Yuebei has zero issue letting another sickly little girl into her family. She's very sympathetic and understanding of Bai He's physical limits ever since she hosted LBD - the human girl now aching constantly from her body being forced to move like a puppet. The two jokingly compare how one briefly hosted Fire while the other Ice. Bai He could be considered the more feminine of the two, but they both bond over shared interest in animal science - Yuebei still loves her dinosaurs while Bai He is still a die-hard cat fan. And ofc the inherent chaos that two fearless little girls can get up to when they wander off from their babas' watchful gaze.

[the others hear of her feeling about "them forgtting her" for the first time during this, and can't help but feel bad and try and help Wukong explain. she probably clings to her baba for a long time after, and stops being as cld to the others. maybe even kinda apologizes to MK for thinking he stole them from her. maybe. not sure how well the idea works.]

Ultimately, even if Yuebei understood how death/reincarnation worked, she would still feel "forgotten" as (nearly) every soul that passes through Diyu is made to drink Meng Po's broth and forget their past lives. The little girl still feels abandoned in some way by her Pilgrim uncles "leaving" her and her baba. It's bad enough that Uncle Bull had to go away for a long time, but to lose her uncles, only to see them again in new forms that don't recognize her, devastates Yuebei in a way thats hard for her to articulate.

And for her own parent to be afflicted in a way that makes him unable to remember her? Oh you better believe Yuebei is a complete mess.

When Wukong briefly loses his memory in "Amnesia Rules"; he initially panics, wondering why he can't "feel the Egg" any more - only to look over at Yuebei and have a moment of fractured memory thinking that she must be a projection from the future, or an Egg Macaque made on his own without him.

This assumption continues unaddressed until the gang manages to get Tang back, and befriend Scorpion Queen. As they're about to get Wukong to go back into astral meditation to "reboot" himself, the ginger monkey turns to ask Yuebei something thats been plaguing him all day.

Amnesiac!Wukong: "Are you my Egg?" Yuebei, sadly: "I was..." Amnesiac!Wukong: "Aww. Come here, cub." (*Wukong pulls Yuebei in for a hug*) Amnesiac!Wukong: "If you really are my little Egg many years from now, I'm happy that she grows into a strong, fearless little lady. I'm proud to be your Baba." Yuebei: (*cries into Wukong's shoulder*) "I love you baba..." Amnesiac!Wukong, crying too: "I'm so happy to be able to hear that. I was so scared when you tried absorbing the Samadhi Fire... I thought I lost you. But you're a tough little girl aren't you? You spat that fire right out like it was sour!" Yuebei, aware of her birth circumstances: "Yeah. You tell me that story all the time." Pigsy and Tang, not aware: "What?"

Pigsy and Tang are so emotional over the amnesiac!father-daughter bonding, that they are completely off-guard when the older monkey rattles off some details about the Samadhi Fire that he neglected to let the others in on.

[she probably at some point goes through a "rebelious phase" where she does things to test if he'll "really stick around even if she's troublesome". as far as she knows, he didn't even want her in the first place, or at least didn't care that Wukong was having her, so to her it seems like a reasonable thing to question.]

Ooof!! I love the idea of Yuebei antagonising Macaque "just to be sure" that he's serious about staying around. Macaque honestly tries his best to be patient, but after a while he starts to get super annoyed with the girl's attitude.

Then one stray prank or comment rolls into a genuine verbal confrontation.

Macaque: "What is it about me that offends you so much!? I get it - my and your dad had a few fights and I sorta almost destroyed the world trying to escape the Bone Demon - but I'm trying my best here! I wouldn't have broken your dad out of his possession if I didn't think he was worth sticking around for!" Yuebei, emotional: "How am I supposed to believe that when you left us twice!?" Macaque, realizing: "Twice? What do you mean by- OH." Yuebei: (*trying not to cry*) Macaque: "You... you thought I knew? Kid, I only learned you even existed as a concept when Jin and Yin busted my lip open first thing after New Years." Yuebei: "You have your special ears! You should have known I was there when you-" (*stops talking, buries head into knees*) Macaque, extremely guilty: "I should have. I really should have. But I chose not to listen. I was just so... angry at that monk, at the circlet, even at your baba, I..." *sighs* "Maybe if I had stopped to listen, I would have known you were there. That Wukong had someone he would kill me for. I don't blame him for that." Yuebei, lifts head from knees: "You don't?" Macaque: "Nah. You're a lot cooler than I am. You took the Samadhi Fire head in before you were even born. And when you saw the Bone Demon, you didn't run and hide like I did - you and MK took that witch out. And did I see a certain little warrior take her first war trophy before we left?" Yuebei, avoiding eye contact: "She isn't using it..." Macaque: "To be fair it wasn't getting much use with her anyway. If she had a brain in that skull, she'd know Wukong picks a good troop. I just wished I had known that a few centuries ago..." Yuebei & Macaque share an awkward silence Macaque: "I wanna stick around kiddo. I missed out on a lot when I left. Both times really... But I want to stay. Flower Fruit Mountain is my home too, and I hope someday it could be a home me and your baba can share together again. Even if you don't believe me." Yuebei: (*affectionate elbow jab into Mac's rib*) Macaque, chuckling: "Well, that's progress from the nose busting." Yuebei: (*trying not to laugh*)

Bonus: Wukong hears some of this convo, or it's parroted to him by one of the (sneaked-out of Diyu with Mac) Eclipse twins. You know this monkey crying over his former mate and his baby girl finally starting to get along!

[what can Yuebei say? she's fiercely protective and not happy about someone trying to take away her baba again.]

The only reason Azure gets as far as he does with the Memory Scroll is that Yuebei is either A: Not on FFM at the time, or B: Got Memory Scroll'd in the confusion.

Otherwise, she starts kicking and punching Azure the second she clocks who he is. MK and Mei are gonna have to drag her off of him.

The Jade Emperor and Xiwangmu see this tiny monkey, burning with rightous anger and protectiveness, and just know who's cub she is. The Emperor does however, look over to his wife very briefly to ask if the little girl dragging Azure Lion by the scruff of the neck to Diyu is a lost grandchild of theirs.

[probably been said before, but no matter the universe; Wukong is a proud dad to all his kids at all times]

Wukong loves his kids so gotdang much. Canon or au - him a proud dad.

This got a little away from me - I hope you liked my reply!

[blacklegsanjiii]

Hear me out... Boa hancock and transgirl sanji, rescued lil sister

Maybe hancock picked her up directly up from germas dungeon or maybe judge wqs a tad bit worse and after several months in the dungeon he sold sanji to the celestial dragons and is then rescued by hancock who sees her and is like 'yeahh no fuck this, lil kid is my sibling now

(sanji doesnt know she's a girl at that point) (also if lusan happend in this AU that would be so fucking funny thinking about it 😭😭)

Boa finding a kid in germas dungeon and just being like "Mine" and finding out Sanji's a boy back on Amazon Lily. Sanji looking at the women and girls and saying he wants to be pretty and oh. Ooohhhh. Boa still found a little girl she's just not herself yet. So Sanji is given dresses and skirts and blouses and told to try them on.

Like everyone is looking at this kid the Queen brought home and is fucking frightened when they find out she's the queen?? They ask her where she got them and she's like "The Germa Dungeon when I was visiting for delegation. This is Sanji. They're my baby now."

Sanji is just...there. Sanji goes through the motions of being royalty and it's never quite clarified if Sanji is a baby sibling or an adopted child but is baby. They are baby. That's the only consensus everyone comes to. Baby. They are well taken care of and as royalty, again, properly this time Sanji actually enjoys it. They enjoy going to events and being coddled and admired.

And being on Amazon Lily means Germa really won't come after them. Plus Boa is really nice and has clothes made for them just kind of at a whim because Sanji loves skirts and dresses but they fight with their feet so some sort of legging or very opaque tights would be nice.

Eventually Sanji comes out fully and is somehow swept up in the Strawhat madness as their cook and thanks Iva she's living her best life. Truly. She and Luffy probably start dating early on but it's not like anyone really talks about it. It's just how it is. And then when Luffy shows up on Amazon Lily and Marineford happens, Luffy doesn't even know Sanji is baby to Boa. Nor does he care to mention her because Ace and Boa is so infatuated she doesn't ask about Sanji.

After Marineford and when the crew reunites Boa is sad to see Luffy go but then remembers Sanji is on his crew so while at Sabaody when she's there to help send them off after her and Luffy finish up whatever see Sanji off officially this time.

Then Boa watches Luffy tackle Sanji and kiss her and Sanji laughing and holding him and kiss back. Boa is fuming and demands to know what's going on and Luffy is just "Oh, Sanji and I have been dating since Drum Island."

"Oh gods you're obsessed with Luffy, after no man was supposed to sway you!" Sanji starts cackling and pointing at Boa.

"I can't believe this, wow, the baby wounds me so." Boa growls.

"Baby as in baby sister or child?" Usopp asks. There is no answer given. Sanji is just baby.

[katyawriteswhump]

The freak in the penthouse part 4.1

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve.

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse

On AO3

4.1 Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen

After they got out of the plunge pool, Eddie ordered champagne. It arrived mega fast. Steve grabbed the ice-bucket and said, “Balcony?”

He was gone before Eddie could answer. Eddie sheathed himself in his bathrobe as a surrogate comfort blanket. He braced himself to follow Steve somewhere he’d not been for several weeks.

The not-so-great outdoors.

Still, it wasn’t like Eddie was moseying into a packed mall. He took a drag of the stellar-quality Gamja Dustin had sent over and shuffled out. Steve handed him champagne, and he took a nerve-steadying sip.

“Holy shit!” shouted Eddie. “Check out that sunset.” 

“It’s wild. This place pisses all over the Carlton Ritz.” Steve levelled at Eddie’s side, leaning with his elbows on the balustrade. He wore only his tiny hotpants, which nearly distracted Eddie from a renewed fizz of unease:

“You get around, don’t ya, big boy? Worked in all the best hotels?”

Steve shrugged, fixing on the shimmering Hollywood Hills.

“Want a joint?” asked Eddie.

“I’ll pass.” Instead, Steve grabbed a strawberry from a bowl he’d dumped on a nearby sunbed. He tossed it in the air, catching it in his mouth.

Eddie grinned like an idiot. “I totally didn’t order those.”

“They come with the champagne.” Steve dabbed a red juicy smudge from his chin. “They bring out the flavor. Try it.”

He pressed a strawberry to Eddie’s lips, and Eddie wasn’t gonna refuse entry. He bit the strawberry and washed it down with champagne. Steve hadn’t lied—the flavor partied, sweet and sour and fizzy on his tongue. With a smirk, Steve popped another strawberry in his own mouth, then leaned forward for Eddie to bite it.

The kiss was inevitable. Eddie ditched his wine and even his joint, wrapped his arms around Steve, and clung. Steve aced the kiss, clinging too, fingers hooking so tight in Eddie’s hair they tangled and tugged.

Yup, he’s fantastic at making you believe he wants you.

Steve was also making Eddie forget himself, which was cool, cool, cool. They wound up having a dumbass strawberry fight, spattering them across the balcony, smearing them all over Steve’s torso and both their faces. Then they ate the taste out of each other’s mouths while dry rutting on a sunbed. With Steve gyrating on top of him, Eddie soon had a blockbuster erection again… and Steve?

His mask slipped a little when they broke for air. He actually shuddered, and that’s when Eddie felt the goosebumps as he stroked at Steve’s nape.

“You cold?” asked Eddie.

“No way,” said Steve. “It’s only September.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire, thought Eddie. At least it hadn’t been an involuntary shudder of revulsion.

A cool breeze cleaved between them, and Steve shuddered again.

“Wanna go back inside?” asked Eddie. “There’s a pigeon after the strawberries and I swear it’s hexing me with its manic pink eyes.”

Eddie led the way. Steve had already followed before Eddie realised that he’d gone in a different door from the one they came out through. The door that led to the room that he often avoided. The one where he piled the crap he didn’t want to think about, and the one with—

“You’re shitting me, man,” said Steve. “You’ve got a baby grand?”

“Yeeeah.”

“I didn’t even realise there was another room here.”

“Tell me about it. Seems I still get lost in my own penthouse. This is kinda my dump room.” 

Eddie started gathering up his notes from his game design and the probably-fake Hendrix guitar, which lay on the floor. He was considering reacquainting himself with his joint, when a neat chord sounded from the piano. Steve started to sing:

“It's a little bit funny 

This feeling inside

I'm not one of those who can easily hide

I don't have much money, but boy if I did

I'd buy a big house where we both could live—"

Steve’s voice cracked and he coughed briefly into his hand. “Shit! I broke your no music rule.”

Eddie snapped his gaping mouth shut. “No sweat.”

“Elton John not your poison?”

Eddie was still reeling. “I got every respect for the Rocket Man. ‘Your Song’ isn’t quite my kinda song, but… Shit, dude, it’s fine and you’re amazing. You can really belt it out—I’m envious—and where did you learn to tickle the ivories like that?”

“Learned as a kid.” Steve’s laugh was odd, brittle. “I sucked at reading music. Not much good when your parents want you classically trained.”

“They were uncool about it?”

Steve shook his head, slid across the piano stool to make room for Eddie. “They were always super-supportive. Always. They could never find a tutor who’d stick with their loser son.”

Steve sniffed, staring at the piano keys. Eddie was torn between feeling sorry for Steve and a smoldering curiosity to learn what happened to Steve’s “super-supportive” parents.

Only rich kids learned piano, right? Yet here Steve was…

Steve looked up sharply. “Let’s talk about you. Tonight’s all about you, Eddie-babes. Wanna share your rock-and-roll story? You finally gonna spill?”

“What?”

“You gotta be in a band.” Steve nodded at the guitar. “Let me guess. Had a fall-out with your bandmates? Artistic differences?” Eddie started grinding his teeth, and his knees jittered. “Or some other kind of musician? I mean, you got a piano here, dude… though I suppose it comes with the suite… Um, yeah, you don’t have to answer. I’ll zip it.”

Eddie realized he must be looking as pissed as he felt. Which Steve didn’t deserve. Eddie puffed out his cheeks:

“I was in a band. Corroded Coffin. We never hit the big time and I made my big bucks elsewhere—down to two other kids’ Einstein-like eggheads, and nothing to do with music or even lil’ ol’ me, really. No, I don’t play piano. I can mess around with a few chords, hit Middle C. That’s about it.”

“You’re pretty good at hitting my G… spot.” Steve’s hand slithered underneath Eddie’s bathrobe, zeroing in between his tense thighs. “I owe you a blowjob, man.”

Eddie lost his shit laughing. Steve’s dud-tastic smooth talking had totally melted the tension. Steve was stupid levels of nice as well as sexy af, and that was all that mattered. 

“From one loser to another,” said Eddie, blood shooting south, “I’m not gonna fight ya.”

part 4.2 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse

...

On ao3

Likes reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3