#but also that sounds hard and awful and terrible

[whimsyfinny]

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader, eventual smut

Warnings: language, mention of drugs

Chapter Word Count: 2330

—-MDNI—-

A/N: wooooop new series! I'm trying something new with this one! As a mom myself I loooove reading mom!reader fics, so I wanted to write my own. It's a slightly shorter first chapter, but the following ones should be longer. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, reading your comments makes my day ❤️ and of course, this is proofread only by myself so pls pls let me know of any errors! I really hope you enjoy it. I also didn’t write this at 2am for once so brownie points to me hahaha

Photos from Pinterest

——————————————————————

Chapter 1

“Come on, (Y/n)! You have to tell me all about it! What was he like? Did you kiss? Hold hands? Where did he take you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the rapidfire questions spewing from Kats mouth. Kat, the stunner sat opposite me with perfect dark skin and the inability to have a bad hair day, was my closest friend. We lived on the same street, drank at the same bar and both hated this small, slightly judgemental town equally. We bonded over the similarities in our lives - like both of us having fallen pregnant at a young age and being dealt the hand of having to raise our kids as single parents. Life was fucking hard sometimes (well, nearly all the time), but my son, Levi, and Kat, made this life worth living.

“Jesus Christ, ok! The date was ok.”

“Uh oh. ‘Ok’? That means it was awful, right?” she raised an eyebrow.

I took a gulp of my coffee.

“The date was ok. But he was…. Seriously not my type. He was too…perfect?” I winced as the words left my mouth, fully aware of how utterly ridiculous that sounded.

“Girl, ‘too perfect’? What the fuck kind of excuse is that?” Kat snorted slightly into her latte.

“I know, I know. But he reminded me of a Ken doll, ya’know? With his white jeans and his Armani sweater over his shoulders - that’s not really… me. The dude gets more manicures than I do. Plus he drives a Fiat Panda. Levi wouldn’t be caught dead getting in and out of one of those.”

“You can’t use your sons taste in cars to dictate the men in your life. That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“Ok then, you go out with Robert and tell me about all the kale facts that you never wanted to learn.” I leant back on the couch, clutching my coffee with both hands to bring some warmth to my fingertips. Kat did the same opposite me, leaning back in the plush armchair as we both took a second to glance out of the large café windows. This was our happy place, right here. It was the place we would come to when we first met and the boys were still in diapers. It was our happy place for the last nine years, and we would come here for every situation: be it a breakup, a catch-up, to discuss terrible sexual encounters or dire situations that need insane back-up plans. But we mostly came here to people-watch. Being the young, single moms that we were, we were constantly under the scrutiny of the small town, having every decision judged by the perfect Jeep-driving soccer moms and the old ladies from church. When we came here, to sit by this window in these comfy-as-fuck couches, it was our turn to do a little judging.

“Vicki Priestley isn't fooling anyone with those sunglasses,” I said, taking another sip of coffee as I watched the thin peroxide blonde across the street repeatedly wipe her nose with the back of her hand.

“Right? We get shunned for…well… fuck all, yet that Paris wannabe can snort coke on a Tuesday school run and everyone turns a blind eye? What a joke.”

“Amen to that,” we watched her for a few more seconds as she climbed behind the wheel of some monstrous four by four and sped off down the road.

“Did you hear that Mrs. Harris caught Mr. Harris with a young mistress? Apparently she works at the bank.”

“Oh my GOD yes I heard!” Kat exclaimed, leaning forward, “and as revenge she put Nair in his shampoo - he's completely hairless, even his eyebrows are gone.”

We both snickered as we raised our mugs.

“To Mrs. H for taking no shit.”

Conversation flowed as topics ranged from the new dessert parlour that opened last week down the road to the extortionate price of kids' Motocross gear.

“I mean the bikes are so tiny, why do they have to cost that much?”

“You're preaching to the choir babes, Toby just outgrew his boots for the third time this year,” Kat grimaced at the thought of how much money she'd spent already.

“Ouch, they're like what? Eighty bucks a pair?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah well, I had to get Levi a new helmet after that little dickhead from the tournament last month crashed into the side of him. That boy was more upset about the stickers he lost than the bruises he got,” I shook my head with a smile on my lips. Kat did the same.

“That's a tough kid you've got there.”

I sighed.

“Yeah I know. Despite never having met him, he's so much like his dad. It's a little concerning actually,” I laughed nervously, instantly regretting bringing up Levi’s father in front of Kat. I glanced up at her, taking a sip of my coffee in an attempt to hide behind the mug. The wiggling of her eyebrows being an indicator of her impending wrath.

“That man is the reason why you’re never satisfied with your dates. He set that bar waaaay too high.”

I scoffed. “He did not. We were young and he just swept me off my feet a bit, that’s all; with that ‘give ‘em Hell’ attitude and handsome face. Plus he had a great car.”

“Last time you said his face was ‘gorgeous’,” Kat cupped her face and fluttered her eyelashes, puckering her lips. I threw a sugar packet at her which she batted right back at me.

There was a moment of quiet as we both looked out the window again, my mind unable to stop itself from racing through old memories.

“Do you think he’ll ever come calling?” Kat asked, some sincerity to her tone. I sighed and slumped back further on the couch.

“I highly doubt it. He doesn’t even know that Levi exists. I tried calling him a few years back but some guy John W. had that number instead. I gave up after that. Plus, he had this kinda dangerous job, and normally if he showed up it was because something was going to go down,” I paused, looking into the dark liquid in my cup, “It’s probably a good thing that he hasn’t just shown up.”

“You say that, but you still have that photo you took together on your vanity.”

I shot her a look, pursing my lips and pinching my brows as she laughed, knowing she'd stumped me there. I quickly downed my coffee and checked my watch before standing and grabbing my bag.

“Come on, let's stop interrogating me and go pick up the boys before all Hell breaks loose at the track.”

“Mom it wasn't my fault, I swear.”

I slammed the car door closed and turned to the boy who stood close enough to be my shadow.

I turned around to face him with a stern expression, “so you did do it? After I called that boys mom a liar? LEVI.”

Levi, my son, looked close to tears, his bottom lip trembling.

“Mom, I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again!”

I narrowed my eyes at him before sighing, already exasperated, throwing the car keys into my bag.

“Did you at least stick to the golden rule?”

His answer was a vigorous nod, the tremble in his lip disappearing.

“‘Never throw the first punch; throw the second and finish the fight,’” he recited the words like a prayer.

“And…?”

“‘Always claim self defence.’”

I smiled and ruffled his soft brown hair.

“Good boy. What started the fight anyway?” I asked, guiding him to walk through the parking lot towards that new dessert parlour.

“He said I was weird for not having a dad.”

I looked down at him, eyes softening and I lifted a hand to rub his shoulder. It wasn't the first time he'd had this argument, and it likely won't be the last. Kids can be assholes. “And then he hit me when I said ‘at least my mom's boobs are real.’”

“Levi!” I stopped in my tracks and looked at him, mortified. I didn't even know where to start with that one. “Where-”

“Jamie from math class told me what ‘implants’ were… and he said that Brad's mom had them.”

He looked up at me innocently, and I knew then that he didn't fully grasp what he'd said to Brad - the kid he'd just punched between the eyes. I sighed for the umpteenth time and started walking again.

“Whatever, just… don't say that to anyone again, ok? You're gonna make me look like a terrible parent.”

“Ok mo- whoa! Look at that car!” It was Levi's turn to stop dead in his tracks as he stood in awe of the sleek black car parked by the sidewalk.

A black Chevy Impala.

“Oh wow,” my words came out slightly breathless, my mind suddenly racing to him and the conversation I'd had with Kat earlier that afternoon.

“So cool!” Levi gushed, walking up close to it but not close enough to touch.

“Yes, very cool. Now let's go inside before they run out of ice cream,” I ushered him to the door, reflexively looking over my shoulder, not knowing if I even wanted to see who could possibly be in the area.

The bell jingled as we walked in and Levi ran up to the counter, pressing his forehead to the glass. My eyes scanned the menu and I was pleasantly surprised to see they served coffee.

“What do you fancy kiddo?” I ruffled his hair again and waited for him to decide, and it wasn't long before he'd made up his mind. After ordering, we headed towards a small table-for-two at the edge of the room, and as Levi slumped down in his chair something familiar caught my attention.

A voice.

My heart quickly became erratic in my chest and my palms grew sweaty. I looked in the direction the voice had come from and was met with a slap in the face from memory lane.

There he was; the same wicked grin and mischievous eyes that had burned themselves into my memory. He dressed the same as he did nine years ago - right down to the necklace and leather jacket. He was engrossed in a conversation with another man, who looked slightly younger than himself, all whilst digging into a stack of waffles.

“Mom?”

The sound of Levi's voice snapped me out of the stunned fog I was caught up in and I quickly sat down, trying my best to focus on my son and not the man who was sitting only a few feet behind him. Levi looked like he was about to ask another question when a giant chocolate sundae and a coffee appeared at the table. I heard the waitress challenge Levi to finish the whole thing, but it was like I was listening to the world through water. My mind wouldn't stop racing. He's here. Do I talk to him? Will he remember me? Do I tell him about Levi? I hurriedly pulled my phone from my bag and sent her a hasty message before turning back to the boy in front of me, convincing a smile to appear on my lips.

“If you have room in that black-hole stomach of yours then you definitely could've finished your veggies earlier at dinner.”

He smirked slightly, like he always did when he knew he was getting away with murder, and it almost took my breath away. I saw the same smirk grace the lips of the man in the booth behind him. The mans gaze shifted to the side and when his eyes met mine - the same vibrant twists of green and gold that I have tattooed on my memory - I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping in my chest as I tore my eyes away. I clutched my coffee cup, staring intently at the dark swirling liquid, praying to anyone or anything that I'd find the answers to my troubles in the bottom of this mug. The prickling on my skin was unshakable, like his eyes were on me and I was trapped under his intense observation, unable to breath. Minutes felt like hours, and eventually he and his companion stood before heading to the door. The moment they were gone with the bell signalling their departure, the air gushed from my lungs as I dropped my head into my hands, earning myself a confused look from my son. I offered him a reassuring smile which he accepted before returning to shovelling ice-cream into his face.

Just when I thought I was safe, I looked up and locked eyes with him. Our eyes locked through the window just as he opened the car door, leaning on it. It was like time froze, and for a few moments, despite my earlier urgency to not make eye contact, I was now unable to look away. My breath caught in my throat as a smirk pulled at his lips before he ducked down into the driver's seat, slamming the car door closed. I found myself chewing on my bottom lip as he tore out of the parking lol, that familiar rumble of the engine practically rattling the windows and, despite the noise, it was a comforting sound.

Once they were out of sight and the impala could no longer be heard, I sighed, pushing my hair off my face and running my hands through my hair. As Levi polished off the last of his ice-cream, my phone buzzed on the table. Opening it and reading the message, a small wave of relief washed over me as Kat confirmed that Toby would be at his dad's for once so she could come over to drink wine and discuss very important topics. She hasn't got a clue what I need to vent about yet, but I feel like tonight is going to be a very long night.

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@suckitands33 @jackles010378 @megara0224 @libby99hb @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx

[sadkachow]

why do i get so many ideas for stories and writing and everything

like

can i not just complete an idea one time? just once. pretty please.

instead every single time my brain says "no, fuck you! i'm gonna give you seventy-five more ideas in the next three minutes and you're gonna write them down super super fast and then you're gonna put those ideas away and never look at them again until three years from now when you'll remember them, scramble to write down more things related to them, rinse, and repeat."

this has happened too many times.

why do i get ideas if i'm not allowed to finish them

[sonknuxadow]

my dream voice for movie shadow would be if they got david humphrey back but i know they wouldnt do that so at this point im just hoping that whoever they pick is an actual voice actor or at the very least fits the role and cares about getting the character right even if they don't have the most voice acting experience . please

[red-dyed-sarumane]

love to submit my fave songs to vocaloid tournaments & watch them get decimated

[lemoneychicken]

on one hand its fair to poke fun at adults whining that a kids show isnt good enough for them, not the target audience, however that also doesnt mean media like that cant be criticized by adults as its adults who are making it and work in the industry.

things being made for a younger audience, no matter how young, are not free from criticism and its an insult to animation to say otherwise. a lot of things now are leaning away from heartfelt stories or good lessons and shifting towards whats the cheapest, easiest thing to do. its right to call companies out when they try to do that.

[topflights]

still dodging rampage spoilers like theyre the fucking plague, but i gotta say, i have no idea why they did it tonight. seeing how late everything went just...why? why do this tonight? ive only ever been to two shows and BOTH shows had issues with everyone leaving after dynamite. which is understandable. you go in, watch dark elevation, watch dynamite (which arguably always has the more interesting booking and most of the storylines), and then still have an hour to go? so adding on a whole SECOND HOUR onto the pretaped THIRD SHOW you watch in a night is just too much. 

[ervotica]

𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞. [𝐟.𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when you think finnick’s in danger, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect him. or, that time the mutts impersonated your fiancé and you lost your shit.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: canon level violence, finnick is cute, reader is traumatised and also crying. overall not my best writing but it’s something.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: apologies for my absence guys, life has been kicking me in the ass of late. here’s an apology fic, i know it sucks i am very rusty in the writing department. love ya🫶

Finnick has been gone for ten minutes when the birds start circling; he’s disappeared into the trees, aimlessly digging when the sounds of flapping wings and voices hit the group’s poised ears.

You’re stumbling into the undergrowth at the first threat of danger, the breath quick to steal from your lungs as his voice rings in your ears.

“Y/N? Where are you? Help me!” Finnick’s voice calls, low and pained and drawn out terribly. Every sensible explanation dies, shrivels up and blackens in your head and you’re running towards the sound, swatting leaves and fallen branches out of the way.

“Finnick!” you shriek. “Finnick!”

Your heartbeat thumps in your own head, blood rushing and pounding when you trip and stumble your way further into the trees.

Peeta and Johanna are behind you, their grappling hands doing little to stop you on your rampage.

“They’re jabberjays, it’s not real!” Peeta tries to coax you down but it’s no use, you’re in a blind panic.

“Finn!” you scream for him again. “Finnick!”

Every awful scenario floods your head at once, of Snow and the Capitol and the torture they could inflict on him. It’s the only way to hurt you, hurting him, and Snow knows that.

Your cheeks are hot and damp with tears as you spin, frantic and wide eyed and desperate to catch a glimpse of Finnick; Johanna seizes you from behind, pushing you down to the ground and holding you there. When you thrash and lift your head, her hand clasps the back of your neck and forces your nose into the damp floor.

“It’s not real!” she growls.

He’s still screaming. Screaming for you. It hurts your ears and grabs your chest with white-hot panic, pure and unrelenting.

By the time the hour’s up, you’re limp, breath ragged and laboured. Johanna manhandles you up until you feel the bark of a tree digging into your back; you hiss and push her away indignantly. You have this far away look in your eyes, glazed and unfocused, only snapping to attention when a pair of footsteps bowl through the trees and crouch next to you.

“Finn,” you whisper, trembling as he wraps thick wired arms around you and pulls you flush to him. His pulse is fast and hard like a drum pressed to your cheek, his chest heaving as you climb him.

“It wasn’t real. I’m fine, we’re fine.”

You gasp and wheeze and clutch at him like he might slip away, a fist in his sandy hair, your shoulder wedged under his armpit. His grip is like iron around your waist and his breath is warm and comforting on the juncture of your shoulder.

“You’re okay,” you mumble, repeating over and over as though you’re trying to convince yourself.

“I’m okay. Look at me,” he demands. His hands are warm. “It wasn’t real.”

“Not real.” You rake fingernails across the nape of his neck, squeezing to keep him close. Your breath is ragged. “We’re fine.”

“There’s my girl.”

[amphiaria]

So Taylor has convinced me to move Chobits from my "oh yeah I've heard of that" list to my "I'm never going to read that, sounds awful" list, that's correct right?

listen unless your tolerance for bullshit and sex antics is extremely high you're probably not going to enjoy chobits

I enjoy chobits because it is so aesthetically immaculate that it informed an entire generation of work that followed it. I also enjoy chobits for things that it isn't. it is one of the stories that makes me the most insane of all bordering on ushiromiya kinzo-style obsession precisely because its premise goes off insanely hard and yet the product is dogshit. its premise is so fucking good that I have ripped it off part and parcel because sometimes good ideas are trapped in bad media and you have to help them get out. the premise of portable computers and phones being replaced by a class of nonsapient humanoid androids that are by and large modeled to be attractive women is an insane concept. the story could have absolutely everything. it could be about anything that it wanted to be. the issues are right there beyond the grate.

it could be about the exploitation of a workforce that is so new and unprecedented in history that it has not yet been classified by most of the population. it could be about the labor issues stemming from the existing workforce that is replaced by this new class, who are expensive to produce but they aren't sapient so it's not like you have to pay to sustain them like you would a human employee. it could be about why this new class of personal assistants are almost exclusively designed to be women. it WANTS to be about people filling in the emotional gaps in their lives with objects instead of other people, but it half-asses it because it can't commit to the concept of persocoms as objects instead of people. it could have SO MUCH to say about the invisibility and exploitation of sex workers. it picked up the concept and looked directly at it and threw it on the floor. I am thrashing behind the bars. I am wailing and gnashing my teeth

I cannot in good faith recommend chobits to anyone because it's not a good story. it's terrible. the narrative has airpods in and cannot hear me screaming about it. I am however emptying the garbage out onto the floor and rolling around in it. read chobits and join me in hell. it's bad and some parts are gross btw.

[xo2dee]

ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴏᴏᴛʜ

✶ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Choso x Reader

✶ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

✶ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1,003

✶ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: As sweet as he was, your boyfriend really couldn't cook to save his life.

✶ ᴀ/ɴ: never written for choso but i wanted to start with something little and hopefully something thats not ass as ive planned a choso longfic for the future and wanted to practice a bit. also i like to hc that he'd be a terrible cook ngl lmao. hope you enjoy!

✶ twitter - ao3

“Um…”

Not your most eloquent response, but you supposed it could match the… delicacy of the situation.

By your side you felt him move, his shoulder bumping against your own as he shifted on his feet at your mumble and ducked his head lower to put his ear closer to your mouth. You could almost feel the sweat lining your forehead, his dark eyes boring into the side of your face as you fought to keep a straight face and stared pointedly at the… ‘food’ in front of you. It was hard not to laugh, your lips quivering and stomach knotting in a ball from holding your breath for so long, but the last thing you wanted to do was hurt your fairly new boyfriend’s feelings.

Even if he couldn’t cook a damn thing to save his life.

(No way Yuji lived with him like that… Either he cooked, or he was eating out every night.)

In your peripherals you eyed Choso for his body language. It was clear he was eager for your answer; perhaps a little praise here and there for his ‘astounding’ cooking expertise, but you weren’t oblivious to the anxious undertones he was permitting as well. It was almost like he knew he fucked up, but he wanted you to give it to him easy, so he didn’t have to come to terms that you and Yuji possible grinned and bared it every time he made something for the either of you two (and you didn’t even want to think about Eso and Kechizu. God they probably scarfed the shit down while Yuji’s stomach fought for its life).

Though looking at the dessert he made…

Choso’s finger dug into your side, effectively cutting off any more mental insults you could throw at the food, and he poked you twice in the hip while latching onto your belt loop, “You’re just standing there staring at it.”

Well, what could you say? “I’m just in awe how you cooked something that looks so good.” Something along the lines of that would butter him up.

Choso sighed, “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.” Or not.

You dared a glance at him, sucking in your lips at the dejected pout and longing gaze at the hockey pucks he created out of cookie dough, before relaxing your shoulder and leaning into him, “I mean it. Just a tad overdone –” he shot you a withering look, making you laugh sheepishly – “we can just throw it in the microwave to soften them up a bit.” You really didn’t want to lose any teeth, and Choso had such pretty ones you didn’t want him to lose those either.

The side-eye you were receiving was uncalled for in your opinion, and he was gazing at your face for a rather long time to gauge the expression (and see through your lies) on your face before he scowled and looked back at the mess. Part of you wanted to reassure him, knowing he really did try his hardest, but other part of you didn’t want to lie straight to his face and save yourselves both a future mess on your hands for lying. Honestly, it wasn’t a huge deal, but Choso also looked so sad… like a little baby panda sad…

You went to reassure him (truthfully that time), yet at that moment your boyfriend uncurled his fingers from your belt loop, took one of the hockey – cookies and promptly banged it against the counter in a sound so deafening it promptly stopped the words on your tongue as you both stared.

“…”

“…”

You both stood in silence for a moment, and then – “Wow, it’s so hard not a single crumb fell off.”

Choso sighed – again – and grumbled something under his breath while scratching the back of his head, “You hate it.”

Your eyebrows rose, fingers curling around his wrist to throw his arm over your shoulder as you fought off another laugh from his behavior, “I don’t hate it. It’s just… you burnt them.” Leaning further into him whenever Choso finally relaxed, you began to pull on his cheek and relish in the tint turning a charming shade of red, “Plus I think it’s sweet you wanted to make me cookies.”

He hummed, eyelashes fluttering and lips twitching as he avoided your eyes to showcase his embarrassment, “It’s been three months since we started dating.”

Your heart and stomach flipped timeously, still not used to Choso’s blunt attitude when it came to expressing parts of his feelings for you. He was still rather reserved in some instances, but more often did he leave you speechless when he decided to openly show his affection for you in ways that didn’t involve any physical intimacy. You couldn’t blame him for trying, but you did want to get away from the burnt cookie smell…

“So sentimental,” you teased, giving his cheek one more pinch before guiding him back to the couch where popcorn and a movie you had planned awaited, “Let’s just stick to this tonight. Maybe one day we can make cookies together… so they don’t burn.”

He answered you through a squeeze with his hand, following you dutifully and at ease from your suggestion. Though as you flicked through possible movies to watch, you couldn’t help but tease him a little more.

“How did you forget they were in oven?”

“I don’t think I set the timer.”

“I mean it happens to all of us.”

“…They could be edible –”

“No.”

“No, I mean – I think Eso and Kechizu might eat them.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Though it’s a wonder how they’re still alive if you were cooking for them the entire time.”

“I can cook some things, even Yuji says so.”

“Yes, the Yuji who eats takeout almost every night. Imagine what’d he say if he saw –"

Choso’s fingers found your lips, pinching them together and effectively shutting you up as he decided on a movie himself and not having to hear your mouth.

[steviewashere]

Baby Blanket

Rating: General CW: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abandonment (as I think that's what it would technically be even if Steve is an adult at this point) Tags: Post-Canon, Future Fic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Sick Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Has a Complicated Relationship With His Mom, Baby Blanket, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Eddie Loves Him So Bad, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Sad Steve Harrington, Cuddling & Snuggling For @steddieangstyaugust Day 15 Prompt: Childhood (apologies that I'm late, but this idea hit me very last minute on the 15th, oops!) Also, I didn't mean to describe Linus's (from Peanuts/Charlie Brown) blanket, but I sorta did?

🌡️—————🌡️ He’s careful about inserting the thermometer into Steve’s mouth. Even as the aforementioned guy coughs around it, jostling the little glass thing, nearly knocking it straight back down to the floor. But he’s prepared to keep it from crashing this time. No way is he going out to the store—again—to replace the damn thing.

“Breathe slow through your nose, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, demanding lightly. “I know it’s hard to do right now, but we won’t get an accurate reading if you spit this thing out.” He cups his palms under Steve’s chin just in case, all too riled at the thought of having to be the catcher on the field. But it just ends up being a precautionary thing—as Steve, though rolling his eyes, does exactly what he’s told.

It’s a slow going process. The mercury inside working up, up, up as the time ticks away. A minute passes and Eddie knows that Steve is suppressing coughs. His eyes have gone watery and his cheeks, already flushed, glow a deeper and brighter terrible red. There’s got to be a huge wad of snot stuck half past and around the block in his right nostril, the feeble attempts at sucking in air are just that—feeble. And the deepest tell to Steve’s state is the awful, wet, raspy rattling croaking from his chest.

Inwardly, Eddie raises his fist at whatever god allowed the creation of the flu virus. And he shakes that fist for causing that damn virus to spread.

His watch beeps, two minutes up. And he gently pries the thermometer from Steve’s overly moist mouth, unlocking the hacking of his lungs, and the spray of his spit, and the miserable attempts to cover it all up with his elbow. Not like that would do anything, Eddie bitterly thinks, I already had this shit last week.

103 degrees Fahrenheit.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters. He sets the thermometer onto the coffee table. Reaches out for Steve’s shoulders and forces him back down onto his right side—half flopped already on the sofa, just needs to get his legs tucked back underneath him. And he pets a shaking hand over the exposed, goosepimpled, and overheated skin of Steve’s bicep. Usually, this muscle tank he’s got going on would be hot, but now it’s just…bleh. “Listen,” Eddie whispers, “if your fever doesn’t break by tomorrow morning, I have to take you to the hospital, okay?”

Steve gives a weak whine. Eyes closed, mouth twisted, shivering. “I don’t wanna,” he petulantly protests; but that’s not going to work on Eddie. Not this time, at least.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, “I know, baby. But I’m serious this time. You’ve already been sick a while longer than I have. And you’re shaking like a leaf. And though you finally were able to keep down some crackers and soup—and water, thank god—you’ve barely had anything to eat. I’m just”—he sighs—“I’m worried, Steve. I’m worried this is something more than just the average flu.”

Another weak little sound, this time something like a sniffle. And when Eddie gets a clear look at Steve’s face, no longer buried into the soft throw pillow under his head, his heart begins to fracture. Tears streak Steve’s already ruddy, terribly warm cheeks. And his lips are quivering. And his eyebrows are quirked in an uncomfortable twist.

And Eddie hates this.

“Baby?” He calls to Steve.

“S-sorry,” Steve chokes out, “I don’t feel good.”

He brings his hand off of Steve’s bicep, instead cupping the back of his head. “Okay,” he softly says, “you don’t need to be sorry, baby. But thank you for telling me how you’re feeling. Can you tell me what doesn’t feel good? Maybe I can help fix it?”

For a long moment, Steve doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets the last of his tears out of his system, lets Eddie hold him along his greasy hair, and continues to shiver through his whole body. Finally, he whispers, “Can you stay and…can you cuddle with me?” He doesn’t look Eddie in the eyes when he requests it. Doesn’t dare drag his sight off the loose threads of the throw pillows, strings that Eddie promised he would sew back straight when they were both feeling better. Steve takes another raspy, deep breath that physically pains Eddie to even hear. And then he tacks on, softer than before, “My mom used to when she still loved…” He sighs.

There’s not much to say to that, other than Eddie immediately and already agreeing. Because a cuddle with his boyfriend is as easy as breathing air for him. But they still haven’t touched on the sore subject that is Steve’s parents. Or Steve’s childhood, for that matter.

It’s not like there’s much reason to. Not when they’ve got a life outside of Hawkins now and have their own apartment and Steve hasn’t spoken to either of his parents in roughly three whole years. Not when they’ve learned to take responsibility for each other—both in the duty of making sure the other is safe and healthy, and in the sense that without the other, one of them just wouldn’t be. And it’s never time to talk about Steve’s parents when all they’ve done is push him aside, leave him second best to their work and social lives, and when they finally paid attention—they realized that having a certain type of kid (a word that they don’t repeat, an f word) hindered all the “work” they’ve done for the family they have.

Not that they’re family.

But they tried to act like one at some point.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, “let’s get you to our room, okay? You want me to get anything else before I slip into bed with you?”

Again, Steve takes a moment of silence. Then, “I stole one of my mom’s blankets when we moved in here. It’s in the hall closet. Can I have that?”

“Yes, baby. What’s the pattern on it?”

Quietly, Steve answers, “My baby blanket. The blue one. It has my name embroidered on it.”

“I’ll grab it, I promise. Now, let me get you to bed and I’ll be with you in just a second.”

He easily and carefully picks Steve up from the couch. Not exactly light, but not heavy either. And shuffles the two of them down the hallway to their bedroom. Tucks Steve under just the top sheet, no comforter. Pushes hair away from his forehead and back behind his ear. Leaves a little kiss to his right cheek, the heat radiating onto Eddie’s lips.

Then, Eddie grabs what he needs: an ice pack from the freezer, a cold bottle of water, the container of cough syrup, and some Tylenol. It’s the baby blanket that’s harder to get. Not because it’s buried in the back of the closet. And not because it’s simply not there.

But it’s the way it lays between Eddie’s hands that really gets him.

It’s a pale blue. Something close to periwinkle. Has a light layer of fuzz and lint, as if it’s hardly been washed over the years. Too precious of cargo to run through the washing machine, and too hard to take away for a hand wash when Steve probably needed it all the time. The edges are frayed—strings loose, some of the stitching completely missing, a few tears that would never be sewn up to the original corner it’s meant to be. There’s a couple small stains on it, most likely from being dragged or even dropped in dirt. In the bottom right corner of the fabric is a name embroidered in off-white floss: Steve. Though, upon closer inspection, it appears one of the letters is missing. The only thing left in its wake is the shadow of what should’ve been an ’N.’ Like maybe it had been altered at some point.

The size of the thing pulls at Eddie’s heart strings, too.

Not a big one—like the quilt his mama made when he had turned three, though it wouldn’t fully cover him until he was ten (when she wouldn’t see him use it, but he tries hard not to think of that. Tries.). It’s not medium, either. No, this baby blanket is the perfect size for a baby; a newborn baby.

Underneath Eddie’s right index finger, he feels a soft tag on the back of the blanket. And when he flips it over, he spots exactly that. A tag. Not with care instructions like some of those store bought blankets—pre-determined with a name. No, it’s a screwy kind of tag. Made from obvious silk, scrap fabric, off-white, too, but yellowing from old age. And in a black, inky scrawl, it reads:

‘For you, my little prince. For my heart. I love you always. -Mommy’

And he didn’t want to cry, but he’s close to bursting with the need to. So, he shoves that little bit of emotion back inside, puts the blanket in the crook of his left elbow, and carries his haul back to their bedroom. Where he finds Steve in the same position: curled up on his left side, hands tucked under his chin, legs bent and ankles crossed, the top sheet pulled all the way up to his wrists, eyes glazed and looking at the empty left spot of the mattress where Eddie should be.

He puts the ice pack on the back of Steve’s neck, even if he’s met with a slight hiss and a half-assed wriggle away. But, thankfully, the fight can be put off because Steve stops trying to get away. To that, Eddie internally relieves a sigh. Twists the cap off of the bottle of water, but places it on Steve’s bedside table for him to reach later. The cough syrup and Tylenol go to Eddie’s table. But the baby blanket goes immediately to Steve, who takes it with quick, healthy movements.

Eddie can only lay himself under the top sheet, melting and softening at the sight of Steve bringing the blanket up close to his face, tucking one of the torn and frayed edges to his bottom lip. He runs the old fabric on his dry mouth, almost like he’s smearing kisses along the thing.

“Thank you,” Steve tiredly breathes.

Laying on his right side, Eddie has full access to Steve from where he is. He reaches out a gentle hand to the side of his boyfriend’s face, caresses his skin tenderly, and then pulls him close between his shoulder blades. Not quite tucked into Eddie’s warmth, but enough that they could share body heat. But he does tangle their legs together, just to give them contact, just to satiate some of what Steve needs.

Steve scoots even closer, though. Closer than how they should lay considering he’s got a temperature that nearly warrants a hospital visit. But Eddie lets him lay his head on his shoulder. Lets him puff warm air onto his neck. Lets him take.

“Eds?”

He hums questioningly.

A hard, yet slow intake of breath. “I miss my mom,” Steve admits quietly. So quietly, Eddie almost doesn’t hear him. But he does. Damnit, he does. “She’s not a bad person. She’s not…she’s not what my dad made her to be.”

“I know,” Eddie can only say, “I know, Stevie.”

“She love—s me.”

Eddie throws his left arm over Steve’s waist, brushes his hand over the small of Steve’s back. “Yeah?” He asks softly.

“Mhm,” Steve answers, “I know it.” Eddie can just feel the tickle of the baby blanket brush him. Like it’s being pulled even closer. “She made this for me. And she…she used to tell me stories. And she took care of me when I was sick.”

He has to bite his tongue, even as his fingers betray him—as they squeeze Steve at the utterance of those words. Because he knows better than to point out the ‘was’ in those sentences. He knows better than to make a point that Steve’s mom hasn’t even bothered to try and keep contact. Even when she was given a phone number—“For emergencies,” so Steve had said.

Though, that makes Eddie wonder if it was for emergencies at all.

Makes him wonder if it really meant, “Call me every once in a while. Don’t be a stranger.”

He can’t tell Steve, delirious and sick and sad Steve, that his mom is effectively a stranger now. Can’t do that. Can’t be the one to tell him that his mom is basically dead. And the evidence of that is her absence.

He can’t do that.

“Oh, she loves you so much, baby,” he lies.

Steve nods. His hair scraping the underside of Eddie’s jaw, dirty and heavy and prickly. “She does,” he agrees. Then, he goes silent again. His fingers running over the blanket, feet rustling under the top sheet, skin on skin, nasally breaths through a stuffed up nose. 

“Doesn’t she?” Steve asks later, quiet and low. Unsure.

🌡️—————🌡️

[01zfan]

Can you do a story where the female reader is getting backshots from shotaro and his members walk in and see you naked?

rushed | o. st

idol!shotaro x fem. reader | 2.8k words

contains: sneaking around, backshots, getting caught

you rarely got to see shotaro. separate lives kept you apart more days than you would like to admit, and time always felt like it was slipping away when you were with him. 

it was also increasingly hard to get him alone, always surrounded by his bandmates. you couldn’t blame shotaro or his team, they were only doing their job most of the time. you knew it wasn’t your place to ask them to clear out their shared dorm so you could have alone time with your boyfriend. unplanned alone time became a luxury, and you two treated it as such.

it was a shame that time always felt like it was fleeting when you got shotaro alone. you two never knew when someone else would walk through the door, or when shotaro would get called to go to practice. the fleeting time made you two act like hormonal teenagers no matter where you were. time was of the essence, you two had to do whatever you couldn’t do in front of others as fast as possible. this meant dry humping on that black couch in the studio in the middle of the night, or shotaro pressing your body against the glass in the practice room early morning before everyone else arrived. making out the second you two were alone became a habit, lips instantly attaching and hands grasping at the other the second no one else was around.

there were several close calls when you guys would fool around. it didn’t help that you two would get so caught up in the moment you forgot there’s other people in the world, too. you remember pushing shotaro to the floor when someone almost caught you two making out on the in a lounge room. you were laid on your back while shotaro kissed your neck, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. shotaro was no help, he was awful at paying attention to his surroundings in these situations. shotaro’s only thoughts were filled with you, the way your skin was so soft and how he hasn’t had the chance to kiss you in so long. he thought it was criminal he didn’t get any alone time with his girlfriend, sometimes he cursed the life he chose because it kept him away from you. shotaro was taking his time when you saw the blurry figure of someone through the frosted glass of the door. before the knob was turned the same hands that were pulling shotaro closer to you pushed him backwards by the shoulders. he launched to the other side of the sofa and you grabbed your phone that was previously forgotten on the coffee table.

poor anton was subjected to seeing you two pretend like the obvious wasn’t so obvious. you looked to the anton and then followed anton’s eyes to shotaro’s mussed hair and wrinkled shirt. your boyfriend wasn’t only bad at listening for people coming, but also terrible at acting nonchalant. shotaro had a shocked expression on his face and was frozen in place on the couch. you were also frazzled, but atleast you had the sense to pretend like you were looking at your phone. anton saw right through your act though, especially because you looked just as disheveled as shotaro.

“just here for the vending machine.” anton said.

you three were forced to bask in the awkward atmosphere as anton walked to the machine. anton took his sweet time, going over the options a million times like it was his first time seeing the machine. you couldn’t see anton’s face but you’re sure he was smiling, making you two suffer through the consequences of your actions.

“you like cola right, anton?” shotaro said. 

now you were trying to hold back your laugh at shotaro ver yclearly trying to rush anton out of the room.

“i love cola.” anton said, holding back a laugh.

the soda dropping from the vending machine was the only sound in the room. anton slowly walked to the door and opened the soda, making an obnoxious sound after taking a sip. with his hand on the door, anton cast a look backwards.

“you two lovebirds have fun.” anton said giggling.

after that incident, you and shotaro became more careful. you set rules in place to avoid having to bear through another awkward moments like that one. only kissing on the lips was allowed in public places with no locks on the doors. no more grinding, no more shotaro putting a quick hand in your pants in shared spaces or you giving him hickeys in spots his shirts covered.

because of this, you two hadn’t gone beyond chaste kisses for nearly two weeks. it had gotten to the point that you thought you were going to die if you weren’t able to get him alone soon. your prayers were ironically answered when shotaro got sick. it wasn’t anything serious, something similar to a simple cold. so close to the comeback it was important for shotaro to quarantine from his group so it didn’t spread. 

you won’t believe this, but i’m all alone in the dorms right now.

you nearly fell over when you saw that text. you had never been somewhere so fast in your life, getting to the dorms in record time. shotaro did seem a little sick when he opened the door, but your need for him outweighed the risk of getting sick. 

shotaro couldn’t even close the door before your lips were on his. you had to shut the door with your foot as you continued to kiss shotaro, moving backwards towards his bedroom. you two made a mess in the space between the door and shotaro’s room. things were pushed off of the tiny table beside the couch as shotaro leaned you against it. being able to lean against the piece of furniture gave you the ability to wrap your leg around shotaro’s waist, pulling him into you.

“someone is eager.” shotaro laughed before going to kiss your neck.

he was mocking you but just as depraved. you could feel his hardening dick press against your heat. your rushed hands made quick work of your shirt. you had strategically chosen a button up so you wouldn’t have to waste time pulling a shirt over your head. 

“how long do we have?” you asked.

you contemplated letting your boyfriend fuck you then and there on that tiny table, or moving it to the couch. but if time allotted, you wanted to fuck him properly on his bed.

“an hour atleast. my medicine is across town.” shotaro said.

you push shotaro lightly by the shoulders, getting off of the table. 

“let’s go to your room then.” you say.

shotaro basically runs to his while you laughing at him. all signs of shotaro’s being sick is gone as he undresses himself at the speed of light. shotaro doesn’t even bother to take off his shirt before he pulls you to the bed with him. you both giggle as he helps you out of your clothes. he kisses the exposed body that he hasn’t gotten the chance to kiss in so long.

“look who’s the eager one now.” you laugh. 

shotaro is still giggles as he trails kisses up and down your body. you laugh when he hits a ticklish place and gasp when he bites you slightly. all the kisses are wet and melt into your skin.

“how do you want it?” shotaro asks.

he has to look up at you from your thigh, the place where he left an already forming hickey. shotaro hopes that you get the hint of him being so close to your heat that you let him eat you out. you want nothing more than that, feeling his sloppy wet kisses on your folds and his fingers on your clit. but you know that shotaro has the tendency to get carried away while tasting you, and you won’t be able to stop him once he starts. you also know that you need it rough and fast before time slips away and you don’t think you can go another day without feeling him inside of you. so you sit up on the bed as shotaro follows your every move.

“can you do it from the back?” you ask.

“of course.” shotaro says.

he leads you to your hands and knees and you sink into your arch while shotaro helps you, spreading your legs a little wider so he can slot himself between them. before you reach for his pillow shotaro stops you by placing a soft smack to your ass. he swipes his dick between your folds, collecting the slick that’s there. you let out a tiny gasp feeling him.

“i need to hear you baby.” shotaro says.

you had become so accustomed to hiding your mewls and moans into shotaro’s pillows and blankets that it had become second nature to grab a muffler for. your cries. but you were alone, so you let out a tiny whine as you could hear shotaro pumping his length. 

“that’s my girl.” shotaro said. 

his other hand goes to the small of your back, pressing down slightly. anticipation builds over your body as you wait for shotaro. just when you think he’s about to put it in he rests on his haunches. he puts two fingers inside of you and you moan and push your ass back. shotaro gives you another smack to keep you in place as he fucks you with his fingers. 

“taro.” you whine breathlessly. 

you are so desperate this alone has you on edge. shotaro places a kiss to your ass cheek and sucks on the skin. you can hear the lewd sounds of his fingers in your clit and he breaks away from your ass cheek with a lewd pop.

“gotta stretch you out. but you’re so wet it won’t be a problem right?” shotaro says. 

you can hear the smirk in his voice as he adds in a third finger. you don’t care if he’s teasing you or if he wants you to beg. you will give him whatever he wants if that means he’ll fuck you. you shake your head into the mattress and you clench around his fingers.

“shotaro please put it in.” you cry out.

shotaro withdraws his fingers and gets up from the back of his legs. he gives your ass gentle pats, watching the recoil of your ass. 

“patience baby.” shotaro says

shotaro uses the same that was inside of your to guide his dick to your entrance. he moves his hand from his dick to your ass to spread you out further. your hands grip the sheets of the bed when you can feel him prodding past your folds.

you let out a prolonged whine as shotaro slowly sinks into you. the way he has you spread makes you feel him more and guides him in deeper. you are both lost in the feeling, shotaro takes the bottom of his shirt into his mouth for a better view. he keeps you still when he sinks all the way in, loving the feeling of your squirm and clench around his length. you can’t believe how cruel the world was, keeping you from feeling this for so long. shotaro pulls out all the way before sliding back in just as slow. he takes off his shirt, his body becoming too hot feeling you clamp around him

“i missed this pussy so much.” shotaro said. 

he looks at your face, half of it pressed into the mattress. the half shotaro can see is contorted in pleasure, lips slightly open as little sounds escape you. he needs to find time in his life to fuck you slow and steady so he can kiss your eyebrow kisses as he draws sounds from you. but right now, there’s an carnal need in him to fuck you fast before something interrupts him.

“can i go fast baby?” shotaro asks sweetly. “we are running out of time.”

you free one of your fists from the sheets and reach a hand backwards for shotaro to hold. he grabs it without hesitation.

“please.” you say.

that’s all shotaro needs before he pulls out his length and thrusts it back into you. you begging lit a fire inside of him, breathed a new vigor into his hips. his skin slaps against your ass as he fucks you from the back. his hand gives you stability, to the point you start pushing your hips back to meet his.

“oh my god.” you cry into the bed. 

“i know. you feel so good.” shotaro groans. his words are accented with rough thrusts and almost drowned out by skin colliding. he adds another smack to your ass and picks up speed. “i can’t get enough.”

“don’t stop.” you say.

you clench onto his hand before moving your grip to his bicep. shotaro uses his strength to pull your upper body up from the bed, and you place a hand on the headboard to support your body. you can feel yourself getting close, sensitive from days of no contact. you curse yourself for not being able to hold on a little longer, but maybe shotaro will be a little mean and keep fucking as your orgasm takes over your body. your chest bounces from the force of the thrust and you feel shotaro’s hand that was on your ass reach underneath your extended arm to grab your breast. he kneads the supple skin in his hand. his thrusts remain consistent, fucking you in a steady but fast pace.

“can’t stop when i’m in this pussy.” shotaro says. “so tight it won’t let me go.”

everything about you is so soft. your breast is soft in shotaro’s hand, the skin of your ass that smacks against his pelvis is like a pillow, and your gummy walls bring shotaro relief from everyday life. he wishes he could tell you about all the things he loves about you, how badly he wished he had a day alone with you to make up for his absence. but he can barely form a vocal thought as you whine to him.

“i’m close.” you whimper.

“i got you.” shotaro grunts

you let go of shotaro’s bicep and he lets you go. you lower your hand from the headboard and go back to your original position. shotaro takes handfuls of your ass to spread your cheeks and lifts his leg up. this has you nearly screaming out grabbing onto anything you can find. 

shotaro is desperate, trying to get you to cum as soon as possible. his stamina always comes in handy in situations like these. he admires how your body quickly reacts to his tempo changes and how deep he goes. its like you were made for him the way you clench around him perfectly. 

between shotaro’s thrusts and you clamping around him, neither of you are paying attention to the outside world. your moans had turned into whimpers and pants, so entrancing that shotaro doesn’t hear the door open. you don’t hear sungchan asking where the hell the mess came from or footsteps coming towards shotaro’s closed door. 

what you do hear is the door open and eunseok’s loud oh my god and sohee yelling out loud. it happens too quickly, shotaro pulling out of you and grabbing the covers to hide your naked body. you quickly turn your body to face the door, seeing seunghan cover sohee’s eyes and anton’s jaw to the floor. next thing you know you’re yelling too, from the pure embarrassment of six guys walking in on you naked and exposed. 

“what are you guys doing here?” shotaro asks bewildered. 

he’s lucky his boxers were still on the bed. you don’t know when shotaro put them back on, you bring the sheets up to cover your eyes. you still continue to yell from the pure shock of the moment.

“we brought you soup and your medicine. is this why you wanted us to get it from the place across town?” sungchan asks. 

he sounds as bewildered as shotaro, not believing the sight in front of him. you slowly bring the sheets down from your eyes to see the six men still frozen in the doorway. even shotaro is still on the bed, trying to process everything

“please get out.” you screech. 

this pulls everyone out of their trance, suddenly aware of you being completely naked underneath the sheets. they bump into eachother trying to back out of the room, someone at one point even falling down. they apologize profusely to you, saying they didn’t know. 

even when shotaro’s door closes you dont emerge from underneath the covers. you stay there mumbling over and over again how traumatized you are. shotaro finds a little bit of humor in the situation cooing at you while he hugs you over the blanket.

“did you cum?” shotaro asks sarcastically.

you emerge from the sheets for only a second to hit him with a pillow before going back under. 

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. (𝟐)

➺ PAIRING | sanemi shinazugawa x reader

➺ CONTENT | mention of injuries and needles, this is mostly shinobu x reader tbh... but sanemi is here dw ☝🏻 word count: 1,5k ish

➺ NOTE | read part 1 + I'll be tagging people who showed interest in a part 2 below! also it's currently 4am, I'm terribly sorry if this turned out awful 💀

“Miss Y/N!”

You raise your head to see Kiyo, Sumi, and Naho rushing towards you, worry etched onto their faces as you cross the gates of the Butterfly Estate. A Kakushi is carrying you on his back, his steps steady yet urgent as your crow leads the way.

"Urgent! Injured in battle! Right leg severely damaged! Left hand missing fingers! Immediate medical attention required!" it squawks, its wings beating rapidly as it nervously circles above then flutters down to perch on a roof nearby.

Everything happens so quickly.

One moment you're hanging limp on a Kakushi's back, clinging to consciousness for dear life — the next, you're being gently lowered onto a stretcher, a needle swiftly inserted into your arm. Your uniform is all torn and bloodied, barely hanging onto your battered body. A chunk of your skirt has been ripped and used as a makeshift bandage to stop some of the bleeding on your leg, but it really hasn't been doing much to help.

You're whimpering in pain when Sumi hurries to your side, her hand coming to support your head while Naho starts unrolling fresh bandages, her hands trembling slightly but steadying as she works.

"You'll be alright, Miss Y/N!” Kiyo reassures you, though her voice wavers slightly. "We need to get you inside and properly treated!”

As the Kakushi lift the stretcher, you feel a wave of dizziness wash over you. The Butterfly Estate's familiar surroundings start to blur along with your vision as you’re being carried towards the main infirmary, the scent of medicinal herbs growing stronger with each step.

You want nothing more than to reassure everyone, to tell them that you’ll be okay, that it really isn't as bad as it looks... but the pain and exhaustion only make you drift in and out of consciousness. You can’t fool anyone—not even yourself.

The last thing you see is Shinobu stepping forward and nodding to the Kakushi as they carefully set you down on the treatment table, her gentle voice following:

"I'll take it from here.”

–

Your eyes squint in the harsh light as you look around and try to make sense of your surroundings. The sun makes it hard to see and your head feels fuzzy, the world around you swimming in and out of focus.

You barely catch the sound of your crow’s wings as it flies away to alert the hashiras of your awakening, the flapping quickly fading into the distance.

How long have you been here for?

You remember fighting an upper moon, but everything after that is a blur. You can’t even remember how or when you were brought to the Butterfly estate. Is this even Shinobu’s estate? Or did another pillar find you and carry you to theirs?

You barely have time to properly emerge when you're met with a gasp of your name and a familiar red-haired boy rushing to your side. You blink, watching as his hands hover uncertainly before resting gently on your good arm.

“Tanjiro,” you manage to whisper, smiling faintly.

“You're awake! How are you feeling? We were so worried about you!” Tanjiro exclaims, his eyes shining with their usual tenderness as you reach out to pat his head. Behind him, Genya appears, his expression a mixture of relief and anxiety.

“I’m alright... Just a little tired and achy. How long have I been out for?”

“You've been sleeping for a week.” Genya responds.

“A week?!”

Shit. This can't be good. So many things can happen in the span of a week. The thought of having left everyone down fills you with a terrible feeling. What if one of the villages needed reinforcements while you were asleep? What if more demons had attacked? Are all eight of the the pillars still alive?

Your mind races with worry, your brain feeling like it's about to overheat.

When you finally find it in yourself to start asking questions, the door to your room opens and Shinobu calmly walks in.

“Shinobu! How… how's everyone?”

"Everyone’s fine. We've all successfully returned from our missions so far, you don't have to worry." your mentor responds.

"What about the slayers that were sent to back me up? I… so many of them were injured."

Shinobu's expression grows a little somber as she nods. "There... There's been a few losses. Oyakata-sama wants to visit their resting place with you, once you're back on your feet," she continues gently. Your heart clenches in your chest, but you nod regardless.

"I’m sorry. I should've done more to protect them.”

Your crow returns and sets on your belly, your unharmed hand coming to pet it.

"You did everything you could. Surviving an encounter with an Upper Moon is already impressive." Shinobu adjusts the blankets around you, her hands deft and practiced. She then gently places a hand on your shoulder, providing some much needed comfort. "You need to focus on getting better so you can help us save more lives when the time comes."

"...Okay," your voice trails off, uncertainty coloring your tone. You find yourself staring at your bandaged hand and leg for longer than necessary, the reality of your condition only now sinking in.

This was bad. Really, really bad.

What purpose could you possibly serve now, with two missing fingers and possible lingering damage to your body? How are you supposed to wield your sword in this condition? Will you even be able to return to your position as a Hashira?

"Rest is essential for you now," Shinobu’s kind voice interrupts your train of thoughts. "I did my best to get rid of the poison in your body and clean your wounds, but you're going to need several months of rest to make a full recovery."

Just then, the door to the room slides open with a loud, forceful thud. All four of you startle, and you wince as the sudden movement sends a jolt through your injured ribs. You glance toward the door with a scowl, meeting Sanemi’s gaze.

Jesus Christ. Does he always have to be such a brute all the time?

Shinobu's fists tighten at her sides, a vein popping on her forehead at the sudden interruption - though her signature smile remains.

The Wind Hashira stands there for a moment, his jaw clenching at the sight of you awake and his younger brother standing beside your bed.

To your relief, he doesn't make a scene. That's a first.

Instead he goes to stand beside Genya, and although he seems to completely ignore him, he doesn't look nearly as angry with him as he was the last time you saw the two of them interact. The sight of it warms your heart, and you allow yourself to lay back and relax a little more.

"You could've gotten yourself killed. What were you thinking, fighting an Upper Moon by yourself!?" Sanemi's voice is gruff, filled with a mix of anger and concern.

Well. One thing’s for sure, he’s still the Sanemi you know.

"How the hell did you even survive this?" he continues, looking you up and down from the missing fingers on your hand to your severely damaged leg, and your overall battered body.

You let out a soft sigh, choosing your words carefully. "It was a close call, but the sunrise saved me. I wouldn't be here if the demon had attacked just ten minutes earlier." you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the gravity of the situation.

Sanemi grunts in response, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your injuries. "You’re damn reckless, you know that? You should've told me this was a solo mission."

"I was just doing my job, Sanemi." you say quietly, your gaze shifting to your crow who's still enjoying headpats. "The village was already in shambles when I got there and half the people hadn't been evacuated. If I hadn’t intervened when I did, more lives would have been lost. Besides, I didn't think it would end like... that."

Sanemi sighs, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Just...dammit, try and be more careful next time," he mutters. "Rengoku’s spot is still vacant, we can’t afford to lose another Pillar."

You smile faintly as you nod, appreciating the unspoken concern behind his words. "Yeah… I know."

"It's safer to go on missions in pairs right now. Those fuckers are getting stronger by the day, and we’ve lost too many promising swordsmen because they were out there alone trying to prove something."

As the room falls into a more comfortable silence, you notice Genya glancing nervously at his brother. He's been dead silent this whole time, not wanting to bother or interrupt. Sanemi’s eyes flicker towards him, a rare softness in his gaze — though it is short-lived.

He rolls his eyes and lets out an annoyed tut before reaching out to briefly ruffle his brother’s hair, calloused hand tousling the mohawk as he turns to leave. You don't miss the soft, almost shy smile that stretches across Genya’s lips, or the way his eyes shine a bit brighter.

Sanemi pauses at the doorway, casting a final look back at the two of you.

"I can't always be around to make sure you two idiots don’t get into more trouble," he mutters, though his tone carries an obvious hint of affection beneath the gruffness. "Watch each other’s backs, and for the love of God don’t do anything reckless." he turns to you. "You, focus on getting better. We’ll handle things until you’re back on your feet."

tags: @alexthecutiepie @oooonie @xcalkenf @lora80808

[webslingingslasher]

Hey J, can you write something fluffy? Any Peter would do. it's exam season and it's stressing me out! I'm just searching for a little comfort 🥹

*cleaning out my inbox, based off some terrible storms we're having in my area. nerdy!peter* also- go me for coming out of retirement, i hope i'm still good 😁

there are three things that wake peter up in the dead of night.

the first was a loud crack of thunder, the second was a whimper, and the third was his skin being latched onto like he's velcro. peter's room flashes when lightning strikes outside his window, rain beating against it like it's begging to come inside.

there's another soft cry, hot breath washes across his ribcage.

'angel?' peter isn't awake enough to make the full connection yet. a pregnant pause, he can hear how hard the rain is coming down, his roof amplifies the sound.

'petey.' it's the soft drawl you have, you're calling out for him like he's your lifeline.

it's enough for him to rid all thoughts of sleep from his mind. 'hey, hey, hey, you're okay.' peter can feel you tremble under his hold, another strike of lightning, he's praying thunder doesn't follow.

'it's bad, it's so bad.' if peter had known about the storm he would've prepared better, instead it caught you both off guard and that made it so much worse for you.

'it's so loud. i don't like it, i don't like it, i don't like it.' you cling to him by hitching your leg over his hips, your arm thrown over his waist to keep yourself pressed against him is threatening a bruise.

peter's thankful this happened to be on a night you were sleeping over. 'sit up.' he rubs your back as a way to raise you, you shake your head. 'i think you need a hug.'

you're up in a second, peter's halfway to meeting you when the thunder he was terrified of hits and you scream while holding your hands over your ears.

peter has a funny feeling another rumble was coming, his hands pressing over yours- you scream again, you swear you felt the walls shake and peter wouldn't disagree.

you dive for him, a bundle of sobs and fast tears. 'you're okay, i promise you're okay.' your chest rises and falls rapidly, you weakly agree. 'i'm okay.'

'i'm here, right? you know i wouldn't let anything happen to you.' you nod. peter keeps you tucked in his neck, he thinks he can hear the rain lighten up, just barely. he reaches for his phone and looks for his weather app, a full radar shows him the threat is moving away.

'hey,' peter keeps his voice low for you. 'look at this,' you peek an eye open and lightly squint at the light, your focus settles in and you finally feel your heart rate lower. 'watch,' peter slides a bar, within the next thirty minutes it'll be completely past you.

'oh thank god, there's an end to my torment.'

'see? i'll will anything for my girl.' it's a nice thought but he can't control the weather. 'you can't control mother nature, petey.' the smile he gives you makes you doubt your words.

'but for you, i'd try.' he's never made fun of your fears, he's only ever been your security blanket when you need one. you can throw him a bone. 'i mean... it did go away after you woke up, so...'

peter laughs, your cheeks feel dry from your tear tracks. you sniff and feel silly for the bought of tears, peter doesn't think you're silly though, he thinks you're brave for toughing it out. he always does.

'you only screamed twice, and that's just because it caught you off guard! you're killing this, angel.' he's always so sweet, out of all the things you love about him, you think that's number one.

pouting your bottom lip out, you give him a small peck. 'i love you.' the rain comes to a sudden stop, peter gestures to his window, 'that's the kind of power your love gives me. bam, i just made mother nature my bitch.'

'peter, don't call women bitches.'

'she's a bitch for making you cry.'

'aw, okay, bitch usage allowed.'

this time, peter kisses you. it's gentle, not because you're weak from the near panic attack- because he's only ever known to be delicate with you. god, you really love his heart. 'i think you're the best person i know. i'm going to look into how to nominate you for a humanitarian award.'

peter ponders it for a second. 'well, the best part of me is you, so i'm not sure how-' you stop him with a light smack to his shoulder, he bows his head and accepts your compliment how you wanted, with a shy grin.

'as long as you keep me around to fight mother nature, i'll keep accepting your awards.'

that's a bet you're willing to take. 

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1

Steve had thought he already knew what delirium meant—remembers laughing hysterically in a Russian bunker with little say as to what bullshit came streaming out of his mouth.

But this is different. At least back then, the haze of the drugs made the pain temporarily float away, let him drift off into some form of blissful ignorance.

Now he feels it all. He’s hyperaware, can pinpoint each and every source of agony lancing through him; can even pick out the fact that the cut on his hand still throbs, the tar-like mud of The Upside Down stuck under his fingernails.

Sometime after he had fallen, the bats stopped coming. He doesn’t know why. Maybe they’ve had their fill. Maybe there’s nothing more of him left to take.

Sound comes to him as if filtered through a megaphone, loud and echoing. He hears a series of swears, yelling. Panting. The crash of a bicycle being thrown to the ground.

Eddie.

The words come pouring out, quicker even than the blood leaving him, a desperate chanting.

“Dustin, Dustin, Dustin—”

“He’s okay,” Eddie says. His face comes into view, pale and drawn, slick with sweat. No blood though, Steve thinks. No blood on him. That’s good. “He’s okay, you hear me? I didn’t leave him alone; the girls, they’ve—they’ve got him. Hey. Hey, Harrington, eyes on me. Dustin—he’s gonna be all right, man, I stopped the bleeding.”

“Good,” Steve gets out. I knew you could, I knew you could, you’re fucking incredible. “S’good. Hey, Eddie, he’s—think he’s gonna be really upset, ‘kay?”

“What do you—”

“But he has you,” Steve says. He hates the fact that his voice is slurring. If he can’t speak, how else is Eddie supposed to know that… “He has—you’ll help him, right? You can… play D&D, an’…”

Eddie’s laugh splits through the air. It sounds something like grief.

“Harrington, that’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve insists. There’s blood in his mouth, in his throat; he tries to swallow without choking, to talk around it. “It’s—you make him happy, Eddie. Don’t you know? You make him s-so damn happy.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie’s breathing has an odd, thick sound to it, and Steve realises with a distant wonder that he’s crying. Crying over him. What a strange thing…

A series of sharp claps cut through everything; Steve blinks, can’t remember his eyes closing to begin with.

Eddie’s face is suddenly very close. His lips are shaking.

“Wake up. Now you’re gonna fucking listen to me, Steve Harrington. We didn’t go through all of this fucking bullshit, just for it to end here, you understand? I said, do you understand?”

“Are you mad at me?” Steve breathes. A far-off part of him insists that this is such a silly thing to ask, but he can’t help it. Everything hurts, and he has a sudden, awful burst of clarity: that he doesn’t want to die thinking that Eddie hates him. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Eddie’s face crumples. “No, Steve,” he says haltingly, like he’s trying so hard to keep his voice from breaking. “I’m not mad at you. J-just. Scared.”

And then for a terrible moment, Eddie disappears. Steve tries to turn his head to search for him, but he can’t—

The sound of someone retching.

Oh, Steve thinks. Oh, it’s because of me.

“H-hey. Hey, Eddie, it’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t look.”

He hears Eddie spit harshly.

“Jesus Christ, stop talking, Harrington.”

And then Eddie is right there again, his hands just hovering, not touching.

“Steve,” he whispers, but Steve gets the feeling that he isn’t actually talking to him, not really. “God, I don’t—don’t know what to do.”

“You’re back,” Steve says, almost dream-like, and when Eddie laughs, this time it’s a pretty sound.

“Yeah, I’m back. Like a bad penny.”

“No,” Steve murmurs, feels like he’s floating somewhere—feels perhaps that he shouldn’t be, but he can’t help it. “You’re beautiful.” Eddie’s eyes soften, and that probably should be a nice sight, Steve thinks, except for the fact that, for some reason, Eddie also looks like his heart is breaking.

There’s something soft being wrapped tightly around his hand, and it stings, but that’s okay, because when Steve glances down, he can discern just enough to see that it’s Eddie’s bandana.

And it’s a nice thought, that he can still feel this. Can still feel something of Eddie’s trying to heal him.

“Right, big guy, up and at ‘em.” Eddie’s hand in his, the clack clack clack of the metal rings.

Oh, he’s shaking, Steve thinks.

Then he realises what Eddie’s planning to do.

“Eddie, m’sorry, can’t—can’t walk, jus’—”

“Shut up,” Eddie says again. “I’m gonna carry you.”

“But that’s—s’too much. M’too heavy.”

“No,” Eddie says simply. “C’mon, on three.”

But Eddie’s a liar and moves him on two. That’s all right, Steve thinks. He knows that kind of trick, knows that Eddie’s pulling out all the stops for him.

Doesn’t stop him from screaming, though.

“God,” Eddie whispers, and Steve already knows this isn’t for him to hear, but he can’t shut it out. “Fuck, I think I’m killing you.”

You couldn’t, Steve wants to say. Wants to tell Eddie not to worry. You couldn’t ever hurt me.

But he can’t stop screaming.

“S’too much,” he moans.

“No, come on,” Eddie says. He’s straining, still walking. Not giving up. “Hey, Steve, just a few more steps. We’re almost home.”

Oh, you liar, Steve thinks. Wants to smile. Wants to cry. You beautiful, beautiful liar.

“S’too much,” he says again, and he hopes Eddie gets what he means, this time. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, and there’s a whine in there that hurts—like Eddie’s crying again. “Steve, don’t—hey, just keep talking to me. Don’t—please.”

Another step. Eddie tugs, pulls him closer and—

Steve gasps, feels a tear, right through the centre of him, through all of him, hears a dreadful scream—

And then nothing at all.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Do you have any examples of Ye Olde Pixie Cut? Asking for a friend

You can have a whole video about it, in fact!

this interests me particularly because it's not focusing on illness, androgyny, dress reform convictions (although she does mention that one- gotta love the prescriptivism going back the other way re: the supposed "dangers" of long hair </s>), or politics- it's an example of feminine-presenting women having short hair by choice because they presumably thought it looked nice, as happened in the early 1800s and the 1920s and today

Ye Olde Pixie Cut, indeed. I also love the commentary from some butthurt man wondering who would want to stroke these women's hair. oh no...imagine stroking the soft, silken curls of some of the women in the photographs...imagine pushing locks back from their noble brows to plant a kiss...that just sounds so awful; give me the time machine coordinates of their locations so I, as a lesbian, can avoid them extra-hard

and my personal favorite post-Coiffure A La Titus example: this portrait of Josephine Niehaus by Frank Duveneck, c. 1885 (Cincinnati Art Museum)

(I'm assuming her hair isn't just up because side parts weren't popular for long-haired women for another decade or so, but some women with short hair did adopt them. and hey, that's from 1885 not too terribly far from Chicago! just like the trend Nicole Rudolph mentioned!)

[mamayan]

☆彡CHOMP★彡

KNY HASHIRA HEADCANONS

BITE FACTOR!

What they do if you randomly bite them♡

FLAME HASHIRA! Kyojuro Rengoku

Awareness: Zero, he doesn’t expect the chomp. He doesn’t react violently though, so don’t worry too much.

Bite Factor: He’s very muscular but when relaxed he’s got a 8/10 on the chew factor. Only a 4/10 if he flexes (which he will if he thinks you’re going to bite, he wants you to think he’s strong).

Best Nibble Points: Bicep (he wants you to), pectorals (tiddies), his ass—

Reaction: He’s gonna either laugh or pop hard, sometimes both. Pick your location wisely. If you bite his ass he’s smacking yours.

SOUND HASHIRA! Tengen Uzui

Awareness: God level. You snuck up on no one. 100% knows what you’re up to, he can hear you licking your teeth. Your ability to chomp will be solely dependent on his mood to allow it.

Bite Factor: Also a very muscular man, jewelry limits chomp, 6/10 not flexing and 3/10 flexing.

Best Nibble Points: Fingers (be gentle he and his wives need all of them), forearm, cheek—

Reaction: He allowed the bite in the first place, so 100% hard. Probably hard before you even bit. If you nibble very gently, he may pat your head.

Bonus! His wives all enjoy this game too, and will play with you and invite you to play with them. They are all 10/10 on bite factor, but vary on awareness and reactions.

STONE HASHIRA! Gyomei Himejima

Awareness: He knows your there, but 100% doesn’t know your intention is to chomp he’s fucking blind. Be careful! He might accidentally pull you off, and that might take your teeth out.

Bite Factor: He’s jacked but has a good soft layer of fluff for a whopping bite factor of 9/10! If he’s flexing, 4/10.

Best Nibble Points: Lips (be gentle and don’t be mean), inner thigh, tummy—

Reaction: If you’re smart and don’t try and take a chunk out of him, he is just curious what you’re up to. Might squish your cheeks and tease you. Might cry. If you chomp too hard and he isn’t prepared, he might push you throw you across the earth.

WIND HASHIRA! Sanemi Shinazugawa

Awareness: I’d say 50/50 he’ll see it coming. If it’s the first chomp, he’s unaware, but he learns quick. You’ll need to start adding in feints to trick him. He will avoid any chomps he thinks are coming his way. He gets embarrassed and then angry.

Bite Factor: Fucking terrible, he squirms and squeals, but he does have good squish… 6/10. Flexing is a given because he tenses up like you’ve put a knife to his throat right when teeth touch flesh.

Best Nibble Points: Love handles (he’s ticklish and it’s funny to hear him shout), hamstring (easier sneak factor), ears—

Reaction: He is .2 seconds away from screaming for mommy Ubuyashiki to tattle on you. He won’t tell you his dick is hard nor will he admit he wants to bite you back. His reactions are genuine and honest, what you see is what you get. 10/10 for cuteness and flushed face when you do get him.

WATER HASHIRA! GIYUU TOMIOKA

Awareness: …none. He’s absolutely defenseless like a newborn kitten. He’s so damn startled and shocked it may leave him out of commission for a little while give him time okay.

Bite Factor: He may look cold but he actually is cold. He’s made of steel. Awful chomps but don’t tell him it’ll hurt his feelings. 5/10 and I’m being generous.

Best Nibble Points: Triceps, palm of hands, neck— (he’ll go feral watch out).

Reaction: What he lacks in chomp factor he makes up for in reaction. Just go ahead and pull your pants down now, it’ll save time. He gets shockingly turned on! Feel free to really sink your teeth into him, he might moan.

SERPENT HASHIRA! Obanai Iguro

Awareness: Low! He doesn’t expect the chomp even when you’ve chomped him before! He might be cautious around you for a few days after but he’ll forget.

Bite Factor: He’s lean and pretty tough sadly, even worse of a chomp than Giyuu. 4/10. I don’t make the rules, oh wait I do.

Best Nibble Points: Shoulders (easy), clavicle, hips— why you down there?!

Reaction: Either comical and you receive a lecture on discipline or he’s melting like butter in a hot pan. He might tie you up and leave you dangling for a while don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.

MIST HASHIRA! Muichiro Tokito

100% platonic, he is a child!

Awareness: Where did he go? He’s gone before you get the chance to chomp ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ If you manage a lucky chomp, count your blessings the kid is quick.

Bite Factor: Lowest on this list! 1/10, he’s got no more baby fat but not enough weight yet to qualify a good chomp factor. Baby Muichiro though would be 100/10 cuz baby cheeks.

Best Nibble Points: NONE don’t bite him weirdos. BABY CHEEKS— I totally bite my nieces cheeks lol

Reaction: If you get a cheek chomp, he’s letting it happen. Be appreciative he’s allowing you near him, be polite to the cats napping and keep your voice down. 2/10 cuz he’s straight faced and not very cute about it.

LOVE HASHIRA! Mitsuri Kanroji

Awareness: She’s actually very aware! All chomps are welcome and adored please bite her.

Bite Factor: ekekekekEKEKEKEKEMEKEEKEKEKEKEKEKEK ♾️/10 like the perfect chomp every time no matter where you chomp. She’s so damn soft but she’s also fairly muscular too, it’s the perfect combination she’s got memory foam thighs.

Best Nibble Points: THIGHS (she’s a little ticklish too, points for the cute giggles), Chest (I said what I said), coochie— (I SAID WHAT I SAID)

Reaction: No cute surprises but she’s very cuddly and sweet. She will nibble back~ ♡

INSECT HASHIRA! Shinobu Kocho

Awareness: Woman has eyes in the back of her head I swear, no surprises for her. Any and all chomps are proofed and vetted. Good luck.

Bite Factor: A perfect 10/10! No surprises though, she’s small and soft, perfect bite material get it like wife.

Best Nibble Points: Anywhere. Literally, I’m not joking. If she lets a nibble through, she’s got plans for you.

Reaction: Just go ahead and put the collar on already, you’ve initiated play at this point. That sweet smile :3