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helloescapist · 6 months

Note

okii, i'm ready to make a request now! just a reminder tthat u don't have to do it now - your health and the other works gotta come first yknow

anyways

Request (SFW, KNY):

you know how the spider mother in rui's family was technically a child demon forced to be a "mother" to demons who were older than her?

ok well what if she was somehow saved by a fem!uppermoon!reader who took her away from the abusive spider Family? What if Reader started acting as a mother figure to her? (poor kid seriously needs a better authority figure in her life than rui lmao)

Hello, hello!

I'm so sorry for how long it has taken me to get to this request anon. You are absolutely so sweet, and I cannot thank you enough for your kindness. This was a really interesting request, and one that had me really thinking. When this season aired, it honestly... left me with all the creepy crawlies thinking about the "Spider Mother". I hope you're ready for what I have in store for you.

A Thousand Summers | Spider Mother

Word Count: 2508?

Setting: fem!uppermoon!reader x spider mother [reader acts as an adopted mother]

Content Warning(s): hints of abuse (p and s), trauma, adoption

Summary: A child you had never intended to care for, but one you would protect at the cost of your own life.

A/N: I utilized details of the yokai Ubume, alongside the character of Queen Im Hwa-ryeong from the Queen’s Umbrella (one of my absolute favorite shows by the way).

Your throat seared, scratched upon the edge of a blade. The touch of iron that threatened your taste buds, hissed out curses that brought on the infinities. The past centuries near meaningless, as the screams that shattered your teeth. Her form, so petite beneath your gaze; the horror painted on her face as delicate as rouge. The quiver of her helianthus eyes, the fading of light in her maroon x-shaped irises as her sight met your own. Run, your senses screamed. The tears that threatened to spill over, the touch of the wind through her coffee bean hair, as rare as the imports that frequented Lord Muzan’s shop. Extravagant, run, her bangs curled to the edges of her face, the ends of her hair touched upon the highs of her cheeks. Youthful in her features, a child who had witnessed far more in this life and the last than your heart could ever hope to accept. Severed from humanity, painted in blood as the strands that stained the corner of your lips. Seared your lungs, choked upon the air that hindered your breaths, the weapon lodged upon the shreds of your flesh. Her scream that vibrated through her ears, hollowed your heart as though someone had carved the organ from your chest cavity with a ladle as if the core still served a purpose. Though it had not filtered blood in generations, it was merely ornamental throughout the decades. Brought to life only at the sight of her tears. Run, p-, the tears that touched upon her eyelashes, as her knees met the soft earth beneath her. Fragile as the day you had met her. Please, your voice only left a desperate growl caught against the edge of the nichirin blade, as vibrant as sapphires beneath the moonlight. As otherworldly as the breathing technique that had captivated your flesh, claimed your throat. The strength of the wielder scented of fresh rain as his drawn eyes revealed his resolve. Determined to claim your life, the threads of your neck bone shattered against its drawn, his muscles pushed further and further, slowly but surely, forcing its way through the last shreds of skins that clung to your life. Your nails struggling to cling to the edges of existence leaving claw marks against the metal sheath. If only for a moment longer, clinging onto the frays of hope that she would find the legs beneath her, to flee from this battleground. From the Hashira, who’s expression was as vacant as death. His hair as black as the Demon Slayer’s crow feathers, the swordsman who would claim your life, an inevitable fate that you knew there was no escape, but if only for a moment, “C—Chi-n-natsu,” your voice a mangled scratch of a yowl, as pitiful as a cat in heat as your nails gathered at the blade, beckoning her sense to return to her. Your other hand struggling to clench the umbrella in your grasp, please, please, you have to run.

Trembled as a leaf as her x shaped irises struggled to follow your voice through the fog of her fears. The tremor of her form, petite and small, tears that struggled past doll like eyelashes, and the small whimper of a sob that spilled through her lips. Reminiscent of the night you had happened upon her, three years ago.

The moonlight flickered amongst the mountains, peeked beneath the shadow of the trees. Illuminated the glow of the yellow tinted moon, ushered the depths of the night, whispered horrors beneath the flicker of glistened silk. The stench of blood littered amongst the ground, soaked into the depths of the soil. Tarnished the once substantial grounds, ushered no signs of life within the mountains rather only welcomed death upon its playground. Bodies twisted and mutilated and disfigured, crafted into various forms. Others dismembered, and askew from their natural forms. Tattered uniforms bearing the marks of the enemy’s insignia. The occasional monstrous creature that crept across Mount Un Natagumo. Lowly lifeforms that bore little speech, useless in deciphering the situation amongst the summits. Only the occasional arachnid is capable of the basic pattern of communication. Nothing tangible, or intellectual, rather a messenger of some patchwork family. Each step that followed your ascent into the depths of the mountains only validated Lord Muzan’s frustrations. Your intrusion upon the lower kizuki no mere mistake of wandering; each step intentional announcement upon the demons that masqueraded as a family. A vision amongst the moonlight, an unusual sight upon the foliage. Long hair that reflected the era you had ailed from when the veins in your body served a purpose. A time when your heart would beat, nearly a millennium ago. The antique charms weaved carefully into your hair. Adapt at having threaded the embellishments in your luscious hair, practices that had escaped the generations that had followed kept secret in your routines. No longer to recall a time in which the weight of the many layers of kimono you bore affected you, far too accustomed to the burden. Unable to even question if it had ever been a hinderance to your movements, unaffected in the way you maneuvered your form up the mountain regardless of the steep tread. The roll of your sleeves betraying a lifetime of extravagance, though you could no longer recall such days, finding only the occasional comfort in their weight. Familiar as the movement of your body, posed amongst the thorns, the veil of midnight kissed upon the sheen of your weimao shielding your from the repulsive manifestations of a child’s loneliness ran rampant into the night. None such daring to cross your path, only hindering the delivery of your lordship’s message.

That was until you happened upon a clearing, in which a woman adorned the marks of the lower Kizuki, the damning markings etched upon her face, the sorrow that filled her expression, the touch upon her features that beckoned you forward. The twitch of threads caught between her fingers, and at first, it was merely your intention to question where the kizuki could be found. To inquire upon his location and determine the state of matters upon the mountain—Lord Muzan was nearing his limits. His generosity for the creation of the child a whisper of pity, rumored amongst the Upper Moons. Details you rarely entertained, uninterested in the affairs of the lower ranks. They so very rarely remained in power that you had never considered committing their names to memory. Yet, when you had been introduced to the spider child, sparking a deeply buried desire, one that you could not place. Echoed faint memories of a past that resembled more of a daydream, but as the years had pass, the amusement of one so young. A child drunk on power, rampant to fabricate a family, to craft love, and trap those within his net. Desperate to cling to those around him, regardless of the cost sharing his art would damn him. Yes, you had merely intended to inquire as to how it she had come to be, your opportunity to inquire challenged by a predator that leapt from the shadows, and the eager way in which the woman greeted death. Her fingers free of the tangle of silk, eyelashes closed as though she whispered a prayer unheard by the gods, and for a shift of the years you had endured, the intrusion caught your interference. The twirl of your weimao beckoning for the drizzle of rain, illuminating an illusion as you pulled the woman’s kimono between your fingers, allowed her to dream of death, to utter the existence of the kizuki upon the mountain. Enough to send the young slayer deeper into the thicket of the trees. An illusion shattered by the startle state of your fingers touched upon a youthful cheek. The round high of her cheek distorted under the pad of your finger. The tremble of one so young, no more than a girl new to the world. New to the night. Tremoring beneath your touch, the tears that caught between her eyelashes. One so eager for death, a desperate plea that recoiled into itself. Revealed fear, and abuse in the way she dared to flinch from your grasp.

No, the situation had been far from redeemable.

The lower kizuki’s influence sponged from her pores beneath your own art, a tremble of bones and fragile regard. Tears that caught on her long eyelashes, the tremble of her shoulders that curled down her spine far too willing to except a blow that you had not administered.

And so, the young demon remained in your care. An added burden that you had not considered undertaking and yet for all your wandering had brought you, you had not the ability to push her form your care. Ushering her from the spider’s care as merely a mean’s to verify Rui’s failures. Your travels to his lordship having bonded you. The first night in which you had ushered her at an inn, further sponging the stench of the blood art that had morphed her body, manipulated her features. Matured her in ways that a child should never endure, the way her body had shuttered beneath your gentle touch, the tears that had found the corner of her eyes. Never daring to allow them to fall, far too anxious to reveal her own terror at your touch. Merely having intended to change her kimono, repulsed to see such exposure on one so young, her response leaving you only to withdraw your hand. Appraise the stutter of her voice. The occasional way her eyes found you in open defiance, ignorant of the way her body betrayed her aggression. Nor the confusion that found her large eyes upon your acceptance. Delicately folding the kimono inwards, before placing it before her. Urging her to change while you were out, your return upon wandering the gardens of the inn after a suitable amount of time, to find her curled up in the webs of a kimono that seemed nearly too big for her to shoulder. No—one in which she did not know how to adorn, the small chuckle that escaped your rouged lips. The little one before you resembling a little girl as she should, before she submitted to the well practice or your hands as you secured her belt properly. Far too aware of the bruises at her neck, nor the marks upon her thigh when she sat indignantly as children so often do.

Nights spent at an arms’ length, though it never seemed enough. Only her curiosity gathering the better of her at times, to draw herself towards you if only to peer at the umbrella that you kept at your side. A knowing smile of a little girl who’s eyes found the embellishments from time to time. Enthralled, and perhaps dreaming of the day in which she too may wear one appropriately. Though you never revealed the way her eyes wandered to your own when she believed you ignorant.

The night in which the fireflies fluttered amongst the summer’s breeze. A rare opportunity to enjoy her company in your own abode. One that you had garnished time after time, greeted in the way you had arrived from an upper moon’s meeting; his lordship especially temperamental at the advancement the Slayer Corps had managed in the prior weeks before dispatching Hantengu and Gyokko, and dismissing the remainder of you to await his commands. The little one, so quick to greet you. The shadow of who she once was left behind in the corners of the night. The smile she offered you as warm as one seeking praise from their mother. Tempting the touch of your hand as she beckoned you forward, wishing to share the growth of blossoms amongst the gardens. A skill she had accomplished under your care. The joy evident upon her features as her fingers found the petals of a small flower, chattering on without a care. Sharing everything the textbooks you had provided her had to share upon these specific species. The leaves of her tireless efforts tangled in a mass upon the growing tangles of her hair, oblivious as a child should be. Blissful of the care she had received, and eager to bask in your touch as you beckoned her to the veranda. Delicately obscuring locks from her face. The small touch of her hair caught against your fingers as she accepted your touch. Weary and fatigued from the chores of the day, fallen into the space upon your lap, curled up and secure. All evidence of who she had been, and what she had endured was erased from her features. “[LN], you’ll be going soon, won’t you.” The touch of her eyes, fallen to the lows of the garden, allowing your hands to continue to put aside her hair as you dusted the twigs and leaves from her mane.

“Will you miss me?” You teased.

“Ah, no I,” haughty at first before the uneasiness to gather into her features, “please, return home safe.”

The small murmur of a hum as you accepted the depths of her sentiments, never openly acknowledging the way she waited for your return after each voyage. “You know, I’ve been thinking.” Allowing a gentle smile to touch upon your lips at the curious way her eyes glanced upon your own, peering up at you from your lap. “You have yet to think of a name.”

“That,” she sighed before averting her eyes. Puffing her cheeks as though a means to pout before heaving her small breath. “I’ve no name. I-I must have, once, but…” The silence to fill the gaps, revealing the anxiety or perhaps the depths of her loss at the way her fingers clasped upon your kimono.

Nodding only quietly, “Then perhaps, Chinatsu will do.”

“RUN,” You screamed, utilizing the remainder of your strength to frce upon your blood art. A flurry of rain that sent her reeling into the depths of the forest. The ache of your heart at the way she screamed upon your name, desperate to remain at your side. To greet death together, a fate you could never allow to come to pass. The slump of your form, and the limp regard of your nails as the blade slashed through, the Water Hashira capitalizing on your last attempt to send your child from your reach, if only to give her the chance to escape his clutches.

The thud across the ground, and the metallic jingle of your ornaments were audible. Loud, in their revelation as was the sheath of the blade that had claimed your final moments. The touch of cold eyes that appraised you curiously, a life a millennium ago, and a child you had never carried to term, the wept of your tears, and the anguish of your final moments echoed upon your resolve as the smile that met your lips. Yes, Chinatsu. A name that uttered your wishes for a child you had claimed, a thousand summers would never be enough.

Please, run, my love.

You can find the requested prequel here, A Thousand Dreams | Spider Mother.

#🍡tsuyospeaks #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #spider mother

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helloescapist · 6 months

Note

omg yess a part 2 to "a thousand summers" would be amazing! I'd love to read something like fluff headcanon prompts of chinatsu and uppermoon!fem!Reader reincarnated in the modern world.

only if you have time, of course, like I said in my last request there's no rush, and your studies and health must come first.

Take care and stay hydrated!

A little quick something between lessons. I hope it's enough to give you all your fluff needs <3

A Thousand Dreams | Spider Mother

Word Count: 5504

Setting: modern spidermother x uppermoonfem!reader (Modern AU!)

Content Warning(s): hints of infertility, touched on a one night stand and a night of drinking, loss, step-mother/bonus mother/ adopted relationship

Summary: childhood friends, turned lovers, but are you ready to meet his daughter?

The gentle breeze pushed through your hair, teased the ends, and coiled it in the breeze. As if attempting to soothe your fraying nerves, and ease the clear grip of your hands. Twined wicker, delicately weaved threatening to snap in your fist as they trembled anxiously. Your eyes tracing the picnic set, the layered blankets you had added to the ground. Tempted to flutter beneath the blades of grass as the spring day brought forth so many opportunities. The gentle sunshade that filtered between the tree branches cast shade upon your shoulders. Delicate scent of familiar flowers, ones that you could not place. Soothing nostalgia as though whispered of a dream that threatened to slip through your fingers. Brought on small glimpses of memories, unfamiliar voices, and the smile of a child—silly, you had told yourself far too many times to count. The shatter of a broken heart, and solemn medical news so many years ago had guaranteed that no such dreams would ever come to pass. Yet, here you stood. Awkwardly tipping your heels anxiously, the small bit of your teeth against the flesh of your pouted lips. Willing back the anxiety that bore into your heart, no, no to think about that now would only make this harder.

Frilly blankets that touched between your fingertips soothed gently as you did your best to burry the anxiety of the days. Small sandwiches procured from a picnic basket. Teddy bear shaped, meticulously cut to rid of any crusts, delicate enough for emerging teeth to enjoy. Large enough to ensure the lack of fine motor skills wouldn’t bear any frustrations, small flower cut fruits, and carefully selected vegetables, far too much time spent at the grocery peeking at the mothers who passed you in the store. Delicately fried karaage tempting beneath the sunshine that trickled down from the trees, the flower petals of the strawberries as though they blossomed amongst the side dishes. Cucumbers sliced to resemble flowers, and apple bunnies that decorated plates. Small puddings, shaped as little bunnies that jiggled with the movement of your fingers. The sight of little goodies, small cakes, and little round cheeks that buried into their mother’s shoulders, large eyes that met your curious gaze as you snuck glances at their wares. All carefully curated, specifically picked. Yet, neither the security of the grocer’s gentle assurance, and the way the butcher had giggle as you bought sausages—you had been told that octopi sausages were a necessity of any child’s bento…

The click of the grocery basket at the bend of your elbow. The anxious way your finger slipped past packages. Nervously wandering the variety of goods—why were there so many types of cakes? Which one would a little girl like? The creeping sensation of overhwlemed by the many options at your selections having you consider whether melon was truly a popular flavor. One of your coworker’s sons had been so excited at its emergence. It must be popular, ah but wait, he’s a little boy. D-Do girls prefer cuter things. Eyes skipping to the little bunny pudding on a higher shelf. Half tempted to throw both options into the bag. Ah, n-no that would be just as bad, wouldn’t it? Too many sweets would make for a rotten tummy. B-But you could eat the one she didn’t like—ah, but you weren’t fond of this flavor. T-that’s childish, you could eat it… or hide it? The small hum of a small child, offbeat singing of roses and pockets as they skipped down the aisle, curiously wandering up to you. Glancing up at you if only for a moment before giving a big smile. Dimples that drew at the corner of their smile, not a moment of hesitation before drawing their desired snack from the selection and skipping back to their mother’s side… making light of your conundrum. So self-assured, and comfort in the way their hand tugged at their mothers, jolly singing praise of curry for dinner. The small touch of domestic life warmed from a far, a gentle sight that tugged at your heart, drawing your eyes back to your cart. The knot of anxiety between anxious fingers as young yourself grasping at the cake packaging. Distant memories, of tests and labs, the gentle press of your mother’s hand into your shoulder, as the results fell from your physician’s mouth. It had been years since you had been told, and yet as the time had passed, it was as though the wound was as fresh as ever. Festered and infected, feverish at the sight of someone else’s dreams passing you by. Unable to hide the way your lip trembled, and the tears threatened the corner of your eyes. Caught at your lashes with the crinkle of plastic, and scornful whispered.

“What am I doing?” you chided yourself. Shaking your head uneasily, cursing yourself with a sigh before numbly withdrawing pudding after cake, ingredient after ingredient. Wandering the aisles as you carefully refurnished the items back to their designated spots. Each culminated ingredient from the bend of your elbow, only bearing weight to your heart, and your features as you carefully placed it back on the shelf. The touch of tears tickling the end of your cheeks, turning your head from the families that passed you by as you stocked the shelves with your over enthusiasm, reality beginning to sink into the pit of your stomach… Y-You would send a sincere apology to your childhood friend Hiroto. Thank him for, for considering you after all these years, and the night you spent together. H-he would understand, surely. Yet, the excited smile upon his face when you had been reunited, how light he had appeared… Life in his features despite how sorrowful he had been at the grave site two years prior. Shyly rubbing the back of his head when you had inquired how he had been after it all, dinner together at your insistence, and when one drink led to another. Liquored kisses, and hushed whispers, of a childhood friends turned lovers if only for a night… or at least it was what you had intended. Far too aware of his situation, never wishing to muddy his duties more than life already had. Raising a child alone, and yet, and yet you had allowed yourself to think if for just a moment— “Stupid,” you whispered as the last dorayaki package left your fingertips and threatened to rob you of any shred of hope.

The grumble annoyance of an older woman tsking at your not-so-inner-dialogue drawing your attention over your shoulder. The high pinks of your cheeks, touched at shame to be caught in your state. Self-loathing, unaware of the way she had followed you from section to section. One or two items you had put back in her hands as she stared at you. The touch of age at the callous of her skin, the wear of sun damage at the highs of her cheeks, and the mole at her chin. Gray curls that met at her brow bone, the remainder secured in a bun with an old fashioned pin s she tilted her head at you with clear agitation. “You should be more confident,” her voice tinged with aged, coarse as though she had recently endured a cold as she pressed the reclaimed items into your cart, “Children are not so hard to please. They just want your time.”

“Oh—I’m not,” you whispered shamefully to your toes.

“Children like carrots,” she intercepted, “best to avoid peppers and mushrooms.” Callous hands that met at your shoulder as though pressing a curious amount of pressure that whispered reassurance as she lifted the burden from your arm. Practiced hands wandering the aisle as she divulged customer secrets, uttered common childhood delicacies, and grievances accumulated throughout the years. Guided your hands as you examined the strawberries curiously. The guide of her fingers as she explained ways to prepare it, though she swore that the fruit as it was far more than enough to meet any child’s expectations. Though your elder remained firm in the preparation of the apple as she added it to the cart. Only rabbits were acceptable, especially if you were caring for a smaller child. As though they were magical bunnies that gave the fruit superior taste.

The back-and-forth banter of the butcher, her husband as they debated what additions would add to the picnic. The older woman snapping her argument in the form of a scowl, shooing his offers of select cuts away. The obvious annoyance at the way he pressed his cause, “a bento is not a bento without a sausage octopus.”

“Children need nutrition,” the woman hissed back. Each side bringing forth valuable points, and considerations to consider. Warm laughter that carried a marriage through the years, touched upon love and affections in their debate. Utilizing faded memories, reassurance at the confirmation of your purchase.

They just want your time.

“YN?” As deep as the earth, and rich as the sum as it called your name. Bold in the light of day, informal and thick with significance. Your thoughts revealing your vulnerability as you turned to meet his gaze. The toss of brown hair that glistened a light shade of copper under the moonlight. Depend to depths of brown at the root of his hair, the bangs swept to the side, far more casual they had been in your youth. The depths of plum-kissed eyes that tended to a gentle kindle of a flame, dared to hold a hidden heat behind their gaze as he peered up you. The touch of his collar unbuttoned, relaxed today unlike the night you had run into one another; his smile all the same, gentle and warm as it caught at the corner of his smile, the joy of a childhood friend… far different than it had been. Whispered affections that no longer tucked into the secrecy of kindled flames, but rather a hearth that had merit. The pounding of your heart ringing in your ears, thrummed against your chest. Rattled your ribs, and formed a lump of a throat at the center of your throat. Dared to hush so much as a hint of shock, robbed you of your voice. Threatened tears to the corner of your eyes as ones that bore the weight of cherry plum trees met your own. Larger, and doll like as the brown eyelashes that blinked curiously. The tilt of her little head, and the round of her cheeks, as her maroon eyes threatened to drown you in memories. Whispered reminiscence of winter days snuggled under layers of blankets, mornings spent brushing a little girl’s hair into favored ponytails, and drew circles in the sand of a garden beneath her planted flower bushes. Memories foreign, yet familiar that claimed your heart, drew forth a sense of melancholy and unspoken longing, of days spent beneath azalea blooms, to pluck stray leaves from the tangles of her hair, to sooth the worries that formed at her brows as she drifted to sleep in your lap beneath the veranda. A life that had slipped through your fingers over a hundred years ago, brought to life with a toddler’s smile. The tremble of your voice, as your fingers threatened to thread through her hair just as you used to.

“C-Chinatsu.”

Modern Day Headcanons | Spider Mother

Chinatsu recognized you immediately, as though she had been waiting her whole life to reunite with you. As gentle as any child, peeked up at you through her bangs with the biggest smile before she shyly reached out for your face.

Traced at your features as though testing if this were yet another dream, and poked your cheeks, a face she had seen so many times in her dreams, now before her.

Told her daddy about you so many times— though it had never occurred to him that his childhood friend would be the imaginary friend his daughter spoke of.

Chinatsu is highly in touch with the emotions of others, and perhaps it’s because she’s an old soul. She’s quick to understand that her father has loved you for many years, and at times, it causes her a little frustration.

She has no memories of her mother, only of you, and at times, it’s a cause of tension in your relationship. Though she knows in her heart that it is not your fault—the gentle way you hold her reassure her.

Comfort the sobs a child who only wished to know their mother, you encourage her father to speak more openly of her mother, rather than allow his sorrows to burry the memories of her.

When the big move has been made, whether as marriage, commitment, or just living together, you make a point of raiding his photo albums. Aware that it may upset him, but make a point of displaying any pictures that exist of Chinatsu with her mother, and slips those of Hiroto and her together in her belongings.

she needs it.

Understand that there will be times that it will be difficult for Chinatsu, and the endurance of a stepmother, or bonus mother can be difficult, but I imagine, that all she would want is love.

Acceptance, and patience, (because we know for a fact Rui did NOT show her such graces).

Early years will consist of princess play, dancing amongst fairies, and heavily indulging in childhood fantasies. Danced along extravagant dresses, to little peasant dresses depending on what scenario she has decided to play for the day.

Just as you are eager to assist in her childhood play, Chinatsu is overjoyed the opportunity to assist in laundry. Even at the point of causing you a small touch of stress and anxiety as she struggles to drag the basket behind her, her folding a muddled mess as it always is for one so young.

A responsibility she will grow upon with time, and patience, happy to indulge in pretending to be a superhero with a spare blanket from the laundry and running throughout the garden.

These fantasies will only grow, and due to the added strain of her past life, I imagine that her adolescent years will be turbulent. One part of her feels as though she is grown, and capable of taking on the world—lord knows that she witnessed so much in her past life.

Yet, the other part of her, just wants the strict structure a parent would desire. So small bouts of rebellion may occur, but really, I think it would just be the place of ensuring that you love her as your own child.

Nothing quite as troubled as running away, but rather dyed hair, heavy makeup, and maybe her skirt higher than you would prefer.

All displays of her deep worries that perhaps some part of you has shifted from who you used to be in your past life, or that you yearn for more than what she is.

The deep fear that perhaps, you would prefer to have your own child with Hiroto, and she never has the confidence to ask. Nor have you ever given her any reason to feel this way—you bathed her, clothed her, read her bedtime stories.

Early mornings spent preparing her for school, and having never missed a single exhibition put on by her schools from her pre-k graduation to sports, plays, and school fairs, no minor how her involvement was.

Cheesy construction signs, screaming her name as she ran through the track relay… smiling and praising her despite the fact that she is not athletically inclined—the pride and joy of your life.

No, no you’ve never given her any reason to feel this way, but sometimes, it sneaks up on her. The nagging fear that perhaps you would throw her away, just as you had in your final moments. Only time will prove the depths of your loyalty.

and rid her of her insecurities.

Your home will be decorated with finger paintings, and little arts. I think she’s the type of child to pick flowers, and even weeds to give you. Eagerly waits for you when you return home from work. Happy to share details about her day.

A little flighty, and prone to forgetting her homework, any frustrations likely melted away by the round smile of her cheeks.

Would so be the child to have painted on the wall though she knows better and doesn’t hide it.

Pouts her cheeks, aware of the paint at her cheeks, wiggles her toes, and her eyes follow it before she reveals the paintbrush from behind your back, “I wanted to give you a pretty flower.”

You’d likely be requested to do her hair often, and not necessarily anything particularly challenging, or that she cannot do herself. She just enjoys having your attention for a moment as you brush back her hair, like you used to.

Spend time listening to her daydreams and marveling at the depths of her thinking.

Falls asleep at the entrance waiting you to come home from work, or the grocery stores. Just wants to greet you.

Pouts at times when you pay more attention to her dad, Hiroto than her. Puffs her cheeks out, and puffs her head to the side. It's petty, she knows, and that's why it never becomes a real issue.

Funny, due to her past life, I can't see her becoming actually jealous or angry at either of you progressing in a relationship, but literally just wanting to be included. all. the. time.

Her favorite thing to do is curl up under the kotetsu, her head pressed into your lap as you thread your fingers through her hair, and she watches her favorite cartoon.

like most children, turns her nose up to mushrooms.

in her last life. and this one.

plucks goma dango from the resting rack as soon as you pluck them from the fryer despite knowing it will burn her tongue. Just one more, sneaking under the table to secure her treat.

You're completely aware that there is no case of missing goma dango, and that her bright pink socks are peeking out from under the table.

Yet, the small smile on your lips as you drop another dango to rest, and turn back to the stove.

After all, what's one more?

She'll only forgive you if you give her the last slice of cake.

Adores going on grocery trips with you, and receiving an extra candy from the granny and grandpa who run the grocery store, and listening to them tease you as she drags your hand.

Quick to offer help in preparing dinner and loves helping make bentos for her father with you or making the messiest little bento for you to take with you to work with a hand drawn rainbow tucked into the rice.

Regularly sneaks into your bed, remembers the way that she used to tuck into your side in your past life, beneath layers of futons.

Understands that things are not as they were, and loves her father, but… just for tonight? Especially on moonlight nights.

I suspect that the biggest obstacle that you would have with her is that—she needs independence. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

It’s natural that she wants to stick at her father, or your side, and she may even be resistant to this, but with gentle encouragement, she will get there.

It’s so important for her to build the confidence to stray on her own, always know that you are only a call, or text a way wherever she may wonder.

SPOILER: If we were to see her in the end of the book, where Sumihiko Kamado and Tojuro Rengoku are running late, we would see Chinatsu and you on the sidewalk, with a bag of groceries and leeks poking from the top, cheerfully holding hands and swinging them as you walk, discussing the delicious dinner you will make for Hiroto that night.

While reassuring Chinatsu, that of course you will make the rice in the shape of a flower.

Just for her.

#🍡tsuyospeaks #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #spider mother #kny modern au

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