#Fragile Deliveries

[nextdoorcourierservice]

When it comes to transporting fragile items like software backup media, handling them with the utmost care is non-negotiable. Ensuring that your sensitive materials arrive safely is a responsibility we take seriously. Here’s how we approach these specialized deliveries with precision and reliability:

[bidonica]

Me: I love this part of the map!

This part of the map:

(Previous adventures in pizza delivery: a Death Stranding playthrough blog)

Speaking of, today I went on a light hike with my father who's the actual mountaineer in the family and completely unprompted he asked me to explain Death Stranding to him. I am becoming afraid of my own influencing powers

Incredible insights about Neanderthals from acclaimed director Nicolas Winding Refn

Man it feels good to do these missions... look at the breathtaking scenery

What the FUCK

"If it's not too late" well it is! The Mountaineer is an npc I'm fond of but I wish he had better timing (btw it's ironic that Die Hardman warns you that preppers in the mountain area might be hard to convince to join the UCA while they're generally very nice and eager to enter the network)

Oh wow well

I guess I'll ignore that and the lightning and the loud cracks and go do other allegedly story-advancing missions. This is productive procrastination

Like this rookie porter needed saving (and for some reason was nearly impossible to find despite being a darker silhouette on a white background... first time I had to look up the solution to something in this game I kid you not) (yes I had skipped this one in my first playthrough) (I'm realizing I cut A LOT of corners the first time around)

A still untested hot spring?!? NOT on MY watch

Oh, so unlike Mama and the Chiral Artist this guy doesn't join you for a health restoring bath? Mh. I wonder why

Me: Deadman, you better not be in a chiral vortex when I get there to retrieve my beloved BB

Deadman:

The FUCK are you saying man (you read this in Norman Reedus' voice)

siiiiigh

[sportsandlaughs]

[gayspock]

im going 2 have wasted all my money again arent i -_

[venacoeurva]

Saw the delivery guy drop off a (very light) package we were expecting and walk away after taking the photo of it, and in the ~10 seconds it took for me to slip my shoes on to go out and get it it was gone and for a brief second we were just "did he take a photo and throw it or something???" and nah there was just a very good perfectly timed wind gust sent it into a bush but that was an experience for a few seconds

[katzesgallery]

Fragile Handle With Care Sticker

Various cool [real life] things have arrived at my house (that I ordered months ago oh my god) and some of them are... Stickers!! Maybe you're feeling like the little kitty in the box sometimes, too? 📦 (I drew this design last year and almost forgot about it... yay me!) I'll post more cool stuff soon and an working on a little kofi-shop, please stay tuned <3

[vicsmusehub]

Ophelia actually has a lot more money than most people know. As stated before, her father was a successful poet that worked under a pin name that made a fair bit of cash on his work. After his death, all the money and assets from those works, of course, went to Lil Miss Miller. That being said, she’d trade her fortune for her parents any day...

[footsiepop]

did someone beat the shit out of your fragile package

Oh no I used to load package vans. I am beating the shit out of your fragile package.

[wickedzeevyln]

Boxes

If I could ship my thoughts to you inside an Amazon box I would and if I could, don’t give the delivery person a pensive look. The audible sound of brokeness you hear is what it is, considering that you have smashed every fragile heart to smithereen as you would with a whisky bottle in the back of an alley, I took the liberty of picking them up with diplomacy as a shovel as if the…

[gender-euphowrya]

you know that ''big purchases have to be done on a computer screen" thing

mine goes "big purchases have to be done in a physical store"

[bidonica]

Did the nuke mission… “why did you do it” “I found someone who completes me” why would you word it like that ratboy. If not to rub it in your ex girlfriend/crush/situationship’s face

[kateschi]

cradled in strength

synopsis: after anxiously awaiting news from the delivery room, when katsuki holds your newborn daughter, everything changes.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: congrats you're parents now

the hospital is chaos around him. katsuki paces the hallway, his hands clenched into fists, knuckles white, and his sharp eyes dart toward the closed door of the delivery room every few seconds.

his chest heaves with each breath, the tension and fear he’ll never admit boiling beneath his skin. his heart pounds like a war drum, and all he can think about is you.

you, the love of his life, who is inside that room, fighting.

a nurse approaches again, trying to calm him down, but katsuki’s fiery glare cuts through her attempts like a blade.

“why the hell haven’t I heard anything yet?!” he barks, his voice thick with anxiety—a tone no one is used to hearing from the explosive hero.

“mr. bakugou, it’s—” she starts.

but katsuki isn’t hearing it. he storms past her, making his way toward the doctor who just exited the room, his eyes wild, fists trembling.

“if my wife dies,” he growls, his voice dripping with venom and something much more fragile, “I will fucking kill you.”

the doctor, seasoned in dealing with panicked fathers, meets his gaze with calm professionalism.

“mr. bakugou, I assure you, your wife is in good hands. we’re doing everything we can to ensure both she and the baby are healthy.”

katsuki’s breath catches in his throat, his chest heaving with helplessness. this isn’t a battle he can fight with brute strength or explosions.

kirishima, who has been quietly waiting in the background, steps forward, placing a steadying hand on katsuki’s shoulder.

“you’ve gotta trust them, man. they know what they’re doing. she’s strong. you know that better than anyone.”

katsuki’s eyes flash, his lips curling as if he’s about to snap, but the words stick. instead, he lets out a harsh breath, running a trembling hand through his unruly blonde hair. “damn it…”

the minutes drag on, each one stretching longer than the last, every second ticking by like torture. katsuki’s whole body is coiled tight, ready to spring into action, but there’s nothing he can do except wait.

and he hates waiting.

finally, the door creaks open, and a nurse pokes her head out. “mr. bakugou, you can come in now.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice. katsuki shoves past everyone, nearly sprinting into the room.

his eyes scan the space, and when they land on you, lying in the hospital bed, looking exhausted but alive, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. relief floods through him so fast it makes his knees weak.

you’re there. you’re okay.

“hey,” you murmur weakly, your voice soft but steady as you give him a tired smile.

katsuki is at your side in an instant, dropping to his knees beside the bed, his large hand reaching for yours. he squeezes it tightly, like if he holds on hard enough, you’ll never leave his side again.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough around the edges, betraying the fear that’s consumed him the entire time.

you nod, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you try to steady your breathing. “I’m fine,” you whisper, your thumb brushing across his knuckles in reassurance. “just… tired.”

katsuki lets out a shaky breath, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the back of your hand. he stares at you, his crimson eyes wide with concern, the sharp edges of his usual persona softened.

you’ve never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so exposed. his gaze flickers across your face like he’s memorizing every detail, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort.

unable to resist the urge any longer, katsuki leans down and presses his lips gently to the top of your head. it’s a soft, lingering kiss.

he rests his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “you scared the shit outta me.”

a weak laugh escapes you, your fingers tightening around his. “I know… but I’m okay. we’re okay.”

katsuki doesn’t respond immediately. his other hand slides under the blanket, resting gently on your stomach where the baby had been. the weight of everything hits him all at once.

his family. you. his daughter.

“I thought…” his voice cracks, barely above a whisper, and he shakes his head, the words stuck in his throat. “don’t… don’t ever do that again, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” you tease softly, offering him another smile. “but I can’t make any promises.”

he huffs, his mouth twitching at the corners, though his eyes stay fixed on you, swirming with worry. then, as if on cue, the nurse approaches with a soft smile, holding something small and swaddled in a blanket.

“mr. bakugou,” she says gently, “would you like to meet your daughter?”

for a moment, katsuki freezes. his chest tightens, the world narrowing to the tiny bundle in the nurse’s arms. daughter. your daughter. the words seem surreal, and his heart pounds.

you nudge him softly, breaking him out of his daze. “go on, katsuki. she’s waiting for you.”

he blinks, swallowing hard before standing, his movements slower now. the nurse gently transfers the tiny bundle into his arms, and katsuki moves with more care than he ever thought possible.

his hands cradle the little girl, his breath catching as he stares down at her.

she’s so small, so fragile. a perfect little being wrapped in a blanket, with a tuft of spiky blonde hair peeking out. his hair. he lets out a small, shaky laugh, his lips parting as he whispers, “she’s got my hair…”

he stares at her, his chest swelling with something so overwhelming he doesn’t know how to process it. a fierce, protective love that rivals any rage or anger he’s ever felt before.

katsuki, the explosive, fiery hero, is brought to his knees by the tiny life in his arms.

you watch him, tears brimming in your eyes at the sight of katsuki holding your daughter with such tenderness. his usual harsh demeanor is replaced with something almost reverent.

he leans down, brushing his lips against her forehead before resting his cheek against the top of her head.

“she’s perfect,” you whisper, reaching out to place your hand over his.

he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat as he leans toward you, pressing his forehead gently to yours again. “yeah,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

katsuki doesn’t need to say more. he holds her close, her soft breathing the only sound in the room, grounding him in a way nothing else ever has.

you chuckle tiredly, leaning against him. you let out a small breath, "thank god she doesn't have your ugly face."

you swear you hear a vein pop in your husband, before he turns to you with a scowl, "I am not ugly, you ass."

"you were an ugly baby, and if you deny that," you smile, "then you're a liar, and that isn't a good look to sport in front of our daughter, is it?"

he pauses, the weight of your little family settling over him, “yeah..." he smiles, "our daughter.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[retropopcult]

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (1994)

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles - Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper

The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess. So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport.

Series Masterlist

It’s your birthday, and you’re over the moon. You’ve been frugal, cutting out fancy coffee and takeout for weeks, all to splurge on this one, glorious, limited-edition novel from your favorite author. The packaging is pristine, the book jacket glimmering like a beacon of literary greatness. Today is the day. You’ve built this moment up for weeks—you’re practically vibrating as you sign for the delivery.

You tear into the package like it’s Christmas morning, clutching the book to your chest, grinning ear to ear. You settle in with a cup of tea, your coziest blanket, and crack open the book, fully expecting your soul to ascend to a higher plane of literary enlightenment.

It takes precisely three pages for your entire existence to collapse. This is bad. So bad, you can feel your spirit shriveling. Your entire life is a lie.

The book is like a train wreck—every sentence is a mangled piece of steel, but you can’t look away. Tears start forming in your eyes, not from emotional depth, but from sheer despair. It’s like the author forgot how to write in between winning their last award and releasing this... dumpster fire of a novel. But you’re not a quitter. You’ve made it this far—you’re not going down without a fight.

You turn the page with trembling hands, determined to push through.

The plot is standard—heroine is a saintess (yawn), love interest is the Duke of the North (ugh, of course), and the second male lead is the Prince (because originality is apparently dead). But then the villainess shows up. Finally, some promise. You grip the book a little tighter—maybe this will be it! The saving grace! The villainess is the queen of high society, beloved and powerful, absolute girlboss vibes. She runs everything with an iron fist and sharp wit, but then…

Then it happens.

The heroine’s hair comes loose. The villainess, in a rare moment of kindness, gently points out that her hair is falling out of its bun. And what happens? Does she get thanked for her thoughtfulness? No. No. The heroine goes, “You must be jealous of me,” and everyone agrees.

What. The. Hell.

You blink once, then twice. Is this…is this supposed to be a serious plot point? The villainess, this badass social queen, gets ostracized for suggesting a quick touch-up? Is this a joke? You flip back a few pages. Surely, there’s a mistake. Maybe you missed something. You didn’t miss anything. This book missed you with anything resembling logic.

So now, this powerful woman, once the queen of high society, is branded as jealous and bitter. She’s exiled from everything she’s ever known, her entire life crumbling because the heroine’s fragile ego couldn’t handle a little advice. And she’s not even the worst part. No, because guess what?

The only person who stays with her through it all? Her fiancé, Jamil Viper. Jamil, a baron she helped rise to the position of Duke, the man she loved, is by her side while everyone else abandons her. The romance potential is there. It’s right there. You’re practically shaking the book at this point.

And what does the author do with this beautiful setup? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The villainess, broken and misunderstood, alienates herself from Jamil. She pushes him away. And then—just to really twist the knife—she dies alone.

You drop the book onto your lap, staring at the ceiling. Infinite romance potential, wasted. You can feel your soul leaving your body. Jamil could’ve saved her. They could’ve had it all. But no. She dies alone, unloved, in the most tragic yet pointless way possible.

And that’s when it happens.

Something absurd. Something so stupid, it feels like divine punishment for buying this book. Maybe it's the way your body tenses in sheer disbelief at the plot; maybe the universe decides to play its cruel hand, but you feel a sharp pain in your chest.

Suddenly, the room spins, and your vision goes black. As the world fades around you, your final thought isn’t about your family, your friends, or the countless dreams you had for the future. No.

Your last thought is:

“Really??? On my goddamn birthday?”

And then, you die.

You wake up, stretch, and feel… odd. You glance at your hands and freeze. Your nails aren’t chipped? Your cuticles are trimmed? In this economy? You sniff the air. Lavender? Something’s very wrong here. You sit up and take in your surroundings. Ornate tapestries, a bed so massive it could host a small nation, and a freaking chandelier.

Oh no.

First thought: Have I been kidnapped? But hold up—what kind of kidnapper does their victim’s manicure? You wave your polished hand around like it's suddenly sprouted five extra fingers. This is definitely not normal.

And then your gaze lands on the giant, gilded mirror at the side of the room. You stumble towards it, ready to face the worst, and when you see your reflection, the realization knocks the wind right out of you.

“Fuck my life… I’m the villainess.”

Panic mode: activated. But then you pause, staring at your impossibly gorgeous reflection. No need to lose your shit just yet. You've read enough of these novel-turned-isekai tales to know the drill. It’s bad, yes, but it could be worse.

You’re not the heroine, which means less plot armor, but you are rich. Villainess rich. The kind of rich where you don’t even know how much a loaf of bread costs anymore. There’s power in that, right?

Alright, you just need to avoid the male leads like they have the dragon pox or something equally contagious and unattractive. If they even sneeze in your direction, you’re running faster than a Black Friday shopper in a sale.

Best course of action? Stick to your fiancé, Jamil Viper. He clearly liked the original villainess in the book, and you’re betting you can use that connection to survive this ridiculous plot.

Oh, and because this novel’s plotline literally killed you, you’re taking the queen of high society title back. Out of spite. It’s petty, but who cares? You're gonna be shady, throw aristocratic shade like you’re handing out party favors, and maybe casually humiliate the heroine for fun. She can't be that saintly.

But before anything else? Shopping.

You are now rich in a fantasy world, and you are not going to waste this opportunity. First order of business? Find a dress so stunning it could make a commoner drop dead on the spot. The kind of outfit that makes peasants weep and enemies tremble.

As you stride to the wardrobe, you can't help but feel a little smug. Sure, you're the villainess, but damn, you're gonna be a well-dressed one.

Your first shopping spree as a villainess. And not just that—there are maids! You stare at them wide-eyed as they begin dressing you in silks and satins, and you can’t help but think, “Holy shit, I have maids now.”

They fuss over you with a precision that can only be described as obsessive, tieing ribbons, adjusting jewelry, and brushing your hair like it’s a rare silk. You check yourself in the mirror, and honestly? Damn. The heroine's got nothing on you.

You twirl, and every inch of you screams hot and dangerous. It's like the universe is apologizing for killing you off with that god-awful book by giving you this absolute glow-up. You’re feeling unstoppable, like you could bench-press societal expectations and then strut away in heels.

But then your butler approaches, bowing as if you’re some untouchable deity. “My Lady, your fiancé, Lord Jamil Viper, has arrived to see you.”

Wait, what? Jamil is here? THE Jamil?? The only person with an ounce of brain cells in that trash fire of a novel? The one man who actually made sense? Please let him be hot.

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself. God, I hope he looks exactly like he was described.

When the doors open, you nearly pass out on the spot. Correction. He’s hotter. Infinitely hotter. If Jamil Viper was a fire hazard in the book, in person, he’s a full-on inferno. You’re almost thankful you died just so you could see him. He greets you, and his voice? Sexier than advertised. You’ve hit the isekai jackpot.

Without a second thought, you grin, loop your arm through his, and drag him toward the carriage. You’re already imagining the two of you showing up to the next ball in matching outfits, causing hearts to break and jaws to drop. Jamil is a little confused by your sudden enthusiasm, but like a champ, he just goes along with it.

As the carriage rolls down the cobbled streets, you casually drop, “By the way, I’m done moping about being ostracized by high society. I want revenge on the heroine.”

His eyes darken, and there’s an unmistakable gleam in them. He leans back, smirking. “Good. I hate the Prince anyway. The number of problems he caused me while I was trying to rise through the ranks? I’d love nothing more than to ruin them both.”

And you? You’re in. Oh, you’re so in. Why not? Why not when Jamil Viper looks so attractive while plotting the downfall of others?

He pauses his scheming for just a second, looking at you with a rare softness. “Thank you… for recognizing my talents. I wouldn’t have had the chance to even think about insulting a prince if you weren’t by my side.”

Your heart does a little flip, and you take his hand in yours, a silent promise forming in your mind. You’re going to make the original villainess proud. You’re going to destroy the heroine.

For what this book did.

And also because, well… revenge is sexy when Jamil Viper’s involved.

You both stride into the store, ready to make a statement. But, of course, because the universe is a petty comedian, there she is—the heroine, acting like she’s never seen a price tag before. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift!” she gushes loudly enough for the entire store to hear.

Meanwhile, the Duke—Mr. "I-have-no-emotions"—is doing his signature act: standing there, looking aloof, but you can tell he’s mentally calculating how impressed everyone is supposed to be.

Jamil doesn’t even need to speak. You both share a glance, a silent conversation filled with mutual disdain. "These people suck." It's not even a question. It's a fact.

“I’ll take everything here,” you say suddenly, your voice loud enough to cut through the heroine’s overly sweet prattling. The shopkeeper’s eyes widen as they hurriedly approach, unsure if they heard you correctly.

“Everything?” they stammer.

You nod casually, like buying an entire store’s worth of clothing is a daily occurrence. “Yes, everything.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see the Duke’s facade slip for just a moment—his cold mask cracking ever so slightly as he glances at you. The heroine looks like she’s about to choke on her own words. You flash them a bright, borderline condescending smile. "Oh, I hope I didn’t interrupt something. You were saying?"

Jamil steps closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he coolly adds, “Also, we’d like matching outfits. Something… striking.” His tone is as indifferent as ever, but you can feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.

The heroine looks utterly flustered, her hands fidgeting as she glances between you and the Duke, who is doing his best to act unbothered. But you can tell he’s silently fuming, his pride taking a serious hit.

Jamil leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “A power couple move? Bold. I approve.”

You grin. “I thought we’d show them how it’s really done.”

A short while later, you and Jamil emerge from the dressing rooms in outfits that would make gods weep with envy. You glance at yourselves in the mirror, and wow. You two don’t just look good—you look devastatingly unstoppable. The kind of couple people would kill to look like in their wildest dreams.

The heroine looks on with wide eyes, clearly trying to mask her jealousy, while the Duke’s cold expression cracks further, his irritation almost palpable. He probably thought he was the only one who could pull off the whole “I’m-rich-and-powerful” vibe. Sorry, buddy. You’re just not in the same league.

Jamil gives you a rare, genuine smile, one that’s laced with quiet triumph. “Not bad,” he says casually, though his eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary.

As you step out of the store—victory sealed—you take Jamil’s hand without thinking, your mind already moving on to your next move. “Now,” you say, eyes focused on the road ahead, “about that revenge plan. I’m thinking we start by—”

But as you plot and scheme, you don’t notice that Jamil isn’t looking at the road. His gaze is on you—quiet, intense, and filled with something deeper.

"Whatever it is," he murmurs, "I'm in."

Power couple goals, indeed.

The ball is here, and, like any self-respecting villainess, you’re not about to let the opportunity for chaos slip by. If you’re going to be stuck in the plot of a novel, might as well make it entertaining, right?

As your maids fuss over your dress, they spill some of the hottest gossip yet. Apparently, the prince? The one who’s always preening like a peacock and acting like he’s too good for everyone?

Yeah, he got caught trying to serenade his tutor’s cat—and failed. He’s tone-deaf, and worse, the tutor is furious because the cat’s been hiding in her curtains for days, traumatized. You nearly choke on air.

“Oh, this is going to be a biblical shitstorm,” you murmur, your eyes practically sparkling as you imagine the carnage that’s about to go down tonight.

By the time you meet Jamil outside, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. And speaking of Jamil—holy hell. He’s standing by the carriage in a sleek, dark suit, looking all brooding and mysterious like he was custom-made to steal hearts.

"Wow," you say, openly staring at him. "You’re killing me right now. How are you real?"

Jamil shifts, tugging at his collar like he’s trying to downplay how good he looks. “Stop,” he mutters, his face ever-so-slightly flushed, but the tiny smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

“No, seriously,” you press, circling him with an exaggerated critical eye. “Is this what ‘stunning’ looks like in person? I need to know because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“You’re impossible.” He shakes his head but doesn’t make eye contact, probably because he knows he’ll crack. But he’s smiling, and that’s all the confirmation you need.

When you arrive at the ballroom, it doesn’t take long before you spot Kalim. He’s practically bouncing with excitement, waving as if you weren’t already heading his way.

"You guys look amazing!" he cheers, pulling both of you into a hug before you can protest. He’s so enthusiastic, you almost forget you have a mission. Almost.

You lower your voice conspiratorially. "Kalim, did you hear about the prince?"

He blinks. “No? What happened?”

Jamil side-eyes you like he knows exactly where this is going, but he doesn’t stop you. He’s in on this. “Well, apparently, our dear prince has been… spending some quality time trying to serenade his tutor’s cat.”

There’s a pause, then Kalim’s eyes widen in shock. “WAIT, REALLY?”

You and Jamil barely manage to suppress your laughter. Kalim just broadcasted that to half the ballroom. Mission success.

From there, you and Jamil strategically split up to mingle with the nobles, making sure the gossip spreads like wildfire. Every time someone asks, you pretend to hesitate, then whisper it to them like it’s the juiciest secret in the world. By the time the prince arrives, the entire ballroom is buzzing with whispers.

You grab two drinks and take your spot in a corner where you have the perfect view of the incoming storm. Jamil joins you, leaning casually against the wall, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. “I’d say we did well,” he says softly, as you hand him one of the drinks.

“Too well,” you say, grinning wickedly. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

The prince enters, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone is staring at him like he just walked in with toilet paper stuck to his shoe. The imperial family follows behind him, sensing that something is off, but they keep up appearances, declaring the ball open.

Then, the dancing begins. And oh, the rejection. The prince approaches lady after lady, only to be turned down one by one, each with some flimsy excuse. You’re cackling into your drink at this point, nearly spilling it as you watch the absolute carnage unfold.

And then—oh, this is the best part—the heroine finally arrives, blissfully unaware of the prince’s latest scandal. She’s practically glowing as the prince, desperate and clearly not understanding the situation, asks her to dance. She accepts with a delighted smile, preening at all the attention she thinks they’re getting.

The whispers intensify.

Jamil watches, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I’m impressed," he murmurs. "That spread faster than I expected."

"Never underestimate the power of pettiness," you reply, clinking your glasses together.

Across the room, the king’s aide is whispering something to him, and the poor man looks like he’s just aged ten years. He shoots a glance at the prince and then at the heroine, his expression screaming “I can’t believe I have to deal with this.”

Then comes the final nail in the coffin. After the dance, a group of younger noblewomen approaches the heroine, and she’s clearly expecting them to fawn over her for dancing with the prince. But instead, they absolutely rip into her. “How could you dance with him after what he did?” one of them demands, while another makes a snide comment about the cat.

The heroine, bless her heart, has no idea what they’re talking about and stumbles over her words, trying to defend herself. But she just makes it worse. Within minutes, she’s in tears, running from the ballroom in a dramatic scene worthy of an award.

The Duke—her Duke—chases after her, looking like he’s reconsidering all his life choices.

You’re laughing so hard now that you’re practically leaning on Jamil for support. "This is better than I could’ve ever hoped for," you gasp, wiping away a tear.

Jamil chuckles softly, his gaze focused entirely on you. “Glad you’re having fun.”

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” you reply between giggles, clutching his arm. "But seriously, this is gold!"

Jamil smiles, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches you. "Whatever you want to do, I’m in." His voice is quiet, but there’s a sincerity in it that makes your heart skip a beat.

And you know, with him by your side, this is only the beginning.

The quiet clatter of quills and the shuffle of paper fill the room as you and Jamil work side by side. It's supposed to be a normal afternoon—just the two of you getting through the absolutely thrilling task of making plans to merge your estates after your marriage.

Riveting stuff. But there’s a certain coziness to it, like you’ve finally settled into this life together. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you glance at Jamil, whose attention is currently fixed on a particularly dense contract.

He glances up, noticing your stare. “Do you want some tea?” he asks casually, already reaching for the bell to summon the butler.

You nod, and in moments, the butler arrives, bowing politely before leaving to retrieve the tea. But as the tray comes in, Jamil pauses, scanning the selection like he’s some kind of beverage connoisseur. He frowns—frowns—and turns to the butler. “Get the other blend. The one she likes."

The butler stutters for a second, then hurries off to fix the apparent blasphemy of tea serving. You’re too amused to even process how sweet the whole thing is.

“Did you really just send him back to get another blend?”

Jamil shrugs, not meeting your eyes, focused instead on stirring the exact amount of sugar and milk you always put in your cup. “You prefer it this way,” he says, his tone nonchalant, but there’s a softness to his expression.

And you’re just sitting there, heart doing weird flips because—he noticed. He’s been watching you, memorizing the tiny details like how you take your tea. Your chest warms as you realize just how deeply he pays attention to you, even in the most mundane things.

“You’re so—” you start, but then you stop yourself, realizing you’re dangerously close to getting all gooey and sappy. “Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He shoots you a deadpan look, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. “You’re welcome.”

You laugh, sipping the tea he prepared exactly how you like it, the moment stretching out in peaceful harmony. That is until—

THUD.

You nearly spill your tea as Jamil suddenly launches himself away from his desk, eyes wide in utter horror, looking as though someone just told him he’s been forced to join a Kalim-led dance troupe.

“What—what happened?” you ask, a little alarmed.

He doesn’t answer, instead standing stiffly a good five feet from his chair, eyes fixated on something on the floor. You glance over, curious, and there it is—a massive spider, just chilling on his desk like it’s there to collect taxes.

You stare. He stares. The spider doesn’t move, but the tension in the room could cut steel.

"That thing could eat me," Jamil mutters under his breath, still rooted to the spot like a cat who just saw a cucumber.

You take a deep breath, rolling up your sleeves with all the confidence of someone who has faced worse, like nobles who talk about land taxes at dinner parties. “Alright, let’s do this,” you mumble to yourself.

Grabbing a piece of paper, you march toward the eight-legged horror with all the grace of someone about to tackle a dragon. There’s no elegance, no finesse. You scoop up the spider—your hands a bit shaky—and march over to the window, tossing it outside with a not-so-dignified “Go in peace, demon.”

There’s a beat of silence as you wipe your brow, feeling like you’ve just saved the world. When you turn around, Jamil is staring at you like you’ve just descended from the heavens, all in slow motion, with angelic choir music playing in the background.

“What?” you ask, still catching your breath.

“I was going to handle it,” he says, but the way his voice wavers betrays the fact that he absolutely was not. He glances away, still avoiding the spot where the spider used to be.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you were. I bet you were gonna make friends with it too.”

He opens his mouth to argue but then just chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

You walk over and bump his shoulder lightly. “And you’re lucky to have me. Spider exterminator extraordinaire.”

Jamil finally lets out a real laugh, the sound filling the room in a way that feels warm and right. When you both settle back into your paperwork, there’s an undeniable sense of something more growing between you, a feeling that neither of you says out loud, but is there nonetheless.

You look over at him again, your heart feeling too big for your chest. He meets your gaze and smiles, the unspoken affection hanging between you like a comfortable silence. Whatever’s coming next in your future, you know one thing for sure—there’s no one you’d rather handle paperwork (or spiders) with than him.

It was a fine day for chaos, and you had a brilliant, absolutely ridiculous idea: a dance competition. The heroine was boasting loudly again, this time about her “dazzling” ballroom skills, fluttering around like a pigeon trying to impress the Duke. You leaned over to Jamil, raising a brow.

“I bet I can make her regret that,” you whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jamil sighed, eyes flicking over to the heroine, who was twirling like she was the queen of the ball already. “You really want to stir this up?” he asked, his voice dripping with his usual calm exasperation.

“Absolutely. It’ll be hilarious,” you said with a grin. “Just trust me.”

“Those are usually your most dangerous words,” he muttered, but the little twitch at the corner of his lips told you he was more than ready to see how this would play out.

You sauntered up to the heroine, who was mid-spin, nearly knocking over a servant carrying a tray of wine glasses. “Oh my, such grace!” you exclaimed, voice layered with just the right amount of false admiration. “You must be the best dancer here. How about we make it a little more interesting?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, clearly sensing a trap but too vain to back down. “What are you proposing?” she asked, puffing up like a puffin in a tutu.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, just a little friendly dance-off. You, me, the floor. We’ll let the crowd decide who’s the real star of the ball.”

The Duke, standing behind her, snorted, clearly thinking there was no way his precious heroine could lose. You could practically hear his thoughts: What could go wrong?

Jamil, now standing at the edge of the growing crowd, looked at you with an expression that screamed Why are you like this? You shot him a quick wink.

The heroine smiled smugly, already envisioning her inevitable triumph. “Fine,” she declared, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. “But don’t cry when you lose.”

Oh, sweetheart, you thought, grinning like a Cheshire cat. You have no idea what’s coming.

The music swelled. The crowd parted, forming a perfect circle around the two of you. The heroine began her routine, performing a series of twirls and steps that were technically fine but lacked any real flair. She was all stiff arms and forced elegance, like a bird trying to pretend it was an elegant swan but failing spectacularly.

“Wow, she’s… uh, something,” you heard Jamil mutter from the sidelines, barely able to contain his laughter.

When it was your turn, you decided to dial it up to eleven. You started off slow, a simple waltz that quickly escalated into an absurd series of moves that defied both logic and physics.

At one point, you grabbed a nearby tablecloth, twirling it like a cape as if you were part ballroom dancer, part magician. The crowd was gasping and laughing all at once. You even threw in a couple of exaggerated backflips—just for dramatic effect, of course.

Jamil, still trying to remain composed, was leaning against a pillar, shaking his head with a mix of pride and disbelief. “This is insane,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest smile playing at his lips. He was definitely entertained.

The finale? You did a sliding split across the marble floor, popping up dramatically at the end to a round of thunderous applause. The heroine, meanwhile, looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Her face was pale, and her jaw had dropped halfway through your performance and never quite recovered.

“Not bad for a warm-up,” you said casually, dusting off your sleeves. “Want to go again?”

The heroine stammered something unintelligible, while the Duke shot you both a venomous glare. You, however, were far too busy basking in the crowd’s cheers to care.

Jamil approached, his expression unreadable as he handed you a glass of wine. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, though there was a mirth in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“I know,” you replied with a smirk, taking the glass from him. “But you love it.”

He let out a small, reluctant chuckle. “Unfortunately.”

As you took a sip, the heroine stormed off, dragging the Duke behind her, muttering something about “cheating” and “unfair advantages.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You realize you’ve just made yourself the villain of the entire evening, right?” Jamil remarked, glancing around at the nobles, who were still talking animatedly about your performance.

“Good,” you replied, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Villains always have more fun.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow. “And what are you planning to do next?”

You gave him a sly smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll challenge her to a sword fight next?”

Jamil’s eyes widened. “Please don’t.”

You just laughed, leaning into him. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He sighed but didn’t push you away, clearly resigned to whatever madness you had planned next. As the two of you walked away from the scene, hand-in-hand, the nobles whispered behind you, wondering just how deep your relationship ran, how formidable of a pair you truly were.

But all Jamil cared about in that moment was that you were smiling beside him, radiating with confidence and joy. He didn’t care if the heroine hated you or if the Duke was sulking somewhere in the corner. As long as he had you, the rest of the world could fall into chaos.

And honestly, with you around, it probably would.

You gave Jamil a quick glance, noticing the soft, adoring look in his eyes, and nudged him playfully. “Hey, stop looking at me like I’m your entire world.”

“Too late,” he shot back, the smallest smile on his lips.

“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he added, leaning in just a little closer, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking his hand. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

The plan had been perfectly crafted. You and Jamil had spent hours scheming, laughing at the thought of humiliating the Duke during the archery and horseback competition.

Your excitement grew with every passing minute as you imagined his arrogant face faltering. But when the Duke not only kept his composure but nailed each target while galloping on horseback, you felt your competitive spirit surge.

There was no way you were going to let him win. Not today.

So, of course, you went all in—because why wouldn’t you? Leaning into your impulsive nature, you urged your horse into a full-speed sprint, adrenaline surging through your veins.

And then, because you’re apparently half-crazy, you decided standing on your saddle while your horse bolted forward would be the best course of action.

The world slowed as you drew your bow, the wind whipping through your hair. You could hear the crowd’s gasps, see the Duke's smug expression turning into something more surprised, and feel Jamil's tense gaze on you. In that moment, you released the arrow.

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted into shock and awe, but you were too busy grinning like a complete idiot to care. You dismounted with all the grace of someone who just pulled off a dangerous trick, your steps light as you practically skipped over to Jamil.

"Did you see that?" you beamed, heart still racing. "I totally nailed it—"

But instead of matching your excitement, Jamil’s expression was stormy. His usually composed features were twisted in a way you hadn’t seen before—part fear, part anger, and all worry. Without warning, he grabbed your shoulders, his fingers digging in just a little too tight.

"What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was sharp, laced with panic. “Are you out of your mind? You could’ve gotten hurt, or worse!”

You blinked, surprised. “I… I was trying to win?"

“Trying to win?! You were trying to break your neck!” His grip tightened as he almost shook you, frustration evident in every word. “That wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth risking your life like that!”

It dawned on you then that he wasn’t just mad—he was terrified. You reached up slowly, cupping his face with both hands, and his expression softened, though the storm in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the wind knocked out of you by just how much he cared. “I got carried away. But hey—” You grinned a little, trying to lighten the mood. “I looked cool, right?”

Jamil groaned, exasperated, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his grip on your shoulders relaxed. His forehead dropped against yours, and for a moment, the world around you melted away. It was just the two of you, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

“I know,” you whispered back, closing your eyes. “But you love me for it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his hands slid down to your arms, his touch lingering as if grounding himself after the scare. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, his breath steadying as he leaned into you. It was such a sweet, unspoken moment, and you felt your heart swell.

All around you, whispers started to spread like wildfire among the nobles.

"Oh, they're perfect together."

“They’re like something out of a romance novel.”

Meanwhile, the Duke—who had watched the whole display—stood fuming, while the heroine, eyes narrowed, looked like she was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way Jamil was holding onto you, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“Let’s go,” Jamil finally whispered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was softer now, more relaxed, though still tinged with concern. “No more dangerous tricks. Promise me.”

You smiled softly and nodded. “No more. I promise.”

He huffed, clearly not entirely convinced, but he let it go. You leaned against him for a moment, basking in the warmth of his presence, completely oblivious to the fact that half the noble court was watching the two of you with admiration—or that the other half was stewing in jealousy.

As you both walked away, hand in hand, it was clear that whatever plan you and Jamil had originally devised, the real victory was this: him, you, and the world falling away as the two of you found something far more precious than winning a competition.

The nobleman’s sneer was so potent you could practically taste it in the air. “Ah, yes,” he drawled, looking down his nose at Jamil. “Nouveau riche, how quaint. No matter how much money you accumulate, you’ll never have the refinement or bloodline of true nobility.”

Jamil stood there, bored as ever, giving the man about as much attention as one would to a pesky fly. But you? You were vibrating with the sheer intensity of your rage. And then you heard it—her.

The heroine chimed in, her voice drenched in faux sincerity. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? The Duke has been managing the North so well—keeping everything running smoothly for years. Not everyone has the skills required for such a delicate task.”

Your eye twitched. Oh no. Oh no.

Jamil had been single-handedly keeping the kingdom’s economy afloat, using his brilliance to ensure food and resources flowed into the North during the harsh winters. He had done more in the span of a few years than these fools had done in their entire blood-soaked lineages. And this… this… buffoon had the nerve to look down on him?

The Duke, sensing the incoming storm, began discreetly tugging at the heroine’s sleeve, but she was as oblivious as ever. The prince, bless his spineless little heart, looked like he was ready to faint from second-hand embarrassment.

And that was your breaking point.

You stepped forward, a smile that could only be described as a harbinger of doom plastered across your face. “Oh, dear,” you cooed, your voice as sweet as poison. “Did I hear you correctly? You think the Duke is managing the North?”

The heroine blinked, clearly not catching the danger. “Well, of course! He’s—”

“Managing to exist in the North without Jamil’s trade routes, maybe,” you interrupted sharply, turning your gaze to the Duke, who now looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. “You should be on your knees, thanking Jamil for saving your people from starvation every winter. But no, please, continue on about how ‘delicate’ your situation is. Maybe you’ll convince yourself one day.”

“How dare you,” you snapped, your voice rising as you turned to the heroine. “And you. Sitting here, all wide-eyed and clueless, nodding along like you understand the gravity of the situation. You wouldn’t last a week managing a pantry, let alone a region.”

You didn’t give her a chance to reply before turning your sights on the nobleman. “And you,” you started, eyes narrowing as you stepped closer, “talking down to Jamil like you’ve ever lifted a finger to actually do something useful. Do you think your bloodline is going to rescue you when your estate crumbles from your own incompetence? If you spent half as much time working on something productive instead of sneering at people better than you, maybe you wouldn’t be such a leech on society.”

The nobleman’s face went red with anger, but before he could sputter a reply, you had already turned to the prince.

“And as for you,” you said, fixing him with a look of pure disdain. “What exactly is your contribution to this little scene, hm? Standing there, wringing your hands like a wet sponge. Do you have any idea what Jamil has done for your kingdom, or are you too busy polishing your tiara to notice?”

The prince opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was glorious.

You turned back to Jamil, who was watching you with an amused but unreadable expression. “We’re done here,” you said, grabbing his arm and marching out of the room without a backward glance.

The carriage ride back was thick with silence, the weight of your outburst pressing down on you. Jamil hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, guilt creeping up your spine.

“I— I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t defend yourself,” you started, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush. “I just couldn’t stand the way they were talking about you—”

Before you could finish, Jamil’s hand gently tilted your chin up, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—no, it was a kiss that made your heart race and your mind go blank.

When he pulled away, you were breathless. “I found it hot,” he murmured, smirking.

You blinked, utterly thrown off by the confession. “What?”

He kissed you again, slower this time, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered.

You let out a shaky laugh, still trying to process everything. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice full of emotion.

Jamil’s eyes softened, and without another word, Jamil swept you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly in a bridal carry as the carriage pulled up to your manor. He carried you inside, past the stunned servants, and straight to the bedroom, where the door closed with a soft click behind you.

As he laid you gently on the bed, you could only smile up at him, the weight of everything melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

And for once, the world beyond the two of you didn’t matter at all.

The scandal erupted at the royal ball like a badly timed burp during a quiet opera.

The heroine—bless her, she meant well, but her foot was permanently lodged in her mouth—had done the unthinkable. You and Jamil watched from across the ballroom as she stood before the fae delegation, attempting to “honor” their centuries-old traditions.

But instead of the elegant gesture of goodwill she was supposed to offer, she made a noise that can only be described as an awkward impersonation of a dying goose and proceeded to bow backwards.

That alone wasn’t even the worst part.

“Oh no,” Jamil whispered under his breath, eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the scene. “She’s about to—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the heroine reached into her dress and produced… a bouquet of mushrooms. Not just any mushrooms. The fae’s sacred mushrooms, rumored to be foraged under the light of a blood moon and infused with mystical properties.

She shoved them at the fae emissary like a child offering wilted flowers to a stranger, and then—oh gods, why—she patted his head.

Dead silence fell across the ballroom.

The emissary, who had remained calm despite the bowing fiasco, now stared down at the mushrooms with a look of profound insult and horror. His fellow fae were vibrating, their wings fluttering ominously, as though on the verge of launching an interdimensional war over a bouquet of fungi.

You snorted, barely containing your laughter. “She’s done it now.”

Jamil, ever the diplomat, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what those mushrooms symbolize to the fae?”

“No, but I’m assuming it’s not ‘Congratulations on your promotion’ or ‘Get well soon’?”

“Death,” Jamil muttered, casting a glance at you that screamed please don’t laugh. “She just handed them a bouquet that says, ‘I wish for your demise and the utter destruction of your family line.’”

At that, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. A small laugh escaped before you slapped your hand over your mouth, trying—and failing—to keep your composure. Jamil shot you a warning glare, but even he looked like he might break. The absurdity of it all was too much.

The fae emissary spoke, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “This is an outrage. We demand recompense for this offense.”

The king and prince rushed over, trying to smooth things over with promises of reparations, apologies, anything to keep the fae from turning the court into a smoking crater. But the damage was done. The fae delegation was livid, and rightfully so. There were whispers of broken treaties, wars brewing, diplomatic chaos that would take decades to resolve.

And who did they turn to for help?

You and Jamil, of course.

Later that evening, as you lounged comfortably in your private manor, feet propped up on an ottoman, there was a frantic knock on the door. You exchanged a look with Jamil, who was reclining next to you, casually sipping his tea as though the kingdom wasn’t on the brink of a magical apocalypse.

The door swung open, and the king, the prince, and a handful of stressed-out nobles barged in, their faces pale with desperation.

“You two!” the prince bellowed, his voice barely keeping it together. “You’ve dealt with the fae before! Fix this!”

Jamil didn’t even look up from his tea. “No.”

The prince blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jamil sipped again, then casually set his cup down on the table. “I said no. I’m done. We’re done.”

You nodded, not even bothering to hide your amusement. “I think the heroine has this under control. She’s doing great.”

“She insulted the fae. She gave them a bouquet of death mushrooms!” the prince cried, waving his arms dramatically like a man in the throes of a panic-induced breakdown. “They’re going to declare war!”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you quipped, grinning.

The king, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, took a step forward, his eyes pleading. “Please, for the sake of the kingdom…”

Jamil sighed deeply, finally turning his attention to the royal mess in your doorway. “We’ve dealt with more than enough idiocy for one lifetime. How about this? You let the heroine finish what she started. If she can bungle her way into this disaster, surely she can find a way out.”

The prince spluttered, incredulous. “But you—”

“Nope,” you interrupted, standing up and stretching lazily. “We’re officially on vacation. Jamil, pack the bags.”

Jamil stood with a casual grace that belied the utter chaos unfolding behind him. “Already done.”

The king’s jaw dropped. “Vacation?! Now?! The kingdom is on the verge of collapse!”

You grabbed your coat and slung it over your shoulder with a smirk. “Well then, I’d suggest you start learning how to negotiate with the fae. Maybe start by not giving them death mushrooms.”

With that, you and Jamil strolled out of the manor, leaving the baffled royals standing in your doorway like confused children. The sound of the prince’s sputtering protests faded behind you as you made your way down the garden path, the night air cool and refreshing against your skin.

Jamil chuckled beside you, his hand slipping into yours as you walked. “Do you think they’ll manage?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you said with a laugh. “But we deserve this. Let them figure it out for once.”

“And maybe…” you paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “Maybe we should make it official while we’re at it.”

Jamil stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you, his brows lifting in surprise. “You mean… get married?”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Why not? We’ll be far away from prying eyes, just the two of us, in the summer hours. It sounds perfect.”

For a moment, the world stood still. Then Jamil’s lips curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen. “I think that sounds perfect too.”

And so, you and Jamil left the court and its catastrophes behind, fleeing to the countryside like two fugitives on the run from royal idiocy. The villa you’d chosen was perfect—nestled in the hills, far away from the fae, the heroine, and the ridiculous drama that followed her like a bad smell.

The first morning, as you lay in bed next to Jamil, sunlight streaming through the open windows, he turned to you with a grin.

“So, what now? Do we just… hide out here forever?”

You shrugged, pulling him closer. “Why not? We can start a goat farm. I’ll name all the goats after the people we hate.”

Jamil laughed, burying his face in your neck. “A herd of royal goats. Perfect.”

And somewhere, in the distance, the kingdom probably crumbled. The heroine probably insulted more magical creatures. But for once, it wasn’t your problem.

You and Jamil had found peace in the countryside.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d throw a wedding in between all the goat naming.

The days that followed were blissfully quiet, each one blending into the next in a haze of sun-soaked afternoons and peaceful nights. You and Jamil fell into an easy rhythm—waking with the sun, wandering through the countryside, sharing meals beneath the open sky. It was simple, and that simplicity was a balm to both your souls.

The court sent letters, of course—pleading, begging for your return. But each one went unanswered. The Fae situation had likely escalated, the heroine’s blunder growing more disastrous by the day, but it wasn’t your problem anymore. Let them sort out the mess. You and Jamil had something far more important now—a life of your own making.

One evening, as you sat together on the porch of the villa, watching the sunset, Jamil leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “That we’re never coming back?”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes.”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, your voice light, but filled with certainty. “But by then, we’ll be long gone.”

And you were. Far from the court, from the games of power and politics, from the endless demands and expectations. You had found your own path, one where the only thing that mattered was each other.

In the end, the kingdom survived. The heroine, somehow, managed to blunder her way through the Fae negotiations, though the details remained hazy in the few letters you received from old acquaintances. The Duke, as always, remained by her side, a constant fixture in a world you no longer had to care about.

But as for you and Jamil? You stayed in the countryside, living in the warmth of each day, far from the reach of courtly drama. And when the summer finally faded into autumn, you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.

Together, you had built a life out of love, quiet and unassuming, but richer than anything the court could have ever offered. And in the end, that was more than enough

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

The next one is Floyd!

[sillyuin]

I'm all yours

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, very domestic fluff.

Pairing: Mingyu x gn!reader.

Warnings: Reader is ill, barely proofread, Mingyu husband material.

- Yuin's note: I forgot I'm self-aware and wrote the most delulu and self-indulgent thing I'd ever write. An ode to my fellow carats who are also getting through sickness.

You didn’t hear the door open, the cheerful voice of Mingyu was the only thing perceptible beyond the pain you were feeling, and even thought it supposed to make you happy, it was difficult to smile. It was much easier to rest your head on his shoulder, wrap your arms around his waist with the little strength you could have, and brush your lips against his neck with a gentle kiss.

“I'm here,” Mingyu responded by hugging you gently, your body trembled slightly and felt cold to the touch. “How was your day?”

“Bad…” you whispered, your voice breaking. “It’s been… the worst…”

The words got stuck in your throat and your mind went blank; the physical pain was so strong it prevented you from speaking. You felt helpless—why was it so hard to just say that your ear hurt? Or was that really all that was bothering you?

Your trembling hands clung to Mingyu's sweater in a hug so tight it almost hurt, while you hid your face in his chest to keep him from seeing your eyes fill with tears. But what started as a weak sob soon turned into an intense wail, impossible to ignore.

“Hey, y/n,” Mingyu patted your back to try to get your attention, but the more he tried to soothe you, the more futile it became.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered between sobs. “… I’ve felt so … alone.”

Mingyu patiently led you to the sofa, where you both sat down. Seeing you cry so inconsolably broke his heart; hearing your trembling, fragile voice expressing all sorts of sad things… It seemed so unfair that only you were going through it.

However, watching you catch your breath little by little was quite comforting.

You told him how your day had gone while he held one of your hands and gently stroked your cheek with the other. Physically, you felt terrible, but the contact of his skin against yours made everything a little more bearable, as if the pain were not that important…

“My neck hurts all over,” you indicated where it hurt with your finger, and he frowned, as if he somehow understood what you were describing. “I don’t think the medicine is helping…”

“This is the second time this year…” Mingyu sighed, frustrated. “Maybe you should change your treatment.”

“Again?” you complained. More than stressed, you were starting to feel depressed. “I’ve lost count of how many pills I’ve taken…”

The truth was he didn’t quite know what to say; he was worried, his mind a jumble of questions. All he could do was hugging you and that was all you needed in that moment.

You had spent the day alone while he was out at work, feeling upset and very sad, but it was better to take the moment to forget a little about all the negative thoughts attacking your mind.

Mingyu seemed to be the only remedy at that moment, and you clung tenaciously to that.

“Tomorrow we’ll talk to the doctor,” Mingyu pulled away a little and patted your hair. “For now, I'm all yours. Tell me what you want and I'll do it.”

You lowered your gaze shyly, wondering whether to say what was on your mind, but you felt encouraged by hearing Mingyu’s laughter. He knew you so well; there was nothing you could hide from him.

“What do you want for dinner?” His face was only a few centimeters from yours, and you started to feel a bit shyer.

“Pizza…?” you lifted your face slightly, giving him puppy eyes.

“Weren’t you on a diet?” Mingyu raised an eyebrow, but your pouty face was more convincing than him. “Alright, but only this time.”

About twenty minutes later the doorbell rang, announcing the delivery. You both sat down at the dining table and ate together while he told you about his day at work, chatting and laughing as if you hadn’t seen each other in ages.

Having Mingyu by your side was one of the best things that had ever happened to you because no matter how terrible the day had been or how sad it was to be ill; you could always have his company and comfort at the end of the day, and that made even the bad things worth it.

After dinner, you both sat on the living room couch to watch a movie, a warm blanket covering you as you searched for something to watch. Suddenly, he stopped what he was doing to focus all his attention on you.

“y/n, how do you feel now?” he tilted his head slightly while smiling.

“Better,” you replied, a little livelier.

“If you’re okay, I’m okay,” he turned his gaze back to the TV screen, holding the remote as he started scrolling through the channels. “Let me know if there’s anything you want to watch.”

“Actually…” You took the remote and turned off the TV. A surprised Mingyu was ready to object and defend himself, but he froze when he felt your head resting in the nook of his neck, one of your legs wrapped around his. “… I just want to hear you.”

“Shall I tell you about when I almost set the kitchen on fire because I was drunk?” Mingyu said casually, his hand resting on your waist.

“I was there, remember?” It sounded more like a tragicomedy than anything else. “The worst ramen you ever made.”

You both laughed softly; you were exhausted, and the night grew heavier while the dim light from a nearby lamp made everything feel more intimate, cozier.

“I love your voice,” you said lazily, your body nearly collapsing on top of him. “Sing for me, Gyu.”

In the silence of the living room, under the warm blanket, you finally managed to rest peacefully without thinking about the pain that tormented you. In the distance, you could hear his voice, tired yet charming at the same time, as you closed your eyes, feeling the warm beats of his heart against yours.

[ponderingmoonlight]

I love your writing, you are very talented. Can I request a story about Sanemi? The story goes like this: “On the day when all the hunters are fighting Muzan, Sanemi's wife went into labor (could you put his wife giving birth to triplets?). I love you darling.

Sanemi's wife giving birth during the Infinity Castle Battle

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: You were so sure your husband will guide you through the delivery of your triplets until the fight between Muzan and the demon slayer corps - including Sanemi. Will you make it all on your own? And will your husband return to your side in time?

Warnings: this is pure drama and I cried a little while writing lol, never gave birth to a child so sorry if this is trash, big angst but fluff in the end, ENJOY 🤍

The night air is thick with tension, each breath you take carrying the weight of what is happening just beyond the horizon. You can feel it in your bones, a concerning anxiety that creeps up your spine and settles in your racing heart. Tonight is the night, the one you dreaded for so long—the final battle against Muzan Kibutsuji, the king of demons.

But for you, the darkness that threatens to consume the world is nothing against the raging in your own body. It was a risk all along and you knew it since Shinobu delivered the news to you. Getting pregnant at such times, carrying for a child in the middle of an endless battle? And to top it all off…With triplets?

“We’re gonna figure this out. Together. After all, I’ll rip off the head of anyone who gets too close to you!”

“You really don’t need to do that, Sanemi.”

The warm words of your husband linger in your mind while you stare at the dark ceiling. Oh, how much he cared for you this whole pregnancy, slaughtering demons in record time only to return to his wife a couple hours later. He did what he could, always stayed by your side and made sure everything went fine.

Until he had to leave. The contractions started early that evening, subtle at first, but now they come in waves that steal your breath and make you clutch at the sheets of the futon beneath you.

"Sanemi..." you whisper his name into the empty room, knowing he isn’t there to hear it.

Your husband is out there, fighting with everything he has, determined to bring an end to the nightmare that claimed so many lives already. He promised you that he’ll return, that he’ll come back to you and the children you carry.

“I’m here with you, Lady Shinazugawa. Breathe with me.”

But those promises feel fragile in the face of such overwhelming danger. Your midwife grabs your hand gently, her warm eyes desperately trying to comfort you.

Another contraction hits, this one stronger than the last. You bite down on your lip to stifle a cry, not wanting to alarm the Kakushi who are stationed outside the door. They are truly kind, offering their assistance constantly, but you sent them away with a forced smile and a shake of your head. You want to do this alone with your midwife, to bring your children into the world in the quiet peace of your home rather than in the chaos of battle.

But peace is a passing thing tonight.

You close your eyes and focus on your breathing, the way Sanemi had taught you during those brief, stolen moments of calm, like the midwife has shown him multiple times. He has always been so strong, so determined, and it is that strength you hold onto now. You imagine him beside you, his hand clasping yours, his voice a soothing balm against the pain.

“You can do it, darling. Just think about your breathing, concentrate on my voice. Let’s do this together.”

But as the hours wear on and the contractions grow closer together, you know you can’t do this without him. The pain is becoming unbearable, and your body betrays you, muscles tensing and convulsing as the babies make their way into the world.

A knock at the door breaks through your fog of pain, and a Kakushi enters, his face pale with concern.

“Lady Shinazugawa, please, let us help you. We’ve sent for Lady Kocho’s Tsugoko - she’ll be here soon.”

“I’m truly sorry Lady Shinazugawa, but a doctor is unavoidable at this rate”, the midwife adds while wiping away your blood that covers her hands entirely.

You want to protest, to insist that you can handle this on your own, but the words die on your lips as another contraction takes hold. The Kakushi rushes to your other side, his hands trembling as he helps you lie back against the futon together with your midwife.

“Just breathe,” the midwife murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“You’re doing so well. They’ll be here soon.”

You nod, biting back the tears that threaten to spill over. You never felt so alone, so vulnerable, and yet you know you have to be strong—for your children and for your husband who risks his life in battle at this very moment for you.

Time seems to stretch and contract in strange ways, and you lose track of how long you labor, each contraction blurring into the next. The room is spinning, the pain almost too much to bear. Just before your eyes threaten to flutter shut, the door bursts open and reveals Aoi.  

She immediately takes charge, her hands steady as she examines you.

“You’re doing wonderfully. It won’t be long now” she says with unusual gentle voice.

You can only nod, too exhausted to speak. The pain is relentless, a constant wave crashing over you, but there is a flicker of hope now, a sense that the end might be in sight.

“Sanemi…” you whisper again, your heart aching for him.

You want him here so bad, want him to see the birth of your children, to hold them and know that they are safe.

But as another contraction grips you, you know that wish is impossible. Sanemi is out there, fighting for his life, and you have to trust that he will return to you as soon as everything’s over.

“Hold on. The first baby is almost here. Just one more push”, Aoi’s voice cuts through the haze.

You gather every ounce of strength you have left, every bit of resolution you can collect, and with a cry that echoes through the room, you push.

And push.

And push.

The sound of a newborn’s wail fills the air, and for a moment, everything else fades away. Aoi holds up the tiny, squirming form, her eyes shining with pride.

“It’s a boy,” she announces with a warm smile and tears glistening in her eyes.

“Shinobu-san will be so proud of you.”

Tears spill over your cheeks as she places the baby in your arms. He’s so small, so perfect, with a shock of dark hair and eyes that blink up at you, unfocused but curious. You hold him close, your heart swelling with love.

But there is no time to linger. The next contraction hits you with full force, and you know the second baby is on the way. Aoi takes the firstborn from your arms, handing him to the Kakushi who remained by your side, and then she was there again, guiding you through the next birth.

The second child comes more quickly, and soon you are holding another tiny life in your arms - a girl this time, with her father’s fierce eyes and a shock of white hair that makes you laugh through your tears. You and your husband always wondered about how your children will look like.

“You really want them to have my hair? Hell no, I don’t want my kids to look like they’re 80 right from the start.”

And still, there is one more.

By the time the third baby arrives, you are beyond exhaustion, barely able to keep your eyes open. But you force yourself to stay awake, to see your third child. Another boy with a face so like Sanemi’s that it takes your breath away.

You hold all three of them close, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. They are perfect, each one of them, and despite the pain and the fear, you know it had all been worth it.

But even as you hold your children, a part of you remains stuck to the battlefield, to the man who risks everything to protect you and them. You pray that he’ll return, that he’ll survive this night and comes home to you.

Hours passed in a blur of exhaustion and overwhelming love. The Kakushi and midwife tend to the babies, cleaning them and wrapping them in soft blankets while Aoi ensured that you were stable until she was forced to leave as well. Everything seems peaceful – too peaceful.

But as the first light of dawn creeps through the windows, a new tension fills the air. The Kakushi who remained by your side was called away as well, his face pale as he listened to hurried whispers at the door. Your heart clenches with fear, knowing that whatever news arrived can’t be good at all.

“Do you…”, you begin, your voice trembling with worry as you try to talk to your stressed midwife.

But before she can answer, the door slams open and your heart leaps into your throat.

There he stands, his haori torn and bloodied, his eyes wild as they search the room. Can it really be him? Is it really possible that he…returned? In the matter of second, your tired eyes fill with tears, take in his sight. It really is him. He really made his way back to you.

“Sanemi!” you cry, relief flooding through you.

In an instant, he is at your side, his hands reaching for you as if to reassure himself that you are really there.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”, his rough voice mutters, strained with worry.

“I’m fine. I-…I’m fine,” you breathe out, your eyes overflowing with tears while taking in the sight of him.

He looks exhausted, battered from the battle, but he’s alive.

Your husband is alive.

“I’m fine, Sanemi. And so are they.”

His eyes follow yours to the three tiny bundles in your arms, and for a moment, he simply stares as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then, slowly, he reaches out, his hand trembling as he touches the soft cheek of the nearest baby.

“They’re… ours?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nod, smiling through your tears.

“Two boys and a girl. They’re perfect, Sanemi.”

His breath hitches and you catch a glimpse at the glimmer of tears in his eyes when he gently takes the baby from your arms, cradling him as if he is the most precious thing in the world.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“Just like their mum.”

You watch as he carefully holds each of your children, his eyes softening with a tenderness you’ve rarely seen. This is a side of Sanemi that few ever caught, a side that is all yours.

“They’re strong,” you add, your voice soft as you watched him with your daughter.

“Just like their father.”

He shakes his head, a rough laugh escaping him.

“No, they’re strong like their mother.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, needing to feel the solid warmth of him, to know that he’s really here.

“You came back to us,” you whisper, the fear that had gripped you all night finally releasing its hold.

He looks at you with his intense but somehow empty gaze.

“Hell, yeah, I promised you I would, didn’t I?”

You nod, a smile breaking through the tears.

“Yes, you did.”

Sanemi leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then to each of the babies’ heads, his expression softening with each touch.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he vows, his voice a low, fierce whisper.

“No matter what fucking demon wants to kill me. But it’s over now, darling. It’s finally over.”

You believe him, with every fiber of your being. The battle is over, and you all survived. Your family is whole, and that is all that mattered.

“What about the others, are they alright-“

“No. Let’s talk about that another time. Right now, I just want to stay here like this for a while”, he interrupts you.

As the first rays of sunlight stream into the room, you lean into Sanemi’s embrace, your heart full to bursting with love for the man who chose you as his wife back then.

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