#also what is that reaction hes like no then yes give me card

[ugartecoco]

actions have consequences

[aangelinakii]

BIRTHDAY WISHES.

— happy birthday, you better enjoy your present.

summary : it's your birthday and a crushing damian decides to gift you something. let's just hope he's not ratting himself out here.

requested !

breathe, damian, it's just a day; they're just a person.

he'd been saying it in the bathroom mirror this morning whilst splashing some water on his face and attempting to style his hair a little better today.

at one point, tim had attempted to come inside as he was staring at himself, knuckles white as he gripped the basin, and damian was quick to slam the door on his forehead, and attempt to ignore the shrieks of pain coming from the hallway.

damian had been crushing deep for you, which he'd realised one ap physics lesson as he sketched the profile of your face in his notebook. you were just friends, and of course he knew that, but there was something about you that made his heart pound, and, evidently, draw you on his pages.

he didn't want to risk spending any money on you, since he didn't carry cash and people would raise some eyebrows if he went around the manor asking for money; if he used his card, his father would see and ask what he's doing buying from that flowershop downtown.

and there was no chance he'd just skip over it and not get you anything — it wasn't that he was trying to impress you, a little bit but not really, it was more so just expressing himself. express, not impress.

the reason he was so nervous about giving to you what he'd made was definitely your reaction.

"what the hell is this? you're a weirdo, you're crazy, you're this, you're that."

despite knowing you weren't that type of person, damian was anxious to be shamed; but at least he'd be showing you his art, instead of hiding it away in his drawers for not another soul to see.

at lunch, the two of you sat at your usual bench in the courtyard, soaking up what sun gotham was offering today — not too mild, not too cold.

whilst you spoke about how your day had gone so far, damian found himself zoning out, your voice becoming a drone in the back of his mind. it wasn't personal — well, maybe it was, considering it was you he was so nervous about.

since realising that his feelings for you were more than platonic, each moment spent with you was like spent back with his mother; he was holding something back, but also doing everything he could. the only difference between here at gotham academy and the league of assassins was that he wasn't learning to kill anyone, just trying to muster up courage to reply to your question.

"what, sorry?" damian asked, finally looking away from his hands to you, where you seemed to be looking at him expectantly.

a light chuckle passed your lips, and a round of chills run up his forearms. "i asked how your day has been, though? since mine clearly can't get any worse."

"any worse? how? it's your birthday."

but damian had definitely had his fair share of horrid birthdays, even going to far to forbid his own one from being celebrated at the manor; the most he lets anyone do is give him a present if they have one and walk off immediately, he doesn't want any singing or stupid sayings.

you hesitated, and damian realised quickly that you had already done all the talking about your day, and stammered on his words to respond to your first question. "uh— yes, no, my day's been alright. i have criminology after lunch, which is quite good." he was trailing off task. "anyway! it's your birthday, right? i mean, of course it is, i just said that... i got you something."

he immediately dove into his backpack, intent in avoiding the stare he could feel boring into the side of his head.

when he found it, it was exactly where he'd carefully slotted it in that morning, tucked in his hardback criminology textbook so it wouldn't crease.

the moment he pulled it from his bag, he could sense your polite confusion from here. "aww, how cute, dames, you got me a crim textbook," he could imagine you thinking, but then when he found the page, your entire demeanor changed.

carefully, damian plucked the piece of paper from where it sat and passed it gingerly to you, closing back up the textbook.

"damian, it's..." the words brushed past your lips in a whisper, sending another wave of chills prickling along his skin. thank god for the navy blazer gotham academy forced them all to wear, or else the jig would be up.

silent, he waited in aching anticipation for your response, his knuckles aching now from cracking them so much in the gap of silence. it was something he did to soothe himself — this time it seemed not to be working as well.

fragile in your fingers, you stared down at your graphite features, wondering where he'd got this angle from; there wasn't any pictures of yourself that you knew of, facing you so head-on, so close and raw, yet so filled with love. in fact, you didn't even know your face could be shown so happy. and then the moment flashed like a billboard in your mind.

after school the other day, you and damian had made a stop-off at the library on the way home, where you'd been hoping to grab a book to aid you in one of your classes, but, inevitably, you'd been distracted by the children's section. how come their area got to be all colourful and filled with fun activities? how come the rest of the library was so drab and dull? well, it did its job, anyhow.

but, laughing away with one another, you'd tucked yourselves into the kiddie-sized reading nook, knees pulled up to chests, shoes mushed against one another, no doubt scuffing them, grins ever-green in the presence of the other.

well... if that was the case, you must've looked really good that day.

before he could have time to brace for impact, you leapt up and engulfed damian in a hug so tender he could feel his heart begin to hammer from behind the cage of his ribs.

"thank you, thank you, thank you!" you grinned into his ear, giving him one final squeeze, pulling away by the time damian could even think around raising an arm to reciprocate.

hot, hot fire ran up the back of his neck, and he brought warm fingertips to brush along it — hopefully it wasn't as red as it felt like it would be.

"this is... better than anything i could ever ask for." your voice went from excited to quiet, more real, and damian felt something swell in his chest.

it only caused damian to smile something soft, and wedge his hands beneath his bottom to hide their tremor from your eyes. "so you like it?"

"like it?" you repeated with a laugh. "damian, i love it."

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader and how they life in manor started

Author's note 1: This part is huge, and it was a huge struggle for me to write (and rewrite), so I apologize if it feels crumpled T^T and there will be other author's notes

Warnings: long read, grammar mistakes (English is not my first language), mental issues, abuse

Bruce knew that eventually you will leave the madbay, you were there long enough to heal, but he had no idea how to bring you to the manor and he can't predict your reaction, seeing your reaction of everything in medbay, your confusion and fear that you showed looking at the simplest things. But other things concerned him even more.

Firstly, he knew that taking you to manor would include revealing of his identity to you, and identities of rest of the family. Secondly, the family.... he was worried about how they would react on you being there. So far, non of the kids interacted with you, and only Dick visited you while you were in the medbay, but he never saw you awake, thanks for the side effects of medicine that made you incredibly sleepy. And thirdly, you were a child of a villain, who knows what you are capable of? So what if you seemed harmless in the madbay? Plus, Bruce knew Tim and Jay expected only bad for you and Damians opinion of you was as bad if not worse somehow. Bruce knows it's going to be tough and he is not sure he can deal with it

Today was the day he would let you see his face and lead you up to the mansion. So, why did the world greatest detective was feeling icky? Was he afraid of you? No, you are just a kid, yes Joker's kid, but still a kid. Was he afraid your potential reaction? Not really, but he was troubled that he could predict it.

Maybe you didn't really show emotions, which was concerning, but also was made him feel more at ease, since you didn't show any signs of acting like your father.

You were sitting at your bed in medaby staring at your blurred reflection in the mirror. You couldn't clearly see yourself, but you were sure you looked a bit different and the clothes you were wearing now, simple t-shirt and pants, were much more comy and much more suited for a child, unlike that horrible suit.

- Hey, little one, how are you feeling? - he asked with strained gentleness

- I'm okay - you answered simply

- Since you are mostly recovered you will have to leave the medbay - he started saying. You were expecting something like that to happend, because why would he let you stick around? He alredy done much for you. As you were staying in the medbay you remember that Batman had a rule - a rule of not killing. Maybe that's why he helped you and healed you up, he probably just didn't want to let you die. You knew your father wouldn't really care of something happened to you, and he wouldn't even avange you, because why would he? You are just a pawn and he has bigger cards to cards to care about.

- So you will bring me back? -you asked, simply, which shoked Batman. You just now simply and dully asked him if he will bring you back to the crime alley ? How? Why? He felt his heart stinging at your emotionless reaction.

- No, I want to give you your new home

- New home? - you asked, confused. What did he meant by that?

- Yes. You will live with me, Alfred, and my sons. - he said calmly, looking at you, studying your reaction, he moved his hands closer to his mask. - that means you will know who I'm, and who are my allies are, which brings me to the point, before we could go to your new home, you must learn few rules, you understand right? - you only nodded in response. You were really confused. Why he wants you to live with you? Why is he okay with it? What was his reasoning?

The rules included: do not reveal our dentities to anyone, no wepons, no sharp object, no violence, no disobedience, mandatory emotional check-ins, mandatory seek of help when you need it, respect of boundaries and few other. You listened carefully when he explained every rule, trying to remember every detail, but you couldn't really understand that all. And you didn't really understood what will happened if you break the rule, but you didn't wanted to take chances.

After he explained the rules and you nodded to confirm you got the idea, he finally took his mask, and his face seemed to be familiar, and after few sections of thinking you said

- Oh, you are a man from newspapers - you remember seeing his face on some of the newspapers you used as blankets back in the crime alley.

- So I guess you know me? And you know my name - he asked, a bit confused by your reaction and use of wording

- uh.. I saw you, I don't really who you are - and it was true, you may saw him on newspapers, but you didn't really read them, there was too much words you didn't understand

- My name is Bruce Wayne, you can just call me Bruce. And since I introduced myself, it's time for you to introduce yourself too - he gave you a slight, gentle smile, encouraging you to speak up

- my name is (your name)

- Follow me, (your name)

So now you were following Bat...uh Bruce into various corridors of ... giant house? Castle? You didn't really know, but it was. You looked around, trying to take in at least some of the surroundings, but it was too much for you to remember. All you could say, the place was really luxurious... really like a castle, like one you saw in story book you manage to found one day.

Finally you arrived at the corridors there you assumed lived residents of the place. If you understood correctly while listening to Bruce, here manor two of his sons lived permanent: Tim and Damian, and two others, Richard and Jason, occasionally payed a visit. As you looked around corridor, you suddenly heard unfamiliar voice

- Father, you really decided to let them live here? - that voice sounded annoyed and angry

- Damian, we've talked about it - answered Bruce. You looked to father and son, who started conversation, taking in the appearance of short boy with spiky hair, and bright green eyes. So this is Damian.... as you looked at him, you noticed that his angry gaze never leaving you. His cold anger mixed with with annoyance made you visibly flinched.

- and I still stand my words, they are dangerous - young boy said, walking past his father, stopping in front of you - I was raised by assassins, don't think I won't see through your games - he said closing walking in his room and closing his door. You looked at him go, you expected this kind of greeting.

- Damian can be a little hostile at first- Bruce tried to soften up the atmosphere Damian created

- oh, it's fine, I understand -you answered calmly.

- so, most of those rooms are free so, feel free to chose one.

You walked through the corridor, checking if the room was taken or not, and you stopped at the far away room in the end for the corridor. Knowing that you would probably annoy others with your existence in the manor, you decided to choose exactly this room. You understood that your life here depended on how Batman, or how he told to call him Bruce, and his sons, and if you wanted to live peacefully you needed to try hard and not make him angry.

Bruce wanted to encourage you to take a room closer to others, but decided not to, so he would not discourage you

As you and and him walked in, you couldnt stop looking around. You would be living here now, and it felt like a dream.

- if you need anything call Alfred, and if you need me, just say so to him. - said Bruce as he left you to settle down. You looked around, taking in a surroundings by a bit empty previous guest room that just became yours. You sat down on the bed, feeling it's softness. You were still a confused, you felt fear as always, but also there was something else in the mix of your feelings, something much more lighter.

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In the morning you was woken up by the rays of sun. You didn't figured out how to close the curtains. Previously you didn't feel like going to dinner, so Alfred brought you sandwiches in your room so you at least could have a bite.

You looked out if the window, seeing beautiful geen garden. The sight was new to you, who grew up in the surroundings of dirty bricks and broken concrete. You watched sky, which looked more clear than in crime alley, clouds, birds, trees. It felt surreal, and it made this light feeling in your chest become stronger.

Alfred knocked soon after, he reminded you to wash your face and brush your teeth (something old butler had to explain you how to do) and said that he would lead you to the dining room.

Damian was already there, he tensed up once he saw you. You sat far away from him, sinking in your chair under his gaze.

Soon after you heard yawning coming form the way you've just walked in.

-Morning, Dams, morning Alfred - you heard the sleepy voice say - B left already?

- yes, master Tim - said the old butler putting coffee on place on the table near Damian's one.

- Drake - Damian said through teeth

- oh, look someon in a bad mood since morning, how - the boy sat down, suddenly stopping when he noticed you. He looked at you, not a word leaving him as he quietly staredat you for a few seconds with unreadable expression. Not knowing you decided at least to try to make the situation more strange

- hello? - you mumbled. And he just nodded. His gaze lingered a bit longer on your hair, before he looked away, looking visible uncomfortable. Alfred served the food soon after. It was one of the most tasty things you've ever ate, even if you could feel tension in the air that could be cut with the knife.

After Alfred was lead you back to your room and Bruce made a quick check up on you few hours latter you were left alone. You didn't really had anything to do: the books that were in the room were a bit difficult for you, and you didn't really had an idea what to do with crayons, because all the paintings that came in your mind were ones that were present on your father's "show scene". As you were loking at the window, you heard a sudden knock on your room's door. You turned around, awaiting too see an old butler, but was greeted with the sight of tall young man with wavy black hair, blue eyes, and slightly akward but nonetheless friendly simile.

- Hey, little one - he greeted - what are you up to.

- Hello - you mumbled rather shyly, looking at the window, when back at him.

- Oh, good-old window watching huh - you nodded, soon after adding

- You are?

- Right, I'm Dick, and what's your name?

- (your name)

- Nice to meat you. So, how are you here so far - he tried to striked up the conversation, before you heard familiar annoyed voice of Damian

- Grayson, I require your presence, now!

- Dami, just a minute - he answered

- now! - Damian repeated

Richard gave you an apologetic look - sorry, gotta go, but I would like to hang around you next time, if you Don't mind.

-I do not mind - you mumbled as you watched him left. The way he talked to you was unusual for you. It reminded the way how Bruce or Alfred talked with you, but it was warmer. It made that light feeling in your chest stronger for a bit, until it was taken away. It was strange to be talked with like that, but it was nice. Suddenly, you couldn't help but wish but to be talked with like that more.

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As day went by, you started slowly getting used to the life in here and rutine. You mostly spend your time around Alfred, following him as if you were a little ducking. He helped you around, explained how to do one or other things, helped you to find books you could read through, also old butler introduced to tw, but you quickly found out that cartoons were a bit much to you, so insted you settled on nature documentaries.

So here you were in the living room watching about life of animals in tropical jungle, when you heard heavy footsteps behind door, after that you hears how doors were heavily pushed open, you turned around, and saw tall and built tall and muscular guy, with short black hair with few white strands on them and book in his hands. Judging by his looks and what Alfeed told you so far you guessed it was Jason. Though, he seemed somehow familiar to you, yet you couldn't understand why...

- hello - you mumbled, looking at him.

He instantly frowned, you could see the same expression of anger on his face, the one you noticed on Damian constantly.

- what, old man really had his sanity kicked out? - he grumbled.

You were unsure of how to react, what to do. On one hand you could clearly see that Jason was mad at you the same way Damin were, so the plan was ether to hide in your room, or to stay quiet. On the other hand, even if you really didn't understand how to interact with others, in a short time you've been in the manor Alfred told you some basics of social interactions and politeness, one of which was to iniciate conversions, which made you want to give it a go.

- I just found out that some animals pretend to be dead so they wouldn't become a prey - you mumbled quietly, you really just learned that fact so you decided to share it. But it.your words seemed to make Jason even more mad.

- tsk, I see you, little psycho, are not so different from your crazy Dad - he spat out angrily, leaving you feeling down. You weren't like your dad, were you?

- I uh - you struggled to say, but you couldn't form your thought. What to answer to that? You weren't sure.

- don't even try, I don't like clowns -he spat out. Before you could say anything or he could continue saying things that left you sad, Alfred walked in.

- Master Jason, master Bruce awaits you in a batcave

- thanks - he said as he walked out, leaning you alone with your confusion and sadness, or so it was until you heard Alfred's cautious voice

- Master (your name)? Are you feeling alright? You seem to be a in your thoughts.

- I'm okay - you answered immediately, not wanting to worry old butler

- I see. - he answered, a bit thoughtfully, before speaking again - would you like to have some tea with cookies? - you nodded eagerly, remembering their sweet taste -when follow me to the kitchen

While you were enjoying tea with cookies, and looking how Alfred was busy preparing lunch, cutting greens with cooking scissors and chopping vegetables. He done this all fast and gracefully, leaving you amazed by his skills. In the middle of him cutting yet another green leaf, Alfeed was asked to go down to the cave by Jason, who walked away immediately after. Old butler put scissors near the edge of counter, and asked you if you knew how to get back to your room, before leaving. You just finished eating last cookie, when you heard metallic ring of fallen scissors. You walked to pick them up, but seeing your blurred reflection in them gave you an idea difference of original idea. Now you were on the way in your room.

Honestly speaking, you understood why your father was hated in this house, and you could understand why they hated you too, Joker is your dad after all, but you didn't like him to. In fact, he only brought you suffering. And you knew there wasn't a way to undone it,

But there is one thing you could do.

You walked in your room, I'm your bathroom, and in mirror you saw that one thing that reminded you of your father's the most. Your damaged green hair. Although while you were staying here, your hair grew longer and you could see your original color of hair, but green was still there and you hated longer green parts of your hair, his parts of your hair. Damian, Jason and Tim probably hated them too.

Chop.

You started cutting the green parts, leaving only strands of YOUR hair. It took awhile, it was hard. But few minutes after you were without them, and with fluffy uneven mess of a haircut on your head.

Putting all your green hair in a trash, you hurried back to kitchen. To your surprise, Alfred wasn't there yet. You put scissors in the sink, and returned to your tea, happy thay now you didn't had reminder of your dad on your head.

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After your sudden haircut, scolding, and another, but more professional haircut latter, Alfred decided to keep an eye on you. He had to admit that your desire to show difference form your dad finally made him warm up to you. But he was even more surprised when you said that you wanted to help him with tasks around the house and managing requests of boys and Bruce. Bruce found it a welcome change, but not all boys agreed with him

Which leads you to the present moment, you were cautiously carrying tray with coffee and snacks for Tim, since he skipped lunch yet again making Alfred worried yet again, when you were walking past Damian.To avoid him, you took a little to the other side, almost kicking off some sort of sculpture, which he caught, stopping in front of you, glaring at you

- Tt... use your eyes when you are going anywhere, pay attention - he grunted.

- I'm sorry - you said calmly, - cool move by the way - you said in attempt to soften the move

- I wasn't asking for your opinion. - he said, glaring at you one more time and saying - One false move and you'll find yourself dismantled faster than these figurines could hit the ground. Touch anything else in Father's collection, and you'll be practice dummy for my katana.

You tried not to flinch at Damian words, but did so anyways. It took you few minutes to calm down and continue your way towards Tim's room. You prepared to knock, but door was slightly agape.

- Tim? - you called, imitating Alfreds tone of voice. You saw how his hand gestured you to come in, so you did. You placed tray with coffee and snacks on his table. He glanced at you only for a second, before his eyes returned to the screen of his laptop, in that moment some sort of text appeared there, making him jolt, put laptop down and run away. You just stood there, not knowing what to do, you looked between door from which he left, and screen of his computer device, when another text appeared on it, and this time you could read it - "low battery. connect the charger"

Thanks to Alfred, you already knew what charger is, you just have to find it! You looked around, seeing too many wires around the room. You looked at the laptop, and saw too many ports. As you were unsuccessfully trying to find the right wire and right port, laptop's screen went dark. In that moment Tim walked in.

- What did you do?! - he asked almost yelling. Immediately going to the laptop

Nothing! - you panicked, and stepped away. He raised a hand and wave it. Not noticing yor flinch.

- just go, go away! You are messing all up!

If you thought you were shaky after encounter with Damian, this one definitely did.

Judging by Tim's reaction, you broke his computer. You didn't mean to, and you didn't knew if anyone will believe you that you didn't mean to do so. Maybe you'll need to apologize later, but right now, all you wanted is to talk with Alfred or to use up Bruces offer and talk with him if you needed it. In the state of panick you must have took the wrong turn, and bot seeing clearly before yourself, you bumped into Jason, after what you was pushed back and fell down in the process.

- you, little psycho! Don't you dare to touch me! - he yelled, making you flinch. For a second you felt like you was back with your father, pushed around, beaten and yelled at. As you were processing what happened, you didn't hear soft footsteps,

Jay, it was an accident. They just didn't not you - said Richard, trying to calm Jason down -yes, little one? - he said turning to you, but you were already running back to your room.

You cruled up in your blanket, hiding from the world and trying to calm down. You felt like crying. You probably did cry. It was all your fault. You almost broke figurine from Bruces collection, you probably broke Tim's computer, and you made Jason angry, so , Dick too was probably angry at you. Why had you just break thing, make everything worse. Maybe you should talk to Bruce.

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You didn't even notice how you feel asleep for a short time, but when you woke up, you decided to see Bruce, if anyone, he should know how to get allong with boys. And that's what you really wanted, to get along with them, just to feel safe.

The problem however was to find Bruce. You remember Bruce showing you where his cabinet and room was, however, you don't remember where exactly they are. You managed to find Alfred, who gave you a concerned look, but explained you where he was. He also said that all of them were having a movie night - Richard decided that everyone needed at least one bounding day a month, where all of them would gather and do something together. That got you a bit worried, because what if you ruin their movie night just like how you ruined everything today. But maybe you could apologize in front of everyone for being inconvenience and making them angry? You'll have to brace yourself . While thinking about it, you walked through various corridors, until you reached movie room.

There they were: While movie were playing on a big screen they sat on cozy sofa and armchairs. Bruce sat in the armchair, occasionally looking on the boys. You could see smile on his face. Dick sat in the middle of the sofa, watching with enthusiasm and actively commenting on the plot, eating popcorn. On one side if him, putting his head on Dick's shoulder, sat Tim, who was lazily laying on sofa. He sometimes corrected Dick or commented on CGI, whatever it is. On the other side of the Dick sat Damian, who tried to make an impression that he didn't like being here, yet even you could see through his act, and who tried to keep Tim's and Jason's hands away from popcorn. And near Tim, in the corner of sofa sat Jason, who teased Damian and Tim most of the time, argued with Dick on which character is better and successfully stole Dick's popcorn.

You've never seen a sight, that was as warm as this. It felt so warm, so cozy, so homy

It felt like family.

And here you were: in the shadow, not daring to make a step, to come in to join them, to afraid to ruin this perfect moment

You've never had a family in that sense of word, and what you had as a family, you wouldn't dare to call as such. In your family was no warmth, no care. There weren't a moment like this. But you needed them.

After you were taken in my Bruce you found out what care was, but even so it felt like it still was too far away from you, so far that you couldn't reach it. Maybe you didn't deserve it, but you wanted care you wanted love. You wished you could be a part of family you see right now. You want to come in. But you know you can't, you know you will ruin the moment if you will walk in now. You know that Damian will add another threat to a previous one, Jason will yell, Tim will shoosh away, and probably Dick and Bruce will silently agree with them and will say to you to come another time.

Your father is Joker, that's instantly makes you undeserving of care and attention. Well, whay to say if your own mother left you. And as for the batfamily, it's only natural to hate a child of their main enemy.

But what if you can prove you are not like your father? What if love and care are earned, and that's exactly why you didn't get them. When you will have to try and earn it. But for now, all you could do now, is to hide behind the door in another room, listen intently on every sound they make, cry silently, afraid of making any noise so you couldn't ruin the moment and wish you could be with them. Wish you was loved at least once in your life. Wish you were a part of their family.

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Thank you for reading and feel free to share your opinion 💖 have a good day

Author's note 2: I really badly wanna draw Joker's kid. I'd you are interested in my artworks , please let me know

Author's note 3: (1) In one of anonymous asks (here) one user had similar idea of what I had in mind. I hope I've done it good > - < (2) And I wanted to fit this idea from another ask (here) in the plot to, but I couldn't done it fully, I'm sorry T^T

Author's note 4 : to be honest, I have no idea what is tag list and how it works (I'm really sorry, but I'm not active social-media user), but few amazing people asked to tag them, and i hope I'm doing it right: @socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr

[dunmeshistash]

How do you feel about Milsiril? Like what do you think of her interactions between the canaries, her goals, her intentions and morality? I keep seeing people with mixed feelings about her, some saying she's just toxic or morally grey or doing bad but with good intentions or that she's just a mentally ill and literally so much more, also with the comic about Otta calling Milsiril love for her children/Kabru as just love for a pet, I always saw people take it at face value and say yes, Milsiril did love them more as pets instead of children, did she take up raising/adopting non-elf children because she felt like none of them could ridicule her like the elves did because they didn't know what an elf was supposed to be like (and also because they were children) or did she inherently view them as less? I mean the canaries and I'm pretty sure almost all of the cast in dungeon meshi have some sort perspective on different races especially because how they were taught about them, i just think it was interesting to finally see someone interpret it as Otta just misinterpreting Milsiril, I'm just really interested in her, i think shes neat, sorry for the rant!

Ooh, well to preface this, I hadn't really realized Milsiril was such a controversial character before my last post, I kinda live under a rock. She's really not a character I had given much thought besides what I wrote there before it, but I can do my best to express what I have thought since, with sources for it. I'm not sure what order to go thru so I'll just go by manga appearances and then extras, this will probably be quite a long post

This is the first time she shows up in the manga (ch55) Kabru is wondering about what future they might have if the elves take them into custody because of the ancient magic, he thinks about Milsiril as a get out of jail card, and mentions "There's a chance they would make us become permanent resident of the elven lands." with the image of Milsiril holding him. I don't think that means she would be the one to not let them leave, since this would probably be an legal issue, and the fact Milsiril lives away from other Elves. It does set up that Milsiril is quite overprotective tho, with Kabru's reaction to her teary hug. (rest is under a cut)

The next time she shows up is in ch61 right after Kabru falls down the dungeon along with Mithrun, he faints and has this flashback

She's being her overbearing self treating Kabru's small injury as if its something you need to be in bed for, hand feeding him like he's a toddler, and when he insists he wants to learn how to fight and be strong like her, she hugs him revealing to us for the first time her arm scars, she's cleary in distress too, so you wonder "what has happened to her?"

It continues in the next pages, as she tells him to stay there, where it's safe and there's cake, and describes the bad things he might encounter. Until he tells her he will go with or without her help

Honestly this is a Kabru we don't see often, this is the version of him that is usually in thought bubbles, he's blowing out in frustation over being smothered and demanding straight up what he wants, instead of trying to manipulate Milsiril, very blunt for him. Milsiril seems to flip a switch into battle mode, when she decides to train him for real.

I really thought this was funny, the visual of these cuddly toys and this Mom that was being so soft just a second ago completely flipping into something menacing is very amusing to me. She says "I'll give you an exhaustive, thorough training in how to use a sword... until you finally decide that you're ready to give up." although it sounds cruel, it seems she really trained him as best she could to make sure he would survive the dungeon. If he couldn't take the training with her there was no way he would be able to take on the dungeon, but he could, so much so that he managed to make her let him go. I can see this being seen as her trying to prevent him from going but to me it seems more like some tough love from a traumatized war veteran in this case.

The last thoughts he has is admitting his Mom was right, "Not only were there plenty of traps, monsters, and malice... but there were times when I felt so hungry and cold that I couldn't stand it."

And he concludes with "I never once thought that I wanted to go back there. That room where I could eat all the cake that I wanted..." While I can understand the interpretation that he means he would rather go thru all this than go back, perhaps cause he hated it there, I think it's rather a statement to how committed he is to defeating the dungeon, the visuals show him in rubble vs him in a soft big bed, the rough reality he fought to be able to face and the comfyness of what his life could be. Plus is mirroring exactly what Milsiril said to him. Admitting she was right about the bad things but that he won't give up for the safe easy life he had.

After that visuals of Milsiril are used while Kabru tries to sus out Mithrun but she shows up again in Mithrun's backstory.

Here she's straight up called Gloomy, which wasn't really the version of her we saw so far, gotta remember this is also how Mithrun saw her and that she was called gloomy as a way of bullying. Kabru mostly cuts off her part in the story until the end, when she's the one to find Mithrun after he was eaten by the demon

She doesn't really care much for Mithrun as we see in some extras, and she was ready to mercy kill him, but she is also the one to spare his life. This could be seen as her thinking he can still be of use, and it's how it sounds with how Kabru tells the story, but I do think this was also a merciful act, Mithrun was in rehabilitation for 20 years after being saved, by the time he was actually useful for anything Milsiril had already left the canaries and adopted Kabru.

Now for extras... About Mithrun/The Canaries, Milsiril was cleary someone that hated the people around her. This is her extra in the Adventurer's Bible

Milsiril seems to be the type that hates "popular kids" so to say, her description says she was bullied by other elves for being so introverted so I believe she holds a grudge against people like Mithrun that seem to have succeeded where she failed. But realizing he was a twisted person like her seemed to make her feel more sympathetic towards him, that's why I think she really did act with mercy when she saves Mithrun, he's now someone she sees as similar to her, she sees he also suffered like her

Her decription also mentions she left the canaries specifically because she was disgusted with how the Utaya situation was dealt with. Yet it seems like she came back to help Mithrun with his rehabilitation once she quits.

There's an interpretation to be made that she did this only to get "revenge" on the demon since she just saw the destruction of Utaya, and that she's using him. On the other hand maybe she wants to help him find a motivation to live, she's no longer a canary and she has time to actually help him now. I don't know which one is the truth but it's not obviously something self-serving if you ask me. Especially in the context that right before this scene Milsiril admits she wishes they could have talked before.

My interpretation of her relationship with the canaries and other elves is that she's someone depressed that was mistreat for her 'quirky' side, the dolls are clearly one of the ways she used to cope with anxiety/depression but it only caused her to be bullied by her own kin, she's the daughter of an important family and it's shown in other extras, including one about Mithrun, that nobles often send out the kids they don't want around to become canaries. It's an easy way to get rid of someone undesirable and I think it was the case for Milsiril. (Pattadol even assumes her parents love her less than her sisters for sending her to join the canaries).

No wonder than that now that she's finally free from the canaries she chose to seek her own happiness away from the society she felt she could never fit into, she clearly likes to take care of children too, I think it's mean to assume she only likes them because she feels superior to them when there's no indication that this is the case.

And I don't think it's a coincidence she's so overprotective of Kabru after Utaya, it's literally the tragedy that was the breaking point for her, and he's a surviving small child from that tragedy, Milsiril cares about Kabru and wanted him to have a comfortable safe life after everything he went thru...

This ended up getting way too long so I'll make second part tomorrow about the rest of the extras and Kabru, and some other things I've seen said about Milsiril, but to answer the questions...

I don't think she treats her children as pets, Otta is just salty she was called out for dating like Leo Dicaprio.

Every single dungeon meshi character can be called morally grey because they all have flaws that in our world can be considered unforgivable, but they don't live in our world. To me Milsiril is doing her best in the context she lives in.

Who even is neurotypical in dungeon meshi, Milsiril is yet another flavour of a neurodivergent traumatized character among so many.

I believe she thought of the other canaries, especially Mithrun, as the same type of people that were cruel to her, probably because some of them really were, but that she generalized it to the point she thinks of all of them as bad by default. You can only get hurt so many times before you assume everyone will hurt you.

Part 2

[strawberrykidneystone]

heavy are the hips or whatever

sevika x female reader

summary: beer is gross, but not when you have such a pretty bottle opener.

a/n: me just being horny please ignore. yes i know that bars are required to take the tops off before they give them to you but this is my world shhhh

tags: alcohol consumption, smoking, teasing

ao3 version

you hated beer.

despised it really.

but lately you’ve had a taste for it, solely for the person who opens the bottles for you.

which is how you got here, ordering another beer from the bartender who was already used to your antics, sliding you a beer with the cap still on. you never asked for a specific brand, frankly, you didn't care. he had given you a different brand every time you came up to the bar, yet you still hadn't found one that you enjoyed. some were fruitier than others which made them slightly more bearable, but overall, no dice. oh well, that wasn't what you were after anyway.

giving the bartender a nod and a cheesy grin, you happily grabbed the green-hued bottle off of the splinter covered counter and practically skipped back to the dark corner of the bar where the love of your life was playing a game of poker, unsurprisingly. you slowed back down as you got close to the table and stood at her side, rocking back and forth on your feet to wait as she made her call.

she tossed a few chips to the middle seemingly carelessly to the untrained eye and muttered "call", the rest of the patrons showing drastically different reactions. you could smell the other players apprehension a mile away, they were more than likely going to lose and they knew it. you've watched enough of her games to know when her opponents were licked, you also knew sevika well enough to know that she hadn't even looked at her cards yet. she simply oozed confidence, which was one of the things that initially drew you to her, it was enough to make you as shy as a schoolgirl.

a cigar hung out of the side of her mouth, lazily burning away as the game went on. she took a few quick puffs before taking a long inhale, blowing a perfect circle into the air as she exhaled straight up towards the ceiling, showing off her meaty throat that was decorated with bite marks and hickeys from your previous extracurricular activities.

sitting back and adjusting her hips, lifting them up slowly before settling back against the chair with emphasis since she knew you were watching. she looked up at you with a smirk and a knowing look in her eyes, she already knew what you were going to ask but she loved making you ask for it every single goddamn time. ever since she got that damn bottle opener buckle, it's been driving you crazy how sexy she looked practically man handling the beers that were handed to her. the foam sometimes spilled onto the front of her pants and you had to hold yourself back from kneeling in front of her and licking the fabric covering her crotch in front of everyone at the bar.

"whaddya need doll?" she questioned with a teasing tone, as if she hadn't already opened 2 previous bottles for you just that night.

you shyly held out the beer bottle with a small smile, avoiding her intense grey eyes.

she chuckled and shook her head, "use your words baby."

you held back a groan and dropped your arm back down to your side in defeat, you should've known that you wouldn't get what you wanted so easily, especially not with sevika. you sucked in a deep breath and said quietly, "...can you please open this for me?"

"what was that? i didn't hear you," she said with a shit-eating grin, drawing the attention of some of the players at the table.

you narrowed your eyes in annoyance and bit the inside of your cheek, gathering up all your confidence and holding out the bottle once again, "can you please open this for me?"

"of course baby," she said in a sickeningly sweet voice, her voice dripping with conviction. she took her cigar out of her mouth and snubbed it into the ashtray on the table as if opening the bottle would be a 2 hand job. the patrons who glanced over before quickly looked away, knowing they would probably get their heads chopped off if they dared to watch.

you pressed your thighs together in anticipation, your eyes immediately glued to her groin as soon as she took the bottle from you. she leisurely lined up the cap of the bottle under the hook of the buckle, keeping her eyes trained on your face for your reaction. this was as pleasurable for her as it was for you. adjusting her hips upward, she snapped the cap off the bottle and brought the bottle up to her lips, taking a sip of the foam. the cap fell onto the chair in between her legs with a clatter that you quickly reached down and picked up, the back of your hand dragging against her clothed sex with light pressure. her hips buckled up to try and follow your hand and she bit the top of the glass bottle to suppress a moan. you met her eyes with an amused smile that quickly dropped into longing as sevika circled the bottle with her tongue, flattening her tongue over the top before holding the bottle up to you. you mindlessly took the bottle from her, your eyes still focused on her mouth.

she patted the inside of her thigh expectantly and before she could even blink, you were perched onto the inside of her thigh. she chuckled at your eagerness and pressed a firm kiss into your cheek. she wrapped her arm around your waist and rested her hand on your hip. you took a sip from your beer and stopped yourself from making a face, tasting the cigar from her saliva on the glass. she leaned in and whispered huskily into your ear, "don't worry baby, I'll give you something better to put your mouth onto when we get home."

you couldn't help but choke on the course liquid that was on its way down your throat, your back straightening up as you blushed at the thought of tasting her. looking at her and nodding happily, you took a big gulp from your beer and squirmed on her thigh. she chuckled as she squeezed your hip to keep you still and gave your ass a quick slap, tuning back into the game.

it was going to be a long night.

a/n: bottle opener more like leg opener amiright, also sorry if you do like beer

[actiniumwrites]

the perfect pair [part two]

synopsis: their reaction to finding out you have a tcg card of them

characters: scaramouche, alhaitham, arlecchino, childe, and kinich x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: mostly fluff with like a pinch of angst in alhaitham’s. i also didn’t proofread these :(

notes: part one got so much love and so many of you asked me to make a part two with more characters so here you guys go <3

part one

Scaramouche:

Scaramouche sees it one day while you’re both cleaning up your shared house and you accidentally knocked over your deck, scattering the cards on the floor

The card you have of him just so happens to end up right next to his foot

He’s only ever heard of TCG in passing from other people or when Cyno was talking about it back in the tournament ages ago, but he never really cared to look into what it was

He’s immensely confused because what the fuck is his face doing on a playing card

You embarrassedly try to explain it to him, but he just glares at it for a second before raising his brows and looking at you

“This is really weird,” he says bluntly and flips it over in his hands while mumbling to himself, “at least they made me look cool.”

You just snatch it back from him and scoff as you put it away in your deck holder, explaining that you were going to show it to him later

“Yeah, whatever, I better be the strongest card in there.”

Alhaitham:

Very unamused

Although he plays with you and the rest of the group, it isn’t very often and he doesn’t care about it as much as the rest of you do

You pull it out from behind your back one day as you’re both walking home from the Akademiya

“Surprise! Look what I got, isn’t it so cool?” you beam at him, shoving the card in his face

He takes the card from your hand, his reaction not changing from his normal face as he does. He inspects it before giving it back to you, “Seriously? You got a card of me?”

It upsets you because you were really happy and it took nearly a month for the guy to make it for you

So the literal second your face falls and you start to get embarrassed, he backtracks completely

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s really cool,” Alhaitham says almost instantly.

And he isn’t lying either. Is it a little cheesy? Yes. However, Alhaitham secretly does like that you have it and care so much about him that you want to have him in your playing deck

So he grabs your hand and holds it tightly in his, knowing he now has another way of subtly bragging to everyone that he’s dating you

Arlecchino:

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she’ll say when you pull out the card to show her, “What is this? A children’s game? Did one of the children put you up to this?”

You take the card back from across the table and pout at her, “No, it’s mine. I got it because we’re dating and I wanted to have a card of you.”

Arlecchino never really understood the point of games, no less TCG of all things. So she’s understandably confused when you start talking about it

It takes you rambling about the games rules and all the little details for her to finally believe that it really wasn’t one of the kids trying to pull a prank on her or something

And she finds it endearing in a way, although she doesn’t let you know that

You notice her looking a little lost and slide the card under the table and back into the rest of the deck sitting in your hands, “Sorry, I can get rid of it if you want.”

“No, there’s no need for that. I think it’s..cute.”

Kinich:

In the nicest way possible, he doesn’t really care

You show him immediately when you get it and Mualani and Kachina totally freak out

“No way! Do they have other ones too?” they’re both more excited than he is and ask if there were any of them since they were made after the competition

Don’t get me wrong though, it isn’t that he doesn’t care, but more specifically, he doesn’t really care about the card

He’s more happy to see that you’re excited about it and that makes his heart swell

And if Ajaw tries to say anything about it, well he wouldn’t even get the chance too because Kinich doesn’t want your moment being spoiled

He’s also very secretly a little giddy over the fact that you love him so much you want to have a card of him

Childe:

The biggest tease ever

Like he literally will never let it go once he finds the card left out on your dinner table from when you were playing with a friend the night before

“Oh wow, you have a card of me? That’s so adorable. I hope you’re destroying all your enemies with my card,” he’ll say arrogantly.

Unimpressed, you take the card from his hands while he’s laughing and shove it back in the deck

“No,” you scoff and decide to tease him back, “you normally die first, matter of fact. I’ve actually been meaning to find a replacement card.”

His jaw drops and he looks at you with the biggest pout, “Hey! That’s not very nice. Who would you even replace me with anyway? There’s no way there’s a stronger card out there than me.”

“Believe me, I could definitely find one,” you smirk at him and wait as he begins to nearly throw a fit. When he really starts to believe you, you laugh and hug him tightly, “Ha! you should’ve seen your face! I’m only joking, you know. Your card is my favorite.”

He stares down at you with his blue eyes and presses a kiss to your lips, “Yeah, that’s more like it.”

[tyunni]

┈➤ I LIKE YOU SO MUCH!!! (when ENHYPEN like you...)

enhypen masterlist | library

genre: fluff, fluff, fluff! warnings: i'm not sure if any specific gender is mentioned but keep in mind i do tend to usually write fem!reader, enha r kinda losers, mentions of being drunk in jakes part, isnt proofread so if you see any mistakes.... oh well! wc: 2.6k+

a/n: good lord, i haven't written anything in MONTHS so i'm a bit rusty 😭 i started writing maknae line first im p sure you can tell i put more effort in them and then i started getting tired, sorry😭😭😭

☆ — LEE HEESEUNG

who would've thought the cool, the chill, the awesome lee heeseung would end up being such a loser. a lovestruck, foolishly in love loser.

your fingers lightly grazed his hand when you walked past him in the hallway today, a touch that lasted a mere second, yet heeseung's heart exploded, and so did his friends' group chat when he boasted about your interaction like you had just asked his hand in marriage. he knows being lovesick is lame, but so what?! he can't help that he melts into a pink puddle of adoration whenever you make small talk, or when he closes his eyes an image of you pops into his head and makes his palms feel sweaty. yes, he feels his knees go weak at the mere mention of your name, and he's willing to endure his younger friends teasing him every time they spot you hanging out with your own group of friends.

so what if you're the only thing on his mind every second of his day. it's completely normal to make playlists for your crush, giggle, and roll around in your bed when you let the lyrics sink in and fill your head with the thoughts of the one you desire.

it's also totally normal of him to write down little compliments on a piece of paper and put them on your desk when you're not looking. he giggles like a little girl when you open the note and read not even a third fraction of what heeseung truly thinks of you and wishes to tell you one day. his smile grows wider when you finally read the initials written on the note, LHS, and you look over to his desk with your cheeks dusted pink, widened eyes looking into heeseung's.

(rest of the members under the cut!!)

☆ — PARK JONGSEONG

jay is very fond of you, he accepted that quite quickly. you're cute. he likes cute stuff, that's something new he has discovered since he started to fancy you.

"jay, are you serious?" - riki turned towards the older with a blank face, tired of his friends new shopping addiction, - "you have like 4 hello kitty stuffed toys in your bedroom, you don't need another one."

ah, innocent, naive riki. he doesn't know having a crush makes one forget about any form of rationality and make every decision without giving it another thought. jay is the number one victim of the 'everything reminds me of them' disease, he feels every wrinkle of his brain smoothen whenever he thinks of you, so it's not a surprise that he can't control his hand as he swipes his credit card and buys himself another plushie with a lovestruck grin on his face.

"are you even listening to me?" - the younger complains, jabbing jay's arm with his elbow to get at least a little reaction out of him. if anything else but you were on jay's mind this would've worked and he would've scolded riki by now, talking his ear off about how annoying he is, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes at his childishness. but it doesn't work.

"you're such a cheeseball, y/n has made you soft, jay, she's ruining you!"

but riki's words fall on deaf ears the second jay's eyes land on another cute stuffed animal that had reminded him of you as he grabs his friend's arm roughly and drags him into yet another store.

☆ — SIM JAEYUN

oh, he's down bad. jake would do anything for you. yes, even walking all the way from his house to the party you were at just to pick you up and walk you home, making sure you reach your house safely.

you called him in the middle of the night, the buzzing of his phone waking jake up. he groaned at the brightness of his screen flashing his newly opened eyes, yet at the sight of your name he rubbed the sleepiness off them, quickly picking up your call.

"jake, i'm drunk!"

and that's all it took for him to jump out of his bed and run towards his destination. surely enough you were waiting outside for him, a big smile growing on your face at the sight of him.

sure, he was extremely tired and out of breath, his voice was still groggy from waking up around 10 minutes ago, the cold, chilly night yet to have its effect on him and wake him up completely, yet he still let you ride on his back when you started complaining about how your heels hurt your feet.

you had been talking to him about something, even though you had no idea what you were saying with the way your words were slurred, your voice muffled by his jacket. jake was nodding his head, humming after a few sentences to make sure you knew he was listening, even though he didn't know what he was listening to. you started off by talking about the party, and somewhere along the way you got lost in your own words and so did jake. his soft hums and the steady rhythm of his feet lulled you to sleep, and when he felt your eyelashes close against the nape of his neck, your breath falling onto his skin as your cheek rested further upon his shoulder is when he finally let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, stopping in his tracks to close his eyes and think to himself:

"fuck, i love her, don't i?"

☆ — PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon is desperately in love with you. he can't help it, butterflies swarm his stomach when he thinks about you, a sheepish grin makes its way onto his features when you talk to him, his eyes dart across your face every chance he gets so he can burn every second spent with you right into his memory.

"sunghoon, do you think this looks good or should i try on the blue sweater?"

to be completely honest, even if you wore a trash bag he'd think you looked gorgeous, and he hadn't been paying attention to any outfit you had shown him so far, your smile which grew wider with each compliment he gave you the only thing on his mind.

"you look beautiful, y/n."

"oh, come on, sunghoon! you've been telling me this about every outfit!" - you groan, yet a grin is still plastered on your face at his sweet words, "you have to help me!"

sunghoon tries, he really tries to hold himself back. his teeth sink into his tongue in hopes of biting back the words that were about to slip out, yet they still do. and so does his little secret.

"it's not my fault i'm in love with you!"

☆ — KIM SUNOO

sunoo is a sweet guy. everyone likes him: the teachers, the students, his friends, and complete strangers. his smile is contagious, his face is soft and beautiful, his eyes crinkle up when he smiles, and he's kind, helpful, friendly. who wouldn't like him? well, you, apparently.

it's not that he's intrigued by your cold attitude towards him, he's simply determined to make you like him just like everyone else. it's quite difficult to get to know you though, you don't speak to anyone except a select few. if your friends don't come to school you usually sit alone, either mindlessly scribbling in your notebook, or sleeping. you always have that look on your face. one of pure boredom, uninterest, that "why are you even talking to me" face.

sunoo thinks it's stupid. how could you not be thrilled to talk to the people around you? how is it even possible to not want to get to know everyone, to grow your circle, have new people to talk to and share experiences with.

you know who sunoo is. everyone knows who sunoo is. when he walks past you down the hallway he's always waving at someone, stopping in his tracks a few times to have a little small talk, then quickly picking up his pace once the bell rings so he gets to make it in time for class. it doesn't matter if he's late though, the teachers adore him like he's their own son, and he hasn't gotten a single second of detention. sunoo has the sunshine privilege. that's unfair. you don't like when things are unfair. you don't like the sunshine privilege. you don't like sunoo.

so you avoid him.

but he somehow still finds his way back to you.

"she totally hates you, dude, get over it," - sunghoon groans, shoving another loaf of bread into his mouth, and threatening to shove some into sunoo's mouth so he stops talking about you for the fifth time today.

"but why?! i didn't even do anything to her, i tried talking to her every single day since she moved here, i'm nice, i'm helpful, i'm a great guy, what am i doing wrong?!" - the younger boy whines into his palms, head buried in his hands, trying to come up with a way to win you over.

one of his other friends chimes into the conversation, taking a seat in between his friends and playfully wrapping his arm around sunoo, - "it's okay, man, there must be a way to get your little crush to like you!"

sunoo whips his head towards the boy, eyebrows furrowed so deeply that you'd think they'd merge into one another any second. - "heeseung, it's not a crush!"

sunghoon chuckles at his oblivious friend, - "is too!"

"... is it?"

you are kinda cute. your attitude, although not sunoo's style, makes you look even more adorable. you have pretty lips too, although you're always frowning. he thinks you'd look better with the corners of your lips turned upwards though. he wants to see you smile. he wants to make you smile. he wants to make you his.

☆ — YANG JUNGWON

jungwon thinks he's a pretty chill guy. he's always been levelheaded. most of the time he's the only levelheaded person in the room, to be completely honest. he knows what to say and when to say it. although he resembles a cat, the saying "cat got your tongue" had never applied to him. so why is he standing in front of you, his crush, ready to have his very first conversation with you, without a single word coming out of his mouth?

"oh, hey! jungwon, right?" - you ask, sending a soft smile his way.

you know his name. you know his name. you know his name.

"huh? yeah... i'm jungwon. um..." - his confident smile fades instantly when it really sinks in that he has no idea what to say to you. he always knows what to say, how could this happen to him?! this is ridiculous. if he weren't standing in front of you right now he'd slap himself in hopes of rattling his brain somehow.

your eyebrows furrow at the awkward silence taking over, - "do you need anything, jungwon?"

his name falls past your lips so gracefully that if hearing you say his name followed with the three words he wants to say to you the most means he must sell his every worldly possession, he will. but he can't tell you that. he can't tell you how pretty your eyes are either, he can't tell you that he wants to hold your hand, or wrap his arms around you and keep you in his warm embrace for a little while. or how he wants to bury his head in the crook of your neck and bask in your warmth, or that you're the most beautiful person he has ever laid his eyes on and it'd be an honor to take you out on a date. yeah, he definitely can't say that.

"you're the most beautiful person i've ever laid my eyes on, it'd be an honor to take you out on a date..."

it's over. he's a goner.

the way you twiddle with your fingers at his confession goes completely unnoticed despite his big round eyes growing wider at his own words. he's too far gone to see how a warm smile had made its way onto your face.

"sure, i'd love to!"

it's not over. in fact, it's just getting started.

☆ — NISHIMURA RIKI

riki is quite good at hiding his crush on you, considering how the overwhelming feelings have such a weight to them that he's sure his heart doubles at the mere mention of your name to make room for the intense emotions that'll start kicking in. you two aren't dating, although he wishes you were, and you're most definitely not best friends. he knows you, you know him, you think he's nice, he thinks about you every second of every day, y'know, the usual...

"riki, hey!" - you push through the crowd of students walking around a narrow hallway that could only be described as a jar filled to the brim with tiny little ants, very studious one's at that!

his friends' heads immediately turn your way. a girl, talking to riki?! although their eyes don't stay glued on you for too long, they quickly glance at riki. the sight was hilarious, his long fingers were brushing through his disheveled hair, free hand tugging at the hem of his hoodie to smoothen out any wrinkles. there's a soft tint of pink spread across his cheeks, nothing too noticeable, although the burning red glow of his ears was far from discreet.

"y/n, hey!" - he grins, the hand combing through his hair now scratching the nape of his neck to try and play it cool... very smooth! a muffled laugh escapes from one of his friend's shut lips as their orbs dart between the boy and you.

you reach into your pocket, rummaging through the various things you keep inside. crackling of your house keys and noises of crumpled-up paper can be heard before you take out something. riki's eyes try their best to tear away from your mesmerizing features so he can see what you're trying to show him with your arm stretched towards him and a big grin on your face. he notices a little something lying on your palm. it's a duck keychain. if you were any other person he'd look at the item in your hand with a disgusted look on his face, eyebrows knitted together, eyes squinting in pure horror. but you're you. you're the love of his life. that's probably why riki can feel his heart thumping against his ribcage, a stupid smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he tries his best to fight it off, yet the inevitable happens.

"take it, it's a gift! i saw it on the way to school and it reminded me of you!"

he quickly takes the keychain from your palm, ensuring his fingers stray as far away from yours as possible. even the slightest bit of physical contact and he feels his heart will explode for good. he mumbles out a thank you before you turn on your heels and walk away, completely oblivious that the butterflies in his stomach now make their way towards his throat, making him swallow dry.

"hey, riki, what's that?" - jungwon nudges him with his elbow, eyeing the item riki's holding between his fingers. a smile makes its way onto jungwon's lips as he glances up at his friend who's currently grinning from one red ear to another, rosy cheeks like pink buttons on a sweater made with love and care.

"i thought you hated ducks," - sunoo adds, sly hands reaching towards the keychain to try and pry it out of riki's hands, but instead the tall boy clutches harder onto the item, bringing it to his chest.

"well i like this one!" - he adds, furrowing his eyebrows and glaring at his nosy friend.

riki never knew he could like ducks this much.

©tyunni please don't copy, translate or repost any of my work!

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[ghouldump]

I have been thinking about young doctor reader whos first reaction to seeing her one night stand admit he his a vampire is to ask if she can study him and do a couple of tests on him

I imagine this to be a lestat vibe yk? He would love the attention and strange admiration of his new weird beloved, while trying to keep her eyes always on him

"so are there others like you?"

"no by beloved, i am plenty enough to please"

Or maybe armand because he wants to be somebodys person in desperate way and i feel like he would manipulate her into staying in his life and be his eternal companion

Sorry if this was weird 😅

002

i couldn’t decide 😂 this is super short and straight to the point

LESTAT DE LIONCOURT

Lestat would take advantage of the opportunity BUT not nearly as extreme as Armand and he has to be really into you - which, luckily he was. You had just moved back home to New Orleans, after living in Texas for a few years, since finishing your residency.

As soon as your relatives and old friends hear about you being back in the lively city, you are invited out instantly. At one of the many parties, he noticed you, dancing with a few friends, you caught everyone’s attention with how festive you were.

He stared from afar and one of your multiple friends told you that he was looking. Encouraging you to approach him, he could hear their annoying giggling as you walked up. However, he also noticed how more beautiful you were as you approached.

“It isn't polite to stare and not say hello, you know,” you told him, as he smirked.

“I was simply enjoying the view”

“Y/n,” you held out your hand.

“Lestat,” he said, kissing your knuckles, your friends gasped loudly, making you look back at them.

“Sorry about them,” you laughed.

“They are surprised that I am talking to you,” he said, hearing their thoughts.

“How do you- my god, your eyes, are these your natural color?” you asked, leaning closer, looking closer.

“Yes”

“I’ve never seen a color so pretty, natural, only to a few patients after-

“After what?”

“They've died,” you said.

“Interesting”

“Allow me to look further into this Lestat, I’d love to understand this better,” you told him, giving him your card.

“Doctor. Y/n, how about we leave here and you can tell me a little more,” he smirked, interlocking your arms, and leading you away from the party.

Ending up in his bed was the last thing you expected to happen. Your fingers ran through his blonde wavy hair, as his hands pressed against your back, holding you in his lap. Blinded by the euphoric pleasure, you didn't even notice the fangs, wincing as he drank your blood.

It wasn't until you were dressing, that you came to your senses, rushing to leave his townhouse. You planned to avoid him, you didn't understand him, and you figured it was best that you didn't dig. However, he plagued your mind, entering every thought, and you could hardly focus during your first day of work.

As your coworker stopped in front of the house, you thanked him for dropping you off and climbing out. You still hadn't bought a car and there was a good distance between your home and the clinic. Watching him drive away, you turned to the steps, but stopped, seeing Lestat.

“How was your work?” he asked, tilting his head.

“How did you find my house?”

“I asked where the pretty doctor stayed and they led me here, did you not want to see me?” he asked, childishly pouting.

“You bit me,” you exclaimed lowly, watching as he began to grin, devilishly.

“And you tasted exquisite, a rarity, beauty, brains, and sweet blood,” he praised, approaching you.

“Please leave”

“Come inside, we have much to talk about, doctor,” he clapped, walking to the door. Your eyes widened as it opened on its own.

Hesitantly, you followed him into the living room, where he began with small talk before he dropped the information, he's a vampire, willing to become your little experiment if he was allowed to feed on you, whenever he'd like.

He liked you, you weren't a nuisance, much like other humans, which is why he preferred the idea of you giving up your blood willingly, still being able to keep your mortality.

You questioned his motives, why did he want to keep you alive, if he thought your blood was good? What did he gain from this? Why didn't he kill you? What was vampirism? Being met with silence, you begrudgingly accepted the transaction.

As your subject, his dramatic theatrics only increased. He was falling out at every prick, claiming it was better for him to drink, your blood from your neck, instead of an IV. It brought him great joy to have so much attention form you.

He would answer any questions seriously, before patting his lap. It was snack time, and he preferred you to sit there instead of next to him. Although, you could sense that he was withholding.

I mean, according to Lestat, he was the only vampire, one in a billion. There were no others, nor was there a need to search. He was all you could need, powerful, rich, and handsome. He was perfect.

For nearly a year, you ran all kinds of tests on him, comparing human studies to his DNA. Then you began to pull away. You were growing closer with him, staying at his house, or he at yours. Feelings were beginning to surface, after months of consistent intimacy.

Nonetheless, you knew better than to think you would have something together. He didn't think the highest of mortals, so what made you different? Little did you know, you couldn't be more wrong.

After seven months of only being with Lestat as his doctor, but also sexually, you decided to give another man a chance. Sleeping with a mutual friend, you thought it was fun until you woke up in the middle of the night, and were surprised to see a deranged Lestat, holding the man as a hostage. Only he was worthy to be subjected under you, to be touched and held by you.

You were near perfection, he could only imagine if you became a vampire. He was your greatest experiment, able to bestow the dark gift unto you. Yet here you were, entertaining other men

You were confused for a moment, realizing it was jealousy, causing him to act so crazed. Calling him out, he confessed his feelings, his anger and disgust towards this man. You had proven yourself to be worthy of the best and he was the best, waiting for you.

Your heart fluttered at his words, genuinely touched when he offered to share the dark gift with you. Nodding, you exhaled as he whisked you into his arms, sinking his fangs into you. Draining you, before feeding you his blood.

The man continued to squirm, his hands and mouth covered and tied, watching the scene in fear. Regurgitating and groaning, you held your stomach, clinging to Lestat in pain, before you stopped.

Standing upright, you faced Lestat, the man’s heart was pounding as your maker pointed to him. Your first meal. Pouncing on the man, Lestat couldn’t be more satisfied, with you as his fledgling, he could now be your patient for the rest of eternity.

ARMAND THE VAMPIRE

Armand was always watching, always one step ahead, and so, when he caught on to your curiosity, his scheme began. While you were a practicing physician, you were constantly looking for your next experiment. Someone you could poke and prod to further your research.

It was your secret, a taboo, you'd been undergoing all sorts of analysis since before you'd gotten your degree. Moving to Paris, you initially put your focus into your residency, until the vampire theater was brought up. Everyone was raving about the place and you had to see it yourself.

Watching the play, you sat on the edge of your seat in disbelief. The murdering of the girl felt too real, her open wounds obviously infected. Then her screams, those screams, the sound of pure agony and fear, you were quite familiar with it.

When the play ended, the actors came back, along with the director, all of them bowing. Staring at the crew, you were inquisitive towards all of them. Strange eyes, ghostly skin, glass-like, sharp nails. If it wasn't for the apparent powdered makeup, you would assume they were dead.

Despite your suspicion, you kept returning out of curiosity. Your eyes could hardly focus on the play ahead, drifting off to the director. It wasn't until one night, that his eyes finally shifted to your own. Nodding slightly at you, you smiled, before turning your attention back to the play.

Your concentration changed from everyone to him overnight. You kept visiting, a small notebook in hand, writing brief notes about his appearance. Nothing about him seemed natural, and that drew you in more.

"I'd prefer if you spoke to me, instead of trying to follow me and make notes about me," he said, smirking as your heart skipped a beat.

"My apologies, it's a bad habit of mine," you shook your head, shoving the notepad into your pocket.

"You're a doctor?" he asked.

"How did you know?"

"You wrote out a few side notes, about wounds and how they should be treated"

"Yes, I mean, I'm still in my residency, but I am a doctor,” you said.

"And how are you liking Paris?" he asked, as he sat next to you.

"It's fine, I am into the darker aspects of life and death, and I was over the moon, finding a vampire theatre, where everything feels authentic. Then, I saw the director, and I've been to nearly every show since," you confessed, as he stared over at you.

It didn't take much longer for him to pull you into the basement, where you partook in the sinful acts.

Pressed against the cold railing, you kept trying to keep quiet, while his face was against your shoulder, taking in your scent.

You begin to regularly meet up with him and it isn't until one night you are out with a male colleague that you find out his identity. He is with his coven members, fuming in jealousy as he watches you laugh with the man. The conversation was nothing but platonic, but the thought of you in the same space as another man made him physically sick.

He naturally, kills the poor guy and you catch him, screaming as he drops the body, it catches on fire, and he turns to face you, blood dripping from his mouth. You run to try to evade him, but he quickly corners you.

He is too jealous, focused on why you were out with another man, to even notice you were confused and afraid.

Realizing you were reeking in fear, he apologized profusely, begging for forgiveness. He knew you only accepted because you were scared he would kill you next, but he would never, at least not unwillingly.

He takes you home where he confesses that he is a vampire and you have to swear to never tell a soul because it goes against the vampire laws. You want distance from him, but he is consistent, bringing gifts, asking for forgiveness daily, trying to prove that he would never harm you.

Finally, you believe him and he becomes your subject. He is the most willing, you'd ever had, allowing as many needles as you want, as long as it means you are touching his skin. He does manipulate you to drop out of your residency and focus on studying him. He says researching vampirism is a one-in-a-million chance, and he is the perfect experiment.

You are so caught up in your research, that you don't even realize that you are straying further and further away from the possibility of being saved. He loves you, he needs you, just as much as you need him, if not more. The final step to his manipulation tactics, turning you.

He could never allow you to age too much and become old, weathering away. You were his lifeline, he needed you as badly as he needed blood, and after months or even years of extreme brainwashing and manipulation, he turned you and made you his companion and fledgling.

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 5 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 7 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: HELLOOOO BELOVEDS!!! first of all, thank you for all the kind comments and unhinged reactions, they are genuinely fueling me like a questionable energy drink. you have no idea how much it means to me to see people enjoying this ridiculous little fic. i had so much fun writing this chapter (probably too much fun honestly) and i would love to hear what you think!!! scream at me. leave your thoughts. tell me which character is making you lose your mind the most. i am here. i am listening. i am emotionally invested in your reactions. as always, thank you for reading!!! hope you enjoy this chapter! 🫶

The morning had been relatively uneventful, meaning that the espresso machine had only threatened violence twice, Greg had not yet committed a fireable offense (debatable), and Muffin Guy was, as always, engaged in his thousand-yard stare into the abyss of his pastry.

And then Gojo burst into the café.

"Barista," Gojo declared, striding up to the counter with the urgency of a man reporting a crime. "We have a Code Red."

You blinked. You had not emotionally prepared yourself for this.

"Gojo," you said slowly, already exhausted. "What?"

He slammed his hands onto the counter, leaning in like he was about to deliver classified government intel. He removed his sunglasses for dramatic effect, which always meant whatever he was about to say was extra stupid.

"My punch card. It’s missing."

Silence.

Gojo stared at you. You stared back. Somewhere in the corner, Muffin Guy continued to stare at his muffin like it contained the meaning of life.

 "...Why did you even have one?" you asked, already regretting engaging with this conversation.

"For fun," Gojo said earnestly. "But now it’s not fun. It’s personal."

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a headache starting to come on. "Gojo, you made the punch cards. You wrote the ‘rewards’ yourself. You even give out the rewards yourself. You know they’re literally useless to you, right?"

"I support small businesses." Gojo simply said, as if that explained everything. It didn't.

You exhaled. "I can just give you another one."

Gojo gasped. "You would just replace it? Just like that? Without even trying to find the original?"

"Yes."

"Barista," he whined, looking deeply wounded. "You are everything wrong with modern society."

"Because I refuse to track down your own punch card? That you did not need?"

"Justice must be served!" Gojo declared, slamming his hands onto the counter once more. You swear you start to see it crack a little.

"Fine," you surrendered. "Where did you last see it?"

"It was last seen right here," he asserted, spinning around to dramatically point to the table he was sitting at a while ago like it was a crime scene. "Someone took it. And I will find out who. Last time I saw it, I had exactly four punches. And it even has 'The Strongest' on it with a doodle of me!"

You glanced down at the rewards.

Buy 5 coffees, Get a Pat on the Head from Gojo!

"You—" You inhaled sharply. "Gojo, you cannot give yourself head pats."

Gojo looked appalled. "Why not?"

"Because that defeats the entire purpose!"

Gojo pouted. "So you're saying self-care is illegal now?"

"I am saying you're an idiot."

Gojo pointedly ignores you in favor for straightening up, adjusting his sunglasses with the solemn air of a detective on the brink of uncovering a grand conspiracy. He pivoted on his heel and surveyed the café like a man on a mission—because he was, in fact, a man on a mission.

A very, very stupid mission.

Gojo, self-appointed detective of this entirely unnecessary case, wasted no time causing problems. He began his investigation in the most Gojo way possible: by harassing every single person in the café, and dragging you along with him as his unwilling accomplice.

"Alright, one of you took my punch card," he announced loudly, pointing to the entire café. "I’m giving you a chance to come clean before I unleash my full investigative abilities."

No one reacted. It was dead silent other than some old guy doing one of those gnarly old man coughs.

"Okay. Hard way it is."

He leaned over a table and pointed directly at a college student buried under their laptop. “You. Where were you approximately forty seven minutes ago?"

The student, looking up with the dead eyes of someone who had seen too many midterms, just blinked. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Gojo said, crossing his arms. “I know a criminal when I see one.”

“I—” They looked at you in distress.

You sighed. “Gojo, leave the customers alone.”

“Never.” He turned, zeroing in on the next suspect: Muffin Guy.

Muffin Guy, as always, was sitting at his usual table in the corner farthest from the door, staring at his usual muffin.

Gojo approached the man like he was in an interrogation scene of a cop drama. You trudged along behind him, silently screaming inside your head at the fact that you have to babysit a fully grown man. He pulled up a chair, turned it around, and sat on it backward like an absolute menace.

"Alright, pal," Gojo said, pulling out a notebook that he absolutely did not need. "You wanna tell me where you were when my punch card went missing forty nine minutes ago?"

Muffin Guy did not even acknowledge Gojo’s existence. His eyes remained locked on his muffin, like he was waiting for something.

Gojo narrowed his eyes. "Suspicious."

Silence.

"Listen, I get it. You don’t wanna snitch. You’ve got a reputation to uphold," Gojo said, nodding like he totally understood Muffin Guy’s plight. "But I need you to talk. Where. Is. My. Punch. Card?"

Nothing. Muffin Guy did not move. Muffin Guy did not blink. Did not acknowledge him. Did not react in any way whatsoever.  

Gojo narrowed his eyes. “Ohhh, you’re good.”

You massaged your temples. “Gojo, he hasn’t moved in like, four weeks. I doubt he even knows what a punch card is.”

“That’s exactly what he WANTS us to think.”

Gojo tapped a finger against the table like he was waiting for a confession. Muffin Guy continued his unwavering, soul-searching gaze into his muffin.

“…Fine,” Gojo said finally, standing up. “We’ll be watching you, muffin man.”

Muffin Guy did not respond.

Muffin Guy never responded.

Gojo jotted something down in his notebook anyway.  

You sighed. "Are you done?"  

"Not even close," Gojo said. "We have another suspect."

Gojo’s next suspect? The espresso machine.

Yes. The espresso machine.

Gojo stormed back to the counter, which was for employees only mind you, heading behind it with all of the confidence of a man who owned the place despite him very much not even working there. His energy was even more unhinged now, which you hadn’t thought was possible.

"It knows something." Gojo said seriously, surveying the espresso machine.

You glanced at the espresso machine, which had been through a lot. Its buttons were worn down, its exterior was dented from years of abuse, and it did act like it was on the verge of achieving sentience and declaring war.

But it was just a machine.

"You’re losing it," you said flatly.

Gojo did not respond. The espresso machine let out a deep, unnatural groan. The lights flickered. A faint screeching noise echoed from within its depths.

Gojo nodded. "Hm... I see, thank you for your time."

Was he... talking to the espresso machine?

You took a step back. "Okay, I think we’re done here—"

"No," Gojo interrupted, eyes snapping open. "We are not done."

"Listen up!" he announced. "Since no one wants to confess, I have no choice but to conduct a full-scale investigation."

Oh no.

Gojo was determined. He took things to their logical, insane conclusion.

That was how the café ended up with a full conspiracy board pinned to the back wall, complete with string, random photos, and several unhinged notes like "Muffin Guy = SUSPECT 1????" and "Greg = Wild Card. Cannot be trusted."

Nanami walked in, took one look at the board, and immediately turned around and left.

“Smart man,” you muttered.

Gojo jabbed a finger at the board. “We’re close, Barista. I can feel it.”

You glanced at his so-called evidence, which consisted mostly of:

A blurry photo of Muffin Guy.

A napkin with "Who benefits from this crime???" scrawled across it.

A drawing Gojo made of himself shirtless.

“Uh-huh.”

After approximately an hour of complete nonsense, the truth was finally revealed.

Toge walked in.

The second Gojo saw him, his eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute."

Toge tilted his head, then casually reached into his pocket.

And pulled out Gojo’s punch card.

There was silence.

Toge smirked. "Salmon roe."

Gojo gasped dramatically. "You little fiend."

Toge shrugged, completely unbothered.

"Okay, listen, we can work this out," Gojo said, already shifting into negotiation mode. "What do you want? Money? Power? Name your price."

Toge tapped the menu.

He wanted a free drink.

Gojo immediately caved.

You handed Toge his iced vanilla latte. He took one sip, gave an approving thumbs-up, and walked out with Gojo’s punch card still in hand—because, apparently, Toge was not only a mastermind but also a scammer.

Gojo stared after him, stunned.

"Did I… did I just get played by a kid?"

"Yes," you nodded, not surprised in the slightest.

Gojo groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Man, this is not my day."

You rolled your eyes before grabbing one of the punch cards, wrote Gojo’s New Punch Card on it in thick marker, and slid it across the counter.

Gojo picked it up like it was a sacred artifact.

“This is why you’re my favorite,” he said solemnly.

You ignored him and went back to work.

And then, somehow, in less than thirty minutes, he lost the punch card again.

This time, Muffin Guy had it. (It had somehow accidentally fell into his lap, but Gojo isn't convinced.)

And thus, an eternal rivalry was born.

Gojo was a man of many talents. He was the strongest sorcerer alive. He was an esteemed mentor, an agent of chaos, and a connoisseur of sweets. He had faced many formidable opponents in his life. Powerful curses. Dangerous sorcerers. Nanami’s disappointed stare.

But nothing—nothing—compared to the enigma that was Muffin Guy.

And the worst part? Muffin Guy had no idea they were rivals.

A customer who had never spoken a word. Never made an order. Never blinked (as far as anyone could tell).

And now? Now, he had Gojo’s punch card.

The betrayal was immeasurable.

It all started when Gojo realized his brand new punch card was missing.

And then he saw it, sitting in the lap of Muffin Guy.  

Now, here’s the thing: Muffin Guy had not moved in approximately four weeks. You had once joked that he was actually a statue, and frankly, the evidence was compelling.

He simply sat at the same table, day after day, with an untouched muffin in front of him. Staring at it. Unwavering. Unmoving. A man and his pastry, locked in some kind of profound, spiritual journey that no one else could understand.

It was unclear if he was contemplating the meaning of life or if the muffin had personally wronged him in a past life.

But today—today—Muffin Guy had unknowingly committed a crime.

Gojo marched over, stopping just short of Muffin Guy’s table. His expression was grim. His sunglasses reflected the dull café lighting like he was in some sort of low-budget action movie.

"Alright, muffin boy," he said. "Hand it over."

Muffin Guy did not react.

The punch card remained where it had fallen, untouched in his lap. Muffin Guy himself continued his muffin-induced trance, oblivious to the war he had just ignited.

Gojo narrowed his eyes. "Oh, so that’s how it is."  

He placed his hands on the table and leaned in slightly. "Listen. I don’t know what kind of mind games you’re playing here, but I’m not leaving without my card."

Muffin Guy did not move.

The muffin remained uneaten.

Gojo squinted. "You’re good," he admitted. "Too good. But I’m better."

Still, no reaction.

At this point, you were 100% certain that Muffin Guy did not even know Gojo was talking to him.

But Gojo was not deterred. No—if anything, the complete lack of response only fueled him further.

"I see," Gojo murmured. "So this is psychological warfare."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Gojo. He did not steal your punch card on purpose. That man is completely checked out. He has no idea what’s happening right now."

Gojo ignored you. A slow, confident smirk spread across his face.

"Okay, buddy," he continued, "if you wanna play dirty, then so can I. You want to make this a battle of endurance?" he mused. "A test of willpower? Oh, you poor, poor fool."

He leaned in.

"I could sit here for hours."

The café collectively turned to look at you, silently asking Are you going to stop this?

You did not intervene.

Because, honestly? You kind of wanted to see where this was going.

Gojo and Muffin Guy remained locked in a tense, one-sided standoff.

Gojo leaned on the table like he was interrogating an international spy. Muffin Guy continued his usual thousand-yard stare into the muffin’s nonexistent soul. The café was caught in the crossfire, helpless witnesses to a battle that absolutely did not need to happen.

The customers were starting to look uncomfortable. Even Greg, who had an impressive tolerance for nonsense, peeked out from behind the counter with an expression that said, "Is this my problem? No? Cool."

You folded your arms and sighed. "Gojo. Just take the damn punch card."

"I can’t," Gojo whispered dramatically. "That would mean he wins."

You deadpanned. "I don’t think he even knows he’s playing."

Gojo shook his head. "No, no. This is a power move. He’s asserting dominance. Look at him."

You did.

Muffin Guy had not moved a millimeter. His posture was slightly slumped, the kind of relaxed yet oddly rigid stance of a man who had fully merged with his chair. His hands rested in his lap, motionless. His expression was blank, unreadable.

"You’re reading way too much into this," you muttered.

Gojo scoffed. "Barista. Sweet, naïve, simple barista. You don’t understand the art of psychological combat."

"Please stop talking."

"This is a game of patience. And unfortunately for Muffin Man over here, I have the patience of a god."

You stared at him. "You literally don’t."

Gojo grinned, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Don’t I?"

Thirty minutes passed.

Thirty.

Agonizing.

Minutes.

Gojo had not moved. He remained seated across from Muffin Guy, chin resting in his hand, staring intensely.

Muffin Guy? Unbothered. A picture of serenity. He had reached a state of enlightenment that Gojo could never hope to attain.

You were nearly impressed.

"Gojo," you finally called from behind the counter. "Are you actually going to do anything or…?"

Gojo, without looking away, reached for his drink, took a slow sip, and set it back down with exaggerated precision.

"This is deeper than just a punch card now, Barista," he said solemnly. "This is a battle of souls."

You rolled your eyes and went back to work.

By the one-hour mark, the other customers had started placing bets.

Nanami, who had returned to the café during this mess, stood near the counter with his arms crossed, observing the situation like it personally offended him. He scowled. "This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen."

You nodded. "Yeah."

"…I put 500 yen on Muffin Guy winning."

You blinked. "Oh my god."

At another table, Yuji sat with a wide-eyed look of concern. "Uh… should we stop him?"

Nanami, looking unimpressed as ever, just sighed. "No. Let him suffer the consequences of his own actions."

"Okay, but like—what if he never gives up?" Yuji asked. "Like, what if this is it? What if Gojo-sensei just lives here now?"

Your expression darkened. "I don’t want to think about that."

Meanwhile, Gojo was starting to crack.

The problem was… Muffin Guy was too powerful.

Gojo shifted slightly in his seat. He flexed his fingers. His leg bounced a little. His energy was starting to get restless. He was like a dog that had been told to "stay" for longer than his attention span allowed.

Muffin Guy remained perfectly still.

Gojo exhaled sharply, then abruptly straightened up. "Alright," he announced. "I’m initiating Plan B."

Plan B, apparently, was Gojo very dramatically standing up, taking a deep breath, and—

"HEY, LOOK! A DISTRACTION!"

Gojo threw his arms out and gestured wildly toward the window.

Muffin Guy did not look.

Muffin Guy did not acknowledge this in any way.

Muffin Guy simply continued to stare at his muffin.

It was an incredible display of indifference.

Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Why won’t he break?!"

"He doesn’t care," you pointed out.

"No one is this unbothered," Gojo muttered in despair. "He has to be suppressing some deep, hidden rage. A darkness within him."

You eyed Muffin Guy, who had not reacted to literally anything this entire time. "Yeah, sure."

Gojo sighed and slumped back into his seat. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling like he was questioning every life choice that led him here.

And then.

Then.

It happened.

The door opened and a breeze moved the punch card off of Muffin Guy's lap, onto the floor. It lay there. In the open. Right at his feet.

And then.

Muffin Guy… moved.

Barely. But he did.

His shoe—slowly, deliberately—rose up.

With an almost absentminded motion, he stepped on the punch card then kicked it away.

Gojo, eyes wide behind his sunglasses, slowly looked down at the fallen punch card.

Gojo’s hands clenched into fists. He looked back up at Muffin Guy, mouth slightly open in betrayal.

"You—" he whispered. "You absolute bastard."

Muffin Guy blinked once. And then, finally—finally—he moved his gaze away from the muffin.

And looked Gojo dead in the eye.

For the first time ever.

It lasted only a second. Maybe two.

But it was enough.

It was enough to shake Satoru Gojo to his very core.

And then, Muffin Guy returned his gaze to the muffin, as if nothing had happened.

Gojo staggered back. "Oh my god."

He turned to you, expression shell-shocked. "Did you see that?"

You glanced up, having been working on an order. "See what?"

Gojo clutched his chest. "The raw intimidation. The absolute menace of it all."

You looked at Muffin Guy.

He was back to staring blankly at his muffin.

"You’re making this up," you said.

"No, Barista. No." Gojo shook his head solemnly. "That was real."

He bent down, picked up the punch card, and held it in his hands like he had just recovered a stolen artifact.

"I have won," he declared. "But at what cost?"

And with that, he turned and walked away.

And Muffin Guy? Muffin Guy continued to sit there, unmoving, as if none of this had ever happened. As if he had already ascended beyond human concerns. As if this was all just a blip in his long, unbothered existence.

Gojo, shaken but victorious, walked up to the counter and carefully placed his now-returned punch card in his pocket.

"I have faced many things in my life, Barista," he said, shaking his head. "But nothing—nothing—compares to him."

You did not care. "Are you gonna buy something or not?"

Gojo blinked. "Oh. Right." He grinned. "One Death By Sugar, please!”

After the whole Gojo and Muffin Guy fiasco, it had been a long week. A really long week.

Longer than usual. And that was saying something, considering your usual weeks included existential crises, cryptic nonsense from regulars who seemed vaguely cult-adjacent, and whatever the hell Greg did instead of actual work.

Just this morning, a man had thrown his coffee at the wall and shouted that it had “too many molecules.”

You had simply stared at him, dead inside, until he shuffled out of the café like a scolded dog. Greg the Manager, who had watched the whole thing, just shrugged and said, “You know, sometimes science, like, gets to people.” Then he went back to his very important task of playing Candy Crush in the back.

Another customer demanded a “non-liquid latte,” which led to a long and painful conversation about what a latte actually was.

So yeah. The bar was low, but somehow, this week had still found a way to dig beneath it.

In short: You were done. Completely, utterly, cosmically done.

So there you were, leaning against the counter, staring blankly at nothing, dark circles under your eyes so deep they could have been considered voids of the abyss, when Choso entered.

Choso was—how to put this?—an experience.

It wasn’t that he was bad. He was just… weird. The kind of weird that made you wonder if he was raised in a cave by a wise old hermit who only spoke in riddles. Or wolves. Possibly both.

He took one look at you—slouched, dark circles under your eyes, contemplating whether you could get away with faking your own death to escape this job—and immediately panicked.

"Barista."

"Choso."

"You are unwell," he declared, voice heavy with alarm.

You blinked slowly. “I’m tired.”

“Dying,” Choso corrected gravely.

“No.”

“Yes.”

This was going nowhere.

“What do you need? Please, tell me. I will get it.”

You, in a moment of sheer exhaustion-fueled stupidity, decided to mess with him. “I need a million dollars and a nap.”

Choso didn’t even hesitate.

He just nodded. Then vanished.

Literally.

One second he was there, the next? Gone. Like a cryptid retreating into the woods. You didn’t think much of it. Maybe he had finally reached his weird quota for the day.

Five minutes later, Yuji Itadori sprinted into the café, looking like he’d just witnessed a national emergency.

"CHO’S TRYING TO ROB A BANK," he wheezed.

Your brain short-circuited.  

“What.”

Yuji, barely holding it together, flailed his arms in the air. "HE SAID YOU NEEDED MONEY AND REST, AND I TRIED TO STOP HIM, BUT HE JUST SAID ‘IT MUST BE DONE’ AND LEFT."

You stared at him. "You’re joking."

"I’M NOT JOKING."

That was all you needed to hear.

Without another word, you threw your apron onto the counter, ignored Greg’s halfhearted “Hey, where are you going?”, marched past a shocked line of customers (who had given up on understanding anything that happened in this café), and stormed out of the café, because apparently, preventing your customers from committing felonies was now part of your job description.

Outside the bank, you spotted Choso standing by the entrance, looking deeply contemplative.

His expression was tense, brows furrowed in serious thought, like he was weighing the logistics of a full-scale heist.

You marched up to him. "Choso. What the hell are you doing?"

Choso turned to you with the heavy sincerity of a man about to make a life-altering decision. "I have realized I do not know how to rob a bank."

"Good," you said. "Fantastic. Let’s go."

He looked vaguely disappointed, like he had really been hoping for a step-by-step guide. He hesitated. “But you need the money.”

"I do not need bank robbery money, Choso."

“…Are you certain?"

You grabbed his sleeve and started dragging him away. “Very certain."

He did not resist. Just nodded solemnly as if he was allowing you to stop him.

Yuji, breathless from running after you, skidded to a halt. “Oh thank god.”

Choso turned to his brother. “You should have more faith in me, brother. I would not have gotten caught.”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT."

Back at the café, you reclaimed your position behind the counter, mentally adding Prevented a Felony to your resume.

Unfortunately, that was not the end of it.

Because Choso still believed you were dying.

Which is why, for the rest of the shift, he kept handing you random things to “help.”

First, a protein bar.

Then a full meal from some restaurant down the street (you had no idea how he got it so fast, and frankly, you were scared to ask).

Then vitamins.

Then—at one point—a whole ass bucket of water.

“Hydration is important,” Choso said solemnly.

You stared at the bucket. Then at him. Then back at the bucket.

"...Where did you even get this?"

Choso simply nodded, as if that was an answer.

You groaned. “Choso—”

“I will not let you perish,” Choso said, his tone eerily similar to when he’d considered robbing a bank on your behalf.

This was getting out of hand.

At some point, Gojo had walked in, witnessed Choso wordlessly draping a blanket over your shoulders like a solemn warrior, and nearly died laughing.

Choso, unfazed, simply turned to him and said, “They are unwell.”

Gojo whistled. "Aw, Choso, you’re such a gentleman."

Choso looked pleased. "It is important that they do not perish."

Gojo, whispered to you with a teasing grin. "I think he just confessed."

You refused to acknowledge this.

But it didn’t stop. For the entire shift, Choso kept appearing out of nowhere to hand you various life-sustaining items. A banana. A juice box. An entire bag of rice.

By the end of the day, you had somehow acquired a small mountain of food and drinks, and Choso was still watching you like he expected you to keel over at any second.

Greg the Manager, walking by, looked at the pile and nodded approvingly. "Nice. Free snacks."

Before you could stop him, he reached for a rice ball—

And Choso slapped his hand away.

Greg froze.

Choso glared at him.

Gojo, somewhere in the background muttered a "Holy shit."

Greg backed away.

Choso nodded to himself, victorious.

You put your head in your hands. "I need a vacation."

"I will acquire you one."

"No."

₊⊹. tag list: @alpha-mommy69 @luluminati @amortsukii-writes @inthedarkshadows000 @isomehowexist @not-aya @emochosoluvr

[whimsical-mistakes]

i hate it when pandora is made out to be super mature and someone who 'wouldn't hurt a fly'. like no. the woman literally blew herself up, she is not responsible.

anyways here is how i interpret her

she has really bad grades but shes extremely smart. unlike regulus, pandora only really pays attention if the topic interests her. she doesn't care about the draught of living death but she does care about amortentia so in the exam, despite not remembering actually writing anything down or taking notes, she can list every trait and ingredient of it but then when there a question about living draught her mind goes fully blank.

and honestly i think she knows that grades aren't everything and what some silly test on paper shows nothing about her actual skills (and i think she would've ingrained that in luna too)

she is not a ravenclaw. im sorry but i dont think that pandora fits within that house. as we know, ravenclaws like to seek knowledge but i dont think pandora does - i think she loves the unknown (likely due to being a seer and having the curse of knowing too much) and she will only seek out knowledge only if she has to

she is a slytherin that doesnt intentionaly break the rules like barty. she just doesnt understand why there are so many stupid rules in place when there are way better ways she could get things done.

she is NOT a planner - if you ask her to do something she'll just shrug and give you the most ominous response known to man

she knew remus was a werewolf. - she has 0 evidence to back this theory like at all. she just had a feeling.

she has zero sense of danger.

'regulus i think your being paranoid. how could me going outside for a late night walk to investigate the loud howling on a full moon be dangerous? you cant die at hogwarts'

she purposefully messes with barty by pretending that she saw something about his future and making him believe it. and he falls for it every. single. time.

'barty!' 'what' 'be careful on your way to care of magical creatures.' 'what why?' 'PROMISE ME BARTY' 'dora. did you see something' *slow nodding*

barty was paranoid for the rest of the day

she has 5 bajillion hobbies (sewing, baking, juggling ect.)

everyone in the friendgroup is slightly afraid of her - they all feel like shes capable of things that no one should be capable of

she steals potion ingredients from slughorn and lets the marauders get the blame

(which they take because at this point they cant even remember what they did and didn't do)

she took care of magical creature

evan and pandoras parents are split.

evan lives with his dad, dads shiny new wife and little brother (i am gonna go into depth about this household in my evan characterisation)

their mum managed to get out and took pandora with her - mr. rosier pays them money to act like they don''t exist and that's exactly what they do

her mum is a healer who works super hard and is often exhausted but is kind and lets pandora explore the things she wants

evan and pandora were separated when they were four and couldn't get back in contact but when they went to hogwarts they immediately rekindled their relationship

pandora is increadibly emotionally intelligent and loves observing people and theyre mannerisms - she sees how tense dorcas gets whenever anyone talks badly about gryffindors and how regulus sneaks glaces at the gryffindor table when nobodys looking, she even noticed wolfstar first

but she will take all of this to her grave.

she doesnt feel the need to share it like gossip or even to confront the people its about. she just enjoys knowing and allowing the world to unfold around her.

she has a little box of things that she collects that she just loves

she can read taro and loves watching people reactions to each card

she also loves being a absolute menace and making up the most random shit for people

'aahh yes this card mean you shall be blessed with the spirit of a pelican and the vitality of a platypus' 'ooooh- wait what?' 'shhhh let the cards speak to you'

in history of magic, her and regulus' favorite thing to do is write little flirty notes and put them in the bags of people that they ships bag as if theyre from eachother - this is how rosekiller finally confessed confirmed.

she LOVES matching hair with evan

shes super protective over regulus

not one person in the school hates her. they just don't.

edit:

when it comes to her moral compass - i dont think its very strong. thats not to say she cant tell the difference but i think her empathy gets in the way of her being able to decide if something is right or wrong. i think that when her friends joined the deatheater she was heartbroken but she couldn't just cut them off the way dorcas could because she could see why they did despite her thinking it was a horrible thing to do - i think thats why she never joined the order, she stayed neutral but still showed her view through the quibbler (supporting the order). i think she knew there was the chance she would have to go up against barty, evan or reg and she knew that she would never be able to.

(i hope i didnt offend anyone with the intro or my opinions - at the end of the day its a fandom and theres no 'set' traits of the characters)

i am gonna continue to add to this when i have another headcannon to add xx

tags with no pressure (my fav blogs)

@crescenthistory @unconventional-lawnchair @thatdammchickennugget @fear-less @adalitas-coffeebreak-corner @g1rld1ary @rainydayathogwarts @sun-kissy

[amphitriteswife]

୨♡୧.valentines day.୨♡୧

‘Is this what you’re giving me?’ DG raised an eyebrow, he was sitting on one of the sofa’s at the pool, drinking a cocktail that was in his hand. It wasn’t often that the pink haired k-pop idol had a moment to actually relax. Not even today, he had a fan sign today but luckily it finished early. ‘You don’t like it?’ DG chuckled at you, his hand stirring the cocktail in his hand, his eyes looking at your back. He could see the lid of the box besides you, a nice pink bow and his signature on the silky fabric that was wrapped around it. ‘They’re limited edition.’ His lips wrapped around the brim of the glass, his eyes still looking at you sitting by the pool, staring down at the box. The fresh yet sweet taste of the cocktail swirled in his mouth. ‘This is….nice…’ DG snickered at your reaction, getting up to his feet and sitting besides you at the pool. His eyes drifted to the box. They were cards. Kpop cards. Of DG. All signed by him with his signature. He looked like a whole other person, your usual stoic boyfriend now doing an aegyo as well as intimate poses…like twerking…they were…interesting…to say the least….’you told me you wanted me for valentines day remember?’ The soft sound of you saying ‘ew’ as a reflex made DG glare at you with a deadly face.

‘Miss…there’s someone outside for you…should i call the police?’ Your eyes followed the finger of your co-worker…until you saw gun standing besides his car, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. He looked rather fancy…if that wasn’t already his normal outfit. It was…surprising…to say the least. Jonggun isn’t romantic at all, and you never took him for someone who would be into Valentines day. But here he is with roses in his hand. You thanked your coworker and went outside to him, taking the bouquet out his hands and placing a kiss on his cheek. Gun didn’t react much to your kiss and just placed his hands on your hips. ‘Thank you.’ You told him, looking at the red roses. They seemed very fresh, kept together with a white lint. Jonggun also gave you another box. This one seemed more like a bakkery product rather than something else. Opening the box you saw a cake made in the shape of a heart. The buttercream was sloppy and the sprinkles were sliding off…it clearly hadn’t been cooled down and the letters looked very wonky. ‘You made this?’ Jonggun let out a hum. You still couldn’t see his eyes because of the glasses. But his hum gave away that he was indeed the one who made the sloppy cake. It’s not the best but it’s the thought that counts! Besides…maybe you can trick him into baking more. Who knew that a man as terrifying as gun would like to bake? ‘Eat it.’

‘Samuel?’ The call of his name still hadn’t made Samuel raise his eyes at you, only a rather annoyed hum escaped his lips. His pen scribbling on some documents he was signing. ‘Did you sent me this?’ You asked him holding up a rather cute teddy hear from a specific brand you collected plushies from. Samuel glances at you briefly before turning to his documents again. ‘Yes.’ ‘Why didn’t you give it to me directly…you would’ve seen me anyway today.’ Samuel put down his pen. His eyes now focused on you. A tired sigh escaped his lips. ‘I couldn’t be bothered.’ ‘Wow.’ Samuel looked at you with narrowed eyes. Is this a sign of disrespect? Hmph. He does his best you know? He tries. Even if he’s busy because of all this paperwork and because everyone takes a day off on valentines day. Noticing his rather moody face you replied flatly. ‘I was being sarcastic’ Samuel didn’t buy your words but didn’t question it either. Just sitting in his chair with his arms crossed around his chest. His head leaning against the headrest of the chair. A very light weight being thrown at his chest made him grunt in surprise. His eyes fell to his lap where a mini cat like plush was holding a heart with the world ‘i love you’ on it. Samuel kept a straight face. ‘This is ugly’

‘Happy valentines day babe.’ You stopped in your tracks to your bedroom. You just came home from work and hadn’t seen Goo all day, at least you expected him to be either with Jonggun or just doing his own job…not here…like this. Goo looked at you with a rather smug grin and wiggled his eyebrows at you. ‘Not even getting one back? Did i stun you too much?’ Goo leaned back, letting you take a look at his almost naked body that was only covered with a single red lint. A bow hanging right around his grional area. Goo took a notice of you staring at him and chuckled at you. A teasing smirk on his lips ‘you’re staring. You pervert.’ ‘I’m not a pervert.’ You told him defensively. He’s the one being naked! Not you! ‘But you’re still staring though?’ Goo replied rather cluelessly. His hands grabbing you by your shirt. He smelled rather different today. A perfume you usually smelled on Jonggun. Did Goo steal his perfume? It was a strong yet lighter scent than most of Jonggun’s perfume. Why did Goo have it on? ‘You like it? Don’t tell him, he wouldn’t want me touching his stuff’ ‘yeah…it smells great’ Goo smirked at your response and took off his glasses, his hands now moving to your hips and throwing you onto the bed. His form towering over you, who was looking up at him from the bed. Goo glanced down at the bow and then at you. ‘Won’t you open your present?’

[inkedbybarnes]

be your date

bodyguard!bucky barnes x actress!fem!reader

summary: you are invited to this year's met gala, and your bodyguard is against the idea of letting you go alone.

word count: 500+

warnings: 18+ mdni. nothing sexual, but still. some banters. hints of fluff. a sprinkle of tension. grumpy but protective bucky (yes, that is a warning!) sort of bratty reader? lack of met gala knowledge probably. usage of petnames such as princess. lowercase writing.

photos used are only for aesthetic and not to describe or visualise the reader!

note: just a little drabble to the story/plot i've been writing! since there was recently a met gala, i thought this would be a great tease for this story. i hope you enjoy this one!

dividers made by @firefly-graphics!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“you shouldn't go.”

as a celebrity, privacy was a rare luxury, and having your personal life being constantly invaded became your new norm.

it also meant having a personal bodyguard to keep you safe, but no one ever warned you about having a bodyguard who was both relentlessly protective and unbelievably attractive with a permanent frown on his face.

god, would it be so bad to have a crush on your bodyguard?

“you can't tell me what to do, you know that right?” you shot him a defiant look, although you knew he wasn't trying to control you, just keeping you safe.

getting a reaction other than a grunt from him was your favourite hobby, anyway.

a delivery was found on your doorstep this morning, containing an invitation and a bouquet of flowers. bucky was beside you as you opened the envelope, and immediately, he was against the idea.

“what even is the met gala?” he eyed the invitation you were holding, brow furrowed while he looked offended by the piece of paper. “it doesn't sound safe.”

bucky had learned about the letters that you would constantly receive, and how half of them were unusual and even concerning. you could still remember the frown he had kept all day when you received a marriage certificate in need of your signature.

he made sure to burn it by the fireplace.

and grunted at it one more time.

“nothing sounds safe to you, jamie.” you argued, rolling your eyes at his protectiveness. you slipped the card back into its envelope, unaware of the faint flush that spread across his face as he heard you call him by the nickname you've given him.

“it's a ball that a bunch of celebrities go to every year, but i don't really find it that special. my manager thinks otherwise though.” you explained. “and i do have to go alone if i'm attending it since it's really private. they even prohibited phones inside, so it should be safe.”

“i don't buy it.” bucky pursed his lips, remaining unconvinced. “i'm coming with you.”

“they won't let you inside. they treat this ball as a highly exclusive event. even bodyguards are off the list. i find it silly as well, don't worry.” you sighed, recalling how uncomfortable it was every time. you had no choice since your manager called it good publicity and a necessity for your career. “oh, unless i bring a date. i could probably sneak them in as a plus one. they love seeing a new pair to spark conversation. do you have anyone you trust enough to be with me so you can calm down?”

you waited for his response, but instead of answering, bucky took a step towards you, his gaze intense and unwavering. he looked at you with such intensity, making butterflies flutter in your stomach that none of your co-stars could do to you.

“i'll be your date.”

your eyes widened in surprise. was he serious? “what?"

"you asked me who i trust enough to be with you." he repeated, his face now inches away from yours, a faint smile dancing across his face. “well, princess. that person would be me."

i may have changed reader from sunshine to confident/bratty because i genuinely can't write a sunshine character without giving up... i'm not the best with jolly emotions. i think it still worked out tho!

oh, and here's a silly lil instagram post. thank you for reading!

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

last christmas | s.h. x gn!reader

“you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“then what better time to do it, finish the year off strong.”

robin lowly groaned, “yeah like a positive strong, not a fall on your face strong. i’m being honest to you when i say, don’t do this for steve harrington, it’s not worth it.”

tongue barely peeking out, eyes staring harshly at the folded notebook paper with the words, read me!, starting to blur together. you blinked harshly and gave a slight shake of your head before turning to face robin on your bed, her messy bangs curtaining her pitting gaze.

“look, first time i told steve i have a crush on him, he didn’t give any type of reaction. but i just have to knows these things, yes it’s extremely stupid, but i just want it to be out in the air so it’s gone from my brain.” you shrugged your shoulders tightly, “besides not like i have any type of chance with him anyway, pretty sure he’s set of the one of the food court girls.” trying for a joke but your tone of voice giving you away.

robin hung her head, “honestly anything at this point will be disastrous, but i’m here for you, like always.” giving a crook of a smile.

-

“hey you see the new girl? she’s kinda cute.” steve slid into the seat beside you, you on your lunch while steve was ignoring his job. you barely glanced his way, his words keeping you quiet, “aren’t you on the clock?” is all you said to him.

he clicked his tongue at that, “no one’s bothering us, robin and the new chick can handle it. wanted to stew in silence with you anyway.” giving a light nudge to your arm.

his words give you a moment of whiplash, nothing crash, but enough to have your stomach twist a bit. “you, uh- you going to robin’s get together?” stupid question that you know the answer to, but just needing to say something.

steve cocked his head at you, “course. not like i have anything better to do, but even if i did i’d ditch for her. and everyone, especially you.” things like that get you confused.

deciding now or never, with a slight tremor in your fingers, sliding out the bright white envelop you handed it in front of steve, “a christmas card with a little something extra, but i suggest you wait until you’re home.” rushing that last bit when you saw his fingers picking at the flap.

steve gave a quirked smile, “gave me a naughty gift?” his teasing words made your cheeks feel warm. you covered it up with an eye roll and a simple, “no stupid.”

-

you and steve don’t have matching days off, so you didn’t see each other for a week until robin’s little christmas hang. and those whole five days, you regretted your decision while also mentally standing your ground. what’s done is done, at least you did something very bold -and very stupid- but besides the point.

slowly sipping on your spiked eggnog, you spotted steve walking in your direction. the milk curdled in your stomach at the sight of his wobbly smile. “hey can i- can we go somewhere, private?” oh shit, it’s the conversation.

you nodded dumbly as you followed behind steve who lead you upstairs and what seemed to be robin’s bedroom. with the door shut you could barely hear the murmurs from the other side, locking you and steve inside your own bubble of brewing silence.

you sat on the edge of robin’s bed and played dumb, “so… what’s wrong?” watching how steve slowly turned on his heels to face you, and without saying a word his pointer and index fingers dipped into his front pocket then produced your folded note. you kept a poker face as well as steve.

“this is a nice note,” was how steve started his sentence. “and- and i have nothing against you. you’re an awesome and- and sweet person, i’d be extremely lucky if i get to call you mine one day. but i- i’m not sure if you’ve had your heart broken, but i have and it sucks, and i’m still slowly healing from that crap.”

you kept quiet as you let steve ramble, “and i think you’re just way too good for me. you deserve someone way better than me.” but i want you, is what you thought as baby tears gathered at your lash line. you just nodded along.

“and also… the new years thing.” that pulled an unexpected laugh from your lips. oh how you are just so naive and stupid, trying to ask steve to be your new years kiss then playing it off as a joke. you wish you could smack yourself right now.

“i’m not sure if you’ve ever done that, kissing in general, but again i think it should be with someone special. not me.” if you wanted to reject me you could’ve just been a bit meaner, this feels worse.

you gave a small cough, “yeah. i- i just wanted to get this off my chest. start fresh for the new year.” standing up to make your exit but then steve stepped in front of you, “i care about you a lot, y/n. and look- maybe someday i’ll be that guy for you, just not now. you’re still my best friend though, that won’t change.”

he threw his arms over your shoulders while his wrapped tight along his waist, your cheek pressing into his chest as your eyes stared heavily at robin’s bedroom door. you took a deep sigh before untangling yourself, “we should head back. rob’s probably looking for either of us.”

-

a/n: did something like this actually happen to me and this is a vent fic…yes😐

[dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy]

busted

author's note: I've been doing really well lately, idk why my mind is filled with angst. the POV is so messy ngl because you see "your" thoughts but there's also a major focus on deans inner turmoil and observations...not my best work but I had to spill it out. I may come back to revisit it later but just wanted to preface that LOL also this is inspired by my bot!

summary: a call from the Greensboro Sherriff's Office causes your heart to stop dead in the middle of your apartment. you bring dean back into reality, as he takes in your reaction to his choices.

pairings: dean x reader

characters: dean (20 years old), reader (anywhere from 18 and up)

word count: 6.1K

warnings: cursing, slight injury (a bruise and a cut), John Winchester hate, HELLA angst, not exactly proof read good luck

-+-+-+-

NOVEMBER 14, 1999

sluggishly jabbing the key into the handle, you open the door to your studio apartment. you drag your feet in, missing the sight of your place, as it feels like you haven't been here for days- when in reality, it was only fourteen hours because of the double shift that you took. 

throwing anything in your hands on the counter- keys, purse, leftover food- you make your way into the bedroom to change into loungewear instead of your work clothes. you couldn't focus on anything else until you stripped yourself of anything from work. an oversized grey shirt that reaches down to your upper thigh is accompanied by your black yoga shorts and fuzzy leopard print slippers. you couldn't bring yourself to care. all you want to do is eat and pass out, because you know you're up again tomorrow to open.

you didn't mind your work at all. there was a consistency about it that was rather soothing to you since hunting was anything but consistent. you only went on hunts every couple of months, since it was hard to take off more than a couple of days at a time. 

once you sluggishly make your way back in the kitchen to grab your leftovers, a buzzing starts to sound from your bag. you rummage through it trying to find your pinging cell phone that seems to have been buried in a mountain of credit cards, mascara bottles, and god knows what else you've tossed in there.

upon finally snatching it, you hurriedly flip it open before it goes to voicemail and accept the call, with an drowsy, "hello?"

the line is still for a moment, before you hear, “is this," your full name is said across the line, an older woman with a gratingly, unenthusiastic tone.

you stand up straighter. the unsteady beat of your heart was the only thing you could focus on for a moment or two, thumping in your chest with unease. a bad feelings swells in your chest. you aren't sure who you would've given your number to recently. you don't give it out at all unless it's to close friends or family. your mind goes to the worst case scenarios. a hospital calling to tell you that someone is gravely injured.

or dead.

you swallow, a moment before you shakily respond. "uh, who's asking?"

the droning woman continues with an exasperated sigh. "you have a collect call from Greensboro Sheriff’s Department, do you accept the charges?” 

perplexity racks your brain for about a second before you close your eyelids with a knowing sigh.

dean.

you try to keep the contents in your stomach down from the rush of nerves. you swear your legs feel like they're about to give out from underneath. you brace your hand on the counter, leaning into it. “yes,” you manage.

a click in the line signals that the operator is connecting the call, as it rings twice before a hoarse voice speaks your name. it is exactly who you figured.

“dean? what the hell's going on?” the panic slips out from your throat as you attempt to keep a level volume.

a waery sigh travels to your ears, and he sounds a lot less assured and cocky than he normally does. he comes across with a softer mumbling, a tone you haven't heard before.

"can you pick me up?”

he sounds tired. embarrassed almost. it didn't help tame your irregular heart rate.

you shake your head with worried incredulity even though he can't see you, "from greensboro? where's that- north carolina?"

"yes."

your eyes squeeze shut, trying to maintain a regular breathing pattern. it was all wrong. you wanted to be angry, and yell and scream and curse at him but this call, his defeated voice, and curt answers... it's not like this was on purpose, you remind yourself. he just makes bad decisions sometimes.

though, this is one probably takes the cake.

you blink your eyes open, a dreadful huff escaping, "god- it'll be a couple of hours before i get there." you glance to your wall clock hanging next to the kitchen cabinets. 10:44PM. you estimate you won't get there until 1:30 in the morning. god damn this.

"no, that's fine- it's...i'm sorry," dean barely raises his voice above a whisper. his strained, resigned voice breathes across the line as he continues, "i didn't know who else to call."

oddly enough, you're genuinely thankful. given that dean was more of an 'i'll do it myself' guy, you are relieved to know that he called you instead of allowing himself to spend a night or two in jail. sure, this is a major problem to deal with, he's in a fucking holding cell at the sheriff's office right now, and you're hours away from having to drive to bail him out.

but he did call for you.

the anger isn't quite faded, but it's pushed to the back of your mind, as you grip the phone a bit tighter, your voice getting stronger again, "just- it's okay. i'm glad you called me. i'm on my way, just- god, don't get into any more trouble while you're there." you're already halfway out the door with a map in your hand as you scold him over the phone.

"i won't, i won't." he ensures tightly, before quietly adding "drive safe, sweetheart."

you utter a quick bye as you hang up, heading to your car parked outside the apartment building.

you can't say that you weren't aware of what you were signing up for when you started dating him. you knew exactly what you were getting into. and it was hard. he's not always around, and when he does show up, more often than not he's battered and bruised. although you take pride in the fact that he shows up to you when he can. it's hard to get close to him, so you take anything you can get when it comes to helping him. and when he is around...you forget how to act. he is unlike anyone you've ever met. he's got this wicked charm and sense of humor that you adore. he is selfless to a fault, putting everyone before himself. he cares deeply for those around him, even though it's not always in plain sight. he's surprisingly romantic- though some times you do have to remind him of what boyfriends do. being one of his first "long-term" girlfriends means that he's doing a lot of learning. and he does learn, you admit, and he makes you happy.

so you keep replaying these thoughts in your head as you curse his name on the three hour drive to Greensboro.

-+-+-+-

only when you park at the sheriff's department is when you realize you never changed. you were still in your lounge clothes from earlier. a funny thing to make note of, but your thoughts were so scattered right now from the evening's events that you couldn't care to linger on the topic.

you walk through the front doors to an eerie and dim-lit waiting room. one officer behind a guarded cubicle shifts his glance to you. you slowly walk up to the desk, trying to hide your uncertainty, seeming as you've never picked up anyone from a holding cell before. you speak up, "uhh- evening...i'm here to bail out dean. he was brought in today..." you left out his last name, hoping that they hadn't got his legal name and that maybe he was using a coverup.

the officer, a balding guy in his mid-forties (if you had to guess), clicks his tongue as he files through a comically large binder, skimming through until he reaches the page with dean's information. "yup. we got 'im. take this. fill it out. he's processed already, so we just need a check and some info and we'll send him on his way."

he hands you a clipboard with a couple of pages of paper and a pen, asking for some of your identification and background. you flash him with a quick, forced smile as you take it over to one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the lobby.

you stand up and hand it back to the officer from the slit in the plastic guard. you notice a badge on his chest that reads "WADE", as he just stares at the chunky computer that his eyes seem to be glued to. you clear your throat, offering the clipboard and papers in further, along with a check for $300. 

dean better be damn lucky i have a savings...

"fantastic," although, the enthusiasm obviously didn't reach to his expression as he printed out a receipt, on an obnoxiously loud printer. he slides it through slit and exasperatedly groans as he stands from his seat. once the officer grabs keys from the desk, he shuffles over to the hallway with a pressed, "cyom'on."

you follow behind him with an awkward silence. the only noises to be heard were the echoes of his boots booming with each step, and his occasional throat-clearing. he swings the key ring around his finger with soft, metal clinking and slows down at one of the locked doors.

this room is full of other desks occupied by a small handful of other police officers at their stations filling out paperwork. one or two glance up to you, but it's short-lived.

"wait here and i'll grab 'im," he holds out his palm, signaling for you to stop behind him, as he disappeared through another set of doors.

you are for sure angry with dean, but the way the cop said "grab 'im" makes the protective bones in your body activate. it sounded too aggressive, even though you knew dean could be quite the handful. 

he was your handful, and you have to remember that. when you answered the phone call, you assumed the worst, which was that he was dead. and he's not, thankfully. you just have to remember that this night could have been much worse. 

you take in a long inhale, sitting on the edge of one of the chairs. you lean your head in your hands, the exhaustion taking you out by the minute. and it didn't help that you're out there for another fifteen minutes before you hear the same door open with a second pair of footsteps. you stand up immediately and exhale in relief, and all negative feelings are spared for the moment when you watch dean trudge in front of the officer with a fresh, red-pigmented bruise forming on his left cheek with a small cut paired at the center of impact. his eyes look glossed over from probable sleep deprivation, as his strides are more lethargic than you're used to seeing. 

"this the guy you want?" he points lazily, double-checking as he looks at you unimpressed.

you usher yourself over to them, confirming with a sharp, "yep."

although despite your tone and your blank face, you couldn't help but instinctually reach out to dean and bring him in for a firm embrace. 

he obviously wasn't expecting it, as he grunts from your grip on him, and he raises a surprised brow but puts his right arm around you as he swallows down his own emotions. his gravelly assurance reaches your ears, "i'm fine."

you pull away with a disbelieving scowl, reaching a hand up to the side of his face and turning it so you can see the little souvenir he received from this experience.

"what's this." you deadpan, laced with a bit of a challenging bite to it.

dean sets his jaw as you hold it in place, avoiding your gaze as he grates out a dismissive, "nothin'."

you let go of him, shaking your head. your expression morphing into a controlled irritation and worry.

"son," officer wade impatiently calls from the desk a couple of feet away. he slides a paper towards the edge of his desk with the tips of his fingers, "fill this out for us while i git the rest of your belongin's and such."

dean lets out a quick huff of air, as he turns to the cop leaving their vicinity, "yes sir, officer krupke." he mumbles under his breath, which in turn gets him a backhand on his arm from you. he whips his head to you with shocking amount of surprise, as you eye him with a stern look that said "you better fucking watch yourself". dean rubs his arm slightly and widens his eyes briefly before sitting down at the chair across from the desk, writing on the bail acknowledgement sheet.

after a little while, dean turns his head to you, darting his tongue out to wet his lips before he hesitantly asks, "hey, uh...did they give you an amount for bail?"

you take a deep breath in, grinding your teeth as you avoid his gaze before you numbly answer, "it was $300, dean."

he gulps. his eyebrows flash up in shock and be blinks a couple times, and gives you another glance, "damn. thanks for covering me."

"just fill out the paper." there wasn't any attitude behind it. just clear exhaustion.

he looks at you funny, like he didn't expect you to be this terse. he takes a breath, and huffs a bit of it out, bringing the pen to the designated lines.

after about ten minutes of silence, officer wade drops off a plastic bag of personal items of dean's with a sharpie label on it. he drops it on the desk unceremoniously, bringing dean's attention to him.

"if that's all done, you can git." he points to the doors leading out, "but i don't wanna see you back in here or we'll have problems. y'understand?"

you let out a chide scoff directed at dean, answering for him, "trust me. he won't be back here. thank you, officer wade."

he dips his head in acknowledgement. dean scuffs the chair backwards as he eyes the cop, and he stands up slowly and with a slight threat in his look still.

you hurriedly walk down the hallways of the sheriff's department, not even looking back to dean.

now...

now is when the anger starts to simmer a bit.

you're a couple of feet ahead of dean as you push the door open with more force than necessary, but you figure it might be better than taking it out on dean after he just was released from the cell.

and you can't tell if he knows you're upset- or if he knows and he doesn't want to pay attention to the fact.

"listen, i'll pay you back every penny of that bail, alright?" dean catches up to your strides quickly as you basically dart to your parked car.

you bite your cheek, an unresponsive scowl still on your face after dean's amendment to the situation.

the uncomfortable silence is something that dean wasn't used to between you guys. "it was absolute torture in there. i didn't think what i did was that bad. but then they started playing the BeeGees on the radio in there-"

you stop halfway to the car, and dean almost smacks into your back. you shake your head with disbelief, your lips twitching with aggravation. yet your tone is scarily even and low as you glance to him, "how fucking dare you make jokes right now. after i just drove three hours to get you at one a.m. after my fourteen-hour shift. from jail."

and that did it. he got quiet real quick. you almost feel bad, because his face immediately falls, and he resembled a kicked puppy, even with all the effort in the world to hold up his "everything's peachy" facade. he can barely scoff, unknowing of what to say at all.

you open your mouth to say something else, but it dies off, and all you do is turn around and head back to the car. once you stick the key into the handle of the driver's seat, you unlock it for dean as you both sink into your seats. closing the door where all the negative energy is contained, and stuffy, and hard to vent out.

"where's your car, dean."

he tucks his head down slightly, carefully glancing to you for a moment before he mumbles like a kid, "it's not with me. dad has it with sammy, a couple of states away."

that piques your concern, and you brave it and look to him as you ask, "w-where are you staying then?"

dean nods in a general direction in front of them, "just at a motel near downtown."

john left his eldest son, who is still only twenty, in a shitty part of town with no car, to stay at a dingy motel by himself.

you wish you could say you were surprised.

you sigh, disappointedly. "where..." you begin to buckle your seatbelt, and put the key into the ignition.

the car roars to life, and dean answers flatly, "it's called Morrison's Motel, on Holbrook, Street or somethin'."

you place your right hand on the back of the passenger seat, leaning on it so you could angle yourself backwards while backing out of the parking spot. once you're able to get back into drive and onto the main road, you announce to dean, "you're gonna grab your stuff and come back with me."

his eyebrows furrow with intense confusion, "what?"

"you're grabbing your stuff," you break apart the words with a bit of an edge leaving no room for argument, "then you're coming back to my apartment."

he stares at you in disbelief for a bit. he doesn't argue, but he's unsure if he wants to.

on one hand it was you. you're his everything. and you always took care of him. when he's come by your apartment after hunts, you feed him, heal him, make love to him, talk to him- whatever he needs.

on the other hand... it was you. and you are royally pissed.

he despises the fact that he feels like a child right now. he knows the game you're playing right now, and he loathes it. it doesn't exactly "work" for him. this intense, condemning attitude where you think you know what's good for him. what's better for him. he's heard talks of similar nature and he's dismissed them, because it get's nowhere. his stubborn ass hardly gives thought to what's better for himself. his brain chemistry is practically permanently altered to do what's best for anyone else but himself.

and you were damn determined that you would change that.

not today, and not tomorrow. but you needed that to happen for him.

he sinks into the seat, marinating in his own irritation at the fact that he practically has to deal with this situation. it definitely won't be any better to avoid it. he knows better than to try and get away with anything from you. nor does he want you to resent him.

he knows he fucked up.

once you park outside of his motel, you unlock the door from inside the car. you wordlessly allow him to get out, and collect his duffel and whatever else he had been left with. he checks out of the motel, and he joins you back in the car, closing the door with a slightly irked slam.

you don't pay attention to it, taking off the highway. back home.

-+-+-+-

the silence stretched for the entire three-hour ride. so much so that you didn't even notice that dean fell asleep against the door. you turn and pull the key out of the ignition once your in front of your apartment building, just staring at him for a moment.

he looks exhausted. his eyes had darker bags around them, and he didn't even look comfortable the way his neck is positioned. you were sure going to jail for a night was enough to wear you down from stress alone. he came off aloof when you picked him up, sure, but you know dean. you know that he's not really going to show you everything he's really feeling. you can only imagine how he's been since his dad just abandoned him at the motel.

he doesn't really do well with being alone, you've noticed.

and curse your empathy because the pit in your stomach had settled a bit, and you've calmed down some. you reach a hand out too his bicep. his arms were somehow crossed in his sleep. you barely touch him, and he inhales deeply before jolting slightly against the seat.

"easy," you tell him, not as gentle as you normally would but still you try to disarm him. "c'mon. let's go."

he blinks himself awake, clearly struggling to come back to the present. he jerks his head to the passenger door that you've opened, with a little impatience, and he lets out a tired huff as he climbs out.

once you reach your front door, it opens to the living space dean remembered it to be. he really liked your place. it was simple, and small, for sure, but you didn't require a lot of space. the occasional decoration scatters on the walls and tables throughout, adding a touch of home to your space. dean usually feels at home here.

but for once, he wasn't exactly sure what to do with himself.

he hovers by the door, and you've already taken off to drop your keys and purse on the kitchen counter. you don't yet look him in the eyes.

"come here, please."

he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, expecting a lecture or something. he rests his hands on his arms again, keeping his demeanor closed-off, while he watches you shed your things in the kitchen. and he's dumbstruck again by you.

"do you need an icepack?" you offer.

he swallows, almost forgetting about his bruised cheek, "i'm fine."

you turn yourself to face him, matching his stance with no real emotion displaying on your face, "when's the last time you ate?"

he scoffs defensively this time, lifting his shoulders tensely, "I don't know...today- or yesterday or whatever." he didn't actually eat more than a gas station pizza slice that day.

you note his attitude but neglect it, walking over to the fridge, moving around a couple of loose bottles and containers. you stand on the top of your toes to reach to the back of the top shelf, grabbing a container of macaroni and cheese you had made the other night, along with left-over rotisserie chicken. it wasn't exactly a home-cooked meal, but it's mostly better than what dean normally has.

you pull apart the chicken and silently start putting it on a plate that you grabbed from one of the cabinets, and scoop out some of the mac and cheese on there as well. you throw it in the microwave for a minute, leaning against the counter with your hip with no other words.

dean forfeits his indirect protest at your mother-henning and sits at your miniature table-for-two in the corner of the kitchen. he slumps, resting his back on the wall while he's in the chair, and his legs splay outward, ninety degrees away from the table as he keeps his gaze to the floor. or wall. or anything besides you, really.

the microwave dings and you bring the plate over to him with a fork stuffed underneath the food. you ungraciously drop it in front of him, letting the ceramic plate smack the table a bit. dean casts a quick glance to you before staring straight ahead, not wanting to acknowledge the food in front of him. because if he did, that would entail that he was hungry, like any other human being. that he can starve and that he had been since his dad left.

but it smells fucking good.

he takes a breath, relenting as he grabs a fork and mumbles a quick "thanks". he stirs it around for a couple of moments before taking massive bites at a time.

and you knew he was hungry. you know he doesn't take care of himself on the road. that's why you loved when he would stop by in between hunts. you were comforted by the fact that he ate something more than a a bag of chips and a granola bar when he would stop by.

you don't say anything, as you put away the containers of food and clean up the kitchen some. by the time you're done, you lean against the refrigerator with your eyes on dean.

you couldn't let go of this. you know you won't be able to sleep regardless of tonight, but at least you'll have answers.

"you wanna tell me what happened?" you start, and there's no bite in your tone. it's a simple question.

and with that in mind, dean's response really set you off.

he pauses on his last couple of bites of food, and shakes his head with a short-tempered snort, "you signed the bail papers, didn't you? i'm sure it said why."

your blood boils and your unable to keep the poker face you've been maintaining. you stalk closer to dean, kicking yourself off the fridge. "you know what dean, i did sign the papers for you, so i don't understand why you're the one who's got attitude here. you know what else I did? i paid. for. your. bail. that was three-hundred fucking dollars, dean. do you think i'm made of cash-"

dean brings himself forward and sets his forearms down on the table, causing the ceramic plate to clink at his motion as his voice rises with defense. he looks you dead in the eyes as he reiterates, "i said i'm gonna pay you back. i intend to keep my word on that."

"that doesn't fix the situation, dean!" you retort as your voice starts to seethe with emotion, "you got arrested. i drove three hours after a fourteen hour shift to pick you up, so you don't get to be angry with me."

"i'm sorry, okay?" he snaps loudly, standing up briskly causing the chair to scuff backwards against the floor. "getting arrested wasn't exactly on my agenda for today either."

"you think that makes this more acceptable? because you didn't mean to get arrested?"

he shrugs his shoulders with a hardened expression on his face, "what do you want me to say?

you scowl harshly, like it was obvious. "i want a goddamn explanation! getting arrested doesn't happen on your typical Tuesday, dean."

"i'm a hunter," he says your name with pronounced snark, "there's no such thing as 'typical' for us!"

"were you on a hunt?"

your question stuns him for a second. "I- well," he stumbles, at a loss for words, "not exactly, but-"

"no." your voice is low and dangerous, "you weren't on a hunt. disorderly conduct and false identification were the charges. so this has jack shit to do with hunting." you take a couple of steps closer to him, pointing to him with a thundered glare, "you were at a bar, using a fake ID, illegally drinking and fighting. that is a whole other level of reckless for you, dean."

he matches your intensity and gets closer to you so that you are only about two feet apart. "i wasn't drinking recreationally- i was blending in while hustling pool money! they didn't like that I won, so they tried to start something. they did, not me. there's the whole explanation- are you happy now?"

your voice falters at his spat as you tremble with emotion, face morphing more into distress than anger, "no! no, i'm not happy. do i look happy?"

dean huffs, and he doesn't respond at first. his face neutralizes slightly before he breaks eye contact with you and rubs a hands down his face as he paces away from where he stood.

"jesus christ, look-" he turns back to you with a controlled, firm expression, "they let me off with just a fine. i don't even have to go to fucking court so i don't get why are you turning this into such a big deal-"

"do you know how worried I was when I picked up the phone to hear from the police station?"

the sentence resounds against the walls of your apartment. and dean freezes, the only thing moving is his chest which rises up and down from the overload of his frustrations. for a moment, you could hear the honks and revs in traffic, the buzzing hum of the air conditioning, and the whir of the electronics and appliances around you with how quiet it became.

"a shiver ran down my fucking spine, dean. i felt like my heart stopped. i was damn near shaking when they called. i didn't know i-if they were calling to say they found your body, or if you were hurt, dean. i was scared- i was so fucking scared. why- why, why, why can't you see that I'm worried about you? i don't want to sit here and berate you for your choices, because yes, this was a fuck-up but i know you know better and i know that you're beating yourself up for it too." for a brief second, you wonder to yourself why dean's face had dramatically gentled into a look of pained concern, and you didn't realize up until that moment that you had streams of tears down your face.

then you notice that your breath hitches, and the lump in your throat weakens your speech. "i don't want to sit here and lecture, and yell- i just don't want to feel that again-" your words get cut off in a sobbing squeak.

"okay, okay," dean croons and suddenly his arms are wrapped around you, and your face is buried into his chest. your breath heaves as you try to reign back control on your body, and you want to be angry at dean, but his hands hold onto you so tight and he brings his mouth to the crown of your head, and one of his hands to your hair. he mumbles a couple of apologies, his own voice getting caught as he watches you crumble into him.

"i'm sorry- hey, i'm sorry. i-" you can feel him shake his head above you as he rubs your upper arm and shoulder, "i should've realized- i didn't know you were that worried. i-" dean curses to himself as he feels you shake in his grasp, and he rubs your arm with affection. "sweetheart, i'm so sorry. i never wanted you to worry like that..."

your hands fist the back of his shirt as you try to hide your face into him, your voice slightly muffled, "i'm not bothered worrying about you- but when it's shit like this-"

"no- sweetheart, i- yeah. i get it, i do. it was stupid, okay? it won't happen again." his guilt-laced promise almost breaks its way through to you.

you pull yourself off of dean as he reluctantly lets go of you, not quite looking into his eyes as you bring a hand to wipe your face. you look down, sniffling as you hoarsely choked out, "damn straight it won't."

dean's shoulder's sag, as the events of tonight seem to finally wash over him, as he sees the tolls that it took on you. his hands find his way to your shoulders again, and he tilts his head to try and find your gaze. "thank you. for picking me up, and feeding me, and-and worrying, and driving all that way to pick up my dumb-ass. you shouldn't've had to."

you sniff, bringing your head up but avoid his gaze still. "it's fine."

"no, it's not...and i knew it wasn't and i fought you on it anyways. I just..." dean sighs as he unwillingly admits, "money's tight. dad didn't leave me much when he took off, so i was just trying to make some extra cash. it's just stress- and i didn't mean to get angry with you. i'm not angry with you..."

you look to him then, your face vulnerable and open, "why didn't you ask me for help?"

he scoffs definitively, "i'm not taking your money."

"it costed you an extra $300 to not ask for my help in the first place, dean. i would've rather given it to you then have you borrow it from me in this case." you remind him, and he thinks it over. regret and shame written all over his face.

"you want me to forgive you?"

dean blinks at you, his brows furrowing in confusion quickly before answering, "yeah- i do."

"the next time you find yourself like this- hell, when you need help at all- you call me. and i can't say that i'll always be able to but i will do my damndest to try." you assert sincerely.

he bites his lip, obviously not entirely wanting to admit to needing your help. but for you, he's willing to do anything to keep you pleased.

"alright. i will." his eyebrows slightly lower, serious with his promise to you.

"good," you nod, feeling better about the situation. not all better, but it was baby steps. you bring a hand to his elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze as you utter, "it's late. you should get to bed. you could use the rest."

"yeah." he replies in a whisper, "you too."

you gesture to the bedroom with the cock of your head as he follows behind you like a puppy. you bring your hands to your face, trying wipe away any emotion that remained from the fight. you walk to the adjourning bathroom as you wearily mention to dean, "i need to wash my face, go ahead and change if you need to."

"okay," he replies softly. it's that same quiet tone your not used to.

as you rinse your face from the stress of the evening, you let the cold water cleanse you, allowing yourself to focus on the frigid, november water. it washes over you, and you feel yourself grow sluggish as your mind becomes quieter with every breath you take, and your heart beat slows for the first time in the night.

you pat your face dry with a towel hanging on your wall, and walk out as your met with dean on the bed with the lamp on next to him. he's changed into his sweatpants that he's left here before, along with a plain black t-shirt. his back rests against the headboard as his knees are drawn up. his hands ruffle through his hair before bringing the heel of his palms to rub circles against his forehead. he smooths his hair out quickly as he notices your appearance again, and immediately lays his feet down on the bed, and waits to see if you'll join him.

you shuffle over to your side of the bed, getting under the covers.

"you can turn off the lamp now." you say after adjusting, your voice barely above a whisper.

"right," he reaches over to click the lamp off, and scoots further down so that his head is resting on a pillow.

the silence eats away at you both, before dean speaks up first, "are you still angry?"

you inhale deeply, moving onto your side so that you're facing dean. you lean down and find his lips through the moonlight shining through the room. and of course, he reciprocates the kiss with a bit of surprise.

"yes," you preface, before continuing with a gentle gaze, "but i forgive you, and i still care about you. and even though i'm mad, i'd rather have you next to me then not at all."

dean blinks a couple times, nodding a bit before one side of his lips twitches upwards. this time, it's his turn to kiss you, as he pushes onto his elbow, to meet your lips with his, taking his time. when he lays back down, he lovingly studies your face, "thank you."

"you don't have to thank me for that. i'll care about you always...get some sleep, baby." your hand finds his forearm closest to you, as you give it a soft rub.

dean watches you through the dark as you settle back into the bed. but he doesn't close his eyes yet. after a couple of minutes, he feels you shift, and you sit up and grab his farthest hand, and take it with you as you lie back down, dragging his arm over yours.

his lips quirk into a smile, the first real one of the night, and moves to hold you against him.

now... now he closes his eyes.

[jazeswhbhaven]

My Very Own Demon Maid? | Being Threatened by an Exceptionally Skilled Maid Summary| React | Spoilers

Click the banner above to see my react to the prologue if you haven't seen it! The rest continues under the cut~

Leading in from the prologue let me just say....Levi fans are eating good if they ever wanted to see a whole different side of him. No lie if anyone has ever seen the movie "Secretary (2002)" Levi's Maid card gives the energy of the character "Lee" for his role here.

LETS GET IT..

Summary

💜When we left off for the prologue, Levi just had water thrown in his face, MC finally getting the idea of what he's looking for in a Master

💜Throughout the entirety of the roleplay session, Levi follows the maid's "guidebook" to a T. And he's loving every minute of it. Even gets a bit bold and starts feigning innocence or deliberately not listening in order to get a reaction from MC

💜MC is also doing amazing at their role, being the most dickish Master like in the book, asking Levi to do things over and over, yelling and getting onto him. Even showing a bit of envy that fuels Levi

💜As he dives even deeper to immersion, we realize that Levi is exploring this feeling that he craves, to serve, to endure, and most importantly, enjoy all of it. This was made for him

💜And then from here it builds up to MC instructing him to strip tease, and things get heated when they both get lost in the roles they've played, MC even had to rewind themselves for a minute

💜The sex built up so well, I'd swear we were watching a good erotica film

💜We get to play with the anal tail again, but before that? MC slipped in a finger and he was already ready for the plug, almost damn near swallowing up MC's finger

💜MC ofc, has to join in now, as if I were them this would be hard to ignore when he's acting like this???

💜So not only did MC start fucking Levi with the anal tail plug and their fingers at the same time at one point, they get creative, and give him a proper reach around at the same time too

💜Levi almost came a total of 3 times when MC was only just touching him or fussing at him. B e s t

💜A finish touch which had me losing my mind was when MC couldn't take it anymore, and climbed on top of Levi and he grabs their waist and starts pounding into them while reaching their head back to kiss them

💜All while promising to give all his services to MC.....PHEW

💜Even with the abrupt ending after sex, because MC once again got sleepy and Levi was out of the role he played...he still said something nice and tucked them in

💜This shot? Had me THROWN like??? -> His waist is so smol and slutty compared that ASS, damn

Screenshots!

Loving it, he's really getting the program!

You know, I really like that he's eating everything up like he is right now. We barely see him enjoy something so unapologetically without some kind of denial so when we get that piece of his personality? I forget where I'm at.

Yes. LET 'EM KNOWWWWW

Me thinking about how I would be delighted to see this animated as a show so I could see this scene play out

He's what now?? Oh damn Levi apologizing for something? Roleplay or not, this is golden.

*sorry censored heart just in case!* Anywaysss this is actually so hot that when MC asked for him to show them what he wanted to show...he does this

Same MC, same. Imagine, Levi is already 6 ft tall...standing on the Sofa probably makes him as big as Glas and well...👀

He moaned during that btw and what do you mean we "accidentally" fingered his gooch? For me that wouldn't be an accident.

I'm tellin' y'all he's going alll out on this and I'm enjoying this part of him. We don't really get many cards of MC being dominant like they are here where the character is desperately begging for this attention, and he just offered them to do anything with his body?? Yup.

OH!

DAMN MC OKAY!

real though

my reaction when I saw we get to play with the anal tail again

BITCH!!!???? ✨✨😩😩😩😭🥴

Oh this brings me back to his Attacker card....

Final verdict!!

Now I would talk about the date story but I don't have that. BUT I can only imagine it was similar to how he was with MC in the Butt Contest event when you pick him as the winner, which was cute ngl.

I give this card 9.8/10!

That nitpicky points is just because I wasn't feelin' the beginning due to that typical behavior we get from classic Levi...lol that's all.

As I said in the beginning of the react, Levi lovers will eat up this card. Curious and undecided about if you like submissive Levi? Check this out, it's a good look for him.

I liked this and his Torture Card a whole lot. As a person who has Levi on the lower end of the likeability scale, there's still events and cards where I do enjoy the dynamic between him and MC. I wonder what else the writers will have this devil get into...(lucifer too honestly like he's been having some banger cards lately)

As always thank y'all for all interactions on my reacts and the friends that still share with me so I can do these <3 Y'all are the bomb dot com. -Jaze🙏(✿◡‿◡)

[lyn31]

Heeeyyy! Would you write one of where Zayne gets jealous over reader? They are married ofc and let’s say another handsome man flirts with reader who is oblivious to it cuz ofc she only has her heart on Zayne. Zayne gets protective and jealous like in that card with Dr. Carter who gave mc flowers. Zayne takes reader to a quieter spot or home. Reader ask if he’s ok and he denies he was jealous. It makes reader sappy and blushing cuz zayne loves her a lot she teases him and he kisses her passionately to shut her up and says he was worried. OFC reader reassures him she only loves her snowman. You can write the location and event however you want. Thanks.

I took quite a different angle for this one, hopefully it still hit the vibes you're looking for! I play it off more, so it come off more playful the rest is a bit more subtle 👀 too subtle perhaps? 😭 Let me know what you think! 💕

Actually yk what, I'll make another one later per asks order! But let's say this is a treat also from the req before! 🥳 (But still let me know what you think ahaha)

I already rant about Dr. Carter before so I won't do it again here ahahahaha and yes this is the merge prompt with In Sickness and In Health!

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Jealousy, Revisited

Summary

A teasing spiral of jealousy, hormones, and chaos leads to one very pregnant woman and her maddeningly patient husband bantering their way back to soft, steady love.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Mutual jealous, flashbacks, silly, banter, flirty, married couple!

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By the time Rose and Caleb leave your home, it’s already late—well past the kids’ bedtime. Serena's been asleep in her room for hours now, worn out from playing with Willow and Jace until her little legs could barely carry her.

The dishes are done, toys picked up, and you're finally curled up on the couch, legs tucked awkwardly under you the best they can with your belly in the way. The twins have been making their presence known all evening, kicking and shifting, and you’re sure at least one of them is practicing acrobatics.

Your hand rests absently on the curve of your stomach, and your hair still smells faintly of garlic from the stir-fry you made earlier, and the scent clings to your sweater like the memory of a full house.

Zayne joins you a moment later, easing down beside you with his usual quiet grace. He drapes a blanket over you, then slides an arm behind your back, hand settling low at your waist and gently curving to support the slight swell of your belly—something he does without thinking, as if his touch belongs there.

“That was quite a gathering, huh?” you murmur, leaning into him.

“Four adults with three kids,” he says. “Felt like a ten-person gathering.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Speaking of kids, I still can’t believe what Rose told us.”

“I definitely can,” he replies, voice still neutral.

You shoot him a look and pinch at his side, but he only catches your hand in his, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “It’s an expression, darling.” Your roll your 'r' a bit more, smiling but still glaring at him. He hums at you, a quiet nudge to keep going.

“Well, I was gonna bring up how Caleb got all jealous when someone complimented Rose’s scarf, but now that we’re talking about this... it reminded me of a certain someone at a certain photo shoot.”

He blinks at you slowly, composed as ever. “That was a normal reaction.”

“Normal, huh?” You raise an eyebrow, but the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth gives him away.

And yeah—you can feel the memory blooming between you again, ridiculous and fond. Back when you’d just started dating—Tara’s dramatic plea, that chaotic photo shoot, the poor student photographer caught in the silent wrath of a very composed, very territorial Zayne Li—

You’re barely halfway through reheating leftovers at Zayne’s apartment—still standing in front of the stove with one socked foot tapping the floor—when your phone lights up with Tara’s name.

You answer with a suspicious, “What did you do?”

“Emergency!” she bursts out.

You blink, already pulling the phone slightly away from your ear. “Didn’t you just get home like... twenty minutes ago?”

“Yeah, but I need you. Come to this studio downtown—my friend’s doing a shoot and one of his models bailed last minute.”

“…Why me?”

“Because you’re symmetrical and mildly photogenic,” she says with the smug confidence of someone who knows you can’t say no. “And also because there’s no way Rose or Lara would agree to this. Come on, I’ll owe you forever. Pleaseeeeee?”

You sigh with all the drama you can muster. “Fine. But you’re buying my coffee tomorrow. And I’m talking fancy coffee. Foam art and ethically sourced beans.”

“Deal!”

You hang up, shutting off the stove with a grumble, then wander down the hall to Zayne’s office. He’s sitting at his desk, posture relaxed, typing something you know is probably more important than it looks.

He glances up the second you knock at the open door.

“Hey, so... change of plan. I’ll be back in an hour. Tara needs help with something.”

He tilts his head, curious. “And that is?”

“I’ve been conscripted into a photography crisis.”

He raises one brow. “Do you need backup?”

You give a small laugh. “Well, if you’re up for it.”

“I am.” He powers off his computer without hesitation, standing smoothly. “Let’s go.”

When you both arrive at the studio, it is a cozy mess, full of soft lighting rigs and mismatched props piled in corners. Fabric-draped chairs, vintage suitcases, fake plants that look real until you touch them. Tara waves you in like she owns the place, already halfway through a neon-pink drink and wielding a clipboard like a sword.

You breeze through the solo shots first—casual poses, exaggerated laughter, dramatic hair flips Tara keeps coaching you through with, “More joy! Less corporate headshot!” She takes a few turns in front of the lens herself, striking mock-model poses with a loud “Yasss” every time the shutter clicks.

It’s not half bad. Honestly? It’s kind of fun.

Until the photographer—a lanky guy with a lemon wedge tattoo on his wrist and a camera lens that looks older than the building—decides the set needs couple shots to balance out the gallery.

He gestures to a standby model. Someone tall, cologne-heavy, and definitely overconfident. He steps forward like he’s auditioning for a cologne commercial, eyes flicking to you, then down to your waist. His hand starts to hover in that awkward, polite way—unsure if he’s supposed to touch.

Then, from behind the lights, Zayne’s voice cuts in.

“Actually, she’s not free.”

The room freezes. The photographer pauses. The cologne guy blinks.

Zayne steps into frame with that quiet, composed stride, like this is just a meeting he’s joining. “I mean—I’m free. She’s dating me. So… using both of us would be better.”

You try to keep the smile off your face. No use. It spreads before you can stop it. “You’re volunteering for photos?”

Zayne meets your eyes without missing a beat. “They’ll look more authentic this way.”

Tara lets out a muffled snrrk from behind her clipboard, clearly thrilled.

The photographer looks between the two of you, then nods. “Right. Yeah, sure. Chemistry’s important, right?”

Zayne’s hand finds your waist with ease, fingers come to rest at your waist like they’ve always belonged there. The first shot is stiff. The second, a little more natural. But the third—when he leans in and brushes his lips against your temple—you feel your whole expression soften without even trying.

Because he’s not acting. Not for a second.

The shutter clicks.

And clicks again.

By the time you’re back in the car, the night folding quiet around you, you can’t help poking at him.

“So… I’m not free, huh?”

He glances at you, one hand resting lazily on the wheel. “You’re still going on about that?”

“You practically growled at that poor guy,” you tease. “I think Tara’s friend was seconds away from reaching for a fire extinguisher.”

“I was being practical.”

“Oh, sure,” you say, leaning your head back against the seat with a grin. “Territorial and practical. Must be a doctor thing.”

He huffs softly, but you catch the way his mouth lifts at the corner. “You’re exaggerating.”

You’re really not—but you let him have that one.

Because that look he gave you when he stepped into the frame? You’ll be thinking about that for days.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, feeling the slow, aimless motion of his fingers brushing along the curve of your stomach—familiar and gentle, like he’s memorizing it again for the hundredth time. “So practical of you, dear.”

He snorts softly, voice close against your temple. “It was practical. I was already present.”

“Mmhmm. Definitely not territorial at all,” you murmur, letting your tone drip with sarcasm.

Zayne leans in just enough for his breath to cool your ear. “If you’re talking about what we did after we got home… then yes. That was territorial.”

You laugh and squish his cheeks with both hands, tilting his face toward you before giving him a deliberately exaggerated, wet kiss that leaves him blinking. “Mmm. You’ve come a long way, husband.”

He chuckles, the sound deep in his chest. “Come a long way,” he echoes, then tilts his head, thoughtful. “That reminds me—the lab assistant.”

You raise a brow instantly, suspicious. “Yeah? What about her? Are you finally admitting that you explained things slower because she’s special?”

Zayne’s arm shifts behind you, and he leans into your side with effort, trying to wrap himself around you as much as the baby bump between you will allow. It takes some maneuvering, but eventually, his hand curves gently beneath yours over the swell of your belly.

“Look who’s being territorial now,” he murmurs, far too pleased.

“Mine is justified!” you protest, jabbing a finger lightly into his chest. “Don’t even pretend you didn’t notice how close she was leaning. I’ve seen microbe samples that maintained more personal space.”

He hums like he’s genuinely considering your words, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling in mock thought. “Why do you think I was leaning away from my computer?”

And just like that, the memory sparks back into clarity—sharp, ridiculous, and so vivid that both of you can’t help snorting aloud—

You stop by the hospital one late afternoon—your day off, the weather too nice to waste holed up in your apartment, Rose of course visiting Caleb at Skyhaven—so you think, why not drop by to see Zayne?

You’re still in your casual clothes, hair a little wind-tossed, lunch bag in hand—though let’s be real, it’s mostly dessert. You round the familiar hallway corner, smiling without thinking.

And then you see it.

There’s someone new standing beside Zayne’s desk, angled just enough to invade what should be neutral ground. You’ve never seen her before—probably an intern, maybe new staff—but what gets you isn’t her badge or the tablet in her hand. It’s the way she’s leaning in just a bit too close, blinking up at the screen like she’s never seen a rib cage in her life.

Zayne’s voice is even, professional, explaining some patient form or scan, pointing something out with his pen. But your eyes narrow immediately the moment her shoulder brushes against his.

From the way she’s deferring to him, she’s likely assigned to assist Greyson. Which raises the real question: where the hell is Greyson?

You don’t say anything. Not yet.

Instead, you stroll in like you belong—which you do—and round the desk casually, then lean in from the other side. Your arm wraps lazily around Zayne’s shoulders, lightly nudging the woman’s shoulder—which is barely there to begin with, your chin nearly brushing his temple.

“Do you always explain things this slowly,” you say, voice all sugar and silk, “or is she special?”

Zayne pauses—not startled, not flustered. He simply glances toward you, reading the humor beneath your tone. Then he exhales the faintest breath of a laugh.

“She was asking about patient chart formatting,” he says mildly. “I assumed she wanted the complete explanation.”

You raise a brow at him, just a touch dramatic. “You assumed wrong.”

The assistant stiffens. “Oh—I didn’t know you had a—”

“Girlfriend,” Zayne finishes, calm as anything—like it’s just another line in a report. “She brings me lunch.”

You can feel the ripple of awkwardness roll through the intern, and your smile only grows as you set the bag on his desk. “That’s right,” you say brightly. “I also pick him up sometimes. So he doesn’t get hit on by interns with no sense of personal space.”

The poor girl looks utterly mortified. “I—I just thought… um. He should eat first! I can ask Dr. Greyson later—sorry—”

And then she’s gone, heels clicking as she practically speed-walks toward the hallway.

You glance back at Zayne, who watches her leave with a perfectly neutral expression, then reaches for your hand.

“She was new,” he says after a beat. “I think this was her third day.”

“Mmm-hmm,” you murmur, leaning in to press an exaggerated kiss to his cheek, leaving a faint imprint of your gloss. “Be honest. You liked me jealous.”

His hand turns in yours, lacing your fingers together. “I like that you showed up.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Damn Greyson! Why is he eating lunch at that time?” you grumble, gesturing vaguely like your words could summon the man to defend himself.

Beside you, Zayne lets out a quiet chuckle, the kind that makes your chest warm. He doesn’t argue—though from the look on his face, he probably knows Greyson wasn’t even on break yet at the time. But because Serena adores Greyson and you’re currently on a blame-streak, Zayne lets it go. Probably even enjoying it.

His thumb grazing gently along your side. You glance over at him, narrowing your eyes. “You did like me jealous.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, his lips press softly to the crown of your head, a quiet affection in the gesture. “You’re more expressive than I am,” he murmurs. “It was… reassuring.”

You snort. “You mean hot.”

“Also that.” His fingers trace a lazy circle against the curve of your stomach—

When both of you feel it. A sudden, firm kick.

You both still.

Zayne’s eyes go wide for half a second, a startled laugh escaping him before he glances at you, equal parts amazed and amused.

“They're definitely on your side,” you mutter, hand instinctively covering his like you’re both trying to catch the moment again.

He smiles, quieter now, thumb brushing just beneath your navel. “They got your timing.”

There’s a beat. A shared breath. Then he shifts, his voice going warm with that teasing clarity that always finds the softest spots.

“Well, what I was gonna say before… you get this look when you’re jealous. Composed, but pointed. Like you’re sharpening your words before you even speak.”

Your head lifts slowly, just enough to give him a look. “You find that hot?”

He meets your eyes, deadpan, not even a flicker of hesitation. “Decidedly.”

You groan, flopping your very pregnant self down onto the couch in what you intend to be a dramatic collapse, except… it’s more like a slow-motion descent. Your body is doing its best. “Ugh. I enable you.”

“You encourage me,” Zayne says smoothly.

“Same thing,” you mutter, slumped sideways now, rubbing a palm along your belly like you’re checking whose side the twins are still on.

He hums again, hands adjusting the cushion behind you. And then, like it just came to him. “Like that time with the nurse.”

You gasp. “Oh my god. The one with the laugh?”

Zayne shakes his head, mouth flattening. “She laughed at everything. Even when I told her someone coded last shift.”

You sit up again—well, technically you haven’t fully hit the cushions yet, so it’s not as hard as it could’ve been. But you do it with a triumphant kind of energy, grinning like it’s still fresh. “Okay, that one was definitely your fault. You were not leaving.”

“I was trying,” he says, completely sincere, “and being polite.”

“She touched your arm.”

He gives you a look, calm as ever. “I pulled back right away.”

You raise a brow, mimicking his deadpan tone. “You pulled back politely.”

His fingers slide up to brush under your chin, tilting your face toward his with ridiculous delicacy. “Would you have preferred impolite?”

And your brain suddenly time-warps. The smell of antiseptic. The low drone of machines. The memory hits fast—

You arrive at the hospital to pick Zayne up—technically early, but that is half the fun. His shift has an hour left, and sure, he hasn’t texted yet, but he won’t mind

You like talking to Yvonne while you wait anyway. She runs the front desk for the cardiology wing like it is her personal kingdom—knows every patient by name and every doctor’s bad habit. She spots you walking in and greets you with a wink. “He’s not out yet, but I bet you’ll lure him off the floor like usual.”

That’s the plan. Until you hear it.

Laughter. Not Yvonne’s signature cackle, and obviously you just passed her—not Greyson’s chaotic snort. No, this one is… breathy. Too polished. Too practiced.

You slow your pace, following the sound down the corridor, heels echoing soft clicks on the linoleum. The nurse’s laugh rings again, light and almost sing-song, followed by Zayne’s voice. Calm. Polite. Controlled, like always. He’s probably responding to whatever she said with a quiet nod or an actual answer, depending on how much patience he has left today.

You find them near the nurse’s station, bent over the same file. She stands too close—one manicured hand on the back of his chair, the other drumming polished nails against the counter like she couldn’t wait for an excuse to lean in again.

Your jaw twitches. But you smile.

Two more steps and you are there. No words, just a hand on Zayne’s shoulder, a slow kiss to his cheek—sweet, theatrical, and clearly. This seat’s taken.

“Can’t believe I have to share you with this whole building,” you murmur, voice dipped in velvet steel.

Your gaze slid to her. Brief. Pointed. Like a scalpel left out on the tray.

Zayne doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ll be off shift in an hour.”

You smile at him like he hangs the moon. “Make it thirty minutes.”

The nurse falters. “Oh—I… I should check the supply cart.”

Of course you should, you think.

She vanishes faster than she showed up, file in hand and laugh tucked away like it is never there.

You don’t even get the chance to figure out what is supposedly so hilarious in the paperwork.

Zayne glances up at you, expression unreadable as ever, but his hand finds yours under the desk. “I wasn’t laughing.”

“I noticed,” you say, your tone softer now as you squeeze his fingers. “But she was practically hanging off your stethoscope.”

He tilts his head like he’s about to argue, but just then, Yvonne calls from the receptionist's desk. “You chasing off nurses again, sweetheart?”

You turn toward her, unapologetic. “Just the persistent ones.”

She grins. “Might want to give Greyson a warning. One of the surgical interns has been asking if he’s single.”

Behind you, Zayne exhales a quiet sigh, and you feel him tug your hand a little closer.

“Make it twenty minutes,” you murmur—because honestly, you’re already more than halfway to dragging him out yourself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your voice is smug. “You liked that one too, didn’t you?”

Zayne exhales through a quiet laugh, his hand still tracing easy, lazy circles against your side. “I liked knowing you wanted me visibly.”

You bump his knee gently, playful. “You act so calm, but you eat it up.”

He tilts his head just slightly, eyes glinting. “It’s mutual, isn’t it?”

“…Maybe.” You say it like it’s not obvious—like you’re not halfway ready to start a fight over a giggle. Then you pause. Something clicks.

Your body shifts in his arms, careful but suddenly full of energy, and you sit up straighter, barely suppressing your grin. “Wait—wait. Oh my god, that reminds me.”

Zayne hums, patient, amused. “There’s too much, if we list them all tonight.”

“Not mine!” You jab a finger lightly at his chest. “Your moment. Like—okay. Remember when we were dating and you were always too polite to admit you were jealous? All that, ‘she’s allowed to have friends’ nonsense?”

“It wasn’t nonsense,” he says, dry as ever.

You wave that away like it's air. “But then the moment we got married? Subtlety? Gone. Evaporated. Poof. Like with that barista.”

Zayne goes still. And you know he remembers.

You do too.

The memory hits in color and taste. Warm light, the smell of croissants, and the hiss of milk steaming behind the counter—

It’s a lazy mid-morning on your day off—the kind that feels rare lately, with both of you back in rotation, juggling reports, late calls, and the unpredictability of your jobs.

But today clicks into place. No emergencies, no shift swaps. Just you, Zayne, and your favorite little café tucked between buildings like a secret.

The place is quiet at this hour, filled with the soft hiss of espresso machines and low conversation. The usual barista isn’t there, though. Instead, a new guy stands behind the counter, fresh-faced and clearly too eager. He straightens up the moment you step forward.

“Good morning,” he said, grinning wide. “What can I get for you?”

You give your usual order, tone polite but relaxed. Before you can even pull out your card, he’s already waving it off.

“On the house,” he says smoothly, eyes flicking to the name you’ve given. “For someone with such a lovely name.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, um… thanks?”

He leaned slightly over the counter. “Do you come here often?”

And that’s when you feel it—the familiar presence at your side, quiet but solid. Zayne steps up beside you, the move casual but practiced, like his body knows exactly where to be. One arm slid around your waist, anchoring you against him in a way that didn’t look aggressive but definitely sent a message.

“We’re married,” he said, voice even. “And we’d like to eat before the lunchtime passes.. Please get our order ready.”

No inflection. No visible emotion. But somehow, it had the same weight as a slammed door.

The barista blinked, his confidence faltering. “R-right. Uh, coming right up.”

Zayne didn’t look away until the guy turned to prep your drinks. Only then does he guide you toward your favorite spot by the window, his hand still resting on your back.

You sit down, trying to suppress the laugh that’s already building. The second the croissant touches your lips, it slips out anyway.

“Someone’s jealous,” you teased, nudging his knee under the table.

Zayne doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re my wife. It’s my right.”

You nearly choke. You stare at him, stunned, then snort-laugh with half a croissant still in your mouth. “Oh my god—Zayne.”

He lifts his cup, sipping without so much as a flicker of amusement. “I was polite.”

You are grinning despite yourself. “You were terrifying.”

He arches an eyebrow, finally meeting your gaze. “He was about to pay for you.”

“Which I didn’t even ask for.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth betrays him. Just a little.

You reach across the table, brushing your fingers over his. “You know you don’t have to get territorial, right?” And wiggling your finger that clearly has your wedding ring on.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I want to.”

That made you pause.

There was something almost reverent in his tone—not possessive in the shallow sense, but protective in a way that made your chest ache a little. Like he was always just waiting for the chance to stake his quiet claim.

You squeezed his hand. “You’re lucky I like it.”

He gives you a look that says that’s another reason why he did it. He laces his fingers through yours, as if he never planned on letting go.

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You’re laughing into his shoulder again, your voice muffled and warm against the fabric of his shirt. “You really said that. Zero hesitation.”

Zayne doesn’t even pretend to deny it. He just shrugs, utterly composed. “We are married.”

You pull back enough to look at him, amusement still bubbling under your breath. “Oh, so now it’s legalized jealousy?”

“I call it efficient communication.”

You snort, threading your fingers through his, letting your thumb trace absent circles over his knuckles. His hand is cool, like always, but familiar. Grounding. “You used to pretend you didn’t care.”

He shifts, just enough to tilt his head your way, lips curving ever so faintly. “I still don’t,” he says smoothly. “Unless I do.”

You give him a flat look, stifling a snort. “That’s not a real sentence.”

“It is if you understand me.”

And the worst part is—you do.

You sigh, letting your head fall lightly against his shoulder again. “You’re so smug with your logic.”

“I’m consistent.”

“That’s the same thing,” you grumble.

His fingers tighten gently around yours, silent in his agreement.

You nudge his leg, casual and easy, but your grin is sly now. “Well, since we’re already deep in the jealousy chronicles, might as well air everything, right?”

Zayne lifts a brow, just slightly. “Yours or mine?”

You tap your chin with mock thoughtfulness. “Yours, of course.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his grip on your hand shifts just slightly—like he already knows which story you’re about to bring up.

And he’s bracing for it—

It’s some formal alumni gathering—an evening reception at a rented hall near your old high school, complete with dim lighting, hors d'oeuvres, and a lot of people pretending not to be comparing paychecks and hairlines.

Rose and Caleb guilt-trip you into going, insisting it’ll be fun, a reunion, just a quick drop-in before dinner. Of course, they disappear into the crowd the second you arrive, catching up with old teammates and classmates like they’d never left.

You wouldn't be here at all if Zayne weren’t with you right now. He doesn’t know anyone here except the three of you, but he shows up in a tailored black suit and lets you lead the way in, no complaints. Just quiet presence, fingers brushing the small of your back as you moved through the crowd.

You’re not even halfway through the evening when you run into him.

That classmate—the one who used to flirt with you in that annoying way that always bordered on too much. He hadn’t changed. Same cocky smile, same over-familiar tone, like the years since high school were just a brief intermission. He spots you across the room and makes a beeline over, arms already open before you can brace for it.

His hug lasted a second too long. The kind that wasn’t exactly inappropriate, but lingered. Like he thought he still had some unspoken claim.

And when he pulled back, his eyes did a slow sweep down your dress with a grin that said he liked what he saw—and he didn’t care how obvious he was being about it.

“Wow,” he said, all teeth. “You look amazing. Didn’t think I’d get lucky running into you tonight.”

Zayne is at your side the whole time, calm and unreadable. You introduce them, a little stiffly. The classmate offered his hand, and Zayne took it without hesitation, his grip polite, firm. Nothing dramatic. No cold stare. Just the picture of poised indifference.

But partway through the guy’s rambling attempt at flirtation disguised as nostalgia, Zayne’s hand finds yours. Effortless. Natural. His fingers laced through yours, warm and steady, like he’d been planning it all evening.

And then, without breaking eye contact with the guy, his thumb started brushing slowly across the surface of your wedding ring—over and over, like he was rediscovering the shine, polishing it just so.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

The guy keeps talking a little longer, but there is a shift. His smile dims a shade, that false confidence faltering. And eventually—finally—he made some excuse about needing another drink and walked off with a tighter jaw than before.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t change. He just stands there for a moment, looking in the direction the guy disappeared.

Then, quiet as ever, he murmured, “Interesting choice of cologne.”

You glanced up at him, trying not to smile.

“Pity about the attitude,” he added, like it was an afterthought. Like he was reviewing wine.

You snorted. “Zayne.”

“He was being presumptuous.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t need to.”

You kissed him later that night. Half-laughing, half-pressed-up-against-the-door, telling him how annoyingly hot he was when he got like that. The way he didn’t need to raise his voice to make a point. The way his thumb moved over your ring like he could remind the world it existed without ever having to say the words.

He only said, “I know,” before kissing you again—slow, deep, deliberate.

And the thing was, he did know.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sigh with dramatic satisfaction as you sink deeper into his chest. “What a night.”

Zayne raises an eyebrow without turning his head. “The reunion?”

You tug gently at his cheek, just enough to make him glance down at you. “You know I’m talking about after the reunion. The reunion itself was… fine. Would’ve been better if we hadn’t run into that guy, but hey—the ending? Flawless.”

You wink at him. His mouth doesn’t curve, but his arm shifts around your waist, pulling you just a little closer—like a quiet confirmation that, yes, he remembers exactly how the night ended too.

“Marriage definitely has its advantages,” he says, voice low, almost amused. He lifts your hand with ease and presses a kiss to your knuckles, then to the band on your ring finger. Slow. Purposeful. Like he’s sealing something.

Heat flickers up your neck—ridiculous, really, considering how long you’ve been together. But when he acts like this, all calm devotion wrapped in subtle possessiveness? Yeah, it still does things to you.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, which only earns you a second kiss against your palm to your fingers, as if to say he knows.

Which reminds you—another story, another memory you’re still not over. “And ohhh, remember that nurse?”

Zayne’s brows pinch slightly, thoughtful. “Which one?”

“There’s too many nurses,” you snort, already laughing. You’re about to tease him for being smug when another memory slips in—uninvited, but impossible to forget.

You remember white coats, antiseptic lighting, and a nurse with a clipboard and too much charm—

You tell yourself you’re just dropping by the hospital. Totally normal thing to do. Casual, innocent. Maybe you even threw in a “since I’m already in the area” excuse just to make yourself feel more justified. Not that anyone was buying it—including yourself. But hey, you missed him. Sue you. He’s your husband. You’re allowed to.

Zayne texts that he’s finishing up a case and will meet you in a few minutes, so you linger near the nurses’ station, catching up with Yvonne until she’s paged away.

Left to your own devices, you lean against the counter, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. A few familiar faces pass by, waving or stopping to say hi. At this point, you’re basically a regular—if not by role, then by reputation. Everyone in the cardiology wing knows exactly who you are.

Which is probably why it catches you a little off guard when a nurse you don’t recognize sidles up beside you, clipboard tucked to her chest and a mischievous spark in her eye.

She gives you a once-over—not unfriendly, just… curious. Measuring. “You must be Mrs. Doctor Li,” she says, with the kind of grin that suggests she’s been waiting to use that line.

You blink, smiling politely. “That’s me.”

She sighs dramatically. “Well, now I’m jealous. Visiting your husband again? You sure you don’t wanna switch places for the day?” Her tone is playful, but there’s a tilt to her voice, a nudge to the clipboard, that gives it a little edge. Half-joking, half… not.

You open your mouth to offer some equally light reply, maybe something about how he didn’t do the dishes this morning, so really she’s dodging a bullet—but you don’t get the chance.

Zayne’s presence slides into the scene without warning. He appears at your side with the kind of quiet precision that makes you wonder just how long he’s been standing there. No irritation on his face. No tension in his posture. Just calm, composed Zayne, standing like he’d always been there.

“There’s only one Mrs. Li,” he says, voice smooth and steady. Not sharp. Not cold. Just final.

Then, after a deliberate pause, he added, “No substitutions accepted.”

The nurse’s laugh comes a second too late. “Right, right. Just teasing,” she says as she politely excuses herself.

Zayne didn’t acknowledge that part. His gaze had already shifted fully to you, and though his expression barely changed, there was a slight lift at the corner of his mouth—barely noticeable to anyone else, but you caught it immediately.

You bit back your grin, elbowing him lightly. “Smooth.”

He tilted his head slightly, brushing his knuckles against your back like it was just another ordinary motion. “I’m married,” he said again, quieter this time.

Like it explained everything.

And the thing was—it did. Your stomach did a ridiculous little flip. God, he was good at this.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why are you so popular?” you complain, settling into the couch with a dramatic flop that your current state of pregnancy doesn’t fully allow. This time, Zayne actually helps you lay down slowly, so you successfully lay down.

After that, he’s right back again, still leaning toward you, currently rubbing slow circles into your lower back, glancing down at you with a patient look.

“Actually, don’t answer that,” you add before he can say anything, waving a hand in the air. “Of course my husband’s popular. But.” You let out a long, theatrical sigh. “It’s hard work out here. I’m trying, okay? Being subtle.”

Zayne shifts a little, adjusting the throw blanket over your lap. “You,” he says evenly, “and subtle is not really…”

He tilts his head slightly, searching for the right word, then settles on a diplomatic. “Correct.”

You gasp, swatting weakly at his chest. “Hey! I can be subtle. I’ve done subtle.”

The way he looks at you makes it clear he’s flipping through his internal memory log and finding no evidence to support your claim.

You squint at him. “I have! I think having Serena definitely helped increasing my subtlety.”

Zayne’s hand stills against your back. He gives you a very specific look. A knowing look. One that makes you narrow your eyes right back.

“What?” you say, suspicious.

“The hospital event,” he says, voice smooth. “Not long after Serena was born.”

You blink. “Ah…” you murmur, sinking further into the cushions as the memory catches up—

It’s supposed to be one of those harmless little holiday things—string lights hung too high for anyone to fix properly, half-hearted holiday music looping from a speaker no one could find, and tables covered in everything from fruitcake to suspiciously undercooked mini quiches. The pediatric wing outdoes itself in decorations, and someone even sticks paper antlers on the automatic doors.

You arrive with Serena balanced comfortably on your hip, her winter hat already sliding sideways. Zayne’s fingers lace with yours, his free hand tugging the tiny hat back into place with the same quiet precision he uses for stitching incisions. You’re not technically invited, but no one ever questions you showing up anymore—not when most of the cardiology staff knows Serena by name and you by association.

It’s cozy. Festive. Fine.

Until it isn’t.

She’s young. Polished. One of the newer nurses you haven’t seen before. The kind who probably brings her own hand-poured coffee in every morning and keeps pens organized by color. She drifts over just as Zayne finishes recounting how Serena discovers snow for the first time—specifically by licking a half-buried garden light.

“Oh my God,” she laughs, lightly tapping his arm like she’s known him forever. “You’re such a natural. I mean—look at her.”

You stiffen, just slightly. Zayne, as always, remains composed. Serena stares back at the nurse with the unimpressed expression of a child who’s recently tried to eat a pinecone and been stopped.

The nurse crouches, eyes on Serena, her voice taking on that high-pitched baby-talk edge. “You’re such a daddy’s girl, aren’t you?”

Your smile is immediate. Controlled. Just a little too sharp around the edges. “She is,” you say, your tone smooth as silk.

Then, sweetly—just a beat too slow—

“Just like I am.”

The pause hits like a dropped ornament.

Zayne doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. His fingers tighten around yours—not harsh, not even particularly firm. Just a subtle squeeze. A silent, not here. Not in front of the inflatable Santa.

The nurse blinks. Straightens. Her smile doesn’t falter, but the light behind it dims a notch. “Right,” she says with a laugh, already half-stepping away. “Well—happy Holidays!”

Zayne offers a polite nod.

You watch her walk off with a sip of your lukewarm cocoa, pretending you didn’t just drop a bomb in front of the holiday trees.

Zayne leans in, brushing a kiss to Serena’s temple. Then, quietly, near your ear. “You’re subtle like a sledgehammer.”

You hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That is subtle.”

He gives a small chuckle, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Subtle or not, you do have a way of clearing a room.”

You tilt your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. “And yet you’re always the one standing next to me when the dust settles.”

There’s a flicker in his expression—barely a breath of a smile, but unmistakably fond. His hand finds your back again, calm and warm.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I mean—that was subtle!” you insist, gesturing dramatically like you’re presenting undeniable evidence.

Zayne’s gaze drifts to you with that same unreadable calm, one brow ticking upward—just enough to make his opinion known without a word. The exact same look he gets when you insist that cookies count as a balanced breakfast.

You narrow your eyes at him, already seeing through his silence. “Don’t give me that face.”

His lips press together in that polite, I’m not saying anything expression, which only makes you groan.

“She deserved it!” you declare, throwing your hands up.

“I didn’t say she didn’t,” he replies smoothly, not missing a beat.

“Exactly!” You jab a finger at him, triumphant. “Just like that preschool teacher!”

That earns you a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes—subtle, but you catch it. "Now that you mention it, the one before is definitely subtle."

Just like you both remember it—

It happens the first week of Serena’s new preschool.

Zayne has been picking up Serena for the whole week. He’s been getting night shifts, and he says he likes being the one she sees first when class lets out, as long as he can for now.

You haven’t argued—why would you? Seeing your husband so excited is very cute. So today, you tagged along, half for the company, half to see for yourself where your daughter’s been spending her days.

The building itself is warm and cheerful, the kind of place with sunlight filtering through paper cutout leaves and tiny rain boots lined up like soldiers beneath name-tagged cubbies. You find Serena’s cubby easily—her name spelled in glitter glue above what looks like a drawing of a rabbit. Or a potato. Possibly both.

Then the teacher approaches.

Young. Bright-eyed. The kind of person who always sounds like she’s narrating a children’s book. Which is probably good for preschool, but you’ve been in a mood lately, so you try to rein it in. Try.

“Oh! You must be Serena’s parents,” she chirps, clasping her hands in front of her chest like she’s been waiting all day to greet you. “She’s an absolute sweetheart—so independent! And Dr. Li, we just love when you stop by. It’s so refreshing to see a dad who’s so involved.”

Your smile curls automatically. “He’s very involved.”

She giggles, like that’s the best news she’s heard all week. “You’d be surprised how rare that is. He even helped her get her shoes on last time! I thought that was just the cutest—”

You tilt your head, letting your smile widen by a millimeter. Just enough to shift the air between you.

“Yes,” you say, syrup-thick. “He’s the best. Hands-on dad, great cook, folds laundry without being asked. Fantastic memory. Always remembers everything.”

The teacher blinks, her expression still sunny—but maybe a little confused by the turn of the conversation.

“And,” you add, voice still as warm as a cup of freshly brewed tea, “he’s mine.”

You let that hang a beat before tacking on, casually.

“Want me to say it slower?”

The smile on her face doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. You can see her trying to figure out whether you’re joking—and more importantly, whether it’s safe to laugh.

Zayne clears his throat beside you. “I’ll just… get Serena’s bag.”

And off he goes, calm as ever, not even pretending to hurry.

You watch him go with the slow, deliberate blink of a woman who knows exactly what she just did—and would do it again without hesitation.

The teacher stands there, fingers twisting slightly in the hem of her cardigan. “He’s, um. Very lucky.”

You nod, voice breezy. “He is.”

She moves on—quickly.

And that’s the end of that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I know when someone’s being nice and when they’re being flirty, alright!”

“Yes, darling.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

Zayne raises both hands in a show of innocence, his voice all polite calm as usual. “Me? Making fun my pregnant wife? That’s just harsh.”

You shove him lightly with a scoff, which really only makes him lean into it more. When you push yourself up from the couch, it’s slow going—your hand pressing to the small of your back, a little grunt escaping before you can stop it.

Zayne’s hand is already there to steady you. Of course it is.

You swat him off with a fussy flick of your wrist. “I’m fine.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“I want to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling toward the hallway. “You can leave your pregnant wife alone.”

Behind you, you hear the slight panic in his voice. “Love—”

You turn around, walking backward now with one hand cradling your belly. “Don’t ‘love’ me. You’re popular. Go flirt with someone else.”

His lips twitches—just slightly. “You started this.”

“Oh, please. You got weirdly quiet about that nurse.”

“I was being polite,” he says smoothly. “And strategic. Unlike some people, I don’t threaten strangers in front of the holiday trees.”

You stop your walk and narrow your eyes at him.

Slowly he says, “I mean… I should’ve told them first.”

You huff, “Don’t patronize me!”

Zayne’s mouth opens and closes, like he’s trying to think of a way to reply to his very pregnant, very hormonal wife. You just cross your arms waiting for his reply.

Then finally he settles with. “I’m not patronizing. I’m… negotiating.”

“With who?” Raising your eyebrow at him.

He gestures vaguely between you. “The situation.”

You snort. “Oh, so now I’m a situation?”

“You’re always a situation.”

“You take that back.” You gape at him, half-offended, half-delighted.

He leans in a little. “Make me.”

Your mouth opens again—primed for another dramatic comeback—but instead you let out a laugh that bubbles up before you can stop it. You hate that he’s funny when you’re trying to be serious. You love that he’s funny when you’re trying to be serious.

“Ugh,” you mutter, defeated, and turn to waddle away again. “I should make you go sleep with that inflatable Santa.”

Zayne catches your wrist gently before you can get too far, and this time he doesn’t say anything right away. Just pulls you in with that quiet, careful steadiness of his until your foreheads bump softly together.

His voice is low when it comes. “You know it’s only ever you, right?”

You try—really try—not to melt at that. You fail.

You stare at him, unblinking. “That’s cheating. You can’t just go soft and sweet after arguing your case.”

Zayne’s mouth curves—barely. “I thought you liked it when I went soft and sweet.”

You squint. “Not when it makes me lose.”

He hums, the sound low and amused as he brushes his thumb lightly along your wrist. “You never lose.”

You open your mouth. Pause. Then close it again with a huff because… yeah, okay. That was good. And unfair.

Closing your eyes for a second. Just a second. you finally murmur, “And yeah,” softer now. “I know, it’s the same for me—you’re the only one, too. Then and now.”

He leans in, brushing a kiss just under your brow, the barest hint of a smile in his voice when he says, “Even when you’re being ridiculous.”

You sigh dramatically. “That’s your favorite version of me.”

“It’s the only one I get.”

You try not to smile. Fail again. With a long-suffering sigh that doesn't quite hide your fondness, you mutter, “You’re lucky I’m too much in a need of cuddles to make you sleep on the couch.”

“My wife does say I give best cuddles,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your temple again—soft and steady, like the kind of promise that doesn't need to be spoken out loud.

You lean into it without meaning to. Maybe you’re a little tired. Maybe you're just too in love to keep pretending you're mad.

“…Fine,” you mutter. “You can come to bed.”

“Thank you for your mercy.”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

He doesn’t. He just smiles—barely there, but warm—and shifts his hand to your back again, that familiar pressure you’ve come to depend on more than you’d ever admit out loud.

And so you let him guide you, quiet and close, down the hallway and into the hush of your shared space. Feet aching. Belly heavy. Heart annoyingly full.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

My stubborn ass make me finish this today even though I should be sleeping, so if there's any typo excuses me and please point it out 😵💕 Also this is way shorter I suppose, I mean in term of snippet it feel shorter, or that might just be me ;-; Anyway! Hope y'all enjoy! Let me know actually, this is also a new angle...

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

Although if you missed the Newlyweds series! Here How it all happen And also the Pregnancy series, starting with Try For Baby