#bald now. for the plot

[shystrawberries]

[an-established-butt-dent]

"What have they done to you,

Old friend."

Trapped in the fade, Solas comes face to face with the remnant of his spirit.

The Dread Wolf was his wisdom, mirror to his pride. In the wake of the wrathful Evanuris, it too, has succumbed to their taint.

Or, where I'm making wild plot speculations surrounding Solas trapped in the fade. while turning my brainrot into art pieces and gifs. I'M PACING MY ENCLOSURE. Looking for crumbs and scrabs of Veilguard. Please Bioware I'm begging, feed me. 😭

[quirkle2]

PLEASE PLEASE TALK ABOUT THE LEGENDS ARCEUS AU I'M SO NORMAL ABOUT IT <- LYING I AM NOT NORMAL

HI WE'LL BOTH BE NORMAL TOGETHER

(uhm warning for injury/blood/whump, parental death, uhhhhhhhhh fire? a lot happens (also idk if the read more thing has been fixed so let's pray. i refuse to smack these long ass paragraphs in front of innocent bystanders (this is so long. im so sorry)))

ok so reigen is the professor of the galaxy expedition team and u may be wondering how he got that job: lying :)! he claims he knows everything abt pokemon and that he's been studying them his whole life when in reality he's not even totally sure how many pkmn types there are. granted, the rest of the team doesn't either, so his ability to bluff himself out of any given situation is massively helped by their cluelessness

he just wants to sleep in a bed with blankets and eat food to survive and lying into the professor position was the quickest way he saw to get there. he'd been wandering in the wilderness for a while since coming to hisui before that and it kinda sucked. bro just wants a house in this crippling economy

mob n ritsu were originally from another village! they don't meet reigen until mob is 9 (ritsu 8). there's no powers in this au but mob's whole shtick is that he takes the,, extreme pacifist route i guess? he thinks pokemon r to be respected and loved and Not Bothered and he's against the use of pokeballs to store them and commanding them to battle each other, etc. essentially if he were in a modern era he'd think the way present-time people treat pkmn is, for the most part, cruel

anyway their hometown gets attacked by pkmn and the village is destroyed. their parents die protecting them, so 9-year-old mob was left to fend for himself n his little brother alone. they travel together kinda aimlessly for 7ish months until they get remarkably (unknowingly) close to jubilife village and come across that giant fuckin rapidash before the bridge

it's their first alpha pkmn encounter. neither of them have pkmn to defend themselves with (mob's reason: he ain't like that. ritsu's reason: He Is Eight and Scared). mob has always been able to empathize w pkmn a lot and sorta get a read on what they're thinking, so the vibes comin off that rapidash were rancid and he was worried abt it. mob has never been afraid of pkmn, not even the rly big and scary looking ones. so he approaches it with the intention of calming it down, seeing what's hurting it. he makes ritsu stay back in case things go bad

he's kicked in the head. if u forgot how big that rapidash is just google it. the hooves r the size of ur player character's head and ur player character is like 15. mob is 9. the fact that he doesn't die immediately upon impact is a miracle. the fact that he survives longer than 5 seconds after the fact is basically divine intervention

the doodle i made in the top left corner of ritsu screaming is this ^ encounter. he watches it happen, and then watches in horror more as the rapidash panics at ritsu's scream and rolls a flame wheel over his brother's limp form. ritsu manages to dive for him and run, but the kid is thoroughly terrified and traumatized

i'll spare u the horrid bits but long story short ritsu finds a cave to settle in and while he's rly inexperienced with medical treatment he does his best. his best isn't very good in the grand scheme of things but him being 8 is a pretty damn good excuse. he camps out there for Three Whole Days waiting for his brother to wake up or respond to literally anything but it isn't happening and the longer this goes on for the more terrified ritsu gets

mob's taught him how to survive pretty well all things considered, but ritsu is a lot more worried abt mob than taking care of himself and he ends up neglecting his own needs pretty fiercely. he feels too sick w guilt/fear to eat. he tries to stay up as long as he can in case mob stirs. by the end of it he's pretty worse for wear too

reigen finds them while out in the field doing research (wasting time). he sees a little kid half stuck in a bush looking for berries and when reigen tries to get his attention ritsu, who is extremely on edge and sleep deprived and scared, just straight up screams at him. reigen sees his dirty clothes and skinny arms and flushed face (fever. definitely fever) and alarm bells ring in his head to not let the kid go no matter what cuz he Will lose him otherwise

once ritsu gets his bearings and realizes this is a human (first one other than mob he's seen in forever) and not a pokemon coming to kill him he starts crying to him abt his brother and reigen feels his heart drop to his stomach bc if This kid is worried about a brother who is supposedly worse off,,, dear god

ritsu leads reigen to mob. the dressings around his arm where he was burnt are completely incorrect and most definitely horribly infected and ritsu didn't rly do Anything for the head injury other than clean the blood away bc well. again. he's 8. idek if eight year olds know what concussions are

reigen BOOKS it back to jubilife faster than he's ever ran and halfway through he realizes ritsu has passed out in his arms too (kid's probably exhausted beyond belief. reigen has no idea how long they've been like this but he guesses a while) everybody in the village is kinda horrified when the professor comes back with two hurt kids, one of which is on death's door. the medical team there does everything they can

it takes a while for mob to wake up, but thankfully he does in the end. reigen finds out thru ritsu that they've been alone for "a long time" (ritsu doesn't know. doesn't rly remember. reigen asks mob when he wakes up and mob says he stopped counting somewhere after day 140)

even though mob still isn't quite back to his old self and is still generally confused and Slightly Off, the doctors say he'll be okay after a few weeks and reigen has unintentionally gotten very attached to these kids. ritsu had told him their parents died during the attack on their village. they have nowhere else to go, and like hell is Any member of this village gonna be happy with simply throwing them out into the wilderness again. so reigen takes them in

anyway that's how they meet <3 GVEYAI mob is back to his normal self (the occasional Moment of Confusion comes around from the brain injury, but they taper off after a while) and reigen is very much surprised to see that mob, as ritsu has described to him, still very much loves every pkmn he comes across. he gets a bit nervous around rapidashes in particular, but other than that, mob is still just as caring and just as respectful as ritsu described him to be. ritsu is scared of bigger pkmn like any other kid is. mob is an exception, even after that experience.

reigen waits about a year so that they have time to settle and recover (and so that he has time to observe), and then he gives them each a pokemon. this might seem odd, but mob has never expressed any ill will toward Any pkmn, and ritsu still smiles at the smaller ones

he gives them a choice between the pla starters that have been hanging around his office. mob picks cyndaquil and names her cindy. ritsu picks rowlet and doesn't name him at all (this gives reigen pause, but ritsu seems to have a new fire in his eyes, so he brushes the worry away)

when they're of age (mob waits for ritsu to reach 13. they do everything together) they both join the survery corps, and mob ends up becoming reigen's assistant :]! reigen is admittedly a little worried abt this development, about his kids going out into the wild, but they both seem ready for it (ritsu seems ... a little Too ready for it considering his past) so he relents

mob has made his opinions about pkmn clear, especially to reigen, and reigen has ended up adopting some of his ideals since he met him bc they,, well thwy sound reasonable. they sound nice. mob doesn't ever put cindy in a pokeball, and cindy had never once been in a battle other than play fights with rowlet. mob treats cindy like any other normal pet, like a friend. he looks at those boxes of pokeballs in reigen's office with a frown. he finds the idea of fighting pkmn in the wild for sport despicable. he openly scratches out the pokedex tasks like "defeat 10 times" with disdain. reigen starts seeing another world that he never rly considered before, with mob

this is where reigen senses some,,, tension, between the boys. ritsu evolves his rowlet into a dartrix remarkably quickly since joining the survey corps, and not even a few weeks later he's a got decidueye on his side. ritsu catches pokemon left and right and if they're "not strong enough" he keeps them in pokeballs until he remembers they exist again. he works on building a team with no weaknesses, or as few weaknesses as possible. bro invents competitive pkmn

obviously, mob sees this and ,,, doesn't like it. he doesn't like how Distant ritsu is with his pokemon, with creatures that he wholeheartedly believes should be treated as friends or family. he doesn't name any of them, he spends nearly all his earned money from the survey corps on items that boost their strength, but almost no money toward items for comfort, or even treats, or toys. ritsu treats his team like they're tools. the relationship between ritsu and his pkmn is,, strained. mob can sense they aren't nearly as happy as they could be

but mob knows that he can't just,, police ritsu on how he should handle his own pokemon. he may not agree with how ritsu approaches the subject, or with how ritsu's first instinct for anything pkmn is usually "fight it," but mob knows ritsu Does like pkmn. ritsu's never hated pkmn, he's just,,, scared of them, sometimes. he thinks maybe this is his way of making himself feel protected. mob doesn't like the idea of taking that away from him, no matter how much seeing ritsu refrain from giving his team a break grinds on his soul

little does he know, ritsu's strictness with his pkmn isn't born out of a fear for himself at all. he's building a dependable team to protect his brother. that's the whole reason he's doing this, the whole reason he didn't name rowlet when he first got him. ritsu knew that if he were to do this, he couldn't get attached to them, bc losing pokemon in fights is a very real possibility. it's been drilled into each and every one of his pkmn's heads that they r to protect mob at all costs. if there's a repeat of That incident, ritsu doesn't think he can handle it (>:])

WOW THIS IS ALREADY SO LONG i haven't even gotten to the kleavor part yet. fuck. if ur still reading this can i have ur hand in marriage /silly

OKAY SO . The Game's Plot comes in, finally. took long enough. reigen starts getting reports of frenzied nobles and he's most worried abt kleavor bc it's rather close to them, and the village could very well be in danger if kleavor decides to say fuck you in particular. so reigen goes Hey This is an Actual Threat That Needs My Attention I Have to be Competent For a Sec and spends the next few weeks tirelessly searching for an answer for this kleavor. some of the staff have already gotten mauled by it. reigen cannot ignore this and put it on somebody else like he usually does

the whole town is getting antsy, and mob most definitely notices. ritsu's jumpy all the time anymore, like he expects kleavor to rampage through the streets any second now. reigen looks tired and worn down, and he's been coming home later and later. mob watches as reigen makes plans to use force against kleavor with a sour taste in his mouth. he tries to tell reigen that force isn't the answer here. reigen, bless him, doesn't know how to tell a kid that friendship and rainbows isn't always the answer

after another week or so, mob's had enough. they've gotten nowhere closer to calming kleavor and more people have gotten injured, so mob quietly writes a note and leaves it on his bed, makes sure he doesn't wake up ritsu or cindy, and leaves the house before reigen comes home. he sneaks out over the fence so the guards at the gate don't catch him. he sets off to go see kleavor

he fully and truly believes that force is not the answer. he fully and truly believes that if he goes up to kleavor with no pokemon to fight it with, no weapons or spears pointed at it, and just a calm voice and peaceful demeanor, kleavor will see there is no danger. the galaxy team's previous attempts have all centered around violence and scare tactics. nobody has recently come up to its territory without posing a threat. mob genuinely just thinks that kleavor needs calm

reigen finds the note. freaks the fuck out. immediately rounds up every person in the village that's capable of fighting and they march out of the village to save a kid who's in way over his head. reigen makes ritsu Promise him that he will not leave the village. he can see it in ritsu's eyes, the way he wants nothing more than the come with them, but reigen gives the argument that ritsu is their strongest soldier back home and they still need to protect the village from anything else while everybody's gone. it takes all of ritsu's self-control to not go against him (he's fully set on coming with them until reigen Grips him by the arms and says "i can't lose both of you.")

mob's plan does end up working in the end, but not quite perfectly and not at all in a good way. he steps into kleavor's territory and has it calm at first, but smth changes in kleavor's eyes and whatever Force that's corrupting it surges and kleavor snaps.

mob gets Fucked Up by that thing. sliced and thrown and clawed until he can barely stand up to run away, but it's the last blow that matters. kleavor comes down on him with a chop right to his middle and everything stops. there's a sizeable gash that cuts through mob's side horizontally and kleavor's axe is stuck in the flesh there, but once mob isn't moving anymore and nothing is making kleavor afraid, the fog in its brain clears and it sees what it's done

it also sees that mob is still awake, and despite everything kleavor did to him, he's still looking at it like he knows its capacity for gentleness. even through the pain mob looks at kleavor like he Knows this isn't what it's rly like. and as soon as mob sees the light return to kleavor's eyes he smiles, blood gurgling in his throat

kleavor hears shouts from the forest, sees torchlight and panicked yells for mob. it doesn't know what to do, don't like what it sees, what it Did to this poor kid. it winces when it has to slide its axe out from the gash in mob's side—the squelch it makes and the Noise mob lets out is the last thing kleavor needs to book it

u can only imagine how fuckin hysterical reigen feels when he sees mob on the ground like that. they brought half of the medical team just in case and reigen is rly glad they did bc if they didn't there's a good chance mob would've bled out right there within a few minutes.

he's in rly rly bad shape and is barely conscious by the time reigen grabs his face and tells him itll be okay. they bring him back to the village at record pace and every minute they take he looks paler. reigen is so scared the kid's going to die in his arms before they even get there

when they get to the gates someone from the medical team takes him from reigen's arms. reigen hears ritsu scream. the kid's shoving people away who're trying to comfort him and beelining his way to mob, but reigen catches him before he can fully see the damage bc he does Not want that bloody mess to be in ritsu's nightmares for the rest of his life

ritsu fights him and pushes him and shoves him away, screaming that he just wants to see his brother, but reigen holds him back and he ends up pulling ritsu close when the kid loses steam and just starts sobbing into his chest

to ritsu, he's failed again. to reigen, he's failed them both. to mob, despite holding onto the living world by a thread, he succeeded.

anyway that's the story so far VGEAYVUA I HAVEN'T .. FIGURED OUT TERU YET. or dimple. i know the gist of i how i want teru and mob's meeting to go tho. teru is just like ritsu but like . Worse when it comes to pokemon. uses them as tools and doesn't even rly think of them as sentient at all. until he meets mob that is :]

i'm thinkin he's the warden of sneasler! and yaknow what, just for shits n giggles and bc i love ingo too much to get rid of him, what if ingo is teru's unofficial teacher. what if. wouldn't that be fuckin hilarious and completely ruin any sense of consistency here. what if (it's happening)

i'm also pretty set on making dimple one of the wisps from the spiritomb quest that ends up following mob around. that's fitting i think

[violentlydefending]

genuinely always so shocked to see mirei hate. like literally god forbid women do anything.

[rollingpenguin]

Reddit Poster was secretly giving an excuse to wipe out humanity without anyone physically suffering and whilst getting rid of something many view as an issue in the process, but you guys had to out them before they could put the plan into action didn't you

reddit is entering like an inverted renaissance of bad posting. this is one of the best/worst posts ive seen in a long time

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Ruin a Plot || Jade Leech

When you end up as the villainess in a story that's hellbent on making her suffer for no reason, you decide to make the main characters suffer just for catharsis. Good thing that your fiancé, Jade Leech seems to like chaos as much as you.

Series Masterlist

Dinner wasn’t much to write home about—a plate of lukewarm spaghetti that could generously be described as "functional," paired with a salad so sad it could star in its own soap opera. But you had something better: entertainment.

And by entertainment, you meant the literary dumpster fire currently sitting in your hands.

This book. This book.

The plot was so catastrophically terrible that it looped around to being hilarious. You chewed your subpar spaghetti and flipped a page, trying not to laugh too hard at the sheer absurdity of what you were reading.

The villainess, a talented duchess and renowned potion maker, was saddled with some of the worst clients in existence. The saintess—of course, she was a saintess, because originality was clearly out of the question—was engaged to the Duke of the North. Why? Who knows. It wasn’t like they seemed to like each other. In fact, she was also having a very public affair with the prince.

And not just any prince. A balding prince.

Because nothing screams “romantic rival” like the slow and tragic retreat of one’s hairline.

They were both the worst. The kind of people who would demand a 12-step skincare routine from their servants but would balk at paying them a living wage. When the villainess refused to make them more potions for ridiculous requests like “immunity to insults” (seriously?), they decided to frame her for crimes and have her executed.

The sheer audacity.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. The villainess had a fiancé—Jade Leech, poor guy—who tried his best to help her escape. And what did she do? Sacrificed herself so he wouldn’t get dragged into her mess. Noble, sure, but also infuriating because she died for them.

And then Jade, now heartbroken and understandably bitter, became the main antagonist. Only to be defeated by the same cartoonishly bland protagonists who caused the entire mess.

It was like someone handed a six-year-old a book contract and said, “Go wild, kid. Just make sure it has betrayal and love triangles, and throw in some magic potions or something.”

You forked another sad tangle of spaghetti into your mouth and tried not to choke from laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. The characters had all the depth of a kiddie pool, the plot holes were big enough to drive a carriage through, and the pacing? What pacing? This story had clearly decided pacing was for cowards.

You flipped to another page, nearly snorting when the saintess justified her affair by saying, “It’s what the goddess would want."

Sure, Jan.

And just as you were about to take another bite of dinner, it happened.

A mushroom. A mushroom.

You didn’t even realize it had slipped into your spaghetti until it was already lodged in your throat. Panic set in as you clawed at your neck, gasping for air while your brain helpfully supplied one last thought:

Can’t believe a mushroom took me out. Goddammit.

And then everything went dark.

The first thing you notice is the carpet: thick, plush, and entirely too luxurious for someone who had been laughing themselves to death over garbage-tier literature just moments ago. The second thing you notice is that you’re alive, which is great. Except you’re no longer in your cozy little living room.

No, you’re in a gothic mansion straight out of an interior decorator's fever dream. Dark wood, brooding paintings, and vials of suspicious liquids lined up neatly on shelves. For a second, you think you’ve wandered into a Dracula fan convention, but then it hits you.

The novel. The Poisoned Duchess and the Frozen Heart of the North.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding. “No. No, no, no, no,” you mutter, sprinting to the nearest mirror. A familiar (and obnoxiously beautiful) face stares back at you. Elegant curls, piercing eyes, and an expression that could curdle milk. Yep. You’re the Duchess—the villainess who gets executed for daring to have standards.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan, gripping the edge of the vanity. “I was just making fun of this! How did I end up here? Is this karma? Did the mushroom do this?!”

You spend a good ten minutes pacing the room, muttering to yourself like a squirrel with a caffeine problem. “Okay, okay, think. The Saintess and the Prince are nuts, and they’re gonna come here demanding potions for their ridiculous nonsense like ‘immunity to sarcasm’ or whatever. Solution? Close the shop. Sell it. Let some other poor soul deal with their unhinged requests. Genius! But what next? What about the fiancé—oh god, Jade!”

Jade Leech. The fiancé you had casually dismissed in your tirade against the novel. The one who was supposed to be self-sacrificing, and eventually doomed. But now he’s your fiancé, and you’re not about to let him become collateral damage in this flaming dumpster fire of a plot.

“We’ll run away!” you declare, pointing dramatically at an imaginary horizon. “We’ll elope, move to some peaceful countryside, grow tomatoes, and live a happy, Saintess-free life. Screw the plot. Screw the Duke. Screw the Saintess and her balding fiancé—”

You’re mid-sentence when the sound of a door opening interrupts your theatrical monologue. You spin around and freeze.

Standing in the doorway is Jade Leech himself. And oh boy, the novel did not do him justice. His sharp features, soft teal hair, and piercing eyes make your brain short-circuit. The man looks like he walked out of an ethereal fairy tale and promptly decided to make everyone else look like peasants.

He leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, and raises a brow. “Well, this is quite the scene to walk into.”

You blink. And then you blink again, because your brain is still stuck on handsome fiancé alert. “Uh…”

Jade smirks, clearly amused. “Is this a private performance, or can anyone join? Because I’m not sure who you’re planning to screw, but it sounds… ambitious.”

You want to die all over again. “I—uh, would you… like to join my plans?”

His eyes gleam with mischief. “Plans, you say? That depends. Do these plans involve anything more exciting than managing a potion shop?”

“Yes! So much more exciting!” you blurt out. “We close the shop, sell it, cause some chaos, run away, and live happily ever after far away from this stupid place! No Saintess. No Duke. Just… us. Tomatoes. Maybe a goat.”

Jade chuckles, the sound warm and entirely too pleasant for your frazzled state of mind. “You’ve certainly caught my interest. All right, I’m in. A little chaos sounds much better than… whatever normalcy is supposed to look like.”

He steps closer, and you swear your brain bluescreens again because wow, personal space doesn’t exist here, huh? Jade offers his hand, his smile sharp but oddly sincere. “So, where do we start, my prodigal Duchess?”

You take his hand, still half-dazed. “Step one: Screw the Saintess.”

He laughs again. “Now that’s the kind of plan I can get behind.”

Meeting Jade's brother was like getting hit by a rogue wave of chaos. You'd thought Jade was the wild card of the family, but then Floyd Leech burst into the room like a hurricane wearing a grin.

He looked at you with an intensity that made you feel like you were being appraised for your entertainment value, then immediately announced, "You wanna screw with the Saintess and the Duke? Oh, I’m in.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then at Jade, who gave you an apologetic shrug, clearly used to Floyd’s… energy. You decided, then and there, that you were extremely lucky to have been paired with the Leech brother who at least pretended to respect social norms.

Floyd, however, was a force of nature and, admittedly, a useful one. He seemed far too enthusiastic about the chaos you were planning, but hey, when life gives you a human typhoon, you use it to wreak havoc.

Then there was Azul Ashengrotto. Meeting him felt less like talking to a person and more like negotiating with an overly polite shark. “I can provide you protection,” he said smoothly, pushing a contract toward you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You glanced at the contract, then back at him. “And what does this… "protection" demand in return?”

“Oh, nothing too demanding,” Azul said, waving his hand as if it was all very casual. “Just a few favors in return. Small things, really.”

You stared at the fine print and felt your soul start to sweat. This wasn’t just protection—it was a fast track to selling your soul to the fish mafia.

“Tell you what,” you said, shoving the contract back toward him. “I’ll sell the potion shop to you for cheap if you help me with whatever plans I come up with.”

Azul tilted his head, intrigued. “And what’s in it for me?”

“You get to own the best potion shop in the kingdom without dealing with the Saintess and her entourage of entitlement.”

His eyes gleamed. “Done. But if you get arrested, you won’t mention my name.”

“Deal,” you said, shaking his hand. Internally, you made a note to burn the shop down if things went south. Better a pile of ash than Azul owning it and your dignity.

The next day, you decided to drop by a boutique to prepare for the Saintess’s tea party. Not because you cared about the event, but because you cared very deeply about ruining her day.

You knew exactly what she was planning to wear—some pastel monstrosity—and you were determined to outshine her. You’d wear an upgraded version of her outfit, but classier, sharper, and absolutely dripping with pettiness.

The boutique owner was taking your measurements when you told them to send the bill to your butler. That was when Jade, who had been quietly browsing nearby, strolled over. He casually slid his arm around your waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and said, “Send the bill to me.”

You whipped around, scandalized. “Excuse me?!”

He leaned in, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just want everyone to know you’re my fiancée,” he murmured, his voice low and entirely too close to your ear.

Your brain promptly blue-screened. He was too close, his scent too distracting, and his hand on your waist was doing things to your equilibrium. The boutique owner pretended not to notice your obvious malfunction, but Jade? Jade looked like he was having the time of his life.

“Fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you tried to collect the scattered pieces of your dignity.

“Good,” Jade said, his smirk widening.

He didn’t let go of you after that. Oh no, he kept his hand firmly on the small of your back as you left the boutique. Every step was an exercise in not collapsing from the sheer audacity of his touch.

Meanwhile, Jade looked perfectly at ease, as if his sole purpose in life was to see how long it would take you to spontaneously combust.

By the time you got back to the mansion, you were sure of one thing: Jade Leech was going to be the death of you, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

The tea party was shaping up to be the highlight of your career as a petty agent of chaos. You arrived late, naturally—nothing screams “I’m better than you” quite like waltzing in when everyone’s already seated.

The moment you stepped into the pavilion, a collective gasp swept through the crowd. Your dress—custom-tailored, one-of-a-kind, and effortlessly overshadowing every other outfit there—practically glowed in the sunlight.

The Saintess, perched at the head of the table, turned to greet you, her expression instantly souring when she caught sight of your gown. Oh, you could practically hear the cogs in her head screeching to a halt as she realized you’d completely outdone her.

“Oh my,” you said, offering a demure smile as you made your way to your seat. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice as sweet as arsenic. “What a… bold choice of dress.”

“Oh, this?” You gestured casually, as though you weren’t wearing something that could stop traffic. “My fiancé picked it out for me. He has such excellent taste, don’t you think?”

You didn’t need to look directly at her to see the way her jaw clenched. You could feel her rage simmering from across the table. After all, her own fiancé, or even the Balding Prince, hadn’t bothered to buy her a dress, let alone one that could compete with yours. You almost felt bad for her. Almost.

From there, the afternoon devolved into a series of increasingly petty power plays.

When the Saintess poured herself a cup of tea, you made a point to remark on how “rustic” her teapot was.

When she complimented the garden’s flowers, you chimed in with, “Oh, are these the same ones you tried to grow last year? I remember hearing how they all died!”

Every little comment was a carefully aimed dart, and she was too polite—or perhaps too afraid of snapping in public—to retaliate. The guests, of course, were eating it up.

The pièce de résistance came when the Balding Prince himself approached you during the party.

“I need a potion,” he said, puffing himself up like a rooster trying to assert dominance. “For my, uh, hair.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all the scenarios you’d envisioned, this was not one of them.

“Your hair?” you echoed, doing your best to keep a straight face. “What kind of potion are we talking about here? Growth? Volume? Shine?”

The Prince’s eye twitched. “That’s… none of your business,” he snapped.

Before you could respond, Jade—bless him—“accidentally” bumped into the Prince from behind, sending his ridiculous feathered hat tumbling to the ground.

The gasp that followed was deafening.

There it was, in all its glory: the shiny, blinding expanse of the Prince’s balding crown, gleaming like a beacon of despair in the afternoon sun.

For a moment, the pavilion was silent. Then someone coughed. Then someone else giggled. And before long, the entire tea party was a symphony of poorly stifled laughter.

“It’s, uh, a royal tradition!” the Prince stammered, clutching his hat and jamming it back onto his head. “A sign of wisdom and… and…”

He trailed off, clearly out of excuses, and fled the scene faster than you’d ever seen anyone run in formalwear.

The Saintess looked like she was about to implode. Unfortunately for her, the Third Male Lead (Yes, there were 3 of them) chose that exact moment to swoop in, all charm and wit as he began lavishing her with attention. You leaned back in your chair, sipping your tea and basking in the chaos like a cat who’d just knocked over an entire shelf of priceless antiques.

“Nice work,” you murmured to Jade, holding up your hand for a discreet high five.

Instead of obliging, he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours, the smirk on his face practically criminal.

“You’re far more fun than I expected,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You stared at him, your brain immediately short-circuiting. Your default response to most situations was sarcasm or snark, but this? This was uncharted territory.

“Uh… thanks?” you managed, your voice coming out embarrassingly squeaky.

Jade chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as if to emphasize just how flustered you were.

“Come on,” he said, his tone far too casual for someone who’d just ruined you in front of an audience. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

He kept his hand on the small of your back as you walked away from the pavilion, and you were pretty sure your soul left your body every time he leaned in to whisper some biting comment about the Saintess or her rapidly expanding collection of admirers.

One thing was certain: you were having the time of your life, and this was only the beginning.

The day begins innocently enough, which should have been your first warning.

You’re peacefully reading in the library, enjoying the silence, when Floyd barrels in like a hurricane. “Oi, c’mon, you gotta help me!” he hisses, grabbing your wrist before you can protest.

“Help you with what?” you manage to ask as you’re dragged down the corridor, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“It’s Jade,” Floyd says ominously. “He’s made mushrooms again.”

Ah, that explains it. You’ve heard rumors about Jade’s culinary experiments, but you’d yet to experience them firsthand.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Floyd grins, the kind of grin that promises nothing good. “Well, I told him you love mushrooms.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You what?”

Before you can bolt, Floyd shoves you through the greenhouse door and slams it shut behind you.

Inside, the room is warm and humid, filled with the earthy scent of soil and plants. At the far end, Jade is bent over a terrarium, meticulously arranging its contents with tweezers.

He looks up when he hears you enter, his expression brightening. “Ah, you’re here!”

Your heart sinks.

Floyd’s words echo in your mind—you love mushrooms. If only he knew. Mushrooms were the reason you got isekai’d in the first place, and the trauma of choking on one is still fresh in your memory. But now, faced with Jade’s expectant gaze and a plate of what looks like sautéed mushrooms on the table, you realize you’re trapped.

“Floyd said you were eager to try these,” Jade says, his tone polite but unmistakably pleased.

You glance at the mushrooms, then back at Jade. He looks so hopeful, like someone who’s spent hours perfecting a recipe and is finally sharing it with someone who’ll appreciate it. You swallow hard.

“Of course!” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I love mushrooms.”

You sit down at the table, and Jade places the plate in front of you. The mushrooms actually smell... good. Earthy and buttery, with a hint of garlic and herbs.

“Bon appétit,” he says, watching you intently.

You pick up a fork, your hands trembling slightly, and stab a piece. You can do this, you tell yourself. It’s not the mushroom’s fault you died. It’s just food.

With one final breath, you pop the piece into your mouth.

...It’s delicious.

The flavor is rich and savory, perfectly balanced, and the texture is tender without being mushy. You blink in surprise, then take another bite.

“Good?” Jade asks, and there’s a slight smugness in his tone.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from eating more.

Jade’s smile widens, and something in his expression softens.

After finishing the plate, you linger in the greenhouse as Jade continues tending to his terrariums. You watch him work, his hands deft and precise as he rearranges moss, misting the plants with care.

“Need help with anything?” you ask, feeling unexpectedly at ease.

He glances at you, then gestures to a nearby shelf. “If you don’t mind organizing the vials, that would be helpful.”

You nod and get to work, sorting the various bottles of nutrients and spores while Jade hums softly under his breath. The atmosphere is peaceful, the kind of quiet that feels alive rather than stifling.

Once the terrariums are in perfect order, Jade brews a pot of tea, and you both sit at a small table nestled among the plants. The tea is fragrant, its warmth soothing as you take a sip.

Jade sits across from you, one hand resting lightly on the table. Absentmindedly, you reach out and place your hand over his.

He freezes for a moment, his eyes flicking to your joined hands. His usual calm demeanor falters, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “You’re quite bold,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of nervousness in his voice.

You suppress a grin, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before turning your attention back to your tea. “And you’re holding my hand,” you point out casually.

“I suppose I am,” he says, his voice steady again, though his ears are noticeably red.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, sipping tea and enjoying the greenhouse’s serenity. Jade, ever the polite menace, pretends to be unfazed, but you catch him glancing at your joined hands more than once.

You smile into your cup, the taste of mushrooms and tea lingering on your tongue.

You wake up to the sound of maniacal laughter, the kind that belongs to either an evil overlord or someone who just discovered how to unlock infinite in-game currency. For one groggy moment, you wonder if the devil himself has come to collect you for your sins. But as your eyes flutter open, reality (and dread) sets in.

It’s not the devil. It’s Floyd.

“Why?” you croak, sitting up in your chair and rubbing your eyes. “Why are you like this?”

Jade, ever the epitome of composed chaos, is sitting calmly across from you, sipping tea and looking highly amused. “Ah, you’re awake,” he says with a smile that suggests nothing good is about to happen.

“I had the best idea!” Floyd exclaims, still cackling. “It’s gonna be hilarious!”

Jade gives you a knowing look, the kind that says, This is going to be a disaster, but I want to watch it unfold.

You should probably shut this down. You should. But instead, you wave a hand and mumble, “Sure, go wild.”

It turns out “wild” was underselling it.

Floyd’s “brilliant” idea? Convince the Saintess to organize a grand sword-fighting competition under the premise that the Balding Prince would absolutely win. To no one’s surprise (except maybe the Saintess), she fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“She’s been gushing about how he’s ‘a natural-born warrior,’” Floyd reports gleefully during the planning phase. “She’s even betting on him!”

You glance at Jade, who is practically glowing with smug anticipation. That should have been your first clue to intervene. Instead, you shrug and think, Eh, it’ll be fine.

It was, in fact, not fine.

When the announcement of the tournament goes public, the Balding Prince—bless his fragile ego—realizes he has a slight problem. Namely, the fact that he’s never held a sword in his life, let alone used one. Naturally, he comes crawling to you.

“I need a potion,” he demands, his tone somewhere between entitled and desperate. “To, uh, enhance my… swordsmanship.”

You lean back in your chair, trying to look unimpressed. “Oh, I don’t sell potions anymore,” you say airily.

The Prince glares at you, his bald spot gleaming under the room’s chandelier. “I’ll pay you.”

“You can’t afford me.”

“How about enough gold to fund your entire territory for the next twenty years?”

You sit up straight. “You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness.”

The potion you make for him is top-notch—for two hours. After that, well, let’s just say it’s going to be a long day for the Balding Prince.

The tournament goes about as chaotically as you expect. Jade, a genuinely skilled swordsman, carves his way through every round with ease. The Prince, meanwhile, is barely holding on, relying entirely on the potion to scrape by. Somehow, by sheer luck and Floyd’s endless meddling, the Prince manages to make it to the final round.

By this point, the Saintess is practically glowing with excitement, convinced her fiancé is about to cement his status as a legendary warrior. “He’s going to win for sure!” she squeals, clapping her hands.

You sip your tea, barely suppressing your smirk. Oh, sweet summer child.

The final round begins with Jade and the Prince stepping into the arena. The crowd roars with anticipation. The Saintess is preening in the stands, while the Empress looks vaguely mortified, as though she knows what’s about to happen but can’t stop it.

And then, right on cue, the potion wears off.

The Prince’s stance falters immediately, his grip on the sword going from “warrior” to “child holding a bat for the first time.” Jade doesn’t even have to try. One expertly placed strike sends the Prince’s weapon flying across the arena, and the match ends with the Prince sprawled on the ground, dazed and defeated.

The crowd erupts into laughter, and you’re pretty sure you see the Emperor facepalm.

To add insult to injury, the Emperor himself has to present the winner’s diadem to Jade. But instead of wearing it himself, Jade turns to you with a wicked grin.

“For you, my dear,” he says, placing the diadem on your head with a flourish.

The crowd loses it.

The Empress looks like she’s contemplating disowning her son on the spot. The Saintess bursts into tears and flees the arena, with the Prince stumbling after her, trying to explain his humiliating defeat.

You, meanwhile, stand in the center of the chaos, smiling peacefully.

“This,” you murmur, “is the best day of my life.”

The market was lively, the kind of lively that felt one loose cart wheel away from utter chaos. You’d gone there to buy something mundane—perhaps herbs, maybe a decorative pot, who even remembered anymore? What you did remember was spotting Azul, impeccably dressed as usual, standing at a stall that sold ornamental quills.

“Azul!” you called out, dragging Jade with you as you made your way over.

Azul turned, one brow arching as he spotted the two of you. “Ah, the duchess and her ever-present shadow. What brings you here?”

“Just window shopping,” you said vaguely, though Jade’s sudden fascination with terrarium accessories suggested otherwise.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, the three of you were headed to a charming little café. It had the kind of ambiance that said, I’m wildly overpriced, but look at our aesthetic! Jade held the door open for you, and you stepped inside, marveling at the array of desserts in the display case.

You barely had time to settle into your seat when the atmosphere shifted.

There she was.

The Saintess.

You tried to ignore her, truly, but her obnoxious aura was as subtle as a bull in a porcelain shop. She was seated nearby, flanked by her entourage of lackeys. They whispered, they giggled, and they kept looking at you. You rolled your eyes and leaned closer to Jade and Azul, focusing on your conversation.

But peace, as usual, was not in the cards.

One of the lackeys—a girl who had the smug look of someone who thought her two brain cells were revolutionary—approached your table. In her hands was a steaming cup of tea, and the moment you saw it, a sense of foreboding settled over you.

And then, with all the subtlety of a villain in a children’s cartoon, she “tripped.”

The tea flew through the air in slow motion, a graceful arc of impending disaster. You braced for impact, but Jade moved faster. He stepped in front of you, shielding you from the scalding liquid. Most of it missed him, but a splash landed on his hand.

“Jade!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm to inspect the burn.

Meanwhile, the lackey straightened herself up, not even bothering to fake remorse. “Oops,” she said, her tone so insincere it could’ve curdled milk. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You carried a boiling cup of tea across the room, aimed it at our table, and ‘accidentally’ threw it at us?”

She shrugged, her smirk widening. “My dad will pay for any damages. And you’re overreacting. It’s just tea.”

Overreacting? Oh, you were about to react, all right.

Azul, meanwhile, was unusually quiet. His tie had been stained in the splash zone, and his tight-lipped smile was beginning to look like it could crack glass.

The lackey continued, oblivious to the metaphorical storm clouds gathering over Azul. “Anyway, if you keep making a scene, it’ll just look bad for you. My dad’s pretty important, you know.”

“Oh?” Azul said suddenly, his voice as smooth as silk but with an edge sharp enough to cut steel. “And who might your father be?”

The lackey puffed up with pride. “He’s the finance manager for the duchess’s estate!”

There was a beat of silence. You exchanged a glance with Azul, and then your lips curled into a predatory smile.

“Azul,” you said sweetly, “guess whose daddy is about to lose his job?”

The ride back to your estate was tense—for you, at least. Jade sat calmly beside you, his hand resting on his knee, but you couldn’t stop fussing over his burn.

“Stop squirming,” you said, dabbing at his hand with a damp cloth.

“I’m fine,” Jade insisted, though his amused tone suggested he was enjoying your concern far too much.

“You’re not fine,” you retorted. “What if it scars? What if it gets infected?”

“Then I’ll have a mark to remember your attention by,” he said, his lips twitching into a half-smile.

You glared at him, but your fussing didn’t stop. By the time you reached the estate, you were practically vibrating with righteous fury.

The finance manager stood in your office, visibly confused.

“You’re fired,” you said bluntly.

His jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

You crossed your arms, your smile as sharp as a blade. “Ask your daughter.”

“What does she have to do with this?” he demanded, his face turning red.

“Everything,” you replied. “Guards, escort him out.”

He sputtered and protested, but you didn’t care. Justice had been served.

Later, after the physician had checked Jade’s hand and declared him fine, you collapsed onto the nearest couch, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. Without thinking, you ended up sprawled across Jade’s lap.

He stiffened, his hands hovering awkwardly before he cautiously placed one on your back to keep you from sliding off.

“Comfortable?” he asked dryly, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him.

You hummed in response, already half-asleep. Within moments, your breathing evened out, and you nodded off.

Jade, for his part, was thoroughly smitten. His usual composure cracked as he replayed the day’s events—your fiery anger on his behalf, the way you’d fretted over his injury, and now, the way you looked so peaceful resting against him.

His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, and he allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

“Quite the enigma,” he murmured to himself, already planning how to keep you close.

The ballroom was a spectacle of opulence. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting soft golden light on the polished floors and the parade of nobles in their finest silks and velvets.

This was supposed to be a night of grand announcements, of declarations of love, and of the start of some “epic romance” that would undoubtedly be inscribed into the annals of history—or, at least, that's what the original novel promised.

But as you stood to the side with Jade and Floyd, it was evident that this version of events was hurtling off the rails.

Enter: the Duke of the North.

The poor man barely stepped into the ballroom before his eyes landed on the prince and the saintess. You could physically see the will to live drain out of him as his shoulders slumped, his gaze unfocused like he was calculating the fastest way to fake his own death and disappear into the wilderness.

It was almost pitiful. Almost.

The prince, meanwhile, had puffed up his chest and was grinning like he hadn’t recently been humiliated in front of half the kingdom. And the saintess—oh, she was trying, bless her delusional heart.

Smiling demurely, batting her lashes, and putting on a performance that might have worked if her reputation hadn’t already been stomped into the dirt by your carefully orchestrated chaos.

You leaned toward Jade and whispered, “I think the Duke’s trying to plot his own escape.”

Jade’s lips twitched in amusement, but he kept his usual calm demeanor. Floyd, however, cackled loudly enough to draw a few stares.

Then, the moment arrived: the prince stepped forward, his cape swishing dramatically as he raised his goblet. “Tonight, I announce my bride-to-be, the one chosen by the heavens themselves—the saintess!”

There was a smattering of applause, mostly out of obligation, but you were too busy watching the Duke. The man visibly sagged with relief, his shoulders dropping like he’d just been unshackled from a lifetime of servitude. You could practically hear the mental thank the gods echoing in his head.

And then, as if shedding the weight of the world, he turned on his heel and made a beeline—toward you.

You blinked, momentarily stunned as the Duke of the North, the supposed male lead, bowed deeply and extended a hand toward you. “Would you honor me with the first dance, my lady?”

You opened your mouth to decline, because this wasn’t in any script you remembered, but before you could utter a word, Jade smoothly stepped in.

“Apologies, Duke,” he said with his signature polite menace, “but she already promised this dance to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Jade’s hand found the small of your back, and he gently yet firmly guided you to the dance floor. The Duke was left standing there, his hand still outstretched, looking mildly bewildered.

“Don’t worry!” Floyd piped up, appearing out of nowhere. “I’ll dance with you!”

Before the Duke could protest, Floyd latched onto his arm and practically dragged him into a lively—and utterly chaotic—dance that looked like a mix of a waltz and a sparring match. The Duke’s expression alternated between horror and resignation, while Floyd grinned like he was having the time of his life.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as you watched the scene.

Jade glanced down at you, his expression softening as he took in your laughter. His usual cool demeanor melted for just a moment, replaced by something so tender it made your heart stutter.

The realization hit you like a lightning bolt.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

You were in love with him.

And not the “oh, he’s handsome and I tolerate his presence” kind of love. This was the “I want to spend my life laughing and dancing and plotting petty revenge schemes with you” kind of love.

The thought was overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, you buried your face in Jade’s chest.

He stilled for a moment, surprised, but then his arms encircled you, holding you close as he continued to sway to the rhythm of the music.

He didn’t question it, didn’t tease you, didn’t even comment. Instead, he rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his voice low as he murmured, “Are you all right?”

You nodded into his chest, your cheeks burning as you clung to him like a lifeline.

As the music swelled around you, you felt his hand tighten slightly on your waist. When you finally peeked up at him, his gaze met yours, and there it was again—that look of unguarded adoration that made your knees weak.

It was, without a doubt, the best dance of your life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ballroom, the Duke of the North was being spun around like a rag doll by Floyd, who was cackling loud enough to echo off the walls.

You caught sight of the saintess in the corner, her smile strained and her fingers clutching her goblet so tightly it looked like it might shatter.

All was well in the world.

The ballroom was buzzing with conversation, the glittering chandeliers casting light on a gathering of nobles too caught up in their own intrigues to notice the storm brewing in one corner. That is, until a sharp, shrill voice cut through the air.

“You think you can just ruin my family and get away with it?” It was the girl whose arrogance had gotten her father fired. Her finger pointed straight at you, her expression a mix of fury and desperation.

The ballroom stilled as the girl pointed her trembling finger at you, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass. "You think you can destroy my family and just walk away? You're nothing but a tyrant with too much power and zero empathy!"

Her father, standing nearby, was frantically gesturing for her to stop. “D-Dear, perhaps we should—”

“Shut it, Father! I’m handling this!” she snapped, tossing her poorly styled curls over her shoulder. She turned back to you, eyes blazing. “Everyone should know what kind of monster you are. Workplace harassment! That’s right—I said it!”

Before you could even process the absolute absurdity of the accusation, the Duke of the North stepped forward like some knight in an overwrought romance novel.

“You will not speak of her in such a way,” he declared, his voice booming with righteous indignation. “The duchess is a paragon of nobility and grace!”

The crowd collectively oohed, but before you could roll your eyes hard enough to dislocate something, the Saintess shot to her feet, looking utterly scandalized.

“This man,” she hissed, gesturing wildly at the Duke, “didn’t even fight for me, his divinely chosen match, but now he defends her? A woman who flaunts her defiance of heaven’s will? Blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy?” you muttered under your breath. “Blasphe-you, lady…”

Unfortunately, the Balding Prince chose this moment to stumble into the fray. “Uh… Are we…arguing?” He puffed up his chest, desperately trying to seem relevant. “As prince, I demand order!”

You took one look at him, with his shiny scalp gleaming under the chandeliers, and decided he wasn’t even worth the effort.

Meanwhile, Jade, ever the picture of composed menace, sidled up to your side. His eyes locked onto the Duke’s hand, which was still resting on yours. With a polite but firm gesture, Jade brushed the Duke’s hand away as though it carried the plague.

The Duke looked affronted. Jade just smiled. But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind of smile that promised future inconvenience.

You, however, had officially hit your limit. You stepped forward, raising your voice over the din. “Enough!”

The room froze. All eyes turned to you as you launched into your tirade, starting with the Saintess.

“You!” You pointed directly at her, ignoring the way her cheeks flushed with outrage. “Do you honestly think the universe revolves around you just because you’ve got a shiny necklace and a tragic backstory? Newsflash: It doesn’t. The only divine will I’ve seen is everyone’s will to avoid your self-righteous sermons. Go back to your prayer circle and spare us your dramatics.”

Her mouth opened in shock, but you were already turning to the Balding Prince.

“And you! Stop sending letters to my estate asking for potions to grow hair or stretch your bones. I’m a duchess, not a miracle worker, and no amount of magic can make you interesting. Get a personality—or at least a hat.”

The prince turned beet red, his hands twitching as though debating whether to flee or argue. You didn’t care.

You swung your gaze to the girl whose father you’d fired. “And as for you, congratulations. You’ve just confirmed that stupidity really is hereditary. Your dad didn’t lose his job because of me. He lost it because he was stealing more money than the royal treasury had left after your little shopping sprees. You’re lucky I didn’t throw both of you in jail.”

Her father, now sweating through his cravat, looked like he might faint on the spot.

Finally, you turned to the Duke. “And you. I appreciate the effort, really. It’s sweet that you think I need defending. But I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need saving. And, oh—” You reached out, grabbing Jade by the arm. “I happen to have a fiancé whom I adore. So maybe put your chivalry elsewhere.”

Jade, for his part, looked smug as he allowed himself to be pulled along, his composure completely unshaken.

The ballroom fell into stunned silence as you swept toward the exit. Then—

Floyd’s laughter broke through like a cannon blast. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face. “Oh my god—that was amazing—! Balding prince—hat—”

Azul smirked, hiding his amusement behind a gloved hand. “Well, that was certainly… enlightening.”

You didn’t even look back as you pushed open the grand doors. “Idiots, the lot of them,” you muttered.

As you exited the ballroom, you couldn’t help but glance up at Jade. He looked unusually pleased, his lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he said smoothly, though the twinkle in his eye said otherwise. “I simply find your methods... inspiring.”

The two of you made it past the grand doors before the realization hit you like a carriage with no brakes.

You had just declared, in front of everyone, that you loved Jade.

And he knew it. Oh, did he know it.

He walked beside you, his usual calm and collected demeanor now infused with an insufferable smugness. His smile was the kind that could sell snake oil to a herpetologist.

“Darling,” he said, his voice laced with honeyed amusement, “you’re unusually quiet. Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps you’re shy after your… heartfelt proclamation?”

You refused to meet his gaze. “Shut up,” you muttered, staring resolutely at the carpeted hallway like it held the secrets to the universe.

“Now, now,” he crooned, leaning closer. “Why won’t you look at me? Surely you wouldn’t deny me the honor of basking in the gaze of my beloved?”

Your face burned hotter than the ballroom chandeliers. You covered it with your hands. “Leave me here,” you said dramatically. “Leave me here to rot in peace.”

Jade chuckled, and it was the kind of sound that sent shivers down your spine—warm, teasing, and entirely too pleased. “Why on earth would I do that?” he asked, his tone deceptively innocent. “Especially when my beloved looks so… endearing in their embarrassment.”

You peeked through your fingers, ready to deliver some biting retort, but the words died in your throat.

Jade’s expression had shifted. He wasn’t just amused anymore—he was smitten. The way his mismatched eyes softened as they looked at you, the faint smile that carried more affection than smugness, the subtle tilt of his head like you were the most fascinating thing in the world—it was all too much.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you grumbled, your voice weak.

“Like what?” he asked, feigning ignorance as he gently reached for your hands.

You tried to resist, but he was insistent, pulling them away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Before you could think to stop him, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a teasing peck to rile you up—it was slow, deliberate, and completely disarming. You melted against him, any thoughts of resistance dissolving as you instinctively pulled him closer.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this book wasn’t the irredeemable mess you’d always thought it was.

After all, it had given you him.

The decision to expedite the wedding wasn’t exactly born of romance. It was born of the Duke’s increasingly deranged letters, the last of which included a poem so long and melodramatic it might as well have been a novel in verse.

Jade, to his credit, only raised a single brow at your muttered curses as you ripped the latest letter into confetti. “Darling,” he said mildly, “perhaps this is a sign to finalize our own arrangements before our dear Duke decides to recite his poetry at your doorstep.”

You had agreed, of course, which led to your current predicament: drowning in swatches, floral arrangements, and pamphlets for curtains—curtains, of all things.

“This one feels too garish,” you muttered, holding up a deep crimson drape. “But this one’s too boring,” you added, pointing at a pale beige option. You groaned and flopped back in your chair, glaring at the wedding planner. “Why is there no middle ground? What am I paying you for?”

The poor planner looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and never come out. Before you could unleash more frustration, Jade plucked the pamphlets from your hands with infuriating ease.

“Enough,” he said, his tone firm but fond. “You’ll give yourself gray hairs fretting over curtains. We can always elope, you know.”

You gaped at him. “Elope?”

His smile turned mischievous. “Yes. A quiet ceremony in the woods, perhaps, with only the birds as witnesses. Far from meddling Dukes and curtain debates.”

For a moment, you almost entertained the idea. But then you shook your head, laughing softly. “I suppose I’m being a bit dramatic.”

“A bit,” Jade echoed, though his teasing lilt softened as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “You don’t have to do this alone, my love. Delegate.”

The wedding planner, who had been cowering behind a stack of color charts, practically lit up. “Oh, yes! Delegate! Please, delegate!”

You sighed, leaning into Jade’s touch. “Fine. You’re in charge now.”

The planner looked as though he might fall to his knees and kiss Jade’s shoes in gratitude. Jade, ever the picture of elegance, merely chuckled.

“Excellent choice,” he said smoothly, guiding you away from the table of chaos. “Now, let’s find something far more enjoyable to argue about—like the wedding cake flavors.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easily Jade managed to turn your stress into something almost enjoyable. Perhaps rushing the wedding wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The room was an over-the-top vision of wealth: chandeliers the size of small planets, flowers flown in from who-knows-where, and a cake so tall you were half-convinced Floyd could climb it and look smug doing it. Every noble in the kingdom was here, decked out in silks and sequins, pretending they weren’t secretly gossiping about you and your eel fiancé.

You barely noticed. Jade was standing in front of you, looking so unfairly ethereal you wondered if the universe had been playing favorites. His mismatched eyes were locked on yours, and his smile was small but so genuine you almost forgot your carefully planned vows.

Then, of course, chaos. Because how could anything in your life go smoothly?

From the back of the ballroom came a loud, wet, obnoxious wail.

“Oh, for the love of God,” you muttered under your breath, and Jade’s lips quirked in amusement.

“I LOVED HER FIRST!” the Duke sobbed dramatically, his voice shaking with the intensity of his grief.

“Shut your mouth before I shut it permanently,” Floyd snapped, his voice cutting through the crowd like a knife.

And if that wasn’t enough, you could faintly hear Azul’s oily, persuasive tone somewhere off to the side. “Yes, Lord Evermore, just a tiny signature on this insignificant little contract. You’re not using your soul for much, anyway, are you?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, biting back a laugh. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was your wedding. Of course it was going to be chaotic.

But when you looked up, there was Jade, his gaze steady and full of a quiet devotion that made the rest of the madness blur into the background. His vows were perfect, as expected, and when it came your turn, you stumbled over the words a little, because how were you supposed to focus when he was looking at you like that?

Then came the kiss.

Jade dipped you in one smooth motion, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that sent the room spinning. Applause erupted, and you swore you heard someone sniffling behind you.

“Is the Duke crying again?” you murmured against Jade’s lips.

“I believe Floyd threatened him,” Jade replied, far too amused.

“And Azul’s... oh no, is he signing contracts?”

Jade only smirked, kissing you again. “Should I be worried that you’re more interested in their antics than your new husband?”

“I’m not—wait, husband?” You blinked at him, the word sinking in, and for the first time in ages, you felt completely, blissfully happy.

As you stood there with your chaotic, ridiculous found family around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, your life had taken a turn for the absurd, but if it brought you to this moment, maybe that cursed mushroom wasn’t so bad after all.

“Remind me to thank that mushroom,” you said with a grin.

Jade’s laughter was soft, warm, and entirely yours. “If it brought us together, I might build it a shrine.”

You laughed, pulling him closer. You’d faced chaos and conspiracies, chaos and hilarity, but in this moment, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Trash Novel Masterlist

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[sansaorgana]

— THE GIFT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You were born to be Feyd-Rautha's wife. You arrive to Giedi Prime to get adjusted to the new environment before your wedding. Your betrothed is trying to court you properly... but he only knows The Harkonnen ways of doing so.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — After a whole month of writing Thrown To The Wolves, I felt weird writing something with Feyd with a different Reader and a different plot. 🙈 But at the same time I was excited to explore a new scenario. 😄

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, blood, death

WORD COUNT — 3,700

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE GIFT

Giedi Prime was an unfriendly place – cold and colourless, nearly lifeless as well. The people you were seeing reminded you of machines more than humans. You were terrified as you realised you’d spent the rest of your life there. The Harkonnens were even worse. Rude, harsh, not very talkative. Your future husband had looked you up and down on your first day in a way that turned your blood cold.

You missed home. You missed your family. But you knew it was impossible to ever go back. You could run away – if you somehow managed to bribe the servants to help you – but it was impossible to hide from your destiny. You had been born to be Feyd-Rautha’s wife, and most importantly, to give birth to his child.

You were a daughter of an important Lord, therefore you weren’t opposed to the idea of an arranged marriage. You knew nothing else was waiting for you in this world and no one would ever let you marry a person of your choice. But why was Feyd-Rautha your betrothed? Out of all the people in the galaxy, why did you have to be promised to a Harkonnen?

Ever since you had been a little girl, your friends had been teasing you about it. Repeating the dreadful gossip about Giedi Prime and your betrothed who had become a famous and dangerous gladiator in the meantime. And now you were finding out that the gossip was not true – reality was even worse than anything you had heard and expected of this place and of this man.

You were supposed to spend three months on Giedi Prime before your wedding, away from your home and family, to adjust to the environment and the customs. Then the wedding would take its place and you’d become the na-baroness of The Harkonnens.

On your first morning you were woken up with breakfast brought to your bed by the servants.

“Why can’t I eat with my husband’s family in the dining room?” You asked them while sitting up and resting on your pillows.

The pale and bald women looked at each other significantly. Everyone looked the same here, you felt like a freak.

“Baron Harkonnen and his nephews do not eat their meals together, unless it is a special occasion, a banquet of some sort,” one of them explained. “Everyone eats their meals in their own private chambers.”

“I see,” you nodded and sighed at the sight of the food. It was as colourless as everything around. You missed the bowls of fruit and yoghurts you had been getting on your homeplanet.

After swallowing the last bit of your breakfast, you took a shower and let your new servants dress you up. The Harkonnens had requested for you to leave all your clothes and personal belongings at home. They wanted you to be as detached from your old self as possible. You were gifted a whole wardrobe of new outfits instead. All black.

You wondered if they’d ask you to shave your head, too. You dreaded that. Your hair was like an armour you could hide under. Your servants had no idea how to manage it so they left it loose. You brushed it with your fingers since there was no brush.

When you saw yourself in the mirror you thought that on your homeplanet you’d be called a feral woman. In a black, long dress, hair unkempt and dark bags under your exhausted and empty eyes that lacked any sort of emotion.

You were supposed to have classes about The Harkonnen culture. You had been studying it since you were a little girl but they did not trust your progress and they wanted to test you in a more practical sense. Your teacher was an old man with a contemptuous smirk, a close advisor of the Baron and most likely his spy.

He had been asking you questions for the past hour to which you answered perfectly well. It was becoming difficult for him to hide his surprised facial expression.

“You’ve been trained well, my Lady,” he admitted.

“This is all that has been expected of me,” you explained with a nod, your voice was hollow and emotionless as you realised how true your words had been. Your whole personality was limited to be the future Harkonnen Baroness ever since you had been a little girl. You couldn’t possibly tell what you would be like under different circumstances. You had never been given a chance to find out.

“Very well then,” he hummed to himself. “I’d like you to roam freely around the fortress and try not to get lost. Tomorrow during our class you will ask me questions about the things and places that made you curious,” he informed you and bowed down before leaving the room.

You looked around, expecting someone to fetch you but no one was coming. He had to actually mean that you were allowed to roam freely around the fortress. Carefully, you left the room and chose to turn right. You had arrived from the left side of the corridor so you were naturally more curious about the right side and exploring a brand new territory.

You were too scared to try to push any doors, though. You didn’t want to walk in on things that would possibly make someone beheading you for seeing. The occasional guards passing you by were looking at you suspiciously but they were not saying anything. After a while you stopped seeing them at all and realised you were in a dark maze of endless corridors that you had no idea how to get out of.

Trying to go back, you only ended up getting lost even further as you were going deeper and deeper into the maze. Your heart started to pound in your chest and your hands began to shake as they turned cold. The corridor was cold in general – much colder than the rest of the fortress. And it was terrifyingly empty.

You decided to stay in one place and wait. Someone had to eventually look for you, right? You hoped for it to be true. Trying to hug your own self for warmth and comfort, you rested your back on the cold, grey wall, taking deep breaths in. 

Suddenly, a loud and animalistic cry emerged from behind one of the black doors. You were startled by it and your body began to tremble even more. You wanted to get away as far as possible from that door but when you were about to turn around and run, they opened and your heart squeezed in your chest.

To your surprise, it was your betrothed leaving the mysterious room. He was wearing gladiator attire and holding a blade in his hand with blood still dripping. His eyes widened at the sight of you and you froze.

“What are you doing here?” He asked in his deep and raspy voice.

“I… I got lost, I’m sorry. I’ve been told to roam freely around the fortress and explore on my own but I got lost…” You explained as you shivered.

Feyd-Rautha approached you slowly like predators approach their prey. You took a step back and felt the wall behind you. You were trapped.

“Lost, you’re saying?” He smirked as he hovered over you. Your heart was pounding so fast in your chest that he just had to hear it. He rested one of his hands on the wall above your head and leaned in even closer. “You’ve accidentally gone underground where I train on my slaves,” he smiled almost playfully, showing off his black stained teeth.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to..” You gasped but he shushed you with a soft hiss.

“Did I say it was forbidden?” He asked and you shook your head. “Come, I’ll show you,” Feyd straightened himself and reached out his hand towards you as if he was a proper gentleman.

Everything inside you was screaming to run away and to not follow him anywhere. But you were aware that he would catch you in a second and your attempt would only most likely enrage him. And very soon you would belong to him anyway. You would be his property whether you wanted it or not.

You held his hand and he froze at the feeling of your ice cold and shivering fingers.

“You are cold,” he pointed out. “And scared.”

“I am not scared,” you lied. You had been taught that The Harkonnens hated fear and cowardice.

“And a liar,” Feyd-Rautha sneered and led you inside the mysterious room he had previously left.

It was big and dark like every other room in that fortress. There was a dead body of a servant in gladiator gear laying on the floor in the puddle of his own blood. The walls were covered in all sorts of weapons.

“This is where I train,” Feyd announced proudly. He had to think it would impress you but it only made you sick, especially the sight of the dead man on the floor. You had never seen death in such a brutal and ugly way before. But now you were sure it was not the last time.

Feyd was visibly waiting for your response as he let go of your hand and took a step back to tilt his head and watch your expressions carefully. You realised it was a test of how much you were able to handle as his wife.

You wondered what would happen if you failed all the tests. Would they just send you back home or would they get rid of you? Were they even able to do that? You didn’t want to find out.

“It is impressive, my Lord na-baron,” you admitted with a shaky nod of your head and he winced at your words which made you furrow your brows.

“Don’t address me like a servant, pet,” he clicked his tongue and you nodded, slightly uncomfortable at the way he had called you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised. “How should I address you then?”

“However you like,” Feyd shrugged his arms and approached you once again, raising his bloody blade slightly as you flinched. It brought a smile to his full lips. Looking deep into your eyes, he licked the blade clean. You clenched your jaw and tried to keep a poker face on but a knot formed in your stomach at the disgusting act.

You hated to admit that he was attractive for a Harkonnen. There was a magnetic energy about him that made you attracted to him like a moth was driven to a flame. Even his harsh and unpleasant voice was leaving you wanting more.

Feyd brushed your hair with the tip of his freshly cleaned blade, carefully, making sure not to cut any strand.

“I want you to always wear your hair like this,” he looked even more intensely into your eyes.

“That would be inappropriate,” you tried to explain. “It’s not considered elegant.”

“I said, I want you to always wear your hair like this,” he repeated like he couldn’t understand why you were trying to argue. He was a spoiled na-baron and completely not used to people disobeying him. So, you just nodded this time.

“Then I will,” you promised. “If I could only get a hairbrush, though. Or a comb. So they don’t tangle,” you pleaded and he squinted his eyes at you as the tip of his blade moved to under your chin. You swallowed thickly at that gesture.

“A hairbrush or a comb,” he repeated your words. “That can be arranged,” he added and you smiled nervously at him. “What are you scared of?”

“Of the blade under my chin perhaps?” You raised an eyebrow at him and he chuckled, however his hand remained still.

“Weren’t you sent here to be my wife?” Feyd’s smile dropped in an instant. He was serious again and you took a deep breath in, tugging on the folds of your dress to hide how sweaty your hands had become.

“Yes, I was,” you nodded.

“And what do you think of that?”

“I don’t think. I have been preparing for that since I was a child,” you answered.

“I want to be a good husband,” his sudden confession made your eyes widen. In one swift move he took the blade away from you and replaced it with his hand as he held your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. “My uncle says that a wife should not be an enemy. He wants me to court you properly,” he explained.

“Is your uncle experienced in marriage?” You asked, curiously. You had been taught that Baron Harkonnen had never been married.

Feyd laughed at your question as his grip on your chin tightened. He moved his face even closer to yours, your nose nearly brushed his and it made you hold your breath.

“Can you think of a woman who would not become his enemy after being forced to marry him?” He asked you and you dared to chuckle at that.

“So, I assume, I do not have to worry about you becoming like him one day?” You bit on your lower lip, realising that he indeed did not want to hurt you.

Perhaps that whole uncomfortable and threatening situation was his idea of intimacy. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“My uncle is not my role model,” he only answered and took a step back, removing his hand from your chin. “I don’t have idols.”

“What do you worship then?” You furrowed your brows.

“Blood and honour,” he answered with all seriousness. “Allow me to give you something, my pet. A gift for my bride to be,” he proposed and you hesitantly agreed, not wanting to hurt his feelings by refusing.

You expected him to approach one of the walls and hand you some of the weapons. But, to your surprise, he kneeled down next to the dead body laying on the floor and he opened its chest with the sharp tip of his blade. You gagged quietly and covered your mouth with your hand, trying to look away as the metallic smell of blood hit your nostrils, leaving you nauseous.

The sound of his heavy footsteps made you look in his direction again, not wanting to offend him in any way. He was walking towards you proudly with a real human heart in his hands, blood dripping off of it on the floor, leaving a trace. With all your force you stopped yourself from squealing at the sight. No amount of training and studying The Harkonnen culture had prepared you for this.

Feyd-Rautha reached his hands out as he offered you his foul gift. He was staring at you intensely, expecting praise of some sort or admiration. However, you had none. You let the wet organ slip into your hands as you gagged once again at the sensation and a shiver went down your body. Your reaction caused Feyd to tilt his head and squint his eyes.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” You asked in a shaky voice.

“You don’t like it,” he pointed out after a short while of silence and you got scared of upsetting him.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I just…” you started, trying to nervously explain yourself.

“You don’t like it,” he repeated, both annoyed and disappointed.

“I appreciate the gesture,” you tried to assure him. “I will keep it,” you promised.

“Why don’t you like it?” He asked once again, ignoring all your words. You sighed.

“It’s just not something I’m used to. In my homeworld, we don’t give each other human hearts,” you explained softly.

“What do you give each other?” His question was genuine and curious.

“Haven’t you studied my customs like I have been studying yours?” You asked but the answer was obvious.

“My uncle says it is not important for me to know your culture because you are here to become one of us,” Feyd explained. “The only thing I have been studying was the blade,” he added. “So, what kind of gifts do your people give?”

“Flowers,” you answered. “For example.”

“There are no flowers on Giedi Prime,” Feyd pointed out. “No seed blooms in our soil.”

“I understand,” you nodded, nervously. “I am grateful for your gift, Feyd-Rautha. I appreciate your courtship,” you assured him but your voice and hands were shaking as your face was visibly disgusted.

Someone knocked upon the doors and Feyd barked at them to come in. You turned around and saw two guards sighing out of relief at the sight of you.

“There you are, my Lady!” One of them approached you. “We’ve been searching everywhere. Let us escort you back to your chambers,” he bowed his head.

You nodded at him, relieved as well at the sight of them. You wanted nothing else than to go back to the familiar part of the fortress and to finally leave this awkward and uncomfortable situation with your betrothed.

Still holding the heart carefully in your hands, you walked out without even glancing at Feyd-Rautha. The guards took you to your chambers where the worried servants had been waiting. They gasped at the sight of your gift.

“What is it, my Lady?” One of the girls asked you.

“It’s a gift from Feyd-Rautha,” you explained as they all widened their eyes. “I have no idea what to do with it,” you admitted.

“Feyd Rautha gave it to you, my Lady?” The servant swallowed thickly and you nodded. “Do you know what it means, my Lady?”

“No,” you shook your head and handed the organ to another girl. “I desperately need to wash my hands and change my dress,” you said and disappeared into the bathroom where you spent fifteen minutes getting rid of the blood.

You took the stained dress off and threw it on the floor before walking out back to your chamber. The girls were already preparing the heart as they put it in a jar full of some odd liquid.

“It will dry in there, my Lady,” one of them explained. “Na-baron must be really enamoured with you, my Lady, or perhaps he is trying to show his best side to you.”

“Enamoured?” You snorted at her. “It’s gruesome.”

“It’s the most romantic thing a Harkonnen man can give to a woman, my Lady,” the other woman added and you gasped.

“I haven’t been taught that…” You whispered, feeling extremely stupid for the way you had treated Feyd-Rautha before. You had to anger him dearly and his rage was not something you wanted to deal with. “What is the equivalent of such a gift for a man? What can I give him in return?” You asked the servants and they looked at each other’s faces, surprised.

“There is no equivalent, my Lady,” one of them answered. “Harkonnen women do not court. Only men do.”

On the next day, when you were leaving your chambers to go to your class, you spotted the doors nearby opening and your betrothed walking out of them. Your room was in the same area as his so it was no surprise but you didn’t expect to see him at the same time in the morning. At the sight of you, he looked down and walked past you without a word, which made you feel bad for him and for the way you had treated him. But it also made you anxious because his uncle has been right about marriage. You didn’t want Feyd-Rautha to be your enemy.

Giedi Prime was far from perfect and your betrothed was an odd, psychotic creature. You couldn’t change your destiny, though, so you had to embrace it to make it bearable.

“Feyd, wait,” you rushed after him and he froze when you grabbed the sleeve of his robe. He turned around and looked at you coldly.

“I am in a hurry,” he drawled.

“So am I. But I wanted to apologise. I have been studying the Harkonnen culture for years but I have never been told of the meaning of such a gift,” you explained, feeling your cheeks getting warm. “Please, forgive me. I didn't mean to reject you.”

“The heart was of a low quality,” he admitted as his face softened slightly. “Next time I will give you the heart of a real warrior, a real enemy. Not some slave,” he added. “My uncle has already reprimanded me for that.”

You broke a smile at him. It was adorable in a way how this scary and dangerous man was following his uncle’s guide on courtship, trying to be on his best behaviour around you. It was making you feel powerful in a way.

“I would like to return the favour but my servants have informed me there is no such tradition,” you confessed. “What can I do for you to forgive me?”

Feyd-Rautha hesitated for a moment as he looked away, thinking intensely about something. Then he laid his eyes on you again and leaned in to join your lips together. You were startled at first, your heart pounded in your chest. Raised to become his wife, you had never kissed anybody before and saved yourself for him only, however it felt as if his soft lips were truly made for yours. You put your hand on his chest and opened your mouth to invite his tongue in. He devoured you, greedily wanting to explore your mouth and feast on your taste. His hands pulled you closer by your hips and you put your free hand behind his head. Seeing him for the first time in real life two days ago, you had been slightly uncomfortable at the sight of him. But now you did not feel any of that.

Even if you hadn’t been prepared to become his wife, you’d still want him. You had been born to be his.

Feyd’s hands moved up and cupped your face before breaking the kiss and moving away gently. You took a deep breath in as he stared into your eyes and caressed your loose hair.

“You’re forgiven, my pet,” he told you. “By the way, I’ve ordered a hair brush for you.”

MASTERLIST

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I WISH I WAS YOUR GIRL

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you don't know why dazai has suddenly become so standoffish with you the last week—there's something that everyone isn't telling you, but you can't even bring yourself to make that your biggest concern. you're just so at your limits with the back and forth with him that you can't concentrate on anything else. mishima is hosting a ball is this evening and you think that this is it: if things are going to happen between the two of you, it'll be tonight or it'll be never. you can't wait forever on someone who's just going to string you along the rest of his life. you won't.

(wordcount: 6.3k; fem!reader, sfw but a bit of tension, angsty)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihihihiiiiiii guys ^.^ happy friday. we've gotta angsty fic for tonight. i fear this one does not end happily but TRUST the universe does <33 but angst is necessary to move the plot forward. the price you pay for a happy ending is an angsty path there. specially dedicated to my beloved sophie who hates angst <33 happy birthday luvr

You are severely unhappy.

You finished getting dressed almost an hour ago, but you still haven’t left your room. You’re sitting at your vanity staring at yourself—you’ve changed your jewelry three times already, and you’re about to change it a fourth. It’s not that you’re not satisfied with how you look, it’s more that you’re just frustrated and fidgety.

More than that, you’re upset. Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in a week, and you don’t even know why. It has something to do with the incident that happened a week ago with the child called Kyusaku, but you’re not sure what because you don’t know what was real and what was concocted by the child’s ability after you were affected by it. 

As much as Dazai likes to pretend to be aloof and unbothered, he’s easily worked up by small things, and he’s been upset with you before, but never like this. He’ll usually sulk where he knows you’ll see him and wait for you to ask him what’s wrong so he can use the opportunity to guilt you into watching a shitty movie or going out to buy him snacks. 

But this? Radio silence. He came up to your apartment once when you weren’t here to do his laundry and was gone before you got back. You don’t even know where he’s been staying, because you went looking for him at the shipping container and he wasn’t there. You don’t know what happened. You guys were good, more than good—you really thought that maybe the two of you were making progress past this awkward more than friends, not lovers stage, but now it’s back to square one. Worse than square one, because at least at square one, he was still talking to you.

A low whistle comes from the entrance to your room and you raise your eyebrows as you look up in the mirror, catching sight of Chuuya leaning against the doorframe, head tilted to the side as he observes you. He’s already dressed up—out of his normal outfit and in a sleek black suit instead, he looks different without his hat, but you don’t even have it in you to make a teasing comment about it. You can’t help the disappointment that clogs your throat at the sight of him: you’d still been holding out hope that Dazai would show up. 

“I forgot how nice you cleaned up,” Chuuya murmurs. “It’s been a minute since we attended an event together.”

You turn in your seat to face him, eyes roving over his form once before you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your hat. I almost thought you might be balding beneath it.”

Chuuya instantly rolls his eyes as he pushes himself off the door frame to make his way over to you. You give him a simpering smile as you look up at him, but you can tell it doesn’t reach your eyes from the way he frowns at you. He reaches out to straighten the necklace you’re wearing and then holds a gloved hand out to help you up, ever the gentlemen.

Even though it’s unnecessary, you still take it and sigh as you rise to your feet, smoothing out your dress once you’re upright. You look up at him and ask, “I take it you’re the one escorting me tonight.”

“Don’t sound too pleased,” Chuuya replies dryly, holding out his arm for you. You sigh as you hold his bicep loosely, making your way to the elevator. “He still hasn’t talked to you?”

“Not once,” you answer bitterly. “I thought for sure he would get over whatever his problem is to be my escort tonight, but I guess not. I don’t even know what happened, Chuuya. I feel like people just aren’t telling me something.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, your gaze is cutting to the side to observe Chuuya’s reaction. He grimaces instantly and averts his gaze, and you take in a deep breath, realizing you hit it right on the nail. What the hell are they hiding from you? You know now isn’t the time to get into it, but you make a note in the back of your head to do some snooping as to what really happened during the incident last week. 

“Interesting,” you say, just to let Chuuya know that he needs to work on his poker face. He catches the implication and sends you a scowl, but you only raise your eyebrows at him with a small smile, waiting for the elevator to come up to your apartment. “He’s not coming tonight at all then?”

“No, he’s coming,” Chuuya corrects absently and the smile on your face freezes.

“Is that so?” you ask tightly. “Who is he attending with then?”

Chuuya gives you a long, knowing look as the elevator gets to your floor, holding it open and waiting for you to step in before joining you. You’re tense as you wait for his answer, and you know he’s getting back for the balding comment with how long he’s taking to give you it.

“No one,” he finally says, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Jesus, you’re so embarrassing—get yourself together. Who the fuck would actually be his date? No one wants to get within ten feet of him.”

You give Chuuya a withering look and then reply primly, “I would.”

“The entire Mafia knows that,” Chuuya says dryly, making your face hot. “You make me sick.”

“Likewise,” you scoff and pointedly look away from him. After a few seconds pass, you ask, “Are you sure he’s not bringing anyone?” 

Chuuya groans. “What would it even change if he does?” he asks, which does not settle your nerves at all. “You’re just going to work yourself up thinking about it.”

“It changes whether or not I’m going to have Akutagawa Ryuunosuke on standby to eliminate a potential threat to Dazai’s life,” you say with a sweet smile. “Assassins come in many forms, but most frequently in dates at big events. We shouldn’t take that risk with our most valuable executive, naturally.”

Chuuya’s jaw drops as he fully turns to look at you. “Sometimes, I wonder why you like that fucked up bastard so much, and it’s only very rarely that I’m reminded that you’re just as evil as he is.”

“I’m kidding,” you complain, waving him off. Although, now that the thought is in your head, it’s becoming increasingly more appealing. “I think.”

The elevator doors slide back open and Chuuya holds his arm out for you again. You take it, lifting your hand to wave at Hinata, an older man who's been working with the Port Mafia since longer than you’ve been alive. He ran with Hirotsu in the Black Lizards before he was hurt on a mission and put on desk duty—you stole him from Mori when you came back from Kyoto. On paper, he’s just your doorman, but he’s helped you a lot with mission planning the past year and a half; you honestly contribute half of your success to his experience.

“Good luck tonight, hime, Nakahara-san,” Hinata says as the two of you make your way out of the building.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and toss your head to the side to look back at him with a smile. “Hinata-san, you should come and be my date instead of this bum.”

“Why am I always catching strays from you?” Chuuya scowls, but you ignore him as you flutter your eyelashes at Hinata, who only laughs at you.

“I’m far too old for that to work on me, hime,” Hinata replies. “I’ll have the scout reports from Sapporo ready by the time you get back tonight.”

“My hero,” you sing. “Thank you.”

You wave at him one last time before leaving the building with Chuuya. As soon as you’re out of sight, your smile drops and Chuuya gives you a concerned look, stopping before the two of you can get in the car so he can turn to look at you head on.

“Do you think he’ll show up with someone to spite me?” you ask quietly. 

You know Dazai—he doesn’t like feeling wounded, so when he does, he lashes out tenfold. He gets cruel and vicious, and because he’s Dazai, he knows exactly what to do to make people hurt more than he does. You don’t know what you did to upset him, but it has you on edge now because it will hurt if he shows up with someone else, knowing that you were waiting for him back at your apartment.

Chuuya says your name quietly, and because it’s not an immediate ‘no’, you know that he knows that Dazai might very well stoop that low to hurt you. You swallow thickly and look away—it’s fine. You’ll act unbothered, you have an appearance to keep up and that’s more important than anything. And anyway, it’ll hurt him even more when he doesn’t get the reaction he wants from you.

“Hey, look,” Chuuya says, forcing your attention back on him. “Dazai’s being a fucking dick, alright? But what else is new? You look beautiful—make him regret that you’re not coming in on his arm, yeah?” 

You smile softly and look away before saying, “It’s unnerving when you’re sweet.”

You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know he’s rolling his eyes at you. You hear him open the car door for you and sigh as you look back over to him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

———

As always, your entrance is something to marvel over. It never fails to be the highlight of the night, and it’s only more of a spectacle when you enter on the arm of Nakahara Chuuya. 

Lingering looks in your direction, wary stares in his—you’re grateful that he came to escort you, because if you’d come alone, you would’ve swarmed with suitors as soon as you got down the steps. Chuuya is not quite as much of a deterrent as Dazai would’ve been, if only because Chuuya won’t actually kill someone in the middle of Mishima’s ball and nobody can ever be sure of what Dazai is capable of, but his presence and reputation will keep unwanted annoyances away for most of the night at least. 

By the end of the night, they’ll get more desperate for a conversation, and only Dazai and Mori himself are capable of keeping them away from you at that point, unless Chuuya steps up his game, of course, but he has as much of an appearance to keep up as you do. You’re not looking forward to it—your eyes keep darting up to the ticking clock, knowing each passing second draws closer to suffering. 

You didn’t even want to come tonight. You weren’t going to come, you’d gone to quite the lengths trying to fake being sick, and you thought you succeeded until Mori messaged you this morning telling you that you could either come to the event or go deal with Shikibu Murasaki’s little stunt in Sapporo that has your biggest weapon supplier backing out on your next shipment. Since he knew very well you didn’t want to deal with that, the only option was to come to the ball—someone must’ve ratted you out to him, but you don’t know who. You almost think it must’ve been Chuuya, because Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in over a week.

You still haven’t seen him, which you suppose is a good thing because if he was going to shove in your face that he came here with someone else, then he would’ve done it by now. You aren’t even sure if he’s here; you’ve tried to keep an eye out for him, positioning yourself in a way that your gaze can always stray to the edges of the room in hopes of catching sight of him, but you haven’t seen him at all in the three hours that you’ve been here.

You’re standing with Chuuya and two of Mishima’s daughters now. Noriko keeps trying to shift closer to you, lashes fluttering and lips curled up into a soft smile. Usually, you would entertain the girl—she’s pretty, and at the very least, makes for entertaining conversation, which is more than you can say for the rest of the Sun and Steel upper echelon, but you’re so occupied with Dazai that she can hardly hold your attention for more than a few seconds.

“I haven’t seen him at all tonight,” you say quietly when Mishima himself comes over to your small group, a stern expression on his face as he beckons his daughters over before giving both you and Chuuya an apologetic look. “Have you?” 

“No,” Chuuya says, taking a sip of his champagne as he leans against the wall. “I know he said he was coming though.”

Your expression twists in annoyance as you take in a deep breath. Your glass is empty, and usually, there are people circling to keep them full—your old mentor always used to warn you not to fall for the trap. The hosts of events always like to liquor up the attendees; drunker you are, the looser your lips, and you’re usually quite careful to keep it to one drink and never finish your second.

Tonight, you are on your fifth. Dangerous work, because you’re still going to have to entertain people when they inevitably start coming up to you—which is any minute now, you can feel the lingering stares and you can see how people are creeping closer. But you’re just so bothered by everything with Dazai that every time you finish a glass, you’re seeking out the next to try to numb your nerves.

“You know something,” you accuse quietly, giving Chuuya a cold side-eye. He stiffens, but neither confirms nor denies, which is a confirmation in itself. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I can’t,” Chuuya says tightly, and you raise your eyebrows because you expected him to say ‘it’s not for me to say’ like he usually does when he feels like you should hear something from someone else. He can’t, does that mean… “I just…”

“You can’t because you’ve been ordered not to,” you realize, face shifting in confusion. “Mori ordered you not to. What happened during the incident last week, Chuuya?” 

The expression that crosses Chuuya’s face is haunted, and it makes your mouth dry, because what the hell happened and why is no one telling you the truth? You don’t even get the chance to badger him about it, because Noriko and Michiko are coming back over, both of them looking incredibly displeased by whatever their father said.

“He’s so annoying,” Noriko complains, immediately clinging to your arm and resting her head against your bicep dramatically. “You two are so lucky that you don’t have parents to helicopter you like he does.”

You and Chuuya immediately exchange a look at her words, and even Michiko cringes a little, but you otherwise don’t react beyond just trying to not roll your eyes. These girls are so out of touch with reality that it’s almost concerning, but they, more than anyone else at this event, have loose lips that you like to take advantage of.

“No,” you sigh lightly, “I only have Mori. Somehow, I feel that’s worse.”

Noriko giggles like you’ve said the funniest thing in the world, and you miss Dazai desperately. At least him being here would have Mishima’s daughters acting a little more subdued, would maybe even chase them off. You don’t like how they act around him because you know it used to bother him, but you’re not gonna complain when you could be benefiting from it if he wasn’t being an ass.

She starts to say something else, but before she can, Chuuya’s eyes shoot open as he looks at something behind you. You instantly straighten, turning your head to follow his gaze and your breath catches when it lands on just who you thought would draw that reaction from Chuuya.

Dazai.

He’s finally made his appearance, and you can’t draw your eyes away from him. He never gets dressed up for these events like you and Chuuya do, so he’s still wearing that same black three-piece suit he wears every day, just without the dark trench coat he usually wears over it. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest and a cold expression on his face as he stares in your direction. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but he does stare at where Noriko is clinging to your arm, lip twitching in irritation; Noriko seems to notice too from the way she lets go of your arm and tries to casually shift away from you, an annoyed look on her face as she does.

You hear her let out a noise of disgust, side-eyeing in Dazai’s direction, and you raise your eyebrows at her pointedly. You know that it was directed toward Dazai’s sudden appearance, but you’re not about to sit here and let that slide, so you turn a cool look onto her in response. Noriko instantly looks down to the ground, an ashamed look crossing her face—not for the disparaging attitude toward Dazai, but for being obvious enough for you to notice it.

You feel a bit more tense now as you force your attention off of Dazai back to Chuuya, who exchanges a short look with you before pointedly glancing over to where one of Mishima’s newer executives, Ibuse Masuji is whispering with one of his colleagues, looking in your direction a bit too frequently for comfort. He’s going to come over and ask you for a dance soon, probably around the same time Michiko starts tugging Chuuya in the direction of the hardwood floor at the center of the room—Noriko won’t ask you now that Dazai is here.

Wonderful, you think to yourself bitterly. You don’t really want to deal with Ibuse tonight, but you suppose you’ll probably get better information from him than Noriko. Noriko likes to ramble about more general gossip—who’s sleeping with who, who’s mad at who, and all of that is useful to an extent when you need to figure out what’s going on with Sun and Steel internal politics, but Ibuse has loose lips about more meaningful matters, and you’ve heard some nerve-wracking rumors about the Red Chamber recently.

The things you do for the Port Mafia. 

You straighten your necklace, gaze lifting to Chuuya again as you withhold a sigh. You can see Ibuse starting to make his way across the event hall in your direction, and Chuuya gives you a pitying smile that instantly freezes as his eyes pin to something behind you again. You also freeze, because you know it could only mean one thing.

Dazai is coming over.

You raise your eyebrows at him pointedly, wanting to know whether or not Dazai’s approach is a good or bad one—if he’s coming over to finally address you, or if he’s coming over so he can more blatantly ignore you. Each one is equally possible, and the way Chuuya grimaces and shrugs only makes your anxiety spike more.

But you get your answer as soon as he arrives.

You inhale sharply when you feel Dazai’s fingers brush over your hip as he comes to stand directly behind you. You can feel his chest brushing your back, his presence warm and looming directly behind you. With his sudden arrival, the conversation happening between Noriko and Michiko comes to an abrupt halt, and you can see Ibuse freeze mid-step from where he was drawing closer to you. The two girls avert their gaze to the ground, not acknowledging Dazai, and it irritates you, they’ve never hidden how unnerved Dazai makes them, and though you don’t think it bothers him anymore, you know very well it used to. 

Your throat spasms when Dazai’s hand settles more firmly on your hip, and you turn your head slightly to the side to look up at him, breath catching when you find that his gaze is already lidded and focused on you, visible eye far too dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Dance with me,” Dazai murmurs, only for you to hear.

“You want to dance?” you ask, a bit incredulously, trying not to be hyper-focused on how he’s touching you. You don’t know what has gotten into him, but it has your heart racing. “Dazai, what-”

“Dance with me.” 

It’s not a request, you realize, taking in a sharp breath as his gaze becomes more intense. You can feel curious eyes on you from around the room; it’s to be expected, it’s you and Dazai. Of everyone here, the two of you always have the most eyes on you at all times, but it’s different now. 

Dazai usually keeps to himself during events, he wanders up and down the length of the room, keeping to the edges to observe what’s happening unless he’s looking for information from someone. He really stays true to his moniker, a black wraith haunting the shadows and keeping everyone on edge. You can’t remember the last time he willingly stepped out of them to interact with people, much less engage in things like dancing.

“Okay,” you agree quietly, not even bothering to look back at your previous companions as Dazai’s hand slides from your hip to your lower back, guiding you to the hardwood floor where several other couples are already swaying along to the music being played by the quintet in the corner of the room. “What’s gotten into you?”

Dazai doesn’t answer your question, looking down at you from the corner of his eye for a moment before looking back ahead. He doesn’t have to search for a spot on the dance floor—as soon as people realize that’s where he’s headed, they’re quick to leave a wide berth for the two of you, no one wanting to get too close to the most infamous Port Mafia executive.

Your heart races as he leads you to the center of the hardwood floor. Though you can feel dozens of eyes pinned on the two of you, all you can focus on is him. You can hardly breathe when he turns to face you, one hand resting on your hip while he holds the other out for you to take. You swallow thickly as you place your hand into his. He entwines your fingers with his instead of the traditional palm-to-palm, and he pulls you toward him so that your chests are brushing. You’re so close to him that you catch the faint and familiar scent of smoke and iron and it makes you dizzy.

Distantly, you know that this probably isn’t smart. If people think that you and Dazai are together, it will only be harder for you to get information from them. They’ll be wary around you in fear of him, and you’re not even sure if your ability will be enough to counteract the anxiety he triggers in people. You shouldn’t be risking that just for a dance, but…

But you can never think straight when he’s around, even less when his skin is warm against yours, and the way he’s looking at you… His dark eye is heavy with so many emotions, too many for you to even place a single one—you’ve always been good at reading people, but never him, and now, more than ever, you wish you could. You want to know what he’s thinking. You want to know what he’s feeling. You want to know him, because as much as you claim you do, you know that he masks himself from you. You want to ask him again—what’s gotten into you? Why have you been avoiding me? But you think it’ll scare him off, so instead, you ask:

“When did you learn to dance? Today?”

He’s better than you thought he would be. He effortlessly spins you across the dancefloor. Each step is quick and precise—you’ve had training in this type of dancing, but you still struggle a little to keep up with him. Though, you think it’s less because of your own skill, and more because of who exactly your partner is.

“What makes you think I haven’t known how?” Dazai drawls, voice low and languid, dark eye glittering with amusement. His grip on your hand tightens just a little as he pulls you into a half-spin. He presses when you don’t immediately respond, “Hm?” 

“Because you’re you,” you finally answer with a fleeting smile. “So? When did you learn?”

“Tonight,” he tells you. “I’ve been watching them.”

“Hah,” you say—of course he’s this good just through observation. Ever the mirror. “You better not embarrass me.”

“Like this?” he asks with a smile that puts you on edge, and you give him a dirty look when he purposely takes a wrong step, forcing you to overstep in order to not land on his foot. You’re careful to make it look casual—a wider turn rather than a misstep—but with the number of eyes currently on the two of you, you know very well that people probably caught it. His apology comes in the form of an airy, “Whoops,” that you know he doesn’t mean.

His lips curl up into a smug smile, and your breath catches when you feel his hand slide from your hip to your low back so he can pull your body flush to his for the next turn. Your throat spasms as you tilt your head back to look up at him, and again, there’s that unreadable look in his eye as his eyes rove over your face. 

“Why?” you finally brave yourself to ask, voice quiet and too breathy for your liking. You don’t specify what the why is, and that’s intentional, this way he can pick what he wants to answer and won’t feel as cornered by the question. 

His visible eye narrows for a moment, and then something akin to reluctance spreads across his face, and then resignation. You wonder if he’ll answer, hardly even able to breathe as you wait for him to speak. But after a few tense moments, disappointment hits you hard, because a teasing smile spreads across his lips and you know he’s going to evade the question.

Still, your heart races when Dazai dips you down, lowering his face so that his lips brush your ear as he says, “You looked like you were bracing yourself for a bullet with Ibuse getting ready to come over. Figured I’d rescue you.”

Though the music continues, Dazai doesn’t lift you from the dip. He does pull his face back so that he can look you in the eye. He’s so close to you that you can feel his warm breath fanning across your lips and it leaves you dizzy. The look in his eye now—you almost want to dare to believe you know what it is—it’s too close to the same emotion you feel whenever the two of you are curled up on the couch watching a movie. It’s too similar to longing, yearning, the desperate need for more, the desire to be yours just as badly as you want to be his, but you don’t want to get your hopes up when you know he can crush them in an instant.

His gaze drops down to your lips and then drags back up to your face, and you know he won’t kiss you, not in front of all of the eyes currently pinned on the two of you. Not in front of Mori. It’s nice to imagine though.

“Is that really why?” you breathe out, eyes searching his for an answer.

Something new crosses his face—it’s sharp and it’s angry, something that promises violence, not toward you, but toward the one who provoked it. His gaze cuts to the side briefly in the direction of where Ibuse Masuji is still standing frozen in the middle of the event hall, staring at the two of you, and then he looks back down at you, lips tilted up into a wry smile. 

“Partially,” he says, but doesn’t give you the chance to question any further, finally pulling you up from the dip to fall in line with the last steps of the dance. 

He turns you so that your back is pressed to his chest, palm cupping the back of your hand, fingers interlaced. His free hand slides around to your abdomen, holding your body flush to his. The music slows as the song comes to an end, but Dazai doesn’t release you. You turn your head to the side and tilt your head back to look up at him, inhaling when you find that he’s already looking at you, dark hair hanging in his lidded eye as he watches you.

“Are you… coming home tonight?” you finally ask, voice soft and hesitant.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, but his eye is glittering playfully, so you know that he’ll be home waiting for you by the time you get done at the event. He always manages to leave early—no one has the nerve to try to stop him. He dips his head a bit lower, lips ghosting your ear as he says, “You should thank me, you won’t have to worry about anyone else bothering you tonight.”

He finally lets go of you, your arms fall limp to your side and your breath is a bit too shaky for comfort. He tosses a wink in your direction before shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way back toward the outskirts of the room.

And he’s right—for the rest of the night, not a single person dared to approach you.

———

Even though you’re fairly certain Dazai will be there waiting for you, you still hold your breath as the elevator doors slide open to your apartment. Your feet are aching, you hardly got a chance to sit once during the night and you’re ready to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. 

As you step into your apartment, you can’t help the way your heart drops when you don’t immediately see him, and you especially can’t help the relief that spreads through you when you realize he’s lounging on the couch, out of sight from the angle you entered at. At once, you can breathe again—you’ve missed him the past week, more than you ever could’ve imagined.

“Hi,” you say quietly, coming to stand at the foot of the couch.

Dazai shed his black waistcoat, his shirt is untucked and his tie is loose around his neck, head resting on the far armrest as he looks up at you with a lazy grin that lights your nerves on fire.

“Hi,” he echoes. “I picked a movie.”

“A good one I hope,” you tell him with a small smile. “Let me go get changed.”

You turn on your heel to make your way up the steps to your bedroom, but before you can get to the staircase, Dazai speaks up again, “Can you even reach the clip?”

You hesitate as you glance at him over your shoulder. You technically can, but… “No,” you reply, and then lie, “Chuuya helped me get it on.”

Dazai’s lips flatten, but he does push himself to his feet to follow you up the stairs. You spare a glance behind you, catching the hard expression on his face as he stares at your back. You raise your eyebrows at him and it instantly washes away, replaced with a teasing smile as he raises his right back at you. You squint at him, but shake your head as you reach the top of the stairs, stepping into your room. 

When Dazai steps in after you, you swear the temperature in the room rises. 

You turn to look at him, and he tilts his head to the side idly, dark eye dancing with amusement as he slowly approaches you. He looks a mess with how his shirt is untucked and his tie is loosely hanging around his neck, hair tousled from laying back on the couch—he looks a mess, and you’ve never wanted him more.

You’re sick of the back and forth with him—it’s been a year and a half of it and you’re tired—you want to be his, you want him to be yours. Every time you think Dazai might finally make the first move, he ends up taking fifty steps backward for whatever reason. You don’t want to push it because you have a feeling it will only make him even more standoffish. Tonight has been more progress than you’ve made in a while—if you and him are going to happen, it’ll be now or it’ll never happen. Your pride won’t allow you to chase and pine for any longer.

He comes to stand directly in front of you and you think he wants you to turn around, but just when you’re about to, he gives you a sharp smile that instantly has you on edge, and then he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. Your lips part in shock, heart beat stuttering in your chest.

“We should get these off first, right?” he hums, reaching down for the clasp of your heel, knowing damn well the effect he’s having on you from the smug expression on his face. Although you can’t help but notice that his eye is darker than usual, pupil blown wide as he undos the clasp and slides your heel off. 

“Right,” you agree breathily, lashes fluttering when you feel the pads of his fingers press against your ankle as he places your foot back down on the ground before shifting to do the same for the other one.

This time, his throat bobs nervously and his fingers fumble over the clasp. When he finally gets the clasp off, he looks up at you through his lashes as he slides your heel off, but he doesn’t rise to his feet right away once he sets your foot down. Your fingers twitch at your side to reach out and brush them against his face, but you refrain, if only barely. 

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally rises to his feet, and he’s standing all too close to you. You can feel the heat of his body, you have to tilt your head up to look at him and when you do, you can feel his breath against your lips.

“Turn,” he murmurs.

You swallow thickly as you do as he asks, and your breath audibly catches when you feel his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he shifts your hair out of the way. You expect him to tease you, but you realize his breathing is almost as unsteady as yours is, you can feel each puff against the back of your neck and it has your hair on end. Your lashes flutter as Dazai slowly unzips your dress, the cool air of your room stark in contrast to the line of fire left behind with each brush of his fingers against your spine.

When he gets the zipper all the way down, he doesn’t move away, hands settling on your hips as he hovers behind you. You think your heart might race right out of your chest, head foggy and unsteady on your feet.

For a few long moments, neither of you speak.

And then, you make a terrible mistake.

“Why have you been avoiding me the past week?” you ask quietly, desperate for some sort of answer as to what happened between the two of you that made him go cold on you like this. His grip on your hips tightens, and you instantly want to eat your words. “Dazai?”

He doesn’t even deign you with a response.

Your heart is lodged in your throat when you feel his hands drop from your hips and his presence leaving from behind you. You’re cold, your body is, your heart is, and now you really are unsteady without his hands to ground you. You whip around to face him, knees wobbly as you call after him again, but you don’t chase after him—not this time. Bitterly, you think you’ve spent the last year and a half chasing after him and all you ever get in return is him running away.

You watch him disappear down the steps, frozen in place because how did one question ruin everything. For the first time in weeks, you thought you were actually making progress with him and just like that, it’s back to square one. You feel like you don’t breathe until you hear the elevator arrive on your floor, signalling that he’s left.

“Shit,” you breathe out shakily, sitting back on your bed and burying your face in your hands. You can feel all of the champagne you drank earlier in the night threatening to come up and your head feels light. You fumble for your phone, clicking on a familiar contact and gasping his name as soon as he answers the call, “Chuuya?”

“Yo,” you hear him ask, concerned. “You good? Aren’t you with-”

“Can you come over?” you push out before he has the chance to say his name. “I just-I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting. I can’t-”

“I’m coming,” Chuuya tells you when your words cut out into a sob. God, you can’t remember the last time you cried like this. Your whole body aches as you pull your knees to your chest and rock yourself back and forth trying to calm yourself down. “I’ll be there in five. I’m coming.”

You told yourself before that it was tonight or never, and you’re done waiting for him. No matter how badly it hurts to force yourself to move on—you’re done. 

You have to be, for your own sake. 

[urdreamydoodles]

"A UNIVERSE WITHOUT YOU" — Mark Variants x Fem!Reader Fanfic

CHAPTER 2 OF ?

CHAPTER 1 HERE

(Mark Variants: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Prisoner Mark, Bald Mark, Goggles Mark, Sheisty Mark, Omni-Mark & Viltrum Mark)

WARNING: Heavy smut, Violence, Emotional and physical abuse, Non-con (at first)

SMUT WITH A PLOT!

SYNOPSIS —

You exist in a world that should have been safe. But safety is an illusion, and so is peace.

They arrive like a plague, tearing through your city with hands built for slaughter, eyes sharpened by obsession. Mark Grayson—many Mark Graysons—each one twisted, each one wrong. They have hunted you across universes, through blood and ruin, through lifetimes lost to grief. And now, they have found you.

Sinister Mark is the first to taste you, the first to carve his claim into your skin, his hunger slow, deliberate—inescapable. But the others will not be denied. Mohawk Mark wants you wild and breathless, a creature of instinct. Hoodvincible, all fury and need, wants to break you into something that belongs only to him. Prison Mark, silent, watching, waits for his turn to unravel you with patient hands. Each of them will take you. Each of them will ruin you. And you—

You will learn what it means to be wanted.

@weaponxgames @martinys-world

If you want to be tagged for this story, comment!

The alley is suffocating.

Your breath comes fast, shallow, but not from exertion. Not from fear, though that, too, coils in your chest like a thing alive. No, it is the weight of him that steals the air from your lungs.

Sinister Mark is close. Too close.

The bricks are cold at your back, unyielding, rough against your palms as you brace yourself. But he is warm—so terribly, unbearably warm. His presence is suffocating, his body caging you in, hands planted on either side of your head. His eyes burn through you, deeper than they ever did before, dark with something far worse than rage.

Possession.

His lips part like he might speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, his breathing sharpens, the rise and fall of his chest ragged, like he's trying to hold himself together with sheer force of will.

Then, finally, he exhales a curse under his breath, something guttural and raw.

"You don’t get to run from me," he says, voice almost gentle. Almost.

A lie of softness wrapped around something razor-sharp.

Your heart pounds, but you meet his gaze, refusing to cower. You should be afraid. You are. But there is something else, something deeper, something that should not exist in the face of such violent devotion.

"You’re not him," you say.

And oh, that does something to him.

His fingers twitch against the brick, his whole body going rigid like he’s just been struck.

"No," he agrees, voice hoarse. "I’m not."

He should be furious. He should rip through the wall behind you in his rage, in his inability to be what you lost. But instead, he lets out something close to a laugh. It’s dry, humorless.

And then, without warning, he kisses you.

It is not a kiss meant to soothe, nor a kiss meant to convince. It is a claim. A demand.

His lips crash against yours with bruising force, fingers digging into the wall like he’s holding himself back from tearing you apart in a way you would not survive. His teeth catch your lower lip, sharp enough to sting, but he does not relent. His hands have yet to touch you, and yet you feel him everywhere—his presence, his heat, his need, pressing into you like gravity itself.

It is the most dangerous thing you have ever felt.

But you do not push him away.

You tilt your chin, just enough to break the kiss, just enough to breathe, and when you speak, your voice is steady, unwavering.

"He would hate you," you murmur. "Everything you are. Everything you've done."

Sinister Mark inhales sharply, his head tipping forward so that his forehead brushes yours.

Then he laughs.

It is low, deep, shaking through him in something close to ecstasy. He exhales against your lips, slow and measured, a ghost of breath against your skin.

"Then it’s a good thing he’s dead."

And the worst part?

You believe him.

The realization sends a tremor through you, but before you can react—before either of you can—another voice cuts through the alley like a blade.

"Well, well."

A slow, amused whistle follows.

"You found her first. That’s cute."

Sinister Mark does not move, but you feel the shift in his body, the slow turn of his head toward the source of the voice.

Mohawk Mark.

He stands at the mouth of the alley, his silhouette cast in flickering streetlight. There is blood on his hands, on his clothes, smeared across his jaw like war paint. His grin is wide, lazy, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"Was wondering when you’d get tired of playing with your food," he muses, stepping forward.

Sinister Mark is still, his posture unchanged, but something about him feels even more dangerous now, like a predator whose kill has just been threatened.

"You’re in my way," he says, voice void of any warmth it once held.

Mohawk Mark chuckles, rubbing his thumb through the blood on his knuckles.

"You’re so serious," he muses. "Come on. We all came here for the same thing."

His gaze slides to you, and his grin widens.

"And damn, she looks even better up close."

A rush of cold floods your veins, but before Mohawk Mark can take another step, the air shifts.

The wall behind you cracks under Sinister Mark’s grip, a deep, splintering sound that vibrates through the alley. His expression is unreadable, but his intent is clear.

Mohawk Mark tilts his head.

"Don’t be greedy," he teases. "I mean, I could fight you for her, but we both know how that’d end."

Sinister Mark’s jaw tightens.

"You’d lose."

Mohawk Mark’s grin sharpens.

"Maybe."

He steps closer.

"But I’d have fun trying."

The space between them shrinks, and you realize with a sick, sinking feeling that they are not arguing about if you will be theirs.

Only who gets to have you first.

Sinister Mark doesn’t blink, doesn’t so much as twitch.

Then, slowly, he reaches out—grabbing the front of Mohawk Mark’s suit.

And slams him into the opposite wall.

The force cracks the bricks, a spiderweb of fractures blooming outward. Mohawk Mark exhales sharply but laughs, wiping a streak of blood from his temple where the impact cut skin.

"That’s the spirit," he purrs.

Sinister Mark leans in, his voice dropping to something quiet, something lethal.

"You won’t touch her."

Mohawk Mark raises a brow.

"Oh? And what are you gonna do about it?"

Sinister Mark smiles.

A slow, terrifying thing.

"I’ll show you."

The alley goes silent.

For a moment, the only sound is your own breathing, too fast, too uneven.

Then, suddenly—

Mohawk Mark moves.

Faster than you can process, faster than human sight can track. His fist swings for Sinister Mark’s jaw, a hit that would shatter bone—

But Sinister Mark catches it.

The impact is deafening.

For a long, terrible moment, they are locked in place, a silent battle of strength and will.

Then they move.

It happens too fast. One second, Sinister Mark’s grip is crushing Mohawk Mark’s fingers, an unspoken promise of destruction. The next, Mohawk grins, twisting his wrist with practiced ease, slipping free just enough to drive his other fist into Sinister’s ribs. The crack is deafening.

Sinister barely flinches.

Instead, his response is immediate and brutal. He swings Mohawk like a ragdoll, slamming him into the opposite wall with enough force to send debris flying. Mohawk lets out a bark of laughter even as the impact splits his lip, blood smearing his grin.

"You hit like a jealous boyfriend," he taunts.

Sinister doesn’t waste breath on words. He lunges.

Their battle is violent, chaotic. Brick and concrete crumble around them as they tear through the alley, each strike a promise of suffering. Mohawk is fast, laughing between his dodges, jabs sharp and mocking. But Sinister is relentless, every attack carrying the weight of absolute hatred.

And they are distracted.

For the first time since this nightmare began, no hands are holding you down. No cruel voices whispering claims to your body, your existence.

You run.

It is not planned, not graceful. It is instinct. Pure, blinding survival. Your feet slam against the pavement, your breath ragged as you race through the ruined city.

Everything is in ruins.

Buildings are gutted, glass and steel strewn like the organs of a dying beast. Fires burn in the distance, black smoke curling into a bruised sky. The scent of blood is thick in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of destruction.

The dead are everywhere.

Twisted forms litter the streets—civilians, heroes, anyone who dared stand in their way. Some are unrecognizable, bodies reduced to pulp beneath inhuman strength. Others are frozen in their last moments of horror, eyes wide, mouths open in screams that will never end.

This is what they have done.

What they have turned the world into.

And you are next.

A flicker of movement in the distance makes your stomach drop.

At first, he is just a shadow against the firelit horizon, standing amid the carnage like a god surveying his kingdom. Then, as your breath hitches, he turns.

No Goggles Mark sees you.

His head tilts, blood dripping from his fingers, his grin slow and lazy. His eyes gleam with something hungry.

You run faster.

It is useless.

In the blink of an eye, he is gone—vanished from his perch among the corpses. Before you can even scream, a gust of air slams into you, and suddenly—

He is there.

Directly in front of you.

You crash into his chest, the impact sending you stumbling, but his hands catch you, firm and unyielding. He holds you steady, fingers pressing into your shoulders with bruising amusement.

"Well, well," he murmurs. "I was gonna say we should just kill you."

His grin widens.

"But now that I see you?"

He leans in, breath warm against your skin.

"I just wanna taste you."

Your stomach twists violently. His grip tightens, one hand dragging up to brush your jaw, slow and deliberate. His fingers are still wet with blood, smearing against your skin like war paint.

You shove him.

It is like pushing against steel. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even budge, just laughs—a delighted, terrible sound.

"Oh, I like you," he hums. "You're not even crying yet. That's cute."

His hand moves again, fingers tracing the line of your throat.

"You know," he continues, conversational, "Sinister’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you ran. He’s real possessive. Real crazy about you."

His thumb presses against your pulse, feeling the frantic beat beneath your skin.

"But me?" He tilts his head, grinning. "I don’t mind sharing."

Terror flares white-hot in your chest.

You try to twist away, but he moves faster, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his.

"Mm," he muses. "Yeah. I get it now. Why they all want you."

He steps closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

"You’re just so—"

A blur of motion—

And suddenly, he is gone.

One second, he is pressed against you, his breath ghosting over your lips. The next, he is yanked backward with bone-crushing force.

The world spins.

Then you hear it—

A snarl of fury.

A brutal, devastating impact.

And the growled, venom-laced words that follow:

"She. Is. Mine."

Sinister Mark.

You turn just in time to see him drive No Goggles into the pavement with the force of a meteor. The ground shatters beneath the impact, cracks webbing out in every direction.

No Goggles Mark coughs, laughing even as blood drips from his mouth.

"Damn," he wheezes. "Took you long enough."

Sinister looms over him, eyes black with rage.

"You let her run," he seethes.

No Goggles grins, wiping blood from his chin.

"And you almost lost her."

The words are a taunt, a goad. Sinister reacts exactly as expected—by grabbing No Goggles by the throat and slamming him into the nearest wall.

"You don’t get to touch her."

No Goggles laughs, the sound strained from the pressure on his windpipe.

"You gonna fight me for her, too?" he rasps. "Or are you scared you’ll lose?"

Sinister’s fingers tighten.

"You were never a threat."

His free hand moves—too fast to track—gripping No Goggles’ wrist and twisting. The sickening crack of breaking bone fills the air.

No Goggles’ laughter chokes off into a sharp inhale.

And yet—

Even as agony flashes across his face, his grin remains.

He leans in, voice dropping to something almost reverent.

"Then prove it."

For a moment, neither of them move.

A tense breath between destruction.

Then Sinister Mark lunges.

No hesitation. No warning. Just pure, unrelenting violence.

His fist collides with No Goggles Mark’s jaw, sending a ripple of force through the air. The pavement beneath them splinters from the impact. No Goggles barely has time to react before the next blow comes—a brutal uppercut that sends him hurtling through the ruined cityscape, smashing through what remains of a collapsed skyscraper.

Debris rains like a dying god’s final breath.

Sinister doesn’t let up.

He moves faster than thought, a streak of crimson and darkness as he follows No Goggles into the wreckage. A heartbeat later, another impact shakes the ground. Dust billows out in waves, choking the sky. The sounds of their battle are deafening—flesh hitting flesh, bones fracturing, the sickening crunch of destruction.

You do not wait to see the outcome.

You run.

Again.

Your body screams in protest, muscles aching, lungs burning from the effort. But you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when every moment wasted brings you closer to being caught again.

You dart through the ruins, slipping between shattered cars and crumbling buildings, heart hammering in your chest. The world is a graveyard, a smoldering wasteland left in their wake. You do not think about the bodies. You do not think about the blood.

You only think about escape.

But fate—fate is a cruel, laughing thing.

Because before you can even reach the next block—

A shadow looms above you.

A rush of wind.

And then—

You are airborne.

Your scream is stolen by the sky as you are yanked from the ground, lifted with terrifying speed. The city shrinks beneath you, buildings reduced to tiny, smoldering corpses of their former selves. The higher you rise, the more the destruction spreads out like a bleeding wound, stretching to the horizon.

The grip on you is unyielding. Strong. Familiar in its cruelty.

Then, a low, smug voice in your ear—

"Miss me?"

Mohawk Mark.

You twist, struggling against his hold, but his arms are locked around you, iron-clad, caging you against his chest. His laughter vibrates against your back, a pleased, predatory hum.

"Damn, you really don’t wanna be caught, huh?" he muses, effortlessly adjusting his grip as you writhe. "Too bad."

He tilts his head, smirking. His face is bloodied—whether his own or someone else’s, you can’t tell. His grin is sharp, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"You know," he murmurs, voice dipping, "Sinister’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out I got to you first."

His words send a fresh wave of panic through you.

You jerk against him, desperate, nails digging into his skin. He only grins wider.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts, tightening his grip. "Be nice now."

Then, without warning—

He kisses you.

Rough. Unforgiving.

His mouth crashes against yours with a hunger that is almost painful, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. His grip around your waist tightens as he holds you steady, savoring the way you struggle.

Your reaction is immediate.

You bite him.

Hard.

He jerks back with a sharp inhale, tasting his own blood.

Then—

He laughs.

A delighted, wicked sound, rolling from his throat like a lover’s sigh.

"Shit," he breathes, licking his lip where you broke the skin. "That was hot."

He looks down at you, amusement flickering through his gaze.

"You really got some fight in you," he muses, voice rich with approval. "I like that."

Then—his grip shifts.

Suddenly, he is no longer holding you.

He is dangling you.

The air around you turns colder as he loosens his grasp, just enough for your body to slip a little. The city stretches out beneath you, endless, waiting.

"You know," he murmurs, tilting his head, "I could just drop you."

The words are spoken playfully, casually.

And yet—

There is no doubt that he means them.

Your breath catches.

Mohawk watches your reaction, utterly enthralled.

"You scared, pretty thing?" he teases, voice honeyed with mock sympathy. "You should be. Bet you’d hit the ground real hard. Splat."

He chuckles, fingers flexing around your waist.

"But don’t worry," he purrs, pulling you back in. "I like you too much to waste you like that."

Before you can respond—

Another voice cuts through the wind.

"Well, shit."

Mohawk tenses.

You twist in his grasp—just in time to see another figure hovering in the air, watching the two of you with a lazy, knowing smirk.

Sheisty Mark.

His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—

His eyes are locked onto you.

And he looks—

Obsessed.

Mohawk exhales, rolling his shoulders.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he drawls, tone half-annoyed, half-amused.

Sheisty’s grin widens.

"Yeah, yeah, took me a second," he shrugs. "Had some fun down below first. Damn, though."

His gaze rakes over you, dark and slow.

"You really are as pretty as I remember."

Your stomach twists.

Mohawk tightens his grip around you, possessive.

"Back off," he warns. "I found her first."

Sheisty raises an eyebrow, floating closer.

"Yeah?" he muses. "And? You really think Sinister’s gonna let that slide?"

Mohawk’s smirk falters—just slightly.

Sheisty chuckles.

"Man’s losing his mind over her," he continues, shaking his head. "Tearing the city apart, wrecking everything in his way. He ain't gonna let you have her just 'cause you got lucky."

Mohawk narrows his eyes.

"Maybe not," he admits. "But I don’t see him here right now, do you?"

Sheisty hums, considering.

Then he grins.

"Guess that means I can cut in."

Before Mohawk can react—

Sheisty is in front of you.

Too fast. Too close.

His hand reaches out, trailing a finger along your jaw, slow and deliberate.

"Been waitin’ a long time to see you, baby," he murmurs, voice like velvet and danger. "And you don’t know how bad I wanna get my hands on you."

His touch is feather-light, teasing, his eyes drinking in every detail of you.

Mohawk growls.

"Touch her again," he warns, "and I'll break you."

Sheisty laughs.

Loud. Careless.

"You wish you could," he taunts. "But let's be real, man."

He smirks, tilting his head.

"You really think any of us get to keep her?"

His words hang heavy in the air.

A reminder.

A promise.

Because this—

This is just the beginning.

[shuafiles]

young lust [y.jh]

MDNI, 18+

SUMMARY | you and jeonghan couldn’t wait until you got home so he pulled over at the side of the road

PAIRING | idol bf!jeonghan x afab!reader

CONTENT | smut with no plot, car sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (dont), dick riding, nipple play?, slight choking, swearing

WORDS | 1.9k

A/N | heavily inspired by diet pepsi. im so glad jeonghan isnt bald (yet). this is for my girlies who miss him <3 NOT PROOFREAD

you absentmindedly fiddled with jeonghan’s fingers resting on your lap as he chatted with the boys. your mind began to wander as their laughter filled the air, likely over something funny mingyu had done on stage. it was the company dinner, a celebration of their successful concert, and you were more than happy to be invited by jeonghan and the rest of the group. watching your boyfriend interact with the people he cherished most made you smile. his concert makeup was still intact, he had joked about wanting to show you how pretty he looked up close. though you were used to his humor, you couldn’t help but agree—he really did look so pretty.

amid your thoughts, jeonghan’s hand gently slid from your hand to rest on your thigh. you didn’t mind—it was a familiar gesture between the two of you. he always loved holding you in some way, whether it was his hand on your waist or your fingers intertwined. as long as you were beside him, he felt at ease.

"y/n! what did you think of the show today?" seokmin's voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to face him with a smile. you had grown close with the boys over time. after nearly two years of dating jeonghan, it was only natural that you formed a bond with the people who surrounded him the most.

"it was amazing! you guys always—" your words faltered as jeonghan’s hand slipped beneath your skirt, his fingers brushing against your clothed entrance. your eyes widened, and your thoughts derailed completely. seokmin noticed your sudden pause and tilted his head with concern. 

"are you okay?" he asked, drawing the attention of several others at the table. all eyes were now on you as your breath hitched, jeonghan’s fingers continuing their slow, teasing glide along your core.

"everything alright, my love?" jeonghan’s voice was sweet, but the mischief in his eyes betrayed his innocence. he knew exactly what he was doing, yet acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. it wasn’t his fault that you walked into the room with a fitted black top that perfectly hugged your body. in fact, you knew he loved it when you wore skirts that flared out with your every move. he couldn’t wait to have you all to himself.

you cleared your throat, shaking your head slightly. “i’m fine, sorry. just a bit under the weather.” worried eyes watched you, but sooner or later, everyone returned to their own conversations. making sure that nobody was paying attention to you, you glared at your boyfriend, who wore a triumphant smile on his face.

jeonghan leaned closer to you, his hands cupping your pussy in the process, making you let out a tiny gasp as warmth flooded your body. “i can’t wait to take you home,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with a teasing undertone that made your heart race. his eyes darkened as he stared at you, and you felt your cheeks heat up

as you slipped into the passenger seat of jeonghan’s car, a rush of excitement roared through you. jeonghan settled into the driver’s seat, and as he turned the ignition, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. he turned to face you, grasping your chin between his fingers to place a soft kiss on your lips. body warm in anticipation at the thought of having him. your body leaned closer to him, settling into his touch. he hummed against your lips before pulling away, “let’s get out of here before i can’t control myself.”

the rest of the car ride was pure torture. traffic flooded the streets, and you grew even more frustrated. jeonghan wasn’t helping as he continued to excruciatingly tease you. his hands sliding between your legs, spreading your arousal around your entrance. your underwear starting to feel uncomfortable from the wetness pooling between your legs. at every stoplight, jeonghan would lean over the console to kiss you with such possessiveness, his hand by the nape of your neck just to feel your lips even closer.

“jeonghan,” you breathed out. “i want you now, please.” desperation lacing your voice, jeonghan couldn't help but groan at your needy state.

“hold on, baby.” as soon as the lights turned green, he hit the pedal and pulled up on the nearest empty lot. “get in the back.” your stomach fluttered at his low voice. thank goddess for his spacious car because you hopped in the back with ease, while he stepped out of the car and followed you into the backseat.

you climbed on his lap the second he was seated. lips colliding with one another. his hands roamed your body, sliding the strap off of your top and reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. letting the cloth fall, his lips attached to your neck instantly. one of his hands reaching for your breast, giving it a light squeeze before his fingers took hold of your nipple, circling the bud with his index finger and thumb.

“so fucking beautiful.” jeonghan whispered against your skin before entrapping the other nipple in his mouth. moans escaped your lips as your hand flew out to grip his hair, pulling on the strands, which made him grunt against your breast.

you feel his cock grow stiff beneath you, making you grind your hips against his. he pulled away from your nipple, making a light pop sound, before returning his lips to your mouth. his tongue caressing your lips before pushing it between to meet your tongue. you sighed in contentment, pushing your body towards him even more. you felt his hands pull your skirt up your thighs, your soaked underwear on full display for him.

jeonghan pulled his lips away from you, making you frown. he grabbed the hem of his shirt before lifting it off his body and discarding it somewhere in the car. he lifted your hips so that you were hovering above his legs. “how much do you love this pair?” his tone was mischievous as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your lacy underwear.

“i could always just get a new one.”

“good girl.” he smirked before gripping the fabric with his fingers and ripping them apart. you gasped at his actions, not expecting him to be so rough. his eyes darkened with a mix of desire and satisfaction as he admired his work, the now-torn underwear fully exposing your pussy to him.

“i could’ve just taken them off!” you swatted his shoulder, but he only laughed.

“where’s the fun in that?” his hands made their way to the button of his pants, undoing it before sliding the fabric down his thighs, leaving him in his boxers. his cock strained against his underwear, the tip peeking over the waistband, leaving your mouth watering at the sight. you sat back down on his thigh, hand palming him through his boxers. grabbing the waistband of his underwear, you pulled it down with the rest of his pants. his cock sprang against his stomach, tip red, and veins showing all over. “need to get you ready for my cock, princess.”

jeonghan spread his legs, leaving the space below your pussy open. his fingers reaching for your entrance, making you gasp and rest your head on his shoulder. his digits spreading your arousal through your folds before pushing two of them inside you.

“fuck!” you cried out once you felt him curl his fingers, hitting your g-spot perfectly. he knew exactly how to make you feel good. you grind your hips down to meet his hand, desperate for any kind of friction.

jeonghan tutted at your movement, a cocky grin plastered on his face, “so wet for me, baby.” he teased, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a painfully slow manner.

pulling your head away from his shoulder, you glared at him. “jeonghan, please,” you whined, “stop teasing me and just fuck me already.”

he chuckled at your plea, pulling his fingers from your cunt and leaning back against the seat. “my pretty girl, so needy for my cock.” he wrapped his hand around his cock, your slick transferring from his fingers to his length as he pumped himself. “c’mere.” he grasped your waist, lining up your entrance to his cock.

jeonghan rubbed the tip along your folds, grasping his shoulders, you slowly sank onto his cock. you moaned at the feeling of his length expanding your walls. he watched as you bit your lip, face twisting in discomfort and pleasure.

“slowly, baby.” his voice soothed you. soon enough, discomfort turned into pure pleasure, feeling his entire cock inside you.

“oh god, hannie.” you whimpered. his hands fell to your ass, gripping the skin as you slowly began to bounce on his cock. he hissed when you circled your hips, your pace getting faster once you got used to his size.

jeonghan helped you by meeting your thrust, lifting his hips to thrust into yours. your nails digging into his shoulder blades as you held onto him for assistance. gasping at every bounce you did as his cock perfectly kissed your cervix.

“you feel so good, pretty girl, fuck.” jeonghan moaned, eyes trained on your breasts as they bounced along with your movement. he brushed your hair away from your neck, exposing the skin to him, and he couldn’t help but latch his mouth to your chest, sucking and licking the supple skin. toes curling at the sensation, you picked up your pace, relentlessly fucking yourself with his cock. each thrust, leaving you craving more.

jeonghan pulled your body close to him, chests pressing against each other. legs burning from the constant movement, you halted for a second before proceeding to grind yourself on him. his cock deep inside you as you continued to move your hips.

“fuck! i’m so c-close, hannie.” you cried out. rocking your hips in a quick manner. feeling your stomach tighten.

“that’s it, baby,” he whispered, loving the way you’re using his cock to make yourself feel good. his hand reached up to grip your throat, applying just enough pressure. “say you love me, princess.” you gasped as his other hand fell to your clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive bud. “say it.”

“i-i love you! oh my god, i love you so much.” your face scrunching up from his touch. “please, i want to cum, jeonghan!”

“look at me, and i’ll let you cum.” your eyes locked to him. the moonlight perfectly shining on his face, seeing a smile form on his lips as you tried to keep your eyes open. his finger working on your clit. “my perfect girl, let it out, cum all over my cock.”

as if it was on his command, your vision turned white as you came all over his lap, cursing his name in the process. nearly ripping his skin off as your grip on him tightened. feeling you clench around his cock made him release inside you. his warm cum spreading across your walls.

your body collapsed, head falling on his shoulder as you attempted to catch your breath. feeling his hand lazily dragging itself up and down your back to console you. you cringed at the feeling of fluids dripping out of you and onto the seat of the car.

in one sudden movement, jeonghan lifted your body before thrusting you back down, making you yelp. “keep my cum inside, princess, unless you want me to fill you up even more.”

[sugudoe]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ ✎ ° 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 ! ࣪₊ 𐙚

✶ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: being a kindergarten teacher is something you excel at, you even have two students you treat as if they were your own. not that they mind your endless devotion, much less do their dad, 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨, if you could spare some attention to him as well.

✶ 𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: papamin!!!!!!! honestly i love papamin so much, i wish i could make that man a daddy. while on the topic, nanami is girl dad code, but for the plot he is sukuna’s and yuuji’s dad. also i loved writing sukuna as a baby, he is such a menace, he definitely was that kid who bite everyone. just posting this because i can’t wait till i post the series i’m making, i had to do something before. divider by: @cafekitsune

✶ 𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬: pure fluff / ooc!sukuna / reader has no gender / no curse!au / modern!au / mention of death and grief (minor character)

✶ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k

Yuuji thinks you are his princess, and you let him play with the wood horses and gallops around your desk, sometimes you even play pretend with him, accepting the roses he plucks from the school’s garden and sharing your sandwiches with him. He loves you very dearly, it’s not a secret he keeps that you are his favorite teacher, but it is yours that he is one of your favorites as well.

Now Sukuna, his twin brother, is a whole story. The two and a half years old siblings can be perceived as the perfect opposites, because Yuuji is adorable and expressive in good ways, and Sukuna tries to bite your ankles whenever you move near him sitting on the floor. His sharp teeth are always on showcase by his little smirk, he is a menace.

You know Sukuna might sometimes dislike you, not because you have done him terrible wrong, au contrarie, you have been a good teacher, a good human! He tries to grab your hair with his tiny fists and you put him in your lap quickly, staring at him with a cute smile, he thinks you are encouraging him to leave you bald but he ends up not caring anymore, and decides to snuggle against you and sleep. Only to wake up later with a bite on your wrist.

It’s love for your profession and for the children that you don’t report any of this to the superiors or his parent, you think hopefully that you can change his ways, make him better. It does work, credits be given, he used to be worse! He used to bite the other students, now his teeth are all over your and, unfortunately, his twin.

It’s something you try your best to control, gods be good, Yuuji only whines before slapping his brother’s head, and then Sukuna cries and comes to you. You open your arms and again, he is biting you.

“Ow, Kuna!” You move his head away from your skin. “What do you eat to have such sharp teeth, hm?”

He doesn’t answer you, his big eyes are filled with tears and he is wiggling towards any skin of yours to sink his canines.

“C’mere.” You grab him and adjust the baby in your hips, before moving towards the box filled with toys and grabbing a plastic one, you take it to the class bathroom and wash it, while Sukuna sits on the balcony, staring at you with his sad puppy eyes. “You are so cute, y’know that, right?” He nods, which takes you by surprise. “You can not keep biting me anymore, Sukuna, you get this?”

As expected, Sukuna doesn’t answer this time. He only gets what he wants.

“But let’s make a deal, you don’t bite me or Yuuji, you bite this whenever you feel like it, hm?”

Sukuna is not supposed to be with pacifiers anymore, something requested by his parent and passed to you through your boss. So it’s a little secret to let him have the blue whale in his mouth, he bites the thing so deeply that by the end of the week, you have to change it for a red rubber duck.

It’s keeps going like this for a couple more days until you notice the progress being made, Sukuna always has the toy by his gripping hands or in his pockets, and whenever he falls to the ground or gets pushed by a classmate, his little eyebrows crunch into an angry face. You think he is going to jump the kid or run at you and be a little vampire, but instead he grabs his toy and starts to violently munch on it.

It’s adorable, it makes you want to eat him.

But you noticed, obviously you did, how Sukuna has anger issues, and being a baby he has no idea how to control the anger but to externalize it with violence, and you gave him a escape plan. Now, he isn’t so angry anymore, sometimes he just squeezes the little toy, he also doesn’t spend his time with only you or his brother, he makes some new friends such as little Uraume, who follows Sukuna around and both keep sharing their lunches.

You do find one more problem arising, anytime Ijichi, who you learn is their butler, comes to pick the boys, Sukuna cries desperate for having to return his toy. You tried to let him have but the man refuses and your superior reprimanded you once, after catching you trying to give it. The next day, you notice quickly that Yuuji and Sukuna both have little red teeth marks on their arms.

You sigh desperate.

After class is over, few days later, Ijichi is late for the pickup, so you sat both Sukuna (sucking his little toy) and Yuuji (talking your ear off) down. They stop what both were doing and stare at you, one with pure sparkling eyes and the other with a raising eyebrow. You laugh at that.

“My darling cherubs, we need to talk.” You sit on the floor. “Kuna, you are not allowed to keep biting your brother, you know that. And you can’t bite him as well, Yuuji. You have to go to your papa, okay?”

The little one nods at you.

“Sukuna, honey, you can’t bring the duck home, we tried. But you can find another one to bite, hm?” He doesn’t answer, of course, he is two years he is not going on a quest for a rubber toy. “I’ll talk to Ijichi-san, for you, okay buddy?”

It takes you by surprise when Sukuna gets up and moves to sit on your lap, snuggling his face to your chest. When your arms go to close, Yuuji follows his twin and sits on you as well.

“Thank you, sensei.” Kuna’s little voice melts your heart even more, you hug them back instantly.

“I’ll do anything for the both of you.”

You don’t notice the presence behind you, or the fact that it’s been there since you sat down, and payed attention to everything you said, but mostly by how Sukuna went for you instantly and thanked you. The little bundle of angriness has his eyes closed, but his brother stares behind your shoulder and gasp, wiggling out of your touch and running towards the door.

“PAPA!” Yuuji screams making your heart jump. You turn back, staring at the scene. A tall blonde man, with formal clothes, kneels to the floor before opening his arms and grabbing Yuuji on his arms, kissing the pink hair of his baby.

You have heard the gossips towards the twins’s father, how exceptionally good looking he is, most charming and polite man anyone has ever seen or meet. And that he is single.

Of course, because of Ijichi being the one to bring and get the boys and the first teacher-parents’s meeting of the year being in just a few weeks, you haven’t met the man yet, but he here is, Nanami Kento, in all his glory.

You get up with Sukuna at the same time Nanami get up with Yuuji, and you notice right away that in his other hand he holds a bouquet of purple tulips.

“Look, Kuna, your papa is here.” You bounce the sleepy head on your lap, he opens his eyes before smiling a bit, and closing it again. “I think he got pretty tired after the playground today.” You laugh quietly before staring at the man, his eyes on his baby, a small smile on his face as well.

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/n-sensei.” It’s the first thing he says to you, his voice shaking your smile for a bit. “I’m sorry about being so late, the driver got busy with some stuff, so I had to come. I got you this, for the inconvenience.” He presents you the flowers, in your mind, he was going on a date, never in millions thoughts you would expect this.

“Oh, oh! Thank you, they are beautiful.” With your spare hand, you grab the flowers and smell them, smiling sweetly.

“I told papa you like those, sensei.” Yuuji says, with his eyes closed and large smile.

“Thank you, Yuuji, my charming knight.” You put the flowers on your desk before giving a pat to his head. “And thank you again, Mr. Nanami.”

“Again, I’m very sorry. But now, I think it’s time we go, right boys? Your sensei deserves to rest after the two of you.” Nanami grabs Sukuna from your arms, the boy open his eyes again for a second before falling into slumber. You help the male grabbing the twins backpacks and both of you move towards the parking lot.

When Nanami puts the babies in their seats, he turns to you grabbing the bags.

“Thank you for being their teacher, is not an easy job, but they both really like you.”

“It’s my pleasure, really. Sukuna and Yuuji make this job really worth it.” You answer sincerely, the door to the car is closed and the boys can’t hear you.

“I heard what you said to them, about the bites. I’ll get the toys for Sukuna, thank you for caring for him.“ Before Nanami gets into his car, he stops and turns back at you. “Would you need a ride? After all we did kept you here for longer than anticipated.”

You stare at the sky, dark clouds already reaching the sunset orange and pink, even the moon hangs more brightly than ever. You are inclined to accept, but you hold yourself.

“I would, any other day, but there is so much I have to do in the classroom and to grade the kid’s exercises, but thank you for the offer, Mr. Nanami.” You both exchange a smile before you wave at the awake Yuuji, staring at you by the window.

The next day and the others after, surprising everyone, Nanami is the one picking his sons up. His back is always tainted with the sunset from the corridor’s widows whenever he stays at the door, and a dozens of mothers and staff keep staring at him, searching for any opening to create a conversation. You are putting Yuuji’s bear beanie on, when you hear your boss asking Nanami for coffee with the excuse of talking about the boys, you laugh silently before grabbing the twins’s hands and moving towards their dad, giving an scape for him to move away from the woman.

“No need for the coffee ‘date’, the parents reunion with the teachers is this saturday, we all can talk there.” You say a bit loud, enough to send the message across, and all those people ready to jump at the blonde male move away.

“Thank you.” He whispers before grabbing the boys in his arms. “No ride today?”

Every once in a while, after the first time meeting Nanami, he has been asking you if you need a ride, and with a strength you don’t know where came from, you refuse nicely. It’s not that you don’t want, would be stupid to, it’s more for the fact that he is dreamily, you wouldn’t be any better than those who salivate at the sight of him. You could be worse.

“Not today, Mr. Nanami, these two made a mess in the bathroom, although I think Sukuna has a talent for arts, he painted the walls really well.”

“God, you’re joking.” You sign no with your head and the man sighs. “I’ll ask for the price of repair, please don’t worry about it, it’s my kids, I’ll fix it.”

“No need! Seriously, I believe just water and soap and it’ll be fine.” You grab Sukuna’s cheeks and he hides his face in his dad’s chest. “But if not, it’ll be a cute memory in the future, when they move classes or school.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Yuuji squirms. “We’re staying with you forever, right Papa?”

Oh.

“C’mon, buddy, time to go home.” Nanami laughs his answer, and you move with them, holding their backpacks. It’s a little ritual now, you could say.

You wave them goodbye and return home that day with a slight tremble in your fingers, after this year most likely you wouldn’t see them ever again, and that fact made you terribly sad. You would miss pealing the fruits for Yuuji and being gifted half of it, would miss even the mark bites of Sukuna little mouth, even though he hadn’t been a menace in a long time now.

Admitting, you would miss Nanami and his lovely smile, the way he would ask you for a ride anytime. You should accept it, you know, but could you move on from this little crush you’ve been harboring, if you are meant to never see him again? Doubt it, no one can get over the Nanami Kento.

You sleep with those thoughts, these little moments you had with him and the sweet and gentle and chaotic memories you had with the twins. It’s a bittersweet feeling teachers have, you should be used to it by now, dealing with the fact that the babies don’t stay babies forever, only in your heart and memories. But there is something in that little family that shakes your core, that moves your mind and warms your heart, something that scares you.

Saturday comes but your anxiety stays. You decorate your classroom with a large table filled with charcuterie boards and juices, there is also paintings of the kids hanging by the walls, presents to give to their parents. All of them are on the corridor, you call for one couple after the other, for the intimacy of talking about their children.

You notice how each kid can resemble their parents in a comical and adorable way. Megumi, for example, who has his mom messy hair but his dad scowl, Nobara is energetic like her mom, and sensitive like her daddy who cries when gifted her painting.

You also see how they can be with their babies. Toge’s parents who are elated with your hand signs, and how you explain that you learned it in two months for the boy and has been using and teaching it in your class, for the other students to communicate with the him. Maki’s and Mai’s parents are stiff and bored, and you take notice of that to pay more attention to the girls, help if needed anything.

You do your job perfectly, but your eyes always go searching for a blonde man whenever you go call the next parents. He is not there yet, and you wonder if he won’t come. Maybe job related, maybe he forgot, you try to not be sad.

When you are taking Nanako’s and Mimiko’s fathers to the door, waving them goodbye, you catch sight of a man with beige suit and blue shirt, in his hands another bouquet of purple tulips.

“I told you we should have given something.” Mr. Geto whispers while staring at Nanami.

“Love, that’s not a ‘Thank you for being my kid’s teacher’ bouquet.” Mr. Satoru answers with a smirk your way.

“I miss when you would give me flowers.” Geto answers, his voice low because they are already by the end of the corridor.

“Huh? I gave your flowers last week?!”

Nanami and you are staring at the couple, until their figures disappear and both of you stare at each-other, smiling fondly at first and then laughing a second later.

“I’m guessing these are for me?” You ask when you move inside the classroom, Nanami following behind. You turn to him, and he nods, giving you the bouquet, perfumed perfectly. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I was late, the boys wanted to come as well but I had to keep them occupied and tired.” You nod laughing, before pointing at the table in front of your desk, putting your flowers there, he sits and you move towards the wall, grabbing two drawings.

“These are for you.” You sit by his side instead of in front of the man and give him the papers, he has a sweet smile while admiring the drawings. “I asked the class to draw their family, hasn’t had the time to check yet, but I hope it’s better than the one I saw earlier: the girl draw only her sister and their cats.”

“It’s perfect, don’t worry.” Nanami has his eyes on both drawings, side by side. You can tell which is which by the colors and traces, but none other, the art is basically the same. “This is Ijichi in the car, how cute.” Nanami points at the figure in a black suit driving a car besides the house in both paintings. You stares confused at the fifth stick person, besides Nanami and the twins. “Is that…?”

“I think so…” Your hands move to your mouth, hiding your growing smile when you notice characteristics in it that resembles you, specially a rubber duck in your hands, in Sukuna’s drawing. “I’m flattered they consider me family.”

“They are not wrong.” Nanami stares at you now. “That day we meet, you were helping them with one thing I had no idea how.” He moves the drawing to your desk. “I’m not their biological father, don’t know if you know that.” You don’t, so you keep yourself quiet and let him speak. “I was their godfather, been friends with their dad ever since we were little. Itadori Jin, great guy, that’s where they inherited that beautiful pink hair.” Nanami has a sad smile in his lips that break your heart. “He and his wife died in a car crash, first date since the birth of the babies, just two months old. Their grandfather was adamant on keeping them, but he realized he needed my help, so he let me adopt them officially.”

He sighs before grabbing his thighs.

“Recently I told them about their parents, that’s why Sukuna started the biting, his sorrow is physically showing. I tried to help but didn’t knew how, but you did, you handled it better than I could.”

“You are still a great father, they might not have come from you, but they are yours. And you did helped them, Sukuna might have received some slaps from Yuuji, but Yuu always hugged him whenever it became too much, and he listened to me instead of throwing a tantrum.” You hold his arm for a second before removing your hand. “You are raising them very well, Mr. Nanami, it’s not easy to be a parent, but you are doing fine.”

“Thank you, and please call me Kento.” It’s not professional, but you nod.

“Okay… Kento.” You whisper his name like a secret, and you wonder if you feel right, but it tastes like honey in your tongue. It’s just a second of both of you staring at each-other for his eyes to move to your lips. You should move back, but you don’t, nor you can. Instead, your eyes go to his pink lips as well. “We should wrap this up, it’s late, right?”

“Yeah, we should.” But none of you move, eyes moving to eyes and lips, over and over, you wet your lips, he groans and lunges at you. You accept him easily, moving your hands to circle his broad shoulders and touch his neck, while his large hands take your waist.

You shouldn’t be doing this, but it feels wrong to not be doing it. So you allow yourself to be kissed hungrily by Kento.

There is three knocks on the door before you both jump apart, your boss, the principal, makes her way in, eyes shinning at seeing Nanami.

“Mr. Nanami, so good to see you here! Would you like to come and have that coffee we were taking about some days ago?”

Kento looks at you, his hair is a little messy and his mouth is red, he looks even more ravishing than before. You cough awkward, grabbing your flowers, bag and the twins’s drawing before moving to his side.

“I’m so sorry, Principal, but Mr. Nanami is giving me a ride home.” The man has his hands on your back in an instant, moving both of you out of the class. “I see you monday.”

The two of you leave the baffled woman behind, Nanami has an eternal perfect smile charming his face, making you want to kiss him even more. Which you do, when he closes the door he opened for you, and enters the car you kiss him, when you both stop at a red light you kiss him. And when he let you at your house, his hands again in your back, he kisses you.

You are too tempted to bring him inside, even more to have your way with him, but he beats you to it, asking you to go out with him the next day.

It’s just the beginning of your blooming relationship, flowers every week, restaurant dates, kisses at every opportunity. You both keep yourselves occupied and yet reserved. He gives you rides home after most staff and students are gone, the boys happily talking with you all the way to your house, and he leaves you at your door with a peck the babies don’t see.

It’s at your last day of the year, all your students glued to you, crying red faces you promise them to always be there when needed, giving the parents your personal number, they happily accept it. Yuuji and Sukuna are the most devasted, their little hands keep you from moving far away from them, and when Nanami comes to pick them up, Sukuna cries together with his brother, taking you by surprise.

You tell them bye and run to your apartment, where you prepare a whole meal and dress nicely, soon you hear the door knocking. When you open, it takes three stunned seconds before two little babies are running to your arms, screaming happily to see you.

“Now it’s a good time to say, Y/n is staying in our lives.” Nanami says while hugging you, both boys in your arms holding you as well.

“Forever?” Sukuna asks, Yuuji stares at you waiting for the answer.

“Yes, my cherubs, forever.”

[secretlysamcro]

Black female reader x Jax teller PLOT SPOILERS! smut, explicit language & violence If you're under the age of 18. haven't finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: Jax x black reader where reader is his old lady and deals with imas or Tara’s jealously/flirty comments and puts her in her place by beating the shit out of her in front of the club and Jax supports her control over lady’s business and ends with smut or not

Backstory: Jax Teller had always been a man of fleeting connections. Casual hookups and one night stands, that is until y/n came into his life. She was the little sister of T.O, the former Grim Bastards president, now turned SAMCRO. It wasn’t long before y/n became known as Jax’s old lady. Jax and Ima had a brief history. Meaningless encounters that were more convenience than connection. Even with y/n in the picture, she continues to flirt and beg for Jax’s attention, being the trifling whore that she is.

Jax strolls over from his bike as he began to approach the bar which was once the heart of the Lodi chapter of the Grim Bastards. With the former president T.O now a member of SAMCRO, an agreement has been made. The bar was now going to be used as a front, a place to launder any dirty money rolling in from future SAMCRO dealings.

“You lost, white boy?” T.O calls out to Jax as he strides down the side path of the bar. He lets out a laugh, Jax joining in. They pull each other into a tight embrace, Jax taking a moment to look T.O up and down, his gaze fixated on the new kutte he now wears.

“Looks good on you, brother” he says, a sense of pride from within, he’s proud to now call T.O a member of SAMCRO. The Grim Bastards had always been there when needed. Having their backs in ways that other clubs never did, their loyalty running deep, proving time and time again that they could be trusted when it mattered the most.

They step into the bar, Jax noticing a few familiar faces amongst the sparse crowd. Even the faces he doesn’t recognise, seem to know who he is, their respect clear in the way that they acknowledge him. As Jax continues to scan the room, he notices the GB memorabilia being taken down from the walls and carefully packed into boxes.

“What’s happening with all the old club stuff?” Jax questions, leaning against the bar beside T.O, he takes in the scene with a sigh.

“Sending it to the South Gate charter” T.O replies, slipping off his signature black shades and setting them on the bar “I'm sure them mother fuckers’ can find somethin’ to do with it all”.

They continue their conversation, discussing the future of the club, T.O’s new role within SAMCRO and the logistics of setting up the bar. They talk through how things will work and how they’ll manage everything moving forward. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Jax notices you.

You walk towards them, your knotless braids moving softly with each step. Jax’s gaze is immediately locked onto you. The lights above catching your perfectly lined lips, brown liner paired with a slick of clear gloss - chef’s kiss. The sound of your knee high boots grow louder, drawing T.O’s attention. He glances over, following Jax’s stare. The moment he clocks its you his jaw tightens, he turns back just as quickly. “off limits” he mumbles under his breath with an eyebrow raised, almost as if he could read Jax’s mind.

“Where the fuck you goin’ dressed like a ten dollar hooker?” T.O snaps, his eyes narrowing at the little black dress hugging your curves and your long leather jacket draped over your arms. “Fuck you, bald ass” you fire back with an unapologetic smile.

Jax leans back, arms crossed, holding back a laugh as he watches the interaction unfold. his curiosity getting the better of him as he tries to piece together the dynamic between the both of you.

You move around the bar, pouring yourself a drink without any hesitation. Jax cant help but notice how comfortable you seem, though inside your heart is racing. The man sitting with your brother is so damn fine its almost infuriating.

“You know you gone’ pay for that right?” T.O mutters, keeping a close eye on you.

“Put it on my tab” Jax cuts in smoothly, a grin tugging at his face as his eyes linger on you just a little too long, ignoring T.O’s first warning.

“Jax Teller” he says, extending his hand, the playful smirk never leaving his face as he eye fucks you just a little. No introduction was needed from him. You already knew who he was, even if he didn’t know you.

You place your hand in his, the slight squeeze of his grip sending a wave of tension between the two of you. Both of you have rings decorating your fingers, the soft clink of the metals meeting each other breaks the silence between the locked stares.

“y/n” you reply, maintaining the eye contact without faltering. “so... you're my brothers new boss?” you ask, a slight teasing in your tone as you throw a look towards T.O.

“Brother?” Jax repeats, his brow raised slightly, now understanding why you were off limits.

“Yeah, this my little sister” T.O confirms, giving Jax a stern look, that says everything without even saying a word.

It was the night of Jax’s birthday and despite his insistence that it wasn’t a big deal, his brothers couldn’t let the day go without a celebration. The SAMCRO clubhouse was alive, filled with laughter, music and conversation. Everyone affiliated with the club had shown up for the Presidents birthday, from patched members to close friends.

You were sat beside your brother at one of the central tables in the clubhouse. At the table with you were a few of the other patched members you had become more familiar with over time. Opie, Happy, Chibs and to your left, was Lyla. She was Opie’s girl, and although you had spent most of your life around your brother and his MC world, this club was different. There were new dynamics alongside a new set of rules. Lyla had been quick to help you when it came to any unspoken codes that came with being a part of this new family.

“Ugh” Lyla’s eyes flick to the entrance as she lets out a sigh. “I thought she wasn’t coming” she remarks, her voice portraying a hint of disgust, as she takes in the woman who just made an entrance.

She walks in confidently, as if she was familiar with the place even though you’d never met her. The boys glance at each other, their own irritation proved by their faces, especially Opie's. The way he looks between Lyla and the blonde, there’s definitely a history there, just one you weren't aware of.

You glance around, noticing the less than thrilled expressions on everyone’s faces, “Anyone gonna fill me in?” You ask, confused by the tension.

“That, my friend…is Ima, one of the Diosa girls” Chibs starts, only for Juice to cut in with a grin as he joins the table.

“Did anyone actually invite her, or does she just crash wherever she wants?” He jokes, finding her brazen confidence somewhat awkward.

“Word probably spread around Diosa” Happy adds, a man you’ve discovered, of very few words. You catch Opie fidgeting, avoiding Lylas gaze. When you meet eyes with her, she gives you a look, one that clearly says, I’ll tell you later.

“Well, that’s Jackie’s birthday ruined” Chibs chimes in with a chuckle, fully aware of how Jax will react to her presence. Juice nudges him to shut up as Ima confidently strides past the table, not acknowledging anyone sat at it.

The boys begin to disperse, leaving you alone with Lyla. She leans closer, the scent of alcohol evident on her breath.

“So.. you two have beef or what?” you ask, eager to get to the bottom of the tension. Lyla sighs, draining the last of her drink, “A while ago, me and Ope had a stupid argument. He never came home that night...” she starts, your face screwing with disappointment, already guessing where this is going.

“With her? are you foreal?” you interrupt, eyebrows raised. She nods, her expression now dim. “Yeah, I mean, you know... I wasn’t always behind the camera at Red Woody. I used to be in front of it...with Ima” she cringes. “When me and Ope first got together it put a lot of pressure on us” she sighs deeply, her eyes becoming distant.

“Girl, please tell me you beat her ass” you say with a sly smirk, your attempt at lightening the mood. Lyla lets out a soft laugh. “Not my style” she admits, her tone now sounding defeated.

“So why is the bitch still around?” you ask bluntly, the frustration creeping in.

Lyla shrugs, “The clubs dealing with a lot right now, you know and she’s the main attraction at Diosa. She brings in the money, and the club really needs it” Lyla, being a members old lady obviously knows a lot more than she’s letting on. However, you nod your head in understanding even though you think she still should have caught a beating someway or somehow. “and... her and Jax?” you try to sound casual, not wanting to sound too concerned.

“Ima and Jax?” she laughs, shaking her head. “that’s not been a thing for a while. They hooked up back in the day, on Jax’s terms obviously, but to be honest I don’t think he can stand her now, especially after the Opie thing. He doesn’t get involved with her Diosa stuff either, Nero handles all that. Its like he does whatever he can to avoid her”. She chuckles softly, gesturing with a tilt of her head “see what I mean?” you glance around and spot Ima following after Jax like a lost puppy. He’s clearly uninterested, his body language screaming avoidance but she’s relentless.

“Damn” you drag the word out, as you use your hand to discreetly cover your laughter. “It's giving desperate”. The two of you burst into laughter, leaning into each other and bumping shoulder’s as you can’t contain your amusement any longer over Ima’s shameless antics.

You haven’t actually had a chance to talk to Jax tonight, he is of course, a popular guy and always in demand. And when things did finally quite down, Ima was stuck to him like a fly on shit. None of that stopped either of you stealing looks at each other all night, just like you always do when you’re in the same room. It’s funny though, and not in a conceited way, but you’ve always known you were pretty, and so did everybody else. But being T.O’s little sister, none of the men around you would dare try anything. None of them, that is, except Jax.

This time, when you locked eye contact, he looked around to make sure no one was watching, motioning for you to come over. As you approached, you noticed he already had a drink waiting for you. “Happy Birthday” you say with a smirk.

“Thank you, y/n” he replies, his lips curving into a smile, raising his arms to pull you into a hug. It’s not the first time you’ve hugged Jax, but just like the first, it stirs something warm in your stomach, and lower. Igniting a feeling you cant quite ignore.

He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes, as usual, lingering a little longer than they should. He takes in every detail, biting his lip softly as he catches his distorted reflection in your chunky gold hoops as they sway with your movements. “I like what you’ve got going on there” he says with a small smile, lifting his beer to his lips as he casually twirls a finger in the air, gesturing towards your hair.

You slide onto the stool beside him, settling yourself into the corner. “And what’s that?” you respond, your voice teasing and your eyes holding his with a slow taunting glare as you sip your drink.

“Your hair” he says, his tone confident and eyes locked onto you.

“My hair?” you echo, raising an eyebrow as you cross one leg over the other, leaning back slightly, your upper thigh now exposed.

“Yeah, the twirly bits” he says with a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed. You bite back a laugh, nodding in response to him. “You mean my baby hairs” you add, nudging him gently with your shoulder, a silent reassurance that you’re not offended.

“If that’s what you call them” he grins, his laugh more relaxed now. “How’d you do them?” he asks, genuinely curious now. “It’s an art”, you tease, tracing your nail around the rim of your glass “Not as easy as you’d think” you take a slow sip, giving direct eye contact.

“Ahh, so you’ve got to be good with your hands?” he says, his voice dipping into a more playful tone, his eyes scanning over you in a way that mirrored the first time you met.

“You got that right” you reply, your smile widening as you shift slightly on your stool, trying to ignore the heat building inside of you.

“And are you?” his aura more serious now, like he’s asking for something much deeper than what he’s letting on.

Your tone, now matching his “Wouldn’t you like to know” a knowing smirk on your lips. You can feel Ima’s eyes burning into the side of your slicked back bun, but you really couldn’t give a shit.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no” he chuckles, his face flushing slightly as he looks away for a moment, trying to mask the slight excitement.

“Hmm, not sure your lil’ friend would like that” you say, looking in Imas direction. You knew it was a cheap shot bringing her up but you can’t help yourself, you want to see how he’ll react.

He lets out a quick laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, I’ve learnt my lesson with that one” The way he says it, makes it clear there’s nothing left on his side and he really does regret it.

You giggle softy, “Post nut clarity and all that” you tease, giving him a knowing wink “happens to the best of us” you add.

“Wouldn’t happen with you though” he replies smoothly, his eyes lifting slowly to meet yours, waiting to see how you’d react, so he could work out if he should make his move or not.

Before you even have the chance to respond, Jax’s attention shifts to someone standing next to you. You turn to your left, of course. it’s Ima. You look her up and down, already bracing for whatever drama she’s about to start.

“I’ve got that birthday present for you, Jax” she says, twirling her hair and giving him a look dripping with lust. You hold your glass in front of your face, doing your best to not laugh at her mere desperation.

“Nah, I’m good” Jax shuts her down instantly, not even sparing much attention. You don’t miss the way her posture stiffens, her body language switching to frustration. She turns her attention to you instead, it’s obvious she’s got an attitude. “Sorry, and you are?”she asks, her tone irritable. It’s clear she’s annoyed that Jax’s attention is on you, and not her.

“y/n” you answer, giving her a sharp look before cutting your eyes back to Jax. You catch the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I’m Ima” she says, trying to assert her dominance.

“Good for you” you reply casually, finishing off your drink with a deliberate sip, refusing to give her the reaction she’s looking for.

You rise from the stool, adjusting your skirt as you do. Just to get under her skin, you lean in close to Jax, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper “I wouldn’t say no either, by the way” A sly smile spreads across your face as you pull back, sharing that same eye contact again, before you stroll towards the bar, a purposeful sway in your step.

“What’s her problem?” Ima snaps, watching you walk away with a scowl.

“She doesn’t have a problem” Jax responds flatly, his patience already wearing thin. He looks her up and down, silently willing her to leave him alone.

“Seriously Jax?” She scoffs “she was a total bitch to me. You’re just gonna let her talk to me like that?”

Jax raises an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “Let her? Ima, what the hell are you even talking about?” He hangs his head down.

“She disrespected me!” She insists, raising her voice slightly. Jax exhales sharply. “And why would I care? You’re not my problem” he retaliates. His voice steady but covered in irritation. Ima freezes, her mouth pressing into a thin line “I was just saying-”

“Yeah, well, dont” he shakes his head, turning and walking away from her. Clearly done with the conversation.

Jax then bumps into Juice, slapping him on the shoulder. “You good brother?” He asks, noticing Juice’s glazed over eyes as he tries to form a coherent response.

Jax chuckles, shaking his head “damn, you’re out of it man… hey you seen y/n?” He adds casually, but Juice just laughs, too high to fully grasp the question.

“You’re walking a fine line there, Jax” Tig cuts in, appearing at Jax’s side. His tone amused but the raised eyebrow says enough. Jax smirks, brushing off his comment “come on, Tiggy I can handle it”

Tig sighs “she stepped out not long ago” he says pointing his head in the direction of the door. Then, with a slight grin, he adds “Guess I better go distract big brother” Jax laughs, patting him on the shoulder. “Good man” he says, before heading for the door, already set on finding you.

Jax steps outside, discovering you tucked away in a quiet corner near the clubhouse door, the orange glow from the joint in your hand giving you away. “So this is where you disappeared to” he says with a smirk, his usual teasing tone present.

You take a slow pull from the joint, then hand it over to him gracefully. “Needed a breather from all the desperation” you let him know, he laughs, knowing you’re talking about Ima.

You watch him take a drag, exhaling the smoke smoothly. He presses his lips together, tasting the sweetness left behind from your gloss.

Wiping his thumb across his mouth, he tilts his head with a smirk “Vanilla?” He questions, his voice low and teasing. You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Coconut, actually” you say, biting your lip, daring him to disagree.

“Nah” he says, standing firmly. “That’s definitely vanilla” he says, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“Why don’t you come and make sure?” You tease, your voice dripping with challenge, forcing him to make the first move.

He steps closer. His stride slow but the confidence impossible to ignore. His hand brushes your cheek, the warmth of it sending a shiver down your spine. Then, without hesitation, he leans in, kissing you deeply.

His tongue explores your mouth and yours doing the same to his. He pulls back slowly, catching your bottom lip gently between his teeth. He deliberately runs his tongue over his lips, “Vanilla” he says, smirking knowing he’s right.

You chew the corner of your lip slightly, unable to hide your grin. “Vanilla” you admit, you knew all along, you just wanted to see if he’d take the bait. He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if he can’t believe he fell for your game, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes though.

Suddenly, the air shifts. The silence between you both speaks louder than words. The weight of the moment settling in. It’s a rare moment for you both to be alone like this. No distractions, no eyes watching, just the two of you. Both of you knowing it will most likely be a while before you find yourselves like this again, so why not make the most of it?

He pins you against the wall with an urgent intensity, his hands moving over you with a hunger that speaks of all the times he’s had to hold back. You lean into his neck as his lips find your skin. Your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle, making your intentions crystal clear.

“You okay with this? Out here?” He asks softly, between kisses. His voice still low and full of concern, making sure you’re certain before he agrees.

“Why not?” You smirk, biting your lip just enough to drive him crazy. He leans back slightly, glancing past the wall towards the clubhouse “anyone could come out” he warns, though the hunger in his voice proves he’s more than willing.

His eyes flash with mischief, “gimme your leg” he says, gripping your thigh as you lift it, bending his knees and manoeuvring himself so he’s placed exactly where you want him to be.

You moan softly throwing your head back a little in pleasure as he unfastens his jeans. He places his throbbing cock between your legs, sliding your dampened panties to the side with his hardness.

Gathering your slickness with his tip just before he pushes himself into you. He bends down slightly, adjusting his stance as he scoops you up, holding you securely against him now.

You let out a loud whimper as he finds his way inside of you, his hand instinctively covering your mouth, loosening his grip on you. “If…you…want…me…to…keep…fucking…you…shut…the…fuck…up” Jax murmurs in a low hush, the words punctuated with each thrust.

He lets his hand fall away, wrapping his arms around you tighter. His movements are a bit uneven, caught between holding you steady against the wall, keeping you quiet, and giving you everything you’ve been craving. He can tell that you’re loving it though, the way you keep whispering his name and how your hands grasp at his hair like you never want to let go, lets him know that he’s doing just fine. The sounds of your pleasure pushing him further, making it harder for him to hold back.

The sudden creak of the clubhouse door startles you both, freezing you mid motion. Your breath catches, your body tense as you feel him still pulsing inside of you. Jax’s hand flies to your mouth, covering it firmly. His own breathing heavy as his eyes dart towards the sound. Your dark brown panicked gaze locks with his, like a deer caught in headlights, both waiting to hear who it is.

Gemma steps out with Nero, their laughter filling the quiet night. “Not bad for an old man” Gemma teases, covering her cigarette from the wind as she lights it.

Nero grins, pulling Gemma in for a kiss. “Old man, huh? I didn’t hear you complainin’ a minute ago mama” he says, pulling her in for a kiss. Jax cringing, shutting his eyes in disgust as your laugh bounces off the palm of Jax’s hand.

As they talk, you move ever so slightly, one of your gold hoops sliding from your ear, clinking softly against the pavement. Both you and Jax instinctively follow it with wide eyes, as it rolls just out of reach.

“What was that?” Nero asks, his head snapping in the direction of the sound. Jax clamps his hand tighter. “Don’t move” he mouths silently.

“Probably nothing” Gemma says, not paying much attention. “This place is falling apart” she takes another drag from her cigarette, looking upwards to the ‘Teller Morrow’ garage sign.

Nero tilts his head thoughtfully. “That girl, y/n, that's T.O’s sister, right?” Gemma nods, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Yeah, why?” she questions.

He clears his throat. “Nothing, you know just saw her whispering somethin’ in Jax’s ear. Ima was standing there too... looked pretty pissed” Gemma smiles knowingly, flicking ash from her cigarette. She had sensed something brewing between the two of you though she’d kept her observations to herself, Nero’s comment now confirming her suspicions.

“I thought something was happening there” she tells Nero.

“and how do you feel about that mama?” he asks, now holding Gemma by the waist.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing. I know she’d keep my boy in line, that’s for sure”. She smiles gently, thinking about it.

Nero smiles in response, nodding his head slowly. “She’s got that fire, huh?” he laughs, guiding Gemma back into the clubhouse as she finishes her cigarette.

The clubhouse door closes behind Gemma and Nero. Jax finally able to move, pulling away from you and adjusting himself back to normal. You smooth out your clothes and fix your hair, doing your best to look innocent.

Jax’s grin still plastered on his face. “Think my mom’s ready for some caramel grand babies” he jokes. You laugh shaking your head and smacking his chest “Shut up, Jax” you say, trying to hold back your own smile.

“Go on” he gestures towards the door, motioning for you to head back inside first. “Don’t wanna make it too obvious”. His dick is still hard, being restrained behind his jeans. He fidgets slightly waiting for it to settle, as you turn to leave, he suddenly calls out your name. You glance back, seeing him holding your hoop. “Don’t forget this” he says, handing it back.

“Thanks” you mumble, noticing ever so slightly how he’s shifting back and forth.

As you turn to leave, you raise your skirt just enough for him to see your ass cheeks, slipping out from the bottom.

“Not helping y/n” He laughs, biting his ringed knuckles. you giggle as you head back inside, that ‘I just had sex’ sway in your step.

As you step back into the clubhouse, still fiddling with your earring, T.O spots you immediately. His gaze sharpens, tracking your every move as you slide into the space next to him.

“You good?” You ask, keeping your tone light as you twist the hoop back into place. “Where you been?” He asks, his voice calm but a hint of curiosity there.

“Needed some air, just went for a smoke” you reply, looking around the room, as if you weren’t just getting sloppily fucked by your brother’s president.

He nods, almost convinced, until his eyes catch Jax, walking in through the doors minutes after you. Pulling at the waistband of his jeans, his expression relaxed, maybe a bit too much.

T.O’s jaw tightens, his teeth gritting together as he glances between the two of you. “You and Jax been breathin’ the same air out there?” He questions, the suspicion shining through.

You shrug pretending not to notice the obvious tension. “Didn’t see him” you reply before taking a sip of your drink. Your brother doesn’t respond, just leans back and keeps a sharp eye on Jax as he moves through the room. “Aight” he mutters, but you can feel the heat of his doubt.

Lyla slides into the seat opposite to you, her easy smile offering a welcome distraction from the tension with your brother. “Hey, where you been?” She asks, noticing you’ve been absent for a little while.

“Just stepped out for some air and a smoke” you smile in her direction. She leans closer, lowering her voice as if she was telling you a secret. “Ima’s pissed about whatever happened at the table earlier, with you and Jax”.

You open your mouth to respond, but your brother interrupts, his tall frame casting a shadow over the table. “Scuse me” he says, his voice deep, waiting for you to move your legs aside so he can step out. You do as he asks, your eyes narrowing as you watch him head straight for the bar where Jax is currently standing, another beer in hand.

“Oh shit” you sigh under your breath, your heart racing as the tension follows T.O to Jax.

“You and y/n outside together? What was yall talking about?” Jax chuckles, trying to play it off “Nothing serious, just talking” trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but he knows T.O can sense the truth, he narrows his eyes slightly analysing Jax’s words.

“Look,” Jax says, finally meeting his gaze. “Id never disrespect you, or your family. You know that, brother” he’s telling the truth, sort of anyway, fucking his sister against a wall minutes away from him, could be classed as disrespect. T.O nods slowly, his stance now softening.

He trusts Jax, and knows that Jax respects him and wouldn’t do anything to purposely hurt you. In a way, he wouldn’t even mind if you and Jax became a thing, Jax is a good man and T.O sees that.

“It’s not about disrespect, brother” T.O replies, his voice calm. “It’s about her being my little sister”

“Yeah I get it” Jax nods, fully understanding. He’s your big brother of course he’s gonna do what he can to look out for you, and the idea of you being with any man is probably the last thing he wants to think about.

T.O gives him a long look before finally letting out a small laugh. “Just don’t make me regret trusting you with her, man” Jax smirks, slapping T.O on the shoulder. “You won’t, brother”.

It had been a few months since you officially became Jax’s old lady. To your surprise, the relationship was treated with total support and respect from the moment you both announced it. Even your brother, who you suspected might have a hard time with it, embraced it without hesitation. In fact, it seemed to have brought him and Jax even closer, solidifying their bond in a way you never expected.

The air in the room was a mixture of tension and banter as the sons sat around the table, the club meeting in full swing. Despite the serious matters at hand, everyone couldn’t help but notice how Jax seemed particularly cheerful today.

“So, what does T.O stand for then?” Rat whispers to Happy, his voice low. Happy glances at Rat, knowing that if T.O catches wind of the conversation, he’s going to be pissed. “Taddarius” Happy responds, hushed and with no emotion.

Rat laughs, thinking happy is just messing around. “Wait, you’re not joking?” he asks, slightly sceptical.

Quinn then pipes up, “Call him that and see what happens”.

The others, T.O included begin noticing the quiet conversation. He narrows his eyes “what are you guys whispering about?” he asks, in a low tone.

Happy and Quinn exchange a brief glance, a silent warning, which Rat, does not pick up on. “Nothing...Taddarius” he says aloud, almost proud of the newfound information he has discovered.

Chibs, overhearing mutters under his breath “Jesus Christ”.

T.O’s expression hardens. “Unless I came out of your goddamn womb, don’t ever call me that, ya dig? Lil indie biker boy” he snarls.

Chibs has his face hidden in his hands, shaking his head trying not to laugh, whilst the others chuckle.

Opie, leaning back in his chair, and a smirk on his face tries to break tension. “Alright, man. Spill it… why do you look so damn happy this morning?" He taps his pen against the mahogany table, pointing at Jax when the word 'you' leaves his mouth.

Jax tries to keep a straight face, leaning forward his usual unbothered demeanour. “Can’t I just be in a good mood?” He tries to deflect, though his mind briefly wandered back to this morning, his head buried in your perfect pussy.

He catches a faint trace of you still clinging to his upper lip. Every so often, he slyly brushes his tongue over his lip, reliving the taste and the way you left him wanting more.

Tig also leans forward now, grinning wide. “Come on man, we all know what’s up. Chocolates good for the soul” he gives a small wink.

T.O groans, “watch it” he warns, pointing a finger at Tig, though the small smile tugging at his lips shows he’s only playing.

“Don’t look at me brother” Tig interjects, with that signature smile on his face. “We all know what’s got him smiling like that. Ain’t it true, Jax? the darker the berry-” he raises his hand as if he was conducting an orchestra.

“The sweeter the juice” the others finish for him, as the table explodes into laughter, everyone expect T.O.

Jax shakes his head, trying to hide his amusement as he looks over at T.O “you gonna let em talk about your sister like that?” He says, sarcastically, making light of the awkward situation.

T.O finally looks up, shaking his head in disgust. “Man, I don’t even wanna know” he says, though he couldn’t help but laugh along with the rest of them. Jax raises his hands in a false surrender, flashing a knowing grin towards T.O. “All love, brother, all love”

On the other side of the chapel doors, y/n and Gemma sit sipping coffee and chatting casually. Gemma noticing a little glow about you, too.

“How's Jax holding up?" She asks, curious about her son “coping with the club okay?” she follows up. You let her know that Jax is doing okay. Of course he has his moments but that comes with being the president.

She soon shifts her questioning, her tone turning more curious. “and you? how are you adjusting to the whiter side of the biker life? You doing okay sweetie?” Before you can answer, the door swings open, Ima walking in, dressed in next to nothing, she struts in like she owns the place.

Gemma looks to you, her coffee cup in front of her face “what the hell is porn princess doing here” she retorts.

Ima flips her hair, getting closer to you both “I’m here to talk to Jax. My Diosa check hasn’t cleared” she says, leaning against the bar.

“Jax doesn’t deal-” Gemma starts, standing from her seat, you cut her off before she can finish.

“Jax doesn’t deal with your Diosa shit” you say firmly, staring her down.

Gemma gives you a quick look, her expression proud, clearly impressed with how you're standing your ground regarding Jax. Ima, however, doesn’t seem fazed and folds her arms. “Well, Nero hasn’t answered my call and I need to get paid” she insists.

You shake your head, voice sharp. “Then call him again, Jax ain’t handling shit for you” you say, rising from your own seat.

Ima still, not backing down, takes a few steps closer towards you “Ill just wait for him in the dorm” she begins taking off her coat.

You grit your teeth, letting your eyes trail slowly over her. Sizing her up as you weigh your options. The frustration simmers beneath the surface, your mind racing between keeping your composure or flipping the fuck out.

As the tension between you and Ima reaches boiling point, Juice is peeking through the blinds, his eyes widening at the scene unfolding. “Uh...” he stammers, unsure how to handle what he’s seeing.

“Jax...T.O...” he calls out, unsure of who to summon, your brother or your man. Everyone in the room looks over to Juice with puzzled expressions.

“Looks like things are about to kick off between y/n and Ima” he says, everyone now intrigued.

“What is that gash doing here?” Chibs questions Ima’s presence.

Jax, who’s been expecting something like this for a while now, exhales deeply, rubbing his hand over his face. Without a word, he gets up and the rest of the guys follow. Filing out of the room one by one.

As the door opens, Ima immediately zones in on Jax. She wastes no time, sliding up to him and grabbing hold of his arm, her voice dripping with forced sweetness.

Jax locks eyes with you from across the room, his expression apologetic. It’s Ima's next move that pushes things over the edge. She leans in closer to Jax as if she was about to whisper something only meant for him. T.O, who’s standing just behind Jax, immediately clocks the shift in your expression. The familiar fire in your eyes and the way your jaw is currently set. “Here we go” he mutters under his breath, bracing for the inevitable.

You lunge towards Jax and Ima, grabbing a fistful of her hair and wrapping it tightly, twice around your hand. Without hesitation, you drag her backwards just a little before throwing her to the ground, the back of her head hitting the concrete with a sharp slam. T.O starts to move forward, ready to pull you away, but Jax steps in, holding him back. “No” he says calmly, getting comfortable against the wall with his arms crossed. “She’s got this” he says unfazed and fully confident you can handle yourself.

You give Ima a moment to steady herself as she stands, but instead of backing down, she sneers “stupid bitch” she throws herself at you. Her bloody hands grab at your necklace. Snatching it clean off, shattering to the ground.

The sound of your chain hitting the floor fuels your anger. You grab her wrist, shoving her back against the bar, trapping her. With no hesitation, you start swinging, each punch landing, forcing grunts of pain to spew out of her.

Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth, smearing across her lips as she spits a crimson pool onto the floor. Her teeth flash red when she tries to speak. “stop” she manages to say, through her swollen trembling lip.

You don’t stop, in fact you carry on, each punch connecting harder than the last. “She’s gonna kill her” Gemma says, turning around to glance at Jax, both concerned and impressed. “I know” Jax replies with a proud grin, his eyes fixed on you.

T.O watches on, torn between pride and caution. “Jax, you know she really gone’ kill her right?” he mutters, agreeing with Gemma’s unease.

“Jax!” Gemma shouts, louder this time. She’s not defending Ima, but the last thing she needs is to help clean up after another dead body.

Jax glances over at T.O, who gives him a look that confirms Gemma’s right. With a heavy sigh, Jax pushes himself off the wall. “Fine” he grumbles, striding towards you.

He forces his way between you and Ima, grabbing your fist just as its about to land. “Enough!” he shouts, his voice firm. You struggle against his grip, trying to break free but he tightens his hold. “I SAID ENOUGH!” this time, his tone carries authority and it cuts through your anger.

“Look at me!” he demands, gripping your face. Ima’s blood splattered across your skin. Jax’s eyes meet yours, calm but commanding “Thats enough” he echoes. He steps back, pushing your arm gently towards your brother and then gesturing towards the dorm “T.O, take your sister in there” he orders. T.O nods, his face unreadable as he guides you away before things escalates even further.

As T.O pulls you away by your arm, you manage to twist and break free, charging back to Ima. Your fist connects with her face one last time. “That was for Lyla, Bitch!” You shout in her face, Jax pushes you back, but you just laugh. T.O finally getting hold of you again, and forcing you back to the dorm.

The guys watch Ima for a moment as she slumps against the bar, hand pressed against her bloodied face. A few mutter amongst themselves, shaking their heads before heading back into the chapel, leaving her alone with Gemma and Jax.

Gemma stays back, her expression cold as Jax steps forward. Ima, looking up at him, not wanting y/n to have the last laugh. “you should learn to control your whore” she sneers, spitting her dirty blood directly onto his kutte.

Jax’s expression darkens, a snarl curling his lips as he grabs the back of her head, slamming it against the bar with brutal force. Ima lets out a sharp cry, but that doesn’t stop him. He spins her around, pressing her back against the bar as his hand tightens around her throat. “You ever bring that rancid pussy near my club or my family again...” he growls, his voice venomous. “I’ll kill you. You understand?”. Ima doesn’t respond, too stunned to speak, but Jax doesn’t care to hear her answer.

He curls his tongue, gathering a mouthful of spit before forcefully spitting it back straight into Ima’s face, pointing a finger directly at her, his voice drips with anger as he growls “Whore!”.

He shoves her face hard as he lets go, giving his mom a small nod, silently telling her to ‘deal with it’. Picking up a cloth from the side, he casually wipes Ima’s spit off his kutte, his movement calm but deliberate.

Chucking the cloth to the side, and without looking back, he strides down the hallway, his steps heavy with purpose. He has a swagger in his walk, but the rage is still unmistakable.

The anger fades slightly from his face, replaced with concern as he approaches the dorm door, making it clear his only focus is making sure you’re okay.

Gemma, tasked with the job of getting Ima out of here, picks up the same cloth, tossing some ice into it before shoving it into Ima’s hand.

Leaning in slowly, she locks eyes with her, the eye contact sharp and unforgiving.

“She’s not his whore” Gemma hisses, her voice filled with poison.

“She’s his old lady” She drags out each word, making sure Ima fully understands her place.

Photos & gifs do not belong to me, just edited them together.

Honestly, I fucking loved doing this one. I had so much fun writing this, literally played out in my head like an actual episode. Hope you all love it just as much. I also always try to write from a perspective so that multiple readers can connect with the story, so like not to describe skin or hair colour/texture etc. However this story is looking through the eyes of a black female reader. I, myself am black. So please don’t take anything said, described or done as a generalised or stereotypical view. I was literally writing as if it was me in the situation (which I always do, duh) but yes, I hope it portrays well! Oh and also I am from the UK which is why sometimes spellings are a little off depending where you’re from lol.

Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

[jsooly]

taken in by the sullys (3) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, fifteen years fly by and your family just keeps growing as you fight the stigma of being the clan leaders' human child... aka moments between you and your infant/toddler siblings

(1) / (2) / (3 - ur here! ☆) / (4*)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

+ takes place just before atwow! this is a much longer chapter T-T

neteyam

moments before he was to connect with eywa, you sat quietly next to him as jake and neytiri bustled around to prepare for the ceremony

you leaned over the side of his cradle, poking his blue skin. he squirmed before focusing his eyes on you. you could tell he was intrigued — you were different than all the faces he'd seen today.

you lowered your voice, whispering to conceal your conversation from jake and neytiri.

"hey." you nodded to him. "i'm y/n. i'm your big sister. well, not real big sister, but still." you shrugged.

you stepped onto the side of the wooden frame, getting some height over where he lay. "you're pretty big for a baby, you know. you're as big as me already. but that doesn't mean you don't have to listen to me, you know." you wagged a finger in his face.

he tilted his head, and you weren't sure if he was getting any of what you were saying. you continued anyway.

"mom says i'm better than the other na'vi kids my age. i can already hunt and fight. she says i have an unnatural gift." you whispered.

"but..." you sighed, stroking his head softly. "i guess i can teach you, too. and it's okay if you suck. i'll be there to protect you."

neytiri and jake exchanged endeared looks, their backs turned to you and the newborn to give you the privacy you thought you had.

if there was one thing you had to let go of quickly, it was your pride

the clan practically worshipped little neteyam — firstborn son of the fierce neytiri and legendary jake sully? they celebrated for weeks

though young, you were still aware you were different, that you didn't exactly belong among the na'vi... but you didn't mind the dirty looks if it meant staying around your family

plus a new baby brother was more than enough joy to offset the feelings of exclusion

you were fluent in na'vi long before neteyam came along, and you took charge teaching him to speak, walk, even string an bow

perhaps you took charge a little too well

"y/n." jake warned. "put him down."

your brother was only a few months old, yet you were manhandling him as if he'd grown enough to withstand the rough grabbing and pulling.

you were surprisingly strong for a human kid your age (you can thank neytiri for that), allowing you to hold neteyam in your arm with ease.

"no." you said simply.

jake gave you a look. of course you had to enter a rebellious phase right when neteyam was very fragile.

"y/n."

you groaned. "what?"

"don't make me get your mother."

"i'm teaching him."

"he doesn't need to be taught right now, sweetheart." jake said gently, approaching you with caution and attempting to take neteyam off your hands.

"he's just lying around all day!" you rebutted, swerving away from him. the flush of speed made neteyam chirp softly in excitement as he gazed up at you. you smiled at pat his head briskly. "might as well fill the time up with something." you mumbled as you stroked his bald head.

"that's a good idea, but how about something less dangerous?" jake grinned widely, trying to sell his point. he held up a ball and some toy blocks. "huh? come on, what d'you say?"

you gave him an unimpressed look, not bothering to answer him as you swiftly turned around and exited the tent. ignoring the sharp noise of protest from jake behind you, you smiled proudly at your brother and nuzzled into his head.

"you're gonna be a great olo'eyktan one day, brother." you assured him. "but first, we gotta get away from dad and teach you how to walk n' stuff."

he babbled in agreement.

in the year when it was just you and neteyam, you bonded inseparably

he was always behind you, like a puppy chasing a little duck around

there was a time when other clan members were a bit concerned that he was spending more time with you than other na'vi children

"neytiri, listen to reason." one omaticaya woman told her.

neytiri was sharpening weapons with some of the other women, all sitting in a circle in a time where they were supposed to be exchanging stories and dreaming about the future. but some chose to gossip and condemn.

"i am listening, though i would not call it reason." neytiri shot back.

"your son is descended from great lineage. consider having him romp around with his own kind instead of an unwanted child."

neytiri hissed, slamming her arrows down. the other women ducked their heads to avoid her anger. "that child is very much wanted. in a million years, i would not believe i would grow so close to a human child, but it has happened. i chose to stop lying to myself long ago."

the woman scoffed, looking around the circle incredulously. "are you hearing what you are saying? we fought hard to eradicate the sky people from our land and you have one growing among us."

neytiri glared. "once, the great mother brought a sky person into our lives, and look at the good that's come of it. eywa watches over this child in the same way. she is special."

despite neytiri's argument, the other women continued to nudge their kids into neteyam's daily routine

for a week, you barely saw him

you stayed in the hut, like usual, watching them play in the grass outside

you rarely emerged from the safety of your home in fear of the judgmental looks you'd receive—it was fine, until you had a brother to miss.

"why don't you go out there?" jake crouched beside you. "m'sure neteyam would appreciate a familiar face."

you gave him a weird look that clearly said no.

he sighed and brought your head into his side, hugging you tightly. in these moments, he didn't know what to say to you. he had no qualifications for being a father, for shaping a young one's whole life, and it was becoming all the more real to him in this instance.

he was about to speak up when you mumbled, "i know they don't want me here."

jake cursed internally. "they... they just misplace their hatred and anger, baby. that kinda stuff is for adults only. they should know better than to denounce a perfect little angel like you." he smiled, pinching your cheek gently.

silence filled the room once more.

you looked up at him, fighting with feelings of unease you couldn't name. "... you want me here, right?"

jake's heart split in two. he cupped your face firmly, holding your gaze. "y/n. 'course i want you here, baby. you're my first little girl, and i would never give you up, not for anyone. i don't care if our life is a little different because you're around. besides, you've more than proven your ability to hold your own."

his declaration warmed your heart until you felt like there was a furnace of love burning inside you.

"i was once human too, you know. you remember, don't you?" he paused as you nodded. "see? for you and us, it's not about being human or na'vi. it's about being our little girl and us being your parents. that's the type of thing where it doesn't matter what you are. you could be... i dunno."

"a worm?"

he chuckled. "yeah. you could be a worm and i'd still love you to death."

a thud caught both of your attention. neteyam grunted as he propped himself up again.

"huh?" you glanced out the window. the other na'vi kids were still out there. you hopped off the windowsill and rushed to his side, helping him stand. "what are you doing back here? your friends are still outside."

he just made a face of distaste, shaking his head.

"looks like he prefers big sis instead." jake grinned, squeezing your shoulders as he passed by. "you two be safe—y/n, no funny business. and don't think about starting a fire."

he left you two playing as he went to have a word with some clan members.

kiri

since both of you were adopted, you related to kiri in a way. you were determined to make sure she didn't feel different, especially in light of her affinity for eywa and natural things

when you and the others would go out to play, kiri would run off

you'd find her lying on the ground, embracing the earth

"kiri!" you gasp, falling to your knees beside her. you carried lo'ak on your back as neteyam toddled beside you. "you can't just run off like that on your own!"

she sat up in a daze, blinking slowly. the grass around her fell back into a lifeless state but the seeds of eywa still hung around. you gently pushed one from ticking your face.

she looked a bit sheepish, averting her eyes as she stood up to follow you. you frowned and sighed, helping lo'ak off your back. you took her hand and flopped back onto the ground.

"you know what... a couple more minutes couldn't hurt." you groaned as you stretched. you tucked your arms under your head, getting comfortable. kiri smiled and reclined beside you.

in that moment, it was as if all the energy in space aligned and you were plucked from your physical form and woven into the stream and cycle of all the energy and consciousness of pandora.

early on, you knew kiri wasn't a fighter

as in, not a let's ride into battle on the back of an ikran guns blazing type of fighter

you started teaching her about the different herbs, plants, and fruits around pandora

she sucked in everything you taught her like a sponge and soon enough it got to a point where you two were learning together

you entered the tent with a thick book clutched tightly against your chest. "kiri!" you whispered urgently.

she perked up, dashing across the room.

you let the book drop onto the ground with an oof, flipping it open. "look, kiri, it's your ma's journal!" you grinned, showing her dr. augustine's signature. you figured you'd leave out the part how you swiped it from norm and max's lab.

her face brightened at the familiar name, staring at the journal in wonder. she flipped through it, but couldn't recognize any of the text. it was all written in english, with bits of na'vi scattered here and there.

"read to me?" she asked, nudging the journal to you. she snuggled into your side as you read her birth mother's findings and conclusions to her.

jake and neytiri found you two sleeping soundly against each other.

lo'ak

lo'ak was an instigator from day one

literally came out the womb quarrelling with everyone

mo'at let a lengthy exhale escape her lungs. neytiri had just given life to her second son, lo'ak, and the boy just would not stop crying. despite all her years as a mother and tsahik, nothing she did soothed her youngest grandson.

"is he hungry?" jake offered, earning dark glares from both his wife and mother in law.

"jake."

"don't you think we tried that?"

he shrunk away, holding neteyam in his arms. he leaned against the wall beside you, giving you a shrug that said hey, i tried.

you pursed your lips, a paradoxical mix of concern and annoyance bubbling up inside of you at lo'ak's wailing. you stood, ducking under mo'at's arm and climbed onto the side of neytiri's bed. she was still talking to mo'at while rocking lo'ak in her arms.

you studied him as he cried, your patience declining by the second. with a sharp but gentle tug to his neural braid, you directed his attention to you. "what are you so upset about, lo'ak? you literally just got here." you whispered urgently.

almost surprised, his cries died down to hiccups and whimpers. you sat back as the adults in the room peered over the newborn.

"ahhh, there he is. poor baby, it's alright." mo'at smiled, stroking lo'ak's head gently. neytiri cooed softly, kissing his bald head repeatedly.

lo'ak found you very cute, though, and was extra gentle when playing with you

you were 11, and neteyam just turned 7, and both kiri and lo'ak were 6 (kiri just a couple months older than lo'ak)

so you had a whole litter of hyperactive kids

you were an overworked big sister lol

and lo'ak was a middle child through and through — with neteyam being the eldest and kiri being a special case, lo'ak didn't get a lot of chances to stand out

thus starting a rebellious streak

but he always got a loooot of love and attention from you

"these are the ones you want, lo'ak?" you hummed. you swirled the bowl around, watching the beads roll at the bottom. "i like the blue."

he fell into your lap with a grumble, his back to you. you just snickered. "what'd you get grounded for this time?"

he scoffed and crossed his arms. "don't wanna talk about it."

"okay." you pat his shoulder before taking out his old braids.

a beat passed.

"all i did was follow neteyam outside. so what if i tried to use his bow?" he complained.

you smiled as he ranted—it was like clockwork.

"it's not like he tried to stop me, either. i didn't even come that close to hurting anything. my aim was off." he complained. "besides, weren't you doing stuff like that when you were younger than i am?"

"yeah," you answered, massaging his scalp. "but i actually sat through all my lessons."

he scoffed, stewing in silence.

you softened. "sorry. don't want a lecture, huh?" you continued to do his hair, and slipping in the beads he wanted.

"next time, you and i should go together." he muttered. "i'm done hanging around little mr. perfect."

"bold words from the kid who looks up to little mr. perfect." you gave him a knowing look and he huffed, avoiding your gaze.

you pat his head and made little jazz hands. "tadaaa. all done!"

he didn't move from your lap.

"lo'ak, i'm done—"

"i know." he muttered softly. you understood what he needed. you laughed and hugged him tightly. he wasn't so little anymore—none of them were. your laughter was infectious and he started to smile, too.

"house arrest isn't that bad. you can hang out with me while the others gotta train with mom and dad." you said, self-satisfied.

he smiled, rolling his eyes. "i guess."

you stood, rifling through your trunk of stuff. "maybe bow and arrows aren't your thing. wanna try a gun instead?" you held one up.

lo'ak's ears stood up, his eyes wide. "y/n!" he exclaimed, looking around as he lowered his voice. "how do you even have that?!"

"dad taught me." you grinned, swiftly removing the bullets. can't be too safe. "just don't tell anyone, okay?"

he matched your grin, nodding fervently. he ran to your side and eagerly watched your demonstrations.

tuk

for 7 years, it was just you, neteyam, kiri, and lo'ak. then all of a sudden, neytiri and jake announced they had another on the way

everyone was excited of course, and the debate on whether it was going to be a boy or girl was lively

you, personally, hoped for a baby sister

you had two baby brothers already! and they were handfuls.

when tuk finally came, lo'ak and kiri were 7, neteyam was 8, and you were 12

she learned to walk and speak faster to keep up with everyone

this set the precedent for how she hangs out with each other too

"tuk." lo'ak groaned, stopping to wait for the youngest sully. "you were the one who said you could keep up."

"i can!" she whined, clumsily hopping across the small gap between branches.

lo'ak rolled his eyes, walking off to join neteyam in the front. kiri was off... somewhere, connecting with the energy of everything probably.

you shook your head at your brother's behavior. you offered your hand to tuk, pulling her up onto the branch.

"they're so mean to me," she fussed. "they never wait for me."

"i know, tuk. give yourself a year or two and you'll be as fast as them in no time."

she grumbled, strolling alongside you. "you're smaller than i am. how do you keep up with them?"

you blew a raspberry. "lots of practice."

she started skipping, the branch teetering under her steps. "i just wanna hang out with them."

"they don't do anything cool anyway," you whisper to her conspiratorially. "it's all about shooting arrows and training these days. come on," you held out your hand. "i got something better for us."

she beamed and slotted her hand in yours. you both ran off together, all giggles and whoops of excitement.

you got to the end of the path, leaping off the branch and into the waterhole below.

she screamed, coming to a halt at the edge of the branch. "it's too high!"

you surfaced, wading onto shore. "don't worry, tuk, it's deep enough to break your fall!"

"i'll miss the water!"

"trust me!" you yell up to her. she made a brief sound of protest before stepping back. screwing her eyes shut, she ran with all her might and jumped off. she screamed all the way down.

you laughed at her, blocking your face from the splash. she surfaced with a gasp, laughing brightly.

"i did it!"

the early years were the easiest. but once the sky people returned, everything was different.

!! from now on, i'm gonna make alternating parts—one storyline following the events of atwow and the other just a compilation of fluff/comfort scenarios. for example, the next part is gonna be plot based and then the following part is just gonna be silly goofy moments. and it'd keep alternating til the atwow plot is done !!

thanks for reading!!

taglist : @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce (for some reason you couldn't be tagged, i'm sorry!!)

© jsooly ‘25

[umikawa]

a/n: something small while I work on requests and whatnot ٩( 'ω' )و

stanley snyder x gn!reader | 608 wc | no major warnings; couple of sex jokes but not too bad. mutual feelings but unspoken ☝️

“This is too intimate for me.”

Stanley rolls his eyes at you through the mirror, clipping the towel around his neck in place. “I’m asking you to shave my head, not touch my dick.”

“Same thing!” Stanley groans into his palm, dragging his hand across his face while he stares at you with a dead expression.

He wonders why you’re even freaking out about it. He asked Xeno first but retracted the minute the man started cackling and verbally plotting his scheme to shave him bald.

Even if he were joking, Stanley would not take that risk.

So he’s here, with you, the person he trusts most – after Xeno. But as he watches your hands shake slightly while clipping on the guard, he wonders if he should just go to the barber instead.

“Hey.” Your eyes flit to his in the mirror, movements freezing as his eyes soften. “It’ll be alright.”

Your lips part at his reassurance, the tips of your ears warming at the unexpected gentleness of his tone and the soft smile he gives you.

You don’t say a word; just nod and hold the clippers to his head.

Three seconds pass, and Stanley takes the time to look over himself in the mirror. He nods, and the clippers buzz to life.

Stanley watches the chunk of hair fall onto his shoulder before it hits the floor. His hair hadn’t been this short since birth, and even then, he still had a decent amount of it.

He watches you through the mirror; your movements and expressions are enough to distract him from the bit of himself that he’s losing right now. Your hands don’t shake anymore. Instead, you’ve garnered some sense of confidence as you fold his ear away slightly, giving you more access to his sides.

Your hands rest on each side of his head, tilting it slightly from side to side. “Even with a buzz, you still look handsome.” He laughs at your solemn face, as if it was a problem he still looked good.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

You shrug, “You know, back in the day, before soldiers left for war, they had a certain way of being sent off.”

Stanley scrunched his nose, looking at you with mock disgust. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing, freak.” You quip, laughing when he rolls his eyes. “Just giving you a history lesson.”

“Right,” he says, unclipping the towel around his neck. “Cause soldiers getting their dick wet before deployment is history.” Another shrug comes from you; Stanley just shakes his head in disbelief.

Silence fills the room as you sweep up the remains of his hair, eyes flicking from the floor to him checking his appearance in the mirror repeatedly.

He catches your eyes several times, but neither of you says a word– he knows, and so do you. His hands ran over his head a few more times, his brow twitching slightly in annoyance– he really did not like this.

“You look fine, Stan.” You assure, grabbing his hand gently to tear it away from his head. “Dare I say you’re even more charming than before? It’s irritating, actually.”

He laughs, dropping his hand and yours to his side. “It’s just awkward.” You only offer a hum. Stanley figured you didn’t know what to say. “Will you miss me?”

You raise a brow at the sudden question, though judging by the smile on his face, he meant it as a lighthearted joke. “Hardly. All you did was bring me trouble.”

“You love me.”

“Sure,” you shrug, giving him a smile– that definitely doesn’t catch him off guard. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

a/n: try not to mention xeno in a stanley fic challenge FAILED. also can you tell i like calling stan a freak (affectionate)

[wonderjanga2]

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four (here)

Chapter Four

"I can't believe you bought an apartment just to store food." Jill said as the two of you stood in the doorway to the new apartment of Sam Franzelli.

A.K.A you.

"Well, it isn't just to store food, y'know. We could use it as a secret base." You walked in, looking around. It was a small studio apartment. It was perfect. As of now, it was kinda of barren though. Maybe you could both decorate it? Buy some cool thingy-ma-bobs? Paint a wall? Have Jill possibly get some of said paint for said wall on her cheek which you could wipe off with your thumb, causing the moment to be suddenly charged with tensio—

You’re getting off topic.

Point is, you both should totally decorate the place. You’ll take Jill shopping with you later.

"You mean an evil lair?” She murmured warily. “I'm assuming we're going to be plotting murders in this place." She walked in after you.

"Jill, if you think about it too much, you're gonna get that traumatized look in your eye." You chided as you both came to a stop in front of what was actually going to store your food.

"What look?" She sounded offended.

"You know which one." You replied as she gave you that slightly traumatized look you’ve been seeing a lot lately on her face. You gave her a pat on the cheek before turning your sights on the item, missing the both flustered and bewildered look she gave you for that action. She also looked to the item that was going to be used for [Name]’s food storage.

"And you also bought an ice cream freezer to keep bodies in." She said, looking like she was imagining all the future murders and getting more and more pale with each image that popped into her mind.

"Yup. All we need now is someone evil, deserving, won't be missed, and under 18 cubic feet.” You almost rubbed your hands together like a supervillain. Good thing you aren’t.

Jill paused and slowly looked to you. “We aren’t gonna kill your dad.”

“…Not what I was going to say, but it is extremely interesting to me that that’s where your mind immediately went.”

She gave you the most suspicious look. “I have no idea how that guy even trusted us, especially you, to have this place.”

That guy, was the skeevy, balding landlord. You remembered the interview like it was yesterday. Which it was!

//Flashback//

The man rubbed his oily mustache as he looked between both you and Jill. Neither of you knew how to dress for this, so you both ended up in extremely businesslike wear.

Jill in a pantsuit. Nice.

The landlord didn’t look pleased though. Likely because he was sitting across two teenagers, which under normal circumstances, wouldn’t even be able to afford an apartment. You didn’t blame him for that, after all, it’s not like the guy would know you could actually pay for it. Or at least use your father’s money to pay for it.

“Name one reason I should even consider renting you both an apartment…” The man trailed off to look down at the paperwork in front of him. “… Mx and Ms Franzelli. Are you both siblings?”

“Married—” You started, ignoring the look Jill gave you for saying that.

The man cut you off before you could continue talking. “Is that even legal?” He asked, looking between the two of you once more.

“I’m… sure it is somewhere.” Jill said, turning her look onto the landlord. “But as for why you should consider giving us the apartment, we can pay.”

“With what money?” The greasy man asked condescendingly.

“This money.” You placed your father’s black card down onto the table. You held it under a finger.

The man glanced at it. “That’s fake.”

“No, it isn’t. We could do a type of up front payment if you’re so unsure.” Jill offered with a super serious expression that made you feel tingly.

“Fine. Five hundred dollars. Now.” The man demanded, probably thinking they couldn’t pay.

“You got one of those card paying machines?” You asked, trying to mimic Jill’s seriousness.

“Of course.” The man sneered.

//Flashback End//

It was actually a couple days later, by which point you were starving, that you finally came to the idea about who to kill.

See, the two of you were walking back to Jill’s apartment when all of a sudden, a police car pulled up and two officers got out of a car to shoot at a random man walking down the street. When the man went down, the two cops arrested him and threw him into the back of the car, probably to bleed out and die.

“Jill. I know.” You said with a little bit too wide of a grin.

“Know what?” She looked to you, definitely disturbed by said grin.

“I know who my meal’s going to be.” You sounded a little excited. You thought that was valid considering you hadn’t eaten in a couple days.

“What?” She somehow sounded both panicked and relieved.

She pulled you all the way to her apartment and all but threw you onto her couch. Hot. Wait no.

“Explain.” She had her hands on her hips as she looked down on you with eyes that very clearly demanded answers.

“Okay. So remember how we saw those cops?”

“Yeah?” She obviously didn’t know where you were going with this.

“Okay, so when I saw those cops, I thought good. Then I thought that the opposite of good was bad. Then I remembered that the people I’m gonna eat are gonna be bad people. Then I realized that most people who are bad are criminals and who arrests criminals?” You sounded like you were rambling, but you swear you had a point.

“Cops.”

“Cops! Right. And who also throws criminals into jail?” You spoke with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Also cops?”

“Right! So then I thoug—”

“How about you just tell me what your idea is?”

You frowned and then sighed dramatically. “Fine… I wanna go pay someone’s bail and then eat them.”

She looked like she was about to say something to that. “Wait… that’s actually kind of smart.”

“You sound so astounded by that.” You murmured.

“I am. And once we bail them out, we can take them here or wherever else and kill them. And when they don’t show up for their court date, we can just say they skipped town!”

“And no one’s gonna give a shit cause we’re in Gotham!”

“Yeah!” Jill also sounded a little enthusiastic as she spoke. You weren’t going to comment lest she look traumatized again.

The next day, after taking a cab to Gotham City Jail, both you and Jill stood inside of the building talking to the officer at the behind the a gate between the three of you. The man sat at a desk, typing at the computer every now and then.

“ID?” The tired looking cop held a tired hand out for it.

“Uh… well here’s the thing…” You trailed off as your eyes trailed down to his name tag. “Mr Lopez.”

The man rose a brow.

“Why don’t you just take a look yourself?” Jill sighed and slipped it to him from in between the bars’ gaps. The man looked at it.

“You’re both seventeen.” The man drawled, handing it back to Jill. “You can’t pay a bail unless you’re legal, I’m assuming you knew that?”

“Well, yes, but we’re close enough, aren’t we? Can’t you just let this one slide?” She asked, probably worried that if they couldn’t get somewhere from here, you’d end up jumping a random person.

You slid a Benjamin through the bars. “Besides, we have a little something to sweeten the deal.” You’d always wanted to say a line like that. You sounded so cool.

The officer working the counter stared at the bill for a long minute. After a while, you both thought he might snitch and call his boss. That’d be really really bad too! Bribery? On your record? No! The man eventually pulled a pen out from somewhere, probably his ass, and marked the bill. That seemed to do nothing as the pen didn’t mark it. Mr Lopez still slid the bill into his shirt pocket. “Fine.” He looked around. “Come here.” He gestured with his hand as he pressed the button for a door nearby to open. When you both stepped through, you realized you were both in the room behind the metal bars. You both approached him. He pointed to the computer.

“These are everybody with available bails to pay. You said you were looking for specific people, right? No family, friends, did something real bad?”

“Yup.” You said as you and Jill nodded a little dumbly, surprised he was actually helping.

Mr Lopez tapped the keyboard, the clacking going on for a bit before he pointed to the screen once more. “I can’t say much about friends, but these three have no family, and each committed some kind of premeditated murder. Does that count as bad enough?”

“Yes sir.” Jill said, looking between you, Mr Lopez and the computer rapidly.

“Then these are your options, I suppose.” The officer relaxed into his chair, staring at the screen as he folded his hands over his stomach.

You and Jill gave each other a look.

“Which would you say is the worst?” Jill asked hesitantly.

“Oh. Caleb Patrick all the way. He murdered four children, ages 6 to 12. A real sick fuck.” The officer spat, glaring at the screen. At least it was nice to know the man didn’t condone murder, unlike bribery.

As for this cuntstick of a murder…

“We’ll take him!” You exclaimed, clapping your hands together as you stood straight up.

This guy was perfect!

After the completing the paperwork and handing Mr Lopez a few more Benjamins, the wait for the jerkoff’s release felt like forever. It was during that wait that you told Jill to go ahead to Franzelli’s apartment to set the thing up. Y’know, the standard murder stuff? Place tarps everywhere, throw on a raincoat, block any exits besides the one you and this little kid murdering fuck are gonna enter through.

“I’m not gonna just leave you to deal with this guy alone.” She whispered to you as you both sat in some shitty chairs, waiting for the guy.

“But you have to get the place ready!” You whisper-yelled back. You didn’t want blood to stain Sam’s new floors!

It took a lot of arguing back and forth until you finally convinced her to go. Coincidentally, as soon as she left, the prick came in.

“Mr Patrick!” You stood, forcing your best, nicest smile.

“Who the fuck’re you?” The cuckhold of a man, snarled.

“I’m the one who bailed you out of jail.” Your eyes trailed down to look him over. No ankle monitor for this guy? You didn’t know whether to be happy or disappointed in that failure from the justice system. Then again, him having no ankle monitor makes this a whole lot easier.

That man seemed confused about that. “I don’t know you though. Why’re you doin’ this.”

“Well, you see Mr Patrick, me and my associate who left earlier, are apart of a reformation program!” You exclaimed, the happiness not forced anymore as you thought of all the ways you were going to eat him. “The people we work with are reformed into the best person they can be. Murder? No more murdering! Thievery? No more thieving! You get the idea. We’re going to show you to your new apartment. Come now.” You grabbed his arm and dragged the man along. “Chop! Chop! Mr Patrick!”

Getting into a cab with a kid killer was something you never thought you’d be doing. Nor did you think you’d ever be making “pleasant” conversation with the man to pass the time. You supposed it was easier to do that when you were fantasizing about eating the man’s earlobes.

The onion rings of the human body.

When you and the man finally went into Sam’s apartment complex and went into Sam’s apartment. It was nicely wrapped.

“The place is so… siranwrappy.” The shitbag muttered.

“It’s to keep the place clean of any dust.” You said, unable to stop a smile from crossing your face at the sight of Jill huddled in a corner in her rain coat waiting until her moment to pop out.

You talked more with the piece of trash until she finally spoke, causing the dickwad’s head to turn to her. With that, you immediately and quietly rushed away to put on your own raincoat.

Jill entertained him until you ran over, not bothering to be quiet anymore to jump on the man’s back and rip his throat out with your teeth.

When you were finally done with him, the two of you took to stuffing him into the freezer. When it was all over and you were now mostly covered in his blood, Jill gave you the biggest hug ever.

“I’m so glad he didn’t hurt you or something while I was gone.”

Sam’s a gender neutral name right?

Taglist: @shinning-stars @tuabuelaenvinagrexd @lettucel0ver @holderoflostmemories @cherrydaisymanic @11queensupreme11 @vanessa-boo @darktrashpoetry @nyra-42 @horror-lover-69 @chemicalwindexbottle @sadslasher13 @mintynilla @otakusimp1 @1abi @exactlynumberonekryptonite @ceramic-raven @depressed--therapist @nisarelle

[ddejavvu]

hey! this is the no boundaries!sirius request anon. so you mentioned I need give you a plot :)

I was thinking something where Sirius and reader are always seen together, they trail after each other like lost puppies, and Sirius will be sometimes laying his head in her lap letting her play with his hair, SHARING HAIR TIES, and staring at her shamelessly when she's talking from everywhere within his hearing range

all of this could be happening at a party or after in the common with their friends, it's up to you :)

the hair tie concept <333

--

Your eyes have been narrowed in on Sirius's unruly hair since the first time he'd brushed it out of his eyes, but now, the seventh time, accompanied by a rather upsetting hiss from your potion as it singes his locks, you stand.

"Sirius," You chide, rounding the man to stand behind him as you comb your fingers over his scalp. You gather his hair into a ponytail, pulling the hairtie that's cinching the end of your braid shut, "You're going to light your whole head on fire one of these days."

"I'd make a joke about being smoking hot," He teases, still bent over the cauldron he's working with as you secure the hairtie around the black strands, "But it'd just burn my hair off, and I wouldn't be able to pull off bald."

"Then tie your hair back before class," You order, tightening your fist around Sirius's ponytail and yanking his head backwards with it. He lets out a cry that's more theatrics than real pain, in true Sirius Black fashion, but he nods vigorously where you hold his head captive in your grip.

"Yes, sir," He promises, and when you're satisfied with how earnest his eyes seem, you let him go. He watches you from behind as you head back to your seat, and his brow creases at the slowly-unraveling braid.

"Now your pretty braid's coming undone." He notes, a frown on his pale features.

"S'okay. I can redo it later," You hum absentmindedly, "Let's just get through this class without lighting it on fire."

"Fine," He grumbles, turning back to his work reluctantly, "But when we're out of here, I'm gonna braid it for you."