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solxamber · 20 days ago

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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

All Masterlists

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech x reader #jade x reader #jade leech #twst jade #jade leech x you #jade

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clockwayswrites · 2 months ago

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City Pigeons Bleed Green : Part 23

The cheerful bell rang a familiar chime as Damian opened the door to his favorite animal shelter. The scent of fur, pet food, and antiseptic was as comforting as it was potent. Damian watched Danny closely out of the corner of his eye. The other boy’s nose wrinkled, but he looked around the front room curiously.

“Damian! I wasn’t expecting you today,” Ms. Lacey said as she popped out of the back room, summoned by the chime.

‘Ms. Lacey’ was their compromise. Damian had refused to simply refer to the woman by her first name and in turn, Ms. Lacey refused to give Damian her last name. It had been supremely frustrating. Now it was almost akin to game or inside joke between them. It was nice.

She brushed the riot of curls (blue this month) out of her face and looked at the group that had entered the shelter curiously.

Damian knew they were a bit of a sight. Danny was still swathed in a number of bandages and, now out of the apartment, looked a moment away from running. Because of that, Jason basically loomed over Danny and Damian as if he could keep the world at bay.

(He might just be able to manage to.)

“No. It is not one of my normal service days, however, I am not here to volunteer,” Damian said, his tone almost apologetic. “I have brought Daniel—”

“Danny.”

“—to see if there is a pet that would suit him.”

“Hi, Danny,” Ms. Lacey said and leaned forward onto the counter.

Danny shied back into Jason’s space. He clutched a little tighter at the backpack that his bear was safely stashed in. Cass had thought it might be good for Danny to be able to take the bear discreetly with him as he seemed rather attached to it. Considering the tracker in the bear, everyone quickly helped make that happen.

“Hi Lacey,” Danny replied softly.

Ms. Lacey leaned back, her smiled now twinged with just a little bit of sadness. Damian had seen her look abused animals the same way. “Do you know what type of animal you might be interested in, Danny?”

“I was thinking a cat or dog?” The words were more a question than a statement. “Someone that can sit with me.”

“That’s a good start. That could also be rabbits, but if they’re going to be living at the manor,” Ms. Lacey glanced briefly at Damian for a confirming nod, “then a rabbit might not work the best. A cat has the advantage that it would be indoors and doesn’t need as much effort depending on the animal’s age. But you might want a dog to walk! Why don’t we get you into the kitten room to start, because that’s a great time no matter what.”

When Danny glanced from Ms. Lacey to Damian to Todd, Todd gave a little nod. Danny tightened the hold on his backpack, took a breath, and gave a little nod.

“Okay, this is pretty great,” Danny said as he pried a tiny orange and white ball of fluff off his shoulder and set the little guy back down with his siblings.

Immediately the kitten was pounced by the black kitten and had his ears chewed on.

“Kittens might be too much energy for me though,” Danny admitted. He had a feeling he’d never have the type of energy he used to again. He wasn’t sure if that was from his death or… everything else.

“They are a great deal of work,” Damian agreed. His own lap was full of peacefully sleeping kittens.

Danny was a little jealous. He caught the grey kitten who looked more like a a dust bunny as it romped past.

“What if I don’t find a pet today?”

“Then we will go somewhere else. This is not the only shelter in the city,” Damian said.

The straightforward certainty that Damian had about the world was something Danny had come to appreciate over the last several days of knowing Damian. The fear was still there. Danny didn’t know if it would ever go away, but he could ignore it now. Sometimes it was hardly even background noise.

Danny was used to having a brain full of static.

“It will be fine, Brother,” Damian said when Danny didn’t respond.

Brother. Damian insisted on using that instead of his name, but Danny figure that was because Damian didn’t have a last name to call him like all the others. Bruce was simply ‘Father’ too. Maybe it was about Wayne then? But Danny wasn’t Daniel Wayne. He was just Danny… no one.

“Yeah,” Danny made himself respond so that Damian didn’t get worried. For all that Damian tried to be aloof he really was worse than even Dick.

“If a kitten would be too much, what do you think of an adult cat?”

Danny looked down at the little slip of a kitten in his hands. It was so tiny. “I think let’s start with dogs. Something not so small and… breakable.”

Damian nodded and started to divest himself of cats. “I have heard the vets ‘joke’ that kittens will heal from anything. One could toss a kitten and its missing foot in a cage and it would reattach. I suggest we do not try it.”

“No,” Danny said in horror. “We are very much not trying that, what the hell.”

“What is what I said.” Despite having to deal with many more kittens, Damian was up first and offering Danny his hand. “Come, Brother.”

Danny took the hand, stood, and still had one last kitten to pull off of of his jeans where it clung with this sharp, sharp claws.

---

AN: I was able to give this a read through finally, so have the first bit of this chapter! Because who doesn't want Danny and Damian surrounded by adorable kittens?

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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cosmicalily · 1 month ago

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"santa baby" - a jisung oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: san-ta, ba-by !! (i'm such a lauver and have such bad baby fever rn, that's all the context you get!)

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of sickness

“I can’t believe you’re still sick on Christmas Eve,” Jisung pouted, gently running a hand through your hair. He stroked your warm cheek, eyes sad, and you offered him a weak smile.

“I’m sorry Ji, I know we had so many plans,” you sighed, snuggling into him. “Don’t let me stop you. You should still go ice skating with the boys; I’m happy to stay at home, I promise.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whined, sliding down the headboard and further under the covers. Anyone else would keep their distance from someone who’d been nauseous for the past week, but you being under the weather only made Jisung clingier. He wanted to take care of you and stay by your side, making sure you were okay every single second of the day, even when you assured him you just needed a glass of water and a good nap.

Despite your slightly more fragile state, the past few weeks in preparation for Christmas had been oh so cosy and domestic, filled with shopping for gifts (although the two of you ended up with more for each other than your friends and family), comfort food at home in front of the tv, watching Elf approximately 12 times (it was Jisung’s ride-or-die Christmas movie, there was no talking him out of it). Something about the colder season meant the two of you were even more inseparable than usual, always needing an arm or a leg thrust over the other to share a little body heat. Although, right now, with Jisung’s face nestled into your neck and his arms around your waist, you were scorching.

“Baby, I’m really hot right now,” you groaned, trying to push him away. Being the clingy menace he was, he simply held you closer, and you sighed.

“Ji, if you don’t let go, I’m probably gonna throw up,” you said, opting for a more direct approach. That got his brain working, knocking him out of his loved-up mind fog. He snapped up, sitting up straight and looking at you intently, brows furrowed with concern.

“Actually?” he asked worriedly.

“Maybe,” you replied, feeling a little bad for scaring him. But you were feeling nauseous, and it had only been getting worse the past few days. You hoped that by tomorrow you’d feel a little better.

Even if it wasn’t physically, you hoped that Jisung’s excitement, something you anticipated in response to the surprise you had for him, would perk you up.

“I’m gonna get you some chamomile,” he declared, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and scrambling out of the bedroom, leaving you feeling a little dazed. You felt warm, probably from the slight fever, but also because of him.

He was gonna be the best dad.

“I have something for you,” you said suddenly, grabbing the remote and pressing pause on the movie you hadn’t really been paying attention to. The two of you were sprawled on the sofa, Jisung’s head in your lap as you played with his hair. The room was dim and warm, fairy lights sparkling, and it felt magical, yet familiar.

He raised his head curiously. “But it’s not Christmas morning yet,” he replied, looking confused, and you laughed at him.

“I know. It’s not a proper present; it’s more the promise of one,” you explained vaguely, leaning over the armrest of the sofa and handing him a small box.

Jisung raised an eyebrow, then undid the plaid ribbon, opening the box and retrieving a note. “Unfortunately, these things tend to take a while to arrive, but I promise you’ll have it by August! Love you, sweet boy.” Jisung read aloud, then gave you a strange look, thinking it was some weird prank and expecting you to giggle. However, to his surprise, your eyes were a little glassy, and you reached to hold his hand.

Giving it a gentle squeeze as he unfolded the tissue paper one handed, he found a small stick buried at the bottom. A white plastic one.

With two lines on it.

“Oh my god,” Jisung breathed, holding it closer and then dropping it in shock. “Oh my god, is this real?”

“Why do you think I’ve been feeling so crap the past few days?” you giggled in response, but tears were now rolling down your cheeks. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but I thought it would make the perfect surprise.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung repeated, for once lost for words. He suddenly reached forward, cupping your cheeks with his hands and pressing your foreheads together. “I can’t believe it. I’m so happy, baby, you don’t even know. I’ve been wanting this for so long for us.” Then he paused, scrunching up his nose and dropping the test. "Ew. I can't believe I just touched a stick that you peed on."

“Shut up, that's the only way to find out, dumbass. And I know you have, you’re not subtle,” you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m so glad I get to do this with you, Ji. You’re going to be the best dad.”

He beamed, eyes shiny, then yanked up your tank top. You squealed in shock, but was placated when he pressed a soft kiss to your belly, looking up at you wistfully.

“Are you gonna call the boys and tell them your news?” you asked, running a hand through his hair as he rested his cheek against your stomach.

“Later,” he said, closing his eyes. “Just wanna be with you right now. And our baby.”

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xxsabitoxx · 2 years ago

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Unfortunate [Teaser] full fic has been posted

Sekido, Karaku, Aizetsu, Urogi x AFAB! Reader

Warning the full length fic will include the following: gang banging, dub-con / non-con, forced oral, forced orgasm, BDSM themes… which just means they aren’t easy on you whatsoever, humiliation, bukkake, outdoor sex, brain washing, etc etc etc

A/N: so I will say, this fic is going to be a darker one. I don’t think I’ve ever written like… full on non-con… honestly this fic will somehow lean towards dub-con anyways. Like let’s be honest, it’s gonna be a very morally gray fic. I mean we aren’t moral people let’s be real.

You had fucked up, big time. “Such a stupid thing! You couldn’t figure out that we wanted you to do this?” The green eyed demon laughed again, watching as you looked between the three of them. Laughing just a bit harder as you realized only three of them stood before you. “I-but…” there was a fourth. You were certain of it… so where the hell did he go? “Karaku…you’re so loud…” the blue eyed demon whined, eyes locked on you as he referred to the green eyed demon. “Shut it, Aizetsu.”

The red eyed one spoke again, staff hovering just a bit off the ground as he scowled at you. “You’re probably wondering where the fourth one went, huh sugar?” The green eyed demon taunted you, completely torn, you couldn’t figure out where to look. If your eyes left the three of them they’d likely attack. If you didn’t try to figure out the location of the fourth, it was likely he’d kill you instead. “C’mon, little slayer… Show us what you got…” the blue eyed demon spoke, voice somber and eyes filled with sadness.

“Urogi, quit playing around.” The red eyed demon bellowed, another name, but your brain was going too fast to remember it. The flapping of wings pulled you from your daze, head whipping in the direction of the noise but it was too late. Two claws grabbed around your waist, the sudden thrust upward knocking your blade straight from your grasp. A scream of shock left you as you were torn straight off the ground, head flying upwards to see what had grabbed you. Somehow, it was the fourth demon.

He looked just as the other three did, the only differences being his eyes and his limbs. Golden eyes stared down at you, a familiar smirk on his lips. Instead of arms and legs, he had claws. His limbs resembled that of a bird or reptile, large wings expanding behind him. You jerked as he stopped, hovering in the air as he looked you over. It wasn’t until he raised his legs that you realized he was using them to grasp you opposed to his arms. “What a pathetic thing you are…” he laughed as he let you go.

You began to plummet to the ground, body and mind so disconnected from your reality that you couldn’t even muster a scream before he swooped down to grab you again. Now, you were facing him, eyes wide and chest heaving. “You humans are so easy to break… though I must say I’ve never seen the fighting spirit leave someone as quickly as it left you.” He admired your petrified face, slowly descending until he was in earshot of his other halves. “Yah know, Sekido? We shouldn’t kill her just yet…”

His eyes trailed over your body, a cruel grin covering his face as he spoke. “Why don’t we have some fun with her? It’s been years since I’ve gotten my fill of human…desire.” The implications had you feeling hot, panic ebbing up the back of your neck as you squirmed in his grasp. “Oh? There it is…” he dropped you a moment later. The fall wasn’t a big one but it still hurt when you hit the ground. The panic was mixing with dread as you realized what the situation was turning to. “Fun? Urogi why can’t we just eat her…” the blue eyed demon whined softly as he stared at you.

“Oi, Aizetsu don’t be such a prude…” the green eyed demon spoke, walking over to where you sat on the ground. He crouched before you, smiling in a way that made you want to run. “She’d certainly have a good time, don’t you think Sekido? You know we need your approval to do anything…” he turned to look at the red eyed demon, a soft thump behind you told you that the winged demon had landed. You met the red eyed demon’s gaze, swallowing thickly as you waited for him to decide your fate.

“There are rules…you know. We each get a turn, no hogging her.” You got the chills, listening intently to the demons conversing about having their way with you. “Listen here, sugar.” The green eyed demon grabbed your face, keeping your attention on him as he spoke. “We’re gonna have a hell of a time with you… satisfy us and maybe we’ll let you leave here with your life.” Behind you, the winged demon snickered, feet dragging on the ground as he too crouched behind you. “You’ll be able to satisfy the four of us with your body, right?”

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littlelamy · 3 months ago

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could you write more angst for rafe? I'm craving to be sad, maybe bc he promised he wouldn't do coke anymore and he was doing well but one day he lies to her and goes to a party to sniff some and then she finds out and maybe she's pregnant but he doesn't know yet 😁

a/n: thank you so much for sending a request!💗

you sit on the edge of the bed, fingers lightly tracing your stomach, the softest swell of new life beneath your skin. rafe’s words echo in your mind, the promises he made when you told him you couldn’t do this if he didn’t change. “i won’t touch it again,” he swore, those bright blue eyes locked on yours, so full of hope and fear and desperation.

and for a while, he’d stuck to it. he’d been good. you believed him.

but tonight, something felt off. the texts had come slower than usual, his answers short, distracted. he was out with topper and kelce, just for a drink, he said. you wanted to trust him—god, you wanted to believe that this time was different.

yet, the gnawing in your stomach hadn’t eased up since he left, a sense of dread you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried to tell yourself it was nothing. just anxiety. just your mind playing tricks.

until your phone buzzes, a single message lighting up the screen. it’s topper.

you might wanna come get your boy.

your heart sinks. you stare at the screen, dread pooling in your gut. you can feel the blood drain from your face, your fingers shaking as you type back a response.

where is he?

the seconds stretch into an eternity as you wait for the reply, the silence in your room deafening. when it finally pings, the answer is simple.

party at kelce’s.

you stare at the message, the words burning into your brain. you don’t even need to ask to know what rafe is doing there. kelce’s parties are notorious for one thing—coke. it’s everywhere, flowing as freely as the alcohol.

and rafe…he promised you. he promised he’d never touch that shit again.

you stand up, legs shaking as you grab your keys off the dresser, the weight of your growing secret pressing against your ribs. you haven’t told him yet. you hadn’t even planned to tell him tonight. but now, every instinct screams at you to get to him, to stop him before he ruins everything.

the drive to kelce’s house feels endless, the night blurring outside the window as your mind races with thoughts of what you’ll find when you get there. rafe had done so well these last few months. he had tried—really tried—and you were so proud of him for it. but addiction doesn’t just disappear, no matter how much you both wanted it to.

your hands tighten around the steering wheel as you pull up to the house. the bass of the music pulses through the air, shaking the ground beneath your feet as you step out of the car. the usual crowd is scattered around the yard, red solo cups in hand, laughter and shouting cutting through the night. but your eyes aren’t on them. you’re only focused on finding him.

as you push your way through the crowd, the smell of alcohol and smoke thick in the air, your heart pounds in your chest, a sickening rhythm that echoes the dread building inside you. you glance around, scanning the faces, searching for that familiar blond head.

and then, you see him.

he’s leaning against the bar, back turned to you, and your breath catches in your throat. even from a distance, you can see it—the slight twitch in his movements, the telltale signs that you know all too well. he’s on edge, more animated than usual, and you know. you don’t even need to get closer to know what he’s done.

he’s broken his promise.

you feel a wave of nausea crash over you as you step forward, heart hammering in your chest. every step feels heavy, like you’re walking through water, slow and inevitable. when you reach him, you grab his arm, pulling him around to face you.

“rafe,” you say, your voice trembling, and he looks at you, startled.

his pupils are blown wide, the usual spark in his blue eyes dimmed, replaced by something darker, something you’ve seen before but prayed you’d never have to see again.

he opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. instead, he stumbles over his thoughts, his hand going to his nose instinctively, wiping at it.

“what are you doing here?” he slurs, blinking at you in confusion. “i thought you were—”

“you promised me,” you cut him off, your voice sharp, louder than you intended. “you said you wouldn’t do this again, rafe.”

he flinches at the accusation, his face falling as he stares at you. “i wasn’t—i didn’t mean to. it was just…just a little. i’m fine.”

you feel the tears burning at the corners of your eyes, anger and hurt bubbling up inside you. “you lied to me.”

he tries to reach for you, but you step back, your body trembling with rage. “don’t. don’t touch me.”

rafe’s face crumples, and for a second, you almost feel sorry for him. almost. but then you remember why you’re here. you remember the promise he made, the way he swore up and down that he would change, for you, for your future.

and now, that future feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.

“i’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking, but you don’t want to hear it. you don’t want to hear his apologies, not when he’s high, not when he’s like this.

“sorry’s not enough, rafe,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “it’s not enough this time.”

he looks at you, desperation in his eyes, and you can see the fear creeping in—the fear of losing you, of losing everything. but it’s too late for that now. the damage is done.

“i’m done,” you say, the words feeling foreign in your mouth, like they don’t belong there. “i can’t keep doing this.”

rafe’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head, panic flashing across his face. “no, no, please. don’t say that. you don’t mean that.”

“i do.” your voice is barely above a whisper, but the weight of the words hangs in the air between you. “i can’t keep lying to myself, pretending this is okay.”

“please,” he begs, stepping closer, his hands shaking. “please, baby, don’t do this. i’ll stop. i’ll get better. i’ll be better. just don’t leave me.”

you swallow, tears blurring your vision as you look at him, this broken boy in front of you, so lost in his own demons that he can’t see how much he’s hurting you. “i don’t know if i can believe you anymore.”

rafe’s face crumples, and for the first time, you see the tears welling up in his eyes, the cracks in his armor finally breaking open. but it doesn’t change anything. it doesn’t fix what he’s done.

“please,” he whispers again, his voice trembling. “i love you.”

your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you almost believe him. but then you remember the ache in your chest, the fear that’s been gnawing at you since the moment you found out you were pregnant. you remember all the nights you spent worrying, wondering if this was the right decision, if you could trust him to be the father your child needed.

and now, standing here, looking at him, you have your answer.

you can’t.

the drive home is a blur, tears streaming down your face as you try to keep it together. you don’t even remember how you made it back, your mind consumed with the weight of what just happened. the house feels empty when you walk inside, the silence suffocating as you collapse onto the couch, sobs wracking your body.

you’re pregnant. you’re carrying his child, and he doesn’t even know.

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#rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron blurb #૮꒰ྀིo̴̶̷̤⩊o̴̶̷̤꒱ྀིა lamy req.。 ♡

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samodivaa · 9 months ago

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frenzy of lust and sin 1〗

Part 2 Pairing: Instructor!Bucky x Recruit!Reader

Summary: During your training to become an agent, you've earned the moniker "Sergeant's girl" around the base—that doesn't give him the right to be possessive or jealous, but what gives you the right to be a brat? Warnings: sexual tension, age gap, sparring Words: 3.4k

Bucky knows that the body is not a thing of wild magic, but a collection of chemicals, tissues, and nerve impulses. Thoughts are no more than electrical surges in the brain. Sexual arousal is no more than a flow of chemicals to certain nerve endings. Sadness no more than a bit of acid transfixed in the cerebellum. In short, the body is a machine, subject to the same laws of electricity and mechanics as an electron or clock. As such, the body must be addressed in the language of physics. And if the body speaks, it is the speaking only of so many levers and forces. The body is a thing to be ordered, not obeyed. But the feeling is not leaving, he can’t control it. Jealousy. He is witnessing himself become daily more notable for savage sullenness and ferocity. But in the end, it’s an instinctive feeling. Your presence has flattered him from the first time you met, you are full of ambition which leads Bucky to adopt a double character without exactly intending to deceive anyone.

He keeps the acquaintance and has no temptation to show his rough side in your company, and has the sense to be ashamed of being rude towards such a young lady. You are the only recruit who gets this side of him, but it is a secret in his heart, he is guilty of such a secret, because he has to forcefully hold it. He keeps his hold on his affections towards you unalterably, not showing what he is truly feeling. With all his superiority as your hand to hand combat instructor, he finds it difficult to keep it professional as more time passes. As he falls more for you. ============================== The moment you enter the room, he discerns your soft-featured face, pensive and amiable in expression, eyes which are large and serious, your figure almost too graceful. It forms a sweet picture―and your aura. It's…intoxicating. It's shining, it always shines.

“Good morning, Bucky” you have a sweet, low manner of speaking as you walk towards where he is sitting. “Good morning” his voice sounds ill-natured, politeness that would only be laughed at, restraining an unruly nature, wary of the secret he knows about you. He is trying to not be overcome by emotion. Emotion is the art of breaking hearts, minds, and tongues―but it is too much, even for Bucky.

You reflect for an instant, with knitted brows “Are you okay?” “Of course I am, why do you ask?” he whispers crossly.

A surprised laugh almost breaks free from your lips, because his naturally reserved disposition is exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of moroseness today and you wonder why that is. Bucky slightly widening his eyes, parts of his lips, but there is absence of arrogance as his features become unreadable again. He rises up from the bench, but you have no time to express your worry further as you gaze at him with a troubled countenance, because it might be something deeper. ==============================

It is all because of three days ago.

As he carries his basket to the laundry room, he spots a look for a washing machine with a finished cycle. He opens the door and unloads the freshly washed clothes, placing them into the basket in front of the machine―but these clothes are familiar. Leggings, he knows them by heart. Curiosity is gluttony. It is a great temptation to look through all of them, piece by piece. And although his demeanor is calm, his eyes betray a maelstrom of emotions—his self-control is shattering. The impulse lurks. His gaze moves downwards. To his crotch. Jesus. He is hard. And sometimes, to regain sanity, he has to acknowledge and embrace the madness. Bucky wavers for a moment, and then, irresistibly impelled by the naughty spirit within him, sits on the floor and finds a red dress underneath the leggings―curiosity sparking in his eyes as his lids to twinkle, because he has never imagine you wearing such feminine clothing. Until now. He wants to see the curve of your back, the dress clinging to your chest and waist, flaring over your hips—and certainly wants to look at your tits in it.

“Fuck” His throat gurgles slightly, looking at the cloth through his lashes like the starved man he is. It is almost impossible to express himself out loud, satisfaction speaks louder than words. He is overwhelmed by emotions, leaving him both speechless and breathless, but even then it is important to identify the correct emotion—lust, a longing that goes on a loop. He neglects his throbbing cock, but his attention remains the dress as he falls victim to countless daydreams.

There is scarcely time to experience a thrill of his arousal before he sees something else—male boxers. He stands stunned. Paralyzed. Breathless. But there is no time for inaction. His mind floods as he tries to make sense of what he is seeing.

—Men are punished by their sins, not for them.

Seeing the boxers, he speaks of lust in the past tense. The scene that plays in front of him, is perfectly adapted to a temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed—illusions are bound to be shattered, reality finally sets in. An indescribable look flits across his face, because that sparks his anger. It is so wrong to feel like this, yet he is firmly persuaded that a great deal of his consciousness, in fact, is a disease, the more deeply it sinks into that mire and the more ready he is to sink in it altogether—Jealousy. He hates those insoluble problems and contradictions of human nature, and that he is capable of conquering his fragile inner center—only silence remains. To take back his power in any given situation, he needs to focus on the things he can control. The thoughts he chooses to think is usually the best place to begin, but by a natural impulse his mind starts to wonder—about this man kissing you, touching you, fucking you.

==============================

That’s how his unusual behavior is fueled, expressed, plainer than words could do, the intense anguish at having made himself the instrument of opposing his own jealousy. You enter the room and he is already waiting for you and as you approach the bench where he is sitting, he is supposing you are going to say something, looking up. The expression of his face seems disturbed and anxious as three days ago, lips are half asunder, as if he wants to speak, and draws a breath, but it escapes with a sigh instead of a normal sentence.

“You know, relationships are not allowed here” “What are you talking about?” you pursue, kneeling down by him and lifting your winsome eyes to his face with that sort of look which turns off bad temper, even when it is right in his own world to indulge it. “It is part of the rules, you sighed it” he goes on, less sulkily. “Yeah and I am not in a relationship” you respond, peevishly rising to your feet. “You just slept with some random guy?” “It is not against the rules” you exclaim in an irritated tone, chafing your hands together and frowning.

“So how was the sex?” he asks too casually, his countenance growing graver. Bucky has an unusual gloom in his face, that makes you dread something from which you might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe. Will he expel you from the training program?

“What do you mean?” you ask, with an accent of indignation. “How was it” he asks, emphasizing each syllable “When he fucked you?” —Jealous makes tongue unconscious

You avoid aggravating his fiery temper by staying silent, not knowing what attendees his anger and the curiosity of your personal life. His behavior today provokes you exceedingly, but you lay the blame on his latest mission which was a disaster. He doesn’t have power to conceal his emotions anymore, it sets his whole complexion in a blaze. Bucky rises from the bench, scoops up his water bottle, takes a long gulp from it and impatiently bades you to go to the training mats, terminating the conversation with a sequel of horrid imprecations in his mind. You know that It is as much a part of him as his limbs, this need to make sure that you are safe, to protect you. But this is the first time that he hasn't been so kind to you. And you remember a definition of chivalry you’d heard once: a man protecting a woman against every man but himself. Through the madness of his words, a part of his soul is revealed—a part of him that has to do with the past. Even if people around him try to forget it, the past remembers him. That void in his chest fills with anger sometimes and it is scary to witness it.

You don’t want to spar with him, but you won’t back down either—back and forth you go, shifting your feet and moving across the mat like some wild, ferocious tango. It is exhilarating to be moving like this with you, so close Bucky can see your eyebrows pinched together in concentration, little drops of sweat as they run down your face. Then it happens. You couldn’t get your arms up in time and Bucky’s next kick hit you squarely in the side. The attempt to conceal the pain doesn’t work as you feel all the strength go out of you as your back hits the ground hard. In a second he gets on top, which makes you wriggle and squirm, trying to throw him off. He grins down at you, enjoying his momentary superiority and the feeling of your smaller body underneath his. You don’t let the mental block or panic control you, ideas flow so rapidly that you have not time to decide what to do—you scowl adorably and arch up against him in a way that sends electricity through him—and that unbalances him enough for you to flip him over and straddle him. —He is a mournful wreck ruined by his biggest weakness, you. You are on top now, pinning him, grinning down with sparkling eyes. He is exasperated, because he doesn’t know what this look means. He put it somewhere between indifference and pride. Your eyes are so intense he wants to look away—or never look away, he can’t decide, but he keeps his gaze fixed on you as if you fear that you would vanish if he is to remove it. To his shock, the heavy breathing, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins, the intense stare, the rivulets of sweat, arouses him even more.

“It was nice” you declare, emphatically, speaking sincerely “The sex was nice” you add in a tone particularly calculated to provoke him.

You seem to allow yourself such wide latitude with both your actions and words today, it really leaves him speechless and you laugh at his reaction as if you are inclined to make it no laughing matter to Bucky. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are staring at each other, time stops. Those eyes are piercing yours, and you can swear at this moment you sense something more. It surprises you that he doesn’t say anything in return. You are not used to seeing Bucky like that—without the attitude, without the facade. He tries to conceal his reaction from you, but his face grows cloudy at your reply, his heart grows pale with pure annoyance: a feeling that reaches its climax when you silently rise and leave the room as Bucky ponderes your reply painfully. He would not have wanted to hear of staying a second longer anyways. ============================== It is a continual nightmare. He needs several days off from all training sessions to meditate on his thoughts in solitude. He persuades his conscience that in a way it is not his fault as possessiveness is a problem, rooted in his ill-bred past―he suffers greatly, because of the brainwashing, torture, his mind struggles between disorder and order, trying to find a balance between the two extremes.

But he can't keep on running, he needs to face one of his biggest problems―for all his time that he has spent with you, he couldn't avert that excess of emotion: mingled possessiveness and jealousy has overcome him completely lately. The nearer he gets to the facility the more agitated he becomes and on catching sight of it he trembles in every limb. You are young, beautiful and there is something contagious when you act like a brat, it takes root in him and his desire grows along with him―your presence is a moral poison that contaminates his whole mind. —There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable. You are forbidden. Young. His best trainee.

============================== You are already sitting on the bench and turn around when the door opens. Eye contact. How can he mitigate his adoration for you when he can't concentrate half the time he is around you?

“Good morning, Bucky”

You say with feigned playfulness and he notices a mischievous smile on your lips. As if you are on hostile terms with him, but still somehow friendly. And what amuses you is painful to him beyond expression―he doesn’t say anything in return, but sits next to you, and looks thoroughly indifferent as he takes the water bottle out of his backpack. It is normal thought, you are alarmed at his recent indiscretion, and the disclosure he had made of his behavior in a transient fit of anger. Bucky is sick with conflict, possessive emotions fester in him while this sludge, guilt, eats away at his insides and he is acutely conscious of the swift passage of time. ―He needs to say something. Finish the session and go home. It is that simple.

And he stares hard at you, watching you take a long drink from your bottle. Then he follows the flick of your tongue over your bottom lip. His heart stumbles a beat. What the actual fuck. Was that on purpose―he has come here to train you and once again, he is left speechless. Then. You lean in, your scent filling his nostrils. He is shocked to feel his throat tighten with a primal hunger, just to hear: “Don’t you like me?”

You laugh softly, utterly feminine sound that galvanizes all of his senses. You lean closer, allowing Bucky to savor the sweet, sinful energy which shimmers from you―some primitive male instinct warns him of your innocence―like a bloom on a vine, fragrant and dainty. He scowles―don’t pinch it off. His heart knows no peace, because everything is wrong with having feelings for you. *What is she playing at? Is she trying to provoke me? It's working*

“It's not that I don’t like you, it's only that in your presence I don’t like myself” he speaks without any anger in his voice, but with much sorrowful despondency.

Now, you are the one left speechless, but manage to preserve your external composure, in spite of his ghastly countenance and strange confession. You find childish diversion in the idea of pulling his mental strings―you struggle desperately to not smile as your mind obsessively plays and replays his words, your eyes narrow into thin slits as your gaze doesn’t leave his, because your suspicions are confirmed, he likes you. That describes his change of habitual conduct. A hideous notion strikes you, how wonderful it would be to use the satisfying exhibitions of power and control to deliberately create more desire in him―only to capriciously deny it. It is clear that he doesn’t know that you are a virgin if he accuses you of sleeping with other men. The question is―what exactly provoked him? But your abstraction is evidently so deep, and your whole aspect so misanthropical that Bucky thinks how uncomfortable you might be feeling. He reflects that all those words will be branded in his memory, and they eat him deeply, eternally, because he should have not said them. All because of his greedy jealousy. He looks astonished at the expression on your face, only assuming what you might be thinking of him―he gazes at you with mournful and questioning eagerness, clearly on the verge of madness. He endeavors to say something, but can’t manage it which makes him compress his mouth as he holds a silent combat with his inward shame, meanwhile, your mind offers a perfect plan.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

You whisper, anxiously, yet boldly―mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he is. You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as his eyes stare at your lips for a few moments.

“Watch that mouth”

A wicked curve appears on his lips, because your pure innocence is a kind of insanity to his mind that sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity. Kiss you? He wants to fuck you. You are so impetuous and bold―addictive. “Or what? You will kiss it?”

You say which makes you glance up to find his eyes blazing with raw need. Innocent and virtuous, you represent the exact type of female he needs to avoid…“Or I will fuck it”―ugh, he can’t say that, but he wants to. God, he feels so naked knowing you have clearly identified his desire for you. He can’t go any further down. Rock bottom. His mind is a mess, but he has no intention of cleaning today. You lean, but before he can say anything you lean back and smile, leaving him to grapple with an absurd sense of disappointment. Teasing Bucky is part of the fun that comes before kissing—oh, you will for sure ruin him long before you touch him. It will be more satisfying to exhibit power and control than deliberately creating desire—only to capriciously deny it. His smile is faint and lopsided, his answer takes a long time, which is uncharacteristic: “Don’t do that again” Bucky’s voice is measured, his longing raw. Self control is all he has left. His face feels scattered in pieces and he can’t not keep it straight. The feeling is a whole lot worse than being hungry for any dinner, yet it is like that. All he can think about―is you. “Why? What will you do?” Your laughter sounds like music, you just can’t miss a chance to remind him what a brat you are and that's when a sense of his folly compels him to mutter: “Why don’t you really keep your mouth shut?” You guess he utters those words, at least, though his voice is hardly intelligible. You know his voice well, bright and brittle, but now it has the thinnest layer of ice over―you know that he feels guilty about liking you. His question is an attempt to repress the intensity of your delight. He looks at you with a droll expression―half angry, half laughing at your boldness. “Why don’t you-” your exhalation carries a rasping tremor as if holding back a giggle “-give my mouth something else to do?” His mouth gaps, but no sound comes out. He stares at you, with a grin hovering about his lips, and a scowl gathering over his eyes:

“I have no words” he articulates softly. “Bucky…” you tease him “You always have something to say” And yet, he freezes stiff, as if he has been pushed onstage in a play where he doesn't know the lines―God, you’ve broken him. You’ve managed to render him speechless―Dominance. Control. These things are the roots of Bucky’s character. And you are the first person to defy his dominance and to challenge his self control. What a languid woman, a force of gravity by which you irresistibly make him speechless—and at the same time, fuel a new side to him. Eye contact. There is more in the eyes. Longing. The naughtiness emanates from your eyes—you look at him like you own him, openly teasing him as if it’s normal. And now you know that he needs you. This scarred, broken man needs you...and you want to be there for him. There is a silent promise not to let his secret out, but there is no promise for not teasing him purposely from now on—you jolt at the knowledge that you are instilling his inner peace to such an extent.

Part 2

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #female reader #bucky barnes #winter soldier

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oceaneyesinla · 2 months ago

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This idea appeared in my brain in the shower and I think it's ADORABLE. Shoto just brings out the cuteness aggression in me

Shoto x gn!Reader

A knock at your dorm room door distracts you from your book, but when you open it, you're met with beige walls and blue carpet, neither of which are known for their ability to knock on wood. This has happened a fair few times in the last month , and that knowledge prompts you to look down.

You can't help your pleased little smile when your hunch is proven correct. Sitting neatly in the doorway is a bunch of pretty flowers wrapped up in blue plastic. They're your favourite, just like always, and they've arrived just in time - like clockwork, just as the old ones are beginning to wilt, a new bouquet appears. There's differences every time, but whatever extras have been added, your favourite flower is always there.

There's a distinctive amateur feel to the way the bouquet is wrapped up, and it endears you to your secret gifter even more. It's clear how much time and effort is going into this gesture, in more ways than one. Someone listened to you, when you rambled about the flower patch in your childhood garden, the one you tended alone while your brother trained with your parents to become a hero. Someone remembered you fondly reminisce about pretty leaves and bright petals, and decided to make you smile.

You crouch down to pick up the flowers, and there's a note tucked amongst the blooms, just like every other time. It's never signed, and it's always so blunt and honest that it circles right back round to being charming. Whether it's complementing your sunshine smile or praising you for your latest training success, it never fails to make your cheeks heat up. You keep them all, tucked away in the drawer underneath where you display your flowers.

Your admirer is making a valiant effort to keep their identity hidden, and you find it adorable - mostly because you figured it out as soon as you saw that first note. He forgot that you know him as well as he knows you. The way he writes his characters is ever so slightly clumsy; he spent a lot of time teaching himself to write - Endeavour more interested in teaching him to fight than to live - and there's a couple of little details that make his handwriting distinctive. Plus, you're shared a class with him for three years; you've seen his writing more times than you can count.

There's a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, and you press your lips together to hold back a giggle. He may be a nearly graduated Hero course student, but he's not very sneaky. He doesn't usually stick around to see your reaction to his creation, instead listening intently from his desk as you gush about them to Momo.

Your eyes widen as your eyes scan over familiar script, and now you know why he's loitering - Todoroki Shoto is asking you on a date. You read the words three times, and pinch yourself for good measure. Part of you is surprised - he knows all your darkest moments and he's choosing you anyway? - but a bigger part of you knows this was inevitable. You've been gravitating towards each other since first year, and honestly, you've been driving your classmates mad.

An almost painful grin stretches across your face as you straighten up, "Sho? Come here."

He obeys almost immediately, emerging from around the corner to stand in front of you. The cautious hope glittering in his eyes makes you want to squish his cheeks and boop his nose and you feel giddy when you remember that yes, you'll be able to do just that. No more hiding the urge to hold his hand or kiss his cheek when he remembers your favourite snack or brings an extra hoodie to movie night just in case you get cold.

Maybe you're getting ahead of yourself. You still haven't actually given him an answer, and he's starting to worry, his bottom lip pushing out into a little pout. You can't take his sad face any longer - you reach out and grab his hand, infinitely entertained by the immediate red flush that spreads across his cheeks.

"Of course I'll go on a date with you. How about this weekend?"

"Okay." His smile is reflecting yours like the moon reflects the sun, and oh, he might be the prettiest person you've ever met.

He lifts your hand and shyly drops a kiss to your knuckles, looking up at you through unfairly long lashes. Now you're blushing as well, heat pooling in your cheeks as he lets your hands fall back between you. Neither of you let go, and you make an impulsive decision - after all, Shoto was brave enough to take the first step; the least you can do is meet him where he is.

"Actually, I'm free right now. We could go and get dinner?"

Your bravery is instantly rewarded with another devastatingly beautiful smile, "Yeah, I'd like that."

#rox writes #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #shouto x reader

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ashwhowrites · 7 months ago

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OMG I CANT BELIEVE REQS ARE OPEN YAYAAYAYAYAYAYYYYY

okay so basically i was wondering if you could do something with popular!bully!eddie x sensitive!reader

okay okay. so reader and eddie like each other but its a secret from the other and eddie bullies her lightly (cos he doesnt know how to deal with emotions) and shes super insecure cos she has like no friends and stuff and he went prom dress shopping with chrissy and saw reader there and teased her about the dress she picked and she got sad and cried at home then its prom and eddie's rejected everyone cos hes waiting for reader to show up and finally confess but shes nowhere to be found so he goes to her house with flowers or smth and he finds her crying and he comforts her and has her put her dress on and they kiss

IM SORRY IF THIS MAKES NO SENSE!!!

but thank you SO MUCH ash your writing is literally amazing it always has me in my feels <333 thank you for bringing so much happiness (and angst LMAO) to my feed!!

You are so sweet!! Thank you so much 🫶🏻I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting!

Prom Dress

Eddie never had a good hand on his emotions, he never learned how to express what he felt correctly. All he saw growing up was expressing emotions through anger. His dad was never around to tell him about girls and his mom was never there to teach him how a girl wants to be treated. So he went with what came naturally, except he barely ever felt real feelings towards a girl.

Until he met Y/N

Eddie was popular, it was easy to have girls on his arm and in his bed. But he didn't have feelings for them, so it was easy sweet talk and then they wouldn't talk again. But it was like his brain froze when he was in Y/N's presence. His sweet talk was out the door as he stuttered out something to say, and it was always a comment that sent her over the edge. He just didn't know that.

Y/N was a very alone person. She wasn't the best at making friends, making peace with being her own friend. She was insecure, never telling a boy how she felt because she knew it would go the exact way she thought it would. And when she realized her heart raced when Eddie walked in the halls, she knew that one would never happen.

Plus she has a good damn feeling he hated her guts. He added fire to the hell she lived in but there was something about him that she wanted. She allowed herself to be his punching bag because she felt alive when his eyes were on her. He was practically the only person that talked to her, and she didn't want to give that up.

Because at the end of the day, she had Eddie Munson's attention.

~~~

Eddie groaned as Chrissy picked up another dress to try on. He looked at his watch, annoyed that they had been in the same shop for two hours.

"At this point, Jason won't care what you pick. Can we please go?" Eddie moaned, his head thrown back as he sat on the uncomfortable chairs.

"You're fine. I have two more dresses and then we'll leave!" Chrissy sighed, going into the changing room.

Eddie moved his head back and looked around the store. He blinked a few times when he saw someone familiar. He stood up and slowly walked closer, squinting his eyes as a girl walked away from the register with a puffy pink dress.

"Y/N?"

She froze as she recognized the voice. Already on edge as she turned out. Panic in her eyes as she met his brown ones.

"Hi Eddie," she said, a small smile as she greeted him politely.

"Is that your prom dress?" He asked, his eyes looking over her shoulder as she held it.

"Yeah," she said quietly

"So you are going to prom? What? Alone?" He scoffed, a mocking chuckle left his mouth and Y/N shifted on her feet uncomfortably.

"Um, I don't know yet. Depends if someone asks" She shrugged

Eddie felt his body burn, a sense of discomfort thinking of someone asking her. Some guy takes her, takes pictures, and spins her on the dance floor. Someone she would have gotten dressed up for. He wasn't sure why the thought made him so damn angry. But the good news for him, he knew how to express anger.

"Ask you? You know that's not going to happen" he argued, his eyes dark as he stared down at her. "And while you are wearing that? A puffy pink dress, you think you are some fairytale princess? That dress looks like it's for a five-year-old old" He teased, but it wasn't his usual tease. This time it felt like every word he said sliced through her.

The one dress that fit her like a glove. The one dress that made every problem wash away. A dress where for once she felt beautiful.

She didn't say anything, just turned around and walked out of the store.

She cried as she raced to her car, harshly throwing the dress in the backseat. She cried the whole way home, feeling helpless in this world. She wasn't sure why it felt like everything was always up against her.

~~~

It was the night of the prom, and Y/N ignored the dress that hung up in her closet.

She bought it a week ago, a week since Eddie ruined the one bit of confidence she had left.

She wanted to return it, but the store wouldn't take it. So now she was stuck with a reminder that she would never be the gorgeous girl who walked into prom and changed everyone's perspective of her. She would still be that loser everyone laughed about.

So she stayed home. Her parents weren't too involved with her life, out on vacation as she sat on the couch. She watched romantic movies, crying as she stuffed her mouth with chocolate ice cream.

Eddie checked his watch for the tenth time of the night. The loud music overwhelmed him as he kept his eyes on the door.

"Want to dance?" A girl from the cheerleading squad asked.

"No thanks. I'm waiting for someone" he said with a tight smile, then moved his eyes back to the door

The prom started two hours ago, and she still wasn't there.

He turned down about ten dances before he took matters into his own hands.

He grabbed his keys from his pocket and hit the road. The flowers he bought sat in his passenger seat, guess he was going to drive them to her instead.

He pulled up to her driveway, letting out a nervous breath as he got out. He fixed his suit, patted down his hair, and gripped the flowers. He knocked on the door, stepping back as he waited for it to open.

"Eddie?" She was surprised, her body mostly covered by the door. Some sort of protection for herself.

He looked up and frowned. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet. And she wasn't anywhere near dressed up for prom. Her hair was down, but no makeup on her face.

"Hey, can I come in?" He asked

"Why?" She asked, covering her body even more with the door

"Why didn't you come to prom?"

She was surprised he even noticed. But she was more curious as to why it mattered to him.

"Didn't want to go. Is that all?" She snapped. It was enough that he could torture her at school and outside of school. But at her own house is where she drew the line.

"Um, uh, these are for you," he said shyly, not used to her face looking so annoyed and a snap in her tone.

She eyed the flowers as he held them out for her. She opened the door wider to grab them. They were truly beautiful and it was the first time she ever received flowers.

"Oh um thank you, Eddie," she said, smelling the flowers

"Can I come in? Maybe we can talk?" He asked, he twiddled his fingers as he waited for her to reply

"Uh sure but don't you have like a date or something?" She asked

"No, I was waiting for you," he said honestly, for once just saying what he felt instead of turning it into a joke.

She didn't know what to say so she opened the door and let him step inside.

She walked to the kitchen and got a vase for the flowers. He followed without asking.

"So why were you waiting for me? Was a big bucket of red paint gonna fall over me?" She asked, watching as the water filled the clear vase.

"No, why would I do that?" He asked, his head turned like a confused puppy

She laughed to herself bitterly

"Because you make my life hell" She looked at him like it was obvious. Softly placing the flowers on the kitchen table.

"I don't mean to, I'm sorry" his eyes looked sincere but she wasn't sure what trap he was waiting for.

"Then why do you do it?" She asked, her arms crossed as she angrily looked at him. Maybe this was her chance to finally stick up for herself and tell him to shove everything up his ass.

"Because I like you, and I wasn't sure how to show that" he explained, a small blush formed on his face as he muttered the words.

Y/N stood frozen as she stared at him like he had two heads.

Eddie confessed he liked her?

What kind of prank was this?

"Which I can see now I did in every wrong way possible. I'm sorry for everything, I didn't know I was upsetting you."

She sighed as the apology lifted some weight off her body. It felt nice to finally be apologized to.

"Thank you for apologizing," she said, a small smile on her face

"Thank you for allowing me to," he said, a shy smile on his face

They stared at each other, neither knowing what the next move should be.

"Can I uh see your dress? I saw it in the store but didn't get to see what it looked like on you" he asked, his eyes moving to the floor

"Are you going to make fun of me?" She asked, her arms crossed. Her protection shield is back up.

"No!" He shook his head dramatically, "I know my horrible take on flirting was more hurtful. So I will keep my mouth shut" he said

"That was flirting? God, you are horrible" she joked, loving the way the air shifted into something lighthearted. He laughed with her and agreed.

She led him to her room, allowing him to sit on the bed as she went into the bathroom to change.

She slipped on the pink dress, looking at herself in the mirror. That same rush of confidence filled her body. It was like the dress was magical and healed every broken part of her. She tried to reach the back zipper but couldn't get it. Her face was already on fire as she realized what she had to do.

She walked into the room, Eddie looked up from his hands and his mouth dropped. His eyes skimmed over her dress, the way it hugged her body perfectly.

"Could you zip me up?" She asked, turning around as she tried to keep her breathing normal.

He coughed and stood up. Wiping his sweaty palms on his suit pants. His fingers danced down her spine, making her shiver. He reached the zipper and slowly pulled it up, her skin disappearing under the fabric.

The room felt thick as she slowly turned around. The ghost of his fingers was still on her back.

"You look breathtaking," he said, his voice a quiet whisper as he looked into her eyes

She gulped when his eyes dropped down to her lips. Then he was slowly leaning in.

His hand moved up to hold her cheek, and his eyes moved up to her eyes to check for a sign of rejection. But her eyes were zoned in on his lips.

He smirked as he noticed, slowly leaning in until his lips pressed perfectly against hers.

She wasn't sure where to put her hands so she softly placed them on his chest. Her head turned as he deepened the kiss.

She felt like he kept chasing her lips, sucking away her breath as she gripped his suit in her fingers.

Her body buzzed with electricity. His lips and hands were softer than she thought they would be. His kiss was gentle and slow. Her stomach fluttered and her head spun.

He held back his moans as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. Her lips were soft and warm. Her hands on his chest made his heart race and his face flush. He tried his best to not get carried away, not wanting to scare her. His free hand slipped to her back as he pushed her further against him. He never felt this way ever when he kissed a girl.

She pulled back when she felt like she couldn't breathe. She took a huge puff of air into her lungs as they kept their faces close.

Panting against each other as they looked into each other's eyes.

Like she said, it was a magical dress.

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