imagine floyd with a girlfriend as unhinged and insane silly as him who likes creating chaos as much as him or even more and honestly who could do it better than you?!
your dates definitely include annoying and scaring the shit out of people in the school as the starter meal course XD
azul hates the both of u equally LMAOO
floyd loves spending his time watching weird bullshit on the internet with you just for the laughs and labels it as a very romantic thing to do with his lover
he once tried squeezing you lightly in a hug (no it's not the usual death grip one pptt- floyd does not wish mourn you that soon (• ▽ •;) cuz there is more to come) and you decided to make it a competition between you both who could squeeze the other one more! bad idea right? well good thing jade had come to drag your lovely boyfriend back to the monstro lounge for work before you both decide to do this for the next 2 hours as a game (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)
jade thinks it's very amusing how you both match each other's vibe effortlessly and believes it's a match made in hell heaven! (azul and the other nrc students would like to say otherwise.)
so what did we learn today with this? if your boyfriend is crazy then just be crazier than him too! (☆▽☆)
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.
Despite the laws of chivalry dictating against such an unmannerly choice, the alcohol in Varka's system leads him to spending the night with you. He discovers he likes to see you cry. (GN bottom reader)
CW: Dacryphilia, size difference, mentioned age difference, could be read as dubious consent
Do you like the header? I originally drew one for the dottolone fic and it made me realize I could do that with all of my posts here! It doesn't take me much time since it's not a full piece, but if you'd rather I draw a full piece to go along with a fic feel free to give me feedback on that. Of course, that means I'll take more time to post...💀
PSA: DON'T USE ALCOHOL AS LUBE!!!(Neither do they in this fic but it's mentioned)
Enjoy ♡♡♡
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"Ghuhh,...hgh, sooo tight..."
What a fool you were. Provoking the Knight of Boreas. In the forest, your frenzied cries were only echoes of nature taking it's course. Predator meets prey.
There's no one to blame but yourself for the predicament you're currently in : legs raised up in the air swinging back and forth with each battering forward of Varka's hips, ass resting on his long coat now drenched with the mix of your bodily fluids and the stain of the turquoise grass underneath it, trembling arms clutching his back and holding on for dear life while he absolutely ruins you.
"Ahh, hmm... heh, it's going in so easily now."
That scoundrel has the nerve to chuckle!
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This evening started out with the both of you in quite different positions.
"Huh? Well what's this wandering mousebear doing here?" Varka yelled upon spotting you, immediately ditching the knights he was dispatching just seconds before you arrived. Believe it or not, the initial intent of your visit was to discuss important business.
But then of course, in classic Mondstadtian fashion, Varka had wanted a drink. Then another drink. Third one's the charm. If three, why not four? If four, why not five...
Before long, he was proper drunk. You as well, because drinking with him always gets competitive. And, a drunk Varka is a touchy Varka. A drunk you is a horny you.
So, while he innocently held you close on the log you were sitting on and rambled on and on about how much he missed his homeland, you pondered on when would be a good time to take a hands on approach on answering an age-old question of yours : how big was Varka's cock?
After much thought, you decided there was no better time than right now, at that moment. Your hand found itself squeezing his meaty thigh, and he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at it.
And then, it went up...following along the length of his rectus femoris before it dangerously trailed over to-
"Watch where you put your hands, mousebear. I might get the wrong idea."
Oh, but that was precisely what you wanted. With a firm grip, you ended your hand's travels and finally cupped that enticing bulge right between his legs. You felt his large frame shudder against yours.
"I-Darn, how do I say this?" Varka muttered, uncharacteristically shy. The way his eyes were darting around, looking towards anywhere but you, clashed with the image you held of his usual boisterous and care-free self.
"You're...You're very pretty. Very, very pretty." His voice was so small, admitedly threading on a dangerous path. "But...I'm a little old for ya. Not the right size, as well. Not like anyone can match that, but you know what I mean. I might hurt you if–what are–why are you on your knees?!"
His words went in one ear and went right out the other. It was very obvious what you were intending to do. Screw the evident differences that would've held you back had you both been sober. You wanted him, and you didn't give a single fuck about self-preservation right now.
Despite his attempts to be a righteous man, Varka didn't push you away, letting you unzip his pants. So much for chivalry. As soon as his gigantic cock slapped you right in the face, his sounds of vague, half-hearted sloppy disagreeing turned to groans of carnal satisfaction accompagnied by eager thrusts.
He was, however, right about one thing.
He was too damn big for you.
Once you two got past third base which in itself was a tenuous battle your aching jaw almost lost, it quickly became evident your drool would not suffice. Neither would the lube Varka had to stumble back to the Keep and rummage through his belongings to find after a heated, slurred and barely meant argument about using wine as a subtitute occured between you two.
In the very moment that you sat above him half-naked, lined up and ready to sink yourself down on his stupidly massive length, the reality of it came crashing down. His fingers had already been stupidly thick, with just three of them enough to have made you bashfully beg for more. But his cock? Fuck, it might break you. It was thicker than your own damn arm!
Still, a valiant soldier never runs from a battle.
Your groans and whimpers echoed through the moonlit clearing you two had disappeared off to as Varka laid there, arms crossed behind his head and gaze fixed forward, eagerly anticipating your next move.
He watched you struggle to impale yourself on his terribly large dick. Every inch had to be gently fed to your winking hole lest it tear and possibly bleed. Your eyes were shining with unshed tears, unwilling to cry in front of him which, in your muddled intoxicated mind, would correspond to daring to appear weak. You didn't want him to think you were weak.
Nonetheless, it was a sight that stirred a certain warmth in his loins that he wished he could deny was there in the first place.
If he shoved you all the way down, would you sob for him?
And, just like you with your earlier curious fondling, Varka decided it was the perfect time to experiment a little and find the answer to that thought among many others(Would you cry out his name when you came? How many orgasms will it take for you to pass out?) He grabbed your hips and with a single, unforgiving thrust, he sunk in balls-deep.
Your sudden raw wailing could've woken up the dead. He didn't blame you. After all, how rude was it of him to shove you down like that, when it took you so long already just to fit yourself on half of his length?
Yet, as he looked up at you and saw those gorgeous crystal tears rolling down your cheeks... your puffy red eyes, your quivering lips, the proof of how wide and far he was stretching you with that visible bulge of your insides that stretched your abdomen's skin... holding back suddenly seemed out of the question entirely.
All it took was one single roll of his hips upwards for Varka to turn your brain to mush and make you lose your means. Afterwards, what other choice could he possibly have taken he have other than bouncing you on his cock himself?
The painful sensation of being taken whole overshadowed the sting of his fingers digging into your waist as your tremulous body went slack against him from being forced to take such a big thing. Soon enough, he was fucking you like you were his toy.
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And that's exactly how you got here, with Varka pounding into your now stretched hole like a man on a mission. After plenty of bullying, the winking crevice was spread open and swallowing him in like he belonged there. He was panting into your ear like an animal, having flipped you over right after your first two orgasms to focus on one single goal : filling you up to the brim.
He wasn't showing any signs of stopping anytime soon. What had you gotten yourself into?
His entire frame swallowed you up, cradling your dominated form. Your legs were folded on his shoulders being worn like a necklace, shaking in tandem with his back-and-forths.
"Huff, huhn... gahh, keep squeezing me like that..."
No matter the situation, you could always count on Varka to be a chatterbox. This was no exception. On and on he rambled about how perfect you felt, how he was gonna dream of this night for the next month or so, how pretty your face looked when you were so wrecked.
A sharp cry was wrung out of your soon to be sore throat by his merciless touch. He was rubbing your sex raw, trying to coax out another orgasm from you.
"Var...ka... m-nhh-"
"I know dear, I know... ghhh... just one more, okay?"
You shook your head, ashamed despite the strong desire to give him what he craves. Had this been a regular scuffle for dominance, you would've came off as truly pitiful since you managed to miserably lose and surrender all of yourself to Varka. You couldn't even ride his dick on your own!
Varka himself didn't care. He always loved a good fight, be it in matters of the sword or intimacy. But, there was only so much you could do with the fate of this encounter already written ahead.
Inevitably, your defeat came. Which in turn caused those magnificent droplets to trail down your reddening cheeks that spurred Varka to keep going, long since past the state of following his gentlemanly code. He was claiming you, intending to selfishly maintain his ruthless pace until he had gotten his fill.
His hammering of your sweet spot once more tore open the tight knot in your gut, sending mind-breaking ecstasy travelling through your every nerve. For a moment, your entire body sung for him, your sex twitching and leaking just for your dear companion of the flesh.
"Varkaaaaa...!" You wailed, twisting yourself in pleasure below him as he worked you over the edge for the third time tonight.
"Y-Yea, yea, that's it... ! Ohoh, look at ya... !"
You got to experience what it's like to be a ragdoll as Varka's pace got faster. Your body was moving on it's own from his relentless motions, the control of it all yielded in the name of getting a good dicking. All you could process was his loud grunts that were raising in volume by the second, your spirit lost to the overstimulation he was so graciously providing to your insides with the drag of his length against your sensitive, quivering walls.
"Ah-hh... Where, sweetheart?"
It took you a good twenty seconds to even realise he was saying words. How touching of him to at least ask, despite your evident lack of awareness that rendered you unable to answer him.
Varka filling you up... to your addled mind, that seemed right as rain. He had won, you were his spoils of war. Why bother resisting?
Varka himself stopped pretending to be just. Upon noticing the drool trickling down from the corner of your mouth and the glazed over look in your eyes, he muttered a small apology before came his harshest, roughest thrusts. They intensified, unstoppable and unyielding, a consequence of the Grandmaster seeking his own undoing.
His groans turned into yells until finally, with a thundering roar, his hips trembled against yours, leading to their concluding last few driving forward. At last he filled you whole like you both craved, spilling deep inside and coating every crevice with his seed.
He kept humping you, so taken by the intoxicating rapture of his orgasm that he couldn't help but follow the biological urge to lay his claim on you by pushing his cum further in. In fact, his head that had sunken into the crook of your neck was even mouthing at your exposed skin, intending to bite.
You willingly lolled your head to the side. Teeth sunk in along the vital vein there, this close to nipping it. You were his now, stuck under his strong jaw and between his strong arms, ripe for further taking... but instead, Varka detached from you and lifted you up, moving with unknown purpose while you slowly drifted off to sleep. You don't remember much, but the last thing you feel before embracing the well-earned rest is tender warmth all around you.
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You're woken up by loud snores. Beneath you, the Knight of Boreas is fast asleep and slobbering all over your hair with his arm holding you close. You're in his tent, your bare skin pressed against his and covered up by a blanket.
Your head is pounding like never before. How much did you have to drink, to end up in bed with him?
The few blurred memories of last night tells you a very undignified but raunchy story. What a fine lay Varka ended up being... such a shame this would make things between you awkward from now on.
Speaking of him, the firm and large log that you were resting on also known as Varka's hairy torso was beginning to stir. His snores turned to small intakes of air, and with a loud yawn the man below you began to wake.
He slowly blinked once, then twice, then thrice as he realised the weight on his chest was a living, breathing person. Someone that he knew very well. You.
You looked up at him.
"Oh, shit."
You couldn't help but snort. Ever the eloquent man sometimes. While you didn't regret what you did a single bit, you could understand why Varka was now franctically fumbling with his words in shame. He had lost all control, had claimed you as his without a single care for your honour, all because you looked so pretty while you cried.
"Listen–I'm very sorry, alright? Let me escort you–wait, where'd I put your clothes..."
Still, his sheepish reaction managed to strike your ego. Did he not enjoy it as much as you did?
"Sir Varka." You interrupted him, sitting up. He instinctively looked away, keeping his eyes firmly away from your naked form. This would have made fear well up within you... if you didn't feel a familiar bulge twitch against your behind. Would you look at that.
"I believe there is still much more that you can give me." Leaning forward and pursing your lips together, you gently helped guide his down-cast head back up, your gaze meeting his. That flushed expression of his looked just as magnificent in the moonlight-bitten night as it did in the dawn's sunny wake.
"I–I shouldn't." He whispered downtroddenly.
"Are you a knight, or a monk?"
You watched his throat work to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth, his body relaxing with a final sigh. His gaze changed from that of a kicked puppy to his classic determined look. There he is, the Grandmaster you know and love.
"Fair enough... fine then. Time for round two!"
So quickly he let himself fall for the call of your desire. You were flipped over once more, and in came yet another instance of Varka and you giving yourselves up to the throes of pleasure. One of the many to follow, you're sure, once you two talked this out.
wc: 280 smth, warnings: nothing much except i hate grammar, author's note: just silly headcanons i thought of, might be a bit occ i think and dam's excluded since he's a child but might make a seperate platonic fic with a parental figure reader!!
—☆ WHAT TYPE OF DATES THE BATBROS MIGHT LIKE !
✧ DICK GRAYSON !
he is cheesy and he knows it, but it doesn't make it any less adorable when i say he would enjoy going to the movies with you and plan really romantic dinner nights so both of you can just relax for one day and finally get some intimate time with each other but with a twist of bringing your most favourite comfort food on the table he remembers you talking about. he might also like stargazing out on rooftops and pointing out on the different constellations if you won't mind :3
✧ JASON TODD !
my sweet boy loves his books + his peace and quite. he just wishes to spend time with you for a while and forget about his redhood persona. He would definitely choose to go to the local cafe, pick the loneliest corner table and bring a few new books he bought a week ago to read with you so you both can enjoy a nice cup of coffee and some snacks (never forget abt his hamburger) while reading together. jaybaby also won't mind going to a botanical garden with you, those flowers are pretty.
✧ TIM DRAKE !
he is a busy boy but he would NEVER miss spending time with his love! he occassionally likes going out with you in the arcade when he gets to have breaks and likes betting on your kisses everytime he plays any game and when he wins, he always gives you a victorious smile and giggle when he recieves his kisses. he would also enjoy planning picnics with you and indoor he likes to try (and miserably fail) baking with you, which results in lots of laughter between you two when you accidentally make a silly mistake.
wc: 1.5k smth, warnings: my grammar fucking sucks idk where to put a comma sometimes so ty for reading this bs! first fic on this acc btw so spare me
Loving Jason Todd is not easy by any means since he has his own flaws and issues but is loving any human possible without these imperfections? Isn't that what makes them feel human afterall?
Distance between you both due to missions, late night break-ins into your own shared apartment with a few battle wounds that he says is not a huge problem and will heal itself anyways despite knowing you won't listen and would still bandage him up while scolding him inbetween.
He will try to act all nonchalant about it but if you try to glance at him a few times while patching him up, you will notice how his expression softens, a small twitch of a smile playing on his lips and just how his body relaxes overall. He will pretend like he doesn't hear it but he does actually remember your scoldings because on the next mission, he will always try his best to be careful, despite the circumstances cause whether you believe it or not jason loves you enough.
Enough to always return home to you no matter how hard the mission was.
Despite his flaws and issues, he will always try to make time for you and apologize when he knows he fucked up and make it up to you because when jason loves, he loves hard. He is willing to do anything to watch a smile appear on your beautiful face.
He knows he isn't the easiest to deal with and according to him there are always better options out there for someone like you, people who would treat you a thousand times better than he ever does because he believes he isn't worthy enough to be with someone like you, but he will always appreciate the fact that, despite everything that happened to him in the past and his wrong actions, you are willing to stay with him on every new step in his life.
Loving someone is never easy enough but that's just what makes it better, when you realize someone in this world is willing to understand and love you without asking you for perfection.
