”talking nonsense” || a Jax x Reader Fic || Part 1
Jax abstracted, it had been a while. you and pomni spend the most time with him in the fort. before he abstracted, you had some sort of bond with him, somehow. he didn’t seem as timid to open up around you, still hesitant yes, but seemed more relaxed, like he.. trusted you more. of course he was that way with pomni as well, but not as much after what happened in the gun adventure.
there was… one night between you and Jax.. one that stuck out to you. he wouldn’t stop staring at you, and when you would catch him, he would look away, but you will still see him in the corner of your eye doing it once more. it was while you were eating dinner at the table. somehow, no one noticed. oh but you? you definitely did. and later that night, while you two were alone in the couch area, you asked him about it. of course he denied it at first.
“I saw you, don’t even try and deny it” you said, smirking at him
his face slighty flushed, “okay, okay.. and… so what if I was?~”
you stared blankly at him as you feel heat rise to your cheeks.
“uh- wh.. uh… then.. i…???”
you weren’t expecting that, whether that was a joke or not. oh god, what has this come to. you like him, don't you?
“nah.. I was just joking” he snorted, grinning unsurely. his cheeks still lighty brushed pink.
“oh- uh.. well.. yeah. I know”
his grin faded. he was silent for a moment.
“you- do… you… like me..??”
your face became a bright red as you straightened out your posture quickly. “WHAT!? …. I mean- no- no I…. no…?”
he took a moment to process this, because ohhhhh boy was it crystal clear you did. but, he's never really had someone like him in that way before. ribbit, maybe.. but this was … new, and different.
he stood up, and stared down at you for a moment, before grabbing your hand, and placing a light kiss on your hand, then letting the mask slip back on.
you just stared up at him with a shocked expression, face still bright red, if not more now.
“WH… YOU.. HUUHHH….??”
you kept rambling on about nothing, as he placed his finger over your mouth.
“shush, you're talking nonsense!”
he chuckled before placing his hands on his hips, and grinning as he does. “anyways, g’night!”
he walked off before you could say a word.
you had brought that night up to him multiple times after, but all you got was denial. “it was just to see your reaction” being the most common response.
but you knew that something was up.
anyhow, you get along swimmingly with everyone there, even Caine.
you often wonder if they had witnessed anything from afar that night.
Jax is abstracted, yes.. but he still finds some sort of comfort in you. by some miracle. so at night, you usually stay in the fort with him. pomni gets to go to her bed, and you feel bit envious of that at times, but you stay, because you say it’s worth it to keep Jax company.
you were sound asleep on a beanbag, as he made his way over to you, and stared for a few seconds before lying down next to you.
You didn't even want to go to this beach adventure but Kinger practically forced you to go. Good news, the more active you are the less likely they'll think you're trying to abstract. It was like that at first when you arrived but Jax pulled you out of that mindset. Stupid, stupid Jax.
You wished you never got close to him, especially f#%^*% you.
Even in this digital world the sun still felt hot and was blinding your eyes. You kinda forgot how the real world actually felt like.
You spotted Jax laying on a beach chair, but his expression was melancholy. Not the norm for him.
You walked over and gave a small wave before laying down on the beach chair that was next to him. You tried to act nonchalant like nothing ever happened between the two of you.
"Go away,"
You rolled your eyes and began to write, "youre always pushing me away and then act like nothing happened, im tired of this"
He didn't read your note at first until you nudged him.
"Don't you get it? I don't want to be around you! You're too emotional and I don't want to keep babysitting you!"
"tf are you talking about?? babysitting seriously??"
"You act like I'm your savior preventing you from abstracting!"
Your "blood" boiled due to the amounts of anger you have. You inaudibly growled and pounced on him, repeatedly punching him.
"Get off of me! Jesus f##^*^% Christ!" But he didn't fight back at all.
Everyone looked your way but collectively agreed that he probably deserved it and went back doing their own thing.
Jax could see the anger and tears, and if you could make noise he would hear you yell.
He finally pushed you off onto the sand and threw you a towel. "Better?"
Your jaw clenched as you lowered your eyebrows. Jax rolled his eyes and handed you your notebook before crossing his arms.
"i like you. i hate that i do."
His pupils dilated a bit and dropped his crossed arms. He feels the same way and that's why he's scared. He knows that if he continues to do this you might abstract, but for some reason he can't seem to stop.
He sighed and walked away.
Seriously? That's it? You expressed your feelings and that's all he does? F#%^ you genuinely hate him.
Before you arrived here you always felt this same lonely, depressive, angry emotions. That day you wanted to get away from it all, find a quiet secluded place so nobody would try to bother or stop you. If it wasn't for that odd looking headset you wouldn't even be in this digital world, including the real one. Sometimes you think to yourself you went through it and is now in hell of purgatory. A weird one, that's for sure.
~~
Jax is getting close into doing it. Too close. But one sudden thought changed his mind, I don't want to leave her.
He rubbed his eyes out of frustration before walking over to your door. He knocked on it a few times but you didn't answer.
He fumbled with his keys and unlocked your door. First he found Ribbit, then Kaufmo, and now you.
Except you were on the floor in tears, holding out your glitched out, abstracted hand. You looked up at him and kept mouthing the words, "I'm sorry" over and over again.
Jax tensed up at first, slightly shaking his head out of disbelief. He did the exact thing when he found the other two. But this time he promised himself he wasn't going to run away again.
He got down across from you and held you close, silently cussing to himself before finally yelling out Caine's name.
"You're gonna be fine I promise. I'm here for you, okay? I'm always here for you. Caine will fix you I swear...just stay with me, 'kay?"
The pain you were enduring kept you from listening to Jax's and Caine's arguing. You would scream so loud that you were sure the others could hear you.
"You can fix her! Make her talk! You can do anything and you're not!"
Caine yelled back before finally snapping his fingers and disappeared.
The pain vanished, the noise vanished. With shaky eyes you looked down at your normal hand, then looked back at Jax's worry expression. Neither of you talked. Jax held you tighter against his body. He wasn't planning on telling you that he almost abstracted.
"Listen, Y/n...I love you. I hate those words but I love you. Im sorry for the s#%^ I said and did from before. I want to be with you and if we find an escape I will still want to have a relationship with you."
Your lips turned upwards as you slowly nod your head.
"I know you told me you hated the outside world and felt so alone in it but you don't have to experience that here. I will do anything to keep you safe...I just wish you can talk to me."
You felt the warm tears running down your face as you mouthed, "I love you."
human!jax x reader, human!au (everyone works in a real circus), reader is gender-neutral, fluff with suggestive ending, no beta we die like caine
word count: 3175
synopsis: the audience loves the flirting. caine loves the ticket sales. jax loves being an unbearable menace to society.
you, unfortunately, might love him too.
The first time Jax threw a knife at you, it missed your head by less than half an inch.
The audience went absolutely insane.
You did too, actually, though your screams had significantly more profanity in them.
“What is actually wrong with you?” you hissed through a strained smile, your microphone picking up every word.
Across the ring, Jax looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Relax, sweetheart,” he drawled, twirling another knife lazily between his fingers. Completely unfazed. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t waste a good opening act on it.”
The crowd burst into laughter.
And somewhere high above the ring, Caine realized he’d struck gold.
That had been eight months ago. Which, apparently, was all it took.
One near-death experience and a couple improvised insults later, the audience had apparently decided that the knife thrower and the circus darling had weirdly good chemistry together. Suddenly, the act everybody expected to fail became the most popular performance in the entire show.
Honestly, you blamed Caine.
The man saw audience reactions the way starving people saw food. The second the crowd started eating up the banter, the ringmaster had practically lost his mind. Ticket sales exploded almost immediately after. People started showing up specifically for performances with Jax, which was especially irritating considering you’d already been doing perfectly fine before all this.
You had your own act. Your own audience. You’d spent years building a reputation at the circus completely separate from him. Back before this “disaster duo” nonsense, your name regularly floated near the top of audience popularity rankings alongside Pomni and Kinger.
Then Jax happened.
Or more specifically, Jax’s previous partners kept quitting.
Apparently, getting knives thrown at your face by a man who treated workplace safety like a personal insult created a pretty brutal turnover rate. The last assistant had lasted exactly nine days before threatening to unionize against him personally.
Caine had cornered you after rehearsal one night with the desperate expression of a man moments away from financial collapse. You would come to remember this moment as a personal betrayal.
“PLEASE,” your ringmaster had begged dramatically. “Just until we find someone permanent!”
Unfortunately, nobody else wanted the job.
Unfortunately for you, you and Jax worked disgustingly well together.
Now, months later, he sat comfortably at number one in the circus popularity rankings while you’d dropped to third, right beneath Pomni.
Jax had been absolutely unbearable about it.
“Damn,” he’d sighed after seeing the newest poll results taped outside the dressing rooms. “Third place? That’s rough, sweetheart.”
You crossed your arms. “You realize people only like you because I make you tolerable, right?”
To your immense satisfaction, he actually froze for a second.
His grin faltered slightly before recovering. “Whoa, alright. Somebody’s gettin’ jealous.” He pointed at you accusingly. “Not my fault the public loves me. I’m very marketable.”
“You throw knives at me professionally.”
“Yeah, professionally. There’s a difference.”
The worst part was that Jax wasn’t even trying to flirt half the time. He just existed like that naturally, all lazy smirks and smug little comments tossed over his shoulder like he couldn’t help himself. It got under people’s skin almost instantly. Yours included.
Especially yours.
“Careful, doll,” he’d murmur while adjusting your positioning before a trick. “Keep lookin’ at me like that and people’re gonna start talkin’.”
And because you were unfortunately capable of speaking back to him:
“Trust me, nobody’s fantasizing about the guy who nearly got banned from rehearsal for ‘creative knife usage.’”
That one had actually made him choke on his drink.
What was truly infuriating about Jax was that he could dish out teases endlessly without shame, but the second you turned it back on him, he completely short-circuited. Not obviously…that would require emotional maturity. Instead, he got defensive and vaguely rude in a way that only made it funnier.
Once, after nearly an hour of him relentlessly flirting with you backstage, you’d reached up to fix the collar of his costume jacket and casually remarked,
“You clean up nice.”
Jax had stared at you for a solid three seconds like you’d just shot him.
Then, he pulled away so fast it was almost embarrassing.
“…Wow. Okay. Don’t do that again.”
You blinked. “Do what?”
“Ugh. Don’t do that weird sincere thing.” He grabbed another knife off the table entirely too fast. “It’s freakin’ me out.”
Another time, after he spent an entire rehearsal calling you dollface every five seconds, you finally sighed and said,
“You know, for somebody this cocky, you get flustered pretty easily.”
He nearly dropped a knife directly onto his foot.
You’d never recovered emotionally from it.
The audience, meanwhile, became obsessed.
It had started with clips online: little backstage moments caught on camera, audience recordings of your banter during performances. Then came the edits, compilations, and entire comment sections debating whether the flirting was scripted or if the two of you were genuinely together.
Caine encouraged all of it shamelessly.
“THE TENSION!” he’d shouted excitedly after one particularly chaotic performance. “The chemistry! The yearning! The ticket sales!”
You’d nearly walked directly into traffic.
Now, months later, the two of you were basically inseparable in the audience’s eyes. If Jax showed up somewhere backstage, people immediately expected you nearby. Fan compilations online had titles like five straight minutes of jax looking at his partner like he’s insane and sexual tension or workplace hostility? scientists still unsure.
Jax, naturally, thought this was the funniest thing in the world.
“You know,” he’d said one afternoon while scrolling through clips of your performances on his phone, “I think this one’s my favorite.”
You glanced over from your spot stretched across one of the rehearsal mats. The video playing was from the previous week’s finale, zoomed in dramatically on the exact moment you’d rolled your eyes at him after he pinned a knife between your fingers.
The comments beneath it were significantly worse:
THEY ARE ABSOLUTELY DATING
the tension is making me physically ill
this is either foreplay or attempted murder
You groaned immediately. “Give me that.”
Jax held the phone out of reach before you could grab it, grinning lazily. “Aw, c’mon, sweetheart. Don’t be shy. The public’s invested in our beautiful relationship.”
“We are not in a relationship.”
“Mm.” He tilted the phone toward himself again. “You say that, but this person thinks we’ve secretly been together for six months.”
“That person is delusional.”
“Yeah, but they made a pretty convincing slideshow.”
You threw a roll of athletic tape at his head.
Unfortunately, he caught it without even looking.
Tonight’s show was completely sold out. Again.
You could hear the crowd before you even reached the curtain, the noise vibrating through the canvas walls while performers rushed around backstage in various stages of panic. Kaufmo sprinted past you, carrying juggling pins. Ragatha was trying to calm Pomni down over a costume mishap. Zooble was sprinting past you, loudly threatening violence over missing props.
Normal circus chaos.
Jax, meanwhile, sat sprawled across one of the equipment crates, effortlessly spinning a knife between his fingers while stage makeup glittered faintly beneath the dressing room lights.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.
“I literally am not.”
“Sure.” He caught the knife cleanly. “That sounded believable.”
You adjusted one of the straps on your costume in the nearby mirror. Compared to the elaborate outfits you wore for your solo performances, the knife-act costumes were simpler, with easier movement. Less fabric for Jax to accidentally pin to a wall…again.
Though, to be fair, he had apologized for that one. Sort of.
“You know,” he mused casually, clipping his microphone pack onto the back of his belt, “if you die tonight, I’m gonna get sooo much bad press.”
“That’s your concern?”
“Well, yeah. Do you know how annoying paperwork is?”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Jax looked up immediately.
That expression flickered across his face, the one you’d started noticing recently whenever you laughed around him. Softer somehow, less guarded.
It vanished beneath another grin.
“Wow,” he said. “You’re lookin’ at me like you wanna kiss me.”
“Maybe I just enjoy bad decisions.”
The second the words left your mouth, Jax visibly froze.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. Then he looked away too fast, jaw tightening.
“…wow,” he muttered. “You really just say stuff now, huh?”
The victory you felt was immediate and immense.
Before you could enjoy it further, a stagehand shoved aside the curtain. “You two are up!”
The crowd erupted the moment you stepped into the spotlight.
Jax came alive instantly beneath stage lights. Every lazy grin sharpened into something magnetic as applause thundered around the tent. He moved like he belonged under attention.
Honestly, he probably did.
“Evenin’, folks,” he called into the microphone curled against his cheek. “Who’s ready to watch me make terrible life choices professionally?”
The crowd cheered.
Beside him, you sighed into your own mic. “That’s actually the title of his autobiography.”
Laughter rippled through the audience instantly.
“Wow.” Jax placed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Public humiliation in front of my fans.”
“Your fans are mostly here for me.”
“Oh, absolutely not.” He pointed toward the crowd. “C’mon, let’s not lie to people we care about.”
The act began smoothly after that. Knives flashed silver beneath golden circus lights, embedding themselves around your body with terrifying precision. A few inches away from your shoulder, others surrounding your waist.
Jax never missed.
That was the thing most people didn’t understand about him. Beneath all the jokes and recklessness and smug little comments, he was frighteningly attentive during performances. His eyes tracked every movement you made before you even made it.
He trusted himself completely.
And somehow, unbelievably, you trusted him too.
The finale approached quickly. You stepped against the spinning target board as the music swelled louder through the tent. Across the stage, Jax rolled another knife across his knuckles.
“Any last words?” he asked into the mic.
“Yeah,” you replied dryly. “You should genuinely be institutionalized.”
The crowd burst into laughter again.
The board began spinning, slowly at first, then faster.
Knives struck around you in rapid succession, each one landing with deadly precision. One beside your head, another near your thigh. Another between your fingers.
The final blade slammed into the wood inches from your throat.
Silence.
Then thunderous applause.
Jax crossed the stage toward you slowly as the audience screamed around him. Usually, this was where he’d grab your hand and you’d bow together beneath the spotlight before the curtains closed.
Tonight, though, he stopped too close.
Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him beneath the stage lights.
The audience noticed immediately.
Jax extended his hand toward you slowly.
You took it.
Instead of immediately bowing, his fingers tightened briefly around yours. His gaze flicked toward your mouth, then back to your eyes.
“Y’look nervous, sweetheart,” he murmured through the microphone.
Your heartbeat stumbled.
“I’m not.”
“Yeah?” His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles. “Then why’re you holdin’ onto me like that?”
Heat rushed violently into your face.
Because unfortunately, your other hand had curled instinctively into the front of his jacket.
The audience LOST IT.
Jax broke out into a cheshire grin at your expression, but for once, the smugness looked thinner than usual. Almost uncertain.
The two of you bowed together beneath the screaming crowd.
Neither of you chose to be the first one to let go.
Backstage after performances always felt strange. The adrenaline lingered in the air long after the applause faded, leaving everything hazy around the edges. Performers rushed through the narrow corridors in various stages of costume removal while stagehands hauled props toward storage.
You pushed through the stage door and began your trek to your dressing room, barely making it halfway through the deserted hall before Jax caught your wrist.
“Hey.”
You turned.
For once, he wasn’t grinning. Not fully, anyway.
“You changed the finale tonight,” you murmured quietly.
Jax scoffed, though the sound came out strained. “What, now you’re against artistic expression?”
“You know what I mean.”
He looked away first. That felt important somehow.
“Crowd liked it,” he muttered.
“We both know I’m not talking about the crowd.”
He didn’t have an answer to that.
Jax leaned his back against the wall beside the prop room entrance, arms folded tightly across his chest. Defensive.
You stepped closer.
“Jax.”
“What?”
“You almost kissed me out there.”
He barked out a laugh immediately. Too fast.
“Oh my god.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “You say that like it’s some kinda tragedy.”
“That’s not what I said.”
His jaw tightened briefly. “Yeah, well this kinda destroys my whole thing, doesn’t it?”
“…your reputation?”
“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely. “My whole thing.”
“You mean being emotionally repressed?”
“See, this is what I’m talking about. You’re mean to me.”
You laughed softly.
Jax’s expression faltered immediately at the sound.
There it was again: that tiny crack in the armor every time you looked at him too gently.
Before he could recover, you stepped closer again, close enough now that his back brushed the wall behind him.
For the first time all night, Jax looked genuinely nervous.
“…you’re standin’ weirdly close right now,” he muttered.
“Are you going to do something about it?”
“...don’t tempt me.” But his voice had gone quieter. Softer.
Your hand slid against the front of his costume jacket slowly, fingers curling lightly into the fabric. Jax inhaled sharply.
“This feels psychologically targeted.”
You laughed again.
His eyes dropped to your mouth.
“You know,” you murmured, “you can’t be all bark and no bite.”
“Yeah, alright.” He swallowed hard. “Can you not say things like that while lookin’ at me like—”
“Like what?”
Jax stared at you for half a second too long.
Then suddenly he was kissing you.
Months of tension crashed into you all at once as he chased your lips, his hands grabbing your waist hard enough to pull you flush against him, flipping your position. Your back slammed against the wall, and Jax laughed breathlessly against your mouth like he couldn’t believe this was happening.
“There,” he murmured, pausing to let you breathe. “Happy now?”
“Extremely.”
“Yeah?” Another kiss, slower this time. His forehead dropped against yours as he sighed, “that’s embarrassing for you.”
You broke the kiss long enough to glare at him.
It worked for approximately three seconds.
Then Jax was on you again.
Messier this time. One of his hands slid up your side before tangling itself into the fabric against your waist, as if he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or steady himself. His other hand stayed planted firmly beside your head, keeping you pinned against the wall while the adrenaline from the performance still crackled between both of you.
You could feel him smiling against your mouth.
Which, honestly, felt a little unfair.
“You are unbelievably smug for somebody who panicked just thirty seconds ago,” you murmured breathlessly.
Jax pulled back just enough to look at you, hair slightly disheveled from your hands dragging through it. “I wasn’t panicking.”
“You looked moments away from cardiac arrest.”
“Yeah, well…I’m naturally very charismatic under pressure.”
You laughed softly at that.
This time, he didn’t bother joking his way out of it.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your waist, eyes flicking over your face with an unfamiliar sort of hesitation. Like he still hadn’t fully processed that this was real.
“You know,” you murmured, “the audience is gonna lose their minds when they find out.”
That snapped him back instantly.
“Oh, absolutely not.” Jax pointed at you accusingly. “We are not becoming one of those couples.”
You blinked. “One of those couples?”
“Yeah, y’know.” He gestured vaguely. “Gross, happy, annoying.”
“We literally just made out after months of unresolved tension.”
“Yeah, but we did it with dignity, dollface.”
You stared at him for a moment before laughing hard enough that he groaned dramatically and dropped his forehead against your shoulder.
“This is terrible,” he muttered. “You’re gonna get way worse now.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.” He looked back up at you with a grin that finally looked genuine instead of defensive. “You’ve been doin’ weird psychological damage to me for months.”
“You started it!”
“Yeah, well.” His ears flushed faintly pink again. “Didn’t think it’d become, like… a whole thing.”
Something warm tugged unexpectedly at your chest.
Jax noticed immediately, because of course he did.
“…don’t look at me like that either,” he warned.
“Like what?”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “I can throw a knife from here, y’know.”
You only rolled your eyes.
He kissed you before you could answer, like that somehow solved the problem. It didn’t, obviously, but judging by the way he lingered afterward, maybe neither of you really minded anymore.
You stayed like that for what felt like eternity, locked in each other’s embrace, before Jax pulled away, panting. He stayed close, one hand firm at your waist while both of you caught your breath in the quiet stretch of the hallway. The adrenaline from the performance still buzzed beneath your skin, sharp and electric.
His grip remained tight at your waist as he locked eyes with you, pupils blown wide.
“You have any idea,” he murmured, voice rougher than before, “how hard it’s been not to do that?”
Your heartbeat stumbled.
“You flirt with everyone.”
“Yeah.” His mouth brushed yours again briefly. “But you’re the only one makin’ me lose my mind a little.”
His hand slid slowly from your waist up along your side before settling against the back of your neck, fingers tangling lightly into your hair as he kissed you again, slower now, but somehow even more dangerous than before.
Your fingers fisted into the front of his jacket, and Jax groaned softly against your mouth before pulling you flush against him again.
“See?” he murmured breathlessly between kisses. “This is exactly why we can’t become one of those gross couples.”
“You are literally making out with me in a hallway.”
“Yeah, but, like…” Another kiss interrupted him briefly. “In a cool way.”
You laughed into his mouth, and Jax groaned dramatically before kissing you harder for it, one hand pressing against the wall beside your head while the other stayed firm at your waist. He still wasn’t fully convinced you were real.
“…quit lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered weakly against your lips.
His fingers tightened at your waist again. “Like I’m worth keepin’ around.”
The warmth in your chest nearly hurt.
Jax made a quiet sound against your mouth, something halfway between surprise and relief, before kissing you harder again. One hand slipped beneath your thigh, hooking firmly around it as he pulled you flush against him like he was trying to eliminate whatever space still existed between you.
“…yeah, alright,” Jax breathed against your mouth, already pulling you away from the wall. “This hallway’s suddenly feelin’ real inconvenient.”
His hand tightened beneath your thigh when you laughed.
“Dressing room,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you again. “Now.”
a/n: gosh i love this annoying little specimen, but BOY is he harder to write compared to caine...
hope everyone enjoyed, lmk if you would like to see more jax in the future!!
P.S. my prompts are very lonely right now and very empty....pls fill them up
jax hates when you’re pissed at him. when you give him the cold shoulder—eyes sharp, words short. he hates even more how often he happens to piss you off. it’s happened so many times now, in fact, that he knows exactly how to handle it. his hands are already on your hips when you roll your eyes the second time and when you open your mouth to bitch at him some more—his mouth is already on yours. tongue swirling around your mouth like it’s his own.
and when you try pushing him away—his hands are wrapped around your wrists by the time you blink, pushing your arms above your head as he pins you against the door.
“you done bein’ a brat?” he breathes, nose brushing yours, breath hot and heavy from the kiss.
you glare. you don’t answer. you won’t give him the satisfaction. he grins—fucking grins—like you not answering is all the answer he needs. “mm. didn’t think so.”
his knee comes up between your thighs, spreading your legs wider against the door. he’s already rutting his hips against yours, slow and deliberate—just enough friction to make your eyes flutter shut for a second before you remember you’re mad.
“you’re such an ass,” you hiss.
“yeah?” he smirks. “but you love this ass. and you’re fuckin’ soaked already, baby. don’t lie.”
you want to slap him. or fuck him. maybe both. especially when he leans in again—voice all low and smug at your ear,
“wanna keep pretendin’ you’re mad? or you gonna be a good girl and let me make it up to you?”
his hand is already sliding under your shirt. you don’t stop him.
you never do.
not when he touches you like this. not when he knows you like this. not when he kisses the apology into your skin instead of saying it out loud—tongue and teeth and hands gripping your thighs like he’s never letting go.
Obviously Anya is adopted. We all know this. She knows this. She loves her family but knows it is incredibly fragile.
But unlike most adoption stories (say Natsume Yuujinchou) Anya is not adopted into a loving functional family who's main goal is to support and love her until she heals from all the hurt she has been through.
Because Everyone in their family is adopted.
Yor enters thinking she is entering an existing family dynamic of a man and his daughter. She is the step mother, eagerly wanted but a definite outsider. She does not know about how they lost Loid's first wife. They both Never mention her but Anya clearly has Huge feelings about her Mommy that she cannot touch. Because Loid refuses to acknowledge her. Which means she's not allowed to.
She's a wife brought in to solve a problem. The fact she adores Anya and loves Loid (eventually) doesn't make her any less of an outsider from her perspective. To Yor she's the adopted family member.
Meanwhile Loid, the one who brought them all together almost instantly finds himself on the outside of the family. He works too much and doesn't make it home for dinner frequently. He struggles to connect with his 'daughter' and wife. Can't understand either of them despite constant efforts. Something incredibly distressing for him.
Yor instantly connects with this child when he struggled to hold her hand in public. In his eyes Yor and Anya are a family and he is the outsider only there for the mission. The man who is destined to Not be there. He too often fills the role of the outside child brought into a happy family. One he constantly feels he is fumbling or failing. (If I'm not good, if i'm not perfect- my family will leave me. So I have to be. I have to figure out how to be better)
They are a family of adopted members all holding so tightly to each other. Each one of them chooses the others over and over again. Struggles against their own limitations and fears to be a part of a family they're all terrified to really call their own.
But it is that choice that makes them a family. Not blood or marriage or any certificate. That they all keep trying to be a family to the others. I'll be a good girl and study hard Papa. I'll be a good wife, I'll play my role well so don't abandon me. I'll be a good father and husband, I will try to be a good husband and father if you both will just stay with me. Please. I will figure out how.
edit: stop liking this and reblog. the romanticism of adoption and calling it found family and reducing to a simple trope is disgusting. if you care about the topic, reblog to get the word out.
She stood in front of the mirror far longer than necessary, adjusting her sleeves, smoothing her hair (straightened, neat, controlled), and reminding herself:
This is simply a date.
You are composed.
You do not fluster.
She chose something understated on purpose — dark jeans, a soft oversized top that slipped slightly off one shoulder. Casual. Effortless.
Effortless.
She practiced her neutral expression.
She would be calm. Poised. Elegant.
Then the door knocked.
She opened it.
And Foxy just… stopped.
He didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t tease. Didn’t smirk.
He just looked at her.
Slowly.
Softly.
Like she was something precious.
Her entire mental rehearsal evaporated.
“Hi,” she managed.
He exhaled a quiet breath. “Lass…”
That tone.
“You look…” He paused, searching. “…like I’m the luckiest animatronic in the building.”
Her brain shut down.
That was not a normal compliment.
“That is an exaggeration,” she said quickly.
“It isn’t.”
He stepped inside just slightly, still looking at her in that unguarded way. Not playful. Not dramatic.
Just sincere.
She had to look away first.
“Are we leaving?” she asked, because logistics were safer than emotions.
He chuckled. “Aye.”
They decided on something simple — walking through a night market near the edge of town. Nothing crowded. Just warm lights strung overhead and soft music drifting from somewhere distant.
The air felt gentle.
Puppet walked beside him with her hands folded neatly in front of her.
She was calm again.
See? Controlled.
Then Foxy reached over and casually slipped his fingers into hers.
No warning.
No announcement.
Just natural.
Like it had always been that way.
Her entire system glitched.
Her fingers twitched in surprise, but he only tightened his hold slightly — thumb brushing over her knuckles in a slow, absent-minded motion.
It was such a small thing.
But it felt enormous.
She focused on walking.
Left foot. Right foot.
Do not combust.
“You’re very quiet,” he said softly.
“I am speaking at a normal frequency.”
He smiled. “Mhm.”
They stopped at a small stand selling sweet pastries. Foxy insisted on buying one for her.
When he handed it to her, their fingers brushed again — but this time he didn’t pull away immediately.
He let his claws linger lightly against her palm.
She froze.
He noticed.
His grin turned softer.
“Still composed?” he asked gently.
“I am extremely composed.”
She nearly dropped the pastry.
He leaned closer. “Yer hand’s shakin’, love.”
“It is not.”
“It is.”
She stared at him, affronted — but her cheeks were warming.
He laughed quietly and guided her toward a small bench near the lights.
They sat close.
Very close.
Her shoulder brushed his.
She could feel the warmth radiating from him, steady and grounding. His tail flicked lazily behind him, occasionally brushing against her leg.
She tried to focus on the market.
Instead she became hyper-aware of:
The way his knee rested against hers.
The way his thumb kept drawing slow circles on the back of her hand.
The way he looked at her when she wasn’t looking at him.
Except she caught him.
She turned her head suddenly — and he was already watching her.
Soft.
Fond.
A little amused.
Her breath caught.
“…Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like that.”
He leaned back slightly, studying her as if she were fascinating.
“Because I like lookin’ at ye.”
That was unfair.
She blinked. “That is not a reason.”
“It is to me.”
Her composure cracked.
Just a little.
She turned forward again, but she could feel him smiling beside her.
After a moment, he gently bumped his shoulder against hers.
“You nervous?” he asked.
“I am not nervous.”
He hummed.
She lasted three more seconds before blurting, “This is highly undignified.”
He laughed immediately. “What is?”
“My inability to remain unaffected by you.”
That made him go quiet.
Not teasing quiet.
Surprised quiet.
He shifted so he was fully facing her now, still holding her hand.
“Unaffected?” he repeated softly.
“Yes,” she said, staring very intently at the lights overhead instead of at him. “You are… distracting.”
His expression melted.
“Puppet.”
She risked looking at him.
Big mistake.
He was closer now.
Not invading her space — just enough that she could see the softness in his eyes.
“I don’t want ye unaffected,” he said gently. “I like knowin’ I can make yer heart race a little.”
Her breath stuttered.
“It is racing?” he teased quietly.
She swallowed. “…Possibly.”
He smiled in a way that wasn’t smug.
It was tender.
Then, very slowly, he lifted her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.
Not dramatic.
Not rushed.
Just warm lips lingering for a second longer than necessary.
Her entire system crashed.
She covered her face immediately.
“This is catastrophic.”
He laughed — not loudly, but warmly — and gently pulled her hands down again.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“Puppet.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her hands.
Her eyes were wide. Vulnerable. Flustered beyond recovery.
He brushed his thumb under her eye gently.
“You’re adorable when ye lose that cool little mask.”
“I do not have a mask.”
He leaned in slightly.
“You absolutely do.”
She huffed softly.
He kissed her cheek.
Soft.
Lingering.
And when he pulled back, she just stared at him — stunned.
“…You are doing this intentionally.”
“Maybe.”
She narrowed her eyes.
Then — very quietly — she leaned into him first this time.
Just slightly.
Her head resting against his shoulder.
His arm wrapped around her immediately, pulling her closer without hesitation.
They stayed like that, watching the lights.
Her heart was still racing.
But it didn’t feel catastrophic anymore.
It felt warm.
Safe.
After a while, she murmured against his shoulder,
“…I may not remain composed around you.”
He pressed his cheek gently against the top of her head.
“Good,” he whispered.
And she let herself melt into him completely.
Puppet was trying very hard to be serious.
They had wandered away from the busier part of the market and ended up near a quieter street where the lights were softer and the night air cooler. She stood beside Foxy, hands clasped behind her back, posture straight again.
Recovered.
Regulated.
Back in control.
“I believe,” she began calmly, “that tonight has been statistically more distracting than—”
Foxy kissed her.
Right in the middle of the sentence.
Not dramatic. Not deep.
Just a quick, soft press of his lips to hers.
She froze.
He pulled back just enough to watch her reaction.
“…As I was saying,” she tried again, clearing her throat, “the level of distraction is—”
Another kiss.
This one lingered half a second longer.
Her breath caught audibly this time.
She stared at him.
“Foxy.”
“Aye?”
“You cannot simply—”
Kiss.
Short. Precise. Targeted.
She made a small, helpless sound.
He grinned.
“Oh, I absolutely can.”
She crossed her arms, attempting sternness. “This is highly unproductive.”
He leaned in closer, lowering his voice.
“Then why d’ye keep startin’ sentences?”
She opened her mouth to retort.
He kissed her again.
She gave up mid-word and exhaled shakily through her nose.
“…You are doing this intentionally.”
“Aye,” he said cheerfully.
She tried again, slower this time. Measured.
“If you continue interrupting me, I will be unable to—”
Kiss.
This one was to her cheek.
She flinched like she’d been struck by lightning.
“—finish,” she muttered weakly.
Foxy laughed quietly, clearly delighted now. He stepped closer until she was backed gently against the railing.
“Say it again,” he said softly.
“Say what?”
“That ye’re unaffected.”
Her eyes widened. “I did not say—”
He leaned in and whispered directly into her ear.
“Yer heart’s racin’, love.”
She malfunctioned.
Full stop.
Her shoulders tensed. Her hands clenched at her sides.
“…You should not say things like that.”
“Why not?”
His breath was warm against her ear. His voice dropped lower, softer, intimate.
“Because you are aware of the effect they have.”
“That the point,” he murmured.
She swallowed hard.
“I am attempting to maintain dignity.”
He brushed his lips against the shell of her ear.
“Ye’re doin’ terribly.”
She let out a quiet, defeated sound.
“This is sabotage.”
He kissed her neck.
Not lingering. Just enough.
She gasped and immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh no,” Foxy whispered, clearly amused. “Did I break somethin’?”
She turned sharply to face him, eyes wide, cheeks warm.
“You are weaponizing affection.”
“Aye.”
“That is unethical.”
He leaned in again, forehead resting against hers.
“Ye’re still standin’ here.”
She hated that he was right.
She tried one last time to reclaim control.
“Foxy, if you do not cease immediately, I will—”
He kissed her properly.
Slow.
Gentle.
Not teasing this time.
Her hands came up instinctively, gripping his jacket.
When he pulled back, she was breathless and very, very quiet.
“…I have forgotten what I was going to say,” she admitted.
He smiled so softly it almost hurt.
“Good.”
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then, very quietly, she muttered:
“…You may continue.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Permission?”
She looked away, mortified. “This conversation is over.”
He leaned in and whispered one last thing into her ear:
“Ye look real pretty when ye give up.”
She melted.
Actually melted.
She leaned into him fully this time, forehead against his chest.
“…This is deeply unfair.”
He wrapped his arms around her immediately, holding her close.
“Aye,” he said fondly. “But ye like it.”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
Just once.
And Foxy kissed her again — uninterrupted.
She leaned into him, forehead pressed to his chest, breathing slower now — or at least trying to.
“This is deeply unfair,” she repeated, muffled slightly against him.
Foxy’s arms tightened around her, chin resting lightly atop her head.
“Aye,” he murmured fondly. “But ye like it.”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
Just once.
That was his cue.
She lifted her head again, clearly attempting to reassert control. Her spine straightened. Her expression smoothed back into something dignified.
“I would like to formally state,” she began carefully, “that this interaction has exceeded reasonable parameters and—”
Foxy kissed her.
Again.
Mid-sentence.
She let out a soft, frustrated noise into the kiss before she could stop herself.
He pulled back just enough to smirk. “Sorry, love. Ye were sayin’?”
She inhaled. Slowly. Determined.
“I was saying,” she resumed, enunciating carefully, “that you are deliberately interfering with my ability to—”
Kiss.
This one was brief. Almost innocent.
She stared at him, blinking.
“…Speak,” she finished faintly.
“Aye,” he said. “That’s the idea.”
She pointed at him accusingly. “You cannot keep doing that.”
“Watch me.”
She opened her mouth to argue—
—and he leaned in close, lips barely brushing her cheek as he whispered:
“Yer mouth makes the prettiest shapes when ye’re tryin’ to be serious.”
Her entire body stiffened.
“…That was unnecessary information.”
He didn’t move away.
Instead, he shifted just enough so his lips hovered near her ear again.
“I can feel how tense ye get,” he murmured. “Like yer bracin’ for impact.”
She swallowed.
“You should not be narrating my internal state.”
“Oh?” he whispered. “Feels accurate, though.”
His breath brushed her ear again — slow, intentional.
“Especially now.”
She made a very quiet sound of distress.
“This is… harassment.”
He kissed just below her ear.
Light. Barely there.
“Affectionate harassment.”
She tried again. Poor thing.
“If you do not allow me to complete a single thought, I will be forced to conclude that—”
Kiss.
This time to the corner of her mouth.
Not fully.
Just close enough to feel unfinished.
Her eyes fluttered shut despite herself.
“—that you are enjoying this far too much,” she finished weakly.
Foxy laughed softly. “Oh, I am.”
She opened her eyes, exasperated. “You are impossible.”
He leaned in again, whispering so quietly she almost missed it.
“Say impossible again.”
“I will not.”
He kissed her cheek.
“Say it.”
“I refuse.”
He kissed her jaw.
Her breath stuttered.
“…You are impossible.”
He smiled and kissed her lips — quick, decisive.
“Thank ye.”
She sagged slightly against him, defeated.
“…I surrender.”
He tilted his head. “Fully?”
She nodded, mortified. “I am no longer attempting verbal communication.”
“Good choice.”
She frowned faintly. “That was not meant to encourage further—”
Kiss.
Longer this time.
When he pulled back, she stared at him, stunned into silence.
“…You interrupted my surrender,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he said gently, thumb brushing her cheek. “Didn’t want ye changin’ yer mind.”
She leaned into his touch again, voice small.
“…You are very distracting.”
He bent down, whispering right into her ear one last time:
“And ye sound adorable when ye admit it.”
She gave up completely.
No more words.
Just her arms sliding around his waist and her face hiding against his chest again.
Foxy held her there, victorious — and very, very pleased.
It's also up on AO3 if you wanna check out the old chapters:D
