#but i like him i think the way how he says 'you are So IRRITATING' is funny and i keep saying it to myself

[munson-blurbs]

Summary: Your lab partner, Eddie Munson, might be the most irritating person in your life. But when he unexpectedly comes to your rescue at a party, his chivalry is too hard to resist.

A collaboration with the absurdly talented @corroded-hellfire 🥰

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fem!Reader, enemies-to-lovers, drinking, Billy Hargrove being a douche, fighting, blood, praise, fingering, accidental voyeurism if you squint, unprotected p in v, fluff because Red & I are some corny motherfuckers

Thank you @blueywrites for your idea that upped the spice 🌶️🌶️ Divider credit to @saradika

“Okay, so we need to mix the magnesium with hydrochloric acid,” you start, carefully measuring each substance and pouring them into a test tube, “and then we light the splint and see if it creates a squeaking noise.”

“Right,” Eddie says, not bothering to hide his disinterest. “And, uh, why are we doing this, exactly?”

You clench your jaw and exhale through your nose. Eddie getting under your skin is bad enough, but if he knew how much he annoyed you, he’d likely double down. 

“We’re testing for the presence of oxygen,” you say with as much patience as you can muster. “And you need to wear safety goggles.”

He rolls his eyes and mimics you in a high-pitched and highly unflattering tone. “You need to wear safety goggles.” 

He reaches for the matches, but you pull them away before he can grab them. 

“I’m serious.”

Eddie scoffs. “Please. We’re not even blowing shit up. Besides, I have a gig tonight, and I’m not getting on stage with goggle marks on my face.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be the difference between your shitty band getting a record deal or not.”

“Whatever.” But he begrudgingly snaps on the protective gear, and you hand over the matchbox and the splint. 

“So just li—seriously?” You watch, dumbfounded, as Eddie strikes a match and uses it to light the cigarette perched between his lips. Where had he kept it this whole time?

“What?” He asks with a smirk. “There’s, like, a million of these left. I’ll use the next one for the experiment thingy.”

He doesn’t get that far; Ms. O’Donnell marches over and yanks out the cigarette, snuffs it in the tray, and orders him to the principal’s office. 

Leaving you to complete your work alone. Again. 

Last week, it was because he’d kicked his feet up on the table and took a swig of Mountain Dew from a beaker. The week before, he’d blown up a rubber glove like a balloon and popped it right in Jason Carver’s ear, causing him to shatter a test tube on the ground. 

You often felt more like a babysitter than a lab partner. 

What you needed was a night out, so the party Steve Harrington was throwing tonight could not come any sooner. It wasn’t your usual scene, but all of your friends were going, and it certainly beat raiding your parents’ liquor cabinet alone. 

Music blasts from an overpriced stereo system as you pull up to Steve’s house. Barely audible over the reverberating bass is the sound of drunken cheering as someone does a kegstand. You sigh, plaster a smile on your face, and make a beeline for the punch bowl. 

Heather Holloway ladles jungle juice into an already pink-stained cup; you’re grateful for at least one kind face in a sea of Hawkins High students and recent graduates. 

“Heather, hi!” You smile at her, plucking a new cup from the stack and filling it nearly to the brim. “How’s college?”

Heather takes a sip, wrinkling her nose at the vodka’s pungency. “Way better than high school,” she says with a laugh. “I’m taking an intro to biochem, and my lab partner actually shows up.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast. “Maybe you could take mine. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

She laughs. “Can’t be worse than when I was stuck with The Freak last year. He never showed up to class.” 

“Really?”

“Mhm. And Ginny Anderson was his lab partner during his first senior year, and he pulled the same shit.”

Lucky them, you think wryly. Guess he decided to be a star student for his third go-around. 

Frat boy-style cheering echoes from behind you and when you spin around you see Billy Hargrove strutting through the crowd, towards the kitchen. He throws a wink to a few girls and slaps five to one of the guys on the basketball team. If he’s coming into the kitchen, it’s the last place you want to be.

The living room is smoky and loud, but it beats getting stuck next to the booze with a jackass like Hargrove. Every thump of the bass has the little sips of alcohol you’ve taken sloshing around in your stomach. It’s hard to tell where you’re going or even what direction you’re going with so many people, so you just keep wading through groups until finally you come upon some space to breathe. 

Unfortunately, this space brings you right back to where you began: in front of the kitchen. Just in time for Billy to sidle up next to you, the scent of whiskey and tangy cologne wafting off of him in waves. 

“Where have you been all my life?” he asks, as if it’s supposed to be charming instead of nausea-inducing. 

“Was better a second ago,” you mumble, not caring if he hears you or not. But when you move to step away from the blonde, the smarmy look slips from his too-pretty face and is replaced with a mask of set determination. 

Strong fingers curl around your wrist, just tight enough to cause the barest amount of pain. The audacity and possessiveness are what piss you off the most, though. 

A gentle tug of your arm does nothing to free it from his grip, so you try a little harder. Still nothing.

“Let go,” you seethe. The words are biting, but you’re a chihuahua up against a doberman. 

Somehow, above your pulse pounding in your ears and the music thumping throughout the large house, you hear the distinct clang of a metal lunchbox snap shut and heavy boots on polished wood floors headed in your direction. 

You sense Eddie over your shoulder before he appears in your peripheral vision. A moment hangs in the air where he and Billy stare at one another, and you watch them both, unsure of what is about to happen. 

Eddie steels his jaw, unmoving. “Let her go,” he says, a slight rasp in his tone. 

The jock remains unfazed, unthreatened. “Shouldn’t you be worshiping Satan’s asshole, Freak?”

“Shouldn’t you be worshiping Tommy’s? Or does he only worship yours?”

A cacophony of laughter stirs up an anger inside of Billy. He grabs Eddie by the jacket collar and slams him against the counter. “If you don’t fuck off in the next three seconds, I’ll kick you ass so hard that your uncle won’t even be able to identify your body.”

Eddie smirks. “One…two—”

Billy’s fist crashes into Eddie’s cheek with a sickening crack. Eddie returns with a punch to Billy’s abdomen, but not before his face sustains a few more hits. 

Shock loosens its grasp on you and you call out for help, knowing it’s no use getting in the middle of their brawl. Someone—Tommy H, maybe—is chanting “fight!” and it takes all of your willpower not to clock him yourself. 

Billy finally lets up when Eddie falls to the floor, clutching his stomach in agony. “Maybe next time, you’ll mind your fucking business,” he spits through his split lip—one of the few punches Eddie managed to land. 

His smarminess is enough to provoke a reflexive response in you. As he gloats, you deliver a swift kick square to his crotch. A choked whine slips from Billy’s parted lips as he doubles over. You snort a laugh to yourself thinking about how the dumbbell is probably going to spin this story so he doesn’t seem like any less than the King of Hawkins High in front of his fellow party-goers. He’ll never be able to take away your satisfaction at using a pair of your nicest shoes to crush Billy’s balls though. 

Eddie is still on the ground, wiping blood that’s trickled out of his right nostril onto the back of his sleeve. Turning your back to Billy, you bend down and offer your hand to Eddie. He accepts it with a weak smile and you help him to his feet. 

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Eddie says with a shrug and a sad smile that knots your stomach. He’s been hurt worse than this?

Unable to follow that train of thought, you reach out and slip your hand into Eddie’s. You give a small tug and he readily follows you down the hall of the Harrington home, the thumping beat of the bass becoming softer the further you walk. 

In the back corner of the house you manage to find a bathroom that’s not occupied by someone puking the mixture of alcohol they’ve consumed or a couple hooking up, going at it like wild animals. This one looks like it’s been hardly touched all night and you click the lock into place once you and Eddie are inside. 

Eddie takes a seat on the closed toilet lid, his calloused fingers coming up to gently touch the gash right across his chin. He winces at the tenderness of the wound while you crouch down and look in the cabinets underneath the sink for a first aid kit. 

“Ah, here we are,” you announce as you pull out the small white box with the red cross on it. On your knees, you shuffle over towards Eddie and slide the kit along with you. “It’s not so bad,” you tell Eddie as you dab some rubbing alcohol on a small swath of gauze. “The face just bleeds more because—”

“Because the blood vessels in the face are so close to the skin,” Eddie finishes for you. 

“Wow,” you say, raising your eyebrows at him. “I’m impressed.”

“We are in the same science class, you know,” Eddie teases with a playful smirk. It quickly turns to a grimace though as you begin to dab at his wounds. 

“I thought I recognized you from the seat next to mine,” you joke back. There’s silence for a few moments while you clean off all the excess blood and bandage up the open cuts. “Why are you suddenly interested in science this year? I mean, I was talking to Heather before and she said you never showed up when you were her lab partner. So, what? Renewed attempt to graduate?”

“Uh,” Eddie says with an awkward chuckle. He avoids your eyes and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

“Got the hots for O’Donnell?”

He belly laughs at that thought, grimacing at the pain it causes. “Fuck, no!” He shakes his head. “She looks like a walrus and a naked mole rat had some sort of freaky baby.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew.”

“You were the one who suggested I’m into her,” Eddie rebutted, and fairly so. 

“I didn’t make you compare her to a—”

A loud crash stops you mid-sentence, followed by someone drunkenly lamenting, “not the punch!”

“We’re probably safer hiding out in here for a bit,” Eddie says softly, “unless you want to volunteer to clean up whatever mess they made.”

“I think cleaning up your mess is more than enough for tonight.” To punctuate your point, you swipe a clean piece of gauze over a small cut you’d previously missed. “Besides, I wanna know what’s suddenly got you showing up to class.”

Eddie’s eyes roam your body far more conspicuously than he’d like, but the attention fills you with a newfound warmth. “You.” He snorts out a little laugh, startling you slightly. “Fuck, I’m drunker than I thought.”

“W-Wait.” You fight off the embarrassment that accompanies your stuttered words. “I’m the reason …?”

He noticed your reaction, mistaking disbelief for discomfort. “Does that make things…does that make you feel weird?” Nerves marr whatever joking tone he was trying to convey. 

All you can do is shake your head. “No. It makes things…good.” Good insufficiently describes your reaction, though part of you waits for the other shoe to drop. It’s a prank, his way of getting back at you for—

A hooked finger in the belt loop of your jeans snags your attention, Eddie gently tugging you closer to him. “And now?”

“Still good. Better, actually.” Resting one hand on his sore chest, you lean in and add, “will it hurt if I kiss you?”

“Don’t care.”

Despite him not caring, you certainly care if you’re going to hurt him or not. Your mouth moves slowly towards his, lips just barely brushing against each other as your breaths co-mingle. It’s not enough for Eddie though, and he presses his lips against yours with more force, stealing the air from your lungs as your body melts against his. The back bathroom at the Harrington household is not something you would’ve considered romantic before, but right now it’s the only place you want to be. Tucked away in the corner with Eddie, trading explorative kisses as your hands roam each other's bodies. 

Your body buzzes when Eddie’s tongue sweeps against yours, heat immediately pooling between your legs. 

Instinctively, gingerly, you press your torso to his, one trembling finger hooking into his belt loop. A moan escapes you, soft but saturated with need. Eddie clocks it immediately. 

“Mhm.” His smile threatens to break the kiss. “That’s it.” 

You feel the button of your jeans unfasten, the sound of unzipping music to your ears. His hand slips between the denim and the newly exposed lace of your panties, grin widening when it reaches the damp patch. 

Eddie’s hardness strains against the confines of his own pants, and you rush to relieve that ache. His exhale when you touch him—over his boxers, but not as gently as he touches you—makes you even wetter. 

“Gotta have you.” He toys with your waistband but doesn’t explore further until he hears your ‘yes,’ pathetic and whimpering but consent nonetheless. “Good girl,” he growls, sending a shiver coursing through you. 

The pads of his fingertips find your clit without struggle, rubbing precise circles over it that have you groaning his name. “Every time you say my name from now on,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna think about this.”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” It’s part taunt and part truth; only his name is on your mind. Your back arches against the sink, porcelain digging into your skin, but you barely notice. 

One strong hand reaches for the strap of your tank top, pulling it down so harshly that the fabric tears. He mutters a soft swear, tugs the rest of the shirt down until your bra is completely visible. 

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Eddie kisses your chest, groaning when the sensation of his lips causes you to squeeze his throbbing cock. “Careful, or I’ll—”

He’s interrupted by the door swinging wide open, Billy and Heather wrapped around each other in drunken lust. Billy’s eyes widen, their blueness dulled from the liquor, when he sees that the bathroom is currently occupied—and by whom. 

The intrusion startles you as well, but you’re much quicker at recovering than the inebriated asshole gaping at you from the doorway.

“Get the fuck out!” you hiss. 

Heather turns her head to look in your direction, as if she hadn't been aware there was anyone else in the bathroom until you’d spoken up. It’s clear she’s had quite a few more drinks since you’d seen her in the kitchen.

Whether it’s the alcohol, the shock, or his own stupidity, Billy doesn’t make a move towards leaving, let alone tug Heather along with him. The blonde shakes a few curls out of his eyes, causing Heather to reach up and twirl one around her finger.

“Jesus Christ, is this douche even capable of hearing a woman if she isn’t moaning his name?” Eddie mutters to you before rounding on the drunken pair and raising his voice. “The lady said out. Now.” 

Something finally snaps Billy out of his dazed state and he curls his lip, giving the two of you a half-hearted sneer. He pulls Heather out of the doorway so quickly that it looks like she gets whiplash as he slams the door closed behind them. 

Eddie leans over and locks the door, giving the knob a twist for good measure. “Do me a favor, honey?” His voice is a ribbon of silk down your spine. “Turn around so you’re facing the mirror.”

You do as he says, hands planted on the sink ledge. Your shirt is torn, make-up smudged, and you’re out of breath from the impromptu make out session. Ducking your head, you’re determined to avoid your reflection until tobacco-scented words tickle your ear from behind. 

“Be a good girl and look at yourself while I fuck you.” Eddie moves your thong over, exposing your pussy, and exhales with a tremble. His middle finger glides over your folds before pushing into you slowly. “You got wetter when I called you a good girl, didn’t you?”

“Mhm,” you manage, stifling a moan as his ring finger joins his middle. 

A teasing pout graces Eddie’s lips. “Such a good girl. And only for me.”

“Only for you,” you echo. 

He taps the head of his cock on your bare ass, leaving drops of pre-cum in his wake. “Gotta be inside you,” he growls. “Gotta fuckin’ feel what a good girl you are.”

The sensation of his cock dragging down along your folds mixed with him knowing just what to say to get you squirming has you dropping your head forward with a soft whimper. A strong, calloused hand quickly finds its way up to your throat though, and presses with just enough pressure to remind you that you’re supposed to be looking at yourself in the mirror. 

When you lift your head, you’re greeted by the sight of a smirking Eddie behind you in the mirror.

“Atta girl,” he praises. 

At a torturously slow pace, Eddie begins to push inside of you. A guttural groan slips past your gritted teeth as he stretches your walls, the pleasure causing you to curl your toes inside your shoes.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes out before pulling his hips back. “Pussy’s even tighter than I imagined.”

The mental image of Eddie laying in bed with his hand wrapped around his cock, thinking of you is enough to make your knees weak. They can’t buckle too much; Eddie has one hand gripping you tight and the other trailing down to your clit. Each deliberate circle is punctuated by a thrust, pleasure from every angle. 

He kisses your shoulder blade, groaning when you tighten around him. “Look at yourself,” he growls his reminder. “Look how beautiful you are, all fucked out like this.”

You catch another glimpse; this time, you see Eddie’s lust-filled expression along with your own. He’s even further gone than you are, so focused on burying himself within you to care about the sweat matting his bangs to his forehead or the way his teeth dig into his lower lip. 

“Say it.” His voice is half-commanding, half-pleading. 

“S-Say what?” Each word is a struggle, your orgasm building to a peak you’d never before reached. 

“That you’re beautiful.” He tugs you even closer to him, and there’s no mistaking his dominance for anything else. “So—goddamn—beautiful.”

You follow his order without a second thought. “I’m b-beautiful, all fucked out like th-this.” 

Eddie’s hips snap against the plush of your ass at a frenetic pace. “That’s it; that’s my good girl.” Not a good girl, you note. His good girl. 

One hand atop his, desperate for as much contact as possible, you moan: “your good girl.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything is you—you and him together, and it drives him to the edge. “You…you gotta…’m so close,” he rambles. 

“Me, too.” Panting breaths mingle with his groans, your walls tightening around him as you come. It’s so much, so intense, and tears cloud your vision resulting from the overwhelming bliss. “Eddie, oh, Eddie.”

He spills into you with a cry of your name. “H-ohmygod, holy fuckin’ shit.” His thrusts don’t stop until every last drop of his cum is inside you. 

Eddie’s chest presses against your back, but he’s careful not to put all his weight on you. The feeling of him so solid and warm behind lulls you from pure ecstasy to warm contentment, not wanting to move out from beneath him. 

A few silent moments pass before Eddie pulls out of you, both of you disappointed by the loss of contact. But Eddie’s hands refuse to let you go entirely, gently running over your hips and up your sides. The touch is featherlight and sends a comforting tingle throughout your limbs.

“You with me?” Eddie’s worn-out voice asks you.

“Mhmm,” you hum in acknowledgment. “Don’t wanna move.”

Eddie gives a husky chuckle in reply before he stands up, reluctantly taking a step away from you. Your own muscles whine in protest as you stand straight, the tell-tale signs of a good fucking already settling in. 

The two of you begin to clean up, each slipping back into articles of clothing along the way. One question prickles the back of your mind in the quiet room and you know your brain won’t be able to rest until it has an answer.

“Uh, Eddie?” you ask once you’ve cleaned up your smeared lipstick.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still going to come to class? Or, you know, now that you’ve had me you won’t have a reason to anymore?” You try to hide the insecurity in your tone but there was no mistaking the slight edge your words had. 

Eddie pauses mid-buckling his belt and gives you a frown. 

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says and the nickname alone already has your engine revving for a round two. “I wouldn’t sit through O’Donnell’s class for someone I only wanted to fuck. If I’m gonna listen to that hag drone on and on then there’s a damn good reason I’m sitting my ass in that classroom.” With a sigh, Eddie steps closer to you and after a moment’s hesitation, cups your face in his hands. “Can I take you out? Do things, ya know, the right way?”

A little trill of a giggle bursts out of you, which makes Eddie frown. But you’re quick to let him in on what you found amusing.

“You mean having sex in a bathroom at Steve Harrington’s house isn’t the typical way romances start?”

A grin slowly slides across Eddie’s mouth and you swear it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. All you want to do is keep that smile on his handsome face as much as you possibly can. 

“A romance, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “If I’d known that’s what this was, I would’ve at least fucked you in a guest room.”

You let your fingers brush over the fly of his jeans, feeling a gentle twitch from behind the zipper. “How about for round two?”

Eddie holds your face in his hands as he kisses you deeply, only breaking it to smile and murmur: 

“You read my mind, Beautiful.”

--

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

[ttsukiimi]

❛ I FVCKED MY BODYGUARD! ❜

୨୧⋆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬  ⎯ Toji fushiguro is nothing but a bodyguard—or at least those are the words you keep telling everyone including yourself. But when you’re under him, moaning his name, can you really say that?

୨୧⋆ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬  ⎯ bodyguard!toji fushiguro x actress!reader, smut (mdni), n!pple sucking & n!pple play, implied size difference, slight manhandling, softdom! & bigd!ck!toji, unprotected sx, mentions of ichiji, reader referred to as (doll, baby, princess)

'Famous actress 'suki' ttsukiimi facing backlash after allegedly being seen in public holding hands with her bodyguard! Fans step forward with pictures as proof!'

Your eyes rolled as you saw the news headline, and you wondered if someone actually sat down and wrote it.

For starters, Toji Fushiguro was nothing more than your bodyguard—and, of course, he had to accompany you in public because that was his job! And, while the holding hands aspect appeared incriminating, he was merely doing it to keep you steady as you went through the crowd.

You made an effort to clear your head for the upcoming night, but your mood soured with bitter irritation. Thoughts of Toji suddenly sprang to mind as you were trying to declutter your mind. You couldn't help but wander off to the feeling of his big hand encasing your smaller one, the waft of his cologne into your nostrils as he walked beside you and tried his best to politely push people out of the way.

He was just perfect in every aspect—tall, muscular, intimidating, you couldn't count how many times you'd wanted a simple touch from him to lead to something else.

Your phone snapped you out of your daydreaming, the chime of your ringtone echoing throughout the almost empty hotel room. Quickly, almost embarrassingly so, you read the contact's name, and inwardly smiled to yourself. Just who you wanted.

"Hello?" your sugary voice rung throughout the speaker. Toji could feel himself heat up from your voice alone, imagining the way your plump lips moved as you talked, and he cleared his throat.

"We're waiting for you outside, doll. Hurry up, yeah?" he mumbled, letting his hand hang back on the car's headrest.

You let out an acknowledging hum, not daring to speak with the way you clenched your thighs together—his tone and the deepness of his voice alone sending a shock of electricity through you. Not to mention the pet name.

Soon enough, you met with Toji and your chauffer, Ichiji, outside. You'd made sure to wear something risqué, and both men were more than glad to gaze at you through their peripheral, though toji made no attempt to hide his staring. 

The ride to your wardrobe stylist was silent, save for a few impatient grumbles from toji on how long the ride was going to take. He could really act so immature sometimes.

୨୧

You stepped out of the room, velvet material clinging to your body like second skin and gleamed at Toji. "What do you think?"

His throat congealed with breath. You appeared breathtaking; the stylist having done a phenomenal job of selecting dresses that accentuate your complexion and emphasize your curves.

Toji gave a playful suck of his teeth. "Eh."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your phone on a nearby table and checked the time. It was almost time to get going.

"Tojii, please help me choose. Y'know I can't rely on Ichiji." That, however, was a lie; if anyone was aware of actress-appropriate style, it was him .You merely wanted a justification to continue showing Toji yourself in small little dresses. Not that he couldn't admit he liked watching you do that.

Once again, the scarred-lipped man sucked his teeth. "Go with the black one, with the back cutout, I guess."

୨୧

It was finally time for the nomination. Toji grinned to himself as he saw you on stage, light sparkling in your eyes, making you appear ethereal. You competed with other actresses for best of the year.

The announcer began to speak, her voice sweet, but not as much as yours, he reasoned. And it would be an understatement to say that Toji, and the entire audience, were upset not to hear your name.

"Who the fuck even is that?" he whispered under his breath, but his eyes softened as he noticed the smile on your face when you heard your name for the second time.

Everyone's eyes were drawn to you as you strutted over to receive your award, fascinated by the glow you emitted, and the audience erupted in cheers. Toji let out a small cheer just for you.

When the event was finally done and the paparazzi and bothersome interviewers had left, you let out a sigh of relief. Toji took your hand and guided you to the waiting limousine, opening the door for you.

You hoped this wouldn't cause another news headline.

"Thanks," you mumbled before succumbing to tiredness and falling asleep, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

When you awoke, you were comfortably positioned on your hotel room's bed, with the blankets warming your restless body. Your initial inclination was to search around for Toji, but there was no sign of him. You sprang out of bed and began searching for him, only to find him just as he was about to leave.

He tilted his head. "Did I wake you?"

You shook yours. "No, I—Can you stay?" The sentence slipped through your lips before you could catch it. Your eyes widened and your cheeks burned with embarrassment, even more so when you timidly looked up at him to find him smirking.

"Doll." he hummed, walking towards you, making you look at him with a finger under your chin. "When are ya gonna just say it?"

Your heartbeat skyrocketed, not only from the contact and closeness of his huge body, but also from the look on his face.

"If you wanna fuck just say that."

Your knees buckled under your weight, Toji catching you in his arms. You both looked at each other's lips and back up, and in his arms, you felt like you were under a trance.

Lips soon collided. One kiss led to a make-out session, and that led to you being manhandled and thrown onto the bed. Toji crawled on after you, the angry erection under his black slacks poking through.

Your eyes widened in shock. "Toji.."

He hushed you with a quick peck, the unfastening of his belt and zipper sounding throughout the room. "Open your legs."

His hands lit fires on your skin as he slid them down to your thighs, spreading your legs further apart and whistling at the wetness gathered on your folds. "You're soaked baby. Ain't even touched you yet."

You whined and looked away, breath hitching as he teasingly gathered your slick on the tip of his cock. Toji clenched his jaw as he pushed the head in, everything in him resisting from thrusting everything in—knowing how small you were compared to him.

Who knew he'd be fucking the person he was supposed to protect?

"Breathe, baby,"

Nodding, you tried your best to follow his order. But, when he started moving, you completely lost it.

Strings upon strings of moans poured from your mouth, your legs locking around his waist as he found a pace. And even though to you his pace was pleasurable and a bit too much simultaneously, he was holding back.

Toji hadn't fucked such a greedy cunt in years, with the way you were sucking him in, it felt like you wanted to suck him dry. He hit your sweet spot easily with each thrust, groaning as he snaked his hands up your torso and pulled the neckline of your dress down to reveal your tits to him. "Knew they were pretty."

He leaned his head down to suck on your pebbled nipples, driving his girth in and out of you painfully fast now. Switching his attention to your other nub, Toji rolled your previous nipple between his fingers as he suckled on it.

Your back arched up into his touch and gave him more access to your body. "'S too much!"

"You'll take it," he rasped into your ear, hitting the spot that had you seeing stars so effortlessly it felt criminal. Your vision filled with white and blurred, liquid heat rippling through your lower stomach.

You gasped as you hadn't felt such euphoria in years, your job not leaving much time for love affairs, or for any affairs at that.

"I Think 'm close,"

"Ya think, princess?" he chuckled, deep and booming in your ear, his rhythm cruel and harsh on your poor, sensitive pussy.

Toji could feel himself slowly being hurled towards the edge of his high, and he could feel yours too with the way you clamped extra tight down on him. 

"C'mon, baby. Cum on my cock." he ordered, and your body instantly complied with his words. Your back arched further off the sheets, a broken cry bubbling from deep within your chest as you climaxed.

Toji's high came teetering soon after yours, and he made quick work of pulling himself out and letting his seed spurt over your stomach and tits. Your bodies were both messy and sweaty, and he appreciated the sight under him.

You had completely soaked the sheets, and Toji took pride in knowing he was the one who made you.

With a drawn-out sigh, he plopped down beside you.

"You think they'll write news about this too?"

"So you also saw that, huh?"

#ꔫ : ˚ ͙۪۪̥◌⎯ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈’𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 #jjk smut #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji fushigro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #toji smut #jujutsu toji #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #jjk fushiguro #dilf toji #toji x reader #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x y/n #gojo smut #jjk headcanons #jjk #jjk gojo #sukuna smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

You asked for Spencer Reid and Reader requests, particularly plus size, and I am so down bad for that man! Especially later seasons him.

Could I have one where he and the reader are intellectual peers but also enemies? Like she's on the team and just as wicked smart as him and into old literature and languages but they constantly butt heads? And the team knows they really just have feelings for each other, but they'll never admit it. Maybe the reader admits it to Penelope or someone one night drinking that he's hot but she never thought he'd actually sleep with her bc she's fat, but she'll take his attention any way she can get it. Maybe Spencer overhears and proceeds to show her just how hot he finds her arguing with him? 👀 Thank you in advance, girlie!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

— summary: you and spencer hate each other, that much is obvious... right?

— warnings: very surprisingly crude language in this, self-doubt, implied insecurities, misunderstandings, e2l, they're in love and everyone else knows besides them, i made them dorks i don't apologize, mentions of wet dreams, mentions of male masturbation, dirty thoughts, kissing, stripping, vaginal fingering, spencer's dirty mouth, lots of reassurance 'cause i'm a sap, spencer reid #1 consent king, missionary, unprotected sex, sex god spencer?!?! (he does his research), pleasure dom!spencer, switch r & spencer, heavy praise, and a fluffy ending to tie this all up in a nice little bow!

— wc: 3136

⋆ a/n: okay i do admit that this is RIDICULOUSLY long, but i knew exactly what i was getting into writing this and honestly i had so much fun! i don't think i've ever created such characters that have so much chemistry with each other, so cheers to that! (unedited unfortunately :[)

masterlist | AO3

As soon as you hear Spencer’s voice, you make a point to groan obnoxiously loud.

“And just to think I would be able to go home without a headache today.” 

You could feel the glare from said man burning a hole in the back of your head, so you swivel your chair around in order to face the music – in a pleasurable masochist kind of way. His annoyingly handsome face was twisted up in irritation – much to your glee – his eyebrows turned down, and his perfect, plush lips pulled into a deep frown. 

You could tell you had interrupted him saying something that he deemed important, most likely a fact that you and him would go back and forth on, and you couldn’t be more pleased with yourself.

“Funny you mention that seeing as though your voice is the cause of mine.” He bit back, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Aw, you think of my voice?” You tease. “Only in my nightmares.” You wink at him. “You still think about me.”.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Luke piped up from his own desk, drawing the attention from your other intrigued co-workers in the bullpen. “Oh here we go.” Tara said in amusement at Luke’s rambling.

“Back when I was a kid there was this girl that I went to school with, and I would always tug on her hair or try to trip her,” His voice was almost reminiscent. “Everyone thought I hated her, when in reality I was just trying to get her attention.”

“Ah,” Matt said with a smile, “The classic ‘boy bullying the girl he likes,’ or in this case, it’s the girl this time.” Your cheeks began to heat and your eyes went wide, Spencer’s own face and the tips of his ears turning an admirable pink hue.

“Absolutely not -”

“What? No -”

Both Spencer and you stumbled over each other to try and defend yourself, but you didn’t have a chance because Emily’s voice cut through whatever was about to be said next, the woman making haste from her office and into the room with the round table.

“Alright you guys, enough. We’ve got a case.”

“To a job well done!” Penelope cheered as she held up her citrusy alcoholic beverage in the air, signaling she wanted to toast.

You smiled indulgently at the woman sitting next to you, clinking your glass with hers noisily and flickering your eyes over to where a disheveled Spencer Reid sat. You didn’t say anything to him though, because you’re a big ol’ softie and like to let the boy wonder rest before you have him back on his toes.

His eyes met yours the same time your glasses collided. You wish you could say that the vibrations from the clinking was the cause of the shiver that forced its way down your spine, but you knew better. 

It was like the rest of the bar disappeared, the sound of the others joining in on your rejoicing fell on deaf ears. You could have sworn his dark brown puppy-dog eyes drank you in before he looked away and cleared his throat, taking a rather comically large gulp of his water.

Your eyelashes fluttered like a thousand butterflies wings as you rushed to drink your own beverage.

“Okay, what was that!?” You felt Penelope’s finger poke at your ribs before you actually heard her. 

“Ow - fuck! What was what?” You yelped quietly, your hand reaching down to bat away her stabbing digits. “The - the -” She fought to portray her words before her face lit up when she found the correct ones, “The eyefucking!” 

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, “Eyefucking? What eyefucking?” You asked with a scoff, hiding your blush behind the rim of your mug. 

“Oh, please, don’t give me that.” It was Penelope’s turn to scoff at you. “Everybody knows that you and Spencer like each other.” She said it almost like it was a fact, leaning forward to take a smug sip of her drink through the miniature black straw.

Spencer knew listening in on Penelope and your conversation was inappropriate; but in his defense, you guys weren’t really quiet about what you were talking about.

“I -” He heard you begin, “It’s one-sided.” Was all you said before draining your beer. “So you admit it!” Penelope exclaimed with a gasp.

Spencer felt his eyes go wide at her words, but there was this desperate feeling that spread throughout his body; one that caused his fingers to twitch and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“When you put it like that it sounds childish!” You complained slightly, biting at the meat of your lip. “I… I’m just not his type you know? Like - you know better than anyone that guys don’t pay attention to girls like us, so you have to learn to improvise.” You were cringing at your own words, but the liquid in your cup was enough to loosen your tongue and lower your inhibitions.

“Was me choosing to constantly argue with him the smartest way to try and peak his interest? No, but I knew he liked a challenge and well… it definitely wasn’t the proudest conclusion I ever came to, but what was I supposed to do? It isn’t like Spencer would date me let alone actually want to sleep with me.”

Spencer wanted to argue with you about how wrong you were, to tell you about every thought he’d ever had about you.

He wanted to tell you about how much you frustrate him, how at first, he thought he hated you and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize he hated how badly he wanted you; hated how many dirty dreams he had included you and that plush body of yours. He’d wondered how soft you were, how you smelled and tasted. 

Did your moans and whines sound as enchanting as your laugh? Did your eyes twinkle the same way when you were about to cum? 

Those thoughts kept him up at night and his hands in his pants, stroking himself to his unlimited imagination all revolved around you. Those were the days that he was more prone to pick fights with you, mostly because he was embarrassed, ashamed, and quite frankly plain ol’ horny.

Spencer thought you were just so sexy, especially when he had managed to light that fire under your ass that really got you going. He wasn’t a sadist or a masochist by any means, but he loved when you yelled at him. So, for you to think so lowly of yourself it almost drove him mad because you didn’t know.

But you were going to.

You were going to kill whoever was bothering you on your day off.

The knocking was unexpected, but so was who was responsible for the noise.

“Spencer?” You asked in surprise. 

Usually you were prepared for your exchanges with the man, but if your pajamas were anything to go by, you were anything but. Spencer felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your tits sitting braless in a thin undershirt, your soft tummy slightly straining against the cotton material and a pair of shorts that look like they were practically strangling your thighs.

The only thing he could really say was… “Do you know how infuriating you are?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest, and little did you know the action pressed the tops of your breasts over the hemline. “Excuse me?” You almost scoffed, “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to argue with me.”

“No I - fuck just let me finish.” This was not how he wanted this to go. You looked like you wanted to say something but your curiosity made you choose to stay silent.

Your eyes were wide and your brows were furrowed; it looked like you almost couldn’t breathe.

“Do you know why you’re so infuriating?” He asked, taking a tentative but careful step towards you. “Because you haunt my every living thought. I see you when I’m awake, I see you when I’m asleep. I can’t… I can’t escape you! I can’t escape how I feel about you.”

“But you want to know the worst part?” His hand lands on your cheek and his thumb gently caresses the skin there. “You have the audacity to think that I wouldn’t want you.” 

“You want me?” You asked in disbelief. “But I… but I thought you hated me? I mean - I haven’t been all that nice to you.” You attempt to joke weakly, but your body is on fire; your stomach is tangled up in knots. You were trembling in excitement at his words but in disbelief too.

“Do you have any idea how much I love arguing with you?”

You laughed at his words, your lips slipping into a small smirk as you threw your arms around his neck in an act of boldness. “Oh yeah?” You hummed seductively. “You wanna show me how much?”

“Yeah,” He replied breathlessly. “I do.”

And just like that his mouth was on yours and a long leg shot out behind him to shut your front door. The slam made you yelp, but it quickly melted into a giggle against his lips when he reconnected them.

Spencer tugged you closer to him, and God the feeling of your body was so much better than anything his subconscious could have conjured up. You felt so soft and the front part of your torso pressed against his chest in a way that if he didn’t have you naked under him soon he was going to go crazy.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He didn’t want to pull away from you, but he wanted to do this right.

“I didn’t know you were a gentleman, Reid.” You teased with a dazed smile on your face. “There’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me.” You quirked a brow. “Oh really? How about you tell me?”

“Later,” He said with a lazy shake of his head, “Later.”

His hand reached down to cup your ass, your crotch rubbing on the large boner restrained by his pants. You moaned quietly at the feeling, and found yourself saying, “Down the hall and to the left.”

When you arrived, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; they grabbed at your back, ass, waist, hips. There was so much of you that he had no idea where to start. All he knew is that he wanted all of you right now.

“Can I take your shirt off, please?” His words almost came out as a whine and it welcomed a fresh wave of arousal in your panties. “Take off whatever you want, I’m yours.” A reassuring confession that Spencer had no idea he needed to hear. 

His lithe, veiny hands tugged at your top first, dragging it over your head and throwing it somewhere random. Your pants and panties were next to go and you couldn’t help but shiver at Spencer's intense stare.

“I’m uh- feeling a little vulnerable here, could you lose a layer or two?” 

The man blinked rapidly, his fingers shooting to undo the buttons on his cardigan. “Yes, yeah of course, sorry I -'' You grabbed the shaky digits. “Calm down, take it slow. I’m not going anywhere.” It was a light jab meant to ease his nerves. For a moment he looked unsure but you gave an encouraging smile.

After his clothes disappeared he held you by your waist, walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed. You quickly hurried to scale the mattress until your head hit the pillows.

“God,” Spencer gulped. “This is so much better than what I imagined.” You giggled slightly. “As much as I appreciate your flattery, I want you to fuck me. Now.” You said it with such simplicity that his eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets at your crudeness.

He swallowed his shock. “Whatever the lady wants.”

He hurried to crawl over your leaning body; you cup his cheek in an act of haste, dragging him down to lay on top of you. His own hands didn’t stop their determined trail, tracing the soft planes of your plush body until he reached your wet cunt.

You whine loudly at the feeling of Spencer’s fingers stroking your damp slit.

“So responsive.” He murmured with delighted smirk. You go to say something snarky but you’re quickly cut off when he begins to rub tight circles on your clit. “‘M sensitive.” You gasp against his lips, your back arching and pressing further into him.

His body falls to the side, laying next to your naked one with a cheek balanced on his fist. “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first,” Spencer whispers into your ear. His ring finger entered your warmth slowly and he felt himself choke on his words. You mewled, a hand shooting up to tangle in his long, curly hair, the other grabbed at his wrist.

“Then, I’m gonna make you cum on my cock.” After a few experimental twists of his wrist, his middle finger joins the first. Your breathing speeds up with every movement of his digits. 

“Afterwards, ‘m gonna clean you up and take you out to eat.” Your brain could barely process what he was saying, but every word that left his mouth added to the swarming butterflies in your gut – which felt so juvenile seeing as though he was already knuckle deep inside you.

“And when we get home, I’m gonna eat this sweet pussy for dessert.” 

Your eyelashes were fluttering rapidly, your hips moving frantically on his fingers in an attempt to try and get him deeper. Spencer must have sensed what you needed, because with a few firm swipes on your sensitive clit sent you spiraling over the edge.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer… I - I -” Your gummy walls squeezed his digits, and the only thing keeping you grounded was the heat coming from his body.

“Wow.” You laughed breathlessly. “Wow indeed.” He mimics with the same amount of amusement.

“Are you okay to keep going?” He asks. 

“Are you kidding?” The look on his face was almost laughable, and you gave his naked chest an encouraging pat. “Hell yeah I’m good, how about you?”

“If I told you I could cum just from watching you, would you believe me?” You roll your eyes and snort. “We’ll find out later, loverboy. Get up here.”

He scrambles to get on top of you, but then stops. “Wait, wait,” He reaches behind your head and grabs a pillow. “Lift your hips up for me.” Your eyes go wide, because who in the fuck taught him that? Though you move a bit slowly through your surprise, he manages to get the soft thing under you, your lower back now elevated.

But all excitement dies out when he realizes there might be no protection, he looks like he could almost cry.

“It’s cool, Spence. I’m on the pill and I… I haven’t had sex with anyone in an embarrassingly long time.” You admit shyly, your eyes casting to the side nervously. “I’m clean too. I don’t really remember the last time I’ve had sex either.” 

You guys make eye contact and erupt into a fit of giggles, “To relearning the art of sexual intercourse then.” Spencer scrunches his nose up at your wording, but you don’t give him any time to retort because you’ve already placed two hands on his face, tugging his head down to kiss your smile-split lips.

He takes the time to kiss you for a moment before reaching down to line his dick up to your entrance. You both shiver at the sensation. You guys disconnect your lips to watch him enter you, your foreheads pressed together and breaths mingled in anticipation.

You moaned in unison when he slowly but surely seethed himself in you fully, and your body tensed at the long awaited intrusion. “Gimme a sec.” You gulped. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He panted.

You allowed yourself a moment to relax, brushing your fingers through his curls as a way to comfort Spencer as well. After taking a few more seconds to enjoy the raw, intimate moment between the two of you, you said, “Okay. Okay, I’m good.” 

Spencer licked his lips and rolled his hips tentatively, and your breath hitched. A string of whimpers were soon to follow with every drag of his cock against your sensitive inner walls, the leftovers of your previous orgasm leaving your body feeling electric.

Your mouth drops open into an ‘o’ shape when his tip brushes your g-spot.

“Right - right there Spence…good boy - fuck - good fucking boy.” 

The term of endearment was an accidental slip of the tongue, but it had frayed some nerve in his body, because the groan that left him was guttural and hungry.

“Say -” He huffs. “Say it again, please.” The pace of his thrusts speed up as he begs, and your nails drag down his back. “You’re my good boy, Spencie.” His eyes flutter shut at the praise and he doesn’t bother to be gentle anymore.

“Mphm! More - I need more.”

“Okay, okay.” He rushed to balance on his elbow so that his other arm could slip between the two of your bodies to rub at your clit. Your back arched, and Spencer all but throbbed inside of you, his balls tightening and threatening to cum right then and there; but ever the gentleman, he waited, his stomach sucked in tightly and his body jolting quivering.

“I - I’m gonna cum.” 

It didn’t take much to pull you into a kiss. It was sloppy, and messy, and lewd and all of those other wonderful synonyms. Spit dribbled down your chins and with one last hard thrust that almost sent you up the bed, you gripped onto the older man for dear life.

Everything went white as you came; your hearing, your vision, every single cognitive thought you had pretty much flew out the window.

It was Spencer gently wiping the sweat off of your brow that brought you back down to reality, your lungs finally opening up and expanding for that much needed air.

“Hey,” He cooed. “There you are.”

“Hi,” You sighed with a ditzy smile on your face.

There was a moment of silence before you said, “How about we save the oral for breakfast?” Spencer laughed, but nonetheless nodded in agreement. “That sounds perfect.”

“So, what’s for dessert then?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Hm…” You pondered for a moment. 

“How about ice cream?”

“I like ice cream.” But then he added, “But I like you more.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You groaned, covering your eyes, but your grin gave you away. “I like you too, I guess.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

#✰ ― meau's inbox ! #♡ ― nsfmeau ! #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size!reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader #fanfiction #smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid blurb #spencer cm #spencer reid cm #spencer criminal minds #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #cm fanfiction

[princessbrunette]

kitty!reader is feisty, so naturally — jj is always coming up with creative ways to keep her in check.

the first time he did it, it was played off as a joke. just jj being silly. nothing new. you were bickering, getting in your man’s face merely out of bored and irritation — something he was all too used to.

“stop being mean.” you hiss, narrowing your eyes up at him making him jab you at your waist before yanking you closer.

“oh i’m mean? for not lettin’ you play with my dick in public, i’m mean.” he deadpans, raising his eyebrows like he was accepting the challenge.

“yes. you’re rejecting me! i’ll bite you.” you threaten, raising an eyebrow.

“first of all — no the hell i’m not. second of all — go for it, knock yourself out. it don’t bother me, sweetcheeks.” he shrugs making you glare harder up at him like you’d be able to make him explode with just your eyes. “aw now i’m really scared.” he dramatises, rolling his eyes.

“you want scary? okay how’s this — next time you fuck me m’gonna keep riding it and riding it and not let you pull out so you knock me up.” you stand on the toes of your shiny black mary-janes, getting all in his face ‘til he was pushing your jaw away with a gentle hand and a smirk.

“then you better take that plan b and stop playing with me.” you feel the threat in his voice, very vaguely. like — he was subtly jabbing you not to say things like that if you don’t mean it.

“and if i don’t?” you pur, sharp nails digging into his shoulders making his eyes flutter as he tries to ignore it.

“oh? well — i’ll have’ta just —” he reaches round you and you think he’s going to give you a hard swat on your ass, but instead, his hands dive right down the back of your skirt, grabbing a fist of your cotton underwear and yanking them up— the sound of the fabric stretching to a near tear. you gasp, falling into his chest and erupting into giggles.

“jay! let go, stop!” you squeal and surprisingly he does, dropping the material with a smirk leaving it hanging out the back of your waistband stupidly. he gives your ass a tap before stepping away.

“yeah, s’what you get for messin’ with papa J— remember that. i got new antics now.”

you don’t take it much to heart, so you’re blindsided the next time it happens. it becomes a habit of his, one slither of an attitude and he’s fisting at whatever underwear you got on and yanking it up so hard it hurts, nearly lifting your damn feet off the ground. “what was that? huh? say sorry. go ‘head. say it.” he’ll chant in your ear, like some kind of high school bully in an 80s movie robbing you of your lunch money. it starts to become less funny very quickly, and more of a way to humiliate you — especially when he threatens to do it infront of the pogues. you bite out a response just a little too irritably and the hand that was resting on your lower back will slither down the back of your shorts, twisting his finger round the black lace of your panties.

“hm? repeat that real quick?” he’ll taunt just for you to hear and you’ll immediately shrink, shaking your head.

but much like any other punishment, you eventually find a way to enjoy it — rendering it useless to the blonde as he’d thought he’d finally found a way to keep you on a tighter leash. it’s one night in your bedroom that you’re rolling around with him play fighting on your bedroom floor when you just take it that little bit too far, sinking your teeth hard into his arm to get the upper hand.

“ah—” he immediately disarms you with a sharp slap on the cheek, disorientating you as you groan and fall onto your back on the floor, the fluffy rug tickling your arm as you rub at your cheek. he hovers over you. “awww, what? did that hurt?” he coo’s unsympathetically. “already told you mama, i only play nice if you do.” he dusts his hands off as you pout before he’s eyeing you, sprung with his usual ideas. “matter’a’fact…”

suddenly he’s flipping you to lay on your front making you squirm as you realise what’s coming. straddling the back of your legs, he flips up your skirt and uses two hands to pull your baby pink panties up your back making you wince and mewl.

“ow! stop it!” you complain as he smirks, tongue parked sadistically in the corner of his mouth.

“nuh-uh babydoll. you asked for it.”

you find a way to roll onto your front beneath him as he still hovers above your knees, lots of fighting spirit left in him as you grin up at him victoriously. however, he finds a way to wipe that smile off your face fast when he grips the front of your panties — barely noting the pretty cursive ‘Kitten’ scrawled across the front as he yanks it up the same way he’d usually do to the back.

his own evil grin falters when he looks up to see your expression, jaw dropped and brows knitted at the sensation. it was different, the fabric forced to slide right up against your clit. your hips twitch and knees fall open.

“wow— seriously? this shits doin’ it for you?” he’s amused, giving the panties a couple more rough tugs upwards making you squeak.

“jayj— qu—quit it…” you try to shift, but any wriggling of your hips only makes it worse as your boyfriend has you pinned, continuing to pull up and down.

“i know you’re not tellin’ me what to do, kittycat.” he ticks his head with faux disapproval, not seeming to want to stop any time soon. your breath hitches in your throat and your socked feet kick out.

“jj— really y—you have to— s’gonna… m’gonna—”

he laughs and it’s mean, leaning forward a little as he continues with his repetitive ministrations.

“yeah? can’t get those words out now, huh? shit babe, only you could cum in your pretty little panties just from being bullied.”

#jj maybank prompt #kitty!reader #the way it’s not that weird and i’m just dramatic

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: seven months after his defection, you run into dazai osamu by sheer chance. you know in your heart what you should do—traitors are to be disposed of, regardless of any previous relationship you might've had with them... but can you bring yourself to do what must be done? or will you be more driven by the questions you desperately need answered?

(wordcount: 7.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, angsty (i promiseeeee i have some happier ones coming up with pm!reader and pmzai), alcoholism, dazai is in a particularly bad mental state)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: this one was suchhhh a doozy. the third installment of my pm!reader & pm!dazai universe, this is why i had to retcon he's my collar because originally pm!reader didn't see him at all during the 4 years but i got the idea for this fic like 2 ?? weeks ago and it was too good to not use - tomorrow i think i'll put up the masterlist for it so you guys can see the chronology and planned installments

Against all odds, you run into Dazai Osamu seven months after his defection.

You should put a bullet in his skull. You watch absently from the mouth of the alley as the ex-Port Mafia executive groans, trying to push himself to his feet only to crash back onto the pavement, blood smeared across his face from a crooked nose and split lip, bile pooled on the ground where he’d landed.

Gross, you think, lip curling up in disgust as his lithe fingers smear through the vomit, blunt nails scraping against the pavement as he attempts to push himself up again but fails. His shoulders are heaving, breath slow and labored as he lets out another wretched sound, crumpling back to the ground. 

You click the safety off of your gun, pulling it out of your pocket as you quietly make your way deeper into the alley, over to where he’s still struggling to get off the ground. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence until he hits the ground hard again after nearly making it to his feet. This time, he falls onto his shoulder and gasps in pain as he rolls onto his back, blinking up blearily through glazed-over eyes that can hardly focus on you or the gun pointed at his head.

You should just get it over with, pull the trigger, and leave the body for cleanup to handle. It’d be a better fate than he deserves, cleaner and quicker than he’d ever give himself, and not even half as painful as it’ll be when the Port Mafia inevitably get their hands back on him. 

You’d be sparing him, really; it would be a mercy.

And it’s what is expected of you. Letting a traitor as high profile as Dazai Osamu go free when you have a clear chance to execute him would be more than enough to have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the torture chambers, body dumped in the river when the Port Mafia is done punishing you. 

But still, for some reason, your finger hesitates as you move to pull the trigger. 

“You…” His voice is so slurred that you can hardly make out coherent words, but you use his words as an excuse to bide even more time, curious to see what he’s going to say. You can smell the whiskey on him from where you’re standing, his skin is paler than it usually is, and you notice, idly, that the bandages on his right eye are gone and you wonder when he chose to shed them. “You’re not real.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. 

You pull the trigger. 

If he was sober, he would have expected the reaction from you and dodged the bullet, but he’s not sober, so his eyes fly open in shock as the bullet grazes his ear and embeds itself in the pavement next to his head. He doesn’t look any more sobered up by the pain, which you suppose is a testament to how drunk he really is, but he does look significantly more confused. 

“You shot me,” he says, pale lips parted as he stares up at you—too pale, you notice absently, brows furrowing a bit as you try to consider what to do.

“Yeah,” you say, voice rough with irritation. “Real enough for you?”

Dazai blinks, you don’t even think your words are registering and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. 

Get it over with, you tell yourself again, this time positioning your gun over his forehead. A clean kill. You won’t move it to the side at the last minute again. You remind yourself that this is what he deserves—he’s a traitor to the Port Mafia, to you. Killing him now would be a mercy compared to what the Port Mafia would do to him, compared to what he’d do to himself. 

He stares up at you, brown eyes wide and glassy. He parts his lips to speak but you can’t give yourself the same excuse; you don’t wait for his words this time. 

You pull the trigger again.

But Dazai is moving. He rolls over onto his side trying to push himself back to his feet and the bullet lodges right into the ground where his head had once been lying. You stare down at it in disbelief, gun falling to your side as your fingers start to feel a bit numb and clunky, breath catching as you realize what you’d almost just done—what you tried to do. 

Dazai makes it to his knees and he tries to reach out for you but you step back out of reach. His brows furrow before he keels over again, dry heaving now—there’s enough bile around him for you to realize he’s probably thrown up everything in his stomach and then some. He leans against the wall, the glassiness of his eyes spilling over his cheeks as he continues to dry heave but your gaze is still trained down on the ground where the bullet is embedded in the ground where his head had just been laying. 

You just tried to-

You think you’re the one who feels sick now. The dinner you’d had out with Chuuya and Kouyou rises to the back of your throat as you take another step away from Dazai. Your vision blurs as your gaze turns to him again, but instead of the tattered and vomit-stained clothes he’s wearing now, he’s back in the dark suit you’re accustomed to, crumpled on the ground still, but not because he’s drunk because he’s been wounded on a mission that he took on so you wouldn’t have to. 

You just tried to kill Dazai.

Dazai, who’s been your closest friend since the two of you were sixteen and at the center of the most violent conflict to rock Yokohama’s foundations. Entirely inseparable, forever entwined since the moment the two of you met; the type of instant click that most people could only ever dream of experiencing in their lives. 

You almost killed Dazai.

Dazai, who promised to put a bullet in Ace’s head if the man ever came near you again after he found out the newly promoted executive had insinuated putting one of his collars on you during a confrontation between the two of you. He knew that even he would face consequences for threatening another executive, that he would face even more if he dared to follow through with his threat, but he didn’t care and he had every intention of following through if it meant keeping you safe.

You would have killed Dazai if not for sheer luck. 

Dazai, who used to kiss you with trembling fingers and quivering lips, because for as much as his reputation as the Demon Prodigy had spread throughout the country, he was still just a teenage boy who’d never had his first kiss until the two of you got drunk on champagne after a successful mission when he made the mistake of admitting to you that he’s never kissed anyone before. The two of you’d spent the entire night giggling between chaste kisses, getting through just about two bottles of champagne before you started throwing up.

He held back your hair and laughed at you as you leaned over the toilet, miserable. But he was gentle with you in a way that Dazai Osamu is never gentle with anyone, fingers carding through your hair, rubbing absent circles on your back to soothe you as you choked over sobs and gags. 

Then there’s you. You, who not only a moment ago, looked down at him with your lip curling up in disgust, unable to hold your grimace at the way he laid in his own vomit. You lifted the barrel of your gun in his direction not once, but twice, and you pulled the trigger not once, but twice.

When you showed vulnerability to him, he showed you a type of tenderness that everyone thought was long lost to the notorious Demon Prodigy. 

When he finally shows vulnerability to you, you only show him cruelty in response.

You try to convince yourself that it’s different, that the circumstances are different now but the words ring hollow in your head, taking no root, because you think the circumstances shouldn't matter. This is Dazai. Dazai. There are no circumstances that justify executing him.

Your head spins and you take another step away, you don’t know where you dropped your gun and you don’t want to know. You don’t want to look at it. You don’t want to touch it. You’ll send someone else after it later. You blink, and for a moment, you can visualize what almost happened: you can see Dazai motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head and a bullet wound piercing through his forehead. You gag, pressing your hand to your mouth as you force back the bile that nearly comes up. 

“Wait,” Dazai garbles out, pushing off the wall toward you but he propels himself right into the ground again, face first, scraping his cheek on the concrete. “Don’t leave again.”

Again? The word nearly pulls you out of your daze, the bitterness that’s poisoned you for seven months returning with a vengeance as your eyes focus on him. 

Dazai, who left you without a word or a warning. Not even the slightest goodbye. He abandoned you like you meant nothing to him. 

“I need to-” he gags again as he pushes himself to his knees. He tries to reach forward again but his whole body sways, eyes half-rolling back as he tries to steady himself, on the verge of passing out. “I need to tell you this time. I need to-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, slumping back over onto the ground unconscious—in a puddle of his own blood and vomit, naturally. The logical part of you knows you should just leave him there. You’re already playing with fire by not executing him on the spot, but you also know if you leave him here, it’ll be as good as a death sentence. If he doesn’t die on his own from alcohol poisoning, then he’ll certainly be found by the Port Mafia patrols. You think Dazai is a fool for drinking so much so deep in Port Mafia territory, for not being careful enough to make sure he didn’t wander out in the open. 

He should know better. 

He does know better.

A part of you wonders if it was intentional, if he thought that he’d stumble into Port Mafia territory and he’d run into someone eager to lay claim to the fame of being Dazai Osamu’s executioner.

If that’s the case, he nearly got his wish—that thought alone almost sends you spiraling over the edge again, having to shove away more nausea. You force all thoughts of the Port Mafia and betrayal to the back of your mind as you fall to your knees next to him, gathering him up into your arms and pushing yourself back to your feet. He curls into you instinctively, even while unconscious, smaller than you remember, smearing blood and bile all over your suit. Your grip on him tightens, a shaky breath escaping your lips when you realize that this is the first time you’ve touched him since the night he left. 

You shake your head to clear your mind, desperately trying to focus. You can’t stay out in the open with him for long otherwise you’ll risk someone seeing you with him, and that’ll open a can of worms you’re not prepared to deal with.

You’ll drop him off somewhere safe, and then you’ll get back to base.

That’s all.

That is not all.

The safehouse in Sakae that the two of you would run to whenever you wanted to avoid Mori is just how you left it the last time you spent the night with him there over half a year ago. One of his jackets is still draped over the couch, one of your ties thrown haphazardly on the ground—you remember the night vividly, the way he smiled against your lips as he lead you into the back bedroom, stumbling over each other and fumbling with buttons as you tried to undress the other while walking to the room, high off the success of a mission that everyone had said would fail because the odds were so stacked against the two of you. Even Chuuya had laughed in your face when you said you’d take the mission, but you knew so long as Dazai had your back on it, it would work out in your favor. 

He’s woken up several times, you don’t even know what he’s saying in his incoherent babbles. Every time he wakes back up, he’s calling for you, stumbling out of the bed you laid him in after getting him cleaned up and crashing to the ground before he reaches the hall. It’s irritating, you have to go back to help him back into the bed every time and he starts babbling again, passing out before you can figure out what he’s saying. You finally had to move yourself into the back bedroom with him so he didn’t try to get up again.

You don’t know why you’re still here. 

You lean your forehead against your hand as you sit on the bed next to where he’s lying, one leg tucked beneath you while the other hangs over the side. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want him to get up drunk trying to look for you and then crack his head open, but it’s a weak excuse because Dazai Osamu is not your issue anymore. It’s not your job to watch over him when he gets shit-faced drunk, it’s not your job to patch him up when he gets hurt, it’s not your job to look out for him. 

He left you, not vice versa, You don’t owe him anything. He lost that privilege when he betrayed you. Fuck the Port Mafia, he betrayed you when he left without a word. You deserved better than that. You deserved a goodbye. You don’t owe him shit. You should leave him here to rot in his own vomit and blood but-

But you won’t.

Your gaze drifts back over to him. He’s still out cold—cleaner now, because it had never just been ‘get him somewhere safe and then go back to the base,’ as soon as you got him into the safehouse you wrangled him into the bathroom to clean him up. He was uncharacteristically pliant as you manhandled him into the shower. You suppose it was because he was unconscious for half of it but even for the moments where he was awake and blearily blinking the water out of his eyes, looking up at you through wet bangs with those stupid big eyes of his, as if he was still unsure if you were actually there.

Instinctively, you reach out to brush the back of your knuckles against his swollen, split lip, wondering if it was just from him being clumsy while drunk or if he’d managed to piss someone off at a bar. Both are equally likely—Dazai is a rather cantankerous drunk when he’s alone and drunk on whiskey, and even after cleaning him up and dousing him in soap to get out the reeking scent of his vomit out from where it’d sunken into his skin, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth to brush his teeth and scrubbing so they don’t rot from the bile, you can still smell the whiskey on his breath.

You wonder how much he drank. His skin is still pale, his breath shuddered, and he’s shivering even though you wrapped him in three thick blankets. Some degree of alcohol poisoning, that’s for sure. You tell yourself that’s why you’re not leaving—you don’t want to leave before you’re sure he’s pulled through the worst of it. You’re not going to admit to yourself that you don’t want to leave because you’re worried it’ll be the last time you see him for real this time. 

You hesitate right before your knuckles brush his skin, swallowing thickly before you withdraw your hand back into your lap, eyes sliding shut as you sigh.

What the hell are you doing?

If anyone from the Port Mafia knew what you were doing right now, you’d be hunted down right alongside him, branded as a traitor and sentenced to death. Chuuya would kill you if he knew what you were doing right now—and not because you betrayed the Port Mafia by helping Dazai, instead because you’re a fucking idiot. You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your life, but this might take the cake for the stupidest, sticking your neck out for someone who didn’t even care enough to tell you goodbye. 

You rub your forehead, tired. You try to summon the anger you felt when you first found out he betrayed the Port Mafia from Mori and Chuuya—from the hot fury you felt in the direct aftermath, screaming and breaking everything you could get your hands on as you cursed his name and burned everything he left in your apartment to the cold rage you felt when you finally calmed down, bitter and lonely and betrayed by the one person you never thought would betray you—but you can’t. And you think it’s pathetic because what use is all of that anger if you can’t utilize it when the reason for it is lying right before you?

If Chuuya were here right now, he’d drag you out by the hair and leave Dazai to suffer on his own. You left your phone in the kitchen after turning off your location, because he was already buzzing incessantly wondering where you are. You’d told him that you wanted to stop by one of the fishing ports in Kanazawa to check on a small weapons shipment that should’ve arrived earlier in the night before heading back to your shared apartment—you’d moved in with him after Dazai’s betrayal. He made the executive decision himself, not giving you a choice in the matter because he realized that you living on your own in the apartment that Dazai had practically moved into with you was not conducive to you healing from his betrayal.

Plus, you think he was lonely too without Dazai around anymore, but he’d never admit that.

You should’ve been back an hour ago. You’re sure that he’s getting suspicious and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to track you down. You don’t think he knows about this safe house in particular, Dazai had threatened you with piling up mission reports onto you if you told him about this one, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Chuuya learned about it through other means—somehow, he always seems to know everything. 

You sigh again, heavier this time as you try to figure out what to do. You know what you should do, but you also know you’re not going to do that. Your gaze drags back over to him and your breath catches when you realize he’s awake again, bleary brown eyes trained on you, brows furrowed. 

His lips part to speak again and you tense, waiting for whatever he has to say, unsure if you’ll even understand it.

“You… came with me. You never come with me. Are you… really here?” 

Even though his eyes are still glazed over and muddled, his voice is less garbled than it was before. You think that’s a good sign, but even so, you let out an even heavier sigh, this one more irritated, and a bit confused because you don’t even know what that means: you never come with me. 

“Yes, Dazai,” you say sharply, but then you let out a puff of air. The same memories that hit you before coming right back to you, remembering all of the nights Dazai would stay up having to take care of you, patient in a way that he never was with anybody. You soften your voice a bit as you say, “Yes. I’m here.”

Dazai looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. He blinks once slowly, then his brows furrow deeper and his lips turn downward.

“You don’t call me Dazai.” He speaks the accusation slowly, as if to make himself sound more coherent, but you can still hear the clear slur in his voice. “You never-”

You turn away because if you don’t, you think you might lose your temper. He’s drunk, you remind yourself, but he’s still ripping open wounds that never properly healed, because how dare he expect you to still call him by his given name after everything. It had taken months for you to get used to calling him Dazai again and-

You feel your chest start to cave in again and your throat spasms. Your eyes flutter shut and god, you want to hate him. You thought you did hate him, you convinced yourself of it in all of the bitter rage and acidic betrayal you’ve felt the past seven months but now that you’re confronted with him again, you know that it was never hate. You could never hate Dazai Osamu. You'd just missed him so terribly that the pain was easy to mistake as hate; love and hate has always been a treacherously thin line, and Dazai more than anyone else wavers on either side of it.

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap from your chest and crawl right back to him, you have to physically place your hand over your chest as if to hold it in place, to make sure the traitorous thing can’t go back to the very man that tore it shreds. You force yourself to breathe, in and out, steady, trying to settle down. 

This was a mistake, you realize, this was a mistake. 

Just as you’re about to push yourself up, you feel lithe fingers curl around your arm. You freeze, not even daring to glance back at Dazai. You can hear him pushing the covers off of him as he crawls closer to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His movements are unsteady, and you can’t bring yourself to push him off of you when you feel him slump against your back.

His weight is familiar, comforting in a way that it shouldn’t be. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that you’re back at the Port Mafia base seven months ago and Dazai is draping himself across your back, complaining about being overworked by Mori and trying to convince you to take over his paperwork. You’d have to drag him halfway across the base trying to get to your office with his dead weight hanging onto you, you remember all of the wary stares from your subordinates as they try not to let their gaze linger on the two of you but let their curiosity get the best of them regardless.

You hate that you don’t push him off right away, that you’re letting yourself indulge in his touch again. You’ve moved on from this—from him. It’s been seven months. You’re over all of this.

“You… understand, don’t you?” 

You barely hear the words muffled against your back, but you do and you can’t help but stiffen at them. He shifts against you, fingers biting into your skin as he pulls himself up a bit more to bury his face in the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist as he leans all of his weight onto your back. You can feel his breath warm and shuddered against your neck, making your hair stand on end, and his hands are limp in your lap now, fingers brushing against the material of the clean slacks you’d pulled on after getting Dazai showered.

It’s all so familiar that it could make you sick.

“How could I?” you ask bitterly, even though you know you shouldn’t take out your resentment on him while he’s so drunk; he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning anyway. There’s no point, you’ll just be wasting your energy.

His arms tighten around you, breath hitching against your skin. “I had to, Odasaku-”

The noise you let out is such a sharp scoff that you can feel Dazai flinch behind you. You almost shove him off of you but you refrain, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. You never really had any feelings about Odasaku—he was always just there, you heard about him from Dazai occasionally and he seemed pleasant enough the few times you encountered him—but after all of this, you can’t help but hold a grudge against him, irrationally blaming him for Dazai leaving you.

“Odasaku wasn’t your only friend,” you say tightly. “You had me. Chuuya. You-”

“It’s not the same,” Dazai protests, clinging to you as if he hadn’t just driven a knife right through your back into your heart. 

This time you do shove him off, barely sparing him a glance as he lets out a surprised yelp, sprawling back onto the bed. You push away the mistiness that threatens your eyes, breathing in and out slowly to try to keep yourself calm. It’s not the same, you repeat his words, bitterness poisoning your blood and clouding your head. What the fuck does that even mean? You know logically you should take his words with a grain of salt, that he’s so drunk he probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but you just feel so angry that it’s hard for you to keep that in mind. 

You hear him scrambling behind you: a thump as he hits the floor hard and then a rush of movement as he pushes himself to his knees. His fingers curl around your ankle before you can get further away and you have a half a mind to kick him off of you and leave.

You don’t.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads. He drags himself to his knees, pulling at your pants and it takes all of your self-control to not look back down at him. “I didn’t-it came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?” you ask him, even though you by all means should not even bother to hear his shitty explanation.

“I just-I didn’t mean it like that.” You’ve never heard Dazai’s voice crack before, but it does now. “Don’t leave. I miss you.”

“You miss me?” you spit out, and you finally turn to look down at him—a mistake, of course, because he’s on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those stupid, big brown eyes and you almost let your anger fizzle away at the sight of it. He’s drunk, you remind yourself again, but it doesn’t stop you from snapping at him. “You left me, Dazai. You have no right to miss me.”

“But I do.” His fingers fumble for your hand, grabbing one of yours with both of his. “I miss you so much, I think about you all the time.”

His lashes flutter, fingers brushing along your forearm as he presses his lips to your knuckles and then to your pulse point before leaning forward to rest his forehead on your thigh. You can’t even look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the wall, because your lashes feel wet and heavy and you know that you’ll give into him if you look at him now and he doesn’t deserve that.

“I couldn’t go to you before I left,” Dazai whispers and he sounds oddly coherent now even though you know he’s not. “I would’ve asked you to come with me.”

For some reason, that hurts worse than if he’d just admitted he didn’t care enough to say goodbye. Because what does that even mean, I would’ve asked you to come with me, would that have been so bad? He didn’t want you with him? Why wouldn’t he have wanted you with him? If you had left, he would’ve been the first person you ran to, begging him to come with you.

“How terrible that would’ve been,” you say, and you’re proud that your voice remains cold and steady, not betraying the hurt ripping through your chest.

“I wouldn’t have been able to handle it,” he says, voice breaking over a hiccup. “Odasaku had just died and-”

He cuts himself, and you dare to look down at him when you feel him lift his face from your thigh. You regret it immediately. Glassy, glazed-over eyes beg for you to understand, and you scare yourself because you want to understand when he shouldn’t even matter to you anymore. You’ve moved on. You have. It’s been seven months. He left you without a word. So why do you care so much for what he has to say right now?

“You wouldn’t have come with me,” he says, shaking his head. “You would’ve said no. You never would have chosen me over the Mafia.”

Your lips part to deny the allegations, to say that of course, you would have come with him, but the words fizzle out before they even form on your tongue because-

“You can’t even bring yourself to deny it, can you?” Dazai asks, and although he sounds more cogent now, you can’t help but notice that he’s starting to look sick again, the back of his throat making that faint clicking sound it always makes when he’s about to throw up. “You never would have chosen me.”

You would choose Dazai Osamu over a lot of things. You would choose to save his life before yours if put in the position, and you would choose to trust him over anyone else in the whole world. You’d follow him to the depths of hell and deep into the shadows, until your blood is black and corrupted and you’re entirely irredeemable, but you can’t follow him into the light. 

You can’t choose him if it means betraying the Port Mafia. With his defection, the two have become mutually exclusive: Dazai or the Port Mafia, there’s no way of having both anymore. The boy you’ve come to love or the only home you’ve ever known. The only family you’ve ever had. A shitty family maybe, but a family nonetheless. If you don’t belong with the Port Mafia, you don’t belong anywhere on this earth, and as someone who’s always had a desperate fear of alienation, the thought makes you sick.

You stare at him, throat tight, and then you say, colder than you intend for it to come across, “... If that’s really why you didn’t say goodbye, then I’m glad you didn’t put me in that position.”

The expression that crosses Dazai’s face is something caught between ruin and shock—and you can’t help but wonder if he held out hope, thinking maybe he was wrong in his assumptions. That there had been a chance that you might’ve chosen him if he’d given you the option. That he’s been living his life in the what-ifs for the past seven months and now that he’s finally gotten the chance to bare his heart to you, you’ve crushed it.

Your chest tightens, your throat spasms and it takes all your self-control to not immediately take back the words, regret flooding you so intensely that it nearly makes you physically stumble. Because it’s true, you never would have picked Dazai over the Mafia, but he didn’t have to know that—especially not now, when he’s drunk and vulnerable in a way that he’s never allowed himself to be before.

You hope, for his sake and your conscience, that he doesn’t remember any of this in the morning.

His lips part to respond again but his hand is flying to his mouth instantly, doubling over, and you’re cursing, reaching for the trash bin you’d brought into the bedroom and falling to your knees next to him, helping him kneel upright and holding the trash bin in front of him as he starts gagging again.

“I would’ve-” He’s still trying to talk through the bouts of nausea, gasping over air, body trembling as he leans into you for balance.

You don’t want to hear what he has to say.

“Dazai-”

“I would’ve chosen you,” he finally forced out, voice breaking over the words and you’re not sure if it’s a sob or another heave that escapes his lips as he continues. “If the positions were reversed, I would’ve chosen you.”

Oh.

The words echo in your head so loudly that it makes you want to cover your ears even though you know it won’t do anything. You want to accuse him of lying, tell him that he’s full of shit and just trying to make you feel guilty, but you don’t think he’s capable of lying right now and you don’t think this is anything Dazai would have ever admitted to you if he was sober. He guards his heart more carefully than anyone you’ve ever met—in the two and a half years you’d known him, he never admitted he cared about you. You knew it just from how he treated you, but you think he might’ve ripped his own tongue out before actually admitting it.

You wrap an arm around him as his whole body shudders through another gag and he tries to push you off—angry, upset, you don’t know what he might be feeling because you’ve never seen him like this before—but your arm only tightens around him and Dazai crumbles.

He heaves again, clutching the small garbage can to his face as he throws up all of the water you’d managed to get in him before he passed out earlier. Tears spill over his cheeks, his face is pale and his lashes are fluttering again, on the verge of passing back out. You swallow thickly as he leans into you, letting him collapse into your chest after he’s finished vomiting.

“Will-” he tries to say, but his voice is slurred and weak. He’s desperately trying to stay conscious, you can tell, but he’s fighting a losing battle. “Will you be here in the morning?”

No.

You don’t want to say it, you think you’ve done enough damage for the night, but there’s no need. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dazai is slumping over unconscious, head laying limp on your arm, lashes brushing his cheek. You sigh as your grip around him tightens before you adjust him in his arms to carry him back into the bed, laying him comfortably beneath the covers.

You don’t linger for long after that. After another hour or two passes and Dazai doesn’t wake up again, you make your way back into the bedroom, raising your hand to his face to brush away the dark locks in his eyes before cupping his cheek. Even in his sleep, he leans into your touch, and it makes your chest feel so agonizingly tight that you think you might be having a heart attack.

You lean down to press your lips to his forehead, to his nose, and then to his lips, indulging yourself one last time. Your forehead rests against his as you consider your words—there are a million things you’d like to say to him before you leave, but you don’t have nearly enough time to get them all off of your chest.

Instead, you tell him softly, “I hope you don’t remember any of this in the morning.” You don’t move your hand from where it’s caressing his cheek as you stand straight again, thumb drawing absent circles on his skin. Your voice is thick with emotion, eyes welling with tears that don’t spill over. “We’ll meet again one day.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a hangover so bad that he thinks he might die.

He sits up in bed and is instantly groaning, hand flying to his forehead as his brain throbs inside of his skull. He needs to figure out where he is—the last thing he remembers is…

The bar?

His eyes slide shut as he tries to think, but it only makes his head hurt more. He flops back onto the bed, arms splayed out. He still feels nauseous, he can feel it rising to his throat and he desperately does not want to throw up again—it’s one thing vomiting when he’s too drunk to remember, it’s an entirely different thing to vomit while he’s sober and conscious. 

Dazai thinks he might rather die. 

He lets out a heavy sigh as he begs the nausea to go away, breathing in and out deeply. He lifts his hand to brush a lock of hair away from where it’s tickling his ear and-

Ouch.

Dazai’s eyes fly open again, confused now, as he rips his hand away from where he’d touched his ear to stare up at the ceiling. He’s used to waking up with odd injuries after a night of blacking out at whatever bar will still have him, but his ear is a particularly strange place to be wounded, isn’t it?

Driven by curiosity now, he forces himself into a sitting position, and it’s only when he pushes himself out of bed, does he finally start to recognize the room he’s in. His lips part in a distinct mixture of shock and confusion as he looks around the room slowly, making his way over to the mirror.

The safehouse in Sakae?

His chest feels heavier instantly, and a tight feeling rises to his throat as he catches sight of an old jacket of yours draped on the desk chair, the one that had ripped during the last mission you went on together—just the way you left it the last time the two of you were here. A pair of his old dress shoes are lying haphazardly outside the closet door, he’s sure that if he peeks into the closet, all of your suits will be hanging there because you refused to share the closet with him so all of his spares are stuffed in the dresser. Dazai suddenly feels sick again and he doubts it’s from the hangover this time.

How did he get here?

He needs another drink desperately.

But first… Dazai leans over the dresser to look into the mirror—a bit dusty after so many months with no one stopping in—he lifts his hand to brush his hair behind and then-

What?

His jaw drops and his brows furrow, his fingers graze over where the top of his ear used to be, only to find the whole upper quarter of it missing. 

What the fuck? He mouths as he stares at the missing cartilage, and then he looks back around the room, and just as his eyes catch a trash bin that should be in the bathroom, his vision blurs, and his head is aching. He’s suddenly stumbling down an alley, he’s lying in a puddle of his own vomit, unable to stand up straight. He can hear someone approaching and he knows he should get up, find some dumpster or crevice to wait out the night until he’s sober enough to get the fuck out of the heart of the Mafia’s territory in Yokohama, but he can hardly move.

He can lift his head from the pavement just enough to-

Just enough to see you.

Dazai can hardly cope with the emotions that rattle his chest. Longing, because he’s missed you so terribly the past seven months. Disbelief, because you shot his fucking ear off. And… and Dazai isn’t quite sure what the other emotions are. They’re heavy and light at the same time, his chest feels bubbly but his ankles feel chained—it’s a weird mixture of hope and dread, he thinks, because the safehouse is eerily quiet, seemingly void of any life other than Dazai himself, but the chance that you might still be here…

“Will you be here in the morning?”

The faint memory of the last words he spoke before he passed out the last time rings through his head, and his feet drag against the ground as he forces himself to move from the bedroom into the main room of the safe house. His fingers hesitate against the wood of the door—scared that he’s going to open it and you won't be there, scared that he’s going to open it and you will be there. He doesn’t remember the things he said to you last night, but he knows that he’d been staring at old pictures the two of you took before he blacked out. He can hardly imagine the things he might’ve said to you when given the chance.

It takes all of his strength and all of his willpower to push open the door. 

It takes even more to actually step out of the bedroom.

The safe house is empty.

You’re nowhere to be found.

Dazai’s feet are moving before he’s fully even registered what’s happening.

He makes his way into the kitchen to rummage around for another bottle for him to drown away his sorrows, but he doesn’t pull out the untouched bottle of his favorite whiskey he knows is sitting in the cabinet—he goes straight for the wine fridge. He nearly shatters three bottles of whites before he finally gets his hands on your favorite red, the one you’d asked him to stock up in there for you three days before he left, knowing that the two of you had a mission coming up and you’d be celebrating here, as always. Not knowing that he’d have betrayed you by then. 

He struggles to uncork it, the frustration causing his headache to return with a vengeance. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to finally get the bottle open, but when he does, he brings it to his lips immediately, eyes sliding shut as he downs a few generous gulps.

The taste is familiar. Pleasant. It makes his heart ache with such an intense longing for you that it nearly makes him throw up.

He can almost imagine that he’s tasting it off of your lips instead.

He leans over the counter, elbows digging into the marble as he tries to push away the ugly feelings ripping apart his chest. He can’t. He never can. He hasn’t been able to since the day he left you behind seven months ago. He can only numb it.

With a hand closed around the neck of the bottle, Dazai slides down the cabinet to sit on the ground. His cheeks feel wet, but he doesn’t dare lift his hand to acknowledge the tears sliding down them.

Instead, he lifts the bottle to his lips again and drowns himself in the memories of you for another night. 

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #dazai angst #bsd angst #bungo stray dogs angst

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Megumi falling in love for the first time?

Attempts at Friendship are Unappreciated

Synopsis: Megumi doesn’t have a need for friends, let alone a lover. But upon getting his first crush, he learns some new things about himself, like maybe he cares more than he thinks.

pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x GN!Reader

content warning: SFW, potential friends to lovers, Megumi sorting out his feelings sort of stuff because cynical, overthinker Megumi is my favorite Megumi.

If you were to ask Megumi, he didn’t have any need for friends. And he has been asked before by people like Gojo and his sister. The answer was always the same. He prefers being alone. People were too complicated. Too selfish. Too good. Too everything, really. And he was, well, himself.

Even after arriving at Jujutsu High, it’s still unnerving to him to have someone talk to him so earnestly, like his eyes weren’t permanently fixed with irritation, like he wasn’t constantly avoiding others, like he didn’t wear indifference like a new fur coat in the height of winter.

Itadori was an unexpected exception. An outburst of emotion intravenously linked him to the other boy, the golden strings of their destinies twined and knotted together on Fate’s spinning wheel.

You, on the other hand, have no reason to befriend him. He’s never had anything to offer others in return for their company, which never bothered him until he met you.

Megumi questioned what it was about you that allows you to get so close. So, he lets you talk, chattering his ear off in the covered walkway hosting the vending machines.

He studies you inch by inch, searching for something in the bright expression on your face and the crinkle of your eyes when you smile; he still doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for. Your motive – the reason for wanting to talk to someone like him?

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask.

“I don’t have one.”

It may sound like a rude dismissal of your question but it's the truth, the painfully boring truth. He’s never put much thought into trivial things like that. The fact settles heavily in his stomach and rings hollow in his chest like when his sister said he’d never learn to make friends if he didn’t put himself out there.

Back then, Megumi pretended not to have heard her. In truth, it bothered him when she said it, only for the feeling to quickly fade away before he even left school that day. That strange void he felt back then always seems to resurface at the worst of times.

“Would you say that you like black or silver better? How about blue?”

Megumi looks down and plays with the tab on his orange juice can, avoiding the thing about you that makes him want to hear you talk. Megumi has no need for friends. Attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.

“They’re all fine,” he grumbles out. It’s the maximum he allows.

Megumi doesn’t have a type. It’s another one of those trivial things he’s never bothered to think about until his head was literally cracked through the pavement.

He knows all about types though, and he knows as much as he cares about romance from the bad to the good. Sweaty palms, blushing faces, pounding hearts were all reoccuring themes in his books.

Megumi never thought he’d have romantic feelings for anyone, no matter how fleeting. He reckons he isn’t capable of it. He just isn’t wired that way.

It’s comforting in a sense. It means he didn’t have to worry about attachments. Sure, he loves his sister, and Gojo, well, he cares for his benefactor, but he’s never considered the older man someone he felt okay investing all his feelings into. People his own age were complicated enough; adults were worse, his father was worse; the little he remembers anyway.

When he thinks about the way he met Gojo who too conveniently saved him from the Zen’in clan in exchange for becoming his student, it’s hard for him to let his trust flow purely even after all this time; even when Gojo took it upon himself to do Megumi favors like putting Itadori's room right next door (another thing Megumi didn't appreciate).

Megumi blames his long-seated resentment for the reason his heart starts to work overtime the day you present friendship bracelets to everyone. They’re fancy; many steps above the cheap kind that you’d find at some discount convenience store with plastic alphabets and random beads and symbols. He assumes a couple of the pieces might be real.

Kugisaki’s is green, shining on her wrist like emeralds. Megumi thinks it suits someone like Kugisaki, who would undoubtedly love to be covered in jewels. Itadori has a similar one, rotating with a pattern of red and opaque white pieces.

Standing in that hall, drowning out the conversation between Kugisaki and Itadori about who has the prettier bracelet, Megumi realizes he’s next.

It starts when you step in front of him; there’s a cautious tone to your voice when you say his name because you already know: attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.

It's with a roll of anxiousness, the one that always comes with the mystery of whether his exchange with someone will be positive or negative and the skeptic thought in his head that reminds him most people always want something in return, that makes him throw up a wall.

“These probably aren’t your thing but I made one for you too,” you preface. “I hope you like it. I wasn’t really sure what to put on it so I made some guesses.”

You’re right. Friendship bracelets aren’t his thing; needing a token like a bracelet to prove your relationship to someone is asinine. It’s against what is supposed to make a friendship special. Strong friendships should need no words, right?

Most importantly, he doesn’t need it, and there’s no reason for you to give him one.

“You keep it,” he starts. However, it’s already too late as you grab his arm and slide the trinket over his hand.

“I don’t—” he starts again; there’s a bit of surprise in the way you look at him, the way everyone stops and looks at him actually. This quickly becomes one of those times where it’d be easier to go with the flow than to fight the current. “Fine.” He clears his throat. “Only because you already made it,” he explains more fully, stifling the embarrassment that wants to bubble from his chest with so much attention.

Like before, he finds himself too focused on watching you, the way your eyes soften from surprise and rejection to shining stars. He thinks this must be how the protagonists in those books feel when heat creeps up their neck. Those books also left him sorely unprepared that it would go past neck to his face and ears.

He breaks away from the situation, finding a way to retreat into the background to shield himself from the gooey feeling permeating the air. He drops his gaze to his arm, focusing on the bracelet with his name accompanied by a repetition of blue and silver, connecting the two—four—of you together.

Megumi fixes his sleeve over the bracelet, but he can’t hide how painfully aware he is of the charms rolling against his skin.

It was both a pleasant feeling and completely alien.

It broke.

Megumi was a bit reckless against a low-level curse, and it broke. He didn’t even realize it until after the battle was over and one of the silver charms were rolling under his foot.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was bound to happen eventually considering this line of work. Yet, he still picked up the few pieces he could separate from the gravel, and the entire ride home his wrist feels unreasonably bare.

Thinking about how he messed up makes him annoyed at himself, especially when he wonders what you’d think if you noticed he wasn’t wearing it. You’d probably think he tossed it somewhere; that he didn’t like it. He liked it. The same way he likes to listen to you talk on car rides home after missions or when you ask him to hang out with you and the others or when you read all the books he recommends with the protagonists that are quickly becoming too relatable with every skipped heartbeat and tongue-tied word. He’s frustrated to acknowledge why that’s the case.

It’s only been three months since the start of the school year, he thinks. It took only three months for his thoughts to start drifting to his classmates, with you almost always center stage in them.

When he arrives back at the school, he finds your room and knocks on your door. He shows you what little remains of the gift you gave him, as if he needs to immediately absolve himself of any wrongdoing.

“Do you want me to make you another one?” you ask cautiously.

Megumi can guess why you’re hesitant considering he only accepted your gift because of peer pressure. He still believes gifts like this are silly and unnecessary.

But…

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

He wants it.

So, he goes into your room where he watches you begin the process of making him another bracelet. You ask him which accessories he would prefer, and like always he doesn’t have much preference other than what you think is best. As long as it isn’t too silly, of course.

He gives his undivided attention to how your fingertips pour over your work kit and the many square boxes filled with different miniature shapes before you carefully pick out one with a little dog face.

“I think this one is good,” you whisper to yourself before continuing your search for another complementing bead.

You smile as you work. It’s nice. Cute even as you bite down on your lip in concentration; and right now, he isn’t quite sure what to do with that information other than note the way it makes his palms feel clammy especially when he notices your eyes lift back up to his.

Megumi notices a lot about you actually. He notices how you always go out your way to get his, well, everyone’s opinion on everything. He notices that whenever you share your snacks with everyone that you always save ginger for him. He notices how your gaze lingers on him when you ask if everyone is in one piece after difficult missions. He also notices how your finger stops over a silver square, one with a little black heart carved in each side. He wonders, perhaps too hopefully, if the charm is just one you think he’d like or if it means more than that.

“Why do you always keep trying to talk to me?” he asks, fighting the urge to beg you to stop getting stuck in his mind so much.

Your head snaps up from what you’re doing.

“What do you mean? We’re teammates,” you answer simply.

“Aren’t missions enough? We don’t need to interact aside from that.”

You pinch your eyebrows at him, and there’s a frown on your face. “Sure we do.”

“There’s no reason.”

It’s not like he ever saved your life, not like Itadori. It’s not like he has a somewhat familial relationship with you, like Gojo. You’re not his sibling or his parent; he’s not the friendlist either so there’s no reason to try to get closer any more than necessary, and there’s no reason for him to be feeling so nervous right now.

“How about because I like talking to you? I think you’re pretty funny, and you’re a kind person.” You shake your head, laughing. “I don’t know. I just like being friends with you.”

Megumi doesn’t know what he was expecting. Some deep explanation why you keep trying to get close to him? Some selfish excuse from you that he could use to warrant pushing you away. A reason to justify why he likes you so much? A reason to hope you like him just as much?

Maybe.

There doesn’t need to be some special reason for you wanting to be his friend, which means he doesn’t really need a reason either.

“I see.”

“Finished,” you say, holding out his newly made bracelet to him. “I poured some of my cursed energy into it, so it won’t break so easily next time.”

Megumi feels calm once again when he feels the weight and roll of the beads on his skin again; the aura of your curse energy humming through it makes the connection back to you much more noticeable.

“What about me?” you ask, drawing his attention. “Do you like being friends with me?”

Megumi can’t answer that, not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because he feels like his tongue weighs more than lead as you lean closer into him.

His eyes find your lips, soft and parted. This is the first time he’s gotten the urge to kiss someone. It makes his stomach whirlwind, and he quickly finds a way to answer you without having to look at you as he picks at one of the charms.

“Can I make you one?”

The next morning, Megumi decides to go out with you and the others for breakfast, which in hindsight was a mistake as Itadori points out the new accesory you’re wearing on your wrist.

“Hey, you got one too now.”

You smile, holding it up proudly. “Megumi made it for me!”

“Megumi?!” Itadori blurts out.

“Made it for you?” Nobara asks with raised eyebrows and a hand on her hip.

“He did a really good job.”

It’s like the time before when you first gave them their gifts, and everyone is looking at him again. “I didn’t do anything special; a monkey could do it,” he mumbles out.

Itadori is the first to crack a laugh followed by Kugisaki. Then, the two of them start muttering and teasing him in unison.

“He’s so modest,” Itadori points out.

“Loverboy,” Kugisaki whispers.

“Can we call you Megumi too?” Itadori asks.

Megumi doesn’t have the patience to consider whether the other boy is being genuine or not as he grits his teeth and growls out a quick “shut up” before konking Itadori on the head to prove his point. It’s enough to make them leave him alone for now as Itadori accidentally trips into Kugisaki from the force.

“That was completely unnecessary, Fushiguro,” Kugisaki grumbles as she pushes Itadori off and stands back to her feet.

Megumi sighs.

This is why he doesn’t want friends.

“Did you just sigh at me!”

“If that’s what you heard,” he tells her.

“You better sleep with both eyes open!”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Yet if it’s those two then he guesses having friends isn’t completely unbareable.

Suddenly, Megumi loses focus at the timbre of your laugh.

“You guys are starting early today.”

You’re still laughing at them, harder now actually, and it’s precious. He throws his gaze to the wall as if he’s ignoring Kugisaki and not trying to hide the heat blooming on his cheeks when you glance at him, making him aware that he’s the reason for your laughter.

Megumi shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls his thumb over the bracelet and the heart you left behind there.

Friendship is something he’s coming around to. Having a crush for the first time, well, he still needs work on figuring that out. 

#megumi fluff #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[tiredfox64]

May i make a request? So pretty much fem reader is a a kill for hire, (with morals) no innocents etc) and liu kang sand either bi han kuai and smoke, or kung lao and raiden, to recruit her, they watch,as she asks all bubbly and sweet to lure in her tagret only to kill them easily, posion or something?. They ofc fall in love XD

She Would Hurt A Fly

Prior notes: You not one of my opps trying to convict me of something, right? FBI already trying to get me after my constant research on Datura. Don’t put me in jail for making a murder scene 👁️👁️.

Pairing: Lin Kuei Bros x Afab reader

Warnings‼️: Violence but you will learn something about pigs.

“You want us to fetch…her?” Bi-Han asked with uncertainty.

All the brothers looked down at a picture of you that was given to them by Liu Kang. No offense but you seem like some ordinary person. But according to Liu Kang you are a tricky woman who is a fierce killer. That can’t be right.

“She looks so sweet though.” Tomas said.

“Do not judge, lest ye be judged.” Liu Kang replied.

“You said she was an assassin that can be hired? If you have the Lin Kuei at your side, why would you need someone else like her that you have to pay for?” Kuai Liang had a point.

“Though true that I have your clan by my side, she can do something none of you were trained to do. I don’t question the Lin Kuei’s abilities but I need someone with her unique expertise.”

Liu Kang’s words only fueled their curiosity even more. Bi-Han was somewhat upset with the god for thinking that he needs someone else other than his clan. But if his words are true he wants to see it for himself. So they’ll accept this quest to get you. They won’t act immediately however. They need to see if you are truly needed. What can you do that is so different?

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Target acquired. Your target: a lowlife scum who is somehow let free after committing his heinous crime. People talk, and they all think he somehow paid the judge for his freedom. Some even think he had the justice system by the balls way earlier than when he committed the crime. And you were hired to kill him in any way you see fit. You would have done this job for free but your clients insisted that you deserve the pay. Work your magic girl! You have an audience with you now that you don’t even know about.

Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas hide in the bushes and behind trees to keep an eye on you. It looked they were just stalking a poor woman who was having some car problems in front of her farm home. You could have fooled anyone.

“Should we help her?” Tomas asked.

“Do we look like mechanics, Tomas? Do us a favor and keep your mouth shut.” Bi-Han berated him.

“Settle down, brother. You are only irritated because she has not done anything yet. How about we approach her now and-“ Kuai Liang was cut off when he heard you yell out to someone. All their heads turned to see what you were going on about. Time for action.

You were waving over your target and started asking for help. You acted like a clueless damsel in distress. A poor woman who can’t get her truck to start working.

“Please sir, I need your help. My car is acting all strange. Please sir, I’d really appreciate it.” You gave him your sweetest voice while looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.

Who could say no to a face like yours. He accepted which made you jump for joy and clap your hands. That wasn’t fake you were just happy that he accepted in the first place, already making the job go smoothly. Your target had no idea what he was walking into. Hell, he even thought the same thing that you were making this too easy for him. It would be him who will fall victim to you.

You kept your act going. You asked dumb questions about the car and acted all sweet when he corrected you about something. Yet you were only pissing Bi-Han off even more. He wanted to yell at you to do something else. Kill him already. The brothers were all missing the point that this was how you do your. The fact is you lure your targets in. Give them a false sense of security before striking them down. They only know how to sneak up and strike when the opportunity opens up. You just have more patience than them. They don’t have to wait any longer because now you are striking.

You offered to get the man a drink for being so kind to you. He accepted of course. You were quick with getting him a cup and you passed it to him. He looked at you strangely as he looked down into the cup with blue liquid inside of it. He asked you what was inside. You reassured him it was just Calypso lemonade, nothing bad. Well, he trusted you. You built his trust up before, why would a sweet and bubbly lady like you mess with a man’s drink?

He gulped it down quickly and immediately he started reacting. The brothers turned their full attention onto him. Alright, so maybe you weren’t so truthful. Maybe you put in some drain cleaner that was a similar color to the lemonade. Maybe, just maybe. They watched him stubble away from you while holding his throat.

“What’s happening? Did she do something?” Tomas asked, convinced he blinked and missed what you did.

“I don’t know. He just started coughing.” Kuai Liang might not know but Bi-Han suspected there was something else they weren’t thinking of.

Of course you won’t stab a man in broad daylight. You’re a professional. And then it clicked.

“Poison”

“What was that?” Both brothers asked Bi-Han.

“She has clearly poisoned him. The fool was too stupid to realize she was luring him in.” Bi-Han wants to act like he wasn’t doubting you just a few moments ago.

“I’m a no-rust-build-up woman, myself.” You declared to the guy as you watched him crawl away from you, still keeping up that sweet voice.

And just like that he was gone. No blood left over or screams to already anyone else. A quick yet painful death for him and a job well done. Now to dispose of the body.

You left quite an impression on the boys. Kuai Liang finds your tactic to be effective. You fooled them all and he find that incredible. Tomas thinks you would be amazing as a huntress. You have the patience and the sneakiness to be one. He wouldn’t mind learning a thing or two from you. And Bi-Han…what the fuck is he doing.

“Brother, are you…smiling?” Kuai Liang looks confused and Tomas seems horrified.

Bi-Han doesn’t say a word, only hums in response. He’s smiling as he watches you drag the body over the pig pen. This isn’t like a smile one does when they are day dreaming about their crush. No, this is a smile that says he likes you but not in the right ways. A closed-mouth smile that shows no warmth but a devilish desire.

You are a deceitful woman who has tricked all. You trap your victims by giving them a false sense of security. You leave no evidence and do it silently so no one would know. You are leaving that man’s family clueless of his demise. You are wicked and he likes that a lot.

Again he’s not alone in that. Tomas would like to get close to you just to learn your tricks as well. Maybe see if that persona is actually you or just some trick. Either way he wants to get to know you. Kuai Liang is awed by intellect and you have sure shown that by your well constructed plan. He can see why you are even worthy of hiring. You do it so effortlessly it makes your beauty pop out more. We got some bachelors over here.

“Should we go up to her now and tell her Lord Liu Kang’s proposal?” Tomas stepped in front of Bi-Han when asking that question. The only response he got was Bi-Han’s hand in his face, pushing him away so Bi-Han could keep looking at you.

They’ll wait this out a bit. At least it will give you enough time to dump the body into the pig pen and feed your poor, hungry pigs. They can stomach it.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You were brought before Lord Liu Kang who told you he would like to have you around. It was a big shock to you. A god wants to hire you? Slap that on your resume immediately.

You accepted the offer quickly. You thanking him for seeing that you are a good person at heart and only try to kill those who deserve such a fate. An antihero if you will. And hey, you have the chance to meet some new people now. Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas seem to be really interested in getting to know you.

Liu Kang was very suspicious of their intentions though. Mostly Bi-Han since he still had that devilish smirk on his face as he stared at you. He hasn’t even talked he just keeps giving off that low hum. Something is off. Maybe he won’t have you train with the Lin Kuei.

“Perhaps I shall send you to the Wu Shi Academy. They might be a better fit for you.” Liu Kang said in perfect earshot of the brothers.

A collective ‘no’ rang out from them which told you and him everything. They like you, they like your skills. They just won’t have any drink you give them. Especially not a Calypso.

After notes: Heathers is free on YouTube. It’s really important you know that. Might give a hint on how I thought of this. Might also be craving a Calypso badly. That Southern Peach gets me.

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat x you #mk x reader #mk x you #mk fanfic #lin kuei #lin kuei brothers #bi han x reader #bi han x you #bi han mk #kuai liang #kuai liang x you #kuai liang x reader #tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada x you #tomas vrbada x reader

[slytherinobsessed]

cigarettes & comfort | theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott x reader | genre: friends to lovers | warning: angst, minors dni | word count: 1.8k | stefy's note: when i think of theo i instantly think of cigarettes and comfort, as he is my fav slytherin boy (don't tell mattheo that🙈), so enjoy :)

[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]

All month, you had been distant. Avoiding your friends, skipping meals and neglecting class - which was unlike you.

Theo especially was worried, so as he ascended the familiar marble stairs to the Astronomy Tower, his mind was occupied solely with three things. Y'n's health, cigarettes and the stars.

He wasn't expecting to behold y/n, standing on the ledge of the limestone balcony. A gelid wind tussled your soft hair and you looked so...numb.

"Pansy...go away." You said annoyed, taking a drag from the cigarette. You look at the stars, thinking that it was Pansy who came to lecture you again. You felt a soft hand gently down on your lower back, a sensation that could be nobody else expect for Theo's hand.

"Hey." He said quietly, taking a drag from his own cigarette. He'd approach you silently, and hoped the words would startle you enough to turn around. The wind was whipping up the side of the tower, and the cool air was biting your skin. "What are you doing?"

"Looking at the stars." You said, finally turning around to look at him. Blowing the smoke out of the cigarette, you change your focus from him to the sky again.

He sighted and took a final drag from his cigarette, flicking it on the ground. Theo looked at you, his brow furrowed with worry. "It's late." He said quietly with his hands tucked within his pockets. Theo didn't want to take the risk that your woukd jump off the ledge. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I couldn't sleep..." You explained yourself to him, taking another drag from the cigarette.

He nodded, trying to maintain the composure of his voice. Theo wanted to yell at you, scream at you - ask you what the hell was going on because you had never done anything like this before in your life. "You couldn't sleep...so you came out here in the freezing cold?" Theo's tone was stern, the irritation clear, but he took another step closer, still not taking his hands out of his pockets.

"It's not that cold..." You say, knowing that you are dressed in a short skirt, a crop top with a pair of heels, but with a cardigan on. You leaned your head on his shoulder, blowing the smoke out and still looking at the stars.

He stiffened as your head pressed against his shoulder, and he sighted. After a while, he wrapped one arm around you, tucking his thumb into the waistband of your skirt. He was so mad at you...you had him so stressed out, and all you could talk about how the weather "wasn't that cold". "You're going to get a bloody cold, you know?" Theo muttered, pulling you a bit closer to his frame, making sure you were as warm as possible.

"I won't..." You say shaking your head, taking a drag from the cigarette and snuggling closer to him.

"You...are so infuriating." He muttered, still sounding stern but there was a softness on his voice that made him sound more amused than furious. His other hand wrapped around your waist, resting his hands in a way to support you. Theo sighted, pressing you even closer to him. "You haven't been eating properly." He pointed out quietly, and he could hear the concern in his own voice.

"I haven't been feeling hungry, lately..." You sighed, blowing the smoke out still looking at him, enjoying being close to him.

He sighed, his brows furrowing as he listened to what you were telling him. Theo couldn't believe how nonchalant you were about this whole situation. He wondered if he could shake you awake, get you to snap out of it...make you see what you were doing to him. To yourself. "Your body needs food." Theo said, his voice growing soft and gentle. The hand on your waist move up a tad, resting on your stomach. "You've gotta eat, even if you don't feel like it."

"I'll eat tomorrow." You said looking at him. "I promise." You make puppy eyes at him, hoping that you can convince him. "You can even take me out just to see me eat."

Theo rolled his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. "You're hopeless..." He muttered quietly, pressing a single kiss to your head as he squeezed you a tiny bit more. Theo sighed. "Fine." He said, looking down at you as he moved his hand to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. "Tomorrow we'll get dinner, and you'll sit across me and eat everything on your plate. And if you don't...you're getting seconds, understood?"

"Mhm." You nodded looking at him, changing the subject, curious to see why he is here by taking a drag from the cigarette. "What are you doing here, anyways?"

You were the worst. He really did care about you, and here you were, asking about why he was outside. "I couldn't sleep either." He said sarcastically, shifting in his stance so that both his arms were around your waist. "But i chose not to come to the Astronomy Tower to freeze myself to death." Theo sighted as he pulled on the end of your cigarette, and he looked around, taking in the night sky. "I came here for another reason..."

"Another reason?" You looked at him curiously, as you finish the cigarette ans the flicking it on the ground.

Theo exhaled, as he ran his hand along your waist. He didn't bother looking at you directly, he felt nervous under yout gaze. "There's something i wanted to ask you..." Theo muttered, his voice sounded heavy and tense. His grip on your hips tensed just the slightest bit. He glanced at you now, wanting to see if you'd respond.

You turn around to face him and take his face in your hands making him look at you. "And that is..." You add, hoping to hear the answer soon enough.

He sighed, letting his gaze fall on your lips, which were so inviting and he wanted to kiss you, but you'd probably freak and refuse. Theo wanted to be more intimate with you, but that was all the way off the table. Instead his voice grew more soft, and he spoke slowly. "I have a question for you." He said quietly, his gaze softening and his voice was raspy. "And i want an answer."

"Then ask me." You said wrapping your hands around his neck, curious if his question.

Theo's cheeks turned slightly flush, and he felt the heat in his chest spread further to his lower abdomen as you placer your hands around his neck. Even something as simple and subtle as that made him feel so many things for you. He had to snap out of it, now wasn't the time. Instead, he cleared his throat and spoke. "I was wondering." His voice was low and steady, not breaking but he felt like a nervous wreck. "Why have you been so distant the last weeks."

"I-it's complicated..." You sighed, looking away embarassed and shuttering not knowing how to answer the question.

Theo's grip on your hips grew tighter and his expression changed to one of his concern. He didn't want you shutting him out, he wanted the truth. The raw unfiltered truth. Theo sighed and spoke again. "It doesn't have to be complicated. Just..." He paused for a moment and searched for your face, hoping for a shed of honesty. Theo sighed again. "Just tell me..the truth..."

"Well you know how you and i are good friends but lately i have been feeling something for you, well for some months, i-i think i like you." You say as fast as you can, still in the same hoping he doesn't understand what you said, in the same time feeling embarassed for the feelings you have for him.

Theo's chest began to buzz with a combination of emotions as you spoke. One, felt relief wash over his body. He wouldn't have to lose his best friend. But that left him with two emotions. Disbelief and hope. "You..you like me?" He asked quietly, his mouth hung open a little bit in disbelief. Theo wrapped both of his hands around yours and rubbed his thumb on your sift skin, hoping that you weren't teasing him. He didn't want to believe it until you outright told him.

"I liked you..i've liked you for some time...that's why i have been ignoring you..." You said getting up to leave. "I know...it's dumb...i'm sorry...you can be honest and tell me you don't like me...it's ok...i can handle it." You said looking away, feeling more embarassed.

Theo stopped you, gripping your hand and pulling it back up to his chest. "Wait!" He said quietly, and took a deep breath. The words in his head were screaming at him to tell you how he always felt. "Does...does that mean you still like me?" He asked, his voice cracking slightly as he looked up at you from under his eyelashes, looking up at you and praying that you understood him.

"Yes dummy, i like you." You whisper to him giggling and being playfull.

Theo swallowed painfully, trying to process how you made him feel. Happiness. Relief. Excitement. He felt it all, and he was certain his face was glowing with how red it was right now. Theo hesitated for a moment. The moment he'd been dreaming of for so long was finally here. You liked him for some time...this was incredible. "Can i..." Theo began, but his words were stuck in his throat. He had to ask you one more important question to ensure there wasn't any missunderstanding.

"Yes." You said bresthing heavily by being so close to him. Squeezing his hand to assure him that you are ok with what he will do next.

Theo's throat was dry, and he could barely breathe as he moved closer to you. His heart pounded in his chest at the thought of what would happen in the next few seconds. He finally took one step forward, until he was only inches away from you. Theo's breath was warm and soft, and his hazel eyes bore down into yours as he spoke. "Can I kiss you.." He whispered, his thumb brushing across your cheek.

You nod, looking at him and closing your eyes leaning into his touch. Theo didn't breathe, as he leaned further in towards you. His thumb brushed your jawline gently as he got even closer. There was nothing better in the world than this moment. Than being this close to you, about to kiss you. And that's exactly what he did. There was no hesitation, no fear. His lips touched yours lightly, and his breath quickened as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer to him. He held onto you tight, wishing he could hold onto the moment forever. The night and its silence surrounding them seemed perfect.

© SLYTHERINOBSESSED — do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

#Spotify #slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott #slytherin imagine #slytherin x reader #theo nott #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott imagine #theo nott fanfic #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #friends to lovers

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser — Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 1.3k TYPE: Angst, Post-break up WARNING(S): Don't read if you're sensitive to medical stuff, also tw for KAISER-TYPICAL MELODRAMA

“Are you fucking kidding me? That just sounds made up.”

“Sir,” the doctor, who’s been having to deal with Kaiser acting like the hospital is a debate club for the past fifteen minutes, says. Then he lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. In all honesty, he does not want to deal with this. “While there’s an existing argument about the classification of broken heart syndrome, it is a real thing that happens. And you have it as we’ve deduced.”

“I don’t have health problems,” Kaiser says. Of course, those words fly out of his mouth without trouble even when Ness had to call an ambulance on him and everything, since he looked like he was on the brink of death today at practice. “Much less from bullshit reasons like a broken heart.”

“You don’t need to take it literally. That’s just the name. The trigger for the stress varies from case to case.”

Kaiser hopes his defensive statement didn’t reveal anything too personal, and decides to throw off any suspicion by staring down at his lap while frowning like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. At least the doctor doesn’t seem to care because he’s not prying for unnecessary details. Not yet, anyway.

“For how long have you been ignoring the symptoms?”

“I haven’t been ignoring anything,” Kaiser says.

Sure, he was dizzy a few (many) times and short of breath, and disregarded it. And while he can sense the tightness and pain in his chest each time, a recurring physical and tangible ache, Kaiser interprets the experience as some kind of metaphor for the figurative stabbing he was a victim of. The arrhythmia is a natural indignant response to whenever your irritating face pops up in his imagination, since you’re the perpetrator.

All this over some shitty break up. While it’s stupid for someone whose career is in sports to shrug off such obvious signs, until today Kaiser never truly thought it was serious enough to warrant such an overreaction from his body. You shouldn’t have this much power over him. He’s going to kill you next time he sees you for doing this to him.

He’s deep in denial and the grave he’s been digging with his stupid lies is shallow in contrast, inefficient. Can’t even deceive himself.

“It’s most common in people over fifty.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

“What I’m saying is, I assume you’ve been ignoring this for some time and it escalated to a bad attack. So, do you recall if you’ve gone through severe stress recently? Anything traumatizing even, either physically or mentally? When was it? If you could be exact, that’d be helpful.”

Traumatizing? Traumatizing? Is this man fucking kidding him right now?

Kaiser stares at the doctor as if he’s the stupidest person alive. Forget a person, he is a bug for such a suggestion. Through grit teeth, he relents, “There was something two weeks ago. By the way, it wasn’t traumatizing! That’s ridiculous.”

What’s even more absurd is the notion Kaiser wouldn’t know how much time has passed with perfect accuracy. Fourteen days he hasn’t been sleeping well, hugging his pillow and crying like a loser, cursing you, wanting you back, both a worshipper and a heretic.

What was he feeling at that moment, when you broke things off? Was it overwhelming anger which got him to this point? Though he’s been reliving the moment over and over, Kaiser still can’t identify it. Just something intense zapping him through his veins, a devastating shock, a surge of adrenaline. But surely it was resentment at your audacity to throw him away like disposable trash? He doesn’t like the thought that he’s been so pathetically sad, he got sick because of it, so this is what he’ll go with.

Thinking about it is enough to make him start picking at the skin on his neck like he’s trying to peel the ink off. It’s almost vile. At least he retains the common sense not to squeeze it in front of a medical professional who can send him away to a psych ward with ease.

The doctor, too, looks at Kaiser like he is an insane person. Good thing they pay him enough for this — otherwise, he doesn’t know how he’d deal with having a strange man with a bizarre haircut give him attitude over his diagnosis when it should be reserved for his barber or whoever is responsible.

“Two weeks ago, okay,” he says, writing it down. “Lucky for you, this is temporary and reversible unlike most other things we checked you for. You’ll be fine in about two months with the treatment.”

“So, like I thought, it’s not a big deal. I can still play football, right? Don’t need to lay off or anything?” Kaiser asks.

The doctor sighs. Again. He wants to measure the circumference, thickness and density of Kaiser’s skull. “You’re not listening,” he says, clearly exasperated, but still trying to exert patience. “Your heart is weak and not functioning properly at the moment. You can’t immediately jump back into living the way you usually do. It’s still serious no matter what you say and it can cause complications.”

Kaiser makes an annoyed expression like this is all one big inconvenience rather than a threat to his quality of life. “Are you serious? You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I’m honored you seem to think I’m a hilarious comedian, sir, since this is your nth time asking, but it’s not the case,” he says levelly.

“Don’t get clever with me.”

A sharp inhale through the nose and the doctor’s back on track, maintaining a feeble grasp on his inner peace, at least enough not to snap. Then, after this brief recollection, he reaches out to grab something, then holds it up. It’s a picture that looks either like an abortion-to-be or a black and white photo of lasagna… maybe. “This is your heart.”

Kaiser almost forgot about the ultrasound or whatever since he was strung out and sedated- relaxed throughout that whole ordeal. At the sight of it now, always theatrical, he decides the best course of action is to wrinkle his nose and say ‘eww,’ even though he’s not squeamish. But treating the matter seriously means admitting he has a problem, and he can’t have that.

The doctor pretends he can’t hear anything and points at the relevant area with his finger to illustrate the crux of the matter better. “You have apical ballooning. Do you get it? Even if it’s temporary, you can’t treat it lightly. So-”

Kaiser tunes out the rest of the explanation. Blah, blah, he could harm himself, very original. His gaze is stuck on the echocardiogram, though, and this time he’s nauseous for real, the tiniest bit. It strikes him as particularly ugly and deformed. Organs are repulsive to begin with, anyway, but this… thing is his, and he’s seeing it now. In any case, nothing so disgusting is worth loving or treating with care.

Is this how you’ve come to see him? What does Kaiser look like in your eyes? Ugly and maladjusted on the inside? Someone who likes laughing at other people’s misery, but can’t take even the slightest puncture? So out of touch with his emotions — and of his own volition —, he’s started experiencing them in the most visceral way possible. His desire for you: torment, a disease.

Would you find him dramatic? Maybe, but at least you’d make him laugh and smile and anything else his troubled mind has decided he needs at the moment, from you alone. Doesn’t matter, though. He’s not privy to that kind of thing, not anymore.

There’s a sting in his eyes and Kaiser wipes away his tears with a hasty swipe, though a few more stream down his cheeks. He doesn’t even know what he’s crying about again.

The doctor observes the display with the distanced apathy of someone who’s watched people die and shit themselves.

He gets discharged with a prescription and elaborate instructions on how to go about his physical activities until it’s deemed he’s fully healed at the later check-ups.

Great. Pitiful.

___

What's funny is that Y/n's probably having a good day while all this is going on

#michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader

[hwangism143]

paper rings

synopsis: you're in love with your best friend, but technically, you're already engaged

pairing: non-idol!jisung x gn!reader (ft. the rest of skz and one roommate)

genre: best friends to lover, idiots

warnings: drinking. swearing. reader is implied to be bisexual. kys jokes.

word count: 4.1k words

a/n: i remember reading about someone and their best friend doing this lmao and just instantly thought of jisung. pls drop your comments and reblog lovies <3!

"i hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this"

Being Han Jisung's best friend was certainly... something. Three years ago when he sat down on the free seat next to you during your first sound engineering class and offered you a big grin, you never expected him to become an unreplaceable part of your life. It came with it's benefits too though; you were now friends with his extremely loud and boisterous group of friends, but hey, at least that meant that you would get free food from Jisung five days a week (technically it was his food the Minho would pack but, who cares? Certainly not him).

You found it extremely easy to become friends with Jisung. It was almost amusing, how quickly you had opened the door to your heart for entry by him. Asking for class notes soon became hour long conversations about anime and movies and campus gossip. A shared obsession over Taylor Swift soon became in-home ice cream sessions spent dissecting her lyrics. Your friendship had gotten to the point where everyday, Jisung would leave you a paper ring on your seat beside, scribbled with a inspirational message.

You two had a tendency of doing almost everything together. You both were similar in several ways. Jisung wanted to be a music producer and had already decided that you would be the sound engineer for his studio. You both had anxiety as well, and although it varied, you knew each other's tells. It was a habit, at this point, comforting each other and being the other person's crutch in life.

Although, doing everything together wasn't always beneficiary. You were often party to Jisung's mischievous schemes, a product of his irresistible longing to entice playful irritation within his hyungs. The rest of the group loved you though, causing Jisung to be let off easily as a result of you being present with him.

You couldn't really say that you showed any mercy to Jisung either. He was a compulsory addition, along with your phone and wallet, on your late night grocery runs. You could have a craving from sushi to just dollar-store ramen, Jisung was always there (and sometimes not of his own will and accord). Regardless of what time or what materialistic object was set in your sights, Jisung had to come with you.

He never complained though. The boy had a slightly concerning affinity towards eating blueberry muffins and barbecued chicken breast at two in the morning. Both of you having some of the most fucked up sleep schedules you had ever seen (rivaled only by that of Chan, if you could even call it a sleep schedule), caused these late night runs to be an extremely frequent occurrence.

-

Your eyes were closed as you sat in the park bench in the middle of some town whose name you could not pronounce. What was the point of going to a prestigious university if they didn't even take you on nice trips?

After Jisung had finally been released from the clutches of 3RACHA (aka three broke men making music that is destined for greatness as soon as they become money minded), he had found his way to you. Well, less found his way and more spam called you and blew up your phone with Jujitsu Kaizen memes (which was so infuriating because you hadn't even watched it and yet your phone's gallery was full of Gojo's six-pack, all thanks to Jisung).

You felt bad for even thinking it, but to be honest, you were kind of avoiding him. Lately, Jisung had been spending a lot of time with you. You were probably imagining it, but it felt like Jisung was stealing glances towards you more often, like his touches were lingering instead of fleeting.

Ah, hope. What a fickle thing. It had people grasping to ideals that could be never achieved, desperately trying to hold on to a light that was long past dimming. You were already prisoner to wishful thinking; you didn't want to be held captive to the confines of hope either.

You texted Jisung the location of the park that you had accidentally stumbled upon and had decided to spend the rest of your day in. The university you attended had paid for transport, dumped you here and left you to be. To be fair, there wasn't really much you could plan for a two-day one night trip. The idea was, for your friend group at least, to spend the first morning roaming around on your own, go out to a nice restaurant in the night and spend the second day in the beach before heading home.

Jisung was hijacked by his other friend group for the larger part of the day, causing you to be victim of walking around pitifully alone and threatening bodily harm if Jisung didn't properly apologize with Boba and breakfast pancakes. You were walking in and out of stores, window shopping (the unfortunate and yet to be expected aftermath of blowing all your money on arcade tickets), when you decided to sit down somewhere nice.

Of course you found the most sub-urban park you had ever seen, complete with a once copper now greening statue of some man who was probably extremely important to the towns history but never brought up in conversation, educational or otherwise. The park was full of children with rose-tinted cheeks and mothers lamenting about each other (with the addition of an occasional barking dog).

You wondered if you would live the same way someday, coming to the park with a man or woman you loved and a child in your arms. Maybe even a dog or two, although you highly doubted if you could handle one considering you didn't even have a hold on yourself. Soon, you saw the figure of Jisung approaching you, Boba in one hand and waving at you with another. He handed you the drink and proceeded to sit down, his thigh brushing against yours.

Beside you, you felt Jisung shuffling around. "Okay, I have a very important question. When did you feel happiest with me?"

You wondered what could have prompted such a question from him. Jisung did have a tendency to talk about the latest hit songs for two weeks and then suddenly ask you about something nearly superficially philosophical. The last time he had asked you something, it had prompted an hour long debate on the meaning of life that could only be stopped due to Minho allegedly accidentally bringing home a stray kitten.

You let out a snort, "People don't feel happy around you, they fear for their fucking lives."

Jisung shoved you playfully, "Hey, be serious!" He had been growing out his hair and it fell into his eyes, making you suppress the temptation to run your hands through it. The entire world was moving around you, cars driving, people talking, an annoyingly loud baby crying. But this moment, with Jisung looking at you with curious eyes and a wide smile, was at a standstill.

You instantly knew the answer and reflected his smile back at him, "When you first proposed to me."

-

University students were apparently supposed to be mature and always prepared. You and Jisung were clearly the exception. The two of you were doubled over in laughter (in the middle of the street that too) after recounting what had happened just a few short minutes before.

It was a mere two weeks after your mid-terms for your first year in university. Jisung was over at your dorm room, citing an escape from Changbin's chokehold as an excuse to instead trouble you with his presence. You both were curled up on the couch watching some trashy reality show when Jisung's stomach comically grumbled.

Without even bothering to grab your stuff, you both had gone to a fast food restaurant, craving french fries for dinner. As Jisung ordered, the cashier asked robotically, 'cash of credit'. Jisung looked at you with wide eyes. You reciprocated.

The cashier was growing impatient. "Well? Do I need to call someone?"

The both of you exchanged a glance. A curt nod. And ran for your lives as the cashier cursed behind you. You both ran as much as you could until your legs finally gave out. Finding yourself in front of an alleyway full of small shops, you began contemplating where was the best to go. Finally, the two of you went inside a small, family-owned café, and sat down, breathing heavily.

The café in itself was extremely cozy, decorated in varying shades of brown and beige. You were surprised and slightly disappointed about not discovering this gem of a place before. In your mind, you had already tucked it away to become a regular study destination. You certainly did need one after getting banned from the public library thanks to another one of Jisung's antics.

"Did he call us a green horse's explosive ass?" You questioned, just setting off another fit of giggles.

Jisung shrugged at you, his eyes suddenly narrowing. That couldn't be good. He had a look in his eyes that you knew all too well. Han Jisung was about to come up with a plan, and it would either be Nobel worthy or akin to a tsunami.

"Y/N," said Jisung, "I have an idea. Just play along."

He dragged you to the middle of the restaurant, earning stares from the onlookers who were peacefully eating. His right leg bounced up and down as you glared at him. What are you doing? you mouthed at him. Just trust me, he said back. You knew about his social anxiety. Then why on earth was he putting himself in such a situation?

He took a few steps backwards, letting go of your hands, and dropped down on one knee. Jisung took out something shiny out of his pocket and quickly wiped it on his sweater. You looked at him in confusion, eyebrows raising in disbelief when you realized what was happening.

"When I first met you, I knew you were the one for me. Everything about you fit everything about me as if we're meant to be. I don't know the definition eternal, but if we were to consider the conventional meaning... I would like to have the honor of spending the rest of it with you."

You arched an eyebrow, wondering how long it took your best friend to come up with that. Coming back to your surroundings, as if on cue, your hand flew to your mouth and your eyes began to water (more so because of how difficult it was for you to contain your laughter, but oh well; at least it got the job done.)

You rapidly began to nod, grinning at him ear to ear. He smiled back at you, slipping the ring onto your finger. You look down at it, suppressing yet another snicker after seeing the tacky pawn shop ring that adorned your hand. Jisung quickly wrapped his arms around you, picking you up and spinning you around. You giggled into the crook of his neck as the room burst into applause.

People came up to you with their congratulations while you two went to the counter to place your orders. "Two chicked burgers and one large french fries to go please," said Jisung kindly. He cocked his head towards you, "Baby, do you want the oreo milkshake?"

Jisung calling you 'baby' caught you by surprise. A part of you had nearly forgotten that you still had to put up the act. Blushing furiously (because you forgot, not because Jisung called you baby with a low drawl, obviously), you replied with a simple, "Sure. Thanks, honey." You smiled in achievement as Jisung began stuttering, cheeks tinted red.

"Oh, it's on the house for the soon to be married!" said the kindly old lady working the counter. Jisung quickly grabbed your food and the two of you rushed out of the store. As soon as you turned the corner, you both burst out laughing again.

"Jisung," you slapped him on the chest, "I feel so guilty!"

He just gave you a sheepish nod, grabbing a french fry and popping it in his mouth. You continued protesting but he put a finger on you lip and tilted the bag of food toward you. You gave him an admonishing look, picking up the food. He threw an arm around your shoulder while you settled into the curve of his collarbone, eating and walking in comfortable silence on the way home.

That was when, you thought, that was when you first started seeing him as someone more than just a friend.

-

Jisung tapped you impaitiently. "What say we do it again?" he asked sweetly.

"Oh my god Jisung, stop," you said pushing him playfully. He pouted at you while you glared at him, until Chan came up to the two of you and asked if he could talk to Jisung alone.

Jisung gave you an apologetic smile and strolled away with Chan, chatting away about something. As soon as he left, you let out a long exhale.

Nobody warned you about how painful being in love with your best friend would be. Nobody told you about how difficult it would be to restrain yourself from confessing all you feelings. Nobody told you how torturous it would be watching him gaze at other people, knowing that he would never look at you the same way.

You pinpointed that afternoon as the day when you started looking at Han Jisung through rose-tinted glasses. You went from being comforted by his light touches to craving them. You found yourself wanting to be something to him, something more than just a label of a 'best friend'.

You wanted him, wholly and completely, and were prepared to give yourself to him in the exact same way.

You would never, in a hundred years though, tell Jisung about your feelings. You had made up your mind. Telling him that you loved him would put your friendship at risk. You would much rather have Jisung at an arm's length than not at all.

You sat in the bench, lost in thought when you felt a throat clear in front of you. There Jisung was propped up on one knee, rattling off the same words he had told you all those months ago. He had a twinkle in his eye. You had tears in yours.

Jisung always lauded your performance in that tiny café. He said that your on command crying was so exceptional that 'aspiring actors should be grateful that you decided to settle on sound engineering'. You decided to spare his feelings and not tell him that your tears were a result of the absolute absurdity surrounding the entire situation.

The second and only other time that Jisung had whipped out his ring and you had whipped out your bridal tendencies was when your entire friend group was half-drunk in a bar, celebrating after mid-terms week. Jeongin wanted a full play by play of what, by then, was an iconic party story. You both went at again, albeit a little sloppily considering your inebriated state of mind.

This time though, tears ran down your face mercilessly. You couldn't take it anymore, your feelings growing and growing into something bigger than you could fathom. What started as the fluttering of a lone butterfly turned into a swarm of them and this, this was your breaking point.

Jisung looked at you with concern in his eyes. "Y/N? Are you okay? Is everything-"

"Stop," you snapped at him, "Just fucking stop, Jisung. Please."

He looked at you in confusion as you stood up and walked away.

-

The first place you went to was the hotel you were staying at. You quickly ran through the streets, wiping away your tears swiftly. There was something inherently wrong with you. You had utterly fucked up. You should have just played along. You should have just said yes. You should not have been hoping for something that you knew was out of reach.

You sat on your hotel bed when you heard a knock on your door. When you swung it open, Hyunjin and Seungmin stood there with an armful of chocolates and identical, all to familiar expressions on their face. Pity.

"Don't have a love life of your own so you came to interfere in mine?" You asked dryly, beckoning them inside. Out of everyone, only Hyunjin and Seungmin knew about your crush on Jisung.

-

You stood in the kitchen silently, swallowing the lump in your throat. Jisung was in the other room talking about this really pretty and amazing new transfer in their music production course. With every word of praise he spoke about her, another piece of your heart broke apart.

When you couldn't bear to listen to anymore of the incredible things that the enigmatic 'new year girl' had done anymore, you retreated into Felix's brightly lit kitchen. You opted to find solace in the soda that bubbled in your red Solo cup and the smell of brownies that somehow still lingered despite being taken out (and subsequently consumed) over an hour ago.

Hyunjin and Seungmin were walking into the kitchen when they spotted you. Hyunjin, ever the empath, knew that something was up with you. He attempted to talk to you about it, but you kept shutting him down. Seungmin, who was the most like you in the entire group, knew you needed time and lightly rested his fingers on Hyunjin's arm.

"You can stay," you said, your voice breaking in between. The three of you just stood there, the only sound being muffled chatter and the occasional sip of soda in your case and beer in theirs. Seungmin must have given Hyunjin a signal of affirmation when he turned to you, mouth opened as if to ask you a question.

He was walking on figurative eggshells when he asked you hesitantly, "You like him, don't you?"

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and that was all it took for the two boys to quietly slip out of the apartment with you, grab ice cream and listen to your pathetic dilemma. Vowing to help you if you could keep Minho from yelling at them about the cat toy they had happened to lose, the three of you formed an extremely unlikely yet strong friendship, built on the very foundations of your pathetic unrequited love.

-

Hyunjin laid back on your bed and you settled to sit down beside him. He wordlessly handed you the chocolate, waiting for you to open it as Seungmin opted to sit down on the armchair across from the bed. Oddly enough, you had grown extremely close to the two of them after the conversation you had in the kitchen six months ago. Apart from Jisung and your roommate Reina, they were the people you were closest to.

Seungmin scoffed, "If you had a love life, we wouldn't be here in the first place."

You swore at him and threw the wrapping paper towards him. Hyunjin turned and attempted to giggle into the bedsheet undetected but earned a light slap from you in response. You slouched beside Hyunjin with a sigh, handing him block of chocolate, "Jisung told you, didn't he?"

"Yep," said Hyunjin loudly, chewing his chocolate. Seungmin pulled a face at him as you snapped a finger in the air to get their attention.

"Okay, so?"

Seungmin's eyes turned towards you. "He was horrified thinking that he had overstepped his boundaries blah blah blah, can't lose your friendship, ya da da," he said in a bored tone, "Please tell him you're in love with him. It will spare us all the pain."

You glared at him. "What if he- Hyunjin! Don't eat all of it!"

"I got you another," he said between mouthfuls, "and listen up. You know how we're your go to relationship venting people right? Well, turns out Minho hyung and Changbin hyung have taken up those responsibilities on Jisung's end. We met them up on the way here and, well, you both need to talk to each other."

Hyunjin finished triumphantly and reached for a bag of chips that lay innocently on the bedside, unaware of the fate that was about to befall them at the hands of a certain Hwang Hyunjin. Seungmin just pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "Look. Talk to him at that restaurant we'll be going to tonight, okay? You'll be all dressed up and maybe that'll help your cause considering how you look like a homeless person half the time."

You threw him a pillow and grateful smile in response.

-

"Can we talk?" asked Jisung as he stood near the chair next to you. Hyunjin shot you an encouraging thumbs up while Seungmin raised his glass of soju at you, a remind that you weren't allowed to drink yourself senseless (as worded by Seungmin himself), until you had a proper and sober conversation with Jisung about your feelings. You motioned for him to sit down on the chair beside you and Jisung followed suit.

The two of you sat in silence, and for the first time, it was heartbreakingly awkward. Silence with Jisung was never supposed to be like that. It wasn't supposed to be heavy. It was supposed to be a moment when you could just sit quietly and collect your thoughts. It was a moment when you would need a break from life, put the entire ordeal of existence on pause, and not have to explain why. It was a gift only Jisung could bestow upon you, and a curse only he could understand as well as.

"I have something to say as well. I'm sorry for running off like that," you say apologetically, in an attempt to break the silence. Jisung wordlessly hands you over a piece of what looks like green paper. It's a ring. A paper ring. It matches the pink one on his finger that he fiddles with unconsciously. You resist the overwhelming urge to place your hand on top of his and lace your fingers together.

"Oh. Is that all?"

"No- um, actually," you begin and then falter. Jisung looks at you intently, eyes prodding. It was almost as if was waiting for you to say something. His piercing gaze retreats and his expression transforms into one of defeat. He opens his mouth slightly to say something, which you do as well.

You take a deep breath, ready to deliver a confession that would rival that of the likes of a 16th century lovestruck noble, born from the pages of a Shakespearian play when you both blurt out at the same time, "I like you."

Jisung continued rambling, "I didn't know how to tell you. You're so smart and funny and beautiful and amazing that I thought you would never like me that way. I pretended to like other people so that you feel jealous, because, apparently according to Changbin hyung and Minho hyung, that is extremely effective. I should have known not to take advice from a man who literally calls his treadmill his wife and a cat mother. But I was desperate. And I didn't know and-"

"Jisung," you laughed, giving him a small shake, "I like you."

"Wait," Jisung's eyes widened as he stumbled over his words, "For real?"

You shake your head up and down, still processing everything. Jisung liked you. You. You, who were quick to snap at people when they hurt someone you loved. You, who waited and pushed until after a deadline. You, who either loved passionately or not at all.

Being loved by him was all you ever wanted, but how could he love someone as tangled up of a mess as you?

Jisung gave you a knowing look. He took you hands in his when he said, "I meant it all. The proposal. I don't know the meaning of eternity but, you give me a reason to look for it. If I look for the meaning of eternity then I have an excuse, an explanation as to why I should spend the rest of my life with you."

You looked at him, unshed drops of water reflecting in his eyes. Oh, those eyes you fondly called 'bob-shaped', those eyes that you could drown in.

"Jisung," you asked softly, "Is this the part where we kiss?"

Jisung rested his forehead on yours and gave a low chuckle, "I'm supposed to to be the idiot in this relationship, not you."

He pressed his lips onto yours and your reciprocated, ignoring all the cheering and hooting coming from the other side of the room. This moment belonged to the two of you. There was nobody you would rather give your heart too than your best friend Han Jisung, and there was nobody whose heart Jisung would rather have fit in his palm than yours.

#stray kids #skz #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #han jisung x y/n #han jisung fluff #han jisung fanfic #- via's fics <3

[zmediaoutlet]

"So how was it?" Dean says.

Sam squints at him. Crazy-bright day, light reflecting off every car, bouncing back from the license plate frame on the Buick in front of them. "How was what?"

He gets a significant look but then there's a honk and Dean waves irritably at the guy behind them, moves forward a half car-length like that means something. Sam said they should've just taken 87 instead of the state highway, but apparently that wouldn't have been as good a drive, so here they are, bumper to bumper. Some accident they can't see up ahead.

"Dean," Sam says, when they're essentially parked again. "How was what?"

Dean stretches back, knees spread wide around the steering wheel. "Uh, let's see," he says, and sucks his lower lip like he's really thinking. "The tonsil hockey? The tongue tango? The vertical v-grab—"

"You're the worst," Sam says, loudly, and Dean grins whitely out at the traffic. Relaxed. Probably more relaxed now that Sam feels blood rising in his cheeks, like he really did something. The dick. They roll forward another few feet and Sam braces his elbow on the open window, looking out at the growing green, the budding trees. Springtime in upstate New York, not the worst it could be.

"Sarah seemed like she'd be good at it," Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes, smacks vaguely to his left, catches leather jacket. Dean swats his hand away. "Hey, that ain't a dig. I admire a chick who'll really go for it. And, buddy, the way she was looking at you."

Sometimes it's like he thinks Sam's blind. Like, the only reason is that he doesn't notice. He sucks the inside of his cheek, squints out at the random field out past the highway. Cows, in the distance. "She was good at it," he says, finally. Soft where it counted, confident in the way that a lot of gorgeous girls are. Curving into his body but not limp or just opening her mouth for it and waiting for him to be done. Her tongue tasted like earl grey tea. He can taste it now, and rubs his fingers over his mouth.

Dean's been quiet, letting off the brake and rolling forward a carlength at a time. "You want to…" he starts, but what goes there? They weren't going to stay. They never were. Even an extra day didn't make sense, because what was going to happen—Sam taking the open invite, letting himself try, knowing that in the motel across town Dean was cooling his heels with motel porn and a takeout pizza, waiting for Sam to shoot his load so they'd be ready to pack up and leave the state? No, that wasn't going to happen. Not fair to Sarah, no matter if Sam explained the score, and it wasn't fair to Sam, and it wasn't fair, either, to…

More honking, somewhere behind them. They check the rearview at the same time, annoyed, and Dean mutters, "Like that helps?"

Sam turns on his side of the bench, putting his back to the window. Dean glances at him and then looks back out at the cars, frowning. "What do you think I'm missing?" Sam says. "With this stuff. Perfume? Long hair?"

"Perfume I can do, but I draw the line at wearing a wig for you," Dean says. Sam huffs and Dean glances over at him again, smiling. Kind of smiling anyway. "Not trying to—to be weird about it, or pick a fight or anything, Sammy. I just know you wanted…" He shakes his head, slouches back on the bench with two fingers hooked low on the steering wheel. "I don't want you to be—missing anything. I know, we got a job, and it's important. I'm not, like, trying to get you to move into a two-bedroom in New Paltz. I just don't want you to hate this any more than you do already."

Traffic judders to a halt again. Sam nods, looks out at the blinding chrome. His eyes smart. He sniffs, and drags his hand over his face, and then leans over the bench seat and gets his hand on Dean's jaw and turns his face and kisses him. Dean's lips startle open and Sam closes his eyes and licks in, pressing deep, Dean's hand gripping his jacket and Dean's breath filling his mouth. Coffee, salt. Sam tips so his forehead's against Dean's, their noses brushing. "Don't worry about what I'm missing," Sam says.

Dean's knuckles against his chest. He breathes in, shaky.

Honking. Dean takes a quick deep breath and pulls back, doesn't look at Sam. Traffic opening maybe, a little, ahead. They slide forward a car-length and then another. "Might make it to Allentown before dark after all," he says. His ear's pink. Sam sits back into the corner of the bench and smiles at the side of his head. "Shut up," Dean says, and Sam smiles out the window instead, the grown-grass verge starting to blur as they pick up speed. He wasn't going to say a thing.

#happy wincest wednesday #my writing #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 19 #fun fact: I Hate Sarah So Much #but in an established wincest context she's at least interesting

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

SHANE MY BELOVED anyways gonna request based on an oc that i made/an ai chatbot chat that i did recently. selectively mute reader with shane, and how their relationship evolves? strangers to lovers probs. hcs or oneshot/drabble :3 -galaxy

WAHOOO

I got 5 hearts with him as we speak so this is perfect timing <3

......

Settling into Stardew Valley was certainly going to be a challenge, especially with the new life you wanted to build here..and of course that entails meeting new people.

For most of your life, you've been selectively mute, only ever using your voice if you absolutely have to.

You never used it much at your previous office job, but it was still quite soulless and didn't make you feel good.

Even so, Lewis doesn't think you should stay a stranger and insists you introduce yourself to folks in Pelican Town.

You couldn't ignore the letters stuffed into your mailbox forever..so you finally headed into town.

While some villagers regarded you as "quiet", many of them chalked it up to you being new and welcomed you anyways.

Although Shane is indifferent and annoyed--as he is to most strangers.

You accidentally bumped into him, and he thinks you're rude for not saying "sorry".

Your brain sorta panics as you sign the words...but from the way he stares at you, you realize he doesn't understand what you're saying.

By the time you get out your notepad, he's long gone, mumbling about being late to his shift.

Since then, you try being polite and wave to him anytime you see him in the street or at the saloon..but he just wonders why you're even bothering him.

One thing he kept noticing at the bar was that you always gave your order to Gus on your notepad, and he starts thinking there is a reason you can't talk and you weren't just being a dick specifically to him that day.

Still, he doesn't bother to ask you. You're probably gonna stop trying to befriend him sooner or later. So why should he care?

One day, you approach Shane while he's working at JojaMart and asked him where a certain food ingredient was, pointing to your shopping list..and you see that irritable look in his eye again.

He had customers mixing up things on the shelves and snapping at him for things outside his control--and you caught him on a rather bad day.

He says nothing and just points further down the isle, but you just smile and mouth "thank you", signing the words before continuing on.

Poor guy goes red, convinced you blew a kiss at him just now...and it's all he could think about for the rest of his shift.

The very next day, you show up at Marnie's place with a fresh pizza, asking if Shane was home.

He gets flustered as HELL when he realizes you were at the mart buying ingredients to make one of his favorite foods...and he acted like a total jackass.

You left a note inside the container, which basically tells him you're selectively mute and realized your farm was just down the road from his aunt's ranch.

After reading it, he awkwardly apologizes and asks for a fresh start, to which you just smile and nod.

Jas, at this point, can see he's got a crush on you.

After that was cleared up, you two become friends and hangout together at the saloon often or share a beer on the dock.

You don't talk, but tbh Shane appreciates the silence between you two. He didn't have to force conversation, and neither did you.

Although that also enables him to vent to you about how downtrodden and repetitive his life feels, with you simply listening and accompanying him home.

It doesn't change the fact he felt like a burden to everyone, and one night you found him on the cliffside, his face covered in mud and tears, ready to give up on the world.

In his drunken haze, he forgot you were mute and wants you to tell him why he shouldn't do it..

"No wait..I..forgot you can't-"

"Shane..I'm here for you." Your voice comes out low, hoarse, and a little shaky, but he stopped sobbing the moment he heard it..and he stares up at you in shock.

"S-So..you do speak.." He mumbles. "You sound....like--like an angel...fuck..maybe they do exist. You'll...be here for me no matter what? Even if I did something stupid...?"

You simply nod, and that makes him change his mind.

He just can't believe that out of all the people in this town, you chose to open up to him--some sad sack of shit who was about to jump off the cliff--and decide he should be the one to hear your voice first.

Maybe..that was a sign that people still wanted him around. And you never hated him despite all the times he was rude to you.

After he nearly vomits all over your shoes, you take him to the hospital, knowing he needed Harvey's intervention, and since then you've been supportive of his recovery journey.

He only remembers bits and pieces from that night..although the one thing he couldn't forget was hearing your voice.

It was probably so difficult for you to find it again, and he appreciates you talking him down, even if you had to close up and go totally silent for the next few days or so.

If you ever go into why you became selectively mute, Shane will do his absolute best to understand (and maybe get a little overprotective in the process if someone makes fun of you for it).

But if not, he'll still defend you regardless.

You teach him a few general phrases in sign language, which he tries to grasp and eventually gets the hang of.

At some point down the line..he asks you out on a festival date after much pressure from Jas and Marnie, and you were so excited you nearly yelled out "YES"-

But instead managed to nod happily, taking his hand and dragging him towards the celebration without a second thought.

Soon that little date turns into a genuine relationship, with Shane eventually moving onto your farm to help you care for the crops and animals, switching to alternatives to beer and promising to cut back on the hours he spends at the saloon.

Some days you'll be away mining, fishing, slaying monsters, or helping the Junimos rebuild the community center, but other times you'll stay inside and just cuddle with him, your pet, and the chickens.

He was muddling over why you chose him out of all the people in this town, and you spoke to him again--this time to his sober-self.

That was "because I love you".

And yes...he did cry.

#clanask #galaxy anon #stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sdv shane #stardew valley shane #sdv shane x reader #stardew valley shane x reader #shane x reader #headcanons #selectively mute reader #hurt/comfort #tw suicide mention

[freezingmcxn]

The way you describe Toby is so slap-able. He’s reminds me of that one kid in school who would just do anything to annoy you no matter how hard you try to ignore them, like closing your laptop while you’re working or turning it off, throwing small things at you that might not necessarily hurt but are disruptive enough to get a reaction, insulting you in such a specific and out of pocket way, and repeating the action that finally made you crack over and over because they thrive on watching you hold back on the desire to strangle them. Is it for attention? Does he just like pushing limits? Does he actually want you to hurt him or is he just that annoying? Is this another case of ‘boys being boys’? Is being annoying a crime worthy of the electric chair? We’ll probably never know, but the fact remains that he will 100% make it your problem if you are even remotely in his vicinity. I can’t help but be genuinely curious what fuels this menacingly mischievous behaviour, and why he’s decided this is the best way to achieve whatever he’s trying to get out of being that way. Maybe it’s just entertaining and he just genuinely doesn’t give af, but as a people pleaser I can’t wrap my head around it.

(I’m just a girl in the world! Why can’t I just be a girl in peace?!?!?!)

How I treated my version of Toby Rogers (his emotions and actions towards others)

Notice I said my version, this isn’t really canonically accurate so don’t say “he wouldn’t do that” it’s how I wrote/interpret him

I wasn’t gonna answer this because I’m not writing for creepypasta anymore but…here I am, you intrigued me and made me wanna talk about him and the subject of that behaviour in general.

On the topic of creepypasta, people have wanted to ask me about things to do with my headcanons, and my own opinions, how I made them etc, you can ask me that I will answer on here, and on here only.

I used to be like you and I’d always wonder why people did such stupid shit in school, acted out etc.

I found it frustrating and irritating like how you described. But I’ll tell you one thing, I 100% don’t get irritated by that anymore.

There’s always reasoning for peoples actions, no matter how much you down play it to them just being annoying assholes, you always lead it back to something.

It can be as small as wanting to impress someone, or even just to seem cool.

People seek validation in numerous ways and for numerous reasons.

Although “attention seekers” can be annoying and confusing you should always take into account that something might be going on at home, in their head, in school etc that you don’t see or know about.

Toby was abused. Toby had mental issues.

Try deal with that for a day, a week, a month, a year, your whole life.

He always attracted attention whether he wanted to or not, the only reasoning behind my headcanon of Toby wanting to push limits is because of projection I suppose.

People pushed his limits, you can only push someone so far, before they completely break. You can only make someone so hurt until they act upon violent thoughts and hurtful words.

When there’s so much build up of material it’s eventually going to cause an avalanche, apply that to a build up of repressed emotions such as anger and sadness.

Those feelings are very explosive and can be physically and emotionally violent.

How my version of Toby acts (his menacing mischievous behaviour) is merely a mirror of his deeper feelings, whether he means to be a dick or not, he gets the gratification of being able to inflict that pain and hurt onto someone else, someone different, someone that’s not him, it’s temporary release.

You could say it’s sadistic, or you can sympathise, I leave that up for interpretation because it’s interesting to see peoples views change once they see a “bad” character was a previous victim to something heinous.

To make it easier to understand think of a leech.

Leeches suck blood from other organisms as they feed off it.

He’s like a leech, he sucks the happiness and joy out of other people’s lives and in return he gets the happiness he thinks he lost by seeing them suffer.

Now, I say “happiness he thinks he lost” because it’s artificial in my eyes, someone else’s pain being a source of your happiness is not true natural joy, it’s only a temporary happiness and you have to be more and more violent and resourceful as the source (person) distances themselves and eventually leaves.

Another thing to add is he cant deal with his own emotions so he deals with other peoples, he can control how other people feel,

Toby wants the power and control his father made him lose.

So yeah, that’s my thought process behind why Toby pushes people/ is a dickhead. I hope I explained it in an easy enough way, I like looking into things on a deep level.

#slenderverse #hcs #moon responds #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #realistic #headcanons requests #ticci toby headcanons #character analysis #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby #toby rogers

[madlittlecriminal]

[04] Secret Ingredient⥓ Mafia!Miguel O'Hara × Female!Baker!Reader

Warnings: Danny is an oc, mention of death in the family (not reader or miguel related), mention of pregnancy (not reader), annoying customers, two cliffhangers in one (im sorry), patrick o'hara (web-slinger)

series masterlist | miguel o'hara masterlist

Another day, another employee seeming to irritate him to the core. Miguel didn't understand what was so hard for this guy to understand that no meant no, but seeing him beg Miguel for a day off when his PTO ran out was comical to say the least.

"For the last time, Danny, you used up your PTO. I cannot give you the day off simply because you don't want to work. If you were at work more often instead of doing whatever you want to do, then maybe you'd have the day off." He says while leaning back in his chair.

"But you don't understand! I need the day off, Mr. O'Hara! Please!"

"Give me a valid reason why and I'll think about it." It was bullshit. The only way Danny was going to get out of this is if his fiancée was giving birth or if he had a death in the family. For any other reason, Danny was going back to work and Miguel didn't care if Danny was going to throw a fit.

He was honestly surprised that Danny and his fiancée were still together considering he hardly works and they live together.

"Well...you see..." Danny started, but he couldn't come up with a valid excuse other than not wanting to work.

Miguel waited for him, his leg folded to where his ankle rested on his knee and his hands folded on top of his abdomen. He tilted to the side as he listened to Danny stutter.

"Danny, I'm a patient man. However, your stutter isn't natural. You're nervous because you can't come up with a lie right now and that's fine. However, don't expect me to listen to you if you can't come up with a lie. Get back to work."

Danny grumbled before leaving Miguel's office, slamming the door behind him.

"Slamming doors como si paga por algo-" he paused and shuddered. "Oh God, I sound like my mother." (like of you pay for something-) Miguel shook his head and fixed his blazer before going to type on his computer before his phone rang. A small smile formed on his lips when he saw your name pop up on the screen, but he didn't answer it until the third ring.

"I thought you gave me a fake number there for a second." You let out a sigh, making Miguel let out a shy chuckle, fidgeting with his pen as he tried to tell himself to relax from how hard his heart was thumping in his chest with nerves.

"Nope. Right number." He says, leaning back into his chair again as he heard you put the phone down.

"Good! Okay, I had a weird question to ask you." You say, everything around you sounding much louder which he automatically connected it to you putting the phone on speaker.

"Ask away." He reaches over and grabs his glass of water with a trembling hand from his nerves.

"Why did you need to know about interior designers and such?"

Miguel smirks, thanking whoever that it was a phone call and not in person communication or a video call. "That's for me to know and for you to find out."

"Of course it is."

He heard you huff out a breath and he couldn't help but bite his bottom lip to hold back a laugh.

There had to be flaws somewhere in you...right? I mean, he only saw perfection-

'No. Stop it, Miguel. Not yet. Don't fall just yet.'

"Well, I'll let you go. I have a cake to work on."

Before he could get a word in, you hung up.

Miguel put his phone down and let out a chuckle. He rests his elbow on the arm rest of his desk chair, his chin resting on his palm as he let his mind wander a bit.

Where did his mind wander to exactly?

To you.

He wondered if your hands were rough or surprisingly soft. He wondered where you learned to bake. Was it taught to you by a parent or guardian? Did you learn from recipe books? YouTube videos? I mean, he had to thank someone for your talent. Shit, he wouldn't be surprised if you were self taught.

He shook his head before a soft knock was heard from his office door. He looked up and immediately regretted it when he saw the look of shock and anxiousness on Lyla's face.

"They're here for the meeting, Mr. O'Hara."

He got up and buttoned his blazer before following Lyla out of his office and into the conference room. He knew Lyla well enough that when she said his last name, it wasn't Alchemax business.

-----

You raise a brow at the man in front of you who was asking for a gender reveal cake.

"Sorry, can you repeat that?"

"I want a gender reveal cake, but instead of the usual pink and blue and you do black?"

You blink at him.

"Black and...?"

"Just black."

"Do you want the frosting black?"

"No. I want the cake to be black."

"Sir, that's not how a gender reveal cake works. If you want, I can do black and whi-"

"No, I want black."

"What's the gender?"

"Boy."

"Okay. So you want everything to be black?"

He nods.

"What flavor?"

"Vanilla."

You stood there for a bit, screaming internally as you head to the back to take out a vanilla cake you just made. You quickly made black frosting with food coloring before decorating the cake. When you triple checked that it was perfect, you showed it to the customer.

"You made sure it was blue on the inside, right?"

You wanted to throw it at the customer.

"Sir, you told me you didn't want to do pink or blue, you wanted black."

"Yeah. The frosting."

You clenched your teeth before forcing a smile.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, I need it within the next two hours or so."

"Come again?"

He gave you a nod before stepping out of the bakery.

"Customers piss me off sometimes." You murmur.

"Do they? I'm sorry to hear that."

Your eyes widen before they meet a familiar pair of brown eyes.

"Hey darlin'. Hope I'm not interrupting anythin' important." Patrick says softly, giving his charming country boy smile that made you relax.

~~~~

tags:

@deputy-videogamer @barbiecrocs @deepinballs @faimmm @wakeupr41 @bubblegumfanfictions @smartyren @kimmis-stuff @latenightcravingz @youcantseem3 @corpsebridenightamare @thedevax @cicithemess @diannana @itsameclinicaldepresssion @hwasoup @migueloharasbbm @vkumi

#miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #marvel #mcu #marvel universe #x reader #spiderman 2099

[epickiya722]

Sukuna is Yuji's Biggest Hater... Or He Is??

Oh, he is. He definitely is. There is no doubt about that. Sukuna hates Yuji and has since the get-go. Yuji will cough and Sukuna will go "shut the hell up, brat". (Exaggeration, but you get it.) But why? Why does Sukuna hate Yuji so much?

But give me a chance here!! Hear me out, folks!! Just hear me out!!

Storywise, it makes sense that he would because hello! Yuji is the big good protagonist and Sukuna is the big bad antagonist. That's to be expected. I'm here for it. But let's not mind that!!

Now, here's me just rambling on. I have thoughts, folks, thoughts. I'm not saying I'm totally right on this. Just hear me out. So get ready for a long post!

(NOTE: I started writing this in January before 248 came out! So I added onto what was revealed in that chapter and onward to this post.)

(ANOTHER NOTE: I literally finished and posted this a minute or so before I saw the leaks for 257...)

Off rip, Sukuna no doubt despises Yuji's existence for the fact that Yuji is capable of keeping him contained. He was literally made to be Sukuna's vessel. A cage, if you will. It takes Yuji willingly to give up control, Yuji being fed multiple of Sukuna's cursed fingers at once or a Binding Vow for Sukuna to take control. Other than that, Sukuna is locked up, he ain't getting out. Do not pass go and do not collect $200.

Sukuna's first L of the series came at losing a mental battle against Yuji and no doubt that was a hurt to his pride.

But other than that, why else could Sukuna despise Yuji so much?

Well, I have a guess! Am I right about this? As I said, I'm not saying for certain.

But my guess is that Sukuna hates Yuji the most because he hates how he displays himself in battle. Better yet, Sukuna hates that Yuji isn't him.

Not only he hates that Yuji displays his strength in a humble way compared to others, but as 248 reveals Sukuna hates that Yuji keeps going despite Sukuna constantly trying to break him. I'll touch on that later.

You know the saying "your biggest hater is your biggest fan" or whatever? Yeah, that is Sukuna... maybe.

I'll clear this up because I know you probably went "HOW"? Okay, I touched on this in a post so I'll summarize it here.

Yuji doesn't do something that a lot of other characters do whenever they're out there throwing hands. Enjoying a fight and/or proving their strength. Yuji often fights not to show his strength, but he fights for others. Yuji doesn't think to show off his capabilities because it doesn't interest him to. Yuji isn't a prideful person.

Mind you, even before the cog mentality bit, Yuji already didn't think much of himself. He has called himself dumb at least twice. And, in a small moment, Yuji actually seemed shocked at Megumi's comment how of "adept" he is, almost as if he didn't think he was capable of such a thing even though since day one Yuji has been shown to being able to pick up on things fast with ease.

Yuji only feels weak when he feels he has failed someone. Wasuke told him that he's a strong kid and to help others. Ever since then, what all has Yuji has tried to do? Help others. It probably irritates Sukuna given that he is not someone who helps others, especially if it doesn't benefit him. He doesn't even like requests.

Sukuna probably hates that Yuji goes out of his way to sacrifice his life for people with the power he has when Yuji should be showing it off and enjoying a good fight just like he does. It's what makes Yuji boring to him.

Whenever Sukuna has fought someone (most of the time), it's a battle of "who is stronger" and he praises that person for showing off that potential. He even gets some entertainment out of it. There was even Maki, who wasn't fighting him for the sake to prove she's strong, who he praised.

But out of those he has faced, who does he constantly put down? Yuji.

Here's the thing. We know Yuji isn't weak. Sukuna knows this, too. He knows this firsthand because he has always been there. Sukuna, the King of Curses, was able to be suppressed by Yuji while possessing his body. He has seen Yuji show strength and speed that he was born with. He fought Yuji himself and within that first fight Yuji has managed to throw Sukuna off guard twice.

So Sukuna knows what Yuji can do. He just doesn't acknowledge it to Yuji. Instead, he chooses to call him "weak" and "boring".

But why? What is it about Yuji that really gets at Sukuna to constantly put him down like that?Again, 248 confirms Sukuna hates that Yuji has an unbreakable spirit. Yet, wouldn't that be something Sukuna be impressed by? Wouldn't he be impressed that Yuji's will is so strong that not even the King of Curses can tear it down? Let alone, why would he even care enough to acknowledge Yuji's unbreakable resolve at this point of the story and actually go out his way to be petty to try to break it again?

Why is Sukuna actually wasting his energy being pressed by Yuji who he deems weaker than him?

It's expected for the villain to be irritated by a hero's unbreakable will. But with Sukuna? Villain, he may be, he doesn't cross as the type to actually be that pressed about one person. Like, why does it matter that Yuji, this teenage boy who shares his mutual hatred, opposes him?

In a way, I believe that Sukuna hates Yuji, but also believes in his capability just in his own twisted way. He may, just maybe, sees Yuji as "the next Sukuna". Not in the sense of "I want an heir to live on my legacy" but in a "you should be like me, an epitome of strength and greatness".

What if Sukuna eggs Yuji on over and over to break him to eventually get him to snap and really show him a more bloodthirsty side? But one that he isn't angry on the behalf of others, but for himself? What if Sukuna wants Yuji to be selfish? What if Sukuna hates that Yuji has this unbreakable spirit because he wants to mold Yuji into his own image, and doesn't even know it himself yet?

We don't know much of Sukuna's past except how he was feared and worshipped through his reign of terror during the Heian Era. But what about before all that? Before he became the King of Curses? Or even after? What caused his death? Did he still have people who worshipped him?

We just know he was an "unwanted" child and he brushes that off. I imagine that during his time growing up, he learned how harsh life was and that shaped him into who he is today. He may be trying to project that onto Yuji. Wants Yuji to not be so naïve about how cruel the world is and doesn't deserve selfless people like Yuji. Treating him cruelly so that eventually Yuji becomes what he wants him to be. Just like him.

It's a crazy idea, I know, but anything can happen, I guess.

Sukuna chooses to not help Yuji and even if he does, he doesn't mean to. Earlier in the story, he reacts badly to being used as "a generator" against the Finger Bearer Curse, going as far as to killing Yuji.

[Thinking back on it, I find it intriguing and visual pleasing in storytelling that Sukuna tears out Yuji's heart. Not like I wanted Sukuna to do that! I actually freaked out! What I mean is, Yuji is someone whose actions are influenced by his heart than his head. Opposite of Sukuna who is a heartless monster and in battle, he tends to think with his head. In that scene, it was like saying such. Sukuna is a heartless monster while Yuji has a heart too big for his body. Moving on!]

The next time Yuji asks for his help with Junpei he laughs in his face and denies him that aid. After that, Yuji doesn't ask for Sukuna's help anymore.

Instead, he gets stronger and trains to rely on his own skills and prowess. Probably what Sukuna wants. He doesn't want to be used as some aid Yuji calls on whenever and at the same time, just maybe he wants Yuji to grow on his own the way he probably had to. He's helping Yuji become great without helping him.

Come the Shibuya Incident, this is where it gets interesting to me.

First, recall the fight between Choso and Yuji. We can see just how Yuji has gotten stronger. So strong that Choso did indeed have a hard time beating Yuji. Choso even remarks later after Shibuya how Yuji is like a "demon god" in chapter 139. This isn't him praising Yuji as a big brother. This is him praising Yuji as someone who has faced Yuji before. That was not an easy fight for Choso even though all Yuji fought with was his martial arts, wits, strength and speed.

"Kiya, didn't he lose that fight?" Yes (and some of you won't let that go). But, remember how Sukuna reacted?

He comments how he couldn't believe that Yuji lost to such "riffraff". That wording caught my attention because Sukuna would have normally said something like "You're pathetic, you're weak" or of the nature. He probably would have made a comment of how he expected Yuji to lose.

But he doesn't! Instead, his words are of disappointment that Yuji lost to Choso all while insulting Choso with "riffraff/inferior opponent" comment. Isn't that odd to anybody else but me?

Fast forward just a little to the final battle with Mahito! When Mahito confronts Sukuna for the third time, he tells Sukuna to shut up (and he wasn't even talking) and watch as he kills Yuji. And Sukuna gives him this look. It was smug. He was smirking. It's like he knows Mahito was talking a big game that he indeed did not win. It could be because he knows that at that point, Yuji wasn't going to stop until Mahito was dead. That he was at a breaking point.

(I also felt that Sukuna probably Sensed Kenjaku nearby. The thing is, if Mahito had succeeded in killing Yuji, it still would have been a lost to him somehow because Sukuna could probably just resurrect him again.)

A breaking point that Sukuna started. Let's rewind it back a bit to after Sukuna fought Mahoraga. Ah, yes. That moment.

When Sukuna switches back to Yuji to show off the destruction he did during the fight with Mahoraga. The memories of what Sukuna had done from killing the Hasaba twins, everything he did when fighting Jogo and finally Mahoraga. Once Yuji took in everything, he becomes distressed, nauseous, he falls into this state of self-hatred.

"... I an nothing but a murderer."

That scene is a punch to the gut. It was heartbreaking, especially to Yuji fans, huh? But there is someone who enjoyed it, undoubtedly. Someone who relished in seeing Yuji in such pain. Of course, it was Sukuna. We all know Ryomen Sukuna was basking in being the cause of Yuji's breakdown.

Something tells me that during that fight against Mahoraga, Sukuna realized just how destruction and death was happening around him and thought "Oh, I think the after results should be something for the brat to see"! And when he let Yuji see that huge black space void of life? He was laughing, he had to be.

I touched on this here, but I'm bringing it up here, too.

Yuji being aware of what Sukuna does and vice versa, Sukuna actually didn't have to bring Yuji right to that spot. He could have just switched back where he was and Yuji would have still known what he did. But, no. Sukuna had to be extra cruel. He had to show Yuji what he did front row and center. Almost as if he needed Yuji to see how cold-hearted and ruthless Sukuna is and maybe push Yuji to being just as cold-hearted and ruthless.

Take note of the lyrics of SPECIALZ, the song King Gnu written from the villains' POV. (Lyrics in the parentheses are translated by the music video.)

Shall we dance in the border of the death

Tokyo trenches in the metropolis

Shall we give it our all in between yes and no

Show me a hint of bad part inside of you

***

Let it all make a mess

Devour everything to your heart's content (Let's feast on the emptiness)

A lifelong labyrinthine rendezvous (Lost in the labyrinth of life, launched on this rendezvous)

To the point of dizziness (Losing my mind), "U R MY SPECIAL"

These lyrics reflect that scene. Yuji is brought to the border of a death scene, a place where many died. "Show me a hint of bad..." Yuji's reaction is the bad part of him that later shape into the Yuji we see for the rest of the arc. His words of "nothing but a murderer" kind of hint Yuji's later words to Mahito. How he'll keep on killing and killing curses. He won't take pleasure in it as it's just seems to be his role in this ongoing war between curses and humans.

"Let it all make a mess", definitely what it all was. A mess that affects Yuji hard. A mess that you could say makes him empty inside. "Let's feast on emptiness/Devour everything to your heart's content", Sukuna pretty does just that. Feasts on everything he chooses to both literally and figuratively. He devours on Yuji's pain and what if he wants Yuji to do the same? To just devour everything to satisfy himself. He had Yuji "feast his eyes" on the empty space.

Take note that in the anime, when Yuji is saying to himself to "die, die right now" his eyes are this red color. Sukuna's eyes are red. To me, that wasn't just Yuji telling himself to die, but also Sukuna, a bad part of him that he wanted to be rid of in the first place.

"Losing my mind", Yuji wanders from that scene as he constantly replays words he and others have said to him. He's in that state of confusion, lost and dizziness.

Now, these set of lyrics also could be Mahito's POV to Yuji. Mahito is a foil to Sukuna. They're both major antagonists to Yuji who mess with him. But in opposite, death isn't something Sukuna is afraid of while Mahito turns tail when it gets dangerous for him.

Let's rewind back to my previous point about the scene between Sukuna and Mahito. Yuji was at that breaking point and Mahito was going to feel that rage and lose against it. He would, and he does, become Yuji's victim. Again, in a twisted way it seemed Sukuna was proud of just knowing Yuji was possibly about to become a killing machine against Mahito.

I described in another post here that Yuji is a toy to Sukuna. In this case, the toy Yuji is to Sukuna is play dough. A modeling dough that comes in vibrant colors that children play with to mold into whatever they imagine.

Yuji is a play dough. He's being molded into whatever Sukuna wants him to be.

But why would he care to do that? Maybe it's a subconscious decision. That somewhere deep down inside Sukuna, a part of him senses that Yuji is that missing piece of him. Remember how twins work in JJK? Two halves of one whole.

It's why he acts and does what he does. He's incomplete and Yuji makes him feel less of such.

Well, I mention before in other posts... probably... but I believe in the whole reincarnation theory, I do. I think it's a fun idea. But! I don't mean Yuji being a reincarnation of Sukuna's twin. I do believe in that though. [As of now, that theory has been debunked.]

What if Yuji was a reincarnation of Sukuna himself?

Could it be that Sukuna may be "Yuji's biggest hater" because of the idea how your own worst enemy can be yourself?

That's really all I have to say for now.

***

Now I got something to add! As of 257, it's stated that Sukuna did indeed consume his twin in the womb (that bit I was right about) but Yuji isn't the reincarnated soul of that twin. It's his father, Jin Itadori.

But I still stand by my theory Yuji could be Sukuna's reincarnation via soul recycling or other means. Like, this whole time what if Sukuna was trying to shape Yuji into what he envisions because Yuji is him? Yuji is that piece of that's like... "what could have been". He's the good that Sukuna wants extinguished.

Simply, as it turns out if you apply the reveal of 257, Sukuna is like this cruel, evil "mentor" for his "nephew" that's he's looking out in his own weird, harsh way.

#just kiya's thoughts #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #itadori yuji #itadori yuuji #yuji itadori #yuuji itadori #ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen

[slashingdisneypasta]

Dorothy Must Die!Lion x Scarecrow'sFemAssistant!Reader || Drabble

Plot: What it's like catching the fearsome Lion's attention, becoming his favourite, but also falling under the protection of his good friend.

Warnings: Threatening confession.

*picture there so y'all can see HOW HUGE THIS FUCKEN LION IS- and I assume this picture is from BEFORE he grew big and terrifying.

"And this... "Your boss, Scarecrow, sounds bored as he waives a gloved and straw-filled hand the animal's way, after introducing the Tin Man. "this is my old friend Lion, of course."

Obviously you knew who both of these men (Creatures??) were; you've been appointed the Scarecrow's research assistant for good reason afterall. You knew everything you could learn, and that certainly involved Oz history- in which your new boss, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly (Or not-so-cowardly, any longer) Lion were main figures.

But you let the Scarecrow tell you anyway. Because you're smart, and you know- a man like that? Needs the validation of sharing information others may not be aware of. And you would rather not get on the viscious scientists bad side boss or not.

You give both the Tin Man and the Lion a solemn, respectful nod. "Illuminating to make your acquaintances. I've heard all about your bravery in killing the Wicked Witch of the West by Queen Dorothy's side."

The Tin Man nods respectfully and sensibly back, and he's about to say something as his old metal mouth squeaks open- but the Lion, who's the same height as his two friends on all-fours, cuts in; approaching you and flashing a huge toothy smile down. "Oh, Scare old friend! Where have you been hiding this one?" The Tin Man promptly closes his mouth, a note or irritation in his metal squeal this time, you think. "She's pretty! You're pretty, young lady."

-immediately you go bug-eyed. What?? WHAT?? You're used to the Scarecrow's sensible, monotonous, borderline rude ways; this straight forward compliment is completely foreign to you. Though, you're sure you shouldn't be surprised by his boldness. The Lion is an animal, and animals don't play with subtlty, or pretending. And he is known for his courage these days, you suppose.

"U- um, I- "

"And she smells delicious."

"Wh- "

The Scarecrow cuts you off, with a sigh. "Leave her be, Lion. You're flustering her and I have no use for an emotional research assistant."

"I'm flustering her?" The Lion asks, looking at you with a stern, puzzled look on his face. With a roll of his giant muscled shoulders, he backs up a step. "My apologies."

"No- I- that's okay." You manage, then take a deep breath. "I... take no offence."

Another broad, leonine grin spreads across the big cats maw again. "Oh." Is there a wild, roguish lilt to his grin? Almost a smirk? "Good." He tells you bluntly in that deep voice sounding something like a roar, tail swishing behind him.

~

A few days later, it's the first time you've been allowed a break from thr Scarecrow's dark room's and the smell of death that fills them other then for meals. The Scarecrow wanted to be left alone, so he sent you to do some reading on cerebrospila fluids, and you chose to do so out in the courtyards. In the bright sun, surrounded by the emerald palaces beautiful gardens.

The Lion seemed to have had the same idea, covering a good portion of cobblestones with his large body sprawled lazily out under the warm ray's; dozing. And you keep sneaking glances at him like some silly girl- allowing your mind to skew from your duties and half admire the monster's muscles as well as half wonder to yourself what he meant by saying that you smell 'delicious'.

Does he want to eat you?? You've heard about his enormous, insatiable hunger, as well as how he enjoys his meals to be alive when he eats them. That doesn't sound particularly good, to you.

But... he also called you pretty. And that's throwing you off.

Before too long, you've only been sitting outside for no longer than 10 minutes, the Lion's deep echoing voice fills your eyes like molasses.

A crackly purr like growling sound escapes from deep in his chest as he stretches a little, muscles rippling under his skin, and his eyes gaze over at you half-lidded. "Nice day, isn't it?"

"Very nice."

"Come over here, pretty assistant."

You don't have a choice, it's the Lion (The King of the Beasts), and besides if you did try to run he could pounce and catch you in no time at all- so you do the smart thing, and close your book and wander over. When the enormous beast just looks at you, his maw pulling wider in a lazy grin, before nodding with his giant head to a spot next to him, you carefully sit down on the cobblestones with him.

After a moment of the Lion just looking at you, either like you're a prime steak or a masterpiece (maybe both), you take a deep breath. "Are you going to eat me??"

"... I want to. I like you quite a bit; you're pretty. If I could I would keep you and nibble off you for as long as I could- days, weeks, months, even years if you were strong enough. And the Scarecrow would just keep replacing your limbs one by one. You could be my favourite." He allows, looking pleased and impressed by your bravery, a roguish and wild lilt to his gorey, sharp smirk. "... but you're my dear old friend's help, and I wouldn't like to put him on the spot like that."

"... oh."

"Scared, little kitten?"

"I- "

"You shouldn't be." He sighs, adjusting his massive paws in front of him and making himself more comfortable. "Trust me, I spent far too long being a coward and fortune favours the brave. I'm King of the Beasts, now."

... "You have a point." You nod, speaking quietly.

"I do."

"Well... I- I should go." You curse yourself for stuttering, for you're still scared, but the Lion looks reproachfully at you. "The Scarecrow will be expecting me- "

Before you can even move, the Lion leans over and drops his heavy head on your lap with a thud; his snout nuzzling into your hip bone. He gives a content yawn, sounding more like a gentle roar thick with sleepiness. "Not yet... "

That makes your eyes widen wide open and heat fill up your chest, and your neck, and your cheeks. "But- I thought- I thought you didn't wish inconvenience the Scarecrow??"

"He can wait for a little while, pretty Y/N. I need you, now."

#Dorothy Must Die!Lion x Reader Drabble #Dorothy Must Die!Lion x Reader #Dorothy Must Die!Lion #DMD!Lion x Reader Drabble #DMD!Lion x Reader #DMD!Lion #Dorothy Must Die x Reader #Dororthy Must Die #Dorothy Must Die hy Danielle Paige #Drabble