Half a Dream, Half a Disaster.

I am constantly dissociating ☆ 18+ ☆ on hiatus.

[onehundredelevven]

! Here’s what you can expect !

What I Write:

✰Fluff, ANGST, crack, suggestive themes

✰f, m, gn reader

✰headcanons, drabbles, long/short-form fics

Requests:

✰Are requests open? Yes !

✰Guidelines

✰ Request here !

MASTERLIST

JJK

Homicipher

Haikyuu soon

✰ Just call me Winwin, mostly sane, Capricorn, and I love women.

✰ I love chatting about fandoms, tropes, and ideas(or chatting in general). Feel free to send asks or comments !

✰ Reblogs and likes are always appreciated !!

☆ All Rights Reserved ☆

All content on this blog is written and created by me, onehundredelevven. Please do not repost, copy, translate, or claim my work as your own without my explicit permission. Reblogging is always appreciated !

[onehundredelevven]

Literally been dead. Writer's block is hell. Ideas aren't flowingggg:((((

[onehundredelevven]

HIII can i. request. just some hcs of how toji or maybe sukuna would deal with a f!reader who's disableddd???? (POTS and hEDS)

(yes i am asking this because i have them. shhh.)

Here u go darling! Did a bit of studying for this one, which I don't mind. Pardon me if I get a bit off-track though hehee. It's 12 midnight so I'll sleep after thissss

☆☆☆

Sukuna x Disabled!Reader (POTS + hEDS) Headcanons

Content Warnings: Mentions of chronic illness, symptoms of POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome: dizziness, fainting, fatigue) and hEDS (hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome: joint pain, dislocations, chronic pain). Some angst about disability, but with comfort and Sukuna being protective. Modern AU.

☆At first, Sukuna didn’t get it. He’s the kind of guy who thinks in blunt terms:

“What do you mean you got dizzy from just standing up? Tch. Weak.”

But when he saw you nearly faint in the kitchen once, dropping your glass of water, his instincts kicked in fast. He caught you before you could hit the ground—expression sharp, heart hammering even if he’d never admit it.

☆He does his homework secretly. You’d never expect it, but Sukuna’s the type to stay up late reading about POTS and hEDS. The next morning he’ll still grumble:

“Don’t overdo it. I’m not picking your ass up off the floor again.”

But deep down? He’s already rearranging the house to make things easier for you.

☆Chronic pain days hit hard, and that’s when Sukuna’s softer side slips. You’ll wake up and find heating pads already set, meds placed on the nightstand, and your favorite blanket draped over you. He’ll pretend it’s coincidence:

“You think I’ve got time to pamper you? Don’t flatter yourself. Just shut up and rest.”

Yet his hand lingers on your hip a little longer, rubbing circles when your joints ache.

☆Joint dislocations/subluxations? Oh, he’s terrifyingly calm about it. You panic, but Sukuna—stone-faced—helps you stabilize or get your brace on. He’ll mutter, “Stop crying, I’ve got you. Just breathe,” while his thumb brushes your tears away.

☆POTS symptoms like dizziness or fainting? Sukuna is instantly protective. He notices when your lips pale, when you grip the counter a little too hard. He doesn’t make a scene—he just appears at your side:

“Sit. Now. Don’t argue.”

He’ll carry you bridal-style to the couch if you resist, not even breaking a sweat.

☆Angst moment: You cry once, thinking you’re a burden. “You didn’t sign up for all this… I can’t even stand without feeling like I’ll collapse.”

Sukuna actually gets angry—not at you, but at the world. He grips your chin, makes you look at him.

“Don’t you dare talk like that. You think this scares me? You think I care if I have to carry you every damn day? I’ll do it, and I’ll still sleep fine at night. So quit acting like you’re less.”

☆Despite his gruffness, he spoils you more than you realize. He’ll cook (grumbling the whole time), drives you everywhere because he doesn’t trust you walking too much, and adjusts his work schedule around your doctor appointments—without telling you, of course.

☆When you’re exhausted, he lets you nap on his chest. Big, scary Sukuna, tattooed and all, stroking your hair as if you’ll break if he’s too rough. He won’t move for hours, even if his back aches.

☆And if anyone—anyone—so much as hints that you’re “weak” or “broken”? Sukuna’s rage is volcanic. He’ll tear them down with venomous words:

“Say that again, and I’ll make sure you’re the one crawling home.”

Nobody dares after that.

At the end of the day, Sukuna doesn’t see you as fragile. He sees you as his. And that’s all that matters.

[onehundredelevven]

Hii! I was thinking maybe you could write something for Zenin Naoya🥹 it’s controversial i knowww so I’m gonna let you chose whatever you want as the base of the fic (if you decide to accept the request, of course) because i don’t really see many people writing ANYTHING about him…

Thank youuu❤️

Got it, here u go babes. Though idk what I actually wrote, it just— it's there. Yep.

---

Roommates from Hell

Pairing: Zen’in Naoya x fem!reader (modern AU)

Genre: Roommates, banter, light angst, slow-burn tension, eventual softness because we like that

☆☆☆

You don’t remember agreeing to this arrangement, but life had a way of cornering you. Rent was hell. Utilities were hell. Your boss was hell. And now, so was your roommate.

Zen’in Naoya.

From the moment you moved in, he had a way of making everything sound like an insult, even when it wasn’t meant to be one.

“Don’t put your mugs on the counter. They leave rings. Not that I expect you to know anything about cleaning,” he’d toss casually, as if he wasn’t the one leaving socks everywhere.

“Don’t eat my leftovers. They’re worth more than your whole salary.”

“Are you crying again? Over what, a commercial? Che. You’re hopeless.”

And yet—he always came home on time, carried groceries without being asked, and paid bills early.

It was infuriating.

---

The First Blow-Up

It happened on a Tuesday night after work. You were sprawled on the couch, fighting tears after your manager chewed you out for a mistake that wasn’t yours. You told yourself not to cry, not in front of him.

Of course, Naoya walked in, loosened tie, expensive shoes clicking against the floor. His eyes flicked to your face.

“Tch. Again? What is it this time?”

You snapped.

“Why do you always assume I’m crying over nothing?! Some people actually have feelings, Naoya! Sorry I’m not some cold, entitled—whatever the hell you are!”

His brow arched, lips twisting into that smug smile that made your blood boil.

“Cold? No. Realistic. You’re just soft.”

The tears spilled over then, hot and humiliating.

“God, you’re such an ass.”

You turned away, sniffling into the couch cushion.

…And for once, Naoya didn’t fire back. He stood there, silent, then muttered something like:

“Don’t cry into the cushions. They’ll stink.”

---

The Compromise

Despite the constant bickering, something shifted after that night.

Naoya still teased you, still made sharp remarks—but there was a pause now, a flicker of restraint.

When you burned dinner one night, he sighed and ordered delivery without complaint.

When you left tissues all over the coffee table after a sob-fest over a sad movie, he tossed them in the trash and only muttered about hygiene.

And when you came home one Friday with mascara streaks from a work disaster, he was waiting with two drinks on the counter.

“Don’t get used to it,” he said gruffly, sliding one toward you.

But you noticed he didn’t leave until you were laughing again.

---

The Breaking Point

The real turning point came during a fight about laundry.

“You can’t just toss your crap in with mine, Naoya! Who the hell dyes their shirts red and doesn’t warn anyone?!”

“It’s called paying attention. You’re too busy whining to notice. Che. Women.”

That was it—you threw the damp shirt at him, ready to scream. But your voice cracked instead, frustration blurring into tears.

“Why do you always make me feel like I’m not good enough?! Like I can’t do anything right?”

Naoya froze. For once, his mouth stayed shut.

Then, quieter than you’ve ever heard him:

“…That’s not what I meant.”

You blinked, stunned.

“What?”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly irritated—though not at you this time.

“You’re annoying. You cry too much. But—you’re not useless.” He hesitated, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “Actually… you’re tougher than half the people I know.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment you’d ever wrung out of him.

---

The Softness He Hates

From then on, Naoya got… complicated.

He still insulted you, but his tone sometimes sounded almost fond.

He never admitted it, but you caught him buying your favorite snacks.

When you cried, he stopped mocking you outright. Instead, he’d just sit nearby, scrolling on his phone, muttering: “You’ll live. Stop making it sound like the end of the world.” But he stayed until you calmed down.

One night, you walked in to find him asleep on the couch, work files scattered around. A blanket had been thrown haphazardly over the cushions.

Your blanket.

The same one he used to call “ugly” and “cheap.”

---

Maybe Something More

It was slow, infuriating, confusing—but somehow, you found yourself laughing at his dry remarks instead of biting back. Crying less because you knew he’d always be there, even if he grumbled.

And Naoya? He found himself tolerating things he used to hate: the sound of your laugh echoing in the apartment, the way you hummed when you cooked, even the sniffles that used to drive him mad.

Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

…But when he caught you falling asleep on the couch one night, tear-stained from a rom-com, he carried you to your room without a word.

And when you stirred, whispering his name—he muttered, almost too quiet to hear:

“Don’t cry. Not when I’m here.”

[onehundredelevven]

Requests are open y'all, got a sudden burst of motivation so yeah, go crazy(not too much) on my ask🩷

[onehundredelevven]

I'm here to drop a fic(lmao once in a blue moon atp)

Warning: lots of cursing, a little too sweet, maybe.

☆☆☆

Pregnant Wife x Sukuna (Modern AU)

Sukuna had fought wars, broken bones, and stared down death more times than he could count. None of that, none of it, compared to the absolute chaos of living with his pregnant wife.

It started at 2:37 a.m. on a Tuesday.

You nudged him awake, eyes glassy and desperate.

“Sukuna. I want—” you paused dramatically, as if it was life or death, “—spicy ramen. With ice cream. Vanilla.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Spicy ramen and ice cream? What the fuck kind of combination is that?”

“Your child wants it,” you snapped, arms crossed over your very round belly. “And you love me. So you’re gonna get it.”

He muttered something vulgar under his breath, but fifteen minutes later, the King of Curses was standing in the fluorescent glow of a 24-hour convenience store, shoving ramen and ice cream into a basket while glaring at the cashier like don’t even ask.

---

The cravings only got worse. Pickles dipped in peanut butter. A sandwich stacked with sardines and Nutella. One time you cried because he brought you strawberry yogurt instead of blueberry.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he growled, staring at the unopened cup of strawberry yogurt on the counter.

Tears welled up instantly. “You don’t even care about me or the baby! Strawberry is disgusting, Sukuna! Disgusting!”

For a moment, his eyebrow twitched like he might actually lose it. But then, with a heavy sigh, he stalked out the door, muttering, “Blueberry, or I won’t hear the end of this shit.”

---

Mood swings? Oh, you had plenty.

One morning you clung to his neck, sobbing into his chest. “You’re the best husband ever, I don’t deserve you, I love you so much.”

By noon, you were throwing a pillow at his head. “You don’t do anything around here! I can’t even bend down to tie my shoes and you just sit there!”

He caught the pillow mid-air, glaring. “Tie your shoes? Woman, I literally carried you up three flights of stairs yesterday because you said the elevator felt ‘judgy.’”

You sniffled, looking at him like he just committed a war crime. “...You’re still an ass.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sit your hormonal ass down. I’ll tie your damn shoes.”

---

But here was the thing: no matter how insane the cravings, how sharp the mood swings, how heavy the nights got with your back aching and your belly sticking out—Sukuna never faltered.

When you complained about your weight, whispering, “What if I’m too heavy for you now?” he just scoffed, picked you up effortlessly, and tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“You’re carrying my kid,” he said gruffly, giving your thigh a firm squeeze, “you think I give a damn about numbers on a scale? You’ll never be too heavy for me. I’ll carry you until I fucking die.”

And he meant it. He carried you to bed, carried you down the stairs when you waddled too slow, carried your shopping bags, carried all of it.

---

The night before your due date, you were curled against him, your belly pressing into his side. You looked up at him with teary eyes.

“Are you scared?” you asked softly.

He looked down at you, one big hand stroking the swell of your stomach.

“Of being a dad? No.” His voice was low, steady. “Of losing you? Yeah.”

You blinked, surprised at his honesty. He almost never admitted weakness.

He kissed your forehead roughly, almost angrily, like he didn’t want to give away more than that.

“But you’re strong. Stronger than me. You’ll make it through. And when this kid comes out, I’ll love them just as much as I love you. Even if they want fucking pickles on their pancakes.”

You laughed wetly against his chest, and for once, your cravings and moods didn’t feel so overwhelming. Because Sukuna—your crude, terrifying, stubborn husband—was always there.

Even at 2:37 a.m. with ramen and ice cream.

[lovegasmic]

“is he bothering you, ma’am?” the kind stranger asks as he approaches your table, a concerned look on his face as he eyes Satoru up and down, who so casually leans against the table with a smirk.

for the past hour, while you were busy typing in your laptop, Satoru happened to simply drop on the chair in front of you, rambling your ears out even though he knew you were not listening, “you’re gorgeous, do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, no response.

“oh, hard public, hm? that’s okay, you are still gorgeous, can I give you my number?” no response. yet his stupid little smirk stays present.

“your boyfriend is not worth your time, baby, you should date me instead”

“what are you drinking? want a refill?”

“did it hurt when you fell from—”

until the kind stranger interrupts, his eyes are cautious as he keeps them on the blue eyed, this time you speak with a sigh and little polite smile, “i’m fine, thank you, he’s my husband”

[onehundredelevven]

When you don't say "I love you" back

Ft. JJK Men

note: I'm so back but still on writer's block. Here's this anyway🩷🩷🩷

☆☆☆

Gojo Satoru

He pauses at the door, blinking behind his shades.

“I love you,” he says, sing-song, lips curled in that usual grin.

You smile, distracted, just saying “Mhm, bye!”

A dramatic gasp.

“MHM? That’s all I get? No ‘I love you too, my beautiful, all-powerful, most eligible man alive’?”

He turns back, leaning against the doorframe like a wounded theater actor.

“You don’t love me anymore? Is this it? Are we breaking up?”

You sigh, laughing. “You’ll be late, dumbass.”

He walks off backwards, arms spread. “Fine! But just know… I’ll cry on the plane.”

---

Geto Suguru

He’s halfway out the door when he says it, soft and sure. “Love you.”

You hum distractedly, checking your phone.

He watches you for a moment. “That’s it?”

You look up. “Hmm?”

He chuckles under his breath, walks back in, wraps his arms around you from behind.

“You’re lucky I’m patient,” he murmurs in your ear. “But don’t do that again.”

You feel the warning in his voice, the teasing weight behind it.

“I’ll kiss it out of you next time.”

---

Nanami Kento

He straightens his tie, briefcase in hand. “I love you.”

You nod. “Have a good day.”

He pauses.

Turns slowly.

“Did I forget to say something unclear?”

You blink. “Huh?”

He walks over, kisses your forehead, then leans in close.

“I said I love you,” he murmurs, deliberately. “And I expect a proper reply, darling.”

You bite your lip to hide a smile.

“…I love you too.”

He hums. “Thank you. Now I can leave in peace.”

---

Choso Kamo

He shyly mumbles, “I love you,” clutching his coat.

You wave. “Okay, be safe!”

He stops mid-step, visibly deflating.

Turns to you slowly, with a deeply betrayed look.

“…You forgot something.”

You stare blankly until he stammers, “You didn’t—you didn’t say it back.”

Your heart breaks a little.

When you finally say it, he looks so relieved it’s ridiculous.

“…Don’t scare me like that,” he mutters, hiding his face in his scarf.

---

Sukuna

He doesn’t say “I love you” often.

So when he does, and you don’t say it back?

He’s glaring, jaw tight. “Excuse me?”

You blink. “What?”

“I just risked emotional death and said those three stupid words, and you just—what, wave me off?”

You snort. “Wow, you’re sensitive.”

He growls, pins you to the wall. “Say it.”

You grin. “Make me.”

“…I’ll ruin your whole night if you don’t.”

(He definitely ruins it. Lovingly.)

---

Toji Fushiguro

“Love ya,” he says casually, keys in hand.

You yawn, curled on the couch. “Mm. Later.”

He stops. Stares at you.

“…You didn’t say it back.”

You peek open one eye. “So?”

He squints. “You tryna piss me off?”

Walks over, lifts your chin.

“Say it back, doll,” he drawls. “I don’t care if you’re half-asleep—I wanna hear it.”

You grin. “Fine. I love you.”

He kisses your forehead.

“Damn right.”

---

Itadori Yuuji

He says it brightly, all sunshine: “Love you!”

You wave. “Bye!”

He freezes, stares at the floor.

“…Wait.”

You turn. “Hmm?”

He slowly looks up, eyes wide like a kicked puppy.

“You didn’t say it back.”

Your heart melts instantly.

“Yuuji—”

“No no it’s fine,” he says, dramatically walking to the door. “I’ll just cry a little on the train. No big deal.”

You call out: “I love you too, idiot!”

He spins around beaming. “Awww!”

---

Fushiguro Megumi

He’s quiet about it. Just a mumbled, “Love you,” as he heads out.

You barely register it.

He pauses, looks back. “...Seriously?”

You blink up from your book. “What?”

“You didn’t say it back.”

Your brows rise. “I didn’t think you cared.”

He looks... mildly betrayed.

“I always care.”

You grin and call after him, “I love you too, Gumi.”

He tries to hide the smile tugging at his lips as he shuts the door, ears a little red.

[unabletonotlovesatoru-deactivat]

it starts small. a few extra snacks during movie nights, cozy winter meals that are too good to pass up, lazy mornings spent wrapped in each other instead of working out. neither of you really notice at first—until one fateful evening when you try to sit on nanami’s lap like usual, only for him to let out a very undignified grunt.

“…ow.”

you freeze. “what do you mean ow?”

nanami exhales, adjusting his grip on your waist. “i mean that you are significantly heavier than you were last season.”

your jaw drops. “did you just call me fat?”

he gives you a look—one that says he’s already regretting his word choice. “that’s not what I said.”

“but it’s what you meant!” you clutch your chest dramatically. “so this is how our love story ends, huh? my boyfriend calling me fat after we spent the entire winter eating like royalty?”

nanami sighs, rubbing his temples. “first of all, i never said that. second of all, we did this together, which means you’re not the only one who’s gained weight.”

you pause, eyes narrowing. “you have?”

“yes.”

immediately, your hands go to his sides, pressing into his waist, and your eyes widen in delight. “oh my god. you have.”

nanami groans as you start squishing at his stomach, trying to gauge just how much softer he’s gotten. “stop that.”

“no, this is the best discovery ever,” you say, grinning. “you’re cozier.”

“so are you,” he mutters, gripping your hips and pulling you closer, voice lowering as he adds, “which I like.”

you blink, caught off guard for a second. then you smirk. “oh? so you like my winter weight?”

“if it means there’s more of you to hold, then yes,” he replies simply, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

your smirk falters, heart skipping a beat. “…now i feel bad for bullying you.”

nanami hums, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “you should.”

you sigh dramatically. “fine. truce?”

“truce.” he wraps his arms fully around you, pulling you against his chest with ease. “but if we both want to get back in shape, we should start waking up earlier.”

you wrinkle your nose. “hmm. or… we could just stay cozy and accept our fate.”

nanami chuckles, resting his chin atop your head. “…tempting.”

[clemenlush]

when you go away, i still see you

[creampiedby]

Nanami is attractive and the type of man women dream of. He clearly knows it but he doesn't feel any attraction to any of the women who try to have him in their bed.

But only one woman has managed to get his attention. It's you. Is it normal to see a woman so beautiful that his cock becomes so painful every time he sees her? He doesn't have the answer but he only wants you. He could be sick if that's not the case.

And he got you.

"Fuck baby.. your pussy tastes like heaven." He says more to himself than to you as he eats your pussy through your pastel pink panties of depraved just for him. His thumb tickles your swollen and sensitive clitoris.

"Nanamiiii!" Your toes respond to each other with the strong sensations he gives you, but the guilt of doing such a dirty thing in the meeting room catches up with you and especially doing it with your boss.

Your hands cup your mouth to muffle your loud moans. His eyes flick up to catch your gaze. "I want to hear you my slutty girl. It's okay if we hear you." He moves your soaked panties with his tongue and pushes them into your tight walls and you feel a small smile against the levers of your soaked pussy.

You pull your hand away and moan incoherent things from the immense pleasure Nanami is giving you. Your hands grip his hair which makes him moan. Your hips move spanking so that your pussy grinds against his face.

He looks at you intensely as if you are an angel. You are so beautiful in his eyes. His cock twitches and hurts so much against his expensive pants. He can feel the precum against the fabric. It's a waste for you.

"Imgonna! I'm gonna cum!" Small tears of pleasure fall from your pretty eyes. His tongue is active in your velvety walls and his thumb makes a frantic circle on your sensitive bud. "Nanamiii!!" Your grip on this hair becomes stronger.

You enjoy your mouth soaked with your sperm. He continues to lick you and drink your sweet juices. You taste so good. Nanami felt moisture in his underwear, he had cum too but without realizing it. You make him so dirty for his greatest pleasure.

a/n : I wrote quickly because it's been a while since I posted :) I haven't reread and if you come up with a longer version let me know. ⟢﹒masterlist

[onehundredelevven]

Simply a masterpiece🤌

[manikas-whims]

Xavier’s snatched pretty waist 🎀✨

[thedelulusolulu]

WHORE 🫵

What’s that waist so tiny for?? FOR MC TO WRAP HER ARMS AROUND!!!???

[eatmels]

i have a love hate relationship with this crow 🐦‍⬛

[onehundredelevven]

Nerd!jo Being Absolutely Pathetic Headcanons♡

☆When he’s tutoring you, he’s trying to focus on the lesson, but all he can see is the way your lips part when you’re thinking, the way your fingers twirl your pen. His glasses keep sliding down because he’s sweating—why is it so hot in here?

☆The moment you step out for a bathroom break, it’s like a crime scene. He’s touching the bedsheets, picking up your hoodie, rubbing the fabric between his fingers like he’s studying its molecular structure.

☆If there’s a hair tie left behind? Pocketed. A pen you chewed on? Pocketed. Your perfume lingers in the air? He’s inhaling like it’s life support.

☆Worst-case scenario? He spots your underwear folded neatly in your laundry basket and just stares. It’s a moral dilemma. A test of willpower. If he touches it, he’s never coming back from this.(He touches it.)

☆When you come back, he’s red-faced, acting way too normal, legs crossed suspiciously. "A-ah, you—you were gone for a while! I—I was just reviewing our notes!" (He has not retained a single word.)

☆He thinks he’d be in control, that his intelligence means he’d have the upper hand. Wrong.

☆He tries to be composed, but the second you straddle him, he’s gripping your hips like his life depends on it.

☆The first time you get even a little close, whisper something teasing in his ear? His breath hitches so hard his glasses slip down.

☆Whimpers. Like, actual gasping, high-pitched whimpers. If you so much as grind a little, he’s gone, head tilting back, eyes rolling.

☆Mumbles incoherently. Between hitched breaths, he’s whispering nonsense— “I-I can’t—this is—I shouldn’t—y-you’re too—” before cutting off with a desperate moan.

☆Absolutely clings to you, hands grasping at your thighs, your waist, your back. Like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

☆If you tease him? Call him cute in that sultry tone? He whines.

☆Would beg. The moment you slow down, teasing him about how needy he is, he’s nodding frantically, pupils blown wide, glasses askew. "P-please—please, I—I need—"

Nerd!Gojo is a wreck for you, and he knows it. He’s supposed to be the smartest in the room, but the moment you so much as breathe on his neck, his IQ drops to zero.

[onehundredelevven]

You knew Toji was built different. The man carried himself with the confidence of someone who had every reason to be cocky. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a smirk that practically screamed trouble—you’d prepared yourself for what lay beneath his clothes. Or at least, you thought you had.

You were so wrong.

The second his pants hit the floor, your jaw did the same.

“What the fuck is that?” you blurted out, pointing like he had just revealed a biological weapon.

Toji, the absolute menace, just smirked, running a lazy hand down his stomach and happy trail. “A blessing,” he said smugly.

“A what? That thing is a liability. No way you’re walking around with that like it’s normal,” you gawked, half-expecting his cock to start levitating or glowing.

Toji just laughed, his chest rumbling as he stepped closer, towering over you like he was enjoying your reaction way too much. “Aw, c’mon, sweetheart. You can handle it.”

“Handle it? Toji, I’d need a whole battle strategy. I’d need backup. I’d need a doctor on standby.” You squinted at him. “Do you have a license for that?”

He leaned down, voice dropping into something downright wicked. “Wanna find out?”

You inhaled sharply, brain short-circuiting between fear and thrill. His fingers traced along your jaw, his stupid, cocky smirk never leaving his face. You could feel the heat rolling off him, intense, suffocating, dangerous. You can feel that pussy destroyer poking you.

“…For legal reasons, this is a bad idea,” you muttered, pressing a hand against his chest.

He chuckled, pressing closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Then it’s a good thing we’re both a little lawless, huh?”

You hated how much that sent a shiver down your spine.

[kcokaine]

Nosferatu sukugo

[onehundredelevven]

This is some cool shyt right here🙌🙌🙌

[onehundredelevven]

"Would You Still Love Me If I Was a Worm?"

Satoru had asked you the question a week ago.

You barely glanced up from your book at the time and replied with a deadpan, “Satoru, if you turned into a worm, I’d put you in a jar and feed you leaves until you die.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you had personally ripped out his heart. “You monster!”

Fast forward to today.

You woke up, stretching lazily, ready to start your morning—when something moved on your pillow.

A tiny, white, wriggling thing.

With an all-too-familiar voice.

“Mornin’, babe.”

Your soul left your body.

You stared in absolute horror as a worm—a TALKING worm—lay beside you, wriggling its tiny body in what you assumed was a smug manner.

“…Satoru?”

The worm grinned. IT GRINNED. “Bingo! Looks like I finally turned into a worm. But don’t worry, you still love me, right?”

Your entire body seized up. Your brain rejected every second of this nightmare reality. Your boyfriend—the strongest sorcerer alive—was now a moist, wriggly worm making kissy noises at you.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

“I was thinking, you could carry me around in your pocket! Or maybe a cute little necklace jar? Ooh! How about you feed me like a baby bird?”

“What the actual f—”

Satoru’s worm body wiggled closer. “C’mon, baby, don’t act like you’re not into it. You love me.”

“I DO NOT LOVE A FUCKING WORM, SATORU!!”

He gasped. “You take that back!”

“Satoru, I will put you in a terrarium and forget to water you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I WOULD.”

“YOU’RE A TERRIBLE GIRLFRIEND!”

“I’M ABOUT TO BE SINGLE!”

And just as you were about to absolutely hurl him across the room—

You woke up.

Drenched in sweat. Heart racing.

You immediately turned to your side—Satoru was there, human and very much not a worm, sleeping peacefully.

You exhaled shakily, rubbing your face. “It was just a dream…”

Then, beside you, Satoru mumbled in his sleep—

“Love you, babe… even if I was a worm…”

You screamed into your pillow.