Yandere!Jax x Reader Headcanons
💜 As the most recent addition to the circus, after Pomni, you're a prime target for Jax's particular brand of hazing. He'll immediately latch onto any perceived weaknesses and fears to get under your skin and make your newfound existence in an eternal Hell all the more disorienting and miserable. And no matter how you react, Jax only seems to feed off it.
🐰 Fearful and upset? Jax gets so much amusement out of making you scared. Even if the others try to comfort you, Jax will immediately pop in with commentary to amplify your misery. Aw, gonna cry, little baby? Oh, you poor, poor thing. It's okay, Jax will be your friend. Might as well, right? Not like you can exactly escape him.
💜 Angry? Try to fight back? Jax finds it hilarious. He might even encourage you, urging you closer to him to yell in his face or to land a hit on him. Depending on how tall your new form is compared to his, he might be able to push your face away while you swipe at air. Ooo, how about a game of tag, one where he taunts and insults you until you chase after him. Even if you manage to get your hands on him and beat the tar out of him, the feeling of victory you've gotten out of tying his limbs into bows is quickly extinguished by the realization that he likes it. Jax laughs until he's breathless. You're a real riot, you know? You two should hang out more often.~
🐰 Even if you're near unresponsive, it won't put him off. He'll keep pushing and pushing you until he's sure you'll break. He'll insult you, spread rumors, even go so far as to shove you around if it means getting a reaction out of you. Jax will delight in your repressed rage or misery. Even if you become completely despondent, it fills Jax with a sadistic glee. His poor little sad sack. His cute punching bag.
💜 Gangle is silently thankful for your presence having drawn Jax's attention off of her. Now when the group is off on adventures, if you choose to join, your unofficial role is essentially Jax's lackey. You're forced through threat or cohesion to do the hard things that nobody wants to do - or, rather, forced to the things only Jax wants done, but doesn't want to do himself. If you refuse, you'll be met with a barrage of insults until he either gives up or physically forces you to do what he wants.
🐰 Jax knows the others can't stand his behavior. Can't stand him. But, they like you. Of course they do. So he has to keep you away from them. You're his, after all. He chose you. That's why he's honed in on you so obsessively. He'll lead you away from them, and only then is he gentle. An arm around your shoulder. A kiss to the cheek. His voice, for once, is soft and gentle. Pleading with you with big bunny eyes that he needs you. That he really cares. He wouldn't push you so hard if he didn't care. If he didn't… Love you. You might not believe it, at first. That's okay, though. Jax has plenty of time to convince you. And when you do, when you finally accept him and his place by your side, you won't be able to the smug, shit-eating grin on his when you turn your back to him.
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WHEREVER YOU WANNA GO, THAT’S FINE WITH ME — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO
cw mentioned/talks about death but not like… in a serious way 😭 this whole thing is very unserious and stupid it’s just a thought i couldn’t get out of my head, megumi being… megumi, f2l but what’s new, also inspired by some clip from a tv show i’ve seen on tt but idk the name of it, if you do pls let me know
you ask megumi you make one of those marriage pacts with you—that if neither of you are married by thirty-five, you two will get married to each other—and he just hums for a moment before asking, “do you think i’ll be better suited for marriage at thirty-five?”
“what? n—i don’t know? maybe? it just seems like an appropriate age to get married if you’re not already, that’s all,” you explain.
more humming. he blinks, “i don’t think i’ll be all that different at thirty-five.”
“well, that’s concerning,” you joke, “you’re supposed to change—grow a little bit as a person and all that, megumi. even you are capable of it.”
“i won’t want anything different out of a marriage at thirty-five than i would right now,” he corrects you, then turns to you, and with all seriousness demands, “so, state your stipulations. what do you want from me, let’s figure out of this is gonna work now.”
you scoff, and cross your arms. “what do i want from you? that’s not how a marriage works.”
“that’s how this friendship already works.”
you say, megumi does; he pushes it than he should have, you say to stop, and eventually he does, and the cycle continues. he’s always stubborn, and sacrificing himself beyond necessity, and you’re always pulling his ear for it.
“okay. fine,” you settle, straightening your posture, “i want a house. three bedrooms, so nobara and yuuji don’t have to bicker about sharing when they stay over.”
megumi considers it, then counters with, “four. gojo needs a bedroom, too. one floor, i don’t like stairs.”
“where the fuck are we going to find a one-level four-bedroom house? i don’t want to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.”
“we’ll find one,” he shrugs, doesn’t flinch when he promises: “or i’ll have one made for us. next: vacations.”
“twice per year. somewhere tropical, and somewhere metropolitan.”
“i don’t like the beach.”
“then you don’t have to go on the beach.”
“you’re responsible for me if i burn.”
“i’m responsible for you either way, i’m your wife,” you taunt, “pets, next. i want dogs. two. maybe three. and a bunny.”
“no bunnies, they’re too much work.”
“but i want a bunny, megumi.”
“you won’t have time for a bunny,” he rolls his eyes, “and you’re gonna get pissed when it chews up the expensive couch you’re gonna make me buy, and takes a shit in the expensive fruit bowl you’re gonna con gojo out of. no bunnies.”
you pout and frown, but megumi doesn’t budge: “no bunnies.”
you sigh, “no bunnies, but i want the dogs.”
“i didn’t say no to the dogs. unless you want a golden, then i’m not raising that.”
“why not? we already have yuuji.”
“exactly, we already have yuuji.”
“fine. i want a king sized bed. the really big, oversized ones you get in america.”
“done. children?”
“you want children?”
megumi shrugs, but you swear there’s a dust of pink on his cheeks, “maybe. maybe not. if i did, no more than two.”
and suddenly you can’t help but feel heat in your own face, hot with the image of two tiny megumis running around.
“that’s fine with me. maybe kids, but no more than two,” you cough, “i want one of those heated driveways for the house.”
“i’ll have it built. i’ll clean and do laundry and take out the trash if you cook.”
“what about days i don’t cook?”
“then i’ll do that, too,” megumi nods, “anything else?”
“yes. if i die first, you can remarry, but you visit my grave at least twice a year, and bring peonies. and that picture of me from prom where i look really good.”
“no.”
you stop. you blink. “what do you mean ‘no?’ you wouldn’t visit my grave?—kinda cruel considering i birthed your up-to-two future children and raised your dogs.”
“i won’t remarry. and i don’t want you to if i die first,” he corrects you, again, “and there’s no dying first and leaving me behind, i’m going with you.”
he doesn’t leave room for debate in his declarations: won’t, don’t; not wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t—you have to pinch yourself to stop chasing the rabbit of temptation running through your mind.
“i don’t… think you get to decide that,” you chuckle.
“of course i do,” megumi grins, uncrosses his legs and leans over. he reaches a hand to the back of your head and pushes it forward until your foreheads meet gently; and as if the affection wasn’t shocking enough, he continues, “where you go, i go. that’s marriage, right?”
he widens his smile a bit, before letting you go, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms like nothing happened, and you’re left staring, blinking, breathing shallowly like prey that narrowly escaped being caught.
you don’t speak, so megumi does, “i have one more thing.”
and slowly, you unthaw enough to let out a questioning hum. megumi tilts his head before telling you, “i want your last name.”
“what? you—you would change your name?” you stutter, “but fushiguro is so pretty! and it’s your mom’s name, so few people get their mother’s names.”
“yeah. this way, our up-to-two children get their mother’s names, too.”
“i—okay… yeah, i guess they do,” you gape, then pout, “wait, what if i wanted to be mrs. fushiguro?”
“tough luck,” he grins, “you get everything else.”
you get me, instead, is what’s left unsaid.
“okay, fine. sounds like a deal to me.”
“great. we can’t have a spring wedding because gojo and toji will sneeze obnoxiously loudly, and we can’t have a summer wedding because the anniversary will conflict with our tropical vacation, and nobara will kill us if it’s too close to her birthday,” he says, standing up from the couch to head to the kitchen, “so i’ll see you at the courthouse in september.”
you nod reflexively, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied smile. it’s a while before your brain processes his words, and when it finally does, you spring up in a fluster, “september? megumi, i said when when we’re thirty-five and if neither of us are already married! megumi? megumi fushiguro, come back here!”
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