#men reader

A/N : I apologize in advance if my writing isn't good enough. Lately, I feel like my writing has deteriorated.

Title : Angel Shot

Pairing : Jade Leech × Reader ( Romantic-Platonic, Yandere )

Word Count : 1,520 words

Warning : Yandere behavior, implied stalking, manipulation, possessiveness, harassment (from a stranger), psychological tension, ambiguous morality

Summary : A quiet night at an upscale lounge turns suffocating when an unwanted stranger refuses to take a hint. With no easy escape, you fall back on the one constant in this place—the observant, unsettling bartender who always seems to know more than he should.

The lounge felt quieter than usual. Not empty, just subdued, with every clink of glass sounding intentional.

Low amber lights pooled on the polished wood surface while jazz played softly in the background, almost like a secret whisper.

Tonight, you weren’t at the bar, which was odd for you. You usually preferred to keep your distance, watching rather than being watched.

The bar was where people showed off, leaning too close, laughing too loud, trying to be more interesting than they really were. Sitting elsewhere allowed you to exist without getting pulled into someone else's drama.

But your gaze still drifted over to him.

Jade was behind the counter, looking like he fit in there more than the furniture did. He was tall almost too tall and while his presence didn’t scream for attention, it had a way of drawing the eye.

He was dressed sharply, crisp shirt, waistcoat perfectly pressed, sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at effort without looking careless.

He smiled at a customer, but the warmth didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You quickly looked away, not wanting him to catch you staring.

You didn’t know him, not really.

You came here sometimes, enough to have a usual order that he remembered. Occasionally, he’d drop a quiet comment something sharp.

something that felt a bit too spot-on and you’d respond out of politeness more than anything else. Just a stranger.

“ ...You’re alone? ” The voice came from beside you, and you stiffened.

He hadn’t been there a moment ago, or maybe he had, and you just hadn’t noticed. Either way, he was too close now, leaning in with an entitlement that made your skin crawl.

“ I’m fine. ” you replied curtly, shifting your chair slightly further away from him.

“ Didn’t say you were. ” he said, flashing a rehearsed smile. “ I just thought someone like you shouldn’t be sitting alone. ”

Someone like you. You didn’t bother asking what he meant by that. “ I’m waiting for someone. ” you lied.

“ Then they’re late. ” he remarked easily, sliding into the chair across from you without waiting for an invitation. “ I can keep you company until they arrive. ”

You didn’t respond, instead reaching for your empty glass and standing up.

“ I’ll get another drink. ” He stood as well. “ I’ll walk with you. ”

“ That’s not necessary. ”

“ Don’t be like that. ” His hand brushed against your arm, gentle but close enough to make you pull away, heart racing.

You moved towards the bar slowly, refusing to let him see you rush. Of course, he followed.

The bar felt further away than normal. When you finally reached it, relief didn’t come immediately, but it was something.

The feel of the familiar wood under your fingers, the steady rhythm of service, the illusion of control.

Jade was already there, naturally. He didn’t seem surprised to see you especially not with the man lingering a bit too close behind you.

His eyes flicked to your face, paused, and just like that, the atmosphere shifted. Subtle, almost unnoticeable, yet you felt it like the moment before a storm.

“ What can I get for you tonight? ” he asked in that smooth, professional tone.

Your voice came out quieter than you meant. “ …Angel shot. ”

There was a brief silence one that probably wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone else, but for you, it lingered. Jade’s smile didn’t waver.

“ Of course. We just got a new selection. I’ll need to check the vintage in the back. ”

His gaze held yours for a moment too long, and you could sense an understanding that was immediate.

“ Would you mind helping me? ” he added, “ I could use a second opinion. ”

You nodded, even though the man behind you frowned, “ Hey, I was— ”

“ I’ll be back shortly. ” Jade said, his tone effortlessly dismissive.

It wasn’t rude, just final. And something in how he said it made the other guy hesitate, if only for a second.

Jade stepped away from the bar, already expecting you to follow. You did, slipping behind the counter with his unspoken permission. The back room door clicked open and shut quietly behind you.

The noise of the lounge faded instantly. Here, the air felt different. Colder. Calmer. Almost safe.

You let out a breath, your shoulders relaxing for the first time since that man had approached.

“ …Thank you ” you murmured. Jade paused before responding. He placed a glass down on the counter, unused, before turning to fully face you.

Up close, you noticed just how tall he really was. He didn’t just stand tall; he loomed.

“ You picked an odd spot to sit tonight. ” he said, almost like a statement rather than a question. “ I didn’t think— ”

“ No. ” he agreed softly. “ You didn’t. ” There was no judgment in his tone, which somehow made it worse.

You frowned. “ I handled it. ”

“ Did you? ” His question hung between you, and you opened your mouth but ended up closing it again.

Jade stepped a little closer, not in an aggressive way, just enough for you to feel it.

“ You came to me. ” he continued, “ which suggests otherwise. ”

His hand lifted. For a moment, you thought he might grab you, but he just adjusted your collar, a small, careful movement, like fixing something that was slightly out of place.

“ You were trembling. ” he noted. “ I’m not now. ”

“ No. ” he replied. “ Because you’re here. ” The weight of that implication settled heavily in the air between you.

You frowned again. “ What about him? ” A pause.

“ I’ve dealt with it. ” Simple. Clean. Final. “ How? ” Jade smiled again, but this time it felt colder.

“ Does it matter? ” It should have. It did. Yet you hesitated. He tilted his head, studying you in that unnerving way.

“ You come here often. ” he observed. “ Sit in the same spot. Order the same drink. Leave around the same time each time. ”

Your stomach tightened. “ I pay attention. ” he added. “ It’s part of my job. ”

“ That’s…normal..?” you replied, but it lacked conviction. “ Is it? ” He stepped closer again. Not enough to touch, but enough to make you feel it.

“ I can tell when you’re tired. ” he continued. “ When you’ve had a rough day. When you’re overthinking everything. When you’re trying not to. ”

Your breath caught. “ You don’t really know me.. ” you said. Jade’s gaze softened, almost gentle.

“ I know enough. ” A moment of silence passed. Not uncomfortable, but heavy.

“ You shouldn’t sit alone like that again. ” he finally said. “ I was fine. ”

“ You weren’t. ” After a beat, he added quietly, “ You don’t have to be. ” Something in how he said it tightened your chest.

“ You’re a bartender. ” you said, “ not— ”

“ Not what? ” You couldn’t finish. Jade studied you for a moment longer before stepping back, giving you space while still holding your attention.

“ I’ve arranged for your ride. ” he said as if casually changing the subject. “ It’ll be waiting when you’re ready to leave. ”

“ I didn’t ask for that. ”

“ You didn’t need to. ” That calm confidence again. “ I can leave on my own. ”

“ You could. ” he agreed, “ but you won’t. ” Something about how he said it made arguing feel pointless.

You exhaled slowly. “ …Why? ” You hadn’t meant to ask it, but the question slipped out.

Jade’s gaze sharpened. “ Why what? ”

“ Why do you care? ” For the first time, his smile turned almost genuine. Not warm, but real.

“ Because you came to me. ” The response was immediate and strong.

“ As long as you do that. ” he went on, “ your safety is my responsibility. ”

“ That’s not how things work. ”

“ It is now. ” You stared at him. He didn’t look away. “ You’re treating this like… ” You trailed off, searching for the right word. “ An arrangement? ” he offered. “ A trap. ” His smile widened slightly.

“ Is there actually a difference? ” Your pulse quickened.

“ You don’t need anyone else. ” he said, casually. “ No unreliable friends. No strangers with unclear motives. ”

His expression softened again. “ You have me. ” Those words settled heavily, like a burden you hadn’t signed up for.

“ You don’t even know if I want that. ” you argued. Jade tilted his head, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“ Do you? ” You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you had come to him. Out of everyone in that room, you had chosen him.

Jade stepped up close for a last time, his hand brushing your wrist firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.

“ Be more careful. ” he murmured. “ Next time, I might not be so forgiving. ”

A chill ran down your spine. “ Forgiving? ” His smile didn’t falter.

“ You were careless. ” he said simply. “ I don’t like it when something that belongs to me is treated so lightly. ”

Your breath caught. “ I don’t belong to you. ” Jade’s grip tightened just a little. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you.

“ We’ll see. ” A polite knock sounded at the door soft, respectful. Jade released you instantly, as if nothing had happened.

“ Your car is ready. ” he said, slipping back into that polished professional tone as he opened the door.

The noise of the lounge returned in a rush, normal, unchanged as if nothing had shifted at all.

You stepped out. The world felt different. As you walked toward the exit, you glanced back. Jade was already back behind the bar, serving, smiling, watching.

A/N : I must admit this presents some challenge, as he ranks as my least preferred character in the narrative. Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to try. The resulting story may fall short of expectations my apologies should it prove disappointing🙏🏼

Title : The Quiet Tide

Pairing : Yandere!Platonic!jotaro kujo x Isekai!kid!Reader

Word Count : 3,900

Warning : Terminal illness , grief , death , emotional themes , platonic relationship

Summary : Jotaro accidentally meets you at the sea.

English is not my first language.

The sea was the first to discover them. Not fate, not coincidence, and certainly not some cosmic joke just the ocean, indifferent and patient, nudging a small body onto the stones as if it were clearing its throat

Jotaro was supposed to be out measuring a specimen. He had a clipboard, a beat-up thermos, and a mood that made even the gulls seem like a welcome distraction. He never expected to find anything like a child.

He didn’t anticipate small hands getting tangled in the seaweed or the sound of crying that started as a plucked string and expanded into a full melody.

He had expected peace and quiet. Instead, he found a small life wrapped in a soaked sweater.

You looked younger than what you later claimed you age to be. It was as if a careless tailor had shrunken you and left your in a world that expected you to fit into a bigger size.

You hair was stuck to a forehead that seemed as pale as old bone, and your eyes had the gray hue of a winter sky.

You carried a backpack that was far too big and had a name tag with handwriting that trembled, hinting at something older than the letters themselves.

When you woke up, you coughed, a dry little sound, and then spoke a name that Jotaro didn’t expect anyone to know unless they’d memorized it from some fanbook or nightmare.

He felt a mix of annoyance and calm, maybe sixty percent annoyed and forty percent unfazed.

That was just how he was. He crouched on the stones, acting like it was his duty to remain unimpressed by anything shorter than five feet.

His hat cast a shadow over his face, making his eyes unreadable, much like the depths of the ocean.

“ You alright? ” he asked, keeping it practical and somewhat detached.

You blinked, as if you was trying to sort the world into things that made sense and those that needed explaining. “ Where am I? ” you asked.

“ The coast. ” he replied. “ You were in the water. ”

Your eyes darted toward him, taking in the hat, the figure he cut, and the way the ocean had made its intentions clear by leaving him there.

You didn’t no electricity-filled words were thrown around. There were no shouts of heroes or villains. You was just a small human with a perplexed expression and a cough that made the stones seem to tremble.

He could have walked away, sure. Lots of people washed up on shore the coast had its own ways of dealing with them.

He could’ve reported you. He could’ve taken ten steps inland and stuck to his measuring charts.

But here’s the thing about Jotaro when he made contact with some unyielding piece of reality, he usually ended up bringing it back home.

Soo, he carried you home.

He had decent coffee, appliances that worked, and a bed he didn’t fully trust.

His life was woven through with quiet things books he hadn’t read, notes he sometimes jotted down when boredom set in, and a map of tides and currents pinned to the wall. Not much else, really.

At first, you called him 'sir.' He corrected you on the first day because he had this stubborn streak that insisted on keeping some vestiges of decency. “ Just Jotaro. ” he told you.

“ You can call me— ” you started, then hesitated. Names were tricky for you. When you finally offered one, it sounded like a small, tired apology. “ y/n ”

It was an alright name, and he nodded, which in his world meant something akin to acceptance. For two days, you slept, coughed, and quietly observed him.

You watched how he made coffee. You learned the sounds of the flat the creak of floorboards, the kettle’s song when it was ignored, and the low rumble of the sea beneath the city’s breath.

And You learned about him. That was the tricky part. Kids notice details adults often overlook. You spotted the scars on his knuckles and the way he flinched at the sound of thunder, as if it were a distant memory.

You observed and cataloged, and Jotaro found himself shrinking the world down for You, making it less rough around the edges.

At first, it was easy buying bread instead of pretending not to care when you reached for the last roll.

You asked practical, odd questions. From where? How? Why? The answers were thin your remembered bits and pieces a room that carried the scent of dust and coffee, a clock with hands stuck in time, the sensation of being older yet feeling smaller in your current body.

When you mentioned having been older before, he accepted it in that lazy, ironic way he did with most people’s stories. People were eccentrically broken, and that was just how life was.

As the days slipped by on a calendar he rarely kept track of, you cough grew worse. It was like a small creature trapped inside your ribs.

It wouldn’t let go, shaking your awake at night until the moon had no choice but to bear witness.

He took your to a doctor when you skin grew thin and pale, and you cheeks forgot how to catch sunlight.

The doctor frowned into his stethoscope, wrote a few notes, and offered simple terms 'virus' 'compromised immunity' 'we’ll run tests.'

Tests were run, x-rays and blood work. They came back with charts that meant little to laymen but everything to those who treated them as maps.

The results indicated something like a fatigued lung and a body that had been pushed to its limits.

The doctors wore their professionalism like armor, advising them on what could be done antibiotics, rest, monitored diets, steering clear of cold and seawater. There were probability bars, patience bars both maddeningly vague.

What the charts couldn’t convey couldn’t gauge, couldn’t label was how you ended up here or why time had treated you unkindly.

Jotaro didn’t ask how or why you had become younger. No point in trying to fix fate with questions.

He just listened as you explained how you could remember phrases from a life that had ended, the sensation of being too old for you present body, and the loneliness of recalling responsibilities while the world expected you to play.

“ You should go back. ” you suggested one midnight, skin clammy, eyes shining in the dim light. “ If you want if you can. ”

He looked at you like a man who measured storms by instinct. “ Back where? ”

“ To where I came from.. ” you replied. “ Before. ” you swallowed. “ But it’s not I don’t— ” you gaze met his with a kind of innocent yet complicated pity kids sometimes give. “ I don’t think it’s possible. ”

He didn’t share what he felt. He didn’t say, I remember too much. He just said, “ Then stay. ”

And you did. For a while, the word 'stay' meant sharing bread, clean towels, and a small cupboard for you childish belongings.

You discovered that Jotaro could sit in silence without feeling the need to break it. Like all people living together, they learned the pattern of small, essential betrayals.

He would decide things for you in the name of protection. He would trim risk off like a gardener pruning low branches from a pathway.

Those decisions became trickier as you cough persisted. Antibiotics eased the nighttime rattling but didn’t silence it.

You became paler, the kind of pale that made sunlight quiet down. You grew weary of doing nothing, of being something to be taken care of.

You longed to run in the rain, to splash in untainted water, to be small in a way that didn’t draw pity from others.

“ I don’t want to be a project... ” you told him one afternoon, your voice as sharp as a pebble thrown intentionally.

“ You’re not a project. ” he replied, honest, like men sometimes are when they feel cornered. “ You’re just someone I’m stuck with. ”

You laughed, a delicate sound, almost like glass breaking. “ Stuck with is a promising beginning. ”

He disliked the way you could cut through humor and leave the wound exposed. He disliked nearly everything about being soft with you.

He disliked that he began cooking an extra portion at meals and learning the names of your favorite spices. He resented that when you had a rough night, he sat with his back turned, fingers on his knees, trying to push something away with humility.

But then, when everything settled into a routine that could be summed up in three acts morning, afternoon, night your illness became steadier and more relentless. It wasn’t dramatic.

There were no exciting highs or lows. It was a slow, deliberate encroachment, like ivy slowly climbing a wall. Tests returned with results that fluctuated in ways that made the doctors frown, and their tone shifted into that dull, respectful cadence adults use to skirt around hard truths.

The term 'chronic degenerative condition' rearranged everything. It implied a body that would lean toward failure despite the best of medical efforts. It implied a timeline that felt fundamentally unfair, even when articulated clinically.

They suggested a hospital stay for monitoring. you hated hospitals. He hated them even more for you sake.

But you went because you trusted him in ways you hadn’t learned to question, believing that adults with steady hands could be relied on to keep the bad things at bay.

The hospital was a gray, fluorescent cave, with a scent of disinfectant and bureaucracy. Jotaro squeezed into chairs that felt too small and held a mug as a tangible thing to grip.

He watched you sleep while the monitors beeped like a metronome marking regretful time. Nurses flitted in and out. Doctors spoke in measured tones. At that moment, the future was an empty ledger with too many blank lines.

He settled by you side the day the doctor explained the options again and said the word 'palliative.' In that instant, he recalled another man taking a beating no one asked for, the weight of something that had worn him out. He didn’t want your life to fade any more than it had to.

“ You’ll get better. ” you said during one of those sun-drenched days when light fell across the floor like a promise, you bravado shimmering with the thrill of defying destiny. “ You’re a marine biologist, right? You’ll find a cure. ”

He smiled, a twist of humor that never reached his eyes. “ I study currents. ” he replied. “ Not miracles. ”

“ Curses and miracles are close cousins. ” you retorted, because of course you had to challenge him over metaphysical arguments when the coffee was atrocious, and the sun was being gracious.

There were small victories fewer coughs, a night without a fever, you managing to get out of bed just to sit in the sunlight, testing its warmth.

He treated these moments like miniature epics in a war that wasn’t his choosing. He sought out researchers who listened to problems and tucked them away he asked for experimental treatments and leads.

Science was accommodating when it could be, and it spoke in slow, respectful denials when it could not.

On the most difficult night, you asked him a simple question why. Not why the illness existed your had accepted the harshness of things.

No, you wanted to know why he kept being patient for you, why he didn’t just refuse, why he didn’t walk away to find a quieter life where the sea hummed without stinging.

He struggled with 'why.' He preferred actions to philosophies. But you question lodged itself in his chest, making his hands feel small.

“ Because no one else will. ” he finally said. It was blunt, but it was true. He had spent years trying to blend into the background of others’ lives like a shadow you only noticed when you needed it.

He wouldn’t allow you to be someone the world chewed up. This truth wasn’t noble it was purely a stubborn possessiveness he hadn’t wanted to name.

You smiled faintly. “ Siblingship is a strange kind of love... ” He grunted something that could pass for agreement.

You decline was silent. The last weeks were marked by small losses. You slept for most of the time when you was awake, every movement seemed to flow with an effort, each action slightly delayed like the tide.

He learned to read the fluctuations in your breathing the way sailors read the wind. He brewed tea in a chipped pot and learned to warm you hands like people do with animals.

They seldom discussed the other life you remembered in the end, words can become burdensome, and people tend to save them for what truly matters.

Instead, they shared the little things the call of gulls at dawn, the way moonlight gathered on tables, the names of constellations neither of them had much use for but appreciated as decorations.

On the night you passed, the rain came down hard, as if it had forgotten how to be gentle. It hammered against the windows, making the building hum.

The hospital room smelled of rain, antiseptic, and a deep quiet, the kind that comes when machines are silenced to allow for human presence. Monitors beeped in slow, careful rhythms.

The kind nurse from earlier shot him a look of sympathy mixed with professional detachment. Then she quietly exited, leaving the room feeling tight.

He perched on the edge of your bed as if that position could somehow lessen his monstrousness. When you opened your eyes, the way you gazed at him felt almost like forgiveness.

“ Do you remember the sea? ” you asked, you voice fragile as something scrawled on paper.

He thought about how the ocean had been a map, a memory, a place of chaos and calm. “ I do. ” he affirmed.

“ Good.. ” you replied, smiling as if you had hidden letters meant for him, trusting him to find and read them aloud. “ Then you’ll be okay. ”

He wanted to argue. He wanted to present a list of things he would do, promises that would slip away with the next hour. He longed to shake the room into confessing the cruel truth of the world.

But those were adult hypocrisies, and you deserved something purer. He took your small, hot hand, which felt incredibly human in that moment. “ Don’t go getting sentimental on me.. ” he grumbled, because humans need familiarity when facing collapse.

You snorted, a sound like a hiccup that was nearly a laugh. “ You’re the sentimental one. ” you corrected him.

It was true, in its own quiet way. He had grown sentimental like cliffs soften under weathering. He had allowed himself to become a source of warmth for small souls.

You drifted off gradually, in that beautiful way people do when the world lets them slide into sleep without bringing them back. As ridiculous as it was, he had the urge to catalog you moment, to pin it down like a specimen. He wanted to remember the specific angle of your jaw, the precise rhythm of your breathing.

The mind acts that way when faced with endings it creates lists, choosing a few details it insists are enough.

Outside, the rain softened. The lamp on the bedside table cast a gentle glow. He realized, almost instinctively, that he hadn’t been given many opportunities for tenderness in his life.

He had seen more fury and necessity than closeness, and this moment echoed with both.

You took a breath that felt like the last whisper of a low tide. “ Promise me. ” you breathed. He frowned. “ Promise against what? ”

“ Against letting me be a burden you must carry alone. Promise me you’ll let the world in, even if only in small doses. ”

He hadn’t intended to be sentimental, but he found himself giving you that promise, finding comfort in the sound of it. “ Alright, I promise. ”

You closed your eyes contentedly, as if satisfied with this agreement. You hand went limp in his, and the monitors emitted a soft flat sound before silence fell.

For a wild, absurd moment, he thought you might breathe again. For a few heartbeats, the world felt like it might negotiate with him. Then it didn’t.

The nurse returned, she demeanor respectful. she enacted the necessary rituals humans go through to mark endings as final.

There were papers to sign, formalities to undergo, because society requires its rituals, even in the face of harsh, tender tragedies.

Jotaro remained with you body like a person expected to keep breathing on command. He didn’t weep like characters in movies. He understood the performance, and he had learned over many fights and funerals that tears are a private affair.

Instead, he felt his chest both full and empty, as if the space where something had lived was now rearranged and needed time to adjust.

People came a neighbor with a casserole, a doctor discussing tests and words.

They moved through the formalities before leaving, because grief can be contagious, and civilized society usually avoids it.

He handled arrangements with a blunt dignity, the same way he approached instruments and specimens. He signed papers without glancing at them, doing what needed to be done, the practical steps that made grief bearable by restoring the world to a semblance of normalcy.

At the funeral if you could call it that just a few people were present. Morale wasn’t abundant in town, and private funerals are rather simple affairs.

He fished a small paper from his pocket, a scrap your had slipped into his coat one morning. It felt like an afterthought you had left there before heading to the hospital the first time. On it was a note in that shaky, small handwriting 'For the man who keeps cliffs from crumbling.'

He read it once, twice, then tucked it back away. He remained silent he couldn’t make his voice resonate with any sort of brass or rhetoric. He stayed because, at that moment, staying was the only honest reaction he had left.

Years rolled on, as stories tend to do. The sea continued to open and close your hand against the shore. He kept teaching classes to students curious about how currents worked and what the ocean looked like when it was honest.

Occasionally, he found a note tucked away like a fossil beneath a lamp where you had once been, reminders to eat or to look up at constellations you adored.

He returned to the shore, one hand in his pocket, the paper folded into a form he could hold without glancing at it.

When people asked if he had imagined it all the child, the sudden tenderness, the long, quiet death he gave them the same response the wind offers to gulls a look that suggested there had been small mercies, and those were enough.

He didn’t improve. He didn’t expect to. He learned how to keep moving forward. Some mornings, the memory of you laughter rolled in like tide washing over his ankles, then retreated.

Other times, grief felt like a stone, something he kept in his pocket to weigh in his hand. Most of the time, it was a subtle undercurrent, shifting his movement through the world.

He thought of how you had placed your trust in him when life had faltered, and that trust was a fragile, dangerous thing that softened the edges of his existence.

He didn’t seek forgiveness. He honored the promise he’d made to you because promises are the only things that truly endure.