#murder x reader

Mean Boyfriend Dust, who always eats the least piece of food, smirking widely at your sulking face.

Mean Boyfriend Dust, who sits in your lap just to hear your little grunts and complaints, just to mocking you when you hug him from behind.

Mean Boyfriend Dust, who stares at your friends until they back off, only to tilt his head in innocence when you accuse him of scare your friends.

Mean Boyfriend Dust, who nips at your nape whenever you are distracted - biting from time to time so that the mark on the back of your neck doesn't disappear.

Mean Boyfriend Dust, who doesn't let you sleep on the sofa when you fight. He can't sleep without you by his side - even though you are almost on the bed's feet, away from him.

Mean Boyfriend Dust, who will not apologize, but will be more gentle with his pinches and bites, looking at you with bicolored eyes - full of teasing while he nips at your fingers.

note: He was the first skeleton I wrote about, so I wanted to go back to write a little about him again :D

Dust had always been unusually quiet — almost eerily so. Unlike his counterparts, Killer and Nightmare, he preferred to remain in the background, barely joining in on dinners or group training sessions.

That was fine; you never judged him for it (well, maybe a little at first, to be honest). However, it wasn’t just his isolation and silence that troubled you; it was the lack of communication.

You knew he wasn’t much of a talker — it was possible to count on one hand the times you’d heard his voice — but his complete stillness meant you couldn’t read any body language from him. And if that wasn’t enough, there was also the hood.

That damn hood. If only you could see his face, maybe you’d understand Dust better. Perhaps those bicolored eyes would be more expressive than his lack of movement, or maybe even a smirk, a furrowed brow, or a look of disdain would be more revealing than this complete absence of expression.

Inevitably, your hands went to your face, massaging your temples with some unnecessary force. All these questions and uncertainties were making your headache worse — and Killer’s incessant chatter during breakfast didn’t help at all.

For a moment, you close your eyes and let your mind drift, trying to imagine Dust's possible expressions. Does he maintain eye contact, or does he look away constantly? Does he have any habits like biting his tongue or lips, as you do?

Despite your efforts, nothing comes to mind. It’s already difficult enough to picture Dust doing anything other than sitting still on the couch, watching TV, or standing silently in a corner observing the others. Imagining a range of expressions on his face feels even more daunting — almost impossible.

As you sink further into the couch, feeling a slight ache in your back from the uncomfortable position, a weary sigh escapes your lips.

Just as you’re about to get frustrated with your lack of creativity, a poke on your cheek snaps you back to reality.

“Not now, Killer, you know I’ve got a splitting headache—” you start to say, but your words trail off when you open your eyes and see it isn’t Killer beside you, but the skeleton that’s been occupying your thoughts recently.

Still a bit taken aback, you almost miss the mug he’s offering, gently nudging it toward you as a signal to take it.

“Uh, thanks?” You carefully take hold of the mug, quickly grasping the handle when you realize how hot it is.

You soon catch a faint aroma wafting from the mug. Without hesitation, you inspect the liquid inside: judging by the color and smell, it’s definitely tea, though you can’t tell if it’s magical or herbal.

“It’s mint.” In an instant, your gaze locks onto Dust, who is still standing beside you.

This is one of the few times he’s directly addressed you (maybe the third? Certainly the first time he’s spoken so calmly), and you can’t help but be slightly taken aback.

Dust was offering you tea. Tea. Something usually associated with soothing physical pain and fatigue. Has this Dust actually gone so far as to prepare, serve, and offer tea to you? Did he know about your headache? Wait a minute—

Was he trying to ease your headache?

“Drink it slowly; it’s hot.” And just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned and began to walk away, his steps slow and shuffling. You couldn’t help but wince at the sound of his slippers scraping against the floor.

“Um…” You mutter, your gaze returning to the mug and watching the steam rise gently from it.

Your lips quiver slightly; even though it was a simple gesture, it had deeply touched your heart.

Maybe Dust wasn’t as expressionless and distant as you had believed.