They Did My Boy So Dirty And I Will Never Not Be Mad About It

They did my boy so dirty and I will never not be mad about it 😩

Just finished volume 32 of SnK.

The kids are not alright.

Hi my name is Deanna and I have a Problem 🥲

[Color version to come soon!]

Because this story got more attention than I expected, I put it on Ao3 for easier access. Thanks for all the wonderful comments guys!!

Shorter Wong x Reader: Whatcha Reading? (T)

You’re in a bookstore when the aggressive whispering starts.

“Ay yo, cutie with the booty!”

You look left, right, around. There’s no one.

“Whatcha reading?”

You look up. Leaning over the bookshelf – Jesus, they’re tall enough to lean over the bookshelf? – are thick arms covering the bottom half of a face sporting sunglasses and a mohawk the color of crayola. If the crayon was purple.

You have so many questions. But the first one is, “How do you even know what my body looks like from the other side of the shelf?”

They have the gall to look embarrassed, running long, thick fingers over their head. “I circled you for a bit, trying to figure out the best way to approach you.”

Your mouth drops. “And…and this is what you came up with?” You motion to the fact that, again, they’re on the other side of a bookshelf.

Keep reading

Not me again 30 years late for another fandom.

(And writing fanfic for it no less)

Shorter Wong x Reader: Whatcha Reading? (T)

You’re in a bookstore when the aggressive whispering starts.

“Ay yo, cutie with the booty!”

You look left, right, around. There’s no one.

“Whatcha reading?”

You look up. Leaning over the bookshelf – Jesus, they’re tall enough to lean over the bookshelf? – are thick arms covering the bottom half of a face sporting sunglasses and a mohawk the color of crayola. If the crayon was purple.

You have so many questions. But the first one is, “How do you even know what my body looks like from the other side of the shelf?”

They have the gall to look embarrassed, running long, thick fingers over their head. “I circled you for a bit, trying to figure out the best way to approach you.”

Your mouth drops. “And…and this is what you came up with?” You motion to the fact that, again, they’re on the other side of a bookshelf.

You cannot tell what kind of expression they make, only notice an eyebrow piercing for the first time as their brows shift. Then, too loudly, they say, “Wait there!”

The arms, the sunglasses, and the hair disappear, and in the absence of the visual cues you get the sound of footsteps. Away from you, then around the bookshelf, and then you get to watch long legs in tight ripped jeans come your way. The fifteen seconds of silence should have been awkward, but you’re mostly just confused.

“Shorter Wong, he/him pronouns,” the guy, Shorter, says, resting an elbow on the bookshelf. Your eyes drift to his biceps, then snap quickly to his face. He’s Asian, but also maybe black. Light brown skin, small but wide nose, full lips.

You say your name, your pronouns, and wonder why you did. This guy, did you forget, cat-called you in a bookstore. You still haven’t decided if that makes him more or less classy than the average asshole.

“So…” Shorter drawls, smirk crawling up his face. “Whatcha reading?”

Your eyebrows furrow. You don’t think you want to be having this conversation. “Stop hitting on me. I just want to read.”

“Fair, fair,” Shorter relents, abandoning his kabe-don position to stand up straight – which, for him, is really just a slouch. “So can I not-hit on you and ask what you’re reading?”

You glare. But you’ve always been a book bitch and the lure is too strong. “Toni Morrison’s Beloved.”

“Isn’t that the chick that wrote The Bluest Eye?”

Your brain decides not to deal with the fact that Shorter called Miss Legend Extraordinaire Toni Morrison a “chick,” and latches onto the fact that he’s read her. “Yeah, yes. I’ve read Bluest Eye and God Help the Child. Loved them both. Wanted to read more.”

Shorter leans down –like the tall asshole he is– to look at the bookshelf from your eye-level. “I didn’t read God Help the Child, but I did read Bluest Eye and Song of Solomon.” As he scans the bookshelf, you scan his profile. His jaw is a road leading down to a thick neck that detours over muscular shoulders. You swallow.

“Song of Solomon is next on my list,” you pronounce.

Shorter looks at you, smiles. “Well then,” he starts, grabbing said book off the shelf. “Why don’t I buy Song of Solomon, you buy Beloved, and we make a date later to exchange?”

“I thought you weren’t hitting on me?” You counter, but you’re smiling too. Damn, why’d he have to be attractive and well-read?

Shorter laughs, and it’s a little goofy, a lot endearing. “I can’t help it.” Shorter’s lip quirks like he already thinks what he’s about to say is the funniest shit on the planet, and you brace yourself. “Your booty got me like–”

“Okay I’m leaving!” You say loudly, cheeks burning. You turn on your heel, heading for the register.

“Can I at least get a number?!” He calls after you. You see the tops of heads over various aisles turn in your direction, and you want to yell at Shorter to stop being so damn loud! But that would mean getting close enough to whisper, and you’ve already walked this far. So.

You turn to face Shorter Wong one last time from nearly the other side of the bookstore. The cashier, not knowing what’s going on but also not paid enough to interfere, rings you up silently.

“When you finish the book, just go to Cain’s crib and ask for me. It’ll go over real well,” you half-yell, immensely satisfied by the confusion that takes over Shorter’s face for the first time since this bizarre interaction began. Good. He deserves to be confused. Doesn’t make no goddamn sense that all that fine muscle is connected to such an irritating(ly handsome) face.

“Cain?” He parrots. “Cain Blood?”

You only smile, accepting your change from the cashier.

“Ho–Holy shit!” Shorter exclaims, but instead of the fear that you expected to see paint his face, there’s only what appears to be genuine awe. “You’re his little sibling! Damn, I knew you was special, we ‘bout to be the Montagues and Capulets up in this bit–”

“THEY BOTH DIE AT THE END YOU IDI—!”

“I’M GOING TO HAVE TO ASK YOU TWO TO LEAVE!!!” screams a staff member.