I Loved Your Atla And Lok Stuff And I Was Wondering If You Still Write For Them And If You Do Are You

I love ur haikyuu yansderes so much everyone of them is so interesting super original to read luv u ❤

I’m glad you like them!! They are some of my favorites of my works too😊😊

Okay yall, hear me out:

Iwaoi x reader

—thank you for coming by to my Ted Talk

if that did not send on anon i will be logging OUT

Agsjdjskjdd you’re clear!

Reborn (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) ~Chapter 5~

(Supernatural/Soulmate AU)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: How do normal people react when they get kidnapped by a vampire and a wizard claiming to be their soulmates? Because you try to choke them out with their own breakfasts. But maybe that’s just you. 

A/N: Bro. Bro. Bro. Okay, so y’all are either gonna love me or hate me for the end, but that’s okay. I’m really sorry I haven’t updated in a while, but I promise the story is gettin’ good! Once again, I hate to use this excuse, but life has gotten surprisingly hectic in the last week, so I hope you’ll excuse my lack of updating. Nonetheless, please enjoy!

Tag List: @burntcilantro​  @alloverbutterflies​  @translucentthoughts​  @zaejia​  @momothepeachgirl  @black-veil-chemicalz​  @miigoth​  @blxkstar​  @keigosbitch​  @actual-smol​  @rikorene​  @idiot-juice-enthusiast​  @cherriomilkmangos​  

Word count: 4364

        “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

        When you were younger, you used to play at your neighborhood park with another boy around your age. His name was Kenma, and he was one of your first friends. And right now, the man currently unlocking the cuffs around your wrists looked like his spitting image, just a decade older. 

        “Give us some privacy, Kenma.” Well damn.

        The blond man only nodded in acknowledgment and left the room. It looked a lot like your bedroom back at Akaashi and Bokuto’s house. There was a large bed up against one wall, and you currently sat on it while Kuroo pulled up an armchair in front of you. A chandelier hung from the high ceilings, and it buzzed with artificial light. The only art in the room was ancient and weathered, depicting either roses or oceanic views among the cream-colored walls. The remaining furniture was a simple, carved wooden closet across from the bathroom’s entrance, and a long, velvet sofa opposite a mounted television. 

        The only difference was the atmosphere. It wasn’t friendly or loving, no matter how many times Kuroo smiled reassuringly at you. At a certain point, you lost your patience. 

        “Go to college, they said,” you lean back on your hands and sneer at the man. “You’ll be fine, they said. You won’t get kidnapped twice in the same fucking year, they said!”

        “Language.”

        “ENGLISH!” 

        Kuroo chuckled, less than impressed with your manic temper. You could tell he wanted to sit closer to you, but he respected your space. Every few seconds, his eyes would fall to the empty space on the mattress next to you, but they would flick back up to yours just as fast. His arms stayed glued to those of his chair to keep him in place. 

        “You need to calm down.”

        “I don’t need to do shit,” you snarled. “Once again, I’m locked up in another…” you waved your arms around wildly, “ancient, supernatural freak’s mansion, which I don’t even know how you guys can even afford this shit!” 

        The black-haired man raised his brow and pressed himself deeper into his seat. “I was the king of an entire kingdom, you know.” 

        “Yeah, like a thousand years ago,” you nodded, lip curled back in vexation. “What, did you pay with doubloons, or with gold coins?” 

        He only snickers and shakes his head, leaning forward while you tilt back on your palms. Your legs still hang off the edge of the bed, though, and Kuroo seems about two seconds away from fondling your kneecaps. “Kitten, you don’t have to be afraid of me-”

        “Thanks, kidnapper.”

        “-because I won’t treat you like they did.” Your nostrils flare at this. He was talking about Bokuto and Akaashi; he had to be…. 

        Were they okay?

        “Are they…” you trail off and clear your throat. The skin of your thighs seemed very interesting at the moment. “... Did you hurt them?”

        “They don’t matter right now, Kitten.” 

        “Of course they do!” You rear back and narrow your eyes at him in an instant. “What did you do to them?!”

        “They abducted you and held you in a cage for months, YN!” Kuroo finally snaps, his teeth baring with his desperate tone. “I won’t treat you like they did.” Your speed didn’t matter. He still managed to snatch your hands in his and hold them in a death grip. Thumbs ran over your knuckles in what was hoped to be comforting, but actually ran a chill up your spine. “You’re not some prisoner to me.”

        His touch, it felt so wrong. Unlike the wizard, it wasn’t gentle and calming. Unlike the vampire, it wasn’t adoring and playful. It was… you didn’t know the word, but you did know it was just plain wrong. But his words… were they right? You mulled them over for a minute, but a million memories, emotions, feelings, they all crashed against his one argument in an overpowering wave. 

        “No,” you drop your face and set your jaw. “I wasn’t a prisoner to them.” 

        “Months, YN,” Kuroo sighs, “you sat in a cell for months.”

        “They had to!” 

        “Why?” His voice lowers and he gazes deep into your eyes. The intensity makes you shift and squeeze his hands subconsciously. 

        “I-I don’t-” you stutter for an answer, but come up empty. You’re at a loss. Lower lip trembling, your eyes dart around the room as you scour your brain for anything. They said they loved you. Cared for you. Would never hurt you. 

        So then why was I trapped in a cell like that? 

        Your eyelids lowered in defeat, and you let out a shaky sigh. 

        Kuroo was a smart man. He knew when a battle was won. 

        A small shuffle signals his movement, and the comforter under you dips with the weight of a second presence. Only one of your hands has been let go; the other has intertwined with his and adjusted to his change in position. You were cold and abandoned; your thoughts left you feeling cheated. 

        Why did they hold me in a cell like that? You were only a young college student. You couldn’t have harmed them. 

        But they were so kind yesterday! So loving and wonderful and-and….

        They were your soulmates. The mark on your wrist, on the wrist Kuroo brushed against, told you so. Every mental image of them left you feeling fuzzy and warm. 

        But thinking about how they had held you like that? They shouldn’t have treated me like that. If they loved me, that wouldn’t have treated me like that. Like an-

        “Like an animal.” Kuroo’s smug voice interrupts your downward spiral, but when he turns to face you, he is the spitting image of utter sincerity. A large palm cups your cheek, and in your scrambled state, you lean into it, yearning for some form of comfort. No matter how wrong it felt. 

        “YN,” he continues, “I saved you. You needed to be saved from them.” 

        No I didn’t. They were so kind and gentle with me. They never tried to hurt me on purpose, or lie to me. Everything they did, they did so they could keep me around. Because they-

        “I love you.” Kuroo himself seems surprised at the admission, but he gulps and keeps going. “I have loved you for centuries, and I would do anything to keep you safe.” His fingertips run along the side of your face and push a strand of hair behind your ear. His hazel orbs, round ponds akin to pure gold, are so enchanting. You find yourself lost, willingly. Because losing yourself in someone else felt a lot better than crumpling deep inside on your own, wondering if you ever should have fallen in love with them. 

        Was that how fragile the love between the three of you was? So easily undermined by a black cat with an arrogant smile? Of course not. 

        “No.” Your heart swelled up to your throat, and your eyes slipped down to the mark. The spiral of three arms. And not a single one of them were disconnected. The bond between you and the others was something that should never be underestimated. Akaashi had told you that. 

        “Excuse me?” Kuroo draws back, his hand hovering over your flushed cheek with surprise. 

        They loved you too. They would do anything to keep you safe too. You just had to trust them. Bokuto had told you that. 

        “They’re here,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes. “Bring me to them.”

        The cat’s gaze hardens, and the proud look falls from his face. “YN, I’ll let you leave the house. I won’t treat you like an animal. I won’t lock you away!” 

        “I don’t care!” you shout, snapping up on your feet and towering over him. “Show me where they are!”

        “No!”         “Why not?!”

        “Because you don’t need to see them!” He rises as well, and his more intimidating presence almost makes you falter. 

        Almost. Your gut tells you to not back down. To fight. 

        To find them.

        “Yes I do, Kuroo,” you snarl, standing your ground when he stomps a foot closer. Hot breaths puff against your face angrily, and you flare your nostrils in defense. 

        “Let them go, YN!”

        “No!”

        “Just give up on them!”

        “Never! Bring me to them!”

        The banter continues for a while. You won’t take no for an answer, and neither will he. Your face grows redder and redder as time passes, and Kuroo’s pupils slim into feline-like slivers. 

        Then finally, his patience slips. With four swift strides on his long legs, he makes his way to your bedroom exit, whipping open the door. 

        In one last turn of his head, he mutters three words that break your heart. 

        “I killed them.” 

                                ~~~

        Bokuto is a fighter. He stays headstrong in his ways, loves to the max, and never falters in his beliefs. You could always depend on him to cheer you up, or encourage you. On days where you felt down, he would always sit by your side on the sofa and watch a sappy sitcom with you. He is your sun.

        Or he was.

        Akaashi was almost the polar opposite. While he wasn’t the best to confide in for comfort, he was always willing to help. The wizard was selfless, almost like a mother. If you wanted to learn how to cook, he would oversee every move you made and provide small tips. He kept you safe when you were less than careful, and showed his love more through actions rather than words. He is your rock. 

        Or he was. 

        You didn’t truly know how much time had passed since Kuroo had broken the news. Much like when you had first met your soulmates, you felt trapped. The bed-headed man had given you free reign to the world. Your door was unlocked, and you could leave at any moment. But you didn’t. 

        No, instead you wallowed in self pity. What could have been would now never be. You didn’t want to believe it. Your gut told you so. But the fact was that Kuroo had spat those words with complete and utter hatred. Hatred… and honesty. An angry man will say anything to feel better about himself, but the next day, when Kuroo re-entered your room, he spoke a truth you couldn’t deny. 

        “What purpose would I have for keeping them alive?”

        Those words struck your heart worse than the first time you had to face his facts. Before, you could hold onto the small sliver of hope you had. He could’ve been lying through the pain. 

        But now? Now, there was no hope. 

        Poison coated your tongue. You didn’t want to eat, no matter how much your stomach begged. A constant ache settled in your chest. You didn’t know how to solve it, and you didn’t know how to move past it. Could you?

        Every hour that passed, you huddled deeper into your cocoon of self-deprecation. You shouldn’t have doubted them before. You should have loved them better before you lost them. You should have-

        “All right, YN. It’s time to stop moping.” Your door slammed open, and surprise surprise, in walked Kuroo. Under one arm, he lugged a pile of clothes. In the other, he balanced a tray of pancakes and other morning delicacies. The meal, no matter how ordinary, still made your eyes water.

        He plops the food right down on your lap just as you peek out and hiss, “You have no right to tell me what to do.” 

        “Don’t test me, Kitten.” A playful glint his eyes previously held darkens. The outfit in his grasp also falls onto the bed, directly on your toes. It’s the same kind of clothing you would wear to your college, scrambling around campus and fumbling with your homework. 

        That felt like so long ago. You had almost forgotten you lived a normal life. You used to be human. 

        “We’re going back to school!” The words leave you frozen in shock, and you snap your head up to face him.

        “What?! Why?!” Kuroo sniggers and pats the top of your head patronizingly.

        “You’ve missed so many assignments, Kitten. But don’t worry, I’ll catch you up. I was very attentive while you were away.”

                                ~~~

        It’s harsh to be thrown back into the real world after feeling like your own has broken apart. Nobody around you knew what you had been through. They didn’t know you’d loved. They didn’t know you’d lost. All they knew was that you were back and alive. 

        Your old, fellow students surround you like fans with a backstage pass. Someone even snapped a photo of you. 

        Well, of you and Kuroo. He hadn’t left your side once since popping into your “new” bedroom approximately forty minutes ago. You had always assumed both your soulmates and Kuroo had their mansions (rich bastards) miles and miles away from Tokyo, when in fact it was only about a ten-minute drive. They didn’t seem to be too worried about being found by the authorities any time soon. 

        Or, at least Kuroo didn’t. 

        The sheer volume of people around you was intimidating, and you couldn’t help but default into Kuroo’s form. Claustrophobia. Wonderful, just another perk from your kidnappings you couldn’t wait to test out in society. 

        So far, it was a trainwreck. 

        Your heart hadn’t stopped hurting, but the heat gathering around you made its pace quicken. Every chatter among the crowd pecked your ears, and you struggled to contain the occasional whimper. 

        A few faces you recognized among the group, but none that seemed to care about your well being. Instead, they were all excited. 

        “Where have you been?”

        “How was your vacation?”

        “Did you really leave with Mr. Akaashi and return with Kuroo? Ugh, slut.”

        The name leaves your mind in shambles. Not once had you heard it aloud since… well, you didn’t really know. But as soon as it fell from that girl’s… Sakura’s lips, you couldn’t think straight. 

        With one arm wound through Kuroo’s, you gripped his bicep harshly in warning. Get me out of here, your eyes pleaded. The black-haired man dropped his attention to you and nodded in understanding. 

        Sadly, his definition of escape was much different from yours. While you would’ve preferred his house or, if you could be picky, Paris, Kuroo was much more realistic. “Escape” was up twenty in-classroom steps and placed in your old seats. 

        As you settled down behind the desks, the cat stayed by your side, constantly brushing up against you when given the chance. You could breathe up here, but barely. The fluorescent lights buzzing in the ceiling grew less and less blurry, so you counted it as a small win for now. 

        In your seat, you laid out all the necessary tools for learning. Pencils, pens, scratch paper and a notebook, all neatly organized and generously provided by your new kidnapper haphazardly in a backpack just before stepping into the classroom. Their perfect placements felt like the only thing you could control right now, so you moved them around with trembling hands. 

        A smooth tune whistled behind you while you fondled your number two pencils. Then a heavy weight fell on your shoulders. Literally, of course. Kuroo’s hand massaged the skin of your upper arm, thankfully protected by thick sweatshirt material, and he grinned when you threw him a glare.

        “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll keep you safe.” 

        An involuntary gasp slips between your lips. No. No! How fucking dare he?! Without a second thought, you grab his bicep and rip his arm away from you, leaving a trail of red lines in your nails’ wakes. 

        “Don’t call me that.” All emotion has slipped from your face, but the tone in your voice speaks volumes. It’s hard and stiff and angry and loud. And he had no right to throw that shit in your face. 

        Your pupils hesitantly glance back at the outburst, but Kuroo is unfazed. His eyes flicker with something, but it’s gone before you can gather the will to identify it. 

        The classroom door opens and closes, and you suck in a breath at Akaashi’s substitute. He’s about ninety years young, wearing corduroy pants attached to suspenders that strap him into his crisp, button-down shirt. There’s not a wrinkle in sight, but every two minutes he pushes up his glasses and smacks his lips together. 

        “I think he’s just trying to keep in his dentures,” Kuroo whispers in your ear. 

        The old you would have snickered, maybe even added to it. You still could. After all, his lenses were thicker than you would ever be. But you couldn’t muster the energy to speak. 

        Because you just… you couldn’t stop picturing him up there. Back when you were just his student. You could’ve noticed his lasting glances, his gaze staying on you for just a second too long. The quirk of his lips anytime you finally found the courage to raise your hand, to answer his question. 

        Suddenly, your chair grows ten times stiffer. You can’t stop licking your cracked lips with your dry tongue. Your fists curl and uncurl against your tense thighs, and your knees bounce against the desktop. 

        It’s so hot in here. You feel like you’re on fire, but you don’t want to try and get out of the sweatshirt. You want to stay hidden. 

        If they were here, they would know what was happening. They would sense it, and they would help me.

        But they could never be there anymore. 

        Your breathing quickens and shakes. Sweat dribbles down your temple as an ache focuses directly behind your forehead. 

        Bokuto would notice right away, and give me a comforting hug. Akaashi would hold my hand, and not hesitate to take me home. 

        But they couldn’t save you right now. They were gone. 

        Oh God.

        Oh God.

        They’re gone. 

        You can feel sweat festering everywhere. Even your palms clam up enough to secrete liquid. Is that even normal?

        Kuroo relaxes in the seat next to you. The occasional pink bubble appears between his lips and pops noisily before chomping back into his mouth. His eyes are dull and bored as he zones out. 

        Your own are locked on the front of the classroom, twitching and darting around. 

        He should be up there. They should be by my side. But they aren’t. They’re gone. 

        You can’t stand it. You needed to get out of there. In a dead panic, you snatch up all the utensils on your desk, scaring the life out of the cat beside you. The scrambling is quiet enough to leave the rest of the students undisturbed, but Kuroo snaps straight up and hovers his hands over your frantic arms. 

        “Are you okay?”

        Your cheeks feel green, and your throat seizes up. After everything seems to be carelessly crammed into the small backpack, you finally take one deep breath and zip it closed. Then you turn to face him with begging eyes. “Please take me home.”

        You weren’t prepared for this. You weren’t ready to be shoved back into the outside world. Just five days ago, you were happy and in love. And now, you were broken and in pain. 

        Kuroo complies with ease, his eyes glowing in delight. “Anything for you.”

        His response accompanies a smirk, something you would never hope to see in your state. It’s devious and cruel, and you feel tortured like a plaything. The words themselves break your heart. You wished they were in another voice, falling from another’s lips. 

        But they weren’t.

                                ~~~

        Kuroo has no chance to get another word in as you aimlessly sprint to your room. You just barely remember your way back from this morning, but after twenty minutes of a headless chicken imitation, you finally find your way. 

        The room is colder and emptier than you remember somehow, and its unfamiliarity breaks your walls. Tears trail down your cheeks as the door clicks to a close behind you. With stumbling footsteps, you kick off your tennis shoes and crawl into the bed, falling into a restless sleep.

        At some point in your forced nap, Kuroo tries to shake you awake, but you clench your eyes shut and bite your lip, feigning unconsciousness. After a few more pointless attempts, he leaves and allows you some alone time with a sigh, but not before a clang signals he’s left you something on your coffee table. You ignore it.

        After lying motionless for hours on your colder mattress, you give up on your dreamless sleep. By now, the sky outside your window is pitch black and sprinkled with minuscule circles of pure white. Your cheeks are stiff and the corners of your eyes are crusty from your breakdown. 

        Hesitantly, you wipe the remnants of sleep away from your eyes before worming your way out of bed. Your muscles are sore, and your clothing feels disgusting, doused in dried sweat. On wobbling knees, you clamber off the mattress and scuff your feet against the floor until you find it. Your toes make contact with a light pile of silk, and in a last ditch effort to keep them alive, you change back into Akaashi and Bokuto’s provided nightgown. 

        A wave of calm washes over you, its familiarity leaving you comforted and reassured. You squint your eyes and allow them to adjust to the darkness of your room. There, on the coffee table, is what you assume was Kuroo’s gift. Dinner. 

        A plate with cold, steamed broccoli and a grilled cheese sandwich. 

        “Wow, they really go all out here,” you mumble bitterly. Slumping onto the carpeted floor, your thighs raise goosebumps at the shift in temperature as you pick through your meal, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully. 

        You seem to have lost all self-control at this point. Not even two seconds later, tears cloud your eyes. You couldn’t help but think about them. 

        I wonder if they’re-

        Your heart thumps in your chest harshly, startling you. It speeds up for no apparent reason, even as you search through the dark for anything that might have scared, well, your body. 

        Then it hits you. This must be what happens when soulmates die. 

        The thought hammers in the final nail in your coffin of grief. More tears, just when you thought you ran out, trace paths of anguish down your face. Then your heart thumps again, almost shifting your whole weight forward. 

        What the hell?

        The pumps grow harder and harder, each more powerful than the last as you jolt forward, dropping your food and pushing up to your feet. 

        Your heart. It’s pleading with you to move. To do something.

        All you can do is follow as it smacks frantically against your rib cage. It doesn’t hurt, but as you move in the direction of your door, a rush of fuzzy feelings flow through your body in response. 

        When you place your hand on the knob, it beats encouragingly, directing you out into the silent hall. Not a sound can be heard as you play a game of hot and cold with your body. There is no drawback, only rewards in the form of pure jubilation setting your body aflame. Tiptoeing down the hall, you follow the excitement, padding your bare feet against the hardwood floor as softly and swiftly as you can. 

        You hold your breath and let it out in small streams through your stuffy nostrils, knowing that even the smallest noise could awaken the hypersensitive werecats around you. The halls are much more bare than Akaashi and Bokuto’s, and you're thankful that there are no vases to stub your toe against this round.

        The irregular bursts of elation lead you down a banister of marble stairs, past the large front entrance, and through a dark, forgotten hallway you had never seen before on your two adventures throughout Kuroo’s home. There is only one door, and it’s at the immediate end of the dusty corridor. While gnawing on your bottom lip, you creep closer and closer, finally reaching it with a relieved sigh as one large wave of endorphins hits you like a freight train. 

        In here.

        Past the rusty door is another staircase, leading deep into the basement of the mansion. The walls are covered in unidentifiable gunk, and you try not to gag as a slimy feeling brushes your forearm on the railing. The smell is less than desirable, almost akin to rotting meat, but your heart doesn’t want you to stop anytime soon. Finally, finally, you come to one final door at the bottom of the stairs. 

        Pushing past its splintered wood, you slip inside and involuntarily smile as a wave of pure joy wracks through your body. The room is large and freezing cold, with concrete floors and red brick walls. The light of the moon shines through a single window directly across from you, split in half by a row of metal bars. 

        There’s two cells, empty only for two hunched over forms. One breathes out visible clouds of air while leaning against the wall, asleep on the musty floor. In the other cell, a body with wild hair is curled into a ball, hugging its stomach and letting out the occasional whimper. The sight was the definition of miserable, but your heart loves it nonetheless. It rewards you for winning the treasure hunt with one heavy surge of euphoria, leaving you breathless and holding back a squeal. 

       Bokuto and Akaashi. They were alive.

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Practice Makes Perfect (Tsukishima x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: There’s nothing wrong with preparing to ask out the guy you like. Just make sure you don’t have an audience while you do it.

A/N: Hey guys, I’ve been going through a rough patch recently, so I’m sorry if I disappointed any of you by not posting. I’ll try to get back on the wagon soon, I promise. Here’s an imagine I got an idea for from this prompt by @otpdisaster​. I hope you guys like it!

Word count: 1115

        You’ve been at it for a while now. The bathroom was empty and silent; perfect for your test runs during lunch hour. The lights occasionally flickered and created a buzz that was mind-numbing, but you couldn’t complain. 

       “Hey Tsukishima… I like your… eyes? No! God YN, that’s terrible.” You shook your head at yourself in the mirror before trying one more time. This round, you bit your lip and fluttered your eyelashes. 

       “Hey there, Tsukki,” you pucker your lips slightly, “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me this Friday?” Your reflection was an abomination; you looked halfway constipated. 

       “Ughhhh, this is a nightmare!” Turning on the sink, you splash some cold water in your face before bracing your hands against the porcelain. There was still a light in your eyes, and the longer you looked at yourself, the more beauty you seemed to find. Something about today made you feel ready. Ready to ask out the boy you’d been crushing on for years now. 

       “No, no YN! You can do this!” You nodded at yourself reassuringly and smiled. Pearly whites shown through thanks to weeks of strips. Every strand of hair on your head was about as in place as they could be. Your lips were soft and freshly chapsticked, and for once in your life, you felt attractive in your school uniform. “I can do this,” you whispered once more before turning away from the mirror. 

       With a dramatic hair flip, you turned back to your reflection with a smirk and a sultry voice. “Are you a parking ticket?” You raised a suggestive brow, “Because you’ve got fine written all over you.” Nope. With a pouty sigh, you smack your palm against your forehead. 

       “Why do I suck at thissss?” No response, which led you to be simultaneously pissed off and relieved. You wanted help, but not from anybody conscious in society. Running a hand through your strands, you huff and throw your head back, staring at the ceiling as if it would guide you. Then, you shake your body out like a wet dog and return your gaze to the glass, slamming one hand on your popped-out hip to emphasize your curves, however nonexistent they were. 

       “Hey sexy.” Cue eyebrow waggle. “You, me, the movies. Eight o’ clock, don’t be late- Nope, nope, nope.” Your cheeks were trying to beat the sun, you just knew it. They burned and mimicked the colors of tomatoes. But somewhere, deep down at the bottom of your gut, you just didn’t want to give up. 

       “Please go out with me!” Hands clasped together in a begging motion, you pouted. Too wussy.

       “Hey you!” You pointed a finger accusingly, “Go out with me! Or else!” Too threatening.

       “I’ll buy you some candy if you go out with me,” you bargained with wide, desperate eyes. Too child-kidnappy. 

       “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed my, uhh, mandatory school uniform.” You trailed a hand down the side of your body awkwardly. “It’s made of,” you deepen your voice and narrow your eyes, “girlfriend material.” Too serial killerish.

       “Would you like to be my precious?” you rasped, scratching up your throat. Too Gollumy.

       “Fuck, this is never gonna work!” Throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation, you release a roar that could tremble the internal organs of your enemies before-

       “Ha! I got it! He plays volleyball!” You hop out of your self-deprecating groove instantly with one single, genius idea. Body wiggling excitedly, you delve into your backpack and snatch your phone. Google is such a wonderful resource. 

       “If I was a volleyball, I’d let you hit me all day…” you read aloud before glancing back up at yourself and shaking your head. “I’m desperate, but I’m not that desperate.” Minutes passed, and you test-ran through a couple more lines until you finally found it. The one.

       “Do you play volleyball?” Eyes glowing victoriously, you beamed at the mirror, “Because I sure dig you!” The vandalized, STD-infested high school restroom stays silent, but it didn’t deter you. Your heart pangs with excitement, and you knew you were ready. 

       “It’s perfect!” You were about to high-five yourself, but a muffled snicker interrupted you. The beating in your chest stops for a second and you burst into a cold sweat. Oh crap, who’s there?!

       “H-hello?” You grab your backpack and raise it in front of you. “Who is it? Who’s there?” The last person you wanted to see steps into the women’s bathroom, smug smirk and all. 

       “I don’t know, I kind of liked the Lord of the Rings one.” He shrugs. “Your impression was spot on.” Your throat constricts and you struggle to breathe, let alone respond.

       “Why are you here?” you choke out, hiding your clammy palms behind your back. 

       “The teacher sent me to ask if you were okay. Guess she thought you fell in.” Everything about Tsukishima screams ‘smug.’ Before you liked him, it pissed you off. Then it became endearing. And now it makes you want to crawl into a hole and die. 

       “So, how much did you hear?” 

       “About five minutes before the Optimus Prime impression.”

       “Oh God!” You hide your face into your hands and groan exasperatedly. “You heard all of that?!” He chuckles before nodding, eyes glowing arrogantly behind his frames. 

       “Most of it wasn’t half-bad, though.” You peek between your fingers. 

       “Really?”

       “Yeah,” he licks his lips while crossing his arms. “Give one a try.” Brows furrowed in confusion, you open and close your mouth repeatedly like a fish until he explains further.

       “I promise you’ll like the outcome.” There’s this weird look on his face. It’s not angry, or cocksure. He doesn’t look like he’s about to ream your ass or point out all the mistakes you’ve made in your life. It looks almost like… a smile. And a reassuring one at that. Your eyes widen at the sight before a lop-sided grin grows on your face. 

       “All right,” you nod nonchalantly, but your eyes flicker with excitement, “which one do you wanna hear first?”

       “Hmm, how about my favorite of yours so far: goose in the park looking for a Tsukishima-shaped bread crumb?”

hi um so two of my fav writers on this platform literally reblogged another of these drabbles as i was writing this one so?? I'm buggin.

It’s the long-drawn snapping of neurons that prickle at you, eyes closed and forearm thrown over your face. A slow peel of eyelid after eyelid, foggy thoughts wisping away at a moment’s notice in the blackness of the bedroom; the ceiling is more a theory of shapes inferred from moon-coerced shadows than its usual cragginess, and you unhook your arm from the dip between your nose and forehead to reach up. Comb your fingertips through the air. 

Was it the breeze through your ever-closed window? Open now, a new development, but surely one that would rouse you like a bear from slumber. You feel large enough to be a bear, warm enough to feel tarped in fur, lethargic enough to clamber off your mattress and land on all fours and grunt like an animal. 

Maybe it was the slice of light underneath your bedroom door. You never forget to turn off the switches in your living room, the LED bulbs too glowy and insistent to sleep the way you do, curled up on one side and facing the doorway. 

Or maybe it’s because you’re not sleeping the way you always do. Not at the moment. Right now, you’re tipped onto your back, each limb swallowed up by an inch of cushion, flat like a slab of carbonite. Your body and the bed are inseparable—each pore on your skin is looped through with a stitch that dips into the sheets, rises back out and finishes with a double knot. 

All you can do is lay there. Willingly, you suppose, despite the spasms. 

A new ozone layer has settled around you, consistency of molasses, and hot to inhale. It stinks of past activity, like breaths that have been used up and tossed out. All of it cloys against your skin, maintaining a sheen of sweat to add to the discomfort. 

You’re awake now, though. 

Unhappy, but no longer unconscious. A bit bitter that you’re all alone. 

But a sharp trill pierces the air, and it hits you—that’s it.

That’s what had awoken you. 

Roused this grumpy, sticky, sore form of you that’s polyfoam-bound, torn too quick from a fundamental repose period. You’re too exhausted to moan, gripe, curse like you should. 

Even as the lights under the door flicker out, and something pushes it’s way inside with various scuffling movements. The room returns to stagnancy with a soft click, save for the lone gust of wind invading and receding at an unsteady tempo. 

Your next breath is a roiling mix of oxygen saturated with sodium and garlic. You hum aloud, a vague attempt to dissuade the bile crawling up your throat. Each time your tongue scrapes past your teeth, the morning grime collects and taints your tastebuds. 

You need water, and a toothbrush, and two tablespoons of toothpaste. Five minutes for an alcoholic rinse, too. 

Definitely don’t need the robust wafting of a pepperoni Hot Pocket up your nostrils at the ass-crack of dawn, as the mattress dips with a bulky outline. 

“Sorry, Bonnie,” a Scottish voice that is not apologetic in the slightest mumbles beside you. “Didnae mean to wake ye. Fuckin’ makes me ’bit peckish.”

Can i be tagged in Reborn please? ♥️

Of course my friend🙏I got u💜

Hiya can you do Tsukishima crushing on Sugawara younger sister who is in the same year and class as him and Sugawara is super protective of his younger sister? ❤❤❤❤❤ five hearts for the best rating of an awesome writer

This is like three years old but I'm trying to clean out my inbox and I came up with ideas for this years ago so here they are:

“Awww, you loveeee me,” yn coos. 

“No,” he rolls his eyes and turns away, “I don’t.”

“Tsukki fell in love with meeee,” she sang, rocking from side to side with a teasing grin. 

I feel like Suga is mostly resistant to letting Tsukishima date his sister bc he knows how mean and rash Tsukki can be. 

Tsukishima one time just walks up behind yn and drops his forehead onto her shoulder. A muffled groan escapes from him while she pats his cheek and snorts. “Why is everyone so stupid?”

In the distance, Sugawara sees this and malfunctions. This is the first time he’s seen them together. 

For the first time in tsukishima’s life, he actually wanted human contact. He wanted to hold someone, maybe their hand. Or hug someone, even for just a second. He wanted to run his hands down their sides and brush the stray hairs from their face.

It was you. That “someone” was you.

yn sugawara. 

Hi! Already told ya but I really liked you ST headcanon❤️ could you make one with Billy (+ any other stranger things boys you want to add) about them accidentally hearing that y/n has feelings for them? It’s too cliched but such fluffy fluff is my air:>

He Accidentally Overhears You Have Feelings for Him (Stranger Things Headcanons)

*GIF not mine*

A/N: yeah so this took me like a month but also guess what i had to bullet point every single goddamned mfing line in this post by hand bc of tumblr's new formatting or whatever, and then i posted it on the wrong goddamn request so i had to do it twice so ig we all got probs kill me. Anyways, i kinda went overboard on this prompt bc i love billy so naturally no one else made it into the hc🤷‍♀️ what a shame👀 Enjoy!

Word count: 4856

Billy Hargrove: 

“I don’t like him.” 

Billy’s eyes fluttered open, and they glided lazily onto your form in the desk in front of him. With his hands folded behind his head and his legs crossed, feet perched on his own desktop, Billy knew the teacher had long ago given up on scolding him for his lackadaisical behavior in class, and even longer ago had he realized Billy would never put much effort in anyway. 

One such happenstance that seemed to disturb the entire class, though, was how Billy had wound up there in the first place. Honors English didn’t exactly seem tailored to his, er, capabilities, to put it lightly. 

However, before Billy and his family had moved to Hawkins, Indiana, he’d been quite the student (according to the principal…after you’d complained), and lost in translation was some other lame excuse that English classes in California were inherently more advanced than those of Indiana anyway. 

You called bullshit. You had sworn Billy had bribed the teacher to let him remain in the class just to disrupt your existence. 

It wasn’t exactly his crowd, so to speak, judging by the glasses, focused faces, and pencils scribbling around the room. Nobody in the room looked like they’d even smelled a cigarette before—well, not until Billy arrived.

But you? God, you fit in like a glove. Here was where you divided yourself from the rest of the school, from its bullies and booze and tobacco—from its corruption. You were innocent when it came to such “paraphernalia,” as you called it. You were untouched, and more importantly, you were unclaimed. 

Billy was enthralled with this virtuous disposition of yours. In the beginning, his feelings for you,“little Miss Priss” as he’d grown to calling you, appalled him. Of all the girls in the school he could choose from, all the hot blondes that fawned over him in the halls and the enticing brunettes that asked him out after catching his eye for a moment, never did he think for a fucking second that it would be you. 

The prude. 

“Don’t like who?” Billy interjected harshly, dismissing how you and your friend flinched at his sudden interest. 

“No one!” you both mumbled, avoiding his gaze and spinning around in your seats. 

Billy’s brow rose at that, and the instant the bell rang, he kicked his feet off his desk and reached a hand toward you. You scooted forward in your seat the second his fingers brushed you, and Billy paused, a small ache in his chest disguising itself as irritation. 

Clenching his jaw, Billy curled his fingers around the back of your desk chair and dragged you back to him, the rubber stoppers on the ends of your chair legs squealing in protest against the polished floors. The teacher glanced up from his podium at the front of the class at the sound, an unimpressed look on his face, but was otherwise unconcerned about the situation unfolding. After all, it happened almost every morning. 

The teacher sighed and resumed calling roll. Billy kept one fist clasped around the back of your chair and one long leg outstretched beneath your seat, his boot situated around the nearest footing to stop you from scooting away. He leaned forward, hot breath rustling your hair as you sat stock-still, hands folded in your lap. 

“YN-”

You flinched. 

“-who were you talking about?” Though it was a question, he more demanded the answer than asked for it, because Billy would be damned if he had to listen to you and your friend giggle and jabber about your feelings for any guy that wasn’t him. 

Just the thought of another boy in the class catching your eye in general made him feel angry. 

No, maybe not angry. Sick was more like it. You weren’t his, and he knew that—fuck, he knew that all too well. He wouldn’t let it be that way for long, though. 

For months he’d tried to take his mind off you and place it, force it, on someone else. But when girls at parties and in his car, in hotel rooms or in their own goddamn bedrooms couldn’t eliminate the picture of you hot-glued to the forefront of his mind—couldn’t erase your secret smile when Billy had Sharpied a dick on Mr. Morrison’s board, or your glare when he’d tugged your seat over to his for the first time, or that feeling of your hand overtop his when he’d tugged on your hair to distract you, to bring your attention back onto him—Billy knew he had to give up on getting over you. 

He’d finally accepted that his only course of action was to keep your eyes on him just as his were locked on you. It was only fair. 

“Nobody,” you huffed under your breath. “Why do you even care?”

The tension on Billy’s face softened, relaxed as he looked over your form appreciatively, licking his lower lip. ‘Heres’ and ‘Presents’ resounded about the pair of you as Billy released his grip on your seat’s backing, settling the same arm on his desk and reaching up a hand to twirl a strand of your hair around his finger. “Oh, no reason, babe, just making sure I’m still in your good graces is all.”

You scoffed and twisted in your seat, yanking his hand from your hair with a grip on his wrist. “Were you ever?”

Billy held your gaze while simultaneously imploring to whatever asshole wandered around in the sky that you would never release your hold on him, and he allowed his lips to curl up into a real smile. So long he went without ever letting that happen, and then you showed up and now he never wanted to stop. 

Just as Billy reached up to brush a strand of hair from your forehead, the teacher reared his ugly, bald, fucking bastard head. 

“YN, Billy,” Mr. Morrison called aloud, his tone on the latter’s name far more irritated, and, of course, you sat at attention, turning away from Billy and tearing your hand away from his wrist. “Pay attention, please.”

“Sorry, sir.”

And just like that, you slipped from his grasp. You ignored Billy’s every poking and prodding of his pencil in your back for the rest of class and focused rather on whatever the hell Morrison was on about, curled over your notebook with your head ducked low.

It was only when Billy sighed and sat back in his seat with crossed arms, chest tight, that he realized your friend was watching from the corner of her eye with a small grin. 

Until Billy flipped her the bird, then she scoffed and looked away too. 

By the end of class, Billy’s head was dropped back, mouth open and releasing soft snores. The bell ringing didn’t wake him; what did was your courteous kick to his foot in order for him to release your chair, which he did, so you could push your seat in. Then you smacked his forehead with your notebook for good measure. “Wake up, asshole, class is over.”

He grunted, swatting away the offender. “You’re so kind to me, babe,” he grumbled bitterly. “What would I do without you?”

“Considering you spend every waking minute in this class annoying me, I truly, honestly don’t know.”

Billy smirked at that, gaze latched onto your form as you walked away side-by-side with your friend, whom you seemed to be shaking your head at. Sluggishly and with a yawn, he rose to his feet, lugging his bag over his shoulder and following your path out of the classroom. 

He lingered behind a few steps, stopping only to lean against a water fountain and pull a pack of Marlboros from his back jean pocket. He swiped the cigarette across his bottom lip before slotting it in the corner of his mouth and reaching for his lighter. 

“That’s not what this is,” you groaned, fiddling with the combination of your locker. 

Your friend hummed sarcastically, a mocking “Totally” on her lips from Billy’s distance away. He could barely hear the two of you, especially through the thick crowd of students flooding the halls, rushing to their cars and buses to get the hell out of school. 

Of course, you were lagging behind to study in the library, and, of course, Billy would be there to bother you for the next half hour before “suddenly remembering” he had a date.

Fuck, he hated it. He hated himself, and how easily you wound him around your little finger. He used to wish you were cruel; some cold-blooded bitch to him so it would be so much easier to dismiss his feelings and walk away. Instead, you were kind. The only fucking person who could battle back against his attitude and yet still care about his wellbeing. How many times had you tugged a cigarette from his mouth with a small, disapproving grumble, or silently placed a water bottle on his desk when he’d enter the classroom reeling from the effects of the night before?

He'd never met anyone that was too good for him. Not since…

Fuck. He hated this.

How? How did you have that power over him? When did you ever have time to wrench your hand into his chest, break past his ribcage and grab a fistfull of his heart just to steal it out and shake it in front of him like some cruel game of fetch?

“Goddamnit,” he huffed, eyes narrowed at his lighter that sparked fruitlessly. One last click, though, and a flame bloomed in his hand. 

“I swear it’s not! The guy’s an asshole. You know my grade is actually dropping in that class?” You slammed your locker closed, armfuls of textbooks hugged to your chest. “It’s because of him. Pretty soon, I’ll have an A-minus. Do you know how long it’s been since I've had an A-minus in a class?”

“Not as long as you haven’t had a D.” 

You blanched, whole body flinching like you took a punch to the gut. “I-... you-... that was totally uncalled for.” Your friend snickered. 

Billy, meanwhile, had grown infinitely more interested in the conversation, so much so that he had almost coughed out the smoke in his lungs. His eyebrows raised as he watched a flush rise to your cheeks. 

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” You pointed at her disapprovingly, but she only laughed more boisterously. 

“Oh, come on! Am I wrong?”

“Who cares about my…” you gestured at yourself wordlessly, floundering, “e-experience level? You really think that asshole is gonna solve that?”

“Easily.” 

You threw your arms in the air hopelessly at your friend’s deadpan, rolling your eyes. “No! Not happening! The only possible outcome is a newfound exposure to STDs.”

“Worth it.” Her hands snapped up in surrender at your glare. “Kidding. Just kidding.”

Slowly but steadily, the halls were clearing. Billy didn’t bother trying to disguise his watchful gaze as he inhaled another cloud of smoke, pulling the cigarette from his lips to tap the ashes out in the water fountain behind him. He let out the fumes in one long stream as he leaned a hip against the metal edge of the fountain, settling his other hand into a front pocket on his blue jeans. 

Billy waited, as he always did, like a predator ready to swoop in on his prey the second it was alone. Two blue eyes stay cemented on your form like a promise, a pledge of devotion. It was the yearning from afar that pained him the most, certainly because what excuse could he ever fabricate to explain himself? You hadn’t called his name—-your gaze hadn’t even accidently washed over him. You’d done nothing to gain his attention. You had done nothing but be, and for that, Billy was undeniably, absolutely addicted. 

He needed you.

Billy massaged two fingers at his temple, taking another drag with half-lidded eyes. 

“You better be.” You sighed, slamming your locker closed and clenching the straps of your backpack in your hands. “The day I actually throw myself into the arms of that aggravating jerk is the day I toss all of my self-respect in the trash.”

It’s me. It has to be.

She’s talking about-

“He’s not that bad if you think about it. Even you yourself said-”

“I know what I said,” you floundered, shoving a finger against her lips. “But—you know what—if we both ignore that I ever said it, then maybe, just maybe, my feelings will fade away, and we can both look back at my confession one day and laugh.” You pull your hand away from her, posing your hands on your hips righteously. “Laugh while knowing that my feelings for him were ridiculous and dumb and stupid and childish, and that I was just acting like a regular teenager with a little, stupid crush on some dumb boy-”

“You’re in love with Billy, aren’t you?” your friend deadpanned. 

Your face fell, and you pouted. “Yeah, fine, you’re right, I’ve got it bad.” 

-Me.

The cigarette fell from his lips, landing on the floor soundlessly. Billy stood at attention, his hand falling out of his pocket as the other dropped from his head. Love. YN is-

She’s in love with me.

All color in his cheeks disappeared, just as all the air in his chest. He couldn’t breathe, but in a good way, like the burn of surfacing from underwater for too long—like he was seconds away from the first gasp of fresh, sweet oxygen, after suffocating for so long.

He wanted this—fuck, he needed this. Who gave a damn if he deserved it or not, he was going to have you. You and the warmth of your hands; your smile and your laugh, all of your blushes and your tears.

All of it. Every single last ounce, he wanted it all.

He could fucking have it, too. 

She’s in love with me. 

Your friend grinned all too smugly. “You’re finally admitting it out loud, huh? Look at you, growing up right before my eyes. How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?” you grumbled, still curled in on yourself, cheeks dusted pink.

“Your first real love confession to a boy.” She dropped both of her hands on your shoulders as your brows furrowed. 

“Does it really count if he’s not even here?”

“Nope,” she beamed, spinning you around in her grip. “Good thing he is!”

For a moment longer, you were still visibly confused at her words. The halls had long cleared, and the only sights and noises that now filled them were your wide eyes and quick gasp. 

“Billy.” His name slipped from your lips like an accident, tumbling out without a second thought and landing in the allconsuming silence of the hallway with a dull thud. 

He couldn't help it. God, he couldn’t fucking help it. 

The trembling that took hold of him, the shiver that began in the tips of his fingers and transferred up the length of his spine—he hated it because he had to hate it, but deep down he loved it more than anything else.

Because you were just so fucking perfect. 

Your eyes were glassy, like any second you were going to burst into tears. There was a small quiver of your lower lip, and, like a tidal wave, the overwhelming urge to feel that same quiver against his own lips, his skin, crashed into him. 

He really, really couldn’t help it. It was second nature. 

A corner of his mouth lifted, and his eyes glinted with condescension. “Is that right?” he hummed, amused. “Are you in love with me, YN?”

The pounding in his chest, the pregnant pause as he waited, the subtle, dizzying fog that began to flood his mind, all of it he ignored. He had to hear it. Say it again.

But he couldn’t help it, and the more your glistening eyes studied his face, tears threatening to overflow at the waterline, the more he could feel that sweet burn in his lungs turn painful once more. 

And it hurt so much worse when you twisted out of your friend’s hold and bolted. 

Your tennis shoes squeaked in protest against the vinyl composition tile, down the hallway and clear through the glass doors of Hawkins High, never turning back no matter how many times your friend called your name. 

When the doors slammed shut, a gust of wind followed and ruffled the stray curl against Billy’s forehead. The smirk had long fallen from his face. 

Your friend bit the inside of her cheek beside him, obviously searching for words of any kind to explain your reaction. “She’s just-… well, you kind of…” She huffed, adjusting her backpack straps against her shoulders. “Look, she’ll be back on Monday. She wouldn’t skip school, even out of embarrassment like that.” She threw him a sidelong glance. “Though, maybe next time you don’t respond like that, right?”

Billy’s face hardened, and he pulled the pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He slotted a smoke in the corner of his lips. “Who gives a shit?” 

Your friend pursed her lips, observing as he struggled once more with his lighter. He gripped it with white knuckles, and the butt of his cigarette was crushed between his teeth. “Right,” she nodded with a sigh. “See you Monday.” Her footsteps trailed down the hall and away.

When the doors shut after her too, Billy spat out the smoke, hurling his lighter down the hallway with bared teeth. “FUCK!”

Monday. Fucking Monday?

Billy wrenched two hands in his hair, his nostrils flaring as he gnawed on his lips. It hurt, it all fucking hurt. Everything. 

She left, she fucking left. She ran away from you, and you know why too—it’s because you’re so weak. Why the hell would she ever want to be with someone like you? How could she ever be in love with-

Billy paused, his hands falling from his scalp, his shoulders rolling back. His head raised, slowly. 

Fine, you could have until Monday. But on that day, he was getting some fucking answers. 

The weekend didn’t pass by quick enough, despite Billy not remembering most of it. He recalled the party he attended that Friday night, the keg and the shots and what must have been some girl trying her best to come onto him. He remembered shoving her off one minute with a snarl and thundering towards his car, and then the next he was waking up in his own bed. He remembered working out and drinking Saturday and Sunday away, and he remembered waking up Monday with a healing bruise on his cheek, his father none too impressed that he’d drunk all the beer in the house in the span of two days. 

But who fucking cared, right?

Who gave a shit when his Camaro came squealing into the school parking lot, stopped parallel between three spots? Who gave a shit when he ambled Hawkins High halfway through the school day, his shirt unbuttoned down his chest, his cologne wafting after him everywhere he went?

And who gave a shit when he arrived in Mr. Morrison’s class, early for the first time in the six months he’d been in it, and planted himself in his seat, his legs kicked up on his desk, his arms folded up behind his head, blue eyes carefully watching the doorway. 

Because, yeah, you’d ran away from him. But you’ve been doing that for so long now, dancing out of his reach each time he wanted you, twisting out of his grip each time he almost had you. This was the first time you’d ever escaped him knowingly. 

Finally, he knew you loved him, and once more you got away. 

Of course, your little game of cat and mouse had to end like this—it had to end with him catching you. 

And catch you he did. 

God, you were so fucking beautiful, it actually made him ache. Your friend was shoving you in through the classroom door, two hands braced against your back despite you trying to wriggle away like a loose fish. 

Your face was red, completely, utterly red, like you’d just come back from running a marathon. Your eyes were darting around frantically, from the desks to the ceiling, and he knew you were actually considering your chances of escaping through an air vent. 

She’s in love with me.

He didn’t care. Suddenly, at the sight of you, he just didn’t fucking care anymore. He didn’t care that you ran, about the turmoil you’d caused him, about the misery that had been his weekend away from you. 

He couldn’t care for anything less because the second your eyes landed on him in that classroom and you let out the softest little squeal, all he knew was you, you, you.

So fucking cute.

Billy kicked his feet off his desk, reaching forward and pulling out your chair before patting the seat backing suggestively. Like clockwork, his smirk reformed on his face, a small glimmer of patronizing amusement in his eyes. 

“Come on, babe,” he simpered at you. “Don’t be shy. Take a seat.”

Come back to me. I need you.

Your eyes widened, and you squirmed in her grip once more. “Nope, I can’t do this.”

“Hush up and go.” One big shove from your friend and you were stumbling forward, scrambling to regain your balance. 

Billy silently urged you closer, gesturing down at your seat with his hands the closer you shuffled toward him. As he did, he drank in the sight of you, flushed and skittish, stumbling toward him like a baby deer on new, unsteady legs. He noticed the darkened skin under your eyes, most likely matching his own, though he doubted you and him were sleepless for the same reasons. 

When you ground to a halt in front of him, you gulped, your attention everywhere but on his face. 

“Hey, YN,” he practically purred, hands itching to reach out to you. 

“Hello, Billy,” you squeaked, dropping into your seat and gripping the bottom in an effort to slide the chair forward. Very quickly, though, you discovered Billy’s boot was already perched around the chair’s footing, and one hand had an iron grip on its back. 

“Going somewhere?”

“I guess not.”

Billy hummed. “I think you have something to say to me.”

“Umm nope, don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on, no need to be shy. I just wanna hear you say it,” he prompted, as his other hand glided up, curling a strand of your hair around his finger. “Tell me how you feel about me, YN.”

“I think you’re a jerk,” you whispered, turning back slightly to fix him with a flimsy glare. 

“Besides that. Tell me what you told me Friday, before you ran.” He tugged at the strand of hair, his brows raised expectantly. 

“I didn’t mean it-”

“Don’t-” Billy gritted his teeth, his hand leaving your hair to grip your chin, turning you to face him. “Don’t say that.” He watched as your eyes grew damp again, all soft and delicate and one small admonition away from bursting into tears. 

You were so fragile, so small in his eyes. It often made him wonder why he ever thought he should be the one you should be with. How could he ever hold you in his arms without tarnishing you?

So badly, he thought he wanted to have you just to dirty you, take away that purity that seemed to hover over your head, but there were some days where he knew that all he wanted from you was to make him believe he could hold on to something so clean.

He wanted it. So, so bad, he wanted whatever you would offer him. He wanted to hear those words straight from your lips. 

Your cheeks were so hot, he itched to cradle them in his palms and absorb some of that warmth. He wanted to wipe away all of the tentativeness with the pads of his fingers and leave behind the breathlessness, the pure affection that was its source. 

“You just want to laugh at me,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking. “You’re just going to tease me about it like you do with everything else.” You swept a hand underneath your eyes. “You’re so cruel, Billy.”

“Stop-” he hissed and shook his head, gritting his teeth. “You don’t get to say that. Not after all I’ve ever wanted is for you to love me back, you don’t get to fucking say that.” Billy seized your wrist, tugging you closer. “I know what I am. I know what I do.”

His pride was wilting away the more he spoke to you, the longer you didn’t pull away from him, and his mind pounded in indignation. At what point did you turn him into a complete lovesick fool, and was it before or after you first smiled at him?

If your wide-eyed look was any indication of your shock at his feelings, he wondered just how baffled you would be once you discovered his willingness to bend over backwards at your every plea. You would never take advantage of him, and he knew that, but the tendrils of doubt still crawled up his spine at the thought of leaving himself so vulnerable for you. 

 “But you, YN?” He traced his eyes over your face, huffing softly. “In all my life, I’ve never wanted something more.”

You stared at him, open mouthed. Your gaze was so surprised, so innocent that it actually frustrated him. How could you have not seen? How could you be so blind?

“So don’t you fucking say that it’s cruel of me, or selfish, or some other bullshit.”

You gasped when he tugged you closer by the wrist, his other hand encompassing your cheek. 

“Just say it again.”

His eyes darted over your face, desperate.

“Please.”

Your eyebrows twitched up at that, and your gaze grew tender, raking over his face slowly as if committing to memory. You paused at his lips, watching as they parted and pursed against one another. 

You’d worn him down. You’d exhausted him, mentally and physically. Of all the months he’d waited for your confession like this, he never thought the last few moments would be the most excruciating of them all. What more did you want from him? Already, he could feel the swell of anger at his throat ready to be unleashed, to lash out at you until you were in steady tears again just so he knew exactly what you were feeling once more. Billy wanted—no, needed—some part of you to be under his thumb, just so he could pretend, if even for a second, that your emotions for him were still in his range of sway.

Instead, his heart stuttered when the hand in his grip wormed away and pulled off the other that was at your cheek. You splayed his hand out on the surface of his desk, then you intertwined your fingers with his and squeezed. Your teeth worried at your bottom lip as you ducked your head. 

“I’m in love with you, Billy.”

His eyelids fluttered shut, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Finally. Fucking Finally.

You were his, completely. 

He couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t.

His hand found your chin, and he tipped your head up, gaining your attention.

“I fucking knew it,” he simpered, entirely too smug. And when you tried to scramble away, panicked and scared, his hand found the back of your neck and tugged you close, his lips landing on yours. 

In his hold, you grew lax, only your hand tensing around his. Your lips didn’t move against his, seemingly too tentative and inexperienced to truly indulge yourself.

Billy grinned into the kiss, far more pleased than anyone should be at the knowledge that he could leave marks on you in so many more ways than one. When he pulled away, he quickly cupped your face with a hand, thumbing at your lips in search of the remainder of his own warmth. 

“Library, after school?” he muttered, his mouth still curved.

“Only if you don’t have a date afterwards,” you grumbled. You could sass him all you wanted, and Billy couldn’t care less. He could hear your breathlessness and feel the heat in your cheeks, and pride flared in him knowingly. 

“Well, I might-”

“Are you guys done yet? ’Cause that was kinda gross.” Your friend dropped into the seat beside you, her nose wrinkled. You straightened up, unraveling yourself from Billy’s hold and nodding your head.

“Yep, yeah, definitely all done. Totally.” 

And just like that, you were gone. Billy bristled at your instantaneous lack of touch and threw a snarl at your friend, who only shrugged. 

Then she held out a hand, brows raised expectantly. 

“You owe me.”

Billy rolled his eyes, fishing his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans and rifling through it, passing her a ten dollar bill. 

“Keep the change.”

“With pleasure.”

Waking Him Up to Tell Him You Love Him (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

(Libero and Wing Spiker Version) Part 2

A/N: part 2 with Konoha even tho I don’t know his character👀 the pictures just don’t freaking fitttt

Nishinoya, Tanaka, Goshiki, and Kyoutani