Latest Posts by oreosmama - Page 3

Just wanna let you know I fucking LOVE your writing so much. All your yan HQ stuff? GOOD SHIT. Super creative and I love how the mystery of the "TBC" style open ending creates more intrigue and suspense. Also your yans are distinct and i appriciate that so much. Also your Gojo soulmate? A+ 10/10 Would shoot an arrow at that bastard again and give him a lil kith👌

THANK U SM🥰🥰 I’m so glad you like the yandere aus cuz I’ve rly enjoyed writing them!! And that scene from the Gojo story was a legit fever dream I had😂

This message was so sweet! It’s been a while since I’ve read such nice words abt my writing; u def made my day!!💜

heyy i’ve been reading ur fic for a good while now and i have to say i just constantly find myself coming back to it. you write with clarity (seems simple but it’s hard to find writing as well done as urs) and emote really well and your fics are always soooo entertaining to boot! idk if that last one is the right word but bdjdjdjf i just love ur fics. thank u sm for sharing them :’)

Awww thank you so much! It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a message as kind as yours, and I really appreciate it!! I’m glad you like my stories🥰🥰

If you’re requests are open, do you think you could do a part 2 of the yandere Michael Gray fic? I really loved it! Have a good day/night :))

Dudeeee I’ve been dying to write more Yandere Michael Gray fics but istg my mind is like a dried-up well rn. If u got any ideas, I’d love to hear em!

Ps I’m glad you liked it!

Ten to None (Gojo x Reader/Soulmate AU)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Soulmates’ markings add up to ten so soulmates know just how much of a danger their soulmate is to them. You have a ten on your wrist, so you know your soulmate must have a zero. There’s just one problem: no one in history has ever been worthy of a danger rating of ten, so who the hell is the supposedly “invincible god” were you fated to? 

A/N: yikes that summary. Anyways, nobody got a soulmate au gojo out there that tickles my fancy, so here I am writing my own. Hope y’all like it! (Side note: this took me fucking A G E S)

Word count: 10406

        “A ten. Dear God.”

        “Oh-Oh my God, what do we do?”

        “Nobody’s ever had… Jesus.”

        A nurse had fainted when she saw the ten on the inside of your soft, newborn right wrist. The font was curling and slanted, almost as if it had been written nonchalantly with a few flicks of the wrist. Two black digits marred the plump flesh, unmissable. 

        Unmissable no matter how much your parents averted their gaze each time they saw it. 

        It wasn’t until kindergarten when your local bully ripped off the bandaid your parents pleaded with you to keep secure over your right wrist that you realized just how odd your number was. A circle of curious, mumbling five-year-olds formed around you, each one holding out their own wrists to compare. 

        Threes, twos, a couple fives and perhaps even a seven appeared in your vision. None of their wrists had been abraded by a freshly torn-off bandaid. 

        “Hold on, doesn’t it go one, two,... three, um…”

        “No, no, it’s one, two, four-”

        “Hey, what’s going on over here?” 

        Your swarming flock had gathered the attention of a recess aid. Her neon yellow fanny pack almost blinded you as she pushed through the crowd and towered over your cowering form. 

        “They’re m-making fun of me,” you whimpered, snot dribbling down onto your upper lip

        “Why’s her number so big?” Another child cut in, pointing an accusatory finger at your forearm. 

        The aid never responded to the other child’s question, nor did she defend you from them. Instead, when her gaze locked on the number on the inside of your wrist, she gasped. 

        Profanities your whole class had never heard were exposed to them that day, which they promptly repeated at any given chance out of the watchful gazes of adults. The recess aid had whispered them under her breath, eyes wide behind the sunglasses drooping on her nose. When she grabbed at your arm, she wrenched you up and glanced at your wrist once more, blinking a couple times as if to make sure it wasn’t the blinding sun in her eyes. 

        “Jesus Christ.”

        “Hey, I know him!”

        Then she hauled you off to the principal’s office, who promptly contacted your parents and told them of the incident.

        You were homeschooled from then on, and while other kids participated in afterschool clubs like soccer, basketball, and volleyball, you took classes in self-defense. When other kids were learning how to pass and set, you were learning seven ways to take down a man if he had you in a chokehold. 

        Weak points of the human body that, if struck quickly and at the right angle, would leave it paralyzed. The most efficient techniques for attacking opponents bigger than you. How to debilitate an attacker from behind; from the front; from either side. This was the foreign language you learned while others your age studied Spanish, French, even Japanese. 

        You couldn’t remember the last time you’d encountered a boy your age without the intent to use him as a sparring partner. You doubt you even knew how to carry a conversation with one--yet another everyday part of life you’d never been taught. 

        When you’d hit puberty, it seemingly shook your parents to the core. It was like they forgot they were raising a daughter and not a warrior--at the sight of blood, you could see they fought their inner instincts to ask how you would defend yourself against an attack like such at a later date. 

        It was one of the many battles they’d never thought to prepare you for--the many battles of everyday life. 

        “What is it?”

        “It’s called a pad, dear.”

        “Where do I put it?”

        “In your underwear, dear.”

        “Why am I bleeding?”

        “I-er, didn’t you read that book we gave you, dear?”

        You gave that book a dismissive glance the night before, skimming past chapters labeled “Periods,” “Hair Everywhere,” and “Boys, Boys, Boys” before tossing it aside and picking up Sun Tzu’s Art of War. 

        “Yes, I did.”

        “Good, dear. Then you should know why.”

        Your parents had never intended to be as cold and distant as they were; it was just a side effect of raising a child they had always viewed as destined for death. 

        After all, surely that’s what the ten on the inside of your wrist meant, right? 

        10.

        Ten. 

        十.

        Diez.

        Dix.

        X.

        You knew it in every language. It was easy, since people from all around the world were curious about you. Your parents received emails from scholars and historians on a daily basis, either with new inquiries or old news. Everyone always had the same thing to say: this has never happened before. 

        People have come close, of course. The strong paired with the weak had soulmate numbers paired eights-to-twos or sevens-to-threes. Humans destined to become curses even found themselves with soulmates whose wrists contained nines, while theirs held ones. 

        One figure you’d grown particularly interested in was the King of Curses, Ryoumen Sukuna. The most powerful curse to have ever lived, and even he only had a one on his wrist when he was a human. In every drawing or depiction you’d ever seen, at least one of his four arms had the single digit in black ink on his wrist, if not all of them. 

        So if even he was not worthy of a ten, what kind of unknown monster were you destined to be with?

                                ~~~

        Jujutsu sorcery. The next--and most difficult--form of combat you planned to master. It interested you mainly because it offered a wide variety of mediums with which to focus your power. Though you’d mostly trained with only your body your whole life, occasionally you’d dabbled in using weaponry. 

        Cursed energy, it seemed, was something that you had a large amount of. Born from negative human emotions, the more cursed energy a human harbored, the more damage they could inflict upon others. 

        This was the key to protecting yourself from the unpredictable dangers of your soulmate. Learning and mastering it seemed so easy--get angry, project that anger onto opponents, win the fight. The only problem was that many of your prior training encouraged restraint and objectivity. On the surface, your moods could be flicked on and off like a switch, but deep down you struggled to truly revel in any emotion.

        You practiced in the dim, dark dojo you often borrowed from a local karate class, slashing through mid-air with a bo staff. Sweat dripped down your temple as you envisioned some form in front of you. A shadowy monster of sorts, eyes glowing in its own darkness, dodging each and every one of your swipes. 

        It laughed at your attempts, its translucent body of black smoke shifting and gliding around the room. This was the enemy you always imagined, teasing and taunting you as though you never had a chance to defeat it. Whenever you attempted a vanquishing blow through its heart, whether by fist, bo staff, or wooden sword, it would encircle your blow, forming around it in an oval. 

        A zero. 

        It only took one fight, you battling your shadow creature with a cursed-energy charged bow and arrow, to realize that the monster you’d been picturing was your soulmate. Blue streaks of energy darted around the shaft of every arrow you fired, zipping around faster and faster the more you missed. 

        “C’mon,” you hissed under your breath, swiping a hand through your hair and tugging out a few strands in the process, getting them caught on the finger tab of your leather glove. Silence choked the atmosphere of the dojo, the moon long being the only lighting of the room. A bead of sweat dripped down into your eye, blurring your vision as you nocked another arrow. 

        Another chuckle filled the room, incoherent yet achingly familiar. You stayed low, one knee against the ground while you leant forward on your other, bare foot. But as you searched for your opponent, the dojo seemed to grow. 

        The sparring pads beneath you stiffened, and fresh blades of grass began sprouting up and licking at your bare feet. The white walls and glassy mirrors blurred, giving way to miles and miles of flat, green plain. A gray sky took the place of the low-hanging ceilings, clouds rumbling in the air but never giving off anything more than a light mist that flattened the strays on your scalp. 

        “What the hell…” you trailed off, taking in the new landscape before you. A concentric circle of stark white roses surrounded the large plain you sat in the middle of, and far beyond that was a wall of trees. Fresh air filled your lungs instead of the dank staleness you had been accustomed to during any fight. Now, with so much free space around, you felt so much more relaxed, no longer afraid of damaging the dojo while practicing your cursed energy techniques. 

        “But where the hell am I?” you wondered aloud. It wasn’t like you had teleported anywhere. If anything, it wasn’t you who had changed at all--it was the world around you that had begun to take a new form. You let the leg you kneeled against collapse, slumping to the ground in a figure four. The bow in your hand lay long forgotten beside you.

        It was a new… domain. You knew that word. But from where?

        As you racked your brain, the grass beside you melted away, an object pushing its way to the surface of the soil. A book sat face up, its spine familiarly crinkled from your recent weeks of flipping through it. 

        Cursed Techniques for Dummies.

        Though droplets of rain fell against the paperback book, they never wrinkled the pages. Instead, they slid right off as though the pages were laminated, sinking back into the soft soil underneath you. 

        Sticky notes stood out at the top of the book, small labels written on them in your own handwriting for each chapter. A blue slip with the word “domain” caught your eye, and you snatched up the book, flitting past chapter after chapter of techniques. 

        “‘A confined environment created using large amounts of cursed energy. Within personal domains, the creators are granted greater power at the cost of using an exhausting amount of energy. The longer a creator maintains his or her domain, the more fatigued he or she may become.’” You stopped the pad of your finger at the edge of the sentence, glancing up and around at the space before you. It seemed by the sheer size of your “domain,” your amount of cursed energy was greater than what you expected. 

        Your only concern was how to get out. No part of you felt weary like the book had warned; there was no pressing headache or tiring muscles. In fact, you felt more energetic like you had in ages. Perhaps it was the boost in your powers that your own domain had promised, or perhaps it was something else entirely.

        “All right, all right,” you glanced around, critiquing the area, “definitely seems like my kinda place.” Pushing yourself up onto your feet, you reached low for your bow, patting your back and feeling for your quiver. After you found it, you tugged an arrow out and nocked it, pulling back the string with a deep breath in and searching for your target. 

        “Come on out, buddy. May as well play while the going is good, eh?”

        But your shadow never appeared. The familiar black mist you always seemed to summon while practicing alone never manifested before your eyes no matter how many times you spun yourself dizzy. 

        It was gone. In your domain, it was gone. 

        The thought seemed to leave your chest a little lighter, and the blue streaks of lightning dancing around the shaft of your arrow sizzled and melted away. You let your arms fall to your sides, rolling your shoulders back and finally letting out your breath. 

        Then your eyes returned to the book still lying on the ground, open as a small breeze ruffled the pages. “Cursed energy, huh?” you hummed thoughtfully, setting the bow back on the ground while reaching for the book. Rustles and crackles sounded behind you, and when you fell back with the book in your hands, you collapsed into a cushioned sofa, somewhat out of place among the grassy plain.

        “What else ya got for me?”

                                ~~~

        “Domain expansion!”

        The dank alley’s downpour faded away into a fine spray of droplets, and the sky lightened from pitch black to slate gray. Crumbling asphalt and busted blue Dumpsters blurred away, replaced by a field of green grass and blossoming white roses. In the distance, the trees shivered with the force of the curse’s blows.

        But they never made it any farther than that. You’d spent five years mastering that technique after accidentally slipping into your domain on your eighteenth birthday. An insurmountable wall of trees barred any enemy from entering your domain, allowing you time and distance to steady yourself and recover during a fight. 

        In all of your ventures through books on cursed energy techniques, you’d never once come across anything like it. Domains were made to be advantageous fighting grounds, not havens for rest and recovery. But due to your lack of official training in any form of jujutsu sorcery, you had to use mostly unconventional tactics in many of your battles against curses throughout the last few years. And, you had to admit it worked quite well. 

        Another strong blow shivered your barrier of trees, their branches swaying from the force, but it only served to worsen your growing headache more than anything else. You crumbled onto your hands and knees, completely missing the leather sofa you kept summoned for quick naps or reading times, and curled up into a ball on your side, cradling your ribs beneath your palms.

        This cursed spirit was unlike any other you’d ever faced. It crawled on all four of its twisted arms with jagged bones tearing out of the leathery skin of its back, forming points like spades. At least three times your size, the monstrosity had three eyes forming an upside down triangle and a mouth layered with three rows of shark-like teeth. The drool spilling from its mouth was frothy and green, and when it had hit the asphalt of the dead-end alley in which you’d found it, it bubbled against the ground and melted the tar. 

        Inside of its wrist lay a “1.”

        “What the fuck,” you wheezed, squeezing your eyelids closed hard enough to see stars. “What the fuck kinda steroids is that thing on?”

        There was a constant ache in your side from when it had first slammed you into the concrete, no doubt leaving a rib cracked and broken. You just hoped there was no internal bleeding. 

        “Holy shit.” You scrambled up onto your hands and knees, coughing and sputtering on a sudden flood of metallic liquid climbing up your throat, painting the patch of grass crimson. Subconsciously, you acknowledged the black and blue knuckles on your dominant hand, no doubt caused by trying to throw the first punch after the cursed spirit had dodged your arrow. 

        10.

        Son of a bitch. 

        “Fuck!” You slammed a bare palm against the grass, teeth gritted and gaze narrowed. “Who are you?!”

        Like usual, you expected no response. 

        Except something had changed. 

        That damned laugh you had always heard but could never make out echoed in the distance, perking your ears. The same one that had haunted your dreams since you first realized what your soulmark meant. The same one you envisioned battling each time you trained.

        The laugh that promised defeat.

        With haste, you fumbled onto your feet, ignoring an oncoming wave of nausea that resulted, and eyed the wall of trees encapsulating your domain.

        Your body wasn’t ready to leave its refuge, bones and muscles aching, crying out with every movement. When you stepped forward, your knees wobbled. When you released your domain, a splitting headache blinded you for half a second. 

        Panic struck when you patted down your body only to remember the curse had crushed your bow to splinters, sparing only the lone arrow in your quiver on your back for self-defense. 

        Apparently, though, you didn’t need it. The cursed spirit, still snarling and chomping its slobbering jaw at you, had each of its palms stuck to the large puddle of melted tar that had formed beneath it in your absence. When more of its own saliva dripped from its mouth, it slid down the dip in the alley the puddle had formed and made contact with the hands of the spirit, who screeched in pain. Welts rose from where the saliva made contact, and it dawned on you that the curse wasn’t immune to its own acid. 

        Without a second thought, you reached back for the arrow, not bothering a glance at the serrated tip before slicing it through the soft tissue of the monster’s throat. Black blood coated your hand by the time you tugged the arrow from its flesh, hot and sticky against your skin but otherwise harmless. 

        The cursed spirit crumpled to the ground with a silent cry, more and more dark liquid pooling around it and spilling into the cracks of the asphalt. The first time you had encountered and gutted a spirit, you wanted to hurl at even the sight of such a deformed monster.

        Now, you gave in to that urge, especially when a small, long object slithered out of its slashed neck, riding a fresh wave of blood that carried it all the way to your feet and thumping against your combat boot.

        “Dear God.” You wiped the back of your unbloodied hand against your mouth, grimacing. “What in the Goddamn fuck- is that a finger?!” You stepped away, reeling back and kicking the monster in the stomach one last time. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

        The slumped form jolted from the force of the kick, but otherwise remained still. You studied it long and hard one last time before turning away. “Yeah, you know what? Never mind. Dumb question.” 

        Your gaze found the finger once more, eyeing the long, sharp nail and the bone sticking out of its amputated end. It looked nothing like an average human’s finger, the skin far too wrinkled and ragged. But then what was it? And why would the cursed spirit eat it?

        Of course, there was always the chance the curse had an affinity for such snacks. 

        But you had also read that some objects interwoven with enough cursed energy could grant anyone immense power when used or consumed. 

        You guessed, with it being a finger and all, the cursed spirit had chosen the latter route. 

        “Ugh, am I really gonna do this?” You squatted next to the finger, lip curled as you reached out your hand.

        In one quick breath, you snagged the finger, hucked it back into your empty quiver, wiped your hand on your pants with a “gross, gross, gross,” and sprinted back to your apartment to take a two-hour long decontaminating shower to rid yourself of the days events and more. 

                                ~~~

        The plane, you’d decided after being thirteen minutes into a fourteen-hour long flight, was too stuffy. Of course, you shouldn’t have expected much. When the principal of Tokyo Jujutsu High had called and offered you a teaching job for future jujutsu sorcerers, he had been a little hesitant to shell out the money for a twenty-thousand dollar first-class flight for someone he had yet to interview. 

        The call had been… interesting, to say the least. 

        “Is this YN YLN?” a man with a monotonous voice had asked with a hint of a Japanese accent.

        “This is she. Who’s asking?”

        “My name is Masamichi Yaga, and I’m calling on behalf of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School. Recently, I’ve gotten word that you’ve come across a cursed object we’ve been searching for.”

        “You mean the finger?” Ah shit, maybe you were supposed to keep quiet about that.

        “Yes… the finger. We were impressed to hear you defeated a cursed spirit in possession of the object all on your own, as well.”

        “Shi-uh, I mean, thanks.”

        “One of our teachers witnessed the fight and reported back to us about your natural skill in jujutsu sorcery despite any professional training. If you’re open to it, we’d like to interview you for a potential job at our school, if only to introduce our students to your technique. How does that sound?”

        Expensive as hell is what it had sounded like. But also… “Hold on, someone saw that fight?” The laugh…

        “Yes, one of our best. And if the ten on your wrist is any indication, we think you’ll want to come meet him.”

        You had tensed up on the sofa, pulling the phone away with wide eyes and pinching yourself to make sure you weren’t actually asleep. While holding your phone, your bare wrist faced up, the bold, black ten almost grinning at you.

        The Ten. He had watched you in that fight. 

        The fucking laugh. 

        “Ms. YLN?”

        “Sorry,” you hurriedly pressed your phone back to your ear, heart rattling around beneath your ribcage. “Sorry, what did you say?”

        “Would you like to come over for an interview? All expenses paid.”

        A potential job served up on a golden platter. It was almost too good to be true. Almost. Your soulmate obviously had some sway at this school, and the thought made you nervous. His number obviously made him a physical threat, but if he also had a whole school for jujutsu sorcery under his thumb…

        Obviously, you were soulmates with a highly intelligent, professional individual. Just your luck. 

        But who were you to reject the benefits from such a man? You’d barely been scraping by with the money you’d gathered while eradicating curses for the last few years. The evident favoritism, no matter how much it bothered you, was, in the end, giving you a once-in-a-lifetime chance at a career.

        “How could I say no?”

         And that’s how you found yourself on a fourteen-hour flight to Tokyo, sitting stiffly in the blue-leather chair next to and surrounded by several people with personal space and snoring issues. 

        The mark on your wrist burned, and out of nervous habit you ran the tip of your finger over the number repeatedly. Your head pounded along with your growing anxiety, begging for release, and with one more sip of the water the flight attendant had offered you, you sank into your domain, allowing the cramped cabin full of people to fade away into a flourishing plain of lime green grass and pale pink roses. 

                                ~~~

        Tokyo--you’d discovered after seven hours of wandering--was gorgeous. After getting off your flight, you’d quickly realized you’d jumped the gun, having completely glossed over the necessary prerequisites for traveling to a foreign country. 

        To be fair, it wasn’t completely your fault. The Duolingo app wasn’t doing you any favors, what with struggling to download and all. 

        And so stumbling on and off several subway trips, wedging yourself between and through hundreds of random strangers, and battling with your phone for cell reception and data, you’d slowly and carefully traversed over every inch of Tokyo except for Tokyo Jujutsu High. 

        Perhaps it was an exaggeration, but your feet were certainly sticking to those claims. Despite reveling in and among the glowing billboards, advanced architecture, and homemade delicacies that seemed to line every main street, your body--and wallet--could only handle so much indulgence. After walking around what you were almost positive was the same park for the third time, you decidedly gave in to the blisters forming on your heels and the cramps biting at the bottoms of your feet, collapsing against a wooden bench and moaning in relief. 

        Your first debacle with Google Maps ensued prior to you finally escaping the Tokyo Airport, a fiasco in its own right. It was then that you remembered jujutsu sorcery and even sorcery in general was considered fictitious nonsense, and that googling a school that centered around said nonsense was futile. 

        When you checked your phone, you noticed that some deity had finally taken pity on your soul. A message from the same man that had contacted you, sent three hours ago with a link labeled “Directions to Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.”

        You’d never been so frustrated yet relieved at the same time. Three hours ago? A demon that had formed deep in your belly from your lack of sleep within the last two days combined with the rumbling in your stomach and the aching in the entirety of your body swelled and grew ten times the size, blurring every rational thought in your mind. 

        “FUCK!” You slammed a curled fist into the bench, reeling back in shock when the wood beneath you split in two from the force. Pain radiated from your knuckles, one of them split and bleeding. Just the sight of it pulled you back to all those days of sparring with other people--other boys--and accidentally playing too rough. 

        It was a habit--all your life you’d been pitied for your perceived lack of natural strength. All of the historians and soulmark recorders who’d ever called your parents to tell them about your never-before seen phenomenon had ended every conversation with a “Maybe she should take some self-defense classes. Just in case, you know?”

        You had black belts in seven kinds of martial arts, but instead of being labeled a prodigy, everyone who ever saw the 10 etched in deep black ink inside your wrist viewed you as a poor, unfortunate soul. Every match you’d ever had ended with a bow followed by a “Does your wrist really say ‘ten’? That’s insane!” A gold medal would be placed around your neck or a trophy in your hands, but a simple glance at your wrist and everything you’d ever worked for was stolen from you. 

        “Oh, that’s why.” You knew that’s what they thought. And you hated that it was partly right.

        However, the opportunity to work in a new country with a school full of people who didn’t know of your infamous soulmark (or at least you hoped they didn’t) felt like a breath of cool air for the first time in your life. These people didn’t know you. All they knew was that you were coming to their school with a cursed object and large amounts of potential. 

        That’s why you liked jujutsu sorcery over any other fighting technique you’d done; it prioritized mastering your own fighting style. So, how could someone ever beat you in a fighting style they’d never even seen before?

        They couldn’t. And you loved that. 

        What you didn’t love, though, was the mile-long walk up an extensive trail of white bricks leading you through what should have been the pearly gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High. The second you reached the opening to the school, you felt like army-crawling the rest of the way to the main building where your interview was to take place. 

        You couldn’t though, wanting to save face in front of the…student? Teacher? Whatever he was, he was walking toward you. White hair stuck up from the top of his head, matching oddly with his long, slender body not completely unlike a paint brush. While you battled to catch your breath near the entrance, he approached from about forty feet away. From there, you gauged he was about a head and a half taller than you, his hair only helping aggrandize his height. 

        There was a kind of dignity in the way he walked, confidence oozing off him and curling a corner of his lips. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he was dressed in a fitted, all-black uniform you’d immediately assumed was the mandatory attire for students at the school. He must have felt your wandering eyes because his smirked lips cracked open a sliver, revealing blinding white teeth and a tongue bitten between them. 

        Your feet began moving before your mind realized what was happening and took over. You swerved out of his path and trekked onward in the opposite direction, only realizing that the staggering heartbeat pounding in your ears was practically deafening when his head tilted back to cackle and you couldn’t hear it. The thought saddened you, and a wave of embarrassment overtook that sadness. Head dipping to hide your blush--What the hell was wrong with you!--you let your gaze study the ground, only catching a glimpse of the ants he was about to crush just before his foot steamrolled right over them. Then the chuckling grew louder. 

        Yep, definitely some sort of held-back senior.

        You turned back to watch him as he walked away, fluffy hair bobbing with each step, and it finally clicked. “Was he wearing a blindfold?” you mumbled, eyes wide and arms dangling helplessly by your sides. The suitcases you’d been lugging around for what must have been eight hours now rolled to a stop beside you, and you placed a palm on one of the handles to steady yourself. Your body was buzzing at the sound of his deep chuckle.

        Just who the hell was that guy?

        “YLN YN?” A deep voice suddenly spoke beside you, shocking you out of your stupor with a flinch. You struggled to drag your gaze to the man who loomed beside you, another absolutely terrifying colossus with broad shoulders, sunglasses, and deep lines in his brow. While you wondered what the hell was in the water, the man, who introduced himself as the principal you’d spoken to over the phone, asked, “What’s your first impression?”

        “Of what?” You glanced around, suddenly nervous he meant the school layout you’d been too distracted to observe yet. 

        He gestured his head toward the man still strolling away, who was now whistling a tune. “Gojo Satoru. That’s the teacher who recommended you, the one we believe has your matching soulmark.”

        Your mind fell blank, and your eye began to twitch. 

        10.

        “That was him? That’s the guy who’s worthy of a freaking ten?!”

        “People tend to say that,” he remarked monotonously. In utter disbelief, you looked at the principal, then at the man, then at the principal again, investigating his face for a hint of jest, but it soon became apparent he wasn’t that kind of man. 

        “Are you serious?” The words still slipped out without your volition. 

        He didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded towards the ground where the man had walked earlier. 

        No ant massacre. No little ant workers losing their little ant minds and scrambling around the trampled bodies of their little ant friends. Just a perfectly organized, studious line of tiny black dots holding salvaged crumbs in the same orderly way they’d done it just before the man had--evidently not--stepped on them. 

        “How the hell…”

        You’d seen it. With your own two eyes, you’d watched him step on them. At the very least, if somehow his ginormous feet had managed to miss all fifty or so of them, you’d think they’d at least be scurrying around trying to find better cover. 

        “It’s one of his techniques,” the principal commented, piquing your interest. “It makes him relatively invincible, almost untouchable. It’s called- er, what are you doing?”

        You stay crouched beside your open suitcase, rifling through the folded clothes and toiletries to get to the zipped up, hidden compartment of the hardshell reserved for valuable items. When you fished out what you had been looking for, the principal hummed in thought, but stayed otherwise silent.

        Rising from your squat, you clicked each end of the compound bow into place, extending it from its compact position. Then you nocked one of the few carbon-shafted arrows you’d been able to fit into your suitcase diagonally, narrowing your gaze on your target as you pulled back the bowstring comfortably close to your cheek. One twitch of your fingers and the arrow was let loose, flying towards the middle of your soulmate’s back. 

        He froze at the sound, and you sucked in a breath when it hit its mark. 

        He’s a ten, he’ll be fine. He’s a ten, he’ll be fine. The mantra repeated itself in your head every second your soulmate stood stock still. 

        But then he twisted around, and the arrow stayed levitating in place. Your legs almost collapsed beneath you in…amazement? Maybe relief? You weren’t quite sure. You watched as his head tilted to one side, observing the arrow now pointed towards the center of his chest. Then, with a half-grin, he untucked a hand from his pocket and snagged it from the air with an unceremonious snort. 

        “Well that wasn’t very nice.” He waggled it at you like a discipling finger.

        “Ten,” you could only mumble in response. It was the only thing running through your mind right now, the only word you could even speak. Your eyes were still wide in shock, locked on the arrow that had somehow floated in mid-air. You’d always planned on testing your soulmate in some way, but you’d never really tried to predict the outcome. You’d only ever planned on a before, never an after. 

        “Zero,” he simpered, a teasing lilt in his tone. Though your mind began to hyperfocus on his taunting tendencies, the rest of your body suffered the after-effects of a shiver running down your spine. Would your name sound just as captivating as your number, you wondered.

        “I’m afraid I have a mission to get to,” he continued, unzipping his jacket, “but we’ll be discussing this-” he flourished the arrow at you once more “-later.” Then he pocketed it within his black jacket, zipping himself back up before reaching up to his blindfold. He peeled up one edge of the black cloth, and your jaw grew slack at the sight of long, white lashes bordering a hypnotizing, iridescent blue iris.

        You barely took note of his wink before he slid the blindfold back into place, turning on his heel and waving a hand behind him. “See you soon, zero.”

                                ~~~

        One sip of the golden, bubbly liquid left a hint of apple on your tongue and a slight tingle at the back of your throat. You relaxed further into the cushions of the sofa, sweeping your tongue over the residual foam on your upper lip.

        A cloudless sky filled your domain, and a slight breeze blew back the stray hairs on your forehead whenever the sun grew too hot. You set the flute of champagne back onto the coffee table you’d summoned in front of you just beside the open bottle. Its sides were still sticky from the froth that had overflowed, and the cork was long absorbed by the soil. 

        Japan, you thought, was going to be wonderful. You were still in search of a permanent home in the city, but for the time being the principal--Yaga, he preferred--offered you a dorm on campus. On your campus.

        After presenting him with the wrinkly finger you’d so lovingly confined in thirty layers of paper towels, duct tape, and three Ziploc bags, along with a haphazard resume you’d concocted on three hours of sleep, he’d proposed a trial run of a job. 

        You were a temp. 

        Not only that, you were a babysitting temp.

        “You really think I’m qualified to teach first years?” you asked, though immediately regretted after remembering the “27 Dos and Don’ts for Interviews” you’d memorized beforehand. 

        Do build yourself up.

        Don’t reveal what you suck at in any way possible, no siree bob.

        “Well, I’ll admit that’s not all I expect of you. We are not in desperate need of a first-year teacher, but we believe that the current teacher is someone you could have a good influence on.” It was the first time the daunting man before you had ever avoided your gaze, fiddling with one of the many teddy bears that crowded his office on his lap. 

        The words sunk in after a moment, and the breath was stolen from your chest. 

        “Hold on. Are you saying that I could be working alongside that guy?”

        “Yes.” He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose for just a second. “As much as we believe in his abilities, it is his…” he paused, searching for the right word, “personality that we fear he may pass onto the students instead of his expertise. We don’t need duplicates of Gojo-” he dragged out a sigh,“-but I fear we may already have some in the works. Thus, I hope you may be able to counteract his impression on them.”

        The seat beneath you had long grown hard and stiff, and you fidgeted on top of it. 

        “After all,” he set down his teddy bear, “there was a reason we sent him to report on you in the first place, Ms. YLN.”

        The situation was bittersweet with a little more sweet than bitter, so you had accepted the conditions. Though the thought of working alongside your soulmate had appealed to you at first, that had been before you remembered you’d shot an arrow at him. 

        And how he’d smirked afterwards.

        The wink he’d given you once more resurfaced to the forefront of your mind, and you dropped your head into your hands with a groan. A rapid thumping started in your chest, and you reached out for the flute once more, swallowing the remaining liquid. 

        You cursed under your breath after sweeping the back of your hand across your lips. “Can’t believe it’s one wink and I’m blushing like a little schoolgirl. What the hell’s wrong with me?” With a shake of your head, you kicked off your boots and reclined horizontally along the couch, squirming to get yourself into a comfortable position before dropping an arm over your eyes. 

        A sigh escaped you, and you tried to silence your wandering mind by zoning in on the sounds around you. Wind rustling the grass, new, fresh raindrops pattering against the soil, and your own heart slowly pounding. The cold began to nip at your skin, and you pondered summoning a blanket. 

        Then a rumbling of the ground below you caused you to drop your champagne glass. As it was swallowed up by the earth, you twisted to sit up straight, brows furrowed and eyes searching the line of trees hundreds of yards away. 

        Another tremor, this one strong enough to rattle the bottle on the coffee table. Glass clinked against wood as it finally tipped over, spilling its contents all over the polished surface. You could feel the trembling through your entire body now, teeth chattering as you clutched onto the couch, almost slipping right off.

        Your bow and a full quiver of arrows were spat out by a sudden crack in the earth that sealed itself after they surfaced, and you gathered them up into your arms. Unsteadily rising to your feet, you splayed your arms out for balance, body wavering in effort to not tip over against the force of the quake.

        “What the fuck is happening?” you barked, head darting back and forth to search along the circle of trees around you. Their long branches grew entangled with one another, each thick trunk wobbling as though it was being uprooted as the trees swayed in a new, far stronger gust of wind. Rain poured now, and you slipped on a jacket that emerged from the grass, forcing the hood up and over your head before setting an arrow and pulling back the bowstring.

        Even through the sights you couldn’t see anything, couldn’t aim for anything. Everything was blurry as your eyes rattled around in your skull, a headache born from the hard vibrations of your domain pinching and stabbing at your brain. 

        Someone was trying to get in, you realized. 

        And it was working.

        One more tremble and you dropped to your hands and knees, crying out in agony. It felt like someone had forced their way into your brain and gripped each half, trying to split it apart. You shoved your face against the damp grass, hoping for some relief while bracing both hands behind your neck. Your jaw ached from how hard you clenched your teeth, and you were almost positive blood had begun dripping from your nose. 

        Stop, make it stop. Go away, just make it stop. Stop! Please!

        You felt your body go slack, too tired from being tense for an extended period of time, and you rolled over, allowing the stars in your vision to dance until watching them was too exhausting. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you wormed your arms out from under you to splay out at your sides, the quakes palpable under your fingertips.

        And then it stopped. 

        All of it--all the pain, the headache, the trembling underneath you. All of it had disappeared without a trace, as though it were never even there.

        “Well now, almost caused me a little trouble there.”

        You didn’t even have enough energy to flinch nor to contest when two arms slid underneath your back and knees, hauling you up and a few seconds later dropping you down onto what you assumed was your leather sofa. 

        Two fingers peeled open your eyelid, and white hair filled your vision. Gleaming blue eyes watched you in amusement, and in your peripheral you noticed upturned lips. 

        Such a…dick.

        Your soulmate hummed and pulled his hands away, allowing your lid to close before pressing a hand to your forehead. “Quite a fight you put up for a while there. Almost had me breaking a sweat. Can’t imagine you’re feeling any good.”

        But, to your slight dismay, you were. The feeling of his hands against you, on you, helped the echoes of pain still haunting your body fade away. A strong scent of pine mixed with clean musk and citrus flooded your senses. Unauthorized bliss buzzed along your bloodstream, goading your drained form to lean closer to the sudden source of endorphins.

        “Like shit,” you mumbled. “Your fault.”

        Gojo chuckled. “Maybe next time you should just let me in.” 

        “Hell no.”

        “Mmhmm, we’ll see about that.”

        The hand drifted from your forehead, and in a shameful state of panic you whined under your breath. When he laughed louder, you knew you didn’t want to open your eyes and see the smirk that would greet you.

        “So needy.” His hand palmed your cheek, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone. “Guess I’ll just have to be your doctor until you’re feeling better. I doubt you mind.”

        “Fuck…you…”

        “Soon, zero.”

        “Pervert.”

        He made a noise of objection, but rather than argue with your half-unconscious self, he grumbled something under his breath like “We’ll see about that,” before busying himself with prodding at your face with a tissue. You cracked open your eyes a sliver to see he’d pulled the coffee table up beside you, curling his form over yours to spare you from the easing downpour.

        The tips of his white hair dripped water onto your couch cushions, and only then did you realize his usual blindfold was down and around his neck. 

        Holy shit, is that really the same guy?

        Your gaze traveled farther down, brows furrowing in confusion when you realized he wasn’t wearing the same black jacket from before. In its place was a white, long-sleeved button up, the top button undone and the fabric entirely soaked through. 

        “I heard you got the job.” His voice dragged you out of your daze, forcing your attention up to his face. His eyes flashed when they met yours, an unidentifiable emotion flitting through them that left no trace a second later. “Congratulations.”

        “Yeah,” you shut your eyes once more, hoping to halt any heat rising to your face. “You're sitting on the champagne I was drinking.”

        “Ew.”

        “To be fair, you’re the one who spilled it.”

        “You could’ve warned me.”

        “Where’s the fun in that?”

        He didn’t respond, but his gaze was almost as palpable at the fingertips resting on your cheek. His other hand had long tossed away the tissue he’d used to clean up your bloody nose and was now propped on the couch cushions beside you so he could lean over you better. The rain had slowed to a drizzle now. 

        “So you heard I got the job, but did you hear I’m your babysitter too?”

        He sniggered. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Though you may be more enjoyable to have around.”

        You swallowed at that. “Oh?” Beneath your front was a raging pile of nerves you struggled to stifle. “I’m flattered.”

        “People always are.”

        Well that certainly helped. Your lips pursed in effort to hold back a sneer, but you opened your eyes to glare at him. 

        “Never mind.”

        “Nuh-uh,” he waggled his finger in your face, “can’t take it back now. Speaking of, I think I’m due an apology.”

        Both his hands abandoned their post on and around you, leaving you feeling cold and bare. When he reached toward your body, though, was when you wriggled to get away. He latched onto you, snagging something layered over your body as equally soaked as his shirt. After he lifted it up, you recognized it as his jacket, and something warm filled your chest while he fished something out of it. 

        Okay, he’s one cocky son of a bitch, but that was sweet.

        Then he revealed one of your arrows, the black metal tip all too familiarly engraved with your initials.

        “Anything to say for yourself?” He waved it over your head tauntingly, even tapping the tip of your nose with part of the shaft. 

        You smacked your lips shut, avoiding your gaze. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

        One long, slender finger poked the side of your forehead. “You sure? There must have been some reason for you trying to kill me.”

        You fell silent, and it took two seconds for him to grow bored with your lack of response. “Maybe,” he reached over your body, slipping past his jacket he’d lain over you once more, “just maybe it had something to do with this.” A warm grip on your wrist tugged it into sight, and Gojo slid down the sleeve of your jacket with his other hand. 

        The way the number ten was written matched his personality, you realized. It was dark and firmly settled into your skin with a certain amount of force behind it, but its effortless flow from one digit to the next displayed a level of insouciance you’d only ever seen in the man before you. 

        Gojo’s eyes studied the 10 with intense curiosity, like it was whispering secrets in his ears. His lips squeezed together before parting, words he couldn’t quite seem to grasp lying in wait upon them.

        “I-” you broke the silence first, staring at the number as well, though mostly to avoid his burning gaze, “-I imagine you being born with a zero was much less a dramatic experience than mine.” Your gaze fell to his own wrist, something you’d had yet to see bare. “...Right?”

        The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “My number was an attestation to the power of the Gojo family. You’d think they expected it of me.” He ran the pad of his thumb over the 10, a grin splitting his face when goosebumps rose from his actions. “So, I suppose, then, you may get a pass for shooting at me. But I’ll be keeping this.” His unoccupied hand slipped the arrow back into his jacket pocket. “Maybe I’ll just hang it on my wall from now on.”

        “And if I need it back?”

        “Nope, it's mine now.”

        “In exchange, then,” you sat up straighter, gulping “do I at least get to see your mark?” 

        His mouth softened into a small smile, and he offered his hand to you. “I suppose that’s fair.” Unlike yours, his body did not shiver at your touch. The second your fingertips grazed the palm of his hand, a sound not unlike a purr left him, and you did not bother looking up to his face, already knowing his eyes were on yours in return. 

        You’d grown accustomed to his stare by now, feeling it was something akin to sun rays burning into your skin. Already, too, you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

        0. 

        A little lopsided, larger on one end rather than the other. Bold and black against his lighter colored wrist, and soft to the touch. A sort of narcissistic satisfaction flooded your chest, and your body felt all the warmer for it. 

        “You must like what you see.” Gojo’s voice dragged you out of your reverie. “I know I do.”

        You only realized you were smiling when it fell at his words. Such an ass. You let your hands fall from his wrist onto your lap, and, acknowledging the urge to reach for him once more, you occupied your hands by picking at your fingernails. 

        “Your blush is adorable, you know that?” Without warning, his hand cupped your cheek. He ran his fingertips along your reddened skin, dancing them over your cheekbone and running them behind your ear along with a strand of hair. All the while, he studied your face, chuckling at the veil of wariness that took over. “So cute,” he mumbled. 

        Then he stood up.

        “Well then. I guess I got what I came here for.” His sudden movements gave you whiplash, and you flinched back when he rose to his feet. With two palms planted on his back, he pushed his abdomen forward, groaning at the stretch. 

        You bit your tongue. 

        “Now, I gotta go. It was nice seeing you, zero.” He grasped the blindfold around his neck, sending you one last wink before securing it over his eyes. 

        Out from under the weight of his crystalline gaze, you relaxed back onto your couch, sucking in a short breath. 

        “Three days from now we have our first mission together,” he reached for the coat over your lap, pulling it on and patting down the pockets. The corner of his lips rose. “I’d say be there on time, but I’d hate to keep you waiting. Expect a half-hour delay or more.” 

        He paused and pursed his lips, his head tilting to one side. “Actually, you know what, I’ll just come find you. Make it easier that way.” With that, he turned and walked away, throwing a wave over his shoulder. “See you then, zero.

        “Oh, and next time, I suggest you just let me in. Save yourself the trouble--you’ll know when it’s me.”

                                ~~~

        A fierce wind whistled through the abandoned building, its wooden walls crackling and crying at its touch. Spare leaves scraped along the ground along with broken glass from both fallen photographs and busted windows. Through every hole in the wall filtered in a bit of sunlight, highlighting the dust you and Gojo kicked up with your every footstep. The floorboards underneath you wobbled uncertainly. 

        “Nanami said authorities reported two suspicious persons hiding out inside this building.” You glanced up from the text message, eyeing the torn, bloodstained furniture that lay askew around the room. “So that means there’s two demons after one finger.” You pocketed your phone. 

        “God, that sounds like the worst porn ever.” You hurled a glare at Gojo, who raised his hands in defense. “Am I wrong?”

        “You’re perverted is what you are,” you sighed, massaging a finger against your temple. 

        “But not wrong,” he sang as you both walked on. 

        Another strong gust of wind tore into the room, slamming open the entry door and blowing a tuft of your hair into your face. You spat it out with an annoyed grumble, but just as you reached up to pull the final strands from your lips, Gojo caught your wrist and, in turn, your attention. 

        “Over there,” he gestured his head to a side room that split off from the one you currently stood in. It appeared to be a bedroom judging by the yellowed mattress visible from the doorway, but a rancid scent of spoiled eggs intermingling with dried blood wafted toward you from its direction. With the scent came palpable cursed energy. 

        “One for me, one for you?” you asked, blindly reaching for an arrow in your quiver while removing your bow from around your chest. The energy was so strong you were almost choking on it, and when you took a deep breath to relieve yourself from the pressure, you gagged at the taste.

        Gojo paused, staring at you for a second and watching as you loaded the arrow and pulled back the string. “We’ll see,” he said, reaching up and removing his blindfold. 

        Your grip on your bow faltered, and you relaxed your hold on the arrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

        Gojo did not bother waiting for you nor answering your question, instead disappearing from your side, blue eyes glowing and body cocooned in a sort of translucent, wavering bubble. 

        Then all hell broke loose. 

        A broken squeal pierced your ears before sizzling black blood painted the doorway. The building began rattling more from Gojo’s fight than from the wind outside, and you feared the infrastructure was going to collapse from the pressure. Anxious--and perhaps feeling a bit left out--you darted towards the room, making the subconscious decision to avoid the splatter on your way. 

        The second you stepped foot inside, you found yourself in a domain. From what you could tell, it wasn’t Gojo’s. Though you’d never actually seen his domain, you figured it would look a little less monstrous than the one you were currently in. 

        Concrete rubble crunched underneath your feet. Glistening stalagmites rose from the floor, oozing with a black liquid not unlike tar that made it appear as if they were melting. The black abyss you stood in was sweltering, and almost instantly you felt your long sleeve jacket and pants begin sliding and sticking against your skin. A green fog hung in the air, a medium for the light of the crescent moon dangling in the sky. A monster’s domain indeed. 

        In all your time admiring, you almost missed the figure bounding toward you. A long blue tongue reached out to lap at the side of your face, and you sidestepped just in time, shivering at the hot breath that still managed to reach you where the tongue had missed. The creature blew past you completely, four spindly legs scrambling for purchase in the uneven rubble. 

        “Holy shit,” you gasped, eyes wide as you loaded and aimed your bow. Your chest pounded hard enough to flood your ears, and your heartbeat was palpable in your fingertips. When the monster’s head, resembling a spider’s with a hundred eyes all locked on you and fangs drooping from its mouth, sat on top of your arrow point, you let your fingers slip from the string. 

        “YN!” Gojo’s voice perked your ears, and just as you turned to find him, another spirit, this one twice your size with sharp thorns covering every inch of its body, reached with one large, three-fingered hand for your head, its two eyes deep pits of fire and rage.

        And despair, but you figured it was only your own gaze reflected within his. 

        You envisioned it to be somewhat like a strong man twisting the cap off a pickle jar, or perhaps even squeezing a tomato in his fist hard enough that it bursts, juices flying everywhere. Maybe it would be like being flung around like a ragdoll, body flailing as your head stays trapped in his palm. 

        Whatever it was, you were certain it wasn’t going to feel nice. 

        In one last, hail-Mary attempt, you tried to sink into your domain, to feel the light droplets and the forgiving sofa one last time. “Please,” you whispered.

        Everything grew dark and quiet. White noise rang in your ears, fluctuating with each racing heartbeat that shook its way through your body. When you did open your eyes, there was nothing, not even black darkness in your sight. 

        Nothing. 

        Nothing but a pounding headache, like someone trying to split your head open and read your thoughts like an open book. 

        “YN! YN, wake up!”

        It was him, that voice. But something was wrong, wasn’t it?

        “Come on, you can’t do this to me--I just found you!”

        It was distant, like usual. So far away you could barely hear him. But there was something about his tone–why was he so scared?

        “Wake up for me, YN. Please, just look at me.”

        He wasn’t laughing. His voice sounded so weird when he wasn’t laughing at your defeat, and isn’t that what he’d always done?

        Perhaps, maybe, it was because you’d won for once?

        Or, perhaps, maybe, he’d lost?

        Nonetheless, a short laugh escaped you. A small giggle, accompanied by a snort. Then another chuckle, louder now, because it was just so funny!

        How could a ten possibly lose?

        The very idea was hilarious!

        You cackled louder, wheezing in effort as you braced two hands over your stomach, trying to ease the pain of the action. Your own howls met your ears, sounding even more ridiculous coming from you, and that made you laugh harder. 

        He had gone silent. 

        You opened your eyes a sliver, gray, drizzling skies dampening your face and mingling with the tears already present. Your wrinkled clothes, still damp with sweat, grew cold and clung to your skin. The grass underneath you tickled your bare palms. 

        Gojo. Gojo loomed over you, long fingers paused in their obvious raking through his white hair. His blindfold was nowhere to be seen, and his chest rose and sank in a swift pattern. 

        Opalescent eyes scoured your face, and it was when you felt a pressure on your lips that you realized he had moved to cradle your head in his palms. 

        “What,” he whispered, choking on a breath, “-What was so fucking funny?” 

        All the laughter had been sapped away, slowly deteriorated along with your energy as you let your head relax in his hold. Your hands reached up on their own volition and grasped at his wrist, trying to move him or stop him from moving, you weren’t quite sure. 

        “Am I alive?” you pondered aloud. 

        Gojo shook his head in disbelief, gnawing angrily on his lip before hissing a curse under his breath. He made a move to release his hold on you, and that was when you discovered you were holding him there.

        “Yes. Yes, you are, and I can’t fucking believe it.”

        “You know what’s funny?”

        His eyes snapped to yours. “No, I really don’t. Please, for the love of God, enlighten me.”

        “All my life, I thought you would be this… this sort of invincible god. A ten. I thought you were the one who was going to kill me.”

        “YN-”

        “But you didn’t. You saved me.” You removed his hands from your face, with an evidently necessary amount of force, and wrestled yourself up into a sitting position, your legs splayed out before you. Gojo kneeled beside you, one of his hands insistent on your back. “You were so scared, Satoru. But you shouldn’t be.” You couldn’t help it; you reached up to cup his cheek, wiping away a raindrop from under his eye. “Because no matter how much I don’t like it, I know you have been and you always will be there to save me.”

        Gojo chewed on the inside of his lip, eyes examining every inch of your face as if he was trying to imprint it into memory. You doubted you looked as great as his gaze implied--your hair was a rat’s nest on top of your head, your entire body was trembling, and your eyes were still unsteady from the blows you’d almost taken amidst the fight. 

        “You’re gonna be such a pain in my ass, zero,” he hummed.

        Then his lips captured yours.

                                ~~~

        “So, you…eat…the fingers?”

        “Yep.”

        “Well… are they good?”

        “Nope.”

        You purse your lips and nod. “Okay… but why was your first thought to eat it?”

        Fushiguro shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

        “Will do.”

        You led the group of first years to the school courtyard, directing them toward the center of the clearing where you stood. The sun shone today, blisteringly hot with only a cool breeze every few seconds to offer slight relief. Birds chirped in the trees of the school’s surrounding forest, and Itadori frantically swatted away a few gnats. 

        “All right, everyone, today you will learn my cursed technique.”

        You closed your eyes, focusing a little harder to allow three more people into your domain than usual. You envisioned a plain of grass, a surrounding barrier of roses, then trees. You saw the light gray sky, the cooling drops of rain, the barely-visible sun.

        “Gojo?!”

        And Gojo splayed out on your sofa, arm thrown over his eyes, mouth open to catch flies as he snored. He was a large jumble of long limbs and white hair sitting lopsided on your couch. 

        “Didn’t he say he was on a mission today?” Kugisaki asked, her brow raised. 

        Yuuji creeped toward him, finger outstretched and ready to poke him in the cheek. He met an invisible wall instead. 

        “Are you really surprised?” Fushiguro crossed his arms. “My question is, why’s he in here?”

        Three pairs of eyes turned to you, and, helpless, you shrugged. “Sometimes he breaks in to take naps. I’ve gotten used to it after a while.”

        “Hold on, are you the ‘zero’ lady he’s always talking about?!” Itadori gawked at you, his eyes locked onto your wrist.

        A loud yawn split the air. Gojo, his snores finally silenced, let his arm fall from his face. A smirk danced on his lips when he saw you, but it fell when he saw the three first years. He locked his glowing gaze on their forms and groaned exhaustedly. 

       “Yes she is. My little zero.” He winked at you, then turned his blue glare onto them. “Now scatter, you three. My wife’s domain is my nap space, not yours.”

Gray Chains (Yandere Michael Gray x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Michael needs to see you. It’s been three days after being shot by Luca Changretta’s men, and he knows you need to see him too--especially since you’re chained up against his headboard for trying to escape from him too many times. 

A/N: I mean gotta admit I’m in a yandere Michael Gray kinda mood, and there’s only like two fics of that out there :( Gotta do whatcha gotta do ig. Enjoy!

Word count: 3068

        Polly’s grip on your wrist is so tight you can barely feel the tips of your bluing fingers. You’re used to such pain, though; underneath her hand are more permanent, more reddened markings from the handcuffs you had been wearing before Polly had found you.

        “We’re almost there,” she mumbled under her breath, head snapping back and forth every few minutes to search each room you passed. Your feet and calves ached from the pace she had set for the two of you, quick and impatient ever since you’d stepped out of Michael’s townhouse. You hadn’t moved this far, this fast for months. 

        Not since you first tried to escape Michael. 

        Even now, you couldn’t breathe. Every gasp of air was caught in your throat, choking you slowly while tasting of antiseptic. A sort of panic-stricken excitement ran through your body from being outside the gray walls of Michael’s home for the first time in who knew how long. 

        Just hours ago that was where you had been, one hand secured in a metal cuff that only reached as far as the bathroom, the other end of which was placed around Michael’s headboard. 

        You knew something had gone awry when Michael hadn’t returned home to deliver you your usual meal every six hours for a straight three days; when he hadn’t shyly knocked on the door to his own bedroom, a tray of homemade cooking in his hands and an innocent smile on his face; “I made you something, love.”

        Three straight days. Your stomach rumbled as a reminder even now. 

        “Speed up now, won’t you,” Polly ordered, still frantically pushing the pair of you past marble hallways filled with nurses and patients roaming. “The room is up here.”

        You’d given up asking what had happened to Michael. Polly was unresponsive to your every question, too focused on lugging you behind her to say anything else but “He’s been asking for you.”

        When you had first heard the door unlock to Michael’s house this morning, you had thought it was him. “Where the hell have you been?” you’d called, a disturbing hint of relief in your frustrated tone. If he was going to lock you up like an animal, you’d thought to yourself, he should at least have planned for times like this where he doesn’t show up for days. 

        But the second you heard the footsteps up the stairs sound lighter than normal, you sat up at attention in the bed, eyes locked on the doorway. Who…?

        Polly. Polly who had almost been hanged, who was now addicted to pills and thought she could see spirits, who was a strong, capable woman that defended others and cared deeply for her family. This was how Michael described his mother to you. He’d wanted you to meet her so badly, but only when you were ready--complaisant was what he really meant. 

        “You must be YN,” she’d said breathlessly, pausing only a second to study your situation. 

        You swallowed, unmoving from your spot on the bed. “Yes.” She was the first person you’d seen for so long aside from Michael. 

        Then she produced a key from the pocket of her coat and approached you swiftly. 

        “Yes, yes--please,” you held up your cuffed hand before her, eyes watering with relief, “please, you must get me out of here. He’s kept me here so long.” Finally, someone had come to save you, you thought. You were leaving this place forever.

        When that small voice in the back of your mind whispered, “What about Michael?” you ignored it.

        The metal chains had hit the floor with soft clangs, and she’d pocketed the key once again. You remembered rubbing a hand over the sore skin of your wrist, eyes wide with wonderment at the sight of your hand unaccompanied by gray metal. 

        Then Polly’s hand replaced your own, tight and unforgiving as she tugged at your arm. “Come along now,” she ushered you out of the house, you willingly following her like a ragdoll. “He wants to see you.”

        “What?” That’s not what you had expected her to say. 

        “He’s been asking for you.”

        You never bothered to ask who. After all, you should have never thought Michael’s mother had come to save you. 

        Gangsters, you told yourself. Criminal scum, the lot of them. You should have never taken a walk down the streets of Birmingham, and you should have never smiled at Michael Gray. 

        “They’re asleep, fuckin’ lazy scumbags,” Polly spat, slowing her pace when she caught sight of one of the larger hospital rooms. She didn’t let up on your wrist but instead pushed you into the room first before following.

        Michael. 

        What happened to him?

        Half of his upper body was wrapped in white surgical tape, while the other half was blanched enough to rival the tape’s color. His eyes were closed, puffy and rimmed with dark circles that hung over prominent cheekbones like upended crescent moons. His pale, chapped lips were held in a thin line that twitched at the new, noisier presences in the room.

        A shiver traveled down your spine at the sight of him in such a way, and suddenly your hands trembled at your sides. You couldn’t feel the pain in your wrist anymore. 

        “On your feet,” you heard behind you. A few moments, and some rustling. “Wait outside.”

        The door clicked behind you, then it clicked again. Locked. Polly came up from behind you a second later, ignoring your presence completely as she set two flasks of alcohol on the table of Michael’s hospital bed before pulling up a chair beside him. 

        Tugging off her coat, she moved to lay it over Michael’s legs until he spoke. 

        “Mum,” he mumbled blindly, his voice raw and strained from lack of use. 

        “Michael,” Polly cooed then, leaning in closer over him to dab his face with a rag. He was so broken that moving his lips to talk was strenuous enough to break a sweat. Even his fingers twitched slowly, weakly. You’d never seen him so frail and battered.

        Your heart stuttered in an unsettling way. 

        “Is she-”

        “Don’t move.” She soaked up the perspiration on his brow next, humming warningly. “You took four bullets.”

        “But-”

        “She’s here--the girl. I brought her like you asked.” Polly didn’t spare you a glance, not that you noticed. You were frozen in place, gaze still wandering over each wrap on his body. One, two, three, four bullets. He’s still alive. He’s still alive. 

        “YN,” he murmured, eyes opening a sliver. “YN. You’re here.” 

        You took a step toward him instinctively, hand raising from your side, before realizing your mistake and steadying yourself in place. 

        A smile tugged at his lips, paining him somewhat but not stopping him. He moved to sit up, to reach out for you as well, but a groan forced its way from him when he tried. With furrowed brows, he sucked a breath through his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. 

        Polly inhaled all the meanwhile, hovering her hands over his form to stop him from moving any more. “What did I tell you? Lie back.”

        “YN, please, come closer, love.”

        Polly turned her gaze towards you, accusatory. “Come!” she ordered, gesturing with her head to Michael’s other side. Her gaze fell back on him again when you drew closer to the bed, and her hard face softened. 

        Even with eyes struggling to stay open, Michael’s stare was adoring upon you. Like always, he stared at you as though you’d hung the moon and stars in the sky. You’d been under that loving, worshiping gaze for months now. Even now, it placed such a heavy weight on your chest that you found yourself stumbling closer, only flinching away when your fingertips made contact with his arm. 

        He drew you in like a moth to a flame ever since you first met. Only after he’d locked you up in his house did your feelings for him leave a disgusting taste on your tongue. 

        You stayed a few inches apart from him, ignoring how his hand struggled at his side to reach for you. 

        “Love, please. I want to feel you. I need to know you’re really here.”

        Two pairs of eyes were on you then. Polly’s glared like a coiled snake, and Michael’s pleaded like a puppy dog.

        You edged closer, letting your hand drop on top of his. Quickly, Michael maneuvered your fingers to interlock with his, and he sighed in relief. You forced your attention away from the warmth spreading in the center of your chest and onto Polly, who dug through her bag. 

        “I’ve missed you so much, love.” His thumb ran over your knuckles. “I was so afraid I’d never get to see you again. I was so scared I was never going to hold you again.”

        His words wrapped around you like a weighted blanket, heavy and overbearing yet warm and comforting. You wanted to throw up.

        “Michael,” Polly gathered his attention somehow, pulling his face toward hers as she laid out a pamphlet on his bedside. Australia, it read. “Please listen. John’s dead, and this whole town’s fucked. We need to get out of here.”

        “No,” he grunted, hand squeezing yours.

        She rolled her eyes. “You can take the girl. Just listen--there’s no mafia, no fucking American gangsters in Australia. Now, the doctor said you can walk in five weeks, and the boat leaves February thirteenth. That gives us plenty of time.”

        Five weeks. You glanced at Michael’s form, practically curling in on itself in pain. It was only held together by stitches and strips of cloth. He wouldn’t be out of the hospital for months, even if he could walk. 

        “We’re not going anywhere, Mum.”

        But you could. How could he possibly come after you, stuck here like a mummified corpse with four bullet holes in it. Without him to lock you up in his house, to tie you down and feed you and hold you, you could escape him easily. You would never have to see Michael again. 

        Your stomach growled, drawing Michael’s attention. His face fell into despair at the sound, and his eyes fluttered closed in regret. “YN, fuck, I’m so sorry. I never thought something like this would happen.”

        “Michael, please,” Polly begged, “we must go there and see your sister.”

        “Mum, later.” He looked back at you, face riddled with guilt. “Love, I’m sorry you were alone for so long.”

        “Michael-”

        “Mum!” His head snapped back to her, frustration barely concealed in his tone. “Please. Just go call Tommy and tell him to bring me a gun for the room. Business needs to be done first before we take any trips.”

        “Michael, it’s not safe. Not if we stay here. Tommy cannot protect us.”

        “Not if you don’t help him, Mum. Please,” he lay his other hand over the pamphlet, pursing his lips before pressing it closed once more in her grasp, “help Tommy first. Help the company first, then I promise we’ll board that train to Australia to go see Anna.”

        Tears began trailing down Polly’s face, and you glanced away out of courtesy. Michael was so different with his mother than he was with you. Around you, he treated you like you could do no wrong. Like you were the perfect woman, the perfect wife. Sometimes he held you as though you were made of glass, and other times he almost broke your ribs in his tight embraces. He’d whisper to you at night about how you were his greatest achievement, his greatest gift. 

        With his mother, now, he treated her as though she were a five-year-old in need of constant supervision and direction. Michael had vaguely told you about the situation with his mother, how he’d only first met her a couple years ago, but never much more than that. You had a feeling that if the Polly in front of you now were in any better shape, that same Polly that so clearly wanted you to act like a better girlfriend to her son and had dragged you down streets and through alleys just for him, then she would never give Michael’s orders a second thought. 

        Polly nodded, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks with gloved hands with a willing, yet trembling, smile. “Fine.” She rose to her feet, grasping her purse off the nightstand and shoving the pamphlet inside. “Fine. I’ll go see Tommy.”

        She moved to leave, snatching the two flasks off the table in the meantime, before she seemed to remember something. She turned back to Michael again, and her gaze flitted to yours once. 

        “The girl. I saw the state she was in, Michael.”

        He tensed, and as a result your hand twinged in pain. 

        “Do you want me to take her back to the house?”

        All of the tension left Michael’s body in a single sigh, and he shook his head once. “No,” he smiled softly, “I want YN to stay with me here.”

        She nodded slowly, eyes falling on you one final time before she disappeared out the door. When it clicked shut, Michael’s gaze latched onto you, half-lidded, exhausted, but still very much attentive to you.

        “You will, won’t you? Stay with me here, I mean?”

        Silence fell over the room. You stared down at the man who just days ago had towered over you on his own bed, hands and lips all over you, owning you. 

        “You know why I do this, love, don’t you?” he’d always say, lips running over the raw skin of your wrist, free of the cuff whenever he was present. “It’s because I need you.” Another kiss. “I will always need you.”

        Then you twisted your hand from his grasp, backing away from the bed with flared nostrils. “I,” you shook your head, “I don’t know.”

        “No, no, love, please, don’t do this to me.” Michael grunted and groaned as he fumbled against the sheets, body fighting against his urge to move. His arms raised slowly and weakly from his sides as if each had been strapped down with weights. When he reached out for you, the sweat on his wrinkled brow glistened in the sunlight. 

        “Don’t, please. I love you so much, love, don’t do this to me.”

        You wanted to argue with logic. You wanted to twist his words and say, well how could you do that to me for all that time, huh? How could you tell me you love me every day, knowing that the only reason I have to listen to you is because of the prison walls around me? If you really loved me, how could you do that to me?

        But you didn’t because--it seemed--he’d finally got what he’d wanted. Oh how you missed the days where he’d begged and pleaded with you to love him and understand him, and how you missed those times where you said you didn’t and that you hated him. And you missed when those words were the truth, because it meant he hadn’t beaten you into submission. 

        Yet.

        But he was winning, wasn’t he now?

        As he breathed faster and perspired harder and called your name louder, you rounded the bed, still just out of his grasp, before settling down into Polly’s former seat. 

        Right then, he quieted himself like a sated child sucking on a pacifier. 

        “Fine, then.” You spat, more angry at yourself than you could ever be at him--because look what you’d allowed him to do to you. “Fine, you fucking win.”

        He remained silent.

        “I’ll stay here with you. And five weeks from now, I’ll still fucking be here, helping you stand up and walk around. And then soon after we’ll go to fucking Australia with your mother. And then after that I’ll fucking follow you there too, won’t I?” You were disgusted with yourself, with the feelings he’d force-fed into you until they were all you wanted. 

        Then you grabbed his hand, still reaching for you from the side of the hospital bed, and intertwined your fingers. Perfect, you’d thought, a perfect fucking fit. 

        Michael pulled the pair of hands up to his lips, kissing along your knuckles and smiling all the while. “Thank you, love.” His lips trailed up your arm. “Thank you.” Kiss. “Thank you.” Kiss. “Thank you.” Kiss.

        He tugged you closer and closer still, waiting until you leant over him enough to pull your lips onto his. 

        You had lost this battle against your own feelings long before Polly had dragged you out of the house, you realized. It was long before the day he’d first missed his meal with you, and you knew it because instead of wondering if you were going to be fed by your captor, you wondered if the man you loved was ever going to come home to you again. 

        You also knew it when his lips separated from yours for a breath, and he wasn’t the only one who had chased for a second chance at the kiss. 

        “Stay with me always, love,” he mumbled against your lips. “I need you. I’ll always fucking need you.”

        “I know,” you leaned your forehead against his, running your fingertips over his lips, his cheek, his hair. 

        “I won’t ever leave you again, love. I promise.” His hands cupped your face, holding you in place just an inch away so you could feel his words on your lips. “I won’t ever let anyone take me away from you.”

        “I’ll hold you to that,” you murmured, tearing your gaze away from his to stare down at the tape lacing his battered form. You hovered a hand over the strips, wondering where each of the four bullet holes was. 

        “And nobody will take you from me,” he tapped your chin, pulling your attention back to his face, “right, love?”

        “Never, Michael.” You shook your head, nose brushing his. “Never.”

        “That’s right,” he hummed under his breath. “Never.”

Part 2

Love Me Through the Phone (Bokuto x Reader) (NSFW)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: After Bokuto leaves for an away game on Valentine’s Day weekend, you’re left to handle the day’s pleasures all on your own. There’s just one little problem--nothing comes close to what Bokuto could give you. Luckily, he offers a solution, and though it’s completely out of your wheelhouse, you find yourself desperate enough to give in.

Warnings: smut, phone sex, mutual/guided masturbation, dirty talk, slight praise kink, slight dumbification, edging (if you squint), (gentle) dom!Bokuto

A/N: Happy belated Valentine’s Day! Here’s a lil gift from me to u that I’ve had stuck on my mind for a while. Yes, yes, I know, I ain’t great at writing smut, so if someone else wrote this prompt w/ Best Boi Bokuto™ uhh… *cough cough* sendittomeplsnthx. Enjoy!

Word count: 2731

        “So… what are you wearing?”

        “Jesus Christ,” you break off into a laugh, picking up the phone. 

        “Nah, nah, c’mon, I’m serious. We gotta start somewhere.”

        Still shaking your head, you lean back on the bed once more, propped up on a few pillows but otherwise completely reclined. “Fine, fine, but anything else like that and I’m gonna have to leave you to your hand.”

        “I promise, now c’mon. Tell me.”

        “Seriously?”

        “One-hundred percent.”

        You purse your lips, debating a little. You can feel how much you want it--want him--and when you shift your hips, you can almost feel it soaking uncomfortably against your clothing. He’d texted you minutes ago with a proposition after learning of your predicament last night. 

        You’d wanted him so bad, but that alone wasn’t enough. Bokuto was off at an away game, and the distance--plus it being Valentine’s Day--only made things worse. You’d tried so hard, even trying to imagine his hand in your own’s place, even his tongue. It was just not enough. 

        Though, Bokuto didn’t seem to know how to handle the situation either. 

        “Fine, fine. I’m, uh, I’m wearing that little dress you like-”

        “Yeah?”

        “-and those silk panties you almost tore that one time.”

        “Really?”

        “Fuck no. It’s a Monday--I’m wearing sweats and a tank top, and I’m pretty sure there’s at least two rats making babies in my hair.”

        “Well at least someone’s getting some.”

        “Kou!”

        “Sorry, YN!” Bokuto whines, his voice crackling through the line. “But come on! Take this seriously.” He pauses, silence flooding your room.

        “Just… let me help you.”

        Your thighs subconsciously clench at the tone. It’s so familiar it’s like they’re preparing to be spread apart. 

        The place between your thighs is soaked by now, far more stirred than you’re letting on. The fact that your voice is still steady surprises even you at this point. 

        “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

        “Don’t be, baby. Just lay back for me, will you?”

        “Okay.” Gnawing at your cheek, you make the choice to place Bokuto on speaker, setting him down just beside your shoulder so you can hear his every word. At this point, you’re on your back, head lain on a pillow and hands dancing along the strings of your sweats.

        “Comfy?”

        “Yeah.”

        “Good.” There’s a few shuffles over the phone, and when Bokuto’s voice returns he sounds a little out of breath, a little strained. “Good. Okay.”

        “Okay,” you nervously parrot, not really sure what else to do with yourself. Slowly, you’re beginning to gather that neither of you have done this before. Despite Bokuto sounding so confident earlier, he now seems reduced to the same anxious, aroused mess that you are. 

        “All right, now just…just follow my lead, okay?” 

        “Mhmm.”

        “I want you to go slow, no matter what I tell you. Don’t speed up until I say.” His orders, simply the thought of their implications, leave your fingers twitching closer to your arousal. The need to touch yourself was beginning to leave a yearning that ran rampant through your veins. A single spark filled your stomach with heat. 

        “Okay.”

        “Good,” he exhaled. “Now touch yourself.”

        You almost choked on your spit. “Wh-uh, I mean,” your gaze traced along the ceiling frantically, desperately trying to distract yourself from the burning in your cheeks. “Like, where?” 

        Your question had slipped out without a second thought, and when Bokuto chuckled, the flush spread to your chest. 

        “Maybe you’re right,” he pondered. “Let’s go slower than that.” A huff, then his voice returned, excited. “All right, I got it. Think of me, all right?”

        “Kou, I already tried that.”

        “I know, baby, I know. But now you can actually hear me, and you don’t have to imagine a thing. Leave it to me.”

        You were grateful he accepted your timid silence as approval. 

        “Okay, so… think of me touching you, right? Like I’m right there in front of you, baby, and I’m just running my hands all over you-”

        “Kou?” you cut him off, blindly picking at your fingernails. 

        “What’s up? You wanna stop?”

        “Can you touch yourself too?” And it’s when he falls silent that you realize how awkward that sounded. “Ah shit, I-I mean, like, I just kinda felt awkward doing it alone and like I felt like if you were doing it too I’d feel better about it and-”

        “God, YN, you thought I wasn’t doing that already?”

        “What?” 

        He scoffs, and shame begins to sour your anticipation. 

        “The second you said you were touching yourself to the thought of me, babe, I was at it. You seriously thought I was gonna sit here and just let you play with yourself while I’m over here just listening?”

        “I mean, a little…”

        “Shit, YN. I let you tie me up once and suddenly you think I like being blue-balled.”

        “Well…”

        “It was one time!”

        “Whatever, Kou! Can we just…get back to what we were doing?”

        “Fine, fine. But we’re discussing this later.”

        “Okay, okay. Just get on with it, will you? Please, Kou, I…” you pause, body once more growing aware of the situation between your legs. “I need your help.”

        “I know, babe.” Bokuto gulps, taking a second to relax himself once more. You’re busying yourself with fiddling with the bottom of your tank top now, tempted to just lift off the damned thing along with the rest of your clothes. 

        But you’re a little curious if Bokuto would mind that.

        “All right, sweetheart. Like I said, follow my lead.”

        You hum. 

        “I want you to imagine me there, right on top of you, baby. Think of how I’d push your shirt up, how I’d run my hands up your sides. Do that to yourself for me, will you, sweetheart?”

        You listen and copy his words, running your hands underneath the cotton hem and brushing your fingertips along your hips, just as Bokuto had done so many times. 

        Well, it wasn’t perfect. But his voice certainly helped. 

        “Go up higher, baby. I want you to hold those pretty tits of yours.

        “God, I can almost feel ‘em in my hands. So soft, always wanna keep my hands there. So fuckin’ pretty.”

        “Kou…” You do as he asks, but it’s not enough. You want more, now.

        “I know, I know. But remember, sweetheart, I said we’re taking things slow tonight.”

        “But-”

        “Now touch yourself. Imagine my hands playing with those cute little nipples of yours, baby. Make ‘em all tight and perky for me.” Hesitantly, you follow his lead. Your fingers draw circles, tug and caress like how you remember he would after long days. How his hands would yank off your shirt before palming and squeezing and stroking. Some days he was really mean, and your hips shifted at the thought of the dark marks he would leave scattered along your chest. 

        “Feel good?” His voice is breathless, and you’re a little uncertain of whether that means your soft moans had somehow passed through the phone line despite how much you’d suppressed them. Though, Bokuto did like you loud. 

        “So good,” you pant, hands still toying almost torturously. “But I want more, Kou, please.”

        “Fuck, baby, I ever tell you how cute you are when you beg?”

        “Kou…”

        “Fine, fine. But you know I’d play with your pretty tits longer than that. From now on, let’s go at my pace.”

        Fuck. You knew Bokuto had a pace, but when it came to nights like these, it was slower than you’d expect. Though most nights Bokuto jumped you and kept at it like a rabbit, there were just some days where he dragged things out, usually just to hear you beg for him. An ego boost, or whatever. Like he needed it. 

        “Slowly, sweetheart, bring your hands down to your thighs and spread ‘em, nice and gentle--you know how I’d peel ‘em apart.” He broke off into a grunt. “And t-then stroke the insides of your thighs, baby.”

        “Kou?”

        “What’s up?”

        “Do,” you clench your jaw, telling yourself to get over the embarrassment by now. “-Do you want me to take my clothes off?”

        “Fuck, you still have any on? Why?”

        “Oh.” You took that as a cue to tear off your tank top and sweatpants, a little ashamed by the eagerness with which you did it. That feeling only grew when you squirmed out of your panties, catching a glimpse of the glistening stain left on them. 

        An idea hit you, and though you knew it would only make you flush more, you wanted to hear his reaction.

        “Kou?”

        “Are they off?”

        “My panties are soaked.” 

        The reaction was instant. 

        “Jesus–fuck,” Bokuto hissed under his breath. You heard something akin to skin on skin as his cursing hitched, and a strangled groan filled your ears. 

        “Fucking tease,” he rasped when he finally seemed to stop himself from going too far. There was a tension in his voice that warned you he wanted revenge. “Put both hands on that wet little pussy, sweetheart. For that, I wanna hear it.”

        Finally. The second your dominant hand made contact with your swollen clit, your hips jerked up without volition. “Sh-it.”

        “Nu-uh, YN. Keep them there. Two inside, one on your clit. Nice and slow.”

        It was hard to keep a steady, controlled pace. Your hips kept bucking, your back kept arching, and the two fingers Bokuto had ordered deep inside you weren’t reaching that little spot he seemed to have memorized like the back of his hand. 

        The lone index finger you kept circling your clit wasn’t doing your sanity any favors. The muscles of your thighs began to tremble in sheer desire of some actual force, a little muscle behind the action. 

        “YN,” Bokuto’s tone was low, warning. The second you’d sped up your hands to meet your needs, Bokuto could hear your closed-mouth whimpers growing higher. 

        “Kou, please.”

        “Hands off, baby. Completely.”

        “Wha…” you opened your mouth in protest, reluctantly pulling two soaked fingers out of your weeping hole and forcing your hand away from your clit. 

        “I told you to listen, baby. And now that’s all you get to do.”

        “Kou, what-”

        “Ahh, shit.” You slam your mouth shut, biting your lip at the delicious moans echoing through the phone. “Fuck, so good.”

        Bokuto’s strained groans come quick and in between pants. You’re positive there’s a sheen of sweat covering his forehead now, his arm flexed and taut as he strokes himself. 

        “YN, baby. ‘F-Feels so good.”

        “Kou,” you plead, gaze a little unfocused as you listen to his moans while forcing your hands to stay at your sides. You feel yourself twitching, clenching around nothing. 

        “Fuck, wish I was inside you right now.” Throaty moans now filter through the crackling line, so loud you wonder if the neighboring apartment can hear--not that they shouldn’t be used to it by now. “You’re always so fucking tight, sweetheart. Always so wet and tight on my cock.”

        “Kou please, let me-”

        “Hold on. Just a little more, baby--fffuck. Know you wanna touch yourself. Spread your legs for me, but don’t touch.”

        You peel your knees apart once more, frustrated to no longer have any friction to work with. Your hips roll desperately, but it accomplishes nothing but making you more desperate. You can feel your arousal dripping down, now, soaking into the sheets. 

        “You remember before I left, sweetheart? Remember how I fucked your pretty little brains out? Never seen you like that before, so pretty and crying over how good my cock felt inside you.”

        “Yes, Kou, yes! Please, just let me-”

        “Said you couldn’t walk the next day. Said I fucked you so good you couldn’t feel your legs, baby. You feel ‘em now? All spread apart and just fucking shaking? If I fucked you right now, sweetheart, you think you could even think straight?”

        “No, Kou, fuck I need you so bad.” You threw an arm over your eyes, the other digging into the sheets as you waited and waited for permission. 

        “You only got your fingers, and you can’t even use ‘em. All you got is me, the thought of me fucking into you, turning your pretty little brain into mush. Making you feel so good all you can do is cry. Baby, I still got those scratch marks on my back.”

        “Kou-”

        “Just a few more days, sweetheart, and I’ll have you making new ones. For now though, I suppose I could let you play with yourself.”

        You almost cried out in relief, hands darting down to your aching, sopping hole, feeling as it drenched each fingertip with ease. 

        “Three fingers inside. I know you can take it. Pretend it’s me warming you up for my cock, baby, stretching you out and having you dripping all over my fucking hand.”

        He’s right, it is a stretch, and you almost whimper when you press your fingers up and against the little pleasure center deep inside you, fingertips just barely brushing. 

        “Your little clit hurts so good, doesn’t it, baby? You’re being so mean to it aren’t you, rubbing hard circles into it.”

        He pauses, breaking off into a drawn-out groan of your name. 

        “I don’t care. Go faster.”

        And you do, and he’s right, and you just can’t bring yourself to care as you press harsh patterns into your clit, struggling to pump your fingers at the same time without losing pace completely and frustrating yourself. 

        “That’s it. Say my name, baby. Scream my name while you play with yourself. Couldn’t do that by yourself, could you?”

        “Kou--fuck!” You clench your eyes shut, arching your back harder as you speed up your desperate ministrations. Heat gathers at your clit from the friction, and your slick is practically gushing now, loud and pornographic.

        Bokuto certainly got what he wished--there was no way he couldn’t hear how wet you were. 

        “You can only touch yourself with my help, can’t you? So fucking good to me, baby. So pretty playing with your tight little hole like that. Dirty little thing.”

        “God, fffuck,” you whimper, back arching when your gushing finally reaches its peak. 

        “You coming?”

        “Y-es!”

        “I wanna hear who made you feel this good. Who made you play with your own little pussy so good, baby?”

        “Kou! Yes, Kou!”

        “Good girl. Good fucking girl.” Bokuto moans one last time, loud and guttural, and the slick of your fingers brushing and kneading your clit becomes too much. Your legs, spread wide and strained, shake with the effort as your back arches against the pillows behind you, head tossed back and mouth open in a silent gasp. 

        Bokuto soothes you on your way down, small “I love yous” and “so good for mes” traveling over the line. When your body finally stops twitching, you lean over and snag your phone, turning it off speaker and pressing it to your ear. 

        “Thank you, Kou,” you hum softly, lethargic and exhausted. “That was so much better than last night’s shit show.”

        “I’m so relieved, baby.” He pauses, humming. “And glad to know you can’t seem to come without me.”

        “Yeah, well, good thing you’re coming back soon. This was good, but…” You sit up, staring at his side of the bed, a little unkempt from you rolling over to it in your sleep night after night. “I wish you were here.”

        “I know, baby. I wish you were with me too.”

        “It’s so lonely without you.”

        “I know. I miss you.”

        “Plus I finally found out where you hid those handcuffs after that night.”

        “Goddamnit, YN, just throw those fucking things out! I’m not getting blue-balled again!”

I loved your atla and lok stuff and I was wondering if you still write for them and if you do are you taking requests RN? Have a good day!

Hmmm, I haven’t written for that fandom for a while, but I wouldn’t mind writing a nice Zuko or Sokka fanfiction here or there👀👀

We can totally discuss any ideas you have! I’d love to see ‘em

Oh goodness I briefly couldn’t find you in tumblr’s search bar and was so worried you were gone 😭 but lo and behold here you are, and with hq posts I’ve never read yet!! I’m so excited, but first - I hope you’ve been well, that you had some nice times over the holidays, and that the new year is off to a good start for you!! 💖

Aagkcndkk this is so sweet! I’ve been great—I hope you’ve been well too, anon!!

I know it’s been a while, but I gotta admit it’s been nice to tackle writing again. I hope you like what you’re reading!💜💜

Darling Traps Them in a Room to Escape (Yandere Haikyuu Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

Ushijima and Oikawa Version

Sugawara and Kuroo Version

Bokuto, Kageyama, and Kenma Version

A/N: pfft so somebody requested this for hinata like t w o y e a r s ago… hehe. ANyways, love me some yandere haikyuu boys. Kinda loving tendou’s, so I hope y’all like it. Enjoy!

Word count: 2953

Tendou Satori:

“Darling, surely we’re not doing this now?”

“You know, I don’t think I like this game, YN. I suggest you end this before you cross a line you can’t come back from.”

You gulped but continued the search, digging through drawers and cupboards to find anything resembling a key. Tendou’s voice drawled from where you’d trapped him in the bathroom. 

“Taking advantage of a man while he’s got his pants down—not cool, YN.”

You try to ignore him, try to stay focused on what you’re doing, but it’s so hard. 

So hard when all he’s doing is heckling you in that damned tone of his.

Like you were a little kid playing an adult’s game. 

That’s how he’d always been though, ever since he first kidnapped you. He treated you like you didn’t know how to handle yourself in the real world. He acted like you needed him to watch your every move and teach you how to conduct yourself. 

That’s how your relationship had been before, when you were just a regular couple, but it was when you took notice of his gaslighting and tried to break up with him that he’d taken you. 

No, YN, you can’t keep getting distracted. Stay focused. 

Glancing back over at the front door to the apartment, you counted the locks once more. Three double-sided deadbolts, two padlocked latches. Somewhere inside the apartment were five keys Tendou never dared to leave without. You just had to find them. 

“I’m getting bored in here, could you at least slip me a deck of cards or something? Otherwise I might lose my mind.” The teasing lilt hinted at the smirk on his face. No doubt he was utterly, completely calm. He always was when it came to you, because he thought he knew you like the back of his hand. 

“Shut up in there, Satori!”

He snickered. “Well that was uncalled for.”

Like always, he knew how to get under your skin. Goosebumps rose on your skin, and you tried to shake off his taunts, dragging a hand through your hair with a deep breath. 

He can’t win. I won’t let him. He’s not getting away with this.

“How about a snack at least, darling, pretty please? The toothpaste is starting to look appetizing.”

Nothing, absolutely nothing. You couldn’t find keys in the living room or the kitchen, so you resorted to investigating the bedroom. 

When Tendou heard you approaching, he began to hum playfully. It was that song, the one he’d murmur while running his fingers along your skin, while tugging you in close after coming home from work. He’d whisper it into your hair at night, or you’d hear him singing it in the shower while you were still in bed. 

“You are my sunshine,”

You slammed open the door into the bedroom, trying to block out the voice that rang out from the door right across from you. 

“My only sunshine,”

Clenching your jaw, you began digging through the dresser, pushing aside clothes and feeling along the undersides of the drawers. 

“You make me happy,”

With a huff, you gave up, moving on to Tendou’s nightstand. At the sounds of your struggles, his voice seemed to get louder, grow clearer. 

“When skies are gray,”

Handcuffs and their keys, but none of which would fit the locks. You remembered when he’d first used them on you, the first night he kidnapped you. He was afraid you would do something “stupid” like try to attack him and hurt yourself in the process, so he’d shackled you to his headboard for your own personal wellbeing. 

“You’ll never know dear,”

You slammed the drawer shut at the sight of them and moved to feel under the mattress, trying to ignore all the crumbs and dust that gathered under your fingernails amidst the attempt. Tendou, meanwhile, just kept growing louder.

“How much I love you,”

Then you felt it. Metal. A whole ring of it, too. Five keys jingled together when you yanked them out from under the bed, almost falling onto your back from your overzealous force. You almost teared up at the sight of them.

I’m getting out of here. I can see my family again.

Maybe your life would never return to normal, not after what Tendou had done, but you could certainly try. You missed humanity. You missed the outside world. How long had it been since you’d seen green grass or felt the warmth of the sun on your face? How long had it been since you’d felt rain dampen your hair or traced your eyes along the stars in the sky?

Too long. Far too long. At some point, you’d given up keeping track, but not anymore. 

“Please don’t take my,”

You pulled yourself to your feet, misty eyes still stuck in wonder upon the ring of keys in your hand. 

“Sunshine away.”

Turning toward the door, you felt the keys slip from your fingers, cluttering loudly when they hit the floor. 

Tendou stood in the doorway, his head tilted to the side. A single red brow raised, his eyes wide with slitted, shrunken irises. He towered where he stood, spiky red hair close to brushing the top of the door. Long arms extended out and gripped the edges of the doorway, nimble fingers tightening around the wood. 

 A small smirk peeled back his lips.

“Well,” his eyes slipped down to the keys on the floor before gliding back up to your face, “nobody can fault you for trying.” 

Mouth open in shock, your whole body began to tremble. A drop of cold sweat slid down your back. 

His hands loosened from around the doorway, dilated pupils still latched on your form as he made his way toward you. When he stopped, he bent low, his breath brushing the stray hairs along your face as he snagged the keys from the ground with a tut-tut of his tongue. 

His other hand swept up and grabbed your chin, forcing you to close your mouth with a warning tap to your lip. 

“Guess I’ll have to find a new hiding spot, now, won’t I? Though, this certainly was the most fun we’ve had in a while, darling.”

You didn’t even flinch when his lips ran along yours. “Who knows?” he shrugged, pulling away. He tapped your nose with his finger before intertwining your hand with his, leading you from the room. “Perhaps, if you ever try this again, I could turn it into a scavenger hunt. Give you clues and such from wherever you try to trap me next.” He snickered. “Now wouldn’t that be fun?”

You didn’t respond, face turned toward the keys he’d tossed behind carelessly onto the bed. It was like he wasn’t worried you would make an attempt toward them. Like he wasn’t worried you’d ever get the chance. 

“Of course, like then, you’d be punished afterwards for trying, but isn’t that part of the game?”

“Punished?” you stuttered, taking the seat in the barstool he encouraged you into before releasing your hand, moving to the other side of the kitchen island to scour the fridge. 

He stopped his search, pulling out a carton of eggs and eyeballing the date. “Well surely you didn’t think you could try to leave me without there being consequences.” He didn’t even spare you a glance as you blanched. “But don’t worry, that fun will come later.”

Then he set the carton of eggs on the counter in front of you with an all-too pleasant grin on his face. “Now, how’s about eggs for breakfast, sunshine?”

Hinata Shouyou:

It’s when he’s approaching to kiss you that you are able to lock him up. 

It’s the first time he’s ever done such a thing; though he’s the one who’s kidnapped you, you are the one who dictates how far he can go before you pull away. 

Of course, he’d been disappointed the first few weeks when you didn’t want him to touch you or even see you at all. 

But after a particularly bad day, when he’d come home crying and bawling and tugging you into his arms, curling around you, you’d been given a little less leeway on just how much you could pull back from him. 

It seems, though he’d been addicted to you in general before, he was now addicted to your touch specifically. 

“YN, please! Why are you doing this?!”

He’d come home that night in a bad mood, and for some reason you were sure he’d talk your ear off about while hugging you on top of him on the sofa later. But right now?

…Right now, he had a different idea. 

“I’m tired of waiting, YN,” he’d whined as he approached, though there was a dark glint in his eyes. For every step he took toward you, you took one back. Step, step, step, step. He just kept following you. 

You hadn’t realized he’d cornered you in his bedroom until you felt the backs of your knees hit the mattress. 

“YN,” he hummed, rough hands cupping your cheeks as a strand of red hair fell over his eyes. “Can I just have a little?” His gaze fell on your lips. “Just a taste? I promise I won’t take any more.”

“Just a little.”

A flicker of pink as a smirk grew on his face.

I don’t want this. I swear I don’t want this. 

No! I don’t want it!

His face was so close you could feel the heat of his gasp mingling with yours the second your knee flew up to meet his groin. 

“AGHH!” he screeched, tugging himself away. Hinata dropped to his knees, hands cupping his crotch as he let out small, pained whimpers. 

That was when you ran out of the room, dodging his grasping hands and slamming the door behind you. You grabbed the first thing you could think of to shove in front of it. 

“YN-”

In a matter of seconds he was up and at attention, slamming the door against the sofa as you pushed it in front of the doorway. The hefty furniture effectively crammed itself in the small hallway of its apartment and limited the angle he could open the door to just a sliver. 

“YN! Please, don’t do this! Please!”

“Just let me out, we can talk about this!”

“I know you’re unhappy, but don’t you see I’ve been working so hard to change that? Please, just let me out!”

A single brown eye peered at you through the sliver of the door, pupil dilated and lid unblinking.

“I thought I was giving you enough, YN. What do you want? Do you want a puppy? My neighbor has the cutest dog, YN, I promise. You’d love it,” he pleaded, faux excitement tainting his voice. 

The single eye followed your every move as you paced around the apartment, mumbling to yourself about what to do, how to get out. “I could get your favorite food! It’s just down the street, I know you’ve wanted it. I was planning to get it tomorrow to celebrate our two-hundred day anniversary, but I can get it now if you like! Call it our one-hundred and ninety-ninth day anniversary! It could be our thing!”

“Please, YN, it could be our thing. Remember how we used to have things?”

You tried to ignore him. You really did. As you dug frantically through his cabinets and shelves, his desk drawers and bathroom cupboards, you considered shoving a couple cotton balls in your ears just to block out his nervous exclamations. 

The thought did cross your mind, but only for a second. Soon enough, the blood pounding in your ears was doing the job. Your mind fogged as you searched, struggling to believe that you had a chance to escape. 

Is this real? It was this easy all along? That was all I had to do?

Hinata’s cries weren’t helping your nerves any. Instead, you felt your shoulders grow more tense each time you heard his desperate, breathy voice. You felt like curling in on yourself and giving up. 

It can’t be this easy. What the hell is going on?

You glance back at the door, staring at the lock that lined it. You’d consider breaking a window, but you knew the apartment was on the fifth floor of the complex; jumping from that height would be a death sentence. 

You hadn’t completely lost your will yet. 

No, no. You just needed to find the keys. The door on the outside appeared normal, wooden. On the inside, though, Hinata had gone through the trouble of layering it with a few sheets of metal. One could kick the door in, but could not kick it out. 

The keys. 

Where the fuck are they?

“YN, I love you. So, so much. I just wanna see you, please! Let me see you at least.”

He pounded against the door with his fists, tremoring the door and the sofa, but not moving it. Tears pricked your eyes at the sound; you were so close, so goddamn close. You weren’t sure how Hinata was going to react after this if you didn’t escape, and you didn’t want to find out. 

“Fuck,” you hissed under your breath, eyes darting around the living room as your hands yanked at your scalp. “Fuck!”

“YN, please.” His was quiet, more forlorn than you were ever used to. “I don’t want you to leave me. I get so lonely without you.”

“Lonely, huh?” The words crawl up your throat before you can stop them. “You think you’re lonely?” A headache forms at your temples, but you ignore it as you storm toward his room. “You don’t know true loneliness until you’ve been trapped inside your crazy ex-boyfriend’s apartment, no friends, no family, for days on end.”

“You think you’re lonely, Shouyou? Try putting yourself in my shoes.” Frustration has formed a weight in the pit of your stomach. You feel glued to the floor waiting for his response, almost… almost, you supposed, hoping for an apology of some sorts. 

You loved him at some point in your life, and, no matter how insane he looked and sounded when he said it, he loved you too. You just wanted to know if he felt even an ounce of pity for what he had been putting you through. 

“Shouyou, I just-”

“You’re lonely, YN?”

You pause, voice caught in your throat. Hinata’s tone is tainted with nothing but genuine curiosity. Somehow, though, you feel like you’ve messed up. 

“I-...um-”

“Are you lonely without me?”

Shit. 

“YN.” You catch his eye in between the small opening of the doorway. His gaze is intense, suddenly focused and attuned to his surroundings. “Say it again.”

“Say you get lonely when I leave you at home. Say you miss me when I leave for games and practices.” There’s a creaking sound of sorts, but you can’t quite tell where it originates from. 

“Please, I wanna hear it again. Say you want me around all the time, that you need me close by so you don’t feel lonely anymore. Say it.” Breathy, yet goading. 

Shame and anger raise a heat to your cheeks, and you’re flustered that Hinata has misconstrued your words in such a way. You didn’t want him. No, you didn’t. What you wanted was to not be locked away and deprived of human contact like you were.

That was all. 

Creak. “You’re so cute when you blush. But don’t worry, YN, I won’t tease you. I’m just so glad that you’re finally being honest. Lonely without me? God, YN, I’m so in love with you.”

Creak. “I’ll never make you lonely again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Crack. 

Adrenaline in the heat of the moment allows people to do amazing things. You’ve heard stories of mothers lifting cars, people bending metal or jumping from buildings. Doing things that should be impossible. 

You supposed that was why it was so easy for Hinata in that moment, all riled up by your words and your actions in such a short amount of time, to crack the door in half. The one hinge the upper-half was still attached to allowed it to fly open, barely catching its splintered wood on the back of the sofa. 

One second, you watched in horror as the half-door slammed against the wall, rattling the hanged picture frames. 

The next, you saw a flash of orange before your back slammed against the wood flooring. A throbbing pain shot up your spin and down to your tailbone, but something sturdy and soft cradled the back of your head so your skull didn’t suffer the same fate. A weight, not necessarily overpowering, left you cemented to the floor, legs out flat as your arms lay limp at your sides, numb with shock. 

Hinata sat above you, on his knees and straddling your thighs. One hand, as you figured, was behind your head, lifting it so you could face him. The other, though, hovered over your face, trembling. 

A look of wonder was painted on his face as he watched you. And if you looked closer, you could have seen a hint of adoration. 

“YN,” he whispered, his hand finding home cradling your cheek. “I mean it.”

“I’ll never make you feel lonely again.”

And then he kissed you, desperately. 

And you hated yourself, despairingly. 

Because, deep down, you felt some vile, repulsive hope that he was telling you the truth.

He Accidentally Confesses (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

(Tsukishima Version)

A/N: tehee it just came to me, enjoy!

Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: nothin’ much to say, except I like writing with an accent for Atsumu. That shit’s bomb. Enjoy!

Word count: 2339

Tetsurou Kuroo:

“Hey YN,”

He starts off so strong. His voice has that ever present lilt in it, like he’s trying to bait you closer. 

“I-” he breaks off into a breathless, short laugh, “-I’m not really sure why I called… I guess I was hoping to catch you before I went to practice but…”

He swallows, and you can almost imagine him rubbing the back of his neck. “But I guess I missed you. I mean–not like that.” He sputters. “Not that I don’t miss you! I do! I-”

Kuroo pauses, a bitter chuckle traveling through the phone. “God, I’m a fucking wreck. Did you know that? I’m a fucking trainwreck after us, and I can’t even pinpoint why.”

There’s shuffles in the background before the phone thumps, and Kuroo’s voice is distant but still audible. You figure he’s put you on speaker for whatever reason while finding a seat somewhere. He huffs as he settles in. 

“Sometimes I think it’s because of the way we ended things.” He sighs, tone growing thick like his throat is stuck with something. “I yelled at you, so loudly, and I’ll never forget that look on your face when you left. I relive it every night, you know that? Asking myself what I could have done better and whatnot.” A loud hiss, like he’s sucking on his bottom lip harshly. “What I could have said or done to make you stay.”

“And then it’s not even the breakup that I can’t stop thinking about. It’s those moments we used to have, those goddamn memories I’ve got seared in the back of my brain that I have to repress when someone even spins a goddamn pencil like you did.”

Another thump, and suddenly his voice is much louder than before, the phone pressed back against his ear. “That pillow, you know the one that’s got your perfume all fucking over it. I tried to throw it away yesterday.” He scoffs. “And that failed. So I woke up fucking cuddling it this morning, as if I didn’t already feel like a loser.”

“And I know you still have my sweatshirt,” he inhales then exhales deeply. “I don’t want it back. I can’t–please don’t give it back, I don’t want it. Consider it yours, or whatever. Maybe you’ve already gotten rid of it, I don’t know.” So wobbly. His voice has slowly grown shaky over the last few seconds. “Whatever.”

A long pause drags out for at least a minute, and the only thing that stops you from checking if he’s still on call is the short breaths that are barely audible. 

“Just,” he finally breaks the silence, voice cracking. “Please, I gotta know. For my sanity, please, do you miss me?... Miss us?”

“‘Cause God YN I miss every second of us.”

“One of the guys yesterday asked me what happened between us. I don’t even know why, I just got so mad so quick I wanted to sock him in the face for even bringing you up.” A quiet slap against his skin, like he’s brought up his hand to run it down his face. “I just… I had spent all day trying to keep you out of my head. I saw you in the halls that morning, but I know you didn’t see me–you had your head down reading that fucking book you love so much–and for the rest of the goddamn day I tried to keep you out of my head. And then he brought you up, and I just… God, I don’t even know, I just fucking lost it.”

“The coach sent me home after that, said I needed to clear my head. Not that it worked, ‘cause look where I am now.” He released a self-deprecating laugh.

“Sitting on the damned school steps all over again, crying like an idiot for who knows how long.”

A voice, distant and hesitant, calls out to him. “Kuroo.” It’s Kenma.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m coming, just give me a sec.” But he’s quiet all over again, maybe deep in thought.

But then you hear a ruffling of clothes and a small sniff. Kuroo clears his throat. “I-I have to go. I’ll… just–call me back. Please. I wanna hear your voice, I-... I miss your voice.”

Silence.

“I miss you.”

“I love you.”

Then he hangs up.

Wakatoshi Ushijima:

“YN.” As usual, his tone is deadpan and succinct. If he’s calling you, there’s a reason for it. 

“You’ve left some clothing at my house. Please let me know when you have time to pick it up. I’ll have it prepared for you.”

“There are also the gifts you’ve given me there as well. I don’t know if you want those back or not, so please let me know before your arrival so I can get those packed up as well.”

“Regarding the gifts I’ve given you, you can keep them. I will not be needing them back.”

“If... if you have the time, I would also like to talk to you. I feel we have some things to discuss regarding our breakup.” The line falls silent, but when you pull the phone back, the voicemail still says it has five minutes left.

“I do not like the way we ended things,” he speaks up after a minute has passed. “It was… you’re wrong. You were wrong.”

“You said I didn’t care about you, but you’re wrong. I do. You said I never think about you, never spare you any thoughts, but you’re wrong.”

“The truth is, I hate how distracting you are. I find it hard to focus on practice now. In games, I feel myself losing my edge. You’re always just there. My mind is always on you. So much that I don’t know how to stop it.”

“So when you said I never cared about you… I was frustrated at how wrong you were.” A scraping is heard, dull and barely audible. He’s gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw in what you’ve always recognized as a hint of his growing irritation. 

“How you can take over my mind and still say that I don’t ever spare you a minute of my time, it angers me. You’ve taken so much away from me, and then you go and say that I haven’t given you enough…”

“It’s not fair. I don’t accept it.”

“Tell me, YN. Have I taken over your thoughts the way you’ve taken over mine? Do I have you as wrapped around my finger as you do me?”

“Or have I just become one of those lovesick fools I’ve always despised, chasing after something they can never have?”

“I deserve to know, YN. You owe me that much.” There’s such certainty in his tone. It’s impossible to think of his words as anything else other than absolute truth. Speaking through your phone was a man not only desperately heartbroken, but also completely, utterly confused. To draw such an emotion out of a man like Ushijima…

“Tomorrow, before school, I will find you.” His words held no threat, softly spoken so as to only sound like a promise. “I want you to be honest with me tomorrow, so I can have some semblance of closure.” 

Once more he’s gone silent, as if waiting for your response. Every breath he takes now comes out as a huff more than an exhale. He’s so wound up by now you’re almost positive this attitude will drag on until your conversation tomorrow. 

“It’s what I deserve, YN. You can’t take away from me the one thing my mind has run on for months now and expect me not to want answers.” There’s a squeal of a chair against tile flooring, and a beat later you hear the rustling of clothes as he takes a seat.

“What more you want from me, I’m not quite sure. Yet, somehow, I still feel myself yearning to give it to you.”

“Tell me, YN, is that fair? You’ve taken yourself out of my life, and I still feel as though I’d do anything for you. Give anything for you.”

“At the very least, I must know if my actions were not in vain; if you feel my absence even a little bit in comparison to the hole you’ve left in me.”

“Did you really love me? You said it before you left that night, but if you did, then I don’t understand why you left. I need you to enlighten me, YN. I just don’t understand.”

A pause. “Goodbye, YN. I look forward to our talk tomorrow.”

Atsumu Miya:

“YNNN!” The shout of your name is so loud you yank the phone away from your ear in shock.

Hesitantly, you draw it closer when everything quiets down again. 

“Oh God, someone grab his phone!”

“Atsumu, hand it over now!”

“He’s calling her, isn’t he? Dumbass.”

However remote, you can still hear the groans of your ex’s teammates along with the dull thumping and buzzing of far-off music. You figure he had been at a friend’s house or maybe even a club, and he’d probably locked himself up somewhere like the bathroom with his phone in tow. 

There’s a slam, then a click followed by the muffled shouts of the voices you’d heard earlier. Then a gulp as Atsumu downs the rest of whatever alcoholic drink he somehow got his hands on before calling you.

“YN, how dare you!” Accusatory, and extremely slurred. He’s drunk off his ass, and his accent is so thick you struggle a bit to understand him. “Yer such a meanie for breakin’ my heart like that, darlin’!”

“All I ever wanted was to love you an’ give you the world; why’d ya hafta go an’ take it all away from me?”

Another gulp, and now he’s sniffling. “I just… I just don’t know why you did it. It was gonna be us two forever, darlin’. You said you’d never leave me. Why did ya have to…?”

“I know it’s hard for you to be alone for all that time, darlin’, an’ I ain’t gonna act like I never saw how you felt. But you said you could do it–you promised that ya'd do it for me.”

“What happened to all those promises? You said you loved me so many times, and now every time I think about you sayin’ those words, it hurts so bad. I know I’m gonna regret this later, I ain’t stupid, but I want you ta know that I’m broken now, darlin’, and it’s because a’ you.”

“The nights are so unbearable, YN. I can’t stand ‘em. You wouldn’t believe how cold that bed is without you in it. And yer fuckin’ pillow–goddamnit that thing–so many times now I thought a’ just throwin’ it out rather than smell it for one more second. That fuckin’ perfume ya always wear is just everywhere on that bed though, so I say to myself, ‘What’s the point? It’s still there no matter what I do.’ And do ya know what’s really sad?”

The slurring, the wobbling, the stuttering. At this point, he’s an incomprehensible mess. Long ago you’d heard a concerning bang, but that bang had caused the end of his unsteady footsteps so you figured he’d finally just collapsed to the ground. 

“Two days ago I took down all the pictures we got hung up all over the apartment. Every single one I took down and put ‘em all in a li’l pile on the couch. An’ on the coffee table I had this stupid trash bag, and I had this fuckin’ lighter in my hand. For an hour, I sat there, lookin’ at the first damned picture I took from that pile. The stupid lighter ran outta gas ‘bout halfway through, and I still didn’t put the picture down. It was like I was stuck lookin’ at us, at how good we were. So many times I asked myself what the hell went so wrong that you up and left me outta the blue.” A choked up laugh snuck through the speaker. “It was that picture of us when we graduated. I was holdin’ you in my arms and you were smilin’ and hangin’ onto me so tight and—fuck-” Atsumu broke off in a breathless whimper, a muted sob slipping through. 

After about a minute of silent weeping, he cleared his throat, though it was scratchy rough when he spoke again. “All those pictures–they’re back up on the wall, darlin’. Never did nothin’ with ‘em, never hid ‘em away.”

“I just… I just don’t wanna get rid of ‘em. And ya wanna know why? It’s the most pitiful thing yer ever gonna hear.” He heaves a shaky sigh. “It’s ‘cuz I keep hopin’ one a’ these days yer gonna show back up at our door, that li’l look of confusion on yer face when ya see I got rid a’ all our pictures together, and then you’ll get all sad and pouty and beg me to dig ‘em outta the trash for ya.”

“I’d do it. Ya know I would. I’d do anything for you.”

“S-so can you come back, darlin’? Please?”

“‘Cuz I need you, bad. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“That damned house is too quiet without you singin’ and dancin’ all over it. An’ I can’t ever figure out where you got those scented candles from–the ones that smell like yer perfume. I can’t find ‘em, and the ones you left behind, they’re all burnt out. All used up.”

“I miss you, darlin’. Fuck, I can’t stand another second without you.”

“Please, just come back to me. I need you.”

And in the background his friends have finally jimmied the door open. There’s a strangled cry as one of them tackles Atsumu to the ground, ripping the phone from his grasp. “Fuck, guys, look, he is calling her.”

“Oh, ‘Tsumu…”

And the call ends.

Breakup Prank (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

Setter Version (Part 2)

A/N: Lordy I forgot how annoying it is to post on mobile🙄 also ignore the time stamps👀 enjoy!

Kenma, Kageyama, Akaashi

Breakup Prank (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

Setter Version (Part 1)

A/N: damn it’s been a while since i did this, gotta love some crack fics tho. Hope you like ‘em!

Sugawara, Atsumu, Koganegawa

On a Cold Winter’s Night (Oikawa x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Trapped in the university library due to a raging blizzard outside, you are forced to endure the cold night with the man you hate the most: the player who lives in the dorm across from you, Tooru Oikawa. But with tensions and anxieties at an all-time high, you begin to realize your feelings for Oikawa aren’t quite what you thought they were, especially when all he wants to do is keep you warm. 

A/N: I took like six hours to write this??? Bruh callin’ amateur hour in this bitch 😑😑 eh, whatever, enjoy!

Word count: 5345

        Snow, layers upon layers, piled up outside of the library. The glass doors of the library had long frosted over, and inside the lights began to flicker. Outside every window was a blanket of white, everything in the distance far too foggy to see through the flurry of flakes. 

       The lone television suspended above the library’s main desk played the same succession of videos–static with white noise, a scrolling of text warning people to stay inside, three loud buzzes, then more static with white noise. It far overpowered the sound of the library’s heater kicking on, its automatic settings desperately trying to battle the cold that succeeded in invading the closed and locked library. 

       You sighed, sparing another glance at the exit and the wall of snow that kept rising against it. Minutes ago you’d tried pushing open the doors, only succeeding in chilling the tips of your fingers against the frozen metal. Ever since then, your fingers never truly seemed to recover. 

       Just your luck; first a small windstorm had delayed your flight back home for Christmas Break, and now, just when you’d given up and decided to work on a few research projects while being stuck at the university, you were trapped inside the library. 

       But you weren’t alone. No, of course not. As if fate had it out for you, you were stuck inside the building with the one guy you despised with your whole being. 

       “Gum?”

       Oikawa held out a piece, a small smirk dancing on the edge of his lips. When all he received in response was a blank stare, he shrugged and unwrapped it, tossing it in his mouth before toying with the wrapper. 

       The both of you sat behind the librarian’s desk in tall, wooden stools. It was the only place with service, and it was where you had both scurried to the second the storm warning chimed through the announcement speakers. 

       While you had attempted to push through the doors, Oikawa had called the school’s main office, warning them of your predicament. Of course, he’d cut himself off halfway through with a cackle at the sight of the door slamming back in your face, but nonetheless he’d gotten a simple, if completely undesirable response. 

       “The both of you need to stay in there and not leave. It’s far too dangerous to go out into the blizzard right now. Tomorrow morning it should be calmed down, and then we’ll send people over to get you. For now, try to stay warm.”

       When he relayed this message to you, you had him put them on speaker so you could hear it with your own two ears. 

       Pop.

       Alas, it was the truth. You were stuck.

       Pop.

       With your worst enemy. Alone. 

       Pop.

       During a blizzard. 

       “Will you stop doing that?” you hissed, heaving a glare at him. 

       Oikawa froze in his seat, a gum-bubble the size of a golf ball slowly deflating with a wheeze. He raised his hands in surrender. “Excuse me for trying to find some source of joy in this miserable place. Maybe you should try having fun once in a while, YN.”

       Your cheeks burned in shame at that. “I have fun!”

       A single brown brow rose. “Do you?”

       “Yes,” you folded your arms across your chest, “I do. But unlike you, I don’t do it at the expense of other people’s sanity.”

       Long ago, amidst your third week of your first year at the university, you learned that you and Oikawa were two vastly different people. In co-ed dorms, he lived just across from you, and it seemed he reminded you of that every other night. 

       While loud music boomed across the hall and eventually spread throughout the building, you sat inside your dorms, hands over the headphones over your ears. You were usually leant over a textbook, pencil and notes abandoned long ago as you tried to comprehend the words despite not being able to hear your own thoughts. 

       Your roommate would slip out to join the fun, meeting and laughing with someone who had knocked on your door. Then that someone had tapped a single finger on your shoulder, squatting down beside your desk and leaning his head to one side. 

       As usual, a teasing smile danced on his lips. “You gonna join us, or sit here studying like a Debbie Downer?”

       You’d be the first–and most certainly not the last–to admit that he was attractive. Brown hair exploding in tufts and swept across his forehead. Bronze eyes twinkling in the light of your lamp. Thin, pink lips pulled into a goading grin. 

       “Come on, I promise the water’s warm.”

       It was at that moment that you started to hate him.

       “Get out of my room.”

       The smugness blanketing his face had dropped for a split second, and you genuinely wondered if you were the first to ever resist his charms. But how could you not, when in every second of your interaction with him, it felt like he was laughing at you?

       Hesitantly, it seemed, he rose to his feet, stumbling a bit. You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was already drunk, but you hadn’t smelled it earlier when he was inches from your face. 

       “All right,” he chuckled, rising to his full height with his hands on his knees. Swiftly, he turned and made his way to your door, not bothering to look back at you again. “I know when I’m not wanted. Enjoy your studying, YN.”

       How he’d learned your name, you never really. You’d figured he caught it on the first day of the one class you shared with him, English, amidst mandatory introductions. Since then, every time your name fell on his lips, he more sang it than said it, always in that sly tone of his. 

       You hated it. You hated him. 

       And now, as you spent the third day of Christmas Break locked inside alone with him in a freezing library, you found yourself despising him even more. 

       Pop.

       “Well, YN, you should know better than anyone that I have a knack for driving people insane,” Oikawa hummed, long fingers folding the edges of his gum wrapper against the desk surface. Your eyes drawn to the action, you absentmindedly scoffed. 

       “Yes, I certainly do.”

       His eyes darted to yours, an emotion flitting across them before dropping back down to his miniature origami. A chill ran up your spine. 

       “I’m going to go look for some blankets,” you sputtered out of the blue. You found yourself reflecting his shocked look, a little surprised at yourself at the outburst. 

       “Okay,” he grinned after a pause. “Hurry back soon.”

       Ignoring the wink he offered you, you slipped out of your chair and left him alone behind the desk counter, effectively beginning your search for stray, abandoned coverings. 

       Instantly, you realized the rest of the library was significantly chillier than the desk up front. Though the heater was still pumping and hissing through the air vents above you, it was now rattling much more forcefully than before.

       Must be the snow piling on top of the electrical system or something. 

       The fluorescent lights buzzed above you, still cutting off and flickering every few seconds as you passed bookshelf after labeled bookshelf. Signs labeled with genres and areas of study swung from the ceiling over rows of different-colored bindings. So distracted, you let out a yelp of pain after stubbing your toe against an abandoned book cart, plenty of go-backs filed one after the other in no discernible order. 

       “YN?” Far off, Oikawa’s voice called after you. Despite the distance you’d created between the two of you, he still must have heard your pained shout. A small part of you was surprised he bothered to acknowledge the noise at all. 

       Maybe he’s not a complete pain in the ass.

       “Yeah, that was me, I’m fine! Just hit my foot on something!”

       “Do you need help finding your way around? I’m sorry, I forgot my walking rope, so we’ll have to hold hands!”

       Nevermind, still a dick. 

       “Fuck you!”

       “That’s why I’m here!”

       Rolling your eyes, you purse your lips to prevent giving in to his teasing further. With a few hissed curses under your breath, you continue venturing through the uninhabited building. Though you did find a few abandoned belongings, none of which were of much use. A few too small hoodies, one suspicious pair of sweatpants, and some stray sunglasses. One poor soul even forgot their backpack at one of the work tables, and despite your initial curiosity, you refrained from digging through it and instead left it where it was. 

       It was when you arrived at the individual work areas divided by wooden partitions that your search finally paid off. Because it was arranged against a line of floor-to-ceiling windows, it was significantly colder in this work area than any other place you’d come across. Luckily, that also meant there was a higher chance of you finding spare blankets–which you did. 

       One was still strewn across the back of a work chair, a black fur throw with no designs but a single tear at one corner, presumably where a tag had been. Another, this one cream-colored, knitted wool, sat in a crumpled pile on the very last desk of the entire area, arranged in the furthest corner of the library from the entrance. The bulb in the ceiling above this desk had been out ever since the first time you’d been in the library, so you weren’t surprised to figure that people crammed out naps between studying in this dark little corner.

       While gathering the two–scratch that, there was another on the ground next to you–three blankets in your arms, you spared a look outside the windows. Frost and a glaze of ice covered each corner where metal met glass, and, because you were on the first floor, you could see how high the snow had piled by now. It reached as high as your hips, with more flakes joining or splatting against the pane every second. 

       The sun, you could see, was just barely setting, the gray of the sky growing darker. Soon enough, it was darker inside than it was outside. 

       The power. It had gone out.

       “YN!”

       Because the heater sputtered a few more clicks before kicking the bucket, you could barely hear Oikawa’s voice, far off and muffled, over the large distance you’d covered in the library. The lights above you no longer buzzed, and instead an unsettling silence took over the building. 

       “Oikawa! The lights!” You hugged the blankets to your chest with one straining arm, the other fumbling with your phone flashlight. You began the trek back to the front desk, squinting to try and make out shelves and stray books along the way. Despite the long-sleeved T-shirt you wore, a chill was beginning to nip at your skin, and you slowed to wrap a blanket around your shoulders. 

       “I know, the weight of the snow must have taken out the electrical box or something!” His voice was getting closer; he must have been making his way towards you in return. 

       Passing through the towering bookshelves, you made it out and turned a corner onto the main path they created. A shadow of a figure stood inches from your face. 

       “Shit!” You flinched back, kicking a leg out blindly in self-defense. The tip of your snow boot struck something hard, and a strangled groan escaped the person as they dropped to the floor. Now level with the light of your flashlight, the person was finally visible–Oikawa hugged his shin to his chest with clenched eyes and gritted teeth. 

       “Ow, ow, ow, owie!” 

       You winced, your guilt growing worse after realizing he had just been searching for you. 

       “Oh, sorry,” you cringed, dropping the blankets and hovering your hands over his coiled form. You wanted to help, you just weren’t sure how. “Do you… do you want some ice for that?”

       The glare he threw you chilled you to the bone more than the weather outside.

       “C’mon,” you hid a snigger behind your hand, straightening up and offering him the other, “it was just a joke. I really am sorry. Let’s get back to the front desk; I’ll help you.”

       The huff he released ruffled the bangs on his forehead. “I should make you kiss it better,” he pouted, hand latching onto yours and pulling himself up. He almost yanked you down with him, but you’d stationed a hand on one of the shelves for support the second you felt his whole weight. You hadn’t expected it, but you supposed you should have guessed it–Oikawa’s body was packed with muscle from years of playing volleyball. 

       Even now, as the main setter of your school’s team, he had daily workouts that only made his body stronger. You’d passed him once during a warm autumn day; he was jogging around campus shirtless while you were on your way back to the dorms after just getting out of class. He was headed straight for you, and during that time, everything seemed to move in slow motion. 

       One, two, three… eight, you’d counted, eyes raking down his chest. The sweat glistened on his bare skin, bathing him in a glowing sheen due to the midday sun. A narrow waist trailed down, down to volleyball shorts hanging slanted on his hips. A smug snicker drew your gaze up, past a broad chest and shoulders and onto Oikawa’s simpering face.

       “Like what you see?” his lips mouthed, but you couldn’t hear over the pounding in your ears, blood rushing to your face. 

       “You’re disgusting” were the only words you could think to say, though they were the exact opposite of how you felt. Maybe you were actually speaking to yourself, ashamed at the way your body reacted to a man you hated with your entire mind. Nonetheless, his face fell in shock, and you brushed past him, ignoring how he’d stopped dead in his tracks and continuing back to your dorm. 

       The view from that day was still imprinted in your mind, as though somehow your mind was afraid of forgetting it. Forgetting him. 

       But you would never forget how much you despised his attitude. 

       You released his hand as quickly as you’d grabbed it, reaching back down and gathering the blankets off the floor. A red flush took over your cheeks, and for the first time you were glad the electricity had gone out. Maybe the rest of your body was beginning to freeze, but your face was completely warm. 

       “I’m not kissing anything, perv.”

       You tried to leave him stranded behind you, moving forward to return to the front desk through the darkness, but his longer strides easily caught up with you aside from a small limp. 

       “The night is still young, YN.”

       Instead of a proper response, you settled for a scoff, avoiding the gaze you knew was locked on your face. An amused hum escaped the man beside you, but you blocked it out. 

       Finally back at the front desk, you spared another look outside. The sun had set completely now, a dark blue hue now in the sky as more and more snow collected against the glass. It seemed the warmth of the room had been sucked away completely, leaving behind a stale, frigid atmosphere that dried up the back of your throat.

       “The blankets will certainly help,” Oikawa broke the silence behind you, “but we’ll need more than that. I snagged what I could from the backroom, some water bottles left in the fridge or so, but we need food.” When you shifted to face him, he nodded his head toward the vending machine next to the restrooms. 

       “You want to break into the vending machine?” you deadpanned. 

       “Unless you’ve got generous amounts of cash, of course,” he smiled sarcastically. 

       “Maybe we should wait until morning before we start committing crimes.”

       Oikawa shrugged. “Desperate times, YN.”

       “We’re not that desperate.”

       “Not yet.” He eyed the cloud of air his words left, releasing a larger, experimental breath and watching the fog that hung in the air afterward. 

       The sight made your stomach clench a little. If the cold from the outside had seeped in that quickly, you had a feeling three measly blankets weren’t going to last the two of you through the night. A wave of goosebumps ran along your skin when you thought about the cold too much. 

       You swallowed. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. We just have to make it till morning.” The strain in your arms from holding onto the blankets too long finally drew your attention back to them, and you busied yourself with arranging the throws on the floor. You handed one to Oikawa, saving one for yourself before spreading the last on the floor behind the front desk. 

       The rough carpet floor was less unforgiving when covered with a blanket, but you knew that in a matter of minutes your backside would be numb either way. Oikawa snagged the water bottles off the counter and passed them down to you before settling on the floor himself, a distance far too close for your comfort, but the heat he was giving off silenced any of your complaints. 

       Then it was too quiet. You cracked open a water bottle and took a sip, then you opened it again and took another sip. All the while, you saw Oikawa watch you in your peripheral vision, and when his staring came to be too much, you scrambled for your phone. 

       “Shit.”

       “What?”

       You patted your hands down your legging pockets once more, then along the ground. You flapped around your blanket, hoping to hear a weight thump against the floor, but there was nothing. 

       “My phone’s missing.”

       “When did you-”

       “Dammit, I left it on the ground after kicking you!”

       “Hey,” Oikawa screeched, offended. “You say that like it was my fault!”

       “Well,” you rose to your feet, Oikawa following suit, “you were the one who scared the shit out of me!”

       “Didn’t you know I was looking for you?” He followed you down the main walkway through the shelves, his presence inches from your back.

       “Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to materialize right in front of my face!” In effort to escape his suffocating presence, you quickened your pace, eyes on the ground but not really seeing anything.

       “Oh, I’m sorry, my bad. Next time you go missing during a snowstorm, I’ll be sure to wear a bell so you know exactly where I am at all times.”

       “That’s not what-”

       Crack.

       The both of you froze in place, argument out of mind in an instant. 

       “Was that…?”

       “Uh oh.”

       You both directed your attention to underneath your foot, where an object lay cracked from your aggressive stomping. 

       Dropping your face into your hands, you let out a loud groan. “Could this day get any worse?”

       Oikawa had squatted down to investigate, nudging your leg out of the way before picking up your cracked phone. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it was useless anyway.” He tapped and poked at the screen, toying with the buttons. “Looks like it was out of battery.”

       “Fuckkkkk.” You tore it from his hands, performing your own investigations of pats and brushes along the screen before calling it quits. “Isn’t yours out too?”

       Solemnly, he nodded, taking his phone out and allowing you to tap around on it before throwing it back in his pocket.

       “So we’re fucked?”

       “Majorly.”

       The pair of you slumped back to the main desk, flopping onto the ground and wrapping back up in your blankets. A shiver of cold mixed with frustration had taken over your body in a short span of time, causing your breaths to escape with slight chatters of your teeth. 

       You could feel it now, on the tips of your fingers and the end of your nose. A chill seeped through your leggings and slid up your shirt sleeves, sinking into every pore and leaving your hair standing on end. Your muscles began that all-too familiar buzz, a slow but steady trembling in effort to get your blood moving. Your toes curled in your boots. 

       “It’s cold,” you commented, the words slipping out like an afterthought. 

       You thought he’d agree, hum, or even nod his head. Instead, Oikawa scooted closer to you on the blanket, enough that his upper arm brushed the end of your shoulder. Then, slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal, his arm rose and wrapped around you, not only covering you with his heat but also with his blanket, still soaked in the warmth from his body. 

       Mind blank, you didn’t move a muscle for what seemed to be five minutes after he’d moved to embrace you. 

       “Is this okay?” he’d whispered into the silence, voice soft yet hesitant. 

       “W-why?”

       “You said you were cold.” He shifted a little, but didn’t move away. And surprisingly enough, you didn’t want him to. “I–didn’t want you to be cold.”

       A blanket of silence falls over the two of you, an atmosphere of peace you never thought you’d experience with the brunette man in your life. His warmth left you in a sort of lethargic trance; you didn’t want to move away, though your mind was urging you to, nor did you have the energy to. For the first time, you wanted Oikawa close to you, and you didn’t want him to leave for a while.

       You were exhausted.

       Formerly, the two of you were both leaning back against the wall. Now, tucked into Oikawa’s side, your right arm pressed into the side of his chest while your left was cushioned a distance from the wall by Oikawa’s arm, wrapped sturdily around your shoulders and urging you to lean toward him instead. 

       Man, you were tired. 

       “YN?”

       “Hmm?” Your eyes cracked back open, and you shifted your gaze to him, waiting. 

       His head was leaned back against the wall, eyes still closed as a single brown tuft of hair fell across his forehead. In the light the moon reflected off the snow, you could see the length of his lashes brushing the apples of his cheeks, the sharp edge of his jawline that you yearned to run a finger along. He didn’t bother to look at you for a response when he muttered, “Why do you hate me?”

       The question zapped you to attention like a taser, guilt flooding your chest for a reason you didn’t quite think you knew. There was a strong urge in you to pull away from him, but the hand on your arm tightened, halting any drastic movements.

       “I… I don’t…”

       “I know you do,” he sighed, tongue running out along his lips. “Please, just tell me.” There was a sort of surrender in his voice you never thought you’d hear. For a second, you missed his smug tone. You missed the teasing lilt of his voice. You missed the Oikawa you knew. 

       You wanted him back. 

       “You’re weirding me out, Oikawa.” In this position, you couldn’t poke him in the cheek, so you settled for his thigh. He barely flinched, peeking a single eye open. “Go back to acting like that smug little shit I know you are.” His lips quirked up.

       “I promise I’m still me, YN. I’m just a bit curious is all.”

       “Yeah, well, it’s freaking me out. I want the normal you back.”

       Wrong words.

       “You do?” He was wide awake at that, head straightened up and eyes wide and at attention. If he was a dog, his tail would be wagging. 

       “Nevermind.” You twisted in his grip to get your back facing him. 

       “No, no, noooo.” Both of his hands grabbed onto your shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “Say it again. Say you want me again.”

       “God, you’re such a perv,” you stutter, voice wavering with his movements.

       “You’re so mean, YN!” he whines, finally releasing your shoulders. You think he’s given up and let down your guard slightly, a little curious at his expression. But when you turn your head to face him, two arms wrap around your waist, yanking you back and in between Oikawa’s outstretched legs. 

       “What the-” While you struggle in his arms, Oikawa only holds you closer, leaning back and taking you with him so your back rests against his front. He hooks his head over your shoulder, and you tense when you feel a breath of warm air against your ear. 

       A shiver tears through your body, but you’re relieved he doesn’t comment on it. 

       “Say it again, YN.” And he definitely feels the shiver that time. A breathless snicker heats up the skin of your neck, but you’re too trapped in his arms to escape the overwhelming feeling it erupts in you. 

       “God, I hate you,” you sigh instinctively. 

       Oikawa grows still. The fun and games are over, it seems, as he pulls his head away from your neck. The arms encircling your waist have become rigid. 

       There’s a thump against the wall. Then a pause. “Why?”

       You bite your lip, and though the words are on the tip of your tongue, you can’t seem to force them out. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, regretful. All of those ugly feelings he pulls out of you every other day, you draw out of yourself in this moment. 

       “Oikawa, I-”

       “Tooru,” he corrects.

       Flustered, you continue, “Tooru… whenever you… you always just… I never…” You groan at your lack of words, throwing frustrated hands over your face. The heat in your body, though small, rises. “I just feel stupid around you.”

       “Stupid?”

       “Like an idiot.”

       “Idiot?”

       “Yeah.”

       “Yeah?”

       “Stop it.”

       “Sorry,” he pauses, “I just… you think you feel stupid? Around me?”

       You don’t understand what he means, so you stay silent. 

       “So… you feel like an idiot around me… why, exactly?”

       “Because,” you wave your hands around, not really sure what your gestures are doing considering he can’t see them, “you just… you tease me all the time! And when we’re in class and you look at me and I just feel like I’ve got shit all over my face! And when you throw those stupid-ass parties, I feel so lame because it’s not like I don’t want to socialize, but I hate the way people act at parties! And then you come along and tell me that I should join, but I know it’s gonna fucking suck and I know you’re gonna see that I stick out during parties like a sore thumb and that makes me feel even worse and I-”

       “YN!” A hand slips from your waist, slapping over your mouth and effectively cutting off your rambling. A disbelieved breath sounds behind you. “Jesus Christ, YN.”

       And you feel like even more of an idiot. You take some pleasure in the fact that he can’t see you as tears begin springing in the corners of your eyes. 

       But then there’s a hard pressure against the back of your head. And then something soft against the back of your neck. “YN, YN, YN,” and you realize his lips are on your neck, his face buried into your hair, “God, you just… you drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

       You didn’t know that.

       “The fact that you can say all of that, and think all of that, and feel all of that, without realizing why I even do it at all drives me insane.” You feel his mouth move against you with every word, your skin growing hot under his breath. You try to speak against his hand, and thankfully he pulls it away when you do, returning it to your waist as though it doesn’t muddle your mind. 

       “What are you talking about?” 

       And he laughs like it’s the dumbest question in the world. And maybe it is, but you have to know. 

       His lips are on your neck one last time before he pulls away, leaning back against the wall once more and taking you with him. “YN,” his fingers twitch against your skin, the cold of them biting through the fabric of your shirt, “do you have feelings for me?”

       And you feel like the biggest idiot of all, because you do. 

       You do have feelings for him, and you only just realized that now. 

       “Holy shit.” 

       Oikawa stiffens. “What?”

       “I have feelings for you.” The words slip out before you can stop them, mostly because you’re still in disbelief. Did you really? After all this time of thinking you hated him, of hating how he teased you, you seriously had feelings for him and you didn’t even notice?

       Stupid. So very stupid. 

       A loud scoff from Oikawa breaks you out of your stupor. 

       “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna drive me nuts.”

       And you can’t even turn around and call him an asshole because he’s turning you in his grip and pressing his lips against yours. The hand on your chin, the other on your hip, all to pull you closer, spin you around and tug you onto his lap without separating from you. 

       Your hands are in his hair, and you’re tugging, and it’s that whine you always hear whenever you don’t respond to his teasing, that needy one you thought you always hated because it just shakes you to your core but now you get it, you finally understand it. And those long fingers, the ones he always slams onto your notes drunkenly whenever he’s having a party and you’re not there but you forgot to lock your door so now he’s in your room and he’s bothering you, begging you and toying with you to get your attention, those fingers that have stolen your notebook away and held over your head while he smiles and stubbles around, getting you to chase him–they’re on your hips and you know they’re leaving bruises and you like that they’re leaving bruises. 

       You like it all because it’s so cold tonight and he’s so warm and he’s always so warm and you want more, more, more. 

       And he hovers over you, and you gasp. You hate how he teases you because he loves it so much, and that makes you love it. You love it. 

       It is cold tonight. There’s a blizzard raging right outside the doors to the library, stacking up snow higher and higher. You’re both trapped, but you don’t want to leave. Because despite all of the cold, you’re both very, very warm. 

                               ~~~

       The next morning, when people find the two of you, they blame it on that little notion that runs through everyone’s minds when people are stuck together during a cold blizzard, because surely that’s what it must be. 

       And surely that’s why your cheeks are flushed and full of embarrassment, because although everybody knows how weird it can be, during such a life-threatening situation, it’s a desperate attempt to stay warm.

       So when they found you the next morning, thankfully safe and sound and wrapped around each other to try and preserve warmth, they were glad that you two innocent, poor little students, who must have been so scared to be trapped in a building without electricity and heat, were going to be okay, and that they could safely escort you out of the building and back to your dormitories with an official apology. 

       Until one of you asked if they could leave so you could finish what you’d started. 

       “Tooru, you fucking pervert!”

Drunk Confession (Anakin Skywalker x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: A very drunk Anakin has some very sober thoughts for you to hear. 

A/N: Anakin is hot, that’s all I gotta say. Enjoy!

Word count: 2128

“YNNNN!”

The wail of your name roused you from your slumber, followed by a loud crash outside your dorm. 

“Ow.”

The sun hadn’t risen outside your window, and darkness still shrouded your room aside from a small glow exuding from your alarm clock. 2:37 AM, it read. 

Who in the goddamn fuck-

“YN open up!” Loud knocks sounded outside your room, but not on your door. 

Uh oh. 

You scrambled from your bed, cursing under your breath as the night air nipped at your skin. Snagging your Jedi robe hanging from the wall near your door, you shrugged on the warmer layers and hugged them close around your body, which had only previously been clad in undergarments.

You couldn’t press the button to open the door fast enough, but by the time it had, you were too late. 

Obi-Wan stood with a brow raised in his own doorway, obviously unimpressed with the figure before him. And, clad in his usual getup of dark robes, leather boots, and tousled hair, stood Anakin Skywalker in complete disarray. His robe, already worn inside-out, slouched off one of his shoulders. Parts of his hair were knotted and tangled, matted down and stuck to his head with sweat. As he stared in utter confusion at his former master, his entire body swayed from side-to-side.

He was totally shitfaced. 

“Master?” he hiccuped. “What are you doing in YN’s room?” There was a slur to his words, one you hadn’t caught when he was shouting for the entire Jedi dorm to hear. 

Obi-Wan, shockingly impassive, drew his gaze to you, a single brow raised. You hadn’t realized your hand had come up to muffle a snicker until Anakin almost toppled over. You jumped up from your position across the hall as his body leaned too far to one side, but thankfully Obi-Wan reached out a hand to steady him before you could. 

Then Anakin smacked his hand away. “I said, what are you doing in YN’s room?” His tone was angry, filled with betrayal. His hand went to his hip, where his lightsaber was latched, and that was when Obi-Wan lost his patience. 

Staring past Anakin and at you, he nodded toward the Jedi Knight. “I believe this is yours.” With that, he retreated to his room, shaking his head and mumbling something under his breath. 

You stood with pursed lips, waiting and watching as the wheels in Anakin’s head turned, trying to comprehend Obi-Wan’s words. Finally, he turned around in utter disorientation, only to straighten up like a pleased puppy at the sight of you. 

“YN!” he shouted much louder than necessary. He reached out, making his way towards you only for the sudden movements to give him whiplash as he stumbled to the right, completely miscalculating your location as he crashed face-first into the wall beside your dorm. 

You cringed, sucking in a breath through your teeth before going to his aid. “You okay?” you asked gently, grabbing an arm and guiding him into your room. 

“Yeah,” he choked out, rubbing his nose. “That hurt.”

“I’m sure,” you cooed, rubbing up and down his arm comfortingly as you led him to a seat on your bed. “Stay here.”

“Wait,” he snapped to attention as his metal arm snagged yours, grip tight but not enough to leave a mark, “where are you going?” His eyes were wide and nervous as they danced around your face. He seemed scared you were going to disappear forever once you left right now. 

“I’m just gonna get you a glass of water,” you soothed, unlatching his hand from your wrist. His gaze fell to the action, and his grip tightened just a bit before he let go completely with a furrow of his brows. 

“But I have to tell you something.”

“I figured,” you chuckle, “but I’ll be quick.” Escaping out of your room and down the hall, you left with the feeling of Anakin’s despairing eyes still latched onto you. You slipped into the bathroom, filling the cup with tap water as you gazed at yourself in the mirror. Eyes bloodshot from being woken up, your hair a rat’s nest on the top of your head, and a small drop of drool on the corner of your mouth-ew! You yanked the cup out from under the stream where it had been overflowing and set it on the counter before scrubbing your face. The cold was a shock to your system, less-so than Anakin’s being drunk outside your room at two a.m., but still did the trick to remind you that this wasn’t a dream, and that, yes, a very drunk–yet somehow still very attractive–Anakin had been calling your name and searching for you. 

It didn’t help that you’d had a crush on him ever since you’d met as young padawans and he’d arrogantly introduced himself as the Chosen One. It really didn’t help at all. 

With a couple of smacks to your cheeks, you finally had the courage to return to your room, leaving the bathroom and immediately crashing into a solid chest. 

Anakin, you realized, glancing up for reassurance. He looked distraught, eyes wild and unfocused as he towered over you. 

You were surprised you hadn’t heard him coming, considering he was barely in a state to walk a straight line much less make it down the hall and around the corner. Well, you thought, somehow he made it back to the Jedi temple from whatever bar he came from alive, surely this wasn’t as difficult.

Until you realized his hand was stationed against the wall for support as he swayed. 

Scratch that–how the hell is he even alive?

“Anakin,” you stressed, “what are you doing? I told you to wait.” Like a lost puppy, you led him back to your room, the skin of his forearm much too hot underneath his robes. 

“You took so long, I got nervous.” And yet the only one who seemed nervous as you arrived back in your room was you. Anakin, on the other hand, locked his eyes reverently on your form as you returned him to his place on your bed, watching you with an unfamiliar look in his eyes as you handed him the glass and told him to drink, to flush out the obvious abundance of alcohol in his system. 

At your command, he downed the glass of water in seconds, swallowing and licking his lips. You forced your gaze away from the action when you realized you were staring too long afterwards. Yet, even as muddled as he was, he still noticed, still smirked like he always did. 

For so many years you figured you were hiding your crush so well, thought he was just the type of guy to smirk at everyone for such things. It wasn’t until he had gotten a padawan of his own, gotten an army of his own, that you realized the way he acted around you alone was different. 

Even as smashed as he was, he still made you feel as though you were acting the fool. Like he was teasing you–how embarrassing. 

Shame colored your face as you spun around, searching for something to do as a drunk Anakin lounged on your bed. 

“YN?”

“Hmm?” You still faced away, searching the room for anything else to do but stare at the sight on your bed. That is, until a hand latched around yours, yanking you around hard enough that you almost fell over. The force of the pull landed you straight between Anakin’s knees, his hand still on yours while the other stabled you at your hip. Your hand had instinctively gripped his shoulder, but you stole it away quickly. 

Nonetheless, he stared at you, positioned in front of him. For a minute, that’s all he did. Stare and stare, eyes locked on yours as the smirk on his face carefully transformed into a dropped jaw. He looked at you like… you didn’t really know how to describe it.

Like… like you were the one who hung the stars in the sky, who placed planets in orbit. Like you were the cause of the glow of the sun, like you shifted the tides using the moon. Like you were worth worship, worth praise, worth the doting look that took over his face.

A shiver crawled over your skin the more he looked at you; you’d barely noticed his hand had taken to slipping past your robes and connecting with the bare skin of your side, metal thumb caressing the skin. The other was still latched on your wrist like he never wanted to let go. Distantly, you wondered if it would leave a bruise. 

A heavy silence fell over the room, just you waiting in anticipation as Anakin lost his focus, face flushed with besottedness. For once, you didn’t feel like he had the upper hand over your feelings. For once, it appeared you controlled his. 

“YN.” He mumbled your name almost subconsciously, like it had slipped out without his knowing. 

“What?” Softly, carefully, you urged him for more. In response, his eyes locked on your lips, running his tongue over his own involuntarily. His face, so dazed, so infatuated, so lost, finally seemed to have come to grips with his purpose for that moment. 

“I’m in love with you.”

For a second, you felt nothing. You said nothing. No reaction, no response. Nothing. You didn’t even breathe. 

For years you’d dreamt of… well, not exactly this moment, but something akin to it. Anakin professing his feelings, appearing absolutely infatuated with you. His handsome face glowing with joy as you returned the sentiment. His hands steadily, assuredly cupping your face and guiding your lips to his. 

Like in your dreams, your chest was so trembly and shaky, so completely and utterly in disbelief that the man you’d been in love with for years was completely infatuated with you. Your hands shake and breaths escape you in pants as though you’d ran miles just moments prior. Your heart was pounding hard, trying to escape and your mind grew blankly overwhelmed. 

Anakin, having spent the last few seconds with zero response from your end, was visibly unnerved. He searched your face for any reaction, any clue into what you were feeling. Finding nothing, he looked lost, scared, and dejected. 

Long ago had he sobered up, but the alcohol was still in his system as he staggered to his feet, not largely taller than you but his overall form still being a formidable sight. You’d been forced to lift your head as he rose, following his movements. A waft of alcohol infiltrated your nose. 

The hand previously on your side rose to your face, cupping your rosy cheek. A cold thumb caressed your cheekbone for just a moment as he took in your face as though for the last time. Then he shook his head in what you could only interpret as anguish. “I’m in love with you,” he repeated, this time less shy. “For so many years, I have been. And I thought you felt the same, but I see now that I am wrong.” 

You open your mouth to question him, but he continues. “I’m sorry for bothering you tonight.” A sad, forced smile encompasses his face. “Let’s forget this ever happened. Goodnight, YN.”

Your chest grew filled with guilt and regret and pity for making him think this way. And when his hand moved to drop from your face, you drew up your own to prevent it. Your face, you were sure, was filled with too many emotions to interpret–confusion, for doubt that this was real; joy, for happiness that the man you loved returned your feelings; amazement, for sheer question of how you had come to be this lucky. 

But a flicker of hope struck his eyes at your action, and so he stayed put, waiting dutifully for your response. 

Like your dreams, his lips were soft. Like your dreams, he eagerly responded, pulled you in, close and tight, like he would never let you go; he swore himself to you, would do anything for you, would follow you anywhere. 

Like your dreams, you worried for the Jedi Council’s discovery of your love, and Anakin kissed your worries away. 

Just leave it to me, he said the next morning, his arms tight around your form, his ruffled hair glowing like a halo in the morning sun. His bare skin was hot against yours. I’ll handle it. We can be together, and they won’t be able to stop us. 

Like your dreams, you trusted him.

Envy on Leave (Spencer Reid x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: After failing his field test, Spencer is stuck on desk duty for a week. You, his usual partner for cases, get put with Morgan for the newest case, and Spencer can’t say he’s a fan. Oh no, he’s not a fan at all. 

A/N: Hey I watch criminal minds now for one reason and one reason only. Can u guess what it is? Anyways, enjoy!

Word count: 2236

        His eyes had followed you all day. His gaze stayed locked on your figure as you smiled, laughed, and pushed Morgan away with a blush. On any normal day, that would be you with him, but since Spencer failed his last gun-on-the-field test, he had been punished with one week of desk duty. 

        ...Leaving you to partner up with Morgan on the newest case. 

        You and Spencer were good friends, both bonding over being the youngest on the squad while being somewhat prodigies. But where Spencer thrived in mind, you thrived in body, having one of the best aims at the academy and being exceptional at hand-to-hand combat. 

        Naturally, they paired you and Spencer together, tying together the two weak links. You’d needed more experience and familiarity with the cases the BAU handled; Spencer had needed training (or protection) on the off chance of a physical altercation happening on a case. But now that Spencer was confined to the office only, you were working without a partner, and so you had been paired up with Morgan.

        Something you didn’t seem to mind one bit. 

        He could see it, the both of you working together over a table scattered with papers. Derek’s hand would brush yours or your shoulder would bump his. You would snort at something he said or look deep into his eyes while explaining a lead you had uncovered. 

        Spencer burned with envy, jaw tight and eye twitching as he clicked on his mouse a little too tightly, only to hear a small crack. Glancing down, he scoffed at the sight of his jammed button, no longer able to move and therefore no longer able to select anything on his computer. Useless. 

        When he returned his gaze to your and Derek’s forms, his chest jumped at the sight of you staring right at him, a small smile on your face. The moment you noticed Spencer look up, though, you flinched away, a flush of pink rising up to your cheeks as you began to cough and spin in the complete opposite direction to avoid his gaze. 

        Spencer rose to his feet in concern, and Derek glanced at you in surprise, chuckling and patting you on the back as you choked on your own spit. 

        “Wrong pipe?” Spencer could barely hear him say from the distance but could read his lips. Not that he focused on those words too much, too busy watching the way Derek’s hand rested on your back and rubbed your shoulder blade. 

        It was when you whispered something then, Derek leaning in to hear you better and you, in turn, leaning closer to him as well that Spencer finally tore his gaze away. A swell of hot jealousy rose in his chest and burned his throat like bile. 

        His chair rolled back and slammed against the wall, almost shaking the room as Spencer snapped up from his seat. People startled to attention at the sound of the crash, eyes wide and confused when they saw Spencer as the cause. He saw you had twisted around as well to see what had happened, brows furrowing and lips parted when you met his gaze. 

        He held it, eyes never leaving yours as he tugged his computer toward him, pulling random cords. When he finally unhooked something, anything, he gathered up the cord in his hands and announced to the group, “I need a new mouse.”

        With his detached keyboard dangling by his side, Spencer stormed out of the room, leaving confusion and concern in his wake. 

                                ~~~

        “You need to tell her.”

        “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

        “Honey, you’re smart, not smooth--give up on this whole ‘lying makes me look cool’ spiel.”

        Spencer bit his tongue, trying to focus his eyes on the screen that Garcia had pulled up. Photos of the recent unsub who’d been murdering teenage girls in a small town. Stuck at the home office, Spencer could only wait for information of the case’s status to reach him, otherwise he had no clue how it was going or how the team was doing. 

        Or if you were okay.

        “Is it really a lie if there’s nothing to tell?” He dropped his eyes to the phone, still ringing and waiting for Morgan to pick up the call for the unsub’s identity.

        “No,” Garcia sighed, “but in your case, there’s plenty to tell.” She adjusted her glasses while zooming in on the various pictures, only peering out of the corner of her eyes to say, “Face it, Reid, you’re a smitten kitten.”

        “I am not-”

        “Sweetness, whatcha got for me?”

        “Suspect’s name and criminal history, as always. Aren’t I just a god?” Spencer rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair and giving up on the argument as Garcia relays the information. Instead, he focused on the screen, familiarizing himself with the suspect until he heard your voice. 

        “Is Reid okay?” you asked in the background of the call, barely audible over Garcia and Morgan’s flirting. Spencer straightened up at that, head whipping toward the phone as he stopped in his tracks to listen for more.

        Garcia raised a smug brow as she paused mid-sentence, both lines quiet and waiting for Spencer’s response. Spencer parted his lips, preparing to speak before you asked, “Is he there with Garcia?”

        “Y-yes,” he sputtered, “I’m here.”

        The room turned quiet, neither side of the call quite sure how to respond. A shuffling on Morgan’s side clued into the fact that he’d handed her his phone, allowing her to talk to her missing partner. 

        “Oh, um,” her voice was louder, its shakiness more noticeable, “cool-I mean, good.”

        His heart warmed. “Yeah.”

        It went dead silent again, silent enough that Spencer could hear Garcia’s lashes brushing her skin as she rolled her eyes. There was a buzzing running along his veins as he sat and waited, thinking of how you’d wanted to know if he was okay, if he was there.

        “So… do- do you have any ideas about our guy?”

        And just like that, it was just you and Spencer delving into a case together again, even if he was so far away. 

        “A few.”

        “Give ‘em to me.”

                                ~~~

        It was the first unsub you’d taken down single-handedly, and the team decided to celebrate. “To YNs!” rang around the bar as the BAU clinked beer bottles together, everyone congratulating you and patting you on the back. A large grin spread across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes and making them gleam. 

        Spencer watched from a stool at the bar, a smile settling on his face dotted with a hint of pride. He watched as Garcia gave you a side hug, cracking her bottle against yours before whispering something in your ear that made your eyes widen. He tensed in his seat after that, grin dropping as a heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. 

        She told her. YN knows how I feel, and it wasn’t even from me. Shit.

        Your eyes never looked up, never tried to meet his even though you knew where Spencer was in the room. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. 

        Panic rattled his brain as he watched your every emotion from then on, trying to gauge how you felt about what Garcia had told you. 

        It was hard to do when Morgan approached you. 

        That look was on his face; Spencer knew it well. After a few beers, Morgan was loose enough to hit on women, loose enough to hit on you.

        Like a hawk, he watched the interaction--Morgan spoke under his breath, you laughed, he laid his hand on your shoulder, and you looked up at him with that gleam in your eyes. 

        Spencer should have known. He should have seen it coming. Why would any girl prefer him over a guy like Morgan? Especially you? Big, muscular guys who were at your level of strength and stamina, and even compared to your mind in some ways. 

        Why would you want him? He couldn’t even pass the gun-on-the-field test. 

        Even though it hurt, Spencer watched your interaction with Morgan a little longer, taking in how you nodded at what he said, biting your lip and blushing at what he’d muttered as Morgan pointed at him and- Shit, she’s looking, act natural!

        Spencer spun toward the bar, almost falling off his stool as he slammed his hands against the counter to balance himself. Heart pounding in his chest, he set down the beer, a sigh escaping as he set his elbows on the surface and dropped his head into his hands.

        If there was ever a time where Spencer envied Morgan (which wasn’t often), it would be now. He thought you and him had had a connection; every case aside from this week’s you’d worked by his side, asking for his guidance and in turn adding your own opinions, unfiltered by previous cases. It was his shoulder that brushed against yours while cramming together to overlook the same group of files and papers; it was his hand that skimmed over yours; he was the one you walked out with every night, looked toward for guidance, high-fived after solving a case, and laid your head on during a long flight home. 

        How could he have been so stupid?

        “Spence?”

        YN.

        A hand pressed on top of one of his, still buried in his own hair. His skin tingled at your touch, and his heart tightened in appreciation. Gently, you tugged his hands out of his hair, forcing him to look up as you took a seat to his right. 

        “Hey, the only one who gets to tousle your hair is me, remember?” you teased, cheeks blooming into a soft pink. Spencer straightened up and faced you, eyes trailing up and down your face. When you shifted uncomfortably, he paled in embarrassment.

        “Congrats on your first solve, YN.” Instantly, your face lit up, and Spencer’s chest constricted. God, he loved when you smiled at him. 

        “I couldn’t have done it without you.” You took a sip of your beer, missing Spencer’s face falling.

        “Actually, it seems this was the one case you have done without me.” His voice turned forlorn, attracting your attention. 

        “What?”

        His lips quirked in bitter amusement. “You seemed to handle things quite well with your new partner.”

        Brows furrowing, you set down your beer, turning fully toward Spencer. “Are you talking about Morgan?”

        Yes.

        “Yes.”

        You paused, gaze turning thoughtful as you observed Spencer’s every action. You could see right through him; he could feel it. But your words confused him. “This case… I didn’t like it very much.”

        “What? Why?”

        You shook your head. “It wasn’t right.”

        “But you got the guy.”

        “No,” you smiled softly. “I know that, but… I didn’t enjoy it like I usually do. Not that I’m, like, a sick person or something!” you rambled nervously, hands gesturing in a panic. “It’s just,” you clenched your eyes shut and took a breath, “it sucked that I couldn’t work it with you.”

        Spencer froze. 

        “What?”

        You opened your eyes and looked at him, face fully red. “I wish you’d been there. You know, instead of… in-instead of Morgan.” 

        Spencer’s jaw dropped. Your eyes widened. 

        “Not that I don’t like Morgan! Morgan’s awesome! Not that I like Morgan in that way, though--and-and I don’t like you in that way either! Wait, that’s not what I meant--what I mean is that I like you in a way that I don’t like Morgan. No, wait, I like you in a way that is different from the way I like Morgan, and-crap, that sounds wrong-”

        Your voice seemed to fade as Spencer watched you frantically ramble. His heart pounded so loud it drowned out his own thoughts until all he could hear was Morgan’s not the one she likes; it’s me. She likes me. YN likes me and misses me and wants me around her and-holy shit. 

        “-and so yeah, I like you.” Your mouth slowed to a stop as you finally took in a breath, face transforming from the previous purple to a flushed red. 

        Spencer couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t take his eyes off you. The girl he’d fallen for since the minute he’d first met her returned his feelings. 

        “Spence?”

        His eyes dropped to your lips, following the way they muttered his name. 

        “Spencer?” 

        He lifted his hand, brushing his fingers along your warm cheek before running his thumb over your bottom lip. 

        “Say it again,” he mumbled. “Please.”

        “Spencer?”

        “No.”

        “I like you, Spencer,” you smiled against his thumb.

        “Yes.” He leaned forward, stepping down from his stool and still towering over you as his nose pressed against yours. He tugged your lips to his, his hands drawing yours up to his hair before cupping your face. When you tightened your grip on his locks, he sighed. His hot breath warmed your face as he pulled away, his thumb brushing along your puffy lower lip. “Always yes.”

When He’s Sad (Chaos Walking Headcanons)

*GIF not mine*

A/N: idc what people say--this movie was great. Partly bc Tom Holland was in it, but still. So freaking good. Enjoy!

Word count: 743

Todd Hewitt: 

His Noise goes quieter than normal

Just soft whispers

Be a man, Todd. Be a man.

Manchee is curled up next to him, head drooped on his paws. Small whimpers escape the dog as Todd hugs his knees closer to his chest. 

When you return from cleaning off your face in the lake, he spots you before you see him. 

YN. YN YN YN.

It’s so quiet you just think it’s the wind rustling the trees as you organize your bag in the clearing you and Todd have found, located deep in the center of the woods. 

Man up, Todd. Don’t let her see you like this. Be a man. Be a man.

His Noise is still so quiet, barely noticeable until he stands up and wipes his face, approaching you. “I’m gonna go hunting, I’ll be right back.”

When you turn to him he’s already walking away, leaving a sniffle in his wake. Worry strikes your heart. 

“Todd?” 

He only hums, not stopping in his tracks. The thoughts around his head start to grow and pound. 

“Todd!”

“What?” he shouts, turning back with blazing eyes. Your shocked face gets imprinted in his thoughts, playing your reaction on repeat surrounded by look what you did-you’re an idiot-you hurt her-you scared her-she hates you.

“No, Todd, you didn’t-” you try to find the right words to not scare him off, holding out your hands reassuringly as you take in his regretful face, “I’m not- Todd!”

But he’s already run off, leaving a trail of Noise in his wake. She hates me. 

Manchee barks, preparing to go after him with you on his tail, but you quickly call him back and stay near your campsite. 

“He just needs time, boy,” you nuzzle his head, eyes locked on the direction Todd ran in. “He just needs time.”

The sky is gray and a light drizzle has soaked into the forest when Todd returns. Droplets splash against his bare skin and chill him to the bone as he pushes through brush and branches to reach the clearing. 

He can see you through it all, leaning against a tree trunk and only half giving in to the sleep that tries to overtake you, but the sounds of his return urge you awake. 

“Todd,” you whisper, eyes wide as you sit up straight. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” Missed her. Missed YN. Thank God I found my way back. 

“What…” you slump back, “what happened?”

His lips stay sewn shut as his Noise speaks for him. 

I miss them. Pictures of his old family, two men he’s told you about before but you’ve never seen until now, flash like a video. 

His mind runs wild replaying memories upon memories. When the tears start to fall again is when he gets angry at himself. Dammit, Todd. Men don’t cry, suck it up-

“Todd.” Your voice interrupts his thoughts and he zones back in on you. You hold your arms out, face gentle and reassuring as you nod for him to come closer. “Come here.”

His gaze trails to your form. Warm. Soft. Nice. Want it. Want her. 

His lips open and close, searching for some sort of excuse. But he doesn’t have one, thankfully. He crosses the distance between the two of you, lips pursing as he lowers himself to the ground and in between your arms. On his knees between your legs, he waits until your arms embrace him before he engulfs you, his face pressing into your shoulder as he wraps around your midsection. 

Tears began to dampen your shoulder, more so than the rain that now poured on you both. You ran a hand through Todd’s hair, holding him closer the more rampant his thoughts ran.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here for you.”

She’s here for me.

“You don’t have to act all strong right now. Just relax.”

Minutes passed with Todd wound around you, his hands curling tighter into fists in the back of your shirt every time you brushed your fingers through his tufts. 

Feels so nice. I don’t wanna leave. Wanna stay like this forever. Always stay here with her. Always happy. Happy. Never wanna stop.

And so you granted his wish, holding him closer and tighter as his Noise mumbled sweet nothings in your ear.

Reborn (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) ~Chapter 8~

(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: Sup y’all, ik ik it’s been a long time and whatnot, but let’s be honest, my a/n ain’t what ur here for. Hope you like it, and sorry for the wait!

Taglist: @burntcilantro  @alloverbutterflies  @neonghxst  @zaejia  @momothepeachgirl  @black-veil-chemicalz  @bumblebeel  @blxkstar  @keigosbitch  @planetmae​  @rikorene  @idiot-juice-enthusiast  @cherriomilkmangos  @floriane4536  @shimy-deko  @lanceyfancypants  @asteroikawa  @bokutowo  @ichiraku-verse  @samie-babie  @astro-anomaly  @hq149  @pagan-and-gay​  @erinoikawa  @missbuwan  @drunken-dreams @prettyinblack231  @franko-pop  @artisticamore  @bokkubeam  @bokutosfeather  @autumnandhotchocolate  @tendo-sxtori​ (probably forgot some, it’s been a while :/)

Word count: 4620

        “Do you think she’s okay?”

        “For the fifth time, Bokuto, she’s fine. I told you I’ve already checked and made sure.”

        “Yeah, I know it’s just are you really sure?”

        “You’re pushing it, Bokuto.”

        “All right, all right.” 

        Silence fell as your eyes fluttered open. 

        “But are you certain?”

        “Boku-”

        Akaashi’s voice was cut off by a cry, and before you knew it the sun flooding your eyes had been replaced by Bokuto’s face. 

        “YN, YOU’RE ALIVE!”

        “Bo,” you croaked, leaning up onto your elbows before pressing a hand to your temple, “it’s too early for that volume.”

        “Afraid not, my love,” Akaashi rose from his seat on a stump a few feet away and moved to kneel by your side. “According to the sun, it seems you’ve slept more than half the day away.”

        “Oh,” you glanced around, observing the spanse of dirt and trees before you. The sun sat directly above your head, unencumbered by clouds and backdropped by shades of blue. Birds chirped high and far in the trees, and a gentle wind cooled the sweat that had been beading at your forehead. “Looks like my kind of morning, if I’m honest.”

        Akaashi scoffed with a smile, rising to his feet before offering you a hand as Bokuto clambered away in search of something. “Trust me, I know.”

        You sputtered at the jab before taking his hand, almost losing your playful air at the contact. His hands were soft to the touch, gentle and warm. So warm. 

        It finally occurred to you that this was the first time in weeks you’d been relaxed enough to truly revel in the comforting touches Akaashi always provided. The heat flowing from his form thawed the frozen limbs you’d generated from sleeping on the forest floor for hours. When it reached your chest, a feeling akin to finding something long lost embraced you. 

        “A little lie here and there never hurt anyone, you know.”

        “Sometimes it does,” Akaashi’s face fell into seriousness, a fitting but usually undesirable look for him. 

        Wanting to return the atmosphere to buoyancy, you opened your mouth to take back what you said, but not before clamorous footsteps behind you drew both of your attention. 

        “Darling, I caught and roasted a squirrel for you to eat!” Bokuto finally returned to the clearing where you had all settled for the night, holding what appeared to be a stick with a disturbingly charred creature on the end. 

        Your stomach growled.

        Akaashi glanced down at you, half-shocked, half-concerned. Your gaze was still locked on the burnt animal, however. 

        Maybe it was the fact that you had only been eating berries and suspicious leaves for the past few days, or maybe you were truly losing your mind. 

        But damn were you hungry. 

        For modesty’s sake, you accepted the skewered squirrel with pursed lips and blank eyes, but deep down you were all but ready to swallow it whole. 

        “Thank you, Bo,” you trailed off, trying to keep a straight face as your mouth watered. 

        Akaashi’s hand settled on your shoulder. “My love, you don’t have to-”

        “No, no, it’s fine.” Shrugging his hand off, you moved to claim the stump he had sat on earlier. “Can’t wait.”

        Both boys watched you with conflicting gazes, one distressed and anxious in a way you’ve never seen before on him, and the other overjoyed. 

        Judging by the way the thin tail had flaked off at your touch, it was well-done.

        This is supposed to be disgusting. This is supposed to be gross. You don’t want to eat this, YN.

        You gulped, still observing the squirrel from every which way to see where to start. 

        But I’m so hungry.

         By the time you were finished with your breakfast, Akaashi’s face had turned pale and Bokuto’s had broken out into a smile. 

        “Did you like it?”

        “Loved it.”

        With a deep dismay at yourself, you knew you spoke the truth. 

                                ~~~

        “I say we go west.”

        “That’s the way we came, YN.”

        “Oh.”

        You’d been in the woods for what must’ve been three days, maybe more during your long rest after escaping Kuroo. Bokuto said you were out for forever, and you weren’t exactly sure how to convert that into a measurement of time. 

        Said vampire stood next to you, holding and swinging your hand with his while waiting for Akaashi to determine the correct way to get home. 

        Earlier, Bokuto had plucked a dandelion and placed it behind your ear, adding more to the collection whenever he got the chance. 

        Right now, he’d had plenty of time, collecting so many that he’d given up on your ears and placed them atop your head. “I don’t know how to make one of those crowns,” he’d said sheepishly. 

        “Akaashi, can’t you just whip up a spell and find out where we are?” you groaned, taking a flower off your head and setting it behind Bokuto’s ear. His face flushed from the force of his smile. 

        “I don’t have any ingredients at hand, my love,” Akaashi spoke, gaining your attention once more. 

        “What happened to you being able to just, like, poof it out at any time?”

        “Using magic to attack an enemy is different from using it to escape a miles-long forest. And I suppose we should continue heading east.” 

        Akaashi set onto his chosen path, dodging moss-covered rocks and dangling twigs with you and Bokuto at his heels. Every few minutes he would glance back at the two of you, dandelions behind your ears and hands held before he trekked on ahead, back straight and stiff.

        Guilt and shame filled your chest at his obvious discontentedness, and when you murmured his name, he didn’t turn around. “Akaashi,” you repeated, much louder than before. 

        He halted in his tracks and turned, face a perfect mask of placidness as he responded. “Yes?”

        You dragged Bokuto up to him before grasping the wizard’s hand, interlocking your fingers tightly. “Much better,” you grinned, a weight dropping off your shoulders the second his eyes lost their dejection. 

        “If you think so, my love,” Akaashi whispered, raising your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

        “Wait!”

        He froze, brows furrowing. 

        Uncurling your hand from his, you ignored his heartbroken look and tugged a yellow flower from behind your ear, placing it behind his own and ruffling his hair along the way. A chuckle worked its way from his lips, affecting you much more than was appropriate as you grasped his hand again. 

        “Okay, now we can go.”

                                ~~~

        Three months? A year?

        As you lay on the ground, only the moon to keep you company, you ponder how you’ve come to be where you are. Among the arms of two supernatural creatures, ones anyone else your age would have laughed at the idea of even existing. 

        You had a whole life behind you, one that would never be the same if you dared to return. If you were allowed to return.

        The men that lay at your sides, one completely wrapped around you while the other only grasps your hand, don’t make a sound that doesn’t convey absolute slumber. 

        Only days--weeks?--ago had you told them that you loved them. In the heat of the moment, the word had just slipped out, out to the men who catered to your every whim, every want and need. I love them. I love them.

        I love them…

        Right?

        You loved animals. You loved rainy days. You loved the scent of your favorite fruit and the feeling of stretching first thing in the morning. 

        All these things felt so easy to define aloud, to say affirmingly “Yes, I do love these things. I love them with all of my heart.”

        But loving or simply saying you loved Akaashi and Bokuto had a different effect on you altogether. It felt… revealing. It had the same emotional impact as those dreams of going to school naked. You were bare, leaving yourself wide open to enemy attack.

        But these two men weren’t your enemies. They wouldn’t dare to hurt you in such a way. Countless times have they revealed your feelings to you, told you about how you made them feel deep down inside their hearts. You were the love of their lives, and they’ve told you so, verbatim. 

        Is that what you were feeling then? Love? 

        When Bokuto nuzzled against your neck in that moment, forcing your chest to thump, was that love? Was it the feeling of calm that settled over you when Akaashi ran his thumb over your knuckles? Was that love?

        “Keiji?” you whispered, glancing to your right to see if he had stirred. His hand tightened around yours, leaving your heart stuttering. Though his eyes were shut, lashes gently brushing the tips of his cheeks, his lips tilted into a soft smile. 

        “Yes, my love?” A single eye fluttered open, carefully revealing a deep blue iris that scanned over your face. You were hesitant to ask, afraid to sound like a child asking a juvenile question. But you so dearly wanted to know. 

        “What does love feel like?”

        The question hung in the air as you felt Akaashi stiffen beside you, his hand pausing in its caresses along yours. You lay beside him a bundle of nerves, wondering if somehow you managed to press the wrong button in so few words. 

        “W-what I meant to say was-was that, umm, you know, is there like a criteria, or… or, like a checklist-”

        Akaashi chuckled, effectively cutting you off and forcing a blush onto your face. Shame filled your chest and you lightly pulled your hand from his grip, returning your gaze to the moon. As his laughs faded away into the night, you watched in your peripheral vision as he sat up, leaning back on his elbows as he crossed one leg over the other. Of course, your actions escaped none of his attention. 

        “My love, I’m sorry. I did not mean to laugh.” He ignored your scoff and continued. “It is just… all of these times I have met you, fallen for you over and over and not once have you ever asked for my criteria of love.”

        “Good to know I’m especially stupid this round.”

        “No, that is not what I meant,” he shook his head, shifting into a cross-legged position before nudging you to face him with a finger on your chin. “What I mean is… you are so different this time. In a good way. For the first time in so many reincarnations, I feel as though I am learning a side of you, a side of YN I have never known before. It’s endearing.”

        “That,” you swallowed, glancing away as a sudden feeling of breathlessness washed over you. In the pit of your stomach sat a comforting warmth, threatening to overtake you and make you shiver. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

        “I know, love, so here is my answer: I do not know.”

        Your jaw dropped. “Seriously? You’re kidding me, right?”

        But a sincere smile, carefree and so, so unexpected out of Akaashi made you wait to hear an explanation. Boohockey.

        “It’s true. Each time I fell in love, every single time was different. I just knew.”

        “Surely you’ve gotta know how that doesn’t help me at all.”

        He laughed again. “Yes, I know. But, if it helps at all, I didn’t know it in here,” he trails his index finger gently along your temple, “I knew it in here.” When his hand drops to the middle of your chest, your heart jumps.

        “That,” you gulp, “must have been quite the surprise for a wise old wizard like you.”

        “It was,” he amusedly hums, looking away from you only so he can resituate himself on the ground. He returns to holding your hand as he settles back onto his side, facing you. “A pleasant surprise.”

        The night falls into silence once more, only occasionally broken by Bokuto’s natural mumbles. 

        Did you feel it in your chest? Not just the heart racing, but actual love that came from them, for them? 

        When Akaashi’s thumb ran over your knuckles once more, uncertainty was washed away and replaced by contentment. You were calm, at peace, and possibly…

        “Oh, and, my love?”

        “Hmm?”

        “Please, do start calling us by our personal names like that more often,” Akaashi murmured, lips pressing against your hair. “We would so adore it.”

        Definitely in love.

                                ~~~

        The next time you wake, it’s not to the pleasant sound of one of the boys stirring you or whispering your name. 

        Instead, it’s to the sound of a cracking twig. Leaves rustle in the trees far too insistently to be only the wind. And when you hear distant, unintelligible mumbles, all of your worries are confirmed. 

        Somebody’s out there.

        It’s barely morning, the sun just beginning to paint the sky a gentle blue as the stars finally disappear from sight. Your face feels frozen and stiff, it having been the only thing Bokuto and Akaashi hadn’t covered with their forms throughout the night. Your body is stuck within a tangle of limbs and you can’t quite tell which ones are yours and which aren’t. 

        Again a branch crackles and your eyes narrow, surveying the towering treetops above you for the source of movement. You suck your bottom lip in between your teeth and gnaw.

        Neither of the men beside you have even twitched, both completely unaware of your fraying nerves. 

        How can they not hear that?

        You move to escape the jungle gym that is Bokuto and Akaashi around you, unhooking the leg curled around your hip and carefully unclasping the hands wrapped around your waist. Brushing off the dirt and rocks that had stuck to your skin during your sleep, you take a peek down at them. 

        You’re only half surprised they’re still asleep when you catch a glimpse of their faces. Bokuto’s face looks relaxed for the first time in weeks, brow completely unfurrowed and nose twitching as he mumbles in his sleep. Akaashi, on the other hand, has dark circles you’ve only now noticed, creating sagging skin underneath his eyes that made him seem like a different person entirely. 

        It’s been months and yet just here and now are you realizing how the events that have transpired may have affected other people aside from you. As much as you cared and worried for them, locked up and left to die in cages, they cared and worried for you. 

        You, the one who’s been kidnapped by their worst enemy.

        You, the one they’ve dedicated their lives to protecting. 

        You, their soulmate. 

        Suddenly, your shoulders sagged. Here you were, thinking they were still coasting on the high of finding their reincarnated love, thinking that all of this adventure, all of these miserable events were just a regular Tuesday for them. 

        He finally found you, they’d said, back when they’d taken you away from your college and back to their home.

        In all of the centuries they’ve been tracking reincarnates like you down, only this time did Kuroo find you too. 

        The thought of the werecat leaves a twinge in your side, but you’re dragged out of these thoughts by the sound of yet another rustling branch. With one last glance down at the men, you purse your lips and sneak away to investigate. 

        Due to the sun only just now appearing, the dirt under your shoes is hard and unforgiving. Morning dew on the occasional blade of grass and fallen leaf beads and trails down the plant life, soaking into the forest floor like a daily tradition. Some drops patter down onto your head after dripping off the tree limbs soaring above you. 

        It’s quiet, peaceful, and for a moment you completely forget why you’re even out there. 

        And then you spot them. 

        Two creatures, hundreds of feet above you. Somehow they’ve found a sturdy branch to rest on at such a height. You can only see their outlines, black and human-shaped. 

        And yet not human at all. 

        Breath speeding up, you try to back away slowly, as quietly as it seemed you’d come. Your hands wave around at your sides in effort to make sure you won’t back up into anything-

        Crack.

        Wonderful. 

        Their whispering stops, and the creatures’ outlines move in such a way that you’re sure they’ve just turned and spotted you. 

        Shit.

        Your head pounds, shouting at you to run or yell or something, but your feet feel frozen to the floor. Cold panic strikes your heart. 

        The only thing that finally urges you to move is the sight of wings sprouting from the creatures’ backs. 

        “Cr-rap,” you whimper, just before turning around and bolting. 

        You hurdle over fallen branches, kicking rocks up behind you as you avoid bumping into trees and tripping over uneven ground. Blood roars in your ears now as you sprint, muscles still sore and whining from the last race you’d run just days ago. But you don’t dare look behind you. 

        This cannot be happening!

        “BOKUTO!” you cry out. “AKAA- AHHH!” At the feeling of two limbs wedging themselves under your arms, you scream, pure, unadulterated terror seizing your chest as your feet unwillingly leave the ground. You kick your legs, trying to hit something, anything, that you might catch on to get out of the grip of the creature behind you. Instantly, you debunk this plan the second its grip loosens on you and you slip just an inch closer to the ground. 

        The ground that is now a few feet too many below you to land safely. 

        “I have a fear of heights, I have a fear of heights, I have a fear of heights,” you babble, hands waving around wildly and finding purchase in the upper arms that currently hold you. “I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die.”

        Eyes practically bulging out of your skull, you try not to black out when the creature continues flying you higher, wings flapping forcefully behind you as its hot breath brushes your neck. The greens and browns of the forest blow past you in a blur, so fast that the second you surface above the trees, the blue sky blinds you and leaves your head foggy. 

        The creature finally stops, flapping its wings slower only to maintain its spot inches from the tops of the trees. You whimper when you feel your feet brush the pointed tip of a pine tree. 

        “Hinata!” it--he?--calls, tightening his grip under your arms as he struggles to hold your scrambling body still. “Hinata, call the others!”

        The trees below you crackle closer and closer until the second creature surfaces, looking not much like a creature at all. 

        In fact, he looks like a young boy, no older than sixteen with scruffy red hair and nervous brown eyes. He wore black shorts and a white shirt, one which you assumed was backless considering what was sprouting out from behind him.

        Wings. A human with wings.

        How…

        They were covered in black feathers and spread out as far as he was tall, each one the length of his entire body. 

        What…

        “Kageyama,” “Hinata” scratched the back of his neck nervously, wings still powerfully flapping behind him as he hovered across from you. Occasionally, his gaze would dance down to you before flitting back up at your… kidnapper- Shit, why does this keep happening? “Are you sure we should be doing this?”

        “What do you mean, dumbass?” the voice behind you snapped, deeper and angrier than his friend’s. “She’s an intruder on our territory, and this is our duty. Now call the others.”

        “But what if she-”

        “If it makes you feel any better,” you choked out, voice quivering as you tried to adjust your grip harder on the boy behind you, “I’m not intruding willingly. In fact, if you just return me to the ground--slowly--we’ll just leave you alone and be on our way.”

        The boy behind you tensed while his friend’s eyes widened.

        “‘We’?”

        A roar from deep below you sounded, angry and out for blood. “YN!”

        Even you shook in fear at the sound, nails digging into the boy’s arms harder. 

        “Who is that?” Kageyama barked out from behind you, but even his voice trembled slightly. 

        “Kageyama, I told you this was a bad idea!” the ginger pleaded, eyes flitting back and forth between his friend and the trees below. 

        You opened and closed your mouth, searching for words that wouldn’t get you dropped to your death when you heard a distant rumbling. 

        In a matter of seconds, the wind slowly began to pick up, blowing your hair into disarray as both of the flying men flapped their wings harder, struggling to steady themselves like surfboards in heavy tides. The sunny, clear day that was evidently forecasted disappeared in the blink of an eye.

        Grey clouds formed from nothing and grew darker and darker, growling with thunder as rain started to pour down on you. 

        Kageyama started lowering himself toward the trees with a cuss before barking at an open-mouthed Hinata. “Get lower, dumbass! You don’t wanna get struck!”

        The ginger quickly shut his mouth and nodded, following his friend’s lead and taking cover from the droplets amongst the trees. The second you all found home on a sturdy branch, however, lightning clapped and hit your very tree, electricity sparking it aflame in seconds. 

        Both of them yelped in shock while you screamed, the strike splintering the tree. 

        “YN!” Akaashi’s voice rang out and you dared to glance down at the forest floor, the sheer distance making you nauseous. He held out his hands towards you, his fingertips bathing in a dark red glow. You knew he couldn’t safely catch you from this distance, even with the pacing Bokuto by his side’s help. So what was he…?

        A particularly harsh gust of wind hit your split tree, forcing your branch and everyone on it to lean closer toward the floor. Akaashi’s eyes widened when you didn’t immediately smile in relief at the sight of them--in fact, you did quite the opposite and screeched in fear, scrambling backwards on the branch so you didn’t slip off. 

        When your back met the chest of Kageyama, he grabbed your shoulder and turned you to face him, blue eyes blaring. His black hair grew tousled in the wind while he sneered at you. “Who the hell are you here with?”

        Wind started blowing harder and rain drops hit you like bullets, pounding down on you as the sky rumbled angrily once more. The forest grew uproariously loud as tree limbs crashed against one another, snapping off and soaring through the wind only to collide with more trunks. 

        And with all this noise and distraction, none of you noticed the vampire crawling his way up the trees until he tackled you by the waist. One arm wrapped around you like a vice, crushing you against him while you shrieked. The momentum of his jump carried you both off the branch and into wide open air, which did nothing for your racing heart as you wrapped all your limbs around him and held on for dear life. You buried your face into his shoulder, almost breaking your nose against his collarbone when he, you assumed, crashed into a second tree and used his three free limbs to hang on. 

        “YN!” Bokuto called out, wind still whipping past both your ears. “Are you okay?”

        “Y-yeah,” you nodded, not even daring to lift your head. 

        “Good.” The hand wrapped around your waist moved to rub your back gently as he spoke. “I need you to hang on tight, okay?”

        “Mhm.”

        You tightened your grip around his form, humming nervously when he let go of your waist to utilize his second hand. “It’s okay,” he reassured you, and you began to realize the wind and rain had slowed. “Just hang on.”

        Bokuto climbed down the tree, you wrapped around the front of his chest like a koala as he mumbled calming words to you. 

        When you felt him stop climbing and heard rushed footfalls, you carefully raised your head and peered out around you, almost crying in relief at the sight of being on solid ground. The second you made a move to unwrap yourself from Bokuto’s body, however, his arms wound themselves around you and effectively halted any form of escape. Another solid form pressed into your back and you knew Akaashi had joined the party too.

        “My love,” kisses were peppered along the back of your neck and shoulders, “are you okay?” 

        You didn’t bother responding fully, instead just humming and nodding your head. You stayed locked in their embrace until your body and your mind cleared. The second a wave of warm tingles crawled up and down your spine, you let them know you were ready to be released by gently pushing away their forms. 

        A pouty whine escaped Bokuto’s lips as you pulled away and you breathed out a laugh. “I’m okay, I promise.”

        “But you’re still on our territory,” an entirely new voice spoke, strong and commanding. The responses in Bokuto and Akaashi were instant as they both whipped toward the new man, tense and ready for a fight. Akaashi’s hands were washed in a red mist and Bokuto released a growl, pushing you behind him as his eyes flashed red. 

        You were severely outnumbered, you soon realized, as Hinata and Kageyama had seemed to finally call for the others like they’d planned. 12 or so men, all winged and ready for a fight, stood surrounding the three of you. The leader you’d heard talk earlier stepped forward, brown hair and browner eyes looking more intimidating than they should as he looked over you all. 

        At each of his sides stood men, one with light, fair hair observing you all with furrowed brows while the other’s head was shaved completely, a sharp-toothed sneer focused on all of you. Behind the latter, you noticed, stood a cowering Hinata while the former helped a fallen Kageyama rise to his feet, obviously favoring one leg over the other. 

        “Who are you?” Bokuto stepped forward, shoulders curled forward as he eyed all of them down. He was obviously gauging his chances, and all but he seemed to know they were slim. 

        “Shouldn’t we be asking that question?” the bald one snarled, causing the vampire to take a step forward. When the winged man returned the favor, Akaashi placed a single hand on his shoulder before glancing back at you. Swallowing lightly, you slipped a hand forward, sliding it into Bokuto’s palm and softening your gaze when he squeezed it for a second. 

        Kageyama’s gaze dropped to the action for a second before raising back to Bokuto’s face. 

       “Calm down, Tanaka,” the leader turned his head, throwing the overexcited man a warning glare. When he turns back to the three of you, his back straightens. “My name is Daichi, and you’re in the Karasuno Crows’ territory. Now, who are you?”

Previous  Masterlist  Next

When He’s Sick

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: too tired to write anymore. Hope you like it!

Word count: 653

Kageyama Tobio: 

“Don’t touch me.”

“I said don’t fucking touch me. I’m not sick.”

Absolutely tries to bury you six feet under with his glare anytime you come close with the cold cloth

Is the type to wrap up in blankets when and only when others aren’t around

Instantly tears them off the second you come back into the room and severely regrets this afterwards

Never, and I mean never, lets you feed him. Sorry.

Medicine is the one thing he’s willing to depend on you for, and because he’s such a pain in the ass when he’s sick, you make the best of it--

By proceeding to buy the most disgusting-flavored liquid medicine and turning a blind eye toward the pills he’d specifically requested. 

“They were out.” “How could they have run out? It’s literally just-” “Shut up, I said they ran out.”

Tries to hide his gag when he chokes down the medicine. 

A few hours later he’s so delirious from the medicine and the fever that he finally lets you baby him a little bit. You bury him in a mountain of blankets, press a cold cloth to his forehead, and kiss his cheek. 

“Cuddle me,” he murmurs, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded. 

He’snevergonnarememberthissofuckinggetitwhileyoucan you do as he asks

Next day he wakes up feeling better than ever, but you’ve started sniffling and coughing. 

“I told you not to touch me, dumbass.”

He takes care of you too.

Tendou Satori:

The sweetest, most obedient person you’ve ever seen. An absolute doll.

Just. Fucking. Kidding. 

“YN, get me this.”

“YN, get me that.”

The ultimate whining brat. 

I’m talking never shuts up, even when he’s ready to be knocked out on cold medicine. 

Will literally stop in the middle of a coughing fit to beg you for something. 

The king of “but I’m sick” 🥺🥺

At first you were really worried, wanting to help him get over the cold so he wouldn’t have to miss his next game. 

Now you’re wondering whether or not to just drive home and block his number for the next few days. 

Even when you go home for the night he texts you, asking for something or other. He wants you to buy him snacks or make him food or grab him a glass of water even though you’re not at his house. 

Let’s be honest, he’s absolutely thriving under your attention. He grabs your hand as you walk past his reclined position on the couch and drags you down next to him, muttering something about how scalp massages are supposed to help cure colds while he pulls your hand to his hair.

Won’t eat anything unless you’re feeding it to him. 

His inner five-year-old is finally coming out and you think he’s not gonna ask you to tuck him in? smh where have you even been this entire time

Finally, the charade ends when you burn your hand making him hot soup. 

The scalding liquid splashes up onto the back of your hand and the second you cry out Tendou is up and on his feet, sprinting into the kitchen and practically tripping over his own long legs as he slides to a stop in front of you. 

Assessing your furrowed brows and the way you cradle your hand, he grabs the cold cloth still stuck to his head before coaxing your hand away from your chest. He clicks his tongue as he wraps the wet fabric around your palm, running a thumb along your knuckles before raising his eyes to meet yours. 

“Better?” he whispers, pressing his lips to the backs of your fingers. 

“Much,” you smile, “but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to take care of you anymore.”

“Ahh, well then what’s the point of putting my thermometer under hot water anymore?”

“What?!”

An Enemy Hypnotizes Bakugou and He Hurts You (BNHA Headcanons)

*GIF not mine*

A/N: Got outta writer’s block with this bad boy. Enjoy!

Word count: 2138

“Katsuki, this isn’t you! Look at what you’re doing!”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Red rage burned in his eyes as he raised his sparking hands, both trained on you. 

Gritting your teeth, you settled back into your own defensive stance. Feet planted on the hard cement, you raised your arms across your chest and braced for impact, eyes glancing back and forth to ensure no more civilians were left on the street. 

The sun shone brightly in the sky, soaking into your skin and creating a halo around Bakugou’s blond head, despite which he still looked like a devil. A leer hung on his face as he circled you, a lion waiting to pounce on his prey. 

Pro Heroes were supposed to be arriving any second; after all, this was just supposed to be a simple academy training mission. You and Bakugou were supposed to survey a local villain terrorizing the streets and observe how a Pro Hero would go about capturing him. 

They should’ve remembered who Bakugou was and realized that he wasn’t the type of person to hold himself back from a fight, however, though distantly you assumed they believed you would be able to hold him back. 

They were dreadfully wrong.

“Katsuki, I don’t wanna hurt you,” you pleaded, softening your stance a bit. 

“Cute that you think I’m the one who’s gonna end up hurt,” he sneered, curling his hands into fists. Sweat dripped down his forehead and arms, further fueling the weapons attached to his arms. 

Panic struck you as you realized he had no control over himself and that no doubt he would use those weapons on you, full force. 

There was only one way to stop him before that happened. 

You would have to attack him first, hard. 

“Just remember, babe,” you shook your head solemnly, “I don’t mean any of this, and I would never hurt you unless I absolutely had to.”

Bakugou cocked a brow and curled his lip, hands sparking now more than ever. 

“Oh, and I also don’t forgive you for eating my muffin this morning.”

A grunt escaped him as he flew through the glass window of the restaurant behind him, crashing and collapsing against a table and chairs. You dropped your leg back to the ground, worry taking over your face as you strained to see his form in the dark restaurant. 

“Katsuki?”

“YN!” All Might’s voice dragged your attention away, leading you to watch as he landed on the street a few yards away. “Are you all right?”

Glancing back into the darkness of the restaurant one last time, you pursed your lips and turned, making your way toward the Pro Hero. “I’m fine, but Katsuki got-”

The wind gets knocked out of you just as you try to take another step, a blast of pure heat slamming into you and knocking you to the ground. 

Head smacking against the concrete, you bite down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood. 

“Shit,” you wheeze out as you roll onto your back, blue sky blurring above you. The epicenter of pain is on the left side of your skull and your head pounds with every heartbeat. Whooshes of blood flood your ears and a voice calls your name before everything turns to black. 

“YN. YN. YN!”

A hand pats your cheek gently, urging you to stur. When you continue to refuse, two fingers peel open your eyelid, flooding it with pure light and increasing the headache that had only been steadily pulsing before. 

“Ughhh,” you moan, unable to form words as the same person lifts open your second eye. 

A muffled “pupils are dilating” sounds far off in the distance before you feel your body being lifted up off the hard ground and onto something softer. 

Words like “hospital,” “concussion,” and “serious” filter in and out as you try to open your eyes, even the millimeter you actually obtain being a strain. 

Where is he? You try to form the words but your mouth feels stuffed with cotton and someone shushes you. Even in the blinding brightness, though, you can see him. 

He’s struggling in All Might’s grip, unsuccessfully trying to rip both arms away and barking at every EMT who walks past--who then begins to walk even faster--as his gaze continually glances from them on to you then back. 

Bakugou stops mid-shout and grows still when he finally sees your smallest of movements--the twitch of your fingers, the blink of your eyes, and the mouthing of his name.

Every ounce of fight in his body drains in that instant, and he slumps back against All Might, shoulders and brows drooping as he holds eye contact with you. 

Even in your daze, you wonder why he doesn’t come with, why they won’t let him come with, but that question falls from your mind the instant the ambulance doors are shut and they begin to drive away. 

Two days later, you were released from the hospital. You had a minor concussion and first-degree burns on your left arm, but otherwise you made it out unscathed. 

And during that time Bakugou didn’t contact you once. Not even a lame “Hey, u good?” text. Though technology was forbidden for the first couple days after your concussion, you still snuck out your phone from time to time to call him, text him, anything. He never responded. 

You told him that you were okay, that it was okay. You knew everything that had happened wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t in control of himself. Someone had forced him to hurt you and he’d had no part in it. If he had, he would’ve stopped it, you were sure. 

Nothing. 

All you would get was a little check mark marking each and every one of your messages as “seen.” 

Now that you were coming back to school today, you could finally give him a piece of your mind after that silent treatment. 

First thing you did when you arrived was look for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. People flooded you as you entered, asking if you were okay and how many fingers they were holding up. 

You noticed they were asking all but one question: What happened? 

Although you didn’t necessarily want to answer it anyway, this still piqued your curiosity and just as you prepared your own inquiry Aizawa entered and they scurried to their seats. 

Still no Bakugou in sight. 

The most acknowledgement the weary teacher gave you after your absence was a nod and an unceremonious grunt before diving right into the lesson. 

Though your doctors would blame it on your concussion, you found yourself unable to pay attention. It wasn’t even anger towards Bakugou at this point, but genuine panic that he hadn’t shown up yet. You never even thought to wonder what happened after you were knocked out until now. 

Maybe he got hurt too, or was it possible he could still be hypnotized? No, no way. You saw him recognize you post-knockout. So where was he?

The minute class ended you were out the door and running to the dorms. If Bakugou wasn’t there then obviously this situation was more serious than you thought. 

You hit Floor Four and bounded past Kirishima to the absent blond’s room, pounding on the door with all your might. 

“Katsuki? Are you in there?”

His red-headed friend watched as you knocked, flinching each time the door shook hard enough to rattle the entire level. “YN.”

“Katsuki I swear to God if you keep ignoring me-”

“YN.” He tried again, growing anxious. 

“I’m gonna kick your ass so bad you won’t even-”

“YN.” 

“What, Kirishima, what?”

It took a few seconds to register that he hadn’t said your name the third time. Snapping your head to the other side, you faltered at the sight of the blond. 

Hair ratty and tangled, eyes puffy and sunken, cheeks pale and bloodless. If anyone were to guess, they would think Bakugou was the one who took the beating. 

“YN.” He repeated your name like he was pondering over it. 

You heard a door click and turned to see Kirishima gone, disappearing into his room. Glancing around the hallway, you realized it wasn’t exactly the perfect place to have such a serious conversation and gestured for Bakugou to open his door. 

The second it was closed, you turned back to him and threw him a dirty look. “Why didn’t you respond?”

He stayed quiet for a second, looking you up and down, up and down. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gulping, and you took the time to notice how bloodshot his eyes were. Then, finally, he spoke. “Are you okay?”

Anger swelled at his dismissal of your question, but before you erupted you noticed something. Though Bakugou’s hands twitched at his sides, every time you moved closer toward him he would inch away. 

Taking a deep breath, you moved another step closer, startled when he took one back. 

“Why are you…” you trailed off, struck by his apprehension. 

“Are you okay?” he asked--no, he insisted. When you responded “yes” he nodded slowly and clenched his jaw, turning away. “That’s good.” Instead of facing you he began to fiddle with his desk chair, rotating it from side to side. 

You step closer, reaching out your hand to touch him and sighing when you see his shoulders tense. It hurt to see him like this, avoiding your every touch like it would give him the plague. “Why?” you whispered sadly.

“I read all your texts, you know.” He turned around and leaned back on his desk, propping himself up on his hands. When his eyes met yours, you saw the crimson was filled with pain. “You said it wasn’t my fault that you got hurt, that it was someone else. Someone else burned you, knocked you out. Someone else hurt you. ” He swallowed roughly. “But that’s a lie.”

“Katsuki, no it’s not-”

“It is, YN!” he snapped, pushing off his hands and pacing “I’m the one who hurt you! I used everything I had against you, to purposefully hurt you.” When he stopped in front of you, his cheeks were puffed and red, a muscle in his jaw twitching. 

He was angry now, pissed off but you knew it wasn’t at you. It was at himself for something he couldn’t control. 

You hated it when he was like this. 

Quickly, before he could flinch away you grabbed both sides of his face and pulled him in, close. He wriggled in your grasp, even preparing to wrench your hands off with both of his own on your wrists before you raised a brow. “You really wanna do that?”

Hesitantly he dropped his arms to his sides and gave in to your hold. The muscles in his face relaxed under your touch, and you started to brush your thumbs over his cheeks with a small smile. “Katsuki,” you leaned your face in closer, “the only thing that hurt me during all that time was you ignoring me. Did you know that?”

“YN, I was just trying to-” Before he could finish you yanked his forehead down to press against yours, effectively shutting him up. 

“Did you know that?” you repeated, slower this time. 

He rolled his eyes and pressed harder against your forehead. “No.”

“Look at what I’m trying to tell you, Katsuki. The only time you ever hurt me, the only time you ever caused me pain, was when you ignored me after I was injured.”

“I’m…” ever so slowly he let his hands trail up to your hips, settling there and squeezing for just a second. He closed his eyes and let out a soft breath. “I’m sorry.”

Your mouth twitched. “Sorry for what?”

“Come on, YN, don’t-”

“Sorry for what?” you laughed, tugging him back in after he tried to pull away. 

Apologies, especially of the genuine kind, were rare for Katsuki. In fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d even heard those words fall from his lips. 

But here they were, some of the hardest words to ever say, laid out for you and you only. 

Bakugou’s gaze travelled up your face, pausing on your grinning lips before continuing on to a permanent stop on your eyes. His own lips perked for a second. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you after you were hurt.” 

Carefully, like you were a china doll, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. His body was harsh but warm against yours as he leaned his cheek against your hair. 

It was sweet. The sweetest you’d ever gotten out of him, but…

“God, you are one awkward hugger.”

“Don’t test me, YN.”

I don’t think your posts are showing up in the tags ): cause when I searched a couple of them from newest your new post wasn’t there

damn that sucks😔 but I also get it. It’s been a while since I posted so I understand why the tumblr algorithm wouldn’t put at the top of the tags no matter how recent I post. I’m just glad at least a few people got to read it and enjoyed it💜 thanks for telling me!!

OMG HELLO HOW HAVE YOU BEEN IVE MISSED YOUUUUU

IVE BEEN GREAT GRADES ARE GOOD AND LIFE IS OKAY I MISSED YOU TOOOOOO💜💜

HII I JUST WANTED TO SAY REBORN IS SO SO SO AMAZING!!! I love it sm I swear I’ve read it at LEAST 5 times now!! Thank you for creating such amazing stories, I’ve even gone read the ones about fandoms I know nothing about because you’re writing is so INCREDIBLE!!!!!! 💞💞💞

akcnkdndksndn this comment is so freaking sweet and I ain’t gonna forget it ever🥺☺️ I’m glad you’re liking what you see!!💜🥰

Hi! When will you continue the reborn story. Its really good!!!

I’m glad you’re enjoying it! There are no permanent dates, but definitely think sometime around the beginning of summer. Just a few more weeks!☺️

Your writing is amazing. You clearly have a talent and im glad i get to see it!!

Oh thank you so much!! This comment makes me really happy, so I’m glad I get to see your writing too lol 🥰💜

Pspspsppspspspspspps hiii how have you been?? Bestie, drink water and stay safe and healthy <33

Also,,,, If it's alright to ask; I have been reading your reborn series and I liked it alot!! Is there any close date or sm where you are planning to post the new chapters? (Sorry I don't wanna sound rude)

You didn’t sound rude at all! I’ve been fine, and u better be drinking water too😤😤💜

Happy you like it, and I’m for sure thinking of updating it some time around the beginning of summer. No promises on any certain date, but the new chapters have definitely been planned🥳

I have been dying to find out what happens next in reborn, are you still planning to continue it?

Yep, next few chapters are planned, and now that summer’s here, it looks like I’ll get a little time to get started on em!! Glad you like it🥰

Talking to the Moon (Oikawa x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: After breaking up to go their separate ways after high school, YN and Oikawa struggle to accept the fact that neither is willing to give up their career paths for the other. Instead, they both confide in the moon, wishing that it was their other half. (Based on “Talking to the Moon” by Bruno Mars.)

A/N: I won’t take up too much space talking about the obvious (I straight up dipped for like a month, oopsies). Just know I missed writing and finally got the push I’ve been waiting for to return for a little (more like finally had no homework). Enjoy!

Word count: 2464

        The moon, with its deep craters and pale shine, mesmerized him each night, but not for its beauty. For each night, he watched it with intensity, almost glaring at the crescent hanging in the sky with great envy.

        It was never alone. There were always stars or planes or blinking lights on top of tall mountains keeping it company as it made its slow, purposeful journey toward the horizon. Across hazy clouds and black skies, it never strayed from its path, not once. 

        No matter how much he wished it would. 

        “YN.” Oikawa fiddled with his thumbs before continuing. “Are you… are you there?”

        Maybe he was crazy. His neighbors certainly thought so. On the balcony of his beachside condo, he leaned his elbows on a railing that never covered with dust and turned his face to the dark of the night. 

        “I miss you.” 

        And so, as he spoke to the moon of all his troubles, he imagined how she would respond. He told of his game earlier in the day, how his serving had improved and how they had won with just two points to spare. How his teammates had commented on his lingual improvements and celebrated with a drink. But as time went on, he found his shoulders slumping lower and lower until his head was almost hanging, limp. 

        The wind had bitten his nose and cheeks long ago and wisped his hair into a frenzy, and yet he could never find the will to go inside. Still, the moon lit up his form, encouraging his words further. 

        “I still love you.” His voice, barely above a whisper. Oikawa had reached that point that he seemed to reach every night, speaking of his regrets, of his goodbyes, of his sorrows. 

        “I’m sorry we had to end that way.”

        Thousands of miles away and twelve hours later, YN looked up at her own moon, her own stars. Yet, for her, they seemed to move too fast, pass by too quickly. She had never brought herself to open her mouth and let out how she felt, but with the soft rays peeking through her dorm window and painting her desk and papers gray, she’d certainly let her mind wander one too many times.

        Was the pain worth it? Did she do the right thing? Wasn’t this what she wanted?

        Love lay eighteen thousand miles away, right where she’d left it. Purposefully. But if she had done so on purpose, why did it feel like the world had caused her this pain? 

        Her high school sweetheart, her cocky brunette, her best friend, and what must be the love of her life because if he was anything less, she wouldn’t let it ruin her future like this. In college, she had grades to keep up and classes to focus in because, as she’d told him, this was what she wanted. And she wouldn’t stop it for anyone. 

        That night, in her house, Oikawa had told her he’d been recruited to another country. His skills were unmatched and they wanted him on their team. With the promise of beautiful beaches and a generous paycheck, Oikawa said he couldn’t say no. But YN made no such promises. 

        “You know I can’t go with you.” I couldn’t, I really couldn’t. 

        “What about online?” It wouldn’t have been the same.

        “I want the experience, Tooru, not just the classes.” The experiences aren’t enough anymore, though. 

        “So what does that mean, YN?” I didn’t know.

        “Come on, Tooru. We both… we both know what it means.”

        She’d bawled her eyes out, tears flowing without end the minute he shut her front door. A deep pain struck her chest each time she thought about his back turning without a goodbye. Her parents offered sympathetic smiles and well-meaning hugs, rubbing her back and whispering that everything was going to be okay until she cried herself to sleep.

        That was months ago. Seven, to be exact. 

        But as Oikawa and YN both peered out at their moons, confessing their pain and drowning in their sorrows, they couldn’t help but feel like the loss had happened yesterday. 

                                ~~~

        Suitcases sat on the floor, filling the room and emptying it all the same. On his bare mattress, Oikawa sat with his teeth buried into his bottom lip, leaning back on his hands as tears trailed down his cheeks.

        Just across from him hung the collage of photographs YN had helped him pin against the wall. A photograph of them together as young kids where Oikawa pulled YN’s hair and laughed while she cried. Another of them on prom night, not smiling at the camera but instead at each other, lovestruck. Another, YN wrapped up in Oikawa’s arms as he hoisted her up high grinning and rubbing his nose into her neck as she squealed. 

        Two weeks ago, he never would have thought of throwing them away, but now it was all he wished to do. After all, by this fall he would be moved out of Japan and into Argentina, in an apartment he’d already arranged with the team manager. 

        Being recruited right out of high school. It was a blessing, it was lucky, it was everything the Aoba Johsai Volleyball Club called it and more. Now, Oikawa felt more cursed than blessed. 

        The one person he wanted smiles from gave him tears. When he wanted congratulations, he got heartbreak. Oikawa wanted her to come with him--he could make room in his new house. He would always make room, and more. 

        At the very least, he wanted to hear her beg for him not to. Not to leave, not to break her heart, not to follow his dreams. In the future, he knows he would’ve truly considered it if she had, but YN was not selfish like that. Oikawa’s YN would never try to take him away from this once in a lifetime opportunity. 

        YN loved him too much to hold him back with her, and that was the one thing he always resented about her.

                                ~~~

        Dark circles and puffy bags hung under YN’s eyes. This was what she wanted.

        Clouds stormed overhead, whispering deadlines and test days and hundred point assignments. This was what she asked for. 

        This was how she got the job she wanted, the job she picked out when she was approximately nine. This was how she expanded her bubble, discovered a world she thought had at least a little more sunshine and rainbows. 

        But all she felt was alone. Her friends were spread across the country, some still in her hometown and some littered here and there, but none had come with her to the school she’d chosen. She had many classmates, all acquaintances and nothing more. 

        This wasn’t what she’d expected, and she soon came to realize this wasn’t what she wanted. Her future career that she’d pretended was more important than anything now felt like her worst enemy. 

        But what hurt the most was that she’d left behind the love of her life to pursue it. 

        Rain, a weather she once loved, pounded outside her window with occasional strikes of lightning. Every flash lit up the room, the photos hung on the wall above her bed glowing each time. Behind the clouds she knew sat the moon, but it was invisible to her at this moment. 

        Still, her thoughts ran rampant. Opening her laptop, she signed in past a picture of Oikawa and her she’d never gotten around to changing and clicked on the search bar.

        23 hours and 20 minutes. Tickets upwards of $3,000. 

        A phone call wouldn’t do--she wanted to see him. Talk to him. Not allow him to ignore her like she was so dearly afraid he would. 

        She didn’t have the money or time now, but when she did….

        YN bookmarked the page for later.

                                ~~~

        For the first time in too long, the moon was full. And, as usual, Oikawa slid open his balcony door, leaving it cracked just a bit so he could slip back inside when he got too cold. Then he leaned his elbows against the wood railing, folding his hands and turning his face to the sky. 

        “YN, I don’t know if you remember, but it’s our anniversary today. Not when we started dating, no. It was the first time I ever got the guts to flirt with you. You know, when I shoved you on the playground and ran away for the first time.” His lips perked at the memory. 

        “God,” he snickered, “that was embarrassing. But I think we can both admit my flirting improved a lot.” 

        Running a hand through his hair, Oikawa sighed and gripped the railing just a bit tighter. Then he pursed his lips and swallowed. “I know I sound crazy, but I really do hope you do the same thing I’m doing right now. Even if you look insane doing it.”

        A knock sounded on his door just as Oikawa prepared to lean himself further on the rail, making him flinch. 

        Whipping his phone out of his pocket, he glared at the time. 12:57 am. 

        Who the hell…?

        More knocks urged him to return inside his home and jog over to the door. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he gritted out, reaching the door and turning the knob. “Damn, you’re gonna wake up my whole-”

        The sight that met his eyes caused him to choke on his last words. 

        “YN.” 

        YN in a sweatshirt he’d given up searching for months ago. YN with backpack straps resting on her shoulders and a deer-in-headlights look on her face. 

        Neither spoke for what felt like hours, but was really a whole five minutes, just taking each other in. Heart pounding, Oikawa locked his eyes on her own, first taking in their usual, comforting shades of color he’d dreamed about too many times, then landing them on the bags underneath. He dragged his gaze down to her lips, parted, pink, and glistening from her tongue peeking out to lick them nervously. Down her neck (thankfully unmarked), to her chest where one of his very first volleyball tournaments’ titles greeted him, to her black pants, to her scuffed shoes. Overall unscathed, but that, to be honest, wasn’t truly what he was concerned about. 

        She’s here. She’s really here. 

        “Tooru, I-”

        When YN finally spoke, finally uttered his name in that beautiful way she did for the first time in too long, Oikawa’s gaze snapped to hers so suddenly she had to stop and take a breath. “I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here and why I look like crap and how I figured out where you lived and how I got here and why-”

        “YN.” Oikawa cut her off but never let her finish as he grasped her by both shoulders and yanked her into his apartment, crushing her against his chest as he kicked the door shut. 

        Warm and soft and plush like he remembered. His hands reached around and pressed flat into her back before balling up the cotton sweatshirt in his fists. Though Oikawa himself couldn’t breathe and he was certain YN couldn’t either, he couldn’t help but want her closer and closer to him. Though she was in his arms, she still felt too far away. 

        He dropped his head to her shoulder and turned his face into her neck, stray hairs tickling his nose as he nuzzled back and forth into her bare skin. 

        “Tooru,” she whispered gently, with a smile he could hear in her voice. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

        “No,” he shook his head, hating that the movement caused her hands to stop brushing through the strands. “I’m not. Not right now.” He pressed a kiss to her skin before whispering, “I’m just glad you are here.”

        “But-”

        “No buts.” He pulled his face away from her neck to press his forehead against hers. Instantly, their breaths mingled just as they always had. If either of them moved even an inch closer, their lips would brush and that would be all it took. 

        “You need to know,” YN pulled away just a bit but, swiftly, Oikawa tugged her flush against him once more, each part of their bodies brushing like they always had, like they’d never stopped. The thundering of his heart almost drowned out her words--almost.

        She smiled, and her eyes twinkled like they always did when she looked at him, like they hadn’t done in a while. And her gaze softened and her body relaxed as she gave in to the truth of her own words. 

        “I can’t be happy without you, Tooru. I just can’t. Because,” she shook her head with a growing smile as her hands fell to his nape, “I don’t want my future to be one without you. You’re what I want, Tooru. All that I want.”

        And they brushed and Oikawa sunk into the beating of his own heart as her body and soul fell against him, drawing him in with the warmth and pleasure he knew he would never find without YN by his side. 

        When their lungs finally pleaded too much for air, Oikawa and YN surfaced with grins and happy tears, love filling the room in a wonderful way. 

        Leading her backwards, one hand cradling her head and the other clutching her hip, Oikawa peppered kisses across all of the bare skin he could find and then more when he searched farther. When her knees finally buckled against his bed and they both collapsed among the sheets, Oikawa let himself speak, sparingly. 

        “God, I missed you, YN.” His lips brushed along her chin reverently. “So, so much. I can’t stand not having you with me.”

        “Me too,” she sighs.

        “How?” He stops suddenly.

        “What?”

        He draws the hand behind her neck to her cheek, breathing heavily as he traces his thumb along her bottom lip. His eyes can’t seem to stop moving, heatedly taking in every inch of her. “How did you find out where I was?”

        This makes her release a breathy laugh before she brushes her nose against his. 

        “I heard you talking to the moon.”

is taglists open, sorry if it’s not ,,,

the reborn taglist is still open! If u were talking about taglists in general those are open too, so no need to be sorry🥺

Yandere KageHina x Reader (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: Just the one, but I really wanna do more for other pairs like Daichi-Sugawara and such. Not really sure how I feel about this one in general, but I hope y’all like it!

Word count: 1157

Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio:

With ease, these two take up all your attention. 

One minute, Hinata’s trying to show you his improving math grades, and the next, Kageyama’s trying to show off his power serves. 

Neither one leaves you alone for long but as soon as they come together on you, everything turns into a zoo. Kageyama’s shyly holding your hand, purely for the peer pressure of Hinata draping his entire arm around your waist.

Let’s face it--you’re just another contest between them. 

However, as soon as a new boy even looks like he’s trying to come into the picture, they’re gonna scare him away. (This is one of the few times they work together for a common goal--how sweet!)

Hinata will try his best to politely ask the man to leave you alone… but that doesn’t work. So now it’s Kageyama’s turn.

He glares. And then he glares some more. 

All silence. Just glares. 

And then the boy never bothers you again! Really, it’s that easy. 

They’ll never kidnap you unless absolutely necessary, but that really never happens considering they’re already the only men in your life. 

Kageyama’s terribly awkward in showing his affection to you, but Hinata is the complete opposite. The shorter has no shame in tackling you in a hug, while the taller most definitely is terrified of even brushing the hair from your face. 

But Hinata has much to learn too. While Kageyama understands your desire to not stand out, Hinata just loves to show you off to the world!

This includes kisses (bordering on making out) in the middle of class--a huge no-go for you.

All it takes is one “You know she hates that, dumbass!” and Hinata’s learned his lesson, but he’s still antsy to show you off. 

To volleyball games, your attendance is mandatory. Some days they wouldn’t even dare to play if you weren’t there to watch.

They love to see you cheer for them, no matter how much it makes Kageyama blush while Hinata jumps up and down. One successful quick attack and both boys’ gazes search the crowd for you, finding home and waiting for your approval like a pair of puppies.

They’re such good boys.

However, this totally presents a problem the minute you all graduate high school. 

It would be a lie to say they completely hated sharing, but there was still a small rivalry of who would get you once the inevitable split happened. 

Whose games would you go to more? Who would you live with? How would the other have to compensate?

You didn’t want to leave them either. After all, it’d been three years. In that amount of time, there was no way their love was still completely unrequited. 

A compromise was met.

You lived in an apartment in a city exactly halfway between both boys’ teams. They paid for your living expenses--because of course they loved to spoil you--while you went to the local college. It was perfect!

Until it wasn’t.

There was a boy. 

In one of your classes. 

He was nice. Too nice. 

But he wasn’t the only one. 

Suddenly you had friend groups you were hanging out with, people who had no idea what you liked or what to keep you away from. 

When Hinata and Kageyama agreed to meet you one Friday night at your apartment and you weren’t home, that was the last straw. 

Clearly you couldn’t be trusted on your own. Clearly, you didn’t deserve that freedom. 

And then they found you, smiling, chatting, laughing with what could only be described as undeserving scum, Hinata and Kageyama snapped. 

“Please don’t!”

“It’s for your own good, YN. You didn’t listen to us!” Normally, Hinata couldn’t bear to see you cry without shedding a few tears of his own, but tonight his eyes were dry. His face was still sad though as he handcuffed you to Kageyama’s bed. 

Kageyama enters the room, a suitcase in each hand. “Here,” he hands one to Hinata. “This one stays at your house while I keep this one here.”

The new plan: you were to be locked up in one of their homes, switching every week. 

Hinata accepted the bag with a nod, tossing one last glance at your crying form. 

“YN.” He couldn’t resist, brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. Hinata cringed in sadness at the way you flinched away from his touch, but he didn’t mention it. “Please. You know I hate to see you cry. Look at it this way,” he forced a smile, caressing the skin underlying your cuffs, “now you don’t have to wait for one of us to come to you, because we’ll always be here. And if you want to see the other, we can FaceTime!”

Kageyama clenched his jaw at the scene, wishing he didn’t have to keep you locked up just to keep you in his apartment. 

But he knew it was for your own good. 

Finally, when Hinata couldn’t take anymore of your crying face, he rose from his crouch at your side with a whimper and made his way to Kageyama standing in the doorway.

“Remind her that I love her every day.”

“Okay.”

“And that she can always call if she needs to.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t forget that she’s almost on her-”

“I know that, dumbass, you don’t think I have that marked on my calendar?”

“I was just saying, Kageyama!”

“Whatever.”

And with that, Hinata left with a suitcase of half of your possessions in hand.

Kageyama sat by your side on his bed the minute his front door closed, one of his hands reaching up to brush through your hair. “You understand why we needed to do this, right?”

You couldn’t hold his blue gaze for long before more tears sprung to your eyes. “Please…”

Kageyama shook his head, dropping his hand to cup your cheek. “It’ll be like this for a while. At least… at least until we can trust you again. All right?”

When he saw your bottom lip begin to quiver once more, he knew reasoning with you was pointless. Even though he’d known you for years, handling your emotions was still foreign to him. 

Hinata was so much better at that stuff. 

Kageyama huffed and rose to his feet, pressing a hesitant kiss to your forehead before moving to the suitcase sitting on the floor. “I’ll help you unpack, and tomorrow maybe you can come with me to practice if you’re good, okay?”

Kageyama and Hinata were always going to struggle with sharing you, but it was an issue they were willing to work through. After all, they shared one common goal: keeping you by their sides.