Bed Head (Kuroo X Reader)

You really do have the best portrayals of each and every character you write for. Everyone is so spot on and accurate, it's incredible how you manage to write them so well with the excessive cast of each fandom! uwu I'd love to read more of your works, so please, if you have an AO3 or FF account, please drop the link so we can follow you to the ends of time!

Man I can’t even explain how much better this makes me feel about my writing. I mean there’s always those days where it just feels like everything i write is just eh but this message makes me feel really a lot happier about it. Thank you so much💖

I don’t have any more accounts than this one sadly😔 best I can offer is a Wattpad that I started years ago to be trendy and I never even wrote for it🤡 but I’m glad you’re liking what you’re reading now!

Your words made me really happy today, so thank you again💜

Can you please do a part 2 of Pumpkin Eater? With a fluffy ending please, this fic broke my heart 😅

Pumpkin Eater (Kuroo x Reader) ~Part 2~ Second Chance

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Last night, your friend sent you pictures of Kuroo with some girl at a random club. Not only was he a liar, but he was also a cheater, and you couldn’t stand to be with him after this.

Part 1

Part 2 (Never Again)

A/N: Hehe, people can’t handle the angst. I get it, I’m the same way. All righty, as per request, here’s part two of Pumpkin Eater! Enjoy!

Word count: 2478

        “We were on a break-”

        Click.

        “Identity theft is not a joke, J-”

        Click.

        “I broke it. It burnt my hand so I punched it. I predict in ten-”

        Click.

        The remote was taken from your loose grip and the television turned black. 

        “YN.”

        “Hmm?”

        “This needs to stop.”

        “What does?”

        Your friend sighed at the sight of you huddled deeply in a mountain of blankets. Dark circles hung like bags under your eyes, contrasting wildy with your ghostly pale face. Every muscle in your body ached with the slightest movement, too stiff from staying in one position for… three days? Four?

        “You’ve been sitting on my couch and moping for a week.”

        Oh, a week. 

        “You need to get up and move, or at least do something,” Christie groaned, throwing the blankets out of your reach and grabbing your hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze and softened her gaze. “I know it hurts, and it sucks.” Squeeze. “But maybe you should talk to him-”

        “I am not talking to him!” you cry out, ripping your hand away and standing on numb legs. “Christie, he cheated on me. There’s no excuse for that!” 

        Her eyes widened in surprise and she nodded solemnly. “Okay, but let me show you something first.” Before you could ask, she stood and left the living room, disappearing into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. 

        To a certain degree, she was right. You needed to get back to it. For the past week, it felt like your life had been set on pause. Every restless hour of sleep you got was filled with memories and nightmares mingling in the most stomach-churning way. Each dream was just about identical. It was always Kuroo and some faceless woman, laughing at you and leaving you behind in a mess of tears and shame as they walked away. 

        You always woke up with a whimper and forced yourself to stay awake after, too afraid to feel that pain again. 

        Some days… you wondered if he felt the same ache as you. If he felt just as empty and lost. Like a piece of his own body, his own heart was missing. Did he… did he feel the same way?

        Suddenly, Christie storms back into the room and drops an object on your lap. A phone. And with closer observation, you realize it’s your phone. 

        “Now, I am going out tonight and looking for a man at the club. If you want to join me, great. If you don’t…” she sighs and licks her red-shaded lips, “I guess that’s fine too.”

        It’s only then you notice she is completely decked out. In a signature little black dress and ruby pumps, she looks ready to knock men out dead. Bronzer sparkles in the brightness of her apartment’s light fixture and mascara makes her eyes bulge in the most baiting way. 

        You, on the other hand, are a complete mess. You’re wearing a week-old sweatshirt (Kuroo’s), and very loose, tightly cinched sweatpants (also Kuroo’s). Each piece of clothing has an emphasis on the sweat, and the only thing glittering on your face is the sugar from your cinnamon donut, aka yesterday’s breakfast. You felt like a trash can, and you certainly had the appearance to match. 

        Christie smooths the skin-tight skirt of her dress down as much as possible before taking a seat beside you on the sofa and grabbing your shoulder. After she turns you to face her, she gives you a tight smile and pulls a Cheeto out of your hair, tossing it to the floor with a heavily disguised sneer. “YN, all I ask is that you don’t let this hold you back forever. Just,” she grabs the phone in your lap and presses it into your hand, “read and listen to the messages. Please. For me.”

        She waits for your nod before standing up and grabbing her purse. With a flip of her straightened hair, she throws it over her shoulder and gives you a small smirk. “Now I might be coming back home later tonight, or I might not, we’ll see,” she winks. “But if I do, don’t expect us to be silent.” With one last giggle at your disgusted face, she disappears into the hall of her apartment building, slamming and locking the door behind her.

        You watch the exit for a couple more seconds before glancing down at your phone. While heaving a sigh, you press the power button and clench your jaw in anticipation. 

        Shit.

                                ~~~

        99+ texts was the symbol on your message app, along with 65 missed calls. 58 of those were from Kuroo, and almost every single one held a voicemail. It was like he was trying to crank up your phone bill just to spite you. 

        After a much-needed shower, you were working your way through every one of them, listening and deleting in an incessant pattern. You rubbed the towel through your damp locks, drying them before trying to run a brush through it in a failed attempt at looking tamed. In the meantime, a message played in the background. Kuroo’s voice crackled through the speakers in a broken tone. 

        “YN… Kitten… I need you back-”

        “Voicemail deleted.” 

        “Hey, it’s me again. Look, please call me back-”

        “Voicemail deleted.” 

        “YN, I don’t care if I have to call you a million times, I’m going to win you back. I love you so much more than you realize. And I’m not gonna stop until you’re in my arms again Kitten. We’re meant to be-”

        “Voicemail deleted.” You pulled your trembling finger away from the screen and choked back a sob. The brush clattered to the floor as you snapped up the phone and hugged it to your chest. 

        You shouldn’t have- Goddamnit!- you should not have let the message run on for that long. But it was just so nice to hear his voice claim that he loved you again. Loved you still.

        But that’s all it was. A claim. 

        “Goddamnit,” you hiss under your breath, clenching your eyes closed as tears trickled down your cheeks. At a slow pace, you mosey your way out of the bathroom, dropping back onto the sofa and crying out the pain. 

        You wish it was as easy to get over some as they say, but the fact is that it’s not. You loved him, and-

        Knock knock.

        Shit, she’s back already?! You scrambled to your feet and tightened your robe around your bare form, approaching the door swiftly. You definitely did not want to stick around if Christie had brought home a male companion. That would just be… ick. 

        Knock knock. The person slammed their fist against the door harder this round, and you yelled back, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

        Whipping it open, you instantly slammed it shut once more at the sight. 

        Kuroo.

        “YN!”

        “Nope,” you shook your head, “fuck that.” 

        His fist bangs against the door once again, almost knocking it off its hinges. 

        “YN! Please let me see you!” 

        His voice sounded raw, like it was scraping past his throat with every syllable. You assumed yours sounded the same. 

        “Just open the door!” 

        “No!” you screamed back, evidently shocking Kuroo into silence. You stood in anticipation, waiting with your arms crossed for another retort, another plea. But nothing came. 

        Noises shifted outside in the hall, and you saw shadows moving under the door before the light was snuffed out completely. Kuroo’s back and skull made contact with the wood, echoing a dull thud as he settled into a seat on the floor directly outside the apartment. 

        “YN, please,” he muttered, quieter this time. As much as you hated him, you hated the sound of him sad even more. Seeing his presence today just reminded you that love doesn’t fade away after a relationship ends. At least not instantly. 

        You slumped to the carpeted floor too, sniffling and hugging your knees to your chest as you watched the entrance. Distractedly, you petted the fluffy fabric of your pure white robe as you waited. For what, you weren’t exactly sure. 

        Minutes passed, and all you could hear was the occasional snivel out in the hall. Your heart panged at how close he was. All your pain, all your suffering could be cured by a simple embrace of Kuroo’s. Your body and mind knew this, but your emotions refused to falter. 

        “Kuroo-”

        “Tetsurou,” he corrected tightly. 

        You sighed deeply and continued, ignoring the swift beating of your heart. “Why did you do it?” 

        A long pause left you dropping your chin down to your knees, and Kuroo cleared his throat before responding in a croaky voice. “I… I don’t really know. I was wasted, and I should’ve never drank that much. And she looked like you. And I- God, I was an idiot. But she was nothing to me, meant nothing to me.” His head banged against the barrier before he kept going. 

        “YN, you need to know you’re the love of my life. You’re,” he huffed out a breath, and you could hear him adjust his position on the floor. “You’re it for me. I can’t function without you. For the last week, I haven’t slept more than an hour, or eaten or anything. I just… please, I need you by my side.” 

        Not in a million years would you ever admit it, but you felt the same. Like you needed him to think straight, to help you focus, to keep you grounded. He was the one for you too. You just didn’t understand why he did what he did. 

        “I don’t know if I can trust you again.” You struggled to keep your words steady, and dug your fingernails into your knees when they cracked up at the end. 

        “I’ll work to gain back your trust, YN, God I swear I will. I just need you to give me another chance. I’ll never hurt you again, ever.”

        Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you pushed yourself up to your feet and approached the door anyway. It was the only wall you had left between you and him. He had broken down every other, and this was your last layer of protection. 

        With your hand on the doorknob, you hesitated to open it. You didn’t want to be hurt again. Never. You never thought he would betray you like that. You thought he loved you just as much as you loved him. You couldn’t even think about being with another man.

        So that’s why you pulled your hand away. 

                                ~~~

        Four hours had gone by. You figured Kuroo had gone home a while ago, and you had settled onto the couch, forcing yourself to laugh at a comedian’s stand up just to feel better. A hot chocolate steamed in your hand as you curled up in a blanket, trying to erase the pain in your heart.

        Footsteps clicked outside. Stilettos. Then whispers occurred. You sighed at the inevitability of getting kicked out so Christie could get it on with her new friend, but then she knocked.

        “Hey YN, you mind getting the door for me?” Her voice didn’t slur in the slightest. In fact, she didn’t even sound buzzed. Shaking away your suspicion, you rose and opened it for her, keeping your gaze locked on the television to wait for the comedian’s punchline. 

        “Christie, did you even drink while-” You were cut off by the feeling of someone’s long, strong arms embracing you. 

        The sensation was too familiar to be her. It was tight and warm and loving and comforting. It sprung tears in your eyes and washed a wave of uncontrolled contentment over you. 

        “Kuroo,” you choked out. Said man’s arms tightened around you. 

        “Don’t,” he whispered, his low volume muffled against your neck. “Please don’t call me that.”

        “Tetsurou,” you breathe out, “you were out there that whole time?”

        He chuckled bitterly and brushed his lips over your bare shoulder. “I love you. Fuck, I love you so much. I would do anything for you.”

        You snorted lightly into his own shoulder, running your hands up and down his back comfortingly. You enjoyed the feeling of him. You missed it. “I love you too.” Lips curling into a grin, Kuroo leaned back and began to pepper your face in kisses at the words. Then his hands crept up to the back of your head and tugged you closer, slamming you against him in a passionate kiss. 

        You both moaned at the feeling. It had been too long, way too long since you had been with each other. 

        When a loud clearing of a throat sounded, you pulled away, giggling when Kuroo tried to follow you. Your forehead pressed against his and you both stared deeply into each other’s eyes, watching with adoring gazes. 

        “I missed you.”

        “I missed you too.”

        “Yeah, that’s great and all,” Christie chimed in, “but can y’all move in together again? YN, I don’t know if you noticed, but you made my place look like a rat’s nest.” You snapped away from Kuroo in a split second and glanced around the room. You finally had enough clarity to take in your surroundings and- shit- she was right. 

        Blankets and wrappers and clothing were thrown haphazardly around the room. With a nervous giggle, you shrugged and gestured to the sight. “Umm, sorry?”

        “Yeah, yeah,” Christie scoffs with a smile before tossing you your backpack. “Just get outta my sight, lovebirds.” 

        Kuroo unraveled himself from you and intertwined his hand with yours. “She’s right,” he mutters, nuzzling his nose against your ear. “Let’s go home.”

        You nodded and gave Christie a grateful nod before waving goodbye. 

        In minutes, you were downstairs and outside, walking home in the chilly, midnight air.

        “Shit, it’s cold out,” you whined, huddling closer to Kuroo’s side.

        “Maybe it’s cause you’re only in a robe,” he snickers. Your eyes widen in realization before you glance down and shriek. 

        “Shit,” you swivel around and lock your eyes on the apartment building, “we gotta go back to Christie’s!”

       An arm winds around your waist and halts you mid-journey, tugging you closer to a nice source of heat. “Oh hell no,” Kuroo shakes his head before throwing a hand under your knees. In one swift movement, you’re up off the ground, being carried bridal style in the opposite direction. “We’re going home. I finally have you back, and I’m not gonna spend another second without you in my arms.”

Yandere bokuto the boy that will pull out the emo face every time he feels like he’s not getting enough cuddles

Agsjdjsk another one about his cuddles, and y’all are both right. One day, I imagine he’ll come home just whining and whining about not getting to hold you, even though you’re busy with work or smth.

“YNNN.” Add on a lip pout, but you still shake your head no. He huffs and whimpers and rubs his face against yours, but you don’t budge.

“Bokuto, I can’t. This is really important.”

That’s what sets him off. One second, you’re peacefully typing at your desk, the next you’re being shoved into the mattress, Bokuto’s muscular form trapping you against the sheets. His eyes are furious, any innocence abandoned at your words.

“I’m more important, YN. I am.”

Ignorance is Bliss (Bakugou x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Confessing to you has turned into quite the hassle for Bakugou, as you seem to be totally oblivious to every single one of his ideas. From notes to jewelry, you don’t notice a single thing he tries to anonymously give you. Surely you weren’t that ignorant, were you?

A/N: I desire sleep. I just wanna sleep…. Anyways, here’s another Bakugou oneshot, because it’s just so easy to get ideas for him. This time, poor explody boy’s just confused. Again, thank you guys so much for the likes and follows, and please enjoy!

Word count: 3349

        To Bakugou you were… tolerable. However, in his case, those were pretty high marks. And it was because you were so tolerable that he found himself okay with the idea of hanging out with you more. He was fine with seeing you around after school, or maybe at the movies. Maybe even in his dorm room- okay, he was crushing on you. Hard. Hard enough that he found himself wanting to ask you out. 

        At first, Bakugou tried to ask for the annoying redhead’s help, but that didn’t work out so well. 

        “What about getting her candy and a teddy bear, and then telling her how you feel? Girls like that stuff,” Kirishima had innocently suggested.

        “What is she, five? Fuck no.” He shut down his sturdy friend instantly. After that, the blond had told his companion that he would figure it out on his own. If on his own meant he used Google. To be fair, it was the only other resource Bakugou could depend on at this point. So he searched up what girls like, and found a whole bunch of mumbo jumbo he didn’t really have the money for, but they were worth trying out anyway. The first thing on the list? Flowers. All right, he could afford that. 

        The next day, the blond hero-in-training barged into class much earlier than he ever had, even earlier than the loud-mouthed class captain, and plopped down a hefty bouquet of roses along with a small note attached saying who it was from in the middle of your desk. And then he waited. 

        When you finally showed up, Bakugou was practically snoring in his chair, reclined back with a small dribble of drool crawling down his chin. You didn’t greet him, but you never did, so that wasn’t unexpected. What was, however, was your reaction to his gift.

        “Who the fuck left their garden on my seat?” you exclaimed with disdain. The volume was loud enough to jumpstart the blond from his slumber. He furrowed his brows at your question, now wide awake. Here’s the thing, Bakugou knew you were a cusser. It was one of the few things he liked about you. But the fact that you had cussed at his gift... well, that kind of ticked him off. 

        “What’s wrong with them?” he demanded, but before you could respond, a loud sneeze echoed around the room. 

        Sniffing harshly, you untucked your face from your elbow and inspected the damage before replying, “I’m allergic to their pollen, dumbass.” Pinching the bouquet’s stems between your thumb and forefinger, you held it as far away from your face as you could while you carried it over to the trash. Bakugou’s voice stuck in his throat before he could try to stop you, so he could only watch in horror as you hovered the gift over the plastic bin. Watching his personal note work free from between two stems, the blond clenched his jaw and seethed silently when it gracefully floated to the bottom of the empty bin. 

        “Aww, YN, are you really throwing those roses away? They’re so pretty!” Uraraka spoke up, just then stepping into the classroom. She pouted sadly at the sight. 

        “Well, do you want them?” you offered, extending Bakugou’s gift towards her. 

        “Umm sure. I guess I’ll take them if you really don’t want them!” she agreed, accepting the bouquet and taking a whiff before thanking you. As you told her it was no problem, Bakugou curled his hands into fists and sneered. 

        “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

                                ###

        That night, the blond student consulted his old friend Google once more for advice, leering over his glowing laptop and scouring for anything that might help him woo you. “A poem, huh? Ugh, do girls really like that sappy shit?” You best believe he copied one of Shakespeare’s most popular pieces and dropped it off at your door signed with his name the next morning. Plagiarism be damned, he really wanted to go out with you. After watching the love note flutter to the ground face-down, he quickly knocked on your door and rushed away, peeking out from the wall of another hallway while he waited for you to answer. 

        “Okay, who the fu- what the hell?” you wondered aloud, whipping open your door and angrily peering out only to see no one. Glancing around, your eyes finally spotted the white paper on the floor. Lifting it up, you observed the backside of the note with a scrunched nose. Shrugging dismissively, you crumble up the slip of paper with both hands while grumbling under your breath, “Fucking litterers,” before throwing the ball into the trash can outside your door. After you returned inside your room, Bakugou came out from behind the wall and stared at where you had stood, totally and utterly dumbfounded. Were you really that stupid? Surely you were kidding with him, right? You didn’t seriously just throw away his love letter after only looking at the blank side, did you?

        Shaking his head, Bakugou abruptly remembered that yes, you have done dumber things. Just thinking off the top of his head, he could remember many incidents where you completely amazed him with your own idiocy before he ever thought much of your presence. For example, one time you had been so tired that you had run into the wall directly next to Class 1-A’s entrance, then proceeded to yell at it, “Move dumbass!” So yes, yes he could believe you had just thrown away his confession note obliviously. Bakugou shook his head at the memory before rubbing his temples, walking back to his own room to plot yet another tactic of confession.

                                ###

        Google was a godsend, and had provided him with the perfect gift. Jewelry! How had he completely managed to forget how much women love jewelry. Over the weekend, Bakugou had managed to convince Kirishima to buy him a necklace for you, one that was “your style.” In the end, his redheaded classmate arrived at school on Monday with a silver heart encasing a crimson stone on a metal chain. After silently thanking Kirishima with a small nod, Bakugou couldn’t help the small curl of the corners of his mouth while he lifted the locket up to glimmer in the fluorescent light of the classroom. His hard-headed companion, however, seemed a little disappointed in the gift. 

        “Look dude, I really don’t think YN is going to like that. She’s not really that kind of girl,” Kirishima insisted, a little concerned at how his friend would react if yet another confession plan failed. 

        “Trust me, this time I’ll get her. Plus, you know how all women love jewelry, it’s foolproof,” Bakugou assured his friend with a smirk eyes still set on the necklace. Patting Kirishima on the chest, the blond gestured for him to observe as he set down the necklace on your desk and made his way back, both preparing to watch your reaction. The redhead pursed his lips and bit them anxiously while his friend squinted with impatience. Finally, you entered the classroom and Bakugou had to hold back a fist pump. After all, he wasn’t victorious yet. Sitting down in your seat, you didn’t appear to notice the necklace, and the blond flinched harshly when you ignorantly dropped your bag on top of it. An apologetic hand settled onto his shoulder, and Bakugou was too stunned at your utter obliviousness to things right in front of you to shrug off Kirishima. 

                                ###

        He had watched you all day in class, and nothing. You hadn’t acknowledged the necklace at all, and you didn’t even notice when your notebook had accidentally pushed it off the table. The future hero’s eye twitched and his hands began to tingle in irritation. You had to be screwing with him! How ignorant could you be? 

        It wasn’t until after school when he discovered you had, in fact, noticed the necklace, but for all the wrong reasons. Miserably dragging his feet to his room, he had passed the common area, only to hear your heart-stopping voice. Halting in his tracks, he backtracked until he could see you and the pink freak standing in the middle of the room and conversing. Eavesdropping slightly, he leaned his head in to hear better. 

        “Oh YN, that’s so cute,” Ashido gushed, holding her hands to her cheeks as she observed the necklace you held in between the two of you. “Who gave it to yo-”

        “How much do you think it could sell for?” you asked distractedly, scrutinizing the gem in the center of the silver heart before peering back up at your classmate curiously. 

        “Well, i-isn’t it a gift?” she replied, her usually bright voice dropping with a lilt of uncertainty.

        “I don’t know,” you shrugged casually, “I just found it lying around.” Umm, no. Bakugou vividly remembered setting it down quite obviously in the center of your desk. Maybe you needed a nice, new pair of glasses. That could be his next gift. 

        Mina shifted excitedly from foot-to-foot with her hands folded in front of her heart before enthusiastically suggesting, “Well, why don’t you just keep it? It is really pretty!” 

        Pursing your lips, you looked at her with an “are you serious” face before promptly responding, “Because it’s not mine, duh. That would be rude, Mina.” 

        Distractedly peering back down at the necklace, you made your way to the exit of the common area with Ashido bewilderedly shouting after you, “And selling it isn’t?!” 

                                ###

        In a last ditch effort to grab your attention and confess, Bakugou made his way to the mall and searched for a clothing store you seemed to absolutely adore. On many of your clothes resided the word “Pink,” and the blonde student could distantly remember his mom always dragging through malls and passing by a shop with the exact same name. 

        Now, as he stood in front of the bright, highly feminine store, he couldn’t help but sneer disgustedly at its neighbor. Shuddering (and blushing) at the sight, he stepped into the original store, only to bare his teeth at the sight of the one register being in the connecting room. In that store. Bakugou groaned aloud, attracting attention from most of the customers and workers in the area. Snarling back at them, the blond continued to his original goal, wandering into the other, darker half of the shop. 

        “Why the hell are they the same store?!” he muttered to himself with a grossed out expression, all while keeping his head low to avoid staring at the rather lewd clothing around him. Although, it seemed unavoidable at a certain point when Bakugou accidentally ran into a table, looking up to find his path once more only to make eye contact with string. That’s it, he swore that’s all it was. Just… string. What the hell is that gonna do?! His face burned at the sight and he clenched his jaw tightly, searching for the checkout area so he could finish his business and get the hell out of this place. 

        At last, he reached his destination and slammed his palms down on the counter, causing the cashier to flinch with frightened eyes. “Gimme a Pink gift card. Twenty-five dollars,” Bakugou demanded harshly. The girl in front of him instantly lost her patience at the order, and she had to force on a fake smile before replying. 

        “Sorry sir,” her voice was snide. “We only have Victoria’s Secret gift cards here.”

        “Whatever, just give me a damn card,” he barked, shoving the cash into her hands. The teen boy was growing seriously uncomfortable in this place, and he despised that feeling. 

        “Here you go. Have a nice day!” the worker sarcastically chimed, beaming at how anxious he appeared. His lip curled at her tone and he grumbled under his breath as he navigated his way out of the vulgar store. 

                                ###

        Bakugou’s hands trembled as he set down the card on your desk. He was still shaken up over that stupid store, but whenever Kirishima asked him about it, he just shook off the question, mumbling about how he didn’t want to talk about it. Crashing down into his desk, Bakugou miserably shoved his chin into his hands, resting over the surface and waiting impatiently for you to see his gift. He wasn’t stupid this round. In a brightly colored, anonymous card, the blond had written about how he liked you and how he wanted you to buy yourself something nice. It was a genius plan, as now he didn’t have to worry about buying you something. Oh man, if only he had put his damn name on it. 

        When you walked into the chattering classroom and sat in your seat, you inspected the card thoroughly, even poking at it with your goddamn pencil. What the hell? Either way, when you finally opened it like a big girl and watched the special gift card drop unceremoniously onto your desk, you didn’t make a sound. You just… stared. You were totally silent, breathing evenly with a blank face as you inspected the card like it had the secrets to the world. Evidently, you didn’t want to know those secrets, as you abruptly pushed up out of your chair, ever-so gracefully banging it into the desk behind you. Your eyes were dark and unreadable, and you hair acted as a curtain around your face while your fingers braced against the desktop. It was like you were burning the hot pink words printed on the gift card into your brain. 

        Finally, you looked up and stared ahead at the teacher’s board while your face slowly grew enraged. “Mineta, you little creep! I’m gonna kick your ass!” Bakugou jumped at your outburst, observing shakily as you swiftly turned your head to the pint-sized, purple student in the corner of the room. As a result, the little squirt screamed in terror and ran away. You chased him out of the room, and Bakugou couldn’t help but bite his lip tentatively while staring blankly at where you had stood. 

        Kirishima, also shaken by your sudden outburst, made his way over to his best friend’s desk, glancing at yours along the way. Spotting what had made you so upset, the redhead groaned and dragged a hand down his face while shaking his head. “Seriously, Bakugou, Victoria’s Secret? That was your genius idea?” The blond nodded in a daze. “If she ever finds out,” he continued, “she’s going to murder you.” Bakugou could only nod in agreement, still shocked at your reaction to the gift. Was it really that perverted? 

        Helplessly, he stares up at his friend with desperation dripping from his face, whispering a small, “Help me.” Kirishima beams brightly at the admission, placing his hands on his hips.

        “Finally willing to listen, huh?”

        “Don’t push it.” Bakugou massages his temples, exhausted from the week's events. 

        “Don’t you worry, buddy. I have the perfect idea.”

                                ###

        There was still a small, minuscule chance that Kirishima was wrong, right? Bakugou could care less at this point, he just wanted to confess to you. You were strong, stubborn, loud-mouthed, arrogant, and infuriating. He loved it. Ever since you had insulted him back and then proceeded to kick his ass almost beat him up during a training session, he had fallen for you. Which was why he had gone to such lengths for you. He wanted to get you the perfect gift to return all the fuzzy, totally lame feelings you had given him. And apparently, according to Kirishima, a little bunny stuffed animal and a box of chocolates were the best way to begin to do that. The redhead had claimed that gifts wouldn’t make any girl, especially you, fall in love with him instantaneously. Bakugou was doubtful, but according to how all his previous plans had crashed and burned into one spectacularly extravagant trainwreck, he had no room to judge. 

        While letting those thoughts run rampant in his head, the normally tumultuous hero-in-training stood silently in front of your door, awkwardly waiting for you to answer after he had painfully knocked on it with his forehead. What was he supposed to do; his hands were chock full of stuffed rabbit and chocolates. Breathing a sigh of relief when the door opened to reveal you with a soft, sly smile, he shoved his new gifts towards you. 

        “I like you,” he mumbled apprehensively, looking to the side to prevent you from seeing his flushed cheeks. You could barely hear him, but you knew. Oh yeah, you definitely knew. 

        “Took you long enough,” you teased, hugging the presents to your chest. “No offense, but your other gifts were shit. Oh, aside from this.” Fiddling with the heart necklace and giving him a lopsided grin, you tossed the bunny and the chocolates onto your bed behind you before grabbing him by his wrists and tugging him inside, him stumbling in after you with a dropped jaw. “Speaking of, if you really want me to buy new lingerie, I’ll bring you along next time.” You laughed cheekily as Bakugou’s cheeks grew a darker shade of red, and he muttered at you to shut up. 

                                ###

        Bakugou’s arm tightened around your shoulder as you pushed open the door to the classroom, giggling at his deadpan joke while the corner of his mouth quirked up at your bright smile. Directing you to your seat, he released your shoulder and groaned while dropping your bag to the ground. “Ugh, why is that thing so heavy?” he whined, glaring at the weighted object. Laughing at his pain, the pair of you suddenly tense up at a smaller presence behind you. Instantaneously, the both of you grow pissed, you whipping around and glaring while Bakugou wraps his arm around your waist possessively. 

        “What do you want, pipsqueak?” your boyfriend hissed at Mineta. 

        The shorter male’s eyes widened and he took a barely noticeable step back before standing tall once more and proudly announcing, “YN, I was hoping you’ve come to your senses today and realized that you have wrongfully blamed me for a despicable, unthinkable action!” Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong, but that didn’t mean you wanted to admit defeat. Especially to him. Sneering and opening your mouth to respond, the little grape lifted a finger to pause you and continued, “I will, however, forgive you in exchange for a generous kiss.” Ignoring your disgusted look, Mineta closed his eyes and puckered his lips, only to open them once more at the sound of explosions. 

        Bakugou’s grip on your side was practically bruising, while his other hand was raised with an eruptive display for all to see. Snarling ferociously, the blond’s voice was gruff and threatening as he lowly warned, “You better get a head start while you can. I’m gonna beat your ass, you little creep.” Bakugou’s scarlet eyes were glaring nastily at Mineta, and if looks could kill,... well, you know the rest. The purple-haired pervert stumbled back a couple steps before he whimpered and spun around on his toes, hightailing it out of the classroom. Bakugou smiled at the sight and turned to brush his lips against yours. You placed your hand on the back of his neck to hold him there for a couple seconds, gently nibbling on his lower lip before finally pulling away. The tingles his soft kiss left behind compelled you to keep your eyes and revel in the waves of pleasure they evoked. You were content, at least until a loud bang ripped your eyes open. It was the door to the classroom swinging open as you saw the blond hair of your boyfriend disappear into the hallway. 

        “You purple son of a bitch!”

        Wincing at the roar, you hesitantly sat at your desk, sucking air through your teeth and fiddling with the silver locket around your neck.  “Oopsies.”

In the Black Widow’s Nest (Henry Creel x Reader) 🕷️Chapter 2🕷️

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Prince Henry of the Creel Dynasty is finally in search of a wife, and in the spirit of courtship, King Victor has invited young royalty from all neighboring kingdoms to vie for his hand. But with so much royalty introduces the need for many more maids in the castle than usual.

Enter: You.

You’re nothing but a servant in his home, an intruder in his prized library, and an utter nuisance in his mind. But then you survive his attack, and in an unexpected way nonetheless. That makes you… interesting.

You’ve caught his eye—congratulations! Now, you must deal with the consequences of loving a heartless prince in a world where far worse things lurk in the castle than dirty garderobes.

Chapter 1

A/N: yay, another chapter! and not a million bajillion months later, either, aren’t u guys lucky? I worked hard on this one! Let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 4809

The maids of the castle did not have an organized way of awakening. The first one to rise from her cot never rang a bell, nor did she make a sound as she bumbled about the room. The others simply roused at her activity and moved to follow her lead. A soft ray of warmth would peek through window curtains, illuminating the rumpled sheets and the scuffling shoes as the ladies donned their uniforms: white pinafores over black smocks, black sleeves down to the wrists with white cuffs, white bows, black slippers.

A light chatter had begun after one maid, a new recruit hired for the season, had asked another for assistance in tying the pinafore’s bow at her back. By the time the bow was finished, the rest of the room had followed suit. Conversations erupted, and some of the more experienced women had taken to helping the newcomers with their garments. When one began to brush her own hair, so did another. When one adjusted the strap on her own shoe, so did another.

They moved as one body and looked as one body, as was expected of them. None dared to lose their opportunity to work with the castle's wages and living, especially during such a season.

The prince of the Creel Dynasty was finally searching for a wife.

The kingdom had long awaited this announcement from the handsome young heir. In preparation for the many balls, galas, and other festivities promised by this news, the castle staff had welcomed a myriad of new members, all of whom had to be trained before the kingdom could host any visiting royalty.

The maids, therefore, had the strictest schedules and regimens. The nature of their duties made it most plausible to come in contact with a royal, and such required a level of propriety unobserved by them in their previous homes.

But a new fear had struck the collective consciousness of the trainees.

One that made the threat of interacting with royals all the more potent.

You rose from your cot at the tap of the girl beside you. A fierce spasming fired along your spine, where your new wounds must have reopened from the movement.

Briefly, you considered lying back down, letting your headache swallow you whole. Considered Miss Miriam, in a devilish state, screaming at you, dismissing you, dragging you out of the castle. Crawling back home with no money, nothing to show for your promises of dragging them out of the village and whisking them away to a life of less hell. You consider coming out of the castle like you came in. Still nothing. Having nothing.

But a pretty sight struck you—Miss Miriam, with her crop, coming up behind you, and you, twisting and grabbing her by her gray hair, shoving her face into a used chamber pot.

Then swatting the old harpy with her own weapon.

A smile split your face, causing the bruise on your cheek to throb.

One day.

But until that day, you were stuck here under the shameless eyes of your own fellow maids. The show Miss Miriam had put on for the others was one that must be burned into the backs of their eyelids, because the maids did one of two things.

They watched you, or they blinked.

You folded in on yourself, turning away and grasping your uniform tucked neatly beneath your bed. When you rose back up and reached for the hem of your nightdress, you hesitated.

The gazes were so heavy you could drown. Even now, you could feel the oozing blood sticking to the thick fabric. However prominent the bruise on your face was nothing compared to artwork that mangled your back; something was peeling, another splitting, and much was bleeding. It was all one collective wound, one scab healing so slowly that any movement you made renewed the process.

You did everything quickly and quietly. You tore off your dress, peeling off fresh skin with it, and stretched the other one over your head, thankful the black smock wouldn’t stain so evidently. The gasps didn’t slow you down. You tugged on your shoes and straightened your sleeves. You whisked your hair out of your face as you worked, tightening and adjusting and grimacing your way through it.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You were surprised you had any left after last night—your own tongue sat as dry as a rock in your mouth. How could there be more?

But they sprang forth when you pulled the pinafore over your sleeves and realized you couldn’t tie the bow yourself. Not as tightly as it should be. Your own body wouldn’t let you do such a thing to your wound.

You needed help. Would any of them be willing to even speak to you? To be seen associating with the first pariah of the group?

You couldn’t imagine yourself doing it. Self-preservation was at an all-time high after your public whipping. Would anyone even believe that you hadn’t wanted any of this? That you hadn’t been a crown-hunting girl begging for trouble? That something bordering on preternatural had invaded your mind and drowned out your senses, and all you could do was cling onto another human as you grappled for reality—who gave a damn if the man just happened to be Prince Henry, the one person women in all the known kingdoms were trying to obtain?

No.

No one would believe you.

Dear God, you sounded deranged. One step away from fleeing into the woods waving sticks and crying demon at every creature you crossed.

The church bells, of all things, being the sounds you’d heard when your own life was slipping away before your eyes. You may as well hang yourself right now, if the king couldn’t decree it any faster.

You dropped the two fabric strings of the pinafore with a muffled snivel, cupping your bruised cheek and letting your eyes fall closed.

Three months. Just three months to shed the new label and secure yourself a permanent position in the castle. Real servants’ lodgings, proper pay, daily meals. You could live the rest of your life not acknowledged by another soul if you could just stay here, safe and content and unheeded.

What more could a person want out of life?

A gentle touch at your shoulder blade drew your attention, and you flinched away before it got any closer to your injuries. You spun around and bumped into your cot, eyeing the other maid warily. Her gaze was kind and bordered on innocent, vibrant blue barely peeking out from behind a wall of curly brown hair. She looked about your age, and at first glance, you would never notice the proud, acute way she held herself.

Like she always knew what she was doing, and yet always knew too much.

And when she offered her hands like a sign of peace, you did not try to back away again. Far be it from you to reject the first kindness you had experienced since you had arrived here.

“I can tie your bow, if you like?”

That same accent, unrefined when compared to what usually bounced off the gilded walls, and you surmise that she must have come from another small village like yours. Unlike you, however, she seemed to have less fear when navigating through unfamiliarities like castles and cruel maids.

Why else would she bother offering the one persona non grata a helping hand?

You pause at her offer, gnawing on your lip as though you had other options to consider. Perhaps there was some ill intent to her aid, but even if there was, you couldn’t figure out what and why and why bother.

“Yes…” you swallowed. “Please.”

She smiled gently and gestured for you to turn around. When her hands tied the bow, it was all light fingers and quiet conversations.

Her name was Nancy, and you learned she had come from the village next to yours. When she couldn’t get a job working for a seamstress, she wound up as something of a governess in the kingdom’s walls, traversing back and forth between her home and those of higher standings nearer to the castle. She was good at watching children, but the castle was offering far more than royalty’s butlers and vicars could afford.

And she was also very sorry for you. What happened yesterday was hard to watch.

You asked her to tighten the bow, dismissing her small hum of concern, and swallowed the bile that rose when the pinafore dug securely into the gashes of your back.

You both knew she had been fixing to leave it loose, letting you decide if the risk of an untidy uniform was worth the comfort.

It wasn’t.

The other maids, it seemed, had grown uninterested the second your wounds were covered for what would be the remainder of the day, and returned to normal conversation. Few glances were thrown your way since Nancy had tied your bow, and you noticed yet another phenomenon.

Caught up in a sea of black and white, the only difference between you and Nancy, between any one maid and another, was her hair. Brunette and blond hair intermixed with black and ginger, all blended seamlessly when plaited or swept up into a bun.

Yours hung loose and knotted down your back, and without a word, Nancy began to wisp the tendrils into a braid. You wanted to stop her, but you couldn’t. Your own arms could barely raise as high as your heart, and your hands shook the second they entered your vision, lifted to stop Nancy’s at your nape.

“There,” she murmured, dismissing your thanks, “now you really blend in. By tonight, the others won’t even remember which bed you’re in.”

“Should I be concerned they know that now?”

She laughed softly. “I suppose not, although I have overheard a few girls bitter about you being with a royal.”

You blanched. “What? That’s what they’re focused on?”

Maybe… maybe you should have guessed some of them might focus on that fact. But look where it got you, and you hadn’t even been trying.

Properly flogged, and now in the sights of one Miss Miriam.

Nancy shrugs. “Just a few. Most have been scared for you. But,” she pauses, pursing her lips, “you must understand that we’re… thankful, in a cruel way.”

Of course. You could understand that.

It terrified you, angered you to no end, but you understood it. Someone had to be a lesson for the others. A demonstration. The new maids needed a spectacle to understand where the power lied—that power did not lie solely within royalty. There were pockets of it left scattered throughout the castle, and cruel-enough servants snatched it up whenever possible, and lorded it over whoever would listen.

But… you wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. You never thought it would be you.

The collective consciousness reigned over the servants once more, and they began to line up. You spotted a girl, younger-looking than most, step away from the door, and guessed she must have heard footsteps. Nancy nodded at you before joining a line, and you followed.

Like clockwork, the door slammed open, and Miss Miriam entered with a silencing swoosh of her black smock. When her second-in-command entered, goosebumps ran down your spine.

You could still feel yourself struggling in her arms, sobs wracking their way through you as she steadied your form for another lashing. Your heartbeat began thundering in your back, right underneath the bow of the pinafore.

“Ladies, today is a day of utmost importance.” With small, black eyes narrowed and surveying each and every young girl before her, Miss Miriam furrowed her brow and frowned, wrinkles tracing the expressions with ease. Her face pinched together so tightly it resembled a sun-dried grape. “The royal family will be welcoming four promising princesses today, and it will be your duty to clean every inch of the castle they will roam upon before they arrive. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Miriam.”

“We will work as one. We will bow as one. We do everything as one, today and all days, ladies. Efficiently, and quietly.” Her eyes fell on you. “No one will cause trouble today. Understood?”

You gulped. The maids chimed together once more, and you could only mouth along with them.

“Yes, Miss Miriam.”

Her gaze left yours, and the tightening of your throat eased.

“Moira will delegate assignments. Those tidying halls will follow me.”

The hallways, all gilded columns and glistening marble, flared victoriously in the morning sun. Most aspects of the castle seemed to emphasize the Creel Monarchy’s pride, their devout sense of self-satisfaction the principal aspect of every painting, vase, and snuffed sconce.

A portrait of the long deceased King James, great-great-great-great grandfather to Prince Henry—though, you pondered calling the number of greats preceding his name into question (and the word great itself)—sneered down at you, seeming perpetually pleased to be two hundred years in the ground and still lording himself over every subject that roamed his halls.

Disdain for all others must have been passed down the family line religiously.

You dragged your eyes down and away, busying yourself instead with dusting the marbleized snoot of Julius Caesar. The crystalline windows of the castle acted like a magnifying glass against you as you worked, adding a heat to the already aching skin of your back. You were a cockroach wandering too close to a flame, and any second now you could burn up from the inside out, crushed with a crunch rather than a squelch.

Using the back of your hand, you wiped the sweat from your brow, eyes wandering dangerously to the maid who worked beside you.

Nancy, owning the more bearable appearance between the two of you, had been sent out to deliver and replace new bed sheets along with thirty other girls. But the girl beside you, taller and owning a mess of dirty blonde hair swept into an apathetic bun, had somewhat of the same spirit of Nancy. A small glimmer of rebellion shone in her eyes each time Miss Miriam wandered far enough down the glittering hallway so as to only be seen by squinting.

Then, with a wry twitch of her freckled face, she’d rasp five blasphemies she’d decided described the witch in that moment.

Musty shrew appeared to be a favorite.

The girl glanced up from where she had been polishing a rickety wooden chair and flashed you a smile, glancing each way before rising from her knees and approaching. She reached out and plopped the brush she had been using on the table holding the marble statue head, and plugged a finger into each of its ears.

“I don’t suppose Jesus here will strike me down for my profanity, will he?”

You looked down. Chiseled above its wrinkled forehead was a laurel crown, and you couldn’t recall a Bible passage describing Jesus’ sabbatical in Rome. You blinked at her.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Julius Caesar.”

The blonde glances at the statue again, gray eyes darting over it before she shrugs. “Same difference. If there is a sculpture of Jesus somewhere in this castle, I have no doubt he’s going to receive the same mouthful of feathers you’re forcing on poor Caesar here.”

“Only if Miss Miriam deems it so.” You nodded your head in the skeletal maid’s direction. “Her words are as good as gospel, after all.”

“And yet, each time she speaks, I feel like I’m taking orders from Satan.”

You let out a ghost of a laugh, biting your tongue when your wounds contract and throb.

Her face splits into a smile, and she lets out a short laugh too. Something flits along her face, though, and you get the sense you didn’t hide your pain well enough. The subject is easily danced around; the maid releases her grip on the statue and instead grasps her skirt, lowering into a teasing curtsy. “The name is Robin, milady.” Her eyelashes flutter rapidly and she waggles her fingers in the air, perfectly, in your opinion, mimicking the interactions between royalty that you’ve seen thus far. Haughty, majestic, and filled with intentions barely skin-deep.

You do the same.

She lets your name roll off her tongue a few times, letting it thud against the crisp white walls in her hoarse tone before saying decidedly, “Very fitting.”

Before long, Miss Miriam decides the hallway is clean enough and herds all the maids, the vast majority of them being newcomers like you, out and away into the next wing.

A chill wracks through you when the word “residential” gets passed down the line of one hundred girls, followed by “prince” and “bedroom” and “handsome.” You scan the white, stone columns as you pass, watching them curve into elegant archways shadowed through the frosted windows. This wing is covered in significantly less dust, and a faint scent of roses and pines floats in the air.

You try to flood out the memories, thinking vigorously about the red carpet before you, the soft slap of two hundred clogs, small shuffles and whispers. Everything around you you swallow up whole, eyes wide as though it will help you take in everything and think about nothing. But you cannot avoid it for long; not when you pass by the entrance to the royal throne room, in all its scintillating enormity, golden thrones set with silk, inlaid with gemstones, all wide open spaces.

And hovering above all four was a single, large oil portrait of the living Creel sovereigns.

King Victor, with his light blue eyes caving underneath the lustrous crown, crisp white beard neatly trimmed. His hand hovered over his wife’s shoulder, smile thin and pale.

Queen Virginia, known for her devout faith and kindness, her amber hair falling in ringlets down to her sides. She sat prim and proper on a ruby-cushioned chair, hands folded prettily, eyes dim.

Princess Alice, the spitting image of her mother, bar her father’s eyes and the last twenty years. Second only to her brother in terms of popularity in the kingdom and out, something distinctly complacent set her brows in such a way you knew instantly why she was desirable to royals and dodged by anyone below them.

And then him.

A part of you hadn’t believed Miss Miriam when she’d called him so.

Your Highness.

But as you looked at him now, standing taller than the rest of his blood, proud and ramrod straight, broad shoulders held back by an invisible force, you knew the portraitist had gotten something wrong.

The hair was right; the golden crown of tousled waves, parted neatly and befitting him far more than any scrap of the earth. The lips, pink and pronounced, and the softness of his brow, and, of course, his posture. All perfect.

But it wasn’t Prince Henry. Not quite.

The eyes. Slate blue and cold, cold, cold. How could the artist have not seen that?

Instead, they were warm and too dark a blue. Almost navy, and gentle, and so soft he almost looked like he was frozen in a smile.

No, no. That wasn’t the Prince Henry you had seen.

Where was the darkness? The cruelty? The evil that shadowed every inch of him?

This was some sterilized version of the crown prince, some unattainable, unreliable, utterly purified visage of him being displayed to the kingdoms in pastime.

He radiated divinity, in and out of the portrait. But without that quality of his that effused danger so potently, you could not help but feel the kingdoms were being sold a lie.

The nervous hiss of your name and a strong grip rattling at your wrist spared you from Prince Henry’s trance once more.

Too much power, he had. Too much… something.

“I get it,” Robin whispered, eyes flitting back and forth as the herd marched on, “completely, I understand. But, you cannot just stand and stare at royalty all day. That’s kind of how you…” she gnawed at the inside of her cheek, “you know, got into your situation in the first place. I’d hate to think what Miss Mule would do if she caught you with a Creel of all people.”

You hesitate to tell her that it was, in fact, a Creel that had gotten you in this position. But if Miss Miriam had decided to hide that information from others, you could only guess there was some merit to hiding that you’d thrown your arms around a prince that was already in high demand.

You had wound up committing one of the worst possible treasons with the worst possible man. You supposed it was quite like learning to swim a day prior and diving into a deep lake the very next day—you’d hit rock-bottom, and you’d only just begun.

To think you shouldn’t already be swinging by your neck right now, face blue and tongue swollen, had the head maid hoarded some minute amount of mercy for you.

That, or she’d known your actions had no great impact upon the integrity of the prince’s pursuits—whether it be accidental or otherwise, Miss Miriam viewed yesterday’s nightmare as a tragic attempt to escape your fate, some sick wishing turned to action wherein you wooed the prince and thus he would marry you.

Of all people. You.

You could retch at the thought.

You’d been raised proper, your parents teaching you well about respect, understanding who deserved it and who did not. They had also taught you that people could be born deserving respect, that it was some inherent betterness of their circumstances that, in turn, warranted curtsies and bowed heads.

Which, in your humble opinion, seemed utter tosh, but so be it. For now, you had a head on your shoulders, feasted somewhat regularly, and slept in warmth. Your clothing had not been sewn by your own hands, and your family was receiving enough coins to not worry about your wellbeing.

No matter that they probably should.

Far be it from you to look gift horses in their mouths, but you felt yourself afforded a nice level of circumspection after your back had been torn to ribbons for a mishap over which you had no control.

You didn’t want to marry the prince. You didn’t want to touch him, and you didn’t want to think about him. And, ignoring all the memories of his larger hands, his blue gaze, his golden strands, and how he may haunt you for years to come, you were quite certain you never wanted to see Prince Henry ever again.

Your back twinged in agreement.

The multitude of fluttering pinafores ahead of you slowed their swishing. Clomping clogs eased into a gentle tapping and finally stopped, and the movements were imparted upon the rest of the maids. A smaller form bumped into your back, and you flinched away, spinning and biting back a cry.

A maid a few years younger than you gaped her mouth, innocence and fear mingling in her expression as brown curls fell over her brow. She seemed so much smaller than the others, more unwitting. Your eyes fell to her hand, a clenched fist in the creases of your skirt, as it hesitatingly fell away.

More distanced shuffling disseminated down the corridor, and you watched the assorted heads of hair in front of you split and separate, clinging to either wall, leaving a wide breadth of distance for someone to pass through. Sunlight filtered between the silent shadows of maids and formed a golden glow of a path.

You followed the others and split off to one side, opposite a window, and grasped blindly for Robin’s hand when she didn’t move to follow. A gentle tug at the fabric of your backside conveyed that the other, younger maid had restored her grip.

From your position, the sun blinded you heavily, and you squinted as a yellow shine overtook everything you saw. White spots splattered your vision when you blinked, but you looked past the maids anyway, curiosity jostling its way down the two lines.

“Your Highness.”

So far ahead, you couldn’t see and only heard Miss Miriam and her staunch and clear-cut announcement. That same loyal tone, somewhat saccharine, frayed your nerves in a second.

The prince?

Curtsies flowed like a wave through the maids, and when you bent low, head bowed, Robin and the young maid followed on either side of you, just as gawky. Nobody rose, and, per Miss Miriam’s orders, nobody would rise until the royalty had passed.

But… dear God, wasn’t it an awful affair that you could tell who it was without even looking? That you could feel a quiet sizzle over the rows of women and girls alike, heard the soft, prideful gait of his finely polished boots.

Back in your village, you’d hated how slowly people could walk. How they’d force you to flounder behind them as they puttered, how they could wander one way and then the other, each footstep a guess. Like they had all the time in the world.

You never would have guessed that a fast pace could be just as troubling. Like he couldn’t stand to be in the same corridor with so many servants, Prince Henry was a brisk wind over the ruby carpets. Even so, you could feel the rise and fall of elation, soft gasps partnered with perfectly timed peeks.

He was a sight to behold—that much had been imprinted on your mind. But he couldn’t possibly be as rumpled as he’d been in the depths of the frosty library, hair thoroughly rakish, white tunic clinging to his golden skin. No; royals held a certain standard of propriety, even as they indulged in the most hedonistic of lifestyles. He must be sheathed in some proper velvet tailcoat, and his face must be severe and sharp, slicing along everything he saw.

Breathtaking in an entirely different way, you were sure.

No, you didn’t look. You couldn’t. You can’t.

Not even as his footsteps approach.

You focus your gaze on your swinging braids, watching them refuse to settle against some unknown breeze. A strain forms in your knuckles with how hard you grip your skirt, and your spine throbs with each heartbeat against the tightened back of your uniform.

Prince Henry slows.

The atmosphere tightens around your little grouping of maids, sun soaking into your black clothing so heavily you can barely breathe.  

We must be in front of a door, some corner he needs to turn to. Something.

Some disturbed pulsing blossoms in your gut when he stops just before you, black boots just inches away. Lithe fingers laden with metal rings hover in your vision.

Prince Henry’s too close all over again.

You want to cry out; you want to say nothing and everything. You want to sink into the furthest recesses of your home miles away just as much as you want to stand at the top of a hill and hold your arms out, waiting for it all.  

Your heart is racing—wild, damned little thing. An insufferable hypocrite after all the ways it had condemned him yesterday for what had happened.

Fingertips, gentle and soft as a single breath, rise and brush over your flaming cheekbone.

A tingle of pain jolts through the bruise so suddenly you flinch away, followed by an indifferent grunt that hangs in the air.

No pity in the sound. No remorse. Barely a hint of acknowledgment.

You want to cradle your cheek and press, hard, at the bridge of your nose, will those wobbling tears to stop. His hand hovers again, twitches near, and, when you lean some scant distance away, falls back to his side.

Within that same second, the boots that hadn’t even turned toward you stalk away. Still fast and proud, no more slows and stops. No more grunts.

But, without a doubt, it was Prince Henry. You’d peeked as the other maids had peeked.

You’d done all that they had done, yet you knew that single touch had doomed you.

That must have been his game. A nice bit of teasing for the maid who'd embraced him; let her be thoroughly beaten down to her station. It was some cruel recognition of what happened to you, some silent sanctioning of a proper punishment.  

Servant does a bad thing; servant gets punished by her peer.

Royal approves. No blood on his hands.

You were right, of course. That portrait was missing Prince Henry’s most vital characteristic: Wickedness.

When the maids rise from their curtsies, trembling thighs and huffed breaths, all eyes fall on you. A range of emotions bombard you before you can rub your cheek.

Wonder.

Awe.

Envy.

And—you can only assume from the thundering footsteps—Miss Miriam’s unparalleled rage.

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Thank you so much!! I’m so glad the point was coming across—it’s unedited and I was so tired of looking at it in my wips that I just pressed post😭

These comments are so sweet they made my day!🥹💜💜

Look Me in the Eyes (Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: During naval training, your jet crashed and burned, taking your memories with it. But the lieutenant who saved you seems to know you better than he lets on. The only issue is that he refuses to tell you his name.

A/N: pfft half yall don’t read this anyway so imma just say rooster’s hot, oreosmama out *drops mic*

Word count: 3345

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I just went through your entire master list for haikyu, BNHA, and one punch man. My god you are amazing. You can literally write anything, smut, angst, fluff, yandere!!! All your characterization sat won point and you make YN incredibly relatable. Just wanted to sing your praises and thank you for producing such amazing content! Hope you’re staying safe and healthy!:)

This- this lowkey made me tear up. Comments like this make me want to keep writing, so thank you. Thank you so much for your kind words and compliments, from the bottom of my heart. You seem like an amazingly kind person, and I’m glad you’ve enjoyed reading what I have to offer🥰🥰 I hope you’re staying safe and healthy too💜 Have a great day💖💖

Hey! I would like to request yandere garou from opm hcs or scenario whichever you feel comfortable doing, if your not taking request right now you can just ignore this. I love your garou x Reader stories btw.

(Soft) Yandere Garou Headcanons 

*GIF not mine*

A/N: I’m glad you like them! Also, b r u h, tysm for this request bc ugh, I forgot how much of a babe Garou is. Honestly, I could talk about this boy for hours bc he’s so friggin’ 🥵 (aka this shit’s a lil long). Hope you enjoy! (Side note: It’s a lil more fluffy than anything. Lemme know if you want something darker 😐)

Word count: 1280

He’s definitely a stalker. 

I mean, what else can he be? He’s the feared Hero Hunter, how the hell is he gonna attract you straight up?

Speaking of, this means he totally kidnaps you. You’re, honest to God, terrified of this mf. 

“Please don’t kill me.”

“Angel, I would never. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

Angel

(Side note: any and every guy you’ve ever talked to and/or are close with have mysteriously disappeared for some reason… I wonder why🤔)

He’s addicted to you in almost a childlike way (bc mind you, this fucker’s 18💀)

He’s always looking to please you while you’re locked in his home, since he’s gotta convince you to fall in love with him. Sadly… he’s got like zero experience in that arena.

Aka he won’t touch you often, not unless you explicitly state that you want it, and his idea of romance is just loading you up with gifts. 

Garou loves spoiling you, but I’m gonna be upfront when I say he likes seeing things that claim you as his. 

Deadass, he threatened a jewelry store into making you a necklace with his name on it. (Ofc he makes you wear it, but the only “punishment” you get for not wearing it is him putting it on you anyway while you’re distracted)

Though his main priority is becoming strong, Garou begins to realize that he’s losing will to become strong for himself. Now, he wants to become stronger for you. 

There were a couple times where he almost got his ass reamed by some Class S heroes, but that only made him realize that there are dangers out there he might not be able to protect you from. 

Sometimes you’re just sitting in the abandoned barn Garou hides out in and you can hear him training. Groans and grunts level 100 😳

In all seriousness though, Garou definitely treats you with utmost respect. He understands that you might not like him because he kidnapped you and forced you to stay with him. There are times where you scream and smack at him, and of course deep down he’s hurt, but he would never retaliate. 

Everytime he comes home, it’s always the same greeting. 

“I’m home, angel!”

“Go to hell, asshole!”

Eventually-- eventually-- you start to warm up to him, though, and Garou can see it. He’s an extremely observant person; he notices all your ticks and can read your face like a book, so he can easily tell when you’re starting to… well, at least not hate him as much.

For example, his heart almost burst with joy when one day you almost smiled at the sight of him. He came home from tracking down and researching more heroes to see you staring at your newest gift: a collection of your favorite books from before you were kidnapped. (He had gone to your old home and taken your bookshelf). 

“Hey, angel, do you like it?” he asks excitedly.

Your mouth twitches, and he waits and waits for more, but that’s all he gets. “Yes. Thank you, Garou.”

He went to bed with the biggest grin on his face that night. 

While we’re on the subject, I should note that he doesn’t make you sleep with him. Like I said earlier, he’s not great with romance, and he definitely knows he doesn’t wanna force himself on you and have you hate him forever. 

Garou wants you to fill the hole in his heart. He’s got no family or friends, but he knows he doesn’t need them as long as he has you. He wants you to love him unconditionally, like he never was as a child. 

All righty, let’s hop to it. 

So. Months after he’s taken you, you finally feel yourself falling for him, and seeing how lovingly he treats you, you don’t exactly resist. 

Once again, you’re just sitting in the barn, waiting for him to come home, and when he does, you jump him. 

One small kiss, then he stares at you in surprise. Then another, longer kiss, passionate and filled with want. Then another. Then another. All the way until… 😳 (see “when you hear this mf train” for more info😏)

Ok y’all, don’t get pissy at me, but *cough* breeding kink *cough*

Honestly! You can’t tell me this guy isn’t gonna want kids as soon as he finds his darling.

Can, like, can y’all just humor me for a sec? Okay.

Imagine this: Tareo babysits your kids when he’s older 😌

Akneeways, after he feels like you’ve fallen for him enough that he can trust you, he’ll take you outside. 

(One time, a guy accidentally bumped into you on the street but didn’t apologize. You held Garou back from beating the shit out of him at the time, telling him “it’s fine, it’s fine, I’m okay.” Later, however, Garou comes home with blood splatters in his hair.) 

At one point, he brings you along to meet Tareo. Ofc the boy talks smack, like “Wow, your gf’s as old as you” or “how does someone so pretty fall for your ugly mug.” 

Tbh, you thought Garou was gonna explode on his ass, but your heart warms at the sound of Garou’s snicker and the sight of him ruffling the boy’s hair teasingly. “Shut it, you little runt.” 

Now, Garou’s told you he loved you countless times at this point. He often tells you he loves you before y’all go to sleep, and he even used to do that before you slept in the same bed as him, back when you hated him. But in this moment, it’s the first time that you’ve ever felt something akin to love while watching him. (His face and voice didn’t exactly show it, but there was a sparkle in Garou’s eyes that told you he was excited for you and Tareo to meet.)

And now, it’s time for a lil story. Once again, Garou’s only 18, but it’s questionable whether he even went to high school. Keep that in mind. 

Blood was everywhere. 

Garou had only just woken up to find you, still sleeping with the red liquid slowly pooling around you. 

Oh God.

“YN!” Garou shouts in alarm. 

“Mm, what?” you groan, annoyance tinging your tone at the sudden awakening. 

“YOU’RE BLEEDING!”

“What?” You glance down while Garou jumps out of bed, dashing from the room before returning just as swiftly with his homemade first aid kit. 

“Oh. Garou, it’s fine-”

“JUST STAY AWAKE YN, KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN!”

Your eyebrow twitches in irritation and you squeal when he rips the sheets right off your bare form. With trembling fingers, he prods at your thighs, searching for the wound.

“WHERE’S IT COMING FROM?!”

“There’s no wound.”

“WHERE IS IT?!”

Finally, you smack his hands away and clamber out of bed, hobbling over to the bathroom while clenching your thighs together. 

“I’m on my period, dumbass.” 

As soon as the door shuts behind you, Garou scratches his head. “What’s a period?”

So yes, although Garou loves you deeply and has the body of a Greek god, you have to keep reminding yourself that he kinda dropped out of school just to beat up heroes. It’s okay, you have plenty of time to teach him the ropes of being with you because you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

can i be added to the tag list of your vampire and wizard au with akashi and bokuto?

For sure!

Who Dunnit (Kylo Ren x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Someone left their panties in the control room after what must have been a night of fun and Hux is determined to find out who.

A/N: Small lil thing that I’ve had rolling around in the ol’ hat rack for a while. Hope you like it!

Word count: 643

        “What the hell is this?” Hux’s voice when he was angry was all-too familiar, but today there was an added element of pure abhorrence. 

        Curious, you glanced up from your holopad to whatever the general had screeched about only to widen your eyes at the sight. 

        Panties. 

        More specifically, the black lace panties Kylo had torn off you after last night’s mischievous “rendezvous” in the control room. 

        Fuck.         “Oh-” Hux turned his attention to you and maintained furious eye contact while one index finger continued to point at the pair of destroyed undergarments flung directly behind his main computer. “-Oh, my God, how disgusting!” you choked out, trying to avoid the burning of your cheeks. “Sir, I will take care of that right away for you.” 

        You rose from your chair and took two steps forward only to rethink your plan and grab two number two pencils, reaching for the panties and stabbing them ever so precariously. With pursed lips, you lifted them up at just the perfect height to make awkward eye contact with Hux over the torn waistband. 

        One lone eye twitched while the other was so wide you could almost see your panicking reflection in his cornea. “Burn them,” he hissed, “and never speak of this again.”

        “Y-yes sir,” you nodded, “of course, sir.” As fast and discreetly as you could, you speedwalked over to the doors that led into the hallway.

        “YN, wait!” Hux’s back was to you as you flinched and turned to face him.

        “Yes, sir?” 

        Fuck fuck fuck.

        “You hear any word of who might’ve done this, you bring it straight to me, understood?”

        Hallelujah.

        “Yes, sir.” Without another word, you dashed into the hallway, hightailing it as fast as you could run with your two arms precariously holding your own panties between a couple of pencils before you crashed into something solid.

        “Oof,” you coughed, bouncing back and shaking away the disorientation of the collision, only to meet eyes with the very culprit.

        “YN.” Kylo acknowledged your presence curtly as he had agreed to do for the past few months since your relationship had started. With his mask removed, you could almost see his eyes bug out of his brain when he noticed just what exactly you had been holding.

        “Is that…?”

        “Yep.” You nodded with nervous eyes. 

        “Yours?”

        “Yep.”

        “From yesterday?”

        “Mmhmm.”

        “Where did-”

        “The control room.” 

        “Fuck.” Kylo ran a hand through his hair and breathed out a sigh, eyes still locked on the panties you were currently stabbing. “Who-”

        “Hux.”

        “Damn.” He nodded and gestured to you. “Does he know they’re-”

        “No.”

        “Thank God.”

        “Yeah,” you scoffed and shook your head, trying to ignore the way even the sight of Kylo left you feeling. “Well, I better-”

        “Yes, of course.” Once more, he nodded, gesturing to the panties. “You… do that.”

        Awkward silence settled around the two of you as you watched the other over the outstretched pencils. Kylo’s eyes flickered with something more than you could decipher at such a moment while you squeezed your thighs together. 

        Finally, he made the first move to turn away and stepped aside to let you pass. 

        As you did so, a single hand snagged your hip to stop you in place before a pair of lips planted on the skin just above your collarbone. 

        “Same time tonight?” Kylo whispered, kissing the mark you had tried so hard to cover up. 

        “Yes,” you hummed, tilting your head to let his lips travel further up your already marked neck.

        “Same place?”

        “No!”