Maid For Him (Oikawa X Reader/Slight Yandere)

oh my godddd I just BINGED your entire Gaz series and I s2g you have me chewing drywall. you write him so GOOD and Reader is so cute and your writing style is so!!! you WORK this prose, you put the work in baby and it shows!!!

love a Gaz who is so polite and smart and witty and a little unhinged...... (love your Soap too, btw, like let me sew you up some more bb)

honestly so glad I happened to stumble upon this novella of yours literally two hours ago with all parts complete, because if I'd had to wait for updates I would've gone feral. brooooo ilu ilu ilu

okay I'm honestly so happy about this message because!!!! you're the first to comment about how my writing changes near the end of the fic and I'm so thankful for that bc i keep trying to make this change to get better by using other people's work as inspo so tysm for this comment🥹💜

people's work i used as inspo for this (who btw have writing that is much more consistently beautiful and who i will always look up to):

@ceilidho for her bear shifter price au

AND

@boneblushed for her second-chance rafe fic

if there's anyone to thank for having this fic fully formed in ten days instead of on hiatus indefinitely it's these two. Their work inspired me to write better---and to finish that final part off with a bang.

nonetheless anon I am so glad u enjoyed my stories!! thank you for taking the time to comment on my work ilu u r so sweet and i hope u have the best day🥰

Are there any good x reader authors out there, or is everyone still being sold as a sex slave to one direction?

I just cached up with the one punch manga and ahhhhhh spoiler alert I can't get enough of garou I feel like they made him purposefully more and more hotter each chapter and his teamwork x rivalry with metal bat ahhhhh and so my brain rot for the two them just won't stop so I'm here to request more of that yandere metal bat and garou x reader please 🙏🙏😭😩❤️✋

Ayo any fics with that pairing being yandere is honestly such a gold mine istg. absolutely love the dynamic between those two and how they both have soft spots for children.

no ideas for a full hc of that, but now I can only think my next logical step for this group would be babies??? On God, can you imagine how protective they would be if you were pregnant with one of theirs? they would literally orbit around you whenever you left the house.

plus garou's totally the one that would like stick headphones on your stomach and then try and talk through a connected microphone to the baby. not even like reading children's books or anything but literally ranting about his day and how annoying heroes can be.

metal bat's in the other room like "i shoulda killed this mf when i had the chance" but he's got his own dibs on feeling your stomach for kicks first.

Oh Jesus this one just came to me but can you imagine the staring contest that would happen when you're giving birth and you're squeezing both of their hands so hard and they're just combatting to see which one will pussy out and cry from the pain first. legendary.

no cap but when both garou and metal bat are trying to learn how to wrap a diaper they would like squat in the corner of the house hovering menacingly over like a freshly unswaddled watermelon. then they're just mystified on what to do first bc they both wanna act like they know what they're doing but they're not gonna swoop in until the other one tries it. So they're both just squatting there staring at a watermelon half in a diaper, grumbling creepily to themselves about what to do first.

Eventually (of course) Uncle Tareo and Auntie Zenko are invited over to see the baby. cue entirely unnecessary christmas-card photos in February.

One Sorry Idiot in a Tree (Bakugou x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: After Bakugou saw you “flirt” with Kirishima, he wasn’t very happy with you. Gee, I wonder what you could do to make him forgive you. On a completely unrelated note, did you know there was a tree outside his window?

A/N: Just some more writer’s block killin’, don’t mind me. Got this idea from @otpdisaster​ with this prompt. Hope you like it!

Word count: 2305

        It began with small pebbles.

       Dink.

       Dink.

       After twenty minutes of that, you ran out of rocks. Now, you scaled the tree next to the dormitory building of Class 1-A like Rapunzel’s prince, prepared to get Bakugou’s attention by any means necessary. A branch, not exactly sturdy-looking, but enough, extended out perfectly to your boyfriend’s window. Before you tapped on it, you grimaced at the sight of the small cracks you had left in the glass from rock-throwing. 

       Oops.

       The night was cold but the full moon provided enough light for you to koala-climb your way across the tree branch to his window, hanging on for dear life whenever it swayed in the wind. The bark made indents in your hands from you gripping it like no tomorrow, but you were desperate to speak with him. Finally, you made across enough to reach out with one trembling arm. 

       Tap tap.

       “Why did he have to live on the fourth floor?” you mutter to yourself shakily, knocking on the glass once more before pulling back and clinging to the tree as evil winds from Satan himself tried to blow you up and away. So… guess I have a fear of heights now.

       At last, the curtains covering Bakugou’s window were ripped away as the blond glared out into the night, only for his eyes to widen in surprise.

       “YN?!” he exclaimed. Or at least you think he did. The thickness of the building muffled his words, so it was actually more like “Mphfmpfhmlpfhf?” He was now enraged and shouting at you through the pane, eyes glaring furiously in true Bakugou fashion. He was about ready to throw hands, approaching your form with heavy stomps you could hear from all the way outside, but he… you know, couldn’t reach you. 

       Throughout this whole fiasco, you were chuckling under your breath while watching him like a wild gorilla in a zoo enclosure. Then suddenly, Bakugou’s expression saddened and he withdrew from the window, sitting on his bed and just staring at you with arms hanging motionlessly at his side. You figured he was bummed he couldn’t beat the shit out of you when you were swaying back and forth on a forty-foot tree. You puffed a warm breath on the glass and reached out with a trembling hand, shakily writing “r u ok?” backwards. 

       Bakugou’s brows furrowed as he read the note (you wrote the “k” wrong) before scoffing and hissing words at you. Either he hadn’t figured out you couldn’t hear him, or this was his last push for you to learn how to read lips. Either way, you were over it. You shook your head and pointed to your ear, only to scream in fright when you lost balance and almost dropped to your chilly, forty-foot death. Bakugou jumped up from his bed and sprinted toward you, his palms slamming against the glass barrier while he shouted your name in a panic. 

       You, on the other hand, prayed to every god above and under the sun while you swung back and forth, hanging upside down and hugging the tree branch tightly to your chest.

       “Oh, son of a bitch, thank God!” you laugh in relief before wiggling yourself upright on the thin, outstretched bark. Bakugou’s forehead slapped against the window as he sighed thankfully, his breath causing the pane to fog. He caught sight of this and wrote you a message with a clenched jaw. 

       “R u ok???” In his haste, he had forgotten to write it backwards, and you giggled at the sight before nodding. He narrows his eyes at you and flips you off. You laugh and do the same while straddling the tree branch, clouds streaming from your mouth every time you breathe with the chilly temperatures. 

       “Goddamnit it’s freezing out here,” you mumble, teeth chattering. Normally, you would hug yourself and rub your arms up and down to gather warmth, but right now… no. Never. Yes, you were the idiot who climbed a tree to ask her boyfriend for forgiveness, but you weren’t the idiot who died falling out of a tree after climbing it to ask for forgiveness. Stupidity was your style, but dying stupidly was just pitiful. 

       Ever so slowly, you scooched your way down the branch, holding in a breath as it dipped with your weight while you reached out to write another message. “I’m sorry.”

       The blond read the note while a muscle in his jaw twitched. His arms hung limply at his side once more, but his hands still curled into fists at the words. With glowing, scarlet eyes, he snarled at you and plumped down into his spinny desk chair, fingers gripping the arm rests tightly.

       “At least he didn’t close the blinds yet.” Your chest fills with hope and you smile gently, wiping away the old message and drawing a new one.

       “I didn’t mean to piss you off.” 

       Your brain hurt from the amount of effort you had to put into writing that whole spiel backwards, but he was worth it. Your fingers turning blue? Yeah, that was kind of a problem. You blow hot air on the one hand before transferring and blowing on the other, watching and waiting for Bakugou’s reaction as you do. 

       His eyes run over the note once, then twice, then one more time until you realize he’s actually watching your form and rolling his eyes. Still, the blinds remain open, and you whisper a “Yes!” Extending your arm once again, you write another message. 

       “I love u.” You sketch a heart along with it, although it looks more like a fat, seated camel thanks to your trembling hands. 

       The message, however, still pleases the furious boyfriend, and you’d like to think he had whipped out his phone and taken pictures of you to remind himself on a terrible day that you loved him dearly. You know, rather than the less desirable, more realistic theory that he was going to blackmail you with it later and present it to his friends.

       “Oh, fuck you, dickhead!” you shout at the window, shaking a middle finger at him as emphatically as you can. Shit, why aren’t there any other physical gestures of hatred? My finger’s getting cold. It was getting more of a work-out than the rest of your hands, so you supposed you couldn’t complain too much. With Bakugou as your boyfriend, you were surprised your middle fingers didn’t have six-packs by now.

       Ooh, speaking of six-packs.

       The blond cackled in his room while reclaiming his seat, the motion causing his shirt to fly up slightly and reveal- Jesus fuck. Who gave him permission to have that?

       Shaking away the distraction, you give him a sarcastic smile and laugh before writing one last time. 

       “Ok, so do u forgive me?”

       You lean back and huff, waiting for his response while he assesses the message. At last, he purses his lips and rises slowly from the chair. The light glowing from his room pushed away the darkness around you enough for you to inspect your bluing fingers while you waited for a response. 

        Inside the warm, toasty building, Bakugou scoffed at your trembling form. That didn’t stop the fond smile from growing on his face, but maybe, just maybe you deserved it this round. Ah, fuck it. His eyes glinted when he came up with the perfect message.

       “Yes, I love u too.” 

       However, halfway through drawing this on the slightly-chilled glass that froze his precious fingertips, your form disappeared from his peripheral vision. 

       What.

       Bakugou’s face turned into pure panic when he spotted the cracked, jagged edges of a broken tree branch in your place. 

       “Oh shit! YN!” 

       Your boyfriend charged down the stairwell, loud curses trailing behind him in echoes as he busted ass down the steps. At last, the door was in sight as he blasted through it and out into the dark night, setting off the occasional explosion to light up his surroundings. Then he spotted your form, silent and unmoving next to a broken tree branch. 

       “YN!” the blond roared, sprinting towards you at break-neck speed and dropping on his knees next to you. Your eyes were shut and your lips were barely open, releasing small puffs of air every few seconds. Still, you didn’t make a sound, even when Bakugou patted you anxiously on the cheek. 

       “YN wake up, I swear to God.” You didn’t respond. He fell back on his knees and reached up to his scalp, hands digging in and yanking on the strands frustratedly.

       “Fuck, YN, please!” 

       Nothing. Tears pricked his eyes.

       “Come on! I forgive you, just please come back!” Your eyes peeled open at that and you let out a snort. 

       “Seriously, I have to fall out of a tree to get you to forgive me? You’re kind of a dic- foof.” Any air in your lungs was forced out as Bakugou snatched up your cold body and held you close, squeezing you tighter and tighter with every passing second. It was warm at first, so you relaxed into it, but then it started to feel like a strangling.

       “O-kay,” you choked out, patting his back, “I yield, I yield.” He held you impossibly closer just one more second and your eyes almost bulged out of your head before he leaned away, glaring at you with damp cheeks. 

       “Don’t ever do that again.” 

       “Do what? Flirt with Kirishima or fall out of a tree?”

       “Both.” He avoided your tender gaze and tensed up when your hands palmed his cheeks, wiping away any and all stray tears. 

       “Okay,” you whispered. “I promise.” 

       “Good.” He pushed away your grasp and rose up off the ground, glaring at his feet while holding out a hand. “Now come on. Your hands are fucking icicles.”

       You scoff. “Yeah, no thanks to you, dipwad.” Nonetheless, you accept his offer and stand up, cringing at his white-knuckled grip on your hand while he leads you into the dorm building. 

       “I didn’t ask you to scale a fucking tree to beg for forgiveness,” he grumbles.

       “I didn’t ask you to get all jealous and mopey after I asked Kirishima for a pencil!” you counter.

       “You didn’t ask for a pencil, you asked for his wood!” You can’t help but snicker at the memory.

       “Hehe, yeah. You should’ve seen how red his face got, too! Especially when I reached over and stole it.” You smack your knee while wheezing with laughter. “He looked so fucking scared!” 

       “It’s not that funny.” Bakugou shook his head and rolled his eyes. Your hands were so concerningly blue that all he could focus on was leading you back to his room.

       “-and his face was all like, ‘Oh shit!’” Your amused howls echoed throughout the dorm halls before stopping suddenly as the smile dropped off your instantly serious face. “I think the cold is getting to me.”

       “Yeah, no shit,” Bakugou grumbles, kicking open his door and slamming it shut after tugging you inside. “Strip.”

       “Excuse me?”

       “You’re excused. Now strip.” Your brows furrowed and you smacked his chest lightly. 

       “Listen up, pervert. I’m not stripping for you or anyone el- O-okay.” Mid-sentence, Bakugou had whipped out his trump card on you. Now, he stood shirtless and pantless in the middle of his room, giving you an expectant look. My man is hella ripped. You gulped while eye-fucking him. You wished there was no eye.

       “Who’s the pervert now?” he smirked, taking a seat on the far end of the bed so his back faced you. “There, I’m not looking. Now strip.” 

       To be fair, you knew there was some logic to his words. There was something about having to be completely nude, or at least in drier clothes, when someone was trying to fend off hypothermia. You didn’t care to think too much about it. Right now, your herculean boyfriend was demanding you to hop into bed (partially) naked with him. You weren’t always stupid. 

       After tossing your clothes into his laundry basket near the door, you slipped under the covers and poked him in his sturdy back. Are back muscles a kink? Shit, those temperatures out there had really messed with your head. Or maybe it was the fall? He got the message and joined you under the blankets, his arms instinctively wrapping around your frozen waist and pulling you close. You sigh and nuzzle into his warm chest, relaxing easily thanks to his body heat. Finally having a moment of clarity, you decided to apologize. 

       “I really am sorry for pissing you off like that.” You stared deeply into his eyes while nervously picking at the bedsheets. 

       “It’s okay.” 

       “It was pretty romantic when I climbed that tree for you, though, wasn’t it?” Bakugou sighed and tugged you closer by your cold hips. 

       “Yes, yes it was-”

       “I knew it!” you shouted, wiggling next to him in bed with victory. 

       “Shut up over there!” Kirishima shouted from next door. Your eyes widened with shame.

       “Sorry!” you shouted back before groaning and running your hands down your warmed face, peeking out from in between fingers when Bakugou released a small chuckle. The noise was deep and melodic, and you were addicted to it the instant you heard it.

       Yes, you were an idiot. And you would gladly stay one if you got to end every day with that laugh in your ears. 

       You were his idiot.

Did you have a quotev under this same username at some point?

Hmm I don’t think so, but then again I made like a bajillion accounts when I was younger. Who really knows🤷‍♀️

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.

Previous    Masterlist    Next

The Deal (Kuroo x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Kuroo needs your help wooing the pain in the ass cheerleader that’s your lab partner. But what if Kuroo wasn’t actually trying to pursue her?

A/N: Fuck me, it’s five am, why am I still here. I’m tired af, but fuck it, I finally wrote 5k words. I hope y’all like it!

Word count: 5062

        “YN YLN.”

        “Here.”

        Like your previous two years at Nekoma, you expected your final semesters to pass quickly and be relatively painless.

        “Psst, hey Takahashi!” Sadly, your chemistry lab partner’s relentless pursuer made that expectation all but wishful thinking.

        “Kuroo’s trying to get into your pants again,” you relay the message to her and roll your eyes when she releases a high-pitched giggle. 

        Sakura Takahashi was the bubbly captain of the cheer squad. Every day, she awoke with sunshine and rainbows outside her window. Every night, she was cuddled to sleep by a pack of kittens and puppies. Her constant happiness killed your vibe, especially when she would skip into the classroom with a smile brighter than your future and proceed to beg you for yesterday’s homework. She was also gorgeous, with legs for days and endlessly-flowing black hair. You used this to your advantage whenever bullies came around; she was a great distraction. 

        “Oh, isn’t he just so hot!” Takahashi sighs dreamily, biting her lip before glancing over at the bedheaded Casanova on your other side. 

        Tetsurou Kuroo was the captain of the boys’ volleyball club. If something had two legs and walked, you bet your ass he’s put his dick in it. He was a player with a signature smirk to match, and the last target on his fuck-it list for high school was your airhead lab partner. 

        You, on the other hand, were the unlucky wall that sat between their daily sexual tension. No matter how many times you begged Mr. Suzuki to switch partners, desks, or even planets, he wouldn’t let you move. You guessed, in some ways, he was also against the inevitable screwing of the two lovebirds. 

        “We will have a pop quiz tomorrow.” The class groans exasperatedly and the teacher nods along, “Yes, yes, I know. You’re all so busy with your jobs and your overtime and your wives and kids- oh wait,” he narrows his eyes at the class. “Don’t be such whiners. Study what we’ve gone over this week and you’ll do fine. Class dismissed.”

        The bell rings like music to your ears, and you replace it with actual music in your ears, quickly snapping on your headphones and heading out for the day. One of the daily occurrences you’ve caught onto over the past few months is that Kuroo likes to flirt with Takahashi directly over your head. One time, he literally folded his arms on top of your head and leaned over to chat with her. 

        Kuroo was growing to be the bane of your high school existence. 

        Huffing a sigh, you scramble out of the class as fast as humanly possible, not wanting to hear even a lick of today’s banter. However, something seems different at the moment. Kuroo’s not stuck back in Mr. Suzuki’s room with his ass plopped on your desktop. Instead, he’s got a hand wrapped around your upper arm, halting you from a quick escape. 

        “What do you want?” you hiss, tugging yourself away and pulling your headphones down around your neck. He smirks at you and leans in closer to your face. 

        “I think you know exactly what I want.” Totally unphased, you blink at him once while pursing your lips. Suggestively, he waggles his eyebrows at you. 

        “Don’t you dare say it-”

        “Takahashi.”

        “Oh fuck me.”

        “Just give me a time and place, baby.” While he simpers at you, you can only muster a snarl in return. 

        “Don’t call me that.”

        “You got it, Kitten.”

        Scoffing, you turn to walk away, but a hand snags your wrist and spins you right back. Kuroo’s smug look falters at the sight of your furious glare. 

        “Oh, for God’s sake!” You yank your hand out of his grip. “What do you want?” you seethe through your teeth. 

        “Like I said before, I want Takahashi,” he shrugs. You shake your head at him. 

        “My God, you are such a douche.” 

        “Oh c’mon YN, please?” He pouts and folds his hands pleadingly with well-executed puppy-dog eyes. You wonder how many girls that’s worked on before. 

        “Why should I help you?” With a deadpan look, you fold your arms indignantly. 

        “Because I know you’re a 4.0 student,” your lips quirk at this, “and I also know you suck at chemistry.” The trump card widens your eyes and you waver for just a second.

        “Pshh, how do you know that?” Your recovery is about as smooth as sandpaper.

        “Did you forget that you almost burned Suzuki’s eyebrows off in front of the whole class?” Eye twitching at the memory, you give in. 

        “Fine, what do you want me to do?” 

        “I thought you’d never ask.”

                                ***

        “I think sodium needs to go in there.” 

        “Okay.” 

        It’s the first day of your deal, and while you didn’t believe Kuroo at first when he said Takahashi was a stickler, you guessed you understood it now. After all, you had never seen them go any farther than words. Not that you wanted to see anything more, because gross. 

        In the end, Kuroo wanted to woo her like the sixties, and the first idea on his agenda was a classic. 

        “All right, now add a drop of water,” you instruct, watching carefully to make sure she doesn’t implode the entire school. A sudden jab in your side makes you choke on nothing and you glare over at your partner in crime. 

        ‘Do it!’ he mouths, frantically waving at you to get a move on. Revenge is a priority to you, however, so you rear back and smack his arm with a glare. Satisfied at the awkward squawk that escapes his mouth, you swivel back to your lab monkey and brace for social discomfort.

        “So, uh, Takahashi, do you like flowers?” 

        “What?” She shifts her gaze from the liquid-filled beakers to your face and flinches at the sight of your stiff, forced smile. You’re baring your teeth like a chimpanzee preparing to die, but Takahashi takes this in another direction. She’s a birdbrain, remember?

        “Oh, YN, I’m sorry,” She smiles pityingly at you and pats your shoulder in what she believes is a comforting way. The sound of her acrylic nails scraping your uniform actually makes your skin crawl and you lean away from the touch, still smiling like a maniac. “I just don’t feel that way about you.” 

        A muffled cackle sounds from behind you while your face falls. “Oh,” you mutter, teeth gnawing against each other. “That’s not really what I meant-”

        “It’s just that I’m kind of into guys.” She surveys your expression for any sign of a breakdown, but the only thing she spots is your nostrils flaring. Chuckles are still rumbling in the desk beside you.

        “Yeah, Takahashi, that’s okay,” you emphasize with a nod and wide eyes. “Now what fucking flowers do you like?” 

        “Oh!” Like a child with toys, she is instantly distracted from the painful previous events. The bell rings while she taps her chin, and she lifts her bag over her shoulder while responding, “I quite like petunias!”

        While she exits the classroom, you spin in your seat to face Romeo. 

        “She likes petunias.” You’re practically foaming at the mouth, and Kuroo’s cheeks are burning from his front row seat to the show. 

        “Well thanks for that.” He snickers and you flip him the bird while gathering your things. “Oh, and YN?”

        “Hmm?” 

        He pushes in his chair before winking at you. “I would have paid to see that,” he whispers. 

        “Fucking perv!” 

                                ***

        Two more weeks have passed of you being Kuroo’s sidekick in Operation: Smash and Dash and he keeps half-assing his part. Either that or he’s a shit teacher. 

        “Oh, come on YN, you aren’t that stupid. Surely you know the formula for…” his voice blends with the crickets chirping outside of his window as you zone out. Takahashi still acts the same with him, you still sit and stew in the middle of the pair, and Kuroo keeps begging you to help him get her. Nothing has changed, so what was the point of even trying to continue-

        “YN!” Your teacher, “Mr. Kuroo” as the creep prefers to be called, snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Pay attention in class!” You lazily drag your eyes away from the moon and yawn in his direction. You’re laying flat on your stomach on his carpet and he sits across from you cross-legged with a finger incessantly tapping on your textbook.

        “This isn’t a class, and you’re a terrible teacher, Kuroo.” 

        “Mr. Kuroo to you, Kitten.” He winks and pushes his glasses up his face before running a hand through his rat’s nest. Scoffing, you roll over and stare at his ceiling, only to get patted on the nose with a ruler. 

        “Ow,” you grumble, rubbing the injured area. “You’re an abusive teacher too.” 

        “Only to bad students.” His words cause a palpable shift. The atmosphere of the room suddenly grows ten times more intense and you trace your fingers on the ground nervously. Ever so slowly, Kuroo places two hands on either side of your head, effectively trapping you. He leans over you, and even though he’s upside down, his smirk still manages to take your breath away. 

        “Are you a bad student, Kitten?” 

        Oh, so that’s how he gets all the girls. Interesting. 

        You scoff abruptly and push his face away while he releases a surprised “mfphm!” Ignoring the heat that has blossomed on every inch of your body, you sit back up and pivot to confront him. The textbook between you is no longer forgotten as you snatch it up and point to a random page while avoiding his gaze. 

        “I don’t understand this.”

        “I don’t understand you,” he grumbles under his breath, accepting the book and adjusting his glasses with a twitching jaw. 

        “Excuse me?” 

        “This problem’s easy,” he stares at you from above the rims, “I thought you were a good student?” 

        “I am smarter than you and your bloodline will ever be, dillweed.” With a huff, you cross your arms and avoid his sceptical gaze. “I just… don’t understand the question.” 

        “It’s simple chemistry!” 

        “Yeah, well I just don’t get it! I’m not familiar with this kind of chemistry….”

        Kuroo’s eyes twinkle at your admission and he scoots just a tad closer. “Then I’ll just have to teach you.”

                                ***

        “YN!” Kuroo whisper-yells your name during the middle of notes and you choose to ignore him. 

        “Psst, YN!” He’s louder this round, capturing more pairs of eyes than your own. Luckily, you both sit in the back of the class so the teacher can barely hear you. The feeling of Takahashi’s gaze urges you to continue the ruse, and you bite your lip while squinting at the marked-up white board. This must be how your mom feels before she turns her radio down so she can “see the road.” 

        Sadly, your effort in focusing diminishes in an instant when your carefree cohort brandishes his weapon of choice: a pencil. As he prepares to land a devastating blow to your side, you seize the offender, accidentally brushing his hand during the event, and snap it in two before setting it back on his desk calmly. 

        Kuroo gawks at you in your peripheral vision before lightly muttering “Rude!” 

        “Hehe, loser,” you snicker before sticking your tongue out at him. 

        “YLN!” Mr. Suzuki places his hands on his hips as he shakes his head at you. “Please stop distracting Kuroo and Takahashi!” 

        “Sorry sir!” you nervously respond, hurriedly grabbing your own pencil and returning to your paper. The words still haunt you, as you have always hated being scolded by others. As they repeat like a chorus in your head, you finally catch on one name. Wait, Takahashi? With a gulp, you barely tilt your head to get a glimpse of your lab partner. Her jaw is clenched and her eyes are lit like an angered bonfire. 

        Woah, what’s up with her? You keep your gaze on her even as the bell chimes out, signalling the end of class. She seems unlike her usual self as she shoves her papers into her backpack before zipping it up and stomping out into the hall. Now that you think about it, she hasn’t asked for your homework in a while either…. I wonder if something happened-

        “YN, finally you can pay attention to me now!” Kuroo slams his hands down on your desk and leers over you. 

        “Wow, sounds like you’re getting a little needy,” you relax back into your chair and cross your arms. “Didn’t know you liked me that much.”

        “Neither did I.”

        “What?”

        “Anyways,” he waves his hands dismissivley, avoiding your eyes to take a seat at Takahashi’s desk, “I was thinking that since we already have to spend so much time together because you’re shit at school-”

        “It’s just chemistry!” He places a hand over your mouth to stop your vexed screech. 

        “-I was thinking,” he continues, “you should become our team manager so you don’t have to walk over to my house all the time. It’s kinda dangerous, don’t you think?” Like anybody would, you lick his hand in an effort to drive him away, but he raises his eyebrows back, quirking up a corner of his mouth.

        You sneer in disgust at his action before shoving his hand away. “Fucking perv.”

        “I prefer to think of it as sexy, but back to the less-fun topic. What do you think?” There’s something unfamiliar about his face; it seems almost… apprehensive in a way. Shaking away the thought, you tap your chin contemplatively at his proposal. 

        “I mean, I guess that’s a good idea,” his eyes glimmer at your words and his knee starts to bounce, “Plus my mom would like how safe it is. Sure, I guess I could do that,” you shrug at last and Kuroo’s face lights up. 

        “Sounds good,” his voice is surprisingly nonchalant compared to his body language, “I’ll introduce you to the coaches and get this show on the road.” 

        “Sounds good,” you parrot, grabbing your bag before you’re suddenly smacked with a memory. “Hey wait!” You capture Kuroo’s rather muscular bicep in your grasp to stop him from leaving. As he looks at you, his eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. “How are things going with Takahashi?”

        His face falls and he glances down at your hand, which you swiftly pull away from his arm like he burned you. 

        “Sorry,” you mutter, shifting from side to side on your feet, “it’s just that I haven’t seen you two talk in a while. Did something happen?” 

        Kuroo’s nose wrinkles before he plasters a smirk on his face, casually settling a hand on his hip. “Nothing you need to worry about. Although, now that I think about it, I could use some more advice.” You smile in relief and nod your head. Even though you had initially hated the pair, Kuroo was slowly becoming your friend, and you were glad nothing had deterred him from his goal. It was still a goal that repulsed you, sure, but you wanted to help him. You wanted to keep helping him. 

        “Of course, what’s up?”

        “What are some things that girls like to do on dates and stuff? You know, if you could try to think like a normal girl for a second.” Your jaw drops with a gasp while he bursts into a maniacal cackle, and you don’t hesitate to smack his chest harshly. 

        “You’re such a dick!”

        “And you’re painful, oww!” Smiling victoriously at the sight of him rubbing his stomach, you ignore his pout in favor of placing your chin in your hand. 

        “I don’t really know, I guess. I kind of don’t have experience…” you trail off when you remember who you’re talking to. Kuroo glances up at you confused before he processes your words and his mouth forms an “o.”

        “Aww, YN, am I gonna have to show you what a first date is like?” he simpers.

        “No! Shut up! Just buy her more petunias and you’ll be fine!” You try to escape the room as fast as possible, but Kuroo’s lanky body blocks the exit, arms and legs both spread out to cover the area. 

        “Oh c’mon, I was just kidding,” he chuckles dismissively. “Now that I think about it, what flowers do you like?”

        “Are there any flowers that you’re allergic to?” 

        “Ouch, gee YN you’re feisty today.” He waggles a finger at you. “I bet you’re more of a rose girl anyways. You seem like the type to….” You’ve mastered the skill of zoning out Kuroo’s incessant rambling as you observe him from multiple angles. You even squat down to see if you could wiggle out through his legs. Nope. Looks like it’s going to be a straight take down.

        You take a few steps back and kick your feet like a bull. It’s your lucky day too; Kuroo’s wearing his red volleyball jacket, and he makes a perfect target. His mouth is still chattering nonstop, but you can tell his face is growing more and more confused at your reaction. Finally, when you feel like you’ve revved up enough, you make your move. 

        “Chargeeee!” 

        Kuroo falls to the ground in the hallway with an “oof” and you land on top of him, one leg on either side of his torso. 

        “What the hell, Kitten?!” The nickname slips out in the heat of the moment but you don’t bother to correct him. Instead, you pat the side of his face and clamber off him, not hesitating to use his sturdy chest as a boost onto your feet. You're still towering over him, and Kuroo’s face flushes at a certain display you're giving him. You haven’t even noticed; you’re still pounding on your chest like a gorilla while hooting nonsensically to celebrate your triumph. 

        “Umm, YN?”

        “I’m pretty sure that’s what rugby is like.”

        “Hey Kitten.”

        “I would be amazing at that sport, let’s be honest.” You step away and off to the side, only to peer down curiously at a tomato-themed Kuroo whose eyes are completely unfocused. 

        “Umm, did I tackle you too hard?” You wave a hand in front of his face, but he doesn’t move a muscle. “Hey Rooster, did I break you?”

        “YN?”

        “Yeah?”

        “You do know you’re wearing a skirt, right?” You chuckle. 

        “Umm yeah, Kuroo, they’re kind of mandatory.” 

        “Oh good, I’m just making sure you’re fully aware of what just happened.” Your forehead creases as you tug him up onto his feet. 

        “What do you mean? I just took you out like a pro-footballer, what are you talking about?” 

        “Nothing, Kitten,” he sniggers, ruffling your hair before you bat his hand away. “I’ll talk to the coaches about letting you manage, okay?”

        “Okay,” you nod, still confused, “just be sure to get checked for a concussion too. You’re acting weird.”

        “Aye aye, captain.” He mockingly salutes with a smug smile before walking away. Those words, however, they were… familiar. 

        Oh shit. You gasp in horror. “You saw my Spongebob underwear?!”

        “Aww, don’t be one of those girls, YN,” he calls out, discreetly speeding up his strides, “They’re called panties.”

        “You sick fuck!”

                                ***

        You never realized how often Kuroo practiced until you became the volleyball manager. It was every night, and more often than not, you got tired just watching them. 

        “Five more laps, boys!” 

        However, you did have to admit Kuroo was noticeably different during these times. He was less of a womanizer and more of a leader, and you couldn’t help but wonder if any girls he had been with had seen this side of him. In this way, he seemed more redeemable, more worth knowing. 

        “YN, can you grab us some waters?” Just as whiny, though. 

        You were still attempting to get used to the feeling of being called upon like a waitress every two minutes. The sweaty boys asked for this and that, and you missed the days when you had first met them. Weeks ago, they used to fall at your feet and offer to do everything for you. It felt good to be the center of attention, although apparently Kuroo gave them a stern talking to at some point, and now they don’t even dare to speak to you. Shame. 

        “Hey, Kitten,” the captain jogged over to you, slowly wiping the sweat off his face with a towel you instinctively tossed him the minute he approached. “We’re finished up now, are you ready to go?”

        “Oh, sorry Tetsu, I guess I forgot to tell you,” you wave away his offer and smile apologetically, “I’m actually going out with someone tonight, so we can take the night off chemistry. You’re off the hook for the day.” Honestly, you expected him to be pleased. He seemed to get more frustrated with you recently, even though you were understanding more and more of the topics in the textbook. But his reaction was… explosive, to say the least. 

        “What?! Who the fuck asked you out?! Who?!” With narrowed eyes, he scrutinized your face with folded, bulky arms. You flinch at his sudden outburst, and so does the rest of the team. Throwing a reassuring smile their way, you pull Kuroo over into an emptier corner of the gym to discuss the matter privately.

        “Hey, crazy, calm it. It’s not a date date, it’s just a hang out,” you shrug.

        “With who?” he growls. 

        You raise a brow at the act before rolling your eyes. “My God, Tetsurou, I’m just going to hang out with Takahashi! She said she wanted to talk about something-”

        “No!” He instantly grabs you by your shoulders at the words. “Don’t go. You can’t talk to her.” 

        “Why not?” His overreactions are concerning you, and you slowly peel off his grip before asking, “Did something happen between you two?”

        “No! Never!”

        “Never? Do you still need help?”

        “No!” He exclaims once more and you give him a look that tells him to shut his piehole just a bit. With a huff, he nods in understanding and lowers his tone. “No, I don’t really need your help anymore. Not with her.”

        “Oh,” your face falls and you bite your lip, “So does that mean we can’t hang out anymore?”

        “No!”

        “Is that your favorite word?”

        “N-” he cuts himself off in a scoff before shaking his head at you. “No,” he snickers, “it’s not, Kitten. Just, be careful with Takahashi, all right?”

        “Okay dad.” You roll your eyes.

        “It’s Daddy to you, Kitten.”

        “Shut up, you perv!” You smack his chest with a giggle and he chuckles along with you. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you huff at the time and murmur, “Hey, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nods with a solemn smile.

        “All right, Kitten-”

        “YN.”

        “-Kitten, be careful.” For the first time in your life, you see Kuroo hug someone. And it’s you. His slim but powerful arms wrap around your waist and he tugs you into his warm, sweaty chest, ducking his head into your neck and sniffing your hair. You would say it’s weird, but you regrettably do the same. 

        “Ok, Tetsu, I gotta be honest. I like this, but you smell.” Your phone buzzes in your back pocket just as he pulls away with a cackle. Smiling at him, you grab it and see Takahashi’s name on the front. 

        “Hello?” you answer, stepping away from him with one finger held up as you wait for a response. 

        “You’re late, so I guess I’ll just have to skip out on the whole fake hang out thing.”

        “Takahashi? Are you okay?”

        “I’m perfectly fine, YN,” her voice is lower than normal, the bubbly, cheery tone is completely nonexistent. “I just wanted you to know that Kuroo and I slept together, so you should probably stop trying to flirt with him from now on.”

        Your face falls at her words, and Kuroo mouths a concerned question at you. You don’t dare to decipher it; instead, you turn away and face the wall. 

        “Is that right?” you mutter, your own tone lifeless. 

        “You better believe it sweetheart, so just give up. We’re going to become a couple soon, just you watch. Especially at the assembly tomorrow, when we walk together on the stage.” 

        “Oh yeah?”

        “Yep, and those loving looks he gave you during class? Newsflash, YN, those were for me, you were just in the way-” You hang up with pursed lips and peel your phone away from your ear, staring at it blankly. 

        “Kitten, are you okay?” 

        Your chest feels empty, and your heartbeat slows in your upset. 

        “YN?”

        “How long?” You turn around and drag your eyes up your form to face him. 

        “Excuse me?” Kuroo steps closer and you let him, but he doesn’t move to touch you.

        “How long have you been leading me on?”

        “I don’t-”

        “How long have you been sleeping with Takahashi?” You felt like you just got cheated on, even though you had offered earlier to help him with her. You guessed, in some strange way, you hoped it was never really her you were helping him woo. 

        You were wrong.

        Kuroo’s eyes widen at your question, but he quickly tames himself, taking a deep breath and licking his lips. 

        “It was just one time.” God, it was true. “Before I asked for your help.”

        “Wait, what?” You stumble back a step and stare up at him perplexedly. 

        “I thought,” he sighs once more, “I thought that if I asked for your help and hanged around you enough that she would get the gist and leave me alone like the others. But she didn’t. She just kept calling me.”

        “So… you used me?” You were hurt, but in a whole different way now. Your heart stuttered at his confession, but now it panged with remorse. 

        “At first, yeah,” he nods, approaching you once more before looking into your eyes deeply. “But then, I guess at some point I just,” he takes one more deep breath to prepare himself for something, “I guess I just fell in love with you.” 

        Slapping your palm against your forehead, you scoff, “This is fucked up, Kuroo.”

        “I know,” he nods in agreement. Against your better judgement, you pocket your phone and give him one last hug. The breath in his lungs forces its way out of him and you pull away before he can return it. 

        “I need time to think, okay?”

        Shakily, he backs away and allows you the room to leave. “Okay.” 

        The doors whoosh closed after you exit and make your way home alone. Inside the darkened, locked up gym, Kuroo slowly picks up the stray volleyballs, not hesitating to hurl them at the wood panelling with loud grunts of fury while he finally takes out his frustration. After he runs out of ammo and his arm grows tired, he runs a hand through his wild tufts. 

        “Fucking shit. What am I gonna do, Kitten?”

                                ***

        The assembly was loud and cheerful. Nobody around you knew what went down inside that gym just a single day earlier. In the crowd of third years you were corralled in, you occasionally caught glimpses of the other volleyball boys your age, but no Kuroo. He was supposed to announce their victory, and their succession to state today. And the one to walk him up the stage was no other than Takahashi. 

        You’re dragged out of your self-deprecating, Rooster-filled thoughts by the sound of the principal clearing his throat in the microphone. It causes a loud whine that pierces your’s and everyone else’s eardrums, but you don’t have enough will to gasp and whimper like they do. Instead, your eyes lock on the pairs of people who have just arrived. One cheerleader to one sport captain, and at the end of the line is Kuroo, who is snarling and leaning away from Takahashi attached to his hip.

        The sight makes your lips twitch, and your gaze seems to have an effect on him, because his head instantly whips around in search of something, only to lock on you as he smiles softly. You only nod back and take your seat in the bleachers along with the other third years. 

        Time passes slowly as you wait and wait for the assembly to end. You almost consider ditching just as Kuroo’s turn comes up, but his actions stop you. As soon as he strides up the stairs to the stage, he wriggles his arm out and away from Takahashi. Then, he plucks the microphone out of the flabbergasted principal’s hand and taps it twice. 

        “This thing’s on, right?” The principal nods, completely discombobulated by your Rooster. 

        “Sweet, okay. YN!” His eyes search the crowd of grouped third years as your name echoes around the gym. They brighten when he spots you once more and he swings around to face you. While you want to seem calm and collected, the number of eyes now locked on you leaves you a blushing mess. 

        “Hey Kitten,” he waggles his eyebrows cheekily while holding out his hand, “Will you be my girlfriend?” The crowd falls to a hush and an uncontrollable smile takes over your face. 

        “Well?” He moves his finger in a “come hither” motion with a wink, and it has you coming down the steps of the stands in a trance-like state, pushing past your fellow classmates and occasionally mumbling apologies. With a hop, you land on the gym floor and approach him as he does the same for you. 

        “What do I get out of it?” you ask with a smugly raised brow. Kuroo grins back at you deviously. 

        “I suppose I could help you with your chemistry homework,” he steps closer and leans into your face. “You know, ‘cause you suck at it.” You can’t help but snort and bite your lip. Then you whisper three words and pull him in for a kiss that has the crowd cheering. 

        “It’s a deal.”

You Come Home Injured (Yandere BNHA Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: Another yandere post?? Hell yeah. Don’t know why, just been in the mood for some obsessive boys🤷‍♀️ Hope you like it!

BNHA Tag List (bc that’s a thing now whoop whoop🥳): @your-filled-with-determination​

Word count: 1544

Bakugou Katsuki:

Blood poured from your lip and dribbled down your chin. Your jaw ached and your ribs whined with each of your movements as you pushed open the front door, almost collapsing just as you made it inside. 

“YN?” Bakugou’s angered voice thundered from the kitchen. “Where the hell have you been?”

Even speaking was too much effort as your mind fogged, forcing you to slump into the nearest chair. The sofa felt so… so soft. 

Maybe a small nap wouldn’t hurt. 

“YN?” Loud thumps came closer and closer before a blurred form stood in the entryway of the living room. “YN!”

“Katsuki…” You struggled to keep conscious, head lolling to the side every few seconds as Bakugou’s eyes widened. 

Your state was horrific. Body littered in bruises, he couldn’t tell exactly what blood spatters came from where. You looked like you were dead on your feet. “No, no, no! Who did this?”

His teeth grinded as he struggled to caress your cheek as tenderly as possible. Hot, fiery rage lit up the pit of his stomach, almost travelling to his hands before he stopped himself from exploding just next to your face. 

“I’m…” you could barely keep your eyes open, “...so tired. I wanna take a nap.”

“No, YN, stay with me! You’re gonna be fine!” Crimson eyes were aflame with a worry you’d never seen before mixed in with the normal fury you were used to. “I’ll kill whoever did this to you! I swear!”

Bakugou could only watch as you finally gave into exhaustion, head dropping back onto the top of the sofa before your body relaxed completely. 

Angry. Angry at you for getting into this mess. Angry at the man who thought he could live after doing such a thing. And angry at himself for never trusting his gut and locking you away for good. 

Pressing a shaky kiss to your cheek, Bakugou rose from his crouch at your side and glanced toward the door. He knew what he had to do. 

The next day, you were in the hospital being treated for your wounds. Of course, they asked what happened and who did this to you, even daring to flash Bakugou a suspicious look as he stood at your side with a glare. 

There was no point in looking for the man who hurt you. He was gone. His body--or, rather what remained--was littered around the nearby forest, already being feasted upon by local wildlife. The charred bits of his existence served as a reminder that Bakugou never turned down a fight when it came to you. 

Because no one touched you and got away with it. No one.

Todoroki Shouto:

He can only watch, shell-shocked, as you stumbled into the house, leg limping and cheek a dark purple. 

“YN.” In an instant, he’s on his feet, right hand stretching out to soothe your bruise. A sigh leaves you at the feeling of cold on your burning cheek, leaning more into your boyfriend’s hold as he directs you to the couch. 

After five minutes of him checking every inch of your body for more damage, he finally leaves and returns with a cup of steaming something. 

“Drink this,” he mumbles, concerned eyes watching your every move as you gulp down the tea. 

When you set down the mug, he returns his hand to your face, running his fingers over the marking that has finally stopped swelling. 

Todoroki struggles to meet your gaze as he runs his other hand along your thigh down to your wounded knee. “Who… who did this to you?”

“It’s just part of the job, Shouto-”

“No,” he grits out, setting both hands on your cheeks to keep you facing him. “Who did this to you? Where is he?”

“The cops already arrested him, Shouto.” You reach a hand up to grasp his wrist, running a thumb along the skin. A smile works its way onto your face. “Trust me, I gave more than I got.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw before he finally nods, pulling away and standing up. “Okay. Fine. I’ll let it go. But please be more careful next time.”

Tension leaves your body at his willingness to give in and the grin on your face grows. “I will. Now what’s for dinner?”

That night, Todoroki lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, too uneasy to sleep even with you curled into his side. The cops have him. He’s detained.

But he hurt her.

Somebody hurt the love of his life and got away with it. Not for long. 

Ever so slowly, he slipped away from your hold and left his pillow in his place, stopping in his tracks just for a second to watch as you hugged the pillow tighter to your chest. 

Somebody hurt you, YN. Surely you know I can’t let him get away with that. 

Getting into the precinct was easy, but it was even easier to bribe the cops to let him see the arrests of the night. Specifically ones with bruised fists. 

“Sir, we can’t just let you-” Todoroki flashed his gaze to the fumbling cop. 

“How much?”

“W-what?”

“Give this guy to me,” he nodded toward the criminal cowering in the corner of the cell, “and you could be set for life.”

“Sir…”

The deal was made and the cop turned a blind eye as Todoroki walked out with a more-than reluctant criminal in his grasp. 

“Please, I’m sorry! I screwed up! Just take me back! Please!”

The whining never bothered Todoroki; instead, he was annoyed at just how loud it got as soon as his punishment was dealt. 

It became a question of whether the man died of burns or frostbite--either way, Todoroki knew the man was feast for the fishes as he dropped the charred remains off the bridge and into the river below. 

When he finally returned home, you didn’t even stir once as he showered off the scumbag’s touch and returned to his place in your arms with dripping hair. 

“Shouto…?”

“Shh, go back to sleep, YN.” And you did, ever so safe with Todoroki at your side. 

Because with him, nobody would dare to hurt you again. 

Kirishima Eijiro:

The second you walk through the door, Kirishima’s at your side, ushering you into the bathroom. With a washcloth, he wipes the dirt from your face and neck, stopping every few seconds to stare at the finger-shaped bruises on the skin. 

You knew it the instant you looked into his eyes. “Eijiro… don’t. You know it wasn’t your fault.” 

Guilt covered his face like a veil, draping over his entire body until it appeared as though he had let the world down in some way. 

“I should have been there, YN.” His teeth grit in frustration and his hands ball up into fists. “I should have kept you safe.”

“You can’t be there every second of every day, Eijiro.” You place a hand over his and caress the skin. “I don’t blame you for this. It wasn’t your fault.”

He shakes his head. “You’re wrong, YN. I should have been there. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”

Your heart warmed at his declaration. He was always so kind, but sometimes it was a pain that he would take on so much in your stead. 

“I could have protected you…”

No words you could say could bring him out of this now. All you could do was stay by his side to ensure that you were still alive and safe until he got over his guilt. 

“Let’s go.” You stood with a small smile, offering a hand to him.

Hesitantly, he accepted the offer and rose to his feet, confusion taking over his features.

“What are we doing?”

“Let’s spend the day together, inside. Just the two of us. No distractions. No outside world. Just me and you.”

The thought lit up his face in an instant and before you knew it, you were being lifted into his arms and hauled out to the kitchen. “All right, but only if you let me do all the work. You just sit and rest.”

That night, Kirishima stroked the skin of your cheek, grinning as you slept so peacefully in his arms. You were safe. You were okay. You were with him. 

He wanted you like this forever. 

Forever. That could work. The window just behind your back would need to be locked and blacked out so nobody could see you inside. The doors would need to be chained and bolted with keys only Kirishima had so he could make sure you were in his presence. No leaving without him. No going out without him at your side. Nothing.

You would be safe and in his arms forever. How… perfect.

Kirishima hummed blissfully at the thought. If today said anything about how you felt, then surely you would agree to this too. 

With this plan, you and Kirishima could be by one another’s sides forever, safe and in love. 

Just perfect.

I totally agree there needs to be more YANDERE! Daichi and YANDERE! Suga x Reader like ?!?!??! IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITIES AKDKAJFKSNJFDJ I practically screamed when I realized the plot twist literally went like "GENIUS!!! FUCKING GENIUS"

Afsjhkakdkd sameeeee

I’m just thinking about the cuddles from these bois and they got me kinda ✨funny✨

Nah but really, just imagine when they get jealous.

If it’s soft yandere, you’re just talking to a boy and daichi slips between you and him, making up an excuse or threatening him that if he ever talks to you again, he’ll [REDACTED]. Meanwhile, suga’s just dragging you away with a pout. “I can’t believe you were talking to that boy. What if he tried something on you? We would never forgive ourselves for letting something like that happen.” Daichi comes jogging after you later and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, Sugawara moving accordingly and winding an arm around your waist. They’re almost suffocating with all the heat, but they don’t seem to mind one bit. “Sorry if you don’t like it, baby, but we just get a little jealous when you’re around other guys, that’s all.”

If it’s hard yandere, once again you’re talking to another boy. You’re laughing, he’s laughing, then suddenly your being slammed against the nearest wall with an eyeful of pissed Sugawara. You hear grunts, and with fearful eyes you peer over his shoulder to see daichi slamming his fist against the boy’s jaw, kicking and beating and pounding on the guy in any way possible. Suddenly your chin is tugged back to face Suga head on, reluctantly meeting his furious gaze. “Look what happens when you talk to other boys yn.” Every scream of pain from over his shoulder rips a wave of fear through you, leaving you trembling in his hands. “We get jealous, and you really shouldn’t do that to us, should you?” You don’t respond for a second, and Suga grips your chin bruisingly tight. “Should you?” It hurts, so so bad. Bad enough that you hastily nod and whimper in relief when he releases you. “Good,” his rough hand returns to your body, this time latched onto your wrist. “We’re going home.” With one large yank, you’re stumbling after him, but he stops to call out to his partner in crime. “Daichi.” “Hmm?” “Our dear little yn needs a lesson on not talking to other boys. Obviously, we need to teach her that she’s only ours again. You comin’?” Daichi’s mouth curls into a smirk. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He rises off the boy and steps over to join you, leaving behind what somehow was a body lying in a puddle of blood. His hand was soaked as he captured your own, forcefully intertwining your fingers with his. “Bad girls like you deserve to be punished yn. Don’t try to cry your way out of it this time. Our darling needs to learn the only place she belongs is by our side.”

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.”