I Love The Yandere Zuko Headcannon So Much That I Read It Almost Every Day

Uhmm I just saw the fake texts? And like Terushima with a star wars kink? ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ ❤

Bro you already know it. How much you wanna bet he has a lightsaber in his closet that he runs around with when his parents aren’t home?

And what if like... he uses it on you bc it vibrates when it makes a sound effect😳😳

Aww shit, anybody else wanna see a haikyuu/star wars au now??

Hey!! If it’s not to much trouble could you please add me to the reborn tag list?

Hello! It’s never too much trouble, my dude! I’m glad ur liking the series and you’ll def be tagged when the new chapter comes out!💜

It’s pronounced gif and no one can tell me otherwise

Haikyuu!! Masterlist

☔ = Angst

🌦️ = Angst to Fluff

💥 = Crack

☀️ = Fluff

💋 = Smut

🖤 = Yandere

🔔 = Request

🟪Imagines🟪

Akaashi Keiji:

■  Burned Promises 🔔 ☔

Every letter he wrote you was useless now. After he cheated, they were filled with  nothing but lies, and what was the point of keeping lies lying around? (Based on Hamilton song “Burn.”)

■  Language of Love ☀️

Speaking French in front of your crush was not as discreet as you originally thought. Maybe you should just start texting from now on…

■  Paper Cranes 🔔 ☔

A thousand paper cranes led to one wish. Or at least that’s what the legend said. Akaashi never wanted or even minded if it was true. At least, not until you came along.

■  Reborn (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) 🌦️💥 (slight 💋)

Supernatural/Soulmate AU; Series (Ongoing)

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

■  Rose of Thorns 🔔 ☔

Akaashi was much like a rose. He was beautiful, soft and enchanting. But he also had many undeniable thorns. (Based on “Rose” by Jereena Montemayor.)

Bokuto Koutarou:

■  Cock Block 💥 (slight 💋)

Bokuto just wants to get some, but the universe is not always on his side.

■  A Hairy Situation (Soulmate AU) 🌦️

Back home in America, YN was happy to dye her hair whatever color she pleased. But now that she’s transferred to Japan as a foreign exchange student, she realizes that she’s much closer to her soulmate than she used to be… hence why her hair looks like an explosion of black and gray. What an asshole.

■  If It Ain’t Broke 🌦️

You broke up with Bokuto for a good reason. At least, what you thought was a good reason. But right now you can’t help but miss him terribly, and according to Akaashi, he’s feeling the exact same. But did you really break him like his friend said?

■  Love Me Through the Phone 💋

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

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

■  Praiseworthy  💋

After winning his volleyball game, Bokuto comes over wanting to celebrate. The both of you sure know how to throw a thrilling two-person party.

Warnings: SMUT!!!, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, praise kink

■  Reborn (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) 🌦️💥 (slight 💋)

Supernatural/Soulmate AU; Series (Ongoing)

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

Hinata Shoyo:

■  Home Alone 💥

You should never leave Hinata alone with the responsibility of the chores in the house. Especially when your next-door neighbor is a dick.

■  Tug of War (Soulmate AU) 🔔 💥 ☀️

You had a nervous habit, and to your soulmate, it was a bit cruel. From time to time, you would occasionally tug on your red string of fate. You never really saw the effects… at least, not until now. “Hinata, are you okay?!”

Iwaizumi Hajime:

■  Innocent Misunderstanding 💥

Last night, it was all fun and games until Iwaizumi accidentally pushed you too far. To be fair, you did underestimate his strength, so it wasn’t completely his fault. That didn’t prevent you from limping to school, though.

■  Misleading Marks (Soulmate AU) 💥 (slight 🌦️) 

Your soulmark is a wonderfully misleading pain in the tuchus. Luckily, your hunk of a soulmate makes it all worth it.

Kageyama Tobio:

■  Petty Competition 💥

After you get a new pet in your home, Kageyama can’t help but feel a little neglected after a while. It’s all Snickers’ fault.

■  Volleyball on the Brain (Soulmate AU) 💥☀️

In a world where soulmate’s thoughts are written on their other half’s hand, your soulmate always has the same thing on his mind every day: volleyball and the occasional dumbass ginger.

Konoha Akinori:

■  One-Sided Future 🔔 ☔

It’s hard to see a person fall in love with another who never intends on sharing a future with that person. It’s even harder when that person is you. (Based on “I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bon Iver)

Kozume Kenma:

■  Indebted and In Debt (Vampire AU) 💥

Kozume Kenma is one of the most infamous vampires to ever exist, the legends of him and his clan rivaling that of Dracula himself. His preserved sarcophagus lies in the heart of Tokyo’s Supernatural Museum, subsection C: Vampires. You, on the other hand, are the reason wet floor signs exist. A chance slip, an accidental cut, and a band aid missing the trash can all lead to the chance meeting of you and the vampire committed to serving you eternally. “I am forever indebted to you, Mistress.”

■  The Red String of Nothingness (Soulmate AU) ☔ Part 2 🌦️ 🔔

You’ve been waiting for your soulmate your whole life. Preparing to go into high school, you’re excited for more opportunities to find your destined partner. But… then you find him. And his girlfriend.

Kuroo Tetsurou:

■  Bed Head 💥(slight 💋)

Kuroo’s hair was an undeniable nuisance. It was a shame, though, because it was here to stay.

■  The Deal 🌦️(slight 💋)

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?

■  Forgive In Time 🔔 ☔

Kuroo always teased you, joked with you during class. You couldn’t help but grow feelings for him. Evidently he didn’t return them. (Based on “Ready Yet” by Sasha Sloan.)

■  Just a Little Confession 🌦️

A confession to Kenma doesn’t end as well as you thought it would, but luckily a tall, kind third-year is there to save the day. Still, confessions suck, and relationships are hard to read sometimes.

■  Pumpkin Eater ☔  (Part 2 Options: Second Chance or Never Again) 🌦️(slight 💋) 🔔

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

Miya Osamu:

Lapse in Judgement 🔔 ☔

A car crash has taken Osamu’s brother away, the boy you liked so dearly. Osamu was dull to the pain, his crush on you blinding him from reality. But when he dyes his hair in hopes that he could make you feel the same, he realizes he may have gone too far. 

Nishinoya Yuu:

■  Bad Sleeping Habits 💥(slight 💋)

You and Nishinoya have some pretty weird sleeping habits.

■  The Claw 💥

Claw machines are unfair, and your boyfriend is seriously impatient. You see where this is going, right?

Oikawa Tooru:

■  Across the Hall 🌦️(slight 💋)

Across the hall lived Oikawa, a smug womanizer who never knew how to confront his one-night stands after their five minutes of fame. To avoid confrontation, he repeatedly seeks refuge in your apartment, or in his case, in your bed. But what happens when you start to grow feelings for this amorous neighbor of yours?

■  Fake Marks, True Love 🌦️(slight 💋)

The hickey was fake, but the pain Oikawa felt when he saw it? It was real, and it hurt like a bitch. “Who touched you?”

■  I Wanna Build a Snowman ☀️

Oikawa just wants to build a snowman on one of the coldest days of the year with his beloved girlfriend. What could go wrong?

■  Maid for Him 🖤

You were his maid. His lover. His life. He simply couldn’t let that sleazy visiting prince anywhere near you.

■  The Miracle of Childbirth 💥

Yours and Oikawa’s children were the most amazing creatures on Earth… except when they acted like munchkin-sized pain in the asses.

■  On a Cold Winter’s Night ☀️(slight 💋)

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

■  Talking to the Moon🌦️

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.)

■  Warm Embrace ☀️

Naked cuddles with Oikawa need no purpose.

Sawamura Daichi:

■  Grudges and Ice Cream 🌦️

After your boyfriend completely forgets your one year anniversary together, you decide to give him the cold shoulder. He gives you an even colder shoulder.

Sugawara Koushi:

■  A Cut Above the Rest 🔔 🌦️

At the Shiratorizawa vs Karasuno game, it breaks your heart to see Sugawara get so excited by Kiyoko’s touch. After a long day of the silent treatment, your boyfriend must show you just how much more you affect him than any other girl around.

■  You Told Me So ☀️

He was right. You should’ve brought a jacket before trekking outside on a rainy day. You just wish he would say he was right.

Tendou Satori:

■  Indecipherable Secret Code 💥☀️

You could finally say you loved him back!...In private. You were just so nervous of how the team would react if you ever said it in public, but luckily Tendou has just the solution.

■  No One but You (slight 💋)

While managing at your boyfriend’s volleyball game, a nice, blond player from another school approaches and compliments you. He had only been friendly, so why was Tendou acting so weird?

Terushima Yuuji:

■  Pumpkin Eater ~Part 2~ Never Again 🔔 🌦️(slight 💋)

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

■  The Bigger the Hoop  🌦️

Terushima’s got your heart held in his hands. And your earrings stuck in his ears.

Tsukishima Kei:

■  Bet 💥

You ended up wearing a green bean costume to school the next day. Why? Ugh, don’t ask.

■  Don’t Slouch 💥☀️

You’ve got a bad habit. You know that. So why does that blond smartass in your class keep ragging you about it?

■  Loving Tradition 🔔 🌦️

Tsukishima has accidentally started a growing tradition with you: he will attend your home volleyball games, and you will attend his. But why does it hurt so much when you finally miss one of his own games? Surely he doesn’t like you that much… right?

■  Practice Makes Perfect 💥☀️

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

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

■  Sober Thoughts 🌦️(skippable 💋 scene)

Drunk and full of bad decisions, you decide to walk to Tendou’s apartment to wallow in hopelessness over your feelings for Ushijima. But wait… why is Tendou taller and bulkier than usual?

Warnings: SMUT!!! cunnilingus, first-time squirting, & slight praise kink maybe??

■  Story Time ☀️

When you are assigned a partner project with the intimidating Ushiwaka, you start to realize he’s not all that scary, and maybe, just maybe you could teach him a thing or two about Happily Ever Afters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🟣Headcanons🟣

Cheering Up Sad S/O (Tsukishima, Bokuto, Kenma) 🔔 ☀️(slight 💥)

Darling Traps Them in a Room to Escape (Ushijima, Oikawa) (Sugawara, Kuroo) (Bokuto, Kageyama, Kenma) (Tendou, Hinata) 🖤 

He Has a Nightmare About Losing You (Kenma, Bokuto, Kuroo, Kageyama, Hinata) 🌦️💥 (slight 💋)

He Returns from an Away Game (Hinata, Kageyama, Oikawa, Bokuto, Ushijima) 🌦️💥 ☀️ (slight 💋)

How They Kiss (Oikawa, Bokuto, Terushima, Daichi, Kuroo, Ushijima) ☀️

Pretending to Moan Another Guy’s Name (Oikawa, Tsukishima, Tendou)🌦️(slight 💥)

“Spread Your Legs”... to Cuddle (Kenma, Kageyama, Nishinoya, Atsumu) 🔔☀️💥 (slight 💋)

Voicemails After the Breakup (Kuroo, Ushijima, Atsumu) (Oikawa, Tendou) ☔

When He Falls Asleep on You (Bokuto, Tsukishima, Iwaizumi) ☀️💥

When He’s Sick (Kageyama, Tendou) ☀️💥

When He’s Your Fellow Actor (Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Yamaguchi) ☀️

Yandere Ushijima Headcanons 🔔 🖤 (slight 💋)

Yandere Popular Pairs x Reader (Kageyama-Hinata) 🖤

You Use the Safeword (Kuroo, Kageyama) (Bokuto, Tsukishima) 🌦️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

📱Fake Texts📱

Break Up Prank (Captain Version 1 2) (Setter Version 1 2) 💥🌦️

Calling Him by His Name (Third Gym Version 1 2) 💥 (slight 💋)

“Can I sit on you(r face)?” (Middle Blocker Version 1 2) 💥💋

He Accidentally Confesses Over Text (Tsukishima Version)

He Sends You a Nude (Ace Version) 💥💋 

Telling Him He’s Hot (Setter Version) 💥 (slight 💋)

Waking Him Up to Tell Him You Love Him (Libero and Wing Spiker Version 1 2) 💥

You Accidentally Confess Over Text (Bokuto and Akaashi Version) ☀️💥

You’re Horny (Third Gym Version) 💥

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💬 Incorrect Quotes 💬

1  2   (3?)  4  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

📝 Drabbles 📝

Nishinoya x Reader w/ unrequited feelings 1

Suna x Reader w/ unrequited feelings on Bday 1

Tsukishima x Sugawara!reader 1

Yandere Daichi/Sugawara 1

Yandere Bokuto 1  2  3  4  5  6

Bad Sleeping Habits (Nishinoya x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: You and Nishinoya have some pretty weird sleeping habits. 

A/N: Just some little shorts for my favorite boy bc he’s the best! My god, if you want to love life, please search up the weirdest things people have said in their sleep. You will die laughing. Anyways, please enjoy!

Word count: 1068

        “DON'T FORGET THE APPLES!” You flinch out of your sleep to find your boyfriend sitting straight up in bed, eyes still closed.

       “Yuu, what the hell’s-”

       “GODDAMN GOPHERS… ate my… fucking carrots.” He flops back down onto the bed, letting out a loud snore as the mattress shakes from his fall. You lie beside him, eyes still open wide with fear.

       “What the fuck was that?” you whisper to yourself, scratching the side of your head and watching Nishinoya warily. After he stays silent for a while, aside from a couple snores similar to a honking semi, you slowly close your eyes once more and cuddle back into his side, smiling when his arms instinctively wrap around you.

                               ~~~

       “Pizza.” Nishinoya’s eyes blink open and quickly adjust to the dark bedroom.

       “Babe?”

       “Pizza babies,” you mumble beside him, worming your way out of bed and blindly trudging out of the room with unopened eyes. 

       “YN?” Nishinoya huffs before clambering out of bed and following your sleep-walking path. “What are you doing?” 

       “SHHH!” you harshly hiss against your finger. “Don’t blow our cover!” Your voice is slow and mumbled, and you are visibly unconscious during your actions. Nishinoya covers his mouth and snickers while you stumble into the kitchen, hands feeling blindly for something.

       “Hehe,” you giggle softly as you caress a watermelon before snatching it up and walking past your highly-confused boyfriend. He trails behind you as you step back into the bedroom and set it on the windowsill. 

       “YN, whatcha doin’ now?” He observes you as you pet the fruit like an animal.

       “The cat likes to see the sun rise,” you smile blissfully, stroking the melon once more before stumbling back to bed and passing out in the middle of the sheets. 

       Nishinoya glances at you, then at the watermelon, then at you again. He rubs his temples and grumbles, “We don’t even have a cat,” before nudging over your body and falling into the bed beside you. He’s too awake now, so he settles for watching you converse randomly in your slumber until his alarm goes off. 

       “I have clown school tomorrow.”

       “Oh really?” Nishinoya smiles at you.

       “Goddamn Tina’s always late though. Fuck Tina.” 

       Jesus, poor Tina, he thought.

                               ~~~

       The comparative sound of a loud, rapturous trumpet echoes throughout your room, disturbing you from your peaceful slumber. The stench that follows urges you to flee the bed and air out the blanket.

       “What the hell was that noise?” Nishinoya grumbles, opening one eye to look at you while you continue the necessary task. Your shirt is lifted over your nose to prevent further nasal contamination.

       “You ripped ass.”

       “Oh.” He nods before closing his eye and returning to sleep once more.

                               ~~~

       “Oooh, right there,” you whined. Nishinoya smiles in his sleep before turning and gazing at you.

       “Right there, huh?” he eggs you on with a smirk. You nod and whimper.

       “Mmhmm,” your voice is breathless. “Don’t move it.” His brow twitches in confusion.

       “You don’t want me to move? At all?” You sigh happily.

       “Yeah, keep it there.” Your nose scrunches up and you shiver while biting your lip. “Mmm, then put that one there.”

       “There’s another one?” Nishinoya’s eyes widen. Who the hell were you also picturing while you were dream-fucking him?

       “Yeah, there’s seven-hundred of them,” you scoff.

       Suddenly, Nishinoya doesn’t want to play this game anymore. “S-seven hundred?” he hesitantly gulps, “What’s wrong with just having the one?” He’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer.

       “If you’re gonna whine so much, then don’t help me build my fucking puzzle, Noya.”

                               ~~~

       “I don’t wanna die.” Your eyes fly open and you groan. It’s 4 am, what now? “I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all…” your boyfriend’s voice trails off and he begins to hum under his breath to a random tune. It was vaguely familiar to you, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. Then his tempo sped up and his hands began to pat the mattress rhythmically.

       “I see a little silhouetto of a man,” Nishinoya suddenly speaks up once more.

       “Bum, bum, bum, will you…” he slows down once more and you think his solo is finally finished, thank God.

       “THUNDERBOLT AND LIGHTNING, VERY, VERY FRIGHTENING, ME!” You screech in terror at his sudden outburst and roll off the bed. The room grows silent while you stare at the ceiling on the cold, wooden floor. Then your boyfriend’s head pops into view after he groans, finally, finally awake.

       “YN?” he asks in a gruff tone. Although you want to revel in his husky morning voice like you normally would, you’re currently busy being totally pissed off at him.

       “Yes?”

       “What are you doing on the floor?” Your eye twitches at the question.

       “It looked lonely.”

       ~~~

       “Hey YN!” Tanaka waves at you while you enter their gym just as they finish practice. He jogs over to you and Nishinoya spots his actions in the distance. 

       “Tanaka, no!” Your boyfriend sprints towards you and his friend, but he’s not fast enough this time.

       “Did you know he screamed out your name in the middle of our overnight stay at the volleyball camp?!” Tanaka erupts into cackles and holds his stomach while you giggle along with him. Nishinoya tackles him to the ground before popping up in front of you and pointing an accusatory finger.

       “Don’t you dare laugh, we both do some weird-ass shit!” he warns, throwing a warning glare at Tanaka when he begins to howl happily at the information.

       “I’m not surprised, honestly,” you shrug, stepping closer to your boyfriend and holding his hand, “I’m more flattered than anything, I promise.” You give him a loving smile and Nishinoya returns the expression. 

       “I’m glad,” he draws you closer to you before whispering, “Now how about I help you return the favor.” You bite your lip and nod, following as well as you can while your energetic boyfriend hastily leads you home. 

       “OH YN!” A familiar voice mockingly moans in the distance. 

       “Shut up, Tanaka!”

So I have a request can you write how Kenma Kageyama Nishinoya and Atsumu would react to their s/o randomly telling them to spread their legs cause she wants to put their head on their stomach 🥺👉🏾👈🏾 please and thank you 🙏🏾

“Spread Your Legs”... to Cuddle (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: Slight warning guys, I haven’t watched season four. Aka, Atsumu is maybe OOC. Aka aka, I have no idea how tf he acts. I tried tho, I swear. Also, dear requester, with my dirty mind, I sincerely hope I took your request the right way, and hope you weren’t completely looking for innocent fluff. With love, this dirty-minded author. Anyway, hope you like it! (Oh fuck, I just reread your request, I am so sorry (I saw “randomly” and went off). But I promise some of it is fluffy!! you know... some of it.)

Word count: 1116

Kozume Kenma: 

I'm just gonna start out by saying this is Kenma we’re talking about.

If you ask him for something romantic, he’s obligated to say “fuck no.”

Like seriously, you just gotta sneak attack this dude, cuz straight up asking him isn’t gonna work.

… okay maybe just this once.

“Hey Kenma, can you spread your legs?”

He gives you a weird look, then returns to playing his game. “No.”

I told you so.

So anyways, you just, you know, spread his legs.

He’s laying on the couch so one of them dangles off, and you just kinda slither between and snuggle up to his lap. 

As you do so, he takes in a quick breath and avoids your gaze, keeping his eyes locked on the screen with maximum effort. 

You lay your head on his stomach and smile against him, enjoying the heat after a cold day.

“You’re really warm.” You press a kiss to his stomach and he tenses up.

“Y-you should’ve told me this is what you were going to do.”

“Would you have let me do it?”

“...” 

He just purses his lips and relaxes his game on top of your head.

“Do you want me to stop?” You set your chin on his stomach and peer up at him innocently.

He flushes and rolls his eyes. “...no.”

Kageyama Tobio: 

You’re playing with fire with this one. But like… fake fire that doesn’t burn when you touch it, you feel me?

… Anyways, this guy is very, very concerned at first.

“Tobio, can you spread your legs for me?” 

It’s one of the few days he’s invited you over (more like you invited yourself), and when you popped into his room, he’s already relaxing in bed.

When he hears those words, steam practically blows from his ears.

“W-WHAT?!”

You love to tease him of course, and any other day, you would’ve done so, but…

Fuck it, who am I kidding, you’re totally gonna tease him. 

You step closer to his bed where he’s got one leg crossed over the other and he flinches when you run your hands up his lower legs. 

“Just spread your legs for me, baby.” 

“Y-YN, you don’t have to do this.” 

“Don’t be so nervous, Tobio. I want to.”

Hesitantly, he allows you to settle your hands on his kneecaps and pull his legs apart. 

You slide up onto the bed and slink your way in between his legs, giving him a reassuring smile. 

Then you plop down in the middle of his thighs and rest your head on his stomach with a relieved sigh. 

“Mmm, thanks for letting me do this, Tobio.”

He’s silently oblivious for a moment. (Lowkey thinking “is this how it’s supposed to be done the first time?”)

Then he slowly sets his hands in your hair and combs through it with trembling fingers. 

“S-sure.” 

Don’t worry, later you showed him how it’s done ;)

… meaning you let him lay his head on your stomach then. Geez, get ur head outta the gutter, guys. 

Nishinoya Yuu: 

SPEAKING OF PERVERTS

Just kidding, this strong boi treats you like a queen. 

“Spread your legs, Yuu.”

“Oh, FUCK YEAH!” 

Except for that. You can only giggle when he spreads his legs wide instantly, relaxing a hand behind his head while the other rests on his chest.

With a grin, you clamber onto the bed and slip between his legs, resting your head on his stomach. 

Nishinoya instantly combs his free hand through your hair while you hum in delight against him.

‘Cause you guys do this all the time. Because this is how you cuddle. 

He loves feeling like he’s taking care of you, and this is just one of the many ways he does. 

When you ask him to spread his legs, he knows it’s because you’re cold and want snuggles, and this tiny boy absolutely loves to provide for you. 

Once, when you tried to move after he had fallen asleep, his legs literally wrapped around you and trapped you against his chest. It was warm tho, so you couldn’t complain.

Anytime, whenever you’re watching a movie or just plain old taking a nap, he loves the feeling of you between his legs. 

If it’s a scary movie or you’re having a nightmare and you whimper into his chest, he’ll just coo and massage your scalp until you calm down. We’re talking hairdresser-level scalp massages. 

Noya is good with his hands, it’s confirmed.

As I said before, he loves to take care of you, and you asking him to spread his legs isn’t an uncommon occurrence whenever you two hang out. 

Now this doesn’t mean he doesn’t get a little too excited sometimes...

Miya Atsumu:

First of all, y’all are just laying in the grass courtyard studying.

Well, you’re studying. He’s just basking in the sun and trying to fuck with you in any way he can. 

When you finish (or more like give up) your studying is when you ask order him.

“Spread your legs.”

His brow raises oH fUcK, then he does that lil smirk.

“Oh really? Here? YN, you naughty girl.”

You’re dead tired. “Shut up perv, I just wanna cuddle.”

“What if I wanna do more than cuddle?” *waggles eyebrows*

“Suffer.” 

You spread his legs apart and he silently inhales, trying not to choke on air. 

When you crawl up between his thighs, he tenses up and the smirk on his face falters a bit. 

Then you rest your cheek on his stomach and wrap your arms around him like a teddy bear and he’s like “oh.”

There’s not really much he can do. He doesn’t wanna push you off bc nO but he also wants to keep up his suave, self-controlled appearance. 

But that’s not how biology works.

His hands settle into your hair and he’s hoping if you fall asleep fast enough, you won’t notice. So he starts brushing through your tangled strands and holding you closer to keep you warm.

I mean, you were really tired after studying, right?

Wrong.

“Atsumuuuu.”

“Sorry babe, but this is mostly your fault, just sayin.”

Yeah so um, next time you wanna lay on his stomach, just kinda say it, cuz this boy is all about gettin’ it onnn.

You’re too pure for him to handle

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

Okay so I ain’t the type of blog to do this, but can we just talk about yandere Bokuto for a fat sec???

Kinda just wanna know what some of y’all think of him, bc obsessive Bokuto for me is 🥵🥵

Indebted and In Debt (Vampire Kenma x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Kozume Kenma is one of the most infamous vampires to ever exist, the legends of him and his clan rivaling that of Dracula himself. His preserved sarcophagus lies in the heart of Tokyo’s Supernatural Museum, subsection C: Vampires. You, on the other hand, are the reason wet floor signs exist. A chance slip, an accidental cut, and a band aid missing the trash can all lead to the chance meeting of you and the vampire committed to serving you eternally. “I am forever indebted to you, Mistress.”

A/N: lil idea I just had. Don’t know where I’m gonna go w it, if anywhere, but like y’all can read it if u wanna🥺👉👈 Enjoy!

Word count: 3631

        “Years ago, this museum was founded after the first sighting of a werewolf in Tokyo. He was spotted at midnight under a full moon just as he- Ma’am, please refrain from touching the artifacts.”

        Sheepishly, you pulled your hand away from a hip-high ancient wood carving of a mermaid, inching your way back toward the group as the tour guide fixed you with a dirty look. With a small huff, she straightened her shoulders under her Victorian-style overcoat that matched the rest of her gothic getup. An ancient London day dress made her seem as though she had crawled out of one of the many paintings on the wall that depicted Jack the Ripper as numerous supernatural creatures. The only thing that set her apart was the ID badge that hung around her neck. 

        As you returned to both of your friends’ sides, you avoided their shaming gazes and instead busied yourself with pretending to listen to the tour guide as she restarted her monologue. 

        “YN,” one of your friends, Akira, hissed, “you promised you wouldn’t touch anything!”

        “I didn’t!” you whisper-yelled back. “The lady stopped me before I could.” 

        At your half-effort to clear yourself of blame, Akira leaned her head back and let out a loud sigh. Kanna watched the interaction with a ghost of a smile on her lips, sniggering a little as she always did when Akira lectured you. 

        Both of your friends had invited you with them today as a celebration of passing your first semester of college together. Kanna had obtained the tickets in some way that went along the lines of “My dad’s brother knows the cousin of a guy who…” yadda yadda yadda. 

        Either way, you agreed to go with because, as expected, nobody was watching you and everyone had their eyes on them. Both of your friends were significantly beautiful, Kanna towering over you with long slim legs and hair that trailed down her back in waves while Akira stood just about at your chin, her hair chopped into a bob that never failed to frame her glowing eyes and constant frown. 

        Standing with them was like hiding in plain sight--an effortless camouflage. 

        You only realized you were lost in thought when Akira stalked back from the tour group that had managed to travel thirty feet ahead of you, her hand grasping your arm and dragging you back up to join them. When you returned you saw Kanna flirting with a boy who looked around your age and you distantly remembered him from your chemistry class. 

        Of course, he didn’t recognize you. 

        As the tour group made its way through the cathedral-shaped museum, stopping for a few minutes at a time for each exhibit of mythical beasts, your gaze darted back and forth between the ever-growing collection of sculptures and weaponry. 

        You remember being obsessed with the supernatural as a child, even getting into some intense arguments about whether vampires or werewolves were better, but at some point the infatuation had faded away into passing fascination--you were almost envious that someone had been able to preserve their own childlike spirit so much that they created an entire museum for it. 

        The outside of the makeshift cathedral looked exactly how you’d expect: towering spires with windows of stained glass depicting angels, suns, and crosses. The inside, however, was so juxtaposingly modern that it slapped you in the face the minute you entered. The walls were painted black with maroon accents, effectively maintaining a gothic theme. Though yellow lights embedded in the ceiling lit up each hall, brass sconces were still nailed to the walls, balancing two flickering candles each. 

        Everyone walked down a red velvet carpet that covered polished dark wood underneath and muffled their footsteps, the dull thumps somehow making the museum more ominous. Much like the exhibit you were in now, which was centered around witches, a single television hung at the far end of each exhibition room, ceaselessly playing a small, summarizing video of the creature’s origins. 

        As it murmured in the background about how witches and wizards were not the same thing, you inspected a broomstick that was supposedly owned by a witch from Salem. It floated in the air with two clear strings tied around either end just above a carved marble pedestal holding a gold plaque. The broom of Sarah Good, it read, caught and hanged in the Salem Witch Trials. Her descendants now live in New Orleans, the supposed location of a secret witch coven.

        You licked your lips thoughtfully, moving onto the next artifact with vested interest. The next was a cat skull and on its plaque it explained-

        Before you even got to read the words, you lost your footing and toppled over, crashing to the ground in a single heap of limbs. 

        Ow.

        Groaning, you righted yourself back onto your butt, inspecting the untied shoelace that had sniped you. Several gasps rose around the room, but not for you. 

        The wooden stand holding the cat skull balanced now on a single leg, tipping over in slow motion. Crap! 

        You tried to scramble up onto your knees to catch the fallen display but before you could, a form blew past you in the blink of an eye and caught it in its tracks, righting it back on its four legs before recentering the cat skull. 

        A chuckle left the museum worker as he spun back to face you, piercing green eyes observing your fallen form. Well, piercing green eye--the other was covered by a tuft of black hair, just as spiky and wild as the rest on top of his head. As he smirked, you could see a hint of his canines, looking sharp enough to cut through skin. You blamed the sight on the lighting. 

        And on the obvious supernatural fetish. 

        The man offered a gloved hand to you, the rest of his form draped in a velvet black trench coat, and as he pulled you to your feet, you glanced at his ID tag. Kuroo Tetsurou, exhibit handler. Of course he would be on the lookout for clumsy visitors such as yourself. 

        Good thing, too, because you were like a bull in a china shop. 

        “Thank you,” you mumbled, half-avoiding your gaze because you were embarrassed and half because you were never too good at handling yourself like a normal human when it came to attractive men. 

        “Of course.” He held your gaze and hand for just a tad longer than was socially acceptable before letting go and stepping back. “Though, perhaps stay a couple feet back when observing the artifacts.” 

        Those “fangs” had to be fake. 

        The worker left you with one last chuckle and a wink before walking away, hopefully to never see you ever again. God, that was embarrassing! A small pout grew on your face as you flushed deep red, refraining from hiding your face in your hands because you knew that’s what everyone else in the room expected from you--you figured you’d entertained them enough for one day. 

        While glancing around for a hole to bury yourself and die in, you realized your tour group was long gone. The witch exhibit wasn’t exactly packed with people so you could easily tell your friends were gone as well. 

        Muttering a small curse, you made your way through to the exit, flinching.  when the animatronic witch posed at the door cackled in your ear. 

        The dimly-lit hall was clear of people aside from a few stragglers searching for a room to inspect. As you made your way down the hall, voices floated out from each room, none sounding familiar. Each doorway had its own silver plaque positioned above, naming the topics of the room. 

        Centaurs. Genies. Unicorns.

        The tour you had gotten tickets for stated that it wasn’t going to go into every room in the museum, but it would brush over the most popular exhibits. And if there was one thing you remembered, it was that the newly-renovated vampire exhibit was the main reason the group you traveled with was so large. 

        The museum had added an artifact that bolstered their popularity greatly--the supposed sarcophagus of Kozume Kenma, one of the leading vampires of the Nekoma Clan. 

        Vampires. There!

        You speed-walked into the room, slowing your steps when you entered because you’d recently learned where traveling through an expensive exhibit without thinking would get you. 

        And yet, when you bursted into the room and saw a glimpse of Kanna’s black hair bouncing through the exit, you threw all caution to the wind.

        “Kanna!” You zipped in between the red ropes restricting visitors from getting too close to the paintings, darting around glass cases holding blood-stained cloaks and taxidermy bats while waving your arms like that would somehow catch the eyes of someone with their back turned. “Kan-NUH!”

        A wrinkle in the carpet launched you forward and you waved your arms wildly for balance. 

        If anyone had entered the room at that moment, they would have walked right out. You looked insane, like you were acting out your own rendition of monkey-turning-to-woman.

        Your fall landed you against a table where a sharpened blade sat, pointed upward for show. One hand slammed against the surface of the marble while the other, in your panic, slid just along the razor-sharp edge. 

        Shock came first and you flung your arm away with a gasp, stumbling back and crashing into what felt like another table. You reached your bleeding hand back blindly to stable yourself while the other reached up to press against your racing heart. 

        The pain was finally kicking in and the break in your palm began to drip down your hand, leaking blood with ease. Your hand shook so bad you could barely feel it, numb with panic as you gasped for breath. 

        Finally, when your gaze stopped wavering in sync with the pounding of your head, you glanced over at the sword display. No blood seemed to stain the blade, but a large sign hung just in the background stating PLEASE DON’T TOUCH!

        Definitely not a first for you.

        You looked over your shoulder out of instinct for just a second, wanting to see what sat on the table you currently leant on to see what other rules you were breaking, only to feel your throat close up at the sight. 

        A mummy sat in a polished black coffin, carved of wood with details of vines, leaves, and finally a cat’s yowling face carved into the latch that hung over the cracked-open space. A bloodied half hand-print sat right at the head of the body, coloring the mouth area red while the rest of the wrapping remained an aged white. 

        “Shit!” you hissed with panicked eyes, lunging back and away. “Shit, shit, shit! Oh, I’m so fucked.” A large sign, even bigger than the flatscreen that played the story of the first vampire, read DO NOT TOUCH OR APPROACH. SARCOPHAGUS IS EXTREMELY FRAGILE. 

        The three underlines of each word hit you like a freight train and you almost gagged. Unlike your other little slip-ups, this one would seriously cost you. 

        There was no way the coffin didn’t cost more than your apartment and college tuition combined, and you were already toeing the line of serious debt. 

        Do I tell someone? Do I not tell someone and let myself get caught?

        In terms of damage, the mummy looked totally fine. The small discoloring around the mouth was barely even noticeable from your ten-foot distance away, but the closer someone would get, the easier it would be able to see. Other random speckles of stains littered the wrappings, of course due to age, but in a museum for vampires? With red stains on the mouth of said vampire?

        Someone would see. Eventually. But according to the sign, no one would get close to it for a while. 

        Maybe you would escape this scot-free. 

        Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and fished for a band aid in your pocket. Injuries were common so you always kept some on hand. 

        “You’re gonna be fine, YN,” you mumbled to yourself, fighting to tear open the wrapper. Your hands were shaking so badly it was almost impossible and tears stung your eyes. “You’re gonna be fine. Just take deep breaths.”

        After five minutes of shaky fumbling and calm words, you finally just ripped the package in half and pulled out of the now-deformed band aid, slamming it over your wound and calling it a day. 

        Yesterday, you took four finals in four classes. Today, you damaged a fragile museum artifact that, if caught, would cost you thousands. 

        You were going fucking home. 

        You tossed your band aid wrapper in the trash with a huff, not noticing the single, stained paper fluttering to the floor just in front of the exit. 

                                +++

        Blood. Air. 

        Blood. Sweet, sweet blood. 

        Thirsty. Hungry. 

        Dark. 

        Pain. 

        Escape.

        Escape.

        Escape.

        Hoarse wheezes was all Kenma could manage as he lay stock-still on a soft surface. Pins and needles pricked at his every limb and he almost groaned in relief because it meant he was alive. 

        His tongue was heavy as a rock and was dry as sandpaper but he could still taste the sweet flavor on his tongue. Metallic-like, it was both nourishing and yet not enough.

        No, no. Definitely not enough. He needed more.

        Twitching his finger was an exercise that if he wasn’t completely dehydrated would have worked up a sweat. Moving the rest of his arm made him wish his death had lasted. 

        But someone had blessed him with blood, with life, and now he had a debt to repay. 

        Kenma wasn’t like Kuroo. He followed the ancient laws of vampires, now matter how outdated they were. Born-vampires had one code, and that was that whoever gave you blood and therefore everlasting life, was your master forever. 

        This was code. 

        Kenma thought of Kuroo and how he’d taken blood from all kinds of people, an action that would’ve been called taboo by the vampires of old. 

        Then Kenma thought of Kuroo alone and wondered just where he was. 

        It was completely dark, and each muscle he moved seemed trapped in the same position. A loud rip split the silence that previously mingled with Kenma’s wheezing as he reached up an arm and patted at his face. 

        Trapped. Stuck. Wrapped in something?

        “K…” Kenma tried to call Kuroo’s name, but even the first letter scraped at his throat hard enough that he gagged. 

        It was so dry. He needed more of the blood he’d given. 

        Just a drop would be a blessing. 

        “Ku…”

        But he had to get out first. 

        If he knew one thing about Kuroo, it was that the man was loyal. If he knew another, it was that he was also immortal. 

        Because Kenma followed the ways of the code, he was the right hand man of the Nekoma Clan. Kuroo was the leader, but he knew to protect his own.

        “Kuro...Kuroo.”

        The pain was irrelevant. His hand still scratched at his face, slowly yet desperately as he ached to tear away the cloth. To see light for the first time in centuries. 

        Footsteps echoed miles away, perking Kenma’s ears. 

        “Kuroo...Kuroo.”

        They drew closer and closer, ever so muffled through the wrappings that trapped Kenma in darkness. 

        “Kuroo...please.”

        A hand batted away the one Kenma kept patting over his face and Kenma heard the zing of a blade. 

        “Kuroo…”

        “Shh.” Kuroo’s voice urging Kenma to shut up had never sounded so melodic. “I’m here. I’m here.” 

        Kenma let himself relax, allowing Kuroo to cut through the thick cloths encasing his body like a cast. The latter cursed under his breath each time he sliced a bit too close to the skin, almost breaking it. 

        The process was long and painful. After coming back to life, Kenma suddenly had the urge to move, something he’d never had before. 

        Except he knew exactly why he needed to move. He needed to find them. Whoever they were. 

        Though eternal servitude was never exactly Kenma’s life goal, he knew it was an honor to be deemed worthy as someone worth eternal life. To be given such a gift was a sign that your life was meant to be spared. 

        When all the bindings split away and Kenma could open his eyes, a ringing burst in his ears accompanied by a pounding headache. He’d never known candles to burn so brightly, but maybe that was something of this new age. Or perhaps he was laying below a skylight. 

        Neither. The light source was a rectangular shape directly above, harnessing the light of a thousand white flames to make the room glow. It buzzed as well, or perhaps that was the few moths that flew around it. 

        “Kuroo,” Kenma reached a hand up to cover his eyes, “I have to-”

        “Shh.” The older hushed him once more before holding a cup to his lips. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

        The cup was dark and Kenma couldn’t see what was inside of it. Panic struck his heart and with a sudden burst of energy, he slapped the cup away from his face.

        “NO!”

        The cup flew, spilling clear liquid through the air before cracking against the floor with a splat. The older man in the room sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. 

        “Kenma, come on. I know the dumbass laws and your dumbass willingness to abide by them. You know I wouldn’t force you to drink blood you didn’t want.”

        Kuroo was right. Kenma trusted him to not force blood on him and he trusted Kuroo not to try and bring him back either. Kenma wanted his revival, if it were to ever happen, to be of someone else’s desire to revive him. 

        He’d just… panicked.

        “I know.” His throat suddenly felt parched and sickly and Kenma returned his gaze to Kuroo’s face. “Could you…?”

        “Yeah, I’ll go get another one.”

                                +++

        “I’ll never let go, Jack.”

        “Just move over on the door, bitch!” you wailed, sobbing into your ice cream and curling deeper into your blankets as the movie drew to a close. Tears ran down your face and half a tissue box sat in numerous crumpled-up balls on your coffee table. 

        To be fair, a large majority of them came from when you first got home from the museum. After throwing yourself a pity party, you decided to give yourself even more reason to cry by watching the Titanic movie over a bowl of ice cream.

        Your phone sat beside the used tissues, occasionally lighting up with missed calls from your friends hours earlier. Texting felt like a waste of energy, and you could certainly tell them what happened tomorrow.

        If you weren’t being arrested for damaging museum property at that time. 

        Even the thought sprung another nervous wave of tears to your eyes and you clicked off the movie, searching for another story to bawl your eyes out to. 

        Three loud knocks cracked at your door, making you flinch. 

        Probably Akira and Kanna, worried out of their minds. 

        “Guys,” you stood up and turned on your living room lights before walking to your front door, “I promise I’m fine. Something just happened today that really-”

        But when you turned the knob, it was neither of your friends. 

        It wasn’t even female. 

        It was two guys, one looking vaguely familiar while the other was entirely unknown to you. 

        The first, significantly taller and with the same ruffled hair, was Kuroo. Just the sight of the museum worker made you want to jump out your window and onto the sidewalk ten floors below. 

        The other was shorter with blond hair just past his chin, the roots a dark brown. His eyes were glowing with a sort of anticipation but his face appeared otherwise bored. 

        Nerves began to dance under your skin and you shifted from foot to foot, your hand still on the door. You only realized you were biting your lip when both men drew their gazes to the action, and after that you immediately stopped. 

        “Uhh, y-yes?” You gulped and watched them both with flared nostrils, ignoring the way the blond’s eyes followed your throat. “Did you n-need something, offic- I mean sirs?”

        The familiar one’s lips quirked, something akin to amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched your anxious movements. Yet, he never said a word. 

        Instead, the blond one stepped forward, somehow looking uncomfortable in a red sweatshirt and black sweatpants. There was an air of seriousness around him even as his face gave off a feeling of nonchalance. 

        Here it comes.

        You tensed up your shoulders and closed your eyes, waiting for the words of your doom. 

        Instead, cold fingers grabbed the hand you had limp at your side and you felt a softness brush over the back. 

        You opened your eyes once more only to see a small smile with fangs peaking out as the blond pulled his lips away from your hand. 

        “I am forever indebted to you, Mistress.”

        “What?”

You Accidentally Confess Over Text (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

(Bokuto and Akaashi Version)

A/N: I AM ALIVEEEE✨✨yalllll it’s been a fat minute, how’ve u been?? How’s school and all that Jazz? Mine is a goddamn nightmare, and its like even with the hybrid, I’m gettin claustrophobic🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ anyways, I had the day off and about five minutes to myself, so here’s a lil thing to “check in” I guess. Thanks for 2.1k guys, and enjoy!