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

*GIF not mine*

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

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

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

Word count: 2731

        “So… what are you wearing?”

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

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

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

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

        “Seriously?”

        “One-hundred percent.”

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

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

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

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

        “Yeah?”

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

        “Really?”

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

        “Well at least someone’s getting some.”

        “Kou!”

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

        “Just… let me help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

        “Comfy?”

        “Yeah.”

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

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

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

        “Mhmm.”

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

        “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

        “Kou, I already tried that.”

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

        You were grateful he accepted your timid silence as approval. 

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

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

        “What’s up? You wanna stop?”

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

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

        “What?” 

        He scoffs, and shame begins to sour your anticipation. 

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

        “I mean, a little…”

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

        “Well…”

        “It was one time!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

        You hum. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “But-”

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

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

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

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

        “Kou…”

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

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

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

        “Kou?”

        “What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

        “Kou?”

        “Are they off?”

        “My panties are soaked.” 

        The reaction was instant. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “Kou, please.”

        “Hands off, baby. Completely.”

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

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

        “Kou, what-”

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

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

        “YN, baby. ‘F-Feels so good.”

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

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

        “Kou please, let me-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “Kou-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “I don’t care. Go faster.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “You coming?”

        “Y-es!”

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

        “Kou! Yes, Kou!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “It’s so lonely without you.”

        “I know. I miss you.”

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

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

Your yandere works are IMMACULATE 😍 if you see me spam liking your works, no you didn't 🙈

Aww, thank you!!

and I didn’t see a thing👀🤐

Henlo 🥺👉🏼👈🏼. I really love your writing, and I was hoping that I could request a hinata soulmate!au. I really loved the other ones. Thank you so much!

Tug of War (Hinata x Reader/Soulmate!au)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: 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?!”

A/N: Haha, had this one planned out for months but never had the energy to do it. Thanks for giving me that extra push, anon! It’s a little short, but I hope you like it!

Word count: 1614

        The sound of balls whamming into the ground split through your eardrums. 

        Wham!

        “Nice kill!”

        Heavy breathing accompanied the noise, along with the heavy stench of sweat as you wormed your way to the front of the crowd. From the second-level balcony, you had a full view of the court, the benches, and most importantly, the greatest decoy. 

        Though his height was nothing to call home about, something had always drawn you to the little ginger bouncing on the tips of his toes right now. Maybe it was the way he faced every challenge head on, or maybe it was the way he would smile after bounding onto the volleyball court. You weren’t quite sure, and that’s exactly what had you fiddling with the ruby string around your dominant pinkie. 

        “It’s up!”

        It was Karasuno’s first home game. On the other half of the court was a teal and white team, Seijoh-- or… maybe it was Aoba Johsai. You never really knew. 

        All that was for sure was that the group of five or so girls beside you were all cheering for “Oikawa” with squeals like a local pig farm. When you followed their gazes, you weren’t really impressed. Sure, he was handsome, but you guessed redheads had always been more your type. 

        “Nice one, Hinata!” At the name, you leaned over the metal railing and peered down on the court, more attentive now than ever. He had just been switched out, replaced with an even shorter male, which… you weren’t really sure how that was possible. 

        While watching from the player’s box, Hinata drank from a water bottle with haste. You had never been more jealous of plastic in your life. 

        Soon, the whistles blew, and he was switched back into the game. Brown eyes glimmering, he shifted into the front row spot near a taller first year with dark hair. 

        “Watch out for that blocker, dumbass.” 

        “Why do you always call me that?!”

        Their yells didn’t exactly reach that far up into the stands, but thanks to the general air around the two, you figured your lip-reading had been more than accurate. 

        A small smile had settled onto your face as the game moved on, and not once had your fingers stopped twisting and twirling the string. Somehow, the energy of the game had seeped right into your own being, and soon you were biting your lip in anticipation. 

        “Bring it to me!”

        Hinata ran around the setter and jumped, and just when he reared back to spike--

        Tug.

         His body flailed and flew through the air like a fish out of water. The cringe from every person in the room was almost audible as soon as he crashed to the ground, the plastic numbers on the back of his jersey squealing in protest. 

        When he finally stopped sliding, he flinched right as the ball that had been set for him bonked his forehead before dribbling away. 

        For a moment, the entire gym was silent. Some’s mouths were gaped with awe, others had brows raised in concern. Luckily, not a single person saw you, watching your pinkie as though it had whispered the secrets of the universe. 

        “AGAIN?!” Hinata shouted to himself, breaking the silence and wriggling around on his back in frustration. “She’s gotta stop doing that!”

        Oops.

        “Hinata, are you okay?!” His teammates crowd around the fallen spiker in a huddle, concerned looks being served left and right. 

        In mere seconds, your face had shifted from ghostly white to rosy red, and it took you even less time to book it out of there. 

        Bad habit, bad habit!

                                ###

        All throughout your life, you had waited to meet your soulmate. Was he tall? Short? Kind? Mean? What if he didn’t even speak the same language?

        Each day, these questions plagued your mind, and somewhere along the way, your habit had grown. A little twist of the string, a small caress of the soft fabric wrapped around your pinkie, and the occasional tug when you got a little too anxious. Evidently, it was just waiting to come bite you in the ass. 

        Hinata was ruthless now. He’d been yanked out of his chair mid-class, toppled over in the middle of the street or hall, and even missed the bowl once or twice while just trying to relieve himself. All of that, he could handle. 

        Though, apparently last night had been the last straw. What felt like every minute, the string on your hand would jerk you around so forcefully you almost flew right out the classroom window you sat beside. 

        Only once in a while would you let it be obvious enough that the teacher had to ask if you were okay. Your notebook was now covered in hasty chicken scratch, eager to get in a line of notes before the next wrench of the string. Random lines of led littered the page from when he had caught you a moment too soon, but you were trying to adapt. There was a moment in between each jerk, and in those moments, you had true freedom. 

        “In nineteen-thirtysev-... ugh, nineteen-thirtysev- son of a bitch! In nineteen-thirty-- you know what, fuck it. I give up,” you grumbled under your breath, slamming your notebook closed amongst the now-constant tugs of your pinkie. There was really no point in trying now; Hinata had traded in his previous pattern of tug-wait-wait-tug for tug-tug-tug. 

        You didn’t even bother bringing your hand back up to your desk, instead deciding to let it flail around and dangle over the edge of the wooden surface. 

        Sighs of relief fill the classroom as soon as the bell rings, and you snag your backpack off the floor in the nick of time. One large rip of the string has you scrambling out into the hallway, crashing into a locker and trying to stabilize your footing. 

        “Woah, watch it!”

        “Yeah, yeah, sorry.” The student seems to either have a stick up his ass no different than a popsicle or maybe the wave of your nonchalant hand didn’t account for much of an apology. Either way, you didn’t get to stick around for long, because soon your soulmate’s pulling is practically dragging you down the hall, bouncing off the occasional student like bumper cars. 

        “I swear, Kageyama, she’ll be here. Just hold on for a second.” 

        Over the hoards of students stampeding in the opposite direction of you, you hear his voice. While you expected a vengeful snicker, you were pleasantly surprised with a giddy smile. 

        Through the bodies moving slower than midday traffic, you saw Hinata, orange hair bobbing up and down in a school window’s gleam. 

        Bob and weave. Bob and weave.

        When you surface is when you see it. Your soulmate’s not simply pulling you toward him in a conventional way. No, rather, he’s reeling the string around his other hand like he caught a fish.

        “YN?” His movements halt and in true ragdoll fashion, you do as well. 

        “Sup.”

        Hinata, the guy you had been crushing on for your entire first year of high school, was your soulmate. Last night, you could barely go to sleep with all your excitement bubbling through your veins. Your smile had been as large as the moon itself as you wiggled around on your bed, kicking your feet whenever the pent up energy came to be too much. 

        Now? That was a different story. 

        No less had it been a small wave of giddiness, but it was more a wave of pure elation. Endorphins swam around your bloodstream enough to make your head fuzzy, but making eye contact with him hadn’t been the only cause. 

        No, because in seconds, Hinata had covered the distance between you two and tackled you like an ecstatic puppy. You were high on the rush of first touch, high on the rush of finally having him hold you in his arms. 

        “I finally found you,” his voice is muffled by your shoulder and he’s got your school jacket bawled up in two fists. There’s a smile; you can almost feel him trembling against you in euphoria, but he’s not alone. 

        Every nerve ending is set on fire when your arms wrap around him too. Unable to hold back your happiness, you release a small giggle that has him pressing you impossibly closer. 

        “Yeah, you found me.”

        With that, he leans back, lips pursed in uncertainty. 

        “Umm, so do you wanna… like, erm, come watch me practice? I promise I’ll take you out after!”

        Seeing just how nervous he could be almost made you relax on instinct. An easy smile works its way onto your face. “Yeah,” you nod, body still abuzz with the tingles of his touch, “yeah, that sounds good.”

        “Great!” 

        Before you know it, Hinata’s encompassed your hand in his own warm one, leading you all the way out the school and to the second gym with a bored Kageyama on your tail. 

        “You gotta promise me one thing, though, before we go in there, YN.”

        “Sure, what’s up?”

        “Swear you won’t tug on the red string, okay? You have a terrible habit, and it always messes me up when I play!”

Your writing is amazing. You clearly have a talent and im glad i get to see it!!

Oh thank you so much!! This comment makes me really happy, so I’m glad I get to see your writing too lol 🥰💜

Not a request either, but I just wanted you to know that your "Moan someone else's name" drabbles is actually what got me INTO TENDOU. I wasn't a fan of him before until I read your fic and thought "Wow, either this is a great and new characterization or he's a REALLY interesting guy." Guess what- it was both. After seeing him in action, I have to scream praises for how well you write him! There isn't enough FF of him in the world and I'm so grateful for your works on Satori!

YALL ARE SO DAMN SWEET ABOUT TENDOU IN THOSE HCS LIKE DAMN❤️💜🤎💞💛💘💝💛🤍💚

I’m so glad I could be the one to introduce you to the beautiful creation that is tendou satori🥺 I agree he is a babe that needs more fics🥲 we shall beg more authors to write about him together😤

Thank you anon for liking my stuff and goddamn this message is so sweet like🥺🥰💜

The Miracle of Childbirth (Oikawa x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

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

A/N: Here’s a little imagine to celebrate 500 fUcKiNg followers, like holy shit!! Goddamn that’s amazing tysm :)))! (Also, it hasn’t actually happened yet, but I’m like two followers away so I’m gonna count it cuz I’ll be busy tomorrow.)  It’s more Oikawa shit bc he’s just a hot piece of flat ass, and I’m dying for more domestic stuff w him. I got it from this prompt by @otpdisaster​, so enjoy!

Word count: 880

        There was no greater feeling than when you first looked into your twin children’s eyes while lying in your hospital bed. They were your shade, but had the long, curled lashes of their father. Aiko already had Tooru’s smug smirk down, and Reo had his brown tufts. 

        “They’re beautiful,” you had whispered, cooing softly when Reo wrapped his miniature fingers around your pinkie. Tooru nodded softly at your bedside, cradling your little girl in his arms and smiling down at her. 

        “They’re perfect,” he mumbled back, running a gentle thumb over her cheek. “They’re gonna be the best volleyball players on this side of the world.” You giggle lightly and shake your head while brushing over your boy’s fuzzy scalp, hugging his swaddled form closer to your chest. 

        “I’m sure.” You sigh happily as your husband pecks Aiko’s forehead, causing her to let out a small huff. 

        Every chubby little foot, every puffy tummy was gorgeous in your guys’ eyes. Nothing they could ever do would ruin the way you viewed them as the lights of your lives. They were nothing short of miracles. 

        Except for when they acted like little gremlins. 

        “WE CAPTURED THE DEMON!” You pause at the words and stare confusedly at the door. With a furrowed brow, you unlock your home and step inside, only to see a literal nightmare. 

        Stray pillows and blankets were splayed everywhere in your living room. The couch was cushionless and there was a homemade fort in the center of it all. It was primarily supported by four dining chairs dragged out onto the lounge’s carpet, but had a barrier that consisted of the sofa’s fundamental sections and stuffed animals from the children’s rooms. Two hefty comforters overlapped above its foundation and stood as an accessible entrance to the inside. 

        Both Aiko and Reo ran circles around the fortress with victorious war cries, waving their nerf guns wildly above their heads. “We captured the demon! We captured the demon!” Their yells echoed throughout the whole house as they scrambled up the stairs, presumably to grab more ammo. You, throughout all of this, had watched in a mixture of horror and amusement. 

        “Tooru?” you called out, glancing around the house for any sight of your husband. 

        “Mmmpf mmpf!” A muffled voice hummed from within the fort. Releasing a heavy sigh, you set down your keys and purse on the coffee table before kneeling down on the carpet. You crawl on your hands and knees to the fort, pushing aside a blanket and peering in. The sight before you was almost laughable. 

        Surrounded by a barrage of nerf darts and duct taped to a flimsy tea party chair was Tooru, gagged with a bundled pair of socks. Glitter sparkled in his brown hair and one plastic dart stood like a unicorn horn from his head while he frowned at you. 

        You could only smirk. “Need a little help?” He narrows his eyes, throwing a lazy glare your way. . 

        “Plugh,” he spits out the sock, “Welcome home.” 

        “Gee thanks,” you snicker before gesturing up and down at him. “So what, uh, what happened here?”

        “Our children might become criminals.” He shakes his head wildly to loosen his forehead decoration, but it sticks like a piece of gum on the underside of a table. Tossing his head back in frustration, he lets out a loud groan before wiggling his captivated form at you. “You mind?”

        “I guess I must.” You decide to show him pity and unwrap his hands, snorting when you rip off some arm hair. 

        “Owwie!” he pouts while rubbing his wrists, rising up from the plastic pink chair. After flicking away the nerf dart, you lead the way back into the outside world and Tooru squints at the change in lighting. 

        “How long were you in there?”

        “Too long,” his eyes are haunted while he stares disorientedly at the wall. “I can’t believe my own children think I’m a demon.”

        “Yeah, well, I’m the evil mom who won’t buy them McDonald’s every night. We all got problems.” As daily tradition, you peck his lips softly before walking into the kitchen to prepare dinner. 

        “What’s on the menu tonight?” He follows you and winds his arms around your waist, settling his chin on your shoulder while you sift through the cupboards. 

        “Green bean casserole.”

        Two gasps sound from behind you. 

        “Oh no, they’re both demons now!” Reo exclaims.

        “GET ‘EM!” Aiko shouts, and suddenly you’re being used as a human shield while Tooru screeches behind you in terror. Neft darts begin hit you in savory and unsavory places, and one even pokes you in the eye before-

        “Hey, look, now Mommy’s a unicorn too!”

The Red String of Somethingness (Kenma x Reader/Soulmate AU) *Request*

*GIF not mine*

Summary: 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. 

Part 1

A/N: askdfh thank you so much for the kind words🥺 I’m so glad you guys liked that fic, I wasn’t really confident in it. As per requests, here’s a second part to The Red String of Nothingness with a happy ending. I’m sorry it took a lil while to get out :( but uhh I hope you guys like it!

Word count: 2909

        You couldn’t help it.

       “YN, grab the water bottles please!”

       Even though it hurt, some part of you just wanted-- no, needed to see him. Just being in class with him wasn’t enough. 

       “On it!”

       No matter how many times you called it an extracurricular activity, you knew deep down it was so much more than that. It bordered on creepy just how much you watched him during practice. But… it made life more bearable. 

       While, yes, Kenma’s girlfriend would occasionally come and watch practices, most of the time you could pretend she didn’t exist. It was just you and him when she wasn’t around, and you hated how much that thought pleased you. 

       “Thanks.” The blond setter spared you a small smile as he accepted the bottle, gulping down the drink with the thirst of a man stranded in the desert. Practice had gone for about an hour and a half now, and gave purpose to the sweat droplets trailing down his forehead. It took a tremendous amount of effort to even drag your gaze away from his flushed face. 

       You couldn’t help it. As much as you wanted to ignore it, you were falling hard. Kenma was… perfect. He handed out smiles sparingly, making you feel blessed whenever you were on the receiving end. Every move he made was carefully calculated, and you loved the look of curiosity and intrigue that would occasionally flicker when something fell out of place. In volleyball, in school, in life, he was simply all-around breathtaking. You hung on every sparse word that fell from his lips because God, he was just beautiful. 

       Often you wondered if he thought the same about you. 

       Yes, yes, you knew he had a girlfriend. That simple fact kept you awake at night, biting back tears and hugging a pillow to your chest. But during the day, you never let it show. Because, well, it simply felt good to see him. Being around your soulmate, together or not, made the pain just the tiniest bit more bearable. 

       That’s what soulmates were supposed to do, after all. Comfort their other halves with their presence, make them feel loved and cherished. So yes, just being near him, just being his volleyball team manager was enough. 

       “Kenma, you’re doing so good baby!” 

       Most of the time. 

                               ~~~

       School sucked. It always sucked. 

       More recently, however, you thanked whatever floated up in that deep blue sky for it, because you sat next to him. 

       “Ms. YLN, please pay attention!” You straightened up in your chair and nodded your head frantically, blushing at the sounds of giggles around the room. 

       “Sorry sir.” The teacher glanced at you over his glasses with pursed lips before returning to the board, scraping random equations in white chalk. 

       You couldn’t help it. It was the only time Kenma’s girlfriend was guaranteed to not be around. In those times, your heart fluttered at his proximity. It seemed you had become hyper-aware of his presence over the past few weeks, shivering at even the slightest bit of contact. 

       Like a lonely dog, you felt touch-starved, depraved of your body’s most necessary essentials. Not being around Kenma made you grumpier, more easily disturbed and aggravated. Being around Kenma’s girlfriend, however, had the same effect. 

       Moments like those, where Kenma was so close to touch and yet so far away in your heart was when you defaulted to your newest habit-- poking, prodding, and twirling the red string on your pinkie. 

       Weeks-- or was it months-- ago, you had sputtered the lie that you couldn’t see it; that Kenma’s eternal attachment to you was one-sided, but it soon became your largest source of comfort. 

       Now was one of those moments. You had a lapse in judgement, and being nervous and embarrassed after being called out by your teacher, you slipped up. And Kenma saw. 

       Gnawing on your lip, you anxiously pinched the ruby string. It was smooth, almost like silk, but just as thick as woven yarn, wrapped loosely around your final finger. You twisted and rotated it, spinning nervous circles around your skin. 

       And then you tugged. 

       Kenma’s left hand, absent-mindedly holding up his chin while the other drew lazy patterns on his desk top, slips right out from under his head and falls limply into the aisle space between your and his desks. He barely avoids face-planting by flattening his other palm against the table and holding himself up, and by then you know you’re screwed. 

       His eyes are wide as they dart to his fallen arm, dragging it back up to his desk and staring in bewilderment at his hand, or more specifically his pinkie. Even more specifically, the red string wrapped around it, trailing through the air and creating a flimsy bridge to you. 

       Oh shit.

       You’re clenching your jaw and avoiding his awed gaze with all the will you can muster, but a discovery has already been made. 

       “YN-” 

       “Mr. Suzuki!” You snap your hand up in the air in an instant, trying to ignore how it trembles. The red string is clearly visible to both you and Kenma at this point, and fuck, he knows! “May I please go to the bathroom?”

       “Can it wait-”

       “It’s an emergency!”

       “Ohh, y-yes please do.” 

       Kenma watches you with a look in his eyes you don’t dare decipher as you slip out of the classroom, ducking your head and chewing on the insides of your cheeks. 

       Goddamnit YN!

                               ~~~

       Attending the volleyball game tonight almost wasn’t an option, but the coach begged and pleaded that you be there. 

       “Bring it to me!”

       It was only a practice game, but against your school’s most fated rivals. The “trash-can showdown,” everyone was calling it. 

       “It’s up!” 

       The other team, Karasuno, was good, but less-experienced. However, they did have a little spitfire on their team that appeared almost identical to a tangerine, and slightly reminded you of Nemo. 

       Wham!

       He was good too. 

       Kenma, however, seemed out of it. He could play his best during a thunderstorm wrapped up in a monsoon, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t see how disturbed he was. Especially since every few seconds his eyes locked on you.

       But alas, the game also had one very special guest. Her. So you kept your distance and avoided his presence like the plague. 

       Slam!

       Pop!

       Boom! 

       The game is over sooner than you expect it, and you flip over the last point card. Nekoma wins 25-23, and all the boys are worn to the bone. 

       “One more game!” the ginger spiker cries aloud, his blue setter nodding in agreement. 

       They’re the only ones standing while everyone else is passed out in sweat puddles. “Fuck no!” Yamamoto hisses, dropping his head back to the floor directly after. 

       A giggle sounds from the wall, but only you were close enough to hear it from your spot nearby. It’s Kenma’s girlfriend, and she’s watching…. 

       Oh. 

       You knew that look before. Her petite figure, from head to toe, is directed toward Karasuno’s pint-sized middle blocker. 

       You couldn’t lie. They would look good together. Perfect even.

       Oh. 

                               ~~~

       Weeks. Fucking weeks passed and they were still together, just as lovey-dovey as before, if not more so now. 

       Distantly, you wondered if Kenma knew. You wondered if she had told him she met her soulmate. You wondered if…. 

       Fuck it.

       There was no point in wondering. They were still together, and not even meeting their soulmates had stopped them. 

       It was the ultimate blockade in their relationship, and they broke through like no big deal. Maybe you were right. Maybe you just weren’t meant to be, no matter how much you fucking praised yourself for finally gaining the guts to tug on your string. 

       That shit doesn’t happen on accident, you know. 

       But obviously it had no effect. A young spiker at another school would be left just as lonely as you. His eyes were so bright and innocent, full of life. You envied him, so naive and wide-eyed, because unlike you, he would never have to watch his soulmate with somebody else. The boy, Hinata you think his name was, would go his whole life with the hope that one day his soulmate would find him and be with him forever.  

       God, how you envied his obliviousness. You didn’t want this baggage, emotional and physical. The more you were around Kenma, the more your string tugged against your pinkie, urging you to fight for what you would never win. 

       Perhaps… without the connection, you could feel better?

       Certainly it wouldn’t hurt, right? 

       Just a little snip and you could go back out into the world just as your own soulmate had done. Find someone to settle down and be happy with, no matter how daunting of a task that was. 

       Maybe Kenma could be happy for you, just as you had been for him initially. Surely this act would benefit you both, right? 

       The string was just… useless at this point. It held no purpose other than pain. And with that, you had decided. 

       Finding scissors in a school is easy. An art class was your first target. All classes had just ended and people were making their ways home. 

       Volleyball practice would start soon.

       You would be there, happy as a clam. Free as a bird.

       You only had twenty minutes before it began. Luckily, the action could be performed quickly. It was the internal resistance that made the task five hundred times harder. 

       The teacher had left for the day, leaving her classroom unlocked for the custodian. Students occasionally walked past the open doorway, still emptying out of the building, and if they were to glance inside, all they would see is you. You, seated upon a desk, a pair of scissors in one hand, the other hand sitting tentatively in your lap. You, blank-faced observing your pinkie and the string wrapped around it. 

       You, ready to let go of all the pain. 

       It won’t hurt anymore, YN!

       When you see him, he’ll just be another person to you. A nobody.

       You can move on now! Find someone for yourself if you just fucking snipped it!

       The blades stood parted, waiting for the order, for just a little pressure on both ends. Then it would all be over. 

       But you couldn’t. 

       No matter how much you strained your hand, urging yourself to squeeze the muscles, close the blade and rupture the broken promise, you couldn’t do it. 

       “Goddamnit,” you mumbled under your breath, squeezing your eyes closed and wishing you weren’t crying over this. 

       It was so unfair. The only person being hurt throughout all of this was you. Nobody else cared. Nobody else noticed. Nobody else-

       “YN.” What?

       You jumped at the sudden voice, soft and all-too familiar. The blades slipped between your fingers after having flinched and clattered to the floor, catching more ears than anything else. Kenma’s gaze only flickered to the kiddy scissors once before it returned back to you, pained.

       “You, umm, you shouldn’t do that.” 

       Excuse me?

       “What?” You were the definition of dumbfounded, immobilized on top of the desk with your fingers twitching just above your lap. 

       “You shouldn’t do that.” 

       Nothing had changed. He stood right in the doorway, the sunlight from the hallway windows giving his uneasy posture an angelic aura. No emotion was clear on his face; instead, it was a mixture of furrowed brows and pursed lips, followed by golden eyes that swirled with an unfamiliar emotion. 

       He, in himself, was a blur of mixed messages. 

       “Why not?” Of course you knew what he was talking about, but you felt more and more peeved at his words. He had no right to tell you what to do with such a useless, unbearable, futile red string-

       “We broke up.” 

       …

       Oh.

       Suddenly it was hard to breathe. 

       “W-what?”

       “She broke up with me.”

       You were speechless. Mouth gaping like a fish, you struggled to find the words, any words to say to him. You didn’t even know how to feel, so you settled on the most basic reaction for when someone says those words. 

       “Oh, Kenma I’m so sorry.” 

       “No you’re not.” 

       “Excuse me?”

       “You’re not.” He shrugged, finally stepping into the room and letting the door fall to a close. “And do you want to know how I know you’re not?” 

       You couldn’t respond. 

       “It’s because I’m not sorry either.” The words leave your heart racing as Kenma approaches you. Every step he takes triples the number of butterflies in your stomach. His shoes squeak against the floor but your eyes stay locked on his. You just couldn’t look away. You didn’t want to. 

       Finally, he’s close enough to touch you, just a hand’s width away from your knees where they bend and let your lower legs dangle. Your ears are perked and lying in wait while you fiddle with your fingers in your lap, hoping to fight off the urge to reach out for him. 

       “YN, I’m not sorry because it felt right.” Kenma shakes his head. “It felt good- actually, no, not good. Perfect. I wasn’t supposed to be with her.” He sounded hopeless. “On the inside, deep down, I realized I was glad I wasn’t.” 

       “...Why?” 

       “Because that girl who sat next to me in class, the girl who managed for all of my volleyball games and yet she didn’t know about our red string, she was on my mind twenty-four seven. YN, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

       You were wrong. Kenma didn’t sound hopeless. Sure, he sounded confused and lost, but not hopeless. If anything, you were finally able to identify that look in his eyes. Hope. 

       For a moment, you had nothing to say. Your chest was almost overflowing with joy, but something… something was stopping it. Apprehension stood in the form of a shadow of doubt. Why didn’t he…

       “Why didn’t you do anything sooner?” You had just wanted to get the feeling out in some form of words. The feeling of Why did you string me along for weeks after finding out I knew?

       Kenma was smarter than he looked. He always was, so you were glad he had uncovered the meaning behind your words. 

       “I thought…” he gulps and finally looks away after minutes of watching you, “I thought you didn’t want me. You didn’t tell me you knew about the string, and when I found out,” he shrugs, “I figured you didn’t say anything because you didn’t want me.” 

       Maybe… maybe you had both made mistakes. You had both indirectly hurt each other. Each of you was broken and hurting after what had transpired for months. Maybe the best way to go about fixing it was to finally do it together. Be together. 

       “I did want you. And I still want you. Do you… want me?”

       At last, Kenma raises his head and makes eye contact with you, causing your heart to do somersaults in your chest. His cheeks are rosy, most likely almost identical to your own, and he decides to gift you a hint of a smile. 

       “Yes, please.” 

                               ~~~

       “Kenma, set it this way!”

       “One touch!” 

       “I got it, I got it!”

               “Back me up!” 

       The setter was back to his A-game, and with every successful play, he sent you a glance.

       Like a good girlfriend, you sent him back a proud grin each time that made him flush more than the sweat dripping down his temple. 

       By the end of the game, they won with four points to spare. The team hopped around in joy, screaming and pumping fists with cheers of triumph.

       A small tug on your pinkie directed your eyes back to Kenma, where his lips twitched in effort to hold back a grin. Another tug almost pulled you off the bench, causing you to rise to your feet with a giggle. 

       The moment you came closer, Kenma shyly wrapped his arms around you and released an excited squeak into your hair. 

       “We won.” You could hear the restrained glee in his tone, it’s only outlet being the steadily increasing tightness of his hold around your waist. 

       Fine, you would celebrate for him, as always. 

       “YEAH YOU DID!” you squealed excitedly, digging your fingers into his sweaty jersey and jumping up and down. His form stayed stiff against your own, jiggling back and forth with your movements. 

       It was only when you tried to peel away that he finally responded, tugging you back in and smiling against your neck. “Geez, calm down, it’s only a game.”

       “Pfft.”

       Kenma chuckles and presses a kiss to your skin and suddenly you’re on cloud nine. 

       Nothing could be better than this, because this was destined. This was written among the stars, etched into the many spirals of the milky way, crafted only by fate itself.

       This was two soulmates, forever meant to be. 

        What a useful red string this is.

Would you be interested in writing about something with Garou and a werewolf?

definitely depends on the prompt/idea, but i'd for sure consider it. My only concern is that w Garou i like using a reader without powers bc writing as though the reader is on even ground w Garou power-wise feels unrealistic and a little unappealing for me. I've done it once before, but now that the manga has moved on to show he's turning into a really powerful character, i'd hate to start dropping mary sues all over the place

if the idea of a possessive werewolf!garou x innocent human!reader aint the hottest thing i've heard of in a while tho👀

Lovesick (Garou x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: You have a cold, but Garou doesn’t know that. All he knows is that you wanted him to stay away, and that was something he could never do when it came to you. 

A/N: Part two of strangling writer’s block cuz I gotta. This one’s a little not great, but nonetheless I hope y’all enjoy!

Word count: 1145

        The living room was finally clean. You had just picked up the last of the tissues and washed your soup bowl in the sink when the door to your apartment opened. 

       “Hey baby, I’m here,” Garou announced, kicking off his shoes and closing the door. 

       “That’s great, but don’t come near me.” You hugged the blanket around your shoulders tighter and reclaimed your place on the couch.

       “What?”

       “Don’t come near me,” you shrugged, grabbing the TV remote and turning down the volume so the two of you could talk. You hugged a pillow to your chest and sniffled once more, not an uncommon action throughout your stuffed up day, but Garou panicked at the sound. Were you crying? Were you okay? Oh God, did someone hurt you? Did he hurt you in some way? He just didn’t know.

       “Why?” his voice was small and constricted, “Did I do something wrong?” You gave him a confused look before sniffling and wiping your nose while looking away. Crap, he did do something. And he was supposed to remember it too!

       “No, I’m just-”

       “YN, I’m sorry if I hurt you in some way.” Now that he thought about it, Garou had been spending many nights out in the city, leaving you alone at home. There were days where you had wanted him to go out to the movies, or cuddle in your apartment. Domestic times where he had completely ignored you just to hunt down a hero. 

       “No, Garou, it’s not anything like that-”

       “I swear I never wanted to hurt you, YN!” he exclaims, panicking as he takes a seat on the coffee table in front of you. Your brows furrow and your sneer confusedly at him. What the fuck was his problem?

       “I know, Garou, but seriously-” His yellow eyes, normally glowing with the thought of hero-destruction, were now dark and watery. Every breath he took seemed to rattle his whole frame while he desperately watched your every move. 

       “YN, I love you so much. Please don’t do this,” he whimpered, grabbing one of your clammy hands and holding it against his face. He knew you didn’t want to be near him, and maybe you wanted him to leave. He had left you alone for too many nights, chasing something fruitless while you supported him dutifully. Garou didn’t know how he could manage without you. 

       “What are you talking about? Do what?” you asked bewilderedly. You shifted your hands out of his grasp and held his face, running cold fingers over the worried lines of his forehead. 

       “I know I’m not a hero, but please don’t leave me.” Maybe you were like everyone else, and wanted him to be something better. He had wanted to become the strongest man his whole life, and he thought maybe one day he would get there, with you by his side. 

       “Garou, I would never-” Garou had a decision to make. Yes, he loved you, more than anything in the world. But he had so many people to prove wrong. 

       “I’m sorry, YN, but I can’t change for you. I’ve chosen this path.” Garou loved you dearly for the do-gooder you were. Always working studiously, keeping your head down and laying low in society. He was the complete opposite, and he had to accept that. 

       “I know, Garou!” You tugged him closer by his face and looked deeply into his eyes. You weren’t scared of a lot of things, but your boyfriend was a serious overthinker. His mind ran circles around most others, and he was always thinking on another level. While some were worshipping the heroes, Garou was worried about the villains. Their lives, their journeys, everyone’s journeys.  He was just so different from what you knew, so every time his mouth opened, it served to confuse you even more. What the hell was he rambling about?!

       “YN, please stay by my side. I want to be near you-” Fuck it.

       “I’M SICK YOU DUMBASS!” The sheer volume of your frustrated shout caused Garou to flinch harshly in your grip. Your neighbors were going to hate you, but that was a problem for future you. Right now, you had a mind-boggled boyfriend to deal with. “That’s why you can’t come near me.”

       “Oh.” That’s all he could come up with. Well this is awkward. You fall back into the couch behind you and sigh heavily, rubbing your temples from the oncoming headache. The white-haired man on your coffee table sat with wide eyes watching the floor and hands running anxiously through his hair. No blood to rub in this time, buddy. That’s a shame. “... lovesick?”

       Oh my God.

       “No.” Your voice is congested and flat as you utter the word, and it finally clicks in his head. He snorts humorously and crosses his bulky arms. 

       “I told you you shouldn’t have pet that stray cat while it was raining out.”

       “It looked so sad!” you whine nasally.

       “Yeah, and look how that worked out. Now you’ve got a rabies shot and a sickness. You’re on a roll.” 

       “Shut up before I sneeze on you.” 

       “That’s not very nice,” Garou simpered. He pats your head while standing up and grabbing a new box of tissues sitting on your kitchen counter. He didn’t care if you were sick, he was going to cuddle his girlfriend whether you liked it or not. Crashing down on the sofa next to you, he sat the box in his lap and grabbed the remote while swiftly wrapping his arm around your shoulder and tugging you into his side.

        At first, you wanted to spare him, but he was too warm, and the hand that gripped your shoulder a tad too tightly told you he needed a little comfort after the conversation that had just gone down. You give in with a sigh, dropping a hand on his sturdy thigh to draw random patterns while you lean your head on his shoulder. Smiling tenderly at the act, your boyfriend’s lips brush your forehead before his attention returns to the droning TV.

       “I think I’m getting a headache.”

       “Because you had that stupid-ass mental tsunami earlier,” you mumble, nose sniveling while you snuggle further into Garou’s side. 

       “Or maybe it’s because you got me lovesick.” He waggles his eyebrows at you before pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. Pushing his face away gently, you groan and smack his chest to distract from the heat growing on your face.

       “Shut up before I hack on you.”