No One But You (Tendou X Reader)

Reminder to writers:

Write what makes YOU happy. You don’t have to pander to readers if they guilt trip you or something that they like but you don’t gets popular.

Because, at the end of the day, writing is your emotional labor. You are the one who pours the energy into writing while the reader consumes. You deserve to be happy and enjoy what you’re writing. If you don’t like the story and are only writing it because of other people, then you’re only hurting yourself.

It’s okay to be “selfish” and write for yourself.

More Than a Name (Ban x Reader/Soulmate AU)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: While escaping from the Holy Knights who are chasing after not her, but the name on her wrist, YN runs into the last person she expected to see so soon: Ban, her soulmate. 

Author’s Note: This is my first x reader/overall fanfiction that I have ever written, so please be nice:) (and I wrote it at 3:00 am using speech-to-text cuz I’m lazy so…) I do realize it is a little, you know, terrible, so I apologize, but I just wanted to finally write something for once in my life that wasn’t for a class. Anyways, onto the story!

Word count: 1884

        People were lined up and down the main street of the town like a bunch of impatient ants waiting for food. YN knew this was a waste of their time, and nervously scratched the skin just below the leather bracelet on her wrist. Ashamed, she watched as her neighbors were grabbed harshly by their right arms, inspected, then shoved away with unnecessary force as the Holy Knights reached for the townspeople next in line. YN knew what they were looking for too; it was people like her. Those with one of the names of the Seven Deadly Sins gracing their flesh.

       Months ago, Great Holy Knights Dreyfus and Hendrickson had asked that the soulmates of the Sins give themselves up for the greater good of Liones. The Knights wanted to use the Sins own perfect partners against them, use them as human bait. When no one had admitted their affiliations, the Knights decided to invade towns one by one, searching for leverage on the Sins in soulmate-form to goad them to surrender their lives up for capture.

       Now, as YN lay in wait inside her small home near the town square for a Holy Knight to knock down her door and kidnap her, she decided to return to packing and not give up hope. She had been distracted by the small glimpse of her fellow townspeople waiting in a line for nothing, and finally realized that if she had made eye contact with any one of them, she would be done for. Shoving the last of her shirts into her heavily-packed satchel, she laced up her brown boots and headed for the back door. Her pants sagged slightly, so the girl removed the decorative string from the V of her blouse and wrapped it tightly around her waist through the loops of her pants, constricting her airways slightly but ensuring her clothing security. YN knew that she would have to move swiftly, so there would be no time to fiddle with the loose riding pants she had stolen from her neighbor. Sure, thievery was bad, but YN’s survival depended on it, and her strict wardrobe of work skirts and flowy blouses would not make for quick travel.

       Just as she slinked out of her home's second exit, the young woman heard the last thing she wanted to hear shouted across the square. Over the top of her house and through the alleys of the buildings beside it, a Holy Knight declared, “We are looking for a YN YLN.” Like a deer in headlights she froze while observing her clean escape, the forest behind her home, with wide, fearful eyes. Deciding hastily, YN took a chance and made a run for it, loudly shouldering through branches and stomping on twigs as she rushed past the trees. She had no idea where the blurs of brown and green around her led, or even if they ended, but the girl decided she would rather be eaten by a rabid bear than be endlessly tortured and waiting for her outlaw of a soulmate to save her from the clutches of the dastardly Holy Knights. The racket she was making in the woods could have never been quieted by the mumbling lines of people in the town, and YN knew that, so she sprinted harder than her legs could take, muscles burning from the taxing movements. Just when the young woman could no longer hear the steps of her pursuers over her own heaving pants, she burst into a clearing and screamed at the sight of a giant and it’s ginormous, green pet pig, adorned with a building for a hat. YN screeches in fright once more when she tries to backtrack herself, only to notice the Holy Knights once again, directly on her tail. Suddenly, her feet are dangling in the air as YN is enclosed in the gentle, almost tender grasp of the female giant behind her.

       Giving YN a calming smile, the human colossus states, “Hi, there, I’m Diane.” She gestures to herself before pointing to YN’s followers and asking, “Why are you being chased?” YN’s eyes widen in recognition at the name before glancing to the side at Diane’s pet pig, only to see three more curious pairs of eyes blinking from atop the animal along with a second, smaller pink boar.

       However, YN is no idiot, so when she makes eye contact with her fated lover, the first words out of her mouth is “Shit,” muttered under her breath. Fighting her urge to struggle within the giant’s grasp, YN looks at Diane once more before stuttering out, “Please help me.”

       During all of this, Ban’s ruby eyes grow in offense at YN’s first word, asking, “Should I be insulted? ‘Cause I feel insulted.” YN cannot hold back an eye roll at his dramatic statement during her personal crisis. Shocked at her brazen action, Ban goes rigid and drops his jaw. Meliodas, YN assumes, smacks Ban on the arm to bring him back to the matter at hand, which is chasing off YN’s pursuers. Meanwhile, the young girl fights off her newfangled urge to throw up after discovering her fear of heights in Diane’s grip.

                               ~Timeskip~

       After Ban and his blonde companion accomplish their job of beating Knights into submission and fear, the last soldier that had followed YN limps away while shouting, “We will kidnap every last one of you Sins’ soulmates, just you wait!” before rushing back into the forest faster than lightning. This act causes YN to ponder if that was some special ability of his, or if it was just his inner-wuss taking control in fear of retaliation on the Sins’ behalf. The gray-haired female, who YN has learned was named Elizabeth and was also a princess of Liones (all while boredly waiting for the Sins’ return), gasped in fear at the Knight’s bold declaration.

       Gowther, the last Sin to leave the Boar Hut at the sounds of the battle’s ruckus outside, gave a resounding “Hm” while inspecting YN after the statement. The remaining Sins all shared a conjoined moment of understanding, their mouths forming ‘oh’ shapes as they turned their gazes to the young girl, eyes tracking as they watched Diane finally, finally, return her to the forest floor.

       YN clenched her teeth as she awkwardly stood in the spotlight of the group’s scrutiny. Chuckling nervously, YN slowly backs away as she spouts, “I don’t want anything to do with you guys, I swear. I don’t even know why they were after me, they had the wrong girl.” Her eyes quickly moved from person to person, warily watching to see if she had convinced them. 

       Ban easily noticed that she was lying and joked, “Wow, if you really don’t like your Sin of a soulmate so much, you must be Gowther’s!” He laughs over dramatically at his wisecrack to ease the tension, but when YN swallows and laughs anxiously once more, Ban has another epiphany and declares, “Holy shit, I was right!” YN’s eyebrows raise at his obliviousness, but quickly lower when Ban approaches her. His plan soon becomes evident, as the albino wants the pair of lovebirds to meet via him dragging YN to her impassive “soulmate.” This idea, however, is quickly shut down when YN flinches away from Ban just as he is about to grasp her wrist. The Sin of Greed is surprised and worried by her actions, concerned he has hurt her in some way. Meliodas, ever the gentleman, hurriedly reduces the thick atmosphere by ordering the large, green pig to burrow into the ground. YN has no time to be startled, as she is quickly ushered inside the building on top of the hog. Diane remains outside, talking quickly and silently with the Sin of Sloth, occasionally glancing through a window at the gang inside. As YN steps through the doors of the cozy bar and gazes around in pleasant surprise, she gives her attention to the Sin next to her, Gowther, who opens his mouth to state something.

       Before the pink haired man can speak, however, Meliodas shouts, “Gowther, Elizabeth and I need to talk to you!” before dragging his soulmate and his fellow Sin out of the room, winking at YN and slamming the door. Flinching at the loud bang before rolling her eyes in exasperation, YN acknowledges what she must do. She takes a seat on a stool of the bar and gestures for Ban to do the same.

       While slowly lowering himself into his seat, Ban decides to exercise basic human decency by asking, “So, what’s your name?” YN shuts him down immediately, shaking her head.

       Pursing her lips, she vaguely proclaims, “I don’t want to say until I see.” She adds quietly, “Can you show me your wrist...please?” Her eyes are almost sad as she watches him confusedly flash his wrist to her, and YN presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth to prevent her gasp. There it is, her own scrappy handwriting gracing his pale skin in harsh, permanent ink. The young girl inhales slowly, but she knows it is not enough oxygen as her lungs burn and she begins to feel lightheaded. Still, she decides against the act of loudly inhaling for fear of drawing his eyes to her, unknown to YN, pleased-looking face.

       Slowly, the young woman gently hovers her fingertips over the marking of her name, just far enough away that neither of them could feel the promised “sparks” of first soulmate-contact. Almost unwillingly, YN pulls back and finally makes eye contact with Ban again. She wants to commit his beautiful, red orbs to memory, and attempts to do so as she slowly unlaces her leather bracelet, smiling faintly when the act draws his eyes. She wants to remember them, and she knows that for a fact.

        ‘At least if he doesn’t like me, I could still remember something beautiful from this moment,’ she tells herself, admiring his white lashes as well. Tearing away the bracelet like a Band-Aid, she uncovers his own name on her wrist, written softly in cursive. It’s perfectly imperfect, as it’s his complete opposite; while he’s often erratic and wild, YN finds his name on her wrist comforting.

        Ban becomes still the sight, but YN scrutinizes his reaction even more, preparing to book it out of there if need be. Slowly, Ban reaches out to touch his own name, almost in disbelief of the view before him. Sparks flow up YN’s arm and throughout her whole body after he makes contact, and a warm, tingling feeling follows. It’s like a combination of adrenaline and anticipation, she notes, and it finally settles in the pit of her stomach. This time around, YN cannot withhold her gasp, and Ban’s face slowly raises to reveal a smile. Not a cocky, irritating smirk like the ones she had seen printed on his wanted posters, an expression he normally wears, but a genuinely happy, almost teary-eyed grin. 

        With her eyes on him, he whispers softly, “I found you,” while tenderly rubbing his thumb back and forth across his own name. No longer fearing rejection, YN is ecstatic as she returns his smile full-force.

Fake Marks, True Love (Oikawa x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: 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?”

A/N: Angst! Angst! Angst (and fluff)! Also, another prank fanfic? Wow! Who’d have thought? Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy this fake hickey prank with Aoba Johsai’s cocky setter!

Word count: 1341

        The dark splotch on your neck was perfect. It was slightly below your ear and couldn’t be easily covered by hair or clothing. I could be a makeup artist. You dipped the brush into the powder and dusted it over the mark as a final touch, making it seem more natural and subtle. 

       “And now we wait,” you mutter, packing up the eyeshadows and foundations around you before settling down in the living room. You bundle up in a thick sweatshirt and yoga pants, hopping onto the couch and preparing for Oikawa to come over after finishing practice. 

       About an hour later, the TV is loud and lit up the room with your show, but you could still hear your boyfriend’s knock on the door along with the call of your name. You had almost drifted off to sleep, so you yawn while rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands. 

       “YN!” He rang the doorbell obnoxiously until you whipped open the door with a fierce glare.

       “Was that really necessary?” you hiss, the jingles still ringing in your ears. 

       “Of course,” he scoffed, “I wanted to see you. Be flattered.” He smirks at you before stepping inside, glancing around your house while kicking off his shoes. 

       “The Office? Really?” He raised a brow at your entertainment choice. “You’ve watched that like a million times.”

       “And I’ll watch it a million more, so get used to it.” You stick out your tongue and trudge back over to the couch, Oikawa snagging your waist in the process and following closely behind you. His hands were cold from outside and rough from his practice. 

       “I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I?” He sighs dramatically and flops onto the sofa beside you, plopping his sweaty head on your lap. 

       “Ew, ew, ewww!” You pat his forehead in an effort to urge him to move but he only swats your hand away. 

       “Shush,” he relaxes both arms behind his head, not-so subtly caressing your thighs in the process. “It’s not that bad.” You know he’s right. Sweaty or not, his hair is always soft and calming to run your hands through, so you do it. 

       “See?” His brown eyes glow from down on your lap and you roll your own at him.

       “Fine, you win-”

       “God, I love hearing those words.”

       “Now shut up and let me watch Jim prank Dwight.”

       “Fine, I will. Now you shush and let me,” he pauses for a second, looking up at your face confusedly, “... stare… at… you,” he trails off. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are filled with pain. What’s wrong with him? You glance down curiously before returning your gaze to the screen.

       A hand of his peels out from under his head and reaches up to brush over your face then down under your ear. Smiling faintly, you lean into his touch. He was gentle with his movements and you close your eyes to focus on the feeling. “YN.” 

       You hum in response. 

       “Who touched you?” His voice is tense and restrained. Your eyes fly open and narrow in confusion.

       “What?”

       “Who did this?” He sits up and turns to face you, keeping his fingers against the side of your neck. “Who stole you from me?”

       “What are you-” Oh shit.

       Your hand flies up to feel for the fake hickey, but Oikawa’s is already there. 

       “Yeah, that’s right,” he sneers while his voice trembles, “I saw it.” You’re conflicted between ending it right now by telling him and staying silent to see where it goes. Wait, why did I do this again?

       “How could you?” His Adam’s apple bobs while he pushes your hair back once more to view the artificial mark, only to scoff in disbelief and shake his head. You breathe out waveringly and fidget with your fingers. Should I stop now? God, why am I doing this?

       “It’s not what you think.” You avoid his gaze and mutter more excuses, “I just fell.” He gives you a pained smile and his eyes start to water. 

       “On your neck?” he whispers breathlessly. You nod and he shakes his head once more, loosening a tear from his eye. 

       “YN, please. Tell me the truth.”

       “I am!” you plead.

       “You’re lying!” he exclaims suddenly, pushing off the couch to pace back and forth in front of you anxiously. His hands tug on his hair harshly while he bites his lip. 

       “How long?”

       “Baby, it’s not-”

       “Who was it?”

       “Tooru-”

       “Was he better than me?” he whispers, eyes filled with hurt while he watches you.

       “Tooru, no, it’s a prank!” you shout, standing up and approaching him, only to be stopped by his outstretched hands. 

       “YN, I can’t.” He shakes his head and your heart stops. 

       “Can’t what?” you ask softly, eyes welling up with tears.

       “I can’t stay here.” Oikawa stumbles back, searching the floor frantically for his shoes. “I-,” he chokes back a sob, “I can’t be with you anymore.” 

       “Tooru wait!” You sprint over and slide into the door, slamming it shut just as he opens it. Tears fall down his face silently as you let out trembling breaths. Without a word, you grab his hand and lead him to the bathroom.

       “YN don’t-”

       “Shut up.” Your voice cracks pitifully as you drag him in and switch on the light. You hold him in place with a tight grip and silently turn on the faucet. 

       “YN…” he trails off in awe, watching as you rub away the fake love mark until it is only an awkward rash of purple under your ear. Slowly, you turn your head up to face him in the mirror, dropping his hand and leaning against the counter while you wait. 

       “It was just a prank,” you mumble, pursing your lips and losing yourself in his brown eyes. At last, he seems to hear you. And believe you. His nose flairs and he frantically wipes at his cheeks, hoping to erase the wave of sadness from earlier. Then he lets out a forced chuckle.

       “Thank God,” he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if-” Oikawa breaks off with a whimper and pulls you into an embrace, weeping gently into your shoulder. In an instant, you return the hug, but you widen your eyes in an attempt to keep your own cries at bay. The resistance doesn’t last long, and you tuck your head into his neck, squeezing the back of his shirt tightly while you let out your own body-wracking sobs.

       “Don’t ever do that again,” he begs, sighing when you press a kiss to his neck.

       “Never,” you promise, nodding in agreement. Hesitantly, he leans back to look at your face and uses a thumb to wipe away a stray tear. For a moment longer, his fingers stroke your cheek before trailing down to your chin, swiftly pulling you forward for a kiss. Your lips clash together and you both let out a moan at the feeling. His bottom lip is puffy from when he had bitten on it devastatedly earlier, but you don’t hesitate to perform the same job in the heat of the moment.

       Oikawa groans before separating to allow you to breathe. The break doesn’t last long, and you sigh wantonly when he begins to attack the skin of your throat.

       “My marks are the only ones that should ever touch your neck,” he gives you a heated glance while you gaze back dazedly and nod in agreement. “Allow me to demonstrate,” he mumbles, lips brushing hotly against you with every syllable. After a harsh bite, you mewl and dig your hands into his hair, yanking on the brunet’s tufts encouragingly. 

       “Please do.”

Yandere ozai?

Yandere Ozai Headcanons

*GIF not mine*

A/N: Should I start watching Hunter x Hunter? Sorry, that was random. Anyways, just wanna warn you these hcs are a lil out of order, and I’m sorry. When I wrote it, I just kept coming up with more and more ideas for the “story” so I just kept adding to it. Anyways, hope you like it!

Word count: 956

First of all, you’re a maid in the castle. Yeah, of course he’s seen you in the halls and thought you were attractive, but he never really gave it more thought. 

Then Zuko and Azula’s mother left, and that’s when he got hooked on you. He felt lost and you, being the ever-faithful servant, stayed by his side and comforted him. 

(We are talking about adults here. You did have sex with him for “comfort.”)

Anyways, after that, you had sealed your fate. While you tried to get on with your life, Ozai wasn’t as forgetful. 

Honestly, I think this guy is one of those yanderes who initially don’t want to admit or believe they love you.

Like first, he’ll try other concubines. Women who will bow down to him and such. 

Then he’ll finally resort to keeping you near, allowing you to continue being a maid and such (because he initially planned on kicking you to the curb after your night together), but he still doesn’t like that he likes you. 

Part of him just feels… addicted. Like he doesn’t want to lose you. But he doesn’t like having that attachment. 

Honestly, he’ll want to blame his obsession on you, like make you feel bad for it and stuff. 

He’ll keep trying to show off with other women in the castle. 

Making out with them during breakfast and such while you’re serving them and you’re just standing around like “did you want eggs or…”

Then, at some point, he doesn’t exactly give in to his feelings, but he understands that as the leader of the world, it doesn’t matter who he’s with. 

Ozai’s not really self-concious of you ruining his image; if anything, he kinda wants to use you to flaunt how he can transform someone from rags to riches. 

At that point, he’s really fallen for you. He’s on the verge of taking over the world, his rebelling son is still banished, and he’s about to take over the last city that stands a chance against him: Ba Sing Se.

It’s a toss up of whether he wants to flaunt his world to you or to flaunt you to his world. 

You better treat everything he does like it’s amazing. Seriously, this guy is pure ego. 

If he gifts you something (which is something he does often), you must always repay him. Whether this is sexual or compassionate just depends on his moods. 

Maybe I’m wrong about this, but I really don’t think Ozai is the type of yandere to be like “you should feel blessed to be with me,” especially after he’s fallen for you. Initially? Yeah sure, he may have thought that a few times. But after he’s acknowledged the fact that he can’t let you go, I don’t think he’d rub his love in your face too much. He’d be more obsessed with showing you what he can do. 

You’re his world now, and giving you the entire world is his perfect gift. 

In the end, of course he’s captured for attempting to do this, and his third or fourth thought is “oh shit, where’s YN?”

He orders the last of all the Ozai loyalists to capture you and, I’ll be frank, he wants you to go out “together even in death” style. 

With a forced kiss, he’ll make you drink poison in his cell while he holds you in his arms (he ignores your struggling and crying). After the life has faded from your body, he takes his own swig and you go out together. 

Anyways, back to before all of this (sorry this is so out of order) right after you had sex with him to comfort his wife leaving, I think he more fell for you because you symbolized a new hope for him. 

He had made you feel so good that night. Deep down, he wanted to keep making you feel that good. 

Ozai wanted to prove to you but mostly himself that he could keep a woman and please her. He wanted his ex-wife to regret leaving him, so he was going to give you the world. 

Getting right back into it, he is a crazed king, mind you, so he will use his power for self-gain. If you’re talking to someone, no matter the gender, he’s going to banish them.

(Of course if they touch you, their life is the price of their misdeed.)

You, on the other hand, are also forced to take responsibility for your mistakes. 

It’s not uncommon that he’ll lock you away to keep you from interacting with others, but if you’re wrong-doings are especially horrible, whippings and burnings are not uncommon. (Plus, he likes the sight of his fire touching and permanently marking your skin. It’s like a physical claim no one, not even you, can get rid of. It keeps you knowing your place.)

There’s really no list of rules Ozai has set for you, but they’ve become clear to you over the years you’ve been with him.

1: No contact with others.

2: Always repay your lord for his kindness.

3: Bow when he enters and leaves a room.

4: Give him a kiss or more whenever he acknowledges your presence.

5: Never disobey an order from your master.

Truly, being with Ozai is quite simple: learn your place and no one gets hurt.

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

Afsjhkakdkd sameeeee

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

Nah but really, just imagine when they get jealous.

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

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

In the Black Widow’s Nest (Henry Creel x Reader) 🕷️Chapter 1🕷️

*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.

A/N: All i ask is that u imagine henry creel’s evil face on jace wayland’s body that’s it that’s all u gotta do, the fic will do the rest. this may or may not be a series, i do have a few ideas for it (but let it be known begging will not speed up the process). one final comment: henry creel hot. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 4328

Amongst the cobwebs, the dust, and the black widows, in the abandoned royal library surrounded by the scent of mildew and what once was and is no longer, a pair of eyes watched your every move. Like two frozen fingers poking into the back of your skull, the gaze ran chills down your spine and tightened the muscles in your shoulder blades.

Every move you made was stiff. Despite the season outside being spring, winter had found perpetuity within the four towering walls. There were no windows nor any lit chandeliers; the only light was provided by the brass candlestick that had been forced into your hand before you were thrown into the library, with the promise of being released after ten hours or at the the sight of one hundred spotless, unblemished bookshelves—whichever came first. 

Decidedly, you had three hours left. 

The candle was almost completely diminished to a pool of wax, and the flame on its wick had long weakened and begun flickering. You suspected one last breeze would leave you in complete darkness and at the mercy of whomever was watching you from the shadows. No matter how many times you weaved in and out of the bookshelves that stood at twice your height, five parallel rows of grimy mahogany stacked with fading leather spines, you could not escape the unmistakable feeling. 

This person had not made a sound when they had entered the room. There were no new footsteps tracked in the dust layered on the floor aside from yours, and you had not even heard the twin doors creak open as they had when you entered. You couldn’t hear them over your own breathing and certainly not over the pounding of your heart. 

With every precarious flick of your feather duster over the worn titles, the clouds of your efforts mingled with those of your own exhales. You kept your gaze low, eyes focused on only the task in front of you with the hope—artificial hope—that if you did not disturb them with your own attention, they would eventually remove theirs from you. 

Time trudged by as you shifted from bookshelf to bookshelf, the clogs on your feet scraping the hardwood floors. You kept a wooden chair in tow, collected from one of the tables arranged in the center of the room, and dragged it in closer to the nearest bookshelf, clambering atop the seat and lifting onto your toes to dust the top row of books. The cobwebs were thickest here, spiders having been left to their lonesome far too long and creating their own colony. 

You could barely reach and dusted blindly, allowing the length of the feathers to do most of the work as you ignored the cramps festering throughout your calves. A soft gust of wind floated past and tousled the flyaways at your brow, and as you purse your lips to blow them back and out of your lashes, the room flickered and fell into darkness. 

The candle had finally gone out. 

You squinted and hissed a curse under your breath, your gaze snapping to the outline of the table, where you could barely make out the bowl of wax and nothing more. Just my luck, you thought as you withdrew your feather duster from the bookshelf top. You would have to retrieve a new taper from one of the maids’ closets, though you sincerely doubted the head maid would be all too pleased with your explanation.

Excuses, excuses, you could imagine her barking at you, ire swirling in her small, black eyes. Candles don’t just go out on their own.

“She’ll probably just set my hand on fire and lock me back in here,” you grumbled, huffing as you grabbed the backing of your chair to dismount. A faint tickle on the back of your hand drew your attention. “Hell will freeze over before she—”

Spider.

You yelped, a blasphemy falling from your lips as your clogs slipped on the polished wood seat. Your back hit the ground first, a pained shock shooting from your tailbone up to where your head smacked against the ground with the whiplash of your fall. 

White sparkles lit up your vision, and you sputtered out a cough, not bothering to blink them away. An ache throbbed at your lower back, pulsing at the same wavelength as the ringing in your ears and drawing a groan from your lips. An odd smarting festered up your spine, not unlike a chill. 

Carefully, you slumped back, your head resting against the hard floor and your legs straightening out. You didn’t want to get back up; you didn’t want to move. For a few moments, you let the pain overcome you while you wheezed for breath, choking on the dust that had become unsettled by your fall. It rose and hung in the dark air around you, blurred and wavering with your heartbeat. 

For a few moments, you forgot that someone had been watching you. 

And you certainly didn’t want to know where the spider had wound up. 

The smallest vibration of light footsteps trembled underneath your fingertips, and a sharp pain shot through your skull. Light, blinding and bright and excruciatingly insistent, is all you can see when the vibration stops and some glowing form hinges over you. 

“Not dead,” are the words you think you hear, husked in a monotonous, low gravel and feeding into the loud hum in your head. It’s muffled between the blood pounding in your ears and the hazy confusion that had begun to fog over your mind. 

“Not yet, at least.”

You licked your lips, eyes fluttering closed, then open, then closed again. “What?” you mumbled breathlessly. 

The glowing form dims, gradually painted by an orange hue. When metal thuds on wood, you guess it must be a candle joining your pool of wax on the table, and before long the presence hovers over you again. Tree sap swarms where the scent of mildewed books had been lingering, and, in a cruel twist of fate, you hazard a guess that this is one of the courtiers the head maid had shrilled about avoiding at all costs. 

Or worse—a member of the royal family. 

But how? And why? None of them would ever idle about in a damp, endlessly cold library. The smell bordered on revolting, half of the volumes were wrinkled and illegible, and you couldn’t walk two steps inside without grime caking your face and clothes. Not to mention, the spiders. Disgusting, horrid spiders. 

Black widows, if the head maid was to be believed. 

The wintry library would never be home to festivities of the upper class, not even the occasional unsolicited rendezvous. There were dining rooms and bedrooms and poor, innocent gardens for all the horrific things they did to one another; entire wings dedicated to the sybaritic tendencies of royalty. 

But this man before you—oh, how otherworldly he was. 

You could believe that he had been the one watching you with how his eyes pierced you in this moment, a being such as him the only one capable of having a tangible effect with a single glance. 

You took in his sharp cheekbones, the soft slope of his nose, his slate blue eyes. His face was haloed by mussed, golden hair, and two pale pink lips set against each other as a look of disinterest with ease. His entire appearance, from his lithe figure to the way his eyes dragged over you, exuded a superiority that had been trained to perfection. 

Staring at him felt like drinking a sweet wine, far too indulgent and alluring to ever be truly satiated, and yet you know all too well it would be condemning to keep on as you are. You know this man has a rank heavens above yours; his skin, tanned and unblemished, has never felt the dust and dirt that encompasses you every day, and his body has never held your scars.

In your muddled daze, you imagined barreling headfirst into damnation for acquainting with this handsome being. Whether he be a marquess or a lord or, God forbid, even a duke, being seen in such close quarters with him was strictly forbidden, especially with the royal prince’s season for courting beginning in a week. 

And then you felt yourself spiraling—you imagined him curling over you, his deft fingers sliding underneath your nape, tracing the curve of your scalp and feeling for injury. You imagined his eyes warming pleasantly as he found you safe and unharmed. You imagined he gave a damn. 

But he didn’t. He never would. 

His hands fell to his hips, the loosely fitted, half-unbuttoned white tunic he donned exposing more toned skin while he glowered down at you.

He certainly wasn’t going to wax poetic about your welfare. 

“No blood.” His head tilted to one side slightly, blond tufts of hair following suit. “And thankfully no mess. I’d have hated to invite yet another servant in here, even if it was to drag your body out.”

A shiver tore through your spine, and you had the most horrible feeling that if you died somehow in this moment, no one would bat an eye—especially not the man before you.

His voice had that regal lilt, the one you could have never gained in your small village outside of the castle. You’d only ever heard it on a few of the higher-ranking maids—certainly none of the girls you had been hired with had such accents either—as well as some passing royalty on your first few days of traipsing the castle with a guide. His voice was deep and raspy, as though he spent his days either growling out orders or not speaking at all. You wonder if that was how he found it so easy to watch you mutely.

Feeling entirely too vulnerable, supine as you were, you brace your hands against the floor and writhe your way into a sitting position, head swimming with vertigo. Bile rises in your throat, and you press your eyes closed, tight, waiting out the wave. The idea that dragging your gaze away from him had played a part in the nausea tickles the back of your mind. 

He watches, seeming somewhat interested, as you struggle.

Once, in your small village, a wolf had snuck into the farmer’s fields. You remember watching from your doorway that morning, the sun barely risen, as the wolf tackled a single lamb and began eating it alive. 

The blood coated its paws and muzzle. Bones crackled with the snapping jaws. Even after the lamb had stopped squealing, the hunger in the wolf’s eyes never quite seemed satiated. 

Something in the man’s and the wolf’s gazes made them indistinguishable to you in that moment. 

The cruel sneers and jeering laughs of the royals you’d seen so far could only contain so much antagonism. This man was cut from a different cloth. 

His body, all relaxed muscles and agile limbs, had a vigorous, agitated thing running within the veins of his arms, sleeves rolled to the elbows; the cruelty in his mien was something you had only ever encountered in wild animals. 

Panic chills the sweat on your brow. Laboriously, you wrench one hand on a bookshelf, hoisting yourself up despite the blaring pain climbing up your spine, and onto your feet. You can feel the weakness in your knees the second you try to take another step, the defiant outcry of your mind and body as you try to move, but the man is so close. The warning sirens in your mind wail. 

A hand grapples around your free wrist, insistent and rigid. 

“Stop.”

You flinch, and your first instinct is to twist away and run. His grip is iron-tight, though, and without much resistance, he spins you back to face him. Frantically, your eyes once more swallow up his bronze, toned skin in the shadows of his candle, waiting for a strike. 

In return, the weight of his gaze bows your shoulders, fostering an urge to find a corner and curl up until you can’t anymore. Something you can scarcely identify flickers through his blue eyes. He’s staring at your wrist, locked in his, and then he’s staring at you, his lips tight and his face hard as stone. Like before, you can feel him searching you, taking note of your every move. 

He’s scrutinizing you like a bug, uncertain of just how and in what way to crush you under his heel. It’s the way he had when his gaze was all you knew about him, and you have no trouble imagining yourself splatting underneath his boot. 

But a sound rings in the distance, drawing your attention away from him entirely. 

Ringing. Ringing like church bells. Ringing like the clang of the metal clapper striking tarnished ocher and rust. The kingdom’s clock tower made the same sound. 

A chime, maybe.

Or a knell. 

But you were almost positive that sound couldn’t be heard so far away, crammed deeply within the towering castle walls. Especially at its volume. 

It chimes again, and you slam both hands to your ears, heart pounding. It’s deafening. You can’t breathe, and you can barely see, still tangled up in the man’s eyes. They’ve grown so cold and strike you so much harder your teeth begin to chatter. 

“No,” you whisper, though you’re not quite sure what you’re protesting. “Please.”

His pale lips turn red as he smirks, and every angle of his face sharpens into focus. The room fades into black and white. Musty bindings and rotting pages no longer invade your nostrils. It’s like your brain is shutting off each sense one by one so you can take in more of him. 

And you can’t seem to look away. 

No. 

By the third chime, you can barely feel the pain that had been radiating through your body, and the release is almost blissful. Beckoning. You’re swathed up in the tranquility, ears stuffed with cotton and head buzzing in the silence. When your whole body starts rocking back and forth, waiting for another agonizing chime, your knees begin to feel like rubber, suddenly too malleable to stand upon.

A fourth chime, earsplitting. 

They buckle. 

You snap your hands forward in a panic, yelping when you stumble.

All your senses return as fast as the pinch of a needle. Blood roars in your ears, and soreness floods your every limb. It’s like trying to squeeze into clothes that have become too small and completely ripping the seams—all the sights, the smells, the feelings overload your brain too quickly, causing it to swell and split open. 

Your only lifeline is a radiating source of heat, and you cling to it so hard you're half afraid you might smother it. But when your embrace tightens, so too does your grip on reality. You can almost unscramble your own thoughts again—all the curse words you’ve ever known combined with prayers to the heavens above. Giving yourself into refuge becomes second nature, and you burrow further into the cradle of warmth.

A jolt runs up and down your back, and your skull feels cracked in two. 

But the eerie quiet of the library registers anyway. The chiming is gone. 

Blissful silence remains, only occasionally pierced by your gasping breaths. You want to nuzzle deeper, the warmth firm and solid, as the simmering underneath your skin wanes, yet there seems to be no space left that your form hasn’t already curled into.

“What just happened?” Your voice wavers, and it echoes back so loudly that you flinch. 

You can’t see a thing. The dim outlines of the room fuzz and blend, and if you weren’t standing on your own two feet, you wouldn’t have been able to tell up from down. But the chill still nips at your skin. The library hasn’t changed. Nothing’s changed but you. 

But there’s no explanation for the bell-ringing, the sensory overload. It must have all been in your head; it feels like any second now, your ears are going to pop and reality will flood back in. You’re alive. But whatever had just happened was as close to death as you could have imagined—

A breath away from becoming nothing. 

So what stopped it?

Even more—what started it?

The questions slipped your mind the second you heard the library door creak. The pitiful sound allowed the entrance of sunlight directed by the hallway’s window, and the stiffness of your bones crackled at the thought of even more warmth. You felt half-thawed and left for dead, save for the fount of heat caught in your white-knuckled grasp. 

You went still. 

Heat. 

Heat in the library. 

That had to have been one of the most preposterous realities you had imagined since you had first stepped foot in here seven hours ago—and you had raked through your mental fantasies quite thoroughly in that time. 

Carefully, as though jaws might snap at you from the darkness, you withdrew your arms from the motionless frame and craned your head upward. 

Dear God. 

The man was even more beautiful when washed in distant sunlight. Heart-wrenchingly so. More alluring when his hair glowed golden, combed back waves ending neatly at his nape. More potent when his gaze speared yours, his arms limp at his sides, elbows brushing the backs of your hands at his waist. 

Terribly heady.

Five seconds passed before you caught on to your ill deed, and his white tunic fluttered from the speed at which you pulled away from him. When his slender fingers twitched in tandem, you could only assume that, had you waited another second, he would have grasped your wrists so tightly the bones would have snapped. 

How could you? Oh God, this was it. It’s all over. 

You’re seized under his watchful eye, his face washed over with rage, or vexation, or downright disgust at your entirely-too-close, worthy-of-execution contact. 

Certainly, it could not be the wonder you had initially thought it was. 

That was just not possible. 

Impossible. 

Maybe. 

“YN!” 

You jump when the library’s twin doors slammed open, a crotchety, accented voice rattling against the shelves. The clomping of two clogs no different than yours—though, possibly better polished—thunder towards the pair of you, located by your and his candlesticks, stained brass and glossy gold sitting side by side on the oak center table. 

The head maid—Miss Miriam Swinebottom, which, in your humble opinion, was evidence that fate did in fact understand the concept of justice—was a woman of an angular, acidic countenance. Two beady eyes sunk deep into her skull like snakes nestled within a tumbleweed, and she had the capacity for two emotions: disappointment and fury. With a distaste for all things insouciant, the skeletal woman wielded the newly hired maids like an army of rats; she sent all of you scuttling over every inch of the castle and cleaning until your bodies were slow and stiff as though submerged in deep water. 

And you had no doubt that, the second that gaze fell upon you, she was out for blood. The terror that began pulsing in every nerve was no different than when you had first noticed the foreboding air around the blond man. You were not going to get out of this without a scratch. 

Miss Miriam took in you first, but not for long. Soon enough, both of you, as one incriminating sight, were being ascertained. 

You knew what she saw. 

One of her new maids, no better than the grime beneath her shoe, inches away from a royal. 

Unseasoned in the ways of the castle, naive to the new problem you’ve just sprouted, a true simpleton for what you’ve done. You. 

You, with unsteady eyes and flushed cheeks, his shirt unbuttoned, blond hair tousled. 

Fresh meat. 

Dead meat. 

And you hadn’t even done anything. 

You stumble back another step and hesitate to make an excuse. Words, you’d learned, were no better than handing Miss Miriam a switch. Best stay silent and pray for mercy.

Or, rather, for a quick recovery. 

Curiosity slips out of your hands, and you sneak a glance at the man. 

He’s wicked all over again. Somewhat unimpressed by the turn of events, he appears, but the emotion mingles with a strong sense of antagonism no nobility can seem to restrain. You’re only half-glad looks can’t kill. Miss Miriam would be worse off than six feet deep by now. 

To your surprise, she does not snatch you away with promises of a beating. She doesn’t get a step closer. 

Instead, the head maid folds into a low curtsy, then rises back up, bowing her head. “Your Highness.”

You tense at her actions, mind falling blank. 

No. He couldn’t be. 

Your Highness? Your Highness?

But as his gaze trails away from her and back to you, his face abruptly void, you can only stagger back another step, knees giving way into a curtsy as you copy Miss Miriam.

Waiting.

He is.

His Royal Highness, Crown Prince of the Creel Dynasty.

And here you had been, none the wiser, completely ignorant to the danger you’d just placed yourself in. 

For a long, excruciating moment, nothing happens. He does not touch you, nor does he move. The only sound filling the room is bated breath and whispering winds. 

Prince Henry. The prized catch of all the kingdoms. Aristocracy who’d never even scoff at a servant like you were here to court him. 

And you’d been so close—you could still feel the ghost of his warmth under your fingertips. 

A huff perks your ears, but you bite your tongue, waiting. He moves, one slow footstep at a time, nearing you with his polished, leather boots. You watch them as they grow closer. 

You watch them as they hesitate in front of you.

And then you watch them as they pass, each thump of leather against hardwood further and further away until there’s no doubt he has left the library. 

The older maid hitches a second longer before she rises, spitting your name like bile. “YN.” Her footsteps thunder toward you, and you barely have time to straighten before she has an iron grip on your upper arm, hauling you out of the room. 

“You had such a simple task. Clean the library and get out.” She grits her teeth, eyes flaring. “No one has used it in a decade, and yet what do I find but a dusty library and you. You, whoring yourself around the prince. And you said you weren’t a wench before I hired you.”

  She leads you down the castle’s marble hallways, dim from the setting sun yet well-lit by the sconces lining the walls. No matter how much you stumble and grunt, she drags you after her into the servants’ wing, swiftly finding the maids’ hall and barging you through the doorway. 

The room falls silent when the door slams shut, and while no crowd gathers, you are certainly the center of attention to the maids awaiting attending dinner. Stomachs are rumbling, but you have no doubt they would rather feast their eyes on this spectacle first. 

Tears pinch at the bridge of your nose. You can’t cry; you didn’t want to be one of the maids that cried. Those that did were in the latter half of the new hires who were younger than you. And you weren’t a little girl anymore. 

No crying. 

But, oh, you were scared when Miss Miriam paraded you in front of the others, hissing warnings and threats of punishment for girls who did what you had done. 

“-traipsing herself around in front of a most respected royal.” Black, burning eyes latch back onto you. “Tell me, YN, what did you think would happen?”

You flinch. 

There’s no point in looking to others for help. You don’t know them well enough to have friends. It’s been three days, and only one name has stuck. 

But you know it’s a sea of pity, disappointment, and nervous movement flowing back and forth. 

“It,” your voice cracks, and you pause, blinking rapidly. Another older maid, same regal accent, same strict demeanor, same gaze hissing you deserve this you deserve this you deserve this, approaches from behind. “It was an accident—”

You reel back into her waiting arms with a yelp. A stinging burn lances at your cheek, and if you hadn’t seen Miss Miriam’s bony hand fall back to her side, you would have thought she’d slashed open your cheek with an average kitchen knife. 

A seasoned backhand. Was there anything worse?

Miss Miriam stepped back, her appearance leaning more towards irate than strictly furious. She turned away from you, searching the walls of the dormitory. Though you had never seen it before, it hung on the wall with a single nail and a small, looped string on the handle.

A riding crop, yet you had the distinct feeling it had never been used on horses before. 

“No,” you plead when swift fingers begin untying your garment backing. “Please, it—it was an accident!” You try to yank away, but the crop swings at your head. When you lurch back, the fingers resume and Miss Miriam simply tilts her head. 

Dread claws up your throat. The edges of your vision begin contracting with your heart beat, while a shrill voice in your head begins screaming to run, to get out, to escape. Cold air assaults your bare back, and when you feel the tears begin to fall, the maid spins you around, presenting the stripped canvas of flesh to the others. 

“Let this be a lesson to you all, girls,” Miss Miriam announces. “This is not a whorehouse. You are not here to prostitute yourselves to royalty. You will not even look at them.” Her voice directs towards you, “They will certainly not look at you.”

You scream when the crop comes down, the white walls blurring, and the skin of your back wails at the betrayal. 

The tears don’t stop for hours.

Masterlist    Next

Please reborn is so good!! i have been waiting for part 8 like anything. Please please please dont discontinue it. I really wanna know the end!

I have never liked a fanfiction with parts and this long ever. I just adore it sm.

My deperate ass has read the series thrice by now lol.

BUT DIDHOSSK TAKE ALL THE TIME YOU WANT BUT DONT DISCONTINUE IT. 😩😭

i will cry and that will be anything but sexy 💀💀

Love ya <33

you are doing amazing senpai 🥰

(I dont think you will discontinue it but i just had a feeling 😔🖐️)

Aldhsknxksksn don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere🥺 I plan to completely finish that story kinda like a resolution to myself☺️ (cuz I’ve never completely written and finished a story before🙃)

No discontinuing here! My brain didn’t bust out that new multi-chapter plot for nothin😤😤

I’m glad u like it so much, and now I can’t wait to write the next chapter!! <3

...like a while from now😔

You Come Home Injured (Yandere BNHA Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

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

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

Word count: 1544

Bakugou Katsuki:

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

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

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

Maybe a small nap wouldn’t hurt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Todoroki Shouto:

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s just part of the job, Shouto-”

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

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

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

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

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

But he hurt her.

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

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

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

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

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

“How much?”

“W-what?”

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

“Sir…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shouto…?”

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

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

Kirishima Eijiro:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could have protected you…”

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

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

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

“What are we doing?”

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

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

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

He wanted you like this forever. 

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

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

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

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

Just perfect.

I just read the guppy love (shouto) oh my it was just so cute sfsedfergdidridtjr anyways are you planning to make a continuation? *silently egging author-chan to qwq* anyways your writing is phenomenal as always!! Please take care of your health and stay safe ily uwu)/❤❤✨

Akfjfjidkd I’m so glad you like that one🥰 definitely one of my favorites and though I don’t exactly have any ideas for a sequel, it’s definitely near the top of my lists for fics I need to write a part 2 for!

I’m so happy you like my writing🥺🥺 and u stay safe too💖💜

ur writing is so GOOD i had a cut ahoge the rest living rent free in my head so much i took a nap and had a dream about sugawara

Thank you! And Oop😳

Honestly tho, ain’t dreams about anime boys just the best? I can’t remember the last time I had one, but God do I miss em😔