I Totally Agree There Needs To Be More YANDERE! Daichi And YANDERE! Suga X Reader Like ?!?!??! IMAGINE

Darling Traps Them in a Room to Escape (Yandere Haikyuu Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

Ushijima and Oikawa Version

Sugawara and Kuroo Version

Bokuto, Kageyama, and Kenma Version

A/N: pfft so somebody requested this for hinata like t w o y e a r s ago… hehe. ANyways, love me some yandere haikyuu boys. Kinda loving tendou’s, so I hope y’all like it. Enjoy!

Word count: 2953

Tendou Satori:

“Darling, surely we’re not doing this now?”

“You know, I don’t think I like this game, YN. I suggest you end this before you cross a line you can’t come back from.”

You gulped but continued the search, digging through drawers and cupboards to find anything resembling a key. Tendou’s voice drawled from where you’d trapped him in the bathroom. 

“Taking advantage of a man while he’s got his pants down—not cool, YN.”

You try to ignore him, try to stay focused on what you’re doing, but it’s so hard. 

So hard when all he’s doing is heckling you in that damned tone of his.

Like you were a little kid playing an adult’s game. 

That’s how he’d always been though, ever since he first kidnapped you. He treated you like you didn’t know how to handle yourself in the real world. He acted like you needed him to watch your every move and teach you how to conduct yourself. 

That’s how your relationship had been before, when you were just a regular couple, but it was when you took notice of his gaslighting and tried to break up with him that he’d taken you. 

No, YN, you can’t keep getting distracted. Stay focused. 

Glancing back over at the front door to the apartment, you counted the locks once more. Three double-sided deadbolts, two padlocked latches. Somewhere inside the apartment were five keys Tendou never dared to leave without. You just had to find them. 

“I’m getting bored in here, could you at least slip me a deck of cards or something? Otherwise I might lose my mind.” The teasing lilt hinted at the smirk on his face. No doubt he was utterly, completely calm. He always was when it came to you, because he thought he knew you like the back of his hand. 

“Shut up in there, Satori!”

He snickered. “Well that was uncalled for.”

Like always, he knew how to get under your skin. Goosebumps rose on your skin, and you tried to shake off his taunts, dragging a hand through your hair with a deep breath. 

He can’t win. I won’t let him. He’s not getting away with this.

“How about a snack at least, darling, pretty please? The toothpaste is starting to look appetizing.”

Nothing, absolutely nothing. You couldn’t find keys in the living room or the kitchen, so you resorted to investigating the bedroom. 

When Tendou heard you approaching, he began to hum playfully. It was that song, the one he’d murmur while running his fingers along your skin, while tugging you in close after coming home from work. He’d whisper it into your hair at night, or you’d hear him singing it in the shower while you were still in bed. 

“You are my sunshine,”

You slammed open the door into the bedroom, trying to block out the voice that rang out from the door right across from you. 

“My only sunshine,”

Clenching your jaw, you began digging through the dresser, pushing aside clothes and feeling along the undersides of the drawers. 

“You make me happy,”

With a huff, you gave up, moving on to Tendou’s nightstand. At the sounds of your struggles, his voice seemed to get louder, grow clearer. 

“When skies are gray,”

Handcuffs and their keys, but none of which would fit the locks. You remembered when he’d first used them on you, the first night he kidnapped you. He was afraid you would do something “stupid” like try to attack him and hurt yourself in the process, so he’d shackled you to his headboard for your own personal wellbeing. 

“You’ll never know dear,”

You slammed the drawer shut at the sight of them and moved to feel under the mattress, trying to ignore all the crumbs and dust that gathered under your fingernails amidst the attempt. Tendou, meanwhile, just kept growing louder.

“How much I love you,”

Then you felt it. Metal. A whole ring of it, too. Five keys jingled together when you yanked them out from under the bed, almost falling onto your back from your overzealous force. You almost teared up at the sight of them.

I’m getting out of here. I can see my family again.

Maybe your life would never return to normal, not after what Tendou had done, but you could certainly try. You missed humanity. You missed the outside world. How long had it been since you’d seen green grass or felt the warmth of the sun on your face? How long had it been since you’d felt rain dampen your hair or traced your eyes along the stars in the sky?

Too long. Far too long. At some point, you’d given up keeping track, but not anymore. 

“Please don’t take my,”

You pulled yourself to your feet, misty eyes still stuck in wonder upon the ring of keys in your hand. 

“Sunshine away.”

Turning toward the door, you felt the keys slip from your fingers, cluttering loudly when they hit the floor. 

Tendou stood in the doorway, his head tilted to the side. A single red brow raised, his eyes wide with slitted, shrunken irises. He towered where he stood, spiky red hair close to brushing the top of the door. Long arms extended out and gripped the edges of the doorway, nimble fingers tightening around the wood. 

 A small smirk peeled back his lips.

“Well,” his eyes slipped down to the keys on the floor before gliding back up to your face, “nobody can fault you for trying.” 

Mouth open in shock, your whole body began to tremble. A drop of cold sweat slid down your back. 

His hands loosened from around the doorway, dilated pupils still latched on your form as he made his way toward you. When he stopped, he bent low, his breath brushing the stray hairs along your face as he snagged the keys from the ground with a tut-tut of his tongue. 

His other hand swept up and grabbed your chin, forcing you to close your mouth with a warning tap to your lip. 

“Guess I’ll have to find a new hiding spot, now, won’t I? Though, this certainly was the most fun we’ve had in a while, darling.”

You didn’t even flinch when his lips ran along yours. “Who knows?” he shrugged, pulling away. He tapped your nose with his finger before intertwining your hand with his, leading you from the room. “Perhaps, if you ever try this again, I could turn it into a scavenger hunt. Give you clues and such from wherever you try to trap me next.” He snickered. “Now wouldn’t that be fun?”

You didn’t respond, face turned toward the keys he’d tossed behind carelessly onto the bed. It was like he wasn’t worried you would make an attempt toward them. Like he wasn’t worried you’d ever get the chance. 

“Of course, like then, you’d be punished afterwards for trying, but isn’t that part of the game?”

“Punished?” you stuttered, taking the seat in the barstool he encouraged you into before releasing your hand, moving to the other side of the kitchen island to scour the fridge. 

He stopped his search, pulling out a carton of eggs and eyeballing the date. “Well surely you didn’t think you could try to leave me without there being consequences.” He didn’t even spare you a glance as you blanched. “But don’t worry, that fun will come later.”

Then he set the carton of eggs on the counter in front of you with an all-too pleasant grin on his face. “Now, how’s about eggs for breakfast, sunshine?”

Hinata Shouyou:

It’s when he’s approaching to kiss you that you are able to lock him up. 

It’s the first time he’s ever done such a thing; though he’s the one who’s kidnapped you, you are the one who dictates how far he can go before you pull away. 

Of course, he’d been disappointed the first few weeks when you didn’t want him to touch you or even see you at all. 

But after a particularly bad day, when he’d come home crying and bawling and tugging you into his arms, curling around you, you’d been given a little less leeway on just how much you could pull back from him. 

It seems, though he’d been addicted to you in general before, he was now addicted to your touch specifically. 

“YN, please! Why are you doing this?!”

He’d come home that night in a bad mood, and for some reason you were sure he’d talk your ear off about while hugging you on top of him on the sofa later. But right now?

…Right now, he had a different idea. 

“I’m tired of waiting, YN,” he’d whined as he approached, though there was a dark glint in his eyes. For every step he took toward you, you took one back. Step, step, step, step. He just kept following you. 

You hadn’t realized he’d cornered you in his bedroom until you felt the backs of your knees hit the mattress. 

“YN,” he hummed, rough hands cupping your cheeks as a strand of red hair fell over his eyes. “Can I just have a little?” His gaze fell on your lips. “Just a taste? I promise I won’t take any more.”

“Just a little.”

A flicker of pink as a smirk grew on his face.

I don’t want this. I swear I don’t want this. 

No! I don’t want it!

His face was so close you could feel the heat of his gasp mingling with yours the second your knee flew up to meet his groin. 

“AGHH!” he screeched, tugging himself away. Hinata dropped to his knees, hands cupping his crotch as he let out small, pained whimpers. 

That was when you ran out of the room, dodging his grasping hands and slamming the door behind you. You grabbed the first thing you could think of to shove in front of it. 

“YN-”

In a matter of seconds he was up and at attention, slamming the door against the sofa as you pushed it in front of the doorway. The hefty furniture effectively crammed itself in the small hallway of its apartment and limited the angle he could open the door to just a sliver. 

“YN! Please, don’t do this! Please!”

“Just let me out, we can talk about this!”

“I know you’re unhappy, but don’t you see I’ve been working so hard to change that? Please, just let me out!”

A single brown eye peered at you through the sliver of the door, pupil dilated and lid unblinking.

“I thought I was giving you enough, YN. What do you want? Do you want a puppy? My neighbor has the cutest dog, YN, I promise. You’d love it,” he pleaded, faux excitement tainting his voice. 

The single eye followed your every move as you paced around the apartment, mumbling to yourself about what to do, how to get out. “I could get your favorite food! It’s just down the street, I know you’ve wanted it. I was planning to get it tomorrow to celebrate our two-hundred day anniversary, but I can get it now if you like! Call it our one-hundred and ninety-ninth day anniversary! It could be our thing!”

“Please, YN, it could be our thing. Remember how we used to have things?”

You tried to ignore him. You really did. As you dug frantically through his cabinets and shelves, his desk drawers and bathroom cupboards, you considered shoving a couple cotton balls in your ears just to block out his nervous exclamations. 

The thought did cross your mind, but only for a second. Soon enough, the blood pounding in your ears was doing the job. Your mind fogged as you searched, struggling to believe that you had a chance to escape. 

Is this real? It was this easy all along? That was all I had to do?

Hinata’s cries weren’t helping your nerves any. Instead, you felt your shoulders grow more tense each time you heard his desperate, breathy voice. You felt like curling in on yourself and giving up. 

It can’t be this easy. What the hell is going on?

You glance back at the door, staring at the lock that lined it. You’d consider breaking a window, but you knew the apartment was on the fifth floor of the complex; jumping from that height would be a death sentence. 

You hadn’t completely lost your will yet. 

No, no. You just needed to find the keys. The door on the outside appeared normal, wooden. On the inside, though, Hinata had gone through the trouble of layering it with a few sheets of metal. One could kick the door in, but could not kick it out. 

The keys. 

Where the fuck are they?

“YN, I love you. So, so much. I just wanna see you, please! Let me see you at least.”

He pounded against the door with his fists, tremoring the door and the sofa, but not moving it. Tears pricked your eyes at the sound; you were so close, so goddamn close. You weren’t sure how Hinata was going to react after this if you didn’t escape, and you didn’t want to find out. 

“Fuck,” you hissed under your breath, eyes darting around the living room as your hands yanked at your scalp. “Fuck!”

“YN, please.” His was quiet, more forlorn than you were ever used to. “I don’t want you to leave me. I get so lonely without you.”

“Lonely, huh?” The words crawl up your throat before you can stop them. “You think you’re lonely?” A headache forms at your temples, but you ignore it as you storm toward his room. “You don’t know true loneliness until you’ve been trapped inside your crazy ex-boyfriend’s apartment, no friends, no family, for days on end.”

“You think you’re lonely, Shouyou? Try putting yourself in my shoes.” Frustration has formed a weight in the pit of your stomach. You feel glued to the floor waiting for his response, almost… almost, you supposed, hoping for an apology of some sorts. 

You loved him at some point in your life, and, no matter how insane he looked and sounded when he said it, he loved you too. You just wanted to know if he felt even an ounce of pity for what he had been putting you through. 

“Shouyou, I just-”

“You’re lonely, YN?”

You pause, voice caught in your throat. Hinata’s tone is tainted with nothing but genuine curiosity. Somehow, though, you feel like you’ve messed up. 

“I-...um-”

“Are you lonely without me?”

Shit. 

“YN.” You catch his eye in between the small opening of the doorway. His gaze is intense, suddenly focused and attuned to his surroundings. “Say it again.”

“Say you get lonely when I leave you at home. Say you miss me when I leave for games and practices.” There’s a creaking sound of sorts, but you can’t quite tell where it originates from. 

“Please, I wanna hear it again. Say you want me around all the time, that you need me close by so you don’t feel lonely anymore. Say it.” Breathy, yet goading. 

Shame and anger raise a heat to your cheeks, and you’re flustered that Hinata has misconstrued your words in such a way. You didn’t want him. No, you didn’t. What you wanted was to not be locked away and deprived of human contact like you were.

That was all. 

Creak. “You’re so cute when you blush. But don’t worry, YN, I won’t tease you. I’m just so glad that you’re finally being honest. Lonely without me? God, YN, I’m so in love with you.”

Creak. “I’ll never make you lonely again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Crack. 

Adrenaline in the heat of the moment allows people to do amazing things. You’ve heard stories of mothers lifting cars, people bending metal or jumping from buildings. Doing things that should be impossible. 

You supposed that was why it was so easy for Hinata in that moment, all riled up by your words and your actions in such a short amount of time, to crack the door in half. The one hinge the upper-half was still attached to allowed it to fly open, barely catching its splintered wood on the back of the sofa. 

One second, you watched in horror as the half-door slammed against the wall, rattling the hanged picture frames. 

The next, you saw a flash of orange before your back slammed against the wood flooring. A throbbing pain shot up your spin and down to your tailbone, but something sturdy and soft cradled the back of your head so your skull didn’t suffer the same fate. A weight, not necessarily overpowering, left you cemented to the floor, legs out flat as your arms lay limp at your sides, numb with shock. 

Hinata sat above you, on his knees and straddling your thighs. One hand, as you figured, was behind your head, lifting it so you could face him. The other, though, hovered over your face, trembling. 

A look of wonder was painted on his face as he watched you. And if you looked closer, you could have seen a hint of adoration. 

“YN,” he whispered, his hand finding home cradling your cheek. “I mean it.”

“I’ll never make you feel lonely again.”

And then he kissed you, desperately. 

And you hated yourself, despairingly. 

Because, deep down, you felt some vile, repulsive hope that he was telling you the truth.

It would be interesting to see Osamu try to turn his life back around, come to terms with Atsumu's death and be his own person again. BUT!!! Please don't feel pressured to write a part 2 if you don't feel like it/don't want too 🥺 I was just genuinely curious if a part 2 was possible so I sent an ask. You're already giving us so much amazing content and I don't want you to burn yourself out and do any request that you don't like 🥺❣

Thank you, your words mean a lot more than you know🙏 And I’m thankful I’m surrounded by such kind people like you on here💜💜

I’ll definitely consider making a part 2 for Lapse in Judgement, as I’m also kind of interested in where I could take Osamu’s character without Atsumu by his side. The idea has definitely been noted :)

Talking to the Moon (Oikawa x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: After breaking up to go their separate ways after high school, YN and Oikawa struggle to accept the fact that neither is willing to give up their career paths for the other. Instead, they both confide in the moon, wishing that it was their other half. (Based on “Talking to the Moon” by Bruno Mars.)

A/N: I won’t take up too much space talking about the obvious (I straight up dipped for like a month, oopsies). Just know I missed writing and finally got the push I’ve been waiting for to return for a little (more like finally had no homework). Enjoy!

Word count: 2464

        The moon, with its deep craters and pale shine, mesmerized him each night, but not for its beauty. For each night, he watched it with intensity, almost glaring at the crescent hanging in the sky with great envy.

        It was never alone. There were always stars or planes or blinking lights on top of tall mountains keeping it company as it made its slow, purposeful journey toward the horizon. Across hazy clouds and black skies, it never strayed from its path, not once. 

        No matter how much he wished it would. 

        “YN.” Oikawa fiddled with his thumbs before continuing. “Are you… are you there?”

        Maybe he was crazy. His neighbors certainly thought so. On the balcony of his beachside condo, he leaned his elbows on a railing that never covered with dust and turned his face to the dark of the night. 

        “I miss you.” 

        And so, as he spoke to the moon of all his troubles, he imagined how she would respond. He told of his game earlier in the day, how his serving had improved and how they had won with just two points to spare. How his teammates had commented on his lingual improvements and celebrated with a drink. But as time went on, he found his shoulders slumping lower and lower until his head was almost hanging, limp. 

        The wind had bitten his nose and cheeks long ago and wisped his hair into a frenzy, and yet he could never find the will to go inside. Still, the moon lit up his form, encouraging his words further. 

        “I still love you.” His voice, barely above a whisper. Oikawa had reached that point that he seemed to reach every night, speaking of his regrets, of his goodbyes, of his sorrows. 

        “I’m sorry we had to end that way.”

        Thousands of miles away and twelve hours later, YN looked up at her own moon, her own stars. Yet, for her, they seemed to move too fast, pass by too quickly. She had never brought herself to open her mouth and let out how she felt, but with the soft rays peeking through her dorm window and painting her desk and papers gray, she’d certainly let her mind wander one too many times.

        Was the pain worth it? Did she do the right thing? Wasn’t this what she wanted?

        Love lay eighteen thousand miles away, right where she’d left it. Purposefully. But if she had done so on purpose, why did it feel like the world had caused her this pain? 

        Her high school sweetheart, her cocky brunette, her best friend, and what must be the love of her life because if he was anything less, she wouldn’t let it ruin her future like this. In college, she had grades to keep up and classes to focus in because, as she’d told him, this was what she wanted. And she wouldn’t stop it for anyone. 

        That night, in her house, Oikawa had told her he’d been recruited to another country. His skills were unmatched and they wanted him on their team. With the promise of beautiful beaches and a generous paycheck, Oikawa said he couldn’t say no. But YN made no such promises. 

        “You know I can’t go with you.” I couldn’t, I really couldn’t. 

        “What about online?” It wouldn’t have been the same.

        “I want the experience, Tooru, not just the classes.” The experiences aren’t enough anymore, though. 

        “So what does that mean, YN?” I didn’t know.

        “Come on, Tooru. We both… we both know what it means.”

        She’d bawled her eyes out, tears flowing without end the minute he shut her front door. A deep pain struck her chest each time she thought about his back turning without a goodbye. Her parents offered sympathetic smiles and well-meaning hugs, rubbing her back and whispering that everything was going to be okay until she cried herself to sleep.

        That was months ago. Seven, to be exact. 

        But as Oikawa and YN both peered out at their moons, confessing their pain and drowning in their sorrows, they couldn’t help but feel like the loss had happened yesterday. 

                                ~~~

        Suitcases sat on the floor, filling the room and emptying it all the same. On his bare mattress, Oikawa sat with his teeth buried into his bottom lip, leaning back on his hands as tears trailed down his cheeks.

        Just across from him hung the collage of photographs YN had helped him pin against the wall. A photograph of them together as young kids where Oikawa pulled YN’s hair and laughed while she cried. Another of them on prom night, not smiling at the camera but instead at each other, lovestruck. Another, YN wrapped up in Oikawa’s arms as he hoisted her up high grinning and rubbing his nose into her neck as she squealed. 

        Two weeks ago, he never would have thought of throwing them away, but now it was all he wished to do. After all, by this fall he would be moved out of Japan and into Argentina, in an apartment he’d already arranged with the team manager. 

        Being recruited right out of high school. It was a blessing, it was lucky, it was everything the Aoba Johsai Volleyball Club called it and more. Now, Oikawa felt more cursed than blessed. 

        The one person he wanted smiles from gave him tears. When he wanted congratulations, he got heartbreak. Oikawa wanted her to come with him--he could make room in his new house. He would always make room, and more. 

        At the very least, he wanted to hear her beg for him not to. Not to leave, not to break her heart, not to follow his dreams. In the future, he knows he would’ve truly considered it if she had, but YN was not selfish like that. Oikawa’s YN would never try to take him away from this once in a lifetime opportunity. 

        YN loved him too much to hold him back with her, and that was the one thing he always resented about her.

                                ~~~

        Dark circles and puffy bags hung under YN’s eyes. This was what she wanted.

        Clouds stormed overhead, whispering deadlines and test days and hundred point assignments. This was what she asked for. 

        This was how she got the job she wanted, the job she picked out when she was approximately nine. This was how she expanded her bubble, discovered a world she thought had at least a little more sunshine and rainbows. 

        But all she felt was alone. Her friends were spread across the country, some still in her hometown and some littered here and there, but none had come with her to the school she’d chosen. She had many classmates, all acquaintances and nothing more. 

        This wasn’t what she’d expected, and she soon came to realize this wasn’t what she wanted. Her future career that she’d pretended was more important than anything now felt like her worst enemy. 

        But what hurt the most was that she’d left behind the love of her life to pursue it. 

        Rain, a weather she once loved, pounded outside her window with occasional strikes of lightning. Every flash lit up the room, the photos hung on the wall above her bed glowing each time. Behind the clouds she knew sat the moon, but it was invisible to her at this moment. 

        Still, her thoughts ran rampant. Opening her laptop, she signed in past a picture of Oikawa and her she’d never gotten around to changing and clicked on the search bar.

        23 hours and 20 minutes. Tickets upwards of $3,000. 

        A phone call wouldn’t do--she wanted to see him. Talk to him. Not allow him to ignore her like she was so dearly afraid he would. 

        She didn’t have the money or time now, but when she did….

        YN bookmarked the page for later.

                                ~~~

        For the first time in too long, the moon was full. And, as usual, Oikawa slid open his balcony door, leaving it cracked just a bit so he could slip back inside when he got too cold. Then he leaned his elbows against the wood railing, folding his hands and turning his face to the sky. 

        “YN, I don’t know if you remember, but it’s our anniversary today. Not when we started dating, no. It was the first time I ever got the guts to flirt with you. You know, when I shoved you on the playground and ran away for the first time.” His lips perked at the memory. 

        “God,” he snickered, “that was embarrassing. But I think we can both admit my flirting improved a lot.” 

        Running a hand through his hair, Oikawa sighed and gripped the railing just a bit tighter. Then he pursed his lips and swallowed. “I know I sound crazy, but I really do hope you do the same thing I’m doing right now. Even if you look insane doing it.”

        A knock sounded on his door just as Oikawa prepared to lean himself further on the rail, making him flinch. 

        Whipping his phone out of his pocket, he glared at the time. 12:57 am. 

        Who the hell…?

        More knocks urged him to return inside his home and jog over to the door. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he gritted out, reaching the door and turning the knob. “Damn, you’re gonna wake up my whole-”

        The sight that met his eyes caused him to choke on his last words. 

        “YN.” 

        YN in a sweatshirt he’d given up searching for months ago. YN with backpack straps resting on her shoulders and a deer-in-headlights look on her face. 

        Neither spoke for what felt like hours, but was really a whole five minutes, just taking each other in. Heart pounding, Oikawa locked his eyes on her own, first taking in their usual, comforting shades of color he’d dreamed about too many times, then landing them on the bags underneath. He dragged his gaze down to her lips, parted, pink, and glistening from her tongue peeking out to lick them nervously. Down her neck (thankfully unmarked), to her chest where one of his very first volleyball tournaments’ titles greeted him, to her black pants, to her scuffed shoes. Overall unscathed, but that, to be honest, wasn’t truly what he was concerned about. 

        She’s here. She’s really here. 

        “Tooru, I-”

        When YN finally spoke, finally uttered his name in that beautiful way she did for the first time in too long, Oikawa’s gaze snapped to hers so suddenly she had to stop and take a breath. “I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here and why I look like crap and how I figured out where you lived and how I got here and why-”

        “YN.” Oikawa cut her off but never let her finish as he grasped her by both shoulders and yanked her into his apartment, crushing her against his chest as he kicked the door shut. 

        Warm and soft and plush like he remembered. His hands reached around and pressed flat into her back before balling up the cotton sweatshirt in his fists. Though Oikawa himself couldn’t breathe and he was certain YN couldn’t either, he couldn’t help but want her closer and closer to him. Though she was in his arms, she still felt too far away. 

        He dropped his head to her shoulder and turned his face into her neck, stray hairs tickling his nose as he nuzzled back and forth into her bare skin. 

        “Tooru,” she whispered gently, with a smile he could hear in her voice. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

        “No,” he shook his head, hating that the movement caused her hands to stop brushing through the strands. “I’m not. Not right now.” He pressed a kiss to her skin before whispering, “I’m just glad you are here.”

        “But-”

        “No buts.” He pulled his face away from her neck to press his forehead against hers. Instantly, their breaths mingled just as they always had. If either of them moved even an inch closer, their lips would brush and that would be all it took. 

        “You need to know,” YN pulled away just a bit but, swiftly, Oikawa tugged her flush against him once more, each part of their bodies brushing like they always had, like they’d never stopped. The thundering of his heart almost drowned out her words--almost.

        She smiled, and her eyes twinkled like they always did when she looked at him, like they hadn’t done in a while. And her gaze softened and her body relaxed as she gave in to the truth of her own words. 

        “I can’t be happy without you, Tooru. I just can’t. Because,” she shook her head with a growing smile as her hands fell to his nape, “I don’t want my future to be one without you. You’re what I want, Tooru. All that I want.”

        And they brushed and Oikawa sunk into the beating of his own heart as her body and soul fell against him, drawing him in with the warmth and pleasure he knew he would never find without YN by his side. 

        When their lungs finally pleaded too much for air, Oikawa and YN surfaced with grins and happy tears, love filling the room in a wonderful way. 

        Leading her backwards, one hand cradling her head and the other clutching her hip, Oikawa peppered kisses across all of the bare skin he could find and then more when he searched farther. When her knees finally buckled against his bed and they both collapsed among the sheets, Oikawa let himself speak, sparingly. 

        “God, I missed you, YN.” His lips brushed along her chin reverently. “So, so much. I can’t stand not having you with me.”

        “Me too,” she sighs.

        “How?” He stops suddenly.

        “What?”

        He draws the hand behind her neck to her cheek, breathing heavily as he traces his thumb along her bottom lip. His eyes can’t seem to stop moving, heatedly taking in every inch of her. “How did you find out where I was?”

        This makes her release a breathy laugh before she brushes her nose against his. 

        “I heard you talking to the moon.”

so osamu x reader angst au where osamu is deeply in love with the reader and decided to dye his hair blonde so reader can cope with tsumu's death but didn't like this idea anymore, he wanted her to love him for who he truly is,,, 👉👈

Lapse in Judgement (Osamu x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

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

A/N: Sorry it took me a while. As per request, we got some major angst, but I gotta be honest, I don’t think Osamu’s evil enough to focus on a girl rather than his brother, so I focused more on his desperation to replace what he had lost than anything else. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1412

        Maybe it was a mistake. A screw up of the royal kind. 

        But at most, it was a lapse in judgement. 

        High school boy found dead in a car accident. That’s what the newspapers said, but it didn’t account for the total grief of it all. 

        Boy, dead. Drunk driver, critical condition. The navy blue truck totalled the small SUV at eight o’ clock at night after running a red light. Witnesses called for help, and that was it. 

        Except it wasn’t. 

        The journalists didn’t talk about the empty bedroom across from Osamu’s. They didn’t talk about the abandoned desk in Class 4b, the bare seat at the lunch table, the still-full locker in the hallway. 

        Atsumu was gone, with only an indifferent news article to his name. 

        Practice was never quite the same. Each time Osamu went, he couldn’t help but stare at the floor where his brother once stood. Deep down, he knew he should have cried by now. Bawled tears at the funeral, or maybe let one slip when he saw the first layer of dust settle onto his brother’s dresser. 

        But the truth was that he hadn’t. Yeah, it hurt, but he couldn’t… feel it. Every sense in his body was numb as he got through each passing day like turning the pages of a book without reading them. Things were happening, he just didn’t care enough to listen. 

        Osamu guessed the one who was visibly taking it the hardest was you, who won by a landslide. 

        The night he died, you had texted the quieter twin with wide-eyed innocence, revealing that the next day at school, you were going to give Atsumu a letter telling him how you feel. 

        I can do it! Just watch me, Samu!

        The chance never came, and when Osamu informed you of what had happened, you had broken down in his arms. 

        And he felt sick for the first time. 

        Disgust at himself for actually being happy that he was the one to hold you now, it was horrifying. The bile that had risen up his throat lost out to the joy. 

        Him, Osamu, he was the one you talked to now, each day asking him if he was okay, hugging him and confiding in him with your deepest thoughts. 

        You and Atsumu had been close in a way Osamu had always been envious of. Teasing and flirting, all of it turned him into a green-eyed monster.

        So maybe that was what forced away his ache of loss. Around him, you were almost as happy, almost as teasing and playful, but you had lost that glint in your eyes. You didn’t have that with Osamu.

        He knew that was what had sent him over the edge. 

        Two weeks after his brother’s death, still not a tear spilt. Instead, he spent all his time thinking about you. Your smile, less forced than before. The shine in your hair had returned, and your cheeks finally began to flush again. 

        Osamu entered the school and made a beeline for the classroom, praying that you had attended school today so he could see you. So you could validate what he had done. 

        And there you were, slipping into the classroom with the same dark circles under your eyes. They were no longer only from long nights of doing schoolwork. 

        “YN.” 

        Your head snapped up and your eyes met his in a split second. Then your gaze rose to his hair. Your lips separated to let out a single, quick breath of air while your brow twitched. 

        “At- Osamu?” 

        He nodded, the newly-blond hair shifting to hang in front of his eyes.

        “Your… you changed your hair.” 

        “Yeah, I did.”

        And that was that.

                                ~~~

        Having you by his side, Osamu could ignore all the stares he received. He never cared for attention, especially not now. Throughout the halls of school, people’s brows rose to their hairlines as they watched you both walk around, hand in hand and smile together. 

        It never seemed weird, and Osamu had never felt happier. 

        He wasn’t… he wasn’t alone anymore. 

        The bedroom across from his never bothered him when you stayed over at night. He hadn’t even travelled into it since the last time. 

        “Do you want to come over tonight?” Osamu didn’t really say it as a question, mostly because you were guaranteed to say yes anyways. 

        “Again? I think someone likes having me around.” 

        He did. God, he loved that adoring look on your face whenever he said he wanted you. Those puppy dog eyes of yours that you never seemed to notice you were giving him made his heart thump in a frantic pattern. 

        Volleyball wasn’t really a concern anymore. The new setter pissed him off, so he didn’t bother attending practice. His jerseys hung in his closet, unworn for what might’ve been a month now. 

        It was maybe… two months? Three? Osamu wasn’t sure, but Atsumu had left a while ago. 

        So he never bothered with the sport, meaning you could come over right after school, or he could even walk with you there. 

        You both had a tradition now. Homework, then a movie or show, then a nap together. Then Osamu either walked you home or, if it was too late, let you sleep in his bed for the night. 

        He found that your warmth fended off the nightmares that leered in on him at all hours in a day. 

        Today was a day that you stayed the night. The moon was already falling from the sky by the time you two finished eating a dinner of box mac and cheese, and thus it was decided that you shouldn’t bother going home. 

        Osamu’s blond head rested on your chest, and one leg was intertwined with both of your own. His arm was strewn across your stomach, heavy enough to keep you in place for the night. 

        You had two hands in his hair, head propped up on a pillow so you could make out the shape of the tufts in the black room. It was three am, and Osamu’s breathing had finally slowed and leveled.

        “Atsumu,” you whispered, your own voice not even loud enough to hit your own ears. “Fuck, I miss you so much.” 

        Osamu shifted and your hands stilled, breath held in anticipation. Then he stopped and nuzzled his face back into your chest. 

        After waiting a couple more minutes just in case, you let out a sigh and combed through the long tufts again. “I’ll never stop loving you, Atsumu. I wish I could’ve told you that three months ago.” 

        Your eyelids grew heavy with sleep and you let out a yawn. 

        “I love you, Atsumu.” 

        And then you slipped into unconsciousness. 

        Atsumu was gone forever. 

        His bedroom was still empty, and a few spiders had probably claimed the corners of the room by now. Dust must have caked over every single picture and piece of furniture the boy had ever owned. 

        His bed was probably unmade, and would never be made again. 

        He was dead, and nobody could fill the holes his absence had left. 

        You couldn’t fix Osamu’s loneliness, no matter how much you latched onto him. 

        Osamu couldn’t replace his brother for you. He wasn’t really the boy you would love, no matter how hard he tried to be. Your words had confirmed that.

        Dying his hair was a lapse of judgement. A last ditch effort for both of you to keep his memory alive. 

        But that effort was futile. 

        And so, for the first time since he had lost his setter in volleyball, his friend in school, his rival in love, and his twin for life, Osamu let reality sink in. 

        Against your chest, in the hold of the woman he loved unrequitedly, Osamu cried.

I want this job

Loving Tradition (Tsukishima x Reader) *Request*

*GIF not mine*

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

A/N: Lol yeah you actually did already send the request in, but honestly I appreciated that you expanded on your idea! With every request, I always wonder if I’m writing the right stuff, so I appreciated the elaboration in your second ask. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3436

        Tsukishima knew you. Of course he knew you. You were the innocent girl who sat behind him in class, always fumbling with your glasses and scribbling with your pencil oh-so loudly. 

        By the time spring came around, he dubbed you Mouth-Breathing Mary. Evidently you had allergies, and rather than sniffling, you resorted to the second loudest option to obtain enough oxygen in your lungs to function properly. Everything you did, even though you sat a few roomy inches behind him, peeved him off so much. 

        Oh how he wished he could ignore it, your every little noise and sound effect. But something about you just stuck with him, interested him in some way. Like there was a part of you that hadn’t shown its face to him, or anybody, yet.

        And, of course, he had “heard” of you too. Apparently some girl attending Karasuno High was a powerhouse on the court. With pictures in the news and games on TV, she was practically a worldwide legend for Women’s 18 and under volleyball. Tsukishima first learned about her while preparing for practice, watching the two resident perverts of the VBC leering over a new magazine with heart eyes. 

        “She goes to our school, doesn’t she? What a hottie!” Pint-Size had exclaimed. 

        “She looks so innocent too, just like our beloved Kiyoko!” Mr. No-Shirt responded.

        So yeah. He did know both sides of you, but it only took one stroll past the open doors of the first gym during lunch for him to discover this. Yamaguchi had finally caught up with his strides when they both heard it. 

        WHAM!

        Flinching at the sudden boom, they peered through the doorway like meerkats to spot the perpetrator. 

        You. 

        You, standing under the bright lights of the gym, forehead dripping sweat and face scrunched up in distaste at whatever had caused the bang that shook the room. Your eyes squinted behind the glass frames that blessed you with vision, allowing you to glare at whatever had displeased you. 

        It was a single water bottle standing in the corner of the court, closest to the open doors. Others just like it were laying askew along the wall, gathered up with spare volleyballs as well. There were about six bottles in total, and you, huffing and cursing under your breath, lined them all up along the back of the court. After this, you returned to your spot on the other end. Then-

        WHAM!

        The first bottle farthest from your spectators slammed against the back wall before you retrieved another volleyball from the basket at your side. Toss, step, step, jump…

        WHAM!         WHAM!

        WHAM!

        Finally, you knocked over all the bottles in a patterned succession. You had done so with a hawk-like precision, almost looking like you could do it in your sleep. The only things that ruined the picture of you being this blank-faced pro were the small fist pump you allowed yourself and the wide grin that grew on your face. Then you started anew, lining them up along the edge of the court and refilling your volleyball supply once more. 

        “Wow,” Yamaguchi whispered breathlessly, shocking Tsukishima out of his stupor. “She’s good!”

        First, his lips twitched. Then his jaw clenched. And finally, with a small readjustment of his glasses performed by a single index finger, Tsukishima spoke. 

        “Let’s go back. Lunch is almost over.”

                                ~~~

        The aloof blond almost couldn’t believe it. Mouth-Breathing Mary was a devastating beast on the volleyball court. How? How does someone who looks like they couldn’t even walk past an animal shelter without bursting into tears do that?

        “Hey,” your voice, along with an incessant jab to his back via the butt end of your pencil grabs his attention instantly. “I saw you watchin’ me at lunch today, creeper.” 

        Observer of those who were potentially more skilled at volleyball than he was? Yes. Creeper? No. 

        “I was simply inspecting what was making such a racket in the gym. Don’t flatter yourself.” 

        The comment makes you scoff. “Psh, all right. I’ll buy that B.S. for now, stalker.” 

        His teeth were going to be grinded to dust before the day was over. However, Tsukishima chooses to stay silent, glueing his eyes to his textbook in order to ignore the feeling of your gaze on his back. 

        “By the way,” you nudge his shoulder blade once more, making him glance toward the ceiling. 

        “Yes?”

        “I have a game tomorrow night, just in case you wanna ‘inspect more racket’ in the gym.” 

        No. Of course he wouldn’t go, are you kidding?

                                ~~~

        “Tsukki, why are we here again?”

        “Shush.” Crowds whooped and hollered after the sound of a large wham, no different from that of a poor volleyball smacking against freshly polished wood. Shoes squeaked down on the court, along with the occasional “cover me” and “it’s up!”

        The audience for tonight’s game was a lot more than Tsukishima expected as he shouldered his way through the bumbling bodies. He was finally able to catch a breath of fresh air when he surfaced at a metal railing, Yamaguchi huffing just as heavily not far behind. 

        Down on the court, from what Tsukishima could tell, the game wasn’t exactly fair. 

        It wasn’t really Karasuno Girls’ Volleyball Club versus Aoba Johsai. 

        No. It was actually you versus six untainted souls, so pure and ready to be petrified. You were in the middle of serving a serious reality check to the girls on the other side of the net when their coach called a time. 

        Apparently, one of the wing spikers had sustained a nice bruise to the forearms while trying to field your classic server’s ace. It was her fault really, but her replacement was shaking just as much in her court shoes. 

        Halfway through the game, Tsukishima finally understood why so many people were here. Watching you was almost like a drug. Not that he was addicted or anything. 

        It was like throwing a lion in the gazelle exhibit at the zoo. Ducks on a pond. Fish in a barrel. Whatever other analogies there were out in the world that could explain how much you were opening a can of whoop ass right now. 

        At a certain point, the Aoba Johsai girls weren’t even trying. Tsukishima almost swore he heard a whimper from one of them after your spike had flown past her face. 

        Yep. He finally got it. You were like a highlight reel of the best volleyball players to exist. There was even a journalist from the local news taking pictures and writing notes in the corner of the stands right now! 

        And yet, the next day at school, you were that same little lamb that sat behind him in class. The glasses hiding your eyes also disguised the gaze’s capacity for ferocity. Last night, and every game he assumed before that, you were a force to be reckoned with. 

        And, yeah, he totally didn’t like you or anything. 

                                ~~~

        Karasuno didn’t always host home games for their boys’ volleyball club, but when they did, there was always one person in the audience Tsukishima looked for. 

        You.

        At one point, you had stopped teasing him for attending your games, and instead you began to return the favor. Now, sure, there were less people in the audience when the boys played because, really, who did they have that was a world champion like you? 

        Anyways, Tsukishima and you had made a silent agreement after however many games you had cheered for each other. No words needed to really be spoken about it, and Tsukishima almost preferred it that way. In all honesty, the tall middle blocker felt like he played better under your watchful eyes. You were really the only person who he could depend on that believed in him, and him alone. 

        You weren’t intrusive or loud like his brother, but whenever he instinctively glanced up at you after a particularly well-executed block, you always blushed and glanced away in this cute little way of yours. Tsukishima just knew it. He liked you. 

        Not that he would ever admit it to your face, though. 

        And he liked to think that you found comfort in his presence during your games as well. Though he didn’t nearly catch your eye as much up in the stands (you were always too in the zone), you would always give him a little thumbs up and a grin after a game. 

        It was the most frustrating thing, as Tsukishima always had to glance away to fend off his own flush. He hated how easily you could break down his stoic walls in your own little shy ways. The only thing he hated more than that was the giggle he would hear after avoiding your gaze. 

        Now, tonight was yet another game, and another opportunity to see you. 

        Of course, he saw you during school hours, but he usually refrained from talking to you during that time. You were always too sly or too quiet, depending on the day, but also, deep down Tsukishima liked the distance that came between the two of you during games. It prevented that stupid little flutter of his heart whenever you would accidentally brush his hand in the hallway or draw weird patterns on the back of his uniform during class. 

        Yeah, he liked the distance. Most of the time. 

                                ~~~

        It was five o’clock. The match was about to begin, and yet a certain middle blocker couldn’t stop his attention from straying to the stands. 

        Where…

        “Tsukishima, get your ass out there!” 

        The blond cursed under his breath, adjusting his glasses on his face before jogging out onto the bright court. Kageyama threw his teammate a few strange glances, but kept his jaw wired shut. Good.

        “Damn, Tsukki, what’s wrong with you today? Is your girlfriend not here to cheer you on?” a certain wing spiker teased, flashing his signature toothy smirk. 

        The middle blocker doesn’t respond, only flaring his nostrils at the fact that Tanaka was right. Well, half right. 

        “Tanaka’s right, you need to get your head in the game,” the blue-haired setter sneers.

        This lights a fire under the middle blocker’s ass. “Nobody tells me how to play,” Tsukishima hisses, hands covering the back of his head as he waits for Hinata to serve. “Especially not a power-tripping king like you.” 

        “Calm it down, you two. We’ve got a game to play.” As always, Captain Daichi has to save the day, but that doesn’t distract Tsukishima from Buzzcut’s words. 

        Where were you?

                                ~~~

        Of course, Karasuno’s VBC won the game last night, but at the bottom of his heart, Tsukishima feels like it was unearned. Not seeing you in the crowd last night made his mouth taste bitter and his head pained. It’s not like he wanted to like you so much, but part of him still feels betrayed you had broken tradition. 

        Now, he could be realistic in this instant. Maybe you just had too much homework. Maybe your family had an emergency. Maybe you got into a car crash on your way to the game and died. 

        Really, the possibilities were endless. 

        Anyways, as Tsukishima sat in class, headphones plugged in as he waited for the first bell to ring, his final theory was proved false. 

        Tap tap. A familiar touch poked his shoulder from behind. That wasn’t the only reason for why he knew it was you; you were also the only person in the school who had the guts to actually touch the blank-faced genius of the volleyball club. 

        Playing off his indignation as reluctance, Tsukishima snaps his music off his ears and lays it on his desk, signalling for you to speak with a quick “Did you need something?”

        Even he could tell his tone was icier than normal, and he almost cringed at the sound of you flinching back like he had burned you. “U-umm, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for missing your game last night.” 

        “You don’t have to come to my games.” The words tasted like poison in his own mouth even after he spat them, and Tsukishima knew he was only digging his own grave deeper. Evidently, though, you weren’t one to scare easily. 

        “You know,” you paused, taking a deep breath, “I would have felt terrible too if you missed one of my games.”

        “Really?” is what the boy wanted to ask, but instead he stayed silent in effort to keep himself composed. 

        After waiting for him to respond and deducing that he wouldn’t, you continue. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t there to support you.” He hears you gulp. “B-but, uh, how did you guys do?” Your tone lifts at the end, trying to stay positive considering the wall Tsukishima was currently putting up. 

        “We did fine,” he says after a while. “We won. And you don’t need to be sorry.” 

        “But I am,” he hears you shuffling nervously in your seat, “and I want you to know that I was only gone because I was making something. Something kinda special actually.” 

        From the way you said it, whatever you had made was actually quite personal. Tsukishima’s heart fills with guilt at forcing such a confession out of you, but he still feels burned himself.

        So he replies with a nod and a hum, and that’s the most you guys communicate for the rest of the day. 

                                ~~~

        Same day, new game. As Tsukishima slips on his jersey in the locker room, his mind wanders to thoughts of you. More specifically to if you’ll be at his game tonight. 

        He highly doubted it, especially after the way he treated you this morning. Though cold and remote were his signature styles, he hated that it might have closed you off for good this time. 

        “...Tsukki? You okay?” Yamaguchi only stops waving his hand in front of his friend’s face when the blond bats it away with a scowl. 

        “What?”

        “You’ve been staring at the wall for like ten minutes,” the shorter boy shrugs, “everyone else has gone to the gym now. I was just waiting for you to snap out of it so we could go.” 

        Yikes. If Tsukishima’s head was already out of it now, who knows what would happen with him during the game. As much as he hates the thought, his playing abilities seemed to be tethered to you. The closer you were, the better they became. 

        God, how had he fallen so far?

        “I’m ready. Let’s go.” Tsukishima leads the way, Yamaguchi trailing not even a stride behind him down the steps and into the school’s main gym. 

        It’s bright and buzzing with volleyball life inside.Yellow- and blue-striped balls fill rolling baskets to the brim, meanwhile others fly through the air at compromising speeds. The other team has arrived and is practicing harmoniously, not a single player out of step. 

        This team was good, and Karasuno would have to be better.

        “Glasses, get your ass over here!” Coach Ukai shouts with no shame, waving Tsukishima over to the rest of the spikers who were already running and jumping above the net. 

        The middle blocker joins the group with ease, practicing in their normal rhythm. Of course that would be easy; it was the spontaneity of a game that would be able to catch him off his guard later.

        No. Tsukishima could play without you. It was hard to break out of a habit, but he wasn’t as weak-minded as some other people he knew (his eyes locked on Hinata as he thought this). 

        And so the game commenced. Refs arrived, crowds filed in, and in a single, bare area up in the stands sat you. 

        Tsukishima blanched at the sight. Thankfully, he was starting the game in the player box, but that didn’t mean your presence hadn’t rattled him. 

        Well, maybe it wasn’t your presence, per se, it was more so the homemade sign you waved through the air after winking cheekily at him. 

        “#11, I’ll give you a kiss if you win!” it said.

        The sign was twice your size across, and every word sparkled black with an orange outline. There was a heart in the corner, and a small volleyball sat atop the i in “kiss.” 

        “Ooh, look whose girlfriend showed up today?!” Tanaka catcalls, whistling as Tsukishima goes ghost white. 

        Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush.

        It was a nice attempt, but unsuccessful overall. In the end, the blond can only shake his head as a hint of a smile creeps onto his face. It’s the best you’ve ever gotten, though, so you better take it and run. 

        For the rest of the game, Tsukishima is forced to play with pink cheeks, ignoring every eyebrow waggle from Nishinoya and every suggestive elbow to the side from Tanaka. And of course you tease him too. 

        Each time he glances up at you like he normally does, you throw him a beaming smile and shake the sign you still hold, leaning on the railing it hangs over. Though he would hate to admit it, it still pumps him up like normal. Every block is just a tad better, and every serve just a tad stronger. 

        And by the end of that game, you best believe he was waiting for that kiss. 

        The ref blows the whistle, the last set won by Karasuno with seven points hanging over the other team’s head. The tall middle blocker’s eyes dart to yours and that’s all the signal you need to clamber your way down onto the court, sign still intact. 

        You hand it to him as soon as you're close enough and for some unexplainable reason, Tsukishima accepts the responsibility of holding the sign willingly. 

        Your eyes glow with excitement but the rest of your body language tells that you’re shy, including the smallest little nibble on your lower lip that you would soon discover drives him up the walls. 

        “Well?” Tsukishima finally asks, glancing you up and down before locking his gaze on your face. 

        “Hmm?” you hum, playing innocent because of course you would do that during a time like this. Tsukishima had figured out early on that you were just as terrible with emotions as he was. Maybe you could work on it together, but that would have to be saved for later. Right now, you owed him. 

        Tsukishima doesn’t bother to respond to your teasing. Instead, he sighs and tosses aside the sign, ignoring as it flutters to the ground for all to see before tugging you closer by your hand. Your eyes widen with nervousness, but the blond doesn’t bother to let it grow into an all-out halt on the situation. 

        No. He wouldn’t give up this chance. No matter how many others were watching. 

        Though you were only seven inches shorter than him, he still tips your head up before leaning down and capturing your lips against his. 

        It’s short and sweet, because Tsukishima is never one to reveal all his cards on the first go. He presses his lips to your softer ones and makes note of just how much pressure might drive you crazy at a later date, then he pulls away, immediately wanting to absorb your blissed expression. 

        It doesn’t disappoint, as in the short few seconds your first kiss had lasted, your pupils had blown wide and your cheeks had transitioned from a gentle pink to a burning red. Your hands had barely had enough time to reach up and tangle in his hair, so you follow through with the act then, intertwining your fingers right at his nape. 

        “Well-deserved,” you breathe out with a grin, tugging his sweaty forehead down before pressing your own against it. Tsukishima just barely copies your expression, allowing a slight curl at each end of his mouth as he cranes his neck to meet your face. He raises a questions brow when your smile twists into a smirk. 

        “I’d still kick your ass in volleyball though.” Tsukishima rolls his eyes as you playfully nudge his glasses with your own. 

        “That’s debatable.”

Hi! When will you continue the reborn story. Its really good!!!

I’m glad you’re enjoying it! There are no permanent dates, but definitely think sometime around the beginning of summer. Just a few more weeks!☺️

soulmate AU prompts

- the voice you hear your thoughts in is your soulmate’s but you don’t know who they are until you hear them speak for the first time

- your soulmate’s initials are imprinted in your skin of your hand at birth and the letters burn more intensely as the day you meet them grows closer

- you’ve only ever seen your soulmate in your dreams but you can never remember what they look like, the imaginary life you have with them picks up wherever it leaves off when you fall asleep again. but the dreams stop after you meet them, but you have no way of know who they are because you still can’t remember their face

- your soulmate’s hair color is the color of your eyes. the color of your eyes also changes to match the color of their hair if they dye it

- you think you have a sleepwalking problem but it’s really just the universe trying to bring you to your soulmate when your mind is disengaged

- you’ve been sketching your soulmate’s face since you were old enough to pick up a pencil, the drawings become more realistic through the years as the day you meet comes near

- you’re born with a band of your soulmate’s skin color tattooed in your skin

- all of your dreams are your soulmate’s most significant memories from that given day

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

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

Hi! Already told ya but I really liked you ST headcanon❤️ could you make one with Billy (+ any other stranger things boys you want to add) about them accidentally hearing that y/n has feelings for them? It’s too cliched but such fluffy fluff is my air:>

He Accidentally Overhears You Have Feelings for Him (Stranger Things Headcanons)

*GIF not mine*

A/N: yeah so this took me like a month but also guess what i had to bullet point every single goddamned mfing line in this post by hand bc of tumblr's new formatting or whatever, and then i posted it on the wrong goddamn request so i had to do it twice so ig we all got probs kill me. Anyways, i kinda went overboard on this prompt bc i love billy so naturally no one else made it into the hc🤷‍♀️ what a shame👀 Enjoy!

Word count: 4856

Billy Hargrove: 

“I don’t like him.” 

Billy’s eyes fluttered open, and they glided lazily onto your form in the desk in front of him. With his hands folded behind his head and his legs crossed, feet perched on his own desktop, Billy knew the teacher had long ago given up on scolding him for his lackadaisical behavior in class, and even longer ago had he realized Billy would never put much effort in anyway. 

One such happenstance that seemed to disturb the entire class, though, was how Billy had wound up there in the first place. Honors English didn’t exactly seem tailored to his, er, capabilities, to put it lightly. 

However, before Billy and his family had moved to Hawkins, Indiana, he’d been quite the student (according to the principal…after you’d complained), and lost in translation was some other lame excuse that English classes in California were inherently more advanced than those of Indiana anyway. 

You called bullshit. You had sworn Billy had bribed the teacher to let him remain in the class just to disrupt your existence. 

It wasn’t exactly his crowd, so to speak, judging by the glasses, focused faces, and pencils scribbling around the room. Nobody in the room looked like they’d even smelled a cigarette before—well, not until Billy arrived.

But you? God, you fit in like a glove. Here was where you divided yourself from the rest of the school, from its bullies and booze and tobacco—from its corruption. You were innocent when it came to such “paraphernalia,” as you called it. You were untouched, and more importantly, you were unclaimed. 

Billy was enthralled with this virtuous disposition of yours. In the beginning, his feelings for you,“little Miss Priss” as he’d grown to calling you, appalled him. Of all the girls in the school he could choose from, all the hot blondes that fawned over him in the halls and the enticing brunettes that asked him out after catching his eye for a moment, never did he think for a fucking second that it would be you. 

The prude. 

“Don’t like who?” Billy interjected harshly, dismissing how you and your friend flinched at his sudden interest. 

“No one!” you both mumbled, avoiding his gaze and spinning around in your seats. 

Billy’s brow rose at that, and the instant the bell rang, he kicked his feet off his desk and reached a hand toward you. You scooted forward in your seat the second his fingers brushed you, and Billy paused, a small ache in his chest disguising itself as irritation. 

Clenching his jaw, Billy curled his fingers around the back of your desk chair and dragged you back to him, the rubber stoppers on the ends of your chair legs squealing in protest against the polished floors. The teacher glanced up from his podium at the front of the class at the sound, an unimpressed look on his face, but was otherwise unconcerned about the situation unfolding. After all, it happened almost every morning. 

The teacher sighed and resumed calling roll. Billy kept one fist clasped around the back of your chair and one long leg outstretched beneath your seat, his boot situated around the nearest footing to stop you from scooting away. He leaned forward, hot breath rustling your hair as you sat stock-still, hands folded in your lap. 

“YN-”

You flinched. 

“-who were you talking about?” Though it was a question, he more demanded the answer than asked for it, because Billy would be damned if he had to listen to you and your friend giggle and jabber about your feelings for any guy that wasn’t him. 

Just the thought of another boy in the class catching your eye in general made him feel angry. 

No, maybe not angry. Sick was more like it. You weren’t his, and he knew that—fuck, he knew that all too well. He wouldn’t let it be that way for long, though. 

For months he’d tried to take his mind off you and place it, force it, on someone else. But when girls at parties and in his car, in hotel rooms or in their own goddamn bedrooms couldn’t eliminate the picture of you hot-glued to the forefront of his mind—couldn’t erase your secret smile when Billy had Sharpied a dick on Mr. Morrison’s board, or your glare when he’d tugged your seat over to his for the first time, or that feeling of your hand overtop his when he’d tugged on your hair to distract you, to bring your attention back onto him—Billy knew he had to give up on getting over you. 

He’d finally accepted that his only course of action was to keep your eyes on him just as his were locked on you. It was only fair. 

“Nobody,” you huffed under your breath. “Why do you even care?”

The tension on Billy’s face softened, relaxed as he looked over your form appreciatively, licking his lower lip. ‘Heres’ and ‘Presents’ resounded about the pair of you as Billy released his grip on your seat’s backing, settling the same arm on his desk and reaching up a hand to twirl a strand of your hair around his finger. “Oh, no reason, babe, just making sure I’m still in your good graces is all.”

You scoffed and twisted in your seat, yanking his hand from your hair with a grip on his wrist. “Were you ever?”

Billy held your gaze while simultaneously imploring to whatever asshole wandered around in the sky that you would never release your hold on him, and he allowed his lips to curl up into a real smile. So long he went without ever letting that happen, and then you showed up and now he never wanted to stop. 

Just as Billy reached up to brush a strand of hair from your forehead, the teacher reared his ugly, bald, fucking bastard head. 

“YN, Billy,” Mr. Morrison called aloud, his tone on the latter’s name far more irritated, and, of course, you sat at attention, turning away from Billy and tearing your hand away from his wrist. “Pay attention, please.”

“Sorry, sir.”

And just like that, you slipped from his grasp. You ignored Billy’s every poking and prodding of his pencil in your back for the rest of class and focused rather on whatever the hell Morrison was on about, curled over your notebook with your head ducked low.

It was only when Billy sighed and sat back in his seat with crossed arms, chest tight, that he realized your friend was watching from the corner of her eye with a small grin. 

Until Billy flipped her the bird, then she scoffed and looked away too. 

By the end of class, Billy’s head was dropped back, mouth open and releasing soft snores. The bell ringing didn’t wake him; what did was your courteous kick to his foot in order for him to release your chair, which he did, so you could push your seat in. Then you smacked his forehead with your notebook for good measure. “Wake up, asshole, class is over.”

He grunted, swatting away the offender. “You’re so kind to me, babe,” he grumbled bitterly. “What would I do without you?”

“Considering you spend every waking minute in this class annoying me, I truly, honestly don’t know.”

Billy smirked at that, gaze latched onto your form as you walked away side-by-side with your friend, whom you seemed to be shaking your head at. Sluggishly and with a yawn, he rose to his feet, lugging his bag over his shoulder and following your path out of the classroom. 

He lingered behind a few steps, stopping only to lean against a water fountain and pull a pack of Marlboros from his back jean pocket. He swiped the cigarette across his bottom lip before slotting it in the corner of his mouth and reaching for his lighter. 

“That’s not what this is,” you groaned, fiddling with the combination of your locker. 

Your friend hummed sarcastically, a mocking “Totally” on her lips from Billy’s distance away. He could barely hear the two of you, especially through the thick crowd of students flooding the halls, rushing to their cars and buses to get the hell out of school. 

Of course, you were lagging behind to study in the library, and, of course, Billy would be there to bother you for the next half hour before “suddenly remembering” he had a date.

Fuck, he hated it. He hated himself, and how easily you wound him around your little finger. He used to wish you were cruel; some cold-blooded bitch to him so it would be so much easier to dismiss his feelings and walk away. Instead, you were kind. The only fucking person who could battle back against his attitude and yet still care about his wellbeing. How many times had you tugged a cigarette from his mouth with a small, disapproving grumble, or silently placed a water bottle on his desk when he’d enter the classroom reeling from the effects of the night before?

He'd never met anyone that was too good for him. Not since…

Fuck. He hated this.

How? How did you have that power over him? When did you ever have time to wrench your hand into his chest, break past his ribcage and grab a fistfull of his heart just to steal it out and shake it in front of him like some cruel game of fetch?

“Goddamnit,” he huffed, eyes narrowed at his lighter that sparked fruitlessly. One last click, though, and a flame bloomed in his hand. 

“I swear it’s not! The guy’s an asshole. You know my grade is actually dropping in that class?” You slammed your locker closed, armfuls of textbooks hugged to your chest. “It’s because of him. Pretty soon, I’ll have an A-minus. Do you know how long it’s been since I've had an A-minus in a class?”

“Not as long as you haven’t had a D.” 

You blanched, whole body flinching like you took a punch to the gut. “I-... you-... that was totally uncalled for.” Your friend snickered. 

Billy, meanwhile, had grown infinitely more interested in the conversation, so much so that he had almost coughed out the smoke in his lungs. His eyebrows raised as he watched a flush rise to your cheeks. 

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” You pointed at her disapprovingly, but she only laughed more boisterously. 

“Oh, come on! Am I wrong?”

“Who cares about my…” you gestured at yourself wordlessly, floundering, “e-experience level? You really think that asshole is gonna solve that?”

“Easily.” 

You threw your arms in the air hopelessly at your friend’s deadpan, rolling your eyes. “No! Not happening! The only possible outcome is a newfound exposure to STDs.”

“Worth it.” Her hands snapped up in surrender at your glare. “Kidding. Just kidding.”

Slowly but steadily, the halls were clearing. Billy didn’t bother trying to disguise his watchful gaze as he inhaled another cloud of smoke, pulling the cigarette from his lips to tap the ashes out in the water fountain behind him. He let out the fumes in one long stream as he leaned a hip against the metal edge of the fountain, settling his other hand into a front pocket on his blue jeans. 

Billy waited, as he always did, like a predator ready to swoop in on his prey the second it was alone. Two blue eyes stay cemented on your form like a promise, a pledge of devotion. It was the yearning from afar that pained him the most, certainly because what excuse could he ever fabricate to explain himself? You hadn’t called his name—-your gaze hadn’t even accidently washed over him. You’d done nothing to gain his attention. You had done nothing but be, and for that, Billy was undeniably, absolutely addicted. 

He needed you.

Billy massaged two fingers at his temple, taking another drag with half-lidded eyes. 

“You better be.” You sighed, slamming your locker closed and clenching the straps of your backpack in your hands. “The day I actually throw myself into the arms of that aggravating jerk is the day I toss all of my self-respect in the trash.”

It’s me. It has to be.

She’s talking about-

“He’s not that bad if you think about it. Even you yourself said-”

“I know what I said,” you floundered, shoving a finger against her lips. “But—you know what—if we both ignore that I ever said it, then maybe, just maybe, my feelings will fade away, and we can both look back at my confession one day and laugh.” You pull your hand away from her, posing your hands on your hips righteously. “Laugh while knowing that my feelings for him were ridiculous and dumb and stupid and childish, and that I was just acting like a regular teenager with a little, stupid crush on some dumb boy-”

“You’re in love with Billy, aren’t you?” your friend deadpanned. 

Your face fell, and you pouted. “Yeah, fine, you’re right, I’ve got it bad.” 

-Me.

The cigarette fell from his lips, landing on the floor soundlessly. Billy stood at attention, his hand falling out of his pocket as the other dropped from his head. Love. YN is-

She’s in love with me.

All color in his cheeks disappeared, just as all the air in his chest. He couldn’t breathe, but in a good way, like the burn of surfacing from underwater for too long—like he was seconds away from the first gasp of fresh, sweet oxygen, after suffocating for so long.

He wanted this—fuck, he needed this. Who gave a damn if he deserved it or not, he was going to have you. You and the warmth of your hands; your smile and your laugh, all of your blushes and your tears.

All of it. Every single last ounce, he wanted it all.

He could fucking have it, too. 

She’s in love with me. 

Your friend grinned all too smugly. “You’re finally admitting it out loud, huh? Look at you, growing up right before my eyes. How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?” you grumbled, still curled in on yourself, cheeks dusted pink.

“Your first real love confession to a boy.” She dropped both of her hands on your shoulders as your brows furrowed. 

“Does it really count if he’s not even here?”

“Nope,” she beamed, spinning you around in her grip. “Good thing he is!”

For a moment longer, you were still visibly confused at her words. The halls had long cleared, and the only sights and noises that now filled them were your wide eyes and quick gasp. 

“Billy.” His name slipped from your lips like an accident, tumbling out without a second thought and landing in the allconsuming silence of the hallway with a dull thud. 

He couldn't help it. God, he couldn’t fucking help it. 

The trembling that took hold of him, the shiver that began in the tips of his fingers and transferred up the length of his spine—he hated it because he had to hate it, but deep down he loved it more than anything else.

Because you were just so fucking perfect. 

Your eyes were glassy, like any second you were going to burst into tears. There was a small quiver of your lower lip, and, like a tidal wave, the overwhelming urge to feel that same quiver against his own lips, his skin, crashed into him. 

He really, really couldn’t help it. It was second nature. 

A corner of his mouth lifted, and his eyes glinted with condescension. “Is that right?” he hummed, amused. “Are you in love with me, YN?”

The pounding in his chest, the pregnant pause as he waited, the subtle, dizzying fog that began to flood his mind, all of it he ignored. He had to hear it. Say it again.

But he couldn’t help it, and the more your glistening eyes studied his face, tears threatening to overflow at the waterline, the more he could feel that sweet burn in his lungs turn painful once more. 

And it hurt so much worse when you twisted out of your friend’s hold and bolted. 

Your tennis shoes squeaked in protest against the vinyl composition tile, down the hallway and clear through the glass doors of Hawkins High, never turning back no matter how many times your friend called your name. 

When the doors slammed shut, a gust of wind followed and ruffled the stray curl against Billy’s forehead. The smirk had long fallen from his face. 

Your friend bit the inside of her cheek beside him, obviously searching for words of any kind to explain your reaction. “She’s just-… well, you kind of…” She huffed, adjusting her backpack straps against her shoulders. “Look, she’ll be back on Monday. She wouldn’t skip school, even out of embarrassment like that.” She threw him a sidelong glance. “Though, maybe next time you don’t respond like that, right?”

Billy’s face hardened, and he pulled the pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He slotted a smoke in the corner of his lips. “Who gives a shit?” 

Your friend pursed her lips, observing as he struggled once more with his lighter. He gripped it with white knuckles, and the butt of his cigarette was crushed between his teeth. “Right,” she nodded with a sigh. “See you Monday.” Her footsteps trailed down the hall and away.

When the doors shut after her too, Billy spat out the smoke, hurling his lighter down the hallway with bared teeth. “FUCK!”

Monday. Fucking Monday?

Billy wrenched two hands in his hair, his nostrils flaring as he gnawed on his lips. It hurt, it all fucking hurt. Everything. 

She left, she fucking left. She ran away from you, and you know why too—it’s because you’re so weak. Why the hell would she ever want to be with someone like you? How could she ever be in love with-

Billy paused, his hands falling from his scalp, his shoulders rolling back. His head raised, slowly. 

Fine, you could have until Monday. But on that day, he was getting some fucking answers. 

The weekend didn’t pass by quick enough, despite Billy not remembering most of it. He recalled the party he attended that Friday night, the keg and the shots and what must have been some girl trying her best to come onto him. He remembered shoving her off one minute with a snarl and thundering towards his car, and then the next he was waking up in his own bed. He remembered working out and drinking Saturday and Sunday away, and he remembered waking up Monday with a healing bruise on his cheek, his father none too impressed that he’d drunk all the beer in the house in the span of two days. 

But who fucking cared, right?

Who gave a shit when his Camaro came squealing into the school parking lot, stopped parallel between three spots? Who gave a shit when he ambled Hawkins High halfway through the school day, his shirt unbuttoned down his chest, his cologne wafting after him everywhere he went?

And who gave a shit when he arrived in Mr. Morrison’s class, early for the first time in the six months he’d been in it, and planted himself in his seat, his legs kicked up on his desk, his arms folded up behind his head, blue eyes carefully watching the doorway. 

Because, yeah, you’d ran away from him. But you’ve been doing that for so long now, dancing out of his reach each time he wanted you, twisting out of his grip each time he almost had you. This was the first time you’d ever escaped him knowingly. 

Finally, he knew you loved him, and once more you got away. 

Of course, your little game of cat and mouse had to end like this—it had to end with him catching you. 

And catch you he did. 

God, you were so fucking beautiful, it actually made him ache. Your friend was shoving you in through the classroom door, two hands braced against your back despite you trying to wriggle away like a loose fish. 

Your face was red, completely, utterly red, like you’d just come back from running a marathon. Your eyes were darting around frantically, from the desks to the ceiling, and he knew you were actually considering your chances of escaping through an air vent. 

She’s in love with me.

He didn’t care. Suddenly, at the sight of you, he just didn’t fucking care anymore. He didn’t care that you ran, about the turmoil you’d caused him, about the misery that had been his weekend away from you. 

He couldn’t care for anything less because the second your eyes landed on him in that classroom and you let out the softest little squeal, all he knew was you, you, you.

So fucking cute.

Billy kicked his feet off his desk, reaching forward and pulling out your chair before patting the seat backing suggestively. Like clockwork, his smirk reformed on his face, a small glimmer of patronizing amusement in his eyes. 

“Come on, babe,” he simpered at you. “Don’t be shy. Take a seat.”

Come back to me. I need you.

Your eyes widened, and you squirmed in her grip once more. “Nope, I can’t do this.”

“Hush up and go.” One big shove from your friend and you were stumbling forward, scrambling to regain your balance. 

Billy silently urged you closer, gesturing down at your seat with his hands the closer you shuffled toward him. As he did, he drank in the sight of you, flushed and skittish, stumbling toward him like a baby deer on new, unsteady legs. He noticed the darkened skin under your eyes, most likely matching his own, though he doubted you and him were sleepless for the same reasons. 

When you ground to a halt in front of him, you gulped, your attention everywhere but on his face. 

“Hey, YN,” he practically purred, hands itching to reach out to you. 

“Hello, Billy,” you squeaked, dropping into your seat and gripping the bottom in an effort to slide the chair forward. Very quickly, though, you discovered Billy’s boot was already perched around the chair’s footing, and one hand had an iron grip on its back. 

“Going somewhere?”

“I guess not.”

Billy hummed. “I think you have something to say to me.”

“Umm nope, don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on, no need to be shy. I just wanna hear you say it,” he prompted, as his other hand glided up, curling a strand of your hair around his finger. “Tell me how you feel about me, YN.”

“I think you’re a jerk,” you whispered, turning back slightly to fix him with a flimsy glare. 

“Besides that. Tell me what you told me Friday, before you ran.” He tugged at the strand of hair, his brows raised expectantly. 

“I didn’t mean it-”

“Don’t-” Billy gritted his teeth, his hand leaving your hair to grip your chin, turning you to face him. “Don’t say that.” He watched as your eyes grew damp again, all soft and delicate and one small admonition away from bursting into tears. 

You were so fragile, so small in his eyes. It often made him wonder why he ever thought he should be the one you should be with. How could he ever hold you in his arms without tarnishing you?

So badly, he thought he wanted to have you just to dirty you, take away that purity that seemed to hover over your head, but there were some days where he knew that all he wanted from you was to make him believe he could hold on to something so clean.

He wanted it. So, so bad, he wanted whatever you would offer him. He wanted to hear those words straight from your lips. 

Your cheeks were so hot, he itched to cradle them in his palms and absorb some of that warmth. He wanted to wipe away all of the tentativeness with the pads of his fingers and leave behind the breathlessness, the pure affection that was its source. 

“You just want to laugh at me,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking. “You’re just going to tease me about it like you do with everything else.” You swept a hand underneath your eyes. “You’re so cruel, Billy.”

“Stop-” he hissed and shook his head, gritting his teeth. “You don’t get to say that. Not after all I’ve ever wanted is for you to love me back, you don’t get to fucking say that.” Billy seized your wrist, tugging you closer. “I know what I am. I know what I do.”

His pride was wilting away the more he spoke to you, the longer you didn’t pull away from him, and his mind pounded in indignation. At what point did you turn him into a complete lovesick fool, and was it before or after you first smiled at him?

If your wide-eyed look was any indication of your shock at his feelings, he wondered just how baffled you would be once you discovered his willingness to bend over backwards at your every plea. You would never take advantage of him, and he knew that, but the tendrils of doubt still crawled up his spine at the thought of leaving himself so vulnerable for you. 

 “But you, YN?” He traced his eyes over your face, huffing softly. “In all my life, I’ve never wanted something more.”

You stared at him, open mouthed. Your gaze was so surprised, so innocent that it actually frustrated him. How could you have not seen? How could you be so blind?

“So don’t you fucking say that it’s cruel of me, or selfish, or some other bullshit.”

You gasped when he tugged you closer by the wrist, his other hand encompassing your cheek. 

“Just say it again.”

His eyes darted over your face, desperate.

“Please.”

Your eyebrows twitched up at that, and your gaze grew tender, raking over his face slowly as if committing to memory. You paused at his lips, watching as they parted and pursed against one another. 

You’d worn him down. You’d exhausted him, mentally and physically. Of all the months he’d waited for your confession like this, he never thought the last few moments would be the most excruciating of them all. What more did you want from him? Already, he could feel the swell of anger at his throat ready to be unleashed, to lash out at you until you were in steady tears again just so he knew exactly what you were feeling once more. Billy wanted—no, needed—some part of you to be under his thumb, just so he could pretend, if even for a second, that your emotions for him were still in his range of sway.

Instead, his heart stuttered when the hand in his grip wormed away and pulled off the other that was at your cheek. You splayed his hand out on the surface of his desk, then you intertwined your fingers with his and squeezed. Your teeth worried at your bottom lip as you ducked your head. 

“I’m in love with you, Billy.”

His eyelids fluttered shut, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Finally. Fucking Finally.

You were his, completely. 

He couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t.

His hand found your chin, and he tipped your head up, gaining your attention.

“I fucking knew it,” he simpered, entirely too smug. And when you tried to scramble away, panicked and scared, his hand found the back of your neck and tugged you close, his lips landing on yours. 

In his hold, you grew lax, only your hand tensing around his. Your lips didn’t move against his, seemingly too tentative and inexperienced to truly indulge yourself.

Billy grinned into the kiss, far more pleased than anyone should be at the knowledge that he could leave marks on you in so many more ways than one. When he pulled away, he quickly cupped your face with a hand, thumbing at your lips in search of the remainder of his own warmth. 

“Library, after school?” he muttered, his mouth still curved.

“Only if you don’t have a date afterwards,” you grumbled. You could sass him all you wanted, and Billy couldn’t care less. He could hear your breathlessness and feel the heat in your cheeks, and pride flared in him knowingly. 

“Well, I might-”

“Are you guys done yet? ’Cause that was kinda gross.” Your friend dropped into the seat beside you, her nose wrinkled. You straightened up, unraveling yourself from Billy’s hold and nodding your head.

“Yep, yeah, definitely all done. Totally.” 

And just like that, you were gone. Billy bristled at your instantaneous lack of touch and threw a snarl at your friend, who only shrugged. 

Then she held out a hand, brows raised expectantly. 

“You owe me.”

Billy rolled his eyes, fishing his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans and rifling through it, passing her a ten dollar bill. 

“Keep the change.”

“With pleasure.”