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Reborn (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) ~Chapter 3~

(Supernatural/Soulmate AU)

*GIF not mine*

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

A/N: Can I get a waffle? Can I puh-lease get a waffle?? Ugh, anyways, I hope y’all are ok with this chapter, cuz it’s a lil… ugh. I just wanna binge Once Upon a Time, but whatever. Hope you enjoy!

Tag List: @burntcilantro​  @alloverbutterflies​  @translucentthoughts​  @zaejia​  @momothepeachgirl  @black-veil-chemicalz​  @miigoth​  @blxkstar​  @keigosbitch​  @actual-smol​

Word count: 4900

        Bokuto just wouldn’t leave you alone. 

        All you had done was let him drink your blood, and now he followed you around like a lovesick puppy. 

        “YN! Can I get you anything?”

        “YN! Are you hungry?”

        “YN! Do you need help with something?”

        “YN!”

        “YN!”

        “YN!”

        Every five minutes, he popped into your room with a bright smile and a need to please. He even crawled into your bed at nights while you were sleeping! Always slipping under your covers and wrapping his arms around you from behind, it scared you half to death. It was a shame he never stuck around to get a lecture, though. Just before you wake up, he always manages to sneak away. Once, you even felt Akaashi join the party, and woke up to two people spooning you with the temperature of a thousand suns. 

        They almost gave you a heat stroke. 

        Since then, it’s always been Bokuto, except today you had the pleasure of waking up before him. You had spun in his tighter-than-normal grip around your waist and delivered a quick shove to his chest. “You’re too warm, get the fuck out,” you had muttered with a yawn, and his body flopped onto the floor shortly after. 

        And now, as Bokuto popped into your room for the fiftieth time today with something actually worth talking about this round, you couldn’t help but grimace at your television. 

        “YN YLN is still missing. If you have any information on her or her whereabouts, please contact the police at…” you didn’t care to listen to the rest. Clicking off the TV, you slumped down onto your sofa and hugged a pillow to your chest. 

        “Can’t believe they used that ugly-ass picture,” you grumbled, still glaring at the black screen. 

        “YN!” There he is. “We brought you dinner!” 

        “Is it poisoned?”

        “NO!”

        “Damn.”

        “Don’t talk like that,” Akaashi glowers, handing you a tray of food before snapping his fingers. Three cozy dining chairs and a wooden table manifests from thin air between your bed and the glass doors to your balcony, and he holds out a hand to guide you to the new furniture. 

        “What’s this?” you ask warily, waving away his offer and proceeding to take your new seat without assistance. 

        “We haven’t dined together in a century,” Akaashi sits across from you and levitates a pitcher of water, filling your glass. “Bokuto and I want to make up for lost time.” 

        Said man nods his head excitedly and claims the final chair between the two of you, leaving one side empty at the rectangular table.

        The menu for tonight consists of a medium-done steak for each of you, alongside some appetizers of various vegetables and a basket of buttered rolls. The centerpiece is a small, silver candelabra, which soon becomes the only lighting for your meal as the light bulb in your bedroom flickers and turns dark. 

        “Damn,” you chuckle nervously, picking at your intricately-crafted dining utensils, “didn’t know you guys treated your captives so well. Does everyone get this royal treatment?”

        “You’re so much more than our captive, my love,” Akaashi simpers. 

        You purse your lips, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. You hypothesized this elaborate dinner had something to do with you finally giving in and wearing a black, slimming mermaid dress from your ancient closet. Disappointingly, it was the most casual outfit in there, although the bedazzled sweetheart neckline drew a little too much unwanted attention from the vampire to your right. 

        “Who even are you guys?” you scoff.

        “The loves of your lives.”

        Akaashi’s response left you busting a gut, and Bokuto nervously made eye contact with his friend. “Oh, come on,” you snort, hiding your grin behind a hand out of habit, “quit tooting your own horn. First of all, ‘love’? Don’t kid yourself. Second of all, what the hell do you mean by ‘lives’?”

        Neither man appreciates your words, or your reaction. Akaashi narrows his gunmetal blue eyes at you, nostrils flaring with distaste. Bokuto’s golden eyes flicker to pure red for a split second, and his hands reach up to grip the table’s edge with white knuckles. 

        “It’s still too soon to tell you,” the wizard seethes through clenched teeth. Your laughs slow, but when Bokuto snatches up his knife and slices into his steak swiftly in the blink of an eye, you sober right up. With a nervous nibble on your bottom lip, you discretely slide your chair a few inches to the left and avoid the black and white-haired man’s burning gaze. 

        “Look,” you draw your attention away from the massacred hunk of meat, “since I’m kinda like your guys’ friend now-”

        “We’re more than friends!” Bokuto barks, chomping on his meal bitterly. Akaashi nods in agreement and you roll your eyes at the action.

        “Easy, you two. I was iffy about even calling us ‘friends.’” 

        “Then what would you call yesterday?” the vampire pouts slightly. You had let him feed off you again, as he seemed to be on the verge of another carnivorous outrage. It still felt similar to getting, you know, stabbed in the neck. Twice. But you just couldn’t stand to see him go hungry again. You were feeling generous. 

        “Reciprocity. Even wild animals in nature do it. You saved my life, so I… did that thing.”

        “Didn’t feel like reciprocity when you moaned ‘don’t stop’ in my ear-”

        “Enough!” The table wobbles and the dishes clang together with the force of Akaashi’s palm smacking the surface. His head is lowered so you couldn’t see his eyes, but the strain of his voice was enough to clue you in on his irritation. That and the glass of water he had to catch in midair with an extended pinkie. “YN,” Akaashi continues tightly, raising his gaze to face you. Their mixture of emotion made your heart skip a beat. “What did you want to know?”

        You gulp, and unlike normal, Bokuto doesn’t glue his eyes to the movement. Instead, he pushes around the broccoli on his plate. “Why am I here?” you finally find your voice, watching them both with confusion. 

        The black-haired wizard sighs and picks up a spoon in a dish, slowly serving himself while shaking his head. 

        “Let us eat dinner first. Then we’ll answer any questions you may have.” 

                                ~~~

        The bed is crowded. After the tense meal, Akaashi had directed you all to your mattress while the elegant set up disappeared with a flick of his wrist. 

        You sit with your back against the headboard, and your fingers gently comb through Bokuto’s hair. The vampire’s head is on your lap, his hands folded on his stomach while his legs hang off the edge, kicking occasionally. It wasn’t the most appropriate position for a kidnapper-kidnapee discussion, but Bokuto was always touchy-feely nowadays. You didn’t exactly mind it, though; his hair was surprisingly soft. Meanwhile, Akaashi sits at the end, cross-legged with a straight back, although he drags his touch over your calves and ankles every-so often. The feeling tickles, but the atmosphere is so serious you don’t dare make a sound. 

        “All right,” the wizard pipes up, tracing small circles against your skin, “would you like me to start from the beginning?” 

        “Yep.”

                                ~~~

        “Ladies and gentleman, thank you for gathering tonight to celebrate the wedding of my daughter and Tetsurou Kuroo! Now, enjoy the ball!” 

        Your father clapped adamantly and the crowd followed the silent order like compliant minions. 

        You, on the other hand, irked your jaw before standing up from your throne. Kuroo followed dutifully, still wearing his signature smirk. 

        “Wait, hold up. Kuroo?!”

        “Yes, but just wait.”

        “Would you like to dance, my dear YN?” 

        “Not in a million years, Kuroo,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at the offer. He waggles his finger disappointedly at you and clicks his tongue. 

        “Now, now, kitten, no need to be hostile. We are, after all, man and wife.” 

        You bare your teeth at him, flashing your fangs before your father discreetly grabs your upper arm in a death grip. 

        “YN, how dare you? This arrangement is for the benefit of the kingdom, quit acting like a spoiled brat,” the king hisses. 

        “Father!” you gasp, and he rips his hand away from you. 

        “Be quiet!” Your father, the ruler of all vampire-kind,  swiftly makes his way onto the floor to chat amiably with other royals from the area. 

        The glittering, golden room, was crowded elegantly-dressed people of all kinds of nature. Vampires and werewolves, wizards and fairies, hell even a few mermaids had swam their way into the party. The unification of the century.

        In the late twelfth century, werecats had become a force to be reckoned with in the blink of an eye. They had monopolized almost all supernatural land with their powerful army, slaying everybody and anybody who attempted to sway them from absolute control. In a last ditch effort to make peace, your father had offered you into an arranged marriage with the prince of werecats, Tetsurou Kuroo. You were a savior, the key to harmony for all, simply by becoming his queen. The title contained a lot of weight to bear.

        Your father was the one who gave you no choice in the matter. Any other princesses of the varied species on Earth could have been offered, but the King of Vampires was greedy. You would be the one to rescue all living creatures, simply by marrying into a loveless alliance. Kuroo was not an evil man. You had met him, chatted with him, even become a friend of his enough to know. He was kind and loving, but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to return his affections. 

        “Akaashi’s just kidding. Kuroo’s the worst.”

        “Silence, Bokuto.”

        Nonetheless, you had become engaged, and then you were married. Somewhere deep down, though, you knew there was something else out there for you. Or someone. Someone… outside the window and in the garden. 

        There, among your treasured roses, were two men. One with black hair, and one with white hair, riddled with dark streaks. Their presence, though a bit unwelcome in your private utopia of flowers, was alluring. 

        “Kuroo, please excuse me,” you mumbled distractedly, eyes still locked beyond the glass pane. “I need to adjust my corset.” 

        “Don’t keep me waiting too long, kitten. People are still expecting our first dance as a true couple.”

        “Yeah, yeah, whatever douchebag. I see some hotties, so I’ll catch you later.”

        “Bokuto, quit interrupting!” 

        “Sorry Akaashi.”

        “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you sneered, squeezing his cheeks in effort to appear loving. 

        “You’re not my grandmother, just finish your business so we can get this dance over with.” Kuroo ushered your hands away, but his cheeks were still stained pink even after you disappeared down the steps behind your thrones. 

        Slipping into the hallway, you hid behind vases and under clothed tables to dodge security knights, and finally escaped outside to meet the pair of mysterious men. 

        “Ugh, Akaaaaaashi!” You peered from behind a wall of bushes gathered against the sides of the castle. They both stood near your cherished flowers, and the one who had spoken regarded them with childlike curiosity. “Why are we here again?” 

        “I felt us drawn here for… something. I’m not sure. But I’m not leaving until we get caught. Or until the night ends. There’s just something here for us, I promise.” 

        You held back a giggle when the bulkier man pricked his finger on a rose thorn, letting out a horrendous screech. 

        “Silence, Bokuto.” 

        “Well, I see you haven’t changed much.”

        “Silence, YN.”

        “Wait, Akaashi. I smell something.”

        “I told you not to eat that flower-”

        “Not that!” The taller man rose from his squat near your plants and sniffed the air. “It smells like… my grandmother’s cinnamon bread!” He raises his nose and sniffs again, walking toward the scent. Walking towards you. “It smells so good!” he exclaims, wiggling with excitement as he draws nearer to your cowering form. 

        “It’s… It’s…”

        “It’s Brittany, bitch.”

        “Goddammit, YN, you’re beginning to act like Bokuto. That’s a bad decision.”

        “Hey!”

        “It’s a girl!” The man points at you with a wide grin, baring his fangs instinctively. You jump at the sight and widen your eyes at how he had spotted you. The dark-haired male glances up from the ground with surprise, and his blue orbs sparkle when they meet yours. 

        “Umm, hi,” you swallow nervously, stepping away from the wall. 

        “Oh wow, you’re beautiful!” The larger man’s comment makes you flush bright red. 

        “T-thank you.” You glance away and hide your cheeks in your silk-gloved palms. “I can’t help but notice you’re in my garden.” Smiling nervously, you gain enough courage to gesture to the plants around you. 

        “Yes, my princess,” the man with dark hair pulls his friend backward by the collar and tugs him down in a bow, “we are so sorry for intruding. We will leave immediately.”

        “No!” you cry out, holding out your hands to stop them. “Please… don’t. I could use the company.”

        “Oh.” 

        “S-so, um, what are your names?” Avoiding their shocked gazes, you pick at your flowing, purple dress anxiously. 

        “Keiji Akaashi, and this is my friend Koutarou Bokuto.” 

        “Is Akaashi even your real name?”

        “Has been for the past millennia.”

        “And you?”

        “I’ve been Koutarou Bokuto for one and one-tenth of a millennia! I found lil’ baby Akaashi here stranded in the middle of the woods.”

        “And yet I’m the one who has to take care of you now.”

        “You’re so mean, Akaashi!”

        “Nice to meet you,” you grin, outstretching your hand for a shake. Akaashi stares mystified at the act, but slowly accepts. Just as sparks begin to flow through your body from the ounce of contact, Bokuto eagerly shoves his companion out of the way and shakes your hand as well, doubling the amount of adrenaline pumping through your body. Your breath hitches and your eyes widen while you stare at your hand in surprise. It tingles, but in a good way. In an amazing way. Then your wrist starts to burn, and you hastily tug off your glove in an attempt to stop whatever causes the twinge. 

        A single dark spiral with three legs has forged itself into your skin. A small gasp comes from in front of you, and you glance up to see Bokuto beaming at his own wrist. 

        “Akaashi, is this-”

        “Yes.” His shorter companion nods with a barely visible quirk of his lips, eyes also locked on the mark. 

        “What is this?” you pipe up, rubbing over the symbol with a wet thumb in desperate attempt to remove it. 

        “It’s a sign.”

        “For what?!” you plead in a panic. 

        “That you’re meant to be with us. You’re ours.” The world stops turning for just a few moments.

        The rousing words, their adoring gazes, even their proximity to you is enough to have your heart racing. You’ve always been someone else’s though, whether it was your father or Kuroo, and neither time was it pleasant for you. You don’t exactly mind the thought now, though.

        “I can’t stand it here,” you start, flaring your nostrils at the castle. 

        “Well, we can help you!” Bokuto blurts out, grabbing your hands and squeezing them encouragingly. Your heart stutters at his grip, but speeds up at the offer.

        “Really? You can get me out of here?”

        “Definitely!” 

        “Yes,” Akaashi nods. 

        “Oh, thank you!” You wrap one arm around each boy’s neck and tug them in for a group hug. It doesn’t take long before you grow addicted to their comforting warmth. You pull back reluctantly and look into their eyes. “So where are we going?”

        “Not gonna lie, that sounds like something my dumbass would do with two hot guys. Just yank them into a hug on the spot.”

        “You can still do that, you know. Even better if you let us kiss you. I don’t know about Akaashi, but I wouldn’t mind-”

        “S-shut up!”

        After you escaped, the fragile balance of peace between all creatures crumbled, and Kuroo went mad without his queen. Many species perished under his reign, and became extinct as a result. In the small number of villages that remained, he had posters hung with your drawn face and an offer of a hefty reward for any information of your whereabouts.

        It took them twelve years to find you. 

        “Akaashi, I’m going to go pick some berries.” You cinched your riding pants just past your hips and tucked a leather pouch into a belt loop. Arms slithered around your waist and pulled you backwards into a familiar body.

        “Okay, be careful. And can you tell Bokuto to come inside? He’s gonna get hypothermia if he stays in the lake any longer.” He presses small kisses up your neck, brushing over the bruises from the night before. 

        “Sure,” you turn your head back and peck his lips for just a second before smiling at him. “You’re handling dinner, though, right? I’m not choking down another crispy rabbit of his, no matter how much I love him.”

        Akaashi chuckles and shakes his head, squeezing your hips slightly. “Yes, I’m making dinner.” 

        “Good,” you snicker, pecking his cheek one more time before exiting the small cottage. You all had built the house with your bare hands, and every time you saw it, you beamed with pride. It took years to build the walls, but only your love combined made it a true home.

        Birds chirp in the sky high trees around you and you kick a couple pine cones on your way to the lake. You can hear him before you see him, and you hop over your miniature garden of roses to get closer to the sounds of splashes. 

        “Darling, look!” Bokuto doesn’t even have to spot you before waving an innocent salmon around victoriously. They’ve both grown hypersensitive to your presence, and it never takes long before you capture their attention nowadays. “Look what I snagged!” He’s floating in the middle of the water, grinning like no tomorrow while the poor fish wiggles frantically in his hand.  

        You stand beside his forgotten clothes and flash him a thumbs up, chuckling under your breath at the sight. “Nice catch, Kou. But Akaashi says you gotta get out now.” 

        “Aww, but why?” he pouts, glancing at his new friend before returning his disappointed gaze to you.

        “Because you might get sick and-”

        Oh no. 

        A pointed object rips through your back to the front of your chest, blood dripping from the tip. Knees wobbling, you can only whimper at the sight.

        An arrow. Slowly, you turn to find your attacker and spot a knight in the distance, lowering his bow. On his metal chestplate, he bore the symbol of the Werecats.

        “YN?!” Bokuto shouts, diving into the water and appearing at your side in under a second, catching you before you fall back. “YN!” he cries out in a broken sob.

        It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It hurts to speak. Your heart… oh God, you heart was pierced through completely. Nothing… not a fucking thing could save you. 

        “AKAASHI!” Bokuto calls out, cradling you in his arms and collapsing to his knees. A liquid more metallic than copper dribbles out from the corner of your mouth. Blood. It clogs your throat and your ears and your eyes. 

        You were going to die. 

        Oh God, you were going to die!

        Someone kneels on the ground beside you, and you can barely open your eyelids enough to see them. But their presence doesn’t require vision to be noticed.

        “Akaashi,” you wheeze with a slur. More blood gushes from your mouth at the taxing action. 

        “Oh God, no, please! YN, my love, stay awake!” Your hands quiver as you reach up to touch both of their damp faces. They lean into your touch instinctively, peering down at you with their foreheads just a hair’s length away from each other. Their emotions were painted on their faces like mirrors. 

        Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

        You were going to die.

        “Bokuto-” 

        “Don’t speak! Please, just don’t speak, you’ll be fine!” It was the first time Akaashi had ever lied to you. And it was the last. 

        The wizard’s palms glowed a dark maroon as he held them just over your heart. Bokuto tucked his face into your neck and sobbed, wails ripping their way out of his throat as he clenched his eyes shut. 

        “I love you both so much,” you whispered, pressing a bloody kiss to Bokuto’s scalp.

        “No YN!” Akaashi bit his lower lip furiously, clenching his fists before trying again, creating another aura of red around your wound. 

        “I’m not gonna make it…” Your breathing slowed and your eyes grew dim. You were so tired, so exhausted, so in pain. A nice, long nap sounded… so nice. 

        “NO! YOU’RE NOT LEAVING US!” Akaashi screamed, clenching his eyes closed and holding his hands higher above your chest before slowly dragging them up and down as he whispered words in an ancient language. 

        A spell. He was casting a spell. Or a curse.

        As you took your last breath, a puff of air fell from your lips akin to a wisp of smoke. The wizard watched in horror and amazement as the wave of fog disappeared through the forest, in the shape of a human body.

        “Find me,” it had echoed. Bokuto hadn’t raised his head once, only whimpering against your neck as his tears watered the earth. 

        “She’s gone,” he choked out. He grasped your hand and ran his chewed-raw lips over each finger. “She’s gone forever.”

        “No,” Akaashi shook his head, slowly rubbing a thumb against your cheek. He made sure that would never happen. A wave of tears at last crashed through his sturdy walls, and he softly smiled down at you as they carved salty trails down his cheeks. “She’s not.”

                                ~~~

        You raised your brows at the wizard and pursed your lips.

        “So… let me get this straight.” 

        Bokuto’s eyes were closed on your lap, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping on account of the single tear that escaped the corner of his eye. You still brushed your fingers through his hair comfortingly, but just a tad slower now. You still… well, you still had some disbeliefs.

        Akaashi nodded at you to continue, but his eyes were locked on your balcony door like he had been watching the memories as a movie. 

        “You cursed her as she died?”

        “As you died, yes.”

        “And then she-...” you gulped anxiously, “I get reincarnated every century?”

        “Yes.” 

        “Hmm.” You nod and twitch your cheek while pulling your hands away from Bokuto’s scalp. “So you wacknuts think I’m this girl’s reincarnate.”

        “We know you are.” Akaashi swivels his head to face you. His blue eyes, though teary, burn straight through your soul. Not a single doubt is found in his face. 

        “... You’re fucking crazy,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

        “Excuse me?”

        With sympathetic eyes, you huff a small sigh. “Look guys, I’m not some vampire queen, I’m not your mate, I-I’m not even a straight A student!” Akaashi stands and moves to sit by your side. With great effort, you try not to flinch away from his tight grasp on your hand while he gives you a pleading look.

        “YN please.” 

        “Akaashi, come on!” You wrinkle your forehead and bite your lip. “I’m not the girl you’re looking for. I’m sorry.”

        His nostrils flare and he releases your hand with a spasming jaw. Bokuto sits up from your lap, pressing one hand outside of your thigh. Akaashi catches on and mocks the position on your other side. 

        “Look into our eyes and tell us that you don’t even feel the smallest inkling that you’re meant to be with us.” It’s the first time you’ve seen Bokuto so dead serious. His gaze is unwavering as he stares deeply into your eyes, a hypnotizing shade of gold while Akaashi does the same. 

        “... I can’t do that.”

        “Ah hah! Because we are your mates!” The vampire grins victoriously.

        “No! It’s because I can’t go reverse cross-eyed!” The smallest ounce of hesitation still swims inside you because… can this really all be real? Two highly attractive men have kidnapped you, and say that they want to be with you for the rest of their immortal lives. Oh, and you supposedly rule all vampires as a queen. Yeah, no shit you still have doubts. Though there is a small place in your heart for them for them, you don’t want to give them false hope. 

        “...You can’t?” Bokuto asks, then proceeds to attempt his request and fails miserably. Shaking your head, you disguise a giggle behind your hand. Although, you still had one small question rattling around in the back of your brain.

        “So,” your confused voice captures their attention instantly as both heads turn to you, “you’ve kidnapped, like, five other me’s?” 

        “Six, but yes,” Bokuto shrugs.

        “And they’ve all been okay with it?” 

        “Well, usually we take more time to become acquainted with you, but Bokuto got antsy,” Akaashi mumbles with a flicker of judgment on his face. 

        “Why?”

        “That fucking, smug-ass cat! He found you after eight-hundred Goddamn years!”

        “Oh” is all you can say. Your attention travels down to your hands as you twiddle your thumbs nervously, but a sight makes you pause and go rigid. 

        The spiral, just as Akaashi described it, sits as three interconnected swirls on the center of your wrist. It hadn’t been there before; not until now, when Bokuto quickly snatches up your forearm and gasps at the sight.

        “Thank God, I was worried it wouldn't show up for months yet!” he cheers, tracing over the symbol like a nervous habit. The contact leaves the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention, and you bite your tongue harshly to stay silent. Akaashi’s mouth curved up into a smile, and he carefully drew his eyes up to yours, giving you a nod.

        “Yes, I’m glad it’s shown up as well, but Bokuto, let’s give YN some time to think, yeah?”

        The vampire whines at the thought and reluctantly releases your arm, rising off the bed and finally giving you enough room to breathe. Akaashi copies his act, but not before brushing your thigh with his fingertips, and leads the way out of your bedroom. 

        While you did need time to think, you knew that the amount provided would be significantly low thanks to Bokuto’s new nightly habits. With a small, inaudible curse, you hastily scramble off your mattress and snag his wrist just before he disappears into the hall with the wizard. 

        “Bokuto, wait.” He turns back to you in confusion, but a lopsided grin crawls onto his face. The action almost makes you blush, but before you can berate yourself for even thinking of the idea, you allow your mouth to run. “If you’re just gonna come in later and wake me up like usual, why don’t you just stay now?” With a small shrug at the end, you mentally praise yourself for sounding so casual. Bokuto’s response is quite the mind boggler, though. 

        First, his brows raise and he scratches his head at your words. Then he asks, “What are you talking about?”

        What? “C’mon, you know! Like when you crawl into my bed and wrap around me like a koala every night. Just stay here now so I don’t have to wake up, I really don’t mind.”

        “Umm, YN, the only times I’ve ever done that was this morning and a couple days ago when Akaashi was already in here.”

        “...Oh.”

        Huh.

                                ~~~

        The nights always seem to be cold before he climbs into your bed, and now is no different.

        As you shiver and burrow under your cozy comforter even more, the door to your bedroom slowly creaks open, then closes just as quietly. Tiptoed steps trail all the way to the edge of your mattress, and the tulle curtain shifts aside to allow him entrance. Your back always faces the door, so he slips under the covers behind you without an ounce of visibility on your part. 

        His long arms are just the tiniest bit slimmer than his companion’s as they wrap around your waist and pull you into his solid chest, but he’s just as warm. While he settles in behind you, intertwining his cooler legs with your own and resting a knee between your thighs, you hum tiredly and tip your head back under his chin.

        “Mmm, goodnight Akaashi.”

        He tenses behind you and his arms tighten around your hips while you hear a pause in his breathing. The wizard laughs noiselessly at being caught red-handed and snuggles his face into your hair, pressing a kiss to your rose-scented scalp. 

        “Goodnight, my love.”

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Hi. I was wonderg if you were planning to continue the (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) story. It’s really good

I definitely am, but I’d hate to scare you all off by spilling the beans and saying it probably won’t happen until next summer. Currently, I’m in one of the most important years of schooling, and even on breaks it’s hard to find the time.

I do have a lot more planned for the series, and the feedback it has received makes my heart flutter, but I just want you all to know it will be a while. Thank you for all the love💜💜

Hi, could I be added to the reborn taglist please ? Apparently I enjoy crying :’)

Definitely! I like crying too🤷‍♀️ But, I just wanna warn all of you that are preparing for the next chapter of Reborn that I’m kind of stuck. I have found a fatal flaw in my writing for this series, so I’m gonna take a little time on developing the story before I make my next chapter. I’m really sorry guys😔 but thank you so much for the support!💜

What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)---Part 3

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It’s how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you’re not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn’t take kindly to you avoiding him, and he’s never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he’s not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he’s seen the proof that you’ve fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: mwahaha, and they said it couldn't be done. those who doubted me shall gaze upon my very first (and perhaps last) complete series! Victoryyyyy! I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 8374

Part 1 Part 2

   You’re pretty sure you didn’t hear him right. 

You’ve got morning-after brain, and his chest is so hot and adamant behind you, and his breath is right next to your ear. Plus, your stomach is growling with a pit only chocolate-chip pancakes and white peach oolong can fill. 

And he’s doing that tracing thingy again. G. A. Then what?

R. Maybe.

And that leads you to think you might’ve just maybe heard him correctly, because why the hell is he drawing his last name on your hip so brutishly that it twinges? 

“Um.” You stiffen. “What.” 

Not really a question. The way you say it, it comes out more like you don’t want to know the answer even if you really did ask. 

Kyle groans that long, gruff way, husked past his vocal cords and throbbing a path through your entire body. “Look, I get it.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Just let me… ah, fuck, I know it sounds ridiculous, love, but hear me out.” He moves away, giving you space to think while he leans against the counter and grips the edge, tight. 

“Wait,” you hold up a hand before he can start talking again, because you need a minute. Several minutes, actually. A whole assload of minutes to comprehend the suggestion he’s just thrown at you. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you serious?”

This is probably just what Kyle’s morning-after brain is like. It makes stupid, sudden suggestions that he just blurts out on a whim with no regard for how it’ll land. In all fairness, you doubt it’s ever done him wrong before. Even in a regular headspace it’d be hard to tell him no. 

Never mind that he’s shirtless, and that his broad shoulders eat up the space of three cupboards, and that his gaze is doing that thing again—that unfair thing where he towers over you but can still make you feel like he’s kneeling, dips his head so those pleading irises look up at you. 

“Dead serious, love.”

There’s an air about him that’s resolute, despite it all. He’s tender but stern, decided and confident in his conclusion. He’s shedding his clothes and skin, leaving himself belly-up for you to bite. 

“Kyle…”

“Too soon?” He doesn’t even look hurt. Just expectant. 

You shrug helplessly. “Yes? Very too soon, don’t you think?” You spin around, fiddle with the pancake mix but don’t open it. The mug you’ve microwaved for your tea is probably cool at this point, and you try to turn that into your biggest problem of this morning. 

Not the special forces sergeant who lives life at three-hundred miles an hour, exuding such a new energy in here that you can’t remember the basics. It’s the morning after, and as beautifully new as Kyle is, like the stretch of new blue jeans, he’s not threadbare enough in here yet. Too tight, sucking the air out of your own home and leaving you all prickly and sweaty and nervous. 

And he wants you to move in with him? Right now? This soon?

It’s easy, when you turn your back to him and lob your hand towards the microwave handle, to pretend that your biggest problem can be amended in minutes. 

Because now, despite that itchiness of Kyle’s gaze on your face, your biggest problem is that you haven’t even begun to steep your tea. That’s a huge deal. You’re supposed to do it seconds after the microwave beeps, pull the mug out and let the steam soak into the tea bag that you swing for a bit, always have to watch the foggy-air disruptions back and forth. Then you steep it, let the water grow murky for ten minutes as you cook the rest of the meal. Add sugar, an ice cube because you’re scared it’ll burn your tongue like the first time, and stir while you pour syrup on your plate. 

You’re horribly set in your ways, so much so that you hate—actually hate—the newness Kyle’s thrust upon you. It took him twenty-four hours to upset everything. 

Well, not everything. Just you. While you feel fresh out of the box, everything around you has been preserved in mundanity. 

If you took two rights and a left from this building, you’d find a sandwich shop owned by a short man with an orange cat. If you went two floors up, you’d find a pack of graduate students; one more floor, and you’d see Mrs. Beverly and her purse dog. If you went into your living room, finagled with your window a bit, the shutters would close in a perfect angle so that the sun falls on your couch but doesn’t glare on your TV. 

You know it takes you twenty-seven minutes to get to work in the morning right after you brush your teeth. It takes you fourteen minutes to walk home after you clock off. Thirty more minutes to order food and settle in, Netflix the pinnacle of your night before you nod off in a tank top with exactly three holes and short shorts you’d bought under the duress of a busted AC.

You have milk and eggs both two days away from expiration in your fridge, along with old Chinese takeout. You have books with crackled spines and ruffled pages on your bookshelf, and a muddy stain on your entryway carpet from two days after you’d bought it. A bedroom unruly and unbidden, clothes strewn everywhere.

You could envision it all, see it all because you knew it all. Have known it all for the months that this place has been your home and you’d begun working at the hotel bar. You could have the rest of your life mapped out by tomorrow if you really wanted to. It’d be safe. Predictable. Boring, in that average way you’ve always known. None of it would be moving by so fast that you wouldn’t get a break to think of the consequences. 

None of it would make you feel like you’re reaching new heights by jumping off cliffs, taking big, stupid risks that wind up working all the damn time—and solely because Kyle makes them work. Because he runs seven steps ahead of you and lays out the golden carpet for you to step on, telling you it’s okay to keep pushing forward.

The phone calls, the talks, his touch and voice. All of it closing in on you, molding you into something fresh and unseen. 

But that’s just it. It’s still just you who’s changed. 

Not Kyle, who’s certainly been like this his whole life. Who’s used to making snap decisions that have an impact, gotten so damn used to doing that that he carries it with him now. 

And it’s not Mariano or his cat Garfield, or the ham and swiss you get on Fridays. It’s not Jared and Samantha, both of whom play Mario Kart after writing another page in their theses. It’s not Mrs. Beverly and Chloe, or Jeanne, or your family or friends you haven’t texted in a while. 

Only you. 

You’re stripped to your marrow, neurons and fibers spilling all over the place because—oh hell—you’ve grown too big for all this. Kyle’s had you melting and flowing fast and sharp since he first showed up in your life, and you’re moving too fast to feel out that old stagnancy. 

But there’s an ugliness that lives inside of you too, that hates how uncomfortable every little step forward is, even if you can’t stop taking them. 

It’s exposing. You feel naked, but not in the new, comfortable way Kyle’s helped you discover by virtue of his longing. More naked like school nightmares and too-small bath towels. Naked like someone’s going to douse you in lemon juice and salt any second to watch you writhe. 

“Kyle.” Your hand’s still propped on the handle. The microwave beeps again, impatient. “Last night was—God, it was amazing.” You open the door, pull out the mug despite how lukewarm it’s grown. “Best I’ve ever had, by a long shot. But…”

“But what, love? You’re scared?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and you’ve no doubt he’d watched your mind run and run circles around itself, and had had enough time to form an argument of his own. “It’s too much? A lot to ask? I think that too, love, but we’re running out of time.” He rises to his full height, and you try not to shy away at how much space he takes up when he’s grim and serious. 

He’s massive, bigger when he’s panting over you, sleek hips pressing down, suppressing your twists and jolts. He’s gotten better at trapping you, too. It’s intimidating. Thrilling, in better circumstances.

You can’t think straight anymore. He smells like pine all over again, and looks it too. 

“Come back with me to England. We’ve got bars—bars I can bother you at. We’ve got universities for second chances. I’ve got a flat with plenty of room, plenty of money to—”

“Kyle, please.” The whine rips from your throat, and you drag two hands over your face. 

In the corner of your vision, you don’t miss the way he stiffens and swallows a bit. But then he says your name through choked sigh, and rasps, “I know it sounds fuckin’ crazy—I feel like a bloody fool saying it out loud. But I don’t want to lose this, and I can’t keep comin’ back here to start us from scratch every few months.”

You don’t know what to say to that, can’t stop bobbing your mouth open and closed, trying to find those useless words that might explain what’s holding you back.

Something like, It’s only been three months.

Yes, but Kyle knows that too. And he still wants you. 

You don’t even really know him.

Sure. But what was there to learn that he wouldn’t offer you on a silver platter?

It’s going to fall apart. It always does for you. Months will pass, and he’ll realize he made a mistake. He’ll kick you to the curb, and you’ll be back to square one. 

A coaxing palm cradles your cheek, and a warm thumb prods over your lower lip, both of which make you flinch out of your thoughts. Kyle tips your head up, up, up until you’re looking at him, brown irises gentle and luring.

“I can see it, you know. That cruel little brain of yours is whirring so loud it’s makin’ me nauseous.”

Your eyes fall closed, and you reach up, grapple at Kyle’s wrist, massage the tender spot at its center. “I’m sorry.”

He inhales, ragged and slow. Exhales, blowing past your flyaways. “For what, bunny?”

You continue to caress the baby-soft skin of his wrist, marveling a bit at how different it feels from his rough fingertips, from his scarred thighs, his bruised back. “I need… time. A little bit to think. Consider things.”

The last thing you wanted to do was tell him to leave. You felt like an idiot for even implying that space from him was the something you needed right now. You know the silence will swallow you whole when he’s gone. 

“You want me to go?” he breathes out, and his face crumbles. Likely, he didn’t want to leave. He could barely be goaded out of your bed, and now this? 

Kyle looks like he wished he hadn’t asked, hadn’t said anything. Those mournful brown eyes slip to the counter, where your mug and pancake box sit, then back to you, to your eyes and nose and lips. 

Your lips. He prods at the bottom one, like he can’t help it. The caress slows to a stop when he pinches his eyes closed and tips forward, dropping his forehead to yours. “But I don’t wanna leave, love,” he mumbles. “Scared if I do, you won’t let me back.”

You don’t think you could ever keep him out. Not out of your house, and not out of your head. But your brain feels unspooled and uncollected, and all that’s left are too-sweet cotton-candy wisps that can’t quite latch onto anything. 

“I…”

Don’t want you to leave either.

I want you to stay. I want to move in with you. I want every night to be like last night, and every morning to begin like ours did.

I want it all to be ours.

Your hands rise up and brush against the dips and swells of his chest. Goosebumps blossom under your touch. 

“Kyle, you know this isn’t goodbye. It can’t be. I need you to tell me you understand that.”

He sighs again.

“I know, love. I know that.” His thumb wanders over the arch of your cheek. “I’m used to all this, with you. All the pullin’ away and coming back.” He chuckles bitterly, a bit breathy. “It’s just so fuckin’ hard this time ’round.”

Your chest feels like it’s split open, gaping and pouring out. But your mind, or what’s left of it, knows you need this. You need the separation from him, deserve time to think through all he’s offering, all you could barely repay him for in return. 

The debt between the two of you is yawning. But if you gave in and told him yes, all you’d be left with is uncertainty. 

Not even a man as perfect as Kyle can make up your mind for you. 

“One more kiss before you go?”

He takes you up on it before you can say any more. 

His lips are a harsh press against yours, bruising enough to leave them puffy for hours. He kisses to consume, to swallow you up and spit you out wanting more. 

Gentlemanly as Kyle can be, there’s not a glimpse of it to be seen now. He’s not playing fair, at the moment. 

He hooks a finger under your chin and holds you steady, keeps you close and running out of air as he slips past your defenses, the hot, wet press of his tongue on top of yours. It’s instantly dominating before you have a chance to fight.

And then he’s toying with you, kneading you back into the fray with long prods and swipes, his stubble from the morning a heady friction on your skin. He’s playing and caressing and devilishly stroking needy whimpers from you, fingers dancing along your skin, drawing circles on your skin and whines from your throat. That dangerous tongue of his performs another sweep about your mouth, then slips back. Kyle begins worrying at your bottom lip, teeth digging in so harsh and quick —

—and he tears away from you so abruptly that you gasp, can’t even see straight. Suddenly you’re cold and alone, panting and losing your balance without Kyle’s sturdy form keeping you upright. 

You only realize what had happened when you hear a rustling from your bedroom. Kyle reappears seconds later, avoiding your gaze as he zips his jacket up over his bare chest, legs and hips clad in last night’s jeans. 

Subconsciously, you pick at the neckline of the black cotton tee you’re wearing—his shirt, one you guess he doesn’t want back before he leaves. “You don’t want your—”

“Don’t take it off—not yet, yeah?” He meets your eyes for the first time in two minutes, and there’s little brown left to them, all dilated pupils and a consternated furrow. Even his lips, wonderfully swelled, are tugged into a small frown. “Keep it on f’me. I’ll come back for it when you’re ready.”

But you don’t know when that’ll be. How could you possibly make an unbiased decision when the damn thing still smells like him and you can’t forget that ravenous look in his eyes when he’d first found you in it?

Kyle’s hovers near the door, hand tight around the knob like he can’t quite figure out how to open it again. He glances back at you over his shoulder, lets himself take you in, take the entire scene in. He even looks back at your bedroom, where the sheets are rumpled and need to be washed. Then he settles on you one last time, jaw set, muscle feathering a bit.

“Call me. Text me. Anything, darling. But don’t you dare forget about me.”

The door closes with a slam.  

~~~~~~

The first day, Gaz is sure it’s fine. You need time to think, and that’s okay. He can handle that. He’s handled it multiple times.

And, yeah, when he’d gotten back to his hotel room, he had to sit for a moment, staring at the wall. Had to replay that whole night all over again. 

Then again. 

He did the same thing with that morning, reimagining licking the sweat off your thighs, sliding up and burying his face into your stomach, pawing at your body wherever you’d get the loudest. Replayed the feeling of your supple palms and soft fingertips—every inch of you was so damn soft, fleshy and yielding in his hands—wandering over his cheeks, his lips, his scalp. 

Fucking beautiful. Every goddamn second of it. 

Gaz, that first day, tries not to linger too long on how it’d ended. 

So stupid of him to bring that up. Suggest for you to move in with him when obviously you both functioned at two vastly different paces. 

Isn’t it ridiculous that he can’t even bring himself to think it’s crazy? He can’t find it in him to say no, that’s bullshit, because who are you and why the hell did he ever think moving with a woman he’d only known for three months was okay—desirable, even?

So bloody desirable it almost crossed that line and became imperative. 

He spends that night checking his phone, wondering if you’ll call him again, borderline tears and needy like yesterday.

That was his favorite aspect of yours so far—when you needed him, you needed him badly. You needed him while you choked back gasps and almost-sobs. You needed him while you breathed a little sigh of relief at the sight of him and jumped into his arms. You needed him with that first kiss, shy and tentative, but trying your best to imitate reckless abandon—until he taught you properly. 

He’d spent that whole night watching you be shocked at yourself for how badly could want him, all confused and flushed when you’d noticed your fingers digging into the buttons of his trousers. A little stunned “o” formed on your lips when you’d dug your nails in, body trembling with exhaustion, and still begged him for more. Kyle, please. More.

Gaz only convinces himself to take a shower for the night when the thoughts become too much. He almost trips over his own feet in a mad scramble when he sees his phone flash, only to find a notification for an update. 

He goes to sleep in a sour mood. 

The second day goes about the same. He wakes up late in the afternoon (because, due to your midnight upset, he was still on his Middle-East sleep schedule), spends way too much time remembering and staring at his phone, waiting for a buzz or a ring. Eats his dinner and drinks in a deathly silence. 

Because silence is unnerving to him now. You’ve changed that much in him. Every second spent in lonely quiet feels like a waste of his time. 

But you don’t call. And you don’t text. 

You don’t do any of it for the next three days. 

Gaz wallows even worse. He gets antsy, goes to the hotel gym and sprints on the treadmill, because he knows if he runs outside he’ll find himself at your place. He goes to stores, buys himself another black t-shirt, same size and brand as the one that you’d worn, that’d cinched in at your waist and flared out to capture your hips and thighs. 

He wanders into the bookstore next door and finds a few of the ones he’d spotted on your bedroom bookshelf whenever you’d tapped out on him. He flits through a few pages, eyes catching on the naughty words, and reads through for… wistful entertainment, at least. 

Research purposes, at most. 

And Gaz chuckles to himself, winking at the girls that try to wander into the section inconspicuously. The same ones who surely have as good a poker face as you, and who immediately vacate the area at the sight of an invader. 

It would be more fun if it was you he was teasing. Same pink ears and face, same eyes avoiding contact at all cost, fingers fidgeting at the hems of your sleeves.

A longing ache floods his chest so directly and intensely that he has to take a second, breathe and set down the book so he can center himself again. That same flood of cognizance about his situation hits him when he’s on missions, when the victims’ sobs finally get to him or he looks too long in the eyes of a dead man. 

Like he’s yanked to the surface after hours underneath the tide, and the sun shines so brightly his eyes burn. But he’s seeing and feeling everything he’d shoved deep down, knows exactly what led him to this moment. 

Gaz doesn’t go out much after that. 

Not the next day, or the day after that. Not even the next two days after those. 

It’s around this point that he wishes you would just put him out of his fucking misery. He’s so tired of thinking of you before he goes to bed, dreaming of you, then waking up to phantom touches all over his body. He’s driving himself up the walls trying not to call you, break into your house and just steal you back to England anyway. 

Patience. Son of a bitch—patience. God, you strung it out so thin with him that it could snap like a rubber band and hurt you both. 

It’s midnight of the tenth day of no contact with you that Gaz’s finally got his sleep schedule under control, and he’s twisted up in the sheets, body caked with sweat. 

Well, actually, he’s in Prague.

He’s rapidly approaching a target in a dusty, dark alleyway. Just before they turn the corner and get into public view—can’t let that happen, have to maintain cover—Gaz wrestles them away from the glow of the streetlamps and back behind a dumpster, kicking away their gun while he wrenches a biceps around their neck—

But it’s your voice ringing through the air. Your pleas and sobs pierce his conscious too late. Your neck snaps so loud he flinches, and all the while his mind is screaming no, no this can’t be right. She’s not the target. She’s never the target. 

Gaz scrambles away, tearing off the sheets and rolling out of bed. 

Jesus Christ.

He has to see you. 

After that, just needs to make sure. Needs to check that you’re still in tact, your sweet neck not cracked and limp, eyes not dim and silenced. 

He rises to his feet and can’t find his Goddamn socks anywhere. A yellow glow from the window lets Gaz catch himself in the mirror at the perfect moment, and he can see the thick sheen of sweat that covers his body head to toe. 

You deserve better than that. Better than a sweaty, desperate man with no patience pushing his way into your house and demanding an answer, a single word, fucking anything from you. 

Even a nod or a shake of your head would settle his poor heart. The damn thing aches in his chest all the time now. 

Gaz slips into the bathroom for a quick, cold shower, stubs his toes against the not-wide-enough walls of the tub several times, and ambles out a bit slower and far more jittery than he’d gone in. 

He’s shifting a pair of pants up his not-yet-dry legs when he spots it. 

A dim flash from the hotel nightstand, where his phone is plugged in. 

Gaz freezes.

Surely it’s not…

Well, it might be…

But he’d been gone for not even five bloody minutes; that’s not even fair!

Suddenly, he’s kicking off the pants and hurdling over the bed, buck-naked and scrambling for his phone.

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO.

But yes. It’s a voicemail from you. Three minutes and forty-seven seconds, and he wasn’t there for any of it. 

He presses it with wide eyes and a heaving chest, and something stabs him, hard, cruel, and swift right in the center of his gut when he hears your voice. 

“Wow, I’m getting deja vu.” You laugh, but it’s empty and short. “I’m really hoping you didn’t sneak off to a mission without telling me. That would, uh…” Your tone grows dreary, even as you huff another laugh. “That would really suck. But I’m sure I deserve it.”

You thought he’d leave you?

You can’t see him, and he knows that, but he still shakes his head, brow furrowed because no, no, no, he would never do that to you. Damn that evil brain of yours. 

“I just… um, I just had a dream, though. Wanted to tell you about it. It wasn’t even bad so, like, I don’t even know why it woke me up.” Some shuffling, and a sniffle. “Well, I mean I do, but… okay, fine, I’ll just tell you. 

“It was pretty lame. Nothing big, but I was hanging out in an apartment—a flat, you might say—which is a stupid name for an apartment, but you Brits don’t even know what chips are, so whatever. I’ll let it go. 

“Anyway, I was sitting on the couch kinda bored, and then you came in. Came back, really. It’s like that background knowledge thing you get in a dream, where you only know exactly what’s going on the moment it happens? But you were back from a mission, and I had dinner and a hot bath ready, and you…”

Another sniffle. Gaz hovers over the phone, waiting for those seconds to dwindle down, needing to know how you felt when the message ended so he could call you and be…well, be whatever the fuck you needed him to be in that moment. 

“I don’t know. We were about to kiss, and then I woke up and you weren’t even there and I just…hated that. The idea of that. Of you not being there when you could’ve been. And knowing that the only reason you weren’t was because I was being so stupidly stubborn.”

You sigh, then, and get too quiet for him to hear without crouching closer. “Kyle, if you still want me even at all after this, I…” You suck in a long breath, and he hears that little hitch at the back of your throat. “I need it to be slow. Slower than what it’s been. Especially if… if it’s gonna be the same apartment. I’ve never had anything like this before. Never felt it. And I’m scared of, well, all of it, honestly.

“But I’m more scared of never taking that chance with you. And you’ve been commuting to my home, my country all this time, so… you know, maybe it’s time I reciprocate. Reciprocate a lot of things.”

Then someone knocks on his door.

~~~~~~

Kyle never directly told you which hotel room he was in. But when he’d kicked his pants off and you’d watched them soar over your bedroom floor that night you’d called him over, you’d laughed into his kiss at the sight of his wallet, his key card, and some loose change rattling across the floor. 

The next morning, you’d picked it all up while he was in the bathroom, where he was hopefully not glaring at the impulsive hickey you’d given him. You’d snagged his t-shirt for yourself, some womanly, possessive part of you wanting to squeeze yourself into his clothes, whether it would fit or not. You’d felt like a damn fool crammed into it—until Kyle saw you for the first time, and the look he gave you made your stomach clench. 

You’d organized the rest of his things onto your dresser, only eyeing the room card, and the number sharpied on the back, passively. 

Room 428. 

You knocked on the door now, pulse thump-thump-thumping against your eardrums. 

An “Oh fuck” was muffled and low through the door. 

It didn’t sound like you’d woken Kyle up, and you admit that you’d been seriously considering the fact that he might’ve left for a mission while you were in AWOL mode. A bit of luck, really, that it was actually him, still here after ten days of radio silence. 

But you’d know that gruff, British grumbling anywhere, and your body began to tremor. Small, at first, in your fingertips and toes. Then your knees felt a little loose as time went on and all you could hear from Kyle’s end was quick footsteps and the snap of fabric. By the time the door whipped open, your every breath came out stumbling, like waves over jagged rocks.

And Kyle…

Oh. 

Oh, Goddamnit. 

Ten days was too long for both of you. 

Because Kyle, for all his effortless handsomeness, was a wreck. Untidy stubble’s laid claim to his jaw and throat, and his lips look bitten raw. Deep-seated crescents curve under each eye, lined and dark and angry. He’s draping himself against the door with the black curls on top of his head in complete disarray, and watching you with a low-lidded gaze. 

Gaunt, worn, weakened. Like the life has been drained out of him. 

But it’s still Kyle. There’s a phantom of his old self in his form now, a tautness to his shoulders and neck, slight bend in his knees, vigilance in his whiskey eyes. You’ll have to reel his spirit to the surface.

Looking at him now, though, it hurts to think you’re the one who’d done it to him. So damn hard to believe that he takes absences of you like shots to the heart. It’s lovely, to be so wanted by Kyle Garrick. 

Harrowing, too. 

There’s a learning curve to holding his tender heart in your hands and trying not to squeeze it too hard, too often, but you get the feeling you’ve been treating it like a stress ball. You forget that he keeps himself at this rough idle for you. That he always carries soft, warm feelings all the time, and lets them fester behind the velvet steel of his abdomen.

“Did you get my voicemail?”

He nods a little. 

“So you heard that I…?”

Another nod. 

The air is thick and straining with his silence. All he is right now is two eyes watching you and ten long fingers flexed against the door, features bordering on unreadable. 

But there’s yearning. There’s always that fierce yearning with Kyle.

You lean a little closer, don’t quite know whether to be disturbed or flattered at how his nostrils flare when he suddenly sniffs. 

Then he hums, low and deep.

“Peaches,” you mumble, recalling months ago, a staunch memory of his words about your perfume. 

“Tha’s right, bunny,” he mutters. His fingers peel off the door before he lurches toward you, a lovely swoop in your gut when he hauls his arms around your waist, tilting his face to yours. He takes another sniff, this one nestled against the top of your scalp. “It’ll smell like peaches.”

When Kyle takes a step backward, his arms remain iron-stiff around your back, dragging you with him. Step for step for step until you’re in his hotel room, kicking his door shut with the heel of your shoe. 

His hand rises and sweeps back the hair stuck to your neck, already slanting his lips over your pulse point, teething at the skin. “My flat,” he whispers. Then he scoops up your jaw, tilts your head to the other side and reattaches his mouth to the next indent in your throat. “My bedroom.” Another readjustment of your head, aligning himself just below your chin, your head tipped all the way back, blurry, blissed-out eyes locked on the ceiling. “My sheets.”

“Kyle.”

His fingertips dig in hard enough to leave purple dots against your lower back. “All of it’ll smell like peaches. Like you.”

You pry him off with a tugging grip at his damp hair, only slightly intrigued by the water droplets that you now notice litter his skin. 

A bit too busy trying to think back to why you’re here, outside of getting his hot mouth all over you again, to try and care about something so minor. 

There’s an indignant huff against your bobbing throat before he draws back. Kyle looks damn near put out by the fact that you hadn’t let him keep sucking distractions into your skin, and his teeth bare slightly when he grumbles, “What is it, love?”

Lest you forget Kyle first and foremost loves to grope at the plush of your thighs, he does so now, mindlessly, detrimentally to your train of thought. “There’s—there’s so much to figure out, Kyle.” Your words are more like a sputter, wild spilling past your teeth. “There’s getting my stuff there, and passports, and visas. Things that take more time than how long we’ve known each other.”

The golden gleam of his smirk almost takes you out of commission. One second he’s bitter about his mouth and the lack of your skin against it, the next he’s pulled back far enough to meet your eyes dead on, confident like he knows you inside out. 

“Bunny, when you first started to walk, did you go ’round asking everyone what running felt like instead of trying it?”

You… don’t know what that means. Like at all. 

And you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t be able to figure it out even if you weren’t exhausted from four-hour sleep and the wandering of calloused fingers. 

“Kyle—what?”

The deep timber of his chuckle floods your ears like spools of silk. It’d almost be mean if it wasn’t the same playful laugh he used to give you from across the counter, one hand on a drink, the other reaching for yours, and if he hadn’t done it with little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

“I just mean…” he pauses and strokes at your thighs a little slower, “that all of this has felt so bloody natural. Like I’m made to be doing this. Like I’m learnin’ how to walk all over again. And you…” One hand departs, rises and encompasses your cheek, thumb swiping over its swell. Kyle’s features soften. “Love, you make me want to run so badly.”

Your hands fist against his chest, but you know he can still feel the quivering that’s begun. That slowly showers over your body, tip of your skull down to the bottoms of your feet, electrifying and frightening.

You say his name again, startled at how much you want him. 

He’s not wrong. Not even close. Being with him is like warm sweaters, or old socks, or scuffed shoes. Things that always just fit.

But it’s new, these butterflies frenzied in your stomach, this chain reaction of shivers and sparks of pleasure and licks of sweet heat. 

New, and timeless. Confusing, and so damn easy. 

“I’ve got connections, love. And so much time for you. All the time in the goddamn world.” His hips press into yours, and once more, he begins to sway.

And, once more, you follow suit.

“And there’s bars aplenty in England, love,” Kyle whispers the words against your forehead. “If that kickin’ little mind o’ yours feels like it has to repay me—pain in my arse, but I’d let you do it. Even though I wouldn’t mind it if you could just sit in my apartment and look real pretty. That’s always on the table for you.”

“Definitely off the table, Kyle.”

“All right, all right, fine.” He peppers kisses over your face. “So long as you’re there each time I walk through that door, yeah?”

~~~~~~

Gaz can smell it from the hallway. 

The heavy scent of chocolate and those pretty candles you love to light, along with a lingering hint of peach. The door to his flat towers, ominous and contingent, like if he doesn’t open it now, any second it’ll slip away and he’ll be back on the field, gunsmoke thick in his eyes and throat. 

Coming home is always a little hard.

 He’s unwinding vertebra by vertebra, trying to fracture himself into small enough pieces to fit through the door. And there’s the crotchety stiffness of his limbs, too long for these halls, too sturdy for a scene soft as this. 

Gaz shoots for quiet and hits dead silence when he twists the knob. Slips through the doorway and takes in this little fault he’s discovered in reality, phenomenon he’s kept under wraps for the past year or so. 

Because entering the pocket dimension of his flat is nothing short of ascendant. Every damn time. 

The air in here is velvety smooth and warm. Not unbearably, for July—it almost feels like the warmth of a sweaty palm still interlaced with his, making his body all syrupy slow. The lights have been dimmed and everything in view from the doorway is more shadow than actual features. London, like the determined sadist it is, is gray and drizzly outside each of his wide-open windows, helping none with his search.

That is something he’d had to bargain for—open windows. Gaz doesn’t mind the subpar reward any creeper might receive peeking into his home, but you weren’t as convinced. The task to win you over had become almost insurmountable when he’d grown too greedy in the living room and you, with eyes only barely comprehensive over his shoulder, locked gazes with an elderly woman across the way and screeched.

But he’d won, and it seemed you honored your promise now. 

Speaking of you, he doesn’t even spot you the first look-around. Even as his nerves meld into the sleek familiarity, panic splices through his gut when he glances once, twice, then thrice around. You’re not running toward him like he desperately wishes you would. You’re not hovering over the kitchen stove, or digging through the fridge. You’re not even curled up in the window seat, sipping on a steaming mug. 

Gaz knows he was quiet, but he didn’t know he was too quiet. 

It becomes increasingly obvious that you’d had plans to greet him. 

Because not only is his favorite meal still sitting over the burner, and the kitchen’s covered in dirty dishes, but you’re lounging on the couch, plush thighs crossed one over the other with a book in hand, clad in fantastically sparse lingerie of frilly black lace that leaves meager gaps for his memories to fill in.

With a stuttering breath, he fills the gaps in tight. 

Your lazy fingers scrape at the corner of a page, then you flip it with a bored sigh, shifting a little by hooking your heel over the top of a sofa cushion, splitting your legs wide so he can see—

His pack drops to the floor with a thunderclap of noise. 

Your body jerks all at once, a quick shriek splitting the viscid atmosphere in half. 

Your wide, prey eyes latch onto his while you grapple at your chest, book having been launched halfway across the carpet. “Kyle, you son of a—could you have been any quieter? What the hell?!”

He barks out a laugh. The potency of your voice saying his name is already swimming through his mind, and he reaches back and closes the door while you rise to your feet. “Sorry, love. Next time I’ll just crawl through the window, yeah?”

“Fuckin’ may as well have,” you grumble, adjusting the stringy straps of your bra. Your skin is all blank and pale right now from months of his absence, white space where amaranthine marks should be. 

Four months. The longest the two of you have been apart, and every step you come closer that heady scent of your perfume prickles its way up his spine. 

“My sweet little bunny, precious love of my life—what have you been up to, hmm?”

Your hands slot on your hips, and you pout up at him. The build-up of energy crackles all over his skin the longer you stand so far away from him, but you’ve still settled for a lecture instead of a kiss. “Well, I had this whole plan where I’d feed you and bathe you, and then we’d fuck like rabbits, but I guess that’s out of the question now.”

Gaz snickers, the abject disappointment raw on your face. “How is that out of the question?”

“Timing’s off and you ruined the whole sexy vibe I was aiming for.” You fold your arms, and Gaz shamelessly drags his gaze down from your face. “You really suck, you know that?”

His lips part in that effortless grin you so easily drag out of him. “So sorry, love. If you come over here, I’ll be sure to apologize quite thoroughly.” Gaz lifts his arms, holds them out and gestures his fingers enticingly. “I’ll have your forgiveness in a matter of seconds.”

Your expression’s all stubborn and prickly, but you sway forward a little anyway. “I…” You grunt and stomp toward him, let him wind his entire body around you, and relax a little when his palms massage and dig into your shoulder blades. “I really did have everything planned,” you mumble into his chest, fingertips all twisted up in the back of his shirt. 

Gaz is starting to get an idea about what’s going on. 

Only about half the candles are lit throughout the flat, the majority of which are near the bedroom. The bathroom light is still on, door opened a crack, but there’s unpacked bath bombs strewn about like you gave up halfway through. Even the kitchen is more messy than usual after the nights that you cook. Only half the pots and pans look actually used, the rest an anxious jumble of utensils and ingredients he knows you didn’t need to make chocolate-chip pancakes alone. 

It looks like you were distracted. So very terribly disturbed by something that you could only commit half a mind to all your ideas. 

With him, you’re rarely left to your own devices for this long, and it shows. 

Gaz can see it, feel it, and practically smell it all over you. Despite his embrace and what should be relief about his return, the muscle and tissue all over your body are pulled taut, bowstring-tight and ready to pitch forward at any second. 

He hums, feels the tension in your spine only grow as he draws little circles against your skin. “I know, love. I see it. Candles, and the dinner, and the bath.” He kisses your forehead, grins wider when all you do is huff and puff. “Did so well. I know it’s hard.”

It only serves to wind you up more. “I’m supposed to be the one massaging and calming you. Feeding you and taking care of you after your mission. This is…” you hiss a curse, nails scraping at his waist now. 

“S’okay. I’ve been through this hundreds of times.” His fingers dance a little lower, teasing that arch in your back that you curve a little harder against him. “I know exactly what you need, bunny. Sort you out so you can get back to your plan, yeah? Just need you to let me take care of it.”

“I don’t…” you shake your head. “I don’t know why I just—I mean, all of the sudden it’s you, and I can’t—”

You fall silent so fast when he shushes you, presses a too-short kiss to your lips. Already, he can feel the verve traveling through your very bones. He lets his words brush along your lips when he repeats his promise. 

“Know jus’ what you need. Let me handle it.”

~~~~~~

You’re straddling his thighs with a fork in hand, watching in a satisfied stupor as the plate balanced on his chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. 

Sticky, flushed, and sated all over, you saw off another sliver of pancake and hold it up to Kyle’s lips. He accepts it greedily, lets his head knock back against the headboard with a euphoric, close-lipped smile. 

He hadn’t been… wrong. 

Which is to say, you’d somehow managed to get yourself so worked up in his absence that the second he returned, all you’d wanted to do was jump his bones, sans any of the prelude you’d planned.

A warning would have been nice, now that you think about it. Anytime around four months earlier when he’d first begun preparing you for his absence without you even knowing it, would have been superb. 

Instead, he’d let it fester in you, like he’d planted himself a gift, fruit ripe for the plucking at a later date. 

You want to be mad. 

Can’t quite bring yourself to, though. 

A bit too… preoccupied. 

There’s still sweat dripping at Kyle’s temples when he cleans off the plate, hands still squeezing in distracting patterns around the meat of your thighs. 

“Fucking delicious, love.” He laves his tongue at the corner of his lips. “My two favorite meals.”

“You’re horrible.” You scramble off him unsteadily, trying to keep both you and the dishes in your hands balanced. “I should get a bar of soap for that mouth of yours.”

Kyle laughs first, then groans, swiping his hands down his face. “If you’d said that shit in the barracks, love…” he calls after you, tutting in the distance while you deposit the plate in the sink. You almost trip on your skimpy lingerie set from a couple hours ago while stumbling your way back to the bedroom. 

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” You raise a brow at him even as you tug on his arm, drag him out of the bed and down the hall. 

After it all, Kyle had insisted you keep up the plan. Didn’t want that guilty conscience of yours to fester and, even worse, those pancakes to grow cold. He’d poked at your cheek, voice slurring a little from exhaustion as he whispered, “Gotta stay awake, love, or your li’l rabbit heart’ll feel all sad tomorrow.”

So you’d rolled off the mattress and made the trek back through the apartment, and, admittedly, you started to feel guilty about the mess you’d left during your hazy planning earlier. 

You recalled trying to think of ways you could impress Kyle but not being able to think clearly after slipping on the lacy panties; too caught in imagining how he’d tear them off to really notice how half-baked the rest of your plan was. 

And how all you could think about was him serving you, which really wasn’t fair. It’d been over a year since you’d started living together, and when he went off on missions, it was an unspoken promise on your end that you’d welcome him back in calm and comfortable ways. 

His first few missions had been just that—romantic kisses and big, sweeping arcs of hugs; slow dances around the living room and the kitchen, sweet, bubbly champagne with dinner. 

All you’d managed this time around was half-assed pancakes, lacy panties, and a cold bath that you hadn’t been patient enough to finish prepping. 

You remember that you hadn’t even been exhausted today. The opposite, really. You’d been buzzing from head to toe the moment you got his call, mind too frantic to ever really stick to your old habits. 

Kyle kneels down beside you outside of the tub, three bath bombs encompassed in just one of his absurdly large hands. The other is curling your hair around a single index finger. He’s patiently busying himself by touching you, playing with some part of your body or other like he’s always done. 

One morning he’d had an absurd obsession with your left heel, and he’d nipped at the tendon out of sheer curiosity. 

You’d almost kicked him square in the face. 

But he gets new little obsessions with you all the time. Each day, he’s poking and investigating at a different part of your body, and he always—always—has to feel it against his teeth. 

And you let him. Even now, as he hinges his jaw around your shoulder. 

A true adventurer, unafraid to explore with all that he is. Wants to discover every little thing in a million different ways. 

You lean forward and wrench the faucet off, then pat at Kyle’s cheek. “Bath bombs, please.”

When he thunks them in the water, the air in the room floods with lavender and chamomile. The tub’s still fizzing purple when he clambers in and hauls you in after him, slowing your descent into his lap just enough that only a bit of water dumps over the edge. 

A long, drawn out sigh ruffles the loose hairs atop your scalp. Kyle’s hands sweep all the way up to the underside of your breasts, then way back down to the middle of your thighs, back and forth, back and forth. For the most part, you try not to move, try to let the aches melt away with the heat.

You drop your head back into the crook of Kyle’s neck and shoulder, tipping your face a bit to look at him. 

Everything’s fuzzy. Pleasant. Legs and arms weighed down by gratification, gut slick with sated heat. And your heart thumps wild and proud, bum-rushed red and gold. Natural and gleaming. Normal and perfect. 

“Can we stay like this forever?” Kyle asks again, a lifetime later. You’re only one year wiser when you nod yes, of course, how else would we be?

He burrows you deeper against him, trying to meld your skin into his because it’ll never be close enough. Touching and bruising and biting only mollifies it, this wonderful new appetite only Kyle can feed. 

It’s crumbs of food, or the tiniest sips of water. 

Or spare oxygen.

Kyle hunches over you, hard body slipping against yours. Soughs, like you hit just the spot. 

“Can’t believe you kept gettin’ away from me before all this. Tested my patience so bloody much to get here, bunny.”

You smile, tilting your head and pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. “It’s your best virtue, Kyle.”

One Punch Man Masterlist

☔ = Angst

🌦️ = Angst to Fluff

💥 = Crack

☀️ = Fluff

💋 = Smut

🖤 = Yandere

🔔 = Request

🟪Imagines🟪

Garou:

■  Betrayal 🔔🌦️ 

You were interested in Garou ever since he stepped foot into your grandfather’s dojo. But after he attacks the others and gets expelled, you have to try and forget every emotion that’s ever festered for him over the years.

■  Child’s Play 🔔🖤💋

Getting you to fall in love with Garou was like child’s play. Now, he just needed to give you a reason to stay by his side. 

Warnings: Smut, breeding kink, dirtyyyy talk, overstimulation, slight?cum play, dubious consent maybe?? (not really but he’s yandere so who knows)

■  The Gift-Giver 🔔🖤

Belts, tank tops, even a metal bat. All these “gifts” from the Hero Hunter’s fights on the news keep showing up at your doorstep. Today, you expected no different, except it is; an empty suitcase is there, and the white-haired man in your bedroom wants you to pack up for your new home.

■  Lovesick 🌦️💥

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

■  Misery Loves Company ☀️

Garou was falling for you, ever so quickly. It only takes a small bath with you for this to settle in.

■  Please Don’t Save Me 🔔🖤

(TW: gore) After the Monster Association kidnaps you under the claim that you’re bait for a friend, the man that comes to save you is unfamiliar, but he seems to know you quite well. He’s your savior… but who is he?

■  Turning the Tables 🔔🖤

The monster never gets the girl, but why not? Garou never knew, but what he did know was that that was about to change. He was getting the girl… getting you, whether you want him or not.

Genos:

■  Childish Ways 💥☀️

You always throw magnets at Genos. He’s gotten used to it at this point.

■  Explosive Antics 💥 (slight🌦️)

After playing a cheating prank on your boyfriend with a rather loud, raunchy video, Genos decides to take his frustration out on the laptop that tricked him.

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

🟣Headcanons🟣

(Soft) Yandere Garou Headcanons 🔔🖤☀️

Garou General Relationship Headcanons 🔔☀️(slight 💋)

Y!Garou and Y!Metal Bat Crushing on the Same Oblivious Reader 🔔🖤

Reborn (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) ~Chapter 5~

(Supernatural/Soulmate AU)

*GIF not mine*

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

A/N: Bro. Bro. Bro. Okay, so y’all are either gonna love me or hate me for the end, but that’s okay. I’m really sorry I haven’t updated in a while, but I promise the story is gettin’ good! Once again, I hate to use this excuse, but life has gotten surprisingly hectic in the last week, so I hope you’ll excuse my lack of updating. Nonetheless, please enjoy!

Tag List: @burntcilantro​  @alloverbutterflies​  @translucentthoughts​  @zaejia​  @momothepeachgirl  @black-veil-chemicalz​  @miigoth​  @blxkstar​  @keigosbitch​  @actual-smol​  @rikorene​  @idiot-juice-enthusiast​  @cherriomilkmangos​  

Word count: 4364

        “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

        When you were younger, you used to play at your neighborhood park with another boy around your age. His name was Kenma, and he was one of your first friends. And right now, the man currently unlocking the cuffs around your wrists looked like his spitting image, just a decade older. 

        “Give us some privacy, Kenma.” Well damn.

        The blond man only nodded in acknowledgment and left the room. It looked a lot like your bedroom back at Akaashi and Bokuto’s house. There was a large bed up against one wall, and you currently sat on it while Kuroo pulled up an armchair in front of you. A chandelier hung from the high ceilings, and it buzzed with artificial light. The only art in the room was ancient and weathered, depicting either roses or oceanic views among the cream-colored walls. The remaining furniture was a simple, carved wooden closet across from the bathroom’s entrance, and a long, velvet sofa opposite a mounted television. 

        The only difference was the atmosphere. It wasn’t friendly or loving, no matter how many times Kuroo smiled reassuringly at you. At a certain point, you lost your patience. 

        “Go to college, they said,” you lean back on your hands and sneer at the man. “You’ll be fine, they said. You won’t get kidnapped twice in the same fucking year, they said!”

        “Language.”

        “ENGLISH!” 

        Kuroo chuckled, less than impressed with your manic temper. You could tell he wanted to sit closer to you, but he respected your space. Every few seconds, his eyes would fall to the empty space on the mattress next to you, but they would flick back up to yours just as fast. His arms stayed glued to those of his chair to keep him in place. 

        “You need to calm down.”

        “I don’t need to do shit,” you snarled. “Once again, I’m locked up in another…” you waved your arms around wildly, “ancient, supernatural freak’s mansion, which I don’t even know how you guys can even afford this shit!” 

        The black-haired man raised his brow and pressed himself deeper into his seat. “I was the king of an entire kingdom, you know.” 

        “Yeah, like a thousand years ago,” you nodded, lip curled back in vexation. “What, did you pay with doubloons, or with gold coins?” 

        He only snickers and shakes his head, leaning forward while you tilt back on your palms. Your legs still hang off the edge of the bed, though, and Kuroo seems about two seconds away from fondling your kneecaps. “Kitten, you don’t have to be afraid of me-”

        “Thanks, kidnapper.”

        “-because I won’t treat you like they did.” Your nostrils flare at this. He was talking about Bokuto and Akaashi; he had to be…. 

        Were they okay?

        “Are they…” you trail off and clear your throat. The skin of your thighs seemed very interesting at the moment. “... Did you hurt them?”

        “They don’t matter right now, Kitten.” 

        “Of course they do!” You rear back and narrow your eyes at him in an instant. “What did you do to them?!”

        “They abducted you and held you in a cage for months, YN!” Kuroo finally snaps, his teeth baring with his desperate tone. “I won’t treat you like they did.” Your speed didn’t matter. He still managed to snatch your hands in his and hold them in a death grip. Thumbs ran over your knuckles in what was hoped to be comforting, but actually ran a chill up your spine. “You’re not some prisoner to me.”

        His touch, it felt so wrong. Unlike the wizard, it wasn’t gentle and calming. Unlike the vampire, it wasn’t adoring and playful. It was… you didn’t know the word, but you did know it was just plain wrong. But his words… were they right? You mulled them over for a minute, but a million memories, emotions, feelings, they all crashed against his one argument in an overpowering wave. 

        “No,” you drop your face and set your jaw. “I wasn’t a prisoner to them.” 

        “Months, YN,” Kuroo sighs, “you sat in a cell for months.”

        “They had to!” 

        “Why?” His voice lowers and he gazes deep into your eyes. The intensity makes you shift and squeeze his hands subconsciously. 

        “I-I don’t-” you stutter for an answer, but come up empty. You’re at a loss. Lower lip trembling, your eyes dart around the room as you scour your brain for anything. They said they loved you. Cared for you. Would never hurt you. 

        So then why was I trapped in a cell like that? 

        Your eyelids lowered in defeat, and you let out a shaky sigh. 

        Kuroo was a smart man. He knew when a battle was won. 

        A small shuffle signals his movement, and the comforter under you dips with the weight of a second presence. Only one of your hands has been let go; the other has intertwined with his and adjusted to his change in position. You were cold and abandoned; your thoughts left you feeling cheated. 

        Why did they hold me in a cell like that? You were only a young college student. You couldn’t have harmed them. 

        But they were so kind yesterday! So loving and wonderful and-and….

        They were your soulmates. The mark on your wrist, on the wrist Kuroo brushed against, told you so. Every mental image of them left you feeling fuzzy and warm. 

        But thinking about how they had held you like that? They shouldn’t have treated me like that. If they loved me, that wouldn’t have treated me like that. Like an-

        “Like an animal.” Kuroo’s smug voice interrupts your downward spiral, but when he turns to face you, he is the spitting image of utter sincerity. A large palm cups your cheek, and in your scrambled state, you lean into it, yearning for some form of comfort. No matter how wrong it felt. 

        “YN,” he continues, “I saved you. You needed to be saved from them.” 

        No I didn’t. They were so kind and gentle with me. They never tried to hurt me on purpose, or lie to me. Everything they did, they did so they could keep me around. Because they-

        “I love you.” Kuroo himself seems surprised at the admission, but he gulps and keeps going. “I have loved you for centuries, and I would do anything to keep you safe.” His fingertips run along the side of your face and push a strand of hair behind your ear. His hazel orbs, round ponds akin to pure gold, are so enchanting. You find yourself lost, willingly. Because losing yourself in someone else felt a lot better than crumpling deep inside on your own, wondering if you ever should have fallen in love with them. 

        Was that how fragile the love between the three of you was? So easily undermined by a black cat with an arrogant smile? Of course not. 

        “No.” Your heart swelled up to your throat, and your eyes slipped down to the mark. The spiral of three arms. And not a single one of them were disconnected. The bond between you and the others was something that should never be underestimated. Akaashi had told you that. 

        “Excuse me?” Kuroo draws back, his hand hovering over your flushed cheek with surprise. 

        They loved you too. They would do anything to keep you safe too. You just had to trust them. Bokuto had told you that. 

        “They’re here,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes. “Bring me to them.”

        The cat’s gaze hardens, and the proud look falls from his face. “YN, I’ll let you leave the house. I won’t treat you like an animal. I won’t lock you away!” 

        “I don’t care!” you shout, snapping up on your feet and towering over him. “Show me where they are!”

        “No!”         “Why not?!”

        “Because you don’t need to see them!” He rises as well, and his more intimidating presence almost makes you falter. 

        Almost. Your gut tells you to not back down. To fight. 

        To find them.

        “Yes I do, Kuroo,” you snarl, standing your ground when he stomps a foot closer. Hot breaths puff against your face angrily, and you flare your nostrils in defense. 

        “Let them go, YN!”

        “No!”

        “Just give up on them!”

        “Never! Bring me to them!”

        The banter continues for a while. You won’t take no for an answer, and neither will he. Your face grows redder and redder as time passes, and Kuroo’s pupils slim into feline-like slivers. 

        Then finally, his patience slips. With four swift strides on his long legs, he makes his way to your bedroom exit, whipping open the door. 

        In one last turn of his head, he mutters three words that break your heart. 

        “I killed them.” 

                                ~~~

        Bokuto is a fighter. He stays headstrong in his ways, loves to the max, and never falters in his beliefs. You could always depend on him to cheer you up, or encourage you. On days where you felt down, he would always sit by your side on the sofa and watch a sappy sitcom with you. He is your sun.

        Or he was.

        Akaashi was almost the polar opposite. While he wasn’t the best to confide in for comfort, he was always willing to help. The wizard was selfless, almost like a mother. If you wanted to learn how to cook, he would oversee every move you made and provide small tips. He kept you safe when you were less than careful, and showed his love more through actions rather than words. He is your rock. 

        Or he was. 

        You didn’t truly know how much time had passed since Kuroo had broken the news. Much like when you had first met your soulmates, you felt trapped. The bed-headed man had given you free reign to the world. Your door was unlocked, and you could leave at any moment. But you didn’t. 

        No, instead you wallowed in self pity. What could have been would now never be. You didn’t want to believe it. Your gut told you so. But the fact was that Kuroo had spat those words with complete and utter hatred. Hatred… and honesty. An angry man will say anything to feel better about himself, but the next day, when Kuroo re-entered your room, he spoke a truth you couldn’t deny. 

        “What purpose would I have for keeping them alive?”

        Those words struck your heart worse than the first time you had to face his facts. Before, you could hold onto the small sliver of hope you had. He could’ve been lying through the pain. 

        But now? Now, there was no hope. 

        Poison coated your tongue. You didn’t want to eat, no matter how much your stomach begged. A constant ache settled in your chest. You didn’t know how to solve it, and you didn’t know how to move past it. Could you?

        Every hour that passed, you huddled deeper into your cocoon of self-deprecation. You shouldn’t have doubted them before. You should have loved them better before you lost them. You should have-

        “All right, YN. It’s time to stop moping.” Your door slammed open, and surprise surprise, in walked Kuroo. Under one arm, he lugged a pile of clothes. In the other, he balanced a tray of pancakes and other morning delicacies. The meal, no matter how ordinary, still made your eyes water.

        He plops the food right down on your lap just as you peek out and hiss, “You have no right to tell me what to do.” 

        “Don’t test me, Kitten.” A playful glint his eyes previously held darkens. The outfit in his grasp also falls onto the bed, directly on your toes. It’s the same kind of clothing you would wear to your college, scrambling around campus and fumbling with your homework. 

        That felt like so long ago. You had almost forgotten you lived a normal life. You used to be human. 

        “We’re going back to school!” The words leave you frozen in shock, and you snap your head up to face him.

        “What?! Why?!” Kuroo sniggers and pats the top of your head patronizingly.

        “You’ve missed so many assignments, Kitten. But don’t worry, I’ll catch you up. I was very attentive while you were away.”

                                ~~~

        It’s harsh to be thrown back into the real world after feeling like your own has broken apart. Nobody around you knew what you had been through. They didn’t know you’d loved. They didn’t know you’d lost. All they knew was that you were back and alive. 

        Your old, fellow students surround you like fans with a backstage pass. Someone even snapped a photo of you. 

        Well, of you and Kuroo. He hadn’t left your side once since popping into your “new” bedroom approximately forty minutes ago. You had always assumed both your soulmates and Kuroo had their mansions (rich bastards) miles and miles away from Tokyo, when in fact it was only about a ten-minute drive. They didn’t seem to be too worried about being found by the authorities any time soon. 

        Or, at least Kuroo didn’t. 

        The sheer volume of people around you was intimidating, and you couldn’t help but default into Kuroo’s form. Claustrophobia. Wonderful, just another perk from your kidnappings you couldn’t wait to test out in society. 

        So far, it was a trainwreck. 

        Your heart hadn’t stopped hurting, but the heat gathering around you made its pace quicken. Every chatter among the crowd pecked your ears, and you struggled to contain the occasional whimper. 

        A few faces you recognized among the group, but none that seemed to care about your well being. Instead, they were all excited. 

        “Where have you been?”

        “How was your vacation?”

        “Did you really leave with Mr. Akaashi and return with Kuroo? Ugh, slut.”

        The name leaves your mind in shambles. Not once had you heard it aloud since… well, you didn’t really know. But as soon as it fell from that girl’s… Sakura’s lips, you couldn’t think straight. 

        With one arm wound through Kuroo’s, you gripped his bicep harshly in warning. Get me out of here, your eyes pleaded. The black-haired man dropped his attention to you and nodded in understanding. 

        Sadly, his definition of escape was much different from yours. While you would’ve preferred his house or, if you could be picky, Paris, Kuroo was much more realistic. “Escape” was up twenty in-classroom steps and placed in your old seats. 

        As you settled down behind the desks, the cat stayed by your side, constantly brushing up against you when given the chance. You could breathe up here, but barely. The fluorescent lights buzzing in the ceiling grew less and less blurry, so you counted it as a small win for now. 

        In your seat, you laid out all the necessary tools for learning. Pencils, pens, scratch paper and a notebook, all neatly organized and generously provided by your new kidnapper haphazardly in a backpack just before stepping into the classroom. Their perfect placements felt like the only thing you could control right now, so you moved them around with trembling hands. 

        A smooth tune whistled behind you while you fondled your number two pencils. Then a heavy weight fell on your shoulders. Literally, of course. Kuroo’s hand massaged the skin of your upper arm, thankfully protected by thick sweatshirt material, and he grinned when you threw him a glare.

        “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll keep you safe.” 

        An involuntary gasp slips between your lips. No. No! How fucking dare he?! Without a second thought, you grab his bicep and rip his arm away from you, leaving a trail of red lines in your nails’ wakes. 

        “Don’t call me that.” All emotion has slipped from your face, but the tone in your voice speaks volumes. It’s hard and stiff and angry and loud. And he had no right to throw that shit in your face. 

        Your pupils hesitantly glance back at the outburst, but Kuroo is unfazed. His eyes flicker with something, but it’s gone before you can gather the will to identify it. 

        The classroom door opens and closes, and you suck in a breath at Akaashi’s substitute. He’s about ninety years young, wearing corduroy pants attached to suspenders that strap him into his crisp, button-down shirt. There’s not a wrinkle in sight, but every two minutes he pushes up his glasses and smacks his lips together. 

        “I think he’s just trying to keep in his dentures,” Kuroo whispers in your ear. 

        The old you would have snickered, maybe even added to it. You still could. After all, his lenses were thicker than you would ever be. But you couldn’t muster the energy to speak. 

        Because you just… you couldn’t stop picturing him up there. Back when you were just his student. You could’ve noticed his lasting glances, his gaze staying on you for just a second too long. The quirk of his lips anytime you finally found the courage to raise your hand, to answer his question. 

        Suddenly, your chair grows ten times stiffer. You can’t stop licking your cracked lips with your dry tongue. Your fists curl and uncurl against your tense thighs, and your knees bounce against the desktop. 

        It’s so hot in here. You feel like you’re on fire, but you don’t want to try and get out of the sweatshirt. You want to stay hidden. 

        If they were here, they would know what was happening. They would sense it, and they would help me.

        But they could never be there anymore. 

        Your breathing quickens and shakes. Sweat dribbles down your temple as an ache focuses directly behind your forehead. 

        Bokuto would notice right away, and give me a comforting hug. Akaashi would hold my hand, and not hesitate to take me home. 

        But they couldn’t save you right now. They were gone. 

        Oh God.

        Oh God.

        They’re gone. 

        You can feel sweat festering everywhere. Even your palms clam up enough to secrete liquid. Is that even normal?

        Kuroo relaxes in the seat next to you. The occasional pink bubble appears between his lips and pops noisily before chomping back into his mouth. His eyes are dull and bored as he zones out. 

        Your own are locked on the front of the classroom, twitching and darting around. 

        He should be up there. They should be by my side. But they aren’t. They’re gone. 

        You can’t stand it. You needed to get out of there. In a dead panic, you snatch up all the utensils on your desk, scaring the life out of the cat beside you. The scrambling is quiet enough to leave the rest of the students undisturbed, but Kuroo snaps straight up and hovers his hands over your frantic arms. 

        “Are you okay?”

        Your cheeks feel green, and your throat seizes up. After everything seems to be carelessly crammed into the small backpack, you finally take one deep breath and zip it closed. Then you turn to face him with begging eyes. “Please take me home.”

        You weren’t prepared for this. You weren’t ready to be shoved back into the outside world. Just five days ago, you were happy and in love. And now, you were broken and in pain. 

        Kuroo complies with ease, his eyes glowing in delight. “Anything for you.”

        His response accompanies a smirk, something you would never hope to see in your state. It’s devious and cruel, and you feel tortured like a plaything. The words themselves break your heart. You wished they were in another voice, falling from another’s lips. 

        But they weren’t.

                                ~~~

        Kuroo has no chance to get another word in as you aimlessly sprint to your room. You just barely remember your way back from this morning, but after twenty minutes of a headless chicken imitation, you finally find your way. 

        The room is colder and emptier than you remember somehow, and its unfamiliarity breaks your walls. Tears trail down your cheeks as the door clicks to a close behind you. With stumbling footsteps, you kick off your tennis shoes and crawl into the bed, falling into a restless sleep.

        At some point in your forced nap, Kuroo tries to shake you awake, but you clench your eyes shut and bite your lip, feigning unconsciousness. After a few more pointless attempts, he leaves and allows you some alone time with a sigh, but not before a clang signals he’s left you something on your coffee table. You ignore it.

        After lying motionless for hours on your colder mattress, you give up on your dreamless sleep. By now, the sky outside your window is pitch black and sprinkled with minuscule circles of pure white. Your cheeks are stiff and the corners of your eyes are crusty from your breakdown. 

        Hesitantly, you wipe the remnants of sleep away from your eyes before worming your way out of bed. Your muscles are sore, and your clothing feels disgusting, doused in dried sweat. On wobbling knees, you clamber off the mattress and scuff your feet against the floor until you find it. Your toes make contact with a light pile of silk, and in a last ditch effort to keep them alive, you change back into Akaashi and Bokuto’s provided nightgown. 

        A wave of calm washes over you, its familiarity leaving you comforted and reassured. You squint your eyes and allow them to adjust to the darkness of your room. There, on the coffee table, is what you assume was Kuroo’s gift. Dinner. 

        A plate with cold, steamed broccoli and a grilled cheese sandwich. 

        “Wow, they really go all out here,” you mumble bitterly. Slumping onto the carpeted floor, your thighs raise goosebumps at the shift in temperature as you pick through your meal, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully. 

        You seem to have lost all self-control at this point. Not even two seconds later, tears cloud your eyes. You couldn’t help but think about them. 

        I wonder if they’re-

        Your heart thumps in your chest harshly, startling you. It speeds up for no apparent reason, even as you search through the dark for anything that might have scared, well, your body. 

        Then it hits you. This must be what happens when soulmates die. 

        The thought hammers in the final nail in your coffin of grief. More tears, just when you thought you ran out, trace paths of anguish down your face. Then your heart thumps again, almost shifting your whole weight forward. 

        What the hell?

        The pumps grow harder and harder, each more powerful than the last as you jolt forward, dropping your food and pushing up to your feet. 

        Your heart. It’s pleading with you to move. To do something.

        All you can do is follow as it smacks frantically against your rib cage. It doesn’t hurt, but as you move in the direction of your door, a rush of fuzzy feelings flow through your body in response. 

        When you place your hand on the knob, it beats encouragingly, directing you out into the silent hall. Not a sound can be heard as you play a game of hot and cold with your body. There is no drawback, only rewards in the form of pure jubilation setting your body aflame. Tiptoeing down the hall, you follow the excitement, padding your bare feet against the hardwood floor as softly and swiftly as you can. 

        You hold your breath and let it out in small streams through your stuffy nostrils, knowing that even the smallest noise could awaken the hypersensitive werecats around you. The halls are much more bare than Akaashi and Bokuto’s, and you're thankful that there are no vases to stub your toe against this round.

        The irregular bursts of elation lead you down a banister of marble stairs, past the large front entrance, and through a dark, forgotten hallway you had never seen before on your two adventures throughout Kuroo’s home. There is only one door, and it’s at the immediate end of the dusty corridor. While gnawing on your bottom lip, you creep closer and closer, finally reaching it with a relieved sigh as one large wave of endorphins hits you like a freight train. 

        In here.

        Past the rusty door is another staircase, leading deep into the basement of the mansion. The walls are covered in unidentifiable gunk, and you try not to gag as a slimy feeling brushes your forearm on the railing. The smell is less than desirable, almost akin to rotting meat, but your heart doesn’t want you to stop anytime soon. Finally, finally, you come to one final door at the bottom of the stairs. 

        Pushing past its splintered wood, you slip inside and involuntarily smile as a wave of pure joy wracks through your body. The room is large and freezing cold, with concrete floors and red brick walls. The light of the moon shines through a single window directly across from you, split in half by a row of metal bars. 

        There’s two cells, empty only for two hunched over forms. One breathes out visible clouds of air while leaning against the wall, asleep on the musty floor. In the other cell, a body with wild hair is curled into a ball, hugging its stomach and letting out the occasional whimper. The sight was the definition of miserable, but your heart loves it nonetheless. It rewards you for winning the treasure hunt with one heavy surge of euphoria, leaving you breathless and holding back a squeal. 

       Bokuto and Akaashi. They were alive.

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akaashi cheater au :( with the song rose by jereena montemayor pls pls make it super angsty 🥺🥺

Rose of Thorns (Akaashi x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

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

A/N: I’m really sorry I waited so long on this request!! I just haven’t been in the mood to write angst in a while, but I swear I’m working on it! Also, I should’ve focused on the cheating aspect in this fic, but eh. I tried. Mega angst, so watch out. Side note: good lordy that song put me in my feels GODDAMN! Hope you like it!

Word count: 1285

        You loved him.

        You loved him so much. 

        But you knew what was happening too. 

        He was drifting away from you, bit by bit. Every day, he seemed a little more out of it with you. A little less passionate with his words. A little less adoring with his eyes. 

        They were filled with more guilt than anything. 

        Every time you kissed him, told him you loved him, hugged him after a long day, his responses always seemed a bit slower than the time before. He was slipping through your fingertips day by day, but you didn’t want to lose him. 

        It started with a kiss, as it always does.

        Akaashi’s team won the game, and after lining up to shake the other team’s hand, Akaashi’s eyes skimmed the crowd. You were smiling and cheering and waving at him, but they didn’t reach you. 

        No, instead they stopped on another. She was beautiful too. Her hair looked softer than yours. Her legs were longer, more slim and toned. Her large eyes were enchanting as well, even you yourself could understand how one could get lost in them. 

        You didn’t know her name, all you knew was the pain that stabbed through your heart. Every beat seemed to drain you of life. 

        Oh.

        Then Akaashi’s eyes finally drifted to you in the crowd, and the blue orbs were pouring with guilt as you made your way down to him. 

        Like normal, you hugged him and smiled, muttering a congratulations. But it was all lifeless and soft. He knew you had seen it, and his face seemed to twitch nervously. 

        Akaashi was always composed and calm, so maybe that was how he recovered from the shock so quickly. His hands soon cupped your cheeks, and a gentle, loving smile soon encompassed his face, causing you to instinctively relax and return the gesture. 

        He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. 

        Oh God. 

        It hurt so much to feel how little passion was in it. By definition, it was a kiss, but you knew it was so much more. It was a brush of lips, so light and compulsory, like an obligation to keep up a lie. 

        “I love you.” The words tickled your lips thanks to his proximity. His thumbs caressed the tips of your cheeks gently while he leaned his forehead against yours and stared into your doting gaze. 

        “I love you too.”

                                ~~~

        A rose sat on your desk in your room. Homework laid forgotten underneath it, and you hugged your knees to your chest and wept. 

        Your eyes hadn’t left the flower once. Like Akaashi, it was beautiful, gentle and soft. But thorns ran along the stem like vicious pricks of reality. 

        He was the one who had given it to you too. After all, it was Valentine’s Day. But where was he? 

        Doing homework, stuck at practice with Bokuto, spending time with his family. Any number of the excuses he had texted you in the past few days. 

        God, I love him so much.

        Of course you didn’t want to. Who wanted to be in love with a cheater?

        With an outstretched hand, you shakily picked up the rose, careful to avoid the thorns. One pricked you anyways, no matter how much you thought you avoided it, but you only whimpered at the pain. You didn’t drop the rose. 

        You held it closer to your face, finding small waves of comfort in its flowery scent. The rose was alluring, spirals of petals enticing you to come closer, to embrace the soft touch of each blood red petal. 

        But at the end of the day, it was just a rose. 

        Your phone buzzed, but it was just one of your friends in a group chat. No, nobody was talking to you personally. Your boyfriend was somewhere else, with only the physical, basic show of affection left in your hands to remind you of him. 

        The screen lit up your dim bedroom and stung your bloodshot eyes. And the background picture came clearer as the notification finally faded. 

        It was you and Akaashi. You were draped over his shoulders with a large smile on your face, beaming like the sun. His eyes were rolling at the dramatic act, but a hint of a grin was displayed through an upturned corner of the mouth. Adoring. That’s what he was. 

        Was. 

        Gulping, you grasped the phone in one hand and opened it, entering your photos. All of it was there. Pictures from the beginning of your relationship all the way to the end were in albums, dating back a year. 

        You clicked on the very first one that held him. 

        Akaashi was holding a sign, his cheeks burning bright red. One of his arms was draped around your shoulders, and your own were wrapped around his waist in a tight hug. His gaze was locked on you, but you were smiling brightly at the camera. He had asked you to prom, and you distantly remember your first dance. 

        “You look gorgeous.” 

        You hadn’t felt like you did until that moment. Until that beautiful man himself looked you in the eyes and truthfully told you how captivating you were. Nobody had ever told you that before….

        Pluck. 

        Tears trailed slowly down your cheeks as you slowly dropped the petal into the trash can beside you. Knees wobbling, you relocated to your bed and sat criss-crossed on the mattress. You set your phone in your lap and held the rose in your hands. 

        The bedroom was cold. You almost shivered, your tank top and sleeping shorts barely keeping you warm, but it almost didn’t bother you. At least, you weren’t distracted by it. 

        Your phone screen lit up your whole room with another picture as you swiped your finger along. 

        Akaashi was pecking your cheek while you hugged him tightly after winning a volleyball game. 

        Pluck.

        Akaashi was kissing you in the rain after your one month anniversary. A new necklace glittered around your neck, the one currently sitting at the bottom of your trash bin. 

        Pluck.

        Akaashi was trapping you tightly against his side, holding you under an umbrella and affectionately scolding you about not wearing warmer clothes. You were wearing his sweatshirt. The one that still sat in your closet, waiting to be washed even though you cherished the scent it held. 

        Pluck.

        Akaashi was staring at you in amazement as you stepped down the stairs in a floor length dress. Heels made your legs seem endless, and they only appeared every couple steps thanks to a sultry cut on one side of the skirt. “I don’t deserve you, angel” he had mumbled against your lips.

        Pluck.

        Akaashi.

        Pluck.

        Akaashi.

        Pluck. 

        Pluck. 

        Pluck.  

*Are you sure you want to delete these 105 photos? This action cannot be undone.*

*105 photos deleted.*

        Maroon petals littered your bed. You tossed the bare rose stem into the trash can, now only consisting of green thorns. 

        Your cheeks were damp and your eyes felt heavy and tired. 

        I loved him so much. 

        You only had one thing left to do. 

You: We need to talk. 

*Message sent*

I was wondering if you were going to continue the Luna hunt fic you have? I really liked that one and just wanted to know!

oof yeah so like heres the big daddy issue thats biting me in the ass is that i spent like four hours writing the second part about five months ago but then i scrapped it bc it was trash. Interestingly enough, i recently came up with the most cliche fucking ideas for a second part of that fic--u know, the exact ideas that every single person has thought of while asking me for a second part that i had no clue abt thanksforthatguys anyways yeah we'll see if i got time to write it

maybe one day

I'm so glad you enjoyed the first part tho! What was ur fav part?

Practice Makes Perfect (Tsukishima x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

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

A/N: Hey guys, I’ve been going through a rough patch recently, so I’m sorry if I disappointed any of you by not posting. I’ll try to get back on the wagon soon, I promise. Here’s an imagine I got an idea for from this prompt by @otpdisaster​. I hope you guys like it!

Word count: 1115

        You’ve been at it for a while now. The bathroom was empty and silent; perfect for your test runs during lunch hour. The lights occasionally flickered and created a buzz that was mind-numbing, but you couldn’t complain. 

       “Hey Tsukishima… I like your… eyes? No! God YN, that’s terrible.” You shook your head at yourself in the mirror before trying one more time. This round, you bit your lip and fluttered your eyelashes. 

       “Hey there, Tsukki,” you pucker your lips slightly, “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me this Friday?” Your reflection was an abomination; you looked halfway constipated. 

       “Ughhhh, this is a nightmare!” Turning on the sink, you splash some cold water in your face before bracing your hands against the porcelain. There was still a light in your eyes, and the longer you looked at yourself, the more beauty you seemed to find. Something about today made you feel ready. Ready to ask out the boy you’d been crushing on for years now. 

       “No, no YN! You can do this!” You nodded at yourself reassuringly and smiled. Pearly whites shown through thanks to weeks of strips. Every strand of hair on your head was about as in place as they could be. Your lips were soft and freshly chapsticked, and for once in your life, you felt attractive in your school uniform. “I can do this,” you whispered once more before turning away from the mirror. 

       With a dramatic hair flip, you turned back to your reflection with a smirk and a sultry voice. “Are you a parking ticket?” You raised a suggestive brow, “Because you’ve got fine written all over you.” Nope. With a pouty sigh, you smack your palm against your forehead. 

       “Why do I suck at thissss?” No response, which led you to be simultaneously pissed off and relieved. You wanted help, but not from anybody conscious in society. Running a hand through your strands, you huff and throw your head back, staring at the ceiling as if it would guide you. Then, you shake your body out like a wet dog and return your gaze to the glass, slamming one hand on your popped-out hip to emphasize your curves, however nonexistent they were. 

       “Hey sexy.” Cue eyebrow waggle. “You, me, the movies. Eight o’ clock, don’t be late- Nope, nope, nope.” Your cheeks were trying to beat the sun, you just knew it. They burned and mimicked the colors of tomatoes. But somewhere, deep down at the bottom of your gut, you just didn’t want to give up. 

       “Please go out with me!” Hands clasped together in a begging motion, you pouted. Too wussy.

       “Hey you!” You pointed a finger accusingly, “Go out with me! Or else!” Too threatening.

       “I’ll buy you some candy if you go out with me,” you bargained with wide, desperate eyes. Too child-kidnappy. 

       “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed my, uhh, mandatory school uniform.” You trailed a hand down the side of your body awkwardly. “It’s made of,” you deepen your voice and narrow your eyes, “girlfriend material.” Too serial killerish.

       “Would you like to be my precious?” you rasped, scratching up your throat. Too Gollumy.

       “Fuck, this is never gonna work!” Throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation, you release a roar that could tremble the internal organs of your enemies before-

       “Ha! I got it! He plays volleyball!” You hop out of your self-deprecating groove instantly with one single, genius idea. Body wiggling excitedly, you delve into your backpack and snatch your phone. Google is such a wonderful resource. 

       “If I was a volleyball, I’d let you hit me all day…” you read aloud before glancing back up at yourself and shaking your head. “I’m desperate, but I’m not that desperate.” Minutes passed, and you test-ran through a couple more lines until you finally found it. The one.

       “Do you play volleyball?” Eyes glowing victoriously, you beamed at the mirror, “Because I sure dig you!” The vandalized, STD-infested high school restroom stays silent, but it didn’t deter you. Your heart pangs with excitement, and you knew you were ready. 

       “It’s perfect!” You were about to high-five yourself, but a muffled snicker interrupted you. The beating in your chest stops for a second and you burst into a cold sweat. Oh crap, who’s there?!

       “H-hello?” You grab your backpack and raise it in front of you. “Who is it? Who’s there?” The last person you wanted to see steps into the women’s bathroom, smug smirk and all. 

       “I don’t know, I kind of liked the Lord of the Rings one.” He shrugs. “Your impression was spot on.” Your throat constricts and you struggle to breathe, let alone respond.

       “Why are you here?” you choke out, hiding your clammy palms behind your back. 

       “The teacher sent me to ask if you were okay. Guess she thought you fell in.” Everything about Tsukishima screams ‘smug.’ Before you liked him, it pissed you off. Then it became endearing. And now it makes you want to crawl into a hole and die. 

       “So, how much did you hear?” 

       “About five minutes before the Optimus Prime impression.”

       “Oh God!” You hide your face into your hands and groan exasperatedly. “You heard all of that?!” He chuckles before nodding, eyes glowing arrogantly behind his frames. 

       “Most of it wasn’t half-bad, though.” You peek between your fingers. 

       “Really?”

       “Yeah,” he licks his lips while crossing his arms. “Give one a try.” Brows furrowed in confusion, you open and close your mouth repeatedly like a fish until he explains further.

       “I promise you’ll like the outcome.” There’s this weird look on his face. It’s not angry, or cocksure. He doesn’t look like he’s about to ream your ass or point out all the mistakes you’ve made in your life. It looks almost like… a smile. And a reassuring one at that. Your eyes widen at the sight before a lop-sided grin grows on your face. 

       “All right,” you nod nonchalantly, but your eyes flicker with excitement, “which one do you wanna hear first?”

       “Hmm, how about my favorite of yours so far: goose in the park looking for a Tsukishima-shaped bread crumb?”

Hc on how the LOV would react to either Dabi or Tomura or even both having a kid of their own that is like a mini clone of their dad? Love you ❤

League of Villains Reactions to Dabi and Shigaraki’s Children (BNHA Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: There is only one thing worse than a rapist. *Boom* A child. Anyways, back to this wonderful request bc honestly, they’re always so amazing from this one🥺 I did both boys because *kiss* I love em both. Small warning: I have watched about as far as the beginning of bnha season 2… aka, all of these reactions are based purely on how I assume the LOV acts. Enjoy!

Word count: 1246

Dabi: 

First of all, you already know this child just folds his arms and glares at everyone.

You dropped off your guys’ son at the Villain’s Lair since you would be busy with work for the day.

“Dabi, you gotta take care of him today.”

“YN-” You throw him a look that shuts him up instantly. 

“Pfft, he’s whipped,” Twice whispers, only to squeal when a blue flame flashes toward his face.

Anyways, having Dabi’s son running around is hectic in more ways than one. 

Toga, for example, loves children, but Dabi’s is more pain-in-the-ass than child. 

“Aww, aren’t you just adorable!”

“...You seem like an idiot.”

Toga *pulling out knife* “Bitch-”

Moving on, as we all know, Dabi’s kid is basically his younger clone, so of course he’s gonna fuck with Spinner. 

The little boy’s got a flame in his hand as he watches the older villain. “You’re a lizard, right? So if I burn off your limbs, they’ll grow back.” 

…

“DABI GET YOUR FUCKING SON AWAY FROM ME!”

Kurogiri, on the other hand, tries to be the only adult in the situation. 

“Dabi, please control your son before I send him to another dimension.”

“Psh, why?”

“... Because the kitchen’s on fire.” 

“Ugh, I know. Isn’t he amazing?”

“... No?!”

In all honesty, Shigaraki locks himself in his room until it’s all over. Why? Because the kid almost incinerated his collections of hands. (You can occasionally hear his voice screaming from behind the door “I wAnT ThAt ChILd GoNe wHeN I cOmE bAcK oUt tHeRe!”)

Mr. Compress, however, is the natural showman of the group, so of course he’s gonna want to try and entertain Dabi’s son. 

He puts on a magic show as Dabi’s kid sits on the ground, watching boredly with a fist curled under his jaw. 

“Watch me turn this ordinary marble into a teddy bear!” *Snap* “TADAAAA!”

The man shrieks in fear as the toy blows up in smoke. 

“Give me another one!” The young boy claps his hands excitedly.

“...Hahahahaha, erm, m-magic show’s all d-done for the day!” As he walks past Dabi leaning against the doorway with folded arms, Compress mutters, “The fuck is wrong with your son, dude?”

“He’s the best child a father could ask for🤧”

Soon, Twice has learned from the others’ experiences to steer clear of Dabi’s son.

(Just kidding, this guy tried to give him a motivational speech.)

“You can be anything you want to be! Don’t be afraid to be yourself!” 

Dabi’s kid is just like *scared pikachu face* “Dude, are you okay?”

“nO.”

By the end of the day, Kurogiri has called you to specifically request that you find another place to leave your child while you are at work. (You’re the definition of P.O.ed that Dabi let his child misbehave as such)

“Please give the phone to Dabi.” Kurogiri hands Mr. Stitches the phone. “Yes my love?”

“Dabi…” He already knows from the way you spit his name that this conversation is going to end up a one-sided yelling match. You are the reigning champion after all. 

So what does he do?

*Twenty minutes later*

“Y-YN?”👉👈

“I FUCKING TOLD YOU- Yes Kurogiri?” 

“Dabi set the phone down and ran away like twenty minutes ago.” 

… *sigh* “All right. I’ll come pick them both up.” 

Shigaraki Tomura: 

Do you even gotta ask?

The child throws fits. Of course he does. 

Let’s get one thing straight-- this kid’s a brat. (Just like his daddy😍)

So when he throws fits, shit gets destroyed. That’s just life🤷‍♀️

Dabi, right off the bat, just hates this thing. 

Initially, he’s like “Aw shit, there’s two of ‘em.” 

Then it starts talking. 

“Don’t fucking touch me, kid.”

“You’re right, you look fucked up enough.” 

oop-

...“CONTROL YOUR SPERM, SHIGARAKI!” 

To be fair, Shigaraki taught his child right away how to handle his quirk. He especially didn’t want you to get, y’know, decayed while trying to feed your son Cheerios.

But that doesn’t mean that the child doesn’t use it. 

As we all know by now, Toga loves children, so she is the first one to introduce herself and try to play games. 

That, uh, that doesn’t end well. 

“MY KNIFE COLLECTION! NOOOOOOOO!”

Shigaraki’s just slowly trailing behind his son, watching everything he does and making sure he doesn’t do anything too terrible…. But then he gets bored, so y’know, whatever. Just do anything, idc.

The day begins with pissing off Toga, after which Kurogiri encourages her to step outside and cool off before she murders a murderer’s child. 

Then Mr. Compress decides he can solve the issue.

✨Magic Show Time✨

“Watch me turn this ordinary marble into a-... what’s wrong?” 

“This is boring.” Shigaraki’s son stands up and grabs the marble, incinerating it with two fingers. “When do we get to the fun stuff?” 

“What fun stuff?”

“Fun stuff like KILLING EVERYBODY!”

Mr. Compress is just like 😑 as he walks away muttering under his breath. “These Goddamn kids always being so spoiled nowadays.” 

Spinner is nowhere to be found. He’s already met a fully-grown Shigaraki, what makes you think he wants to see the fun-size version?

Moving on, up next we have Kurogiri, who tends to try and act like a father once again.

“It’s lunch time! Here you go!” He hands the child a plate of delicious food.

The young boy just stares in disgust. “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich? How old do you think I am?” 

He’s five

“You’re five…”

“YEAH, THAT’S FIVE YEARS TOO MANY TO EAT FUCKING PB AND JS LIKE A PEASANT!” 

The child runs away screaming and destroying everything he can find. Kurogiri purses his lips and decides he’s got too many children to deal with, so he’s gotta help one of ‘em grow up. 

“Tomura, please come and tell your child to stop throwing a tantrum.” 

“Why don’t you do it?!”

🤦‍♀️b r u h

“... because he’s your fucking kid!”

“... I don’t want to.”

Thankfully, the day ends quicker than the others realize, and soon enough you’ve returned to pick up your and Shigaraki’s child. 

You’re just standing in the entryway as an exhausted Kurogiri joins you. 

“How was he today?”

“YN… you deal with that every day?”

“Ahh, it must’ve been one of his better days.”

(Extra: “How so?”

“Because nobody’s missing any limbs.”)

Twice is chasing your child out of his room. “NOT MY HEN-” he spots you in the doorway, “-a-adult… films.” 

The lair is a disaster zone. Furniture is tipped and askew, tatters of clothing lay across the floor here and there, and there’s just so. Many. Ashes. 

And of course, in the corner of the room stands Dabi, his arms folded across his chest as he hurls you a deathly glare. “Why would you do this?”

Wha….

“WHY WOULD YOU BREED THE SPAWN OF SATAN??”