My Hero Academia Masterlist

Stoooop ushijima in the coming home post killed me 😭😭 I love big stoic guys who are actually teddy bears sndndnddn every one of the guys was cute but his part was my favourite 🥺

Aidnksncksksk yessss I love big scary guys being soft boys too🥰🥰 especially when it’s just for that one person they love😍 I’m glad you liked the post!!

I’m so excitedddd 😩😩 can’t wait

Ayyy me too🤩🤩

Language of Love (Akaashi x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

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

A/N: I’m so thankful for the growth that has happened to my account in the small span of 48 hours! Here’s a short imagine that I got an idea for from this prompt by @writ-ing-promp-ts​. Akaashi is really OOC, so I’m sorry. And I also kinda rambled on too long in the first part, but oh well, I’m a lil tired. Enjoy! :) 

Word count: 1240

        The courtyard of Fukurodani was beautiful, to say the least. It was springtime, and you sat just below a freshly-bloomed cherry blossom tree. The pastel pink petals surrounded you either on the grass or floating with the wind. The flowery scent you inhaled was barely noticeable over the cold breeze it accompanied. The sun shined, birds chirped, bees buzzed, and you… well, you were jabbering in French to your sick best friend over the phone. You were sweating like a pig thanks to the topic of conversation, and occasionally flapped your arms up and down like the chicken dance just to dry off. Gross, right? Yeah, you thought so too. But the anxiety of talking about a crush in any language was enough to provoke undesirable side effects. 

        Setting down your phone to take off the hot blazer that was just making everything worse, you whined into the microphone, “Il est tellement attirant que je pourrais mourir. (He is so attractive that I could die.)” Your hand caught in a sleeve, so you began screeching at the jacket you were currently wedged in and attracted some unwanted attention. You nervously smiled at your fellow classmates before laughing and shrugging at your own predicament. Giving you sneers, they exaggeratedly stepped away from your general area before  exiting through the school’s gates while whispering among themselves. The smile on your face dropped into a snarl as you pulled with all your might on the stupid mandatory blazer. 

        Not realizing you were currently busy, your ever-so-sympathetic friend replied, “Arrête d'être un bébé et avoue déjà. Tu es trop dramatique. Il ne te mangera pas. (Stop being a baby and confess already. You are too dramatic. He won't eat you.)” Letting out a loud “Guh” as you finally escaped the human trap, you threw the evil jacket away from you and pouted. 

        “Je ne suis pas trop dramatique. (I am not too dramatic.)” You slumped back onto the rough bark of the tree and exhaled heavily. 

        “Alors arrêtez d'être un tel wuss et dites-lui! (Then stop being such a wuss and tell him!)” your friend demanded, and your phone shook at her volume. You understood her impatience; after all, you had harbored a crush on Akaashi for the past year now, and the only person who stood to take earfuls of your gushing was her. Overall, you were thankful, but that didn’t mean you weren’t shy. 

        “Mais que dois-je faire si Akaashi me rejette? (But what should I do if Akaashi rejects me?)” you mumbled softly, fiddling with the edges of your skirt. Your friend sighed heavily, but you were surprised at the gentle tone in her response. 

        “Tu fais ce que tout le monde dans le monde a fait. Tu t'en remets et trouvés quelqu'un de nouveau. C'est la seule solution. (You do what everyone else in the world has done. You get over it and find someone new. That's the only way.)” Her logic had always pissed you off anyway. Scoffing at the blatant statement, you began to pick at the dirt under your fingernails. Your eyes were saddened, and your shoulders slouched while you bounced your knees up and down in front of you. What ifs, all the what ifs ran through your head, and your heart pained in imaginary sadness at the scenarios. Your friend’s voice dragged you out of your thoughts once more.

        “YN, l'aimes-tu? (YN, do you like him?)”

        “As-tu vraiment besoin de demander? (Do you really need to ask?)” 

        “Alors c'est la seule raison pour laquelle tu devrais lui dire. Ne continuez pas à y penser pour toujours, faites-le. (Then that’s the only reason you should tell him. Don’t keep thinking about it forever, do it.)” Her words carried in the wind like an echo, and a breeze blew past your face, brushing away the stray hairs. Tapping your finger on your chin, you thought it over. It had been months, and you really did like him. He was always nice, and his bare-boned humor made you laugh. And no one could deny that he was truly attractive. 

        Hesitantly, you agreed, “D'accord. Je le ferai. Je vais lui demander de sortir. Souhaite moi bonne chance. (Okay. I will do it. I'm going to ask him to go out. Wish me good luck.)”

        “Bonne chance mon amie. (Good luck my friend.)” She sounded smugly victorious, but ended the call before you could berate her about it. Sighing exasperatingly, you dropped your head back harshly onto the base of the tree. Your hands dropped to your sides and nervously picked at grass while peering up at the pink branches above your form. 

        “Hey YN. You were speaking French just now, right?” Oh crap. Akaashi. A woozy feeling erupted right in the center of your head after you stood up too quickly to face him. Refraining from rubbing the pain away, you settled for a hasty nod at his question, not trusting your voice at the moment. 

        “That’s cool, you sounded pretty fluent too.” His voice was flat, but you had never heard it any other way, and that fact had never stopped the blush that rose on your face in his presence. It certainly didn’t stop the flush now. Suddenly, you remembered your friend’s words. Do it.

        “Well, you know, I-I could teach you some time,” you stuttered out. Hiding your shaking hands behind your back, you apprehensively smiled at him, but faltered when the corner of his mouth quirked up. His eyes glimmered at your suggestion while he suddenly grew smug. Your brows furrowed after he rolled his shoulders and placed his hands in his pants pockets, while his chest seemed to puff out. Was this really Akaashi?

        “That’s okay,” he retorts, “I already know French.” Excuse me, what?

        Your eye began to twitch and the smile on your face dropped. Blanching at his words, you hesitantly asked, “W-well, um, how much did you hear?” 

        “Enough.” He smiled softly at your amazed expression, chuckling behind his hand. Who the f**k is this guy?!

        “Oh. Ohhhh. Look, you might have misunderstood a couple of our words,” you sputtered. Akaashi was different today, it seemed. He was showing emotion, a lot of emotion. You choked on air when his own cheeks pinked as he stepped toward you. Staring at the petals he had crunched under his shoes, you mumbled, “We don’t really know the language that well, so you might have misheard a sentence or two. We definitely weren’t talking about you, that’s for sure-”

        The rest of your anxious rambling died on your tongue when he suddenly grinned at you. Ever so slowly, Akaashi caught a lock of your hair blowing in the wind and curled it around his finger gently. He was nervous too, you realized. But your breath caught in your throat when his gaze suddenly shifted and intercepted your own. Softly, he whispered, “Je t’aime bien aussi. (I like you too.)” 

is taglists open, sorry if it’s not ,,,

the reborn taglist is still open! If u were talking about taglists in general those are open too, so no need to be sorry🥺

uhh hi again 😅 im sorry for requesting again hdhd but is it ok to request another akaash papercrane au? where him and the reader are friends and akaashi believed that if he folds a thousand paper cranes the reader who is sick would get better but in the end when his wish came true his life was taken in exchange for his wish.

Paper Cranes (Akaashi x Reader) 

*GIF not mine*

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

A/N: I’m just out here wondering why y’all wanna be hurt. Like wtf. Anyways, this bitch angsty. Like I seriously hope y’all cry at this, bc boy did I want to. So like, pls feel free to tell me if you did cry, bc then I would feel accomplished. Aight, hope y’all enjoy!

Word count: 3725

        There was a… legend, of sorts. 

        If any one person could fold one thousand paper cranes, he or she would be granted a wish. 

        Akaashi had heard this story from his grandmother at a young age, and since then scoffed at the idea. What’s a wish gonna do? And why would he need one?

        He never truly believed in fate, destiny, or any other mystical mumbo jumbos. At least not until he met you. 

                                ~~~

        The swings are the loneliest place on the playground. Only one person can enjoy the ride at the time. If you have someone to push you, you only have a split second every time you swing back toward them to talk or laugh or enjoy each other’s companies. 

        Akaashi found himself there often. He was the quietest kid in his kindergarten class, and though his appearance did make him popular in crowds, he preferred the solitude of the swings. 

        The swings didn’t expect him to be funny. They didn’t expect him to be smart. They didn’t expect him to be perfect. 

        “Hey, can I swing with you?” 

        The swings didn’t- wait, what?

        Akaashi slowed his back-and-forth swaying, lowering his dusty tennis shoes to the bark of the ground to observe who had spoken. 

        It was a girl. A girl he had seen in his class often. The rays of the sun glimmered in her eyes, making them seem magical and kind. Her hands were folded behind her back shyly, and she scuffed the toe of her plastic sandal against her other heel while awaiting his answer. 

        Being confronted by his classmates was nothing new. All the time they came up to him and chattered like mindless lemmings. But Akaashi couldn’t help but gape at this girl in shock. 

        She was the first person to ask. 

        “S-sure.” 

        The young girl gave him a wide smile and crashed down into the swing beside his, already propelling herself to and fro with a kick of her feet. 

        A feeling awoke inside Akaashi in that moment. Competition. 

        Quickly, he bent and locked out his knees, trying to catch up to your pace though you were quite a bit ahead. You giggled and squealed when he swung ahead of you, and cheered victoriously when you blew past him. 

        Breathless. That’s how he felt. There was a glow in his chest, and suddenly he understood why so many other kids enjoyed being around their fellow classmates. 

        Having a friend who enjoyed the same things as him was fun. 

                                ~~~

        “YN!” Akaashi groaned, grimacing at the sight of you dancing victoriously above him. 

        “Look at all this money, Keiji!” You threw the Monopoly dollars in the air, waggling your hips and whooping. “How does it feel to SUCK?” 

        The black haired boy only folded his arms and pushed himself deeper amongst the blankets of the pillow fort. A pout carved onto his face when you began rubbing the fake bills against your cheeks. “Ahh, to be a millionaire. By the way, how’s your bankruptcy?” 

        “Shush, you,” he sulked, grabbing a stray pillow and tossing it at your head. You only dodged and laughed, crashing onto the floor beside him with a large oof. 

        “Ahh c’mon, you know you love me twerp,” you poked the side of his cheek as you laid on your back with a grin. 

        Shaking his head, Akaashi turned his face the other way and hid a small smile. “I can’t believe you were my first friend.”

        “Only ‘cause you sucked at swinging too.”

        “How does one suck at swinging?”

        “I don’t know! How do-”

        “Kids!” Akaashi’s mother interrupted, peeking her head into the fort with a quirk of her lips. “You better get to sleep. It’s almost ten.” 

        “Okay, Mom,” the boy nodded, discreetly jabbing your stomach as soon as she disappeared outside once more. 

        “OW!” you squealed, ruffling his hair in return. 

        The living room grew silent as you both settled in to sleep five minutes later. The excitement had calmed down, and now Akaashi was huddled in a blanket just a few inches away from your own. 

        His heart raced at the idea, and many thoughts flitted through his head. One being… 

        “Hey YN?” 

        You fake snored loudly and Akaashi scoffed, pulling a lock of your hair. 

        “Geez dude, why you always gotta hurt me?” You rolled over, incidentally getting even closer to your friend, and opened your eyes to face him. Akaashi was almost choking at the proximity. 

        With a purse of his lips, he lifted himself on one elbow and scratched the back of his neck. He avidly avoided your gaze as his cheeks tinged pink. “Sorry, I just….”

        You raised a brow. “Yeah…?”

        “We’re gonna stay friends, right? Even when we go to middle school? And even high school?” 

        Akaashi held his breath while you tapped your cheek thoughtfully. “Well, I was actually kinda hoping I could replace you with Godzilla once we got there, but if that doesn’t work out, then I guess so,” you shrugged. 

        He rolled his eyes and licked his lips. “Come on, I’m being serious.” 

        “I am too.”

        “Come on.”

        “All right, all right!” You lifted your hand out from under your blanket and poked him in the cheek once again, a new, nervous habit of yours. “Of course, stupid. We’re gonna be best friends forever. I promise.” 

        You held out your pinkie with a grin, and Akaashi stared at it hesitantly. 

        “Forever?” 

        You nodded, and he gave in, interlocking his last finger with your smaller one. 

        “Yeah, Keiji. Forever.”

                                ~~~

        Volleyball became a huge part of Akaashi’s life in middle school, and even on into high school. 

        “Hey, hey, hey Akaashi! Pass it to me!” 

        But not once did your friendship stray. 

        “It’s yours, Bokuto!”

        Every few seconds, he caught a glimpse of you in the stands. A large grin adorned your face, and you held a personalized sign just for him that you waved frantically any time he scored a point. 

        “GO AKAASHI!!!” Your voice, almost impeded by the overall clamor and volume of the gymnasium, was still fine-tuned in his ears. They perked at the cheer like the first melody of a bird on a bright morning. 

        A quirk of his lips accompanied the call, and he had to shake his head to stay focused on the game. 

        Block this guy’s spike.

        Send the set directly above the net so Bokuto can get a cross-court shot. 

        Where’s Konoha?

        I better send this one to-

        His never ending train of thoughts faltered for a second at the sound of a collective gasp. Nothing amazing had happened on the court, at least not from his point of view. So something must’ve happened in the crowd. 

        Hollers and cheers shifted to low, concerned murmurs. 

        The team on the other side of the net watched the audience in complete shock. 

        What is…

        Akaashi turned around with a crease in his brow and instinctively searched for you.

        You were gone. 

        Nostrils flaring, he slipped under the net to the other side of the court for a better vantage point. The sight shot his heart to pieces. 

        There, on the second level of the gym, collapsed against the plastic bleachers, was your unconscious form. 

                                ~~~

        The fluorescent lights on the ceiling of the hospital buzzed almost silently. And yet, for as long as Akaashi had been there, it was the only sound he could hear. 

        He stood outside your room like a guard dog, keeping his gaze locked on you at all times. 

        Through the glass windows of your room, he watched as your parents hugged you with tear-stained cheeks. You, on the other hand, were emotionless. Your eyes were unfocused, and you didn’t seem to be tuned into reality at the moment. 

        A half an hour passed. Your parents finally let him into the room, and he stepped in almost unwillingly. 

        “Mom, Dad, can… umm… can we have a moment alone?” 

        Your mom almost screeched in denial, but your father swiftly nodded and grabbed her hand, tugging her out of the room. “Of course, sweetie.”

        As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Akaashi gnawed on his bottom lip nervously. “So….”

         You seemed to snap out of it and turned to him with blank eyes. Your form was slumped back against the pillows of the hospital bed and you fiddled with the white cotton blanket. A thin, white nightgown covered your body, but it seemed to tremble every few seconds. Or maybe that was you. “Keiji.” 

        He took the cue and scurried to your bedside, grabbing your IV-plugged hand in his own. The pads of his fingers ran over your skin in a comforting manner, but he wasn’t exactly sure if it was helping any. “YN… what-”

        “The doctor said I have like a year.” You sounded so distant, locked away deep inside yourself. Almost confused at what was happening, but you also knew your fate. 

        Akaashi couldn’t breathe. His eyes watered and his brows furrowed and he almost grew angry at your dismissive state. But he couldn’t be mad at you. It wasn’t your fault. 

        “What,” he shakily whispered, whole body rigid, “YN, what happened?”

        “I don’t know,” your voice cracked, and suddenly the facade fell. Or maybe reality finally set in. “They said I’m sick or something and it’s incurable and I’m going to die! Oh God, I’m going to die, Keiji!” You wailed and bawled and cried as much as you could, and Akaashi let his tears flow too. 

        “I don’t wanna die!”

        Akaashi nodded, grimacing and clenching his eyes closed while he sat on your bed and hugged you. 

        “Please, I don’t wanna die!” 

        Your body convulsed in his grasp as you heaved out sobs, afraid of something you couldn’t fight. This was a battle no one could win. This was fate. 

        Akaashi cursed under his breath as he rocked you back and forth, running a hand through your tangled strands before whispering soft reassurances to your deaf ears. 

        You began to cough and hiccup, shoving your face deeper into his soaked shoulder. 

        Nothing could be said. Nothing could be done. 

        The room was tense, filled with utter, uncontrolled fear. 

        Nothing could stop this.

        “Please don’t let me die.” 

        Akaashi’s bloodshot eyes opened in the slightest as an idea hit him. He squeezed you tighter as your sobs slowed to whimpers, and shook his head. I won’t let that happen.

                                ~~~

        “Do you have an eight?”

        “Go fish.”

        “Fuck.”

        “Do you have a king?”

        “...No.”

        “YN.”

        “FINE!” You threw your cards down on the bed with a pout. Akaashi chuckled and gathered up the cards, giving you a smug glance. 

        “What is it you said to me when we were kids? ‘How does it feel to suck?’”

        You stuck out your tongue and batted his teasing hands away before folding your arms. “Shut up,” you muttered. 

        The hospital room was becoming more and more your own. Flowers decorated the windowsill, a couple books sat on the nightstand, and you even had a few folded cranes of Akaashi’s on your headboard. 

        Months had passed, nine to be specific, since you got the diagnosis. Time was running out. 

        “Well, YN, I brought your homework.” Akaashi dug around in his bag before pulling out a stack of assignments. A bright yellow sticky note sat on the top with your name scribbled haphazardly. 

        “You know, Keiji, it’s funny you think I’d actually spend my time doing that instead of, oh I don’t know,” you playfully shrugged, “having fun the rest of my life.” 

        Akaashi gulped but forced his smile to remain steady on his face. For you.

        “I think you should still do it, YN. It’ll keep you smart.” 

        “What smarts am I gonna need when I’m-” 

        “YN please.” Akaashi winced at your recent lax in self-respect. A muscle in his jaw irked at the thought, but his eyes stayed locked on the cranes just above your head. 

        You nodded and softened your gaze. “Sorry, Keiji.” You held out your hands and accepted the papers he handed you. “I’ll try my best on them.”

        “Thank you. And don’t forget to use my notes,” Akaashi added.

        “How could I,” you scoffed. “Half of ‘em are done in glitter pens.” The corner of Akaashi’s mouth quirked up at the thought. 

        “Only ‘cause I know you like them that way.” Akaashi leaned in to give you a hug, pressing a kiss to your hair that he knew you couldn’t feel. Your warmth, the warmth you filled his heart with, made him never want to leave. But he had to. 

        “All right, I have to go, but before I do,” Akaashi dug around in his bag for a second before locating his gift with a sparkle in his eyes. “Here.”

        A blue paper crane was set in your palm, and his fingers brushed yours before he pulled them away. Your body wiggled in happiness at the new addition. 

        “Yay! Another one! How about I call this one…” you trailed off, tapping your chin in thought. Then you pointed your finger in the air in glee. “Perry! What do you think, Keiji?” 

        You reached up and set the crane along with the others while Akaashi nodded in agreement. “It’s perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow, YN.” 

        Just as Akaashi stepped away, you grabbed his hand and tugged it to gain his attention once again. 

        “What’s wrong?” 

        You scrutinized his face with narrowed eyes, reaching your hand up and brushing your fingers just above his cheeks. “Keiji?”

        “Hmm?” His eyes were almost closed in bliss, enjoying every spark of exhilaration that came with your touch. He flinched when you patted his cheek roughly. 

        “Get some more sleep at night. You look like shit.” 

        Blue eyes flickering open, he covered your hand with his own and delivered a soft kiss to your palm. “Not in a million years.”

                                ~~~

        Everything around him was fuzzy and blurred. The room was so dim and warm. A wave of exhaustion hit him every two seconds, leaving his head reeling and his ears thumping. 

        And yet, he wouldn’t move. 

        No, not if he couldn’t help it. 

        Papercuts littered his fingers. Scraps and scraps of paper, all shapes, colors and sizes, laid out in front of him, along with one lone whiteboard and marker. 

        The sun was just beginning to rise outside his window, and birds began to stir in their nests. 

        Fuck, he was so tired. His body pleaded with him to close his eyes just once. 

        No. 

        Shuffling of parchment became his new white noise. The pads of his fingers were on fire with every fold and every crease. 

        Then he set the new crane behind him, uncapped the marker and drew a single tick mark. 

        “Eight-hundred and seventy-four,” he muttered with a sigh. 

        Another.

        He grabbed a new page with sore, pained arms, resisting the urge to yawn and starting anew. 

        Fold. Crease. Fold. Crease. Fold. 

        “Eight-hundred and seventy-five.”

                                ~~~

        “Ughhh yesss,” you moaned, licking the sweet stickiness off your fingers. “It’s been too long since I’ve had ice cream.” 

        Akaashi smiled at the sight. Your face had glowed with pure joy when he showed up with your favorite flavor, and you had deadpanned “I love you.”

        It was enough for him. He chuckled into his own bowl before swallowing another spoonful. “What, is the Jello not any good here?”

        You flipped him off and continued downing your cold treat. “Next time they try to force that gelatinous shit down my throat, I’m just gonna hop out the window.” 

        “From the fourth floor?”

        You shrugged. “Why not? I could make it! I’ve seen it in the movies, all you have to do is roll.” 

        Your dark haired friend scoffed at the thought. “Yes, please ‘roll.’ It will be much quicker travel than limping on two broken legs.” 

        You busted out laughing. “See? Now you get it!” Your face was frozen in pure joy as you held your ice cream. 

        This moment made it all worth it. You were beautiful. Completely happy and carefree for the first time in a year. Akaashi didn’t want you to worry anymore. 

        He would only hope that you could find someone to make you laugh like this again once he was gone. He didn’t want you to be alone like he had been before you. You were the light of his life. You made him discover a purpose for living, and you lead him through it. He would follow you to the ends of the Earth if need be. And now was the time to repay you.

        His bag was empty this visit aside from a single slip of paper. It was blue, your favorite color. “It reminds me of your eyes, which are really hot, by the way,” you had said.

        “I did my homework like you asked.” You nodded with complete self-assurance and even held up the assignment. “I might’ve gotten number three wrong though….”

        “That’s okay.” Akaashi set down his bowl and stood up, approaching your bedside with slow, purposeful steps. 

        You were breathtaking at this angle. The sun shined just barely through your room’s window, and lit up your entire face with a single ray. It emphasized the natural glow of life you already had. 

        Yeah, he could do this. For you, he would do anything. 

        When he stopped at your bedside, you shifted under your blankets until your legs hung off the side of the mattress. Completely facing him, you threw him a questioning glance. “What’s up?”

        “Can I kiss you?” 

        He had to at least try. If only once. 

        You stopped breathing and your heart stuttered in your chest. Akaashi could read it all over your flushed face that-- Thank God-- you felt the same way he did. 

        It was a mixture of euphoria and anxiousness that flooded his stomach when you nodded. A shy smile covered your face, and it grew larger the closer he leaned towards you. Then finally, your lips touched. 

        The kiss was soft and slow, with Akaashi’s hands landing on the bed around you to support himself. Your lips were plush and tasted like sugary sweetness, and he snatched up your chin the second you tried to pull away too soon. 

        This second kiss was more passionate, rushed and intoxicating. The fervor of it left you feeling light-headed and breathless. And loved. His lips smashed against your own in a desperation of showing how he felt. It was as if he was making up for lost time, or something opposite of that. 

        And then he pulled away, gasping for air and not regretting a thing. His hand slowly dropped from your chin and fell to your thigh, barely covered by the thin hospital gown. His fingertips, rougher than you remembered, gently massaged your skin, leaving you to sigh happily. 

        His forehead pressed against your own, and smiles were permanently etched on both your faces. 

        “I love you,” Akaashi finally whispered, eyes staring honestly into your own.

        “I love you too,” you pecked his lips once more and he returned it with ease. 

        You stayed like that for so long, just enjoying the feeling and proximity of one another. The air was clear. You loved each other. 

        But now, one of you had to let go.

        Akaashi pulled away slowly with one last peck. While you sat with affectionate eyes watching his every move, he dug in his bag and pulled out a slip of paper. 

        “You write me a letter or something?” you teased. 

        “This is better than any letter I could write you, love, trust me.” Akaashi threw you a soft smile before settling onto the bed beside you. 

        You watched in utter fascination as folded and pressed the paper with skilled fingers. 

        “Wow, Keiji, you’re so good at that!” You let a hand hover over his own and stop the process for a second. “How long have you been practicing?” 

        Akaashi froze in an instant, but quickly rolled his shoulders and relaxed his form, leaning himself closer to your presence. “Quite a while now, but I did it for you.” 

        You beamed at him, tears pricking your eyes. “Keiji….” With a small, disbelieving shake of your head, you pressed your lips to his own just one more time. This time as a thank you. 

        Then you urged him to continue with a slight wave of your hand. 

        And he did so. 

        Fold. Crease. Fold. Crease. Fold. 

        And at last, the final product. A single paper crane of gorgeous blue, just like his eyes. 

        “YN.”

        “Hmm?”

        Akaashi hands you the crane and stares deeply into your eyes. “I love you.” 

        “I love you too.” 

        “And I wish for your life to be spared. At the expense of my own.” 

        “What?” You giggle in confusion, growing more and more concerned as Akaashi’s eyes seem to flutter. 

        Then they close for one last time. 

        “Keiji?” 

        His body slumps back, falling like dead weight to the mattress of your hospital bed. 

        “Keiji?!”

        You were afraid. So afraid. 

        “Keiji, what did you do?” you mumble breathlessly, wide eyes locked on him. On his body. 

        “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” 

        Gut-wrenching sobs tore through your chest, leaving your whole form trembling. 

        “KEIJI!” Your blood-curdling screams led crowds of nurses to your room, but they could never pull you away. You, keeled over Akaashi’s lifeless form, refused to move even an inch. You hugged him close, wailing and wailing against his unmoving chest. Incoherent moans scratch your throat as you rock him back and forth, whispering I love yous one last time.

        The legend was uncomplicated, but so painfully real.

        A thousand paper cranes. One wish. 

        And Akaashi’s wish was simple. A life for a life. 

        Him. For you.

Yandere bokuto the boy that will pull out the emo face every time he feels like he’s not getting enough cuddles

Agsjdjsk another one about his cuddles, and y’all are both right. One day, I imagine he’ll come home just whining and whining about not getting to hold you, even though you’re busy with work or smth.

“YNNN.” Add on a lip pout, but you still shake your head no. He huffs and whimpers and rubs his face against yours, but you don’t budge.

“Bokuto, I can’t. This is really important.”

That’s what sets him off. One second, you’re peacefully typing at your desk, the next you’re being shoved into the mattress, Bokuto’s muscular form trapping you against the sheets. His eyes are furious, any innocence abandoned at your words.

“I’m more important, YN. I am.”

In the Black Widow’s Nest (Henry Creel x Reader) 🕷️Chapter 2🕷️

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Prince Henry of the Creel Dynasty is finally in search of a wife, and in the spirit of courtship, King Victor has invited young royalty from all neighboring kingdoms to vie for his hand. But with so much royalty introduces the need for many more maids in the castle than usual.

Enter: You.

You’re nothing but a servant in his home, an intruder in his prized library, and an utter nuisance in his mind. But then you survive his attack, and in an unexpected way nonetheless. That makes you… interesting.

You’ve caught his eye—congratulations! Now, you must deal with the consequences of loving a heartless prince in a world where far worse things lurk in the castle than dirty garderobes.

Chapter 1

A/N: yay, another chapter! and not a million bajillion months later, either, aren’t u guys lucky? I worked hard on this one! Let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 4809

The maids of the castle did not have an organized way of awakening. The first one to rise from her cot never rang a bell, nor did she make a sound as she bumbled about the room. The others simply roused at her activity and moved to follow her lead. A soft ray of warmth would peek through window curtains, illuminating the rumpled sheets and the scuffling shoes as the ladies donned their uniforms: white pinafores over black smocks, black sleeves down to the wrists with white cuffs, white bows, black slippers.

A light chatter had begun after one maid, a new recruit hired for the season, had asked another for assistance in tying the pinafore’s bow at her back. By the time the bow was finished, the rest of the room had followed suit. Conversations erupted, and some of the more experienced women had taken to helping the newcomers with their garments. When one began to brush her own hair, so did another. When one adjusted the strap on her own shoe, so did another.

They moved as one body and looked as one body, as was expected of them. None dared to lose their opportunity to work with the castle's wages and living, especially during such a season.

The prince of the Creel Dynasty was finally searching for a wife.

The kingdom had long awaited this announcement from the handsome young heir. In preparation for the many balls, galas, and other festivities promised by this news, the castle staff had welcomed a myriad of new members, all of whom had to be trained before the kingdom could host any visiting royalty.

The maids, therefore, had the strictest schedules and regimens. The nature of their duties made it most plausible to come in contact with a royal, and such required a level of propriety unobserved by them in their previous homes.

But a new fear had struck the collective consciousness of the trainees.

One that made the threat of interacting with royals all the more potent.

You rose from your cot at the tap of the girl beside you. A fierce spasming fired along your spine, where your new wounds must have reopened from the movement.

Briefly, you considered lying back down, letting your headache swallow you whole. Considered Miss Miriam, in a devilish state, screaming at you, dismissing you, dragging you out of the castle. Crawling back home with no money, nothing to show for your promises of dragging them out of the village and whisking them away to a life of less hell. You consider coming out of the castle like you came in. Still nothing. Having nothing.

But a pretty sight struck you—Miss Miriam, with her crop, coming up behind you, and you, twisting and grabbing her by her gray hair, shoving her face into a used chamber pot.

Then swatting the old harpy with her own weapon.

A smile split your face, causing the bruise on your cheek to throb.

One day.

But until that day, you were stuck here under the shameless eyes of your own fellow maids. The show Miss Miriam had put on for the others was one that must be burned into the backs of their eyelids, because the maids did one of two things.

They watched you, or they blinked.

You folded in on yourself, turning away and grasping your uniform tucked neatly beneath your bed. When you rose back up and reached for the hem of your nightdress, you hesitated.

The gazes were so heavy you could drown. Even now, you could feel the oozing blood sticking to the thick fabric. However prominent the bruise on your face was nothing compared to artwork that mangled your back; something was peeling, another splitting, and much was bleeding. It was all one collective wound, one scab healing so slowly that any movement you made renewed the process.

You did everything quickly and quietly. You tore off your dress, peeling off fresh skin with it, and stretched the other one over your head, thankful the black smock wouldn’t stain so evidently. The gasps didn’t slow you down. You tugged on your shoes and straightened your sleeves. You whisked your hair out of your face as you worked, tightening and adjusting and grimacing your way through it.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You were surprised you had any left after last night—your own tongue sat as dry as a rock in your mouth. How could there be more?

But they sprang forth when you pulled the pinafore over your sleeves and realized you couldn’t tie the bow yourself. Not as tightly as it should be. Your own body wouldn’t let you do such a thing to your wound.

You needed help. Would any of them be willing to even speak to you? To be seen associating with the first pariah of the group?

You couldn’t imagine yourself doing it. Self-preservation was at an all-time high after your public whipping. Would anyone even believe that you hadn’t wanted any of this? That you hadn’t been a crown-hunting girl begging for trouble? That something bordering on preternatural had invaded your mind and drowned out your senses, and all you could do was cling onto another human as you grappled for reality—who gave a damn if the man just happened to be Prince Henry, the one person women in all the known kingdoms were trying to obtain?

No.

No one would believe you.

Dear God, you sounded deranged. One step away from fleeing into the woods waving sticks and crying demon at every creature you crossed.

The church bells, of all things, being the sounds you’d heard when your own life was slipping away before your eyes. You may as well hang yourself right now, if the king couldn’t decree it any faster.

You dropped the two fabric strings of the pinafore with a muffled snivel, cupping your bruised cheek and letting your eyes fall closed.

Three months. Just three months to shed the new label and secure yourself a permanent position in the castle. Real servants’ lodgings, proper pay, daily meals. You could live the rest of your life not acknowledged by another soul if you could just stay here, safe and content and unheeded.

What more could a person want out of life?

A gentle touch at your shoulder blade drew your attention, and you flinched away before it got any closer to your injuries. You spun around and bumped into your cot, eyeing the other maid warily. Her gaze was kind and bordered on innocent, vibrant blue barely peeking out from behind a wall of curly brown hair. She looked about your age, and at first glance, you would never notice the proud, acute way she held herself.

Like she always knew what she was doing, and yet always knew too much.

And when she offered her hands like a sign of peace, you did not try to back away again. Far be it from you to reject the first kindness you had experienced since you had arrived here.

“I can tie your bow, if you like?”

That same accent, unrefined when compared to what usually bounced off the gilded walls, and you surmise that she must have come from another small village like yours. Unlike you, however, she seemed to have less fear when navigating through unfamiliarities like castles and cruel maids.

Why else would she bother offering the one persona non grata a helping hand?

You pause at her offer, gnawing on your lip as though you had other options to consider. Perhaps there was some ill intent to her aid, but even if there was, you couldn’t figure out what and why and why bother.

“Yes…” you swallowed. “Please.”

She smiled gently and gestured for you to turn around. When her hands tied the bow, it was all light fingers and quiet conversations.

Her name was Nancy, and you learned she had come from the village next to yours. When she couldn’t get a job working for a seamstress, she wound up as something of a governess in the kingdom’s walls, traversing back and forth between her home and those of higher standings nearer to the castle. She was good at watching children, but the castle was offering far more than royalty’s butlers and vicars could afford.

And she was also very sorry for you. What happened yesterday was hard to watch.

You asked her to tighten the bow, dismissing her small hum of concern, and swallowed the bile that rose when the pinafore dug securely into the gashes of your back.

You both knew she had been fixing to leave it loose, letting you decide if the risk of an untidy uniform was worth the comfort.

It wasn’t.

The other maids, it seemed, had grown uninterested the second your wounds were covered for what would be the remainder of the day, and returned to normal conversation. Few glances were thrown your way since Nancy had tied your bow, and you noticed yet another phenomenon.

Caught up in a sea of black and white, the only difference between you and Nancy, between any one maid and another, was her hair. Brunette and blond hair intermixed with black and ginger, all blended seamlessly when plaited or swept up into a bun.

Yours hung loose and knotted down your back, and without a word, Nancy began to wisp the tendrils into a braid. You wanted to stop her, but you couldn’t. Your own arms could barely raise as high as your heart, and your hands shook the second they entered your vision, lifted to stop Nancy’s at your nape.

“There,” she murmured, dismissing your thanks, “now you really blend in. By tonight, the others won’t even remember which bed you’re in.”

“Should I be concerned they know that now?”

She laughed softly. “I suppose not, although I have overheard a few girls bitter about you being with a royal.”

You blanched. “What? That’s what they’re focused on?”

Maybe… maybe you should have guessed some of them might focus on that fact. But look where it got you, and you hadn’t even been trying.

Properly flogged, and now in the sights of one Miss Miriam.

Nancy shrugs. “Just a few. Most have been scared for you. But,” she pauses, pursing her lips, “you must understand that we’re… thankful, in a cruel way.”

Of course. You could understand that.

It terrified you, angered you to no end, but you understood it. Someone had to be a lesson for the others. A demonstration. The new maids needed a spectacle to understand where the power lied—that power did not lie solely within royalty. There were pockets of it left scattered throughout the castle, and cruel-enough servants snatched it up whenever possible, and lorded it over whoever would listen.

But… you wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. You never thought it would be you.

The collective consciousness reigned over the servants once more, and they began to line up. You spotted a girl, younger-looking than most, step away from the door, and guessed she must have heard footsteps. Nancy nodded at you before joining a line, and you followed.

Like clockwork, the door slammed open, and Miss Miriam entered with a silencing swoosh of her black smock. When her second-in-command entered, goosebumps ran down your spine.

You could still feel yourself struggling in her arms, sobs wracking their way through you as she steadied your form for another lashing. Your heartbeat began thundering in your back, right underneath the bow of the pinafore.

“Ladies, today is a day of utmost importance.” With small, black eyes narrowed and surveying each and every young girl before her, Miss Miriam furrowed her brow and frowned, wrinkles tracing the expressions with ease. Her face pinched together so tightly it resembled a sun-dried grape. “The royal family will be welcoming four promising princesses today, and it will be your duty to clean every inch of the castle they will roam upon before they arrive. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Miriam.”

“We will work as one. We will bow as one. We do everything as one, today and all days, ladies. Efficiently, and quietly.” Her eyes fell on you. “No one will cause trouble today. Understood?”

You gulped. The maids chimed together once more, and you could only mouth along with them.

“Yes, Miss Miriam.”

Her gaze left yours, and the tightening of your throat eased.

“Moira will delegate assignments. Those tidying halls will follow me.”

The hallways, all gilded columns and glistening marble, flared victoriously in the morning sun. Most aspects of the castle seemed to emphasize the Creel Monarchy’s pride, their devout sense of self-satisfaction the principal aspect of every painting, vase, and snuffed sconce.

A portrait of the long deceased King James, great-great-great-great grandfather to Prince Henry—though, you pondered calling the number of greats preceding his name into question (and the word great itself)—sneered down at you, seeming perpetually pleased to be two hundred years in the ground and still lording himself over every subject that roamed his halls.

Disdain for all others must have been passed down the family line religiously.

You dragged your eyes down and away, busying yourself instead with dusting the marbleized snoot of Julius Caesar. The crystalline windows of the castle acted like a magnifying glass against you as you worked, adding a heat to the already aching skin of your back. You were a cockroach wandering too close to a flame, and any second now you could burn up from the inside out, crushed with a crunch rather than a squelch.

Using the back of your hand, you wiped the sweat from your brow, eyes wandering dangerously to the maid who worked beside you.

Nancy, owning the more bearable appearance between the two of you, had been sent out to deliver and replace new bed sheets along with thirty other girls. But the girl beside you, taller and owning a mess of dirty blonde hair swept into an apathetic bun, had somewhat of the same spirit of Nancy. A small glimmer of rebellion shone in her eyes each time Miss Miriam wandered far enough down the glittering hallway so as to only be seen by squinting.

Then, with a wry twitch of her freckled face, she’d rasp five blasphemies she’d decided described the witch in that moment.

Musty shrew appeared to be a favorite.

The girl glanced up from where she had been polishing a rickety wooden chair and flashed you a smile, glancing each way before rising from her knees and approaching. She reached out and plopped the brush she had been using on the table holding the marble statue head, and plugged a finger into each of its ears.

“I don’t suppose Jesus here will strike me down for my profanity, will he?”

You looked down. Chiseled above its wrinkled forehead was a laurel crown, and you couldn’t recall a Bible passage describing Jesus’ sabbatical in Rome. You blinked at her.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Julius Caesar.”

The blonde glances at the statue again, gray eyes darting over it before she shrugs. “Same difference. If there is a sculpture of Jesus somewhere in this castle, I have no doubt he’s going to receive the same mouthful of feathers you’re forcing on poor Caesar here.”

“Only if Miss Miriam deems it so.” You nodded your head in the skeletal maid’s direction. “Her words are as good as gospel, after all.”

“And yet, each time she speaks, I feel like I’m taking orders from Satan.”

You let out a ghost of a laugh, biting your tongue when your wounds contract and throb.

Her face splits into a smile, and she lets out a short laugh too. Something flits along her face, though, and you get the sense you didn’t hide your pain well enough. The subject is easily danced around; the maid releases her grip on the statue and instead grasps her skirt, lowering into a teasing curtsy. “The name is Robin, milady.” Her eyelashes flutter rapidly and she waggles her fingers in the air, perfectly, in your opinion, mimicking the interactions between royalty that you’ve seen thus far. Haughty, majestic, and filled with intentions barely skin-deep.

You do the same.

She lets your name roll off her tongue a few times, letting it thud against the crisp white walls in her hoarse tone before saying decidedly, “Very fitting.”

Before long, Miss Miriam decides the hallway is clean enough and herds all the maids, the vast majority of them being newcomers like you, out and away into the next wing.

A chill wracks through you when the word “residential” gets passed down the line of one hundred girls, followed by “prince” and “bedroom” and “handsome.” You scan the white, stone columns as you pass, watching them curve into elegant archways shadowed through the frosted windows. This wing is covered in significantly less dust, and a faint scent of roses and pines floats in the air.

You try to flood out the memories, thinking vigorously about the red carpet before you, the soft slap of two hundred clogs, small shuffles and whispers. Everything around you you swallow up whole, eyes wide as though it will help you take in everything and think about nothing. But you cannot avoid it for long; not when you pass by the entrance to the royal throne room, in all its scintillating enormity, golden thrones set with silk, inlaid with gemstones, all wide open spaces.

And hovering above all four was a single, large oil portrait of the living Creel sovereigns.

King Victor, with his light blue eyes caving underneath the lustrous crown, crisp white beard neatly trimmed. His hand hovered over his wife’s shoulder, smile thin and pale.

Queen Virginia, known for her devout faith and kindness, her amber hair falling in ringlets down to her sides. She sat prim and proper on a ruby-cushioned chair, hands folded prettily, eyes dim.

Princess Alice, the spitting image of her mother, bar her father’s eyes and the last twenty years. Second only to her brother in terms of popularity in the kingdom and out, something distinctly complacent set her brows in such a way you knew instantly why she was desirable to royals and dodged by anyone below them.

And then him.

A part of you hadn’t believed Miss Miriam when she’d called him so.

Your Highness.

But as you looked at him now, standing taller than the rest of his blood, proud and ramrod straight, broad shoulders held back by an invisible force, you knew the portraitist had gotten something wrong.

The hair was right; the golden crown of tousled waves, parted neatly and befitting him far more than any scrap of the earth. The lips, pink and pronounced, and the softness of his brow, and, of course, his posture. All perfect.

But it wasn’t Prince Henry. Not quite.

The eyes. Slate blue and cold, cold, cold. How could the artist have not seen that?

Instead, they were warm and too dark a blue. Almost navy, and gentle, and so soft he almost looked like he was frozen in a smile.

No, no. That wasn’t the Prince Henry you had seen.

Where was the darkness? The cruelty? The evil that shadowed every inch of him?

This was some sterilized version of the crown prince, some unattainable, unreliable, utterly purified visage of him being displayed to the kingdoms in pastime.

He radiated divinity, in and out of the portrait. But without that quality of his that effused danger so potently, you could not help but feel the kingdoms were being sold a lie.

The nervous hiss of your name and a strong grip rattling at your wrist spared you from Prince Henry’s trance once more.

Too much power, he had. Too much… something.

“I get it,” Robin whispered, eyes flitting back and forth as the herd marched on, “completely, I understand. But, you cannot just stand and stare at royalty all day. That’s kind of how you…” she gnawed at the inside of her cheek, “you know, got into your situation in the first place. I’d hate to think what Miss Mule would do if she caught you with a Creel of all people.”

You hesitate to tell her that it was, in fact, a Creel that had gotten you in this position. But if Miss Miriam had decided to hide that information from others, you could only guess there was some merit to hiding that you’d thrown your arms around a prince that was already in high demand.

You had wound up committing one of the worst possible treasons with the worst possible man. You supposed it was quite like learning to swim a day prior and diving into a deep lake the very next day—you’d hit rock-bottom, and you’d only just begun.

To think you shouldn’t already be swinging by your neck right now, face blue and tongue swollen, had the head maid hoarded some minute amount of mercy for you.

That, or she’d known your actions had no great impact upon the integrity of the prince’s pursuits—whether it be accidental or otherwise, Miss Miriam viewed yesterday’s nightmare as a tragic attempt to escape your fate, some sick wishing turned to action wherein you wooed the prince and thus he would marry you.

Of all people. You.

You could retch at the thought.

You’d been raised proper, your parents teaching you well about respect, understanding who deserved it and who did not. They had also taught you that people could be born deserving respect, that it was some inherent betterness of their circumstances that, in turn, warranted curtsies and bowed heads.

Which, in your humble opinion, seemed utter tosh, but so be it. For now, you had a head on your shoulders, feasted somewhat regularly, and slept in warmth. Your clothing had not been sewn by your own hands, and your family was receiving enough coins to not worry about your wellbeing.

No matter that they probably should.

Far be it from you to look gift horses in their mouths, but you felt yourself afforded a nice level of circumspection after your back had been torn to ribbons for a mishap over which you had no control.

You didn’t want to marry the prince. You didn’t want to touch him, and you didn’t want to think about him. And, ignoring all the memories of his larger hands, his blue gaze, his golden strands, and how he may haunt you for years to come, you were quite certain you never wanted to see Prince Henry ever again.

Your back twinged in agreement.

The multitude of fluttering pinafores ahead of you slowed their swishing. Clomping clogs eased into a gentle tapping and finally stopped, and the movements were imparted upon the rest of the maids. A smaller form bumped into your back, and you flinched away, spinning and biting back a cry.

A maid a few years younger than you gaped her mouth, innocence and fear mingling in her expression as brown curls fell over her brow. She seemed so much smaller than the others, more unwitting. Your eyes fell to her hand, a clenched fist in the creases of your skirt, as it hesitatingly fell away.

More distanced shuffling disseminated down the corridor, and you watched the assorted heads of hair in front of you split and separate, clinging to either wall, leaving a wide breadth of distance for someone to pass through. Sunlight filtered between the silent shadows of maids and formed a golden glow of a path.

You followed the others and split off to one side, opposite a window, and grasped blindly for Robin’s hand when she didn’t move to follow. A gentle tug at the fabric of your backside conveyed that the other, younger maid had restored her grip.

From your position, the sun blinded you heavily, and you squinted as a yellow shine overtook everything you saw. White spots splattered your vision when you blinked, but you looked past the maids anyway, curiosity jostling its way down the two lines.

“Your Highness.”

So far ahead, you couldn’t see and only heard Miss Miriam and her staunch and clear-cut announcement. That same loyal tone, somewhat saccharine, frayed your nerves in a second.

The prince?

Curtsies flowed like a wave through the maids, and when you bent low, head bowed, Robin and the young maid followed on either side of you, just as gawky. Nobody rose, and, per Miss Miriam’s orders, nobody would rise until the royalty had passed.

But… dear God, wasn’t it an awful affair that you could tell who it was without even looking? That you could feel a quiet sizzle over the rows of women and girls alike, heard the soft, prideful gait of his finely polished boots.

Back in your village, you’d hated how slowly people could walk. How they’d force you to flounder behind them as they puttered, how they could wander one way and then the other, each footstep a guess. Like they had all the time in the world.

You never would have guessed that a fast pace could be just as troubling. Like he couldn’t stand to be in the same corridor with so many servants, Prince Henry was a brisk wind over the ruby carpets. Even so, you could feel the rise and fall of elation, soft gasps partnered with perfectly timed peeks.

He was a sight to behold—that much had been imprinted on your mind. But he couldn’t possibly be as rumpled as he’d been in the depths of the frosty library, hair thoroughly rakish, white tunic clinging to his golden skin. No; royals held a certain standard of propriety, even as they indulged in the most hedonistic of lifestyles. He must be sheathed in some proper velvet tailcoat, and his face must be severe and sharp, slicing along everything he saw.

Breathtaking in an entirely different way, you were sure.

No, you didn’t look. You couldn’t. You can’t.

Not even as his footsteps approach.

You focus your gaze on your swinging braids, watching them refuse to settle against some unknown breeze. A strain forms in your knuckles with how hard you grip your skirt, and your spine throbs with each heartbeat against the tightened back of your uniform.

Prince Henry slows.

The atmosphere tightens around your little grouping of maids, sun soaking into your black clothing so heavily you can barely breathe.  

We must be in front of a door, some corner he needs to turn to. Something.

Some disturbed pulsing blossoms in your gut when he stops just before you, black boots just inches away. Lithe fingers laden with metal rings hover in your vision.

Prince Henry’s too close all over again.

You want to cry out; you want to say nothing and everything. You want to sink into the furthest recesses of your home miles away just as much as you want to stand at the top of a hill and hold your arms out, waiting for it all.  

Your heart is racing—wild, damned little thing. An insufferable hypocrite after all the ways it had condemned him yesterday for what had happened.

Fingertips, gentle and soft as a single breath, rise and brush over your flaming cheekbone.

A tingle of pain jolts through the bruise so suddenly you flinch away, followed by an indifferent grunt that hangs in the air.

No pity in the sound. No remorse. Barely a hint of acknowledgment.

You want to cradle your cheek and press, hard, at the bridge of your nose, will those wobbling tears to stop. His hand hovers again, twitches near, and, when you lean some scant distance away, falls back to his side.

Within that same second, the boots that hadn’t even turned toward you stalk away. Still fast and proud, no more slows and stops. No more grunts.

But, without a doubt, it was Prince Henry. You’d peeked as the other maids had peeked.

You’d done all that they had done, yet you knew that single touch had doomed you.

That must have been his game. A nice bit of teasing for the maid who'd embraced him; let her be thoroughly beaten down to her station. It was some cruel recognition of what happened to you, some silent sanctioning of a proper punishment.  

Servant does a bad thing; servant gets punished by her peer.

Royal approves. No blood on his hands.

You were right, of course. That portrait was missing Prince Henry’s most vital characteristic: Wickedness.

When the maids rise from their curtsies, trembling thighs and huffed breaths, all eyes fall on you. A range of emotions bombard you before you can rub your cheek.

Wonder.

Awe.

Envy.

And—you can only assume from the thundering footsteps—Miss Miriam’s unparalleled rage.

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Listen, I was not a Tendou fan until I read his part in "moaning another man's name". BAM. SUDDENLY I'M A SIMP FOR THE GUY. I CONSUMED ALL HIS CONTENT IN TWO DAYS. I'M PARCHED. You started this and I can only thank you for it. I LOVE your portrayal of Tendou. <3

YO I LOVE IT WHEN AUTHORS HAVE THAT POWER!! That’s how I got into Garou ngl

I’m so happy you like my stuff for him🥰🥰 and that I even have that ability like damn🤧honestly Tendou really is a babe isn’t he🥵

Wait I have no idea how to work tumblr so I might not have asked to be tagged on my account but my user is bokkubeam :)

Lol, it’s ok, we’ve all done this before

I know I have🥲

Sooooooo... I’m guessing this was you then?

I’m glad you like it!! You’ll def be on the taglist☺️

Reborn (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) ~Chapter 6~

(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: Ayeee, so it wasn’t like riding a bike and maybe just maybe this chapter sucks ass, but here we go! The long awaited part 6 of Reborn! I’m so happy y’all are liking it so far and I can promise you this won’t be the last chapter of *this year.* Winter break’s not over yet, so don’t lose hope now! Merry Christmas from me to you and, as always, enjoy!💜

Tag List: @burntcilantro  @alloverbutterflies  @neonghxst  @zaejia  @momothepeachgirl  @black-veil-chemicalz  @bumblebeel  @blxkstar  @keigosbitch  @spicyiwa  @rikorene  @idiot-juice-enthusiast  @cherriomilkmangos  @floriane4536  @shimy-deko  @lanceyfancypants  @asteroikawa  @bokutowo  @ichiraku-verse  @samie-babie  @astro-anomaly  @hq149  @paganandshit  (some don’t work 😔)

Word count: 4500

        “YN.”

        Bokuto stirs on the ground, whimpering your name just once more while he stutters out a breath. Behind his lids, his eyes stir rapidly but not once does he wake. 

        The sight warms your heart just as much as it pains it. They’re alive, but at what cost? It was clear Kuroo hadn’t bothered to feed them in the week or so that they had been left in the cages, leaving both their bodies to wither to breathing skeletons. 

        Akaashi’s cheekbones jutted out in the moonlight as his head leaned against the wall. His lashes gently brushed the skin just under his eyes as he slumbered but he still looked ready to startle at even the smallest of noises. 

        One of those being your footsteps brushing the concrete of the basement. 

        They fluttered and slid open, revealing those gunmetal blue eyes you adored so dearly. Even though the dank scent of decaying meat stung your nose, you still inhaled when Akaashi seemed awake enough to notice you. 

        “YN…?” he mumbled, sleep and exhaustion gruffing his voice. Your heart jumped at the familiar tone and you bit back a whimper. 

        “Akaashi-”

        “YN!” Akaashi sprung himself up from the dusty floor and crashed into the iron bars, shackled hands clanging against the metal. “YN, oh God, please tell me this is real.”

        “It is,” you nodded, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, “it is, and thank fuck you’re okay.” Carefully, you reached out a hand and cupped his face, releasing a breathless laugh when he kissed your palm before leaning into the hold. 

        Even the smallest touch felt like pure euphoria as Akaashi’s cheek brushed against your fingertips, lighting up a million tingles all throughout your body. A shiver works its way deep through your bones, bringing goosebumps and a haunting reality along with it.

        “Kuroo,” you swallowed, observing as Akaashi’s gaze grew hard, “he said you guys were dead.”

        His jaw twitched but the wizard kept silent, taking the smallest of glances back at Bokuto through the bars of his own cell. 

        The action makes you pause and panic, your hold on Akaashi faltering as you too look at the vampire collapsed on the floor. “Wait, Bokuto, is he-” you glance back at the wizard as he shakes his head, reaching a single hand up to press your palm back against his lips.

        “No, my love, he’s okay. I promise. It’s surprisingly hard to kill the supernatural.”

        “Then why-”

        “Trust me, YN, it’s better if you don’t wake him.” Akaashi’s hold on your wrist tightens in warning, but there’s more concern in his eyes than anything. “You don’t want to see him like this.”

        “Akaashi,” your voice softens as you brush a hair from his forehead. It’s cold to the touch, a disturbing fact you struggle to shake away before you continue. “I’ve seen him through this phase before, and even then I could trust him. Let me try.”

        “My love, forgive me, but you’re wrong.” Your brows furrow as the wizard gazes into your eyes unflinchingly. There’s a concern you’ve never seen before that stuns you for a split second.

        Even Akaashi himself seems haunted by what’s happening to Bokuto just a few feet away. You can still hear his whimpers and see his body tremble, but the younger man was right--there was something feral about the vampire’s movements now. 

        Every twitch jolted his body like a strike of lightning and every moan had the smallest of rumbles layered beneath. His form was curled in on itself, but it seemed like the days he had been in captivity had only stood to make him grow larger. In a single ray of the moon, you could see his hands now.

        His nails had grown sharper than knives and each tip was doused in red. 

        “What happened to him? What changed?” With struggle, you tear your uneasy gaze away from the ecstatic boy you had grown to know. “It’s only been a week--I know he’s gone for longer without… my blood.”

        “Yes, when he knew you were safe. Now, it’s been one week and he hasn’t heard or seen a single thing from you.” The wizard stole another glance at his longtime friend. “Things are different this time. He’s changing and losing control of himself.” 

        Guilt tore at your heart now because, deep down, you couldn’t help but feel this was your fault. Bokuto was in pain because he was worried about your well-being. Back when you were in the mansion, he would constantly check up on you however often he could. When he couldn’t, Akaashi was sent to be the messenger. 

        Now, he’s had no one to reassure him of your safety. Kuroo could have killed you for all he knew and no doubt that thought had been eating at him for the past seven days while he was stuck in this cell. 

        That’s exactly why you needed him to see you now, so he didn’t have to worry anymore. 

        “Akaashi, I can’t just let him stay like that.”

        “YN, don’t!” Akaashi’s eyes widened when you twisted out of his grip and moved towards Bokuto’s cell. The wizard reached for you in a panic but only groaned when his shackles once more clanked against the iron bars like a warning. “YN, please, even I don’t know how he’ll react right now! He’s too dangerous!”

        It didn’t matter. You had left him to suffer like this and you couldn't stand the thought of just leaving him in there without ever letting him see you in return. 

        It wasn’t fair, and in your heart of hearts you knew you wanted to feel his touch just as much as you had wanted Akaashi’s. 

        “Bokuto,” you called out as loud as you thought was appropriate. There was still the variable of you being in what you hoped was a soundproof dungeon to be considered, and you held onto that hope as you tried to get the vampire’s attention. 

        “Bokuto!”

        Nothing. Just another stir of his body and another whimper of your name.

        Akaashi was still reaching for you, warning evident in his voice as pleaded with you in any way possible to stop. 

        “Please, YN, what if he hurts you? I’ve never seen him like this. He could snap, for all we know.”

        You stayed silent, letting the thought of being hurt by Bokuto roll off your back. Even if he did, which you doubted, you didn’t want your finding them to be in vain. 

        If Kuroo were to ever discover you had found them tonight, you at least wanted to see Bokuto one last time and vice versa before the cat undoubtedly took you away.

        However, nothing you whisper-yelled seemed to stir the slumbering vampire. In a last ditch effort, you glanced around the room for something--anything, really. Like… that pebble that just so happened to be inches away from your freezing toes. Perfect.

        “YN, don’t even think about-” Too late.

        The pebble ricocheted right off Bokuto’s temple and onto the floor inches from his face. 

        For a few seconds, you and Akaashi both held your breath as the atmosphere of the basement grew ten times thicker. 

        But nothing happened. 

        In fact, all Bokuto did was stop snoring and even making a peep, and you figured you had found his secret “Silent Mode” button. His body stopped twitching and shivering, and after a couple seconds, Akaashi rolled his eyes and let his shoulders fall to their original place. 

        “Well done, my love. If I had known all I needed to do was throw a rock at Bokuto’s head to shut him up, I would’ve done that the second day we got here.”

        “Akaashi!” you chided, huffing at your failure of a plan. What more could be done that couldn’t wake up the entire werecat clan? 

        The wizard only shrugged. “My love, I know you wanted him to see you, but it was too much of a risk. Neither of us know how he would’ve reacted. Count your blessings and return back to your room before that cat finds you’ve escaped.”

        “Akaashi…”

        “I’ll let him know you were here and you were okay,” he gives you a soft smile before nodding to the creaky door you had entered just twenty minutes ago. “Be safe.”

        “I-”

        “Darling.”

        “Yes?”

        The voice hadn’t startled you in the slightest; it was only the look of shock on Akaashi’s face that had made you realize oh shit, that was Bokuto.

        You swiveled back to the second cell so fast you gave yourself whiplash, your head growing woozy but that didn’t stop you from sprinting back in front of your vampire. 

        His eyes were open now, his back no longer facing you. A shadow was cast on his body when he had rolled over, however, and now all you could see in his dim, molded cell were his glowing red eyes. 

        Two flaring orbs the color of fresh-spilt blood pierced your soul from twenty feet away one second.

        Bokuto’s hand wrapped around your throat the next. 

        Fangs bared, you couldn’t even brace for impact before the shock hit you like a freight train. It numbed the pain you were so used to for what must’ve been a minute as you stood there, a statue of horror. 

        Finally, your brain caught up to the action and you cried out, pushing against Bokuto’s chest as a burning sensation festered against your throat. A loud thumping pounded against your ears as you whined, feeling his teeth dig deeper in than they ever had before. A fogginess took over your eyesight as your knees grew weak; suddenly, all you could do was let your jaw hang open as oxygen lodged in your throat.

        “Bokuto, stop, you’re hurting her!”

        Stop, please. It hurts.

        Oh God, please let me go.

        Muffled under the sound of your blood sloshing against your eardrums, you can hear Akaashi’s yelling and then-

        Two knocks at the wooden door.

        The pressure and pain around your neck all release at the same time and you collapse to the ground, trembling while pressing a hand to your neck in despair. A cry rips its way out of your throat just before the door squeals open. 

        “Am I interrupting something?”

        Kuroo slips in through the doorway, observing the scene with pursed lips. When his gaze lands on you, his dark eyes flash for a split second before he produces a pristine, white handkerchief from the pocket of his basketball shorts. 

        “YN,” the werecat presses a hand against yours on your neck, urging it away before replacing it with the cloth, “did he hurt you?”

        You don’t make a sound, still focusing on trying to steady your breathing while Kuroo crouches by your side. Before you know it, his lips are pressed against your damp forehead and, of course, the reaction is instant. 

        “Don’t touch her!” Akaashi sneers at him, wrapping two fists around his iron bars tight enough to leave his knuckles white. “You have no right to lay a finger on her.”

        “And you do?” Kuroo laughs bitterly as he pulls away, still keeping one hand against your back to keep you upright. “Look what happens at just a little touch.” He gestures from your blood-soaked nightgown up to your shivering shoulders. “She gets hurt.”

        You don’t bother sparing enough energy for a rebuttal. Even an ounce might leave you unconscious any second, so instead you stay silent and observe. 

        Akaashi’s face is guilt-ridden as he stares at you, his eyes just as broken as his heart. Bokuto, on the other hand, is facing away from you entirely. His back is curled over his entire form as he crouches in the darkest corner of his cell, but you can hear the smallest of wails as he does so. His shoulders shiver and shake as he hugs himself, whispering incomplete thoughts littered with “monster,” “kill,” and “YN.”

        “No excuses now, are there?” Kuroo sighs and shakes his head. “You were the ones who hurt her. Can you accept that, or are you so selfish that you still want her to crawl back to you?”

        Akaashi flinches like he’s been slapped, cringing as he avoids complete eye contact with you. Instead, all he can do is stare at the rag slowly gathering more and more blood at your collarbone. 

        At that point, you think the exertion is worth it to defend them, but before you know it, Kuroo’s whisked you up into his arms and carried you all the way through the door with a slam. 

        “Don’t worry, kitten. I won’t let an incident like this ever happen again.”

                                ~~~

        “How’s your steak?”

        “It’s fine.”

        “Too raw? I know you don’t like that much pink in the middle.”

        “It’s fine,” you repeat, sliding the knife back through the meat without so much as a glance towards Kuroo. 

        You know he’s been growing frustrated at your lack of a response lately, but you weren’t quite sure what else to do. It’s been three days since Bokuto attacked you and you still can’t shake it from your mind. 

        Nightmares haunt you, chasing after you with glowing red eyes. As always, you try to run but your feet feel like they’re trapped in quicksand. You’re never fast enough, and then--bite. 

        The bandage on your neck is useless at this point; you know it because you’ve had experience in the neck-wound area. Bokuto’s bites, no matter how hard, only take a day and a half to heal. Only after your first bite was there the lasting effect of trauma and nightmares--now was just another exception. 

        That’s all you wanted it to be, at least. You hoped it was just a little accident (as easy as it is to say after having time to get over the pain). And yet you knew it was hurting the boys trapped deep down in the basement. 

        Sometimes, you still think you can hear Bokuto crying out your name. 

        Most of the time, you blame it on your imagination. 

        “YN.” Kuroo’s snap draws your attention back to him, reminding you that you still had to play nice with him. “Lost up there, huh?”

        “Uh, yeah,” you return to chewing on another bite of steak. “Just thinking.”

        It was a tad too raw.

        “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

        “Doesn’t everybody?”

        Kuroo chuckles, watching over the rim of his glass as you swallow a gulp of wine. “There’s that fire I love.” 

        You almost choke on your drink.

        A sly look appears in his eyes as he stares you down, setting his own utensils on the table to prop his elbows up and fold his hands. From there, he sets his chin down on his knuckles and tilts his head. “You’re thinking about them again, aren’t you?”

        Hmm, play dumb or be honest, play dumb or be honest…

        “Don’t try to play dumb with me.” Damn. “There’s not much you can hide from me anymore, YN. I’ve known you too long.”

        This pisses you off. He didn’t know you. No one really knew you. The only people who knew you were-

        “Bokuto and Akaashi hurt you, YN, and yet you still want to be with them. If that’s not blind love, I don’t know what is.”

        “They didn’t-

        “How’s that bite doing, by the way?”

        “Don’t,” you hiss, throwing him a nasty glare. “Don’t pretend you know shit about how I feel or who I care for.”

        “Do you care for me?”

        “Fuck you.”

        “That’s not an answer,” Kuroo simpers.

        “Maybe try that ‘thinking’ thing and you’ll find one.”

        His face falls and his jaw clenches. “Fine. I relent,” he holds his hands up as a gesture of peace before picking up his knife and fork once more, digging back into his dinner. “That topic of conversation makes me lose my appetite anyway.”

        Nostrils flaring, you take another indignant sip of wine.

        Kuroo eyes you as you do so, lips twitching as you set down the glass. “Let us talk about something else, kitten.”

        “Please no.”

        “What did sweet little Akaashi tell you about magic?”

        His question actually prods your interest for once and you sit up a little straighter. What did you remember? Only that he didn’t want you to mess with it or you would die… or something along those lines. 

        “Judging by your curiosity, I’m guessing it wasn’t much.” Kuroo licks his lips. “Though, might I add having your full attention is thrilling, if I do say so myself.”

        “Get on with it, jackass.”         “At least I get a nickname. One point for me,” Kuroo snickers. You roll your eyes and empty the rest of the wine glass, but that only seems to excite him more. 

        “Kitten,” he finally begins, “magic can be wielded by anyone. Spells and such can be cast by your average Joe.”

        Anyone? Kuroo’s point in all of this was still beyond you, so you urged for him to continue. 

        “So?”

        “So, wizards only exist for the simple reason that they are the only people powerful enough to use and create light magic. ‘If the soul is pure’ and all that other bullshit.”

        “Why are you telling me this, Kuroo?”

        “Because, kitten, dark magic can be wielded by anyone--though, using it is… severely frowned upon.”

        At that moment, you felt a twinge in your stomach. A small churning that lifted up, up, up into the top of your chest and expanded until you almost felt it hard to breathe. 

        And then the bubble burst. 

        Burp.

        “Oop, excuse me.” You cleared your throat. “Anyways, fascinating story, Kuroo, but what does this have to do with, oh, I don’t know, anything?”

        A glint of something sparked in Kuroo’s gaze but disappeared just as fast. “Nothing, kitten. Just thought you would have liked to know. And now, something you might be more interested in.”

        “Yes?” Like you were on the edge of your seat. 

        The werecat huffed, his irises growing thinner. “I’ve decided to allow you one visit to those scumbags, but don’t expect me to be this generous again.”

                                ~~~

        Walking down the same hallways you had followed just days ago felt… bittersweet. You wanted to feel excited about seeing Akaashi and Bokuto again but it felt like a boulder had been dropped in your chest, shoving down any ecstatic emotions you’d expected to have. 

        Something was terribly wrong. 

        Kuroo wasn’t being any too discreet about the situation either. A forced frown but glowing eyes told you to be wary of whatever you were going to find in the basement. 

        Or whatever was going to happen. 

        You knew you would have to confront what had happened with Bokuto. What he’d… done to you. As you followed the marbled paths of Kuroo’s home with two werecats just on your tail, you couldn’t help but feel the urge to curl up in a hole and hide rather than discuss that. 

        You’d rather eat bugs. You’d rather bungee jump and break the string. You’d rather-

        “We’re here.”

        The boy you’d assumed was Kenma--and rightfully so--lackadaisically gestured towards the door, not even bothering to open it for you before walking off with his friend.

        “Wait!” You held out a hand to stop him, “You’re not… like, supposed to come in with me?” Not that you wanted him to, but you figured Kuroo would want some sort of visual on you while you talked to your soulmates. 

        “Do you need me to wipe your ass too?” the blond man sneered, one hand on his hip while the other clutched a phone at his side. “Just hurry up before I leave you to find your way back to your room.”

        With that, he dropped to the floor just outside the hall, legs laid out flat in front of him while he began tapping away on the glowing screen. 

        What a delightful guy. 

        Huffing a sigh, you hugged the sweatshirt around your body closer to your stomach, remembering just how cold and miserable the room had been the last time. Though the horrifying end of the reunion just three nights ago had shocked any thought of temperature from your mind, you still remember returning to your room that night with blue fingers.

        Just the thought made you wonder how Bokuto and Akaashi were even still alive in there. 

        Swallowing all your anxiousness, you tiptoed your black sneakers all the way to the oak door at the end of the hall and hovered a hand over the chrome knob. 

        Even in the flickering light, you could see your warped appearance. Thick, dark circles framing red-stained eyes served as a heavy reminder that you hadn’t gotten a solid night’s sleep in a week. You could feel your own mouth draw into a natural frown and couldn’t bother to put in the effort to smile. 

        You knew this interaction was going to suck, but it was the not knowing of how much that made you refrain from even turning the handle. 

        Just when you made the conscious thought to cover your nail-bitten fingers with a cotton sleeve, you heard Kenma rise from his position on the floor and walk away. 

        Well that didn’t last long. 

        And with that, you opened the door. 

        The staircase was more haphazard and creaky than you remembered. Each step squealed under the slightest pressure, making every move you made sound like rat torture. There was a distinct scent of bleach and body odor that wafted up and singed your nose hairs as you crept down the stairs, a held breath bubbling your cheeks. 

        Like night and day, the room you now entered had a depressing atmosphere about it. Or, at least, that’s what it gave you. This time, there were no waves of excitement arriving with thumping heartbeats in your chest. This time, you knew exactly what you were getting into.

        Starting with Akaashi, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor. 

        Unsurprisingly, Bokuto was curled up in the same corner, but it appeared like he hadn’t moved since the last time you’d come down. 

        Part of you was thankful you didn’t have to be met with those glowing red eyes again. 

        Akaashi’s eyes cracked open the second he heard you scuffing along the floor, and he rose from his position with extreme care. Cautiously, he held up his cuffed hands and approached the bars. He was trying not to scare you away. 

        “YN.” He mumbled your name with a tenderness you would find in a mother consoling her child. “Are you okay?”

        Anger bubbled at the words. Surely he was patronizing you? In the back of your head, you felt a voice scratching at you, trying to tell you that this was Akaashi. You cared for him as he cared for you, and he didn’t deserve a lick of mistreatment. Neither of them did. 

        Fuck that.

        “Am I okay?” You scoffed, throwing him a bitter smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Akaashi, do I look okay? Does the bruise around my throat look okay? Does my bleeding wound look okay? You tell me if I look okay!”

        Fury lodged itself in your throat as you charged towards his cell, sneering when he backed away just out of reach. Your hands wrapped around the bars and tightened just enough to satisfy your urge to strangle. 

        “My love, calm down.” Akaashi looked you over, head-to-toe, with a concerned gaze. “Something’s wrong, just tell me.”

        “Aww, of course sweet little Akaashi wants to make everything better,” you pouted, puppy dog eyes on full display. “What are you gonna do? Curse all my pain away like last time?”

        The wizard flinched at the jab, furrowing his brows before setting his jaw. “This isn’t you, YN. Kuroo’s done something to you.”

        “That’s where you’re wrong, my love,” you spat. “This is me finally being honest with you. Doesn’t the truth hurt like a bitch?”

        He pursed his lips, forcing himself to stay silent while observing your every move like a hawk. The feeling of his eyes on your skin only helped to piss you off more. With an indignant huff from your nose, you released your iron-grip on the bars of his cell and stepped back, lifting your chin to stare down at him. 

        “All right, Akaashi. Hide that anger like you always do, but I won’t hold back. And you know who else won’t hold back?” You drag your gaze to the right, trailing along the musty room until finally landing on the slumped form in the corner of the only other cell. A perfect target. 

        Akaashi didn’t even bother to follow your gaze before shaking his head. “Please, YN, whatever Kuroo’s done to you, don’t take it out on him. Bokuto’s already punishing himself enough for what happened.”

        “No, Akaashi.” At last, the wet blanket spoke. “I deserve whatever she has to say.”

        “Bo-”

        The vampire cut off his friend by rising abruptly, joints cracking with the movement as he stumbled over to the bars of the cell to face you. 

        Seeing his face made you pause in your agenda. The last time you had seen him, you never really got to study his face--especially with all the biting that was happening. Now, you finally noticed. 

        His eyes were back to their signature golden, though they may as well still have been red considering how bloodshot they were. The skin of his cheeks were damp while his lips were bitten and bleeding, and all you could focus on was just how much love he still held in his gaze. It was disguised as regret as he slumped his shoulders in so much he could’ve caved in on himself any second. 

        You loved it. He had become so broken like an empty shell of himself that he couldn’t even bear to look you in the eyes and confront his mistake. The guilt wafted of him in waves and you drank it right up. 

        The nagging voice in the back of your head fought back full force and stole the glare right off your face, but it never stood a chance against the words that slipped out of your mouth. 

        “I hate you.”

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