The Darling Escape Scenarios Are Sooo Good, I Love This Series 😭 The Fact That Bokuto Was Afraid Above

I'm so sorry it took me so long to finally read the second part. Again, I'm on my knees for desperate and in love Gaz. To have a man half as devoted as Gaz is would be a DREAM

ahhhh you're all good I just posted the final part and am mentally and emotionally exhausted...

...which means he is wonderfully whiny and needy all over again. I'm actually considering posting the blurbs i have left over from my idea doc for this fic but we'll see how this last part gets received first😬

but I'm so glad you enjoyed the second part!!🥹

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

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

*GIF not mine*

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

Word count: 4856

Billy Hargrove: 

“I don’t like him.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The prude. 

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

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

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

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

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

“YN-”

You flinched. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. He hated this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, come on! Am I wrong?”

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

“Easily.” 

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

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

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

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

He needed you.

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

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

It’s me. It has to be.

She’s talking about-

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

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

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

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

-Me.

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

She’s in love with me.

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

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

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

He could fucking have it, too. 

She’s in love with me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you were just so fucking perfect. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday. Fucking Monday?

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

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

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

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

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

But who fucking cared, right?

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

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

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

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

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

And catch you he did. 

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

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

She’s in love with me.

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

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

So fucking cute.

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

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

Come back to me. I need you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Going somewhere?”

“I guess not.”

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

“Umm nope, don’t think so.”

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean it-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just say it again.”

His eyes darted over your face, desperate.

“Please.”

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

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

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

“I’m in love with you, Billy.”

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

Finally. Fucking Finally.

You were his, completely. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I might-”

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

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

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

Then she held out a hand, brows raised expectantly. 

“You owe me.”

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

“Keep the change.”

“With pleasure.”

MY FRIENDS AND I WERE DISCUSSING AND THEY WERE LIKE "You know you'd be the perfect darling" and I was like "Excuse me?" And the reason was "Well... If they treated you right you wouldn't care about anything else... As long as your Yandere wouldn't hurt you or the people you actually care about I doubt that you'd actually try to escape" and I was like 👁️👄👁️ but I couldn't even say no cause they were right 😂 As long as I'm "Okay" I wouldn't even care that I'm kidnapped by a psycho 🤷🏻‍♀️

Agakdhjsjdks dudeeeee🤦‍♀️

Bruh I just imagine like you sitting on a couch eating Cheetos while your yandere is downstairs fucking murdering someone.

Guy dying: SOMEONE HELP ME

this anon: y’all hear sumn

Hi! Can you do a yandere!Garou vs yandere!Metal Bat, maybe like the reader is friends with both of them but she is oblivious to their feelings or their flirting, they at first did not know of each other but then saw either one of them see the other with her and gets REALLY pissed.

Yandere Garou and Metal Bat Crushing on the Same Oblivious Darling (Yandere OPM Headcanons)

*GIF not mine*

A/N: Okay so honestly, this idea is so good. Like it’s legit amazing and I love it so much. But (yeah, I knew you heard it coming) I wasn’t sure if I should do headcanons or a scenario for it, but I finally settled on headcanons just so I could get it out there. That being said, I’m sorry this took a little while and I hope you like it! (Side note: Thanks for 1.3k followers y’all!!🥳🥳) 

Word count: 1630

Good lordy I love this so much. 

Lemme just say, Garou is not a shy yandere when it comes to being around you. 

You’d have to be a special kind of stupid to not notice how much he wants you.

As soon as he sees how innocent and oblivious you are, he cranks up the charm to a ten. 

Teasing, flirting, he does it all. He’s never timid about touching you, always wanting to feel you and such. His hands are everywhere, and he’s “accidentally” groped your ass one too many times. 

Though Garou doesn’t exactly take you on dates, he does try to be around you when he’s not busy beating people up. You’re just so understanding and caring about his side of things that he doesn’t want to let you go. 

God, it’s almost annoying how you laugh off every single one of his flirtations. 

Seriously, it’ll be like: 

*Garou hugs you and kisses your cheek, whispering that he loves you*

“Well dang, you’re being extra friendly today!” 

*cue facepalm*

Meanwhile, Metal Bat doesn’t know he’s a yandere. While Garou is fully aware that he would watch the world burn just to have you in his arms, this hero is a little less intense. 

In all honesty, I think Badd would only go so far as to follow you everywhere, once again, when he’s not busy being a hero. 

He thinks he’s just trying to keep you safe, and being nearby as much as possible is the most efficient way to do that. 

Often times, you’ll meet him in the grocery store or the mall at the same time he’s shopping there (and by “often,” I mean always)

Of course, he’ll have to bring his little sister along and the whole time, she’s just like “this is the fifth time we’ve been to the grocery store this week. If they don’t have what you’re looking for by now, they’ll never have it.”

Nah, but seriously, Zenko knows Badd loves you. If she sees you, she’ll try to tell you, but you only laugh it off. She’d be so confused, always saying that you’re stupid for not noticing it, and by that point, Badd’s gotta drag her away with some shitty excuse, like she’s got a dance recital or smth. 

Anyways, back to it. Metal Bat will only discover he doesn’t want you around other people when he sees you talking to other guys. If I’m honest, the moment he realizes he’s a yandere is when he finally sees you and Garou together. 

✨Story Time✨

Zenko wanted to go play at the park, and being the adoring brother he is, he takes her there. 

As she runs off to go on the swings with her friends, Metal Bat settles onto a comfy park bench to look over her. 

While he leans back and crosses one leg over the other, he catches a glimpse of another bench through a collection of trees and surprise surprise, guess who’s on it?

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you, but you’re not alone. Wearing a beautiful sundress, you giggle and smile widely at an all-too familiar man. 

That piece of shit Hero Hunter.

Badd’s blood boils and he begins seeing red. 

Garou’s hands are too touchy-feely; the hero wouldn’t mind ripping them clean off the villain himself. 

His fingers are practically up your skirt, caressing the skin of your thigh while you animatedly tell him a story about what must’ve been your most recent trip to a theme park. 

Badd had gone with you to that theme park. He had been the one to bring you there at the insistence of his little sister. 

Fuck, he could feel himself itching to kill. Zenko wouldn’t be able to see him through the trees, i.e. that bastard was free game. 

Unsurprisingly, where Metal Bat is, his metal bat isn’t far behind. 

You never expected this to happen. 

One minute, Garou was chuckling at your story, arm thrown around your shoulder without a care in the world. 

The next, an all-out brawl was happening before your very eyes. 

You couldn’t hold back a scream; it was terrifying the way your two guy friends went after each other. 

Badd swung his bat straight for Garou’s head, only to miss and catch his tufts of hair after the latter ducked. 

Everything was happening too fast for you to comprehend, with both men moving faster than the speed of light. 

Garou delivers a spine-chilling strike directly to Badd’s head that’s got his face slowly dripping blood. Immediately after, Garou takes a hit right to the stomach that has him coughing up the same color liquid. 

By now, the grunts and yells are too loud for the entire park not to hear. Parents and children flee the area at the sight of a white-haired man flying through the trees only to crash into the metal jungle gym brutally. 

“KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF HER, YOU SCUMBAG!”

Garou’s back on his feet and blocking another swing with blue-tinted hands, taking all of Metal Bat’s force and redirecting it into the hero’s gut.

The battle leaves you cowering on the bench, watching with horrified eyes as they battle each other barbarically. Animalistic growls escape one while the other actually dodges and attacks on four legs. 

“SHE’S MINE TO TOUCH, HERO!”

Their words don’t fluster you, and that’s mostly because you don’t hear them. Their sneers and snarls are much more distracting than anything that actually leaves their lips. 

“Oh God.” The words are more a rushed sigh than anything. You whisper them in alarm as soon as you spot Zenko only a few feet away from the fight, crying much like how you want to right now. Suddenly, nothing else matters.

“Oh God, oh shit, oh God,” you push yourself off the bench and sprint toward the little girl, running straight through the park’s playground area and hurtling a slide on the way. 

At the sight of your mad dash, both men pause in their jabs, Badd’s bat only inches away from Garou’s head while said man halts a kick halfway to his side.

Both gazes are locked on you, partly in fear that you were trying to run away from the two of them. “YN,” they simultaneously breathe out, dropping their stances and watching your every move. 

“Zenko!” you call out, sliding down to your knees and gathering the sobbing girl into a hug. “Shh, it’s okay.”

Awestruck. That’s what they were. Neither could speak as they watched you mutter comforting words to the young girl and pat her back. 

Without another sound, Badd jogs over to you both and kneels down into the grass as well. 

“Oh Zenko, I’m so sorry.” At hearing her brother’s voice, the girl leaves your arms and falls into his, sniffling against his shoulder as she shivers. 

You watch the scene with an unreadable expression, not even flinching at the feeling of a hand dropping to your shoulder. “YN-”

“Don’t.” Your hiss catches Badd’s attention too, peering up from the hug to watch you shake your head. 

“I don’t want to see either of you ever again.” 

Garou’s nostrils flare while Badd hugs his sister tighter, clenching his eyes closed at the words. It’s what they deserved. 

“YN, that’s-”

“Just leave me alone.”

Months pass, four to be specific. 

Metal Bat watches through your apartment window from the rooftop, bat slung over his shoulders as he watches you sleep on your living room couch. 

“Did you get the house?” The voice’s owner had snuck up behind him, but Badd doesn’t flinch. 

“Yeah. It’s back in City Z. The place is practically abandoned, so no one will find it.”

“Good.” Garou finally saddles up beside Metal Bat, eyes softening at the sight of you.

They can’t help but think back to a few weeks ago when you had finally agreed to meet up with them. 

“You have to choose, YN.” Garou sneers at the hero next to him.

“No, I don’t.” Even folding your arms and gritting your teeth at them, you were beautiful. “You guys are- were my friends, but that was it.”

“That’s a goddamn lie,” Badd spits, stepping closer only to halt when you flinch away. He hated that look of disdain your eyes had adopted for him over the past month. 

“Who do you want, YN?” Garou insists, just barely stopping himself from reaching for your hand. 

A minute of painstaking silence feels more like a minute as you glare at both of them. “Okay,” you shrug at last, relief flooding their bodies when you speak up. 

“I don’t want either of you. Now leave me alone like I asked.”

A compromise had been struck that night. You couldn’t choose between them, they couldn’t let you go, and both wanted to ensure you would never move on and find someone else. 

“All right. It’s midnight. We only have a few hours to get everything she has before the sun comes up.”

“You brought the chloroform, right?”

“Psh, of course I did. I’m not an idiot.” 

“Okay, then let’s do this.” 

They both loved you, so, so much darling. Now, don’t fight them, and they’ll make you happy for the rest of your life.

Gray Chains (Yandere Michael Gray x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Michael needs to see you. It’s been three days after being shot by Luca Changretta’s men, and he knows you need to see him too--especially since you’re chained up against his headboard for trying to escape from him too many times. 

A/N: I mean gotta admit I’m in a yandere Michael Gray kinda mood, and there’s only like two fics of that out there :( Gotta do whatcha gotta do ig. Enjoy!

Word count: 3068

        Polly’s grip on your wrist is so tight you can barely feel the tips of your bluing fingers. You’re used to such pain, though; underneath her hand are more permanent, more reddened markings from the handcuffs you had been wearing before Polly had found you.

        “We’re almost there,” she mumbled under her breath, head snapping back and forth every few minutes to search each room you passed. Your feet and calves ached from the pace she had set for the two of you, quick and impatient ever since you’d stepped out of Michael’s townhouse. You hadn’t moved this far, this fast for months. 

        Not since you first tried to escape Michael. 

        Even now, you couldn’t breathe. Every gasp of air was caught in your throat, choking you slowly while tasting of antiseptic. A sort of panic-stricken excitement ran through your body from being outside the gray walls of Michael’s home for the first time in who knew how long. 

        Just hours ago that was where you had been, one hand secured in a metal cuff that only reached as far as the bathroom, the other end of which was placed around Michael’s headboard. 

        You knew something had gone awry when Michael hadn’t returned home to deliver you your usual meal every six hours for a straight three days; when he hadn’t shyly knocked on the door to his own bedroom, a tray of homemade cooking in his hands and an innocent smile on his face; “I made you something, love.”

        Three straight days. Your stomach rumbled as a reminder even now. 

        “Speed up now, won’t you,” Polly ordered, still frantically pushing the pair of you past marble hallways filled with nurses and patients roaming. “The room is up here.”

        You’d given up asking what had happened to Michael. Polly was unresponsive to your every question, too focused on lugging you behind her to say anything else but “He’s been asking for you.”

        When you had first heard the door unlock to Michael’s house this morning, you had thought it was him. “Where the hell have you been?” you’d called, a disturbing hint of relief in your frustrated tone. If he was going to lock you up like an animal, you’d thought to yourself, he should at least have planned for times like this where he doesn’t show up for days. 

        But the second you heard the footsteps up the stairs sound lighter than normal, you sat up at attention in the bed, eyes locked on the doorway. Who…?

        Polly. Polly who had almost been hanged, who was now addicted to pills and thought she could see spirits, who was a strong, capable woman that defended others and cared deeply for her family. This was how Michael described his mother to you. He’d wanted you to meet her so badly, but only when you were ready--complaisant was what he really meant. 

        “You must be YN,” she’d said breathlessly, pausing only a second to study your situation. 

        You swallowed, unmoving from your spot on the bed. “Yes.” She was the first person you’d seen for so long aside from Michael. 

        Then she produced a key from the pocket of her coat and approached you swiftly. 

        “Yes, yes--please,” you held up your cuffed hand before her, eyes watering with relief, “please, you must get me out of here. He’s kept me here so long.” Finally, someone had come to save you, you thought. You were leaving this place forever.

        When that small voice in the back of your mind whispered, “What about Michael?” you ignored it.

        The metal chains had hit the floor with soft clangs, and she’d pocketed the key once again. You remembered rubbing a hand over the sore skin of your wrist, eyes wide with wonderment at the sight of your hand unaccompanied by gray metal. 

        Then Polly’s hand replaced your own, tight and unforgiving as she tugged at your arm. “Come along now,” she ushered you out of the house, you willingly following her like a ragdoll. “He wants to see you.”

        “What?” That’s not what you had expected her to say. 

        “He’s been asking for you.”

        You never bothered to ask who. After all, you should have never thought Michael’s mother had come to save you. 

        Gangsters, you told yourself. Criminal scum, the lot of them. You should have never taken a walk down the streets of Birmingham, and you should have never smiled at Michael Gray. 

        “They’re asleep, fuckin’ lazy scumbags,” Polly spat, slowing her pace when she caught sight of one of the larger hospital rooms. She didn’t let up on your wrist but instead pushed you into the room first before following.

        Michael. 

        What happened to him?

        Half of his upper body was wrapped in white surgical tape, while the other half was blanched enough to rival the tape’s color. His eyes were closed, puffy and rimmed with dark circles that hung over prominent cheekbones like upended crescent moons. His pale, chapped lips were held in a thin line that twitched at the new, noisier presences in the room.

        A shiver traveled down your spine at the sight of him in such a way, and suddenly your hands trembled at your sides. You couldn’t feel the pain in your wrist anymore. 

        “On your feet,” you heard behind you. A few moments, and some rustling. “Wait outside.”

        The door clicked behind you, then it clicked again. Locked. Polly came up from behind you a second later, ignoring your presence completely as she set two flasks of alcohol on the table of Michael’s hospital bed before pulling up a chair beside him. 

        Tugging off her coat, she moved to lay it over Michael’s legs until he spoke. 

        “Mum,” he mumbled blindly, his voice raw and strained from lack of use. 

        “Michael,” Polly cooed then, leaning in closer over him to dab his face with a rag. He was so broken that moving his lips to talk was strenuous enough to break a sweat. Even his fingers twitched slowly, weakly. You’d never seen him so frail and battered.

        Your heart stuttered in an unsettling way. 

        “Is she-”

        “Don’t move.” She soaked up the perspiration on his brow next, humming warningly. “You took four bullets.”

        “But-”

        “She’s here--the girl. I brought her like you asked.” Polly didn’t spare you a glance, not that you noticed. You were frozen in place, gaze still wandering over each wrap on his body. One, two, three, four bullets. He’s still alive. He’s still alive. 

        “YN,” he murmured, eyes opening a sliver. “YN. You’re here.” 

        You took a step toward him instinctively, hand raising from your side, before realizing your mistake and steadying yourself in place. 

        A smile tugged at his lips, paining him somewhat but not stopping him. He moved to sit up, to reach out for you as well, but a groan forced its way from him when he tried. With furrowed brows, he sucked a breath through his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. 

        Polly inhaled all the meanwhile, hovering her hands over his form to stop him from moving any more. “What did I tell you? Lie back.”

        “YN, please, come closer, love.”

        Polly turned her gaze towards you, accusatory. “Come!” she ordered, gesturing with her head to Michael’s other side. Her gaze fell back on him again when you drew closer to the bed, and her hard face softened. 

        Even with eyes struggling to stay open, Michael’s stare was adoring upon you. Like always, he stared at you as though you’d hung the moon and stars in the sky. You’d been under that loving, worshiping gaze for months now. Even now, it placed such a heavy weight on your chest that you found yourself stumbling closer, only flinching away when your fingertips made contact with his arm. 

        He drew you in like a moth to a flame ever since you first met. Only after he’d locked you up in his house did your feelings for him leave a disgusting taste on your tongue. 

        You stayed a few inches apart from him, ignoring how his hand struggled at his side to reach for you. 

        “Love, please. I want to feel you. I need to know you’re really here.”

        Two pairs of eyes were on you then. Polly’s glared like a coiled snake, and Michael’s pleaded like a puppy dog.

        You edged closer, letting your hand drop on top of his. Quickly, Michael maneuvered your fingers to interlock with his, and he sighed in relief. You forced your attention away from the warmth spreading in the center of your chest and onto Polly, who dug through her bag. 

        “I’ve missed you so much, love.” His thumb ran over your knuckles. “I was so afraid I’d never get to see you again. I was so scared I was never going to hold you again.”

        His words wrapped around you like a weighted blanket, heavy and overbearing yet warm and comforting. You wanted to throw up.

        “Michael,” Polly gathered his attention somehow, pulling his face toward hers as she laid out a pamphlet on his bedside. Australia, it read. “Please listen. John’s dead, and this whole town’s fucked. We need to get out of here.”

        “No,” he grunted, hand squeezing yours.

        She rolled her eyes. “You can take the girl. Just listen--there’s no mafia, no fucking American gangsters in Australia. Now, the doctor said you can walk in five weeks, and the boat leaves February thirteenth. That gives us plenty of time.”

        Five weeks. You glanced at Michael’s form, practically curling in on itself in pain. It was only held together by stitches and strips of cloth. He wouldn’t be out of the hospital for months, even if he could walk. 

        “We’re not going anywhere, Mum.”

        But you could. How could he possibly come after you, stuck here like a mummified corpse with four bullet holes in it. Without him to lock you up in his house, to tie you down and feed you and hold you, you could escape him easily. You would never have to see Michael again. 

        Your stomach growled, drawing Michael’s attention. His face fell into despair at the sound, and his eyes fluttered closed in regret. “YN, fuck, I’m so sorry. I never thought something like this would happen.”

        “Michael, please,” Polly begged, “we must go there and see your sister.”

        “Mum, later.” He looked back at you, face riddled with guilt. “Love, I’m sorry you were alone for so long.”

        “Michael-”

        “Mum!” His head snapped back to her, frustration barely concealed in his tone. “Please. Just go call Tommy and tell him to bring me a gun for the room. Business needs to be done first before we take any trips.”

        “Michael, it’s not safe. Not if we stay here. Tommy cannot protect us.”

        “Not if you don’t help him, Mum. Please,” he lay his other hand over the pamphlet, pursing his lips before pressing it closed once more in her grasp, “help Tommy first. Help the company first, then I promise we’ll board that train to Australia to go see Anna.”

        Tears began trailing down Polly’s face, and you glanced away out of courtesy. Michael was so different with his mother than he was with you. Around you, he treated you like you could do no wrong. Like you were the perfect woman, the perfect wife. Sometimes he held you as though you were made of glass, and other times he almost broke your ribs in his tight embraces. He’d whisper to you at night about how you were his greatest achievement, his greatest gift. 

        With his mother, now, he treated her as though she were a five-year-old in need of constant supervision and direction. Michael had vaguely told you about the situation with his mother, how he’d only first met her a couple years ago, but never much more than that. You had a feeling that if the Polly in front of you now were in any better shape, that same Polly that so clearly wanted you to act like a better girlfriend to her son and had dragged you down streets and through alleys just for him, then she would never give Michael’s orders a second thought. 

        Polly nodded, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks with gloved hands with a willing, yet trembling, smile. “Fine.” She rose to her feet, grasping her purse off the nightstand and shoving the pamphlet inside. “Fine. I’ll go see Tommy.”

        She moved to leave, snatching the two flasks off the table in the meantime, before she seemed to remember something. She turned back to Michael again, and her gaze flitted to yours once. 

        “The girl. I saw the state she was in, Michael.”

        He tensed, and as a result your hand twinged in pain. 

        “Do you want me to take her back to the house?”

        All of the tension left Michael’s body in a single sigh, and he shook his head once. “No,” he smiled softly, “I want YN to stay with me here.”

        She nodded slowly, eyes falling on you one final time before she disappeared out the door. When it clicked shut, Michael’s gaze latched onto you, half-lidded, exhausted, but still very much attentive to you.

        “You will, won’t you? Stay with me here, I mean?”

        Silence fell over the room. You stared down at the man who just days ago had towered over you on his own bed, hands and lips all over you, owning you. 

        “You know why I do this, love, don’t you?” he’d always say, lips running over the raw skin of your wrist, free of the cuff whenever he was present. “It’s because I need you.” Another kiss. “I will always need you.”

        Then you twisted your hand from his grasp, backing away from the bed with flared nostrils. “I,” you shook your head, “I don’t know.”

        “No, no, love, please, don’t do this to me.” Michael grunted and groaned as he fumbled against the sheets, body fighting against his urge to move. His arms raised slowly and weakly from his sides as if each had been strapped down with weights. When he reached out for you, the sweat on his wrinkled brow glistened in the sunlight. 

        “Don’t, please. I love you so much, love, don’t do this to me.”

        You wanted to argue with logic. You wanted to twist his words and say, well how could you do that to me for all that time, huh? How could you tell me you love me every day, knowing that the only reason I have to listen to you is because of the prison walls around me? If you really loved me, how could you do that to me?

        But you didn’t because--it seemed--he’d finally got what he’d wanted. Oh how you missed the days where he’d begged and pleaded with you to love him and understand him, and how you missed those times where you said you didn’t and that you hated him. And you missed when those words were the truth, because it meant he hadn’t beaten you into submission. 

        Yet.

        But he was winning, wasn’t he now?

        As he breathed faster and perspired harder and called your name louder, you rounded the bed, still just out of his grasp, before settling down into Polly’s former seat. 

        Right then, he quieted himself like a sated child sucking on a pacifier. 

        “Fine, then.” You spat, more angry at yourself than you could ever be at him--because look what you’d allowed him to do to you. “Fine, you fucking win.”

        He remained silent.

        “I’ll stay here with you. And five weeks from now, I’ll still fucking be here, helping you stand up and walk around. And then soon after we’ll go to fucking Australia with your mother. And then after that I’ll fucking follow you there too, won’t I?” You were disgusted with yourself, with the feelings he’d force-fed into you until they were all you wanted. 

        Then you grabbed his hand, still reaching for you from the side of the hospital bed, and intertwined your fingers. Perfect, you’d thought, a perfect fucking fit. 

        Michael pulled the pair of hands up to his lips, kissing along your knuckles and smiling all the while. “Thank you, love.” His lips trailed up your arm. “Thank you.” Kiss. “Thank you.” Kiss. “Thank you.” Kiss.

        He tugged you closer and closer still, waiting until you leant over him enough to pull your lips onto his. 

        You had lost this battle against your own feelings long before Polly had dragged you out of the house, you realized. It was long before the day he’d first missed his meal with you, and you knew it because instead of wondering if you were going to be fed by your captor, you wondered if the man you loved was ever going to come home to you again. 

        You also knew it when his lips separated from yours for a breath, and he wasn’t the only one who had chased for a second chance at the kiss. 

        “Stay with me always, love,” he mumbled against your lips. “I need you. I’ll always fucking need you.”

        “I know,” you leaned your forehead against his, running your fingertips over his lips, his cheek, his hair. 

        “I won’t ever leave you again, love. I promise.” His hands cupped your face, holding you in place just an inch away so you could feel his words on your lips. “I won’t ever let anyone take me away from you.”

        “I’ll hold you to that,” you murmured, tearing your gaze away from his to stare down at the tape lacing his battered form. You hovered a hand over the strips, wondering where each of the four bullet holes was. 

        “And nobody will take you from me,” he tapped your chin, pulling your attention back to his face, “right, love?”

        “Never, Michael.” You shook your head, nose brushing his. “Never.”

        “That’s right,” he hummed under his breath. “Never.”

Part 2

“dude” but like romantically

Bet (Tsukishima x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: You ended up wearing a green bean costume to school the next day. Why? Ugh, don’t ask. 

A/N: Looking up April Fools pranks for this fic was just about the best research I’ve done for a story in a while. Hope you like it! (Again, thank you guys so much for the likes and follows, they make me so happy I almost screech and scare the shit out of my parents!)

Word count: 1245

        “Kei, there’s no way your teammates are that stupid.” 

       “Oh yeah? You wanna bet?” You did, and you really thought you would win, too. Oh, how wrong you were. 

       It was April Fools, and Tsukishima came up with a simple prank to test just how oblivious the Karasuno volleyball team could be. Before practice began, you were to bring in a box of original glazed-donuts to the second gym. Nothing too special, it’s just that on the top of the box you wrote “Happy April First!” in bright green letters. The fear and anxiety in the team captain’s eyes was instantaneous. 

       “Hey guys, I brought in donuts for you all!” you announced cheerfully, setting down the closed box on one of their metal benches. Even Kiyoko, who had been seated there, stood quickly and watched the donuts with suspicion. Chuckling behind your hand, you joined a smug Tsukishima near the entrance and waited for the show to begin. At first, the whole team had been ecstatic about the gift and thanked you loudly, but smiles dropped off each and everyone’s faces one-by-one the closer they stepped to it, evidently reading the note on top. 

       Giving your boyfriend a pointed look, you gestured to his teammates and whispered, “See, I told you they wouldn’t-” you were cut off by the sound of the box opening, and whipped your head over in surprise to see the culprits. It was Hinata and Kageyama, glancing inside in wonder at the deliciously glazed pastries. 

       You gawked at the sight, but Tsukishima’s smirk only grew while he folded his arms and leaned against the wall comfortably at the scene. “Guys, wait!” Daichi warned, his arm reaching out in protest, but he was too late. The rest of the team watched in horror as the ginger and the blueberry inhaled the donuts without so much as pausing at their captain’s exclamation, licking their fingers and shouting a “Thank you!” at you before returning to the court. Visibly shaken at the spectacle that had just occurred, Kiyoko reclaimed her place on the bench numbly as the rest of the team returned to practice with bewildered expressions. They were all lying in wait for side-effects that would never appear from your innocent box of treats.  

       You were appalled. “No hesitation. They didn’t even notice. I can’t tell if they’re fearless or just stupid,” you mumbled. 

       Tsukishima patted your jaw closed and gave a shit-eating grin. “The latter. Definitely the latter.” 

       Refusing to take the loss, you looked up at him and bargained, “Double or nothing?”

                               ~~~

       Your boyfriend’s second prank was… admittedly crueler. You assumed he was still pissed at Nishinoya and Tanaka for hitting on you at the first game you had ever attended of his, but you didn’t mention your theory. Plus, this trick would be enough revenge on its own. It was the next day, and you and Tsukishima had spent an hour last night painting two onions and caramelizing them like apples, only to carry them into school and drop them off at the desks of the two flirty dimwits under the guise that they were from the gorgeous Kiyoko herself. At first, you thought the plan failed. The school alarm hadn’t sounded in warning that the pair had spontaneously combusted at the gifts, and you didn’t hear a loud commotion in the halls from them running around like excited, headless chickens. 

       “Be patient,” the blondy murmured in the desk next to you. “It’ll happen at practice. I know it.” Huffing out a breath, you dropped your chin into your hands and zoned back in on the teacher’s droning. History was mind-numbingly boring; you just wanted to win the bet right now!

                               ~~~

       Walking hand-in-hand to volleyball practice directly after school, yours and Tsukishima’s gentle teasing was interrupted by wobbly shouts. “Kiyoko, you’re so amazing!” 

       You both recognized the voices and exchanged looks before running up to the open doors of the gym. Wow, what an embarrassing scene. Nishinoya and Tanaka were writhing around on the ground with overjoyed expressions and happy tears, hugging the disguised caramel onions to their chests in front of a highly confused team manager. 

       “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but get up off the ground.” The pair instantly hopped up at her monotonous command and whined after her as she walked away. Both schooled their expressions into utter seriousness and faced each other before intertwining their arms. 

       “We eat these caramel apples at the same time, in honor of our goddess Kiyoko.” Nishinoya’s face was humorless and dark as he held the unwrapped onion up to his own face. You cringed at the thought while your boyfriend began to snicker under his breath.

       “Agreed, brochacho.” Tanaka nodded along, and together, they both took large bites of their unsavory treats, freezing up at the first taste. 

       Tsukishima grabbed onto you for stability while he wholeheartedly cracked up next to your ear. His howls echoed throughout the gym while you covered your mouth at the sight. In just two more bites, they had swallowed the onions whole with shadows on their faces. You were going to throw up, you just knew it. At last, the pair separated slowly and stared down at their empty sticks. They didn’t seem appalled or disgusted at all. Rather, they looked… stupefied. 

        “Kiyoko, those were delicious!” You flinched at the outburst as the pair suddenly skipped their way over to the unsuspecting third year and began to excitedly circle around her like a ritual. While she complained at their actions, your boyfriend was now roaring with laughter, his whole body shaking with each chuckle as he shoved his face into your shoulder to calm himself. You were still mystified by the stomach-churning show you had just watched. And finally, just when Tsukishima’s cackles began to slow, you moaned at your defeat. 

       “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you whined in disbelief, “Did they seriously just eat whole onions? What the hell is wrong with those guys?!” 

       “I ask myself that question every day,” Tsukishima disclosed to you, pulling away to wipe off his glasses with a rag found in his pocket. Grumbling under your breath, you sigh before turning to him and placing your hands on your hips. 

       “All right, all right. Fine, you win. What do you want me to do?”

       Returning his glasses to his face, his eyes flashed behind the lenses while he smirked deviously. “I thought you’d never ask.”

                               ~~~

       I wanna die, you thought to yourself as your face bloomed with telltale embarrassment. Keeping your head ducked, not that that would help hide you, you walk through the gates of Karasuno and make your way into school, small giggles trailing after you. Finally, you spot your boyfriend at the same time he easily notices you. Utterly miserable, you lazily drag your feet over to him, seething from inside your costume but staying silent nonetheless. It’s not like you could plan his murder out loud, after all.

       Snickering victoriously, Tsukishima cheekily wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Who’s the string bean now?” 

a kuroo au :(( kuroo song au with ready yet by sasha sloan :((

Forgive In Time (Kuroo x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Kuroo always teased you, joked with you during class. You couldn’t help but grow feelings for him. Evidently he didn’t return them. (Based on “Ready Yet” by Sasha Sloan.)

A/N: Sorry this is so late! Btw, you got some good taste in music, my friend. This song is just *chef’s kiss.* Anyways, I hope this is what you were looking for, and I hope you like it!

Word count: 1728

        “Hey YN.” Kuroo smiles at you and collapses into the desk next to yours. If only he knew how much that made your heart race. 

       “Hey Rooster Head.” He throws you a fake offended look that makes you giggle before he pokes your shoulder with a finger. 

       “Yeah, yeah, call me nicknames now, but soon you’ll be begging at my feet for help on the quiz tomorrow.” 

       “There’s a quiz tomorrow?!”

       The black-haired volleyball player lets out a cackle that grabs the attention of the entire room, but his gaze is still only on you. Having his attention and being able make him laugh like that made you feel… funny. Giddy, really. 

       You and Kuroo had only been friends for a few months, but within that span of time you always yearned for more. In reality, he had first spotted and identified you as a loner, one he wanted to add to his collection, evidently. 

       You didn’t mind that idea. Kuroo was kind and funny, and super hot. Somewhere, deep down inside you, you were almost sure he felt the same way. After all, he always latched onto you like white on rice ever since he first saw you in his third year class. 

       “A pretty girl like you should never have to sit alone.” Yeah, as if your panties weren’t already flying off at the sight of him. 

       Anyway, he followed those words like a devotion not unlike that of a blood oath, always claiming the desk beside yours and teasing you in any way he could. 

       God, you liked him so much. And come on, what kind of guy flirts with a girl every day without romantic intentions?

       With that thought locked in the spotlight of your mind, you glanced over at Kuroo several times throughout the school day, only getting caught about thirty percent of the time. It was okay, because each time he noticed, he threw you a wink that lit your cheeks aflame. He always chuckled at the sight, and you had to fend off any fuzzy feelings that almost made you pass out at the enticing sound. 

       Okay, seriously. It was time. 

                               ~~~

       You never really ate lunch with Kuroo, but you figured you could track him down during the time. 

       After about ten minutes of frantically scanning every nook and cranny of the school, you finally spotted him outside in the courtyard, munching on a sandwich next to a blond boy. His shorter companion was preoccupied with a game while Kuroo proceeded to chatter his ear off. 

       You weren’t surprised.

       With a deep breath of reassurance, you stepped outside into the cool breeze, hugging your school blazer tighter around yourself. 

       You got this, YN! You totally got this!

       Your heart thumped sporadically, barely making a comprehensible rhythm along with the wing flaps of your stomach’s butterflies. 

       Y-you got this, YN. Y-you… umm.

       Steps slowing, you began to realize the consequences of your actions. Kuroo still hadn't noticed you, instead digging around in his bag for the rest of his lunch. 

       Nope, you totally don’t got this. 

       Spinning on your heels, you marched back to the entrance of the school.

       What if he doesn’t actually mean it? 

       What if that’s just how he talks to people? 

       What if-

       “YN!”

       Oh fuck. 

       A hand grabs your arm and swivels you around. 

       “H-hey Kuroo, what’s up?”

       He gives you a confused smile. “What are you doin’ out here? Did you need something?” 

       Yeah, you. “Heh, umm, noooo,” you drag out the word while heavily avoiding his intense gaze. 

       Kuroo playfully jabs your side. “Oh come on, you can tell me. What’s up?” The distance between the two of you grows smaller and smaller the more he becomes more invested in the conversation, inching closer to you with every encouraging nudge. It’s too much and simultaneously not enough. Heart fluttering, you finally bat away his hand and sigh. 

       “Fine,” I can do this, “I’ll tell you.” 

       Kuroo only nods, allowing you to continue. 

       “So, here’s the thing….” 

       “Yeah?”

       Rip off the bandaid YN!

       “I like you.”

       A quick inhale, then silence. 

       “... Oh.” 

       The quiet almost kills you, leading you to scramble for something to say. 

       “I’m sor-”

       “I’m sor-”

       You both interrupt each other and pause, forcefully laughing at the awkwardness. 

       “Erm, you go first,” you gesture with a wave of your hand. Kuroo’s eyes grow pained and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. 

       “YN I’m really sorry, but I just don’t feel that way about you.” 

       See now, rejection was always a possibility. You knew and understood there was a chance that Kuroo wouldn’t reciprocate your feelings. 

       You just didn’t know it would suck this much. 

       For a moment, it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest tightened and your throat closed up. Blood rushing through your ears, all you could do was nod numbly. 

       “Oh. Okay.”

                               ~~~

       Class was… painful. Kuroo had given you some space, as per your request, and in return your only friend in the class was now long gone. You never had anyone to talk to or ask about homework. You couldn’t giggle and make fun of the professor during class, or throw sticky notes at one another. 

       You just wish you had considered the consequences before you confessed. Not only had you gotten your heart broken, you had also lost your only companion to help make it through the school day. 

       Also, there was one other future consequence you had forgotten. 

       The school halls were empty, a sign that you had come way too early. Cursing your forgetfulness, you tightened the grip on your bag and huffed all the way to the classroom, only to be stopped by a heartbreaking sight. 

       “I’ll take you home after practice, all right baby?” 

       “Of course, see you then.” 

       Their lips clashed together in an intimate farewell, arms wrapped around each other as they swapped spit like tennis. Her hands dug into his dark hair, making it that much messier than it already was naturally. 

       And when Kuroo finally unlodged his tongue from the girl’s throat, he dragged his gaze up, up, up, just high enough to see-

       “YN?”

       In class, Kuroo always seemed just as uncomfortable and lonely as you after having to claim a new seat farther apart. Apparently that assumption was incorrect on your end. 

       A squeak escaped your lips and you froze in place. Really, what could you do? Run out of the school? Your mom would beat your ass for ditching. Just ignore it and walk into the classroom he had just made out in front of? Umm, no. You’d rather avoid that confrontation. Hide out in the bathroom? Pfft, yeah, like that would-

       Oh shit. I can hide out in the bathroom.

       Kuroo flinched at the sudden sight of you jumping into action. You pivoted and dashed down the hall in a mad sprint like a monster was after you. If anyone else was in the halls at that time, they would have seen the pure, unadulterated fear on your face and joined you in an instant, not even bothering to ask what you were escaping from. 

       It was a boy. Wasn’t it always? 

       Steps followed after you, more stretched out in the pattern of a longer stride. They only halted when you shouldered your way into the bathroom, scrambling to a stop and slamming the door in front of Kuroo’s face. 

       “YN! Hey, come on!” 

       “It’s occupied!” 

       You struggled to catch your breath as you sifted through your bag for your phone. Bingo.

       “YN please, let’s talk about this.” 

       “…”

       “YN, come on. You can’t avoid what just happened.” 

       “Watch me.” 

You: Hey mom, can you come pick me up? I’m not feeling well.

*Message sent*

                               ~~~

       Tons of calls. Hundreds of texts. Each one was adorned with a harmony of buzzes or the acoustic version of “Sexy and I Know It” —Kuroo’s choice of course. 

Tetsu😻: YN please.

Tetsu😻: Just respond.

Tetsu😻: I’m so sorry.

Tetsu😻: I didn’t want you to see that.

*Confirm name change?*

*Contact name successfully changed*

Kuroo: YN please forgive me. 

Kuroo: Just let me know how to fix this.

Kuroo: Please just say something. I’m so sorry, please just give me a chance to fix this.

       You were surprised at how much it hurt. Like a rock in the bottom of your stomach, you felt the worst emotion imaginable: complete and utter betrayal. Though you hadn’t been in a relationship with Kuroo, it still hurt to see him with another girl.

       You supposed it wasn’t really that itself. It was also the idea that he moved on so quickly. It almost felt like he had acknowledged how you felt and completely dismissed it. Watching him make out with another girl just a couple days after you confessed your feelings for him wasn’t like any other pain you had felt. 

       It wasn’t like a paper cut, but it also wasn’t like a loved one of yours had died. It just felt… achy. Like a dull gnawing in your heart. 

       Some parts of you even wanted to blame yourself. Why wasn’t I the girl he wanted? Were you not pretty enough? That girl certainly was. Not smart enough? He always had to help you with your homework, but that was when he teased you most. Or maybe-

Kuroo: I don’t want to lose your friendship. Please YN, I’m so sorry.

       ...Maybe it was because you were just that. A friend to him. Either way, you just weren’t ready to forgive him. Your heart was trampled and covered in dirt, and it could take a while before you recovered from this. 

Kuroo: Please.

       One day. One day you would forgive him. 

       You weren’t mad at him. You couldn’t be. Your feelings for him weren’t gone either. 

You: Just give me a little time please. 

       But you certainly weren’t ready to see him anytime soon. 

       Not yet. 

Kuroo: Okay.

idk what I’m doing but call me a duckling bc I be following all the ppl who use this format and it looked like fun

Soap who meets you, a medic for the Shadow Company, after he’s injured on the mission. Soap who’s dragged by Ghost up into the chopper, who you lean over and promise you’ll do your damn bestest to make sure he looks pretty by the end of this.

“Let me know if you see the light at any point, Sergeant MacTavish. That’s usually a bad sign.”

Soap who won’t stop looking you in the eyes as you work, mumbling to himself in such a thick accent you figure it’s best to ignore him, especially while finishing a suture on his chest that draws out an excessive groan.

Soap who flirts with you the entire time. Soap who’s ignorant to the gaping wound on his chest, and is much rather invested in the way your smell washes over him as you hover, ponytailed hair dangerously close to his hand. Soap who lets his head fall onto your shoulder on accident, Bonnie, so sorry, even as he sniffs for more of that shampoo and tang of sweat, because you’d been working so damn hard to keep little old him alive.

Soap who lets you wrap around him, pressing your hands against the wall and the cushion next to his thigh to get leverage to lean him up and off the cot.

Soap who clings a little too tightly to your shoulder as you lead him down and away, safely back to his base and into his CO’s protection.

“Thank you for not dying on me, John,” you say as you guide him back to Ghost.

Soap who watches you still, dazed little grin on his face even as Ghost grapples a hand at his shoulder——to hold him steady or hold him back, he’s not really sure.

Soap who wouldn’t mind staying with you, though. For a little longer.

“Anytime, Bonnie.” And he throws you a cheeky wink despite his sickly flush.

“Screwball,” you mutter fondly, waving a dismissive hand over your shoulder as you make your way back up the Shadow heli’s ramp.

Soap who grins as you go, eyeing your ass as he leans over to Ghost with a whispered, “What ‘oes screwball mean?”

“‘Fuck would I know, Johnny? Now let’s get a fuckin’ move on.”