So While I Really Like Your Writing, I Am Here On A Different Mission Today. Is Your Profile Picture

Did you have a quotev under this same username at some point?

Hmm I don’t think so, but then again I made like a bajillion accounts when I was younger. Who really knows🤷‍♀️

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?” 

Ignorance is Bliss (Bakugou x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Confessing to you has turned into quite the hassle for Bakugou, as you seem to be totally oblivious to every single one of his ideas. From notes to jewelry, you don’t notice a single thing he tries to anonymously give you. Surely you weren’t that ignorant, were you?

A/N: I desire sleep. I just wanna sleep…. Anyways, here’s another Bakugou oneshot, because it’s just so easy to get ideas for him. This time, poor explody boy’s just confused. Again, thank you guys so much for the likes and follows, and please enjoy!

Word count: 3349

        To Bakugou you were… tolerable. However, in his case, those were pretty high marks. And it was because you were so tolerable that he found himself okay with the idea of hanging out with you more. He was fine with seeing you around after school, or maybe at the movies. Maybe even in his dorm room- okay, he was crushing on you. Hard. Hard enough that he found himself wanting to ask you out. 

        At first, Bakugou tried to ask for the annoying redhead’s help, but that didn’t work out so well. 

        “What about getting her candy and a teddy bear, and then telling her how you feel? Girls like that stuff,” Kirishima had innocently suggested.

        “What is she, five? Fuck no.” He shut down his sturdy friend instantly. After that, the blond had told his companion that he would figure it out on his own. If on his own meant he used Google. To be fair, it was the only other resource Bakugou could depend on at this point. So he searched up what girls like, and found a whole bunch of mumbo jumbo he didn’t really have the money for, but they were worth trying out anyway. The first thing on the list? Flowers. All right, he could afford that. 

        The next day, the blond hero-in-training barged into class much earlier than he ever had, even earlier than the loud-mouthed class captain, and plopped down a hefty bouquet of roses along with a small note attached saying who it was from in the middle of your desk. And then he waited. 

        When you finally showed up, Bakugou was practically snoring in his chair, reclined back with a small dribble of drool crawling down his chin. You didn’t greet him, but you never did, so that wasn’t unexpected. What was, however, was your reaction to his gift.

        “Who the fuck left their garden on my seat?” you exclaimed with disdain. The volume was loud enough to jumpstart the blond from his slumber. He furrowed his brows at your question, now wide awake. Here’s the thing, Bakugou knew you were a cusser. It was one of the few things he liked about you. But the fact that you had cussed at his gift... well, that kind of ticked him off. 

        “What’s wrong with them?” he demanded, but before you could respond, a loud sneeze echoed around the room. 

        Sniffing harshly, you untucked your face from your elbow and inspected the damage before replying, “I’m allergic to their pollen, dumbass.” Pinching the bouquet’s stems between your thumb and forefinger, you held it as far away from your face as you could while you carried it over to the trash. Bakugou’s voice stuck in his throat before he could try to stop you, so he could only watch in horror as you hovered the gift over the plastic bin. Watching his personal note work free from between two stems, the blond clenched his jaw and seethed silently when it gracefully floated to the bottom of the empty bin. 

        “Aww, YN, are you really throwing those roses away? They’re so pretty!” Uraraka spoke up, just then stepping into the classroom. She pouted sadly at the sight. 

        “Well, do you want them?” you offered, extending Bakugou’s gift towards her. 

        “Umm sure. I guess I’ll take them if you really don’t want them!” she agreed, accepting the bouquet and taking a whiff before thanking you. As you told her it was no problem, Bakugou curled his hands into fists and sneered. 

        “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

                                ###

        That night, the blond student consulted his old friend Google once more for advice, leering over his glowing laptop and scouring for anything that might help him woo you. “A poem, huh? Ugh, do girls really like that sappy shit?” You best believe he copied one of Shakespeare’s most popular pieces and dropped it off at your door signed with his name the next morning. Plagiarism be damned, he really wanted to go out with you. After watching the love note flutter to the ground face-down, he quickly knocked on your door and rushed away, peeking out from the wall of another hallway while he waited for you to answer. 

        “Okay, who the fu- what the hell?” you wondered aloud, whipping open your door and angrily peering out only to see no one. Glancing around, your eyes finally spotted the white paper on the floor. Lifting it up, you observed the backside of the note with a scrunched nose. Shrugging dismissively, you crumble up the slip of paper with both hands while grumbling under your breath, “Fucking litterers,” before throwing the ball into the trash can outside your door. After you returned inside your room, Bakugou came out from behind the wall and stared at where you had stood, totally and utterly dumbfounded. Were you really that stupid? Surely you were kidding with him, right? You didn’t seriously just throw away his love letter after only looking at the blank side, did you?

        Shaking his head, Bakugou abruptly remembered that yes, you have done dumber things. Just thinking off the top of his head, he could remember many incidents where you completely amazed him with your own idiocy before he ever thought much of your presence. For example, one time you had been so tired that you had run into the wall directly next to Class 1-A’s entrance, then proceeded to yell at it, “Move dumbass!” So yes, yes he could believe you had just thrown away his confession note obliviously. Bakugou shook his head at the memory before rubbing his temples, walking back to his own room to plot yet another tactic of confession.

                                ###

        Google was a godsend, and had provided him with the perfect gift. Jewelry! How had he completely managed to forget how much women love jewelry. Over the weekend, Bakugou had managed to convince Kirishima to buy him a necklace for you, one that was “your style.” In the end, his redheaded classmate arrived at school on Monday with a silver heart encasing a crimson stone on a metal chain. After silently thanking Kirishima with a small nod, Bakugou couldn’t help the small curl of the corners of his mouth while he lifted the locket up to glimmer in the fluorescent light of the classroom. His hard-headed companion, however, seemed a little disappointed in the gift. 

        “Look dude, I really don’t think YN is going to like that. She’s not really that kind of girl,” Kirishima insisted, a little concerned at how his friend would react if yet another confession plan failed. 

        “Trust me, this time I’ll get her. Plus, you know how all women love jewelry, it’s foolproof,” Bakugou assured his friend with a smirk eyes still set on the necklace. Patting Kirishima on the chest, the blond gestured for him to observe as he set down the necklace on your desk and made his way back, both preparing to watch your reaction. The redhead pursed his lips and bit them anxiously while his friend squinted with impatience. Finally, you entered the classroom and Bakugou had to hold back a fist pump. After all, he wasn’t victorious yet. Sitting down in your seat, you didn’t appear to notice the necklace, and the blond flinched harshly when you ignorantly dropped your bag on top of it. An apologetic hand settled onto his shoulder, and Bakugou was too stunned at your utter obliviousness to things right in front of you to shrug off Kirishima. 

                                ###

        He had watched you all day in class, and nothing. You hadn’t acknowledged the necklace at all, and you didn’t even notice when your notebook had accidentally pushed it off the table. The future hero’s eye twitched and his hands began to tingle in irritation. You had to be screwing with him! How ignorant could you be? 

        It wasn’t until after school when he discovered you had, in fact, noticed the necklace, but for all the wrong reasons. Miserably dragging his feet to his room, he had passed the common area, only to hear your heart-stopping voice. Halting in his tracks, he backtracked until he could see you and the pink freak standing in the middle of the room and conversing. Eavesdropping slightly, he leaned his head in to hear better. 

        “Oh YN, that’s so cute,” Ashido gushed, holding her hands to her cheeks as she observed the necklace you held in between the two of you. “Who gave it to yo-”

        “How much do you think it could sell for?” you asked distractedly, scrutinizing the gem in the center of the silver heart before peering back up at your classmate curiously. 

        “Well, i-isn’t it a gift?” she replied, her usually bright voice dropping with a lilt of uncertainty.

        “I don’t know,” you shrugged casually, “I just found it lying around.” Umm, no. Bakugou vividly remembered setting it down quite obviously in the center of your desk. Maybe you needed a nice, new pair of glasses. That could be his next gift. 

        Mina shifted excitedly from foot-to-foot with her hands folded in front of her heart before enthusiastically suggesting, “Well, why don’t you just keep it? It is really pretty!” 

        Pursing your lips, you looked at her with an “are you serious” face before promptly responding, “Because it’s not mine, duh. That would be rude, Mina.” 

        Distractedly peering back down at the necklace, you made your way to the exit of the common area with Ashido bewilderedly shouting after you, “And selling it isn’t?!” 

                                ###

        In a last ditch effort to grab your attention and confess, Bakugou made his way to the mall and searched for a clothing store you seemed to absolutely adore. On many of your clothes resided the word “Pink,” and the blonde student could distantly remember his mom always dragging through malls and passing by a shop with the exact same name. 

        Now, as he stood in front of the bright, highly feminine store, he couldn’t help but sneer disgustedly at its neighbor. Shuddering (and blushing) at the sight, he stepped into the original store, only to bare his teeth at the sight of the one register being in the connecting room. In that store. Bakugou groaned aloud, attracting attention from most of the customers and workers in the area. Snarling back at them, the blond continued to his original goal, wandering into the other, darker half of the shop. 

        “Why the hell are they the same store?!” he muttered to himself with a grossed out expression, all while keeping his head low to avoid staring at the rather lewd clothing around him. Although, it seemed unavoidable at a certain point when Bakugou accidentally ran into a table, looking up to find his path once more only to make eye contact with string. That’s it, he swore that’s all it was. Just… string. What the hell is that gonna do?! His face burned at the sight and he clenched his jaw tightly, searching for the checkout area so he could finish his business and get the hell out of this place. 

        At last, he reached his destination and slammed his palms down on the counter, causing the cashier to flinch with frightened eyes. “Gimme a Pink gift card. Twenty-five dollars,” Bakugou demanded harshly. The girl in front of him instantly lost her patience at the order, and she had to force on a fake smile before replying. 

        “Sorry sir,” her voice was snide. “We only have Victoria’s Secret gift cards here.”

        “Whatever, just give me a damn card,” he barked, shoving the cash into her hands. The teen boy was growing seriously uncomfortable in this place, and he despised that feeling. 

        “Here you go. Have a nice day!” the worker sarcastically chimed, beaming at how anxious he appeared. His lip curled at her tone and he grumbled under his breath as he navigated his way out of the vulgar store. 

                                ###

        Bakugou’s hands trembled as he set down the card on your desk. He was still shaken up over that stupid store, but whenever Kirishima asked him about it, he just shook off the question, mumbling about how he didn’t want to talk about it. Crashing down into his desk, Bakugou miserably shoved his chin into his hands, resting over the surface and waiting impatiently for you to see his gift. He wasn’t stupid this round. In a brightly colored, anonymous card, the blond had written about how he liked you and how he wanted you to buy yourself something nice. It was a genius plan, as now he didn’t have to worry about buying you something. Oh man, if only he had put his damn name on it. 

        When you walked into the chattering classroom and sat in your seat, you inspected the card thoroughly, even poking at it with your goddamn pencil. What the hell? Either way, when you finally opened it like a big girl and watched the special gift card drop unceremoniously onto your desk, you didn’t make a sound. You just… stared. You were totally silent, breathing evenly with a blank face as you inspected the card like it had the secrets to the world. Evidently, you didn’t want to know those secrets, as you abruptly pushed up out of your chair, ever-so gracefully banging it into the desk behind you. Your eyes were dark and unreadable, and you hair acted as a curtain around your face while your fingers braced against the desktop. It was like you were burning the hot pink words printed on the gift card into your brain. 

        Finally, you looked up and stared ahead at the teacher’s board while your face slowly grew enraged. “Mineta, you little creep! I’m gonna kick your ass!” Bakugou jumped at your outburst, observing shakily as you swiftly turned your head to the pint-sized, purple student in the corner of the room. As a result, the little squirt screamed in terror and ran away. You chased him out of the room, and Bakugou couldn’t help but bite his lip tentatively while staring blankly at where you had stood. 

        Kirishima, also shaken by your sudden outburst, made his way over to his best friend’s desk, glancing at yours along the way. Spotting what had made you so upset, the redhead groaned and dragged a hand down his face while shaking his head. “Seriously, Bakugou, Victoria’s Secret? That was your genius idea?” The blond nodded in a daze. “If she ever finds out,” he continued, “she’s going to murder you.” Bakugou could only nod in agreement, still shocked at your reaction to the gift. Was it really that perverted? 

        Helplessly, he stares up at his friend with desperation dripping from his face, whispering a small, “Help me.” Kirishima beams brightly at the admission, placing his hands on his hips.

        “Finally willing to listen, huh?”

        “Don’t push it.” Bakugou massages his temples, exhausted from the week's events. 

        “Don’t you worry, buddy. I have the perfect idea.”

                                ###

        There was still a small, minuscule chance that Kirishima was wrong, right? Bakugou could care less at this point, he just wanted to confess to you. You were strong, stubborn, loud-mouthed, arrogant, and infuriating. He loved it. Ever since you had insulted him back and then proceeded to kick his ass almost beat him up during a training session, he had fallen for you. Which was why he had gone to such lengths for you. He wanted to get you the perfect gift to return all the fuzzy, totally lame feelings you had given him. And apparently, according to Kirishima, a little bunny stuffed animal and a box of chocolates were the best way to begin to do that. The redhead had claimed that gifts wouldn’t make any girl, especially you, fall in love with him instantaneously. Bakugou was doubtful, but according to how all his previous plans had crashed and burned into one spectacularly extravagant trainwreck, he had no room to judge. 

        While letting those thoughts run rampant in his head, the normally tumultuous hero-in-training stood silently in front of your door, awkwardly waiting for you to answer after he had painfully knocked on it with his forehead. What was he supposed to do; his hands were chock full of stuffed rabbit and chocolates. Breathing a sigh of relief when the door opened to reveal you with a soft, sly smile, he shoved his new gifts towards you. 

        “I like you,” he mumbled apprehensively, looking to the side to prevent you from seeing his flushed cheeks. You could barely hear him, but you knew. Oh yeah, you definitely knew. 

        “Took you long enough,” you teased, hugging the presents to your chest. “No offense, but your other gifts were shit. Oh, aside from this.” Fiddling with the heart necklace and giving him a lopsided grin, you tossed the bunny and the chocolates onto your bed behind you before grabbing him by his wrists and tugging him inside, him stumbling in after you with a dropped jaw. “Speaking of, if you really want me to buy new lingerie, I’ll bring you along next time.” You laughed cheekily as Bakugou’s cheeks grew a darker shade of red, and he muttered at you to shut up. 

                                ###

        Bakugou’s arm tightened around your shoulder as you pushed open the door to the classroom, giggling at his deadpan joke while the corner of his mouth quirked up at your bright smile. Directing you to your seat, he released your shoulder and groaned while dropping your bag to the ground. “Ugh, why is that thing so heavy?” he whined, glaring at the weighted object. Laughing at his pain, the pair of you suddenly tense up at a smaller presence behind you. Instantaneously, the both of you grow pissed, you whipping around and glaring while Bakugou wraps his arm around your waist possessively. 

        “What do you want, pipsqueak?” your boyfriend hissed at Mineta. 

        The shorter male’s eyes widened and he took a barely noticeable step back before standing tall once more and proudly announcing, “YN, I was hoping you’ve come to your senses today and realized that you have wrongfully blamed me for a despicable, unthinkable action!” Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong, but that didn’t mean you wanted to admit defeat. Especially to him. Sneering and opening your mouth to respond, the little grape lifted a finger to pause you and continued, “I will, however, forgive you in exchange for a generous kiss.” Ignoring your disgusted look, Mineta closed his eyes and puckered his lips, only to open them once more at the sound of explosions. 

        Bakugou’s grip on your side was practically bruising, while his other hand was raised with an eruptive display for all to see. Snarling ferociously, the blond’s voice was gruff and threatening as he lowly warned, “You better get a head start while you can. I’m gonna beat your ass, you little creep.” Bakugou’s scarlet eyes were glaring nastily at Mineta, and if looks could kill,... well, you know the rest. The purple-haired pervert stumbled back a couple steps before he whimpered and spun around on his toes, hightailing it out of the classroom. Bakugou smiled at the sight and turned to brush his lips against yours. You placed your hand on the back of his neck to hold him there for a couple seconds, gently nibbling on his lower lip before finally pulling away. The tingles his soft kiss left behind compelled you to keep your eyes and revel in the waves of pleasure they evoked. You were content, at least until a loud bang ripped your eyes open. It was the door to the classroom swinging open as you saw the blond hair of your boyfriend disappear into the hallway. 

        “You purple son of a bitch!”

        Wincing at the roar, you hesitantly sat at your desk, sucking air through your teeth and fiddling with the silver locket around your neck.  “Oopsies.”

Pretending to Moan Another Guy’s Name (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: Hehehe, I’m s i c k. Anyways, here’s a rly long headcanon that I’ve been thinking about writing for a while. Some are short and some are long, but hey, that’s life🤷‍♀️ Enjoy! (Side note: been a while since I did a milestone, but hey, this one’s huge--happy 4k y’all💜!!)

Word count: 2705

Oikawa Tooru: 

He’s dead silent, waiting to hear that name fall from your lips one more time just to make sure he wasn’t having a nightmare. 

“Ushiwaka…”

Nope. He wasn’t. He pinched himself five times to prove it. 

Oikawa can’t stand the thought of you dreaming about one of his greatest enemies. His hands curl into fists and his bottom lip gets drawn in by his teeth and, if you hadn’t been so busy trying to fend off your own laughter, you might’ve heard the small whine leaving the back of his throat. 

The bed shifts with Oikawa’s weight leaving it imbalanced and just when you prepare yourself to stop him in his tracks with a giggle, the bedroom door slams hard enough to rattle framed photographs of you and him on the walls. 

Okay… so maybe you had gone too far. 

Stunned into silence, it takes you a couple minutes to recover from your boyfriend’s outburst. When you finally find the strength to breach the cold air of one a.m. goosebumps rise along your skin and you decide to wrap a blanket around your shoulders. 

Lord knows damage control with Oikawa always required a solid chunk of time. 

You find him in the kitchen of the apartment, seated on a stool with his elbows propped on the oak-finished island with two fistfuls of hair and a downcast face. 

Unsurprisingly enough, your prank no longer felt like the genius idea you’d thought it was three hours ago. 

“Tooru?” Your voice is small so as to not disturb him, but his lack of movement makes you think you have almost been too successful in your efforts. 

“Tooru,” you move to lay your hand on his shoulder, “please.” However, the second you make contact he flinches away like you’d burned him. The room is silent once more, but as you keep your hand hovering over his back, you hear a quiet sniffle. 

Oh God, what have I done?

Without another word, you grasp both ends of the blanket and wrap both it and yourself around Oikawa, attaching yourself to his back with a tight enough grip that he can’t shake you off, which, trust me, he certainly tries his best. 

Like a fish out of water, he writhes and thrashes in your hold and in that split second that you think How the hell do I get him to stop this? he’s managed to wriggle himself so hard that the stool and you behind him lose balance, toppling to the floor like a Jenga tower. 

“Oh shit!”

Oikawa, ever so graceful, lands directly on top of you, his lean shoulders crashing hard enough into your chest that you wheeze out the oxygen trapped inside. The stool almost spun and clattered right on top of both of you before Oikawa kicked it away hard enough that it crashed against the metal fridge and slid all the way out into the living room. 

In the dead of night, the noises were loud enough to increase the ringing in your ears that had started when your head slapped against the linoleum floor. Oikawa was still squirming against you but for an entirely different reason now. 

“Fuck--YN, YN! Are you okay?” Still sitting on top of you, another breath gets squeezed out of your chest the second Oikawa rolls over to straddle you. One hand lifts your head, palming frantically at your scalp while the other shoves under your shirt to feel your ribs. 

“Could you,” you choke out, “get off me before I answer that?”

A startled scoff leaves his mouth before he slides off you and onto the floor at your side, helping you sit up while still trailing his eyes up and down your form to search for injury. Not that he could see much--the only light in the apartment was filtering through the kitchen window and came from the quarter moon in the sky. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You bat away his hands but can’t stop your own from trailing up and rubbing your temples. “Are you okay?”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out his cheeks were damp with tears. From the way he sniffled to the way he blinked every .5 seconds, you knew tonight had been a sudden emotional roller coaster for him. 

“Yeah,” he glanced away nodding. “Yep, all good here.” 

“Bullshit.”

Oikawa gave you a scandalized stare and all you could do was sigh before scooting over to him, getting settled criss-cross style before palming both of his cheeks and yanking his face down to yours. 

“I know when you’re lying to me, Tooru, and I know exactly why you’re lying to me right now.”

His first instinct was to roll his eyes and pull away, but you pulled him back harder, hard enough that he flashed his wide eyes to yours in surprise. 

“It was a prank, babe.” Ah yes, the words that turn every boy into goo. 

Oikawa clenched his jaw and wrapped his hands around your wrists. “The “yanking me off my stool so I can crush your ribs” thing or the “I’m gonna moan your enemy’s name so you almost have a heart attack and cry enough tears to flood a river” thing?”

“The “I’m gonna moan your enemy’s name so you-’”

Oikawa slammed his lips against yours, effectively drowning out any of the dumb-ass explanations you had waiting on your tongue. 

“Your pranks are always so mean, baby,” Oikawa mumbles against your lips. “Do you know how much it hurt to think that you were dreaming about being with another man?”

“Did it even matter that it was-”

“No,” he pecks your lips once more before rising to his feet and tugging you to yours. “No, the name didn’t matter at all.”

“Well damn, that’s a shame, because I was stuck between moaning Ushiwaka or Kag-”

“Here’s the thing, sweetheart: I don’t wanna hear another name aside from my own come out of your mouth for the rest of the night. Understood?”

“I-”

“Understood?” You sigh. 

“Yes sir.”

Tsukishima Kei:

Ouch.

One long finger pokes into your cheek, hard.

You’d barely even gotten the first two syllables of the ginger’s name off your tongue before Tsukishima was at the ready, stabbing you in the face with a fingernail you were almost positive you’d seen being filed down just hours ago. 

Bastard must’ve been faking it.

“Don’t say that,” Tsukishima grunts out tiredly, accompanying a yawn with yet another jab. 

Part of you wondered if there was a point to even keeping up the act, but the other part was so pissed you almost wanted Tsukishima to worry that it was real. 

You mumbled the random nonsense of the average person waking from a deep slumber and opened your eyes just to squint at the blond in bed beside you. 

“Wha…?”

In pure darkness, you could barely see Tsukishima narrowing his gaze back at you, half because he was pissed and half because he was lacking his glasses. 

He thrusts a finger right in the middle of your forehead. “Don’t ever moan that name again.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You fake yawn, closing your eyes before rolling over to have your back face him. 

“I’m not stupid, YN.”

“Are you sure about that, Kei?”

He scoffs. “Fine, then. I’ll play along to this pointless game.”

The mattress quakes as Tsukishima shifts onto his knees, grabbing your hip with a single hand and tugging it hard enough that your back presses flat against the sheets before he throws a leg over your thighs, straddling you with ease. 

“Is this what you wanted?” One hand of his grabs yours, pulling it up above your head. Your breathing is more like gasping at this point as Tsukishima trails his other hand down your side. 

“Were you trying to make me so jealous that I’d do this?”

“Kei…”

“‘Cause, YN, you could’ve just asked.”

At last, your other wrist is trapped and joins the one over your head, Tsukishima’s long fingers easily holding down both of your hands with just one of his. 

“So, do you want to tell me what that shrimp did to you in this “dream” of yours?”

“Kei…” Was it so hard to pull a juicy reaction out of him? You wanted hugs, tears, maybe even a little begging. 

Of course, leave it to Tsukishima to always find a way to be above you. 

Tsukishima can see the fight die in your eyes and his own glow in return. 

“Really,” he hums, “that was all it took?”

“Jackass.” 

“Don’t be a sore loser, YN. Plus, we both know that prank of yours was impractical at best.” He slides off you, returning to his side of the bed and propping himself up on a single elbow to face you. “I’ve heard you moan my name plenty of times in your sleep to know when you’re actually having a wet dream.”

The smirk on his face makes you warm and fuzzy yet angry all at the same time. In retaliation, you jab a finger into his forehead before spinning face away from him once again. “Don’t get too cocky there, Kei. One day I might actually dream about another guy,” you fold your arms, “then what are you gonna do?”

Two arms wind around your stomach before yanking you back into a firm chest, then a single leg creeps between the two of yours. “Please, we both know I’m the only man you even think about.”

Though he sounded so self-assured, the tightness of his grip spoke differently. You reveled in the idea that he was just a bit self-conscious of that fact. Because although you’d never say it to his face...

The smug bastard was always right.

Tendou Satori: 

“Semi,” you moaned.

“Semi,” Tendou mocked. 

“Mmm, don’t stop.”

“Mmm, don’t stop.”

At first, you almost choked on the drool gathering in your mouth the instant you heard Tendou fake-moan along with you. 

Now, it was a contest of how long you could keep a straight face. 

All the lights were on in the room. The blinds were yanked open and the birds chirping out the arrival of morning tweeted from a tree just outside the window. 

You’d woken up when Tendou left to take a shower itching to prank him. At the time, it seemed perfect. 

Now your chest hurt with how much laughter you kept locked inside. The second he stepped out of the bathroom with steam rolling off his body, you decided it was time to put your plan in motion. 

Oh what a mistake it was. 

“More.”

“More.”

Tendou squated right next to your side of the bed, crossed both arms on the mattress just two inches from your face, dropped his chin on top and proceeded to parrot your every word. 

“Harder. More, please Semi.”

“Yeah, harder Semi, you grandpa-haired, shorter-than-me, cries-at-the-Titanic-movie, girlfriend-stealing son of a bitch.”

And just when you sputtered out a breathless laugh, Tendou rose from his crouch and stalked out of the room, towel wrapped over his head and shoulders like a black Sith robe. 

In the kitchen, pots and pans clattered like Tendou was trying to get the attention of the entire city, at one point even walking back and forth in front of the doorway slamming two frying pans against one another. 

“Oh no, I can’t find that spatula!” your boyfriend called out before proceeding to toss out every single appliance in the drawer, allowing them to clang and clash against the wood like they were literally raining from the ceiling. 

What was funny at first was now a major issue for the rest of the apartment complex--it seemed Tendou had gone mad enough that he was risking getting (yet another) noise complaint that would once and for all kick you both out of the building. 

Ever so in a rush, you slid out of the blankets and made haste toward the kitchen down the hall, stopping in the doorway and dropping your jaw at the sight. 

Tendou, maroon eyes flashing with jealousy, held a porcelain plate up over his head with the obvious intent to throw it against the ground and create an even bigger mess. 

Luckily, his eyes darted toward you at the last second. 

“Hey,” he grinned with eyes so wide and hair so frazzled you actually thought he’d gone insane for a split second, “look who’s up!”

“Satori…” you made your way over to him, precarious step by precarious step. Tongs, pizza cutters, and ice cream scoopers littered the floor while all of your pots and pans lay on the countertop in a pile almost up to Tendou’s shoulder, “what the hell is going on?”

His smile faltered for a second before it came back even larger than normal; his eyes, however, stayed darkened. “Just trying to make breakfast! But I couldn’t find that damned griddle we use for pancakes.”

“Probably because we threw it out four months ago.” Uh oh, you’d finally broken him. 

“Oh…”

“Yeah…”

The pandemonium in the kitchen was nothing compared to the frantic look in Tendou’s eyes, though. They flitted up and down, up and down along your body, looking for something you were almost positive wasn’t there. 

Then he spoke. 

“So… how did you sleep?”

Tense. Tight. Deep. The question sounded like someone had strangled it out of him, and you didn’t dare glance up from collecting the appliances littered on the floor for fear of seeing the pain in his eyes. 

“Satori… I’m really sorry.”

“For what?” With arms full of disarrayed utensils, you hesitantly looked towards the sink where you aimed to drop them off, only to find Tendou bent over and waiting to meet your eyes. The words had slipped off his tongue right as you finished your sentence. 

“The moaning… like, when I moaned Semi’s name and stuff.” Maintaining eye contact at this point was basically impossible for you and instead you settled for watching your feet as they shifted your weight nervously. “It was just a prank and I didn’t think it would get to you so bad. I’m sorry. Really.”

The atmosphere in the room grew ten times stiffer, almost choking you up--you never thought such a thing was possible with a relaxed guy like Tendou present. 

Evidently, you were wrong. 

“It was all a joke?”

“Yes.”

“Like, it was just a prank?”

“Yes.”

“To see how I’d react and stuff?”

“Yep.”

“Phew,” Tendou pressed a hand against his forehead and let out a laugh. “Almost lost my cool there.”

Your jaw dropped to the floor and you glanced around at the kitchen. Tendou didn’t seem to mind your temporary shock, though, as he guided you over to the sink to dispose of the utensils before wrapping you in a hug. “Don’t ever,” he grumbled, voice suddenly deeper and huskier, “ever do something like that again.” Then he pulled away. “Now,” Tendou grinned, “how’s about we go out for breakfast?”

You stayed frozen in place, eyes flitting from the floor to Tendou’s suddenly normal smile back to the floor again. 

Then you kicked him in the shin. 

“Ow, what the hell was that for?!”

You sputtered out a laugh from deep in your chest that was bordering on maniacal. “Oh-ho no, I am so not cleaning up this mess. That’s your problem, mister.” Then you pressed a small kiss to his cheek. “I will, however, go pick us up some breakfast and bring it back here though.”

Then you yanked him into a hug and forced his ear to your lips, lowering your tone deeply and darkly. “And this place better be spotless when I come back.” You pulled back with a smile before skipping to the front door and Tendou could only watch with a gleaming grin on his face. 

God, he loved you.

“You better not be going to see Semi while you’re out!” He received the bird in return.

“Love you too, babe!”

Okay so I ain’t the type of blog to do this, but can we just talk about yandere Bokuto for a fat sec???

Kinda just wanna know what some of y’all think of him, bc obsessive Bokuto for me is 🥵🥵

He Wants You to Sit on His Lap (BNHA Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: yall...it’s been a while hasn’t it? I hope you’re all doing well, and maybe this is weird, but I’m really glad you guys are reading and enjoying my stuff💜 I do want to post more, I really do, but right now it seems like all that will come out is headcanons. I don’t know what the future holds!!! BUT--perhaps we shall call the next few weeks… wait for it... headcanon season (dun dun dun). Anyways, enjoy!

Word count: 1288

Kirishima Eijirou:

“YNNNN”

First he draws out your name.

“YNNNNNN please!”

Then it’s the nicknames. 

Pumpkin, sweetcheeks, babygirl, princess.

One time he even says “lover” but after a fierce glare and a not-so verbal tirade, he decided it was best to leave that one for the bedroom.

Once you make it past the first phase of whining and bitching, he moves onto his second, more convincing tactic.

Those goddamn puppy dog eyes

You’d think a manly man like Kirishima would refuse to stoop so low

Oh how wrong you are.

His bottom lip juts out and you can just see the smallest glimpse of his razor sharp fangs looking more pg-rated than ever as he pouts at you. 

And once you look, you can’t go back. Like Medusa, he’ll have you stone-solid, unable to look anywhere else but into those eyes that make guilt pool in the pit of your stomach. 

A little glimmer in his eyes once he knows he has you hooked as your glare falters. 

And then

“...please?”

Damn him. And his muscular thighs under yours. And his immovable arms wrapped around your waist. But most of all…

Damn that fanged smile of victory. 

Kaminari Denki:

Oh yeah. He’s gonna annoy the hell out of you. 

Not so much like Kirishima with the pet names--as he’s certainly been on the receiving end of a vicious punch one too many times

(should have known “sugar tits” wasn’t gonna fly with you)

--but more so with the puppy dog eyes. Quickly, he realizes that is quite ineffective on you--or, perhaps it is just ineffective for him

Either way, as previously mentioned, Kaminari will beg for you to sit on his lap until your ears bleed. 

One time he even short-circuited your headphones when you tried to block him out. A risky move, indeed, but somehow he didn’t manage to fry every one of your brain cells. 

“YN!”

“Hey! Hey! YNNNN!”

“Hey YN, come sit on my lap!”

“Come onnnn, I promise I won’t do anything!”

“Okay, maybe I will, but I promise it won’t be anything you won’t enjoy!”

He was great at annoying you, and, to be honest, it worked most days. However, there are always those few exceptions where he truly just… gets under your skin. 

“No, Denki! Now, let it go!” The words explode from your lips like a popped balloon, and in seconds you know you’ve made a mistake. 

Hindsight, days like these almost always happen during your time of the month (yeah, yeah, TMI, I know), and that of course was part of the reason you were apprehensive about sitting on his lap.

But, shit, even the most heartless of people would give in to those misting eyes. 

He’d go silent, glancing away with a small nod and an “okay” you could barely hear over a pin dropping. 

And your heart climbs up your throat when that easy smile of his doesn’t return in seconds. 

Give in. Always, always give in to a sad Kaminari. 

“YN, you don’t have to-”

“Shut up,” you grumble, wrapping your arms just a bit tighter around his shoulders as you drop your face to his neck. 

He stays silent. But, naturally, that’s just not Kaminari’s style. In seconds, you feel his normal grin return as his hands slither down your back, reaching just to where your body meets his lap. 

“I told you,” he squeezes the muscle, “this was the best position for a butt massage.”

Fuckin’ perv. 

Todoroki Shouto:

Ha

Pfft.

Pft. 

Yeah right

Like you’re strong enough to deny this man that one time in his life he actually asks you to sit on his lap. 

Don’t kid yourself. 

“YN?”

“Hmm?”

There’s a hint of pink on his cheeks as his hands nervously run up and down his thighs. But buried deep, deep in his heterochromic eyes, so deep even you couldn’t see it, there’s a touch of mischief. 

“Can you sit on my-”

Fuck yes.

“Fuck yes.”

In the blink of an eye, you’ve settled yourself into his lap like it was your own personal throne.

(If you had told him those exact words, he would have shown you another one)

His hands, shaking at first, settle on your shoulders, then on your hips, until finally he skittishly sets them palms-down on the cushion of the couch. 

After a minute, he finally acknowledges your look of confusion and shrugs a shoulder. 

“I don’t know what to do with them.”

Good lord.

Glancing at the ceiling for just a second, you take a deep breath for patience before grabbing his hands and wrapping them around your abdomen. 

“Put them here,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze and making a move to spin on his lap and press your back against his chest.

Except--

“Fuck.”

You freeze, not moving an inch (which seemed to be complete irony considering his situation). 

“Don’t move like that.”

Ha

Pfft.

Pft.

He shouldn’t kid himself. 

Of course you were going to move like that. 

And now, you were going to move like that all night long.

Midoriya Izuku:

Not in a million years will this boy ask you to sit on his lap. Even if you told him to ask you, he’d still burn brighter than a tomato before stumbling out an excuse and sprinting away. 

But you knew. 

After a while of being together, you began to see his ticks. His little hints that he wanted you to come closer. 

And then just a little closer. 

And then so close that you were practically (literally) sitting right on top of him. 

Yeah, you knew his ticks. Midoriya is a shy boy, if not a boy who refrains from asking things of others that may or may not cause them to go even slightly out of their way to help him. 

But you knew. 

Interestingly enough, when he wants you to sit on his lap, it’s not anything major. 

First, he licks his lips. Not in an “I wanna taste you” kind of way--more like a “Hey, you got any spare Chapstick?” kind of way.

Then his hands will twitch. And he’ll lean back in his seat and stare at you.

*at your thighs

And finally, his legs will stop bouncing (because, really, when do they ever do that?)

His mouth will open and close repeatedly like a fish, almost like he’s trying to say your name but he’s suddenly forgotten how to speak. 

It’s awkward looking, really, and it certainly did take you a while to learn exactly why the hell he was looking at you so. 

But then--hallelujah--it finally clicked. 

And then you’d rise from your seat, make your way over to him, and plop down into his lap, ruffling his hair and pressing small kisses to the freckles dotting his cheeks. 

“If you wanted me to sit on your lap, you should’ve just said so,” you grin. A small whirl of contentment conjures in your chest when he rubs his hands up and down your sides.

It takes him a minute to summon the words he so desperately wants to say, and as that time passes, he peppers his own kisses along your chin.

Then they come to him.

“Thank you, baby.”

Warm Embraces (Oikawa x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Naked cuddles with Oikawa need no purpose.

A/N: Sleeping at five am gets really hard when birds start chirping (just rewatched Say “I Love You” tho, so it’s worth it). Got this idea from this prompt by @otpprompts​. Enjoy this super short fic!

Word count: 581

        The door to your room opened just as you finally shut your laptop. The last of your homework was complete, and the giddy rush that came with that realization washed like a wave right over you. 

        “YN?”

        “Tooru.” Your parents must have let him in and directed him to your room. Your boyfriend smiles tiredly at your acknowledgement and shuts the door behind him while you snuggle deeper under your sheets. Heaving out an exhausted sigh, he unzips his jacket and lays it over your desk chair before lifting up his jersey.

        “Hey there, whatcha doin’?” Thankfully, your voice is solid and teasing, but your cheeks begin to betray you. He dismisses your blush, scoffing and rolling his eyes playfully. 

        “Don’t get too excited, horndog. I just wanna cuddle.”

        “Naked?”

        “Yep.” His shirt gets flung to a dark corner of your room before Oikawa gestures for you to join in the activity. Well, who were you to deny your Adonis of a boyfriend?

        After accomplishing that task, you both lazily burrow under your warm covers, clumped together rather tightly on your twin-sized bed. The close quarters didn’t mind either of you. You set up a random movie on your laptop while your boyfriend held you closely from behind, his silent breaths rousing the hair on the back of your neck. You set the volume of the laptop forgettably low and place it on your nightstand before turning back to Oikawa.

        “How did the game go?” Your fingers lightly draw obscure shapes on his athletic chest and your mouth curves into a small smile. With his hands resting on your exposed hips, he tugs you closer and presses his forehead to yours.

        “Good. We won.” The swirls of dark chocolate others would lamely call eyes are glimmering proudly at the memory, and his thin, pink lips curl at the corners. 

        “I hope so, ‘cause you’re really sweaty.” Your boyfriend gawks at your words and then whines exaggeratedly.

        “You’re so mean! Way to ruin the moment.” He pulls away from you with a pout and grumbles under his breath. Giggling at the action, you reach up and bring his lips to your own, giving him a short, gentle kiss to make up for it. Separating hesitantly, Oikawa licks his lips with debating eyes.

        “Apology accepted,” he declares decidedly while wrapping his arms around your waist and pinning his chest against yours. His body was warm and unexpectedly comfortable, but you busied yourself with dipping your fingers into his hair and combing through the brown locks fondly. Sighing contentedly, your boyfriend tucks his head into the side of your neck and plants affectionate kisses here and there. 

        Before long, his movements slow and his breaths become heavy. Hot puffs of air tickle the fresh marks on your skin he couldn’t resist to make. You intertwine your bare legs with his own and snuggle closer to his soft hair, not hesitating to press a small kiss into the wild, slightly-sweaty strands. The muscles throughout your body relax in his tender, tired hold one by one, and your eyes begin to droop. At last, with the sounds of Oikawa’s deep exhales and the drones of the movie behind you, you finally fall into a warm, blissful slumber.

Loving Tradition (Tsukishima x Reader) *Request*

*GIF not mine*

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

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

Word count: 3436

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        WHAM!

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

        You. 

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

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

        WHAM!

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

        WHAM!         WHAM!

        WHAM!

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

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

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

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

                                ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “Yes?”

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

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

                                ~~~

        “Tsukki, why are we here again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                ~~~

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

        You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                ~~~

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

        Where…

        “Tsukishima, get your ass out there!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Where were you?

                                ~~~

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

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

        Really, the possibilities were endless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                ~~~

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

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

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

        “What?”

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

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

        God, how had he fallen so far?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “That’s debatable.”

Hey, I don't know if I sent this already (if I did, I'm sorry), but do you still write for OPM?

Nah, you only sent this in once, so you’re totally fine👌 I do still write for OPM, but my request box is currently closed💜

Side note: if you do send in a request, that’s totally okay. I’m just trying to balance out my life and this blog right now, so it will take me a while to get to your request and get it out.

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