In The Black Widow’s Nest (Henry Creel X Reader) 🕷️Chapter 1🕷️
In the Black Widow’s Nest (Henry Creel x Reader) 🕷️Chapter 1🕷️
*GIF not mine*
Summary:
Prince Henry of the Creel Dynasty is finally in search of a wife, and in the spirit of courtship, King Victor has invited young royalty from all neighboring kingdoms to vie for his hand. But with so much royalty introduces the need for many more maids in the castle than usual.
Enter: You.
You're nothing but a servant in his home, an intruder in his prized library, and an utter nuisance in his mind. But then you survive his attack, and in an unexpected way nonetheless. That makes you... interesting.
You've caught his eye---congratulations! Now, you must deal with the consequences of loving a heartless prince in a world where far worse things lurk in the castle than dirty garderobes.
A/N: All i ask is that u imagine henry creel’s evil face on jace wayland’s body that’s it that’s all u gotta do, the fic will do the rest. this may or may not be a series, i do have a few ideas for it (but let it be known begging will not speed up the process). one final comment: henry creel hot. Hope you enjoy!
Word count: 4328
Amongst the cobwebs, the dust, and the black widows, in the abandoned royal library surrounded by the scent of mildew and what once was and is no longer, a pair of eyes watched your every move. Like two frozen fingers poking into the back of your skull, the gaze ran chills down your spine and tightened the muscles in your shoulder blades.
Every move you made was stiff. Despite the season outside being spring, winter had found perpetuity within the four towering walls. There were no windows nor any lit chandeliers; the only light was provided by the brass candlestick that had been forced into your hand before you were thrown into the library, with the promise of being released after ten hours or at the the sight of one hundred spotless, unblemished bookshelves—whichever came first.
Decidedly, you had three hours left.
The candle was almost completely diminished to a pool of wax, and the flame on its wick had long weakened and begun flickering. You suspected one last breeze would leave you in complete darkness and at the mercy of whomever was watching you from the shadows. No matter how many times you weaved in and out of the bookshelves that stood at twice your height, five parallel rows of grimy mahogany stacked with fading leather spines, you could not escape the unmistakable feeling.
This person had not made a sound when they had entered the room. There were no new footsteps tracked in the dust layered on the floor aside from yours, and you had not even heard the twin doors creak open as they had when you entered. You couldn’t hear them over your own breathing and certainly not over the pounding of your heart.
With every precarious flick of your feather duster over the worn titles, the clouds of your efforts mingled with those of your own exhales. You kept your gaze low, eyes focused on only the task in front of you with the hope—artificial hope—that if you did not disturb them with your own attention, they would eventually remove theirs from you.
Time trudged by as you shifted from bookshelf to bookshelf, the clogs on your feet scraping the hardwood floors. You kept a wooden chair in tow, collected from one of the tables arranged in the center of the room, and dragged it in closer to the nearest bookshelf, clambering atop the seat and lifting onto your toes to dust the top row of books. The cobwebs were thickest here, spiders having been left to their lonesome far too long and creating their own colony.
You could barely reach and dusted blindly, allowing the length of the feathers to do most of the work as you ignored the cramps festering throughout your calves. A soft gust of wind floated past and tousled the flyaways at your brow, and as you purse your lips to blow them back and out of your lashes, the room flickered and fell into darkness.
The candle had finally gone out.
You squinted and hissed a curse under your breath, your gaze snapping to the outline of the table, where you could barely make out the bowl of wax and nothing more. Just my luck, you thought as you withdrew your feather duster from the bookshelf top. You would have to retrieve a new taper from one of the maids’ closets, though you sincerely doubted the head maid would be all too pleased with your explanation.
Excuses, excuses, you could imagine her barking at you, ire swirling in her small, black eyes. Candles don’t just go out on their own.
“She’ll probably just set my hand on fire and lock me back in here,” you grumbled, huffing as you grabbed the backing of your chair to dismount. A faint tickle on the back of your hand drew your attention. “Hell will freeze over before she—”
Spider.
You yelped, a blasphemy falling from your lips as your clogs slipped on the polished wood seat. Your back hit the ground first, a pained shock shooting from your tailbone up to where your head smacked against the ground with the whiplash of your fall.
White sparkles lit up your vision, and you sputtered out a cough, not bothering to blink them away. An ache throbbed at your lower back, pulsing at the same wavelength as the ringing in your ears and drawing a groan from your lips. An odd smarting festered up your spine, not unlike a chill.
Carefully, you slumped back, your head resting against the hard floor and your legs straightening out. You didn’t want to get back up; you didn’t want to move. For a few moments, you let the pain overcome you while you wheezed for breath, choking on the dust that had become unsettled by your fall. It rose and hung in the dark air around you, blurred and wavering with your heartbeat.
For a few moments, you forgot that someone had been watching you.
And you certainly didn’t want to know where the spider had wound up.
The smallest vibration of light footsteps trembled underneath your fingertips, and a sharp pain shot through your skull. Light, blinding and bright and excruciatingly insistent, is all you can see when the vibration stops and some glowing form hinges over you.
“Not dead,” are the words you think you hear, husked in a monotonous, low gravel and feeding into the loud hum in your head. It’s muffled between the blood pounding in your ears and the hazy confusion that had begun to fog over your mind.
“Not yet, at least.”
You licked your lips, eyes fluttering closed, then open, then closed again. “What?” you mumbled breathlessly.
The glowing form dims, gradually painted by an orange hue. When metal thuds on wood, you guess it must be a candle joining your pool of wax on the table, and before long the presence hovers over you again. Tree sap swarms where the scent of mildewed books had been lingering, and, in a cruel twist of fate, you hazard a guess that this is one of the courtiers the head maid had shrilled about avoiding at all costs.
Or worse—a member of the royal family.
But how? And why? None of them would ever idle about in a damp, endlessly cold library. The smell bordered on revolting, half of the volumes were wrinkled and illegible, and you couldn’t walk two steps inside without grime caking your face and clothes. Not to mention, the spiders. Disgusting, horrid spiders.
Black widows, if the head maid was to be believed.
The wintry library would never be home to festivities of the upper class, not even the occasional unsolicited rendezvous. There were dining rooms and bedrooms and poor, innocent gardens for all the horrific things they did to one another; entire wings dedicated to the sybaritic tendencies of royalty.
But this man before you—oh, how otherworldly he was.
You could believe that he had been the one watching you with how his eyes pierced you in this moment, a being such as him the only one capable of having a tangible effect with a single glance.
You took in his sharp cheekbones, the soft slope of his nose, his slate blue eyes. His face was haloed by mussed, golden hair, and two pale pink lips set against each other as a look of disinterest with ease. His entire appearance, from his lithe figure to the way his eyes dragged over you, exuded a superiority that had been trained to perfection.
Staring at him felt like drinking a sweet wine, far too indulgent and alluring to ever be truly satiated, and yet you know all too well it would be condemning to keep on as you are. You know this man has a rank heavens above yours; his skin, tanned and unblemished, has never felt the dust and dirt that encompasses you every day, and his body has never held your scars.
In your muddled daze, you imagined barreling headfirst into damnation for acquainting with this handsome being. Whether he be a marquess or a lord or, God forbid, even a duke, being seen in such close quarters with him was strictly forbidden, especially with the royal prince’s season for courting beginning in a week.
And then you felt yourself spiraling—you imagined him curling over you, his deft fingers sliding underneath your nape, tracing the curve of your scalp and feeling for injury. You imagined his eyes warming pleasantly as he found you safe and unharmed. You imagined he gave a damn.
But he didn’t. He never would.
His hands fell to his hips, the loosely fitted, half-unbuttoned white tunic he donned exposing more toned skin while he glowered down at you.
He certainly wasn’t going to wax poetic about your welfare.
“No blood.” His head tilted to one side slightly, blond tufts of hair following suit. “And thankfully no mess. I’d have hated to invite yet another servant in here, even if it was to drag your body out.”
A shiver tore through your spine, and you had the most horrible feeling that if you died somehow in this moment, no one would bat an eye—especially not the man before you.
His voice had that regal lilt, the one you could have never gained in your small village outside of the castle. You’d only ever heard it on a few of the higher-ranking maids—certainly none of the girls you had been hired with had such accents either—as well as some passing royalty on your first few days of traipsing the castle with a guide. His voice was deep and raspy, as though he spent his days either growling out orders or not speaking at all. You wonder if that was how he found it so easy to watch you mutely.
Feeling entirely too vulnerable, supine as you were, you brace your hands against the floor and writhe your way into a sitting position, head swimming with vertigo. Bile rises in your throat, and you press your eyes closed, tight, waiting out the wave. The idea that dragging your gaze away from him had played a part in the nausea tickles the back of your mind.
He watches, seeming somewhat interested, as you struggle.
Once, in your small village, a wolf had snuck into the farmer’s fields. You remember watching from your doorway that morning, the sun barely risen, as the wolf tackled a single lamb and began eating it alive.
The blood coated its paws and muzzle. Bones crackled with the snapping jaws. Even after the lamb had stopped squealing, the hunger in the wolf’s eyes never quite seemed satiated.
Something in the man’s and the wolf’s gazes made them indistinguishable to you in that moment.
The cruel sneers and jeering laughs of the royals you’d seen so far could only contain so much antagonism. This man was cut from a different cloth.
His body, all relaxed muscles and agile limbs, had a vigorous, agitated thing running within the veins of his arms, sleeves rolled to the elbows; the cruelty in his mien was something you had only ever encountered in wild animals.
Panic chills the sweat on your brow. Laboriously, you wrench one hand on a bookshelf, hoisting yourself up despite the blaring pain climbing up your spine, and onto your feet. You can feel the weakness in your knees the second you try to take another step, the defiant outcry of your mind and body as you try to move, but the man is so close. The warning sirens in your mind wail.
A hand grapples around your free wrist, insistent and rigid.
“Stop.”
You flinch, and your first instinct is to twist away and run. His grip is iron-tight, though, and without much resistance, he spins you back to face him. Frantically, your eyes once more swallow up his bronze, toned skin in the shadows of his candle, waiting for a strike.
In return, the weight of his gaze bows your shoulders, fostering an urge to find a corner and curl up until you can’t anymore. Something you can scarcely identify flickers through his blue eyes. He’s staring at your wrist, locked in his, and then he’s staring at you, his lips tight and his face hard as stone. Like before, you can feel him searching you, taking note of your every move.
He’s scrutinizing you like a bug, uncertain of just how and in what way to crush you under his heel. It’s the way he had when his gaze was all you knew about him, and you have no trouble imagining yourself splatting underneath his boot.
But a sound rings in the distance, drawing your attention away from him entirely.
Ringing. Ringing like church bells. Ringing like the clang of the metal clapper striking tarnished ocher and rust. The kingdom’s clock tower made the same sound.
A chime, maybe.
Or a knell.
But you were almost positive that sound couldn’t be heard so far away, crammed deeply within the towering castle walls. Especially at its volume.
It chimes again, and you slam both hands to your ears, heart pounding. It’s deafening. You can’t breathe, and you can barely see, still tangled up in the man’s eyes. They’ve grown so cold and strike you so much harder your teeth begin to chatter.
“No,” you whisper, though you’re not quite sure what you’re protesting. “Please.”
His pale lips turn red as he smirks, and every angle of his face sharpens into focus. The room fades into black and white. Musty bindings and rotting pages no longer invade your nostrils. It’s like your brain is shutting off each sense one by one so you can take in more of him.
And you can’t seem to look away.
No.
By the third chime, you can barely feel the pain that had been radiating through your body, and the release is almost blissful. Beckoning. You’re swathed up in the tranquility, ears stuffed with cotton and head buzzing in the silence. When your whole body starts rocking back and forth, waiting for another agonizing chime, your knees begin to feel like rubber, suddenly too malleable to stand upon.
A fourth chime, earsplitting.
They buckle.
You snap your hands forward in a panic, yelping when you stumble.
All your senses return as fast as the pinch of a needle. Blood roars in your ears, and soreness floods your every limb. It’s like trying to squeeze into clothes that have become too small and completely ripping the seams—all the sights, the smells, the feelings overload your brain too quickly, causing it to swell and split open.
Your only lifeline is a radiating source of heat, and you cling to it so hard you're half afraid you might smother it. But when your embrace tightens, so too does your grip on reality. You can almost unscramble your own thoughts again—all the curse words you’ve ever known combined with prayers to the heavens above. Giving yourself into refuge becomes second nature, and you burrow further into the cradle of warmth.
A jolt runs up and down your back, and your skull feels cracked in two.
But the eerie quiet of the library registers anyway. The chiming is gone.
Blissful silence remains, only occasionally pierced by your gasping breaths. You want to nuzzle deeper, the warmth firm and solid, as the simmering underneath your skin wanes, yet there seems to be no space left that your form hasn’t already curled into.
“What just happened?” Your voice wavers, and it echoes back so loudly that you flinch.
You can’t see a thing. The dim outlines of the room fuzz and blend, and if you weren’t standing on your own two feet, you wouldn’t have been able to tell up from down. But the chill still nips at your skin. The library hasn’t changed. Nothing’s changed but you.
But there’s no explanation for the bell-ringing, the sensory overload. It must have all been in your head; it feels like any second now, your ears are going to pop and reality will flood back in. You’re alive. But whatever had just happened was as close to death as you could have imagined—
A breath away from becoming nothing.
So what stopped it?
Even more—what started it?
The questions slipped your mind the second you heard the library door creak. The pitiful sound allowed the entrance of sunlight directed by the hallway’s window, and the stiffness of your bones crackled at the thought of even more warmth. You felt half-thawed and left for dead, save for the fount of heat caught in your white-knuckled grasp.
You went still.
Heat.
Heat in the library.
That had to have been one of the most preposterous realities you had imagined since you had first stepped foot in here seven hours ago—and you had raked through your mental fantasies quite thoroughly in that time.
Carefully, as though jaws might snap at you from the darkness, you withdrew your arms from the motionless frame and craned your head upward.
Dear God.
The man was even more beautiful when washed in distant sunlight. Heart-wrenchingly so. More alluring when his hair glowed golden, combed back waves ending neatly at his nape. More potent when his gaze speared yours, his arms limp at his sides, elbows brushing the backs of your hands at his waist.
Terribly heady.
Five seconds passed before you caught on to your ill deed, and his white tunic fluttered from the speed at which you pulled away from him. When his slender fingers twitched in tandem, you could only assume that, had you waited another second, he would have grasped your wrists so tightly the bones would have snapped.
How could you? Oh God, this was it. It’s all over.
You’re seized under his watchful eye, his face washed over with rage, or vexation, or downright disgust at your entirely-too-close, worthy-of-execution contact.
Certainly, it could not be the wonder you had initially thought it was.
That was just not possible.
Impossible.
Maybe.
“YN!”
You jump when the library’s twin doors slammed open, a crotchety, accented voice rattling against the shelves. The clomping of two clogs no different than yours—though, possibly better polished—thunder towards the pair of you, located by your and his candlesticks, stained brass and glossy gold sitting side by side on the oak center table.
The head maid—Miss Miriam Swinebottom, which, in your humble opinion, was evidence that fate did in fact understand the concept of justice—was a woman of an angular, acidic countenance. Two beady eyes sunk deep into her skull like snakes nestled within a tumbleweed, and she had the capacity for two emotions: disappointment and fury. With a distaste for all things insouciant, the skeletal woman wielded the newly hired maids like an army of rats; she sent all of you scuttling over every inch of the castle and cleaning until your bodies were slow and stiff as though submerged in deep water.
And you had no doubt that, the second that gaze fell upon you, she was out for blood. The terror that began pulsing in every nerve was no different than when you had first noticed the foreboding air around the blond man. You were not going to get out of this without a scratch.
Miss Miriam took in you first, but not for long. Soon enough, both of you, as one incriminating sight, were being ascertained.
You knew what she saw.
One of her new maids, no better than the grime beneath her shoe, inches away from a royal.
Unseasoned in the ways of the castle, naive to the new problem you’ve just sprouted, a true simpleton for what you’ve done. You.
You, with unsteady eyes and flushed cheeks, his shirt unbuttoned, blond hair tousled.
Fresh meat.
Dead meat.
And you hadn’t even done anything.
You stumble back another step and hesitate to make an excuse. Words, you’d learned, were no better than handing Miss Miriam a switch. Best stay silent and pray for mercy.
Or, rather, for a quick recovery.
Curiosity slips out of your hands, and you sneak a glance at the man.
He’s wicked all over again. Somewhat unimpressed by the turn of events, he appears, but the emotion mingles with a strong sense of antagonism no nobility can seem to restrain. You’re only half-glad looks can’t kill. Miss Miriam would be worse off than six feet deep by now.
To your surprise, she does not snatch you away with promises of a beating. She doesn’t get a step closer.
Instead, the head maid folds into a low curtsy, then rises back up, bowing her head. “Your Highness.”
You tense at her actions, mind falling blank.
No. He couldn’t be.
Your Highness? Your Highness?
But as his gaze trails away from her and back to you, his face abruptly void, you can only stagger back another step, knees giving way into a curtsy as you copy Miss Miriam.
Waiting.
He is.
His Royal Highness, Crown Prince of the Creel Dynasty.
And here you had been, none the wiser, completely ignorant to the danger you’d just placed yourself in.
For a long, excruciating moment, nothing happens. He does not touch you, nor does he move. The only sound filling the room is bated breath and whispering winds.
Prince Henry. The prized catch of all the kingdoms. Aristocracy who’d never even scoff at a servant like you were here to court him.
And you’d been so close—you could still feel the ghost of his warmth under your fingertips.
A huff perks your ears, but you bite your tongue, waiting. He moves, one slow footstep at a time, nearing you with his polished, leather boots. You watch them as they grow closer.
You watch them as they hesitate in front of you.
And then you watch them as they pass, each thump of leather against hardwood further and further away until there’s no doubt he has left the library.
The older maid hitches a second longer before she rises, spitting your name like bile. “YN.” Her footsteps thunder toward you, and you barely have time to straighten before she has an iron grip on your upper arm, hauling you out of the room.
“You had such a simple task. Clean the library and get out.” She grits her teeth, eyes flaring. “No one has used it in a decade, and yet what do I find but a dusty library and you. You, whoring yourself around the prince. And you said you weren’t a wench before I hired you.”
She leads you down the castle’s marble hallways, dim from the setting sun yet well-lit by the sconces lining the walls. No matter how much you stumble and grunt, she drags you after her into the servants’ wing, swiftly finding the maids’ hall and barging you through the doorway.
The room falls silent when the door slams shut, and while no crowd gathers, you are certainly the center of attention to the maids awaiting attending dinner. Stomachs are rumbling, but you have no doubt they would rather feast their eyes on this spectacle first.
Tears pinch at the bridge of your nose. You can’t cry; you didn’t want to be one of the maids that cried. Those that did were in the latter half of the new hires who were younger than you. And you weren’t a little girl anymore.
No crying.
But, oh, you were scared when Miss Miriam paraded you in front of the others, hissing warnings and threats of punishment for girls who did what you had done.
“-traipsing herself around in front of a most respected royal.” Black, burning eyes latch back onto you. “Tell me, YN, what did you think would happen?”
You flinch.
There’s no point in looking to others for help. You don’t know them well enough to have friends. It’s been three days, and only one name has stuck.
But you know it’s a sea of pity, disappointment, and nervous movement flowing back and forth.
“It,” your voice cracks, and you pause, blinking rapidly. Another older maid, same regal accent, same strict demeanor, same gaze hissing you deserve this you deserve this you deserve this, approaches from behind. “It was an accident—”
You reel back into her waiting arms with a yelp. A stinging burn lances at your cheek, and if you hadn’t seen Miss Miriam’s bony hand fall back to her side, you would have thought she’d slashed open your cheek with an average kitchen knife.
A seasoned backhand. Was there anything worse?
Miss Miriam stepped back, her appearance leaning more towards irate than strictly furious. She turned away from you, searching the walls of the dormitory. Though you had never seen it before, it hung on the wall with a single nail and a small, looped string on the handle.
A riding crop, yet you had the distinct feeling it had never been used on horses before.
“No,” you plead when swift fingers begin untying your garment backing. “Please, it—it was an accident!” You try to yank away, but the crop swings at your head. When you lurch back, the fingers resume and Miss Miriam simply tilts her head.
Dread claws up your throat. The edges of your vision begin contracting with your heart beat, while a shrill voice in your head begins screaming to run, to get out, to escape. Cold air assaults your bare back, and when you feel the tears begin to fall, the maid spins you around, presenting the stripped canvas of flesh to the others.
“Let this be a lesson to you all, girls,” Miss Miriam announces. “This is not a whorehouse. You are not here to prostitute yourselves to royalty. You will not even look at them.” Her voice directs towards you, “They will certainly not look at you.”
You scream when the crop comes down, the white walls blurring, and the skin of your back wails at the betrayal.
The tears don’t stop for hours.
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Envy on Leave (Spencer Reid x Reader)
*GIF not mine*
Summary: After failing his field test, Spencer is stuck on desk duty for a week. You, his usual partner for cases, get put with Morgan for the newest case, and Spencer can’t say he’s a fan. Oh no, he’s not a fan at all.
A/N: Hey I watch criminal minds now for one reason and one reason only. Can u guess what it is? Anyways, enjoy!
Word count: 2236
His eyes had followed you all day. His gaze stayed locked on your figure as you smiled, laughed, and pushed Morgan away with a blush. On any normal day, that would be you with him, but since Spencer failed his last gun-on-the-field test, he had been punished with one week of desk duty.
...Leaving you to partner up with Morgan on the newest case.
You and Spencer were good friends, both bonding over being the youngest on the squad while being somewhat prodigies. But where Spencer thrived in mind, you thrived in body, having one of the best aims at the academy and being exceptional at hand-to-hand combat.
Naturally, they paired you and Spencer together, tying together the two weak links. You’d needed more experience and familiarity with the cases the BAU handled; Spencer had needed training (or protection) on the off chance of a physical altercation happening on a case. But now that Spencer was confined to the office only, you were working without a partner, and so you had been paired up with Morgan.
Something you didn’t seem to mind one bit.
He could see it, the both of you working together over a table scattered with papers. Derek’s hand would brush yours or your shoulder would bump his. You would snort at something he said or look deep into his eyes while explaining a lead you had uncovered.
Spencer burned with envy, jaw tight and eye twitching as he clicked on his mouse a little too tightly, only to hear a small crack. Glancing down, he scoffed at the sight of his jammed button, no longer able to move and therefore no longer able to select anything on his computer. Useless.
When he returned his gaze to your and Derek’s forms, his chest jumped at the sight of you staring right at him, a small smile on your face. The moment you noticed Spencer look up, though, you flinched away, a flush of pink rising up to your cheeks as you began to cough and spin in the complete opposite direction to avoid his gaze.
Spencer rose to his feet in concern, and Derek glanced at you in surprise, chuckling and patting you on the back as you choked on your own spit.
“Wrong pipe?” Spencer could barely hear him say from the distance but could read his lips. Not that he focused on those words too much, too busy watching the way Derek’s hand rested on your back and rubbed your shoulder blade.
It was when you whispered something then, Derek leaning in to hear you better and you, in turn, leaning closer to him as well that Spencer finally tore his gaze away. A swell of hot jealousy rose in his chest and burned his throat like bile.
His chair rolled back and slammed against the wall, almost shaking the room as Spencer snapped up from his seat. People startled to attention at the sound of the crash, eyes wide and confused when they saw Spencer as the cause. He saw you had twisted around as well to see what had happened, brows furrowing and lips parted when you met his gaze.
He held it, eyes never leaving yours as he tugged his computer toward him, pulling random cords. When he finally unhooked something, anything, he gathered up the cord in his hands and announced to the group, “I need a new mouse.”
With his detached keyboard dangling by his side, Spencer stormed out of the room, leaving confusion and concern in his wake.
~~~
“You need to tell her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Honey, you’re smart, not smooth--give up on this whole ‘lying makes me look cool’ spiel.”
Spencer bit his tongue, trying to focus his eyes on the screen that Garcia had pulled up. Photos of the recent unsub who’d been murdering teenage girls in a small town. Stuck at the home office, Spencer could only wait for information of the case’s status to reach him, otherwise he had no clue how it was going or how the team was doing.
Or if you were okay.
“Is it really a lie if there’s nothing to tell?” He dropped his eyes to the phone, still ringing and waiting for Morgan to pick up the call for the unsub’s identity.
“No,” Garcia sighed, “but in your case, there’s plenty to tell.” She adjusted her glasses while zooming in on the various pictures, only peering out of the corner of her eyes to say, “Face it, Reid, you’re a smitten kitten.”
“I am not-”
“Sweetness, whatcha got for me?”
“Suspect’s name and criminal history, as always. Aren’t I just a god?” Spencer rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair and giving up on the argument as Garcia relays the information. Instead, he focused on the screen, familiarizing himself with the suspect until he heard your voice.
“Is Reid okay?” you asked in the background of the call, barely audible over Garcia and Morgan’s flirting. Spencer straightened up at that, head whipping toward the phone as he stopped in his tracks to listen for more.
Garcia raised a smug brow as she paused mid-sentence, both lines quiet and waiting for Spencer’s response. Spencer parted his lips, preparing to speak before you asked, “Is he there with Garcia?”
“Y-yes,” he sputtered, “I’m here.”
The room turned quiet, neither side of the call quite sure how to respond. A shuffling on Morgan’s side clued into the fact that he’d handed her his phone, allowing her to talk to her missing partner.
“Oh, um,” her voice was louder, its shakiness more noticeable, “cool-I mean, good.”
His heart warmed. “Yeah.”
It went dead silent again, silent enough that Spencer could hear Garcia’s lashes brushing her skin as she rolled her eyes. There was a buzzing running along his veins as he sat and waited, thinking of how you’d wanted to know if he was okay, if he was there.
“So… do- do you have any ideas about our guy?”
And just like that, it was just you and Spencer delving into a case together again, even if he was so far away.
“A few.”
“Give ‘em to me.”
~~~
It was the first unsub you’d taken down single-handedly, and the team decided to celebrate. “To YNs!” rang around the bar as the BAU clinked beer bottles together, everyone congratulating you and patting you on the back. A large grin spread across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes and making them gleam.
Spencer watched from a stool at the bar, a smile settling on his face dotted with a hint of pride. He watched as Garcia gave you a side hug, cracking her bottle against yours before whispering something in your ear that made your eyes widen. He tensed in his seat after that, grin dropping as a heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
She told her. YN knows how I feel, and it wasn’t even from me. Shit.
Your eyes never looked up, never tried to meet his even though you knew where Spencer was in the room. He didn’t know if that was good or bad.
Panic rattled his brain as he watched your every emotion from then on, trying to gauge how you felt about what Garcia had told you.
It was hard to do when Morgan approached you.
That look was on his face; Spencer knew it well. After a few beers, Morgan was loose enough to hit on women, loose enough to hit on you.
Like a hawk, he watched the interaction--Morgan spoke under his breath, you laughed, he laid his hand on your shoulder, and you looked up at him with that gleam in your eyes.
Spencer should have known. He should have seen it coming. Why would any girl prefer him over a guy like Morgan? Especially you? Big, muscular guys who were at your level of strength and stamina, and even compared to your mind in some ways.
Why would you want him? He couldn’t even pass the gun-on-the-field test.
Even though it hurt, Spencer watched your interaction with Morgan a little longer, taking in how you nodded at what he said, biting your lip and blushing at what he’d muttered as Morgan pointed at him and- Shit, she’s looking, act natural!
Spencer spun toward the bar, almost falling off his stool as he slammed his hands against the counter to balance himself. Heart pounding in his chest, he set down the beer, a sigh escaping as he set his elbows on the surface and dropped his head into his hands.
If there was ever a time where Spencer envied Morgan (which wasn’t often), it would be now. He thought you and him had had a connection; every case aside from this week’s you’d worked by his side, asking for his guidance and in turn adding your own opinions, unfiltered by previous cases. It was his shoulder that brushed against yours while cramming together to overlook the same group of files and papers; it was his hand that skimmed over yours; he was the one you walked out with every night, looked toward for guidance, high-fived after solving a case, and laid your head on during a long flight home.
How could he have been so stupid?
“Spence?”
YN.
A hand pressed on top of one of his, still buried in his own hair. His skin tingled at your touch, and his heart tightened in appreciation. Gently, you tugged his hands out of his hair, forcing him to look up as you took a seat to his right.
“Hey, the only one who gets to tousle your hair is me, remember?” you teased, cheeks blooming into a soft pink. Spencer straightened up and faced you, eyes trailing up and down your face. When you shifted uncomfortably, he paled in embarrassment.
“Congrats on your first solve, YN.” Instantly, your face lit up, and Spencer’s chest constricted. God, he loved when you smiled at him.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” You took a sip of your beer, missing Spencer’s face falling.
“Actually, it seems this was the one case you have done without me.” His voice turned forlorn, attracting your attention.
“What?”
His lips quirked in bitter amusement. “You seemed to handle things quite well with your new partner.”
Brows furrowing, you set down your beer, turning fully toward Spencer. “Are you talking about Morgan?”
Yes.
“Yes.”
You paused, gaze turning thoughtful as you observed Spencer’s every action. You could see right through him; he could feel it. But your words confused him. “This case… I didn’t like it very much.”
“What? Why?”
You shook your head. “It wasn’t right.”
“But you got the guy.”
“No,” you smiled softly. “I know that, but… I didn’t enjoy it like I usually do. Not that I’m, like, a sick person or something!” you rambled nervously, hands gesturing in a panic. “It’s just,” you clenched your eyes shut and took a breath, “it sucked that I couldn’t work it with you.”
Spencer froze.
“What?”
You opened your eyes and looked at him, face fully red. “I wish you’d been there. You know, instead of… in-instead of Morgan.”
Spencer’s jaw dropped. Your eyes widened.
“Not that I don’t like Morgan! Morgan’s awesome! Not that I like Morgan in that way, though--and-and I don’t like you in that way either! Wait, that’s not what I meant--what I mean is that I like you in a way that I don’t like Morgan. No, wait, I like you in a way that is different from the way I like Morgan, and-crap, that sounds wrong-”
Your voice seemed to fade as Spencer watched you frantically ramble. His heart pounded so loud it drowned out his own thoughts until all he could hear was Morgan’s not the one she likes; it’s me. She likes me. YN likes me and misses me and wants me around her and-holy shit.
“-and so yeah, I like you.” Your mouth slowed to a stop as you finally took in a breath, face transforming from the previous purple to a flushed red.
Spencer couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t take his eyes off you. The girl he’d fallen for since the minute he’d first met her returned his feelings.
“Spence?”
His eyes dropped to your lips, following the way they muttered his name.
“Spencer?”
He lifted his hand, brushing his fingers along your warm cheek before running his thumb over your bottom lip.
“Say it again,” he mumbled. “Please.”
“Spencer?”
“No.”
“I like you, Spencer,” you smiled against his thumb.
“Yes.” He leaned forward, stepping down from his stool and still towering over you as his nose pressed against yours. He tugged your lips to his, his hands drawing yours up to his hair before cupping your face. When you tightened your grip on his locks, he sighed. His hot breath warmed your face as he pulled away, his thumb brushing along your puffy lower lip. “Always yes.”
Can you do Shoto, Bakugou, Tokoyami, Tomura and Dabi learning their s/o was born with a heart condition but it doesn't stop them from fighting (eg. I was born with an irregular heartbeat so I'm stuck with it for life and I always have to let the doctors know say I was to need to be asleep for something a special doctor 100% has to be in the room to make sure I don't die even if the work is something small and simple)
S/O Born with a Heart Condition (BNHA Headcanons)
*GIFs not mine*
A/N: This is my first attempt at headcanons, so they might be too small or too large (or too shitty), idk (I also haven’t watched bnha long enough to meet Dabi’s character so :/). Thank you so much for the request, and I truly hope you like it! I tried to make it as accurate as possible to what I could find online, so I hope it works for you. Enjoy!
Word count: 1494
Todoroki Shouto:
If Todoroki wasn’t attached before, he sure is now.
This man doesn’t hesitate to cater to your every need, and always supports you when you want to do something out of your comfort zone.
That doesn’t mean he ever leaves your side for more than 20 minutes at a time, though.
He’s grown attached to you in a way he never thought he could, and hates to see you do something dangerous without his or a doctor’s supervision.
If you want to work out or something, he’s hesitant at first, but allows you to do so with his constant warnings not to hurt yourself and take it easy.
He’s always willing to cuddle and comfort you if your chest begins to hurt, and slowly spoons you while massaging your stomach. (His warm hand is a dream.)
You’re still growing used to having doctors watch you almost 24/7, and when you confess this to Todoroki, he hugs you tightly and whispers that he will only stay by your side when you feel up to it.
Of course you feel up to it. This man may have part-cold powers, but he’s still hot as hell.
You always feel more comfortable with him in the room, and Todoroki is always glad to be around you, taking as much comfort in your presence as you do with him.
Bakugou Katsuki:
When Bakugou learned you had a heart condition, he wouldn’t let anyone near you, treating you like a glass doll. (He barely keeps it together when your doctors come around.)
Every time one of his friends would get a little too close, he would start to growl.
If someone bumped into you in the halls, you best believe he blows up on their ass, even if it’s one of his closest friends.
“WHAT WAS YOUR DUMBASS THINKING RUNNING INTO HER LIKE THAT?! I’M GONNA EXPLODE YOUR ASS INTO THE NEXT CENTURY!”
Ten more minutes pass of him screaming at that person, and at some point you have to poke him in the side to get his attention. After that, he goes Mama bear mode.
Yes, even Bakugou has that setting.
He grabs your shoulders with concern written all over his face. “What? Are you okay? Do you need a doctor or something? SOMEONE CALL THE NURS-”
You gotta smack him across the forehead just to get him to shut up. (It resets his brain a lil bit.)
Overall, even though his friends tease him about it, he’s still fiercely protective over you, and no one aside from him is allowed in your ten-foot radius personal bubble.
You hated how he treated you like a baby, always grabbing your arms to stop them before he snatched the item off the top shelf for you, or any other acts that he does for you that piss you off so much.
Like a pit bull on a leash, he barked and snapped at anyone you passed on the street as his hand gripped your own tightly.
He was your little guard dog, your furious, explosive protector, and although you often argued about how you could handle yourself, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Tokoyami Fumikage:
You already know this man perches in the corner of your room at night.
Although he trusts your doctors, he still wants to make sure you’re okay while you sleep.
There’s a desk in the corner of your room, and he just squats down on top of it like nobody’s business, keeping a watchful eye on your every move.
The first time he did it, it kinda freaked you out.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like Batman-”
“Go to sleep.”
From then on, you let him just watch as you slept, used to having eyes on you as you do.
Occasionally, Dark Shadow creeps out in your dim bedroom and pets your hair gently, with constant warning from Tokoyami to be careful around you.
As your relationship grew stronger, you would find him sitting closer and closer to you every night.
(He scared the shit out of you one day when you awoke to find him crouched on your nightstand.)
Then, one night you stirred to him cuddling you in your sleep. You asked him what he was doing once again.
“I keep watch much better from this vantage point.”
You always ran a hand through his feathers while Dark Shadow’s presence slowly curled around you, and rarely found yourself falling asleep just as easy without him after a certain point.
Tokoyami watches you like a hawk, and always keeps you on your pills if you take them. He’s a dutiful boyfriend, who never hesitates in making you feel comfortable and loved, day or night.
Shigaraki Tomura:
HAND MAN, HAND MAN
Let’s be honest here. We’re talking about a villain. We all know this mf kidnapped you.
He fell for you first, of course, and was initially confused by your constant doctor companions. He just didn’t like how close they got to be around you, when he had to stay so far away.
He overheard your condition, and by then he had loved you too much to let you suffer, so he snatched up a doctor to take care of you in the villain’s lair as well.
After a year of patiently waiting, he finally wore you down enough to have you love him.
By then, he didn’t even have to request you stay in his line of sight at all times. You did so willingly.
Whenever you wanted to go outside and go shopping or whatnot, he always held your hand to do so. With your doctor near of course.
He just couldn’t risk losing you, no matter how much you whined that you would be fine.
He’s just as hesitant to cuddle or touch you, but still craves hugs from time to time. Nighttime snuggles are a rare occurrence.
When they do happen, he’s a bit bitter they can’t lead on farther thanks to the unwanted audience in the room.
He definitely lays his head on your chest to listen to your heartbeat.
“Still tickin’!”
In the end, Shigaraki embraces your condition with stride, and does everything in his power to make sure you’re safe and alive.... In his home…. And in his bed ;)
Dabi:
When Dabi learns you have a heart condition, he becomes ten times more alert around you.
If you stub your toe, he’s by your side in an instant, shouting about how you have to be careful.
If you bake a cake, he watches over your shoulder to make sure you don’t hurt yourself with any kitchen utensils used. You know, like a whisk.
“What if your finger gets caught and you panic and die on me?!”
Fight me on this, but blue fire boy’s attitude would flip a 180.
Out of all these guys, he’s the one who’s gonna watch over you the most, acting like a self-taught doctor.
You can’t do anything without his approval.
One time he came home to you accidentally taking a nap on the couch.
… *sigh*
Yeah. Dabi flipped his shit.
“DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE MY SIGHT EVER AGAIN YN!”
“I was just-”
“NO!”
You’re the only love in his life, and he doesn’t know what he would do if he lost you.
(Two words. Fire. Rampage.)
Just… be careful. Dabi is the last guy you want to piss off. Of course, he could never be truly mad at you, but you sure know how to push his buttons.
He, um, he typed up a list of things you could do without his supervision.
It’s two bullet points long.
1. Go to the bathroom.
2. That’s it.
Dabi can’t remember a time he was as attached to someone as he is to you, so when you throw your fits about wanting to do something on your own, he listens just about as well as a student in an online class.
“Mhm, sure.”
He just doesn’t wanna lose you, so from now on, try to stay away from doing just about anything until he’s around to witness it.
aSiDe FrOm gOiNg tO tHe bAtHrOoM oF cOuRsE
a kuroo au :(( kuroo song au with ready yet by sasha sloan :((
Forgive In Time (Kuroo x Reader)
*GIF not mine*
Summary: Kuroo always teased you, joked with you during class. You couldn’t help but grow feelings for him. Evidently he didn’t return them. (Based on “Ready Yet” by Sasha Sloan.)
A/N: Sorry this is so late! Btw, you got some good taste in music, my friend. This song is just *chef’s kiss.* Anyways, I hope this is what you were looking for, and I hope you like it!
Word count: 1728
“Hey YN.” Kuroo smiles at you and collapses into the desk next to yours. If only he knew how much that made your heart race.
“Hey Rooster Head.” He throws you a fake offended look that makes you giggle before he pokes your shoulder with a finger.
“Yeah, yeah, call me nicknames now, but soon you’ll be begging at my feet for help on the quiz tomorrow.”
“There’s a quiz tomorrow?!”
The black-haired volleyball player lets out a cackle that grabs the attention of the entire room, but his gaze is still only on you. Having his attention and being able make him laugh like that made you feel… funny. Giddy, really.
You and Kuroo had only been friends for a few months, but within that span of time you always yearned for more. In reality, he had first spotted and identified you as a loner, one he wanted to add to his collection, evidently.
You didn’t mind that idea. Kuroo was kind and funny, and super hot. Somewhere, deep down inside you, you were almost sure he felt the same way. After all, he always latched onto you like white on rice ever since he first saw you in his third year class.
“A pretty girl like you should never have to sit alone.” Yeah, as if your panties weren’t already flying off at the sight of him.
Anyway, he followed those words like a devotion not unlike that of a blood oath, always claiming the desk beside yours and teasing you in any way he could.
God, you liked him so much. And come on, what kind of guy flirts with a girl every day without romantic intentions?
With that thought locked in the spotlight of your mind, you glanced over at Kuroo several times throughout the school day, only getting caught about thirty percent of the time. It was okay, because each time he noticed, he threw you a wink that lit your cheeks aflame. He always chuckled at the sight, and you had to fend off any fuzzy feelings that almost made you pass out at the enticing sound.
Okay, seriously. It was time.
~~~
You never really ate lunch with Kuroo, but you figured you could track him down during the time.
After about ten minutes of frantically scanning every nook and cranny of the school, you finally spotted him outside in the courtyard, munching on a sandwich next to a blond boy. His shorter companion was preoccupied with a game while Kuroo proceeded to chatter his ear off.
You weren’t surprised.
With a deep breath of reassurance, you stepped outside into the cool breeze, hugging your school blazer tighter around yourself.
You got this, YN! You totally got this!
Your heart thumped sporadically, barely making a comprehensible rhythm along with the wing flaps of your stomach’s butterflies.
Y-you got this, YN. Y-you… umm.
Steps slowing, you began to realize the consequences of your actions. Kuroo still hadn't noticed you, instead digging around in his bag for the rest of his lunch.
Nope, you totally don’t got this.
Spinning on your heels, you marched back to the entrance of the school.
What if he doesn’t actually mean it?
What if that’s just how he talks to people?
What if-
“YN!”
Oh fuck.
A hand grabs your arm and swivels you around.
“H-hey Kuroo, what’s up?”
He gives you a confused smile. “What are you doin’ out here? Did you need something?”
Yeah, you. “Heh, umm, noooo,” you drag out the word while heavily avoiding his intense gaze.
Kuroo playfully jabs your side. “Oh come on, you can tell me. What’s up?” The distance between the two of you grows smaller and smaller the more he becomes more invested in the conversation, inching closer to you with every encouraging nudge. It’s too much and simultaneously not enough. Heart fluttering, you finally bat away his hand and sigh.
“Fine,” I can do this, “I’ll tell you.”
Kuroo only nods, allowing you to continue.
“So, here’s the thing….”
“Yeah?”
Rip off the bandaid YN!
“I like you.”
A quick inhale, then silence.
“... Oh.”
The quiet almost kills you, leading you to scramble for something to say.
“I’m sor-”
“I’m sor-”
You both interrupt each other and pause, forcefully laughing at the awkwardness.
“Erm, you go first,” you gesture with a wave of your hand. Kuroo’s eyes grow pained and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“YN I’m really sorry, but I just don’t feel that way about you.”
See now, rejection was always a possibility. You knew and understood there was a chance that Kuroo wouldn’t reciprocate your feelings.
You just didn’t know it would suck this much.
For a moment, it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest tightened and your throat closed up. Blood rushing through your ears, all you could do was nod numbly.
“Oh. Okay.”
~~~
Class was… painful. Kuroo had given you some space, as per your request, and in return your only friend in the class was now long gone. You never had anyone to talk to or ask about homework. You couldn’t giggle and make fun of the professor during class, or throw sticky notes at one another.
You just wish you had considered the consequences before you confessed. Not only had you gotten your heart broken, you had also lost your only companion to help make it through the school day.
Also, there was one other future consequence you had forgotten.
The school halls were empty, a sign that you had come way too early. Cursing your forgetfulness, you tightened the grip on your bag and huffed all the way to the classroom, only to be stopped by a heartbreaking sight.
“I’ll take you home after practice, all right baby?”
“Of course, see you then.”
Their lips clashed together in an intimate farewell, arms wrapped around each other as they swapped spit like tennis. Her hands dug into his dark hair, making it that much messier than it already was naturally.
And when Kuroo finally unlodged his tongue from the girl’s throat, he dragged his gaze up, up, up, just high enough to see-
“YN?”
In class, Kuroo always seemed just as uncomfortable and lonely as you after having to claim a new seat farther apart. Apparently that assumption was incorrect on your end.
A squeak escaped your lips and you froze in place. Really, what could you do? Run out of the school? Your mom would beat your ass for ditching. Just ignore it and walk into the classroom he had just made out in front of? Umm, no. You’d rather avoid that confrontation. Hide out in the bathroom? Pfft, yeah, like that would-
Oh shit. I can hide out in the bathroom.
Kuroo flinched at the sudden sight of you jumping into action. You pivoted and dashed down the hall in a mad sprint like a monster was after you. If anyone else was in the halls at that time, they would have seen the pure, unadulterated fear on your face and joined you in an instant, not even bothering to ask what you were escaping from.
It was a boy. Wasn’t it always?
Steps followed after you, more stretched out in the pattern of a longer stride. They only halted when you shouldered your way into the bathroom, scrambling to a stop and slamming the door in front of Kuroo’s face.
“YN! Hey, come on!”
“It’s occupied!”
You struggled to catch your breath as you sifted through your bag for your phone. Bingo.
“YN please, let’s talk about this.”
“…”
“YN, come on. You can’t avoid what just happened.”
“Watch me.”
You: Hey mom, can you come pick me up? I’m not feeling well.
*Message sent*
~~~
Tons of calls. Hundreds of texts. Each one was adorned with a harmony of buzzes or the acoustic version of “Sexy and I Know It” —Kuroo’s choice of course.
Tetsu😻: YN please.
Tetsu😻: Just respond.
Tetsu😻: I’m so sorry.
Tetsu😻: I didn’t want you to see that.
*Confirm name change?*
*Contact name successfully changed*
Kuroo: YN please forgive me.
Kuroo: Just let me know how to fix this.
Kuroo: Please just say something. I’m so sorry, please just give me a chance to fix this.
You were surprised at how much it hurt. Like a rock in the bottom of your stomach, you felt the worst emotion imaginable: complete and utter betrayal. Though you hadn’t been in a relationship with Kuroo, it still hurt to see him with another girl.
You supposed it wasn’t really that itself. It was also the idea that he moved on so quickly. It almost felt like he had acknowledged how you felt and completely dismissed it. Watching him make out with another girl just a couple days after you confessed your feelings for him wasn’t like any other pain you had felt.
It wasn’t like a paper cut, but it also wasn’t like a loved one of yours had died. It just felt… achy. Like a dull gnawing in your heart.
Some parts of you even wanted to blame yourself. Why wasn’t I the girl he wanted? Were you not pretty enough? That girl certainly was. Not smart enough? He always had to help you with your homework, but that was when he teased you most. Or maybe-
Kuroo: I don’t want to lose your friendship. Please YN, I’m so sorry.
...Maybe it was because you were just that. A friend to him. Either way, you just weren’t ready to forgive him. Your heart was trampled and covered in dirt, and it could take a while before you recovered from this.
Kuroo: Please.
One day. One day you would forgive him.
You weren’t mad at him. You couldn’t be. Your feelings for him weren’t gone either.
You: Just give me a little time please.
But you certainly weren’t ready to see him anytime soon.
Not yet.
Kuroo: Okay.
My masterlist is almost maxed out
Just wanted to write some Zuko smut tonight but now I gotta deal with that shit😤😤
Hi! When will you continue the reborn story. Its really good!!!
I’m glad you’re enjoying it! There are no permanent dates, but definitely think sometime around the beginning of summer. Just a few more weeks!☺️
Break Up Prank (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)
(Captain Version) Part 1
A/N: okay so Kita doesn’t have any screen time either wtf. And nobody told me that fake texts were so damn fun to make😔 A knee ways, enjoy!
Oikawa, Kuroo, Terushima
hi,,, do u still take requests? if so uhm :( can u write an akaashi x reader au based on burn fr0m hamilton?
Burned Promises (Akaashi x Reader)
*GIF not mine*
Summary: Every letter he wrote you was useless now. After he cheated, they were filled with nothing but lies, and what was the point of keeping lies lying around? (Based on Hamilton song “Burn.”)
A/N: Requests are open :)! I’ve never watched Hamilton, so… let’s just hope this is what you wanted. BUT I DID MY RESEARCH. Now it’s not this whole Hamilton/Haikyuu rewrite, but I did take the gist of the song and write it for Akaashi, so I hope you like it! Enjoy!
Word count: 1217
When you had first met Akaashi, he had enchanted you. The way he spoke so eloquently, how he held himself so purposefully. His looks had struck you first, with black locks tussled so perfectly atop his head and gunmetal blue eyes that struck your heart.
He had bewitched you.
Since the day you met, it appeared you had captured his attention as well. He wrote you letters, and much like the way he delivered his words by mouth, he delivered them through pen potently.
Every paper you received filled you with euphoria. Seeing your name scripted in personalized swirls of his hand lit your love aflame. But it was the sentences, the paragraphs he crafted so passionately that kept you entranced.
“My angel, every second I spend away from you is a second of my life wasted.”
You felt the same.
“Unlike what others say, your love has strengthened me and filled me with purpose.”
You felt the same.
“My angel, we were meant to be. Every thought in my consciousness has been overtaken by the image of you.” You felt the same. “Bliss floods my heart when I receive mail graced with your devotion. I devour your every word like a man starved the longer we are apart. Please, my angel, send more to me. Each piece you send me fills the whole your parted presence has left. I am yours, and your cherishes will fuel me till the end of time.”
You felt the same. Or apparently you felt some way.
In the streets of your own town, on some random day, you began to feel like an outcast. People observed you with pity and sorrow.
“Poor girl.”
“What a shame.”
“No one deserves that.”
What were they talking about?
It didn’t take long for news to travel one step farther. Your friend enveloped you in a hug and rubbed your back soothingly after you had shown up on her doorstep in tears.
“I should have listened to you.”
She had warned you months ago to watch him, be careful around him. She had said that one day, he would hurt you, and she was right.
After months and months of letters exchanging affection and tenderness, Akaashi had broken your heart. He cheated with another woman and hadn’t even had the gall to tell you first.
No, you had to learn from others. People who barely even knew you told you that your relationship had fallen apart.
~~~
That night, Akaashi slipped into the house with a grimace. In search of you, he followed the sounds of a crackling fire and entered the living room. You were seated with your back to him, facing the chimney with your knees on the hardwood floor. Your entire form slumped as you settled back on your heels.
He hesitated to enter, instead clenching his jaw and standing in the doorway.
“Angel…”
“Don’t.”
Your voice was quiet and scratchy as you spat the word. From what he could see, your hands were laid out in your lap, holding something.
The flickering flames were the only thing lighting the dark room, hissing and battling each other to grow stronger. Silence overlaid the tense atmosphere, and Akaashi found himself unable to breathe. His hands twitched by his side, the hands that had touched another woman.
He wanted to hold you, comfort you if possible. But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
You heaved a sigh and lifted your head, previously dropped low, and stared into the burning heat. With all the composure you could muster, you unlatched the fireplace door and pulled it open, letting your eyes water at the increased light.
And then you threw one in. His first letter.
Akaashi inhaled swiftly at the sight but he didn’t move a muscle.
He had meant every word he had written in those letters. Things had just… gotten messy and grown to be too much at one point.
At least, that’s the excuse he told you.
“I don’t care,” you muttered in response, observing another letter with a snarl before feeding it to the crackling flames. The parchment was engulfed in seconds, and every sentence that had ever made your heart twinge scorched up with a tsss.
The pile of papers dwindled down to one, and you scanned it over for a split second.
“I will always be yours.”
It charred into smoky flakes just as quickly as the others.
You wiped away a wave of tears and closed the door to the chimney before smoothing out the skirt of your nightgown. Then you rose to your feet and closed your eyes, taking one long, deep breath.
The peace didn’t last long.
Your gaze flew open at the feeling of a hand settling on your shoulder.
“YN, I still love y-”
You threw off Akaashi’s grip and whipped around, giving him a fierce glare.
“I hope you burn in hell.”
His eyes dropped and his cheek twitched at the words.
After a few minutes, you could no longer stand the sight of him. Your heart ached to think that he could betray you in such a way. He said he was mine.
You wished you could forget it all. Not only what he had done, but everything before. The first kisses, the first touches, the first anything.
You wanted to forget the strong arms that had caressed you to sleep at night. You wanted to forget the long fingers that had combed through your hair. The soft smiles, only for you. The flicker in his eyes that spoke volumes. The tenderness of the lips that had kissed you, brushed over every inch of you.
Akaashi wasn’t yours anymore. And God how you wish that wasn’t true.
With a shake of your head, you made your way out of the living room, pausing only in the doorway to glance back at him.
He stood with his head hanging low, but, as if he felt the weight of it, he looked up to meet your gaze.
His eyes, pools of deep indigo with the occasional fleck of cyan, stared at you deeply. They glimmered with hope.
You wouldn’t be so cruel as to feed it.
You turned away with a trembling frown and continued on your trek up the stairs. Footsteps attempted to follow you to the bedroom, but you threw a halting hand over your shoulder and shook your head. The strides slowed to a stop behind you, and you could swear you heard a silent whine.
He was broken over what had happened too. But that didn’t mean you forgave him.
You couldn’t face him as you said it, but one half of your bed would be empty for a while.
“Sleep on the couch for now, Keiji.”
God, I hope he burns.
here’s a request, okay so like i’ve been sad recently so how would Tsuki, Bokuto, and Kenma (separately) cheer up their s/o who’s sad, thank you :) hopefully you do it, if you don’t it’s totally cool!
Cheering Up Sad S/O (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)
*GIFs not mine*
A/N: Thank you so much for the request! Umm, and I know I’m not really qualified to help or anything, but I know one thing that always makes me feel better is laughing. Even if it’s forced, laughing always feels good to me, so maybe it’ll help you too! Anyways, hope you guys enjoy!
Word count: 802
Tsukishima Kei:
Honestly, he doesn’t take you seriously at first.
Let’s be real, Tsukishima is shit with emotions
So he thinks you’re kind of just throwing a fit in the beginning.
Then you start crying or just start being more quiet than usual and then he thinks oh SHIT.
He starts by standing beside you and just awkwardly patting your head.
Then he sighs and brings out the big guns, dragging you to the couch and setting you down there.
He leaves and comes back five minutes later with popcorn, drinks and piles of blankets and he just cuddles you while watching his favorite tv show (documentary about dinos whattt)
I mean ur like crying so u can’t see the screen, right??
He’s got his lanky arms wrapped around you and you’re laying on top of him trying to steady your breathing.
When you do, you give him a small kiss and mutter thank you before untucking your face.
He’ll nod and then ask what you want to watch and that’ll be that.
Basically yeah he’s gonna be extremely awkward around you cuz that’s just Tsukki.
But after he gets over his initial shock and is like “oh crap, I’m the boyfriend here, I’m the one who solves this,” he just gives you his best snuggles under the claim that he’s keeping you warm.
“If you’re tears dry when you’re cold, then you could get hypothermia.”
“Pshh, yeah did the T-rex tell you that?”
He’ll own up to it in the end and legitimately ask if you’re okay. You almost tear up at his sincerity but nod anyways and tackle him in a big hug once more.
(He smiles lightly against your hair and rubs your back while enjoying the feeling of having you against him.)
Bokuto Koutarou:
Usually, you’re just as chipper as Bokuto is, so when you’re down in the dumps, he is too.
Goes emo mode almost instantly when he notices you’re sad.
Then he smacks himself out of it.
He carries you bridal style into a grocery store and lets you pick out your favorite snacks.
Y’all go home and he makes a whole-ass nest of blankets and pillows on the living room floor.
Pillow Fort™
No movies or tv shows with sad scenes are allowed in this domain. Only comedies and fluff flicks.
He’ll feed you candy then beg you to feed him some too.
By the end of the night, he’s given you a massage, a bubble bath, and a cuddle to sleep.
He’s a big teddy bear, but also a solid teddy bear, so he’s a lil hard to snuggle with, but he’s warm so you don’t care.
In the end, expect many hugs and kisses from this man, he is a very physical lover.
And yes, the next day you will get breakfast in bed. Or brunch technically bc you both slept in till eleven.
Kozume Kenma:
This man is a listener. That’s all I gotta say.
He’ll let you vent about everything that’s been going on, and let’s be honest, there’s really nothing better than that.
He’s just about the best guy to have around when you’re sad.
If you want a hug, just ask and he’ll give you one. If you want a kiss, he’ll give you one too.
Honestly, he just wants to see you go back to being your normal happy self, so he’ll appeal to your every wish.
I mean… that’s it.
After you’ve vented all your problems, he’ll ask what else you wanna do.
You want hugs. And that’s a fact.
So yeah, he’ll give you hugs, and then he’ll give you his hoodie, and then he’ll give you his game and show you how to play cuz this boy is 🥺 level 100
He’s been sad before (I mean they all have but Kenma doesn’t like having a sad s/o) so he wants you to feel better as soon as possible.
“You’re pressing the wrong buttons, YN.”
“No I’m not! This game is just STUPID!”
“YOU’RE STUP- I mean, yes the game is very stupid, yes.”
Guess who doesn’t get to touch his gameboy anymore.
By the end of the day, you’re both passed out in bed holding each other. Each of you is swaddled in his huge hoodies and cradling each other closely.
*Next day*
“Kenma, where’s your game? I think I know how to play now.”
“I lost it.”
(Press X to Doubt)
I...I can't not express how good your yandere Michael Gray fic was OH MY GOD it was so well written. Usually I am not a huge fan of Michael but this was just chef's kiss
ahhhh goodness thank you so much I'm happy you like it!! bruh i mean michael gray is such a cutie i wanted to try my hand at making him a yandere since there's not many fics of that so i'm glad you enjoyed it as well!
Don’t Slouch (Tsukishima x Reader)
*GIF not mine*
Summary: You’ve got a bad habit. You know that. So why does that blond smartass in your class keep ragging you about it?
A/N: I’m tired, but I didn’t wanna forget this idea. I wasn’t even gonna write tonight, but we already here, so… voila. (Btw, thanks for the follows and likes!!)
Word count: 1074
“Slouching’s bad for you, you know.” Kei Tsukishima, the tall, skinny, blond volleyball player who sat in the desk next to yours, remarked. At first, you thought it wasn’t him who spoke, as he hadn’t even looked at you when he said it, but you knew his arrogant voice. It was one of a kind. When you glanced at his blank face, it was directed towards the bag on his desk, obviously searching for something as his long fingers sifted through papers.
“So?” you retorted lamely, your head upturned at him with a raised brow. Though, you couldn’t care less how you sounded. You just wanted to return to studying for midterms, but his sudden blurting made you feel obligated to respond.
“So don’t slouch,” he shrugged simply, pulling his headphones up over his ears and leaving the classroom for lunch. Scoffing confusedly, you shake your head and return to the books, subconsciously straightening out your back and dismissing the cracks that ran through it.
~~~
Eyes anxiously scanning over the test, you nervously searched for any mistakes you may have made on the answer sheet. Your forehead dripped with sweat, and your breathing grew heavy. Crap, why did tests always rile you up like this, especially the important ones? This sucked. Flinching when the alarm sounded, signalling you were out of time, you hesitantly rose from your desk and dragged your feet to the teacher’s desk, handing her your test with shaky, unsure hands before returning to your seat and ducking your head into your arms. The footsteps around you from your fellow classmates gathering their things and exiting the classroom did nothing to block out the snicker from beside you.
“You really should stop slouching so much. You’re going to ruin your posture.” Tsukishima, again, single-handedly irritated you once more in the blink of an eye. What an amazing ability he has for pissing you off.
Huffing out a breath, you reluctantly twisted your head to face him, muttering, “What’s it to you, glasses?”
“Just saying it’s a rather unhealthy habit of yours,” he mused, flashing you a small smirk while swiftly pushing his glasses up his nose. Returning his expression with a sarcastic smile of your own, you ran your middle finger down the side of your face discreetly before dropping your head back into your arms exhaustedly. Chuckling under his breath, the blond’s footsteps echoed throughout the room as he walked away, leaving you alone in your self-degradation over your estimated test results.
~~~
The boy just didn’t seem to know how to let things go. He had criticized you for your slouching in the last year more than he had ever conversed with you in the twelve years that you have known him. That’s right, you and Tsukishima have been going to the same schools since you were both in diapers. Truth be told, you weren’t friends, but you weren’t complete strangers either. Plus, he always seemed to be a lone wolf, at least until Yamaguchi came along. So, even though he rarely talked to you before your first year of high school, his tolerance of your slouching habit seemed to have reached the end of its rope. He haughtily reamed your ass over it every single time he got the chance. Finishing the remainder of your homework for the day? Oh you bet he’s just a-waitin’ over your shoulder.
“Would you like some advice?”
“Is it to stop slou-”
“Don’t slouch.” Insert your groan here. Was that the only Japanese this guy knew?
Maybe you’re just contentedly discussing movies with your friends? Yep, he’s got something to say.
“Hey, YN, what’s that one series called again?” he interrupted, “‘Slouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon?’”
“‘Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,’” you had corrected him tightly, jaw twitching in irritation. Eventually, you hit your boiling point; but hey, a little threatening never hurt anybody… right?
Four days ago:
“Hey YN?”
“Ughhh, what Tsukishima? What, what, what?”
“Stop slouching so much.”
“I swear I’m gonna strangle you one of these days, beanstalk.”
Two days ago:
“Don’t slouch.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t slouch so much. You look like the cat of a witch.”
“Oh my Go- you know what? I’m gonna castrate you. Slowly, at first, and then I’m gonna kick it up a notch. Just for you, beanpole.” You thought it was a grand idea, but he only laughed in your face and walked away. This guy’s gonna be the reason I have a drinking problem.
Yesterday:
“Don’t sl-”
You threateningly pointed at him with serious, wide eyes and raised brows. “I will snap you like a twig.” A chuckle. That’s all you got.
Finally, you had it. It was almost the end of the school year, and you just wanted to know why, even coming up with a theory of your own. But the question you believed you had the answer to still stood. Why did he keep bugging you about an issue that was definitely only yours to fix? So you caught him after school, and told him what you thought of his constant lectures. After all, they had kept you up all night last night, and maybe you had gone a little crazy, but you think you finally figured out why he was doing it.
“Hey.” You were following him down the steps of the school. “Hey Tsukishima!” you called, barely avoiding tripping over your own feet.
“What?” he responded gruffly, turning around to stare at you with obvious annoyance.
“I think I’ve figured out why you keep telling me to stop slouching.” Smiling victoriously, you nodded your head affirmatively at your own statement.
“Oh really?” he challenged with a heightened brow, a lopsided grin slowly forming.
“Yep. You’re just trying to tell me to stand tall. No matter what happens, what grade I get, or how I do on a test, you want me to keep my head high and my back straight. Before I figured that out, I thought it was annoying. Now, I think it’s really sweet of you-”
He rolled his eyes before he interrupted you with pink-tinged cheeks. “Psh, that’s not it. I just don’t want my future wife to have a hunchback when we grow old together.”
Oh.
Ohhhhhhh.
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18+, minors dnrI write sometimes ig maybe, we’ll see🫠Masterlist . . . . . . Side BlogRequests? What requests?
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