Kidnapping Fan Reader (Yandere BNHA Headcanons)

Look Me in the Eyes (Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: During naval training, your jet crashed and burned, taking your memories with it. But the lieutenant who saved you seems to know you better than he lets on. The only issue is that he refuses to tell you his name.

A/N: pfft half yall don’t read this anyway so imma just say rooster’s hot, oreosmama out *drops mic*

Word count: 3345

It’s not the pervading scent of antiseptic and boredom that has carved its way into your skin, nestling deep into the creases of your brow and your sneering upper lip—

It’s his unflinching gaze.

The lieutenant hovering over you, with a spoonful of green, gelatinous “dinner” posed over your lips, mumbles, “Open the hatch, the F-18 needs to land.” 

He’s a staunchly built man ornamented in the same naval jacket he’d been wearing when you first came-to in the hospital room, his lofty shoulders embellished in unfamiliar patches. Over the last two days, most of which have consisted of him lording himself over you or sitting back in the chair beside your bed, his five o’clock shadow has thickened, and the wrinkles underneath his teasing eyes darkened a shade.

The F-18 bumps against your sneer, and he chortles to himself. 

You know why you’re here. 

Well, sort of.

You know that it must’ve hurt. Like a falling-unconscious-due-to-pain kind of hurt. Black and blue splotches paint your temple and upper left cheek, and each time you force a smile, it aches. The rest of your body looks the same. In the first shower you’d been allowed, you twisted and turned as much as your burning abdomen could handle and had come to the conclusion that you were glad you didn’t remember much of what had happened.

The only real issue was that you didn’t remember much of anything. 

The story you had been told was haphazardly crafted, not unlike if a toddler had drawn a house with crayons and passed it to you, insisting it looked exactly like the one you lived in. 

It goes something like this: you were flying your jet when the engine stalled, and when you ejected, your head smacked against the windshield. You were lucky—you were unconscious when you had crumpled in on yourself, snapping five of your ribs like pencils, and when you’d landed on the ground, face in the dirt—you were so, so lucky. 

But the lieutenant says differently. 

When he found you, you were awake. You were echoing his name into the stagnant desert air, screaming and sobbing in ways that still keep him up at night. 

You know because he sleeps with folded arms on the edge of your mattress, and he rattles the metal skeleton each time he flinches. And the times when he thinks you’re too buried in exhaustion and slumber, his hand finds yours, fingertips light as air against your skin.

These are the only times the lieutenant bares that part of himself to you. 

In the mornings, when you can look him in the eyes and see the guilt buried underneath, he winces a smile onto his lips and asks if you remember anything yet. 

You don't.

And he winces again. “Back to the drawing board, huh?”

The lieutenant is a nice-enough man when he wants to be. The only issue is that he doesn’t seem to want to be. 

“Tell me your name,” you snipe, dangling over the precipice of flinging Jell-O across the room. 

This is a game he never wants to play, despite how often he wins. He has the whole naval base’s hospital staff refer to him as Sir or Lieutenant-no-last-name, and each time you ask, he’ll give you the same response.

“You know my name.” 

You don't. He’s a complete stranger. He can hold you hand and feed you Jell-O and help you hobble to the bathroom; he can brush the hair from your sweat-crusted face in the mornings and, on some rare occasions where he thinks he’s woken up before you, he’ll graze a feather-soft kiss on your bruised temple.

And you still haven't got a clue. 

Because whoever the lieutenant is, the tight grip he has on your heart is completely foreign to you. It’s a grip that says you and him aren’t just something definable—you were a we in this life; the pair of you have formed a way of living in tandem, your own intrinsic tango to which nobody else knows the steps. It’s not just like or a passing fancy. It’s not just hot static running through veins. 

This is fully fledged; this is oxygen now. The rise and fall of your chest is the rise and fall of his. The absence of it must be suffocating. 

So you don't know why he doesn’t like this game. He makes a question-answer into a back-and-forth, and then he winds and winds you up until you’re ready to snap. 

It’s not fair. God, it’s not fair. You deserve to know his name. Doesn’t he know it’s not just a tickle in the back of your mind anymore? If he was the one whose name you were screaming, didn’t you deserve to know what it was?

“Why do you keep doing this?” 

You watch his lips purse, the color bleeding out of them and into pink patches on his neck and cheeks. The spoon rattles against the tray, and the glob of green wavers in its curve. He refuses to hold your gaze like always. Self-inflicted torment disguises itself as burnt-sienna irises. The life you’ve forgotten is bowing his shoulders, and your crash, no matter the fact that he saved you, is eating away at him. 

Then the lieutenant smiles, in the fractured way—the way someone might laugh at a funeral. 

“Because knowing my name wouldn’t help you. You never called me by it, anyway.”

This, oh God—this is the closest you’ve ever gotten, and you’re still wading in the darkness. A name you’d never even call him by, what a wonder that does to your psyche. 

A name was a start; it was a first impression. There was a lot in a name. 

So you’d never called him by his name… so what?

So what, only lovers knew each other by more than a name? So what, he never called you by yours? So what, you didn’t want to ever call him by his name, never felt the urge, but felt it was rather proper considering you didn’t know what to call him at all?

He keeps you doggy-paddling for it.

The hospital room is polluted with silence for the rest of the night. Slowly, you finish the Jell-O as he sits back in his chair, watching, yet not quite seeing you. You missed when his staring felt like a buzzing fly. Now it’s a thunderstorm hanging over you, foggy and dampened, and you’re struck every few seconds with a shiver. 

He doesn’t reach out for your hand when you pretend you’ve fallen asleep. Twenty minutes past lights out, he stands and heads into the bathroom, slowly creaking the door closed and locking it before the shower faucet turns on and stays on for a long, long time. 

Where his hand should be is where he laid his jacket, one sewn patch erroneously rough against your palm. With another glance at the light underneath the bathroom door, you haul the leather jacket up into your lap, tracing the ridges and folds. You trails your fingertips along the jacket, searching for… something. Anything. 

Cold metal, a zipper slips underneath your fingers, and you sit up straighter despite the outcry of pain in your ribs. 

A pocket, and inside is a small plastic card—his ID. 

That, and a small, velvet box. 

No…

No, you won’t open it. 

No, no, because he shouldn’t even have that here. 

Why—dear God—why did he have that here?

It’s not for you. That’s for sure. You don’t even want to open it. No.

It’s not yours. It’s not yours to have, especially since he hasn’t offered it to you, and it’s not yours to wear, and it’s not yours to look at, to watch, iridescent, crystal devotion reflecting the moonlight from the room’s lone window. 

But when you lift the cover and curse the stars that the man whose name you don’t even know knows you so well, knows how beautiful it is in your eyes, and even worse, how well it fits on your finger, you know it’s yours. 

Well, not yours. 

It’s hers. The one before the crash’s. 

That’s her ring on your finger, and that’s her lieutenant grieving in the bathroom. 

This is her life, not yours. All you own anymore is the absence pulsing in your chest. 

You own the spasms in your veins, the brief and lasting panic of who am I, really?, the deficiency of life and past and love; the frail hold on this reality, on that man, on this ring. 

The rest is not yours, so you should let it go. 

Then, ideally, you should be able to float away, free from these junctions to a girl you don’t know. The man who loves her loves your face. He loves your body, and your voice, and each of the words falling from your lips, perhaps in the wrong order, yes, but he’ll rearrange them in his mind so that it matches hers.

Ideally. 

Ideally, it’s not this drowning feeling, a weight like a hand pressing hard against your chest, shoving you deeper and deeper under the current. She’s the one who breathes, not you. You don’t need to breathe. You’re an accident in this world. 

The I.D. slips from your grasp and falls to the floor. 

You’ve read it. You saw the name, the rank, the naval symbol. In the dim moonlight and the single glowing strip underneath the bathroom door, his not-really-a-smile smiles up at you from the vinyl floor. 

And now you see it, chrome duct tape peeling off the jagged stitches of a patch, the one over his heart. Another of his games: his missing call sign. 

It… fits him. Strangely enough. 

Is this what you called him?

The hospital room floods with a subdued yellow light carried out by the steam of the lieutenant’s shower. He emerges with a towel wrapped around his lower body, a sheen of wet on his cheeks you’re not certain was caused by the shower. 

Like you, this is his third shower in this room, but unlike him, he’s not wearing a smirk when he exits, bare feet padding along the cold tiles. He doesn’t spare you a glance while he pilfers through his black duffle bag, the one seated on the only other guest chair in the room—the one that never moves. 

Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t look, because you hadn’t thought to take off the ring. It was a plan as half-baked as when you’d first decided to put it on. Some barbaric, frenzied part of you, the same one that had slipped it on and hugged it close to your heart, refused to yank it off. It was another you—not her nor you, but a new one that had fallen in love with him, Rooster, without memory or qualms, the one that had no issue with him lingering in every corner of your mind; no, in fact, she preferred it.

You don’t listen to her when the lieutenant pivots back to face you, a fresh pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and the rest sourced from the duffel bag in tow, one fist curled into his towel at his waist. His eyes land on yours, and your fingers slicken with the sweat of your palms, tremble like the thumps beneath your ribcage. 

At the worst moment possible, you notice, in the hazy yellow light of 10:07 PM, that Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw’s eyes are achingly akin to whiskey. It’s the dark, thick kind that coats your tongue and hits you five seconds after you sip it like a freight train; heady, terribly intoxicating, and in large doses, coaxes out the worst side of yourself at an even worse moment. 

The ring clinks against the bed’s metal framework before shuddering against the tile floor, and his eyes leave yours to watch it rattle. The skin of your left ring finger burns from the swift twisting and tugging you’d employed in a state of tipsy panic—your plan had been to slip the ring unnoticed beneath his leather jacket, the same place you’d stuffed the velvet box. 

A breath tears itself out of the lieutenant’s chest. Tan skin rises and falls once, and his grip goes white-knuckle on his towel. 

Then he pads back toward the bathroom without a word and disappears behind the slammed door. Somehow, in some terrible way, it is even harder to breathe with him not in the room after that. 

But he bursts through the door a second later, completely negligent of the violent pacing of your heart, donned in clothes wrinkled and stretched in odd places from frantic dressing. He covers the distance with three long strides and slackens back into the plastic hospital chair, the heavy creases under his eyes never having looked so deep-seated. 

You see it now. The damage this whole experience has done to him. He’s been hollowed out, rigorously gutted to the point that one last revelation might finally crack him in half and let the despair pour out. 

You’re afraid to tell him all that you don’t know. That even though you had slid that ring on and off your finger, you still don’t know him. But, God, you want to tell him that you love him, despite knowing it won’t be enough. It’s not even enough to you, and it’s all that you have. 

Usually, he wears this sheen layer of tenderness over his face; it slips off every night when you close your eyes, and he smooths it back on in the mornings in the mirror. Some days he layers it on so thick you never even notice the grief hidden underneath. 

It must have gotten too heavy to bear. 

The silence hangs just as heavy. He runs both hands down his face, pressing hard enough that his skin emerges pink, and folds his hands, knocking them against his lips. Veins in his eyes grow redder by the second, and your heart begins a slow crawl up your throat at the watery levels of his eyelines, waiting to spill. The ring sits on the floor untouched. 

“Do you,” he faltered, clearing his throat. “Do you… remember anything?”

He’s looking at you so intensely that your skin is searing. Shame washes over you, grasping your shoulders and burying you deeply into its chest. You want to cry. 

“Nothing.”

The lieutenant stares at you a second longer, stretching it out until you’re trembling. Then he looks away, down, before reaching and retrieving the ring from the ground. He observes it for just a second, the way it glimmers in night’s imperfect lighting, and his eyes squeeze shut.

Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, you’ve learned, will draw things out until the perfect moment has come. He will wait until the ache swells and culminates, with a tolerance so inexhaustible you wonder if, in all your time loving him, you ever bothered to wait up. He’s noticed how the darkness has swallowed both of you wholly, and only now does he offer reprieve. 

Bradley tells you your name.

And he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first second he saw you. 

He tells you that he can’t bear the thought of losing all that you’d had, and that his world had been crumbling apart before his own goddamned eyes ever since your jet’s engine had sputtered and died. He tells you that he’s so, so fucking sorry he couldn’t save you, sorry that your life ever got entangled so messily with his in the first place, and even more sorry that he’s so useless to help you find your way back, that you can’t seem to find your way back to him. 

And when you began to cry, he bolted up from his seat and held you, whispering apologies into your hair, and you cried a little harder, because you had found your way back to him, but he wouldn’t ever care, because it wasn’t the same path you’d taken before. 

You cry because it hurts to hold him, and even more because it hurts him to hold you. You want all of the I-love-yous he’s ever said to be for you, and you want that damned ring too. 

You want that goddamn ring on your finger right now because he’d promised you that it would be yours. That first moment he’d ever seen you, stumbling drunk in a crowded Hard Deck and spilling his beer half on his Hawaiian shirt, half on yours, that he’d make up for it by putting a spendy ring on your little finger right there, despite not actually knowing where right there was. The only one I’ll ever buy, he’d hiccuped, it’ll be yours, darlin’. 

“Rooster,” you croaked into his chest. “Roo.”

A provoked sob tore from your throat, your arms and ribs aching from how tightly you clung to him, even after he froze. You surfaced from the curve of his shoulder, hands sliding past his sides, over his thrumming chest, and up to cradle his damp jawline before drawing his face down to yours. He mumbled your name, whiskey eyes potent as ever, and you smothered the rest of his question against your lips. 

You couldn’t tell who was crying anymore. Your cheeks’ dampness was his, just the same as his lips pressed against yours so harshly, so numbingly you couldn’t quite tell where yours ended and his began. It must have been somewhere close to where his tongue met yours, making up for lost time as he fought hard and fiercely for everything he’d been starved of for three, going on four, unbearable days. His hands left their leverage against the bed and latched onto your hips, rough fingertips familiarly caressing the soft slopes of your sides, and when you offered an airy moan to him, he accepted eagerly with a tightening grip. 

You separated from him with a small cry, ribs twinging. Bradley pulled away in horror, and his dilated pupils struggled to sober up to join. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, larger hands now grappling at yours and trying to remove your grasp. “You need—ice, I’ll go get you some ice–”

“Roo, no,” you mumbled, refusing to let go of him. 

He paused, and his body shivered under your touch. The familiarity of his name from your mouth seemed as comforting to him as it was to you. His lips twitched and curled, and he breathed a small sigh. The hard lines of his face grew tender as he slid his hands down to your wrists, turning and pressing a kiss to each palm. 

His heart jumped and throbbed against your fingertips, and you had no doubt he could feel the same from yours. The heat of his damp cheeks had grown infinitely warmer under your touch, and for all the nights you’d spent with just a grasp on his hand, the change was more and more welcome. 

“Don’t leave me again,” he pleaded against the skin of your palm, voice thick and bittersweet, like honey seeping through your ears. “I don’t think I can handle that again.”

He steeled himself against your mattress with one hand when you tugged his forehead down against yours, lips just whispering against one another. You smiled. 

“Was it all the Jell-O that did you in, or…?”

“Yeah, actually,” he nodded, tongue pressed against his cheek. “It was. I hope you know we’re never having Jell-O in our house ever again.”

“Not even lime?”

“Especially lime.”

You huffed, “Fine.” You pulled away, despite how desperate Bradley was to follow you. He let you fall back against the pillows with your hand still in his grasp, and he settled onto the edge of the mattress, letting his spare hand find home in the pliant skin of your thigh. Your eyes rose to the ceiling. “But it’ll cost you.”

Soft lips brushed the back of your left hand before cold metal slipped around your finger. “One of these?”

“Exactly.”

Bradley hummed. “Gladly.”

Avatar: The Last Airbender/Legend of Korra Masterlist

☔ = Angst

🌦️ = Angst to Fluff

💥 = Crack

☀️ = Fluff

💋 = Smut

🖤 = Yandere

🔔 = Request

🟪Imagines🟪

Sokka:

■  Baby Fever 🔔💋☀️

You were great with kids, and it just so happens that your husband Sokka wants to give you a few of his own.

Warnings: Pure smut, breeding kink, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, (slight??) cum play

Zuko: 

■  Hot With Envy 🔔🖤💋

After seeing you laugh with another man at his five-year reign celebration, Zuko must show you who you belong to.

Warnings: Possessive sex, dirty talk, vaginal sex

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

🟣Headcanons🟣

Mako with Dragon!Hybrid Airbender Reader 🔔🌦️

Yandere Desna and Eska Headcanons 🔔🖤

Yandere Ozai Headcanons 🔔🖤(slight 💋)

Yandere Sokka Headcanons 🔔🖤

Yandere Zuko Headcanons 🖤

Story Time (Ushijima x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: When you are assigned a partner project with the intimidating Ushiwaka, you start to realize he’s not all that scary, and maybe, just maybe you could teach him a thing or two about Happily Ever Afters.

Author’s Note: I’m just gonna say it now: Ushiwaka would be a big softie for his s/o. There, I said it. Anyways, he’s a lil OOC in this fic, but suck it up bc he’s adorable… well, at least to me, he is. Enjoy! 

Word count: 3344

        The rain drops on the window were having a race, and droplet number three was winning. You, the referee of this epic face off, sat in class quite boredly, barely comprehending the teacher’s droning on about a new project. You were going to have a partner and a syllabus, so there was no reason for you to listen that intensely. Your neck was sore from being held in it’s turned position for such a stretch of time, and so was the hand that held your chin, but you couldn’t care less. A tune popped into your head, and while humming slightly you began to bounce your knee to the beat as well. 

        “That song is super old, you know,” the redhead who sat beside you piped up, “try singing a newer one, like ‘Filter.’” 

        “Tendou, is there something you and YN would like to share with the class?” the teacher announced, giving your desk mate a pointed look. 

        “Sorry, miss, I was just suggesting YN change her radio station. The song she was on wasn’t really my style,” he teasingly remarked. A couple of students chuckled at the facial expressions the class clown and the teacher exchanged, but you were just glad the attention was once more off you. Finally, the teacher backed down and returned to the list she was reading aloud, and Tendou gave you a victorious smirk. 

        “’Serendipity’ is not that old,” you whispered to him while keeping your eyes on the front of the class. 

        The redhead raised his brow in return, opening his mouth to counter, “You know it's from three years ago, right. They’ve made plenty of new-”

        “YN.” The teacher’s call instantly grabbed your attention, and you looked up at her in fear of a scolding. “You’ll be partners with Ushijima.” The statement startled you, until you remembered oh crap, there’s a new project. Dark green eyes found yours from across the room, and you blushed before glancing away. Your desk mate beside you had noticed, however, and let out a small hum with a devious smirk before moving to join his own partner. 

        Tendou’s intimidating teammate sauntered over to your desk, completely dismissing the lack of personal space and invading your precious bubble. He didn’t smile at you, but he never smiled, so that was to be expected. Ushijima was known as a terrifyingly strong, but equally handsome, man, and with that information, you received the same amount of pitying looks as you did jealous. 

        Ignoring the eyes on you, you watched in your peripheral vision as Ushijima pulled up a chair right next to your desk and crashed down into it. His lumbering body wasn’t as graceful as it seemed on television, and you couldn’t help but spiral into a mental rabbit hole at the thought of him, or more specifically, his volleyball team, and the games you had seen them play on local sports stations. There was always one player your eyes never strayed from, but to be fair, the platinum blond setter was highly attractive. 

        You were drawn from your thoughts by a throat clearing at your side. This time, the man’s spine-chilling presence was too close to bear, so you scooched your own seat away slightly, only to cringe at the loud screech it made against the floor. A look flashed in Ushijima’s eyes, but it was gone too quickly for you to identify, especially as you chuckled nervously at your own blunder. Finally, he gruffly spoke up. “I think we should read books to the local elementary school.”

        Silence fell over you. Yep, that was definitely the last thing you expected to hear from the stone-faced ace. “W-we should what?” you asked incredulously.

        “For our ‘Give Back to the Community’ project. I think we should read to elementary schoolers.” Oh, so that’s what the assignment was about. However, your fellow third year’s suggestion was just as jaw-dropping as when you first heard it. To make sure he was serious, you inspected his dark orbs, only to find they were just as indifferent as when he first approached you. Well, no point in arguing with him now, you thought, instantly adhering to his admittedly good plan. In any case, you already had a younger cousin who attended that school, and would love to see her again. 

         “I think that’s a great idea,” you declared while flashing him a small smile. “What kind of books were you thinking?”

                                ~~~

        Walking through the halls, you glanced back down at the note you had for Ushijima. It was a reminder he had wanted you to make for both of you, along with a time and place of when you would read at the elementary school. Last night you had contacted its principal and had gotten the go ahead for your project. Now where is that brute, you thought as you searched for his olive-brown hair. At first, you thought it would have been easy given his hulking form. But now, after trying to hunt him down for at least twenty minutes, you were starting to grow agitated. 

        “Hey YN, looking for someone?” A voice sounded behind you. Turning around at its familiarity, you expected to also see your partner, only to flush at the sight of your crush. Tendou smirked at your red face, but he also appeared disappointed. You didn’t notice a thing, though, as your eyes hadn’t strayed once from Semi. The blond looked at you almost unimpressed, and you subconsciously wondered if there was something on your face, or if your hair had been mussed up. 

        “Y-yeah, umm,” you cleared your throat at the stutter. “Have you seen Ushiwaka anywhere? I have our project time for him.” 

        Tendou smiled at something, or someone behind you, and kept his mouth shut when a deep, stiff voice spoke, “Hello YN.” Whipping around, you beamed victoriously at the sight. The action must have blinded the ace player, because he looked away directly after. 

        Shoving the note into Ushijima’s hands, you informed him, “We got the appointment on Friday at the elementary school closest to here. I already spoke with our teacher, and she gave us permission to miss school for it, thank God. It’s around lunch, so we’ll have to leave a little before that time.” Your eyes shined with pride at what you had already done for the project, and you talked almost excitedly. You had always wanted to work with children, so you adored Ushijima’s idea. 

        “Sounds great, I’ll see you then.” 

        “Okay, see you guys around.” Waving as you walked away, you turned back and held your cold hands to your cheeks. While you had only ever truly spoken to Semi once, it was still just as nerve-wracking to speak with him directly behind you. 

        As you left down the hall, you failed to notice the three pairs of eyes on you: one indifferent, one cocky, and one… abnormally bright.

                                ~~~

        Sitting in one of two main rocking chairs of the school’s library, you were even more nervous than usual when Ushijima approached you, arriving right on time while you had chosen to roll in twenty minutes ahead of schedule. The teachers you had talked to said they would release their students at 12:30 to the library, giving the pair of you thirty minutes to choose a story and hope it would keep their attention. 

        “Hey,” you greeted your project partner, observing as he took the seat next to you. 

        “Hello,” he responded bluntly, sitting uncomfortably stiff in his chair as it began to rock on its own. The conversation seemed to have hit a dead end; that is, until you remembered something. 

        “Oh, what fairy tale did you want to read to the kids?” you asked him, standing up and approaching the section of the library evidently labeled “Fables.” While waiting for his response, you chose to busy yourself by checking out the many options available on the shelves. 

        “Preferably a calm one. Maybe… without princesses?” For the first time in your whole life, Ushijima sounded unsure of himself, almost as if fairy tales were unknown territory to him.

        You grew confused. “Well then, what’s your favorite one from when you were a kid?”

        “I never really read fairy tales as a child. Though I do remember hearing about one that does pique my interest.” You stopped and stared at your partner in bewilderment at the first half of his statement, and a frown stole the place of your smile at the confession. Who’s never read fairy tales as a kid? What a sad childhood that must have been, you thought to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief. 

        “I’m so sorry, but fairy tales are great, you should read some when you have the chance! Some are a little more sinister than others if you read from certain authors, l-like Cinderella! In the original, the stepsisters like cut off parts of their own feet, but-,” you cut yourself off, surprised at your own word vomit. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.” Your jaw almost dropped when Ushijima, the Ushijima, brandished you a small hint of a smile, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. 

        “It’s okay, I like hearing about them. Maybe not those kinds of scenes but…” his deep voice trailed off and he gestured for you to continue. Quickly, you changed the subject and looked away to avoid making contact with his sharp, olive-colored orbs. You knew that if you had kept staring, a blush would’ve been inevitable. 

        “Umm, okay, that’s cool,” you mumbled out. “Anyways, you were saying one piqued your interest. Which one?”

        His eyes seemed to glimmer at the mention of his evidently beguiling fable, and he announced, “‘Little Red Riding Hood.’ That’s the one that has always interested me. Although I hear there are many different versions of this one, so I fear I might not be thinking of the right story for the kids. What do you think?”

        You shake your head and say, “No, no, no. That is a good one, but what happened in the version your thinking of that's got you so interested in it?”

        “Well, in the one I’ve heard about, the wolf and Little Red Riding Hood-” Ushijima is cut off by the sudden chatter of young children entering the room. Eyes widening in surprise, you check the time, only to be confused when you realize that they are a few minutes early. A teacher stumbles over to Ushijima and hurriedly explains that the kids had finished their music class ahead of schedule, so the reading would need to start prematurely.

        Hastily, you wrack your mind for the author’s name of the age-appropriate Little Red Riding Hood story and “Aha” victoriously as your eyes spot the book you were looking for. Retrieving it from the shelf, you strut over to your project partner with the slim picture book in hand, motioning for him to join you in front of the twenty-something group of elementary schoolers in your two given rocking chairs. 

        You give him a small, reassuring smile before you announce, “Hey kids, my name is YN YLN and this is Wakatoshi Ushijima and today we will be reading ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ to you guys!” Attempting to keep your voice cheerful, you are relieved when the children respond positively instead of groaning like you had expected. Spotting your little cousin in the front row of the class, you return her excited wave softly and accompany it with a large grin. Winking at Ushijima, you don’t have time to question your cheeky action before you hand him the book, allowing him to start reading his coveted fairy tale. 

                                ~~~

        As more time passes, you start to realize Ushijima is growing more and more confused with his fable. After you close the book with the classic “Happy Ever After,” you throw him a confused smile as the class of children shout a loud, rambunctious “Thank you!” Before you can question him, however, your younger cousin approaches and gives you a large hug.

        “N/N, that was so fun! I wish you would read to our class more! Can you please read to our class more?” Her voice began to transition from begging to whining, and you started to panic internally while wondering how to handle the situation. After all, you had only babysat her once before, and that night, you had done just about anything to get her to stop crying. 

        You were fearing the same result when, thankfully, her teacher came to the rescue, telling her that she needed to rejoin the class. Grumbling under her breath, your cousin gave you one last hug while glancing at Ushijima, who had been awkwardly watching the encounter from his chair. Looking away with fear, your cousin hesitantly whispered, “N/N, your boyfriend is scary.” Your cousin’s teacher was quick to usher her out of the library before you could explain that, no, the scary man was not your boyfriend, and please don’t tell the rest of the family as they will flip.

        Sighing in exasperation, you whip around and give Ushijima a shy smile and laugh before saying, “Sorry about her, she just assumed, I’ll tell her later. If she doesn’t forget by then.”

        Ushijima ignores your lame joke while responding, “That’s okay, I didn’t mind.” Hearing those words, you flush slightly and wonder if he meant it how it sounded. 

        Rapidly changing the subject, you asked him why he seemed so confused while reading the ‘Red Riding Hood’ fairy tale.

        “Well,” he admitted, “In the one I’ve always heard about, the wolf and Little Red Riding Hood fall in love, and the wolf is actually just a kind werewolf who looks scary most of the time. And Little Red Riding Hood isn’t a little girl, but an adult just like him, who ignores his flaws….” Ushijima trails off and he looks away as he begins to blush as well. Your eyebrows raise softly at his unexpectedly sheepish admission, and you smile widely. 

        “You know, if you wanted a story like that, we could always read ‘Beauty and the Beast.’ That one’s pretty much on the track you’re looking for,” You tell him, grin not stopping for an instant. 

        “We?” he asks gently and you almost choke on the oxygen in your lungs. 

        “You! You! I meant you. You could always… read it on your own, not we.” You fail to miss the way the smug glimmer in his eyes falls, and you smirk while lightly suggesting, “Unless you do want us to read it?” 

        With that, Ushijima seems to gain his confidence back, only for it to drop once more when he mutters, “I couldn’t do that. We shouldn’t do that.”

        Bewildered by his sudden change in attitude towards you, you quickly question, “Why?”

        “Because.”

        “Because?”

        “Because I’ve seen you around Semi, and I… I don’t want to ruin whatever you guys may have,” Ushijima admits, his hands subconsciously curling into fists. While watching this, your eyes widen in realization and you wonder to yourself, Am I really that obvious? Shaking away the thought, you quickly grab the man’s hand and unfurl it, holding it in both of yours while looking him in the eyes.

        “I’ll admit, before today, I did like Semi, but for appearances only! I’ve never even talked to him. Well, only once, but that was because he helped me pick up my books when I dropped them, tripping over God knows what-,” you cut off your own rambling once again, and wonder to yourself why you do that so often, especially in his presence. “Either way, my crush on him is purely visual, if that’s what you want to call it. Now... well, I’m really hoping we get a chance to read ‘Beauty and the Beast’ together. Or at least watch the movie…?” you trail off suggestively, timidly awaiting his response. 

        Ushijima is silent for a moment, and you begin to lose your confidence, loosening your grip on his hand, but he quickly grasps both of yours once more in an instant. 

        “I’d like that. A lot.”

                                ~~~

        Glancing at the clock on the gym wall, you groan and look back to the court while whining, “Wakatoshi, come on. We’re gonna miss the movie.” You bounce up and down on your toes impatiently, watching your boyfriend once again spike the ball so hard into the floor on the other side of the court that it bounces up and lands in the stands. At least I don’t flinch at the sound anymore, you thought, watching Goshiki grumble under his breath before racing up the stairs to retrieve yet another volleyball. 

        “Sorry, babe, just one more I promise,” the ace replies distractedly.  

        “Babe, huh?” Tendou asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “You guys must be getting serious. Who’d have thought Mr. Scary, Blank-Face Man would get a girlfriend, and call her ‘babe’ nonetheless!” The redhead laughs to himself loudly and cheekily elbows Shirabu in the side, who responds by shooing his hands away in irritation.

        Ignoring his teammate’s taunts, Ushijima tosses up the ball again to Semi, who sets it perfectly in place for his favorite spike. The ball hits the other half of the court so harshly you’re surprised it doesn’t pop from the pressure. Following as it travels once more into the public seating on the second level of the gym, your amazed expression drops in exchange for amusement. Everyone witnesses as it rebounds back down onto the court as a result of the ball hitting a chair. 

        “Thank God,” Goshiki mutters, dropping the first ball he got into the basket and picking up the second one just as it rolled over to him. “I am so tired of this job,” he tells you, and you giggle at his worn out expression. 

        Noticing this, Ushijima jogs over to you and swiftly kisses your cheek, giving a pointed look to the first year before packing up his gear. You roll your eyes at his possessive action and decide to help the boys clean up while waiting for your boyfriend. Just as you reach for a stray volleyball, another hand plucks it away. You glance up and smile politely at Semi while jokingly claiming, “That one was mine, you know.” 

        The blonde third year blushes at your quip, chuckling slightly before replying, “Sorry, I didn’t know you claimed it. You still want it?” He teasingly holds it out to you, but the ball is stolen out of his grip by one stronger, larger hand. 

        Looking up slowly, Semi shivers at the glare he receives from Ushijima who smoothly throws the ball into the basket behind his teammate. “Actually, it was mine.” 

        Scoffing and smirking at your boyfriend’s jealous tone, you grab his now empty hand and say, “Don’t get all pissy, let’s just go before we miss the whole movie.” As the two of you walk through the gym doors, you look over to see Ushijima glaring back at his poor teammate, who keeps his wide, brown orbs locked on the ground to avoid the ace’s wrathful gaze. You roll your eyes once more before pulling his face toward yours. The intimate act successfully captures his attention, and you playfully whisper, “You’re really hot when you’re mad. I like it.”

        Raising his brows, Ushijima’s deep voice teased, “Oh really? Well then maybe we should skip the movie altogether.” 

        You smile flirtatiously at him while biting your lip. “I like that idea. Maybe we could just talk all night long.” 

        “Sounds good, because I’m still confused as to why the little girl didn’t notice her grandmother was actually a wolf. Was she nearsighted?” You groan at his innocent change of the subject.

        “Are you serious? I’ve told you a thousand times, she was just a little girl who didn’t notice for the sake of the story!” 

        “I would’ve noticed if my grandmother was a wolf.”

        “I know, I know, ‘cause nothing flies past you, except for every single joke ever.”

        “Impossible… jokes do not fly.” 

        Your whine of exasperation fades into the night as the two of you walk home to discuss fairy tales. 

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.

I just read your reborn series and I’m fully in love with it and need to know what happens next. I’m feeling so many things and i kinda feel bad for kuroo 😭 you are so talented and until you write the next part i will be here waitinggg! I’m so excited for that day, thank you for even writing it i love no and keiji so much😭

Ooooh I’m super excited for the series too!! Next part won’t be for a while, but I’m really glad you’re liking it!!☺️ I have plenty more planned, but u know that thing where u got a story but no timeline?🤦‍♀️ I have small brain, but I’m def gonna use this time off to figure it out😤thank you so much!!🥰🥰

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.

"Red String if nothingness" has me in a bittersweet mood. Kenma is in love with someone else but you never know what the future holds? And maybe in the future the two of them would eventually find each other again, because at the end of that red string you'll always find each other and knowing my dumb ass (speaking from irl experience) even though it hurts if I love that person I'd wait for them even if it takes a long time. It's fine with me as long as he's happy (I'm dumb) even if it hurts me

🤯Spittin facts my dude😤 I’m glad ur seeing the bright side of it, cuz I just hate those angsty soulmate aus where they just dont end up together😔 at the end of the stories I’m always like “tf is this 💩??”

If your still adding people to the reborn tag list, may I be added plz?👉👈

Yep! You’ll be on the taglist (btw, I love all the lil comments you leave on my posts🥰🥰)

can i be added to the tag list of your vampire and wizard au with akashi and bokuto?

For sure!

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!