I Was Thinking About A Tendou Satori Soulmate Au Where They Can See Bits And Pieces Of Their Soulmates’

I don’t think your posts are showing up in the tags ): cause when I searched a couple of them from newest your new post wasn’t there

damn that sucks😔 but I also get it. It’s been a while since I posted so I understand why the tumblr algorithm wouldn’t put at the top of the tags no matter how recent I post. I’m just glad at least a few people got to read it and enjoyed it💜 thanks for telling me!!

So while I really like your writing, I am here on a different mission today. Is your profile picture your cat? If so, they look so done with your shit 😂 gotta love em

Pfft yes his name is oreo and he hates my guts🥲

But it’s okay bc I have enough love for the both of us🥰

Indebted and In Debt (Vampire Kenma x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Kozume Kenma is one of the most infamous vampires to ever exist, the legends of him and his clan rivaling that of Dracula himself. His preserved sarcophagus lies in the heart of Tokyo’s Supernatural Museum, subsection C: Vampires. You, on the other hand, are the reason wet floor signs exist. A chance slip, an accidental cut, and a band aid missing the trash can all lead to the chance meeting of you and the vampire committed to serving you eternally. “I am forever indebted to you, Mistress.”

A/N: lil idea I just had. Don’t know where I’m gonna go w it, if anywhere, but like y’all can read it if u wanna🥺👉👈 Enjoy!

Word count: 3631

        “Years ago, this museum was founded after the first sighting of a werewolf in Tokyo. He was spotted at midnight under a full moon just as he- Ma’am, please refrain from touching the artifacts.”

        Sheepishly, you pulled your hand away from a hip-high ancient wood carving of a mermaid, inching your way back toward the group as the tour guide fixed you with a dirty look. With a small huff, she straightened her shoulders under her Victorian-style overcoat that matched the rest of her gothic getup. An ancient London day dress made her seem as though she had crawled out of one of the many paintings on the wall that depicted Jack the Ripper as numerous supernatural creatures. The only thing that set her apart was the ID badge that hung around her neck. 

        As you returned to both of your friends’ sides, you avoided their shaming gazes and instead busied yourself with pretending to listen to the tour guide as she restarted her monologue. 

        “YN,” one of your friends, Akira, hissed, “you promised you wouldn’t touch anything!”

        “I didn’t!” you whisper-yelled back. “The lady stopped me before I could.” 

        At your half-effort to clear yourself of blame, Akira leaned her head back and let out a loud sigh. Kanna watched the interaction with a ghost of a smile on her lips, sniggering a little as she always did when Akira lectured you. 

        Both of your friends had invited you with them today as a celebration of passing your first semester of college together. Kanna had obtained the tickets in some way that went along the lines of “My dad’s brother knows the cousin of a guy who…” yadda yadda yadda. 

        Either way, you agreed to go with because, as expected, nobody was watching you and everyone had their eyes on them. Both of your friends were significantly beautiful, Kanna towering over you with long slim legs and hair that trailed down her back in waves while Akira stood just about at your chin, her hair chopped into a bob that never failed to frame her glowing eyes and constant frown. 

        Standing with them was like hiding in plain sight--an effortless camouflage. 

        You only realized you were lost in thought when Akira stalked back from the tour group that had managed to travel thirty feet ahead of you, her hand grasping your arm and dragging you back up to join them. When you returned you saw Kanna flirting with a boy who looked around your age and you distantly remembered him from your chemistry class. 

        Of course, he didn’t recognize you. 

        As the tour group made its way through the cathedral-shaped museum, stopping for a few minutes at a time for each exhibit of mythical beasts, your gaze darted back and forth between the ever-growing collection of sculptures and weaponry. 

        You remember being obsessed with the supernatural as a child, even getting into some intense arguments about whether vampires or werewolves were better, but at some point the infatuation had faded away into passing fascination--you were almost envious that someone had been able to preserve their own childlike spirit so much that they created an entire museum for it. 

        The outside of the makeshift cathedral looked exactly how you’d expect: towering spires with windows of stained glass depicting angels, suns, and crosses. The inside, however, was so juxtaposingly modern that it slapped you in the face the minute you entered. The walls were painted black with maroon accents, effectively maintaining a gothic theme. Though yellow lights embedded in the ceiling lit up each hall, brass sconces were still nailed to the walls, balancing two flickering candles each. 

        Everyone walked down a red velvet carpet that covered polished dark wood underneath and muffled their footsteps, the dull thumps somehow making the museum more ominous. Much like the exhibit you were in now, which was centered around witches, a single television hung at the far end of each exhibition room, ceaselessly playing a small, summarizing video of the creature’s origins. 

        As it murmured in the background about how witches and wizards were not the same thing, you inspected a broomstick that was supposedly owned by a witch from Salem. It floated in the air with two clear strings tied around either end just above a carved marble pedestal holding a gold plaque. The broom of Sarah Good, it read, caught and hanged in the Salem Witch Trials. Her descendants now live in New Orleans, the supposed location of a secret witch coven.

        You licked your lips thoughtfully, moving onto the next artifact with vested interest. The next was a cat skull and on its plaque it explained-

        Before you even got to read the words, you lost your footing and toppled over, crashing to the ground in a single heap of limbs. 

        Ow.

        Groaning, you righted yourself back onto your butt, inspecting the untied shoelace that had sniped you. Several gasps rose around the room, but not for you. 

        The wooden stand holding the cat skull balanced now on a single leg, tipping over in slow motion. Crap! 

        You tried to scramble up onto your knees to catch the fallen display but before you could, a form blew past you in the blink of an eye and caught it in its tracks, righting it back on its four legs before recentering the cat skull. 

        A chuckle left the museum worker as he spun back to face you, piercing green eyes observing your fallen form. Well, piercing green eye--the other was covered by a tuft of black hair, just as spiky and wild as the rest on top of his head. As he smirked, you could see a hint of his canines, looking sharp enough to cut through skin. You blamed the sight on the lighting. 

        And on the obvious supernatural fetish. 

        The man offered a gloved hand to you, the rest of his form draped in a velvet black trench coat, and as he pulled you to your feet, you glanced at his ID tag. Kuroo Tetsurou, exhibit handler. Of course he would be on the lookout for clumsy visitors such as yourself. 

        Good thing, too, because you were like a bull in a china shop. 

        “Thank you,” you mumbled, half-avoiding your gaze because you were embarrassed and half because you were never too good at handling yourself like a normal human when it came to attractive men. 

        “Of course.” He held your gaze and hand for just a tad longer than was socially acceptable before letting go and stepping back. “Though, perhaps stay a couple feet back when observing the artifacts.” 

        Those “fangs” had to be fake. 

        The worker left you with one last chuckle and a wink before walking away, hopefully to never see you ever again. God, that was embarrassing! A small pout grew on your face as you flushed deep red, refraining from hiding your face in your hands because you knew that’s what everyone else in the room expected from you--you figured you’d entertained them enough for one day. 

        While glancing around for a hole to bury yourself and die in, you realized your tour group was long gone. The witch exhibit wasn’t exactly packed with people so you could easily tell your friends were gone as well. 

        Muttering a small curse, you made your way through to the exit, flinching.  when the animatronic witch posed at the door cackled in your ear. 

        The dimly-lit hall was clear of people aside from a few stragglers searching for a room to inspect. As you made your way down the hall, voices floated out from each room, none sounding familiar. Each doorway had its own silver plaque positioned above, naming the topics of the room. 

        Centaurs. Genies. Unicorns.

        The tour you had gotten tickets for stated that it wasn’t going to go into every room in the museum, but it would brush over the most popular exhibits. And if there was one thing you remembered, it was that the newly-renovated vampire exhibit was the main reason the group you traveled with was so large. 

        The museum had added an artifact that bolstered their popularity greatly--the supposed sarcophagus of Kozume Kenma, one of the leading vampires of the Nekoma Clan. 

        Vampires. There!

        You speed-walked into the room, slowing your steps when you entered because you’d recently learned where traveling through an expensive exhibit without thinking would get you. 

        And yet, when you bursted into the room and saw a glimpse of Kanna’s black hair bouncing through the exit, you threw all caution to the wind.

        “Kanna!” You zipped in between the red ropes restricting visitors from getting too close to the paintings, darting around glass cases holding blood-stained cloaks and taxidermy bats while waving your arms like that would somehow catch the eyes of someone with their back turned. “Kan-NUH!”

        A wrinkle in the carpet launched you forward and you waved your arms wildly for balance. 

        If anyone had entered the room at that moment, they would have walked right out. You looked insane, like you were acting out your own rendition of monkey-turning-to-woman.

        Your fall landed you against a table where a sharpened blade sat, pointed upward for show. One hand slammed against the surface of the marble while the other, in your panic, slid just along the razor-sharp edge. 

        Shock came first and you flung your arm away with a gasp, stumbling back and crashing into what felt like another table. You reached your bleeding hand back blindly to stable yourself while the other reached up to press against your racing heart. 

        The pain was finally kicking in and the break in your palm began to drip down your hand, leaking blood with ease. Your hand shook so bad you could barely feel it, numb with panic as you gasped for breath. 

        Finally, when your gaze stopped wavering in sync with the pounding of your head, you glanced over at the sword display. No blood seemed to stain the blade, but a large sign hung just in the background stating PLEASE DON’T TOUCH!

        Definitely not a first for you.

        You looked over your shoulder out of instinct for just a second, wanting to see what sat on the table you currently leant on to see what other rules you were breaking, only to feel your throat close up at the sight. 

        A mummy sat in a polished black coffin, carved of wood with details of vines, leaves, and finally a cat’s yowling face carved into the latch that hung over the cracked-open space. A bloodied half hand-print sat right at the head of the body, coloring the mouth area red while the rest of the wrapping remained an aged white. 

        “Shit!” you hissed with panicked eyes, lunging back and away. “Shit, shit, shit! Oh, I’m so fucked.” A large sign, even bigger than the flatscreen that played the story of the first vampire, read DO NOT TOUCH OR APPROACH. SARCOPHAGUS IS EXTREMELY FRAGILE. 

        The three underlines of each word hit you like a freight train and you almost gagged. Unlike your other little slip-ups, this one would seriously cost you. 

        There was no way the coffin didn’t cost more than your apartment and college tuition combined, and you were already toeing the line of serious debt. 

        Do I tell someone? Do I not tell someone and let myself get caught?

        In terms of damage, the mummy looked totally fine. The small discoloring around the mouth was barely even noticeable from your ten-foot distance away, but the closer someone would get, the easier it would be able to see. Other random speckles of stains littered the wrappings, of course due to age, but in a museum for vampires? With red stains on the mouth of said vampire?

        Someone would see. Eventually. But according to the sign, no one would get close to it for a while. 

        Maybe you would escape this scot-free. 

        Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and fished for a band aid in your pocket. Injuries were common so you always kept some on hand. 

        “You’re gonna be fine, YN,” you mumbled to yourself, fighting to tear open the wrapper. Your hands were shaking so badly it was almost impossible and tears stung your eyes. “You’re gonna be fine. Just take deep breaths.”

        After five minutes of shaky fumbling and calm words, you finally just ripped the package in half and pulled out of the now-deformed band aid, slamming it over your wound and calling it a day. 

        Yesterday, you took four finals in four classes. Today, you damaged a fragile museum artifact that, if caught, would cost you thousands. 

        You were going fucking home. 

        You tossed your band aid wrapper in the trash with a huff, not noticing the single, stained paper fluttering to the floor just in front of the exit. 

                                +++

        Blood. Air. 

        Blood. Sweet, sweet blood. 

        Thirsty. Hungry. 

        Dark. 

        Pain. 

        Escape.

        Escape.

        Escape.

        Hoarse wheezes was all Kenma could manage as he lay stock-still on a soft surface. Pins and needles pricked at his every limb and he almost groaned in relief because it meant he was alive. 

        His tongue was heavy as a rock and was dry as sandpaper but he could still taste the sweet flavor on his tongue. Metallic-like, it was both nourishing and yet not enough.

        No, no. Definitely not enough. He needed more.

        Twitching his finger was an exercise that if he wasn’t completely dehydrated would have worked up a sweat. Moving the rest of his arm made him wish his death had lasted. 

        But someone had blessed him with blood, with life, and now he had a debt to repay. 

        Kenma wasn’t like Kuroo. He followed the ancient laws of vampires, now matter how outdated they were. Born-vampires had one code, and that was that whoever gave you blood and therefore everlasting life, was your master forever. 

        This was code. 

        Kenma thought of Kuroo and how he’d taken blood from all kinds of people, an action that would’ve been called taboo by the vampires of old. 

        Then Kenma thought of Kuroo alone and wondered just where he was. 

        It was completely dark, and each muscle he moved seemed trapped in the same position. A loud rip split the silence that previously mingled with Kenma’s wheezing as he reached up an arm and patted at his face. 

        Trapped. Stuck. Wrapped in something?

        “K…” Kenma tried to call Kuroo’s name, but even the first letter scraped at his throat hard enough that he gagged. 

        It was so dry. He needed more of the blood he’d given. 

        Just a drop would be a blessing. 

        “Ku…”

        But he had to get out first. 

        If he knew one thing about Kuroo, it was that the man was loyal. If he knew another, it was that he was also immortal. 

        Because Kenma followed the ways of the code, he was the right hand man of the Nekoma Clan. Kuroo was the leader, but he knew to protect his own.

        “Kuro...Kuroo.”

        The pain was irrelevant. His hand still scratched at his face, slowly yet desperately as he ached to tear away the cloth. To see light for the first time in centuries. 

        Footsteps echoed miles away, perking Kenma’s ears. 

        “Kuroo...Kuroo.”

        They drew closer and closer, ever so muffled through the wrappings that trapped Kenma in darkness. 

        “Kuroo...please.”

        A hand batted away the one Kenma kept patting over his face and Kenma heard the zing of a blade. 

        “Kuroo…”

        “Shh.” Kuroo’s voice urging Kenma to shut up had never sounded so melodic. “I’m here. I’m here.” 

        Kenma let himself relax, allowing Kuroo to cut through the thick cloths encasing his body like a cast. The latter cursed under his breath each time he sliced a bit too close to the skin, almost breaking it. 

        The process was long and painful. After coming back to life, Kenma suddenly had the urge to move, something he’d never had before. 

        Except he knew exactly why he needed to move. He needed to find them. Whoever they were. 

        Though eternal servitude was never exactly Kenma’s life goal, he knew it was an honor to be deemed worthy as someone worth eternal life. To be given such a gift was a sign that your life was meant to be spared. 

        When all the bindings split away and Kenma could open his eyes, a ringing burst in his ears accompanied by a pounding headache. He’d never known candles to burn so brightly, but maybe that was something of this new age. Or perhaps he was laying below a skylight. 

        Neither. The light source was a rectangular shape directly above, harnessing the light of a thousand white flames to make the room glow. It buzzed as well, or perhaps that was the few moths that flew around it. 

        “Kuroo,” Kenma reached a hand up to cover his eyes, “I have to-”

        “Shh.” The older hushed him once more before holding a cup to his lips. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

        The cup was dark and Kenma couldn’t see what was inside of it. Panic struck his heart and with a sudden burst of energy, he slapped the cup away from his face.

        “NO!”

        The cup flew, spilling clear liquid through the air before cracking against the floor with a splat. The older man in the room sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. 

        “Kenma, come on. I know the dumbass laws and your dumbass willingness to abide by them. You know I wouldn’t force you to drink blood you didn’t want.”

        Kuroo was right. Kenma trusted him to not force blood on him and he trusted Kuroo not to try and bring him back either. Kenma wanted his revival, if it were to ever happen, to be of someone else’s desire to revive him. 

        He’d just… panicked.

        “I know.” His throat suddenly felt parched and sickly and Kenma returned his gaze to Kuroo’s face. “Could you…?”

        “Yeah, I’ll go get another one.”

                                +++

        “I’ll never let go, Jack.”

        “Just move over on the door, bitch!” you wailed, sobbing into your ice cream and curling deeper into your blankets as the movie drew to a close. Tears ran down your face and half a tissue box sat in numerous crumpled-up balls on your coffee table. 

        To be fair, a large majority of them came from when you first got home from the museum. After throwing yourself a pity party, you decided to give yourself even more reason to cry by watching the Titanic movie over a bowl of ice cream.

        Your phone sat beside the used tissues, occasionally lighting up with missed calls from your friends hours earlier. Texting felt like a waste of energy, and you could certainly tell them what happened tomorrow.

        If you weren’t being arrested for damaging museum property at that time. 

        Even the thought sprung another nervous wave of tears to your eyes and you clicked off the movie, searching for another story to bawl your eyes out to. 

        Three loud knocks cracked at your door, making you flinch. 

        Probably Akira and Kanna, worried out of their minds. 

        “Guys,” you stood up and turned on your living room lights before walking to your front door, “I promise I’m fine. Something just happened today that really-”

        But when you turned the knob, it was neither of your friends. 

        It wasn’t even female. 

        It was two guys, one looking vaguely familiar while the other was entirely unknown to you. 

        The first, significantly taller and with the same ruffled hair, was Kuroo. Just the sight of the museum worker made you want to jump out your window and onto the sidewalk ten floors below. 

        The other was shorter with blond hair just past his chin, the roots a dark brown. His eyes were glowing with a sort of anticipation but his face appeared otherwise bored. 

        Nerves began to dance under your skin and you shifted from foot to foot, your hand still on the door. You only realized you were biting your lip when both men drew their gazes to the action, and after that you immediately stopped. 

        “Uhh, y-yes?” You gulped and watched them both with flared nostrils, ignoring the way the blond’s eyes followed your throat. “Did you n-need something, offic- I mean sirs?”

        The familiar one’s lips quirked, something akin to amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched your anxious movements. Yet, he never said a word. 

        Instead, the blond one stepped forward, somehow looking uncomfortable in a red sweatshirt and black sweatpants. There was an air of seriousness around him even as his face gave off a feeling of nonchalance. 

        Here it comes.

        You tensed up your shoulders and closed your eyes, waiting for the words of your doom. 

        Instead, cold fingers grabbed the hand you had limp at your side and you felt a softness brush over the back. 

        You opened your eyes once more only to see a small smile with fangs peaking out as the blond pulled his lips away from your hand. 

        “I am forever indebted to you, Mistress.”

        “What?”

I have been dying to find out what happens next in reborn, are you still planning to continue it?

Yep, next few chapters are planned, and now that summer’s here, it looks like I’ll get a little time to get started on em!! Glad you like it🥰

Okay so I just read your Yandere Zuko hc and I loved it!! ATLA was a massive part of my childhood, so I was wondering if I could request Yandere Sokka hc this time?? Thank you!

Yandere Sokka Headcanons

*GIF not mine*

A/N: (This lowkey got a lil 👀 near the end) Ughh yess I just love him??🥺 Thank you for the request bc he needs more recognition honestly. Hope you enjoy! (Also, thank y’all so much for 900 followers!!! akshfklsd)

Word count: 712

Truth be told, the way he fell for you was quite simple-- you laughed at his jokes.

Since then, he chased after you like a cat with a string (but we all know he’s relentless when it comes to something he wants.)

Everyone, including you, thought it was just innocent pining. You were all wrong.

It was so much more. 

You were part of the Gaang, and while traveling with them, he would always watch you with a goofy smile on his face.

Katara would try to make fun of him for it like “Ooooh look who’s got a crushhhhhh...”

“Yep.”

No shame, he’s fallen for you hard.

Then one day, he finally gets you. 

He saves you from almost getting scorched by a firebender, and in turn takes the burn himself. 

You kiss him afterward as a thank you, and that’s when you two become a couple. (Hey, where’d that firebender go...?)

All right, now to the definition of “headcanons.”

Hickeys. Everywhere. 

Every patch of skin your clothes leave bare are smothered in his love bites. 

“It’s the middle of June, YN, why are you wearing a scarf?”

Sokka hates confrontation unless absolutely necessary. Aka you’re covered in marks and he expects you to know who you belong to as much as everybody else.

This man will always give you 100% of himself. 

Like he will drop anything and everything for you. 

You want cuddles? Well fuck, guess there’s no dinner tonight. 

“Sokka, you were supposed to catch us some fish to eat!!”

“But my baby wanted cuddles!!” 

His baby.

He always tells you how beautiful you are. Every few minutes he jumps up in your face and shouts about how he’s so lucky to have you and that he loves you. 

He’s not ashamed of his feelings. Rather, he’s very proud he was able to catch get someone like you. He hugs you to his side everywhere you two go and smirks at people who stare

He’s not really one to hurt you. If anything, he’ll blame himself or everyone else. You’re a goddess in his eyes, worthy of being worshiped (only by him, of course.) Hell yeah he’ll get on his knees for you

Sokka is fiercely loyal to you. We’re talkin’ guard dog mode 24/7. As much as he’s learned that you can protect yourself, that doesn’t stop him from beating the absolute shit out of someone who’s tried to hurt you (or even looked at you).

(Body? What body?)

(The Planner™)

While traveling with the Gaang, Sokka will heavily convince you to sleep in his tent. 

Umm yeah. You’re the only one who can’t resist his puppy dog eyes💀

So anyways, every night he cuddles you to sleep (Sokka is big spoon always bc he is a MAN) in those tiny ass sleeping bags (zero proximity is key😌)

“Sokka?”

“Hmm?”

“Where the hell is my underwear?” 

As we all know, he aspires to be just like his father, so expect him to umm... want children from you. 

Call him daddy, I dare you.

Okay, here’s the deal. 

You weren’t quite ready to settle down after defeating the Fire Nation. You wanted to explore the world, visit new lands, meet different people!

Sokka was not okay with that. 

So naturally, you tried to break things off, but... oop.

I mean, technically it was your fault. 

Sokka is an excellent planner (see “guard dog” tings), prepared for every possible situation. Not even your rebellion blindsided him as much as you expected.

So he kidnapped you 🤷‍♀️

Come on, you really thought he was gonna let you go that easily?

Oh YN

You poor, sweet little thing.

Sokka loves you🥰

He would never let you go back out into the dangerous world all on your own! 

Don’t worry, you’ll always be safe in his room, in his own home, where nobody around can hear your silly little calls for help. 

(You are going to be an excellent mother to his children☺️)

Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!

Word count: 1968

Tooru Oikawa:

“I’m totally and completely over you.”

That’s how the message starts. 

Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance. 

And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes. 

All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet. 

You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting. 

But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle. 

“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.” 

You suck in a breath. 

“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”

His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.

“I want you back.” 

He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead. 

“I need you back.” 

More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing. 

You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek. 

Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was. 

“I didn’t know…” 

A shaky breath. You hold yours in return. 

“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”

He swallows thickly. 

“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.

“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”

He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache. 

Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time. 

“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”

“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow. 

Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.

He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?

“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull. 

Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears. 

But it’s him and he was yours and you were his. 

Were. 

You were his. 

You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb. 

Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it. 

“I need to see you.” 

He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face. 

“I need to go see you, I—I have to.” 

He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.

You should probably think he’s wrong.

You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do. 

Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.

“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”

Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys. 

Then the sound of a door slamming. 

His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.

A car engine revving. 

“I need to see you.” 

And the voicemail ends. 

_________________________

Satori Tendou: 

The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief. 

“Is that what we’re doing now?”

He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond. 

“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”

A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it. 

“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”

He sighs. 

“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker. 

“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”

Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg. 

And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something. 

When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months. 

You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day. 

Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went. 

He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done. 

“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke. 

You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon. 

No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking. 

“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”

He breathes a ghost of a laugh. 

“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”

You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time. 

“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue. 

“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”

You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself. 

“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled. 

“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”

Tendou soughs.

“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”

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

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

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

Breakup Prank (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

Setter Version (Part 2)

A/N: Lordy I forgot how annoying it is to post on mobile🙄 also ignore the time stamps👀 enjoy!

Kenma, Kageyama, Akaashi

If you’re requests are open, do you think you could do a part 2 of the yandere Michael Gray fic? I really loved it! Have a good day/night :))

Dudeeee I’ve been dying to write more Yandere Michael Gray fics but istg my mind is like a dried-up well rn. If u got any ideas, I’d love to hear em!

Ps I’m glad you liked it!

Luna hunt part 2?

bro i couldnt find it either istg think i lost it somewhere someone put an amber alert find it pls

jk jk but honestly my brain has zero ideas for it like thats why it ended on such a good climax cuz that was literally all i had :( i know i could dig thru all those old wattpad werewolf stories just to find an idea but like why submit myself to my past mistakes like ew

one day, my friend, we shall see if i have an idea for it