Yandere Haikyuu - Tumblr Posts
................
Uhm... So this is my first time writing a storyline based thing and spare me cause I'm slowly getting the hang of how Tumblr works but i present y'all with....
Storyline: haikyuu... A historical fantasy story about a arch mage, an alchemist and a crowned royal prince. You have been engrossed by the manhwa after your friend recommended this to you. But what happens when you suddenly get isekai'ed into the story as a saintess?
Yandere sakusa (our cleanliness loving arch mage):
You were the saintess.. and he was the mage... Ofcourse you guys were meant to be! It was a match made in heaven sweetheart! You are meant to be together forever! The things you touch... The path you walk on... Everything around you is soo pure so innocent and so so so desperate to be ruined..ruined by him!
(he's an arch mage honey, he's gonna arch your back( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))
The moment he realises that the crowned prince and that bastard of an alchemist are in love with you... He loses it! He has to keep you safe! No one is allowed to taint your pure soul! No one but him!
Don't be surprised when you find yourself locked in a temple with high level magic spells around you.. he just did it for your protection sweetheart.. So what if you are the saintess and have to bless people? You should only use your blessings on him and him alone! Don't worry love... He'll make sure to remove any peck of impurity around both of you<3
Even if he has to get his hands dirty just for you<3
Yandere akaashi (royal crowned prince)
You're a saintess... That means you are his bride! His soon to be wife and the empire's mother! What do you mean that's not how it works? Isn't it how it goes in the stories? The saintess marries the crowned prince who turns into the emperor and they live happily forever ever after?
Aw.. ofcourse you don't know about it.. you're a pure soul afterall! Silly him! He needs to protect you then! Since, he can't have someone else taking his salvation away!
...WHAT!? THAT LOUSY MAGE AND PESKY ALCHEMIST DARE HAVE FEELINGS FOR YOU!? This can't be! no nO NO NO! This is treason! Treason against the royal family! So what if they are powerful? They need to be executed immediately!
Only he has the rights to claim you as his wife! Even if he has to bend a few royal orders here and there....
Yandere kita ( perfectionist alchemist )
Playing with spells and magic circles was his thing! The moment he laid his eyes on you.. he was enchanted! Obsessed! Desperate!. He needed to have you one way or the other.
You bless people, save them from misery by your holy powers, the epitome of mercy whereas he was deemed as evil, scary and an outcast.. but you.. you were the only one who treated him like a human.. no, no he doesn't care if you're the saintess, a maid or even a witch... He loves you! No matter what you are and what you want to be!
He's got to cage you keep you safe from prying eyes! Darling, he has seen how other stare at you... It makes him want to claw their eyes out!
How about going far far away from humanity where only the two of you are present? Doesn't it sound so romantic?♡
.
.
.
.
Violent Delights
for my very dearest best friend (wife) @iwaasfairy i'm sorry it's super late, but august and april both start with 'a' which basically means they're the same month <33 iwaizumi hajime x female reader w.c 4.4k tw: yandere themes, non-con, drugged reader, blood/gore, murder, incest, sorta smut (nsfw)
M I N E
It’s funny in a way. Amidst the wreckage, the blood, what was left of your friends and the cooling puddle of cum splattered across your naked stomach, four letters carved into your bedroom wall seemed almost… harmless. Or at least the easiest to digest. Fixate on.
The detective asked about your ex partners, the dates you’d been on recently, whether or not you’d noticed anyone in your day-to-day paying you too much attention, if anyone made you feel uncomfortable, or said anything that seemed out of place.
But your exes don’t care enough to kill, and the two dates you’ve been on in the last six months never bothered to text you back. No one’s left weird, unsettling gifts, or stared too long in line at the coffee shop. There’s nothing. No precursor or warning, no giant red flag waving in front of you.
Mine.
Hovering on the edge of numbness, blind hysteria just out of reach, you stare at the beige walls of the hotel room they’d put you up in, the angry gouges flickering in and out of existence with every blink.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Kaori was the one obsessed with all the true crime stuff. She’d be the first to tell you psychopaths and nutjobs – they don’t jump straight into drugging and triple homicide. There’s a pattern of behaviour. Escalation.
Something you missed.
Then again, considering it’s her blood still caked under your fingernails, there’s a strong possibility she wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about the whole thing to begin with.
You need a shower, a proper one – not the glorified sponging off they’d given you at the hospital. Enough to get you out the door, not nearly enough to scrub away the grime and rid yourself of what he did to you–
The others had it worse. You survived. He barely touched you.
Mine.
The thought of scalding water, of scrubbing yourself raw does hold a certain appeal, yet hunched over atop starched white sheets, those same bloody fingernails sink into the flesh of your arms instead, grounding you in the tiny bite of pain.
Minutes tick past and you don’t so much as twitch. Not until a sharp knock sounds at the door and a gruff voice calls out your name.
You wait half a beat, but when nothing more is forthcoming, you slowly edge yourself off the bed, making your way to the door. Through the peephole you spy a dark haired officer, different to the one who’d dropped you off, staring back at you.
They did tell you there’d be an officer with you the whole time, at least for the next twenty four hours.
“Miss?” he calls again, and you distantly realise that while your hand is poised over the deadlock, you haven’t moved to undo it.
Squeezing your eyes shut, your forehead meeting the wooden door with a muted thud, you curse that stupid, tremulous fluttering in your chest. They’re here for you, protecting you. You’re safe.
Open the damn door.
“Y-yeah?”
Coward.
“Brought some food for you. Dinner.” There’s a rustling on the other side, and you raise your head to peer back through the glass in time to see him lift up a paper carry bag to the peephole. The idea of eating anything right now has your stomach roiling in protest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good, I swear,” he says. Then, gentler, like he’s talking down a spooked animal, adds, “You need to eat.”
Still, you hesitate. All you need to do is open the door, grab the food and then at least it’s there if you want it later. Easy.
Too quick, too jerky to be natural, you twist at the handle and yank the door open a scant few inches, enough for you to reach out an arm expectantly for the food. “Thank you,” you pre-empt, because hungry or not, you’re not completely without manners.
The officer lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. I’m not taking heat from the Cap when the guys on the next shift find you passed out ‘cause you haven’t eaten anything,” he scoffs. “C’mon, we can talk while you eat.” Not a suggestion – you barely have time to stumble back before he’s pushing his way inside and kicking the door closed behind him. The second he takes to flick the lock somehow simultaneously eases the knots in your stomach and sends your heartrate ratcheting.
It’s halfway to a miracle that you’re still standing at all.
“Eat,” he tells you, his deep voice brooking no disagreement as he shoves the bag of food your way and grabs the lone chair in the room, dragging it closer to the edge of the bed and settling himself down. Clearly he has no intention of going anywhere until he’s satisfied you’ve eaten your fill.
With little else for it, you do as you’re told, reaching into the bag to find steamed buns at your fingertips, still warm as you pry open the wrapper– and wince. The familiar scent of pork, ginger and chives wafts through the air, unwittingly digging at old wounds.
Suddenly you’re a kid again, strolling down the hill with your family, one hand tucked safely within your brother’s, the other grasping a steaming hot bun. You’re happy and whole and so, so young–
“Something wrong? You don’t like meat buns?”
Not the time. Ignoring the bitter ache the memory conjures, you’re quick to shake your head, “No. No, thank you. It’s great.” You doubt he buys it, but then again you also doubt he cares so long as you get something in your stomach.
One bite, chew, swallow. Another, chew, swallow – mechanical until it isn’t. The first bun disappears and you reach for the second.
“How’s your head?” he asks.
You swallow down another mouthful. “Fuzzy. Sore. I still can’t remember anything,” you admit, in case that’s where this line of questioning is going. Nothing beyond waking up in your bed covered in blood and a stranger’s cum at any rate.
The blood work they did at the hospital confirmed you were drugged along with the others, the detective mentioning the near-empty bottle of wine they’d found, which they were in the process of testing too. He’d also pointed out the lack of evidence indicating any kind of forced entry, which paired with the former is something you’ve been trying not to dwell on.
The officer gives a considering nod, “That’s to be expected, don’t worry about it. I still think it’s worth asking a few more questions if you’re feeling up to it?” Again, it’s phrased like a question, but already he’s pulling out a voice recorder, setting down on the mattress between you.
“Um, sure. Yeah,” you croak.
A small smile, “Good.” He leans forward to switch on the recorder. “We’ll start with the other victims – your friends. Tell me about them.”
“Kaori, she’s– she was my best friend. We worked at the same grocer when I first moved out of my parents’ place, when I got a job here she made the decision to move with me. That was about six months ago.”
“And the other two?”
“Her brother Koji and another friend of ours Takashi. They came up to visit; Kaori’s been back once or twice since we left, but I hadn’t seen them–” tears blur at your vision and your voice just… gives out.
They’re gone.
You drag a shuddering breath in and it hurts.
Blindly, your hand reaches across the bed, blood tipped fingers sprawling over pristine white, and when they meet warmth – an open palm outstretched – you seize it and cling on with everything you have. You’ll unravel if you don’t.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you chant, each syllable shakier than the last.
He dips his chin, just barely, and squeezes your hand, “You invited them?”
A wordless, wide eyed nod.
“You were close.” Not a question. He sounds like he’s mulling over the thought, though his expression is inscrutable. “Were you involved with any of them?”
This time, there’s the slightest hesitation before you shake your head. The officer frowns, “I need the truth. Your friends were attacked for a reason. Lying to me won’t help bring their families peace.”
The blood drains from your face, your heart lurching on a sickening thud.
Your fault.
Instinctively, you yank back your hand, or try to at least, but his grip tightens – enough to keep you from drawing away, not enough to hurt. Though neither his tone nor his expression hold any condemnation, it doesn’t change the truth of the matter.
You didn’t drug them or pick up the knife and swing. You didn’t invite this psycho into your life, but the fact remains that they’re dead because of you.
“I– it wasn’t like that. We weren’t… I didn’t–”
MINE.
Tears threaten to spill and your bottom lip trembles.
For a long, drawn out moment, he simply stares. There’s a twitch at his jaw and he sighs – more of a grunt, really – leaning back and pulling his hand from yours to rake through his dark hair.
(Stupid, you think, how some part of you mourns the loss.)
“Okay, alright. Fine. We’ll come back to that,” he concedes. “What about other friends? Coworkers you were close with?”
“No, I– I already told the detective I wasn’t seeing anyone.”
An irritated flash darkens his gaze. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking them.” And you must make a truly pathetic picture then, flinching like a kicked puppy, because he lets out another huff, closing his eyes for a beat and visibly working to soften the harsh lines of his expression. “Shit, okay– I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for us both,” he makes an odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humour. “The guy who did this, he either already knows about the people precious to you, or he’s gonna do his damn best to find out, and if he thinks they’re threats, he’ll hurt them, or worse – he’ll use them to hurt you. I need you to tell me everything.”
And so, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping over you, you do.
You tell him about the small group from work you occasionally go out for Friday drinks with, your old friends from uni, right down to the neighbour two floors below, who’d seen you hauling boxes the day you’d moved in and immediately offered to help. When you’d christened the kitchen baking you’d made sure to bring him some, and just last week you’d had tea with him and his grandma.
“What about school? Anyone you still keep in contact with?”
You try for a laugh but it sounds all wrong. “I wasn’t exactly popular back then,”
His eyes narrow. They flit across your face like he’s searching for… something. You feel like a bug, pinned in place, squirming and uncomfortable, your face too hot.
“Bullied?” he probes.
Another nod.
“How ‘bout family?”
Your mouth dries.
“My parents… I haven’t spoken to them in months. We don’t really get along.” The last conversation you’d had with them, if you could call it as much, lasted all of five minutes. Dry pleasantries and thinly veiled criticisms, wrapped up in yet another pointed reminder that things didn’t have to be this way – you were the one adamant on shutting them out.
You doubt it’d raise a single eyebrow between them if you went the same again without contact.
“Siblings?”
Another tear slips from your lashes and you swallow against the tight lump in your throat. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, you’re too bare, too vulnerable, you don’t want to talk about this, so you shift your line of sight to the paper delivery bag, half crumpled now, and let your fingernails sink into the skin of your palms.
Still, the words don’t come straight away, and when they do, they’re strained. Choked. Painted so thick is grief that you wonder if he understands them at all.
“No. I uh, I had a brother– a twin brother. He died.”
You don’t talk about your brother, ever.
Kaori knew the bare bones of it. Koji and Takashi too – you had a twin brother, he died, and it fucked you up. Without ever uttering a word, they’d known not to press, that the wounds left behind weren’t quite as healed as the scar tissue led to believe.
“How old were you?”
Seven, when you lost him. Twelve, when the letters stopped coming.
“Fourteen,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “He was sick.”
Stop asking, stop talking, stop, stop, stop.
When you risk a look in the officer’s direction, his features are hewn granite, eyes set in a hard, angry glare that steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” he grunts, rising to his feet. “You stopped writing long before that.”
There’s just enough time for understanding to crash over you, for your lips to part, a feather light gasp of “Hajime?” to slip out before you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress above your head, the officer– a ghost– Hajime looming over you.
“What did I fucking tell you?”
—
‘Sweetie, make sure you hold your brother’s hand.’
They’d meant when you were walking home from the bus stop, or crossing the road. When there was a buddy system so no one got separated or left behind.
Hajime was always holding your hand. Not because your parents told him to, but because that’s how it was supposed to be. You were twins, he’d been born first (by all of six minutes) and you had followed. You were always following Hajime, and he was always going to look after you.
Until he gets put into the Otter class with Mr Inagaki, and you go into Dugong with Miss Ino.
Hajime’s nothing short of enraged. He throws chairs and yells and tries to kick the Principal, but it doesn’t change anything.
It would be good for you, they said, to have a chance to make other friends. ‘You can’t keep using your brother as a crutch, honey,’ your mother gently admonishes.
Hajime scowls at that. Later, when it’s just the two of you hiding away in his room, he tells you she’s an idiot and a liar. ‘You don’t need anyone else. You have me.’
You knew that. You’d always have Hajime, but the other kids in your class weren’t as awful as he made them sound. Some of them were actually kind of cool, and they liked you, too.
For a while, you began to believe you could have both; Hajime and your new friends.
Until one day you’re waiting for him at lunch when a boy from your class tugs on your braids and with a wide, toothy grin, loudly proclaims to the whole playground that even though you were a girl, and girls have cooties, it’d probably be okay if you wanted to be his girlfriend.
You didn’t see Hajime coming up behind you. You’ve no idea where he found the scissors. The only warning either of you get is a sudden, splitting roar before he’s throwing himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the ground.
‘She’s MINE!’
Silver glints, flashing in the sunlight, and a high pitched shriek rips through the playground as he brings the scissors down on the poor, struggling boy.
With a viciousness you’d never known of your brother, he swings again and again. It’s chaos. The other kids scatter and the teachers run to intervene. Hajime, spitting and snarling, red in the face and half-feral, doesn’t stop for them.
He stops for you.
At the sound of a sharp little gasp, a line of red slashed along your forearm, Hajime stops dead, wide, horrified eyes fixed on yours.
—
‘Sweetie, what have I told you about snooping? I raised you better than that.’
‘But they’re addressed to me. Hajime wrote to me.’
‘Your brother’s not well, those letters– they’ll only upset you. I don’t want you reading them.’
‘… He says he misses me.’
‘I know, but he’s where he belongs, getting help. You want that for him, don’t you? To get the help he needs?’
‘I want to write back to him.’
—
There’s another letter waiting for you when you get home from school.
You hang your backpack near the door, still damp from being tossed in the pool, and eye the opened envelope sitting by your father. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when you reach for it, doesn’t lift a finger to stop you. Nevertheless, the displeasure radiates from him clear as day.
“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s not well.”
You’d scoff if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Nothing you said could ever be taken as ‘encouragement’, and you’re under no illusions about who and what your brother is.
The violence terrifies you. Sometimes he says things in the letters he writes that make your stomach all twisty and your palms sweat, but Hajime could be a monster, and you think you’d love him anyway. You wouldn’t have a choice.
So you pluck at the envelope and tuck it close, making your way to your room without another glance at either of your parents. Sitting cross legged atop your bed, you eagerly scan the contents;
He hates the new therapist. They had a movie night planned, but some asshole started a fight and the whole thing got cancelled. The food’s still shit. He’s fed up and pissed off, whether he behaves or not, they won’t let him out and they won’t give him what he wants, so what’s the point in pretending?
The both of you turn twelve in ten days time – you owe it to him to come spend it together.
—
‘Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart.’
Dismissive. She’s always dismissive. Your hands curl in response, tightening before you force yourself to flex them out and bite your tongue. It’s not worth the fight. Neither one of them actually care, and nothing you say will ever change that.
He’s angry at you. Or hurt. Both, probably.
They wouldn’t let you visit. You’d begged – cried, even – and it hadn’t swayed them. The rules are that you aren’t allowed to go and see Hajime and you aren’t allowed to talk to him on the phone. The letters are the only communication you have, and when your twelfth birthday comes and goes, those stop too.
You’ve sent four letters since, no response.
He’s shut you out entirely and while you can’t blame him for it, it’s painful.
You’ve always had Hajime, through everything. Him shutting you out feels like losing a limb–
No, it’s more than that. It’s like slowly losing some vital function inside of you. Like your lungs are shutting down and you can’t breathe properly and your heart isn’t pumping the way it should. You feel guilty and horrible and at least twice, you debate trying to find a way to sneak out and make the two hour journey on your own, just so you can see him.
It’s a stupid idea, they wouldn’t even let you through the front door, but it’s the only idea you have and so you cling to it.
You keep writing to him– panicked. Desperate. Begging his forgiveness.
He never writes back.
—
They sit you down at breakfast three months after your fourteenth birthday and tell you Hajime’s gone.
There was another fight, someone pushed him–
You don’t want to hear the details. They don’t matter and your ears are ringing too loud to make sense of them anyway.
Hajime is gone.
The cord between you was stretched and fraying already. He hadn’t written in over two years and probably hated you towards the end but he– he was–
Yours. A part of you.
Gone.
And your mother’s asking about the English test you have second period.
—
“What. Did. I. Say?” Each word is slowly enunciated, a quiet growl that drags an unwilling shiver down your spine.
He smells of wood – of cedar, spice and musk, the notes melding, coiling with the dizzying body heat, the solid weight of him, bracing himself above you.
His lips are mere inches from yours.
Not dead.
Here.
There’s a thousand thoughts racing through your head, connections that light up, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle, painting a deeply unsettling picture – all of which are drowned out by the revelation that Hajime is here.
You burst into tears–
and Hajime – your brother, very much alive and glaring at you from above – surges down to swallow them in a vicious kiss.
The moment your lips touch, all the tension in his body just… bleeds out. Hajime groans, low and heated, his hips rocking, grinding along your stomach, and if you weren’t too preoccupied short circuiting, dangling on the precipice of a panic attack, you’d feel the twitch of his mouth, curling into a small but no less satisfied smirk.
He relaxes, like he’s coming home rather than returning from the dead to land the killing blow.
“Mine,” he answers his own question, breath heavy and ragged as his teeth nip at your jaw. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”
The scratches on the wall. Kaori and Koji and Takashi, asleep in a sea of red. The viscous mess spilled over your belly. Your mother’s hushed voice, carrying down the hallway, ‘– only a phase. The books all say he’ll grow out of it before long.’
She hadn’t sounded convinced.
You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out as more tears spill into your hairline. Hajime won’t let you. He groans your name into the shell of your ear and licks at the tears as they fall. “Don’t,” he warns, fingers pressing tightly around your wrists ‘til they shoot back open with a gasp, “don’t you dare check out.”
When he rucks up your shirt to find you sans bra and a warm palm slides up to grope the soft, supple skin, a fresh burst of panic spurs you into action. Pinned under his weight as you are, you can’t move, and the idea of trying to physically fight him off is as laughable as it is terrifying – but when you were younger, you were the one – the only one – who could coax Hajime back from the edge, your hand in his.
Until he leapt from it entirely, and they took him away.
“H-Hajime?” A trembling, hiccuping whimper, thick with tears.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause – shuffling down your body to mouth at them instead – but hooded, simmering pools of green flick back up to your face, a hum of acknowledgement rumbling in his chest as he nips and sucks pretty, burgundy blooms across your breasts.
“I-if you ever loved me, even a little… Please, Haji– don’t hurt me like this–” you choke on another sob, pathetic mess that you are.
Hajime goes preternaturally still, eyes boring into you.
You stare right back, fighting the urge to cower and flinch, to turn your cheek and stare at the discarded dumpling wrappers, letting him take what he wants. Praying that he won’t hurt you too badly if you give it to him without a fight.
Because it will hurt, you think. It’ll break you entirely.
(Are you not already broken?)
When his head drops, you can’t help it – the sharp, terrified hitch in your breath – but his lips meet your forehead, then each cheek, before finally they brush over your lips with a tenderness he has no right to. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he vows, cradling the side of your jaw, “I won’t hurt you, ever.”
But that’s a lie, too.
“I love you more than anything.”
He kisses you again, soft and sweet and gentle, as if those promises weren’t sewn from violence and legitimised in blood. As if he isn’t breaking your heart with every sweep of his tongue, plundering your mouth.
There’s no fight in you left when he reaches for the waistband of your sweats and slowly starts easing them down. You don’t claw and shove when the hold on your wrists loosens and then disappears entirely, both hands needed to strip away his clothes.
The sound of his belt buckle clinking, the soft hiss of a zipper, they wash over you, white noise lost to the pounding in your ears.
But you don’t look away.
He strokes his cock – long and thick and flushed to the tip – crawling up the mattress to kneel between your legs like a supplicant before an altar of the divine.
Devotion demands sacrifice.
“It killed me,” he starts, dragging the mushroom head along the slit of your pussy. He frowns a little, leans back and spits – a fat glob of saliva landing dead centre, adding to the mess his weeping cock’s already made. “When the letters stopped coming. I was angry, so fucking angry, all the time. I’d lash out and they’d put me in another cage, and I’d do it again, and again. They tried convincing me you’d moved on,” his eyes flash darkly, “which was bullshit. They’d have to carve me out of you with a knife.”
What shocks you isn’t the violent imagery, but the truth of it settling into your bones, inescapable and undeniable; you’ll always love your brother, even if that very love destroys you.
“I didn’t–”
The first thrust rips a strangled yelp from your throat.
He’s too big, you’re not prepared to take him – and Hajime doesn’t care. His head tips back, shuddering out a breathy laugh.
There’s no pause, no period of grace, seated deep inside of you, the walls of your pussy hugging him tight, Hajime won’t allow you a second to catch your breath and wait for the burning sting to abate. His hips draw back until only the throbbing head of his cock remains inside, and, upon grabbing a leg to hitch over his shoulder, uses it as leverage to punch forward, stuffing your tight little cunt to the brim.
The pace he sets is brutal from the outset. Bruising. He licks at your tears between kisses and moans when you clench and shudder around him. “Never again,” he pants into your ear. “I’ll kill them all if you leave. Every last fucking one. You’re mine. Mine.”
And you’d think it cruel, a punishment, if not for the way those green eyes burn.
When his fingers twine with yours, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there, you wonder if this was always an inevitability.
Hajime led and you followed, hand in bloody hand.
He’d never allow anything less.
Yandere!Shiratorizawa 3rd Years Sharing Their Darling Manager
PAIRING: yan!Shiratorizawa 3rd years x fem!reader (though it’ll be divided between each third year)
GENRE: smut | dark content (18+)
Minors DNI
TAGS + WARNINGS: yandere themes, dubcon/noncon, stalking, violence, brief mentions of blood, biting, marking, hair-pulling, mentions of gangbangs, oral (f and m receiving), face-fucking, brief mention of double penetration, semi-public/public sex, non-consensual filming, blackmail, manhandling, manipulation, mentioned use of sex toys, overstimulation, edging, orgasm denial, creampie, mentions of squirting, size kink (sort of), breeding kink if you squint, degradation, praise, voyeurism, exhibitionism
Let me know if I missed anything.
WORD COUNT: 3.8k
SUMMARY: These are headcanons for the Shiratorizawa third years as yanderes. Even though they’re sharing you, their darling manager, this is about how each individual third year behaves, from their level of violence to their thoughts on sharing you. All characters are 18+
© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify
Keep reading
Owned
Miya Twins x Fem!Reader
Summary: The Miya twins have been watching and waiting. What happens when they finally catch you alone in the gym after practice?
Tags: Minors DNI! Explicit in all ways. D-P. Dub con. Yandere themes. Obsessive personalities. Ownership. Str8 up smut. No plot really. Mind break. Overstimulation. Please read tags! Fic located under the cut.
w.c.-2.1K
Masterlist
“So fucking pretty for us- isn’t she samu?”
“God- sh- she’s so tight…” the gray haired twin moaned.
You couldn’t give anything more than a soft whimper as you got lost in your own pleasures.
“That’s right baby- your ass is so fucking tight.” The blonde said.
You were smashed between the two brothers, with Osamu under you. He was currently buried to the hilt in your cunt, relishing the feeling of your warm walls gushing around him as you squeezed his cock tight. He softly thrusted upwards, languidly fucking into you from below as the more feral of the two brothers took control from behind.
Atsumu had you bent over his brother, holding your hands against your lower back with just one of his own. The other was holding your jaw- two fingers hooked into your mouth as he gagged you on his digits like a fishhook. He was always the rougher of the two, and he couldn't help himself as he used your body as his own personal toy.
Not able to get more than your own moans out, you were stuck in the position as the brothers ravished you. Atsumu buried himself into your ass, you could feel the way the thin layer between your ass and cunt stretched as the twins filled you with their cocks.
You felt so lost…yet so- full.
- -
It was just a moment ago you finished up your own volleyball practice, your last college season coming to a close soon. Emerging from the locker room, you noticed the twins cleaning up the gym. You offered your help, since it was shared space between the boys and girls team- but little did you know that you’d end up caught in the Miya’s trap.
At first it was a harmless conversation between the three of you- them inquiring about your intense practice schedule compared to their own. Soon the conversation turned into banter. Atsumu teased you about your love life- how volleyball was your entire life and left your boyfriend high and dry. You were quick to remind them that you didn’t have a boyfriend, that you hadn’t for a year or so now.
Of course they knew you didn’t have a boyfriend- it’s the answer they were looking for as Osamu moved in for the kill. Offering to rub your shoulders after noticing how tense you were after folding the net up.
In the end, you let them have their way with you. Giving in to their temptations as the siren twins lured you into their trap; slowly removing your clothes for a “deeper massage.” At that point you were undone; and when Atsumu leaned in for a kiss, you found that your previous hesitations flew out the window and you ultimately ended up opening your body to the brothers.
- -
“We’ve been waiting for this, baby… you were made just for us, ya know? …we’re never giving you up now.” Atsumu tells you from behind.
Each delicious drag of their cocks against your most sensitive parts sent you into overdrive. You were a mess between them. Osamu kept his eyes locked on yours, the deep pools of grey staring into your own as tears of pleasure blurred your vision.
“You’re doing so well for us, such a good girl,” he tells you as his hands take control of your hips. The tip of his swollen cock teases your womb, fucking up into you from below at a set pace. His grip was tight, no doubt leaving bruises as a reminder of their capabilities.
“Oh god, Samu- Please!” You beg.
“Shhhh, sweet girl, you’ll get your fill.” he hushes you. He drags your hips up and down his cock, your clit grinding into his pelvis and sending your mind reeling with every thrust.
Osamu feels you tighten around him, the clench of your tight heat being his undoing as he tilts his hips slightly. The action causes you to see stars as he pounds up into your g spot.
“Oh-fuck!” you scream, lost in ecstasy. You grip his shoulders, digging your nails into his chiseled arms as he rips your orgasm from you.
“That’s it Princess, cum for us- show us how good we make you feel,” Atsumu says from behind. He feels your asshole clamp down as you begin to finish around both their cocks.
Your vision goes white as you scream, coating Osamu’s cock in your finish. He takes the opportunity to bring your mouth to his. Warm lips take in your cries as his tongue plays with your own, swallowing each whimper and moan that left your being. Wet sounds filled the gymnasium as the three of you danced in bliss. After a moment you go limp in Osamu’s arms, having no choice but to take what the two gave you- an onslaught of pure ecstasy.
Osamu needed no further push as he planted his feet on the mats below your bodies. Gripping your hips tight, he thrusted up into your heat, sending shivers down your fucked-out body as he slammed into your cunt from down under.
“Shit-I’m close, this pussys just too fucking good. Want my cum, babe? Yeah- you fucking do, gonna bury my fucking cock deep in this pussy.” He tells you, words fumbled as he loses himself in your tight grip.
Atsumu lets his twin take the reins as he relishes the way your ass takes hold of his shaft- using the opportunity to admire the way the fat of your behind bounces with each thrust of his hips. The blonde was mesmerized by the way your body took his length, all the way down to the hilt as his balls slapped against the bit of skin separating his current territory from his brothers. He feels close to cumming himself, but he holds back- wanting to finish in your cunt just like his twin. The thought of him and brother’s cum mixed inside you made him groan.
They wanted to own you completely; tired of waiting on the sidelines for you to notice one of them, Atsumu was glad they took the risk today to try and catch you alone in the gym. It had been well worth the wait.
“Fuck, I’m- I’m cuming!” Osamu moans, pulling Atsumu from his dark mind.
You feel the heat of it before you register what was happening. Your mind is clouded in a lustful haze as you realize the gray haired twin was cumming inside of you, filling your deepest parts with his hot seed as he slowly thrusted his finish into your womb.
“O-Osamu,” you whimper, the sensitivity of your flesh high as his shaft begins to soften inside of you. He takes a moment to relish in your warmth before pulling out of your soaked hole, knowing his twin was eager for his turn.
“Shhh baby, you’re such a good girl…” he’s sure to comfort you, hearing your whimpers and soft cries- he knows how sensitive you are.
You cry out at his praise, relishing the way he reaches to caress your hair as the blonde twin slowly pulls out of your other abused hole.
Feeling Atsumu lift himself from your body, Osamu helps maneuver you. You were still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but the twins treated you as if you were made of porcelain. Carefully, Osamu sits up and moves you to lay on top of his body. With your back to his front, you were now facing the blonde twin.
Resting with your full weight on Osamu, you feel his strong hands grip behind your knees and pull your legs up. You were practically seated in his lap with nowhere to go. He opens your core up towards his brother, who sits between your thighs and admires the way his twin’s cum drips out of your pussy.
You look down and realize how hard Astumu still was… his angry red tip leaking precum as you admired the veins that dance down his long shaft. He spares no second thought as he positions himself at your opening, pumping his fist up and down his shaft in anticipation.
Slowly, the blonde feeds his cock into your wet cunt. With yours and Osamu’s juices acting as lubricant, Atsumu was quick to resume the pace he had set on your ass- chasing after his own orgasm.
He buries himself balls deep inside of you immediately- the tip of his cock slamming the exact same spot his twin brother’s did moments ago.
You thrash in Osamu’s grip, another orgasm creeping up fast as his strength holds you in place to his sibling’s harsh thrusts. He holds you open for him, the blonde taking no more hesitation to bring his thumb up to your swollen clit. He fondles it slowly, the bundle of nerves pulsing and bringing a coil of heat to the pit of your stomach.
“I- I’m cuming, oh god!” you cry out to them, not able to hold the pressure any longer.
Your words make Astumu smirk, the blonde proud to see you break so quickly under his grasp.
The action on your clit was your ultimate undoing, you feel yourself clamp down on his member, a field of white flowing into your vision as you wet yourself and both brothers. You squirt hard, screaming in Osamu’s grip as you coat Atsumu’s cock with yourself.
Atsumu watches as you juices cover himself and Osamu, absolutely hypnotized by both the image and feeling of you wrapped around him. It was messy… nasty even- and he couldn’t get enough of you.
“Fuck- that was so hot Princess, I’m close- you’re too fucking tight, ya know?” He tells you as he picks up the pace of his movements.
Osamu whispers praise into your ear, telling you what a good girl you are, that this is how you deserve to be taken- like this each and every day.
“From now on, you belong to us- Okay, Princess? Me n’ samu are gonna make sure you’re all taken care of from now on…” he tells you, voice ruff as he nibbles on your earlobe.
You moan in response as Atsumu gives a final thrust into your cunt, burying himself just as deep as his twin did moments ago. Emptying himself into you, he pulses his hips, ensuring his cum sticks to your deepest parts. If you got pregnant, he wanted to ensure it’d be his seed over his twin brothers.
He plugs you with his cock, keeping himself seated for a few moments as he relishes the way your warm cunt pulses around his shaft. He feels his balls tighten up against your opening, now empty and content.
“Oh fuuuuuuck,” Atsumu groans, finally removing his semi-hard cock. He admired how soaked he was, with not only his and your juices, but Osamu’s as well.
It was a sight to behold as he watched his brother release your legs from his tight grip, moving to a seated position with you upright and between his legs. Your knees fall apart, and Astumu catches the way your glistening cunt starts to leak the cum that was just buried deep inside of you.
“Ah ah ah- not on my watch,” he teases you and moves between your thighs.
The blonde twin reaches down, taking a swipe of cum and fingering it back inside of your cunt.
“Oh God, Sumu… it's too sensitive,” you cry out, attempting to move away. Osamu was quick though, holding you between the two of them with stern hands.
Your words don’t stop Atsumu’s actions though, and soon after it’s Osamu reaching from behind you to rub your little clit as his brother finger fucks you. It was embarrassing the way your pussy gushed; you were soaked and still wanted more... You could feel your cheeks heat at your compromised position, attempting to hide behind your hands.
Tears fill your eyes as you and Atsumu look at each other through the space of your fingers. He knew you wanted more- that you could handle both of them with whatever they gave you. This was their plan after all.
“This is how it’s gonna be, Princess. From now on…” Osamu whispers into your ear.
“You like one of us, you have to accept both of us. We’ll make you feel double good, baby”
Thanks for reading! :) Comments/Reblogs/Likes are all appreciated.
Owned
Miya Twins x Fem!Reader
Summary: The Miya twins have been watching and waiting. What happens when they finally catch you alone in the gym after practice?
Tags: Minors DNI! Explicit in all ways. D-P. Dub con. Yandere themes. Obsessive personalities. Ownership. Str8 up smut. No plot really. Mind break. Overstimulation. Please read tags! Fic located under the cut.
w.c.-2.1K
Masterlist
“So fucking pretty for us- isn’t she samu?”
“God- sh- she’s so tight…” the gray haired twin moaned.
You couldn’t give anything more than a soft whimper as you got lost in your own pleasures.
“That’s right baby- your ass is so fucking tight.” The blonde said.
You were smashed between the two brothers, with Osamu under you. He was currently buried to the hilt in your cunt, relishing the feeling of your warm walls gushing around him as you squeezed his cock tight. He softly thrusted upwards, languidly fucking into you from below as the more feral of the two brothers took control from behind.
Atsumu had you bent over his brother, holding your hands against your lower back with just one of his own. The other was holding your jaw- two fingers hooked into your mouth as he gagged you on his digits like a fishhook. He was always the rougher of the two, and he couldn't help himself as he used your body as his own personal toy.
Not able to get more than your own moans out, you were stuck in the position as the brothers ravished you. Atsumu buried himself into your ass, you could feel the way the thin layer between your ass and cunt stretched as the twins filled you with their cocks.
You felt so lost…yet so- full.
- -
It was just a moment ago you finished up your own volleyball practice, your last college season coming to a close soon. Emerging from the locker room, you noticed the twins cleaning up the gym. You offered your help, since it was shared space between the boys and girls team- but little did you know that you’d end up caught in the Miya’s trap.
At first it was a harmless conversation between the three of you- them inquiring about your intense practice schedule compared to their own. Soon the conversation turned into banter. Atsumu teased you about your love life- how volleyball was your entire life and left your boyfriend high and dry. You were quick to remind them that you didn’t have a boyfriend, that you hadn’t for a year or so now.
Of course they knew you didn’t have a boyfriend- it’s the answer they were looking for as Osamu moved in for the kill. Offering to rub your shoulders after noticing how tense you were after folding the net up.
In the end, you let them have their way with you. Giving in to their temptations as the siren twins lured you into their trap; slowly removing your clothes for a “deeper massage.” At that point you were undone; and when Atsumu leaned in for a kiss, you found that your previous hesitations flew out the window and you ultimately ended up opening your body to the brothers.
- -
“We’ve been waiting for this, baby… you were made just for us, ya know? …we’re never giving you up now.” Atsumu tells you from behind.
Each delicious drag of their cocks against your most sensitive parts sent you into overdrive. You were a mess between them. Osamu kept his eyes locked on yours, the deep pools of grey staring into your own as tears of pleasure blurred your vision.
“You’re doing so well for us, such a good girl,” he tells you as his hands take control of your hips. The tip of his swollen cock teases your womb, fucking up into you from below at a set pace. His grip was tight, no doubt leaving bruises as a reminder of their capabilities.
“Oh god, Samu- Please!” You beg.
“Shhhh, sweet girl, you’ll get your fill.” he hushes you. He drags your hips up and down his cock, your clit grinding into his pelvis and sending your mind reeling with every thrust.
Osamu feels you tighten around him, the clench of your tight heat being his undoing as he tilts his hips slightly. The action causes you to see stars as he pounds up into your g spot.
“Oh-fuck!” you scream, lost in ecstasy. You grip his shoulders, digging your nails into his chiseled arms as he rips your orgasm from you.
“That’s it Princess, cum for us- show us how good we make you feel,” Atsumu says from behind. He feels your asshole clamp down as you begin to finish around both their cocks.
Your vision goes white as you scream, coating Osamu’s cock in your finish. He takes the opportunity to bring your mouth to his. Warm lips take in your cries as his tongue plays with your own, swallowing each whimper and moan that left your being. Wet sounds filled the gymnasium as the three of you danced in bliss. After a moment you go limp in Osamu’s arms, having no choice but to take what the two gave you- an onslaught of pure ecstasy.
Osamu needed no further push as he planted his feet on the mats below your bodies. Gripping your hips tight, he thrusted up into your heat, sending shivers down your fucked-out body as he slammed into your cunt from down under.
“Shit-I’m close, this pussys just too fucking good. Want my cum, babe? Yeah- you fucking do, gonna bury my fucking cock deep in this pussy.” He tells you, words fumbled as he loses himself in your tight grip.
Atsumu lets his twin take the reins as he relishes the way your ass takes hold of his shaft- using the opportunity to admire the way the fat of your behind bounces with each thrust of his hips. The blonde was mesmerized by the way your body took his length, all the way down to the hilt as his balls slapped against the bit of skin separating his current territory from his brothers. He feels close to cumming himself, but he holds back- wanting to finish in your cunt just like his twin. The thought of him and brother’s cum mixed inside you made him groan.
They wanted to own you completely; tired of waiting on the sidelines for you to notice one of them, Atsumu was glad they took the risk today to try and catch you alone in the gym. It had been well worth the wait.
“Fuck, I’m- I’m cuming!” Osamu moans, pulling Atsumu from his dark mind.
You feel the heat of it before you register what was happening. Your mind is clouded in a lustful haze as you realize the gray haired twin was cumming inside of you, filling your deepest parts with his hot seed as he slowly thrusted his finish into your womb.
“O-Osamu,” you whimper, the sensitivity of your flesh high as his shaft begins to soften inside of you. He takes a moment to relish in your warmth before pulling out of your soaked hole, knowing his twin was eager for his turn.
“Shhh baby, you’re such a good girl…” he’s sure to comfort you, hearing your whimpers and soft cries- he knows how sensitive you are.
You cry out at his praise, relishing the way he reaches to caress your hair as the blonde twin slowly pulls out of your other abused hole.
Feeling Atsumu lift himself from your body, Osamu helps maneuver you. You were still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but the twins treated you as if you were made of porcelain. Carefully, Osamu sits up and moves you to lay on top of his body. With your back to his front, you were now facing the blonde twin.
Resting with your full weight on Osamu, you feel his strong hands grip behind your knees and pull your legs up. You were practically seated in his lap with nowhere to go. He opens your core up towards his brother, who sits between your thighs and admires the way his twin’s cum drips out of your pussy.
You look down and realize how hard Astumu still was… his angry red tip leaking precum as you admired the veins that dance down his long shaft. He spares no second thought as he positions himself at your opening, pumping his fist up and down his shaft in anticipation.
Slowly, the blonde feeds his cock into your wet cunt. With yours and Osamu’s juices acting as lubricant, Atsumu was quick to resume the pace he had set on your ass- chasing after his own orgasm.
He buries himself balls deep inside of you immediately- the tip of his cock slamming the exact same spot his twin brother’s did moments ago.
You thrash in Osamu’s grip, another orgasm creeping up fast as his strength holds you in place to his sibling’s harsh thrusts. He holds you open for him, the blonde taking no more hesitation to bring his thumb up to your swollen clit. He fondles it slowly, the bundle of nerves pulsing and bringing a coil of heat to the pit of your stomach.
“I- I’m cuming, oh god!” you cry out to them, not able to hold the pressure any longer.
Your words make Astumu smirk, the blonde proud to see you break so quickly under his grasp.
The action on your clit was your ultimate undoing, you feel yourself clamp down on his member, a field of white flowing into your vision as you wet yourself and both brothers. You squirt hard, screaming in Osamu’s grip as you coat Atsumu’s cock with yourself.
Atsumu watches as you juices cover himself and Osamu, absolutely hypnotized by both the image and feeling of you wrapped around him. It was messy… nasty even- and he couldn’t get enough of you.
“Fuck- that was so hot Princess, I’m close- you’re too fucking tight, ya know?” He tells you as he picks up the pace of his movements.
Osamu whispers praise into your ear, telling you what a good girl you are, that this is how you deserve to be taken- like this each and every day.
“From now on, you belong to us- Okay, Princess? Me n’ samu are gonna make sure you’re all taken care of from now on…” he tells you, voice ruff as he nibbles on your earlobe.
You moan in response as Atsumu gives a final thrust into your cunt, burying himself just as deep as his twin did moments ago. Emptying himself into you, he pulses his hips, ensuring his cum sticks to your deepest parts. If you got pregnant, he wanted to ensure it’d be his seed over his twin brothers.
He plugs you with his cock, keeping himself seated for a few moments as he relishes the way your warm cunt pulses around his shaft. He feels his balls tighten up against your opening, now empty and content.
“Oh fuuuuuuck,” Atsumu groans, finally removing his semi-hard cock. He admired how soaked he was, with not only his and your juices, but Osamu’s as well.
It was a sight to behold as he watched his brother release your legs from his tight grip, moving to a seated position with you upright and between his legs. Your knees fall apart, and Astumu catches the way your glistening cunt starts to leak the cum that was just buried deep inside of you.
“Ah ah ah- not on my watch,” he teases you and moves between your thighs.
The blonde twin reaches down, taking a swipe of cum and fingering it back inside of your cunt.
“Oh God, Sumu… it's too sensitive,” you cry out, attempting to move away. Osamu was quick though, holding you between the two of them with stern hands.
Your words don’t stop Atsumu’s actions though, and soon after it’s Osamu reaching from behind you to rub your little clit as his brother finger fucks you. It was embarrassing the way your pussy gushed; you were soaked and still wanted more... You could feel your cheeks heat at your compromised position, attempting to hide behind your hands.
Tears fill your eyes as you and Atsumu look at each other through the space of your fingers. He knew you wanted more- that you could handle both of them with whatever they gave you. This was their plan after all.
“This is how it’s gonna be, Princess. From now on…” Osamu whispers into your ear.
“You like one of us, you have to accept both of us. We’ll make you feel double good, baby”
Thanks for reading! :) Comments/Reblogs/Likes are all appreciated.
I wanna write these soooo bad!! Gimme a character and some letters if you can!!
♡ Yandere Alphabet ♡
Remastered with permission from the creator. Original alphabet found here.
Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?
Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?
Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?
Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?
Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?
Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?
Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?
Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?
Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?
Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?
Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?
Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?
Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?
Naughty: How would they punish their darling?
Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?
Patience: How patient are they with their darling?
Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?
Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?
Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?
Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?
Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?
Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?
Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?
Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?
Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?
Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?
What are your favorite yandere fics?
YESSS THANK YOU!!! 😭 😭 OMG I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH!! I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE
Tempting Fate by @\ddarker-dreams
Yandere! Scaramouche x Reader
The tension in this one is so fucking thick, you could cut it with a knife! it's incredible! it's possibly my favorite interpretation of Scaramouche in written media ever! and the story even has a bit of a hopeful ending!
Rabid by @\Seijorhi
Yandere! Kyoutani Kentaro x Reader
I eat, breathe, and dream about this fic. I damn near think about it everyday. My maladaptive daydreams almost always go back to this fic. You've got love at first site. Mafia. Extremely underpaid reader and a yandere who has an almost animalistic lack of control around them!!
Yandere Genshin Academy AU by @\Yestrday
This is a series of Headcanons for a BUNCH of different genshin characters, taking place in an academic setting. I fucking love it. I eat it up. I highly suggest you read each and every part of this amazing series, which are all conveniently linked, for the best takes on different yandere archetypes.
Mesmerized by @\Yandere Daydreams
Yandere! Lyney x Reader
Absolute GOLD right here!! I love this rendition of Lyney, I love the hopelessness of the story, I love the subtle humor it has. It's sooo good!! So much is relayed to you in such a small amount of time and it's so fucking tense and almost a little scary but in the best possible way!! Further proving why Lyney would be an excellent yandere.
𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕪. 𝕤𝕙𝕖/𝕙𝕖𝕣/𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕝𝕚𝕓𝕣𝕒🍒
߷߷߷
𝑛𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛
𝕤𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕤🌹🌹
𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕪’𝕤 𝕣𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤🌷🌷
߷߷߷
𝕨.𝕚.𝕡 -what i’m currently working on
𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕤 — tbd
The dad in this fic is healing my daddy issues
Meet the Parents Pt. 2
Breaking Point - Atsumu & Osamu
TW implied non con, nsfw
Your parents are already pissed.
Apparently the school called when you didn’t show up to your classes after lunch.
In all fairness, you’d tried. Twenty minutes in the girls bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink with shaking hands, staring at your reflection. There’s hickeys on your neck, a bite mark that the collar of your jacket isn’t quite high enough to hide. Your hair’s mussed, lips swollen and red - but even if you fix all that and wipe away your tears, you don’t think you have the strength to walk back into the classroom knowing that they’ll be there waiting for you.
So you don’t go back.
Keep reading
This isn't a request or anything but I had a soulmate AU idea that I think you'd like.... And reminded me of Oikawa. Imagine you find ur soulmate from their name written on your skin on ur 16/18 bday, but.... You're blind. And dating Oikawa. And he /swears/ your name is on his skin... But when your birthday rolls around, he insists you don't show anyone else.... And starts buying you clothes to cover the mark.... And you hear him whispering about his mark to Iwa.... And you begin to worry. 👀
I know it wasn’t specifically meant as a request, but I took the idea and ran with it - I hope it’s okay!! 💕
Oikawa Tooru x Female Reader
TW gaslighting, manipulation, dub con nsfw, blind reader
Part II
Always
“You promise me it’s there?”
Are you sure it’s me?
Rich, warm laughter fills the air around you, and despite the tension gnawing away in your stomach, the corners of your lips twitch into a soft smile.
“You don’t believe me!”
He’s happy. Even gasping in mock indignation Tooru can’t quite manage to keep it from his voice.
He has every reason to be; you’re both home for the first time in a year and a half, settled in the well worn couch at his parents house, your friends sprawled out either side of you. He’s twenty one today and as of five minutes ago the proud owner of his very own soulmate mark.
Or so he tells you.
“Well it’s not like I can see it,” you tease, nudging yourself closer so that you can rest your head against his shoulder and sighing loudly. “It could be Issei’s name for all I know, and you’re all just too nice to break the news to me.”
The choked snort from your left side makes you giggle, but not as much as the sound of your boyfriend fake gagging.
“Please, he fucking wishes!”
“Iwa tell her!” Oikawa demands, and you can just imagine the way that Iwaizumi’s eyes must roll before he ultimately gives in.
He always does.
“It’s yours,” he sighs. “Unfortunately you’re stuck with him, Y/N. My condolences.”
Yours.
It’s hard, even as raucous laughter fills the air around you and Oikawa turns to shout at his best friend, to deny the warm fluttering in your chest. The arm around you eases you closer, a thumb absentmindedly stroking at your side and you allow yourself to relax against him.
It’s your name on his skin. You’re his soulmate.
For the first time in weeks, it feels like you can breathe easy. You wonder if Oikawa knew, if he noticed the way you held onto him just that little bit tighter - like you were scared to let go.
You’ve loved Oikawa for as long as you can remember, but you only get one soulmate. Was it really so outlandish to wonder whether his first love would be his last? Whether you could ever be good enough to be his?
The little blind girl, always following at his heels.
For all your faults, you’ve never been naive. You know how amazing he is - Tooru has always been destined for great things and you were just his highschool sweetheart.
A hindrance, one of his very dedicated fans had once taken the time to inform you, clinging desperately to whatever scraps of pity he felt charitable enough to throw your way.
Neither one of you had realised that Oikawa had heard every damn word.
—
“Can you just…”
Oikawa pauses, the hand he has wrapped around yours squeezes lightly. “Hmm?”
Breathe deep. Just say it.
Tell him.
You’re almost at the gate, your flight’s leaving in twenty minutes (and you would have been there sooner if he hadn’t insisted on dragging you through every overpriced store in the damn airport) and in a few hours, you’ll be home again.
But it isn’t the thought of being back in Japan that worries you. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, your heart thumping unsteadily in your chest. His birthday is in two days, and that’s when he’ll find out who his soulmate is supposed to be. And you trust him, you love him. Even if the name on his forearm isn't yours, it’s not like he’s just going to suddenly toss you aside like yesterday’s trash, but… things’ll change, you know they will. And you couldn’t even blame him for that, because how much effort can you really be expected to put into a relationship if you know they’re not the one you’re supposed to end up with?
The doubts you have, the ones that fester and play on your every insecurity, keeping you up at night long after Tooru has drifted off - you’ve tried to shut them out and ignore them as best you can, but you just can’t get on that plane without having some kind of reassurance.
What if it’s not you?
“Just promise me that if…” your breath catches in your throat, and you try to force a smile on your face even though you know that it wobbles. “If it’s not- if I’m not-”
Soft lips press against yours, cutting you off. It’s only for a heartbeat, enough to get you to stop the panicked tumble of words you couldn’t quite get out, but for you it feels like it lasts a lifetime. You could lose yourself in Oikawa’s kisses, you think. Lose yourself and be happy for it.
A warm palm cups your face. “I love you,” he says, and it isn’t the murmured declaration first thing in the morning, his voice still thick with sleep as he rolls over to kiss you good morning, and it isn’t the cheesy, throwaway line he gives whenever you save him the last bite of the milk bread that he specifically bought for you (because god knows his coach would kill him if he found out he ate the entire thing himself).
It’s a promise.
“You are my soulmate,” his thumb strokes along your cheekbone, and you can’t help but lean into the touch. “You’re the only one I’m ever going to want.”
Standing on the outskirts of your gate, moments away from boarding the plane that’ll take you both home, you’re not entirely sure if he’s trying to tell you that he’s certain that the name on his arm is going to be yours, or that he doesn’t care if it isn’t.
Either way, it’s enough.
“You’re mine,” he breathes, and captures your lips in another kiss - this one brimming with ardent devotion, a love too deep for either one of you to speak.
—
Hours later, Iwa, Makki and Mattsun are all asleep downstairs and it’s just Tooru and you curled up in his bed. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that being back in his childhood bedroom did little in the way of curbing his appetite, but between giggles and breathy moans, Oikawa’s hand clamped over your mouth and his lips at your ear-
‘Shhh, you have to keep it down, cutie. Unless you want the whole house to hear all the pretty sounds you make when you’re about to cum for me?’
- he manages to wring four orgasms out of you before the two of you collapse back against the mattress, all sweaty and panting.
And you think he’s fallen asleep now, an arm slung around your waist, his face buried against the nape of your neck despite the warmth of the balmy summer night. With his chest flush against your back, you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart, lulling you gently to sleep with every beat.
Soulmate.
This, here, in Oikawa’s arms, this is where you belong, where you’ve always belonged. And yet even with happiness and relief and an overwhelming love singing through your veins - keeping you wide awake - you can’t deny that it feels… strange almost, knowing that out of seven and a half billion people, you’re the one he’s marked for.
He’d sounded so sure back at the airport, like there wasn’t even the possibility of doubt in his mind that you were the one for him. And maybe he was just saying it to calm you down and get your ass on the plane, but if the situations were reversed and it was your birthday first… could you really say with one hundred percent certainty that you knew it would be his name that’d show up on your arm?
You love him more than you’ve ever loved anybody else (more than you ever probably will love anybody else), it’s just that you’ve always known that the two of you were on wildly different paths. Tooru’s the starting setter for a pro volleyball team, and there’s already whispers of that national squad, Olympic selection.
He’s talented and driven and sometimes you wonder whether you ever would have left Miyagi let alone Japan at all if it hadn’t been for him dragging you along with him.
You’ve always been so content in your own little bubble. You cling to what’s comfortable, what you know - all your life, you’ve been told that you’re not defined by your disability, but you’ve never tried to push yourself beyond it.
With Tooru, you’ve never had to.
That girl, years ago - she wasn’t wrong. You do cling to him, like you’d clung to your friends and your family. And maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world, but when you compare what Oikawa has to offer his soulmate compared to what you bring to the table, and-
“I can hear you thinking from here,” your apparently not-so-asleep-after-all boyfriend murmurs in your ear. “Tell me what’s bothering my pretty girl.”
You sigh, rolling over to face him. It’s pointless to lie to Tooru - he can read you better than anyone else - but admitting the whole truth, even here under this little refuge of soft intimacy between the two of you, feels harder than it should be.
“You’re not… disappointed, are you?”
The harrumph that escapes his lips sounds almost offended, but the brush of his lips against the tip of your nose is sweet. “How long have I known you?” he asks.
Your forehead wrinkles at the question. “Fifteen or so years, I guess?”
You’d only been six or so when your family had moved in the house next door to his, across the street from Iwaizumi’s, and you can still vividly remember the first time you met him - crying in your front yard with a scraped up knee - always too eager for your own good.
“Hmm,” he acknowledges, “and how long have we been dating?”
“Seven-ish years?”
He chuckles, kissing you again, this time on your cheek. “And how long do you think I’ve been in love with you?”
Your whole face warms, and you fight the urge to bury it in his bare chest, especially when he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place back behind your ear. “Tooru-”
He sighs again, the sound tinged with just a hint of fond exasperation. “Give me your hand.”
You oblige, and you feel his long fingers curl around yours, tucking all of your fingers but your index away and drawing your hand closer towards him. It’s only when your pointer brushes against skin that you realise what he’s trying to do. Still, you don’t offer a word as Tooru slowly traces your finger along the dark letters on his skin - his soulmate mark.
Your name.
“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Y/N. You’re mine, you’ve always been mine, just as I’m yours,” he vows, and you almost shiver with the intensity that burns in every word. “Any other name would have been nothing more than a filthy lie.”
Any further protests are swallowed up by another kiss, and your boyfriend takes it upon himself to show you exactly how much he adores you, over and over again, until sheer, utter exhaustion drags you to sleep in his arms.
—
Your own twenty-first birthday is a vastly different kind of affair. For one, the two of you decide to stay in Argentina - Oikawa’s mid season and can’t afford the time off training to traipse back home again.
Which means that it is just the two of you alone in your villa when you feel an odd burning sensation start to creep through your left arm. It doesn’t hurt exactly, more like a warm tingling sensation that flows along your skin as one by one the letters of your soulmate’s name come to light.
The sharp little gasp that slips from your lips must have alerted Tooru - hovering as he had been for the better part of the day - because his hands are on your arm within a moment, flipping it over and eagerly dragging it closer for him to inspect. His own breath hitches in his throat, his fingers tightening on your soft skin and a tentative smile works its way across your face.
People have told you before that your boyfriend is handsome - stupidly beautiful, you’d once overheard one of your old high school classmates bemoan. His voice certainly is, soft and pretty and lilting, warm like the first rays of the sun on a cool winter’s morning, though not without its sharpness. Oikawa always has had a wicked tongue. In your head, you picture a face to match, delicate, angular features, warm eyes and a grin that’s just a little impish. Trouble, but the irresistible kind.
You wish you could see it now, watch your soulmate’s eyes widen with delight, or maybe soften with quiet awe. You want to see him happy, deliriously so, you want to look into those lovely eyes of his and see all the love that’s coursing through your veins right now reflected right back at you.
He still hasn’t spoken a word.
The slow drag of a breath, shaky and too sharp, had your bright smile freezing on your face. His grip hasn’t relented, fingers calloused from years of playing volleyball digging into your arm almost painfully. The air between you two is still, he hasn’t moved, not so much as a twitch.
Unease creeps its way into your stomach.
Why hasn’t he said anything?
He’s never exactly been the strong, silent type, and you love him for that. Iwa often complains that his best friend likes the sound of his own voice too damn much (half heartedly at best), and maybe that’s true, but he never realised that it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.
It’s different for you, not being able to see.
You don’t exactly blame them for not understanding - how could they, really? Without your sight to help you, your other senses have to work in overdrive just to make sense of things. Tooru’s voice builds the world around you, imbues it with a spark, guides you like a hand stretching out through the darkness. It’s a gap in the void, a reassurance you cling to - because without it there’s nothing. You’re alone with only your thoughts to keep you company.
So when he goes quiet like this, it’s never a good sign.
A lump lodges its way in your throat. Without your sight, his silence is almost impossible to read, but you can sense the sudden heaviness in the air, the tension hanging thick between the two of you.
You expected dramatics. Tears, maybe, or a burst of affectionate cuddles and kisses. Gushing over your mark just as he had when his own had come through. Hell, you thought he’d grab his phone and take a thousand and one pictures just to prove to the world that you were his as much as he was yours - because you loved each other. Because you were soulmates.
Is there something wrong with your mark?
“Tooru?” you murmur, the edges of your smile starting to slip as your panic rises. “I-is everything-”
“You’re mine.”
The clipped words are little more than a whisper, hoarse and choked. It takes you by surprise, making your heart skip a beat, the knot in your stomach tighten, yet just as that paralysing apprehension starts to take root, he clears his throat, and a laugh bubbles to the surface.
Slowly, like ice thawing, his fingers relax on your forearm, gliding up over your shoulder to curl around your neck. “You love me, right?”
Your eyebrows knit together, but you nod anyway. “Always.”
There’s another shaky breath, and suddenly his arms are wrapping around you, drawing you into a tight embrace. You don’t fight it, still bewildered by the sudden whiplash of his tone.
His own heart is racing, you can feel it as he holds you against him. The question burns deep inside of your chest, a thought you don’t want to give voice to, but you can’t seem to stop yourself - it slips out before you even realise you’ve opened your mouth.
“It is your name, Tooru, isn’t it? You’re my soulmate?”
There’s a beat of silence, and Oikawa hums, resting his chin against the top of your head. “Of course it is, cutie,” he chuckles. “Who else’s name would it be?”
He takes you out for dinner to celebrate. You’d originally picked one of his favourite dresses to wear, a strapless white number with a pretty, flowing skirt that fell to your mid thigh, but Oikawa stops you before you can leave, passing you over an old denim jacket of yours.
“It’s cool out tonight,” he says as he eases it over your shoulders before you can protest.
You don’t question it.
—
He fucks you that night, hard, fast and unrelenting, holding onto you so tight that you swear you’ll have bruises come morning.
—
Oikawa likes doing little things for you.
He likes it when you hold onto his arm and let him guide you around when you go out together (you do have a cane - it sits in the back of your closet for ‘emergency uses’ only). He likes to buy you pretty things, jewellery, clothes, little trinkets that remind him of you - spoiling you with every opportunity he can, doubly so now that he has a salary that affords him that luxury.
It’s not uncommon for him to pick out your outfits. For one, you can’t see so you kind of have to rely on somebody else’s help so you don’t end up a mismatched disaster, and Tooru seems to enjoy doing it. He likes seeing you wear the things he buys for you - lacy, soft and demure.
He also likes it when people know that you’re his.
So it doesn’t strike you as odd when Tooru insists on you wearing his club hoodie over your dress the next time you go to one of his games. You might not be able to see him fly across the court, but you can hear the cheers, the roar of the crowd as they stamp their feet and chant like a battle cry when San Juan scores. You can taste the excitement in the air, and whenever your soulmate steps up to the plate to serve, you feel the rabid excitement of the crowd thrumming in your veins.
It’s warm in the stadium with so many people crammed close together, you push the sleeves up without even thinking. It’s not an issue - it shouldn’t be - but when your boyfriend slips his arms around you, fresh from the locker room post match, it’s the first thing he notices. He’s tugging them back down before you can so much as offer a hello, tersely muttering something about you getting a cold when you frown.
There’s a tiny flicker of unease at the odd behaviour, but he’s kissing you before you can linger on it for too much longer.
And if that’s all it was, maybe it would be easier for you to shove that niggling worry aside.
But once you start noticing things - little, inconsequential things you would have just shrugged off before - you can’t seem to stop, and that tiny seed of doubt starts to take root, to sprout and grow.
Your friends stop calling by. Back home your social circle was pretty much limited to Tooru, Iwa and their friends - not that you minded at all, you love them all dearly, it’s just that you didn’t really have any friends of your own outside of that little group. When you moved across to Argentina and Oikawa started training for longer hours, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to his new team, you got lonely, sitting in your new home just waiting around for him to come back to you.
And it took a while, but eventually you started to venture outside of your comfort zone and lo and behold - even with your stumbling Spanish, you managed to make a few friends! Though you can tell that your beloved boyfriend wasn’t exactly thrilled by the burgeoning new friendships you gushed to him about, he’s never begrudged you them. If it made you happy, then he was happy.
Lately though, they’ve been kind of distant. And by distant, you mean… well, nonexistent. They don’t come visit you anymore, when you call their numbers, it just rings out.
You can’t even leave voicemails - there’s just an automated voice telling you their message banks are full. Regardless, not one of them has made the effort to call you back, and it’s not like you can text them to ask why they’re avoiding you. Life gets in the way, you know that, and sometimes people just drift apart but it’s like all of a sudden they’ve just dropped off the face of the planet.
But when you mention venturing out into town one day without them while Tooru’s at practice, he seems strangely resistant to the idea.
“I just don’t like the idea of you wandering around by yourself. It’s not safe out there for you, cutie,” he tells you.
The words are saccharine, as sweet as the kisses he presses against your lips when he coaxes your chin upwards. You love him, you do. And you understand that he worries - even away from the hustle and bustle of the big cities, San Juan isn’t exactly a crime free neighbourhood, but for the first time the strong, muscular arms that wrap around your waist don’t bring comfort.
It’s like they’re a cage, locked around you and dragging you slowly down to the depths, and it’s driving you mad because you can’t figure out why it feels like that.
Biting back your annoyance, you sigh, forcing yourself to relax against him. You love him - this is normal, couples disagree all the time. “I’m not an invalid, babe. I’ve done it before - I can’t just sit around the villa all day moping all alone or I’ll go crazy.”
He hums noncommittally, his fingers trailing idly across your skin as he draws you closer still, and the conversation is dropped.
Two days later, you find your cane snapped in two in the back of the closet. Oikawa has some weights stuffed in an old gym bag for when he can’t be bothered leaving home to work out - the bag must have fallen on your cane and cracked it when he put it back after his session yesterday afternoon.
An accident, it has to be. He’d never deliberately do something so petty, right?
And there are moments where you can forget the doubts that gnaw away at your insides. Tooru has always been a caring, attentive lover - the perfect boyfriend. He seems more determined that ever to shower you in love, whether that’s by waking you up with his tongue eagerly lapping at your cunt, bringing you home bouquets of fragrant flowers and cooking the two of you dinner, or just with the tiny gestures of affection - tucking your hair back away from your face, linking his hands with yours, the little kisses and compliments he lavishes you with on a daily basis.
When it’s just the two of you, lounging around on the couch, his head resting on your lap and your fingers carding through his hair, it’s easy to pretend that everything’s fine. The two of you love each other. You’ve been his rock, his biggest supporter right from the early days, and Tooru’s the one who drew you out of your shell, who makes you feel like you’re actually worth something.
That you’re beautiful, and loved.
It’s not until you come home one afternoon from an impromptu trip to the local bakery just down the road that all the little pieces fall into place, and you realise why.
The craving for something sweet was what drew you out. Truthfully, you hadn’t really thought twice about it. It was a short trip, one you’d made a thousand times before, and it wasn’t like the locals didn’t know you, wouldn’t watch out for you if they saw you about to unknowingly hurt yourself or trip over something.
The alfajores in your hand were supposed to be a surprise, Tooru had been wound up from practice lately, more stressed than he usually was this late in the season, and you knew you weren’t the only one with a wicked sweet tooth. You’d just wanted to cheer him up.
You hadn’t expected to come home to find Tooru pacing in your bedroom, muttering to himself, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to whirl around at the sound of your approach, snatching at your wrist and all but hauling you inside.
You certainly aren’t prepared for the snarling, bitter words he hurls at you.
And yet even as tears fill your eyes, a choked sob bursting free as he berates you for leaving the villa without telling him, Tooru clutches at you so tightly it feels like your arm’s going to snap.
“You can’t leave me! You can’t - you’re mine!”
He doesn’t stop, barely pauses for breath, but those eight words hit you like a freight train, and everything else fades out into white noise. You can’t for the life of you explain how or why, but in that moment, you know with absolute certainty that the name on your arm can’t be his.
Tooru lied to you.
He’s not your soulmate.
It’s all you can do to stand there numbly while your boyfriend falls to pieces in front of you. The angry yells and screams turn into wretched sobs, and suddenly it’s Tooru collapsing in your arms, clinging to your neck like it’s a lifeline as he sniffles against your chest, and when desperate apologies turn into desperate kisses and he starts to lead you backwards towards the bed, you don’t fight him.
He treats you like you’re made of glass, worshipping every inch of your skin, fervent declarations of love spilling out between kisses like prayers of the devout at an altar. He fucks you slowly, lovingly, moaning your name so sweetly as he searches for absolution within the plush walls of your sex.
And with his fingers coaxing at your clit, his lips dancing against yours you fall off that precipice with him.
You have no idea long the two of you lie there in silence, limbs entangled with one other, but eventually you register the warmth of his hand on your cheek, caressing it with a gentle kind of tenderness that makes something deep inside of you ache.
“You still love me, don’t you?” Tooru’s voice is quiet. Hesitant. It reminds you of the little boy you knew, the one who confided all his fears of never being good enough to you, desperately seeking the validation you always gave so freely.
Your eyes flutter shut, another stray tear spilling down your cheek, and your heart breaks anew.
“Always.”
Yandere Poly Kageyama & Tsukishima x male reader
Where they make fun of him at school. Bullying pretty much, but if someone else tried to do it they wouldn’t be going back to Karasuno again.
They want to see the reader cry, not having people around to lean on because they wouldn’t dare go near him. But what if he comes to school all smiley and cheery? Where he’s now got either an animal at home who’s made him happy or a neighbour to spend time with.
They don’t like it at all. Only they should be the reason him feel any emotions. They want to control everything. They want to be the only reason he is happy or upset.
I wouldn't hurt him if I were you | Yandere Haikyuu x Male Reader
Characters: Tsukishima Kei, Kageyama Tobio
Summary: You just wanted a normal school life, not two boys fighting over you. Reader is male.
Warnings: Yandere themes, harassment, obsession, bullying, death, abuse
A/n: So sorry this took so long!! Sorry if this was rushed!
୨💔୧➤ You were a new transfer student to Karasuno High school. You were reserved and kept to yourself most of the time, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to yourself. But that wasn't as easy as you thought it would be.
୨💔୧➤ You had caught two of your fellow first years eyes, and hearts. Kei Tsukishima and Tobio Kageyama saw you at the same time as you walked through the hall. You walked past them as they were bickering and Hinata trying to sheepishly break it up.
୨💔୧➤ As soon as you past, though, they both shut up and just watched as you fumbled with your locker. That was the moment where everything changed between the two boys.
୨💔୧➤ That day Tsukishima and Kageyama would corner you and tease you endlessly. They would scare you whenever they could. The two would also hurt you, but that was rare and only if you "misbehaved" in their mind.
୨💔୧➤ That's where the obsession seed bloomed into something more volatile. They would endlessly manipulate you and made you feel guilty about everything. They would say you deserved this or that it was your fault.
୨💔୧➤ Both of them would break you down, and isolate you so that they were the only ones you could lean on. They made everyone afraid of you, because no one wanted to mess with Tsukishima and Kageyama.
୨💔୧➤ If they ever saw someone else picking on you, they would not have it. They would corner that person and, let's just say, they're not in school anymore and no one questions the disappearance.
୨💔୧➤ Same thing when the two see a wound or bruise on you that they didn't inflict. But first they would patch you up, made sure it healed. During that time, they wouldn't hurt you at all.
୨💔୧➤ Once they saw you flinch and break down, they were satisfied with what they had done. They found every opportunity to make you break down and cry in front of them. It was odd when either Kageyama or Tsukishima would hug you or comfort you.
୨💔୧➤ It was mental torture. You had many sleepless nights with the thought of the two boys hurting you and doing whatever the fuck they wanted to you. No matter how hard you tried to escape them, both at school or at home, there were a thousand thoughts that were burned in your mind.
୨💔୧➤ So to escape those thoughts, you would walk outside late at night, with just yourself. It was a nice and refreshing change when you started taking those nightly walks. All your anxiety washed away.
୨💔୧➤ That's how you met your neighbor and new best friend! They made you feel so safe, and you would talk to them whenever something was troubling you. They took so much weight off, and you were finally able to feel happy.
୨💔୧➤ You started smiling and giggling at school to yourself whenever you looked down at your phone and saw their contact. Your neighbor made you so happy. You would skip down the halls! This however caught Tsukishima and Kageyama off guard.
୨💔୧➤ They thought they had broken you down. They worked so hard only to see you smiling at other people that weren't them? No matter how hard they tried to break you down again, you would just come back to school smiling and radiating sunshine.
୨💔୧➤ They were curious as to why you looked so happy when you looked down at your phone. Who was making you giggle like that? It made both of them very angry. They decided together that they would steal your phone and look at whoever was texting you, they also added their own contacts on your phone.
୨💔୧➤ Tsukishima put his contact under My love on your phone, and Kageyama put his contact under My darling. On their phones, your contact name is Our darling. They immediately got a message on your phone from your neighbor. They were enraged
୨💔୧➤ You were trusting other people, you were friends with other people. In their eyes, you were practically cheating on them. So they took your phone to handle your oh so friendly neighbor in person.
୨💔୧➤ You walked out of class and checked your locker for your phone, but you couldn't find it. You were sure you had it with you, but you just assumed you left it at home. You started to walk to your neighborhood.
୨💔୧➤ You felt something was off, so you walked to your neighbor's house first to check on them. It wasn't odd for you to drop by and check in on them. But you were filled with anxiety, you've never felt this anxious before.
୨💔୧➤ Once you opened the door, the place smelt like death. Your heart dropped when you saw the red pooling beneath your feet. You looked up to see the two boys who bullied you endlessly. You fell to the floor sobbing, and they were smiling!?
୨💔୧➤ Maybe you should have just been alone, and not had talked to anyone. That way, everyone would have been safe from them. This was all your fault, at least that's what they told you.
Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS! I LOVED IT YOU DID SUCH AN AMAZING JOB! JUST THANK YOU FOR DOING MY SILLY LIL GUYS!!
I need some Yandere Bokuto and Yandere Akaashi! Maybe together because of the friendship bokuto and akaashi have if thats alright (If not then do it seperate)
This would be one of the most functional pairs to have, even despite their stark and clashing personalities.
You most likely met them in highschool and it was a blast to be around them. Albeit, a bit intense at times. Bokuto was incredibly difficult to keep up with, especially if you're on the more introverted side. He wants you to attend absolutely every single game he and Akaashi are in, he's not even against you coming to practice either! Please do just that, it boosts him so much!
Even if he does get distracted by your smile sometimes but who cares! He certainly does not!
Bokuto is like a whirlwind storm - you never know when to expect him but you know that once he steps close there will be nothing but chaos. He's fun, kind. Gentle even. He tries to be, for you. He can be oblivious towards your feelings sometimes but he always has your best interests at heart.
He would never forgive himself if something happened to you.
Bokuto is needy, incredibly so. If he's not holding or kissing you 24/7 then what's even the point? You give him energy, your mere presence gives him drive and confidence like nothing else. Soon enough his presence starts to become suffocating. He is so deeply intertwined in your life, like sticky glue which you can't shake off no matter how hard you try. He managed to force his way into every possible crevice inside your life and he is always aware of what he's doing. His perfectionist nature commands him to do so.
However, if Bokuto is the powerful storm itself, Akaashi is the calm before the storm.
He lurks. Constantly.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depends who you're asking) there are times when Bokuto can't be with you no matter how badly he wants to be. Akaashi becomes something of a second shadow of yours, constantly tailing after you, taking care of you in the most subtle yet gentle ways. He offers you water regularly, he has you wear his warm jacket on warm days and he regularly chastises you if you think of doing something stupid. He's not completely sweet to you though, his dry personality does not allow for that.
Akaashi throws all sorts of remarks your way but they're never hurtful. Bokuto is usually the victim for his quick witted jabs, but, when he says them to you they're just. Different. They're laced with affection and playfulness but his stoic face masks the true meaning behind his words. He keeps tabs on you in any way he can and Bokuto quickly catches on to this.
They don't have a proper discussion about the situation they're in. The two just come to a silent agreement that they will share you. They already know each other well and their trust cannot be shaken. Neither one is against sharing you with the other.
There are times when you are a fun trio of idiots, simply living life. You have dinner and goof off. Bokuto makes you laugh and Akaashi feeds you fresh food from the table. Bokuto has an iron clad grip on your waist while Akaashi blocks your exit. Despite the lighthearted atmosphere, there's a thick layer of tension in the air. They smile, but it's not reaching their eyes.
Could they be hiding something?
You are paranoid, you rationalize. What could these two clowns have something to hide?
Time passes, you're all still as thick as thieves. Bokuto has become a professional volleyball player and Akaashi became a manga editor. Due to his strict schedule, Bokuto can't see you as often as he'd like... Which is all day, every day. At least in highschool he had the excuse of classes but now?
He's got nothing!
That's where his good old pal Akaashi comes in.
He sends Bokuto photos daily. The duo have countless folders dedicated to you, all of which have different themes and aesthetics. Akasshi sneaks in as many as he can and you won't ever catch him in the act.
He has years of experience snapping photos of you in every way imaginable. If you ever had the misfortune of looking into his computer files, he'd go to jail for life.
Despite their hectic schedules, both of them manage to keep a tight leash on you. Bokuto is quick to make work of anyone who has any sort of romantic inkling towards you, unless Akaashi tears into them first with his sharp tongue.
Neither option is safe. If you're on the receiving end of either, you will be left in a puddle of your own tears. Perhaps even blood.
You cry and complain to them - why have all your friends left you? Was there something wrong with you? Why was no one looking at you, what sort of defect did you have?
Akaashi's shirt is soaked in your bitter tears as he has his hands on your shoulders while Bokuto sits behind you, his chest pressed straight against your back. He is doing everything he can to not pounce on you right there and then but he knows better - patience is key. Pity he lacks that quality.
Luckily for him though, Akaashi has it in spades.
And they sit there with you on the sofa, the soft pitter patter of the rain hitting the window as you sob your heart out towards your two closest friends, oblivious to all of the things that they have done. You don't know how many people Bokuto had to beat up in order to get you where you are. You don't know how many people Akaashi had to scare the living crap out of in order to have you in his arms.
Bokuto gently blows in your ear, most likely in a teasing manner. You look up and in your shaky gaze are met with Akaashi's hungry stare, his dark eyes boring so deep into your own that you feel as though he could swallow you whole. A pair of powerful arms wrap themselves around your waist, securing you in place as Bokuto places his lips on your neck. He nibbles on the soft flesh as Akaashi leans in and steals the kiss he had dreamed about all those years ago.
Finally, they have you. No one is coming for you, they made sure of it. You don't need anyone anymore. They are your world from this point onwards.
Im a whore for dark content like this😓
Glitter and Rot
What better way to ring in the new year than with my favourite, degenerate twins. Happy belated new year, y'all <;33
Miya Osamu x female reader x Miya Atsumu
w.c 6.8k
tw: extreme dub-con, themes of infidelity, major character death, smut lite, slight gore/violence, somnophilia if you squint, murder, and, as always, yandere themes
The rain comes heavy, soaking the dirt beneath your bare feet.
The cotton of your nightgown, drenched, plastered to your skin, does little to keep the chill of the midnight air from seeping into your bones. Raindrops fall from the leaves of the trees above you, dripping onto your shoulder, clinging to the ends of your hair, your eyelashes.
In the mountains, away from the city lights, the night glitters with stars, streaks of soft moonlight spilling through the canopy on clear nights. Tonight, though, with the rain clouds looming ominously overhead, there’s no light beyond the sole beam of torchlight, steadily making its way closer towards you.
Your toes wriggle in the earth. Run.
He calls out your name, twigs snapping in the undergrowth behind you.
How… how did you get out here?
The wind picks up, biting at your soaked, exposed skin. You shiver, and he calls your name again. This time you can hear a note of concern – not quite panic, though. Not yet.
Run, that quiet voice urges.
You take a step. Another–
And the torchlight finds you. Squinting under the sudden bright light shining on your face, there’s only a sigh, and the beam shifts downwards.
A familiar countenance peers back at you through the rain; dark hair, grey eyes, a strong jaw. Your husband.
“You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack one’a these days, sweetheart,” Osamu says, with a wry sort of laugh. “C’mon, let’s get’cha home.”
Holding an umbrella in one hand and the torch in the other, he passes you the latter so that his arm can snake around your middle, tucking you into his side and out of the rain. Unbothered by the dampness of your skin, he presses a kiss to your temple, his thumb rubbing at your side.
“… I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I don’t know– I don’t remember–”
He squeezes you side, offers you a crooked smile as he helps you back through the trees. Back home. “It’s fine, the Doc said this could happen, remember?”
You do, vaguely. The Doctor had said a lot that day, most of it lost to the ringing in your ears.
Neither of you say much as you make the trek back to the house. There’s a gentleness to the way he helps you peel off your sodden nightgown, letting the shower heat up before ushering you in.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him again, when he passes you the big, fluffy towel to rub yourself dry.
Sorry for causing him to worry. Sorry for making him chase after you in the rain in the middle of the night. Sorry that you can’t remember what came before, the life you built with him and all the happiness surrounding it.
You feel like a shell, hollow and useless. You don’t know why he keeps putting up with it, and somewhere in the back of your mind, a nasty voice whispers that he won’t for much longer.
But Samu just shakes his head with a snort, “Don’t be stupid. You’re my wife, ya don’t apologise for anythin’.”
You muster a weak smile in return, quickly glancing away. He’s only being polite, you remind yourself, pulling the towel tighter around yourself. Accident or not, none of this is ideal. It’s been weeks now, and you haven’t gotten better. Your memories are still gone, and no one can tell you with any degree of certainty when or if they’re going to come back, not to mention that tonight officially marks the third time you’ve wandered off in your sleep.
What if your memories don’t come back? What if you never return to the person you used to be?
Before this you had a family, friends, a history. Likes, dislikes, funny stories from your childhood and weird habits. The things that shape who you are from where you’ve been. You’re just supposed to slide back into the life you had, but how can you when you don’t know who that person was?
What kind of man would want–
“Hey,” he says, catching your jaw to coax your face back up. Grey eyes appraise you, a frown pulling at his features. “I mean it. None of this is your fault. Not the accident, or your memories, the sleepwalking, none of it. And I’m not going anywhere either, alright?”
He holds your gaze, surveying you intently until you bob your head in agreement.
“Good girl. Now are ya comin’ back to bed or are ya planning on leavin’ your poor husband high and dry for a second time tonight?”
Your cheeks heat, the heaviness between you easing somewhat as amusement dances across his face. He’s handsome, almost intimidatingly so – striking features and excellent bone structure. Something coils in your stomach as the weight of his gaze bores into you. Taking your face in his palms, his thumb brushes along the curve of your cheekbone. Slowly.
Your mouth parts then, but whatever response you have is lost as his lips descend on yours, kissing you deeply.
When he pulls away, when you’re breathless and slightly dazed, satisfaction and more than a touch of pride gleams from his expression.
“Though we might have to invest in some better locks. Don’t want ya wandering off too far on me.”
—
Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under you.
As if you’ve woken in someone else’s life, or a dream, and it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down and you’re whisked away back to reality. A handsome, devoted husband, not one but two houses – the mountainside retreat you’re staying at while you get better, and a place in the city you haven’t yet seen – even the ring on your finger, the bright, sparkling diamond that sits next to your platinum wedding band.
How can it be real?
He tells you that the two of you work together in his restaurant back home, and that too sounds sweet in an oddly domestic way.
And looks can be deceiving, you know that. Money, success, the image of a perfectly happy couple, it doesn’t mean anything. Façades can crack, rot can fester beneath the surface, slowly eating away.
Everything he tells you sounds so… good.
You’re happy. In love. Fulfilled with your job and comfortable enough financially for the both of you to take the time off while you’re still trying to fix the broken pieces of yourself.
Accident aside, no one gets everything they want. Surely no one can be this happy.
There’s a niggling sense of unease that bites and gnaws. No one can be this happy.
There’s a woman who keeps calling Osamu’s phone. You know because those are the calls he lets ring out, ignoring them until he thinks you’re asleep or busy, distracted by whatever task he’s set you on for the day.
He calls her Hikari. No, that’s not entirely true now, is it – he calls her Kari.
“Kari, you know I wanna be there, but I can’t. Things are just– it’s not a good time right now, s’all.”
And the house is quiet enough that you can hear her desperate sniffles on the other end of the line, “Samu, please, this is important. I need you back here.”
He huffs, running a hand through his sleep mussed hair, pacing the length of the living room. “I can’t,” he repeats. “I’m sorry, I am, but after everythin’… it’s too much.”
She cries again, and it’s a strange thing but your heart squeezes in response. She sounds so broken, so lost and scared, a fragile, pitiable thing. “… I know… “ her voice trembles, “Despite what happened, I know you still care about her. I need you to come back. Please, Samu.”
You slip away then, unable to bear it anymore.
Sliding back beneath the covers of your bed, you let out the shuddering breath you’d been holding, trying to process the conversation you’d overheard.
There were perhaps other explanations beyond an affair, but as you lie there, mulling it over, none come to mind. If she were a friend–
‘I know you still care about her.’
No. You’re not that naive. Maybe you were before the accident, or maybe you had suspicions, hell, maybe you’d physically caught him in the act – you suppose none of that matters anymore, does it? All that matters is what you’re going to do with this new development.
And as your husband returns a few minutes later, crawling into bed beside you, an arm hooked over your waist, the warmth of his muscular frame pressed up against your back chasing away the winter chill, you wonder if he sees this as some kind of atonement.
Osamu exhales, nuzzling closer in an effort to get more comfortable, and amidst the strange heaviness in your chest, you close your eyes and will yourself back to sleep.
—
If Osamu knows that you eavesdropped on his call last night, he gives no indication come morning. Although, admittedly, that might be because of your visitor.
The day the Doctor came to the house, he’d said a lot about what was happening to you. A result of head trauma, there was no telling if or when your memories might return.
He’d spoken to Osamu, taking your concerned looking husband aside just before he’d left.
“What did he say?” you’d asked when he’d returned dutifully to your side.
He hadn’t answered straight away, choosing instead to reach out and take your hand in his. For a moment, his focus remained on your entwined fingers, and then he’d said, “To take things slow. Too many people, too much it might… might overwhelm ya. Until things are better, it’s best if it’s just you ‘n me.”
Today, apparently, marked a change to that, because his twin brother was arriving to stay for a little while.
Which, shortly after mid morning, he does.
Naturally, you’ve seen pictures, you and the twins back in highschool, posing with a friend of theirs, grinning toothily and laughing at the camera. Seeing the two of them in person, though – it’s a whole other ball game.
Next to each other, they’re a mirror image, but… not. Tiny, subtle differences that weirdly make them appear more similar than less. It doesn’t make any sense at all, and yet you have no other way of explaining it.
Osamu stands at your side, his arm slung over your shoulder as his brother pulls up front in a fancy, fast looking car. Atsumu, however, pays him no mind, eyes – a few shades browner than his brother’s – fixed solely on you, a familiar, smirking grin broadening across his handsome visage.
Osamu tells you that the three of you are close, yet with only a faint, glimmering recognition and your husband’s words to fall back on, it’s hard to know how you’re supposed to greet someone you once knew and loved.
With an arm loosely wrapped around your front, you settle for a smile.
Atsumu notes this with a raised eyebrow. “Aw, c’mon now, that ain’t no way to greet your favourite twin, is it?”
Before you can stop him he’s on you, yanking you away from Osamu so he can pick you up into a near crushing hug, spinning you around for good measure. You shriek and bury your face in his neck, clinging to him while he laughs, eventually setting you down on wobbly feet.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he says, ignoring Samu’s disapproving scowl in favour of taking you in, hands settling on your waist. And there must be some giveaway, a hesitance he notes because his demeanour turns curious, head tilting to the side, “Still nothin’, huh?”
You shake your head, shrugging. “Sorry.”
Feels like that’s all you’re capable of saying lately.
“Nah, don’t be. Not your fault.”
While you don’t necessarily agree – it’s hard not to think of any of this as some kind of moral failing, as though the only reason you can’t recover those precious memories is because you’re simply not trying hard enough – it’s… nice having someone else around to help fill in the gaps a little.
Not that you aren’t endlessly grateful to Osamu – more than you actually know how to convey to him, and you have tried. It’s just that when you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, being watched over by a man you didn’t recognise, and with no memories of who you were or what had happened, you hadn’t reacted well.
Being your husband (the issue of fidelity aside), he’s supposed to be the person who matters the most to you, and you assume that’s a two way street. In a sense, forgetting him is its own kind of betrayal, with that comes the heaviness of expectations and fears and awfulness.
Plus, things have been… strained between you two, lately.
So yes, having Atsumu here as a sort of buffer between you two is a relief. Having someone else to help fill in the gaps in your life, to tell you about the person you used to be – the one you’re trying to fit back into – even more so.
“That year we made it all the way to the finals before gettin’ knocked out.”
His finger draws across the picture; the volleyball team, sweaty and defeated, bowing before the roaring crowd. All these years later, now a pro playing in arguably one of the best teams in the country (according to him), a two-time Olympic medalist, and he still sounds pissed about it.
You bite back a giggle, following when he turns the page of the year book. “I dunno, second in the nation when you’re still in high school doesn't sound too bad to me.”
“You were there that day.”
Glancing up, you find Osamu considering the two of you from the kitchen, elbow deep in food prep for dinner. “I was?”
He nods. “Yeah. Ya came to all our games, right from the start.”
“There,” Atsumu taps on the next page, a picture of a younger you cheering wildly from the stands, hands cupped around your mouth to amplify your shouts, maroon ribbons in your hair. “Our cute little cheerleader.”
“We begged ya to become our manager, but ya kept turnin’ us down,” Samu adds, then smirks, “Said you couldn’t stand being around Tsumu for another ten hours a week.”
The dig reaches its mark, Atsumu sneering as he flips Samu the bird, while his other arm slides from the backrest of the couch to drape over your shoulders. You hardly notice, utterly transfixed by the book on Tsumu’s lap. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how weird it is to be seeing these pictures, like peering into some alternate universe; you, but not you. You look happy, though.
It makes your heart ache a little.
Did you like sports, or was it more of a school pride sort of thing, you wonder. Or was it them – him, really – who drew you into it? If you watched a game now, would you feel anything, some glint of recognition? Excitement?
Flipping the page, you study the various pictures until one in particular catches your eye – only after a second glance. To be fair, the photo isn’t of you – well, it is, but you’re not the focus. Rather it’s of two girls who appear to be in the same year as you, posing cutely with each other on the school’s courtyard. Behind them, though, in the background there’s a wooden picnic bench in the shade of an oak. Perched cross-legged atop it, sitting amongst piled up books and notes, there’s you – and you’re not alone.
Shoulders back, eyes closed, soaking in the rays of the sun filtering through the leaves sits another boy. Not Osamu, one of his teammates, a dark haired kid you recognise from a bunch of the old photos they’d shown you.
The image itself might not be so remarkable – you’re not doing anything all that interesting, one of a number of people captured in the background, and slightly out of focus at that– if not for the one tiny detail that has a strange feeling racing through your heart.
Barely visible but for the way you study it, your hand is curled in his.
“– listenin’?”
“Huh?”
Mid-way through scraping out his rice, Osamu fixes you with an odd expression. Atsumu, however, just snickers and flicks your forehead. “Ya always were a little spacey.”
Halfheartedly, you chuckle along with him.
The smart thing to do – perhaps the right thing – would be to leave it.
Samu told you the two of you dated right through high school, so it can’t be anything like that. There’s a possibility the two of you were just close. Good friends, judging by how often he appears in the photos with you and the twins. He’d told you your parents, the only family you had, died in an accident years ago, but Samu hasn’t really spoken much about your friends. You know why, and understand it to an extent – he doesn’t want to stress you out unnecessarily, not while you’re still so fragile.
‘The doc said we gotta take things slow, baby.’
Nevertheless, your lips part, the question burning on the tip of your tongue–
Suddenly, as has become a frequent occurrence in the past few days, Osamu’s phone blares to life, the loud vibrations against the marble countertop startling all three of you.
He doesn’t answer it, by this point you no longer expect him to.
—
You dream of fingers running through dark hair, of lips smiling lazily. Someone laughing, ‘You’re an idiot.’
There’s a warmth, a slow burning heat that ignites in your body, trailing from your jaw, down the slope of your neck, dancing along delicate collarbone, another unfurling deep within your core. You chase the pleasant sensations, a soft, pretty moan drawn from parted lips.
Only when teeth bite down, a tender nip to sensitive flesh are you roused from your dreams to find your husband straddling you, his mouth now between your breasts, dark eyes that glint in the low morning light taking in your visage as you slowly come to.
“S-Samu, wha–”
“Shh.” He chuckles, your stomach flipping at the deep rumble, “Relax. Gonna make ya feel good, baby.”
Whatever protests you might have (if you have any at all) are lost when you realise that the heat pooling in your guts is due to the two digits Osamu has curled up inside of you, slowly easing in and out.
It isn’t the first time the two of you have been intimate since the accident, and while you hadn’t fought him those times either, there’s a slight niggling sensation, nearly lost to the burgeoning pleasure, that twists and knots at the thought of what’s to come.
There’s no possible way of knowing how often you’ve had sex with each other in the years you’ve been together. For him, this must be old hat. For you though, with no frame of reference, no past partners to call to mind, there’s an edge of vulnerability you wish you could get rid of.
A hesitance you don’t give a voice to – not that Samu offers you much of an opening to do so.
Pushing up the hem of your nightdress, your husband lifts your hips enough to ease off your panties, dragging them slowly down smooth legs until they’re dangling from one ankle, and you kick them aside.
Spreading them either side of his broad frame, Osamu stands briefly to rid himself of his own underwear, crawling on all fours back between your legs – gripping one thigh to sink his teeth into soft, delectable flesh – his tongue quick to soothe the hurt when you cry out.
“A-Atsumu, he’s gonna wake up,” you murmur as he once more takes you by the waist, hefting you forward so that you lie flush against him, your legs hiked up over his hips.
The very last thing you want right now is an audience.
With one hand, he strokes his cock with the fingers that had been buried inside your pussy, spreading the glistening mix of your slick and his pre over the thick member. The other’s planted near your shoulder, keeping him stable while he rolls his hips forward, slowly bullying his cock into your warm, tight little cunt. Osamu grins roguishly, lowering his top half down to hover above you as you fist at the sheets, your spine arcing, ankles locking over his back.
“Maybe–” he grunts, relishing in the sounds of your sweet cries and gasps as he inches his way into stuffing you full. “Maybe I want him to hear.”
—
A heavy weight drops onto the couch beside you. “Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”
You fiddle with the rings on your left hand. How many times now have you caught yourself toying with them, completely lost in contemplation, their weight on your finger almost foreign?
A few times now you’ve taken them off to wash up and forgotten about them entirely, not noticing their absence until Samu himself comes to take your hand in his and slide them back on.
Did you used to do that before the accident?
No… no, you probably spent days marvelling at them, wiggling your fingers to make the diamond sparkle in the light. You were probably enthralled by the pretty thing. Blissfully in love.
Happy.
“I think Osamu’s cheating on me.”
You don’t dare raise your eyeline when you say it, afraid of what you’ll see. You might be his wife, however poor a job you’re currently doing, yet the one person Osamu’s closest to is undeniably his brother.
Since Tsumu arrived three days ago, all they’ve done is bicker between themselves, and yet without either of them saying as much, the writing’s on the wall. It’s in the looks they share, full of silent conversations you’re not privy to and won’t ever have a hope of understanding. In the way they move around each other, that implicit, frankly unnerving trust they have with one another.
There are things Osamu can’t share with you – or won’t, maybe – but there’s not a doubt in your mind that if Samu were sleeping with somebody else, if he loved them as he claimed to love you, Atsumu knows about it.
It’s not confirmation that you’re searching for, though. You doubt he’d admit it to begin with – between you and Samu, there’s no question of which side his loyalty falls. This isn’t about that.
For days now, weeks, you’ve had this gnawing pit in your stomach that keeps getting worse, and worse and worse.
With each day that passes, you should be making some kind of progress towards regaining your memories or, if not that, then at the very least becoming more comfortable around him. Yet you still feel like a stranger inhabiting this body, and to make matters worse, your marriage might be failing before you can try to adjust yourself to it.
Atsumu’s really the last person you should be saying this to. It’s the sort of thing you accidentally let slip to a friend after one too many glasses of wine, letting them comfort you and offer advice, commiserate, even.
Yet Samu won’t so much as bring up the friends you had before for fear of making things worse – because you’re fragile and weak, and you haven’t shown any signs of getting better. From the complete and utter radio silence on their ends, you can only assume none of them bothered to fight him on it.
Again, rationally speaking you can understand it – that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting in its own bitter way.
Beside you, Atsumu laughs. Actually laughs.
Indignation – hurt – burns, heating your cheeks as your hands curl into pathetic little fists in your lap and shake. Much to your dismay, tears prickly uncomfortably at your waterline. You go to say something, only for a lump to settle in your throat, blocking all noise. You didn’t think he’d spill the truth just like that, but to laugh at you?
In a split second decision you start to rise, planning on stalking off to go lick your wounds alone in your bedroom until Samu comes home, when a hand on your shoulder stops you.
He chuckles again when he’s met with your poisonous glare, “Hey, c’mon. Don’t run away, I wasn’t laughin’ atcha.”
Raising an eyebrow, you scoff. His lips curl into a smirk, hands coming up in a peaceful gesture. “Okay, okay, I was but… s’just funny to me that you think Samu’d ever look twice at another girl. He’s been in love with ya pretty much from day one.”
The words should be more of a reassurance than they are. Your shoulders rise and fall, a tight shrug as your gaze dips once more to your lap, to the rings that shine mockingly on your left hand.
Atsumu, however, isn’t so willing to drop the subject.
“Nah, you don’t get to say some wild shit like that ‘n then go all quiet on me. Explain.”
If you got up and left, would he follow you? Probably, you muse. If anything, Atsumu’s proven over the past few days that he’s nothing if not persistent. He’s clearly amused, at your expense, mind you, yet the way he scrutinises you now, the slight narrowing of his eyes, that reminds you of a dog with a bone.
No, he won’t let this go.
Nibbling at your bottom lip, you shrug again, “There’s this girl– woman, I guess. She keeps calling him… Samu won’t talk to her if I’m around.” You swallow tightly, “I–I overheard them, the last time she rang, and…”
“What’d ya hear?”
You fiddle with the hem of your skirt as that tell tale prickle stings at your tear ducts. After your early morning tumble in the sheets, you’d thought that things might’ve been different between you two. But Samu still left, some hollow excuse about running errands, and all you can think is that he’s with her now, that whatever you gave wasn’t enough and–
“Look at me.” Atsumu’s no longer laughing. If anything, he actually looks mildly pissed off by the whole thing, his jaw tightening even as he tries for a reassuring smile, scooching closer and touching your shoulder again, “What did she say to him?”
“She told him she needed him, begged him to come home.” Your voice breaks, just as the dam to your tears do, tumbling down your cheeks as your shoulders shake and crumple inwards.
Atsumu runs his tongue over his teeth before muttering a quiet curse, and you suppose that that’s confirmation enough. Without a word he pulls you into his arms, your face held to his chest while he strokes your back and you cling to him in turn, letting all the frustration and grief and confusion of the past few weeks spill out of you in horrid, trembling cries.
You don’t know how long you sit there, half cradled in Atsumu’s lap before he finally speaks, “I don’t care what ya heard. Samu loves you more than anythin’, we both do. He ain’t gonna throw that away for nobody.”
Drawing back, he takes your cheek in one hand, cupping it in his palm, the broad pad of his thumb sweeping away the remnants of your tears with a tenderness that near breaks your heart.
“I mean it,” he says. You’re close enough that the warmth of his breath tickles your skin, that you can count every last one of his eyelashes. Your stomach flutters. “You mean everything to us. Nothin’s gonna get in the way of that.”
And before you can stop him, before you can blink, Atsumu’s closing the gap between you, his lips meeting yours.
Like a computer short circuiting, there’s nothing you can do but freeze and falter as he kisses you, wholly unbothered by your lack of participation. His lips are surprisingly soft, warm as they move against yours, and while his tongue brushes along your lower lip, he makes no real effort to deepen it, seemingly content with the contact he has.
Your heart pounds against your ribcage so violently that it drowns out all other noise. Your stomach twists, flips, churning as he moans softly into your mouth, but for the life of you, you can’t move, can’t stop this. You’re frozen. Shellshocked. Only when Atsumu breaks away, pupils dilated, eyes slightly glazed over, wearing a stupid, self satisfied little grin do you finally gain control over your body again.
By that point, he’s already shifting to settle you back on the couch, rising himself. “Samu and I love ya. We aren’t goin’ anywhere, stop worrying your pretty little head about it, yeah?”
And then he’s walking away, whistling as he goes.
—
A little while later, Atsumu calls out that he’s going for a run. You don’t acknowledge it.
The front door opens. Closes. The sun moves across the sky, minutes tick by, and eventually he returns, sweaty and panting, popping his head in the door to make sure you’re right where he left you.
The whole time you sit stationary on your bed, staring vacantly out the window to the forest that lies beyond. Numb, just numb.
“Gonna go have a shower, then I think you ‘n me should talk before Samu gets back.” He waits and you don’t acknowledge him. Shrugging off his shirt, something wicked enters his expression, “Unless ya wanna come join me?”
That, finally, gets a reaction; your head jerking back to regard him with wide, scandalised eyes, “What?”
He winks, snickers when your gaze drops briefly below his shoulders, eyeing his muscular chest, the well defined planes of his stomach. A bead of sweat rolls from his neck, you track its path with a rapt focus, down to his navel, the smattering of hair there, the cut of the V shaped muscles that draw your attention towards–
Abruptly, you force your attention upwards, cheeks burning as blood rushes to your face.
Atsumu, grinning smugly, missed none of it. “Next time, then.”
And with that, he waltzes off, leaving the door ajar.
… What the hell?
What the actual fuck?
Head reeling, you have no idea how you’re supposed to process this sudden shift in… well, everything. Had this – you and Atsumu – happened before? Did Osamu know about it?
Were you cheating, too?
Was that what your relationship with Osamu was; two deeply unhappy people screwing countless others to avoid fixing whatever it was that festered between them.
Your mind jumps to the picture you’d seen in the year book, you and that boy on the picnic bench, your hand wrapped around his. Osamu told you that you’d been dating ever since your high school days, had you been unfaithful that whole time – spreading your legs for his friends and brother until he gave up trying to be loyal in return?
You feel sick at the thought.
What other option is there, though? What explanation? Either Atsumu’s being particularly cruel and messing with you, or he isn’t and you’re apparently more than okay fucking not only your husband but his brother as well.
‘Despite what happened, I know you still care about her.’ Hikari’s words ring mockingly in your head. All this time you’ve been so bent out of shape over the idea of Osamu with another woman, and it’s now occurring to you that maybe you might’ve been the one to drive him to it.
Despite what happened.
You draw in a shuddering breath, you bring a hand to your lips, either to stifle a sob or to keep yourself from throwing up, you’re not entirely sure which.
And as the sound of running water filters through the room, so too does a sense of calm clarity.
For weeks now you’ve been trying to make this work, trying to slip back into the person you were, a life that you don’t truly remember.
And it isn’t working.
You still don’t feel normal around Osamu. You don’t remember anything, and despite what you’d been told from the start – despite fighting it every step of the way – you have to accept the possibility that that might not change.
Your spine straightens, the grip you have on the duvet easing as you take another, calmer breath in, letting it fill your lungs and clear your head.
The answer’s been staring you in the face this whole time. If you can’t find your way back to the life you led before you got hurt, perhaps rather than clinging to a past that doesn’t truly belong to you anymore, it’s time you cut it loose and walk away.
A clean break doesn’t sound like such a bad idea when the current situation promises nothing but messiness, hurt and heartbreak for everyone involved.
Even if the thought of going it alone is a terrifying one.
Even if it means leaving the one – now two, you suppose – people who stood by your side in the aftermath behind.
And as if the universe senses the tumultuousness inside your head, the sharp, trilling sound of a ringtone shatters it, snapping you out of your thoughts and back into the moment.
You figure that it must be Atsumu’s phone and despite being startled, you’re content to let it ring out – after all, it’s not your phone, not your business.
Atsumu’s a professional athlete, an incredibly successful one at that, there could be any number of important people on the other end of the line, and if it’s critical, whoever it is can leave a message. You’re not his receptionist.
After a few seconds, the ringing stops. And begins again.
Frowning, you push yourself up from the bed, heading towards the dining room. Atsumu’s still in the shower, you can hear the faucet running, your only thought is that if it’s Samu and it’s something urgent, he won’t mind.
Except when you find it, lit up and vibrating on the kitchen bench, the caller ID isn’t his twin’s. Again, the ringing stops, and again, after a short beat, it begins anew.
The picture that fills the screen is of a pretty girl with dimples, her arms looped around a familiar looking brunet.
Not Osamu, but the boy from the yearbook. Older, of course, smiling lazily at the camera while she pokes her tongue out and throws up two peace signs.
Little Suna, the caller ID tells you, and in brackets next to a sun emoji; Hikari.
Your heart squeezes, a thick lump settling in your throat as you survey the image of the two of them. But it isn’t dismay, or the hurt you’d felt earlier when Osamu was hiding her. You can’t put a finger on what it is exactly, only that looking at that picture fills you with an incomprehensible and near overwhelming sense of grief, like someone’s clawed their way into your chest, taken your still beating heart in their hand and slowly, agonisingly, ripped it from you.
Without consciously choosing to do so, you slide the little bar across, answering the call and clicking on the speaker icon.
“H-hello?”
The silence you’re met with is heavy. Pregnant. Why did you pick up? Why the hell did you answer?! Panic and common sense sets in and you silently curse yourself for being so stupid, your finger moving to hurriedly tap the end call button.
And then you hear her gasp, a tiny, sharp little thing that spears right through you. Hikari stutters your name, “You… Wha– they… they found you?”
She starts to laugh then, or maybe she’s sobbing, it’s difficult to tell exactly.
“You’re okay?” she asks, the sound muffled by choked, ragged noises. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re okay! A-after they found Rin, I-I thought–”
White noise drowns her out.
… Rin.
Rin…taro.
Suna.
Your knees go weak, giving way beneath you. Pain sings through your kneecaps as they collide with the wooden floorboards, but it’s nothing compared to the agony that overtakes your chest, spreading with every beat of your frantic heart until it’s the only thing you can feel, and you cling to it. Desperate. Gasping.
There’s a frantic noise somewhere, Hikari calling your name; it’s lost to the pounding haze. Nothing more than the buzz of a gnat flittering around your head.
Every thought eddies from your head, only him. Only that name; Suna Rintaro.
And suddenly–
“You’re an idiot, you know?”
You laugh, throwing an arm around his shoulder as you wriggle your fingers in front of his face, admiring the sparkling ring. “But it’s so pretty, don’t you think? It suits me.”
He raises an unimpressed eyebrow when you turn to cheekily grin at him, “Considering I was the one who picked it, yeah, that was kind of the idea.”
Giggling, you stretch up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
………
“Gin can’t make it. Somethin’ about his girlfriend and the baby,” Rin mutters, appearing in the doorway of your bedroom. “So it’ll just be us and the twins, I guess.”
“Well geez, no need to sound too excited about it,” you say, eyeing your boyfriend – fiancé now, you have to keep reminding yourself – from the mirror as you battle with the clasp of your necklace. “It’s fine, we’ll see him when we see Kita and the others next month.”
A few seconds pass with no sign of victory, and Rin rolls his eyes, “Let me.”
He comes up behind you, taking the delicate gold chain from your fingers and nimbly clasping it shut in what feels like a mockery of your struggles. Adjusting the pendant so that it falls better, he exhales, letting his arms fold loosely around you, his chin coming to a rest atop your head.
The faint crease between his brows, the set of his jaw – to anyone else he might appear bored, annoyed even. You aren’t so easily fooled. You know Rin, know better than to push. It’s not hard to guess what’s bothering him, though. “You think it’ll be weird?”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he shrugs, “I think it’ll be weirder without Gin.”
“It was years ago, they’ve both moved on – a long, long time ago. They’re our friends, Rin. The only thing they’re gonna be is happy for us.”
………
A hand covering your mouth, another roughly shaking your shoulder, rousing you from sleep. “Shh, shh, it’s just me. There’s someone in the house,” Rin’s voice whispers in your ear. “Get under the bed and don’t make a sound, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“Rin–”
“Not a fucking sound!” he hisses, and quietly slips from the bed. As if on cue, a loud shattering noise cuts through the room, and terror, absolute terror, grips you. You do as he bids, limbs shaking and clumsy, the sound of every breath enhanced in the quiet stillness Rintaro leaves behind. You clamp a hand over your mouth to try and muffle it.
You wait, and wait, trembling in the darkness.
And then a crash, heavier than the last one. Rintaro’s yelling, more voices raised, more muted thumps, grunting and howling bellows of agony that have every hair on your body standing on end, and abruptly–
Silence.
It rings in your ear, echoing.
Your pulse thunders, every beat of your heart pumping a paralysing mix of fear and panic through your body. You’re shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down your cheeks as you try – try so desperately – not to make a noise like Rin told you to.
The footsteps that approach have your blood running cold, and you squeeze your eyes shut, wheezing terrified breaths as you choke back sobs and pray that they won’t find you.
You aren’t that lucky.
You aren’t that quiet.
They stop at the foot of the bed. Two of them. One bends down, a hand finding your ankle and with a snickering laugh, yanks you out into the open.
You scream and fight against the figures clad head to toe in black, thrashing like a wild thing for all the good that it does you. You’re determined not to go easy – at least, not until they carry you out past the living room, the mess they left there.
Rin, but not Rin. Not with his face brutalised like that, his skull all caved in, limbs broken and splayed out all wrong.
No.
No, no, no, no.
One eye, empty and lifeless, staring back–
It’s too much.
You blink, jerking back to the present with a heaving gasp. Glancing up, your gut tightens into a knot as two things become starkly apparent.
One; Osamu’s finally returned, standing half frozen in the doorway, appraising you with an uncharacteristically cold expression.
Two; it’s deathly quiet. Turning your head, you find that the call with Kari’s gone silent, a shirtless Atsumu, hair damp, a towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips, gripping his phone, jaw tightly clenched.
It twists into an awful sort of forced grin when he notices you’ve come back to them.
“I really, really wish ya hadn’t done that, baby.”
907.
a commission piece for a lovely nonnie <33
Suna Rintaro x female reader w.c 4.4k
tw: noncon, blood, murder, slight gore, yandere vibes, nsfw, horror elements
Your grandmother called it ‘the gift’.
Once upon a time, you viewed it that way, too. A blessing, rather than a curse.
She had on a red sweater. A turtleneck, reminded me of the one you used to wear. That’s why I picked her over the others – she made me think of you.
Lips drag along the column of your throat, teeth catching – nipping sharply – at the sensitive flesh.
Cute smile, all doe eyed and dumb.
Blunt, blood-stained fingernails dig into your hips. Another searing stab between your thighs.
They’re always so fucking dumb. Naive, too; she let me tie her up without breaking a sweat. Let me blindfold her. Stupid bitch never saw it coming.
Again and again and again. You haven’t cried in weeks now, haven’t let him see you weak and terrified since the very beginning, but there’s no helping the way your body shakes. Or the nausea that curdles in your stomach.
A low groan rumbles against your skin.
Do you know the sound a human body makes as blood fills its lungs? It’s sort of a choked of gurgle, all wet and rasping. You should see the way their faces look, how they freak out, clawing at nothing.
He stills. A shudder ripples through tensed muscles. And then–
Next time, I want you there with me. I want you to see it.
– spurts of hot cum paint your insides white.
Panting atop you, your tormentor grins.
—
Most of the time, you tune the thoughts in your head out. It’s like walking into a crowded restaurant, or the Louvre in Paris, the steady hum of conversation, voices too interwoven to pick and pry at the individual threads.
At least, not without some degree of effort.
It’s for that very reason you’ve always preferred the city over the country. Fewer voices in your head made it a challenge to ignore them, the voices distinct. Clearer.
The city, or any heavily populated place really, offered peace and quiet, strange as it may sound. It offered a choice.
On the nights that you can’t sleep, you’ll lie there in a city of millions, carefully plucking through the tapestry of thoughts to listen in on. Mundane things – thoughts of meetings and work waiting in the morning, disagreements still unresolved, sex and drunken, late night musings. Sometimes you even get bits and pieces of dreams. A semi-coherent commentary of unconscious desires, which usually ranged from mildly disturbing to surprisingly entertaining.
And perhaps it’d feel invasive, listening in to your neighbours’ innermost thoughts and feeling, if you actually knew who they belonged to, but you don’t. You’re not sure if you’ve ever even had a proper conversation with any of the people in your apartment complex – a nod and a smile at the couple who live in the apartment next to yours, a ten second exchange about the weather outside when you’re caught in the elevator, beyond that though, nothing.
They’re strangers.
You’ve made a conscious effort never to pry into the minds of your loved ones. Or, you’ve tried to, at least. Sometimes you can’t help it, especially when you were younger.
Sometimes their thoughts are loud. Unignorable.
Sometimes you hear things that hurt you.
But never in your wildest imagination did you ever anticipate that this beautiful, strange, double edged gift of yours would end up hurting you like this.
—
There’s a poster of a missing girl plastered over the bus stop out the front of your apartment. One morning, you find a friend of yours staring curiously at it, a slight crinkle appearing between her brows.
“Huh,” she murmurs, “weird. She kinda looks like you.”
You know she means nothing by it. She has a habit of saying things without thinking them through, and you’ve long since come to accept that.
The comment would’ve been easy to brush off had it not been for that uneasy prickling at the nape of your neck.
The feeling of eyes burning holes into your back that’s plagued you for a few days now.
—
–elp me, help me, oh god, please someone HELP ME!
A loud thump echoes from above, jerking you from a fitful sleep. You shoot upright, breath just out of reach.
Sweat beads at your temples, your pulse pounding in your ear. The only light in your bedroom is a thin beam of moonlight filtering through the crack in your curtains, and for a moment, you just sit there, chest heaving, fingers twisting in your sheets.
What the hell was that?
You swallow, a lump lying heavy and tight in your throat. The voice (was it a voice? A figment of your imagination? A dream, maybe?) sounded feminine. Terrified.
Screaming.
You’ve never heard anything like it before. Every once in a while there’s a voice in your head that’s louder than the others, usually when emotions are running high, but nothing like this.
As quickly as it’d come, it falls silent, settling back into the hum of interwoven noise inside your head.
And yet you feel it still; an imprint echoing quietly, unable to leave. Licking your lips, you frantically concentrate, picking and pulling at the various threads to see if you can find it – her – again.
… keeps snoring, I’m gonna shove this pillow…
… looks so hot on her knees, fuck, maybe I should film…
…diet’s ruined anyway, might as well see what’s open…
… then at eleven there’s the presentation with the boss…
Nothing.
Nothing but the same mundane, simple thoughts you hear every night. Frustrated and stressed and tired and horny – and not so much as a hint of that awful terror and panic.
If what you heard was somebody’s thoughts, if they were genuinely in trouble and needed help, surely you’d be able to pick it up.
Surely they’d be calling out, too, and somebody else would hear it.
With a heavy exhale, your body loses some of its tension. Maybe it was all in your head, a dream that wasn’t quite a dream. Reaching blindly for your phone, you fumble until the screen lights up, squinting against the sudden brightness to read the time.
2:48.
Damn.
The past few days have sapped the energy right out of you, you just need a good, uninterrupted night’s sleep. That’s all. Setting the phone back on your nightstand, you slip back beneath the covers and shut your eyes once more.
You breathe in and you breathe out, wriggling slightly to make yourself more comfortable.
Another thump reverberates through the room and you fight that niggle of irritation, burrowing yourself further into your bed as if that’ll somehow erase the disturbance. It’s a universal thing, right; upstairs neighbours clomping around at ridiculous hours. Still, doing so at three am on a Friday morning feels a little excessive.
All you need is a few decent hours of sleep, and–
Stupid fucking bitch.
Exhausted eyes snap open.
—
“You need to tell somebody,” your friend mutters.
The two of you are out on your balcony, her leaning out over the railing, you loosely curled in one of the wicker chairs of your outdoor set. “And say what? ‘Hi officer, I think I heard a woman screaming for help inside my brain? And then another voice – again, totally in my head – insulting her. Though, on second thought, the two may or may not be related’?” You laugh humorlessly, “Yeah, that’ll go down a treat.”
She frowns, “Well, okay, maybe not phrased exactly like that, but you could’ve said something. Told them you actually heard her screaming, or about the thumping upstairs.”
“That thumping could’ve been anything. I don’t even know if the voice was real in the first place, I just–” you break off with a huff, dropping your head to your knees. “I don’t know.”
And that’s the worst thing. You’ve spent the past few hours running it over and over in your head, trying to piece everything together. What you’d heard and felt and sensed. That voice, the woman – whoever she was – she’d sounded so desperate, so terrified, and yet you can’t even be sure that she wasn’t a figment of your own exhausted imagination. If you can’t be certain of that, how the hell can you be sure of anything else?
The thought, creeping and insidious, hasn’t left you alone, won’t let you rest easy or brush it aside – what if it wasn’t your imagination. What if the woman was real and genuinely needed help?
Why did she suddenly fall silent?
Your friend sighs, pushing away from the railing to come to your side. Her hand falls to your shoulder and squeezes. Hey,” she says, and waits until you lift your watery eyes to meet hers to continue, “I’m sorry, forget about it, yeah?” She tries for a smile, “You said it yourself, you’re tired, it’s been a long week. This is probably a stress thing, don’t let it get to you.”
Neither of you really believe that, but you nod all the same.
A week later, there’s a second poster plastered beside the first. Another smiling face, and a desperate plea for information.
—
You come home one afternoon to find a package sitting at your doorstep. Considering your online shopping habits, it’s hardly cause for concern – no, that comes when you pick up the box and read the name scrawled across the label.
Suna Rintaro.
Apartment 907.
You live in 807, meaning that the intended recipient of the package – Suna Rintaro, you suppose – lives in the apartment directly above yours.
Almost two weeks have passed now since that night, and your upstairs neighbour – and the cries in your head – have mercifully been silent.
Which doesn’t necessarily put your heart at ease, climbing the steps of the fire escape up to his apartment.
The plan is to leave it on his doorstep, no need for knocking, no need for any kind of interaction whatsoever. Better, actually, if there isn’t.
There’s a saying though, about the best laid plans. You’re midway through setting the package down on the doormat when abruptly, there’s a pointed cough behind you.
You drop it with a yelp of surprise, jerking backwards, one foot catching on the other causing you to lose your balance. The only thing that keeps you from falling onto your ass is a steady hand that shoots out to grab at your forearm.
And the man that hand is attached to.
Bored eyes and an impassive face stare back at you as you scramble to right yourself, his grip only relenting – on the verge of reluctance, the fingers slowly prying back– when you’re back on solid footing. “Can I help you?”
“Uh no, the um…the package – your package, I mean – it got delivered to me by mistake.” You swallow. “I live beneath you.”
The man isn’t what you expected. Not that you had any expectations per se (because you’ve spent the past two weeks pretending that Everything is Fine and Nothing is Wrong) only that if you had, it wouldn’t have been him.
Standing slightly over six three, he towers over you, clad in a grey hoodie and black sweats. At a guess, you’d put him at a few years older than yourself, you might even go so far as to call the man attractive, in a college drop-out, maybe-definitely sells drugs on the side kind of way.
Attractive– and utterly empty.
His eyes track your movements with unnerving focus, a flat void of pale gold. Uneasiness stirs inside of you, harkening back to the days of hunter and hunted. Your skin crawls.
“Thanks, I guess,” he drawls, the last part tacked on as an afterthought. As if it’s more effort than it’s worth pretending to be polite and neighbourly after you’ve done him this favour.
The glint in those cold, lifeless eyes, however, tells a different story.
Every cell within your body screams at you to run, run, run.
You nod, plastering a too tight smile across your face as you force yourself to breathe in and put some distance between you two, “Right, well, um… I should go. I have– things.”
Things. Yes, excellent excuse.
The man – Suna – nods, looking barely interested. “Mhm.” He’s already moving around you, lazily lifting the package with one arm as he fishes for his keys in his pocket. You turn on your heel, glad for the excuse to escape the awkward encounter and scurry on back to the relative safety of your own apartment.
You’re almost at the stairwell when you hear it, that same flat tone forcing its way to the surface;
What’s got you so on edge, angel? Hearing things you shouldn’t?
—
He’s there in the elevator when you arrive home from after work drinks with your friends, arm slung low around some girl you’ve never seen before. His gaze flickers to yours when you step in after them, the corners of his lips twitching just a fraction.
The girl pays you no mind, the flush of alcohol high on her cheeks, her pupils glazed with it.
She’s pretty hot, right?
You stiffen, your grip tightening around the strap of your purse. You refuse to acknowledge him beyond that, though. Won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s getting to you.
Hot, and dumb as all fuck – but hey, that’s not exactly a dealbreaker. You know how it is.
The red letters on the panel steadily inch upwards. From the corner of your eye, you spy him leaning down to whisper in her ear, absently toying with a lock of her hair. Whatever it is that he says to her, she giggles in response, the blush on her cheeks deepening. Your stomach flips.
Third floor… fourth… fifth… this must be the slowest elevator in the goddamn country, you would’ve been better taking the stairs. Or maybe it’s just that being in such close proximity with Suna makes every second feel like a lifetime.
In the reflection of the panelled metal, yellow eyes shift your way.
The dumb ones make it easy.
Relief washes over you when you finally stop at the eighth floor, the elevator doors barely creaking open before you’re slipping through them, all but racing for your apartment. It’s a fleeting thing, that relief, quickly overshadowed by a sense of foreboding that has your hands trembling – making the simple task of unlocking your door unnecessarily challenging.
You can hear them upstairs, walking around. Muffled voices.
You have to remind yourself that you’re being paranoid, that the only thing you know with any degree of certainty is that your upstairs neighbour is an asshole.
An asshole who for whatever reason seems to have realised that you can read his mind and is now amusing himself by trying to upset you with that knowledge.
Because that’s what this is, right? He’s trying to mess with you.
That girl he was with (with her pretty face and hair like yours – like the other girls whose faces are now plastered across missing persons flyers throughout the city) hadn’t appeared distressed in the slightest.
No, from the way she was giggling and clinging to Suna, she definitely wanted to be there with him.
And when the thumps start up again, a rhythmic banging that’s impossible for you to tune out, you remind yourself of that.
Sex isn’t a crime. Bringing home random girls isn’t a crime.
You have absolutely no reason to think that there’s anything amiss with any of this.
To quell the ball of unease sitting like a lump in your throat, you crawl into bed and put on your headphones, blasting music until it drowns out all else. Fatigue and the lingering alcohol in your system begin to make you sluggish, your own exhaustion warring with concern.
You’re being paranoid.
(You’re so tired. So, so tired.)
He’s not doing anything wrong.
(You can’t remember the last decent night’s sleep you’ve had.)
Listening in would be a gross invasion of privacy.
(You could close your eyes. A few seconds, that’s all.)
You’re just being…
…paranoid…
Somewhere above you, a door slams shut and you jerk back to the present with a start.
The clock on your laptop informs you that hours have passed, your headphones long since having fallen silent. You exhale, a breathy, shuddering thing. Now, both your bedroom and the apartment above loom in eerie silence. No footsteps. No thumping.
You tell yourself that it’s a good thing. It’s late. People are sleeping.
Maybe the girl stumbled off back home after getting what she came for. Maybe she’s asleep in his bed right now. Either way, it’s none of your concern. You’re working yourself up over nothing.
Everything is fine.
Everything is fine.
—
There’s a gift waiting on your doorstep come morning; an envelope wrapped in a thin maroon coloured ribbon. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you reach down to grab it, carefully untying the ribbon and ripping off the edge to get it open.
Inside you find a note, folded in two, and a thin, gold chain. Tipping it into your palm and prodding at it, you find that the chain is actually a necklace, old and delicate, with a small heart shaped pendant at the end. Your heart, however, thunders as you examine it closer.
Splashed over the tiny golden links, there’s a rust coloured stain. Blood, you realise with mute horror. It's blood
And though your hands shake, your stomach churning and every sensible instinct screaming at you not to, you turn your attention to the note still tucked away inside.
Tugging it out, you unfold the letter to read the message scrawled there in tiny, messy handwriting.
I prefer a challenge. Makes things interesting.
You drop them both, the note and the necklace, and run to your bathroom to heave up your guts.
—
Your friend picks up on the third ring, and you can barely talk through gasping, stricken sobs.
Her car’s out the front of your place in twenty, but it’s only when she has you safe within the confines of her small, one bedroom home that you manage to speak the words, to tell her what happened.
She listens, without judgement, without interruption, the expression on her face growing graver with every word.
And then, when you’re finished, empty and hollow and on the verge of shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, she hugs you tight.
“I don’t care if you go to the cops or not, I don’t care if you never tell another soul,” she promises, her voice thick and muffled against your shoulder, “but you’re not going back there. You’re gonna stay here with me, and we’ll figure it out. Together.”
She waits until you’ve calmed somewhat, making sure that you’ve eaten something – even if that something is juice and two-minute ramen – before she leaves you.
“I’ll grab enough for the next few days, alright? Clothes and your toothbrush and stuff. If you think of anything you need, just text me. I won’t be long.”
It’s gonna be okay. I promise you.
Numbly, you nod.
I won’t be long, she’d said, but the clock on the wall steadily ticks by and she doesn’t return. One hour. Two. She doesn’t read the increasingly concerned messages you send, doesn’t answer the phone when you call, and slowly but surely that pit of worry sitting heavy in your heart grows impossible to ignore.
The sun slips lower on the horizon, shadows creeping across the room, when finally you reach your breaking point.
You take the bus home, leg bouncing, fingers twisting in your lap. It occurs to you, as you ascend the steps to the foyer of your building, that maybe you should have called the police. Another friend. Anybody.
That maybe you shouldn’t have let her come here by herself in the first place.
But you weren’t thinking straight, you’re still not. And there’s a thought bouncing around your head that tells you that with every minute that passes the chances of her being found safe and unhurt grow slimmer.
You want to believe that her car broke down, and her phone ran out of battery. That the silence from her end is nothing more than a series of unfortunate but ultimately harmless mishaps.
As the ancient elevator comes to a stop on the eighth floor, though, a voice inside of you tells you that you know better. When you reach the end of the hallway and turn the corner, it’s a suspicion that’s proven correct.
Your front door’s hanging ajar.
The smart thing to do would be to go and get help. Your panic and worry over your friend, however, drowns out all common sense. You run towards it without a second thought.
Her purse sits atop your table, car keys lying just beside. On your couch lies an open duffle, clothes and various toiletries hastily shoved inside, but there’s no sign of her. Of anyone. Nothing but an eerie stillness.
And here I thought you’d be smarter than this.
There’s a sharp pinch at your neck, and the world fades to black.
—
“Do you want to see her?”
You blink at him.
You’ve been awake now for a short while, trapped in an unfamiliar room, a thick, iron cuff locked around your ankle. Trapped, but otherwise unharmed.
At your silence, Suna’s eyebrow lifts, expecting an answer.
“I-is she okay?” you ask, your voice still thick with sleep, a little raspy. You haven’t had water in god knows how long, your mouth dry and cottony.
That’s not what I asked.
He isn’t smiling. You’re not sure he’s capable of smiling, yet the corners of his lips twitch upwards, faint amusement ghosting over his features. He’s enjoying this imbalance of power, now that all the cards are laid out on the table.
The answer is no, of course, both to his question and your own. You know it before you even open your mouth.
You can’t hear her. Can’t hear anybody but him.
“Yes. Please.”
He nods, making his way over to unlock the chain at your ankle. He smells like iron and menthol cigarettes and cedar and musk, the scent of him burning an imprint into your consciousness.
You’re not wearing the necklace. Not your style?
You ignore the thought, taking the hand that he offers only because you’re not certain you’d be able to stand without it. His hands are cold, but your flinch has little to do with the temperature.
Your limbs move sluggishly – an aftereffect of the drugs, Suna explains as he leads you out of the room and along the hallway, it should be out of your system in another hour or so.
Down the stairs. Slow and steady, Suna chuckling when you stumble and have to lean into him to catch yourself.
His arm comes around your waist after that.
You catch a glimpse of the kitchen and room with a TV and some couches on the first floor, deducing that wherever you are, it must be a house of some sort, but Suna ushers you on before you can truly get a good look.
Stopping at another locked door, he pulls the same ring of keys he’d unlocked your cuff with to pluck out an older style bronze key, slipping it into the lock and twisting.
It clicks.
“Ready?”
You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips – a movement that Suna tracks with heavy interest.
He doesn’t wait for your answer, doesn’t truly care. The door swings open with a soft creak and Suna flicks on the lights.
Fluorescent brightness illuminates the room, and you instantly wish it hadn’t.
A body lies on the concrete floor, limbs sprawled at awkward angles. Her face, with its glazed, milky eyes and mouth twisted in a soundless scream, stares back at you and bile climbs your throat, your knees going weak.
Don’t you wanna go say hi?
You shake your head, dizziness and panic and horror crashing into you like waves against rock, threatening to drown you entirely. You can’t look at the mess he’s made of her neck, your eyes forcibly skipping the gruesome, macabre sight in an act of self preservation.
Blood is everywhere. On the floor, her clothes, the walls. Sprays of it coating the ceiling.
Dead.
She’s dead.
You push Suna away, his grip relenting to allow you to stumble towards her. Falling to your knees you sob – a heart wrenching wail as your hands flutter uselessly over her broken body. As if somehow you can help her still. Save her.
Footsteps echo over the concrete as he approaches, crouching down beside you. You ignore him, too lost in your grief and pain to even notice he’s there.
“Look at me.”
Agony swallows you whole, every sob ripping through your chest. Tears and snot drip down your face, your shoulders heaving with the force of every gasping, shuddery breath. Dead, dead, dead.
Pay attention, now.
A warning that goes unheeded. With a frustrated huff, Suna reaches out and grabs your chin, twisting your face to meet his.
His mouth clashes against your own, violent and brutal, hungry. There’s blood on his lips, the tang of it souring in your mouth as his tongue slips inside – his, maybe, or yours, you don’t know.
Forcing you to the floor beside your best friend’s body, he parts only long enough to take in a quick breath, yellow eyes drinking down your agonised expression.
Like the devil, he smirks and kisses you harder.
You’re numb, your body uncooperative as you struggle pathetically against him. It makes no difference, he pushes the fabric of your skirt up to your stomach, greedy touch lingering over the expanse of bare, soft skin.
She cried for you, y’know. Begged me not to hurt you.
He sounds amused by the thought.
Stupid cunt had it coming.
The clink of his buckle echoes with a horrible finality in the cold stillness of the basement. Your eyes squeeze closed, body locking up as your panties are tugged aside.
Not my usual type but for you, angel–
His cock, hard and lengthy, twitches at your pussy. A moment’s grace, that’s all he gives you before hastily sheathing himself inside of you.
–I’ll make as many exceptions as I need to.
You only sob louder.
—
Tell me to stop.
You don’t. You can’t. Suna moans above you, another harsh thrust spearing into your aching, dripping sex. There’s fresh blood on his hands, smeared across your skin.
Even if you did, it wouldn’t make a difference.
He never listens.
Yandere! Rintarou Suna General Profile
Yandere! Rintarou Suna x fem! reader
Cw: kidnapping, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of hypothermia/death, rin locks you in a freezer but don't worry it hurts him too </3, stalking, voyeurism, non-consensual recording/photography, harassment, possessiveness, mentions of non-con, Stockholm Syndrome, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
WC: 10.0 K
DARLING PROFILE:
Social
Despite Rintarou’s usually quiet, apathetic personality, he finds himself drawn to people who are more talkative and outgoing.
It’s not that he necessarily wants to converse himself, but it’s a relief for him to know that his darling is able to express themself, and is able to carry on a conversation with little to no unease.
He likes listening to their words, letting himself be entertained and guided along in a conversation. He’s not normally the instigator in conversations; he prefers to chime in when he feels like it, and while his darling doesn’t need to be constantly talking, he’d like a darling that can take the lead in a conversation.
Honestly, it’s almost impressive to Rintarou, and the fact that his darling doesn’t mind being the talkative and social one in the relationship only feeds his more obsessive tendencies - the more they talk and ramble about what they love, the more information he learns and is able to store away for future reference.
He loves learning about his darling, and he honestly could sit for hours and just listen to them talk and talk.
It’s therapeutic in a way to the middle blocker, and he absolutely adores this aspect of his darling.
Smart
Rintarou himself is quite analytical and intelligent, and as a result he has little patience with those who might not be as blessed. He was somewhat lazy throughout his schooling; always slacking off and falling asleep in class, but only because his natural smarts saved his ass and allowed him to be lenient on studying and listening to the teachers.
And even throughout his professional career, Rintarou’s had to rely on this intelligence to help him perform and successfully read his opponents in the midst of points.
And while he doesn’t need a partner that’s a genius (though, he doesn’t mind), having a partner who is at least knowledgeable is a requirement for him. He doesn’t have the time and patience to deal with people that he has to explain his jokes to, or that aren’t able to keep up with conversations happening around them.
He finds it to be a major attraction when his darling is able to contribute meaningful things to a discussion, and in particular if they were to showcase their knowledge in their given field to Rintarou.
He'd stare with such intensity as they explain the foundations of their job and field, him hanging onto their every word as he notes the way they look so happy and excited, how their face brightens up and fuck he wants to kiss them so badly.
He just really likes the idea of a smart, capable darling, and while he likes the idea of taking care of them, he wants to know that he’s not wasting his time on a complete idiot.
Playful
He can be quite teasing and witty, and having a darling that can go along with his jokes and deadpan comments would be an immense turn on for the brunette.
He likes the idea of someone that can keep up with all of the shit that comes out of his mouth; he’s selective about his words, but often they’re said in a teasing way, and having a darling that’s too sensitive to this would likely not pan out well.
He needs someone who is able to take it and dish it out back - they don’t have to be the funniest or the quickest thinker, but a darling who will laugh at his words and throw in a remark here or there to counter him would be wonderful.
People who are more meek and nervous when talking to others aren’t his ideal type, and while it’s possible for his darling to have aspects of this in their personality, Rintarou mainly falls for those who are more assertive with their words. And while his darling doesn’t need to be the most confident in themselves, they need to be able to put up with his rather snarky attitude.
Knowing that his darling has his back is something that Rintarou thrives on, and it only further proves to him how perfect they are for one another.
Kind
While Rintarou isn’t inherently mean, there’s just something about the honesty of compliments when they leave his darling’s lips that makes him smile.
His own personality is snarky, full of teasing remarks and a rather objective view of the events around him, and so to have someone who is naturally more adept at being honest and welcoming towards others is stubbornly adorable to him.
Of course, he’s internally a flustered, dazed mess when they tell him how talented he is at volleyball, how smart he is, how his hair is so uniquely him. His heart is racing in his chest and his palms are growing sweaty, the sound of his darling’s voice complimenting him permanently etched into his memory, but on the exterior he stays the same blank faced man he always is.
There’s just something so disarming about what his darling says, and just when he thinks his beloved can’t get any better, any more perfect, they let something slip out that makes his heart melt, and he’s once again struck with the question of how he got lucky enough to have a soulmate so wonderful.
His darling inspires him to try and compliment them more too – he certainly notices all kinds of beautiful, attractive things they say and do, but as soon as he goes to say the words they get stuck on the tip of his tongue.
He wants to tell his darling that they’re gorgeous when they wear that shade of blue, but despite the number of times he practiced mentally and in the bathroom mirror that morning, he never seems to be able to.
And so, Rintarou would love a kind darling because they inspire him to be kind as well - Rintarou doesn’t know why it makes him happy, but he’ll be damned if he lets them slip away.
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:
Possessive
While Rintarou isn’t particularly insecure, he’s more than aware that he isn’t the ‘ideal’ man.
He’s quiet, snarky, lanky, someone who prefers to simply watch and be more in the background. He knows he’s different from someone like his teammates, like his long time friends the Miyas, even as irritating as it may be to admit. He may be a professional athlete now, raking in money with every ball he hits, but he knows there’s more flashy, cooler players even on his own team.
He’s fully aware that he isn’t every girl’s dream guy, and this knowledge along with the sheer amount of desperation he feels for your love is a bit of an ugly mix.
He’s hyper aware of the fact that you likely aren’t aware of the depth of his feelings for you. He's sure that you’re blissfully ignorant to the way his heart nearly beats out of his chest the moment your name is mentioned, how his cheeks flush pink when he’s laying in bed imagining your soft body is in his arms, when he’s gulping harshly and trying to discreetly fix his pants before he walks into the café and sees you.
You likely aren’t aware of the way he’s taken to following you and thinking of you every moment of the day, but it doesn’t change the fact that Rintarou is thoroughly and completely hooked on you, utterly enraptured by every little thing you do, every little part of you that adds up to the woman he thinks he loves.
You may not know, but Rintarou wants you to be completely and utterly his, solely and only his girl, just as his heart is so desperately yearning for, just as he thinks of you in his mind. He’s sure you aren’t aware of his feelings because he purposefully tries to keep them concealed, but it doesn’t change the way an ugly feeling of rage simmers in his chest when another man approaches you, how his fists grow clammy and his eyes narrow when another guy is looking at you, when you get brought up in conversations that he happens to overhear.
He knows he doesn’t really have any grounds to feel jealous, that his hold and claim on you is purely in his mind, but Rintarou doesn’t fucking care. It’s still painful to imagine you with another man, to think of you smiling and laughing and getting flustered at the hands of someone else.
It makes him ill to think of you with someone who won’t love you like he does, who doesn’t know the real you as well as he does, who can’t provide for you and protect you like he can. It’s irritating as hell, and so Rintarou tries his best to keep other guys from being interested in you, to keep all other potential competition at bay so that when he’s finally ready to make a substantial move, you’ll feel that he’s your only choice.
He’s managed to weasel his way into your personal life, becoming a friend and accompanying you to nearly everything you do in public.
He’s subtly dropping hints that you’re not interested when he overhears others’ conversations, mentioning off-handedly that you’re already talking to someone (she’s always looking at her phone and smiling, you know what that means), that you’re not interested in a relationship (there’s this guy from her work who’s a volunteer firefighter that keeps trying to get with her – really hot, and if she’s saying no to him, then why would you ever be a yes?).
He’s even going so far as to lie about your sexuality just to get guys off of your trail, to keep you reserved for him and only him once the time is right.
Jealousy hits him in waves, difficult to ignore and counter once they’ve taken root in his gut, and while it’s a preventative measure more than anything to tip off those other guys who express interest in you, it’s still not enough.
Its never enough, if he’s being honest, because each time he sees someone like Atsumu or even Osamu approach you and look like such a better option, he’s seeing red and panicking, his mind running a mile a minute as he desperately tries to conjure up a plan to stop the impending doom, to keep you single and his.
Sabotaging any possible relationships is better than nothing, after all, but Rintarou still isn’t satisfied – he won’t be, really, until he’s finally stolen you away, made you his for the rest of your days, but in the meantime, he does what he can to keep the horribly overwhelming possessive thoughts at bay, to keep the urge to wrap you in his arms and hide you away from the world as dormant as possible.
And in doing this, a few new habits form – namely, he notices that the possessive and invasive thoughts tend to be stronger at night, when he’s lying alone in bed missing you and your body, wishing you were there to warm the sheets and press soft kisses against his jawline.
He’s missing you, finding himself using his pillow as a substitute for your body, even as pathetic and weird as it makes him feel. He notices it’s strongest then, which is why his whirling brain suddenly appraises an image that has his face turning pink, his body warming up, a small patch of sweat forming at his temples as he imagines the way you’d look with a network of small, dark hickeys against your neck and collarbones.
They’d be deep, sprinkled from behind your ears to the tops of your breasts, impossible to hide and marking you as fully, utterly his, his lover and partner to kiss and worship, his to mark up and claim, just as he so urgently wants to.
It’s a nice thought, really, and as his hand slides down his abdomen and he shakily exhales, Rintarou is content with the thought that one day he will paint you with his hickeys, that you’ll be wearing his marks like a necklace, the dark bruises decorating your skin like a fucking painting so that the world knows for absolute certainty that you’re the property of Rintarou Suna, that he owns you now and always.
So really, when you catch him staring at your collarbones the next day with his lips parted and his pupils blown wide, don’t be surprised – just as you shouldn’t be when you wake up in his basement, those fox-like eyes staring at you while his fingers itch with the urge to touch you.
He finds himself drifting into delusions about you much more than normal as his obsession carries on; ideas of keeping you locked away in his apartment, your pretty face smiling at him and hugging him when he comes home from practice, dinner on the stove and the TV already cued up to his favorite movie.
He’s imagining the way you’d tell him about your day and how much you missed him, how you’d smile at him and let the ring on your finger sparkle in the light as you ask him how his day went.
You’ll notice the way his eyes start lingering on your ring finger when you’re together, how his fingers seem to just be there, always nearby.
Don’t be surprised about how he starts referring to you more with ‘my’ in front of your name, calling you his friend, his coffee mate, his his his.
Don’t be surprised, because this isn’t anything new – Rintarou has always wanted to claim you as his, but now that he can?
Well, how can he not let all his possessive tendencies flourish once you’re all his?
Stalker
While he isn’t explicitly scared to talk to you or approach you, Rintarou is self aware enough to know that he isn’t exactly an extravert, that talking and making conversation isn’t his specialty.
He enjoys conversing with you, truly, but it’s hard to know where to take the conversation, how to make you laugh and smile (because fuck do you look pretty when you chuckle, when your chiming giggle hits his ears, and while Rintarou isn’t one to normally be easily flustered, there’s something about the pride that swirls in his chest when he makes you smile that has his cheeks flushing ever so slightly pink), how to flirt with you and make you flustered and sad to see him go.
He isn’t too confident in his abilities to woo you (despite Atsumu’s frequent and unsolicited advice and offers to teach him how), so he falls back on a different method of being in your presence, of spending time with you.
That is, it might not be as consensual or interactive as speaking with you, but stalking you gets the job done too, and that’s all he can really ask for.
Besides, there’s something to be said about getting to enjoy you in silence, of getting an unobstructed view into who you really are, when you think you’re alone and safe and having privacy in your own home.
You’re vulnerable like this, your true self as you slip into bed or cram for an upcoming project at work, and in a lot of ways Rintarou believes that this is a more valuable and real way of getting to know you, of getting to feed the insatiable desire in his heart to see you.
It’s more effective, in a lot of ways, if only because this way he spends prolonged periods of time observing, those narrow eyes fixated on your form as you hum and stretch after sitting a while at your desk, allowing the middle blocker to analyze the way your face scrunches up momentarily, how your shirt jumps up to expose a line of midriff above the hemline of your sweatpants, how you sigh and make a noise much too provocative for him to handle innocently.
(He’s gulping harshly, his fingers twitching and his knees feeling oddly weak as he relives memories of you way you gasp and cry out when you’re touching yourself, how your lips part into that pretty ‘o’ and your thighs twitch).
It’s more effective as he gets to watch the way you put together meals for yourself, leftovers from the night before and freezer-bake food items, quick and easy things that part of him wants to split with you (maybe, as you slice up the freshly oven-cooked frozen pizza, he could even feed a piece to you and tease you for having melted cheese on your cheek), while the other part wants to scold you for eating food that doesn’t benefit you much nutritionally.
He feels connected to you like this, like you’re really getting to spend time with one another, like you’re in your own little world and inviting him into your life, into you. It’s sweet, in a way, which is why Rintarou feels the need to document each little moment that has his heart clamoring in his chest, his throat feeling dry and his stomach fluttery.
His phone is always on standby, a huge portion of his camera roll devoted to videos and pictures of you living your life, doing domestic things that have him softly sighing and imagining the way you’d welcome him home after a long practice, how you’d get on your tip toes to press a peck against his lips, how you’d scrub the loofah along his chest when you shower together.
It’s sweet and whimsical, in a way, and while he’s careful to never have the flash on or make a noise, his collection of memories of you span to capture everything – you brushing your teeth, folding laundry, scribbling math equations, scrolling through your phone, using the restroom, sleeping and rolling over with a soft huff.
You’re just adorable, beautiful and wonderful and everything that Rintarou could hope for, and so while he doesn’t particularly like the fact that he doesn’t interact with you as much as he could, he’s satisfied – after all, watching you through your bedroom window is more intimate than talking about your day, right?
Listening to the way you talk to yourself as you work through the complicated work problems (thanks to the bugs he places in your room) is more personal than asking you if you’d like to come to his next volleyball game, right?
Rintarou thinks so, and with each new expression and reaction you make to the things around you (sometimes he’ll even fabricate a situation to examine your response to – nothing big, maybe leaving a small sign that he’d been in your room earlier, or leaving the door unlocked, or leaving the TV running), he learns more and more about you.
He’s good at reading people, and you’re his biggest challenge yet – and truly, he wants to know everything about you, to learn what makes you tick, what scares you, what makes you so happy you’re in tears.
You’re a mystery to him, but one he oh so desperately wants to solve – so try to ignore the feeling of those sharp eyes on you, yeah?
It’s just done out of love, so what is there to fear?
Selfless
Where your happiness is concerned, a lot of Rintarou’s more emotional tendencies come out. He lives to see you smile, as seeing you beam or giggle or stubbornly snort makes his heart practically beat out of his chest, the sound and sight addicting in a way he knows he’ll never be able to quit.
He’s normally not the most motivated, someone who puts in minimal effort unless he’s inspired, but his determination to get you smiling and happy is really quite something, really quite overwhelming –
Frankly, he’s desperate to be the cause of your happiness, to know that he’s the one who’s responsible for making your face light up, that he’s the one that turned your shit day into a decent, enjoyable one. It’s a boost to his ego, and it makes him feel a bit better about the whole stalking thing, the obsession thing, the way he’s latched onto you without any hope of ever letting go.
The knowledge makes him proud, has him feeling like a partner, like someone who can truly love you and care for you, but the thing that sets Rintarou apart is that he doesn’t particularly want you to know that he’s the one responsible, that the reason why you're doing so well in university or your job is all him.
It’s not that he doesn’t want the credit (because god, just the thought of you smiling up at him and hugging him, telling him you’re so thankful and happy for him and maybe even rewarding him with a kiss is enough to get his Adam’s apple sharply bobbing, his eyes darting around the room and his fist clenching), but the reason that he keeps his acts of service regarding you more on the down-low has to do with the way he doesn’t like to bring attention to himself.
Obviously, your attention and time and care are things he craves like a drug, but there’s still a certain amount of slight insecurity that washes through him as his thoughts overwhelm him, the possibility of you being creeped out by just how often and thoroughly he helps you out hitting him square in the chest.
The last thing he wants to do is alienate himself, to get you feeling uncomfortable around him, to make you scared of him, hence why he decides it’s better to stay in the dark than have your lovely warmth and radiance no longer be partially directed towards him.
And while the acts of service start small towards the beginnings of his obsession with you, with time they grow more elaborate and more invasive.
In the beginning, Rintarou is doing things out of the kindness of his heart; you’re looking a bit down, more stressed than normal? He’s quick to run to the store and buy your favorite snacks, making up some excuse to leave them on your desk before your classes or shift starts, so that once you walk in you’re met with a pleasant surprise and a short but sweet note from an anonymous sender.
(Writing the notes always feels so cliché, but Rintarou finds that once he sits down with the pen and paper, the words just keep coming – obviously he can only write so much without giving away the depth and extent of his infatuation, so the letters get stored in his desk while the more simple you look tired, try to sleep more and take some time for yourself get attached to the goodies).
In the beginning, it’s Rintarou still having a strange internal battle about whether or not he should be going out of his way to help you, but always finding himself unconsciously moving to make sure that your bag doesn’t touch the area of the school carpet with the mysterious stain, that your food doesn’t get accidentally contaminated by anyone else’s germs. He's moving to make sure that you’re still smiling and happy, because while you’re still beyond gorgeous with a frown etched into your features, it’s nothing compared to that flustered little smile, the bashful crinkle of your nose, the way your eyes flutter.
It’s simple in the beginning, and he swears it’s innocent – until suddenly, he’s finding himself slipping further and further into the odd, self-induced responsibility of making sure your life is as easy as possible. Instead of simply double checking that your laundry is done before you get home, he's doing basketfuls, bringing his very own laundry detergent - it smells like him, and while you don't seem to notice the change in scent yet, he's hoping some part of your subconscious will enjoy the smell and associate it with him. Maybe you'll even have little, embarrassing fantasies about him as a househusband - something that isn't entirely off the table, if he's being completely honest.
What starts as him leaving you little snacks (mostly comprised of chuupets of his favorite flavor, if only because it seems weirdly intimate to be sharing something like that with you) to keep you pleasantly surprised turns into him reluctantly and nonchalantly begging Osamu to teach him to cook, leaving you anonymous bentos with your favorite foods and cute little drawings that always make you smile and get embarrassed, your friends hovering and bombarding you with questions about your secret admirer.
(And of course, you always leave the box pristine, with the chopsticks neatly stacked on top at the corner of your desk for the owner to reclaim, and while Rintarou isn’t proud of the way he spends hours sucking on the used chopsticks, tongue sucking and sliding over the metal to taste every possible piece of you he can, he’s not disgusted enough with himself to stop.)
What starts as him simply trying to make you less stressed and your life easier slowly turns into him breaking into your home to complete your chores, to tidy up your room, to sift through your closet and replace your old, used panties with brand new pairs in colors and shades he thinks you’ll love and that he fantasizes about them so much that he has his own matching, identical pair who’s sole purpose is to absorb every drop of cum he wrings out just for you you you –
He becomes your lapdog, in a way, though you won’t know it – frankly, you’ll know something is going on, but why would you ever suspect snarky, introverted Rintarou?
Why would he ever go out of his way for you, do anything so time consuming for you?
You’ll push aside the nagging feeling, trying to play it off as you being overly aware, but once Rintarou has you locked into his basement, your favorite foods and items surrounding you like a strange sort of offering, his narrow yellow eyes lighting up at the mere opportunity to make you smile and thank him?
Well, it gets more difficult once you’re able to see just how pathetically desperate Rintarou is – but really, can he be blamed?
Can he be blamed for wanting to make you happy?
DEALING WITH RIVALS:
Despite having adopted the ‘cool boy’ guise for as long as anyone can remember, Rintarou is very much not ‘cool’ when he’s placed into situations where you’re being chased by another man.
He absolutely detests the prospect of another man trying anything at all with you – he’s not horribly delusional, but he still thinks of you as solely his, just as he is solely yours.
And so, the moment that this notion is challenged, Rintarou is suddenly shutting down a bit, his heart racing in his chest and his veins feeling like they’re on fire because who the hell is trying to steal you away from him?
He’s got a bit of a possessive streak, and so he’s actually quite used to being jealous because of you.
He knows he’s not the most social or outgoing guy, and as a result you’ll often end up in conversations with people that aren’t him, no matter how badly he wishes it weren’t true.
It’s too scary sometimes to simply walk up to you and begin chatting, but for other men this doesn’t seem to be an issue – and so, often when Rintarou is jealous, it’s a combination of being both jealous of how you’re responding to this man’s flirtations, along with frustration at himself for not being man enough to just fucking talk to you.
He’s terrified you’ll find someone you like more – maybe he’ll be funnier, nicer, better at compliments, able to get you laughing in the blink of an eye. Maybe he’ll be bulkier, have a better fashion sense, have soft, curly hair instead of the somewhat wiry brown locks he’s always been stuck with.
Insecurities get the best of Rintarou when he’s faced someone challenging his spot in your life, and while you may never know, he’s absolutely enraged when he sees others interacting with you.
He isn’t the most bold yandere, and so while he rarely ever directly interferes, those golden eyes will be watching you constantly when you’ve captured another man’s attention.
He’s watching like a hawk, trying to read your every movement, expression and word, hoping and praying he’ll find some sign that you aren’t reciprocating the man’s attraction.
He’s still too nervous to actually confess the horribly strong feelings in his heart about you, and so he’ll try to work himself into finding flaws in the way you’re interacting with whoever is trying to steal your attention – you never laugh that hard at puns, so obviously you must be faking it.
You’re never this kind and pleasant towards people you actually like, so you must be sugar coating your words in an effort to remain strangers.
You wouldn’t be smiling apologetically and telling him you’ve got to get running if you actually wanted to stay and talk to him. He can see it all on your face, plain as day – and that’s part of why Rintarou loves you. You’re just so easy to read and analyze, and yet every day he finds new layers to you that he just falls more and more in love with.
You’re perfect, which is why it’s so much harder than he can handle to watch you interact with other men. It physically hurts, his chest aching and his muscles tensing to the point of cramping as he stares holes into the both of your bodies, watching and waiting with baited breath for you to get the fuck away, preferably into Rintarou’s arms.
And so, while he’s familiar with the jealousy that seeing you with other guys brings, he’s never, ever been good at dealing with it – something you’ll learn fairly quickly.
Rintarou’s eye twitches as he watches the way the stranger’s form slowly comes closer to the both of yours. It’s a train platform – he knows that, rationally, you’ll be standing next to strangers, men, people with intentions that could be nefarious towards a cute thing like you.
He’s not being paranoid by thinking that those standing around you aren’t good people – he’s just being realistic. He knows from experience with his own sister and female friends that men are horrible, invasive, creepy, violent, dangerous, and he doesn’t think it’s so bold of him to say that his concern for you is well-placed.
At least, his concern about your danger – his brows furrow a bit as the man beside you reaches into his pocket for something, and every muscle in Rintarou’s body tenses as he stiffens up against the wall of the platform he’s leaning against, some ten feet away.
His whole body is prepared, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice on the off chance the man pulls a knife or camera or something bad –
Your pretty voice cuts off any panicked thoughts racing through the brunette’s head, your words startling him. Is that a charm on your phone case? I love that character! Is he your favorite from the show?
Rintarou’s defenses relax slightly, but at the pleasantly shocked expression on the man’s face, he’s immediately tensing up again.
However, as the man responds with a modest affirmation, Rintarou finds himself tense for an entirely different reason – you’re smiling at this man, chatting with him of your own volition.
There’s a gold watch sitting on the man’s wrist, and with a downturning of the blocker’s lips, he notices that the man’s white dress shirt is perfectly pressed, his sleek navy dress pants following suit. His hair is neatly combed back, perfectly messy, and his features are attractive as he smiles down at you. Rintarou’s stomach turns, nausea settling in his gut.
Fuck.
His own boring brown sweatshirt and cream cargo pants look stupid in comparison to this man’s professional, clean appearance – and maybe you’d like that more?
Maybe you’re interested in men with real jobs, not just a sport.
Maybe you’re interested in men that attend business meetings, have clients, have framed degrees sitting on the walls of their offices. Rintarou bites his lip, his teeth threatening to break the skin as his fingernails dig into his palms.
Fuck.
It’s torture, watching as you converse with the man, the train taking forever to arrive – the conversation turns to other shows the both of you watch, and while Rintarou is pleased to learn you don’t have many others in common, it doesn’t stop the way his throat is drying up, his tongue feeling heavy.
He’s sweating underneath his clothes despite the cold air of the train platform, and with growing worry he watches the way the man takes a step closer to you, showing you some photo of a stupid animated character on his phone and god, Rintarou’s gonna be sick, how do you look like such a good physical match fuck fuck fuck –
He stands up stick straight as the man’s arm comes around to wrap lightly around your shoulder, the side smile he sends you as you look at his phone making Rintarou’s veins alight with fire because how fucking dare he?
He’s just touched you, without your invitation or permission, and it seems you’ve noticed this too – you immediately stiffen up and shuffle back, shaking off his arm and sending him a very obviously uncomfortable look.
The man falters slightly, the smile threatening to slip off his face, but at your curt I just realized I’m on the wrong train, it disappears entirely.
Internally, Rintarou debates his next course of action – you’re hurriedly speed-walking away, making a point to keep your head down and shuffling through the crowds of people that have gathered (distantly, he hears the chimes of the train arriving). Should he follow you, or should he sock that creep in the face?
The man touched you without your permission, made you obviously feel scared and uncomfortable, and that’s utterly unacceptable. Rintarou may be somewhat physically pacifistic, but he will not stand for anything attempting to infringe on your personal space.
You’re his girl, and he’ll let no one make you scared or make you cry – speaking of which, as you quickly pass by him, the brunette spots your eyes reddening, your sniffling alerting him that fuck, you’re about to cry.
His decision is immediately made, and as he follows you up the heavily packed flight of stairs, it’s all too easy to get around and ahead of you, making sure you don’t notice him as he uses his athletic abilities to wait at the top of the stairs.
It’s easy to pretend to bump into you, his hands steadying your shoulders as you squeak out an apology, your eyes widening as you recognize him. And as you utter the small R-rin, he feels his heart break.
You’re his, dammit, and he won’t let some well-dressed, sleazy business man treat you like some common whore – the coffee shop he takes you to has your favorite drink and he knows it, and as you sip on the warm beverage he bought for you, Rintarou feels his heart finally calm.
You don’t want that stranger – you want him, otherwise why would you let him be so familiar and caring towards you? Maybe you’re finally starting to love him, too.
TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:
For Rintarou, he genuinely wants your relationship to be as close to normal as possible.
He wants the two of you to fall in love, date, get married, have a family and grow old with each other, and he knows that kidnapping isn’t exactly the most conventional method of doing this.
He’s more than aware that if he were to steal you away and forcefully relocate you by his side, you’d probably be less than pleased. You’d probably be afraid of him, hate him, want either him or yourself to be dead, and just the thought of that honestly breaks Rintarou’s heart.
He hates the prospect of you being displeased with him; he lives to please you, his every thought revolving around seeing you smile and hearing your pretty voice whisper that you love him, and if you were trapped under his roof, would you ever smile again?
Would you ever make (adorably) stupid jokes that get Rintarou’s eyes rolling and his heart pumping out of his chest?
Would you let him brush his hand against yours, fingers reaching out just slightly in the barest hint of attempting to interlock your fingers?
He knows the answer, of course: no, you wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t expect you to. He wants you to love him, not placate him by pretending to be in love.
Of course, he can’t deny that the idea of keeping you with him at all times, dependent and paying attention only to him is really quite appealing.
There’s something beautiful about the idea of you always being there when he needs you to be; your pretty face always available for him to reach out and cup, your cheeks in his hands as you stare up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted slightly as you whisper his name.
There’s something incredibly enticing about the prospect of bringing home takeout for the both of you (maybe he can even commission Osamu to give him a discount at Onigiri Miya – he’s not holding his breath), your eyes lighting up as you see the door open, quickly throwing your arms around his shoulders and peppering his face with kisses as you tell him thank you, this was exactly what I wanted!
There’s aspects about kidnapping you that are so, so wonderful, but it would take quite a bit for him to actually steal you away. As a result, he’ll push off the intense urge to just wrap you in his arms and keep you there forever for as long as he possibly can - that is, until something happens that pushes him to the limit.
Say, for example, you develop a liking for another man - given how Rintarou’s eyes are on you at almost every moment of the day, he’ll notice the way you start staring, leaving lingering glances at a certain someone, how your voice gets higher and you clean up your appearance when they walk by.
It hurts, and he can only take so much of you fawning over another man before he snaps - and so, he’ll be climbing into your room in the wee hours of the morning, pausing for a moment to stare down lovingly at your sleeping form, a heavy blush and gentle smile playing on his features while he caresses your hair.
He’ll cover your nose and mouth gently with the chloroform soaked rag, before he’s lifting you into his arms and leaving, marveling at how your body fits perfectly against his own. In that moment, he’s absolutely sure that it’s the right decision to steal you away - after all, the two of you are just so fucking perfect for one another.
Plus, if he acts correctly, you’re bound to fall for him – Stockholm Syndrome, even if it takes a while.
Right?
As a captor, Rintarou isn’t terrible - he’s still very quiet, but he’s attentive to your needs, almost so much so that it’ll scare you.
He always seems to know what you need or want before you do – almost like he can read your mind, which you’re almost convinced he can. Those narrow eyes will watch you as you bite your lip and contemplate, practically seeing the gears turning in your head as he simply stares from across the room.
He’ll be by your side with a glass of water before you even realize you’re thirsty, telling you to drink it all, you’ll get dehydrated if you don’t.
He’s giving you an extra hoodie before you even register that you’re cold, nimble fingers trembling slightly as they brush against the soft skin of your shoulders, brushing aside your hair so that the hood rests comfortably against your neck.
He knows you like the back of his hand, and it really shows once you’re under his control. And while it may be disorienting and creepy that he seems to know everything about you, even things you’re absolutely sure you’ve never told another soul, somewhere in the back of your mind you’ll slowly begin getting more fond of the middle blocker.
Slowly, you’ll start warming up to him, his monotone voice and blank looks growing on you the longer you’re trapped with him. Because really, while he kidnapped you, he’s not that bad – you could be dead and tied up in a ditch somewhere if it had been someone else to break into your home that night.
You could be gagged and tied to a post, your body violated and abused to the point of nearly dying if it wasn’t Rintarou that developed an obsession with you.
He could be much, much worse - he doesn’t lay a hand against you, and while he may force you to cuddle with him, eventually your hatred for him will lose against the overwhelming need for human contact and affection - something that he is more than willing to give you.
Honestly, you’ll be scared of the middle blocker and his vast knowledge on you, but the more you find yourself wrapped up in his arms and resting against his warm chest while he whispers sweet compliments and words of love in your ears, you’ll grow less and less scared and more and more happy to be with him.
Because when he’s promising you the world, telling you he’ll give you anything and everything you could ever want (besides your freedom, of course), you’ll never feel more desired, valued or cared for. You’ll discover a few weeks into your captivity that he desperately, desperately craves physical contact with you.
There’s a reason all his touches are light and gentle, his fingers almost afraid to touch you, and the first time you let him hold your hand or hug you you’ll understand why immediately – and how can you not?
How can you not realize the depth with which he's wanted to hold you when you feel the tear drip onto your shoulder from his cheek the first time he caresses you against his chest?
How can you not be aware that he’s wanted to horribly to kiss you when he lets out the most wanton, pathetic moan you’ve ever heard the first time you place a kiss against his cheek?
And although it’s fucked up, you’ll come to enjoy the way Rintarou is so dependent on you, the way he’s so clearly gone out of his way to make sure that you stay with him, and you’ll grow to be just as in love as he is - Stockholm Syndrome will set in, and really Rintarou couldn’t be happier.
Because when you’re telling him you love him back, cuddling him with your own free will, kissing him and running your hands over his body, he thinks that there’s nothing in the world better than this. Even if he did have to unfortunately kidnap you, it was all worth it; because now, the two of you can live out the future he’d always hoped you’d have.
PUNISHMENTS:
Similarly to his reluctance to kidnap you, Rintarou absolutely does not want to punish you in any way, shape, or form.
The possibility of hurting you makes him physically ill, whether it be emotionally, mentally, or physically. He can’t rationalize the idea of hurting you simply to prove a point to you – he’d be a monster to do that, right?
He’s already gone too far by kidnapping you, so he’s extremely reluctant to undergo any sort of discipline towards you. Frankly, the punishment would hurt him more than it would hurt you – he wouldn’t be able to look himself in the mirror for days, instead only seeing flashes behind his eyelids of the way you’d cry and beg him to stop, your broken sobs and pleas haunting his nightmares.
He doesn’t think he’d be able to physically do it, anyways – he’d have to quit halfway through, his nose tingling as tears threaten to slip down his cheeks while he sprints out of the room. He’d have to compose himself, to put on a mask and pretend to be someone he’s not; he’d have to pretend to be someone who enjoys seeing you in pain, who likes to see you upset and sad, as if he doesn’t live for you laughter, smiles and loving touches.
The whole concept is just too much for him – however, that isn’t to say that Rintarou is entirely lenient. He’s forgiving as far as captors go; it takes quite a bit to upset him, and while he’s always silently disappointed when you refuse to hug him or acknowledge his presence and words, he’s not driven to the point of abusing you.
He’ll just stare at you with that same impassive gaze he always seems to have, though if you look closely you’ll see the way his brows are tilted upwards in the middle, his lips parted slightly, devastation plain as day in those calculating eyes.
He doesn’t get mad at you when you lash out at him – he doesn’t enjoy when you hit him, swinging your arms wildly as you cry and plea with him to let you go, but he’ll just let you smack him, maybe dodging a few swings before ultimately deciding he deserves this, you should be punishing him for his wrongdoings.
He doesn’t even get mad when you try to escape – he understands why, even if it hurts him. He’s always plagued by doubts when you attempt these escapes, though; wondering what he can do to make you happier, if he can make you happier. He’s wondering how to get your old personality back, because this new somewhat shell of yourself isn’t the woman he fell in love with and he’s scared that if he doesn’t get you back now, you may be gone forever because of him.
He doesn’t even get mad when you lash out and tell him that you hate him, that he’s despicable and a terrible person! I wish I’d never met you, I wish I’d met a normal man who wasn’t a pervert psychopath!
Your insults hurt, of course, but Rintarou has tough (ish) skin when it comes to you – he’ll maintain his composure, trying to not let his voice waver as he insists you eat the food, please, you need to.
It hurts so fucking bad, but he can take it – however, the one thing he can’t take is when you say you don’t need him.
It’s his selfless tendencies, really, that make this very specific attack so hurtful and dangerous for him. It’s the months and months of trying to make your life easier by doing your daily tasks for you that make him snap, his jaw clenching so tightly you can see it, his hands shaking as rage rolls through him. It’s the only situation in which he’ll genuinely feel enraged at you – how dare you?
He’s spent countless thousands of hours trying to help make you happy and save you work, and this is how you repay him? Ungrateful, even if you didn’t ask for his help.
Even if you didn’t want it. It strikes a chord within him, and as you whisper the words while you shrink away from him at the dinner table, Rintarou drops his utensils against the ceramic, making a noise much too loud in his silent condo.
He’ll stare at you, a thousands emotions flitting through his eyes, and for a moment you feel genuine, unbridled fear – he’s never looked at you so shocked, with so much visible emotion on his face.
He’s never uttered out the words he speaks in that moment – get up. You’re coming with me.
You’ll be scared, shaking your head and trying to backtrack from what you said because there’s something about this new side of Rintarou that’s making your heart race, that’s making goosebumps appear on the back of your neck and down your spine.
Rintarou feels a flash of guilt at the way you’re cowering away from him, your pretty face all twisted up and fear and confusion, but your words keep ringing through his head.
I don’t need you. I don’t need you. I don’t need you.
It drives his legs to move, his arms reaching out and lifting you up, despite your pleas and attempts to wiggle out of his grasp. He’s always been strong, and no matter your weight he's carrying you down the stairs, listening with a heavy heart as you start to cry, shaking in his hold as you slowly give up on fighting.
He carefully sets you down on the sofa in the basement, the small space only furnished with said sofa, a chair, a TV (that has been locked with a password only Rintarou knows), and a bathroom with a sink that only ever spouts cold water.
With a heavy sigh, Rintarou looks at your quivering form and reaches above you to grab the stringy blanket he keeps draped over the couch, noticing your confusion as you watch.
This hurts to do, really – he’s already feeling the guilt as he moves towards the door separating the basement from the stairway up to the rest of the condo, a frown on his face and his eyes softening. You do need me, he says softly, almost hesitantly, before closing the door, seeing your panicked face staring at him from the couch.
The thermostat is right outside the doorway, and with a heavy heart he’s turning the settings down, applying the air conditioning at such an extreme level that he’s worried for a moment you’ll freeze to death.
He hadn’t wanted to do this, truly – keeping the basement freezing cold while stripping you away from any source of warmth hadn’t been his most pleasant idea, but it was the most useful.
You need to understand that you need him – he’s taking care of you, and he's been taking care of you for much longer than you know.
You need to understand that you must rely on him – he’s your protector, and while he’d never enjoy hurting you, as he continues to turn the settings down until the sliver of cold air from underneath the doorframe touches his toes, his resolve slowly weakens.
He can hear you crying now – it’s been a good fifteen minutes, surely long enough for you to notice the dropping temperature, and he can hear your pleas of his name to let you out.
You must be cold – you’d been wearing only his t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts, hardly the clothing for nearing freezing temperatures.
He stands outside the doorway for the whole thirty minutes he leaves you in there, a silent tear trail running down his cheeks, his heart aching as he forces himself to wait just one more minute, so that you can understand that he’s serious.
He needs you to realize he’s not joking; you do need him, and as he exhales sharply and raises the heat up, swinging open the door, he nearly gasps at the cold temperature of the room.
He’s quick to dart in and find you, who’d moved to try and wrap yourself with the couch cushions, only to find their flimsy, cheap quality did next to nothing to insulate you.
You’re shaking, your jaw clattering as your eyes slowly move to his, and for a horrible, horrible moment Rintarou wonders if you’re going to die – you look frozen, as if hypothermia had already claimed your life. But then you shakily, hoarsely whisper out his name.
He lets out a near-sob of relief and scoops you into his arms, the guilt weighing even more heavily on his heart because he did this to you. He’s sprinting up the stairs with you, wrapping you up in the mountain of blankets and pillows he’d prepared, wiping away the nearly frozen tears on your cheeks as he coos your name.
You snuggle further into him, desperately seeking his warmth, and as the both of you lay on his bed, Rintarou can only pull you closer to his chest, letting his tears flow freely now, his lips moving as well.
Please, please don’t ever say that again, please understand that you need me and I need you. Please. Tell me you understand me.
And when you shakily whisper out that you do, you’ll find that you actually mean it – because if he’d left you in there longer, maybe you would’ve died.
He’d never let you actually pass, but still – maybe it’s best to just listen to what he says, yeah?
And as you slip into a dreamless slumber, you find yourself settling into his embrace, deciding that yes, you’re nothing without him.
OVERALL DANGER:
4/10
In general, Rintarou is much more of a hovering love struck fool rather than a genuinely dangerous man.
Of course, he’s constantly watching you, following you home and observing your every move, but he honestly has no ill intent.
He doesn’t want to hurt you, to play with you or cause you any kind of negative emotion; you mean the absolute world to the middle blocker, and he’s waited all these years for the one to show up. And now that you have, he’ll do everything in his power to keep you with him, to keep you loving and happy and dependent on him.
He wants the two of you to have a flawless relationship, and although it’s obviously not the case considering the fact that he knows the location of each and every mole on your body before he’s even held your hand, he wants to get it as close to the real deal as possible.
He wants you to love him and want him, and while his methods aren’t ideal, Rintarou is determined.
He’s your silent shadow, doing you favors without expecting anything in return and keeping track of your whereabouts. He’s making sure you get home safe everyday without a hair touched on your pretty head, those narrow eyes watching you and everyone around you’s every move.
And at some point, his soft touches and thoughtful gestures will get to you - after all, wouldn’t it just be so much easier to give in? To give him the love and life that he wants?
You’ll convince yourself that he isn’t that bad, that he’s just blinded by love and his desire for you. And although it’s wrong, you’ll grow flattered by his devotion, and you’ll come to love him as well - and really, Rintarou couldn’t be happier.
You’re his dream, and he’ll never give up on you.