Don’t Slouch (Tsukishima X Reader)

Ten to None (Gojo x Reader/Soulmate AU)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Soulmates’ markings add up to ten so soulmates know just how much of a danger their soulmate is to them. You have a ten on your wrist, so you know your soulmate must have a zero. There’s just one problem: no one in history has ever been worthy of a danger rating of ten, so who the hell is the supposedly “invincible god” were you fated to? 

A/N: yikes that summary. Anyways, nobody got a soulmate au gojo out there that tickles my fancy, so here I am writing my own. Hope y’all like it! (Side note: this took me fucking A G E S)

Word count: 10406

        “A ten. Dear God.”

        “Oh-Oh my God, what do we do?”

        “Nobody’s ever had… Jesus.”

        A nurse had fainted when she saw the ten on the inside of your soft, newborn right wrist. The font was curling and slanted, almost as if it had been written nonchalantly with a few flicks of the wrist. Two black digits marred the plump flesh, unmissable. 

        Unmissable no matter how much your parents averted their gaze each time they saw it. 

        It wasn’t until kindergarten when your local bully ripped off the bandaid your parents pleaded with you to keep secure over your right wrist that you realized just how odd your number was. A circle of curious, mumbling five-year-olds formed around you, each one holding out their own wrists to compare. 

        Threes, twos, a couple fives and perhaps even a seven appeared in your vision. None of their wrists had been abraded by a freshly torn-off bandaid. 

        “Hold on, doesn’t it go one, two,... three, um…”

        “No, no, it’s one, two, four-”

        “Hey, what’s going on over here?” 

        Your swarming flock had gathered the attention of a recess aid. Her neon yellow fanny pack almost blinded you as she pushed through the crowd and towered over your cowering form. 

        “They’re m-making fun of me,” you whimpered, snot dribbling down onto your upper lip

        “Why’s her number so big?” Another child cut in, pointing an accusatory finger at your forearm. 

        The aid never responded to the other child’s question, nor did she defend you from them. Instead, when her gaze locked on the number on the inside of your wrist, she gasped. 

        Profanities your whole class had never heard were exposed to them that day, which they promptly repeated at any given chance out of the watchful gazes of adults. The recess aid had whispered them under her breath, eyes wide behind the sunglasses drooping on her nose. When she grabbed at your arm, she wrenched you up and glanced at your wrist once more, blinking a couple times as if to make sure it wasn’t the blinding sun in her eyes. 

        “Jesus Christ.”

        “Hey, I know him!”

        Then she hauled you off to the principal’s office, who promptly contacted your parents and told them of the incident.

        You were homeschooled from then on, and while other kids participated in afterschool clubs like soccer, basketball, and volleyball, you took classes in self-defense. When other kids were learning how to pass and set, you were learning seven ways to take down a man if he had you in a chokehold. 

        Weak points of the human body that, if struck quickly and at the right angle, would leave it paralyzed. The most efficient techniques for attacking opponents bigger than you. How to debilitate an attacker from behind; from the front; from either side. This was the foreign language you learned while others your age studied Spanish, French, even Japanese. 

        You couldn’t remember the last time you’d encountered a boy your age without the intent to use him as a sparring partner. You doubt you even knew how to carry a conversation with one--yet another everyday part of life you’d never been taught. 

        When you’d hit puberty, it seemingly shook your parents to the core. It was like they forgot they were raising a daughter and not a warrior--at the sight of blood, you could see they fought their inner instincts to ask how you would defend yourself against an attack like such at a later date. 

        It was one of the many battles they’d never thought to prepare you for--the many battles of everyday life. 

        “What is it?”

        “It’s called a pad, dear.”

        “Where do I put it?”

        “In your underwear, dear.”

        “Why am I bleeding?”

        “I-er, didn’t you read that book we gave you, dear?”

        You gave that book a dismissive glance the night before, skimming past chapters labeled “Periods,” “Hair Everywhere,” and “Boys, Boys, Boys” before tossing it aside and picking up Sun Tzu’s Art of War. 

        “Yes, I did.”

        “Good, dear. Then you should know why.”

        Your parents had never intended to be as cold and distant as they were; it was just a side effect of raising a child they had always viewed as destined for death. 

        After all, surely that’s what the ten on the inside of your wrist meant, right? 

        10.

        Ten. 

        十.

        Diez.

        Dix.

        X.

        You knew it in every language. It was easy, since people from all around the world were curious about you. Your parents received emails from scholars and historians on a daily basis, either with new inquiries or old news. Everyone always had the same thing to say: this has never happened before. 

        People have come close, of course. The strong paired with the weak had soulmate numbers paired eights-to-twos or sevens-to-threes. Humans destined to become curses even found themselves with soulmates whose wrists contained nines, while theirs held ones. 

        One figure you’d grown particularly interested in was the King of Curses, Ryoumen Sukuna. The most powerful curse to have ever lived, and even he only had a one on his wrist when he was a human. In every drawing or depiction you’d ever seen, at least one of his four arms had the single digit in black ink on his wrist, if not all of them. 

        So if even he was not worthy of a ten, what kind of unknown monster were you destined to be with?

                                ~~~

        Jujutsu sorcery. The next--and most difficult--form of combat you planned to master. It interested you mainly because it offered a wide variety of mediums with which to focus your power. Though you’d mostly trained with only your body your whole life, occasionally you’d dabbled in using weaponry. 

        Cursed energy, it seemed, was something that you had a large amount of. Born from negative human emotions, the more cursed energy a human harbored, the more damage they could inflict upon others. 

        This was the key to protecting yourself from the unpredictable dangers of your soulmate. Learning and mastering it seemed so easy--get angry, project that anger onto opponents, win the fight. The only problem was that many of your prior training encouraged restraint and objectivity. On the surface, your moods could be flicked on and off like a switch, but deep down you struggled to truly revel in any emotion.

        You practiced in the dim, dark dojo you often borrowed from a local karate class, slashing through mid-air with a bo staff. Sweat dripped down your temple as you envisioned some form in front of you. A shadowy monster of sorts, eyes glowing in its own darkness, dodging each and every one of your swipes. 

        It laughed at your attempts, its translucent body of black smoke shifting and gliding around the room. This was the enemy you always imagined, teasing and taunting you as though you never had a chance to defeat it. Whenever you attempted a vanquishing blow through its heart, whether by fist, bo staff, or wooden sword, it would encircle your blow, forming around it in an oval. 

        A zero. 

        It only took one fight, you battling your shadow creature with a cursed-energy charged bow and arrow, to realize that the monster you’d been picturing was your soulmate. Blue streaks of energy darted around the shaft of every arrow you fired, zipping around faster and faster the more you missed. 

        “C’mon,” you hissed under your breath, swiping a hand through your hair and tugging out a few strands in the process, getting them caught on the finger tab of your leather glove. Silence choked the atmosphere of the dojo, the moon long being the only lighting of the room. A bead of sweat dripped down into your eye, blurring your vision as you nocked another arrow. 

        Another chuckle filled the room, incoherent yet achingly familiar. You stayed low, one knee against the ground while you leant forward on your other, bare foot. But as you searched for your opponent, the dojo seemed to grow. 

        The sparring pads beneath you stiffened, and fresh blades of grass began sprouting up and licking at your bare feet. The white walls and glassy mirrors blurred, giving way to miles and miles of flat, green plain. A gray sky took the place of the low-hanging ceilings, clouds rumbling in the air but never giving off anything more than a light mist that flattened the strays on your scalp. 

        “What the hell…” you trailed off, taking in the new landscape before you. A concentric circle of stark white roses surrounded the large plain you sat in the middle of, and far beyond that was a wall of trees. Fresh air filled your lungs instead of the dank staleness you had been accustomed to during any fight. Now, with so much free space around, you felt so much more relaxed, no longer afraid of damaging the dojo while practicing your cursed energy techniques. 

        “But where the hell am I?” you wondered aloud. It wasn’t like you had teleported anywhere. If anything, it wasn’t you who had changed at all--it was the world around you that had begun to take a new form. You let the leg you kneeled against collapse, slumping to the ground in a figure four. The bow in your hand lay long forgotten beside you.

        It was a new… domain. You knew that word. But from where?

        As you racked your brain, the grass beside you melted away, an object pushing its way to the surface of the soil. A book sat face up, its spine familiarly crinkled from your recent weeks of flipping through it. 

        Cursed Techniques for Dummies.

        Though droplets of rain fell against the paperback book, they never wrinkled the pages. Instead, they slid right off as though the pages were laminated, sinking back into the soft soil underneath you. 

        Sticky notes stood out at the top of the book, small labels written on them in your own handwriting for each chapter. A blue slip with the word “domain” caught your eye, and you snatched up the book, flitting past chapter after chapter of techniques. 

        “‘A confined environment created using large amounts of cursed energy. Within personal domains, the creators are granted greater power at the cost of using an exhausting amount of energy. The longer a creator maintains his or her domain, the more fatigued he or she may become.’” You stopped the pad of your finger at the edge of the sentence, glancing up and around at the space before you. It seemed by the sheer size of your “domain,” your amount of cursed energy was greater than what you expected. 

        Your only concern was how to get out. No part of you felt weary like the book had warned; there was no pressing headache or tiring muscles. In fact, you felt more energetic like you had in ages. Perhaps it was the boost in your powers that your own domain had promised, or perhaps it was something else entirely.

        “All right, all right,” you glanced around, critiquing the area, “definitely seems like my kinda place.” Pushing yourself up onto your feet, you reached low for your bow, patting your back and feeling for your quiver. After you found it, you tugged an arrow out and nocked it, pulling back the string with a deep breath in and searching for your target. 

        “Come on out, buddy. May as well play while the going is good, eh?”

        But your shadow never appeared. The familiar black mist you always seemed to summon while practicing alone never manifested before your eyes no matter how many times you spun yourself dizzy. 

        It was gone. In your domain, it was gone. 

        The thought seemed to leave your chest a little lighter, and the blue streaks of lightning dancing around the shaft of your arrow sizzled and melted away. You let your arms fall to your sides, rolling your shoulders back and finally letting out your breath. 

        Then your eyes returned to the book still lying on the ground, open as a small breeze ruffled the pages. “Cursed energy, huh?” you hummed thoughtfully, setting the bow back on the ground while reaching for the book. Rustles and crackles sounded behind you, and when you fell back with the book in your hands, you collapsed into a cushioned sofa, somewhat out of place among the grassy plain.

        “What else ya got for me?”

                                ~~~

        “Domain expansion!”

        The dank alley’s downpour faded away into a fine spray of droplets, and the sky lightened from pitch black to slate gray. Crumbling asphalt and busted blue Dumpsters blurred away, replaced by a field of green grass and blossoming white roses. In the distance, the trees shivered with the force of the curse’s blows.

        But they never made it any farther than that. You’d spent five years mastering that technique after accidentally slipping into your domain on your eighteenth birthday. An insurmountable wall of trees barred any enemy from entering your domain, allowing you time and distance to steady yourself and recover during a fight. 

        In all of your ventures through books on cursed energy techniques, you’d never once come across anything like it. Domains were made to be advantageous fighting grounds, not havens for rest and recovery. But due to your lack of official training in any form of jujutsu sorcery, you had to use mostly unconventional tactics in many of your battles against curses throughout the last few years. And, you had to admit it worked quite well. 

        Another strong blow shivered your barrier of trees, their branches swaying from the force, but it only served to worsen your growing headache more than anything else. You crumbled onto your hands and knees, completely missing the leather sofa you kept summoned for quick naps or reading times, and curled up into a ball on your side, cradling your ribs beneath your palms.

        This cursed spirit was unlike any other you’d ever faced. It crawled on all four of its twisted arms with jagged bones tearing out of the leathery skin of its back, forming points like spades. At least three times your size, the monstrosity had three eyes forming an upside down triangle and a mouth layered with three rows of shark-like teeth. The drool spilling from its mouth was frothy and green, and when it had hit the asphalt of the dead-end alley in which you’d found it, it bubbled against the ground and melted the tar. 

        Inside of its wrist lay a “1.”

        “What the fuck,” you wheezed, squeezing your eyelids closed hard enough to see stars. “What the fuck kinda steroids is that thing on?”

        There was a constant ache in your side from when it had first slammed you into the concrete, no doubt leaving a rib cracked and broken. You just hoped there was no internal bleeding. 

        “Holy shit.” You scrambled up onto your hands and knees, coughing and sputtering on a sudden flood of metallic liquid climbing up your throat, painting the patch of grass crimson. Subconsciously, you acknowledged the black and blue knuckles on your dominant hand, no doubt caused by trying to throw the first punch after the cursed spirit had dodged your arrow. 

        10.

        Son of a bitch. 

        “Fuck!” You slammed a bare palm against the grass, teeth gritted and gaze narrowed. “Who are you?!”

        Like usual, you expected no response. 

        Except something had changed. 

        That damned laugh you had always heard but could never make out echoed in the distance, perking your ears. The same one that had haunted your dreams since you first realized what your soulmark meant. The same one you envisioned battling each time you trained.

        The laugh that promised defeat.

        With haste, you fumbled onto your feet, ignoring an oncoming wave of nausea that resulted, and eyed the wall of trees encapsulating your domain.

        Your body wasn’t ready to leave its refuge, bones and muscles aching, crying out with every movement. When you stepped forward, your knees wobbled. When you released your domain, a splitting headache blinded you for half a second. 

        Panic struck when you patted down your body only to remember the curse had crushed your bow to splinters, sparing only the lone arrow in your quiver on your back for self-defense. 

        Apparently, though, you didn’t need it. The cursed spirit, still snarling and chomping its slobbering jaw at you, had each of its palms stuck to the large puddle of melted tar that had formed beneath it in your absence. When more of its own saliva dripped from its mouth, it slid down the dip in the alley the puddle had formed and made contact with the hands of the spirit, who screeched in pain. Welts rose from where the saliva made contact, and it dawned on you that the curse wasn’t immune to its own acid. 

        Without a second thought, you reached back for the arrow, not bothering a glance at the serrated tip before slicing it through the soft tissue of the monster’s throat. Black blood coated your hand by the time you tugged the arrow from its flesh, hot and sticky against your skin but otherwise harmless. 

        The cursed spirit crumpled to the ground with a silent cry, more and more dark liquid pooling around it and spilling into the cracks of the asphalt. The first time you had encountered and gutted a spirit, you wanted to hurl at even the sight of such a deformed monster.

        Now, you gave in to that urge, especially when a small, long object slithered out of its slashed neck, riding a fresh wave of blood that carried it all the way to your feet and thumping against your combat boot.

        “Dear God.” You wiped the back of your unbloodied hand against your mouth, grimacing. “What in the Goddamn fuck- is that a finger?!” You stepped away, reeling back and kicking the monster in the stomach one last time. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

        The slumped form jolted from the force of the kick, but otherwise remained still. You studied it long and hard one last time before turning away. “Yeah, you know what? Never mind. Dumb question.” 

        Your gaze found the finger once more, eyeing the long, sharp nail and the bone sticking out of its amputated end. It looked nothing like an average human’s finger, the skin far too wrinkled and ragged. But then what was it? And why would the cursed spirit eat it?

        Of course, there was always the chance the curse had an affinity for such snacks. 

        But you had also read that some objects interwoven with enough cursed energy could grant anyone immense power when used or consumed. 

        You guessed, with it being a finger and all, the cursed spirit had chosen the latter route. 

        “Ugh, am I really gonna do this?” You squatted next to the finger, lip curled as you reached out your hand.

        In one quick breath, you snagged the finger, hucked it back into your empty quiver, wiped your hand on your pants with a “gross, gross, gross,” and sprinted back to your apartment to take a two-hour long decontaminating shower to rid yourself of the days events and more. 

                                ~~~

        The plane, you’d decided after being thirteen minutes into a fourteen-hour long flight, was too stuffy. Of course, you shouldn’t have expected much. When the principal of Tokyo Jujutsu High had called and offered you a teaching job for future jujutsu sorcerers, he had been a little hesitant to shell out the money for a twenty-thousand dollar first-class flight for someone he had yet to interview. 

        The call had been… interesting, to say the least. 

        “Is this YN YLN?” a man with a monotonous voice had asked with a hint of a Japanese accent.

        “This is she. Who’s asking?”

        “My name is Masamichi Yaga, and I’m calling on behalf of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School. Recently, I’ve gotten word that you’ve come across a cursed object we’ve been searching for.”

        “You mean the finger?” Ah shit, maybe you were supposed to keep quiet about that.

        “Yes… the finger. We were impressed to hear you defeated a cursed spirit in possession of the object all on your own, as well.”

        “Shi-uh, I mean, thanks.”

        “One of our teachers witnessed the fight and reported back to us about your natural skill in jujutsu sorcery despite any professional training. If you’re open to it, we’d like to interview you for a potential job at our school, if only to introduce our students to your technique. How does that sound?”

        Expensive as hell is what it had sounded like. But also… “Hold on, someone saw that fight?” The laugh…

        “Yes, one of our best. And if the ten on your wrist is any indication, we think you’ll want to come meet him.”

        You had tensed up on the sofa, pulling the phone away with wide eyes and pinching yourself to make sure you weren’t actually asleep. While holding your phone, your bare wrist faced up, the bold, black ten almost grinning at you.

        The Ten. He had watched you in that fight. 

        The fucking laugh. 

        “Ms. YLN?”

        “Sorry,” you hurriedly pressed your phone back to your ear, heart rattling around beneath your ribcage. “Sorry, what did you say?”

        “Would you like to come over for an interview? All expenses paid.”

        A potential job served up on a golden platter. It was almost too good to be true. Almost. Your soulmate obviously had some sway at this school, and the thought made you nervous. His number obviously made him a physical threat, but if he also had a whole school for jujutsu sorcery under his thumb…

        Obviously, you were soulmates with a highly intelligent, professional individual. Just your luck. 

        But who were you to reject the benefits from such a man? You’d barely been scraping by with the money you’d gathered while eradicating curses for the last few years. The evident favoritism, no matter how much it bothered you, was, in the end, giving you a once-in-a-lifetime chance at a career.

        “How could I say no?”

         And that’s how you found yourself on a fourteen-hour flight to Tokyo, sitting stiffly in the blue-leather chair next to and surrounded by several people with personal space and snoring issues. 

        The mark on your wrist burned, and out of nervous habit you ran the tip of your finger over the number repeatedly. Your head pounded along with your growing anxiety, begging for release, and with one more sip of the water the flight attendant had offered you, you sank into your domain, allowing the cramped cabin full of people to fade away into a flourishing plain of lime green grass and pale pink roses. 

                                ~~~

        Tokyo--you’d discovered after seven hours of wandering--was gorgeous. After getting off your flight, you’d quickly realized you’d jumped the gun, having completely glossed over the necessary prerequisites for traveling to a foreign country. 

        To be fair, it wasn’t completely your fault. The Duolingo app wasn’t doing you any favors, what with struggling to download and all. 

        And so stumbling on and off several subway trips, wedging yourself between and through hundreds of random strangers, and battling with your phone for cell reception and data, you’d slowly and carefully traversed over every inch of Tokyo except for Tokyo Jujutsu High. 

        Perhaps it was an exaggeration, but your feet were certainly sticking to those claims. Despite reveling in and among the glowing billboards, advanced architecture, and homemade delicacies that seemed to line every main street, your body--and wallet--could only handle so much indulgence. After walking around what you were almost positive was the same park for the third time, you decidedly gave in to the blisters forming on your heels and the cramps biting at the bottoms of your feet, collapsing against a wooden bench and moaning in relief. 

        Your first debacle with Google Maps ensued prior to you finally escaping the Tokyo Airport, a fiasco in its own right. It was then that you remembered jujutsu sorcery and even sorcery in general was considered fictitious nonsense, and that googling a school that centered around said nonsense was futile. 

        When you checked your phone, you noticed that some deity had finally taken pity on your soul. A message from the same man that had contacted you, sent three hours ago with a link labeled “Directions to Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.”

        You’d never been so frustrated yet relieved at the same time. Three hours ago? A demon that had formed deep in your belly from your lack of sleep within the last two days combined with the rumbling in your stomach and the aching in the entirety of your body swelled and grew ten times the size, blurring every rational thought in your mind. 

        “FUCK!” You slammed a curled fist into the bench, reeling back in shock when the wood beneath you split in two from the force. Pain radiated from your knuckles, one of them split and bleeding. Just the sight of it pulled you back to all those days of sparring with other people--other boys--and accidentally playing too rough. 

        It was a habit--all your life you’d been pitied for your perceived lack of natural strength. All of the historians and soulmark recorders who’d ever called your parents to tell them about your never-before seen phenomenon had ended every conversation with a “Maybe she should take some self-defense classes. Just in case, you know?”

        You had black belts in seven kinds of martial arts, but instead of being labeled a prodigy, everyone who ever saw the 10 etched in deep black ink inside your wrist viewed you as a poor, unfortunate soul. Every match you’d ever had ended with a bow followed by a “Does your wrist really say ‘ten’? That’s insane!” A gold medal would be placed around your neck or a trophy in your hands, but a simple glance at your wrist and everything you’d ever worked for was stolen from you. 

        “Oh, that’s why.” You knew that’s what they thought. And you hated that it was partly right.

        However, the opportunity to work in a new country with a school full of people who didn’t know of your infamous soulmark (or at least you hoped they didn’t) felt like a breath of cool air for the first time in your life. These people didn’t know you. All they knew was that you were coming to their school with a cursed object and large amounts of potential. 

        That’s why you liked jujutsu sorcery over any other fighting technique you’d done; it prioritized mastering your own fighting style. So, how could someone ever beat you in a fighting style they’d never even seen before?

        They couldn’t. And you loved that. 

        What you didn’t love, though, was the mile-long walk up an extensive trail of white bricks leading you through what should have been the pearly gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High. The second you reached the opening to the school, you felt like army-crawling the rest of the way to the main building where your interview was to take place. 

        You couldn’t though, wanting to save face in front of the…student? Teacher? Whatever he was, he was walking toward you. White hair stuck up from the top of his head, matching oddly with his long, slender body not completely unlike a paint brush. While you battled to catch your breath near the entrance, he approached from about forty feet away. From there, you gauged he was about a head and a half taller than you, his hair only helping aggrandize his height. 

        There was a kind of dignity in the way he walked, confidence oozing off him and curling a corner of his lips. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he was dressed in a fitted, all-black uniform you’d immediately assumed was the mandatory attire for students at the school. He must have felt your wandering eyes because his smirked lips cracked open a sliver, revealing blinding white teeth and a tongue bitten between them. 

        Your feet began moving before your mind realized what was happening and took over. You swerved out of his path and trekked onward in the opposite direction, only realizing that the staggering heartbeat pounding in your ears was practically deafening when his head tilted back to cackle and you couldn’t hear it. The thought saddened you, and a wave of embarrassment overtook that sadness. Head dipping to hide your blush--What the hell was wrong with you!--you let your gaze study the ground, only catching a glimpse of the ants he was about to crush just before his foot steamrolled right over them. Then the chuckling grew louder. 

        Yep, definitely some sort of held-back senior.

        You turned back to watch him as he walked away, fluffy hair bobbing with each step, and it finally clicked. “Was he wearing a blindfold?” you mumbled, eyes wide and arms dangling helplessly by your sides. The suitcases you’d been lugging around for what must have been eight hours now rolled to a stop beside you, and you placed a palm on one of the handles to steady yourself. Your body was buzzing at the sound of his deep chuckle.

        Just who the hell was that guy?

        “YLN YN?” A deep voice suddenly spoke beside you, shocking you out of your stupor with a flinch. You struggled to drag your gaze to the man who loomed beside you, another absolutely terrifying colossus with broad shoulders, sunglasses, and deep lines in his brow. While you wondered what the hell was in the water, the man, who introduced himself as the principal you’d spoken to over the phone, asked, “What’s your first impression?”

        “Of what?” You glanced around, suddenly nervous he meant the school layout you’d been too distracted to observe yet. 

        He gestured his head toward the man still strolling away, who was now whistling a tune. “Gojo Satoru. That’s the teacher who recommended you, the one we believe has your matching soulmark.”

        Your mind fell blank, and your eye began to twitch. 

        10.

        “That was him? That’s the guy who’s worthy of a freaking ten?!”

        “People tend to say that,” he remarked monotonously. In utter disbelief, you looked at the principal, then at the man, then at the principal again, investigating his face for a hint of jest, but it soon became apparent he wasn’t that kind of man. 

        “Are you serious?” The words still slipped out without your volition. 

        He didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded towards the ground where the man had walked earlier. 

        No ant massacre. No little ant workers losing their little ant minds and scrambling around the trampled bodies of their little ant friends. Just a perfectly organized, studious line of tiny black dots holding salvaged crumbs in the same orderly way they’d done it just before the man had--evidently not--stepped on them. 

        “How the hell…”

        You’d seen it. With your own two eyes, you’d watched him step on them. At the very least, if somehow his ginormous feet had managed to miss all fifty or so of them, you’d think they’d at least be scurrying around trying to find better cover. 

        “It’s one of his techniques,” the principal commented, piquing your interest. “It makes him relatively invincible, almost untouchable. It’s called- er, what are you doing?”

        You stay crouched beside your open suitcase, rifling through the folded clothes and toiletries to get to the zipped up, hidden compartment of the hardshell reserved for valuable items. When you fished out what you had been looking for, the principal hummed in thought, but stayed otherwise silent.

        Rising from your squat, you clicked each end of the compound bow into place, extending it from its compact position. Then you nocked one of the few carbon-shafted arrows you’d been able to fit into your suitcase diagonally, narrowing your gaze on your target as you pulled back the bowstring comfortably close to your cheek. One twitch of your fingers and the arrow was let loose, flying towards the middle of your soulmate’s back. 

        He froze at the sound, and you sucked in a breath when it hit its mark. 

        He’s a ten, he’ll be fine. He’s a ten, he’ll be fine. The mantra repeated itself in your head every second your soulmate stood stock still. 

        But then he twisted around, and the arrow stayed levitating in place. Your legs almost collapsed beneath you in…amazement? Maybe relief? You weren’t quite sure. You watched as his head tilted to one side, observing the arrow now pointed towards the center of his chest. Then, with a half-grin, he untucked a hand from his pocket and snagged it from the air with an unceremonious snort. 

        “Well that wasn’t very nice.” He waggled it at you like a discipling finger.

        “Ten,” you could only mumble in response. It was the only thing running through your mind right now, the only word you could even speak. Your eyes were still wide in shock, locked on the arrow that had somehow floated in mid-air. You’d always planned on testing your soulmate in some way, but you’d never really tried to predict the outcome. You’d only ever planned on a before, never an after. 

        “Zero,” he simpered, a teasing lilt in his tone. Though your mind began to hyperfocus on his taunting tendencies, the rest of your body suffered the after-effects of a shiver running down your spine. Would your name sound just as captivating as your number, you wondered.

        “I’m afraid I have a mission to get to,” he continued, unzipping his jacket, “but we’ll be discussing this-” he flourished the arrow at you once more “-later.” Then he pocketed it within his black jacket, zipping himself back up before reaching up to his blindfold. He peeled up one edge of the black cloth, and your jaw grew slack at the sight of long, white lashes bordering a hypnotizing, iridescent blue iris.

        You barely took note of his wink before he slid the blindfold back into place, turning on his heel and waving a hand behind him. “See you soon, zero.”

                                ~~~

        One sip of the golden, bubbly liquid left a hint of apple on your tongue and a slight tingle at the back of your throat. You relaxed further into the cushions of the sofa, sweeping your tongue over the residual foam on your upper lip.

        A cloudless sky filled your domain, and a slight breeze blew back the stray hairs on your forehead whenever the sun grew too hot. You set the flute of champagne back onto the coffee table you’d summoned in front of you just beside the open bottle. Its sides were still sticky from the froth that had overflowed, and the cork was long absorbed by the soil. 

        Japan, you thought, was going to be wonderful. You were still in search of a permanent home in the city, but for the time being the principal--Yaga, he preferred--offered you a dorm on campus. On your campus.

        After presenting him with the wrinkly finger you’d so lovingly confined in thirty layers of paper towels, duct tape, and three Ziploc bags, along with a haphazard resume you’d concocted on three hours of sleep, he’d proposed a trial run of a job. 

        You were a temp. 

        Not only that, you were a babysitting temp.

        “You really think I’m qualified to teach first years?” you asked, though immediately regretted after remembering the “27 Dos and Don’ts for Interviews” you’d memorized beforehand. 

        Do build yourself up.

        Don’t reveal what you suck at in any way possible, no siree bob.

        “Well, I’ll admit that’s not all I expect of you. We are not in desperate need of a first-year teacher, but we believe that the current teacher is someone you could have a good influence on.” It was the first time the daunting man before you had ever avoided your gaze, fiddling with one of the many teddy bears that crowded his office on his lap. 

        The words sunk in after a moment, and the breath was stolen from your chest. 

        “Hold on. Are you saying that I could be working alongside that guy?”

        “Yes.” He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose for just a second. “As much as we believe in his abilities, it is his…” he paused, searching for the right word, “personality that we fear he may pass onto the students instead of his expertise. We don’t need duplicates of Gojo-” he dragged out a sigh,“-but I fear we may already have some in the works. Thus, I hope you may be able to counteract his impression on them.”

        The seat beneath you had long grown hard and stiff, and you fidgeted on top of it. 

        “After all,” he set down his teddy bear, “there was a reason we sent him to report on you in the first place, Ms. YLN.”

        The situation was bittersweet with a little more sweet than bitter, so you had accepted the conditions. Though the thought of working alongside your soulmate had appealed to you at first, that had been before you remembered you’d shot an arrow at him. 

        And how he’d smirked afterwards.

        The wink he’d given you once more resurfaced to the forefront of your mind, and you dropped your head into your hands with a groan. A rapid thumping started in your chest, and you reached out for the flute once more, swallowing the remaining liquid. 

        You cursed under your breath after sweeping the back of your hand across your lips. “Can’t believe it’s one wink and I’m blushing like a little schoolgirl. What the hell’s wrong with me?” With a shake of your head, you kicked off your boots and reclined horizontally along the couch, squirming to get yourself into a comfortable position before dropping an arm over your eyes. 

        A sigh escaped you, and you tried to silence your wandering mind by zoning in on the sounds around you. Wind rustling the grass, new, fresh raindrops pattering against the soil, and your own heart slowly pounding. The cold began to nip at your skin, and you pondered summoning a blanket. 

        Then a rumbling of the ground below you caused you to drop your champagne glass. As it was swallowed up by the earth, you twisted to sit up straight, brows furrowed and eyes searching the line of trees hundreds of yards away. 

        Another tremor, this one strong enough to rattle the bottle on the coffee table. Glass clinked against wood as it finally tipped over, spilling its contents all over the polished surface. You could feel the trembling through your entire body now, teeth chattering as you clutched onto the couch, almost slipping right off.

        Your bow and a full quiver of arrows were spat out by a sudden crack in the earth that sealed itself after they surfaced, and you gathered them up into your arms. Unsteadily rising to your feet, you splayed your arms out for balance, body wavering in effort to not tip over against the force of the quake.

        “What the fuck is happening?” you barked, head darting back and forth to search along the circle of trees around you. Their long branches grew entangled with one another, each thick trunk wobbling as though it was being uprooted as the trees swayed in a new, far stronger gust of wind. Rain poured now, and you slipped on a jacket that emerged from the grass, forcing the hood up and over your head before setting an arrow and pulling back the bowstring.

        Even through the sights you couldn’t see anything, couldn’t aim for anything. Everything was blurry as your eyes rattled around in your skull, a headache born from the hard vibrations of your domain pinching and stabbing at your brain. 

        Someone was trying to get in, you realized. 

        And it was working.

        One more tremble and you dropped to your hands and knees, crying out in agony. It felt like someone had forced their way into your brain and gripped each half, trying to split it apart. You shoved your face against the damp grass, hoping for some relief while bracing both hands behind your neck. Your jaw ached from how hard you clenched your teeth, and you were almost positive blood had begun dripping from your nose. 

        Stop, make it stop. Go away, just make it stop. Stop! Please!

        You felt your body go slack, too tired from being tense for an extended period of time, and you rolled over, allowing the stars in your vision to dance until watching them was too exhausting. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you wormed your arms out from under you to splay out at your sides, the quakes palpable under your fingertips.

        And then it stopped. 

        All of it--all the pain, the headache, the trembling underneath you. All of it had disappeared without a trace, as though it were never even there.

        “Well now, almost caused me a little trouble there.”

        You didn’t even have enough energy to flinch nor to contest when two arms slid underneath your back and knees, hauling you up and a few seconds later dropping you down onto what you assumed was your leather sofa. 

        Two fingers peeled open your eyelid, and white hair filled your vision. Gleaming blue eyes watched you in amusement, and in your peripheral you noticed upturned lips. 

        Such a…dick.

        Your soulmate hummed and pulled his hands away, allowing your lid to close before pressing a hand to your forehead. “Quite a fight you put up for a while there. Almost had me breaking a sweat. Can’t imagine you’re feeling any good.”

        But, to your slight dismay, you were. The feeling of his hands against you, on you, helped the echoes of pain still haunting your body fade away. A strong scent of pine mixed with clean musk and citrus flooded your senses. Unauthorized bliss buzzed along your bloodstream, goading your drained form to lean closer to the sudden source of endorphins.

        “Like shit,” you mumbled. “Your fault.”

        Gojo chuckled. “Maybe next time you should just let me in.” 

        “Hell no.”

        “Mmhmm, we’ll see about that.”

        The hand drifted from your forehead, and in a shameful state of panic you whined under your breath. When he laughed louder, you knew you didn’t want to open your eyes and see the smirk that would greet you.

        “So needy.” His hand palmed your cheek, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone. “Guess I’ll just have to be your doctor until you’re feeling better. I doubt you mind.”

        “Fuck…you…”

        “Soon, zero.”

        “Pervert.”

        He made a noise of objection, but rather than argue with your half-unconscious self, he grumbled something under his breath like “We’ll see about that,” before busying himself with prodding at your face with a tissue. You cracked open your eyes a sliver to see he’d pulled the coffee table up beside you, curling his form over yours to spare you from the easing downpour.

        The tips of his white hair dripped water onto your couch cushions, and only then did you realize his usual blindfold was down and around his neck. 

        Holy shit, is that really the same guy?

        Your gaze traveled farther down, brows furrowing in confusion when you realized he wasn’t wearing the same black jacket from before. In its place was a white, long-sleeved button up, the top button undone and the fabric entirely soaked through. 

        “I heard you got the job.” His voice dragged you out of your daze, forcing your attention up to his face. His eyes flashed when they met yours, an unidentifiable emotion flitting through them that left no trace a second later. “Congratulations.”

        “Yeah,” you shut your eyes once more, hoping to halt any heat rising to your face. “You're sitting on the champagne I was drinking.”

        “Ew.”

        “To be fair, you’re the one who spilled it.”

        “You could’ve warned me.”

        “Where’s the fun in that?”

        He didn’t respond, but his gaze was almost as palpable at the fingertips resting on your cheek. His other hand had long tossed away the tissue he’d used to clean up your bloody nose and was now propped on the couch cushions beside you so he could lean over you better. The rain had slowed to a drizzle now. 

        “So you heard I got the job, but did you hear I’m your babysitter too?”

        He sniggered. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Though you may be more enjoyable to have around.”

        You swallowed at that. “Oh?” Beneath your front was a raging pile of nerves you struggled to stifle. “I’m flattered.”

        “People always are.”

        Well that certainly helped. Your lips pursed in effort to hold back a sneer, but you opened your eyes to glare at him. 

        “Never mind.”

        “Nuh-uh,” he waggled his finger in your face, “can’t take it back now. Speaking of, I think I’m due an apology.”

        Both his hands abandoned their post on and around you, leaving you feeling cold and bare. When he reached toward your body, though, was when you wriggled to get away. He latched onto you, snagging something layered over your body as equally soaked as his shirt. After he lifted it up, you recognized it as his jacket, and something warm filled your chest while he fished something out of it. 

        Okay, he’s one cocky son of a bitch, but that was sweet.

        Then he revealed one of your arrows, the black metal tip all too familiarly engraved with your initials.

        “Anything to say for yourself?” He waved it over your head tauntingly, even tapping the tip of your nose with part of the shaft. 

        You smacked your lips shut, avoiding your gaze. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

        One long, slender finger poked the side of your forehead. “You sure? There must have been some reason for you trying to kill me.”

        You fell silent, and it took two seconds for him to grow bored with your lack of response. “Maybe,” he reached over your body, slipping past his jacket he’d lain over you once more, “just maybe it had something to do with this.” A warm grip on your wrist tugged it into sight, and Gojo slid down the sleeve of your jacket with his other hand. 

        The way the number ten was written matched his personality, you realized. It was dark and firmly settled into your skin with a certain amount of force behind it, but its effortless flow from one digit to the next displayed a level of insouciance you’d only ever seen in the man before you. 

        Gojo’s eyes studied the 10 with intense curiosity, like it was whispering secrets in his ears. His lips squeezed together before parting, words he couldn’t quite seem to grasp lying in wait upon them.

        “I-” you broke the silence first, staring at the number as well, though mostly to avoid his burning gaze, “-I imagine you being born with a zero was much less a dramatic experience than mine.” Your gaze fell to his own wrist, something you’d had yet to see bare. “...Right?”

        The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “My number was an attestation to the power of the Gojo family. You’d think they expected it of me.” He ran the pad of his thumb over the 10, a grin splitting his face when goosebumps rose from his actions. “So, I suppose, then, you may get a pass for shooting at me. But I’ll be keeping this.” His unoccupied hand slipped the arrow back into his jacket pocket. “Maybe I’ll just hang it on my wall from now on.”

        “And if I need it back?”

        “Nope, it's mine now.”

        “In exchange, then,” you sat up straighter, gulping “do I at least get to see your mark?” 

        His mouth softened into a small smile, and he offered his hand to you. “I suppose that’s fair.” Unlike yours, his body did not shiver at your touch. The second your fingertips grazed the palm of his hand, a sound not unlike a purr left him, and you did not bother looking up to his face, already knowing his eyes were on yours in return. 

        You’d grown accustomed to his stare by now, feeling it was something akin to sun rays burning into your skin. Already, too, you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

        0. 

        A little lopsided, larger on one end rather than the other. Bold and black against his lighter colored wrist, and soft to the touch. A sort of narcissistic satisfaction flooded your chest, and your body felt all the warmer for it. 

        “You must like what you see.” Gojo’s voice dragged you out of your reverie. “I know I do.”

        You only realized you were smiling when it fell at his words. Such an ass. You let your hands fall from his wrist onto your lap, and, acknowledging the urge to reach for him once more, you occupied your hands by picking at your fingernails. 

        “Your blush is adorable, you know that?” Without warning, his hand cupped your cheek. He ran his fingertips along your reddened skin, dancing them over your cheekbone and running them behind your ear along with a strand of hair. All the while, he studied your face, chuckling at the veil of wariness that took over. “So cute,” he mumbled. 

        Then he stood up.

        “Well then. I guess I got what I came here for.” His sudden movements gave you whiplash, and you flinched back when he rose to his feet. With two palms planted on his back, he pushed his abdomen forward, groaning at the stretch. 

        You bit your tongue. 

        “Now, I gotta go. It was nice seeing you, zero.” He grasped the blindfold around his neck, sending you one last wink before securing it over his eyes. 

        Out from under the weight of his crystalline gaze, you relaxed back onto your couch, sucking in a short breath. 

        “Three days from now we have our first mission together,” he reached for the coat over your lap, pulling it on and patting down the pockets. The corner of his lips rose. “I’d say be there on time, but I’d hate to keep you waiting. Expect a half-hour delay or more.” 

        He paused and pursed his lips, his head tilting to one side. “Actually, you know what, I’ll just come find you. Make it easier that way.” With that, he turned and walked away, throwing a wave over his shoulder. “See you then, zero.

        “Oh, and next time, I suggest you just let me in. Save yourself the trouble--you’ll know when it’s me.”

                                ~~~

        A fierce wind whistled through the abandoned building, its wooden walls crackling and crying at its touch. Spare leaves scraped along the ground along with broken glass from both fallen photographs and busted windows. Through every hole in the wall filtered in a bit of sunlight, highlighting the dust you and Gojo kicked up with your every footstep. The floorboards underneath you wobbled uncertainly. 

        “Nanami said authorities reported two suspicious persons hiding out inside this building.” You glanced up from the text message, eyeing the torn, bloodstained furniture that lay askew around the room. “So that means there’s two demons after one finger.” You pocketed your phone. 

        “God, that sounds like the worst porn ever.” You hurled a glare at Gojo, who raised his hands in defense. “Am I wrong?”

        “You’re perverted is what you are,” you sighed, massaging a finger against your temple. 

        “But not wrong,” he sang as you both walked on. 

        Another strong gust of wind tore into the room, slamming open the entry door and blowing a tuft of your hair into your face. You spat it out with an annoyed grumble, but just as you reached up to pull the final strands from your lips, Gojo caught your wrist and, in turn, your attention. 

        “Over there,” he gestured his head to a side room that split off from the one you currently stood in. It appeared to be a bedroom judging by the yellowed mattress visible from the doorway, but a rancid scent of spoiled eggs intermingling with dried blood wafted toward you from its direction. With the scent came palpable cursed energy. 

        “One for me, one for you?” you asked, blindly reaching for an arrow in your quiver while removing your bow from around your chest. The energy was so strong you were almost choking on it, and when you took a deep breath to relieve yourself from the pressure, you gagged at the taste.

        Gojo paused, staring at you for a second and watching as you loaded the arrow and pulled back the string. “We’ll see,” he said, reaching up and removing his blindfold. 

        Your grip on your bow faltered, and you relaxed your hold on the arrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

        Gojo did not bother waiting for you nor answering your question, instead disappearing from your side, blue eyes glowing and body cocooned in a sort of translucent, wavering bubble. 

        Then all hell broke loose. 

        A broken squeal pierced your ears before sizzling black blood painted the doorway. The building began rattling more from Gojo’s fight than from the wind outside, and you feared the infrastructure was going to collapse from the pressure. Anxious--and perhaps feeling a bit left out--you darted towards the room, making the subconscious decision to avoid the splatter on your way. 

        The second you stepped foot inside, you found yourself in a domain. From what you could tell, it wasn’t Gojo’s. Though you’d never actually seen his domain, you figured it would look a little less monstrous than the one you were currently in. 

        Concrete rubble crunched underneath your feet. Glistening stalagmites rose from the floor, oozing with a black liquid not unlike tar that made it appear as if they were melting. The black abyss you stood in was sweltering, and almost instantly you felt your long sleeve jacket and pants begin sliding and sticking against your skin. A green fog hung in the air, a medium for the light of the crescent moon dangling in the sky. A monster’s domain indeed. 

        In all your time admiring, you almost missed the figure bounding toward you. A long blue tongue reached out to lap at the side of your face, and you sidestepped just in time, shivering at the hot breath that still managed to reach you where the tongue had missed. The creature blew past you completely, four spindly legs scrambling for purchase in the uneven rubble. 

        “Holy shit,” you gasped, eyes wide as you loaded and aimed your bow. Your chest pounded hard enough to flood your ears, and your heartbeat was palpable in your fingertips. When the monster’s head, resembling a spider’s with a hundred eyes all locked on you and fangs drooping from its mouth, sat on top of your arrow point, you let your fingers slip from the string. 

        “YN!” Gojo’s voice perked your ears, and just as you turned to find him, another spirit, this one twice your size with sharp thorns covering every inch of its body, reached with one large, three-fingered hand for your head, its two eyes deep pits of fire and rage.

        And despair, but you figured it was only your own gaze reflected within his. 

        You envisioned it to be somewhat like a strong man twisting the cap off a pickle jar, or perhaps even squeezing a tomato in his fist hard enough that it bursts, juices flying everywhere. Maybe it would be like being flung around like a ragdoll, body flailing as your head stays trapped in his palm. 

        Whatever it was, you were certain it wasn’t going to feel nice. 

        In one last, hail-Mary attempt, you tried to sink into your domain, to feel the light droplets and the forgiving sofa one last time. “Please,” you whispered.

        Everything grew dark and quiet. White noise rang in your ears, fluctuating with each racing heartbeat that shook its way through your body. When you did open your eyes, there was nothing, not even black darkness in your sight. 

        Nothing. 

        Nothing but a pounding headache, like someone trying to split your head open and read your thoughts like an open book. 

        “YN! YN, wake up!”

        It was him, that voice. But something was wrong, wasn’t it?

        “Come on, you can’t do this to me--I just found you!”

        It was distant, like usual. So far away you could barely hear him. But there was something about his tone–why was he so scared?

        “Wake up for me, YN. Please, just look at me.”

        He wasn’t laughing. His voice sounded so weird when he wasn’t laughing at your defeat, and isn’t that what he’d always done?

        Perhaps, maybe, it was because you’d won for once?

        Or, perhaps, maybe, he’d lost?

        Nonetheless, a short laugh escaped you. A small giggle, accompanied by a snort. Then another chuckle, louder now, because it was just so funny!

        How could a ten possibly lose?

        The very idea was hilarious!

        You cackled louder, wheezing in effort as you braced two hands over your stomach, trying to ease the pain of the action. Your own howls met your ears, sounding even more ridiculous coming from you, and that made you laugh harder. 

        He had gone silent. 

        You opened your eyes a sliver, gray, drizzling skies dampening your face and mingling with the tears already present. Your wrinkled clothes, still damp with sweat, grew cold and clung to your skin. The grass underneath you tickled your bare palms. 

        Gojo. Gojo loomed over you, long fingers paused in their obvious raking through his white hair. His blindfold was nowhere to be seen, and his chest rose and sank in a swift pattern. 

        Opalescent eyes scoured your face, and it was when you felt a pressure on your lips that you realized he had moved to cradle your head in his palms. 

        “What,” he whispered, choking on a breath, “-What was so fucking funny?” 

        All the laughter had been sapped away, slowly deteriorated along with your energy as you let your head relax in his hold. Your hands reached up on their own volition and grasped at his wrist, trying to move him or stop him from moving, you weren’t quite sure. 

        “Am I alive?” you pondered aloud. 

        Gojo shook his head in disbelief, gnawing angrily on his lip before hissing a curse under his breath. He made a move to release his hold on you, and that was when you discovered you were holding him there.

        “Yes. Yes, you are, and I can’t fucking believe it.”

        “You know what’s funny?”

        His eyes snapped to yours. “No, I really don’t. Please, for the love of God, enlighten me.”

        “All my life, I thought you would be this… this sort of invincible god. A ten. I thought you were the one who was going to kill me.”

        “YN-”

        “But you didn’t. You saved me.” You removed his hands from your face, with an evidently necessary amount of force, and wrestled yourself up into a sitting position, your legs splayed out before you. Gojo kneeled beside you, one of his hands insistent on your back. “You were so scared, Satoru. But you shouldn’t be.” You couldn’t help it; you reached up to cup his cheek, wiping away a raindrop from under his eye. “Because no matter how much I don’t like it, I know you have been and you always will be there to save me.”

        Gojo chewed on the inside of his lip, eyes examining every inch of your face as if he was trying to imprint it into memory. You doubted you looked as great as his gaze implied--your hair was a rat’s nest on top of your head, your entire body was trembling, and your eyes were still unsteady from the blows you’d almost taken amidst the fight. 

        “You’re gonna be such a pain in my ass, zero,” he hummed.

        Then his lips captured yours.

                                ~~~

        “So, you…eat…the fingers?”

        “Yep.”

        “Well… are they good?”

        “Nope.”

        You purse your lips and nod. “Okay… but why was your first thought to eat it?”

        Fushiguro shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

        “Will do.”

        You led the group of first years to the school courtyard, directing them toward the center of the clearing where you stood. The sun shone today, blisteringly hot with only a cool breeze every few seconds to offer slight relief. Birds chirped in the trees of the school’s surrounding forest, and Itadori frantically swatted away a few gnats. 

        “All right, everyone, today you will learn my cursed technique.”

        You closed your eyes, focusing a little harder to allow three more people into your domain than usual. You envisioned a plain of grass, a surrounding barrier of roses, then trees. You saw the light gray sky, the cooling drops of rain, the barely-visible sun.

        “Gojo?!”

        And Gojo splayed out on your sofa, arm thrown over his eyes, mouth open to catch flies as he snored. He was a large jumble of long limbs and white hair sitting lopsided on your couch. 

        “Didn’t he say he was on a mission today?” Kugisaki asked, her brow raised. 

        Yuuji creeped toward him, finger outstretched and ready to poke him in the cheek. He met an invisible wall instead. 

        “Are you really surprised?” Fushiguro crossed his arms. “My question is, why’s he in here?”

        Three pairs of eyes turned to you, and, helpless, you shrugged. “Sometimes he breaks in to take naps. I’ve gotten used to it after a while.”

        “Hold on, are you the ‘zero’ lady he’s always talking about?!” Itadori gawked at you, his eyes locked onto your wrist.

        A loud yawn split the air. Gojo, his snores finally silenced, let his arm fall from his face. A smirk danced on his lips when he saw you, but it fell when he saw the three first years. He locked his glowing gaze on their forms and groaned exhaustedly. 

       “Yes she is. My little zero.” He winked at you, then turned his blue glare onto them. “Now scatter, you three. My wife’s domain is my nap space, not yours.”

Wait I have no idea how to work tumblr so I might not have asked to be tagged on my account but my user is bokkubeam :)

Lol, it’s ok, we’ve all done this before

I know I have🥲

Sooooooo... I’m guessing this was you then?

I’m glad you like it!! You’ll def be on the taglist☺️

He is either obsessive or delusional

Oooh both are possible. Honestly, I could see yandere Bokuto fretting over you and constantly asking you if you’re okay and if you’ve eaten enough.

On the other hand, I could also see him walking straight up to you and hugging you until you can’t breathe while you’re all like “uhh, what’s your name again?”

Ngl tho, he’d probably kidnap you under the claims that he wants to keep you safe

The moment you bless us with Daichi+Suga x Y/N will be 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻 I will scream and then pass out and then wake up and READ IT CAUSE EVERYTHING YOU WRITE IS A+++++++++ CONTENT

Mah heart💖❤️💞💛💙💚💞🧡💞💕❤️

Honestly tho thank you sm🥰🥰 this shit made my heart go BUHBUHBUHBUHBUHBUH

It really do be a thirsty idea tho, and bro if I haven’t been waiting to write smth like that👀

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

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

Hello! It’s currently 1 am here and I just finished binge reading the reborn series and I’m just here to say I loved it and it entertained me so much! can I be on the taglist so I get notified when there’s a part six? Thank you :DD

Agdjhdakjd stayin’ up all night just to read fanfiction gang, where ya at?

Anyways, thank you so much! I’m really glad so many people are enjoying it! I’ll for sure put you on the official tag list!

What about an Alternate Ending to pumpkin eater reader where Kuroo sees Y/n dating someone else months or a year later (maybe she can end up with one of the other Haikyuu characters or something?) Cause I don’t forgive cheaters 😤

Pumpkin Eater (Kuroo x Reader) ~Part 2~ Never Again 

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Last night, your friend sent you pictures of Kuroo with some girl at a random club. Not only was he a liar, but he was also a cheater, and you couldn’t stand to be with him after this.

Part 1

Part 2 (Second Chance)

A/N: Uhhh, sooooo, ermmmm. Here you go…? I hope you like it…? Idk honestly. I mean, I totally agree with you on never forgiving a cheater, but also… my other fic was written so much better. Like I’m tired as hell dude. And I’m sorry it’s late, but I rly, rly hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3335

        Buzz. Buzz. 

        “Good God, is that him again?” 

        “...Maybe.” 

        Buzz. Buzz. 

        “Son of a bitch, YN! Just block him already.” 

        “All right, all right fine! I will.” 

        …

        Buzz. Buzz. 

        “OH COME ON!”

        Terushima throws his hands in the air, giving up. You flush and tuck your phone under your thigh, hoping it will silence the buzzing. 

        It was movie night with your new friend/roommate and he had been seriously invested in the film up until about ten o’ clock, or, as you called it, “Kuroo’s whine time.”

        “BLOCK THAT FUCKER!” 

        You knew he wasn’t wrong. In fact, you should have blocked him months ago. Six, to be exact. But deep down, you just weren’t ready to move on yet. 

        “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I turn it on silent.”

        Terushima shook his head and held out his hand, giving you a pointed look. “Gimme it.” 

        “... Nuh-uh.”

        “YN,” he dragged out your name, leering closer to you. “Give me the phone.”

        “I’m good, thank you.”

        “YN!” Terushima didn’t give you another chance. His home, his rules. 

        In an instant, your back is pushed down against the couch and you’re gasping for air as Terushima viciously attacks your sides with his long fingers. Giggle after giggle tumbles out of your mouth as you curl in like an armadillo. 

        “I yield, I yield!” You hold your hands after the pain in your abdomen grows to be too much. Terushima smiles at the win and he slows his hands, but keeps them on your sides. 

        His eyes glow with… something. Something you hadn’t seen since being with him. 

        But whatever. Maybe it was just the lighting.

        The blond squeezes your sides before slipping a hand under your thigh and locating the phone. Before pulling it away, he pinches your soft flesh, completely uncovered thanks to your night shorts, and chuckles at the squeal that leaves you. 

        “Yuuji!” 

        “What?” He gives you an innocent look while tossing your phone across the room. Thankfully, it lands on his armchair. 

        All you can do is sigh and straighten yourself back up, reclaiming your original position by Terushima’s side and returning your attention to the movie. His eyes stay locked on you, so close, for just a second longer before he copies your movements, focusing back in on the movie with a small quirk of his mouth. 

        You met Terushima a month after breaking things off with Kuroo. He was the only apartment renter who wasn’t a freakshow or a cult leader, and you decided it was high time to get your own place. Especially after your friend, who had hosted you for one angsty, miserable month, kicked you out. 

        “You need to get over it, YN,” she had hissed, shoving your suitcase back into your arms before slamming the door in your face. 

        And while you were still working on moving on, Terushima was a big help. He was now your guy friend, who had many guy friends that could potentially become your boyfriends. But every time you asked him about setting you up with one of them, you were instantly shut down. 

        “You’re too good for them, YN. I’ll help you find someone better, I promise.” 

        It’s been five months, and you’re still waiting for that “someone better” to come along. 

        Now, when you had first moved in with Terushima, he seemed to be a bit of a mess. Clothes, his or someone else's, were always strewn everywhere. Girls were common midnight visitors, always sneaking out with their heels in their hands and giving you bashful smiles before slipping out the door. You would only sigh and roll your eyes. 

        “Your new girlfriend overstayed her welcome this round. I think she stole our Netflix password.”

        Terushima would then purse his lips and avoid your gaze, gulping swiftly. “She’s not my girlfriend. I promise.” 

        “Sure sure. But your one-night stand still stole our password.” 

        Since then, he’s really cleaned up his act. You haven’t seen a girl come over in weeks. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were becoming a good influence on him, much like he was on you. Little by little, day by day, Terushima was beginning to help take your mind off Kuroo. 

        Since the day you broke down in the blond’s arms and admitted you were still stuck on him, he’s tried to help you. He even takes you on “dates” from time to time. Just yesterday you two had gone clubbing, and though you had gotten shitfaced, you figure something weird must have happened since Terushima’s been a tad awkward around you. But then he threw open your door an hour ago, scared the shit out of you, and reminded you that it was movie night. 

        You couldn’t help it. Your eyes were constantly drawn back and forth between the horror movie and the constantly-buzzing phone. 

        “YN look! A jumpscare’s coming!” 

        Just as you turned back to the TV, the serial killer flashed back into frame, leaving you to screech in terror and burrow into Terushima’s side. His arm wraps around your shoulders and rubs your arms for comfort. 

        “It’s okay, the killer’s gone now.” His voice is low and honeyed, accompanying a slight smile as he peers down at you with his affectionate gaze. 

        God how you missed being looked at like that. But you couldn’t get attached. Terushima was like Kuroo, but ten times worse. This was because he wasn’t secretive about his love life. Your very attractive roommate had a higher body count than a war general. 

        So you kept things platonic, no matter how much your body yearned for another route. 

        No. Terushima was your friend. Your best supporter at the moment. You couldn’t lose him like you had lost Kuroo. 

        So even though you cuddled deeper into his side with every heart-stopping scene, and hugged him whenever you were feeling down, and kissed his cheek as a thank you after he would massage your back and scratch your scalp after a long day at work, you would never throw any different labels on your relationship with Terushima. 

        You just couldn’t lose this one. And with him being a player, there was no point in making your feelings more than what they were. 

                                ~~~

        Kuroo missed you. God, he missed you so much. 

        He loved you, and he would never stop trying to get you back!

        That girl, she was a mistake. One Kuroo would never make again, because you were it for him. You were his one. 

        He will call you a million more times, text you, hell even track you down to the ends of the Earth just to have you back in his arms again. 

        He would give everything just to hear you say “I love you” one more time. He would die happy if he got to see those words fall from your soft lips, carefully quirked into a smile, just once. To have you back in his arms, wearing his clothes and kissing only him….

        Fuck. He had to get you back. 

        There was no sign of you at your friend’s apartment when he finally gathered the guts to visit. Only a slap in the face courtesy of one vengeful friend of yours. He knew he deserved it, too. 

        But then… God, five more months passed. Not a single woman had been in his bed, your bed, since you left. Every flirtation was turned down, every grabby hand pushed off. The only person he wanted was you. 

        So imagine his relief when he finally found you. 

                                ~~~

        “Yuuji, do you ever accidentally hurt someone with the piercing?” Your eyes were locked on the ball of metal sitting directly on his tongue while you took tentative sips of your hot chocolate. 

        Terushima sat across from you and smirked lazily, sticking his tongue out through his teeth as blatantly as he could. “Boy YN, you sure do ask a lot of questions about my piercing.” He sets his elbows on the small, circular table and leans closer to you. “It makes me wonder if you ever want to feel it for yourself.” 

        His cologne fills your nostrils, but you don’t mind. It’s become your favorite, most comforting scent. You lean closer and mock his smirk, lowering your voice just enough so only he can hear in the crowded cafe. 

        “I do.” 

        Terushima’s pupils widen in the slightest and he subconsciously leans closer. 

        You do the same, grin growing on your face before you swiftly reach out a thumb and forefinger and snag his tongue, giggling at the surprised yelp he lets out. 

        “YN!” he pouts with a lisp, smacking your hand away and hiding his mouth behind his own. “Why are you always like this?!”

        “I don’t know Yuuji, it must be your piercing or something,” you snicker, picking up your drink once more and taking another sip. You allow your eyes to wander around the cafe, only to lock on the worst sight imaginable just behind Terushima’s head. 

        It’s him. 

        He shoves the glass doors open and barges through the crowd. Your companion takes in your panicked gaze and glances over his shoulder, sneering at the person approaching quickly. 

        “YN,” Kuroo breathes out in disbelief, hazel eyes locked on your tense form. A relieved smile overtakes his face as he reaches out for your hand. “I found you-”

        You tear away from him and jump out of your chair, stepping away as your eyes begin to water. “Don’t touch me.” 

        “YN, I-” 

        “You heard her, dude. She said don’t touch her.” Terushima fixes an enraged glare on the black-haired man, standing out of his own chair and creating a barrier between your solemn form and him. 

        “And who are you,” Kuroo spits through clenched teeth, “her new boyfriend?”

        “It-...” the blond’s jaw irks before he glances back at you, “it doesn’t matter who I am. If she doesn’t want you around, then you need to leave.” 

        “You’re not her guard dog, or even her new boyfriend. You’re just a rebound.”

        “Guys…” 

        “YN doesn’t want you-”

        “GUYS! SHUT UP!” You breathe heavily after the shout before smiling at the other customers as an apology. “Let’s take this outside,” you snarl lowly.

        Like scolded children, the two men trail after you, almost fighting over who gets to squeeze through the door first until you throw them a warning look. 

        Kuroo pushes past the blond and strides towards you in an instant, capturing you in a hug that you don’t return. “God, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” 

        “Kuroo, I-”

        “Tetsurou.” He corrects, voice muffled against your neck. 

        “... I didn’t answer your calls for a reason. We broke up. I don’t-... we can’t be together anymore.” 

        Your ex leans back enough to look at your face and scans it for any sign of lying. “YN, I didn’t mean to hurt you. That girl,” he shakes his head, biting his lip, “she meant nothing to me. But you-”

        “Kuroo…”

        “-You mean everything to me!” A tear trails its way down his cheek, but you don’t care to wipe it away. Your face hardens at the words. 

        “Then why did you cheat?”

        “I was wasted. And she looked like you and I missed you and I miss you still! YN, you need to understand, I love you! And if you give me another chance, I won’t fuck it up.” Kuroo brushes a hair behind your cheek and your eyes widen at the contact. “I love you so much. Please don’t let this be the end of us.” 

        “...” 

        “YN, we’re meant to be. It can’t end here. Not for us.” 

        Kuroo was wrong, and so clearly mistaken. Months ago, you would have collapsed back into his arms. Months ago, you would have cried and muttered that you loved him too, that you still loved him. 

        But now…. 

        Your eyes drifted past Kuroo, locking on a silent, dejected-looking Terushima. 

        You just didn’t. 

        “Kuroo, I can’t forgive you for what you did. I just can’t.” He shakes his head and opens his mouth to respond, but you smoothly press a finger against his lips and continue. “Even if I did, I could never trust you again.” 

        “YN, if you still love me, then that’s the only reason you need to take me back. I will work every day to regain your trust, no matter how long it takes. I’ll never hurt you again. God, I love you so much, just please, please don’t let us end here.” 

        Your relationship with Kuroo ended months ago. You both were just struggling to accept that. 

        “No, Kuroo. No.” 

        His eyes close and his head hangs, allowing his remaining tears to dribble down his cheeks. “Okay,” he finally whispers, voice silent and cracking. Then he tips his head up and presses a long kiss to your forehead, his final goodbye. 

        “I love you, YN.” 

        “I know, Tetsurou.” 

        Somehow he finds it in himself to smile bitterly at you saying his name, and he nods in thankfulness. 

        With a deep sigh, he releases you and steps back, scanning over you one last time before turning away with tear-stained cheeks. 

        You had loved him for so long. He was your first everything, your high school sweetheart, and much like him, you thought Kuroo was it for you. Your happy ending. 

        You were wrong. And deep down, you were glad you were wrong. 

        Kuroo halts in his stance on the sidewalk, just barely passing Terushima before he slams his hand down on the blond’s shoulder and grips it tightly. 

        “Don’t-” he cuts himself off to purse his lips. “Don’t hurt her like I did. Don’t let this one go.” 

        The skin under Terushima’s eye twitches before he glances up at your face. “I won’t. I’m not stupid enough to make that mistake.” 

        Kuroo smiles bitterly and releases your roommate, walking away down the street and never looking back. 

                                ~~~

        A day passed, and you avoided Terushima like the plague. 

        After seeing Kuroo once again, it reminded you of why you hadn’t ever tried moving on since the breakup even once. 

        You had gotten so attached, fallen so deeply so quickly, only to be replaced for another woman for one night. You couldn’t handle that again. The pain of feeling so easily replaceable wasn’t worth the risk.

        At least, that’s what you used to think. 

        “YN.” 

        Terushima finally snagged your wrist just in time after hours of trying to stop you. You shivered in his grip, almost horrified with how eerily similar it was. 

        “Please stop avoiding me.” Terushima stared at your face with natural puppy dog eyes, and after much internal scolding, you just couldn’t resist. 

        “I’m sorry.” 

        “It’s okay. But can we at least talk about it?”

        “It” was a lot more complex than it sounded. “It” was a commitment. “It” was a major change in your life. “It” was… was…. 

        “Yeah.” “It” was accepting you might be hurt again, but trying it anyway for love.

        Terushima led you to the couch and sat you down to face him, even though your gaze was locked on everything else. 

        “YN.”

        “...”

        “YN.”

        “...” 

        “YN, please look at me,” Terushima pleaded, palming your cheek and urging you to make eye contact. When you did was when the walls broke down. 

        The sparks his touch left against your skin weren’t right. Because why did they feel so right? 

        You loved Kuroo. Some part of you always would, along with the memories you two shared. So surely falling for someone this soon, this hard was wrong, right?

        “Yuuji.” 

        “Just… let me speak first, okay?” Terushima dropped his hand to your criss-crossed lap, running his fingers along your kneecap nervously. Tingles erupted from the contact, and fuck, they felt so right. 

        You nod and his lips quirk up gently. “YN, I know you’re probably still stuck on… umm, y’know, that guy, but I also know you must be feeling something for me too.” 

        If he had said it any other way, you would have smacked him for the cockiness of the words. But the slight nervousness that tinged his tone made you love it all the more. 

        “A-and I know that you two were like,” he rolls his eyes, “perfect for each other, but I mean come on, there’s something between us too.” 

        There was. Even Kuroo had seen it, as blinded by love as he was. 

        “But I know why you’re reluctant too. And YN,” he shakes his head hopelessly and caresses your lower thigh, keeping his gaze locked on yours, “I don’t know how else to show you, but I’m not that guy anymore. Ever since you moved in, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” 

        “Yuuji….”

        “No other woman has made me feel the way you do,” he whispers. “And that thought kind of scares me. But I… I just can’t have anyone else. So I’m not gonna let you go.”

        You cup one side of his face with your hand and your heart stutters when he leans into the hold. Throughout all of his speech, a small grin had etched onto your face, which was nothing compared to the beaming you felt inside you. 

        Waves upon waves of adrenaline, elation, and anything akin to utter euphoria lit up your chest. A zoo stomped and trampled over the tiny butterflies in your stomach as you let out a small giggle. Terushima’s eyes widened at the sound and he instantly tried to pull away, but you swiftly smack your other hand on the other side of his face, effectively trapping him.  

        He looks down and drags his fingers away from your lap reluctantly. “Why are you laughing?” 

        You almost felt bad, but oh fuck you were so happy! You just couldn’t help it as you let out another chuckle, causing Terushima to struggle in your grip like a floppy fish. 

        “YN-”

        You finally shut him up with a kiss, pressing your smiling, giddy lips against his. So much joy bursts through your chest at the contact, and your heart flutters when the blond groans and tightly grabs at your hips. 

        He can feel your uncontrollable smiling and laughing against his mouth, and he can’t help but pull away with a confused-- but relieved-- chuckle. “Why are you laughing?” 

        “I just, hehe, I just can’t…” you trail off in snickers before yanking Terushima closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him while you attempt to stop your cackles against his collarbone. “FUCK!”

        Terushima scoffs in disbelief as he holds you against him tightly, baffled at your confusing actions. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

        “I don’t know,” you laugh into his skin, tickling him a bit. You creep your hands into his hair and tug on the strands in an attempt to focus yourself on something more serious. It doesn’t work, but Terushima lets out a surprised moan. 

        “YN!”

        “I’m sorry, I’m just,” you press an open-mouthed kiss against his neck, giggles finally slowing, “I’m really happy right now.” 

        A corner of the blond’s mouth lifts at the words and he presses you closer to his chest. “I’m happy too.” Then he tugs you far enough away that he can see your bright red face. “Now do you wanna feel my tongue piercing for real?”

        He licks his bottom lip, displaying the enticing metal bar that lights the pit of your stomach on fire. Well, at least you weren’t laughing anymore. 

        “Fuck yes.”

It’s pronounced gif and no one can tell me otherwise

Yandere ozai?

Yandere Ozai Headcanons

*GIF not mine*

A/N: Should I start watching Hunter x Hunter? Sorry, that was random. Anyways, just wanna warn you these hcs are a lil out of order, and I’m sorry. When I wrote it, I just kept coming up with more and more ideas for the “story” so I just kept adding to it. Anyways, hope you like it!

Word count: 956

First of all, you’re a maid in the castle. Yeah, of course he’s seen you in the halls and thought you were attractive, but he never really gave it more thought. 

Then Zuko and Azula’s mother left, and that’s when he got hooked on you. He felt lost and you, being the ever-faithful servant, stayed by his side and comforted him. 

(We are talking about adults here. You did have sex with him for “comfort.”)

Anyways, after that, you had sealed your fate. While you tried to get on with your life, Ozai wasn’t as forgetful. 

Honestly, I think this guy is one of those yanderes who initially don’t want to admit or believe they love you.

Like first, he’ll try other concubines. Women who will bow down to him and such. 

Then he’ll finally resort to keeping you near, allowing you to continue being a maid and such (because he initially planned on kicking you to the curb after your night together), but he still doesn’t like that he likes you. 

Part of him just feels… addicted. Like he doesn’t want to lose you. But he doesn’t like having that attachment. 

Honestly, he’ll want to blame his obsession on you, like make you feel bad for it and stuff. 

He’ll keep trying to show off with other women in the castle. 

Making out with them during breakfast and such while you’re serving them and you’re just standing around like “did you want eggs or…”

Then, at some point, he doesn’t exactly give in to his feelings, but he understands that as the leader of the world, it doesn’t matter who he’s with. 

Ozai’s not really self-concious of you ruining his image; if anything, he kinda wants to use you to flaunt how he can transform someone from rags to riches. 

At that point, he’s really fallen for you. He’s on the verge of taking over the world, his rebelling son is still banished, and he’s about to take over the last city that stands a chance against him: Ba Sing Se.

It’s a toss up of whether he wants to flaunt his world to you or to flaunt you to his world. 

You better treat everything he does like it’s amazing. Seriously, this guy is pure ego. 

If he gifts you something (which is something he does often), you must always repay him. Whether this is sexual or compassionate just depends on his moods. 

Maybe I’m wrong about this, but I really don’t think Ozai is the type of yandere to be like “you should feel blessed to be with me,” especially after he’s fallen for you. Initially? Yeah sure, he may have thought that a few times. But after he’s acknowledged the fact that he can’t let you go, I don’t think he’d rub his love in your face too much. He’d be more obsessed with showing you what he can do. 

You’re his world now, and giving you the entire world is his perfect gift. 

In the end, of course he’s captured for attempting to do this, and his third or fourth thought is “oh shit, where’s YN?”

He orders the last of all the Ozai loyalists to capture you and, I’ll be frank, he wants you to go out “together even in death” style. 

With a forced kiss, he’ll make you drink poison in his cell while he holds you in his arms (he ignores your struggling and crying). After the life has faded from your body, he takes his own swig and you go out together. 

Anyways, back to before all of this (sorry this is so out of order) right after you had sex with him to comfort his wife leaving, I think he more fell for you because you symbolized a new hope for him. 

He had made you feel so good that night. Deep down, he wanted to keep making you feel that good. 

Ozai wanted to prove to you but mostly himself that he could keep a woman and please her. He wanted his ex-wife to regret leaving him, so he was going to give you the world. 

Getting right back into it, he is a crazed king, mind you, so he will use his power for self-gain. If you’re talking to someone, no matter the gender, he’s going to banish them.

(Of course if they touch you, their life is the price of their misdeed.)

You, on the other hand, are also forced to take responsibility for your mistakes. 

It’s not uncommon that he’ll lock you away to keep you from interacting with others, but if you’re wrong-doings are especially horrible, whippings and burnings are not uncommon. (Plus, he likes the sight of his fire touching and permanently marking your skin. It’s like a physical claim no one, not even you, can get rid of. It keeps you knowing your place.)

There’s really no list of rules Ozai has set for you, but they’ve become clear to you over the years you’ve been with him.

1: No contact with others.

2: Always repay your lord for his kindness.

3: Bow when he enters and leaves a room.

4: Give him a kiss or more whenever he acknowledges your presence.

5: Never disobey an order from your master.

Truly, being with Ozai is quite simple: learn your place and no one gets hurt.

can i request the torn of rose akaashi part 3 when he regret everything he does to reader but it's to late pleaseeee

part 3 when i aint even got a part 2 😮‍💨 bro u gon' make me work aint u

jk jk and i mean its a good idea loving the angsty regret from his end but i kinda liked where it ended before. i feel like bois who cheat like akaashi did don't deserve any five minutes of spotlight for pity like my guy moved on while he was still in a relationship so i was never quite sure how to draw him back in to the reader and make him interested again. and once again angst is always troubling to write for me