Ur Writing Is So GOOD I Had A Cut Ahoge The Rest Living Rent Free In My Head So Much I Took A Nap And

WELCOME BACK :D I periodically check if youve updated (no pressure) and i was so happy to see you tagged me in a new chapter today :) Thank you for continuing the fic despite it being so long

oh yeah for sure it was hard to dive back into it after so long, but I'm glad you've stayed interested in it after all this time!

i feel so bad for everyone on the taglist cuz it was like a year later and now they're all tagged in the story again so hey not to hack this post but if y'all want off it just dm me i got u, i was thinking of just moving reborn onto my ao3 account anyways so people didn't have to make it obvious

anyways I am so sorry it took me so long to respond, but i'm glad you're loving the story! i wish i could do more for readers like u!!!

I swear the first time his s/o sits on his face Tendous probably like "If I die, its cause the pussy was too good. I want you to put *death by pussy* on my tombstone... And remember to add *He died happy* on it too"

Agajdjssjjs bro you made me w h e e z e😂

If you ain’t right tho😤😤

if that did not send on anon i will be logging OUT

Agsjdjskjdd you’re clear!

Reborn (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) ~Chapter 6~

(Supernatural/Soulmate AU)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: How do normal people react when they get kidnapped by a vampire and a wizard claiming to be their soulmates? Because you try to choke them out with their own breakfasts. But maybe that’s just you. 

A/N: Ayeee, so it wasn’t like riding a bike and maybe just maybe this chapter sucks ass, but here we go! The long awaited part 6 of Reborn! I’m so happy y’all are liking it so far and I can promise you this won’t be the last chapter of *this year.* Winter break’s not over yet, so don’t lose hope now! Merry Christmas from me to you and, as always, enjoy!💜

Tag List: @burntcilantro  @alloverbutterflies  @neonghxst  @zaejia  @momothepeachgirl  @black-veil-chemicalz  @bumblebeel  @blxkstar  @keigosbitch  @spicyiwa  @rikorene  @idiot-juice-enthusiast  @cherriomilkmangos  @floriane4536  @shimy-deko  @lanceyfancypants  @asteroikawa  @bokutowo  @ichiraku-verse  @samie-babie  @astro-anomaly  @hq149  @paganandshit  (some don’t work 😔)

Word count: 4500

        “YN.”

        Bokuto stirs on the ground, whimpering your name just once more while he stutters out a breath. Behind his lids, his eyes stir rapidly but not once does he wake. 

        The sight warms your heart just as much as it pains it. They’re alive, but at what cost? It was clear Kuroo hadn’t bothered to feed them in the week or so that they had been left in the cages, leaving both their bodies to wither to breathing skeletons. 

        Akaashi’s cheekbones jutted out in the moonlight as his head leaned against the wall. His lashes gently brushed the skin just under his eyes as he slumbered but he still looked ready to startle at even the smallest of noises. 

        One of those being your footsteps brushing the concrete of the basement. 

        They fluttered and slid open, revealing those gunmetal blue eyes you adored so dearly. Even though the dank scent of decaying meat stung your nose, you still inhaled when Akaashi seemed awake enough to notice you. 

        “YN…?” he mumbled, sleep and exhaustion gruffing his voice. Your heart jumped at the familiar tone and you bit back a whimper. 

        “Akaashi-”

        “YN!” Akaashi sprung himself up from the dusty floor and crashed into the iron bars, shackled hands clanging against the metal. “YN, oh God, please tell me this is real.”

        “It is,” you nodded, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, “it is, and thank fuck you’re okay.” Carefully, you reached out a hand and cupped his face, releasing a breathless laugh when he kissed your palm before leaning into the hold. 

        Even the smallest touch felt like pure euphoria as Akaashi’s cheek brushed against your fingertips, lighting up a million tingles all throughout your body. A shiver works its way deep through your bones, bringing goosebumps and a haunting reality along with it.

        “Kuroo,” you swallowed, observing as Akaashi’s gaze grew hard, “he said you guys were dead.”

        His jaw twitched but the wizard kept silent, taking the smallest of glances back at Bokuto through the bars of his own cell. 

        The action makes you pause and panic, your hold on Akaashi faltering as you too look at the vampire collapsed on the floor. “Wait, Bokuto, is he-” you glance back at the wizard as he shakes his head, reaching a single hand up to press your palm back against his lips.

        “No, my love, he’s okay. I promise. It’s surprisingly hard to kill the supernatural.”

        “Then why-”

        “Trust me, YN, it’s better if you don’t wake him.” Akaashi’s hold on your wrist tightens in warning, but there’s more concern in his eyes than anything. “You don’t want to see him like this.”

        “Akaashi,” your voice softens as you brush a hair from his forehead. It’s cold to the touch, a disturbing fact you struggle to shake away before you continue. “I’ve seen him through this phase before, and even then I could trust him. Let me try.”

        “My love, forgive me, but you’re wrong.” Your brows furrow as the wizard gazes into your eyes unflinchingly. There’s a concern you’ve never seen before that stuns you for a split second.

        Even Akaashi himself seems haunted by what’s happening to Bokuto just a few feet away. You can still hear his whimpers and see his body tremble, but the younger man was right--there was something feral about the vampire’s movements now. 

        Every twitch jolted his body like a strike of lightning and every moan had the smallest of rumbles layered beneath. His form was curled in on itself, but it seemed like the days he had been in captivity had only stood to make him grow larger. In a single ray of the moon, you could see his hands now.

        His nails had grown sharper than knives and each tip was doused in red. 

        “What happened to him? What changed?” With struggle, you tear your uneasy gaze away from the ecstatic boy you had grown to know. “It’s only been a week--I know he’s gone for longer without… my blood.”

        “Yes, when he knew you were safe. Now, it’s been one week and he hasn’t heard or seen a single thing from you.” The wizard stole another glance at his longtime friend. “Things are different this time. He’s changing and losing control of himself.” 

        Guilt tore at your heart now because, deep down, you couldn’t help but feel this was your fault. Bokuto was in pain because he was worried about your well-being. Back when you were in the mansion, he would constantly check up on you however often he could. When he couldn’t, Akaashi was sent to be the messenger. 

        Now, he’s had no one to reassure him of your safety. Kuroo could have killed you for all he knew and no doubt that thought had been eating at him for the past seven days while he was stuck in this cell. 

        That’s exactly why you needed him to see you now, so he didn’t have to worry anymore. 

        “Akaashi, I can’t just let him stay like that.”

        “YN, don’t!” Akaashi’s eyes widened when you twisted out of his grip and moved towards Bokuto’s cell. The wizard reached for you in a panic but only groaned when his shackles once more clanked against the iron bars like a warning. “YN, please, even I don’t know how he’ll react right now! He’s too dangerous!”

        It didn’t matter. You had left him to suffer like this and you couldn't stand the thought of just leaving him in there without ever letting him see you in return. 

        It wasn’t fair, and in your heart of hearts you knew you wanted to feel his touch just as much as you had wanted Akaashi’s. 

        “Bokuto,” you called out as loud as you thought was appropriate. There was still the variable of you being in what you hoped was a soundproof dungeon to be considered, and you held onto that hope as you tried to get the vampire’s attention. 

        “Bokuto!”

        Nothing. Just another stir of his body and another whimper of your name.

        Akaashi was still reaching for you, warning evident in his voice as pleaded with you in any way possible to stop. 

        “Please, YN, what if he hurts you? I’ve never seen him like this. He could snap, for all we know.”

        You stayed silent, letting the thought of being hurt by Bokuto roll off your back. Even if he did, which you doubted, you didn’t want your finding them to be in vain. 

        If Kuroo were to ever discover you had found them tonight, you at least wanted to see Bokuto one last time and vice versa before the cat undoubtedly took you away.

        However, nothing you whisper-yelled seemed to stir the slumbering vampire. In a last ditch effort, you glanced around the room for something--anything, really. Like… that pebble that just so happened to be inches away from your freezing toes. Perfect.

        “YN, don’t even think about-” Too late.

        The pebble ricocheted right off Bokuto’s temple and onto the floor inches from his face. 

        For a few seconds, you and Akaashi both held your breath as the atmosphere of the basement grew ten times thicker. 

        But nothing happened. 

        In fact, all Bokuto did was stop snoring and even making a peep, and you figured you had found his secret “Silent Mode” button. His body stopped twitching and shivering, and after a couple seconds, Akaashi rolled his eyes and let his shoulders fall to their original place. 

        “Well done, my love. If I had known all I needed to do was throw a rock at Bokuto’s head to shut him up, I would’ve done that the second day we got here.”

        “Akaashi!” you chided, huffing at your failure of a plan. What more could be done that couldn’t wake up the entire werecat clan? 

        The wizard only shrugged. “My love, I know you wanted him to see you, but it was too much of a risk. Neither of us know how he would’ve reacted. Count your blessings and return back to your room before that cat finds you’ve escaped.”

        “Akaashi…”

        “I’ll let him know you were here and you were okay,” he gives you a soft smile before nodding to the creaky door you had entered just twenty minutes ago. “Be safe.”

        “I-”

        “Darling.”

        “Yes?”

        The voice hadn’t startled you in the slightest; it was only the look of shock on Akaashi’s face that had made you realize oh shit, that was Bokuto.

        You swiveled back to the second cell so fast you gave yourself whiplash, your head growing woozy but that didn’t stop you from sprinting back in front of your vampire. 

        His eyes were open now, his back no longer facing you. A shadow was cast on his body when he had rolled over, however, and now all you could see in his dim, molded cell were his glowing red eyes. 

        Two flaring orbs the color of fresh-spilt blood pierced your soul from twenty feet away one second.

        Bokuto’s hand wrapped around your throat the next. 

        Fangs bared, you couldn’t even brace for impact before the shock hit you like a freight train. It numbed the pain you were so used to for what must’ve been a minute as you stood there, a statue of horror. 

        Finally, your brain caught up to the action and you cried out, pushing against Bokuto’s chest as a burning sensation festered against your throat. A loud thumping pounded against your ears as you whined, feeling his teeth dig deeper in than they ever had before. A fogginess took over your eyesight as your knees grew weak; suddenly, all you could do was let your jaw hang open as oxygen lodged in your throat.

        “Bokuto, stop, you’re hurting her!”

        Stop, please. It hurts.

        Oh God, please let me go.

        Muffled under the sound of your blood sloshing against your eardrums, you can hear Akaashi’s yelling and then-

        Two knocks at the wooden door.

        The pressure and pain around your neck all release at the same time and you collapse to the ground, trembling while pressing a hand to your neck in despair. A cry rips its way out of your throat just before the door squeals open. 

        “Am I interrupting something?”

        Kuroo slips in through the doorway, observing the scene with pursed lips. When his gaze lands on you, his dark eyes flash for a split second before he produces a pristine, white handkerchief from the pocket of his basketball shorts. 

        “YN,” the werecat presses a hand against yours on your neck, urging it away before replacing it with the cloth, “did he hurt you?”

        You don’t make a sound, still focusing on trying to steady your breathing while Kuroo crouches by your side. Before you know it, his lips are pressed against your damp forehead and, of course, the reaction is instant. 

        “Don’t touch her!” Akaashi sneers at him, wrapping two fists around his iron bars tight enough to leave his knuckles white. “You have no right to lay a finger on her.”

        “And you do?” Kuroo laughs bitterly as he pulls away, still keeping one hand against your back to keep you upright. “Look what happens at just a little touch.” He gestures from your blood-soaked nightgown up to your shivering shoulders. “She gets hurt.”

        You don’t bother sparing enough energy for a rebuttal. Even an ounce might leave you unconscious any second, so instead you stay silent and observe. 

        Akaashi’s face is guilt-ridden as he stares at you, his eyes just as broken as his heart. Bokuto, on the other hand, is facing away from you entirely. His back is curled over his entire form as he crouches in the darkest corner of his cell, but you can hear the smallest of wails as he does so. His shoulders shiver and shake as he hugs himself, whispering incomplete thoughts littered with “monster,” “kill,” and “YN.”

        “No excuses now, are there?” Kuroo sighs and shakes his head. “You were the ones who hurt her. Can you accept that, or are you so selfish that you still want her to crawl back to you?”

        Akaashi flinches like he’s been slapped, cringing as he avoids complete eye contact with you. Instead, all he can do is stare at the rag slowly gathering more and more blood at your collarbone. 

        At that point, you think the exertion is worth it to defend them, but before you know it, Kuroo’s whisked you up into his arms and carried you all the way through the door with a slam. 

        “Don’t worry, kitten. I won’t let an incident like this ever happen again.”

                                ~~~

        “How’s your steak?”

        “It’s fine.”

        “Too raw? I know you don’t like that much pink in the middle.”

        “It’s fine,” you repeat, sliding the knife back through the meat without so much as a glance towards Kuroo. 

        You know he’s been growing frustrated at your lack of a response lately, but you weren’t quite sure what else to do. It’s been three days since Bokuto attacked you and you still can’t shake it from your mind. 

        Nightmares haunt you, chasing after you with glowing red eyes. As always, you try to run but your feet feel like they’re trapped in quicksand. You’re never fast enough, and then--bite. 

        The bandage on your neck is useless at this point; you know it because you’ve had experience in the neck-wound area. Bokuto’s bites, no matter how hard, only take a day and a half to heal. Only after your first bite was there the lasting effect of trauma and nightmares--now was just another exception. 

        That’s all you wanted it to be, at least. You hoped it was just a little accident (as easy as it is to say after having time to get over the pain). And yet you knew it was hurting the boys trapped deep down in the basement. 

        Sometimes, you still think you can hear Bokuto crying out your name. 

        Most of the time, you blame it on your imagination. 

        “YN.” Kuroo’s snap draws your attention back to him, reminding you that you still had to play nice with him. “Lost up there, huh?”

        “Uh, yeah,” you return to chewing on another bite of steak. “Just thinking.”

        It was a tad too raw.

        “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

        “Doesn’t everybody?”

        Kuroo chuckles, watching over the rim of his glass as you swallow a gulp of wine. “There’s that fire I love.” 

        You almost choke on your drink.

        A sly look appears in his eyes as he stares you down, setting his own utensils on the table to prop his elbows up and fold his hands. From there, he sets his chin down on his knuckles and tilts his head. “You’re thinking about them again, aren’t you?”

        Hmm, play dumb or be honest, play dumb or be honest…

        “Don’t try to play dumb with me.” Damn. “There’s not much you can hide from me anymore, YN. I’ve known you too long.”

        This pisses you off. He didn’t know you. No one really knew you. The only people who knew you were-

        “Bokuto and Akaashi hurt you, YN, and yet you still want to be with them. If that’s not blind love, I don’t know what is.”

        “They didn’t-

        “How’s that bite doing, by the way?”

        “Don’t,” you hiss, throwing him a nasty glare. “Don’t pretend you know shit about how I feel or who I care for.”

        “Do you care for me?”

        “Fuck you.”

        “That’s not an answer,” Kuroo simpers.

        “Maybe try that ‘thinking’ thing and you’ll find one.”

        His face falls and his jaw clenches. “Fine. I relent,” he holds his hands up as a gesture of peace before picking up his knife and fork once more, digging back into his dinner. “That topic of conversation makes me lose my appetite anyway.”

        Nostrils flaring, you take another indignant sip of wine.

        Kuroo eyes you as you do so, lips twitching as you set down the glass. “Let us talk about something else, kitten.”

        “Please no.”

        “What did sweet little Akaashi tell you about magic?”

        His question actually prods your interest for once and you sit up a little straighter. What did you remember? Only that he didn’t want you to mess with it or you would die… or something along those lines. 

        “Judging by your curiosity, I’m guessing it wasn’t much.” Kuroo licks his lips. “Though, might I add having your full attention is thrilling, if I do say so myself.”

        “Get on with it, jackass.”         “At least I get a nickname. One point for me,” Kuroo snickers. You roll your eyes and empty the rest of the wine glass, but that only seems to excite him more. 

        “Kitten,” he finally begins, “magic can be wielded by anyone. Spells and such can be cast by your average Joe.”

        Anyone? Kuroo’s point in all of this was still beyond you, so you urged for him to continue. 

        “So?”

        “So, wizards only exist for the simple reason that they are the only people powerful enough to use and create light magic. ‘If the soul is pure’ and all that other bullshit.”

        “Why are you telling me this, Kuroo?”

        “Because, kitten, dark magic can be wielded by anyone--though, using it is… severely frowned upon.”

        At that moment, you felt a twinge in your stomach. A small churning that lifted up, up, up into the top of your chest and expanded until you almost felt it hard to breathe. 

        And then the bubble burst. 

        Burp.

        “Oop, excuse me.” You cleared your throat. “Anyways, fascinating story, Kuroo, but what does this have to do with, oh, I don’t know, anything?”

        A glint of something sparked in Kuroo’s gaze but disappeared just as fast. “Nothing, kitten. Just thought you would have liked to know. And now, something you might be more interested in.”

        “Yes?” Like you were on the edge of your seat. 

        The werecat huffed, his irises growing thinner. “I’ve decided to allow you one visit to those scumbags, but don’t expect me to be this generous again.”

                                ~~~

        Walking down the same hallways you had followed just days ago felt… bittersweet. You wanted to feel excited about seeing Akaashi and Bokuto again but it felt like a boulder had been dropped in your chest, shoving down any ecstatic emotions you’d expected to have. 

        Something was terribly wrong. 

        Kuroo wasn’t being any too discreet about the situation either. A forced frown but glowing eyes told you to be wary of whatever you were going to find in the basement. 

        Or whatever was going to happen. 

        You knew you would have to confront what had happened with Bokuto. What he’d… done to you. As you followed the marbled paths of Kuroo’s home with two werecats just on your tail, you couldn’t help but feel the urge to curl up in a hole and hide rather than discuss that. 

        You’d rather eat bugs. You’d rather bungee jump and break the string. You’d rather-

        “We’re here.”

        The boy you’d assumed was Kenma--and rightfully so--lackadaisically gestured towards the door, not even bothering to open it for you before walking off with his friend.

        “Wait!” You held out a hand to stop him, “You’re not… like, supposed to come in with me?” Not that you wanted him to, but you figured Kuroo would want some sort of visual on you while you talked to your soulmates. 

        “Do you need me to wipe your ass too?” the blond man sneered, one hand on his hip while the other clutched a phone at his side. “Just hurry up before I leave you to find your way back to your room.”

        With that, he dropped to the floor just outside the hall, legs laid out flat in front of him while he began tapping away on the glowing screen. 

        What a delightful guy. 

        Huffing a sigh, you hugged the sweatshirt around your body closer to your stomach, remembering just how cold and miserable the room had been the last time. Though the horrifying end of the reunion just three nights ago had shocked any thought of temperature from your mind, you still remember returning to your room that night with blue fingers.

        Just the thought made you wonder how Bokuto and Akaashi were even still alive in there. 

        Swallowing all your anxiousness, you tiptoed your black sneakers all the way to the oak door at the end of the hall and hovered a hand over the chrome knob. 

        Even in the flickering light, you could see your warped appearance. Thick, dark circles framing red-stained eyes served as a heavy reminder that you hadn’t gotten a solid night’s sleep in a week. You could feel your own mouth draw into a natural frown and couldn’t bother to put in the effort to smile. 

        You knew this interaction was going to suck, but it was the not knowing of how much that made you refrain from even turning the handle. 

        Just when you made the conscious thought to cover your nail-bitten fingers with a cotton sleeve, you heard Kenma rise from his position on the floor and walk away. 

        Well that didn’t last long. 

        And with that, you opened the door. 

        The staircase was more haphazard and creaky than you remembered. Each step squealed under the slightest pressure, making every move you made sound like rat torture. There was a distinct scent of bleach and body odor that wafted up and singed your nose hairs as you crept down the stairs, a held breath bubbling your cheeks. 

        Like night and day, the room you now entered had a depressing atmosphere about it. Or, at least, that’s what it gave you. This time, there were no waves of excitement arriving with thumping heartbeats in your chest. This time, you knew exactly what you were getting into.

        Starting with Akaashi, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor. 

        Unsurprisingly, Bokuto was curled up in the same corner, but it appeared like he hadn’t moved since the last time you’d come down. 

        Part of you was thankful you didn’t have to be met with those glowing red eyes again. 

        Akaashi’s eyes cracked open the second he heard you scuffing along the floor, and he rose from his position with extreme care. Cautiously, he held up his cuffed hands and approached the bars. He was trying not to scare you away. 

        “YN.” He mumbled your name with a tenderness you would find in a mother consoling her child. “Are you okay?”

        Anger bubbled at the words. Surely he was patronizing you? In the back of your head, you felt a voice scratching at you, trying to tell you that this was Akaashi. You cared for him as he cared for you, and he didn’t deserve a lick of mistreatment. Neither of them did. 

        Fuck that.

        “Am I okay?” You scoffed, throwing him a bitter smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Akaashi, do I look okay? Does the bruise around my throat look okay? Does my bleeding wound look okay? You tell me if I look okay!”

        Fury lodged itself in your throat as you charged towards his cell, sneering when he backed away just out of reach. Your hands wrapped around the bars and tightened just enough to satisfy your urge to strangle. 

        “My love, calm down.” Akaashi looked you over, head-to-toe, with a concerned gaze. “Something’s wrong, just tell me.”

        “Aww, of course sweet little Akaashi wants to make everything better,” you pouted, puppy dog eyes on full display. “What are you gonna do? Curse all my pain away like last time?”

        The wizard flinched at the jab, furrowing his brows before setting his jaw. “This isn’t you, YN. Kuroo’s done something to you.”

        “That’s where you’re wrong, my love,” you spat. “This is me finally being honest with you. Doesn’t the truth hurt like a bitch?”

        He pursed his lips, forcing himself to stay silent while observing your every move like a hawk. The feeling of his eyes on your skin only helped to piss you off more. With an indignant huff from your nose, you released your iron-grip on the bars of his cell and stepped back, lifting your chin to stare down at him. 

        “All right, Akaashi. Hide that anger like you always do, but I won’t hold back. And you know who else won’t hold back?” You drag your gaze to the right, trailing along the musty room until finally landing on the slumped form in the corner of the only other cell. A perfect target. 

        Akaashi didn’t even bother to follow your gaze before shaking his head. “Please, YN, whatever Kuroo’s done to you, don’t take it out on him. Bokuto’s already punishing himself enough for what happened.”

        “No, Akaashi.” At last, the wet blanket spoke. “I deserve whatever she has to say.”

        “Bo-”

        The vampire cut off his friend by rising abruptly, joints cracking with the movement as he stumbled over to the bars of the cell to face you. 

        Seeing his face made you pause in your agenda. The last time you had seen him, you never really got to study his face--especially with all the biting that was happening. Now, you finally noticed. 

        His eyes were back to their signature golden, though they may as well still have been red considering how bloodshot they were. The skin of his cheeks were damp while his lips were bitten and bleeding, and all you could focus on was just how much love he still held in his gaze. It was disguised as regret as he slumped his shoulders in so much he could’ve caved in on himself any second. 

        You loved it. He had become so broken like an empty shell of himself that he couldn’t even bear to look you in the eyes and confront his mistake. The guilt wafted of him in waves and you drank it right up. 

        The nagging voice in the back of your head fought back full force and stole the glare right off your face, but it never stood a chance against the words that slipped out of your mouth. 

        “I hate you.”

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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.”

*Tips toes back into the request box* Hey! It's me again, I got another yandere!Garou idea, what if he had a childhood friend who was always there for him and defended him from bullies and he fell in love with them and he confessed but his crush tried to reject him in a nice way and he just snaps.I'm so sorry that i keep requesting yandere!Garou content but I really love how you write him and portray him (and because I'm a simp for him too),

Turning the Tables (Yandere Garou x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: The monster never gets the girl, but why not? Garou never knew, but what he did know was that that was about to change. He was getting the girl… getting you, whether you want him or not.

A/N: *Almost passes out writing this at 2 am* Ehh, I really wish this one could have been better, but I already procrastinated enough on it. Sorry it took so long, and I really hope it fits what you wanted. This idea was great, and I only wish I had a better time writing for it. But anyways, in all honesty, I hope you like it!

Word count: 2525

        “Haha, look at the monster cry!”

        “Beat him up, he’s evil!”

        “Take him out, hero! Take out the villain!”

        The calls were all the same. Every game, they would cheer as Tacchan stood over him, kicking him and hitting him with the nearest stick. 

        “Take that, monster! And that!” 

        Why? What did I do? What made me the villain?

        “Stop hurting him!” 

        The pain stops as Tacchan is shoved away. A girl-- you-- kneels next to him, surveying him for bruises or other wounds as he stays curled up on his side. 

        “Why are you defending him, YN? He’s not the hero. He’s just the dumb monster.” 

        You fix a fierce glare on the school’s pretty boy, keeping a comforting hand on Garou’s shoulder as you speak. “You know, heroes lose too sometimes.” 

        Those words… someone finally understood. Someone finally believed in what he believed, was willing to fight for what he was willing to fight for. You stood up for him. You stood up for the monster.

        It was those words that left Garou falling for you. Addicted to you.

                                ~~~

        Why couldn’t the monsters ever win? Why couldn’t they defeat the hero or succeed in their plans? 

        Why couldn’t the monster ever get the girl?

        Garou never knew why, but one thing he did know was that, looking at you, he was going to change that. 

        I’m getting the girl.

        “I’m just saying I think you’re overreacting.”

        “Pshh, says you!” You shove him away and stick out your tongue. “Where finals are concerned, your opinion is irrelevant. You dropped out; therefore, I get to bitch about finals all I want!” 

        The pair of you walked side by side down the street. Once in a while, your hands would brush at the proximity, and Garou did all he could to resist intertwining your fingers with his own. 

        Be patient.

        “Well, maybe you should try actually studying instead of watching anime.”

        “Maybe you should shut up.” 

        He only grinned as you pouted, continuing down the street at what must’ve been ten at night. Both of you had just left the cinema after a particularly disappointing horror movie. Garou had vetoed the other options, which consisted of two superhero movies, one documentary, and three cheesy chick flicks. He had hoped that you would duck into his shoulder at any jumpscares, but the movie had been dreadfully bare of any actual horror. 

        Through the glowing streets of City S, you guided Garou back to your apartment building, leading him up the steps and to your door. 

        “Shit, it was freaking freezing out there!” Your hands tremble as you try to unlock the door. After the key finally wiggles its way into the lock, you let out a noise of relief before leading him inside. “Why don’t you stay here and warm up before going back to- oh where was it you said you were staying again? A lovely three-story mansion with a backyard hot tub?”

        Scoffing, Garou observes as you toss your coat aside on the kitchen table and collapse onto the couch. “I’ll have you know my shack is actually quite warm compared to the outside.”

        You hum, unimpressed as he settles down on the cushion beside you and lays an arm out directly behind your head. “Yeah, sure. Because fifty degrees is always considered warmer when compared to forty-nine.”

        “Exactly,” he nods, smirking at the laugh it drags out of you. A comfortable silence falls over your living room as you lean your head back on Garou’s arm. You were always so comfortable and accepting of him. You thought the same way he did, always considering the villain’s feelings along with the hero. You shared his sense of humor, his adoration for children, and his deep devotion to your guys’s friendship. 

        Truly, Garou believed there was no way you didn’t feel the same. Every hug and kiss on the cheek you gave him assured him so. He just had to tell you. 

        If he confessed first, he knew you would feel confident enough to say the same. 

        “Garou.” All too suddenly, he’s dragged out of his thoughts of you by you yourself. He doesn’t mind, though; listening to your voice was a million times better than imagining it in his head. One too many times had it not been enough when he sat in his hideout, imagining you lounging around and planning out his next hero attack by his side. 

        Your hand stretches over his lap to grasp his own as you sit up and turn to him, one leg folded while the other hangs off the couch. “Honestly, I really think you should stay here tonight.” 

        No, he would never refuse that. Not in a million years. You wanted him here. This time, you invited him to stay in your home. 

        It was much better than when he used to settle for intruding while you slept, crawling into bed beside you and watching you slumber long before the sun rose. It was always harder to leave than it was to enter. 

        “YN…”

        “I know, I know, but I hate to see how you’re living right now.” You tear your gaze away from his intense one and shake your head. “My spare room is always open.”

        No, no, that’s not what he wanted. 

        “It’s got a mattress and everything. It’s gotta be better than the bale of hay you settle for.” 

        “I don’t sleep on a bale of hay!” 

        You raise a brow and he rolls his eyes, grumbling his response. “It’s not as uncomfortable as you think.” 

        “C’mon Garou, you need this. And honestly, I don’t mind you staying here! I promise.”

        That wasn’t his issue. Of course, he wanted to stay here too, but for different reasons. You wanted to keep him inside and safe like a friend should. 

        He wanted to sleep on your bed and hold you in his arms. He wanted to wake you with breakfast in the morning, kiss you before you left for school, greet you and help you with homework when you returned. 

        He wanted to make love to you on the counter, in the shower, on the sofa you both sat on right now. 

        No longer could he stand this platonic bullshit anymore, and he knew you felt the same. 

        I’m getting the girl. 

        “I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t let you stay here for at least tonight-”

        “Why don’t we both sleep in your bed then?”

        Garou finally shifts his body to face yours, mirroring your position and pulling the arm off the back of your couch to drop it into your lap. His fingers splay out along your thigh but you don’t bother to stop the movements. 

        Jaw dropped, you stare at Garou in shock. “W-What?!”

        “You heard me.”

        “Yeah, I heard you, but I don’t think I did it too good.”

        “Then I’ll repeat myself.” Garou leans closer, face just inches from your own as he whispers, “Why don’t we sleep in the same bed for the night?”

        Never before had you seen the look in his eyes. With enlarged pupils forcing away their natural yellow, they practically glow with desire as he leers over you. Part of you wants to lean back, but you just keep thinking no, this is Garou, my friend. He’s just teasing.

        “Very funny, Garou,” you snort, placing two hands on his solid chest to push him away, but you gulp when he doesn’t budge. 

        “It wasn’t a joke, YN.”

        God, he was so close you could feel yourself sweating under his gaze. He was too close; his body was too hot. Slipping away from his long fingers, you stand up and stumble into the kitchen. A glass of water, that’s what you needed to clear your head. 

        Rage floods Garou’s chest at the aversion and he doesn’t hesitate to follow you. “YN-”

        You hold up a finger to pause him while you swallow glass after glass of water, hoping and begging that this was just a joke. Surely he wasn’t serious, right?

        After your fifth glass, Garou huffs out in irritation and snatches the water away from your lips, slamming it to the table before folding his arms. “YN.” 

        “Garou.”

        That look in her eyes, it can’t be fear. No, no she loves you just as much as you love her. She’s just shy.

        “YN, I’m in love with you.” His cheeks almost burn at the confession, but he continues. “I have been since the day we met, when you stood up for me.” 

        Guilt floods your features before you turn your head, hugging yourself for comfort. “Garou, I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

        “Just tell me the truth. Tell me you feel the same, YN, because I know there’s no way you don’t.”

        “But Garou-”

        “Just say you love me, YN, and we can finally be together like we should be.” When he takes a step closer, you take one back, and that’s when the love and hope in his eyes crumbles. 

        “Garou, I’m sorry. I do, a-and I will always love you-”

        “Then why-”

        “-as my best friend.” 

        Cracks fill his chest as the words settle in his stomach like a rock. His heart twinges at the words as they echo in his ears. 

        A friend? That’s all he was to you? A FRIEND?!

        “Take it back, YN.” His head has dropped, shaking back and forth incessantly as he mumbles the words. “Take it back.”

        “Garou, I’m so sorry.” 

        Crash.

        You flinch at the sight, watching water drip down your walls as broken glass falls to the floor. A chair at your kitchen table gets kicked into the wall as well, splintering off a wooden leg and leaving a hole in the paneling. 

        A scream rips its way out of your throat when Garou picks up your table, throwing it in the same direction and not even flinching when it breaks into flying pieces. Fear holds your heart tightly in it’s grasp as he approaches you, face scrunched up in fury. 

        “Why, YN?” The words are spat with disdain. “Why won’t you just admit you love me back? What’s stopping you?”

        You whimper and back away slowly, scared to anger the beast more. Too bad the damage had already been done. Garou kicks a dent into your fridge, allowing the cold air to hiss out and fill the now-dusty room. 

        “Garou, please!”         “I won’t use you, YN! I won’t cheat on you, or go behind your back! I love you and only you!” 

        “Garou!” Fearful tears slide down your face after you run into the counter, completely and utterly helpless. You feel trapped in your own home. 

        “And I won’t hurt you…” he trails off, ignoring your flinching as he looms closer, “...not unless I have to.”

        “Please, just stop!” Your emotions are at an all-time high as you frantically draw in breaths, filling your lungs as fast as you can when this monster approaches. “I’m sorry!”

        The more you speak, it seems, the more furious Garou becomes. While you slump to the cold floor of your kitchen, he turns your house into a war zone. 

        His voice, heightened with pain, never stops talking as he trashes your house, punching holes in the walls and chucking furniture everywhere. 

        “Why YN?!”

        “Why don’t you love me?!”

        “You’re mine!”

        “I’m not letting you go!”

        “I’ll make you love me, I don’t care what I have to do. You will love me.” 

        Even after ducking your head into your knees and plugging your ears, you couldn’t block out the shouts, the crashes, the tornado that was Garou ripping through your house and destroying everything you owned. 

        “You don’t love me?” he scoffed, running his bloody hands through his hair and shaking his head. “She doesn’t love me, she doesn’t love me, she doesn’t love me.” 

        When he returns to the kitchen to see you, he can’t help but crumple to the ground.

        Your face is tucked between your legs and your body visibly trembles on the floor. Garou bites into his lip at the sight, rage wilting into despair as he kneels in front of you.

        “I can fix this,” he shakes his head. “I will, I promise.” Without a second thought, he nudges your hands away from your ears before dropping his head to your shoulder and letting out a shaky sigh. 

        Tears soak through your shirt for all the wrong reasons, but you can’t get away. By now, he’s pressed your forehead against his chest and wiggled his way between your knees, mumbling words you assume he thinks are reassuring as he runs his lips up and down your neck. 

        “I can fix this, YN. I’m not gonna lose you. I swear, I’m not letting you go ever again.”

        Before you can do anything to get away, he’s rising to his feet and taking you with him. 

        Your arms instinctually wrap around his neck so you don’t fall back, bile crawling up your throat when he smiles and hums in approval against your skin. “Good girl.”

        By force, your legs are wrapped around his waist by his hands, now settled below your thighs as he squeezes the flesh appreciatively. “Yes, YN, let’s get out of here. I’ll fix all of this, just let me get us out of here and then we can discuss this.”

                                ~~~

        Garou got the girl. The monster finally won.

        He couldn’t fight the grin off his face as he held you tighter, brushing the hair out of your eyes as you slept without a care. 

        The gentle touch woke you from your pleasant dream, leaving you forced to confront the nightmare that was reality. 

        “Morning Angel.” A kiss to your forehead left your skin crawling. 

        “Garou… please-”

        “Ah, ah, ah, none of that today. I don’t want to have to gag you again.” His finger booped your nose as if he had just teased you with a toy. The horribly familiar grip on your waist was just as bruising as it was yesterday, and the day before, but it was still a pleasant exchange for the shackles that had kept you in place for the first two weeks you were in Garou’s hideout. The gag had stayed on your face for the same amount of time, but even the memory made your heart seize. 

        “You’re a monster.” 

        God, he actually smiled at that.

        “Oh, I know, Angel. And soon, you’ll love me for it.” He pauses only to hug you closer. “Just like you used to.”

hello! I read your reborn series and I'm in love with it, the plot and story is just immaculate. if it isn't too much, can you add me in your taglist? thank you!

Of course! Thank you so much, and I’m glad you’re liking it!🤗💜

You Accidentally Confess Over Text (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

(Bokuto and Akaashi Version)

A/N: I AM ALIVEEEE✨✨yalllll it’s been a fat minute, how’ve u been?? How’s school and all that Jazz? Mine is a goddamn nightmare, and its like even with the hybrid, I’m gettin claustrophobic🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ anyways, I had the day off and about five minutes to myself, so here’s a lil thing to “check in” I guess. Thanks for 2.1k guys, and enjoy!

Please reborn is so good!! i have been waiting for part 8 like anything. Please please please dont discontinue it. I really wanna know the end!

I have never liked a fanfiction with parts and this long ever. I just adore it sm.

My deperate ass has read the series thrice by now lol.

BUT DIDHOSSK TAKE ALL THE TIME YOU WANT BUT DONT DISCONTINUE IT. 😩😭

i will cry and that will be anything but sexy 💀💀

Love ya <33

you are doing amazing senpai 🥰

(I dont think you will discontinue it but i just had a feeling 😔🖐️)

Aldhsknxksksn don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere🥺 I plan to completely finish that story kinda like a resolution to myself☺️ (cuz I’ve never completely written and finished a story before🙃)

No discontinuing here! My brain didn’t bust out that new multi-chapter plot for nothin😤😤

I’m glad u like it so much, and now I can’t wait to write the next chapter!! <3

...like a while from now😔

Darling Traps Them in a Room to Escape (Yandere Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

Ushijima and Oikawa Version

Sugawara and Kuroo Version

Tendou and Hinata Version

A/N: Man have I been wanting to write so bad lately. Here’s a lil thingy cuz I’ve really been into the thought of yandere hcs these past couple days. Enjoy!

Word count: 1996

Bokuto Koutarou:

Sobs ring throughout the apartment as you dig through nightstands and other drawers in sight. 

“YN please don’t do this to me! Please, please just let me go so we can talk about this!”

A lump formed in your throat as you shuffled through pens and papers faster, hoping, dreaming that you could make a noise loud enough to block out his cries. 

For a man who had been serious enough to plan your kidnapping for months, he certainly seemed quite immature when it came to that plan backfiring in any way shape or form. 

You’d only been searching for bobby pins for a whopping five minutes and in that time Bokuto's managed to wail his voice to pieces and give you a headache. You’d compliment him on the newfound talent but you felt it would excite him too much. 

“Bokuto, shut up will you?” Frustration had you wanting to rip your hair from your scalp, and Bokuto’s constant howling only made the idea more tempting. 

You know the words struck a chord when he gasped from within the closet. Silence followed, with only the occasional sniffle to keep you company as you rifled through the bathroom. A small whoop escaped your lips when you located a small package of bobby pins Bokuto had no doubt purchased on your behalf. 

A thousand times over did you thank your old habit of boredly watching lock-picking videos on YouTube--who’d have thought it would actually be useful?

“So… you don’t love me anymore. Is that it?”

You sat crouched next to the front door, scratching the rubber ends off the pins when you choked on your own spit at Bokuto’s question. 

“I- what?”

“Please, YN, think about what you’re doing.” If his voice earlier had been an elephant, his voice now would be a mouse. Soft, whispered, gentle.

Heartbroken. 

“I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while now Bokuto.” You swallow and return your gaze to the lock, pressing the bobby pins into the keyhole with pursed lips. “The only one who hasn’t been thinking about what they’re doing is you.”

“So you’re just gonna leave me here.” Ah, you were wondering when the waterworks would return. “All alone? Did you ever even love me?”

Delusional. The poor boy you had liked in high school was now so, so delusional. Insane enough to kidnap you from your home, and crazy enough to think you had been okay with it. Six months of unreturned affection should have told him otherwise, but it seemed Bokuto was a lost cause all the way around. 

You kept your lips tightly shut, focused more on each click of the lock than whatever grief-stricken words were leaving Bokuto’s mouth at the moment. 

“You didn’t?” His voice was clogged with unshed tears. “Not even for a moment?”

Maybe once.

“I’ve loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you, YN.” His voice returned with a new vigor, quiet all the same and yet with new undertones of will. “I know you feel the same way.”

Slam!

An involuntary squeal left your lips at the sound of the closet’s door tearing away from its hinges, crashing to the ground with an ear splitting bang. 

Bokuto stood in the doorway, black and white hair in disarray as an emotion swam in his golden gaze. You couldn’t put your finger on it exactly.

Perhaps it was anger. 

No.

Maybe sorrow?

Nope.

It was…

“YN.”

Each step he took toward you matched your heart as it pounded, his legs making quick work of the distance as he bounded toward you. Strong arms yanked you to your feet before pulling you off the floor completely. A hand under your knees and one on your back, Bokuto hauled you bridal style back to his bedroom without so much as a grunt of effort. 

The emotion. It was fear. 

Pure, unadulterated fear. 

Fear made tears trail down his cheeks, made his fingers tremble and twitch as he held you, made his heartbeat so quick you could hear it pulsing next to your ear. 

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you, YN.” Back to the bedroom. “I love you too much.” To the same bed you’ve been stuck to for months. “And I know you love me back, baby.”

No matter how much you twisted and struggled in his grip, he still managed to lock the cuffs on each one of your wrists, forcing your arms up and above your head with your legs free and kicking on the mattress.

Not again.

Quickly, Bokuto straddled your legs, restricting their movement while he ran a hand down your face. “I know you love me too,” he whispered once more, dazed eyes taking in your face. 

Those two bobby pins sitting just in front of the door, along with the rest of them, would no doubt be disposed of. Knowing the bad memory that came attached to them, Bokuto would have no qualms about burning every last bobby pin on Earth in order to terminate such a reminder. 

“No, no,” he shook his head at himself. “I know you love me. But maybe you just need a reminder that I love you, baby.” 

His eyes brightened at the thought at the same time yours widened. 

“No-”

“Shhh,” he pressed a finger over your lips, a smile now taking over his face. “Was that why you tried to leave? You thought I didn’t love you anymore?”

“Mmm!” You wriggled and shook against your restraints, not willing to acknowledge just how useless the fight was. 

“Don’t worry, YN. Of course I still love you!”

His eyes darkened. Then his tongue peeked out to run over his bottom lip. 

“But I’ll happily show you that if you still don’t believe me.”

Kageyama Tobio:

Trapping Kageyama in the bathroom was hard. Even harder than you expected. 

However, with one swift kick to his behind, he stumbled inside just enough off balance that you could yank the door shut and slip the chair under the knob before he had time to right himself. 

“YN!”

Since then, he’s been silent. Or, silently fuming. Every few seconds, you heard a huff or a grunt or a growl. It appeared he was none-too pleased to be locked up. 

Huh. Wonder how that feels.

And yet, you could find no devices to help you escape. The only furniture that even seemed strong enough to use as a battering ram was either too heavy to move or was currently stopping your kidnapper from escaping. 

Nonetheless, you kept searching. 

No keys held in obvious places. No sticks skinny enough to pick the lock. Nothing. 

Kageyama wasn’t the only one with a temporary vow of silence--even you knew not to poke the bear during a time like this. Over the last few weeks, you had learned that a silent Kageyama was worse than a loud one. 

Right now, he was a ticking time bomb behind closed doors, which meant you had to get out now or never. 

Do or die. 

Should he somehow escape to get back to you, you had no doubt you were in for some serious payback tonight. Though Kageyama had never laid his hand on you before (even while he held you captive), you had a feeling he would lose that level of restraint once your five minutes of fame were over. 

Which meant you had to escape some way or another. 

There were no windows in the house that weren’t either barred or made of glass even a bullet couldn’t get through, so those weren’t an option.

The front door… it seemed plausible. Battering ram or not, there wasn’t actually too much to it aside from a lock and chain. Maybe your own brute force was the best way to go. 

Pain erupted through your shoulder after the first attempt. Then the second. 

Third, fourth, fifth. 

Crack!

The hinges began to splinter from top to bottom, and you knew the next hit would be your last. 

Stepping back farther this time, you readied yourself for impact before-

“YN.”

Kageyama’s voice, still muffled through the door, was firm and loud. 

“I will come after you.”

You stopped in your tracks, gulping at the thought. 

“Y-yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

He huffed before you heard a thump. 

“Just don’t do anything stupid while you’re out there, okay?”

“You best believe I’m gonna-”

“Be safe, dumbass,” he hissed. 

Your heart twinged. Oh.

You wanted to hate him for everything he’s done. You really did. But… you couldn’t find it in yourself to do it. Before, when you were just the average boyfriend-girlfriend couple, things were great. When he started getting more possessive was when you worried, and when he locked you up was when you panicked. 

But it was only now that you remembered this was still the boy you loved, to some degree. 

“I will… asshole.”

Kozume Kenma:

Kenma was never affectionate. 

In fact, he hardly ever touched you. In the soundproof apartment he had you trapped in, he usually minded your space, so much so that you even wondered why he bothered with you in the first place. 

Maybe you were going crazy yourself, but you couldn’t stand it anymore. Aside from the occasional forced cuddle or hug, Kenma didn’t ask for anything of you, only that you didn’t leave. 

It was some kind of mind game he played with you. When you realized he was manipulating you into breaking away from all of your friends and family, he also realized you noticed. 

And so, he locked you up to… just keep you around?

You were sick of it. Done. Tired of the mind games. 

So while he finally let you off his lap so he could take his habitual bathroom break from gaming, you shoved his rolly chair under the door and began the search for the key. 

If I were a lazy psychopath, where would I keep my keys?

“YN, are you really doing this right now? Come on, I was in the middle of my game.”

Of course that was all he could think about. Standup guy, that one. 

“There’s a simple solution to this, Kenma. Just let me go and you can go back to your goddamn video games.”

“YN, I don’t… I didn’t want to let you go just yet.”

“What am I, a dog? You’re a freak, Kenma, just tell me where it is!”

“YN, please, can’t we just talk about this?” His voice was no different than usual, soft-spoken and untroubled as always. 

You hated it. It was like he had the situation all under control. 

Well, he did but you didn’t like to think about that. 

“Kenma, please, can’t you just see this from my point of view? I don’t understand why you keep me trapped here 24/7 for no reason! Can’t you at least tell me why?”

He stayed silent for a second, then you heard a small clink. 

A key slid out from under the door, all the way out to the tips of your toes. 

Your jaw almost dropped at the sight. That was all it took?!

“...Why?”

Why? Why take you away only to let you go so easily? Why hold you captive only to rarely be around you? Why did he do any of this?

“Because. Because I know someday you’ll come back to me.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you’ll never be the same after me. And one day you’ll realize the only one who ever really cared about you was me.”

You open your mouth to respond, only to find yourself at a loss. 

Without another word, you slip through the door, gripping the key with all your strength. 

He’s wrong… isn’t he?