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Fake Marks, True Love (Oikawa x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: The hickey was fake, but the pain Oikawa felt when he saw it? It was real, and it hurt like a bitch. “Who touched you?”

A/N: Angst! Angst! Angst (and fluff)! Also, another prank fanfic? Wow! Who’d have thought? Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy this fake hickey prank with Aoba Johsai’s cocky setter!

Word count: 1341

        The dark splotch on your neck was perfect. It was slightly below your ear and couldn’t be easily covered by hair or clothing. I could be a makeup artist. You dipped the brush into the powder and dusted it over the mark as a final touch, making it seem more natural and subtle. 

       “And now we wait,” you mutter, packing up the eyeshadows and foundations around you before settling down in the living room. You bundle up in a thick sweatshirt and yoga pants, hopping onto the couch and preparing for Oikawa to come over after finishing practice. 

       About an hour later, the TV is loud and lit up the room with your show, but you could still hear your boyfriend’s knock on the door along with the call of your name. You had almost drifted off to sleep, so you yawn while rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands. 

       “YN!” He rang the doorbell obnoxiously until you whipped open the door with a fierce glare.

       “Was that really necessary?” you hiss, the jingles still ringing in your ears. 

       “Of course,” he scoffed, “I wanted to see you. Be flattered.” He smirks at you before stepping inside, glancing around your house while kicking off his shoes. 

       “The Office? Really?” He raised a brow at your entertainment choice. “You’ve watched that like a million times.”

       “And I’ll watch it a million more, so get used to it.” You stick out your tongue and trudge back over to the couch, Oikawa snagging your waist in the process and following closely behind you. His hands were cold from outside and rough from his practice. 

       “I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I?” He sighs dramatically and flops onto the sofa beside you, plopping his sweaty head on your lap. 

       “Ew, ew, ewww!” You pat his forehead in an effort to urge him to move but he only swats your hand away. 

       “Shush,” he relaxes both arms behind his head, not-so subtly caressing your thighs in the process. “It’s not that bad.” You know he’s right. Sweaty or not, his hair is always soft and calming to run your hands through, so you do it. 

       “See?” His brown eyes glow from down on your lap and you roll your own at him.

       “Fine, you win-”

       “God, I love hearing those words.”

       “Now shut up and let me watch Jim prank Dwight.”

       “Fine, I will. Now you shush and let me,” he pauses for a second, looking up at your face confusedly, “... stare… at… you,” he trails off. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are filled with pain. What’s wrong with him? You glance down curiously before returning your gaze to the screen.

       A hand of his peels out from under his head and reaches up to brush over your face then down under your ear. Smiling faintly, you lean into his touch. He was gentle with his movements and you close your eyes to focus on the feeling. “YN.” 

       You hum in response. 

       “Who touched you?” His voice is tense and restrained. Your eyes fly open and narrow in confusion.

       “What?”

       “Who did this?” He sits up and turns to face you, keeping his fingers against the side of your neck. “Who stole you from me?”

       “What are you-” Oh shit.

       Your hand flies up to feel for the fake hickey, but Oikawa’s is already there. 

       “Yeah, that’s right,” he sneers while his voice trembles, “I saw it.” You’re conflicted between ending it right now by telling him and staying silent to see where it goes. Wait, why did I do this again?

       “How could you?” His Adam’s apple bobs while he pushes your hair back once more to view the artificial mark, only to scoff in disbelief and shake his head. You breathe out waveringly and fidget with your fingers. Should I stop now? God, why am I doing this?

       “It’s not what you think.” You avoid his gaze and mutter more excuses, “I just fell.” He gives you a pained smile and his eyes start to water. 

       “On your neck?” he whispers breathlessly. You nod and he shakes his head once more, loosening a tear from his eye. 

       “YN, please. Tell me the truth.”

       “I am!” you plead.

       “You’re lying!” he exclaims suddenly, pushing off the couch to pace back and forth in front of you anxiously. His hands tug on his hair harshly while he bites his lip. 

       “How long?”

       “Baby, it’s not-”

       “Who was it?”

       “Tooru-”

       “Was he better than me?” he whispers, eyes filled with hurt while he watches you.

       “Tooru, no, it’s a prank!” you shout, standing up and approaching him, only to be stopped by his outstretched hands. 

       “YN, I can’t.” He shakes his head and your heart stops. 

       “Can’t what?” you ask softly, eyes welling up with tears.

       “I can’t stay here.” Oikawa stumbles back, searching the floor frantically for his shoes. “I-,” he chokes back a sob, “I can’t be with you anymore.” 

       “Tooru wait!” You sprint over and slide into the door, slamming it shut just as he opens it. Tears fall down his face silently as you let out trembling breaths. Without a word, you grab his hand and lead him to the bathroom.

       “YN don’t-”

       “Shut up.” Your voice cracks pitifully as you drag him in and switch on the light. You hold him in place with a tight grip and silently turn on the faucet. 

       “YN…” he trails off in awe, watching as you rub away the fake love mark until it is only an awkward rash of purple under your ear. Slowly, you turn your head up to face him in the mirror, dropping his hand and leaning against the counter while you wait. 

       “It was just a prank,” you mumble, pursing your lips and losing yourself in his brown eyes. At last, he seems to hear you. And believe you. His nose flairs and he frantically wipes at his cheeks, hoping to erase the wave of sadness from earlier. Then he lets out a forced chuckle.

       “Thank God,” he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if-” Oikawa breaks off with a whimper and pulls you into an embrace, weeping gently into your shoulder. In an instant, you return the hug, but you widen your eyes in an attempt to keep your own cries at bay. The resistance doesn’t last long, and you tuck your head into his neck, squeezing the back of his shirt tightly while you let out your own body-wracking sobs.

       “Don’t ever do that again,” he begs, sighing when you press a kiss to his neck.

       “Never,” you promise, nodding in agreement. Hesitantly, he leans back to look at your face and uses a thumb to wipe away a stray tear. For a moment longer, his fingers stroke your cheek before trailing down to your chin, swiftly pulling you forward for a kiss. Your lips clash together and you both let out a moan at the feeling. His bottom lip is puffy from when he had bitten on it devastatedly earlier, but you don’t hesitate to perform the same job in the heat of the moment.

       Oikawa groans before separating to allow you to breathe. The break doesn’t last long, and you sigh wantonly when he begins to attack the skin of your throat.

       “My marks are the only ones that should ever touch your neck,” he gives you a heated glance while you gaze back dazedly and nod in agreement. “Allow me to demonstrate,” he mumbles, lips brushing hotly against you with every syllable. After a harsh bite, you mewl and dig your hands into his hair, yanking on the brunet’s tufts encouragingly. 

       “Please do.”

Nail Polish and Peer Pressure (Bakugou x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: You just wanted to paint your nails in his room, but Bakugou always had to throw a hissy fit. No matter; revenge can take many forms. 

A/N: Google searched “asshole synonyms” for this. I ain’t sorry. Not my best work, but I really wanted to write something, so please enjoy!

Word count: 1220

        “Hey, YN, thanks for the badass nail polish. It’s super manly!”

       “Of course Kirishima!”

       That ticked him off. Even his best friend had gotten his nails painted by you. The whole class was now writing, tapping, and gesturing with their painted nails however they could, and it was all thanks to your seemingly endless supply of that toxic shit. Bakugou was sick of it. 

       It all began a couple days ago, when the blond and you were hanging out in his own room.

                               ###

       “What the hell is that smell?” Your boyfriend sniffed the air with distaste, looking over from the computer he had been playing on. There you were, sitting on his bed with a bottle of polish precariously balanced on one thigh. The other leg was a makeshift surface on which you painted your nails maroon. 

       “Seriously?”

       “Seriously what?” you asked obliviously.

       “Get that nasty shit off my bed before you spill it!” he demanded, spinning around in his chair to face you. He glared at the bottle you innocently gestured at him.

       “What, this? You’re really that scared I’m gonna ruin your precious sheets with a little nail polish? C’mon Katsuki, I’m not that clumsy.” He scoffs at your obvious lie and raises a brow at you. You purse your lips and roll your eyes, giving in. “All right fine, you’re right! But I’ll be careful, I swear.” Following your plea, you throw out your best weapon imaginable: puppy dog eyes. 

       It was ineffective.

       “No, now close that shit before the stench becomes permanent.” He turns back to his computer without another word and returns to his game. 

       “Fine,” you stand up and walk over to his door, awkwardly trying to open with your elbows since your fingers weren’t exactly dry yet. “Then I’ll go do this elsewhere.”

       “Fine.”

                               ###

       Since then, you’ve been painting everyone in the class’s nails, even the guys. Just three days ago he had walked in on you adorning Deku’s hands with emerald green in the common area. Jealousy was his initial reaction, as all he could see was the small twerp’s hands near your lap as you giggled. Then it got worse to see his fingers resting on your thighs while you chatted and laughed together. 

       “YN!” Bakugou had shouted at you. You glanced up with wide eyes from your task, then recognized the look in your boyfriend’s eyes.

       “Oh calm down, Katsuki. It’s not like you were gonna let me paint your nails.” Bakugou almost exploded at your tone. “Besides, Izuku was just wondering what all the fuss was about. There’s nothing wrong with wanting pretty nails.” Those words combined with the fact that you had called that loser by his name pushed the blond over the edge. He was slowly being driven insane.

                               ###

       “Hey YN, some girls at the mall yesterday totally complimented my nails. Thanks again!” the bubbly gravity girl spouted. Bakugou’s arm tightened around your shoulder at the praise, and he snarled at the sight of disembodied hot pink nails floating into the classroom. 

       “I absolutely adore the sparkles you gave me, YN. You’re a goddess!” Aoyama praised next, twirling around and waving his hands in front of yours and Bakugou’s faces before dramatically falling into his seat. This was ridiculous. 

       Everyone, and he meant everyone in the classroom except for him had painted nails of all colors. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” the miserable future hero muttered as he watched Todoroki pass with red and white nails. “I’m gonna hurl.”

       He missed the smug smirk that grew on your face, and you swiftly kiss him on the cheek before separating and returning to your own desk just as the bell rang. 

       It was only a matter of time.

                               ###

       Deku stood over the bruised and beaten blond, shoving his painted hands in front of his face while laughing victoriously. “Well, well, well, looks like I finally beat you, Kacchan,” the green-haired boy boasted. Bakugou only groaned in pain on the hard asphalt of the street, unable to move as the bruises began to darken. 

       “I guess you could say it was all thanks to these,” he continued, flashing his emerald nails near Bakugou’s two black eyes. “Tell YN I’m grateful-”

       Bakugou sprang up from his bed in a cold sweat, gasping and feeling his body for any bruises, only to come up clean. “It was all a nightmare,” he groaned, ducking his head miserably into his hands. “This is fucking stupid.” And yet, why did he want to go to your room now? The pupil-burning red digits of his alarm clock told him it was too late; it was midnight. But he didn’t care. If Bakugou had one more stupid nightmare over fucking nail polish, he was going to lose it. 

                               ###

       “YN!” Who the hell? “YN, open up! Open the goddamn door, YN!” Your boyfriend. Of course. Checking your phone, you moaned at the time while slumping off your bed and onto the floor, worming your way to the entrance an enraged blond currently stood behind. 

       “Did you bring me food?” 

       “What? No-”

       “A stuffed animal?”

       “No! I-”

       “Then why in the goddamn fuck are you here at-” you whip open your door and glare into his crimson eyes, “the asscrack of dawn?” Your menacing whisper was challenged with a raised brow.

       “It’s only twelve.”

       “It’s only bedtime,” you mocked with a sneer. “What do you need?”

       “You need to paint my nails.” Oh, oh this was good. Who needed prank TV shows when you could have all this? You disguised your victorious expression by dropping your head and groaning dramatically. Sweet, sweet revenge was near, and you could almost taste that salty bitch. 

       “Fineeee. But wash your hands first.” He tried to object, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand. “I’m not painting over your crusty-ass sleep nails.” 

       “The fuck are ‘sleep nails’?” your blondy grumbled under his breath, but nonetheless made his way over to your bathroom. Trembling excitedly after watching him walk away, you swiftly texted the class group chat you had made a week ago with great news. 

You: U guys can remove ur nail polish now. Bakugou finally gave in ;)

Kaminari: Thank GODDD, I’m done with this yellow crap on my fingers

Kirishima: Me too, but at least we’ll finally get to see Bakugou with girly nails

Mina: Man, I’m gonna miss my pink sparkles!!

You: It’ll be worth it, trust me

       You set your phone down just as Bakugou turned off the lights in your bathroom, but the buzzing of notifications continued. 

       “What asshole is texting you at midnight?”

       “Probably the same kind of knucklehead that would yell at me through my door at midnight.”

       He scoffs before flopping down onto your bed beside you. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with.”

       “Wonderful.” Your eyes twinkle wickedly as you open your nightstand drawer, displaying a wide array of nail polishes even a rainbow would be jealous of. “So what color were you thinking?”

I...I can't not express how good your yandere Michael Gray fic was OH MY GOD it was so well written. Usually I am not a huge fan of Michael but this was just chef's kiss

ahhhh goodness thank you so much I'm happy you like it!! bruh i mean michael gray is such a cutie i wanted to try my hand at making him a yandere since there's not many fics of that so i'm glad you enjoyed it as well!

Hey! I would like to request yandere garou from opm hcs or scenario whichever you feel comfortable doing, if your not taking request right now you can just ignore this. I love your garou x Reader stories btw.

(Soft) Yandere Garou Headcanons 

*GIF not mine*

A/N: I’m glad you like them! Also, b r u h, tysm for this request bc ugh, I forgot how much of a babe Garou is. Honestly, I could talk about this boy for hours bc he’s so friggin’ 🥵 (aka this shit’s a lil long). Hope you enjoy! (Side note: It’s a lil more fluffy than anything. Lemme know if you want something darker 😐)

Word count: 1280

He’s definitely a stalker. 

I mean, what else can he be? He’s the feared Hero Hunter, how the hell is he gonna attract you straight up?

Speaking of, this means he totally kidnaps you. You’re, honest to God, terrified of this mf. 

“Please don’t kill me.”

“Angel, I would never. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

Angel

(Side note: any and every guy you’ve ever talked to and/or are close with have mysteriously disappeared for some reason… I wonder why🤔)

He’s addicted to you in almost a childlike way (bc mind you, this fucker’s 18💀)

He’s always looking to please you while you’re locked in his home, since he’s gotta convince you to fall in love with him. Sadly… he’s got like zero experience in that arena.

Aka he won’t touch you often, not unless you explicitly state that you want it, and his idea of romance is just loading you up with gifts. 

Garou loves spoiling you, but I’m gonna be upfront when I say he likes seeing things that claim you as his. 

Deadass, he threatened a jewelry store into making you a necklace with his name on it. (Ofc he makes you wear it, but the only “punishment” you get for not wearing it is him putting it on you anyway while you’re distracted)

Though his main priority is becoming strong, Garou begins to realize that he’s losing will to become strong for himself. Now, he wants to become stronger for you. 

There were a couple times where he almost got his ass reamed by some Class S heroes, but that only made him realize that there are dangers out there he might not be able to protect you from. 

Sometimes you’re just sitting in the abandoned barn Garou hides out in and you can hear him training. Groans and grunts level 100 😳

In all seriousness though, Garou definitely treats you with utmost respect. He understands that you might not like him because he kidnapped you and forced you to stay with him. There are times where you scream and smack at him, and of course deep down he’s hurt, but he would never retaliate. 

Everytime he comes home, it’s always the same greeting. 

“I’m home, angel!”

“Go to hell, asshole!”

Eventually-- eventually-- you start to warm up to him, though, and Garou can see it. He’s an extremely observant person; he notices all your ticks and can read your face like a book, so he can easily tell when you’re starting to… well, at least not hate him as much.

For example, his heart almost burst with joy when one day you almost smiled at the sight of him. He came home from tracking down and researching more heroes to see you staring at your newest gift: a collection of your favorite books from before you were kidnapped. (He had gone to your old home and taken your bookshelf). 

“Hey, angel, do you like it?” he asks excitedly.

Your mouth twitches, and he waits and waits for more, but that’s all he gets. “Yes. Thank you, Garou.”

He went to bed with the biggest grin on his face that night. 

While we’re on the subject, I should note that he doesn’t make you sleep with him. Like I said earlier, he’s not great with romance, and he definitely knows he doesn’t wanna force himself on you and have you hate him forever. 

Garou wants you to fill the hole in his heart. He’s got no family or friends, but he knows he doesn’t need them as long as he has you. He wants you to love him unconditionally, like he never was as a child. 

All righty, let’s hop to it. 

So. Months after he’s taken you, you finally feel yourself falling for him, and seeing how lovingly he treats you, you don’t exactly resist. 

Once again, you’re just sitting in the barn, waiting for him to come home, and when he does, you jump him. 

One small kiss, then he stares at you in surprise. Then another, longer kiss, passionate and filled with want. Then another. Then another. All the way until… 😳 (see “when you hear this mf train” for more info😏)

Ok y’all, don’t get pissy at me, but *cough* breeding kink *cough*

Honestly! You can’t tell me this guy isn’t gonna want kids as soon as he finds his darling.

Can, like, can y’all just humor me for a sec? Okay.

Imagine this: Tareo babysits your kids when he’s older 😌

Akneeways, after he feels like you’ve fallen for him enough that he can trust you, he’ll take you outside. 

(One time, a guy accidentally bumped into you on the street but didn’t apologize. You held Garou back from beating the shit out of him at the time, telling him “it’s fine, it’s fine, I’m okay.” Later, however, Garou comes home with blood splatters in his hair.) 

At one point, he brings you along to meet Tareo. Ofc the boy talks smack, like “Wow, your gf’s as old as you” or “how does someone so pretty fall for your ugly mug.” 

Tbh, you thought Garou was gonna explode on his ass, but your heart warms at the sound of Garou’s snicker and the sight of him ruffling the boy’s hair teasingly. “Shut it, you little runt.” 

Now, Garou’s told you he loved you countless times at this point. He often tells you he loves you before y’all go to sleep, and he even used to do that before you slept in the same bed as him, back when you hated him. But in this moment, it’s the first time that you’ve ever felt something akin to love while watching him. (His face and voice didn’t exactly show it, but there was a sparkle in Garou’s eyes that told you he was excited for you and Tareo to meet.)

And now, it’s time for a lil story. Once again, Garou’s only 18, but it’s questionable whether he even went to high school. Keep that in mind. 

Blood was everywhere. 

Garou had only just woken up to find you, still sleeping with the red liquid slowly pooling around you. 

Oh God.

“YN!” Garou shouts in alarm. 

“Mm, what?” you groan, annoyance tinging your tone at the sudden awakening. 

“YOU’RE BLEEDING!”

“What?” You glance down while Garou jumps out of bed, dashing from the room before returning just as swiftly with his homemade first aid kit. 

“Oh. Garou, it’s fine-”

“JUST STAY AWAKE YN, KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN!”

Your eyebrow twitches in irritation and you squeal when he rips the sheets right off your bare form. With trembling fingers, he prods at your thighs, searching for the wound.

“WHERE’S IT COMING FROM?!”

“There’s no wound.”

“WHERE IS IT?!”

Finally, you smack his hands away and clamber out of bed, hobbling over to the bathroom while clenching your thighs together. 

“I’m on my period, dumbass.” 

As soon as the door shuts behind you, Garou scratches his head. “What’s a period?”

So yes, although Garou loves you deeply and has the body of a Greek god, you have to keep reminding yourself that he kinda dropped out of school just to beat up heroes. It’s okay, you have plenty of time to teach him the ropes of being with you because you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

Yandere bokuto the one that will look at you with puppy eyes everytime you need to go out to get something begging you to stay and cuddle

“Bokuto, let me uppp.”

“No,” he tightens his hold around your waist, burying his face deeper into your neck, “not happening.”

When you finally slip off the couch, he gives you the saddest puppy dog eyes, lips pouting. “Babyyyyy, please stay?”

“I-” you sigh, “fine.” He doesn’t say another word, only whooping and tugging you back onto the cushions. He plops himself on top of you this time so there’s really no point in trying to escape, every limb of his trapping your own smaller version to the couch. The hair on his head tickles your chin as he shoves his face against your throat.

“This is where you belong, YN.”

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.”

idk what I’m doing but call me a duckling bc I be following all the ppl who use this format and it looked like fun

Soap who meets you, a medic for the Shadow Company, after he’s injured on the mission. Soap who’s dragged by Ghost up into the chopper, who you lean over and promise you’ll do your damn bestest to make sure he looks pretty by the end of this.

“Let me know if you see the light at any point, Sergeant MacTavish. That’s usually a bad sign.”

Soap who won’t stop looking you in the eyes as you work, mumbling to himself in such a thick accent you figure it’s best to ignore him, especially while finishing a suture on his chest that draws out an excessive groan.

Soap who flirts with you the entire time. Soap who’s ignorant to the gaping wound on his chest, and is much rather invested in the way your smell washes over him as you hover, ponytailed hair dangerously close to his hand. Soap who lets his head fall onto your shoulder on accident, Bonnie, so sorry, even as he sniffs for more of that shampoo and tang of sweat, because you’d been working so damn hard to keep little old him alive.

Soap who lets you wrap around him, pressing your hands against the wall and the cushion next to his thigh to get leverage to lean him up and off the cot.

Soap who clings a little too tightly to your shoulder as you lead him down and away, safely back to his base and into his CO’s protection.

“Thank you for not dying on me, John,” you say as you guide him back to Ghost.

Soap who watches you still, dazed little grin on his face even as Ghost grapples a hand at his shoulder——to hold him steady or hold him back, he’s not really sure.

Soap who wouldn’t mind staying with you, though. For a little longer.

“Anytime, Bonnie.” And he throws you a cheeky wink despite his sickly flush.

“Screwball,” you mutter fondly, waving a dismissive hand over your shoulder as you make your way back up the Shadow heli’s ramp.

Soap who grins as you go, eyeing your ass as he leans over to Ghost with a whispered, “What ‘oes screwball mean?”

“‘Fuck would I know, Johnny? Now let’s get a fuckin’ move on.”

An Enemy Hypnotizes Bakugou and He Hurts You (BNHA Headcanons)

*GIF not mine*

A/N: Got outta writer’s block with this bad boy. Enjoy!

Word count: 2138

“Katsuki, this isn’t you! Look at what you’re doing!”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Red rage burned in his eyes as he raised his sparking hands, both trained on you. 

Gritting your teeth, you settled back into your own defensive stance. Feet planted on the hard cement, you raised your arms across your chest and braced for impact, eyes glancing back and forth to ensure no more civilians were left on the street. 

The sun shone brightly in the sky, soaking into your skin and creating a halo around Bakugou’s blond head, despite which he still looked like a devil. A leer hung on his face as he circled you, a lion waiting to pounce on his prey. 

Pro Heroes were supposed to be arriving any second; after all, this was just supposed to be a simple academy training mission. You and Bakugou were supposed to survey a local villain terrorizing the streets and observe how a Pro Hero would go about capturing him. 

They should’ve remembered who Bakugou was and realized that he wasn’t the type of person to hold himself back from a fight, however, though distantly you assumed they believed you would be able to hold him back. 

They were dreadfully wrong.

“Katsuki, I don’t wanna hurt you,” you pleaded, softening your stance a bit. 

“Cute that you think I’m the one who’s gonna end up hurt,” he sneered, curling his hands into fists. Sweat dripped down his forehead and arms, further fueling the weapons attached to his arms. 

Panic struck you as you realized he had no control over himself and that no doubt he would use those weapons on you, full force. 

There was only one way to stop him before that happened. 

You would have to attack him first, hard. 

“Just remember, babe,” you shook your head solemnly, “I don’t mean any of this, and I would never hurt you unless I absolutely had to.”

Bakugou cocked a brow and curled his lip, hands sparking now more than ever. 

“Oh, and I also don’t forgive you for eating my muffin this morning.”

A grunt escaped him as he flew through the glass window of the restaurant behind him, crashing and collapsing against a table and chairs. You dropped your leg back to the ground, worry taking over your face as you strained to see his form in the dark restaurant. 

“Katsuki?”

“YN!” All Might’s voice dragged your attention away, leading you to watch as he landed on the street a few yards away. “Are you all right?”

Glancing back into the darkness of the restaurant one last time, you pursed your lips and turned, making your way toward the Pro Hero. “I’m fine, but Katsuki got-”

The wind gets knocked out of you just as you try to take another step, a blast of pure heat slamming into you and knocking you to the ground. 

Head smacking against the concrete, you bite down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood. 

“Shit,” you wheeze out as you roll onto your back, blue sky blurring above you. The epicenter of pain is on the left side of your skull and your head pounds with every heartbeat. Whooshes of blood flood your ears and a voice calls your name before everything turns to black. 

“YN. YN. YN!”

A hand pats your cheek gently, urging you to stur. When you continue to refuse, two fingers peel open your eyelid, flooding it with pure light and increasing the headache that had only been steadily pulsing before. 

“Ughhh,” you moan, unable to form words as the same person lifts open your second eye. 

A muffled “pupils are dilating” sounds far off in the distance before you feel your body being lifted up off the hard ground and onto something softer. 

Words like “hospital,” “concussion,” and “serious” filter in and out as you try to open your eyes, even the millimeter you actually obtain being a strain. 

Where is he? You try to form the words but your mouth feels stuffed with cotton and someone shushes you. Even in the blinding brightness, though, you can see him. 

He’s struggling in All Might’s grip, unsuccessfully trying to rip both arms away and barking at every EMT who walks past--who then begins to walk even faster--as his gaze continually glances from them on to you then back. 

Bakugou stops mid-shout and grows still when he finally sees your smallest of movements--the twitch of your fingers, the blink of your eyes, and the mouthing of his name.

Every ounce of fight in his body drains in that instant, and he slumps back against All Might, shoulders and brows drooping as he holds eye contact with you. 

Even in your daze, you wonder why he doesn’t come with, why they won’t let him come with, but that question falls from your mind the instant the ambulance doors are shut and they begin to drive away. 

Two days later, you were released from the hospital. You had a minor concussion and first-degree burns on your left arm, but otherwise you made it out unscathed. 

And during that time Bakugou didn’t contact you once. Not even a lame “Hey, u good?” text. Though technology was forbidden for the first couple days after your concussion, you still snuck out your phone from time to time to call him, text him, anything. He never responded. 

You told him that you were okay, that it was okay. You knew everything that had happened wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t in control of himself. Someone had forced him to hurt you and he’d had no part in it. If he had, he would’ve stopped it, you were sure. 

Nothing. 

All you would get was a little check mark marking each and every one of your messages as “seen.” 

Now that you were coming back to school today, you could finally give him a piece of your mind after that silent treatment. 

First thing you did when you arrived was look for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. People flooded you as you entered, asking if you were okay and how many fingers they were holding up. 

You noticed they were asking all but one question: What happened? 

Although you didn’t necessarily want to answer it anyway, this still piqued your curiosity and just as you prepared your own inquiry Aizawa entered and they scurried to their seats. 

Still no Bakugou in sight. 

The most acknowledgement the weary teacher gave you after your absence was a nod and an unceremonious grunt before diving right into the lesson. 

Though your doctors would blame it on your concussion, you found yourself unable to pay attention. It wasn’t even anger towards Bakugou at this point, but genuine panic that he hadn’t shown up yet. You never even thought to wonder what happened after you were knocked out until now. 

Maybe he got hurt too, or was it possible he could still be hypnotized? No, no way. You saw him recognize you post-knockout. So where was he?

The minute class ended you were out the door and running to the dorms. If Bakugou wasn’t there then obviously this situation was more serious than you thought. 

You hit Floor Four and bounded past Kirishima to the absent blond’s room, pounding on the door with all your might. 

“Katsuki? Are you in there?”

His red-headed friend watched as you knocked, flinching each time the door shook hard enough to rattle the entire level. “YN.”

“Katsuki I swear to God if you keep ignoring me-”

“YN.” He tried again, growing anxious. 

“I’m gonna kick your ass so bad you won’t even-”

“YN.” 

“What, Kirishima, what?”

It took a few seconds to register that he hadn’t said your name the third time. Snapping your head to the other side, you faltered at the sight of the blond. 

Hair ratty and tangled, eyes puffy and sunken, cheeks pale and bloodless. If anyone were to guess, they would think Bakugou was the one who took the beating. 

“YN.” He repeated your name like he was pondering over it. 

You heard a door click and turned to see Kirishima gone, disappearing into his room. Glancing around the hallway, you realized it wasn’t exactly the perfect place to have such a serious conversation and gestured for Bakugou to open his door. 

The second it was closed, you turned back to him and threw him a dirty look. “Why didn’t you respond?”

He stayed quiet for a second, looking you up and down, up and down. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gulping, and you took the time to notice how bloodshot his eyes were. Then, finally, he spoke. “Are you okay?”

Anger swelled at his dismissal of your question, but before you erupted you noticed something. Though Bakugou’s hands twitched at his sides, every time you moved closer toward him he would inch away. 

Taking a deep breath, you moved another step closer, startled when he took one back. 

“Why are you…” you trailed off, struck by his apprehension. 

“Are you okay?” he asked--no, he insisted. When you responded “yes” he nodded slowly and clenched his jaw, turning away. “That’s good.” Instead of facing you he began to fiddle with his desk chair, rotating it from side to side. 

You step closer, reaching out your hand to touch him and sighing when you see his shoulders tense. It hurt to see him like this, avoiding your every touch like it would give him the plague. “Why?” you whispered sadly.

“I read all your texts, you know.” He turned around and leaned back on his desk, propping himself up on his hands. When his eyes met yours, you saw the crimson was filled with pain. “You said it wasn’t my fault that you got hurt, that it was someone else. Someone else burned you, knocked you out. Someone else hurt you. ” He swallowed roughly. “But that’s a lie.”

“Katsuki, no it’s not-”

“It is, YN!” he snapped, pushing off his hands and pacing “I’m the one who hurt you! I used everything I had against you, to purposefully hurt you.” When he stopped in front of you, his cheeks were puffed and red, a muscle in his jaw twitching. 

He was angry now, pissed off but you knew it wasn’t at you. It was at himself for something he couldn’t control. 

You hated it when he was like this. 

Quickly, before he could flinch away you grabbed both sides of his face and pulled him in, close. He wriggled in your grasp, even preparing to wrench your hands off with both of his own on your wrists before you raised a brow. “You really wanna do that?”

Hesitantly he dropped his arms to his sides and gave in to your hold. The muscles in his face relaxed under your touch, and you started to brush your thumbs over his cheeks with a small smile. “Katsuki,” you leaned your face in closer, “the only thing that hurt me during all that time was you ignoring me. Did you know that?”

“YN, I was just trying to-” Before he could finish you yanked his forehead down to press against yours, effectively shutting him up. 

“Did you know that?” you repeated, slower this time. 

He rolled his eyes and pressed harder against your forehead. “No.”

“Look at what I’m trying to tell you, Katsuki. The only time you ever hurt me, the only time you ever caused me pain, was when you ignored me after I was injured.”

“I’m…” ever so slowly he let his hands trail up to your hips, settling there and squeezing for just a second. He closed his eyes and let out a soft breath. “I’m sorry.”

Your mouth twitched. “Sorry for what?”

“Come on, YN, don’t-”

“Sorry for what?” you laughed, tugging him back in after he tried to pull away. 

Apologies, especially of the genuine kind, were rare for Katsuki. In fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d even heard those words fall from his lips. 

But here they were, some of the hardest words to ever say, laid out for you and you only. 

Bakugou’s gaze travelled up your face, pausing on your grinning lips before continuing on to a permanent stop on your eyes. His own lips perked for a second. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you after you were hurt.” 

Carefully, like you were a china doll, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. His body was harsh but warm against yours as he leaned his cheek against your hair. 

It was sweet. The sweetest you’d ever gotten out of him, but…

“God, you are one awkward hugger.”

“Don’t test me, YN.”

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

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

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

Do you think you can do yandere Tomura and yandere Dabi who had to tell their darling to run because they had to fight and when they find their darling they think they tried to run away from them only to be wrong when their darling hugs them crying because they had got lost and grew scared of being away from them

He Tells You to Run During His Fight and You Get Lost (Yandere BNHA Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

Bakugou, Shinsou, and Todoroki Version

A/N: Yes yes yes! I LOVE writing yanderes! Especially this kind of angsty/petty shit. It hits me in my feels y’all. Anyways, I sincerely hope you like it!

Word count: 1075

Shigaraki Tomura:

The heroes-- those fucking heroes!-- they found the lair.

He didn’t want you to get caught. He didn’t want them to steal you from him, so he told you to run.

You were so scared.

“RUN!”

You did.

But… where were you now? 

He had barely escaped the fight with his life and now all he needed was you, but you were nowhere to be seen.

Shigaraki was pissed, constantly scratching his neck and mumbling your name while he searched the streets nearby. 

But he was scared too. 

He thought he was finally getting to you! Just recently, you had finally responded to one of his kisses, so how could you abandon him now?

Oh, you were so going to be punished after this.

“YN! WHERE ARE YOU!”

But there’s no response. The streets are empty at the sight of a man covered in disembodied hands and blood. Not even the slightest scuffle assisted him in finding you.

Hours passed without a sign, and Shigaraki’s heart grew more and more pained.

How… how could you?

“Tomura?!” 

His name is called in the distance, barely audible, but in the most heavenly voice. 

“YN!” 

“TOMURA!”

You sounded so scared. You should be.

When he finally caught sight of you, you were already sprinting toward him at full speed.

Rage filled his chest. 

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING- oof.”

Suddenly he’s tackled into a hug, with your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. You squeeze him so close, afraid he might slip away and be lost forever if you let go.

You! You were-... you were... hugging him?

Oh. 

His arms fumble to wrap around your waist and he hugs you. A relieved sigh falls from his lips. 

Oh.

God, he loved you so much.

“My sweet darling, are you okay?”

“I thought I lost you…” you mumble against his chest, sniveling voice muffled. 

His heart beamed at the words, and he runs comforting hands up and down your back to soothe your shaking. 

“Never.” He pressed a dry kiss to your scalp. “I’m not letting you go ever again. I promise.”

You both stand in the middle of the street for a moment longer, Shigaraki grinning and you trying to slow your tears. 

When your body seems to calm in his grip, he leans back and scans your beautiful form up and down.

“Now let’s go home, love.”

“Okay… and Tomura?” 

God, he loves the way you say his name.

“Yes?” 

“Thank you.” His heart flutters.

Oh no, you were never leaving the house again. Shigaraki could never let you go after this. You were his. He would be the only one to hold you ever again.

“Of course, darling.”

Dabi:

It was the first day he had finally let you out of his home. 

He had taken you on a “date” of sorts, going up deep into the woods to watch the stars. It was far enough away that no one could hear your screams if you tried to get away. 

Thank God you didn’t. 

In fact, you seemed almost happy, holding his hand and swinging it back and forth as you both traveled home. He couldn’t help but smirk at the smile on your face.

The peaceful night was ruined when a hero recognized him. A battle was on, and Dabi was forced to let you go.

“YN, run!”

“B-but I-”

“RUN!” 

He loved a good listener, and he loved you even more, but he couldn’t afford to let someone take you away. 

You disappeared into the night, dashing away as he’d ordered. Good girl.

The hero, if you could even call him that at this point, was burnt to a smoking crisp in minutes, because how dare he ruin Dabi’s first date with you?

But… where did you go?

The stitched man wasn’t sure where you had gone, even after searching for however many hours. It was like you had disappeared without a trace.

Surely you didn’t… leave, did you? No. No, you would never.

Another hour passed.

YOU BITCH!

“YN WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

Blue flames licked at his palms as he charged down the street, eyes darting back and forth.

“I WILL FIND YOU!”

“Dabi?” 

A meek whisper sounded from the dead-end alley across the street.

“Dabi?” Just a tad louder, your fearful voice mumbled his name, but he stayed silent. 

He could hear the blood pumping in his ears. Fury settled in the pit of his stomach, and he wanted to pounce on you so bad. 

But he wouldn’t. No, he wouldn’t.

He would much rather you come to your predator like a lamb to the slaughter. 

Blue eyes glowing in the light of his flames, he narrows his gaze and skims the murky street for even the slightest movement. Then your head pops up from behind a dumpster.

“Dabi!” your voice shouts in… relief?

Dabi’s fingers itch to wrap around your throat, but the urge falters when you cry out in joy, standing up fully and dashing towards the confused man.

“Wha…?” 

Any air he had gathered is forced out of his chest when you shove his blazing hands away and trap him in your arms.

“YN-”

“I was so scared when I couldn’t find you!” You whimper against his chest, leaving his mind a muddled mess. “I thought- hiccup- I thought that hero killed you and started coming after me.”

The rest of your words grow into a panicked rambling as you break down against him, hands gripping his upper back tighter and tighter with every gasping breath you take. 

You were so terrified, trembling and shivering and crying. It was so beautiful.

A sly grin works its way onto Dabi’s face and he sneaks a hand up to brush through your hair. 

“Shh. Shh. You’re okay now.” 

You were so perfect.

“It’s all gonna be okay.”

God, he loved you so much.

“Nobody’s ever going to take you from me.”

“Promise?”

Oh fuck. 

You were such a good girl, so obedient. 

Dabi’s fingers twitch while combing through your hair, tangling deeper into the strands. Then his other arm encircles your hips and stiffens like solid metal.

Dabi simpers finally, pressing his upturned lips to your cheek. 

“Oh, I promise, darling. I swear my life to it.”