Telling Him He’s Hot (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

Could you write something nsfw maybe breeding for Sokka?

Baby Fever (Sokka x Reader) (NSFW)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: You were great with kids, and it just so happens that your husband Sokka wants to give you a few of his own. 

A/N: Aight y’all, someone finally gave me permission and I went off. Seriously, hope you enjoy this cuz 👉👈 it’s a lil dirty🥺. Lemme just say goodbye to a few followers cuz I know they ain’t stickin’ around after this😑. Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: Pure smut, breeding kink, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, (slight??) cum play

Word count: 3228

        Giggles erupted from the corner of the ice building Sokka stood near. Whooshes and crashes of water split through the air while he waited for you to finish your daily waterbending lessons with the youth of the Water Tribe. 

        “Now, boys and girls, let’s work on streaming the water,” he couldn’t help but move into view around the cold wall, leaning against it and watching you with a small smile. “First, find your source. It can be the ice, the water under the ice, or the water in the fountain.” 

        You waited with all the patience in the world as the seven ten-year-olds around you dashed towards their chosen sources, often pushing past each other to get there. It was only when an older boy pushed down a smaller, younger female waterbender that you interfered with their competitiveness. 

        “Kole,” you gasped, kneeling down on the ice to help the girl to her feet, “apologize this instant!” 

        The little boy, black hair in disarray and a sneer on his lips, only stuck out his tongue before grumbling, “She was in my way first.”

        By now, the girl was crying as you hugged her to your side, running your hand through her hair comfortingly. “Shh, it’s okay,” you hummed before glancing back up to the Kole with a fire in your eyes. “Kole?” 

        Sokka knew that tone and raised brow of yours from personal experience; it meant stop what you’re doing before I kick your ass to Timbuktu. 

        The submission was instant; in seconds, the little boy was scuffing the feet in front of the girl, mumbling an apology while avoiding eye contact. 

        “Kole?” you repeated, this time more insistently. He understood right away and offered his arms in a hug, as per tradition in your class of waterbending. It was a dangerous art where people often got hurt simply during training, and you had learned early on that a hug along with an apology was key to showing that their desire for forgiveness was sincere. 

        As per usual, the little girl accepted, they split away without another word, and you were able to continue on your lessons. 

        In all honesty, Sokka admired the way you handled the children. Back when he used to travel the world with the Gaang, it wasn’t completely uncommon to see rather abusive benders trying to pass on their wisdom to the younger generation. They would ignore when students became hostile and aggressive toward one another, but you, meanwhile, allowed none of that. 

        You were always patient with the kids, and only raised your voice purely for audible purposes. Not once had Sokka seen a child actually glare at you and mean it. 

        “Hey,” you smiled, shaking Sokka out of his thoughts. You joined him against the icy wall and leaned back, staring at your students alongside your husband. 

        “Hey,” he grinned back, looping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I saw that little altercation earlier. Why didn’t you just let ‘em duke it out?”

        You snorted and batted him on the arm, ignoring his surprised squawk. “If I let them ‘duke it out,’ then I have to deal with scraped knees and bloody noses. Trust me, I don’t wanna hear those cries and you don’t wanna hear me complain about those cries.” 

       Both of your gazes are drawn back to the class, and just beyond you catch a glimpse of the sky. 

        “Ooh, hold on, let me dismiss them and we can go home.” You pat Sokka’s arm before jogging back to the students. 

        “All right guys, let’s talk about homework!”

                                ===

        The walk home is silent as the moon just barely settles into the sky. Stars twinkle alongside it amongst the black beyond and you curl into your husband’s side more, enjoying the view. 

        Meanwhile, Sokka’s gaze is locked on your face. He just couldn’t shake off the thought of you with those kids. 

        Of course, it never bothered him before, and it didn’t really “bother” him now. If anything, he just kept letting the same thought run through his head over and over again. 

        She would be so wonderful with our children. 

        The thought of you surrounded by little YNs and Sokkas was enough to have his grip around your shoulder tighten. 

        “What’s wrong?” you ask, pulling away just as the view of your home crested in the distance. You took one look at his face and knew he was thinking more than he could handle. 

        “I just…” he purses his lips and grabs your hand, leading you closer to your guys’s hut. “Hold on. Let’s talk about this in private.”

        In an instant, you were tense, watching with slight fear as Sokka fumbled to open the door. Is he breaking up with me? Why? I thought we were happy together…. 

        You sit when he gestures you to, tentatively leaning back onto the living room sofa while Sokka sits on the coffee table across from you. The air in your part of the room is bitter, but his half seems to be sizzling with excitement and uncertainty. 

        “YN,” Sokka finally pipes up, snatching the hands from your laps and intertwining them with his, “what do you think about… um…”

        Playing the waiting game was so much worse than taking the news straight. All bush, no beating. “Well?”

        Your voice is surprisingly impatient but level, but it only serves to worsen the situation as your lover begins to fiddle with your fingers. Oh, come onnnn.

        “Spit it out, Sokka!” That pushes him to act, and in seconds, he’s got your hands turning purple with his nervous grip. 

        “Y-YN, have you ever thought about having kids? W-With me, I mean.” 

        The words, or rather the insinuation of them has you biting your tongue, holding back a surprised hum. You know the noise would only serve to have Sokka sprint out the door, scared to ever look you in the eyes again, so you refrain from even changing your facial expression. He was always so terrible at reading them. 

        “Honestly Sokka? No.” He visibly deflates, but you continue before he can scram. “But I must admit I’m not against the idea. Of course, they’ll probably be little troublemakers, but I think we could handle their— well, I could handle their rowdiness, I’m not so sure you have the- what? What’s wrong?”

        There’s this look in his eyes. It’s not angry, or nervous. It’s not even happy or hopeful. 

        No, it’s… hungrier than that. There’s a hint of desperation tinging his brown orbs that has the pit of your stomach tightening with heat. 

        “Can we try now, then?”

                                ===

        Clothing is strewn everywhere, Sokka having been in such a state of pure eagerness that he hadn’t even moved you to the bedroom. Your back is flush against the carpeted floor, the pattern imprinting itself in your skin as you grip the underside of the couch. 

        His teeth and lips are everywhere, biting and sucking where he can to mark you as his. Your other hand grips the leg of the coffee table, it’s solidity making you feel somewhat grounded as Sokka draws whatever sounds he can out of you with just his touch. 

        “Gonna fill you so much, baby,” Sokka grunts against your throat, thrusting into your thigh at the whine you give off. “You’ll be so beautiful, so full of my children.” 

        “Yes- nghh,” you choke out, hips involuntarily pushing up at his touch. His fingers— oh Goddd— drag your panties down and away from your legs, but they don’t go far. Sokka drops them onto the coffee table you hold onto for dear life before he returns his attention to you, dragging a single, long finger up and down your slit. 

        “Look at this pussy,” he smirks, pressing his other hand on your hip to keep you from squirming. “Dripping wet just for me. You want my cum, don’t you baby?” His grip is bruising and through your fluttering lashes, you can see his muscles straining to keep you in place. The indent and outline of every muscle he’s grown into over the years has your core clenching, tightening around nothing. 

        “Mmhmm- OH!” The sudden press of his fingertip against your swollen bud has you shaking, trying desperately to get away from the delicious, almost painful touch. “Ah fuck!” 

        Sokka eats those naughty sounds from your throat right up, smirking against the skin of your neck before he trails down, down, down to your chest, latching right onto a nipple without warning. 

        “Mmmfuckkk.” At this point, you’re fairly certain the things leaving your mouth aren’t even words. Your brain can barely form a coherent thought thanks to the harsh circles Sokka rubs into your bud, abusing and abusing the bundle of nerves without a care in the world. 

        Screaming at the pain-fueled pleasure, you dig your heels into Sokka’s back, pressing him closer even though you know your body can barely handle the sensations. 

        With a dirty pop, Sokka pulled away from your rosy nipple, pressing a kiss to the tip before transferring to the other. This one must have been his favorite, because you don’t even get a warning before his teeth are nipping, teasing the tender skin while he hums in delight. 

        “Oh FUCK, please Sokka!” you hiss out, hands leaving the couch support and the table leg only to dig into his hair. Somewhere along the way, his hair tie must have broken because you dig your hands freely into the dark strands that hang by his ears, tugging and pulling in a desperate attempt to tether yourself to reality. “Please.”

        “Please what, baby?” he teases, pulling away and leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses up your body to your lips. “What do you want? Use your words, babe.” His smirk brushes your mouth with every word before he captures your bottom lip between his. By now, the finger kneading into your clit has turned into a thumb, and you gasp at the feeling of his middle and ring finger filling you up. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

        “Please fuck me, Sokka. Fill me with you cum,” you plead, hips bucking against the rapid movement between your thighs. The pace he’s set with his hand is nothing compared to what he has in mind, flashing you a shit-eating grin.

        “Of course, babe, your wish is my command.” Too soon, his fingers have left your aching core abandoned, the only thing staying behind is the thumb on your bundle of nerves, slowing its pace to draw out your pleasure. 

        The hand previously on your hip lands right next to your head, fingers flexing against the carpet as he directs his length to your womanhood. After Sokka leans back to watch his actions, you turn your head and press a kiss to his bare wrist. You don’t see it, but he smiles at the contact. 

        And then you feel it. The stretch. Sokka’s burying himself inside you, deep, deep, deep all the way to the hilt. The burn of it is only lessened by the slow patterns on your bundle of nerves, leaving you gasping. All the air in your lungs escapes in a hot second as you whine, mouth open to form an “oh” as your lover’s length opens you so deliciously.

        The dull ache loses out completely to the pleasure when he begins thrusting, driving, pounding into you at a speed that has your head lolling. 

        “Yeah, that’s right,” he grits out, “take it baby. Fuck, you take me so well.” Each word is accentuated with a harsh plunge of himself deeper into your tight heat. The high-pitched moans you let out only urge him on, feeding into the ego that fuels his dirty mouth. “Take it all. You’re gonna look so pretty with my kids inside you.”

        He sets a pace that you’re almost positive is going to leave your back with a rug burn in the morning. Every time that coil deep in your stomach tightens, every time you clench around him as he delves back into your throbbing core, the force of it all pushes you away. He can only keep you in place by returning your thighs back around his waist; they had fallen away when he first thrusted inside you, your body almost going limp at the quick wave of pleasure. 

        “This little pussy takes me so well. Can’t wait to fill it with my load,” he grunts out, hissing at the burn of your wandering fingers against his scalp. Using your grip, you tug him back down, pressing his forehead against yours and arching your back at a particularly deep stroke against your walls. The hand busying itself against your burning clit falls away to slide under you at the opportunity, pressing your heaving chest against his just to feel more of you, all of you against him. 

        “Ahhhh shit, harder Sokka!” Breathy moans fall from your lips faster than you can take them in, and you don’t notice your hands in his hair have transferred to digging into his back until he groans at the contact. As usual, he obeys your every need, ramming into you harder than you thought possible. 

        Every time he bottoms out effortlessly inside you, you’re jolted back and forth. The heat slowly building inside you is at its edge, ready to burst with just a little more. “Yes, Sokka, more! More! Fuck, you feel so good!”

        The praise spurs him on as the loud slapping of his skin against your own fills the hut, growing into an unsettled pattern as he quickens, pushing into your tight walls as fast as they can take him. “Fuck yeah, YN. Let me pump this tight little hole full of my cum. Let me see you holding my kids like you should be.”

        At his words, you feel yourself fall over the edge, throbbing and clenching around his length without warning. The scream of his name at your release helps him let go too. Plunging himself as far as he can go, Sokka stops inside your quivering core only at his limit, letting himself fill you up as much as you can take. 

        It’s warm, so warm as he releases, face dripping sweat as it scrunches up in concentration,  and it’s only when he pulls out that you realize how much he has given you. You mewl at the feeling of it dribbling, allowing your legs to drop to the floor like your hands at the sides of your head. “Oh fuck,” you sigh, letting your eyes flutter closed as Sokka leans away, shifting backwards on the carpet to watch your still-pulsing hole as it leaks. 

        You don’t acknowledge what your lover’s doing until it’s too late and you moan at the too-soon intrusion. “Sokka-”

        “Shh, relax baby,” he soothes, collecting the combined remnants of yours and his release with two fingers, pushing it back in far enough that he’s sure it’ll stay. “You’ll look so pretty with our child in your stomach. Just hold it in, baby. Keep it inside.” 

        When his hand accidentally brushes your overstimulated bundle of nerves is when you try to squirm away, only to be stopped by his hands on your ankles tugging your bottom flush against his knees. “Sokka…” you trail off in surprise when he actually pulls your lower body up on the lowest part of his thighs.

        You never knew he was so serious about having children. Of course, you wanted it too, but seeing the childlike excitement in his eyes as he allows gravity to do its work clues you in that you had underestimated him a bit. 

        “Hold it in, baby,” he repeats quietly, snagging your panties off the coffee table and sliding them back up your legs. In an instant, they’re damp with both of your releases, but he still presses the fabric against your slit like it would somehow seal the combination inside you. 

        Your heart warms when he gently lowers your bottom half to the ground, grabbing your wrists and pulling you flush against him in a hug. Your back, just as you had assumed, is rubbed raw and sore from the carpet below, but suddenly the twinges of pain are more bearable when Sokka massages the skin with gentle hands. 

        Your arms wind around his neck, leading to your fingers delving into his knotted hair as he grins into your shoulder, pressing slow kisses against the skin. 

        “God, I really, really hope that worked,” he mumbles excitedly, hands dropping down to wrap your legs around his midsection. 

        “Me too,” you giggle, holding on for dear life when he stands and carries you to the bedroom. Kicking the door shut, he totes you all the way to the mattress. The cold fur of the bear pelt serving as your blanket is a stark contrast to the hot carpet of your living room. It soothes your back as Sokka reassumes a position over you, hair hanging in his face as he settles on his knees between your thighs. 

        “So how soon can we find out?” he asks, pushing your body up far enough that he can lay completely flat on top of you and not leave any limbs hanging off the bed.

        “Mmm, I’m not sure. I think Katara said she found out after about two months.”

        “Damn.” Sokka curses as he nuzzles into your skin, sighing at the sensation of you untangling his dark strands with tender fingers. “That long?”

        “Maybe more, maybe less. Pretty sure every pregnancy is different.” Your slow combing through his knots stops when he lifts his head, flashing you a bright grin. “What?” you giggle in confusion. 

        “Pregnancy, babe. You could literally be pregnant with our child right now.” Between your thighs, he’s practically vibrating with excitement, hand slipping out from under you to brush against your stomach. 

        “Okay, okay,” you laugh, pushing his hand away and rolling your eyes. “I know for sure it doesn’t happen that fast.” 

        “Oh really?” he raises a brow.

        “Yep.”

        “You’re sure?”

        “One-hundred percent.”

        “Well then,” Sokka taps his chin in thought, “why don’t we do something while we wait?”

        “Like what?”

        “Oh, I don’t know,” his darkening gaze darts down to your bare chest, only covered in a single love bite right in the valley of your breasts. It dashes back up just as quickly, but the damage is done; pupils enlarged, you can already feel him getting excited all over again. “Maybe we should… try again. Just in case it didn’t work the first time.”

        You’re still sore from the first round, but a couple wandering fingers already gliding down to your thighs once more leaves your first answer in the dust.

        “Sure, why not,” you shrug.

        “HELL YEAH!” Sokka thanks you with a swift kiss on your nose. “Now let’s make some babies!”

Yandere twins hcs from lok?

Yandere Desna and Eska Headcanons 

*GIF not mine*

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long, but here you go! LOK Twins as yanderes as requested. Though, (I hope ur reading this bc… welp) I need u to know that I have not watched this show. HOWEVER, I do know how to research characters, so I hope this is as accurate as possible. Please enjoy!

Word count: 1049

With these two,-- and I’ll be frank-- you rarely see the light of day. 

You were just one of their citizens, and to be honest, Desna fell for you first. 

Eska was still a little hooked on Bolin, but her interest was piqued when you were constantly being greeted and watched by Desna. 

They’d walk through the streets of their tribe, simply wanting something to do at this point in their rule, and every time Desna would lag behind his sister, his gaze caught on you.

His walk would slow down to the pace of a snail as he creeped past the clothing store you worked for. 

As a lover of tailoring himself, he was addicted to how swiftly and smoothly you worked. (Your sleeves were exceptional.)

Eska would impatiently wait for her brother five steps ahead of her and demand to know what was wrong with him, but her gaze would follow his own and lock eyes on you. 

It must be in their genes, because in seconds they both wanted you. 

So they called you to their domain one day, hiding smiles as you stumbled into the throne room and shakily bowed. 

Because you were so cute when you groveled.

The twins treated you to an awkwardly silent dinner, asking deeply personal questions once every five minutes. 

“How many lovers have you had before us?”

Cue you choking on your food. “W-WHAT?!” 

And from that day on, you weren’t to leave the palace. 

Now let’s hop into it.

They’re more obsessive than anything. Everything you do, they need to know about it. 

Tbh, they’d probably let you get hurt, but only by their hands. 

Because you looked so pretty with their marks covering your skin. 

NEXT!

“Feeble turtle duck.” 

1, what the hell is that nickname?

2, guess what your new nickname is!

You also have to wear clothing made by Desna… and that’s all you get to wear. It’s always thick and heavy and you’re practically sweating through it’s five thousand layers at the end of the day because “nObOdy gEtS tO sEe yoUr bODy bUt uS”

You’re surprised there isn’t a label stitched on the back saying “Property of Desna and Eska”

Also, two weeks into your eternal stay in their ice palace, y’all get engaged bc “why wait when you’ll be with us forever?”

Of course you get a choker with spikes and a skull on it as your betrothal necklace, but guess what it also has 😏😏

A LEASH

Yep, it’s true. These two trade off on who gets to drag you around the palace. All they have to do is weave a handy little string through the hook on the front of your collar and suddenly you’re being tugged back and forth through the icy hallways, heavy coat and all. 

You also get a seat in their throne room, but it’s on the floor and it’s basically the Avatar equivalent of a dog bed. 

Surely you didn’t think they’d treat you like a queen, right? 

Newsflash, they’re the rulers here. You’re nothing but their little playtoy. You love it, though, don’t you? 

Don’t you?

On the off chance that they’re feeling particularly loving, Desna will hold your hand and let you help him create new clothes. Eska, on the other hand, will maybe-- maybe-- take you outside and around the village with her. She’s not sure why, but she loves showing you off as hers.

They’re not really the type to loudly voice their affections for you, but it’s not really physical either. In reality, the only way you know they’re in love with you is when you’re sleeping with them. 

No, not doing the dirty, but literally sleeping with them. They know how to share with each other, so they trade you off every night, unless there’s some kind of emergency where one of them really needs you, then a compromise will be made. 

Eska’s cuddling you in her bed when she mumbles in her sleep that she loves you, tugging your stiff form closer in her embrace. 

Desna, meanwhile, has you seated on his lap in… the tub apparently (seriously wtfff💀). His arms are wrapped around you, pressing every inch of your body to touch his while your back rests against his chest. When you fall asleep, your head slumps back into the crook of his neck and that’s when he flushes slightly and presses his lips to the skin of your bare collarbone (bc who wears clothes in the tub), whispering a small confession of love. 

Moving on…

Okay so remember that one scene where Bolin hugs Korra but Eska’s all like “Why are you initiating contact with another human?” 

That’s you but like… when you accidentally bump into a guard while being dragged down the halls via leash. 

No, you’re not allowed to touch anyone, much like how nobody is allowed to touch you or they go into their newly discovered secret dungeon. 

All in all, I honestly think the twins would hold you, their darling, in high regards. They love you a lot more than you realize, but they really suck at showing it. 

Like honestly, there are days where you just cry bc… well idk maybe you’re on your period or smn and the next day you wake up alone in bed surrounded by like thousands of stuffed animals, jewelry, and other highly expensive gifts. 

In their eyes, you can do no wrong. 

Well wait, hold up. 

If you ever try to break up with them, you will be fed to the… dolphin piranhas… apparently. 

Though you have yet to see these creatures, you ain’t exactly ready to take that chance (you’ve seen their bad side quite a bit thanks to all the guards and servants who try to talk to you)

In the end, just know you are theirs, or get ready to not be able to walk in the morning.

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.”

Please work on a pt. 2 to the Luna Hunt or a series in general its so good I beg off u. I would love to see where things go with them and her father and the new queen and king

ahhhhh yeah the whole father storyline like i dont even know where to go with that

hate it when my reader's flimsy purpose to escape comes back to bite me in the booty like ouch now i gotta work with that plot strand. luna hunt is def the most requested for a second part and i swear i hear u i just haven't read this genre in so long i dont even know where to start.

scratch that, i know exactly hwere to start, i just dont know where to go after that. we'll see maybe one day ill think of smth

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.”

I’ll just poison bokuto fav dinner when I’m tired of playing the housewife game he trapped me in.

Yesss, I love it when YN fights back😤😤

Tonight was the night. His favorite dinner splayed out on the table, filled to the brim with all the pills you could scour from his medicine cabinet. Only one of you was making it out of tonight, and you knew that.

“Babyyyy, I’m home!” When the door slammed open, you scrambled over to greet him like usual, fake smile and doting eyes painted on like makeup.

“Welcome home, Bo.” A hug that was too hot for comfort. A kiss that made your skin crawl. Both were forced upon you with a tight grip on your upper arms, but Bokuto’s larger-than-life smile made it seem like he hadn’t even noticed you were in pain.

“So what’s for dinner tonight?” His arms wound around your waist as he tailed you to the kitchen. You didn’t mind it; this way, you could let your smile fall and let a sneer creep up onto your face.

“Your favorite.” You breathed slowly, trying to calm yourself when Bokuto took the seat across from you at the table.

“You’re amazing babe!”

He must have missed the anticipation in your shaking hands, or the smug glint in your eye, because he chowed down like no tomorrow.

“Mmm, this is so- ahem, excuse me- this is so good!” He coughed between his words before taking another bite. Then another. Then another. The signs appeared quicker than you expected. His movements slowed. His eyes drooped. And finally, he slipped from his chair and collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Calmly, you stood and stepped over his body, making your way to the front door.

“I can’t say I won’t miss you, babe. See you in hell.”

My masterlist is almost maxed out

Just wanted to write some Zuko smut tonight but now I gotta deal with that shit😤😤

He Returns from an Away Game (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: This idea was just too cute I couldn’t pass on it! Don’t know why, I’m just in a really “write-y” mood today. Hope you like it!

Word count: 950

Hinata Shouyou:

He’s the type to jump on you right when he sees you in the airport.

“YNYOUREHEREIMISSEDYOUSOMUCHILOVEYOUCOMEWITHNEXTTIME!”

Talks so goddamn fast you can’t figure out wth he’s saying

Essentially he just freaking wants you to come with him to away games from now on. 

“The hotel room’s big enough! So is the bed!”

Innocent boi doesn’t know what he’s insinuating. 

Literally bouncing and spinning you around the entire time while telling you about the trip. 

At the house he literally wants to help you do everything, hanging around your waist and kissing your cheek every five minutes. 

Baby boi is just a sweetheart who missed you bad. 

Many cuddles to make up for lost time

Kageyama Tobio:

He’s so excited to see you

Like he starts running toward you in the airport but then he feels like he has to play it cool so he slows down and starts whistling. (the definition of “oh shit, act natural”)

When he’s finally in front of you and you hug the life out of him, he has the gall to scoff

“Calm down, I was only gone for a couple weeks.”

But when you pull away he forces you back in. “Not yet tho.”

He’s the one who’s gonna buy you a million souvenirs bc he couldn’t figure out what you liked… even if the game was only a few towns over. 

Kags just wants something for you to remember him by when he’s gone so you don’t forget about him (dumb boi thinks it’s that easy🤦‍♀️)

More cuddles, but just like lowkey ones at night. 

(but when you get up to go to the bathroom he freaks out about you leaving)

(“stay” “I gotta pee” “i don’t care you’re not going anywhere”)

Oikawa Tooru:

Oooh

Ooh

Oh boy this man missed you, like damn

Remember that scene where his lil nephew snitched about him crying after his break up

Yeah… he’s a tearful boi

Like he sees you in the airport waiting for him and he starts tearing up

“YN!” He’s wailing at this point. “IM NEVER LEAVING YOU EVER AGAIN!”

Chills out after getting his solid five minutes of YN hugs. 

“Ok so yeah we kicked ass.”

Takes you out on a romantic date. Flowers, classy restaurant, the works. He wants to treat you well after not being able to see each other for so long. 

Long walks on the beach, watch the sunset. 

This dude is trying to woo you like he did back in high school

And it works

“I missed you” sex on the beach. Nothing beats that. 

Really tho when this guy returns from an away game he’s all about getting right back into the romantic groove with you.

Oikawa’s voice saying “Did you miss me?” w that fucking smirk= 100/10 panties are flying

Bokuto Koutarou: 

Pfft, are you kidding me??

Any away game it’s freaking guaranteed Bokuto facetimed you every goddamn day just bc he couldn’t stand being away from you for too long. 

Even so he still tackles you in the airport. 

It was the one time you looked away from the entrance to check the time on your phone and he still managed to catch you off guard. 

Ever see those videos of a soldier returning home to see his dog? Mmhmm, that’s Bokuto with you

All. Over. You. 

Face nuzzling your neck all during the walk through the airport. 

Hand on your thigh as y’all drive home. 

More “I missed you” sex, and then cuddling for the rest of the day. Like damn. 

When he wakes up the next day and you’re not in his arms, bro literally s o b s

“YN LEFT ME MY LIFE IS OVER!”

You determine there’s not even a point to trying to serve him breakfast in bed anymore considering he’ll immediately notice when you’re not in his arms anymore. 

Even so, morning, middle of the day, and evening cuddles combined with him sticking to you like a koala lasts about a week long (literally attached to your hip 24/7), and then he calms down. 

Until the next away game...

Ushijima Wakatoshi: 

Psshh, you thought he missed you??

FOOL!

Literally approaches you so slowly in the airport.

Like this motherfucker walks in slow motion. 

Customary hug and kiss.

And then you walk out to the car holding hands. 

You get to the car and are trying to get inside but like… h e w o n t l e t g o

“Uhh, Toshi?”

“Hmm?”

You’re just sitting in the car with the door open and he’s standing outside still holding your hand like it’s glued in his. 

“You mind?”

“I have no idea what you’re referencing.”

Five minutes later he’s like “oh yeah, that.”

When you finally start driving home it’s like he’s trying to strangle the steering wheel. White knuckles and if looks could kill, any car in the road would be six feet under. 

At home, all bets are off. And all clothes. 

He just… missed you a lot. 

Waking up at noon the next day in those muscular arms. One of his hands are tracing along your face while the other holds your hip. He’s got that husky morning voice and ruffled hair covers his forehead as he watches you, keeping you flush against his chest. 

A slight twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“I missed you.”

Of course you gotta say it back so you can see that once-in-a-lifetime smile. 

“I missed you too.”

hahahaha just watched top gun: maverick and have begun preparing for my rooster phase

welp guess I’m into mustaches now

Hi! Can you do a yandere!Garou vs yandere!Metal Bat, maybe like the reader is friends with both of them but she is oblivious to their feelings or their flirting, they at first did not know of each other but then saw either one of them see the other with her and gets REALLY pissed.

Yandere Garou and Metal Bat Crushing on the Same Oblivious Darling (Yandere OPM Headcanons)

*GIF not mine*

A/N: Okay so honestly, this idea is so good. Like it’s legit amazing and I love it so much. But (yeah, I knew you heard it coming) I wasn’t sure if I should do headcanons or a scenario for it, but I finally settled on headcanons just so I could get it out there. That being said, I’m sorry this took a little while and I hope you like it! (Side note: Thanks for 1.3k followers y’all!!🥳🥳) 

Word count: 1630

Good lordy I love this so much. 

Lemme just say, Garou is not a shy yandere when it comes to being around you. 

You’d have to be a special kind of stupid to not notice how much he wants you.

As soon as he sees how innocent and oblivious you are, he cranks up the charm to a ten. 

Teasing, flirting, he does it all. He’s never timid about touching you, always wanting to feel you and such. His hands are everywhere, and he’s “accidentally” groped your ass one too many times. 

Though Garou doesn’t exactly take you on dates, he does try to be around you when he’s not busy beating people up. You’re just so understanding and caring about his side of things that he doesn’t want to let you go. 

God, it’s almost annoying how you laugh off every single one of his flirtations. 

Seriously, it’ll be like: 

*Garou hugs you and kisses your cheek, whispering that he loves you*

“Well dang, you’re being extra friendly today!” 

*cue facepalm*

Meanwhile, Metal Bat doesn’t know he’s a yandere. While Garou is fully aware that he would watch the world burn just to have you in his arms, this hero is a little less intense. 

In all honesty, I think Badd would only go so far as to follow you everywhere, once again, when he’s not busy being a hero. 

He thinks he’s just trying to keep you safe, and being nearby as much as possible is the most efficient way to do that. 

Often times, you’ll meet him in the grocery store or the mall at the same time he’s shopping there (and by “often,” I mean always)

Of course, he’ll have to bring his little sister along and the whole time, she’s just like “this is the fifth time we’ve been to the grocery store this week. If they don’t have what you’re looking for by now, they’ll never have it.”

Nah, but seriously, Zenko knows Badd loves you. If she sees you, she’ll try to tell you, but you only laugh it off. She’d be so confused, always saying that you’re stupid for not noticing it, and by that point, Badd’s gotta drag her away with some shitty excuse, like she’s got a dance recital or smth. 

Anyways, back to it. Metal Bat will only discover he doesn’t want you around other people when he sees you talking to other guys. If I’m honest, the moment he realizes he’s a yandere is when he finally sees you and Garou together. 

✨Story Time✨

Zenko wanted to go play at the park, and being the adoring brother he is, he takes her there. 

As she runs off to go on the swings with her friends, Metal Bat settles onto a comfy park bench to look over her. 

While he leans back and crosses one leg over the other, he catches a glimpse of another bench through a collection of trees and surprise surprise, guess who’s on it?

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you, but you’re not alone. Wearing a beautiful sundress, you giggle and smile widely at an all-too familiar man. 

That piece of shit Hero Hunter.

Badd’s blood boils and he begins seeing red. 

Garou’s hands are too touchy-feely; the hero wouldn’t mind ripping them clean off the villain himself. 

His fingers are practically up your skirt, caressing the skin of your thigh while you animatedly tell him a story about what must’ve been your most recent trip to a theme park. 

Badd had gone with you to that theme park. He had been the one to bring you there at the insistence of his little sister. 

Fuck, he could feel himself itching to kill. Zenko wouldn’t be able to see him through the trees, i.e. that bastard was free game. 

Unsurprisingly, where Metal Bat is, his metal bat isn’t far behind. 

You never expected this to happen. 

One minute, Garou was chuckling at your story, arm thrown around your shoulder without a care in the world. 

The next, an all-out brawl was happening before your very eyes. 

You couldn’t hold back a scream; it was terrifying the way your two guy friends went after each other. 

Badd swung his bat straight for Garou’s head, only to miss and catch his tufts of hair after the latter ducked. 

Everything was happening too fast for you to comprehend, with both men moving faster than the speed of light. 

Garou delivers a spine-chilling strike directly to Badd’s head that’s got his face slowly dripping blood. Immediately after, Garou takes a hit right to the stomach that has him coughing up the same color liquid. 

By now, the grunts and yells are too loud for the entire park not to hear. Parents and children flee the area at the sight of a white-haired man flying through the trees only to crash into the metal jungle gym brutally. 

“KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF HER, YOU SCUMBAG!”

Garou’s back on his feet and blocking another swing with blue-tinted hands, taking all of Metal Bat’s force and redirecting it into the hero’s gut.

The battle leaves you cowering on the bench, watching with horrified eyes as they battle each other barbarically. Animalistic growls escape one while the other actually dodges and attacks on four legs. 

“SHE’S MINE TO TOUCH, HERO!”

Their words don’t fluster you, and that’s mostly because you don’t hear them. Their sneers and snarls are much more distracting than anything that actually leaves their lips. 

“Oh God.” The words are more a rushed sigh than anything. You whisper them in alarm as soon as you spot Zenko only a few feet away from the fight, crying much like how you want to right now. Suddenly, nothing else matters.

“Oh God, oh shit, oh God,” you push yourself off the bench and sprint toward the little girl, running straight through the park’s playground area and hurtling a slide on the way. 

At the sight of your mad dash, both men pause in their jabs, Badd’s bat only inches away from Garou’s head while said man halts a kick halfway to his side.

Both gazes are locked on you, partly in fear that you were trying to run away from the two of them. “YN,” they simultaneously breathe out, dropping their stances and watching your every move. 

“Zenko!” you call out, sliding down to your knees and gathering the sobbing girl into a hug. “Shh, it’s okay.”

Awestruck. That’s what they were. Neither could speak as they watched you mutter comforting words to the young girl and pat her back. 

Without another sound, Badd jogs over to you both and kneels down into the grass as well. 

“Oh Zenko, I’m so sorry.” At hearing her brother’s voice, the girl leaves your arms and falls into his, sniffling against his shoulder as she shivers. 

You watch the scene with an unreadable expression, not even flinching at the feeling of a hand dropping to your shoulder. “YN-”

“Don’t.” Your hiss catches Badd’s attention too, peering up from the hug to watch you shake your head. 

“I don’t want to see either of you ever again.” 

Garou’s nostrils flare while Badd hugs his sister tighter, clenching his eyes closed at the words. It’s what they deserved. 

“YN, that’s-”

“Just leave me alone.”

Months pass, four to be specific. 

Metal Bat watches through your apartment window from the rooftop, bat slung over his shoulders as he watches you sleep on your living room couch. 

“Did you get the house?” The voice’s owner had snuck up behind him, but Badd doesn’t flinch. 

“Yeah. It’s back in City Z. The place is practically abandoned, so no one will find it.”

“Good.” Garou finally saddles up beside Metal Bat, eyes softening at the sight of you.

They can’t help but think back to a few weeks ago when you had finally agreed to meet up with them. 

“You have to choose, YN.” Garou sneers at the hero next to him.

“No, I don’t.” Even folding your arms and gritting your teeth at them, you were beautiful. “You guys are- were my friends, but that was it.”

“That’s a goddamn lie,” Badd spits, stepping closer only to halt when you flinch away. He hated that look of disdain your eyes had adopted for him over the past month. 

“Who do you want, YN?” Garou insists, just barely stopping himself from reaching for your hand. 

A minute of painstaking silence feels more like a minute as you glare at both of them. “Okay,” you shrug at last, relief flooding their bodies when you speak up. 

“I don’t want either of you. Now leave me alone like I asked.”

A compromise had been struck that night. You couldn’t choose between them, they couldn’t let you go, and both wanted to ensure you would never move on and find someone else. 

“All right. It’s midnight. We only have a few hours to get everything she has before the sun comes up.”

“You brought the chloroform, right?”

“Psh, of course I did. I’m not an idiot.” 

“Okay, then let’s do this.” 

They both loved you, so, so much darling. Now, don’t fight them, and they’ll make you happy for the rest of your life.