summary:the king has been struck by never-ending grief when he found out about his wife’s infidelity. he has her ordered to be killed, but afterward, he is no longer the same. every night he marries a woman, and every morning he has her killed. the endless cycle continues until the night you’re chosen to be his wife. instead of letting him ruin you, you tell him a story. you tell him a story that he just has to know the ending to. and so begins the story of one thousand and one arabian nights.
pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader
genre: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, royal au, based off of the story from 1001 arabian nights
word count:10.7k+
warnings: dark content, mdni, 18+,mentions of killing, mentions of taking virginity, has the gallows and a noose in it, praise!kink, corruption!kink, cunnilingus, fingering, cum eating
note:for those who don’t know, baba means dad, and aziz/azizammeans my dear in farsi. this story loosely follows 1001 arabian nights, but not completely. i wasn’t gonna sit on my ass and write them all out
also a big, big, thank you to @jadeisthirstingfor beta reading, ty sm bby!!
The palace smelled deeply of rose petals, a scent so distinctly comforting that you couldn’t help but smile giddily as you walked down the vast halls, looking at the different amenities the palace had to offer as you searched for the room you knew your father would be residing in.
The more you walked, the darker the halls got and the less the smell of rose lingered in the air, a warning to stay away from this part of the palace. Though you had no choice but to ignore the prominent warnings, your posture became more frigid as you hummed a tune you had heard in the bazaar to keep yourself busy.
You were well aware of the fact that your father resided right next to the king’s quarters, so as you slowly opened his door to make sure no noise was heard, entering as you noted your father sitting on the edge of his bed, his wrinkly hands enveloping his tethered face as he could barely bring himself up to look at you.
“Baba,” Your heart dropped, running over to his frail body, your hands checking his forehead as your eyes filled with worry, “What’s wrong? Does your back hurt? Oh,” You noted his worn-out hands, “You have to let the king find another vizier,” You kneaded his hand with yours, “You cannot be his helper forever,” You cracked a gentle smile, but instead of his usual banter, he shook his head, still not looking up from his bed as he sniffled.
“Baba?” Your voice dropped to a whisper. Your father never cried. Never. Not when your mother died, not when the old king died, or even when you had managed to ruin his silken clothing. Despite his hardships, he was the man of the household, and he held himself to that standard.
But here, he looked like the shell of a man. His shoulders were hunched, lips pale as he shuddered, pushing your hands off of his back as he weakly stood up.
“Y/n,” He stared at the door, eyes quite dead as he refused to look your way, terrified that if he did he would crumble to his knees and beg for an apology. Even worse, if he looked at you, his resolve would shatter and he’d leave the room as fast as he could, “Azizam,” You watched as a singular tear rolled down his cheek, “You will have to forgive me.”
You shakily rose, brows scrunched up in confusion as you let out a question laugh, walking over to him to see what he was talking about, what had gotten him so shaken up that he used such an endearing nickname he had never used before this day.
“The king has asked for you to spend the evening with him,” He muttered, voice hoarse and raspy as he broke down into tears again.
“He…” Your shaky hands flew to your lips, eyes wide as you stumbled back, “He what?” Your frantic questions went unanswered as your father let more of his endless tears fall, wet lips holding back silent sobs as he turned back.
The king, a dreaded name for those around the palace. You childishly thought that being the daughter of the vizier would somehow spare you of the torture, of the horror that came with going into his quarters at midnight.
He said nothing as he crumpled down to the floor, hands covering his eyes as you stared at the door, the same one you had entered through, and the same one that seemed to mock you as your hands shook at your side.
One evening pleasuring the king meant spending the next morning dead.
—
Servants flocked to the room shortly thereafter.
They paid no attention to the old man as they ushered you outside, their nimble fingers working swiftly as they led you to a completely different room, stripping you bare as you worked mindlessly.
You fell into the large basin, cold water splashing across your body as they worked in silence, some here and there whispering words of pity to one another as they gossiped about your father’s weakened state.
You knew that deep down, sooner or later, this day would come. That one night they will take you to get clean and pretty so that the king can spend his lonely night with a virgin to bed, and by morning have her dead so that she may not betray him.
You could guess why you were giving off no emotions as their hands scraped your body rid of the dirt and dust, rubbing rose petals across your flesh, running water through your hair as they worked quickly and effortlessly.
At this point, you knew they had done this many times to know to be quick with the king’s impatient temper.
You seemed to be like a mindless doll as they carried you out of the tub, staying quiet as one lady braided your hair, gentle as she wove flowers into the crown of your head.
You watched as the other carefully dotted the roses across your cheeks, dipping her finger into the jar of honey as she brought it up, careful not to let any of it to waste as she swiped it across your lips, her eyes filled with deep sorrow as you stared out the windows and into the dark veil of night.
“You look very beautiful, azizam,” The old lady behind you muttered, her kind hands letting go of your hair as she gave your shoulder a gentle pat, “I’m sure your father would be proud of his daughter for serving the nation.
Serving the nation in your one day demise.
“You have not been…” The old lady sighed, looking away as her hands fell to her side, “You have not been bedded yet, yes?”
You slowly shook your head, muttering out a quiet no as she nodded, ushering out all the other ladies as she came to your view, dropping down so that she was level with your knees.
“You are the vizier’s daughter, so you must know,” She stated, her hands holding your cold ones as she pressed a soft kiss to the backside of it, “After you go into his room, he will tell you what he wants. When morning comes, he will have you killed.”
“I have heard it’s quick and painless, “ She sighed, giving you a sad smile, “Yet those who have experienced it cannot tell the tale, and so I don’t want you to weigh too deeply on my words, okay aziz?”
The old lady looked down at your hands as she took in a shaky breath, lifting your chin as she patted your cheek carefully.
“The time is almost midnight,” She said and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “He should be expecting us soon.”
Better late than never! Here is a little drabble for Satoru’s birthday
Wc: 981
Warnings: unprotected sex, praise kink, Satoru being sexy, minors not allowed!
Satoru x Reader: Birthday Surprise
You waited patiently for Satoru to get home, laying on your shared bed wrapped up like a pretty present for him to open on his special day. Suddenly Satoru appeared hovering above you a lustful smirk stretching across his handsome face.
“Well hello beautiful!” Satoru cooed as he gently landed on top of you pinning you beneath him.
“Well hello Satoru, are you ready to open your gift?” You said in a sultry voice.
He nodded as he took your hands and tied them to the headboard. “Oh I am so ready!” Satoru said joyfully as he started to untie the silky purple ribbon that you tied around yourself. He smirked as he gently ran his hands down your body.
“M-Master.” You wined out as he held you down. You could feel your panties becoming soaked.
“That’s a good girl moan for me.”
“Y-yes Master! Ohhhhh!” You moaned again as he pushed his growing erection between your legs. You moaned quietly as he humped you.
“Such a good little girl, I love the way you look right now beneath me as I watch you becoming a hot mess.” He cooed as he picked up the pace of humping you. “I wonder how much longer you can last before you go completely crazy?” He whispered into your ear as he sensually choked you.
You laid there a incoherent drooling mess as he humped you wildly. “Ma-Masterrrrrr!” You whimpered beneath him.
“Yes my Pet? Are you enjoying this?” He asked you.
“Y-yesssss M-Masterrrrr!” You moaned again.
“Good.” He got off of you and rolled you onto your side he placed his arm around your waist as he cupped your pussy with his giant hand gently smacking it making your juices leak all over his palm. “Mmmmm princess you’re so wet!” He cooed as you wiggled in his grip. “I don’t even have to do anything to you and you’re a puddle in my arms.“
Satoru loved how he had easy access to your neck now, he leaned in to kiss your nape the sweet spot, making you moan louder and louder. He looked down, the sight of his hard cock rubbing against your soaked panties encouraged him to hold your hips even tighter as he grinded on you more, little whimpers escaped your lips. “Look who’s losing it.” He cooed as he squeezed one of your breasts.
“I think I want to finish unwrapping my present now.” He whispered into your ear as he rolled you onto your back. He reached down and carefully untied the ribbon, savoring every moment. His beautiful ocean blue orbs scanning your perfect breasts. “You’re so beautiful my Pet.” He smiled as he gently gripped your breast rolling your nipple between his fingers. He leaned in and bit your collar bone sending shivers down your spine. He traced his lips down your torso nibbling your soft skin making you moan out. He soon made his way between your legs biting your thighs marking you. He smiled as he caressed your folds making your juices leak all over his hand. “My, my, my we have certainly made a mess of you (Y/N)… Shall I clean you up my Pet?”
“Yes Masterrrrrr please do your worst to meeeee.” You wailed out as he pushed his palm against your wetness.
“Very well my Pet since you asked so nicely.” He grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him, he dove right into your core instantly making you orgasm. “So quick to cum my love, I must be driving you up a wall right now.”
You looked up at Satoru through half-lidded eyes your lips slightly parted nodding your head in agreement.
Satoru chuckled. “Yup I turned you into a puddle you can’t even speak right now.” He went back down and began to lick up all the juices, swirling his tongue he made you squirt into his mouth. “I’m making such a mess of you I love it.” He cooed as he came up and pressed his cock against your entrance before grinding his hips up and down over your slit.
He couldn’t hold back anymore, the wetness of your core soaking his shaft just invited him to ruin you. "Is my sweet pet ready to let me take her?” He asked.
“Y-yes M-Ma-Master.” You moaned out.
Satoru smirked at you. “Mmmmmm I am so excited right now!” He leaned in and kissed you passionately holding you close as he entered you. Slowly he started to thrust.
You clung to his back for dear life as he pumped in and out going harder with every thrust. “Ohhhhhh Sa-to-ruuuu.” You moaned out as your walls clenched around his member sucking his cock in you came.
“That’s it baby girl cum for me…. I want you screaming my name!” He leaned in moaning into your ear as he grabbed your hips pounding you harder and harder
“Oh fuckkkkk Sa-Sa-Satoruuuuu p-please d-don’t stopppppp!” You screamed as he hit your g spot perfectly.
He slowed his pace savoring every thrust. “Princess I love the way you feel on me…. You take him in like a good girl.” He looked down to watch him disappear inside you, a huge smirk plastered to his face. “(Y/N)…. I love you soooooo fucking muchhhhhh.” Satoru moaned into your ear.
“Ohhhhh Satoruuuu I love you tooooo babyyyy!” You moaned out.
“Ahhhhh baby your tight pussy is ruining me…. I’m gonna cum!” Satoru moaned out as he came deep inside you painting your walls white with his seed.
You grabbed his face attacking his lips with a kiss. “Happy birthday my love!”
Satoru smirked as his cock twitched inside you becoming hard once more. “Oh yes indeed it’s a happy birthday! I am far from done with you my little present!” He leaned into your ear. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”
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
“Aten. 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 yourcampus.
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 fuckingfunny?”
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
Summary: Having witnessed the love of your life marry another, you are left with a broken heart. After dealing with a deadly blow to your heart, you began to wonder if you were ever meant to be loved. Can someone mend the damage left by your ex and show you that you deserve all the love you’ve craved?
Genre: royal au, heavy angst,
Fic warnings: ooc, mentions of sex, mentions of child abandonment/neglect, profanity, manipulation, violence.
Words:3000+
Chapter one
A/N: Welcome to one of the many Fics that has been living in my head rent free. So excited to share with everyone. Enjoy
“Soon, my beloved, we will spend many nights like this together.” Satoru caresses your cheek. You lean into his touch, one of your hands touch the one that is caressing your cheek. “I cannot wait for that time to come, waking up every day to your beautiful face, spending hours with you inside and outside of the bedroom. I cannot wait for the day when I can love you freely as my wife.” His gaze full of nothing but love and adoration for you makes your heart flutter. His lips meet yours, pushing your back gently to the bed. You melt under his touch, kissing him back with equal fervor. The rest of the night filled with your proclamations of each other’s love.
Y/n can feel the tears threatening to fall. The memory feels so distant and different from the present time. If someone were to tell you two months ago that the man, you shared passionate nights and fond memories with is going to marry another woman in front of you then you would have ridiculed them. You would chastise them for creating fake narratives against your future husband.
