#japanese reader
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shouyuus · 2 months ago
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mma!bakugo who just so happens to train at the gym that you part-time at on the weekends (front desk stuff, bookkeeping, etc) and has always been a bit scary from afar bc he's got this constant scowl as if he's got a bone to pick with just about anyone and anything who crosses his path, but his coach (also ur boss) assures you that he's a big softie once you get to know him. you tell him in no uncertain terms that you think you're good, thanks.
mma!bakugo who's always the first one in and the last one out on your shifts, who's got shit manners but always holds the door open for you and sometimes you swear you can catch him watching you as you go about cleaning some of the equipment but goes tomato red whenever you catch him in the act and immediately yeets off to work on drills for about half an hour before he'll glance at you again.
mma!bakugo who doesn't know how good he looks when he's wiping sweat from his chin or chugging water from his massive 2-liter water bottle, a trickle of cold water dripping down his chin to run down his neck, his adam's apple bobbing as he gulps down the water, smacking his lips as he wipes his mouth on the back of his bandaged hand; doesn't notice the way that every girl (and a lot of the guys tbh) are staring at him, but he'll glance towards where he saw you last, standing helping a new guy sign up for the gym membership, smiling and laughing, and he knows it's what you're supposed to do but it doesn't stop the way his gut twists or the way he goes way too hard at the punching bag, hard enough for his coach to hike an eyebrow and ask what's gotten into him today? it's not like him to "lose control" like this
mma!bakugo who never calls you by your name where other ppl can hear, always says like "hey sweetcheeks, can you hand me a water?" or "dollface, can you do me a favor?" and you'd always roll your eyes and remind him that "that's not my name, bakugou-kun," even as you're doing whatever thing he asked for anyway.
mma!bakugo who keeps quiet and watches when a guy tries to hit on you (unsuccessfully) bc he knows you can handle yourself, but the moment the guy reaches out to try and put hands on you, he's on his feet, stalking across the gym to shove his way between the pair of you like "oi. she ain't interested." and by now, everyone's gone quiet, their eyes trained on him and the guy and you; the guy sizes bakugou up, puffing out his chest for a second, but the next, he seems to notice the thick cords of muscles braiding down bakugou's arms, the expertly wrapped knuckles on both his hands, and he puts two and two together fast enough to know that this really isn't a fight he should be picking.
so he scoffs and makes as if he weren't ever really that interested anyway, turning around and muttering beneath his breath that you weren't even that pretty to begin with.
"thanks," you say, but bakugo just frowns and cocks his head.
"don't let anyone talk to you like that, got it?" and there's still that signature grit to his voice, the sharpness to his eyes, but something about it is different today -- it's ever so slightly softer than he usually is. he opens his mouth like he's about to say something more but pauses at the last second and turns around, shoulders a little hunched, and you could swear you can see the tips of his ears go red.
mma!bakugo who, after you get him an omamori from a shrine visit that says "certain victory", can only stare down at his, mouth open, a lil speechless, until he looks up to find you blushing just as hard as he is, purses his lips, clears his throat and glances off towards the side, tucking the charm into his training shorts like "thanks. now i've really got no excuse huh."
mma!bakugo who when he wins (as you knew he would), throws up his hand, the charm you gave him clutched in his palm, catches your eye in the crowd, smirks and jerks his head; when you squeeze your way up to the barrier, he boops your nose with a gloved hand before tugging it off with his teeth, letting it drop to the ground, bending down so his eyes are level with yours, his chest still heaving, his skin flushed from the recent fight, there's a cut on his lip and a bruise blossoming high on his right cheek but neither of you seem to care -- all he can see is you.
he tugs on a loose strand of hair, cocks his head, you smile and glance at the omamori clutched in his hand and say, "guess the lucky charm really worked."
mma!bakugo who hikes an eyebrow at your words before his eyes track down to your lips and he sighs, leaning against the soft barriers, not caring that there are just about seven different cameras trained on the pair of you right now, runs a finger down your jawline till he can tip your chin back --
"or..." his voice is just a little hoarse, his normally bright eyes dark, his pupils nearly completely blown out, a total eclipse of the usual ruby red of his gaze --
"maybe my lucky charm is just you."
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hazyki · 4 months ago
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aisheteru ♡
pairing : ni-ki x reader ! genre : fluffy fluff flufffffff ! cw : forehead and nose kisses ! wc : 431
syposis : ni-ki teaches you japanese 🥸
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“okay, say it with me—… o-ya-su-mi," riki’s voice was soft as he looked up at you, lips curling into a smile. his hands rested on your waist as you sat comfortably on his lap, legs draped on either side of him.
you nodded, trying your best to follow along. “oya…sumi. did i get it right?”
he nodded gently, fingers lightly tapping against your side. "perfect. you’re a natural."
the dim light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room, prompting warmth to surround you. you could feel his steady and soothing heartbeat against you. the night was a calm and showed how hours had passed since you saw each other first, like the world had slowed down just for the two of you.
“okay okay, teach me another one,” you asked as you leaned forward slightly. his eyes seemed to have sparkle as he thought for a moment.
"okay, umm, how about... su-ki da yo. it means..." he hesitated, side-eyeing you with a knowing smirk on his face as his cheeks flushing slightly.
"what does it mean?" you asked, teasingly poking his chest, knowing full well what he was about to say. you didn’t do duolingo for nothing after all.
riki’s voice was a little quieter this time, but the playfulness never left his expression. “it means ‘i like you.’” he glanced up at you and you couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes softened when he said it.
"well in that case….. i ‘suki da yo’ you too," you repeated slowly, enunciating each syllable, trying to make it as clear as possible.
his grin widened, adoration swelling in his chest at your stupid attempt at reciprocating his confess, though equally as proud of your pronunciation. without thinking, he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.
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hours have passed, and you’re completely sprawled against his chest, your body overlapping his as you nuzzle into his neck, your warm breath tickling his skin.
riki shifts slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before snorting when he notices the drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. without hesitation, he snaps a picture, already planning how he’ll tease you with it in the morning. but for now, he just smiles, soaking in your presence (and your drool) with a particular fondness floating in his eyes.
“aisteru,” he mumbles, his voice shaky and tired as he kisses your forehead again, setting his phone on the nightstand before finally wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you even closer, and shutting his eyes.
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note : i love him very very much 😞
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costkappen · 10 months ago
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𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒐𝒔🫶🏻
Warnings: suggestive, 18+
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kamaluhkhan · 10 days ago
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HER CANINE TEETH IN THE SIDE OF MY NECK
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pairing: werewolf!vi x vampire slayer!reader word count: 11.1 k summary: she's a monster, and you're essentially a monster hunter. it shouldn't work, but it does. (or — you and vi decide to escape the narrative together) warnings: ooh various mentions of fighting + blood + injuries ranging from mild to life-threatening; reader and vi both smoke + consume alcohol; rough sex (fingering [vi receiving], oral [reader receiving], tribbing, biting, spitting ++ aftercare); 18+ ! vibes are basically buffy the vampire slayer with chaotic lesbians loving each other so much it consumes them both a/n: i think i've been watching too much buffy and fantasizing about werewolf!vi for like,, too long,, and this unholy mess is the result. this has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for a WHILE but tonight is the wolf moon so it felt right to post now, i really hope y'all enjoy 🖤 i'll include credit for each subtitle in the tags too <33
♪: "bullet with butterfly wings" by the smashing pumpkins; "dig me out" by sleater-kinney; "taste my despair" by lesbian bed death; "i wanna be your dog" by joan jett; "fantastic" by king princess
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i. sorry about the blood in your mouth
vi wakes up with a terrible motherfucking headache, which isn’t anything new. 
she doesn’t know where she is — that isn’t particularly something new, either — but what is new is the tongue slobbering all over her face. when she opens her eyes, vi sees a 50-pound black dog standing over her.
“whoa!” vi sits up abruptly, but the dog only gets more excited and jumps up on the couch, caging her in.
“sorry. she usually isn’t so enthusiastic about company.”
the voice is coming from the other side of the room, where you’re sitting on the edge of the mattress closest to the window. there’s a cigarette in your hand, and each time you exhale, you point your chin accordingly so the smoke travels outside. a crisp breeze trickles in. 
���morning, killer.”
vi swallows the heart that has jumped into her throat, takes a deep breath to steady her breathing. fuck, she literally just moved here and might already need to leave. she tries to remember if something bad happened last night. 
it wasn’t the full moon, was it? no, that shouldn’t be for another few weeks. but then why are you calling her a —
“killer?” she asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.
she stares at you, eyes trailing your injured jawline as she waits for you to respond. you do look vaguely, achingly familiar. whatever happened last night, you were probably part of it. 
“well, you’ve got a killer right hook,” you quip. you snuff out your cigarette and twist around to fully face vi. “and i’m pretty sure you killed my reputation as a pit fighting champion. i was undefeated before you.” 
fresh blood emerges from your split lip as you speak, and you’re quick to swipe it away with your tongue. 
oh. right. 
your tank top is torn at the bottom, just cropped enough that vi can see the imprint of her fist on your lower ribs. she now remembers the feeling of yours on the side of her face, and has a bloody, crusted eyebrow, painfully tender cheekbone, and the outline of your ring seared onto her skin forever to prove it. 
what kind of pitfighter wears pure silver?
vi takes note of her surroundings to get a better sense of who she’s up against: the place is small, dingy, but has a good amount of light. you’ve got a broken mirror, old books stacked in the corner, and an open cupboard filled with clothing and various weapons, mostly daggers and some wooden stakes. an intricate glass cross dangles from the centre of the window, filtering through multicolored light. there are a bunch of dried plants next to a mortar and pestle on the sill below — nightshade, juniper, wolfsbane. on the tiny kitchen counter is a silver vase filled with more wilted flowers. 
even from far away, vi can hear your heartbeat — strong, steady — as you shuffle around and gather some things. she inhales your scent. she remembers that she was slightly taken aback, in the pit when she had you pinned to the mat, that under the musk of sweat and metallic tang of blood, vi sensed something else, something delicate and floral. 
your whole apartment smells overwhelmingly of dried roses and decaying fruit, too, sweet and earthy.
“did you bring me here for round two?”
“no.” you let out a short, breathy laugh. “i brought you here so that some creep wouldn’t take advantage of you. you were pretty out of it.”  
“so you’re — what an enforcer?”
“no fucking way,” you declare, and vi can practically feel rage coursing through you, your heart pumping with reignited vigor. “like an enforcer would care enough to actually help the undercity,” you grumble. 
you shake your head and sit down at the edge of the couch, shooing your dog away so you can drop first aid supplies in her place. she settles on the floor at your feet. 
you offer vi a somewhat bruised apple. when she hesitates, you push it into her hand.
“this isn’t a fairytale,” you say, hands busy soaking a cloth in some alcohol. “i’m not trying to poison you,” you add as if reading her mind.  
“there…there are some good enforcers, though,” vi tries, trained to have such platitudes at the ready.  
you roll your eyes. “if there are, i haven’t met them.” 
vi’s not sure she believes what she had said, either. she feels her side ache, a phantom bruise from when caitlyn slammed her rifle into the very injury she had once helped heal. 
what started as you’re not like the rest of those animals. you’re one of the good ones. became you’re all the same. it’s their blood in your veins. as soon as things went downhill. 
vi bites her lip to prevent herself from wincing, and it isn’t because you’ve pressed an alcohol-soaked cloth to the cut on her nose. her sharp nails break through the skin of the apple, digging into its soft flesh until juice is running down her wrist.
“eat,” you insist, but you’re focused on removing as much dirt and dried blood from her face as you can, brows furrowed in concentration. “you ruined my reputation, so you better keep up your strength if you wanna keep yours.”
“so, you’re helping the enemy,” vi, still wary of you, wonders.
your frown softens. you place a bandage on the bridge of her nose before saying: 
“you’re not my enemy.” 
maybe it was the sincerity of your words, or the unconditional care you’re showing her, or the fact that it’s been so long since someone has touched vi so tenderly, but she decides in that moment to trust you, whoever you are. 
she takes a bite of the apple, the sweetness invading her mouth, as you lean over to search for something else in the first aid kit, mumbling to yourself about how the wound is deeper than you thought. 
“you should really be more careful,” you chide. “are you a topsider?”
vi scoffs through a mouthful of fruit. “i’m from the lanes.” 
“yeah, well this neighborhood is a different level of bad,” you tell her.
“i can hold my own — ouch.”
you start stitching up the cut on her eyebrow, one hand keeping her head steady. her cheek pulses against you as she chews, your skin calming and cool. 
“when you’re sober, maybe.”
“you didn’t have to help me,” vi grunts. “most people would’ve gone about their business.”
“i was going about my business. i was out on patrol; vampires never sleep, you know.” 
you say it so casually, almost too casually, that vi wonders if she misheard you.
“vampires?”
you raise an eyebrow at vi. “there’s a high concentration of them around here, near the hellmouth. a lot of monsters, actually —”
vi hopes you don’t notice how she shudders at the word monsters.
“ — some of whom can and will eat you alive if they get the chance,” you deadpan. “that’s kinda what i’m here for.”
“so….what are you, exactly?”
you don’t say anything for a few seconds, your expression unreadable while you finish vi’s stitches, but your heart thumps so forcefully against your ribcage, vi almost thinks she’s seconds away from hearing the bones there crack. you start gnawing at your bottom lip, let the blood gather until it starts to trickle down towards your chin. vi swipes it away with her thumb, which she then wipes against her bandaged palm. 
you inhale slowly, then exhale. your heart rate eases; still a bit higher than most people’s, but to what seems to be normal for you. 
“the correct term is slayer,” you finally say, watching vi carefully for her reaction. 
vi isn’t quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound good for someone like her. she’s wondering if she should make a run for it when you drop your voice an octave or two and add: 
“the chosen one standing against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.” you clear your throat. “if you were wondering.” you break out into a cheeky grin, teeth sparkling in the late morning sun.
“you’re joking?”
“most days, i wish i was. that’s the official tagline, actually.” your smile shrinks into a sigh. “i’m the slayer. i won’t bore you with all the details, but me saving you last night? that’s kinda just what i do. my destiny, so to speak.”
“do you normally take the people you save home?”
you blink away, wipe your hands half-heartedly on the white tank top you’re wearing, smearing vi’s mess of crimson and grime.
“no,” you admit. 
vi narrows her eyes at you, shifts her body so there’s at least more space between you before she figures out what the hell to do. it’s possible that you’re lying but —
vi puffs out her chest. “why are you being so nice to me?” 
you already have her blood on your body, and vice versa, and not just because you’d been fighting each other. it’s not quite trust, but it feels like something close. something you’re willing to share without even knowing much about the other. 
an unspoken question: do you know what i really am? 
because if you did, vi’s sure you wouldn’t be so….friendly towards her. so gentle.
“honestly?” you gesture towards the dog who’s busy nuzzling into vi’s leg. “fangs kinda hates everyone but she seems to like you.”
her jaw drops. “you decided to be my guardian angel because your dog likes me?”
“i already had a good feeling about you before.” you shrug. “i took it as a good omen, i guess.” 
“i’m not sure you should,” vi advises. 
you’re looking out for her, so she should look out for you. it’s better, for everyone, that vi be left alone. 
she’s been good, had to learn how to be, in order to survive; that doesn’t mean she’s innocent. 
on the bad days, she can’t control her anger. on the worst days, she can’t contain her hunger.
“okay, well, maybe i’ve got a thing for strays,” you reach your hand down, run it through fangs’ thick black fur. your lips curl upwards as you look at vi, all bright-eyed and beautiful, sunlight itself emanating from your smile. 
something sparks in her chest that she thought would never light again. something that, like her, could be dangerous if it’s not controlled. 
vi decides it’s probably about time that she left, though it's difficult to tear herself from your warmth.
“so, will i see you in the pit again?” she still can’t help but ask as you accompany her to the door.
“probably, yeah.” you lean against the doorframe, and vi is about to turn the knob when you add: “but, that pub you passed outside of? the bronze? maybe we can, uh, get a drink there, afterwards sometime.”
your heart skips a beat or two as you anxiously wait for vi to say something. her entire body heats up when she realizes what’s going on.
you were….asking her out. 
the good thing is that then there’s no way you actually know what vi is because, well, would this even be allowed in your line of work?
“you promise you’re not just playing the long game? gaining my trust and then stabbing me in the back?”
you give her a playful but sincere smile and make a small ‘x’ on the left side of your upper chest. “cross my heart.”
“guess i’ll will call you my guardian angel,” she muses, her chest glowing. “i’m vi, by the way.” 
you grin, then formally introduce yourself. you reach out your hand. vi holds it, delicately, even though your grip is firm.
“one more thing, though — keep the whole me being the slayer thing under wraps? it’s supposed to be a secret.”
“why’d you tell me, then?” vi wonders, raising an eyebrow. 
you tilt your head, examining her. “like i said — i had a good feeling about you. slayers are meant to have good instincts, so i decided to trust mine.” 
vi takes a deep breath, removes her hand from yours, and glances at you once more with a small smile. she promises not to tell a soul. 
(she, of all people, knows that there are far worse secrets to keep.)  
“thank you,” vi adds. “for saving me.”
she hears fangs scratching at the door from inside the apartment after she’s gone, along with the deep rumble of your voice telling fangs not to worry, our new friend will visit again soon, like you’re so sure vi will be back. 
with the way you already have her sharp edges softening, her heart fluttering in her chest, vi probably will be. 
except —
vi’s not quite human, hasn’t been since she started bleeding between her legs at 13, since her mother told her that this was a blessing passed down to eldest daughters in their family, no matter how many people will try to convince her it’s a curse. 
it would be a few months later that her mother would be killed because of said blessing. 
really, it’s more nightmare. 
because vi knows what it’s like to pick ripped flesh from between her teeth, to have the metallic sweetness of blood linger on her tongue and throat-tearing screams ringing in her ears. 
meanwhile, you — with your good instincts, strong fists and stronger heart  —
it’s your destiny to end those nightmares. 
you’re the thing that monsters like her are supposed to have nightmares about.
ii. you’re an angel / i’m a dog
there’s an intimacy to knowing how someone fights. 
vi fights with bared teeth and burning rage, knuckles cracking against bone, elbows bruising skin without any remorse. her own wounds are half-hazardly hidden behind layers of gauze, her chest wrapped tightly to keep her heart from bleeding out. she doesn’t bother to clean the dirt underneath her nails, to wipe the blood from her upper lip after an opponent breaks her nose, to wash her face clean before smearing on more dark paint until all she sees in the mirror is a shadow of her former self. 
you, on the other hand: you’re precise and quick in how you defeat your opponents, maybe even a bit bored. vi figures that when you fight monsters for a living, it must be fairly dull, knocking out some guy with a single, well placed uppercut, even if he is twice your size. your bandages are always fresh, and you always make vi a little dizzy when she catches a whiff of rose. you walk past her with a playful grin, easily replaced by the glint of your razor-sharp canines as you defeat another opponent in the arena. she listens as your heartbeat barely increases a beat, despite the inevitable adrenaline of battle. 
you might not be as feral as her, but vi thinks you’re just as dangerous. she likes it, admires that your violence is always calculated rather than all-consuming. 
she does wonder if you’d ever let anything consume you, curious to know what’s hiding under your armor.
so, a few days after she first woke up in your apartment, vi builds up the courage to suggest: 
"whoever wins the most fights tonight picks up the tab for the bar." 
your face brightens the dim, dirty sidelines of the pit as you’re both waiting for your turn, when you answer:
"you're on, killer." 
later that night, both of your bodies are aching as vi tries to examine your injuries once you’re both done for the day, away from the roar of the crowd. 
"guess i'll be picking up the tab," you smile, your lip splitting open even more, just like the morning after her knuckles first kissed your skin. 
(she wants to kiss this wound closed, too, press her lips to your bloody ones, if you’d be willing to give her a taste.)
"i'll still take care of it, angel,” vi soothes. she rummages around the tiny locker room, a single light bulb flickering above you. finally, she finds a small first aid kit — poorly stocked, but good enough for now. “lemme take care of you first."
you must understand what vi’s implying, because your heart starts racing faster. 
it’s a routine that becomes vi’s guiding light — the two of you patching each other up after a rough day (and, regardless of the fact that you’re both strong, it’s always a rough day). you share a drink at the bronze, and then you’re off slaying vampires or whatever other nightmares will keep you awake and fighting every night. 
then, it’s another full moon, and the routine changes. 
she’s able to prevent herself from turning even in the worst of circumstances, but she doesn’t want to risk any accidents, knowing that you’re out there on the prowl. vi is confident that you’d never hurt, let alone kill her, but that’s counting on you being able to recognize her. 
vi locks herself in the basement of the bronze. spike, the bartender, let her crash in a storage closet, temporarily, no questions asked and a promise to keep it a secret.
she emerges from her isolation after three days, eyes stinging from the harsh morning sun. her first instinct is to head underground, search for you. she makes one stop beforehand, drops something off in the locker room before she’s ushered into the arena without any more preamble. 
the show must go on, and you’re already center stage. 
the lanky woman you must’ve just knocked unconscious is being dragged away. you spit out what looks like a combination of blood and saliva, and crack your neck before resuming a fighting stance, feet squared, bruised knuckles at the ready. 
you falter when you see that it’s vi who’s your next opponent. vi picks up the increased pace of your heart, the muscle worrying against your chest.  
you’ve had this conversation, though — about what would happen if you were ever up against each other again in the ring — and you both agreed: once the bell rings, the fight starts, because you both need the money to survive. 
nothing personal. winner buys two rounds of drinks at the bronze. three, if there were some nasty hits involved.
you hadn’t needed to worry about any of that until now.
the bell rings, and vi waits for you to make the first move, like you tend to do.
but, you don’t.
the first time you were up against each other, vi dodged your attack and delivered a jab hard enough to make you bleed. you had looked at her with wide eyes, fingers touching your bottom lip and becoming stained with red as the crowd roared. you adjusted your posture with a newfound interest, and a glimmer of what vi can only describe as hunger.
this time, you drop your stance like you’ve already lost the fight. you ignore the shouts and groans from the crowd as you walk away.
….
vi finds you in the locker room — and you’re not alone. 
“there a problem here?” vi asks, glaring at the guy you seem to be arguing with. 
“it’s fine,” you answer coolly. still, vi sits on the bench nearest to the door, waits for you like a patient dog. 
“fine?” the guy barks a laugh. he’s wearing topside clothes. an enforcer, no less. “you made me look like a fool.”
you scoff. “i doubt that’s hard to do.”
the guy suddenly reaches forward and snatches your arm. vi feels rage surge through her when his nails indent your skin. you must sense it, because your eyes lock with hers in a silent command not to do anything, not just yet.
“i don’t think you understand, bitch,” he seethes, face a pissed off shade of red. “i’m out more money than you’ll ever see in your entire pathetic life.” 
“i’m sure you’ll manage.”
vi follows your gaze as it drops to his belt. he’s got his badge, a standard issue pistol, and a pouch full of gold coins. 
“clearly i bet on the wrong fucking dog.” 
you force a smile. “better luck next time, officer.” 
you finally rip your arm out of his grip, push him away abruptly, effectively manoeuvring him to stumble between where you’re standing, and vi’s waiting. you gesture towards vi with a smirk, a taunting dare for this enforcer to challenge two of the undercity’s best fighters. 
vi gets up just as he’s walking out, grumbling an incoherent string of swears. she not-so-subtly knocks into his shoulder and hip, her nimble fingers still quick.
“guess we can get dinner with our drinks, now,” she quips with a toothy grin. vi tosses you the pouch, but you don’t seem too thrilled, even as you catch it effortlessly. 
“you can’t just disappear like that, vi.” your voice sharp, crossing your arms over your chest. 
“i didn’t mean to,” vi lies, walking over to open your shared locker. she pulls out a bouquet of roses, the same deep red as dried blood. 
vi pouts, gives you her best puppy dog eyes. “i’m sorry, angel.” 
the only reaction she gages from you is a quickening heartbeat at the nickname, your face still hard to crack marble. 
“this is serious, vi.” 
“i know! but —”
“do you know what’s out there? i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful,” you rush, walking over to her and talking with your hands. “i looked everywhere for you, and….and you just left without saying anything. i thought…i thought you’d been killed —”
your blood roars in vi’s ears, your pulse close to out of control, and vi doesn’t know what else to do except bring you into her arms in an attempt to calm you down.
“i’m okay, angel. i’m here. i’m right here,” vi mumbles against your shoulder, inhaling sweat and roses.
your heart starts beating steady against her own as you exhale.
“i was safe, i promise. i was in the supply close at the bronze.”
“are you kidding?” you guffaw, unravelling yourself from vi’s body. “that basement is a hellhole.”
vi shrugs. “it does the trick.”
you chuckle dryly, shaking your head.
“well, i guess now that i lost one of my best sponsors, fangs and i might have to move in there with you,” you deadpan.
you reach around vi to pull a jacket from the locker, slipping on worn leather that vi realizes is hers. you take the flowers from her with a small thank you, and vi adjusts the collar of her jacket on you, her warm fingers subtly grazing your pulsepoint. vi can’t help the possessiveness that sparks in her abdomen: you, wearing her clothes; you, heart beating rapidly for her. 
“well…what if….i moved in with you?” deep down, she knows it’s not an ideal situation, but vi reasons: “we can pool our money together for rent. besides, what’s another stray in your home?” 
you bite your bottom lip as you mull over the offer.
“well, you did buy me flowers, ask me out to dinner….seems like the logical next step.”
“so….” 
vi wiggles her eyebrows at you, and you finally crack a smile. 
it was only been three days apart and vi already felt deprived of the sunlight of your smile. 
“okay, killer. as long as you don’t make a habit of disappearing on me.”
….
on paper, there might be reasons why you and vi, together, shouldn’t work, but the simple truth is that you do.
you still spend your afternoons engulfed in the darkness of the underground arena, patch each other up at the end of the day, share drinks at the bronze before parting ways.
now, in the mornings, you spend a few hours training together, moving furniture around so there’s enough space to spar. you try not to get distracted by how hot her skin is every time it brushes against yours, how solid her thigh is between your legs when she’s adjusting your stance, how a shattered moan emerges from her lips as you pin her to the floor after showing her a new technique to catch an opponent off-guard.
the nights are your favourite, though. like fangs, vi is able to fall asleep anywhere in the apartment, and is usually passed out by the time you’re off the clock from slayer duty. after the first few nights, you insist that vi sleep on the bed, and she begrudgingly agrees. now, you get home just before dawn, bone-tired, to find her belly up, drooling and snoring on top of the dilapidated mattress. the moonlight illuminates all the curves and shadows of her sculpted body, her skin shimmering with sweat because her body runs warm, even on the coldest nights. you can see the trail of pink hair disappear beneath her black underwear, while her dyed-black hair is a tangled mess you’re tempted to tug at, curious to see if she’d moan again for you. vi sleeps shirtless, nipples winking at you like two fallen stars with those titanium rods pierced through. 
gods, you try not to drool when you slip under the covers and fall asleep dreaming of her, all the places you would sink your teeth into, all the places you wish she would do the same. 
(meanwhile, vi tries to ignore the sound of your whimpers, the quick tempo of your heartbeat, and the overwhelming musk of desire between your legs as you sleep next to her, because she’s so sure that you would never dream of her.)
these fantasies of vi, all her warmth, all her chaos, gnaw at you from the inside out. it’s an overwhelming sense of hunger, but with vi, you also feel something else, something gentler and more fragile building between you.
it’s really the little things. 
like, vi brings you fresh roses every week, and even though you keep telling her to save her winnings for better things, she tells you that pretty girls like you are worth it, angel. they should teach you that in slayer school. 
she winks, makes you flustered, then has the audacity to blush when you leave her the ripest apples because you know that she likes them a bit sweeter. 
sometimes you open the window as you share a cigarette, exhaling smoke into the starlit twilight as you exchange stories about your pasts, about the people you’ve loved and lost. she’s the first person you confide in about how weighed down you feel by the responsibility of being the slayer, a burden that’s cost you many loved ones, and the uncertainty of whether what you’re destined to do is truly what is good for the world. she tells you about her time in prison, the lonely nights lamenting the death of her father and brothers, but keeping her strength because she hoped to one day make it back to a sister she just ended up losing, anyways. 
other times, the two of you play a game. you imagine that you’re elsewhere, that there are no such things as monsters, no reason to have to battle and bruise yourselves just to survive. instead, you have a life and a family and a home together, filled with luxurious parties, decadent dinner tables, and endless sunny days. 
you comfort her and she comforts you through the dark, morbid world you both have been fighting against, alone, for so long.
it works. it works really well. 
except — you’ve been the slayer long enough to know that nothing this good will last. it's nauseating — dangerous, even — this desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut, twisting and taunting you with what can never be.
you’re just waiting for the next nightmare to reveal itself.
….
vi’s hair has started to fade back to pink, so she asks you to re-dye it.
it’s easy to forget that she sits in a rickety chair in your decrepit but well-loved apartment because all she can think about is your body behind hers, solid and steady. your cool fingers work the dye through her hair, your nails scrape against her scalp, and you’re humming as fangs snores peacefully at her feet. she’s died and gone to heaven, pure bliss glowing in her chest and releasing through her throat as a deep rumble. 
she closes her eyes and indulges in a little daydreaming:
just you and your sunburst smile and your soft, rose-petal skin.
there’s a firm knock that rustles vi out of her reverie, and you tell her to go rinse out her hair while you answer it.
she can hear you talking with someone through the rush of hot water. she tries not to eavesdrop, but…it’s difficult, especially once she hears:
“it’ll be fine. silver bullets usually do the trick,” you say, without much enthusiasm. vi bites back her hurt, keeps rinsing her hair, waiting for the water to run clear instead of sludge gray. 
you’re not talking about her. 
“i’m not sure you understand the severity of the situation,” a voice with a thick british accent replies. “i’ve been on the council for fifty years — five times longer than you’ve been the slayer — and i’ve never seen something quite this vicious.”
“my guess is you don’t get out in the field much,” you quip. 
whoever you’re talking to clearly is not amused, ignoring your backhanded comment and instead offering the details of what has been witnessed in the past few days. it’s so gruesome and gory that vi herself is shivering as she turns off the shower, towels off, and gets dressed. 
when vi opens the door, she almost trips over fangs, who’d fallen asleep just outside. she gets up immediately as vi steps out, her tail wagging. the owner of the stern voice — a man wearing a very pristine looking tweed suit — is handing you a crossbow, a bunch of silver-tipped arrows already splayed on the table. you notice vi first as your grip on the weapon tightens, and the man’s gaze follows.
“you know there’s a rule about slayers keeping….pets,” the man says, turning his nose up at vi and fangs from where they’re still standing at the doorway of the bathroom. 
you glance back at the pair, jaw clenched, and then focus back on your unwanted guest. 
“mr. travers, thank you for the heads up, but i believe it’s time for you to leave,” you clip, dropping the crossbow on the table. 
“actually, i believe that we have much more to discuss, namely how you’ve allowed this mutt into your home —”
“get the fuck out of our apartment,” you practically growl. you walk towards him menacingly until his back is millimeters away from the door. “you of all people know what i can do.”
“you will be punished for this…this transgression,” travers warns, but there’s an unmistakable tremble in his voice. 
you laugh in a way vi can barely recognize, sharp and bitter. 
“fine. i’m no stranger to dealing with the council’s bullshit.” you open the door, flash an exaggerated, sickly sweet smile. “have a nice day.”
“i hope this animal is worth it,” travers huffs. 
“she’s worth it,” you reply without hesitation before you slam the door on his ass, so hard that the walls shake, the vase in the kitchen toppling over and cracking on the counter. 
vi’s seen you fight in the pit — hell, she’s been on the receiving end of some of your wicked moves — but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen you this angry. 
your chest is heaving as you pace back and forth. 
“so that sounds….bad,” vi remarks, heading over to the kitchen counter to gather the broken shards of pottery.
you freeze. “how much did you hear?” 
vi just shrugs. “just that there’s something bad out there —”
“don’t worry about it,” you say with a forced smile. you walk over and push some damp hair away from vi’s eyes. “let’s take fangs for a walk before we leave, yeah? while it’s still light out.” 
there are whispers throughout the next few days leading up to the full moon. the crowd at the arena starts to thin, most topsiders too scared to journey underground with rumors of a bloodthirsty monster on the loose. 
you’re not sleeping anymore, still fighting during the day to a half-empty arena, out on patrol at night, your rosy scent fading from the bedsheets with each passing night. even if you get home before dawn, you spend your time scouring through books and scribbling into your notebook, mumbling to yourself theories about where and how you can stop this thing. vi tries to get you to take a break, or at least eat instead of burning through shimmer-laced cigarettes to keep yourself awake.
the best vi can do is convince you to sit down on the couch with her and share a snack. you settle for doing some research, flip through yellowed pages as you take a bite of an apple, juice dripping down your chin. 
vi reaches her finger out, puts it in her mouth to suck off the juice, moaning around the salty-sweet taste of your skin. you let out a pleased hum, turning your attention back to your research, but angling your body to invite her closer. vi nuzzles into your side, puts her head on your lap, twitches in pleasure as you reach down to scratch behind her ear. 
she looks up at you, and you finally give her a real smile — the first ray of sun after a pitch dark night.
a slice of paradise vi was certain she’d never find.
….
the night of the full moon is when all hell breaks loose. 
vi tries — she begs you not to go out there, sensing that tonight, of all nights, it will be at its strongest. but you, too headstrong and too righteous for your own good, just won’t listen. 
“this thing has killed eleven people in less than a week. i don’t care what phase of the moon it is — i’m ending this, tonight.” 
“why does it have to be you? that thing is stronger than anything you’ve ever fought!” 
“which is why i’ve been preparing,” you snap.
“can’t you – can’t you just call the fucking council, or something, tell them to deal with it?” 
fangs is right there with vi, scrambling and whining as you’re meticulously arming yourself with as many weapons you can carry.
you scoff, notching a few silver blades to your belt. “it’s not their responsibility, it’s mine. where the fuck — i can’t go out only in this tank top, it’s fucking freezing — ”
vi swallows the lump in her throat.
“you’re gonna die if you go out there alone.”
“yeah, well, i’ve accepted my fate a long time ago,” you say stoically. 
you’re fairly well supplied at this point; if vi was the monster you were hunting, she’d be running scared from a glance alone. you’re only half paying attention to vi’s pleas, and sigh in relief when you find what you’d been looking for. 
“please, angel, don’t —”
“i was literally born for this, violet. if i don’t go out and stop this thing from killing more people, then my life is worth nothing.” 
“you make me happy!” she shouts desperately, forcing you to pause as you slip on her jacket. “that’s worth something, isn’t it?”
a tense silence follows. 
you freeze for a few moments, avoiding vi’s gaze. then, you walk over to the cabinet, grabbing something so quickly vi can’t pinpoint what it is and stuffing it in your back pocket. you clench and unclench your left fist, a tick of yours that vi recognizes from the arena. 
you’re planning your next move. 
in a daze, you pick up the crossbow, but you hesitate once more —
“fuck,” you exhale before letting the weapon clatter to the ground and rushing over to crash your lips against vi’s. 
you’re kissing and kissing, teeth and tongue and a pleasure so guilty, vi’s sure she’ll be damned for all eternity. vi’s lungs are burning when she pulls away first.
“wait. you should know that i’m —”
“i still have to go,” you interrupt, voice determined and sharp, cutting right through to vi’s heart.
there’s a fear curling up her throat as you watch her, your eyes the darkest she’s ever seen them. 
“then let me – i mean, i can help —”
you kiss her again. you taste so heavenly, better than she ever dreamed of, that vi doesn’t even care that it’s probably just to shut her up. 
she almost doesn’t notice that you’ve cornered her between the kitchen counter and the front door, until she hears a distinct click, feels something heavy and burning against her wrists. 
you pull away first this time, eyes glazed over as you back away to make space between you and what you’ve done:
vi, handcuffed to the exposed heating pipe. the cuffs are stronger than any vi has ever been bound by. must be made of real silver. the metal sears into her skin, down to the bone, as she struggles against them, screaming to the point of howling, watching as you pick up the crossbow and a handful of silver tipped arrows as a final hail mary.
“no!” she cries. the pipe you’d cuffed her to rattles, but it doesn’t give. “please, please don’t —”
“i’m…i’m really sorry,” you mumble, quickly wiping away a tear. vi flinches when you try to touch her cheek; she bares her teeth at you like a rabid beast, but you don’t give her the courtesy of a reaction.  
“why are you doing this?” she growls.
“because….you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 
you take a deep breath. you look at fangs, affectionately pat her head as she bows her head and whines, tail between her legs. “bring her the key once it’s morning,” you instruct. your eyes slide over to vi’s, for what she fears might be the last time. “take care of each other.”
with that, you’re out the door.
vi isn’t sure how much time passes. her wrists sting, her muscles ache, but still, she keeps going. she doesn’t care how, but she’s not letting you die tonight. 
a sliver of moonlight shines through the window. something claws at her ribcage. 
you’re not dying tonight. 
and vi’s been hungry for too long.
iii. all my devotion turns violent
the streets are empty, deserted due to fear and damp from the cold evening rain.
you search through the shadows, around every corner, play with one of your daggers just to pass the time, the blade weaving between your expert fingers.
all you can really think about, though, is vi, and how scared she was to lose you, and how terribly you must have hurt her — 
fuck. 
you accidentally sliced through your palm, your blood emerging as thick, black tar in the darkness. you sigh and kneel down in the alleyway, dropping your heaviest weapon so you can use your uninjured hand to wrap the other. 
something pounces on you before you can stop the bleeding. the crossbow — the weapon that was supposed to deliver a fatal blow — is now out of reach. 
you jab one of your silver blades into the creature’s side; he howls, but you manage to kick him away long enough to get to your feet, get a better sense of what you’re fighting. you’ve never seen anything like it before: a hulking mass roughly five times your size, wolf-like features, and chemical machinery woven throughout his body, a neon green liquid pumping through glass tubes. 
the beast growls at you, lunges forward once again; you jump out of his path, roll away so run, fast, and grab the crossbow. you quickly notch a silver tipped arrow, aim at his heart; you hold your breath and fire without hesitation. then another, and another, just to be safe.  
your stomach turns as you watch the creature remove the arrows as if they were nothing but splinters. he lets out a roar that shakes the earth. you’ve made him angrier.
you drop the crossbow, deciding instead to propel yourself off the wall, leap onto the beast’s shoulders and stab the glass tubes with all the force you can muster. green liquid gushes out, and the beast howls in pain, but doesn’t give up. with sharp claws, he throws you to the ground, and you shriek as he tears through the skin of your ribs. 
you’re very suddenly dizzy, bleeding out on the cobblestones, yet continue to struggle with whatever strength still courses through your veins. the beast looms over you, foaming at the mouth, and your vision is getting fuzzier by the second.
that’s when you see a flash of dark fur, almost fuschia in the moonlight, jump in front of you, knock the beast out of the way, tumble to the side. you glance at the creature that saved you — a wolf with a fierce set of teeth and beautiful powder blue eyes — before you fall unconscious. 
iv. stitch me up (touch me inside and out)
vi barely registers that the temperature in the apartment is dropping.
she doesn’t regret how she had to rip the heating pipe from the wall — there are nasty burns, still untreated, stinging her wrists where the silver cuffs had restrained her. 
she doesn’t regret transforming from human to something wild, unrestrained, in order to save you from something much worse. 
she’s still burning off adrenaline, her nervous system on high alert. it’s been a while, and she’d forgotten how exhilarating it can be.
it all happened so fast. there was something oddly familiar about the beast; he seemed to recognize vi, too. that’s the only explanation — for all the ruthless, bloody stories she’d heard, why else would he have let vi take you away and just disappear into the night without so much as a growl? 
vi doesn’t have the energy to answer such questions. all she cares about is you. she can’t get over the overwhelming scent of your blood, already spilling out onto the street when she showed up. she almost lost control, blinded by rage and a desire to kill the beast — but you were there, on the brink of death, and she just wanted you to be safe, wanted to bring you home.
she just hopes she wasn’t too late. 
vi hyper-focuses on your labored, disjointed breaths from where she tucked you in. she tried her best to stop the bleeding and dress your wounds with combinations of herbs and flowers she frantically read about in one of your books, desperate to keep you alive. 
you’ve lost blood. a lot of blood. 
vi wants nothing more than to curl up on the bed next to you, but after you saw her last night, once you realize that she’s no different than the savage beast you were so determined to kill, she’s not sure you’d want her near you. 
she’ll just stay long enough to know that you’ll wake up, and then she’ll be out of your life forever. 
dawn breaks. the sun shines through cracked, frost covered windows, and your eyes remain shut.
your heart’s still pumping blood, which is a good sign, but otherwise….
day bleeds into night, and you’re still out cold. vi manages to drip some water between your parted lips, and watches with relief as your throat reacts accordingly. you let out a gentle sigh, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly. 
“please wake up,” vi whispers. 
fangs jumps onto the bed and whimpers, nudging her nose against your arm so that she’s snuggled underneath. vi drapes a blanket over the pair of you.
another sleepless night passes.
at first light, vi changes your bandages. she struggles a bit, given her injured wrists, but she’s pleased to find you healing from what might have been a fatal injury to most humans. she tries to feed fangs, but the dog refuses. 
fair enough — vi can’t bring herself to eat, either. 
instead, to pass the time, vi glues together shards from the broken vase and places it back on the kitchen counter. there are no more fresh roses; vi decides she’ll bring you some as a parting gift once you’ve woken up. 
you’re shivering by the time darkness starts to creep in. vi piles as many blankets as she can on you and fangs, but it’s not enough. vi accepts what she had been reluctant to do: she slips into bed next to you, uses her body to keep you warm, arms wrapped around you protectively.
vi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up late the next afternoon, to cold rumpled sheets and an even colder empty apartment. 
you must have a knack for perfect timing, because just as vi’s about to start spiralling, the front door swings open and it’s you — cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, holding a brown paper bag with one arm while your other hand grasps the key. fangs rushes through the door, too, tail wagging as she zooms around the apartment, bounces on the furniture and lets out excited little yaps.
“morning, killer.” you smile like you hadn’t been knocking on death’s door since a few nights before. “i would have waited, but you were pretty knocked out and fangs had a ton of energy to burn. clearly she still does,” you chuckle, sending a warm, fuzzy feeling through vi’s body. “i got us some food, too, and i’ll contact the landlord to fix our — whoa!”
the bag drops to your feet as vi pounces on you, engulfing your body in her arms and squeezing tightly. your heartbeat is as strong as ever, steadies her own frantic pulse. 
“s-sorry.” she pulls away and takes a step back. “i shouldn’t have —”
you just shake your head and press a finger to her lips to quiet her.
“i’m sorry,” you say. “i shouldn’t have — i shouldn’t have treated you like that; shouldn’t have used who you are as a weapon against you. you saved me, vi.” you take a shuddery breath. you place a gentle hand on her cheek. “thank you.”
it takes vi a minute to process what you’ve said. 
you thanked her for saving you. 
you apologized for using who she is as a weapon. 
what did you mean by that? 
unless —
i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful.
she’s worth it. 
you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. 
“you….knew,” vi realizes, and even as she says it, she can’t quite believe it. “how���.how long?”
“from the first time i landed a punch on your handsome face.” smiling softly, you run your thumb over the faded burn on her cheek, the one mirroring her tattoo, the one left by your silver ring. 
“are you serious?”
“well, fine, i didn’t know what you were, not exactly, until later. i just had a pretty good feeling that you weren’t human; you had a pulse, so you couldn’t be a vampire, which meant —” 
“you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you?”
you shrug. “you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you.” while vi continues to stare at you in disbelief, you bend down to pick up the fallen items. vi crouches down with you.
“that’s different,” she reasons, handing you a soft red apple, your cold fingers brushing over her warm skin momentarily. 
“i don’t think so. not all monsters are evil and not all humans are good. i saved you from a human that night, remember?” 
“b-but you’re you and i-i’m me.” vi scrambles to find the right words. she’s still shocked at how calm you are. is it really as simple as you make it seem? “you weren’t….scared that i’d hurt you, because that’s who i am?”
you get up and place the bag of groceries in the kitchen, lean against the counter as you stare back at vi. instead of answering, you challenge her once again:
“were you scared that i’d hurt you?”
vi blinks at you. “never.”
“there’s your answer,” you declare, giving her that razor-sharp grin you flash whenever you win a fight.
fangs has calmed down, and she’s asleep on the living room couch, her snores the only sound between you as vi processes everything that’s been said. 
she feels like her entire world has flipped upside down.
this whole time…..
it went terribly when she last told someone the truth, at least anyone outside her family, and even they would sometimes walk on eggshells around her, like they were worried she might snap. 
but you….you’ve sparred and you’ve bickered and you never even flinched once. 
you welcomed her into your home, into your life. 
you kissed her. 
this whole time.
“i was scared you wouldn’t love me, if you knew,” vi admits, a whisper so soft that she’s almost sure that you didn’t hear. 
except you falter then, your confident posture melting at her confession. your lips part in a soft exhale. 
“well, it’s like you said; i knew this whole time, and i still….” you swallow the rest of your sentence, but you’re looking at vi with so much adoration that it’s overwhelming. “i still want you.”
her brain short circuits, and all vi can think to do is kiss you.
it starts sweet, your lips rose-petal soft. her lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure. you run your fingers through vi’s hair, swallow her moans. she’s dizzy with anticipation, imagining how you might do the same when she’s between your legs later. you kiss the scar on her upper lip, gently like you’re hoping to heal the permanent wound. then, your tongue laves over the cut on vi’s bottom lip, soothes her, pushes into her mouth again so you’re both tasting copper. 
but then, you bite down, and a desire buried deep within vi is unleashed: the desire to cut herself open for you so you can love each and every part of her. even deeper down, vi hopes that you’d want the same.
vi brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into her mouth even more. she lodges her thigh between your legs and shoves her tongue into your mouth when you gasp. one of your hands slips underneath her shirt to trace the contours of her abdomen, meticulously outlining each one.
“it’s been days since you’ve eaten, hasn’t it?” you mumble against her lips, pulling away slightly. your brows pinch together in worry, because you already know her body too well, can tell that each muscle is more defined, each edge a bit sharper. “you must be starving, baby. let’s eat something before —”
vi whines when you start to pull away even more.
“we can do that after.” she offers you her best puppy dog eyes as she pleads: “i’m hungry for something else now. i want you.”
to prove her point, vi guides your hand to her belt. your fingers dance along the metal and she eagerly awaits your response.
“fine,” you decide. “but whoever has the most orgasms makes dinner.” 
“you’re on, angel.”
her breath hitches when your hand moves down the waistband of her pants; you play with her tangle of curls, tease the tip of your fingers into her wetness. she purrs against you. 
“wait —” you pause your actions. vi whimpers when you remove your glistening fingers; you take off the silver ring on your pointer finger, grinning guiltily as you toss it on the counter behind you. “that would have been bad,” is all you say before inserting two fingers into her already slick pussy.
“ugh, ah — fuck, just like that, angel,” she moans, twitching as you ram your fingers into her. 
you hum, stuff another finger into her heat, stretching her so deliciously that her legs start to tremble. 
“such a good girl for me. aren’t you, violet?” you coo and start sucking the skin behind her ear. “you gonna make a mess, right here in our kitchen?” 
and that does it — vi’s walls tighten around you, her wetness soaks through her clothes; she’s almost sure that it drips down onto the floor. vi whines as you remove your fingers, feeling empty. you shove your syrupy fingers into her mouth instead, her tongue greedily lapping up her own cum. a string of spit follows as you rip away your fingers and press your mouth against vi’s kiss-swollen, cum-covered lips. you feel something smouldering in the pit of your stomach at her whimpers; you’re nowhere near satisfied, but her eyes, all wide and dark and desperate, are pleading at you to let her indulge in her hunger, as well.  
“what else do you want?”
vi paws at your breasts from above your shirt.
“i want to fuck you,” she declares, and you nod eagerly, your body bursting into flames. 
she gestures at you to wrap your legs around her hips, and she carries you to the bed as you kiss more fiercely, teeth clacking and tongues fighting to explore every crevice of her mouth. you tear each other’s clothes off; but the cold air doesn’t faze you in the slightess, because you have vi, hot and passionate, above you, keeping you going.
your teeth gnaw on her bottom lip as vi messily thrusts against you, your cunts sliding against each other; sticky, languid bliss. 
vi takes her time. she wants to savor every part of this, of you — the sting of your nails scratching down her tattooed back, no doubt leaving red marks in their wake; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet roses, combined with the thick musk of your desire, dripping against hers so deliciously; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging her to go faster, harder. 
she nudges her nose against the crook of your neck, salivates at how your vein pulses for her like a tantalizing butterfly. her teeth graze your pulsepoint, but she’s trembling with the amount of self control it takes not to add any more pressure.
“v-vi,” you breathe her name like a prayer. “baby.”
a guttural moan bubbles from the back of her throat in response.
you gently run your fingers through her hair, coax her to look you in the eye, the gesture a sharp contrast to the harsh squelching of your cunts against each other, melding together with each determined thrust. 
“you – ah,” you gasp as vi rolls her hips into yours with even more vigor. “you can bite me, if you want.” 
vi licks her lips, swallows the hunger burning in her throat because you must be too fucked out if you’re willing to let vi fully indulge in this craving. 
“but then you would —”
“lycanthropy is only transmitted when you’re in wolf form,” you explain through labored breaths. “so if you bite me now….and gods, i’m begging you to…..nothing’s gonna change.” 
“i have never been more thankful for your slayer training,” she growls. “you really want that, huh? for me to mark you up really good, show everyone that you’re mine?”
“o-only if i can do the same,” you manage a smirk. “or are you all bark and no bite?” you tease, buck your hips upwards. vi is willing to die for your knife-like smile alone, so of course. she’d let you eat her whole, if that’s what you really wanted. 
vi finally sinks her teeth into you, rolling her eyes back at how absolutely luscious you taste. like a good girl — your good girl — she follows your orders and bites. she bites down your neck, across your shoulders and collarbones, relishing in the imprints left in her wake.
vi knows now that she calls you angel for a reason. it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the pillow as your orgasm crashes through you. vi follows a few seconds later until you’re covered in her — she drenched the curls of your bush, her cum dripping down on your own wet pussy as she watches from above. vi can’t help it; she bends down, and you jolt slightly when her cold nipple piercing brushes against your clit. she does it again a few more times just to appreciate how you whine, rut your pussy against her perky breast, begging for more. 
but, vi’s on the hunt for something else — she splits your folds with her sharp tongue, sucks any and all of your shared essence. she lets it slosh around in her mouth before hovering over you once more, silently ordering you to part your wet lips; when you comply, so obedient, vi spits into your wanton mouth, thick and velvety. 
“swallow,” she orders, voice rough with lust. you do so quite eagerly.
and just like that, you’re back to grinding on each other, leaving a delectable mess along the skin of each other’s thighs. the tension in vi’s abdomen snaps when you wrap your lips around her nipple, suckling at your own wetness until drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth. 
after feeling her gush against you, a feral impulse rips through you. you release her nipple with a distinct pop, the cold metal still burning on your tongue as you yank vi’s hair, exposing her tender skin, glittering with sweat in the dark golden light as the sun starts to set. you pull her close, bite around the tattoo on the side of her neck, hard. vi howls in pleasure as you taste salt and iron and her, reaching your peak. 
vi waits patiently as you come down from your high, chest heaving, your neck still engraved with the outline of her teeth while yours are stained red. you crash your lips onto hers, chaotic and insatiable, kissing her like she’s your last meal. in turn, she licks into your mouth, tongue tracing your canines to savor what you’ve consumed of hers. 
“you sure you’re not a vampire? that would be quite the scandal,” vi jokes later when you’re sitting in her lap, taking time to clean each other up. vi’s only wearing a shirt, but you’ve doubled up on clothes, the apartment growing colder as night approaches. 
you already tended to the burns on her wrists (and apologized profusely for causing them; you also scolded her a bit for not tending to herself sooner). now you use disinfectant to wipe down her neck, where you broke skin; you quickly place a bandage that soothes the sting and vi presses a grateful kiss to your sternum.
you hum around the unlit cigarette in your mouth, which you had rolled beforehand with dried rose petals. with your hands unoccupied, you reach for your lighter. vi tilts her chin to gaze up at you; you’re backlit by the evening twilight, a silver halo around you as flowery smoke billows from your mouth.
“i’m sure they won’t be thrilled to know that a slayer’s fallen in love with a werewolf, either,” you muse, beaming at her. 
vi clicks her tongue. “sounds like we’re breaking some bylaws.”
“oh, she’s worth it; i’d do anything for my charming, sexy, handsome werewolf.”
you lean forward and exhale smoke into vi’s parted mouth, lips brushing against each other as you share the same breath. you sit back once your lungs are burning and admire the view. 
vi — normally all rough edges and dark shadows — blushing a delicate pink as you praise her.
“she’s got a killer right hook, too,” you continue. you offer vi the cigarette and she nods; you hold it, place it between her lips as she takes a drag. “a body so hot that it’s honestly unfair. she’s a fighter, which i love, and some people might think she’s just a scary dog, but i think she’s beautiful and brave and a total softie —”
“okay, okay,” vi coughs, the tips of her ears red. she takes the cigarette from you and stubs it out on the makeshift ashtray by the windowsill. vi rolls over so she’s on top of you, cupping your face in her hands. she pecks across your cheeks until you’re giggling; you try to turn the tables, and the two of you just end up wrestling in a tangle of sheets and laughter and tender kisses.
eventually, you both calm down. 
“you hungry?”
“not really. you?”
vi shakes her head. “we’ll make breakfast together in the morning?” 
“sounds heavenly.”
it’s dark outside, but the stars are out and the waning moon shines bright. vi positions herself behind you, her body curving into yours, chin notched over your shoulder and arm secure on your waist.
fangs must feel left out, because she shuffles under the covers for warmth before immediately falling back asleep, her fur tickling at your feet.
your thumb rubs against the gauze on vi’s wrist. you can’t help but feel regret, heavy like lead in your stomach.
“baby, i’m fine,” vi assures, already knowing what you’re thinking.
“i….i just hate that i did this to you,” you mumble, bringing her wrist up so you can kiss it. 
“you were trying to protect me. it’s what we do, yeah? protect each other?”
when you hum in agreement, vi guides you to turn around so you’re facing each other. on instinct, she parts your legs with her thigh. your sweatshirt has ridden up, so vi starts to rub circles onto your exposed hip bone, her touch soft as velvet.
“next time you go out there, i’m coming with you.”
your breath hitches as you trace the tattoos licking up her arm. “vi….”
“this isn’t up for debate,” vi declares. she reaches her hand up to caress your cheek, thumb delicately rubbing the shadows under your eye. “you almost died. whatever almost killed you is still out there. you’re strong — gods, you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met — but you don’t have to face any of this alone. not anymore.”
you let out a surprised laugh. 
“what?” she murmurs shyly, her eyes the soft, pale blue of moonlight, star-like freckles dazzling her sculpted cheeks. 
“no, it’s just….anyone who’s known that i’m the slayer either calls me delusional, runs scared, or expects me to do it all by myself. hell — that’s how it was written, how it was destined to be."
vi nudges her nose against yours. her breath tickles your lips, heats up your entire being with a warmth so divine, you wonder if you actually have died and gone to heaven. 
you’re both alive, though, a bit bruised and wounded. the world is dark and cold, but here’s this beautiful, strong girl with a beautiful, strong heart who holds you close, parts her full lips — like two rose petals, kiss-bitten and crimson — and vows:
“fuck destiny. it’s you and me now, angel.”
v. my heart is black and beats for you
TWO MONTHS EARLIER
it’s a quiet night. you spent most of it lamenting how you got your ass kicked earlier and fantasizing about the woman who did it, when you see a shadow of a person passed out at the corner of the street, and another trying to steal from them. 
someone has to stand against the forces of darkness and evil, and the universe somehow determined that would be you — a fate you’ve had to accept through bruised ribs and broken hearts and bloody prophecies, but one you’ve had to accept nonetheless. 
if that goes beyond vampires and demons, so be it. 
after you’ve managed to send the creep on the run, you recognize the person you saved:
it’s her. 
she looked more intimidating in the pit, honestly — all harsh and dark, furrowed brows and vicious snarls. 
it takes you kneeling in front of her to be able to really see it through the black face paint. you take a little pride in the bruise that blossoms on her cheek and the cut through her eyebrow, thinking that at least you got a few shots in before she took you out with a killer right hook. 
your jaw still aches and you still taste copper thanks to her, but without the roars from the crowd or the pressure of hefty prize money that you need to survive, you can see her more clearly. she’s bleeding through her bandages; she’s shivering because, gods, it’s freezing this time of year and all she’s wearing underneath a flimsy leather jacket is scrap fabric that would not be counted as a shirt; and she looks like she hasn’t eaten in days despite reeking of alcohol. 
that’s when you see a burn on her cheekbone, too, just about where your silver ring would have collided with her skin. you hold your breath, lean in closer to her chest and listen closely to check — the thumping of a strong, steady heartbeat; the gentle rush of blood flowing through her veins. 
so, not a vampire. maybe a human with a silver allergy, but what’s more likely is that she’s….something else. 
“hey.” you whisper. when she doesn’t respond, you cup her face in one hand and tap her bruised cheek with your thumb. her skin is warm; if she were a human, you’d think she had a fever. “wake up.”
you resist the urge to jerk away when she softly takes your hand in hers, the gesture a sharp contrast to her knuckles bloodied from earlier.
“five more minutes, cupcake,” she whines, her voice echoing down the empty alley.
“look, it’s late and freezing. we should really go before —”
“please. just stay with me. i promise i’ll be good.”
your chest aches at her sincere tone. did you sound the same, when you made a similar promise before to the people you’ve loved after they found out who — what — you are? did you also look so broken, so bruised when they left? 
you know the council wouldn’t approve of what you’re about to do. 
but you also know well enough from years of studying and training and fighting as the slayer that their judgement should not be taken as scripture.
in other words: fuck the council. 
(plus — you need a friend, or just….someone. it’s lonely, being the chosen one. and this girl, in front of you — when you fought, her body reacting to yours so fluidly, you had somehow never felt more understood.)
you manage to get her to her feet. 
she mumbles something incomprehensible into your neck, her breath hot against your skin. you let her lean into your body after a weak attempt at holding herself up. it’s not much trouble for you, though. it’s a cold night, anyways; her body, solid and warm, is almost comforting against yours.
you trust your instincts and carry her home. 
541 notes · View notes
wintfleur · 10 months ago
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hi roro, congrats on your 1k!! you deserve it so much! 💞 if you're still taking requests for ur celebration, can you do prompt 9 🪷 with lando? thank you 🫶
౨ৎ hair dryers and promised mimosas 
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﹕─┈ pairings ( Lando norris x female! reader )
°. — summary ( your clingy boyfriend doesn’t want to leave your side so early in the morning )
°. — details ( g; fluff. w; none. I did not proof read soz. wc; 1.8k )
﹕─┈ prompt ~ sitting between their legs as they dry your hair
˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( Ahh tysm lovely! Ur so sweet mwah x i had so much fun writing this ! Tysm for sending in a req !!! I hope you all enjoy it !!! Please don’t be a silent reader )
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There weren't a lot of things that Lando would wake up early for on his days off, it was no secret Lando loved his sleep, and he loved sleeping in your shared bed, especially since he missed it so much while he was off racing. But he loved you more, so when he rolled over in bed, wanting to snuggle into your arms he grumpily sat up in confusion when he saw you weren't sleeping next to him. 
The worry that was building up in him disappears when he takes notice of the faint sound of music coming from the bathroom. An annoyed groan leaves his lips as he recollects you telling him yesterday that you were going out for breakfast with a few of your girlfriends, he wanted to spend more time with you in bed. Lando flings the warm blanket off his body and slowly trudges out of the bed and towards the bathroom, his mind coming up with excuses he could use to get you to stay home. 
You were so caught up in doing your skincare and quietly singing along to the music playing from your phone, to notice the cracked bathroom door opening wide. Lando stood in the doorway for a few moments, watching as you rubbed some sunscreen on your face, you looked so peaceful. Already dressed in your outfit of choice, a white fluffy towel on your head as it helped dry your hair quicker. 
A gasp of surprise leaves your lips when you notice your sleepy boyfriend standing in the doorway, from the corner of your eye through the mirror. You quickly turn to face him, placing your hand over your heart at the fright, a surprised laugh leaving your lips “Lan! Don't do that, you scared me.” 
“Consider it revenge for scaring me this morning” your boyfriend sassily replied as he moved towards you. You raise your eyebrows at his sassy mood and turn back around, facing the mirror so you can continue getting ready. You pause the music on your phone, already knowing that you were about to get an earful of your boyfriend's dramatics. “I have no idea what you're talking about darling.” 
“I woke up alone, on my day off! Imagine how I felt waking up cold and alone. You claim to have missed me while I was away, but this just proves you didn't. I thought you loved me” he whined dramatically and tiredly as he rested his forehead on your shoulder blade, his eyes fluttering close and his body begging to go back to sleep. You giggled as you looked through one of your makeup bags “Lando you know i love you, and you also know i had to wake up early this morning.” 
“If you truly loved me you would get in bed and cuddle me back to sleep” Lando pouted as he lifted his head up from your shoulder blade and rested his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Lando winced dramatically as he watched you curl your eyelashes. 
The two of you made eye contact through the mirror and for a second you wanted to get back in bed with him when you saw how sleepy he looked, but then you remembered the free mimosas you were promised, and you absolutely loved cuddling in bed with lando . . . but you desperately needed some drinks and breakfast with your girlfriends after a long week of stressful work. You moved one of your hands to your waist, setting it on top of his hands and squeezing them softly as you spoke “We can cuddle as soon as i get back, i won't be gone long, promise.” 
Lando let out a sigh, he really wanted you to stay with him, but he nodded in agreement nonetheless, he knew how much you were looking forward to it. Lando places a soft kiss on your shoulder before standing straight and moving his hands to hold your hips instead “When do you have to leave?” 
“In like 10 minutes, I just have to dry my hair and style it and I'm ready to go” you tell him as you lean forward so you would be closer to the mirror, getting a better look at your eyelashes as you put on your mascara. Lando's eyes followed your movement, his eyes dropping to your back, lingering on your arch before quickly looking back up at you before his mind could get carried away. His body was already aching and missing the way you felt pressed up against him, he quickly stutters out a response, wanting to stay close to you until you had to leave “Can i do it ⸺ dry your hair i mean.” 
You pull away the mascara wand from your eye and lock eyes with his sweet and twinkling eyes. Lando always became extra clingy in the morning, not that you complained. You softly smile “Sure darling, plug in the hair dryer while I finish my mascara, would you?” 
Lando grins happily and places a quick kiss to your shoulder before crouching down and opening the cabinet under the sink to look for the dryer. The bright morning light shone through the windows of the bathroom; you had put the curtains back so you could get the natural light. You glanced down at your giddy boyfriend; he looked so pretty in the morning. You looked away and focused on your mascara, knowing that if you stared at him any longer you wouldn't be leaving the house in ten minutes. 
You pulled the white towel off your head, careful not to tug on your hair, you tossed the towel into the laundry basket and looked towards the bathroom door when you heard an unfamiliar sound. 
“Here sit on this” Lando requested sweetly as he pulled in a short and circular stool ottoman into the bathroom for you to sit on. It was made of a soft fabric and decorated your shared room perfectly, it was also a designated place for Lando to set his hats on, too lazy to put them away in the closet. You had just finished putting all of your things away on the counter when he pulled it into the bathroom. 
You smiled and sat down on the stool he had moved close to the counter, the hair dryer cord not too long. Your sweet boyfriend stood behind you, a hair dryer and your brush in his hands, you looked at him through the mirror and watched as a look of confusion came over his face as he looked down at the buttons on the dryer, trying to figure out which one turns it on. You turn to face him, ready to help him but you stop when it turns on, your boyfriend flinching at the surprising sound. 
You look up at him through the window and he lets out an embarrassed chuckle, a big smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at Lando's silliness and sit up straight when he starts drying your hair. Your eyes flutter close at the soothing feeling of the warmth coming from the dryer and the softness and rhythmic feeling of him brushing through your hair. 
You open your eyes when you feel his lips softly kiss your forehead, your eyes catching him leaning up and continuing to dry your hair, a lovesick smile on his lips. You look at him through the mirror, a smile on your lips at the adorable look of concentration that comes across his face as he focuses on your hair, trying to do the same thing he's seen you do countless times before. 
There was something so comforting in the way he always wanted to be around you, he never got tired of your presence like your past partners did. He didn't care what the two of you were doing, as long as you guys were together. After another minute or so, your hair was now dry and had a good amount of volume. Who knew Lando was so good at doing your hair? You didn't know . . . last time he tried to braid your hair it got so tangled, and he felt so bad. 
“Did I do a good job?” Lando whispered as he watched you stand up and lean closer to the mirror to get a better look at your hair, he set the dryer on the counter and bit his lip as he continued to watch you mess with your hair. You smiled and turned around to face him, putting your hands on Lando's waist and pulling him closer to you. “Darling it's perfect.”
“Mmm just like you” you whispered before you leaned up on your tippy toes, your eyes closing as you took his lips into a kiss. Lando's eyes quickly close as he kisses you back, his hands cupping your cheeks softly as your lips move perfectly together. You reluctantly pull away when your alarm on your phone goes off, letting you know it's time to go. 
Lando's hands on your cheeks drop to your waist as you reach back to grab your phone, you turn off your alarm and quickly type out a response to your friend who just pulled up and is waiting for you. You look up from your phone and up at Lando who was already looking at you, a small frown on his lips, he really didn't want you to go. 
“I’ll be back soon darling, we can stay in bed for the rest of the day” you promised sweetly, leaning up to place a quick kiss to his cheek before you turn around to quickly spray some of your favorite perfume on before walking into the bedroom to put on your shoes and grab your bag. Lando watches you rush around the bedroom, the scent of your perfume making him feel dizzy but in a good way. “I’ll hold you to that.” 
“You better!” You playfully shout as you make your way out of the bedroom, you have your bags and your shoes on, all ready to go. Just as you step out of the bedroom you pause; you are missing one more thing. You turn around and Lando lets out a small chuckle as you rush over to him, cupping his face as you give a quick but passionate kiss, a kiss that he would be thinking about the whole time you were gone. You pull away and whisper breathlessly against his wet lips “I love you.” 
“I love you too, have fun” Lando whispered back, giving you a cheeky wink when you turned around to give him a look of feign shock when he smacked your ass as you walked away. You chuckle and roll your eyes, leaving the shared apartment, with a new pep in your step. Now even more excited to come back home to your sweet boyfriend. 
Lando smiles as he hears your laughter fade and he soon hears the door open, close and lock. He was now home alone. Lando let out a tired sigh and moved to lay in the messy bed, laying on your side of the bed and breathing in your scent as he laid his head on your pillow. He let out a tired sigh and let himself relax in the warm bed, drifting off into a sleep filled with dreams of you. 
˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( ending is kinda rushed :( I haven’t had much time to write so I was quick to finish it !!! Still hope you guys loved it though !!! The rest of my fics for my 1k celly should be out soon )
°. — taglist ( @iloveyou3000morgan @copper-boom @cixrosie @partyinpitlane @toasttt11 @c-losur3 @ophcelia @lovings4turn )
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yuwuta · 6 months ago
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please feed us some yuuji blurbs there’s a lack of him rn :(
ofc… sweetest boy all time… here’s something was was meant to be a longer project but got lost in the editing whirlwind… love him so bad... 
NEVER LOST IN TRANSLATION, BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT 
notes: reader is implied to be american/english-speaking, yuuta and megumi are bilingual, yuuji, bless his soul, is not. i didn’t use italics for conversations between yuuji and megumi because it would all be in japanese, but when they get mixed later in the scene, japanese is differentiated with italics. hope that’s not too confusing lololll
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Honestly, Yuuji tried his best in school. Some things came easier than other, but with a bit of hard work, and help from his friends, he always managed to pull pretty good grades. But right now, his biggest regret is not taking english more seriously in high school, because it’s been about three weeks since he met you, and he’s only been able to say maybe five full sentences to you without the help of Yuuta or Megumi translating. 
He was excited when Yuuta said his friend from abroad would be coming to visit and study, but god, he didn’t expect you to be so pretty. To have such pretty eyes, and pretty lips, and pretty hair, to have the prettiest voice in the world despite him only understanding every eighteenth word you say. You’re beautiful to him, and Yuuji thinks that even if he could speak your language fluently, the words would still get caught in his throat. He’s so lovesick, it’s embarrassing—his friends have been harping on him blushing and stuttering over you for the past month, and he can’t even blame them.
“What does she say to you when you guys talk,” Yuuji whines, hovering around Megumi, and not-so-discreetly looking back at you where you’re still sat in the living room laughing with Yuuta, “Does she ever say anything about me? I mean—probably not right? Which is fine! Actually, dont tell me—no, do. Or maybe—”
“She asks about you,” Megumi says, matter-of-fact in delivery, as he places a bag of popcorn in the microwave, but that doesn’t curb Yuuji’s enthusiasm. He’s practically bouncing, if he weren’t already—begging Megumi to spill the details, “What did she ask? Tell me! Tell me!” 
“She once asked if you dye your hair.”
“That’s it?!” Yuuji screams, heartbroken, and visibly deflating.
Megumi shrugs, “Yuuta probably knows more. She’s his exchange buddy friend thing, so ask him.”
“I can’t ask him, he’s right next to her!” Yuuji pouts, “Wait, what does ‘exchange buddy friend thing’ mean? You don’t think they’re more than friends, right…? I can’t blame her, senpai is really pretty, too, and he can actually talk to her… so unfair.” 
“You know, she’s not fluent, but she can understand some Japanese,” Megumi reminds him, “So, she can definitely hear you, and probably understand you.”
Yuuji’s shoulders slump, and once again, he turns around to look back at you. This time, you two make eye-contact, and that instant, Yuuji’s cheeks go pink, a nervous hand raised to wave at you, and instant internal regret at his actions; but, then you smile, and wave back, and Yuuji stays like that, dumbfounded and lovestruck and on autopilot as he waves with hearts in his eyes until Yuuta looks up from his phone and catches him.
Embarrassing. He knows he’s not the brightest, but he’s at a record high of self-embarrassment since he’s met you.
Yuuta finds himself chuckling when Yuuji spins around and goes back to prodding Megumi with questions. When you turn to face him again, it’s with a shy smile.
“I told you you’d like him,” Yuuta grins—the kind that seems sweet and innocent, but has just a kiss of that all-knowing tease to it; the kind that reminds you that he’s truly related to Satoru.
“Oh, be quiet,” you grumble, tucking your legs in and resting your chin on your knee. You spare another glance in Yuuji’s direction, for once, grateful for the language barrier between the two of you, when you turn back to Yuuta to proclaim: “I can like someone and not do anything about it. You’re real good at that, aren’t you?”
Yuuta’s slightly cocky grin falls into a scowl, and now you get to smile when he argues back, “We said not to bring up he who shall not be named in the presence of my friends!”
“Then don’t bring up my he who shall not be named in the presence of him!”
“Aren’t Americans all about forging new frontiers and chasing after your dreams?” he taunts, “Well, your dream is right in front of you.”
“My dream right now is to kill you.”
“Lucky for me, you’re going to have to hold off on that because your lover boy is approaching.”
You don’t have time to argue back with Yuuta when Megumi and Yuuji approach the living area with snacks in tow. Yuuta scoots to the tail end of the couch under the guise of giving Yuuji space to place the popcorn and nuggets in the center of the coffee table, but he has just enough time to flash you a wink before Yuuji settles in between. Megumi opts for the loveseat closets to Yuuta’s end of the couch, and you do your best not to reach over Yuuji and strangle Yuuta.
The boys decide on watching a movie you’ve never heard of, but Megumi reassures you it’ll be easy to follow and has English subtitles. You don’t mind, settling in to your corner of the couch with a handful of popcorn just as the title-screen for Human Earthworm 3 rolls across the TV.
You can follow along well-enough—even without subtitles, you get the gist of the movie. What you really find entertaining is Yuuji, who occasionally blurts out a comment or exclamation, or audibly coos whenever something sad is happening on screen. He’s almost as animated as the characters; you’re more of the silent-watcher type, but you find yourself endearing by this commentary, even if you can only understand parts of it.
You particularly appreciate the way that after every comment, he either motions to Megumi, or turns to you himself to repeat his thoughts in his best broken English, and even when you don’t understand his words, you understand him. His emotions are all on his sleeve: frustration, happiness, confusion, curiosity—communication between you two should be more difficult, but Yuuji makes it easy.
It gives you the confidence you cough out your own observation, “You, um… you’ve… seen the others? You seem to like this series.”
Across the room, Megumi and Yuuta hold their breaths, opting to not translate for you when you switch from Japanese to English. Yuuji is quiet for a moment, turned to face you with a slightly confused look on his face that makes you nervous, until his eyes brighten up and he smiles and begins nodding fervently—“Yeah—yeah, I do! It’s my… hm how do I say it… Oh! It’s my favorite!”
Between the smile on his face, the blush on his cheeks, and sincerity in his voice, you feel like you’re wrapped up in his world. It’s a little confusing, and scary, but it’s not all that bad. Maybe you can do something about it, eventually.
“I.. I think I like it, too.”
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heyaheiya · 4 months ago
Text
Katsuki quickly visiting you before your concert. You’re getting your makeup done, glitter and rhinestones carefully adorned your eyes. The entire backstage area was covered in a variety of wires and whatnot. Katsuki kept getting yelled at by your manager for wandering around without permission.
“You’ve gotta have a backstage pass to be here, Dynamight.”
“Oh come on, it’s just me!”
“Rules are ru-“
“Tsuki!”
Katsuki’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice so fast, he swore his neck cracked. He immediately lost his breath. Of course he always thought you were stunning, but in your concert getup; he couldn’t get his eyes off of you. He immediately hold you close and peppers your head with kisses, lightly enough to not mess up your stylists’ hard work.
“I like you dressed like this.”
Frilly outfits that sparkled underneath the stage lights, and a face that could stop wars with its beauty.
“You better, I’ve been here since 4am.”
He would’ve never known with the way you were bouncing around. Idols were truly supernatural.
“Dynamight, if you don’t have a ticket, we’re gonna have to escort you out.”
Your manager only ever enforced the rules like this for Katsuki. If it were anyone else, they’d be offering a bunch of free things and discounts. Katsuki gets to pay an extra ‘Boyfriend Fee’.
“ITS MY GIRLFRIEND, ILL DO WHAT I WANT!”
A group of bodyguards were forced to escort him out the building. Not before he kissed the hell out of you, smudging your lips a little bit.
The footage of the concert started trending the next day. Your visibly kissed lips and an angry Dynamight seen outside the venue with a massive pile of concert merch. Truly ‘Japan’s best Couple’.
— — — — — — — — —
I love idol reader x Katsuki :D im imagining yn dressed like rei from ive. Yk with the pigtails and sparky dress
Side note: I went to ive’s concert a few months ago and I fell in love with them all over again <3
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ozzgin · 10 months ago
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Can I have yandere Aka Manto x Reader? I see you write Japanese myths, cuz why not?
Yandere! Urban Legend x Reader [Aka Manto]
You never know when you're going to meet your soulmate. It could be on a beach at sunset, on the last bus home, in the elevator of an office building...Or in a public bathroom after you just finished your business. Nevertheless, this urban legend monster has its eyes on you now.
Content: gender neutral reader, urban legend, part horror part comedy, gore!, monster romance
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"Are you deaf? It's occupied!" you shout one final time, giving the door a swift kick to emphasize your presence. That's what you get for using a public restroom. Your coworkers had convinced you to try out another bar after the company dinner, and you might've had one too many cocktails. Thankfully most of the drinks were watered down, although it is exactly because of this detail that you're now hovering above a toilet seat with a full bladder. On a Friday night, in the partying neighborhood of the city, so it could explain the persistent stranger - possibly even drunker than you - who keeps rattling the lock of your stall.
To your horror, the handle begins to turn, and you hear a click. You scramble to get up and secure the door, but it's too late. With your pants halfway down, you gawk at the bizarre individual squeezing his way in: a tall figure wearing a red cloak and a mask. "What the Hell?" is all you can mumble to yourself, awkwardly gathering your garments in order to preserve your remaining ounce of dignity. Out of all the things to happen tonight...Alright, calm down. It's most likely a crackhead. You cast your eyes down and focus on the floor tiles, with patterns strategically chosen to hide as much grime as possible.
Pretty. Almost too pretty to kill. He might just take his time with you and savor the moment. Of course, you'll have to answer his question first. With bureaucratic efficiency, he pulls out two rolls of toilet paper and extends them to you. "The red one, or the blue one?" he asks with theatric gravity. What in the Avon samples Hell is this, you think, fidgeting nervously and avoiding any eye contact still. If you ignore him, he should lose interest.
A minute passes in heavy silence. His ghastly arms begin to tire, so he lowers them with a disappointed creak of the joints. "Y-you have to pick one", he insists. Damn it! Perhaps you've been told what to do if approached by mischievous spirits like him? Ignorance means you keep your head, though he was hoping for a gory night of entertainment. You can almost feel the intense stare coming from behind the eerie mask. The tension becomes unbearable, so you finally decide to push your luck. You will not spend the night stuck with a deranged pervert looming over you in a public bathroom.
Without further delay, you shove him aside and open the door. He lets out a surprised hum, observing your daring gesture and almost expecting you to run for your life. To his even greater shock, however, you stop to wash your hands with a relaxed whistle, completely unbothered by his presence. What happened to the fear, the terror, the dread? You peek at his reflection in the mirror, and your lips curl in a mocking grin. Maybe it's the alcohol finally hitting your nervous system, but all you see right now is a pathetic charlatan who tried to intimidate you with literal toilet paper. A good-for-nothing scoundrel interrupting the innocent from their much-needed bathroom break.
In fact, the more you consider your situation, the more your chest puffs with outrage and bravery. You pay your taxes, you help the needy, and this is how your civic deeds are rewarded? By having your stream cut midway? Unbelievable. Unacceptable. No other soul shall suffer your fate tonight. "Wretch!" you cry out, turning towards the aggressor and continuing your demands: "Evacuate the premises at once!"
You might not understand it yet, but your act of defiance has sealed your fate. The hooded monster smiles, relishing the words that have closed the gap between your fragile body and his blasphemous claws. You have spoken to him; thus, he can do with you as he desires. And yet, his murderous fingers hesitate. Your entrails should be splattered across the rarely polished porcelain by now. What's holding him back? He tilts his head in contemplation, but any intention to ponder his feelings is quickly discarded once a loud shriek pierces his ears.
As it turns out, someone else had been using the neighboring stall and was alerted by your little argument. Their finger is pointed at the cloaked creature, features twisted in disgust and fear. "Can't you tell we're busy?" The mysterious man inquires sarcastically. On second thought, this should be enough to satisfy his cravings.
With a snap of the fingers, the frightened bystander is torn apart by invisible hands right before your very eyes. Their limbs detach with surreal ease, and blood splatters everywhere in hot, sticky bursts. In your petrified daze, you are reminded of nature documentaries: blurry snippets of sharks trashing their victim around, fleshy chunks coming undone from the violent handling. Within seconds, the bathroom is quiet again. The walls and ceiling are drenched in fresh blood, and occasionally, fat droplets collapse into a puddle with resounding echo.
It all falls into place. The hooded creature claps its hands, startling you back into awareness. "That's what it was!", he says with enthusiasm. He approaches you with quiet steps, cushioned by the meaty remains coating the floor. He places one hand over the mask, removes it, and gives it a shake as if to clean off the crimson fluid. You involuntarily gaze at his face, taken aback by the handsome traits. Is this the appearance of a ruthless ghoul who butchers mortals for amusement? You wouldn't believe it if it wasn't for the hot trickle of foreign blood trailing your skin.
"I think I've fallen in love with you", he confesses with a wide, saw-toothed smile. You feel a clawed finger tracing your cheek affectionately. "Well? What're you so silent for? You were quite cheeky a moment ago!" he continues tauntingly, gripping your chin and forcing you to look up. "Or have you seen what happens when you misbehave? No, no, darling, I'd never! There are other ways in which I can ruin you."
You're suddenly very cold. With dry lips, you eventually open your mouth to speak: "I'm not leaving here, am I?"
"You could, but that would make me very upset."
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rikihyph · 1 month ago
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he fits inside of my pocket (he’s taller than me) ♥︎
Nishimura Riki - 05 line!
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tojisun · 4 months ago
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CW: noncon; omegaverse stuff so ruts/heats + power and hierarchical omegaverse dynamics; shift in balance of power; claiming; gn!reader; rambly as hell bc im writing this while sleep deprived but! the worms. they are going through it!!!
alpha soap who, traditionally, goes for omegas but you—
oh, how he wants you.
it was a fortunate coincidence, one that has johnny turning to the lord if only to give his thanks because he knows that none of this would have been possible if he just happened to be even a minute late. ‘this’ being the shift in the wafting scents that filled up the little, and on the brink of bankruptcy, bookstore in the corner of the street.
it’s never packed in the weekdays so johnny often goes there to unwind when his senses are overstimulated, feeling his eyes straining in their sockets and his throat closing up almost like he’s having an allergic reaction—he’s had it checked before and leslie said he doesn’t have any allergies.
patches are advertised but no one in this town ever sees them as priority because of how archaic the town still remains, but also because almost everyone is bonded. don’t mind the fact that scent patches are not only for single folks but whatever.
point is that if johnny was tired, he would find reprieve in the bookstore long enough that he was able to gather his bearings and brave another trek around the city because a mission is still a mission, and overloaded senses just needed to be dealt with as quickly as possible.
today should not have been any different. today should have just been another quick break; another quiet lull as johnny forced the buzzing senses into silence enough that he could think again.
today should have just been another day.
but then johnny was opening the door to the bookstore at the same time that someone was walking out—knobby shoulders bump against his—and johnny’s emotions flare up, eating at the reason straining at his mind. something like a storm explodes in the corners of his head, and johnny really should have realized then what it was.
it was not just oversensitivity. it was not just another bout of overloaded senses. it was—
something warm churns from the base of his stomach, before winding down his body until it pools on the plane of his spine. it felt like molten glass or liquid mercury; dragging. marking.
sticky. liquorice.
johnny breathes in, the air passing through his mouth instead. then, something buttery—like wine aged within the barrel—erupts on his tongue. it tastes like honeyed new wood.
like an alpha in a rut.
he turns, suddenly hyperaware of everything, before lashing his hand out to reach for the stranger before they could leave. the touch not soothing, and it has the alpha growling at johnny. the sound rumbles from the base of your throat, like an alligator’s bellow, and yet it made johnny’s gums ache. they want his teeth to gnaw. to tear. to mark.
you growl again, this time in warning, and johnny has spent enough ruts to understand what you want. you want to leave. to hightail out of the shop and maybe even the city, before crawling into your bed—not a nest, johnny trills to himself, not with how clean your scent is because you’re unmated—to spend your rut alone.
lord, would you fuck your own fist? or fuck a toy for your knot? would you fuck your hole too? fill it up too, or could you only cum if you are the one doing the filling?
whatever it is, johnny promises to overwrite your lonely experience. he’s here now, after all, isn’t he? and don’t alphas need help?
so johnny still doesn’t let go, his strength exceptional especially against an alpha whose rut is beginning to swell. instead, he replies to your growls with a snarl, one that is ripped from the rumble of his chest, before showing off his jagged fangs.
it is an archaic way of challenging an alpha, and he knows that no one follows the tradition anymore, but habit is difficult to change and johnny finds himself posturing against you, a shocked alpha whose raging storm of lust flickered just enough to allow johnny to fully tug you out of the bookstore and into the little winding path away from the streets. you protest, trying to shake him off, but you are so, so weak and johnny is so, so powerful, and he needs to do something before he could even think about letting you go.
johnny’s seen it done a handful of times back at the base. it’s not something price usually dishes out, but it was something everyone knew he could do. and one that he could do well. johnny remembers seeing it for the first time and thinking that betrayal will never even cross his own mind because there is something far worse than having a target on one’s back and that was—
it was to—
force an alpha into submission.
johnny remembers kyle’s interest and ghost’s morbid curiosity. hell, he even remembers his own anticipation when their captain had dragged a traitor to the centre pit by the scruff, his pheromones overflowing and stifling like a heavy fog. johnny remembers how john had made it seem so easy; how he was able to coax a gentler scent out of connors when price had cornered the alpha to the point that he bore their captain’s full weight. then, johnny remembers the marking.
the way their captain’s teeth dug into connors’ skin before tearing, and tearing, until the bite took. until the mangled mess left on connors’ olive skin would be a permanent fixture.
until connors’ alpha scent turned softer. prettier.
(price led connors to his room, and the two stayed there for days. no one questioned or teased because they all knew that bitching an alpha sometimes was better than breeding an omega.
and their captain had all the rights to call dibs on connors.)
johnny remembers all of this as he leads you away. his palms have turned clammy, gums aching once more with need. with ever-growing desire. he hears you hiss at him, snapping that he better let you go and that he fuck off before you do something he’d regret but johnny is deaf to all your threats because they’re empty.
lord, he knows you could even barely stand up straight right now—your knees knock against each other with every wobbly step. but he lets you talk; lets you use your words as shield because johnny keeps leading you away from view.
he sees a secured nook, one that was hidden away from prying eyes—you’re his, after all—and begins to settle.
to prepare for the feast now that the hunt’s over.
he pushes you forward, until all your front is pressed against the wall. your cheek is smooshed, tiny pebbles digging into your skin, and he knows that all of that would be unpleasant later when the adrenaline’s gone, but johnny can’t find it in himself to care. because he follows soon, folding himself over your back before burying his face on the crook of your neck.
you freeze. johnny takes that moment to take a deep drag of your smell.
your scent fills his senses once again, overtaking his coherence and bypassing his rationality to drown himself in the strong aroma wafting from you. it’s too good, too delicious, that it has johnny rumbling, pleased with himself for picking you up all for him because you will be, and are, his now.
the weight of his tongue and the throbbing of his gums echo his thoughts.
his. hishishis—
“god,” johnny croaks out, the first he’s said since this ordeal. “you smell absolutely divine.”
“sir. sir, please—”
“shh,” he says, pulling the collar of your shirt back. “it’d be over soon.”
“no— sir! i don’t— please—”
blood bursts in johnny’s mouth and his alpha sings in pleasure.
mine. mineminemine.
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elizabugz · 5 months ago
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dailyhmsw · 2 months ago
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loop 102
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merlucide · 2 months ago
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Prayers in Silk
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pairings 𓇼 Highschool!Satoru x Fem!Reader (enemies to lovers type)
synopsis 𓇼 it was new years in 2006, and as the year changes, so do the hearts of two people. At the shrine on the cold new years morning, you and Satoru make your wishes, unaware that the prayer he holds is far more significant than you realize.
warnings 𓇼 light cursing, cheesy bit at the end
word-count 𓇼 2.6k
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“Ehhh?! You’re seriously wearing a kimono?! In this weather!?” Gojo bafflingly exclaimed, pointing at your satin yellow kimono. “Uhh? You aren’t dressed up?!” You glare at his comment, crossing your arms. He was wearing his grey sweatpants and a his navy blue jacket, quite boring compared to your glamorous look. It was New Year’s Day and you were going to Hatsumode, which is the first shrine visit of the new year. You wanted to look nice in the presence of the Kami’s, is there something so wrong with that?
To Gojo Satoru, apparently it was. “Too much effort, and like, it’s freezing,” He retorted stuffing his hands back into his jacket. It wasn’t actively snowing, but ice ice glazed the sidewalks, and frost dusted the bamboo, creating a picturesque—albeit chilly—path to the shrine. You had originally made plans with Shoko to go to the shrines, that somehow turned into an invitation for Gojo and Geto as well. And you had no problem with that, except Gojo. He was insufferable—loud, smug, and annoyingly good at getting under your skin, and unfortunately he liked getting under yours the best.
You let out a dry sigh and rub your hands together, “Where’s Geto?” You ask, looking around for the black-haired boy. those two are like one in the same, it’s odd to catch one without the other. “They needed him for an emergency mission or something,” He answered nonchalantly. You hummed in acknowledgement, a few minutes later a ‘ding!’ went off and you pulled out your phone. A notification from ‘Shoko-tan<3’. you opened the message.
‘Hey sorry can’t meet- they dragged me in on an emergency mission. Sorry again (*´Д`*)’
You sighed deeply through your nose and closed the lid, sliding it back into your kimono’s obi securely. Gojo’s brow raised at you slightly, an amused glint in his eyes as if he was about to comment on how “traditional” you looked, but he bit back the remark with a smirk.
You clapped your hands against your red cheeks and turned towards the frozen stone steps. “Shoko can’t come, I’m going now,” you firmly state, not sparing a glance at the snow-haired boy as you make your ways into the bamboo enclosed path. Gojo blinks a few times and trails behind eyeing you. The path to the shrine was filled of red and black torii above your heads. “Sooo, whatcha gonna ask for eh?” He drawls, blowing air into his hands. You sigh, “I don’t know yet.” “You should pray for a boyfriend, you probably won’t get one otherwise,” He smirks, head tilted towards the sky, avoiding your gaze.
You abruptly turn “Excuse me?!” You scoff, “Well for your information I was asked out multiple times in the past few months!” You glare at him, which he just sticks his tongue out tauntingly. Your dating life has always been amusing to Gojo for some reason. Always poking fun at you for not having a boyfriend yet or how you’ll end up alone or whatever nonsense he can come up with to elicit a reaction from you.
You sharply exhale and continue down the path, it was a bit busy as expected, but not nearly as busy as you thought it would be. You also went much earlier to avoid the crowd. “Well then, what are you going to ask for, hm?” You spare a quick glance to him. “Meh, I don’t care, maybe a free ticket to America. Never been,” you stare at him baffled, ‘seriously?’ you think. “..You’re going to ask… for a plane ticket?” You echo. “Yeah, never been sounds cool, besides the chicks there are super hot,” he exclaimed on the last bit. “A plane ticket? Are you serious?” You exasperatedly ask. “What? It’s a wish, isn’t it?” He grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll send you a postcard.”
“You know this is the time to ask about like— health and happiness right?”
“Duuuh, I did grow up ‘tradish’ y’know,” he replies mockingly, adjusting his glasses up. You just shrug and turn your gaze to the shrines entrance. You step underneath the temizuya, the water basin had ice on the sides of the walls, the temple keepers had already cleared the ice out, no doubt it was freezing. You took your right hand and took the ladle, scooping it and pouring the water into your left hand. ‘Oh it was freezing!’ You shudder, “You’d think they’d have like, a heater or something, ugh,” you groan, switching the ladle to your left hand and pouring it on your right. This was the purification process, it’s how you show respect and properly participate in the ritual. And as much as you want to make the Kami’s proud and honor them, this sucked ass.
You poured a little bit of water into your left, holding it up to your lips and rinse your mouth. Now’s not the time to think of germs. You swish it around a few times, then spit it to the side of the basin. Gojo chuckles behind you about who knows what, “Oh hush, it’ll be your turn soon,” you tilt the ladle upright, watching the water trickle back down into basin. Then you hand it to Gojo, who takes it and steals your place. He repeats the process with a little more complaints than you, ‘THIS IS FUCKING COLD.’ You just snicker watching him, then you continue into the shrine.
“Seriously, that sucked,” Gojo moans, stuffing his wet cold hands back into his jacket. “Shush already, be caaaaalm,” you mock, both of you walking on the side of the path, nodding at those leaving. You make it to the main shrine, it was brown and red, like most temples. this one wasn’t very big, since you didn’t go to the cities shrine, figuring that would be much more busier. It was small and modest. The concrete torii stood in front of the shrine, moss growing on the top, little komainu stood next to it, and there was little circle candles on both sides of the shrine. 
You stood in front of the offering box and dropped in your five yen. Gojo repeated the action, flipping it off his thumb. You both faced the shrine, and bow deeply twice. Then clapped your hands twice, in sync, then you both tilted your head down in prayer.
You had thought deeply a few days prior of what you would ask for. Your life wasn’t perfect, but you were happy—that wasn’t what you wanted to ask for. You weren’t poor, nor were you rich, but that was fine too. What you wanted wasn’t something material. Maybe it was love, maybe it was clarity, or maybe it was just the strength to navigate the path ahead. Man, this was hard. As a jujutsu sorcerer, tomorrow is never promised. You accepted that, you knew one day you would probably die against a curse. That hit harder after your kouhai died. You don’t want anyone around you to have the same fate. You bowed your head slightly and pressed your hands tighter together. “Please let those I care about have a long and happy life… and maybe let me figure out my own along the way.”
You open you eyes and stand up, Gojo was already standing, waiting for you. You bow deeply once more and turn to face him. “So what did you end up asking for?” He asks, piercing blue eyes peeking behind his slipping glasses. You shrugged softly, “For those around me to live their lives to the fullest,” you reply, dusting off your kimono. Gojo snickers, “Gosh you really are so selfless,” He praises mockingly. You click your tongue, “Well then, what did you end up asking for, hm?” “Tickets,” “Are you serious?!” You exclaim. You seriously thought he was joking, how stupid is he. You shake your head. ‘unbelievable’. 
He just gives his cheeky boyish grin he always gives you, oh how you hated that smile. You both left the main shrine, making your way to the shop booth to buy omamori. You figured you’d get one for Shoko since she couldn’t make it. You looked at the colorful options, picking up a blue omamori with written kanji, ‘protection’. You looked for one for yourself, you already asked for protection and guidance, so what charm should you get?
“Hey, what are you getting?” You ask, turning to the lanky boy. “Gotta guarantee that I stay number one,” Gojo smirks, dangling a yellow omamori, kanji reading as ‘success’. “Meh, I’ll get Suguru a ‘protection from bad luck’, sounds good enough.” 
Your fingers ghosted over the pink one, lifting it up and brushing your finger pads over the lettering.
You paid for both of you, because Gojo apparently ‘forgot his wallet’, ironic since he’s fucking loaded. You put yours and Shoko’s omamori into your obi, the tassels sticking out ever so slightly. You both begin the journey out of the shrine grounds. The sun had begun to melt the frost, it hadn’t warmed up much but it still felt warmer. That was when you came face to face with the crowd, oh it’s a wonderful thing you went earlier. It was kind of ridiculous just how many people went to the shrine for Hatsumode. Gojo bends down to the shell of your ear, lowly speaking, “Good thing we got here when we did.” Groups of family and friends pooled in, squeezing against each other. You and Gojo were pushed to the very edge of the path due to the crowd, a girl passed you in a lavender and pink kimono. “See, I’m not the only person dressed up,” you boast, smirking at the boy who was wordlessly mocking your comment. 
You and Gojo squeezed your way through the narrowing path, the weight of the crowd pressing in from all sides. People were pushing and shoving, their chatter creating a constant buzz in the air, but it felt oddly isolating. You were still too aware of Gojo standing just a few inches behind you, his presence impossible to ignore. You could feel the heat of his body just behind you, his breath warm against the back of your neck. It was an oddly intimate feeling, and you refused to acknowledge it. 
But just as you turned to throw a glance back at him, to make sure he was still with you, someone bumped into your shoulder, pushing you backward into Gojo. You stumbled slightly, surprised by the force of the collision, but before you could step away, you realized something was different.
Gojo hadn’t moved.
In fact, his hands—his hands were now firmly holding your arms, steadying you.
Your breath caught in your throat, and for a split second, everything felt oddly still. Gojo’s hands held onto your forearms, and the usual barrier,—the feeling that he was untouchable, inaccessible—had melted away. His Infinity, his usual shield, was absent in that moment.
You didn’t know if he meant to lower it, or if it was a slip-up, but his fingers lingered a little longer than necessary before he quickly pulled back, his usual smirk sliding back into place as though nothing had happened. “You fallin’ for me too?” he said nonchalantly, his tone teasing, but there was something else in his eyes—something fleeting, almost imperceptible.
You cleared your throat, trying to hide the rush of warmth in your cheeks. “Watch where you’re going, dummy,” “YOU BUMPED INTO ME?!” You rolled your eyes and continued pushing through the mess of people. 
The moment passed, but it left an unspoken question hanging in the air between you two. ‘he’s so annoying’ you thought, that’s definitely what you thought.
The crowd was finally thinning out, and with a sigh of relief, you stepped through the last few groups of people, Gojo following at your side. The shrine’s path grounds were gradually clearing, and the chill in the air didn’t feel quite so biting anymore. You adjusted the fabric of your kimono, a subtle movement that caught Gojo’s eye as you did. A small piece of pink caught his attention from the edge of your obi—the tassel of your omamori peeking out.
Gojo didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual. That pink hue—he knew exactly what it meant. Love. The omamori meant for romance, for heart’s desires. It was so clearly sentimental that it almost made him roll his eyes. He quickly shifted his gaze away, though, as if he hadn’t seen it at all. You were probably the type to hope for something soft, something you could hold onto. He wasn’t the type to believe in things like that.
It wasn’t hard to imagine why you’d chosen it, though the thought of you wishing for something like that… It stirred something strange in him. You’d picked something soft, hopeful. Did you even realize what that said about you? You acted so tough, sharp edges and biting remarks, but this? This was something else entirely.
As you turned ahead, tucking the tassel back into the folds of your kimono, Gojo’s smirk returned, casual, but with an undercurrent of something else. His gaze softened for just a split second before he looked away again. His hands found their way into his jacket pockets, the silence stretching between you both.
“Guess we’re headed in different directions now,” Gojo said, his voice low, almost as if the words didn’t fully match the thoughts behind them. “Good luck with that wish of yours. Cya at school.”
You didn’t quite catch the weight behind his words, brushing them off as just another one of his teasing remarks. You nodded, walking ahead without a second glance. 
As your figure retreated, Gojo lingered behind for a moment longer, standing at the edge of the steps, watching you as you walked away. His hand brushed against the omamori in his pocket, the action so subtle it could’ve been missed by anyone else. But to Gojo, it was something more. It was a reminder of the prayer he made, the charm he chose.
Success, yes. But there was more to it than that. The charm was supposed to symbolize the strength to keep going, to push forward. But what Gojo had truly wished for, what he had really prayed for, was simpler than that. 
—He’d lied, of course—he hadn’t wished for plane tickets. That was just a convenient story to cover up the truth. He’d stood at the shrine, hands clasped loosely, head bowed just enough to make it look like he cared about decorum. But his mind had only been on one thing. On you.
He had wished for you. Not in the way your omamori was about love, no, not that. But he had prayed for the strength to keep you safe, to give you the life you deserved—the life where you didn’t have to fear the world or what it might take from you.
He had prayed for the kind of strength that would allow him to be by your side, to protect you, to ensure that no curse would ever hurt you. Maybe you didn’t realize it, but Gojo saw the way your smile lit up even in the darkest moments, the way you kept going despite everything. And he couldn’t stand the idea of you ever losing that light.
So, he held his omamori tight, fingers curling around the small charm, as a quiet breath slipped past his lips. He didn’t need to tell you what he’d really wished for. You wouldn’t understand. But in that moment, Gojo made a promise to himself: he would do whatever it took to make sure your life, your happiness, was something that could never be taken from you.
You may have prayed for the happiness of others, but Gojo? He prayed for yours—and for the chance to be the one who made it possible.
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I have 4 things to say:
This rlly tested my Japanese culture knowledge 😭🙏
I got excited writing this bc there’s a chance I can go back to Japan in a year or two!!
this was mostly proofread but shit probably doesn’t make all sense 😭
oh my gosh editing the colors took forever HELPP
feedback + Reblogs appreciated pls! :)
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made November 27th 2024 (I’m excited for Christmas season okay??)
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kichiyosh1 · 2 years ago
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☆࿐ཽ༵༆༒
Imagine you and scaramouche have a language barrier and only talk through translations and one day he started learning english so he can express his feelings to you
"I r-rye— I ryek yu— " but he's having a hard time pronouncing it.
"Aghhh kuso! suki da! daisuki da yo!" (Aghhh damnit! i like you! i really like you!)
He's just screaming in japanese while you're waiting there for him to sizzle down so you can say you like him too.
(was meant as modern!au)
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taasgirl · 9 months ago
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monaco pt. 2 - charles leclerc
summary: y/n is new to ferrari and is working very closely with charles, so it's inevitable that they fall right?
a/n: the outcomes of these races are fictional!! they're altered to fit the story, and there's no specific face claim! PART ONE PART THREE
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liked by charlesleclerc, user56929, user77839, and 20, 872 others user55684 Y/N AND CHARLES GOING OUT TOGETHER OMFGGGG
user67298 there's no way they're not together
user98232 She's everything! And he's just Ken. liked by ynusername
user25938 the charles like??? i'm sorry what?
user98394 Omg no way! Teammates seen together! Who would've thought?!
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liked by charlesleclerc, carlossainz55, landonorris, and 1, 254, 874 others ynusername australiaaaaaa ⭐
user93764 Future of F1
user83223 such a beautiful girl omg
user54739 Omg her bf!
user93283 *teammate.
user26352 Who is she hugging in the first photo??
ynusername my mama haha
charlesleclerc 🏆💗 liked by ynusername
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liked by lilymhe, ynusername, williamsracing, and 345, 764 others alex_albon Not where I wanted the weekend to go, but I'm so happy for @ ynusername. Good job Charles too 😏
user53938 ALEX EXPLAIN WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK
user25373 i might be delusion but i might also be correct, that is 100% charles and y/n in the third pic and NO ONE can convince me otherwise
user67382 him and lily are so in love its gross
lilymhe You little shit stirrer liked by charlesleclerc
user33253 wdym good job to charles huh??
view charlesleclerc's story...
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story has been deleted
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liked by lewishamilton, charlesleclerc, landonorris, and 24, 673 others yn.jpg Wow I haven't been on this account in a while! Who's fucking pumped for Suzuka?????
user89352 ferrari is ur only red flag (please come to mclaren)
user03846 Charles' dabbing what the fuck 😭😭
user43572 That lockscreen is so cute (deluding that y/n is lightning and charles is sally)
user58293 Back to back wins?
yn.jpg I'm working on it!
user83743 not her posting this trying to pretend that we all didn't see charles' story
user99384 LMFAOOO
user45638 hey do u maybe wanna tell us something?
user68394 something maybe to do with a certain teammate?
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liked by user33672, user79010, user44302 and 10, 762 others user52302 not charles' and y/n being driven around before quali 😭
user82992 She's so gorgeous wtfff
user67929 Charles' too!!
user53788 how is she so photogenic
user89203 being driven around as if that isn't literally their job HAHA
user62911 Like come on Charlie take the wheel mate
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liked by ynusername, charlesleclerc, f1, and 2, 345, 782 others scuderiaferrari Charles and Y/N finished P3 and P4 respectively ahead of tomorrows race in Suzuka. Great work from our Scuderia Ferrari duo 💫
ynusername ❤️ liked by scuderiaferrari
user89032 noooo y/n please get podium tmrw
user67394 Matching pants 🥰🥰
user92093 Girl they're just wearing jeans...
user91304 omg my fave couple!
user90263 why is y/n not in any ferrari merch??
user72983 She's sponsored by a boutique so she doesn't have to
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liked by ynusername, user56393, user99283, and 32, 563 others user78293 photos of charles with children to calm nerves on race day 🥱
user88392 he'd be such a good dad
ynusername This might actually be the cutest thing ever
user92039 YN WHAT ARE U DOING HERE?? user42537 HOMEGIRL UR RACING IN LIKE TWENTY MINUTES
user31732 idk how to describe it but charles is so girl dad coded
user18311 charles and y/n would be great parents lowkey 😏
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liked by redbullracing, frenkiedejong, virgil, and 2, 221, 482 others f1 MAX VERSTAPPEN WINS THE JAPANESE GRAND PRIX!
user89293 Max WDC we are so back
user98211 i wanted y/n to win so baddddd
user23474 Max back where he belongs - at the top
user64737 give y/n max's car and she'd be invincible
user64535 She's only won one race??? she ain't all that
user12383 are u dumb she's only raced in 3 f1 races
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liked by ynusername, user76372, user98273, and 348 others user23883 max and y/n through the years, and now they'll be on the podium together 🥹 i know y/n's inner child is healing
user82983 y/n really has been a ferrari girl since day 1 liked by ynusername
user54636 THIS IS SO CUTE
user43737 how tf did i not know they were friends??
user55232 no literally same like what
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liked by ynusername, charlesleclerc, f1, and 1, 564, 828 others scuderiaferrari Our drivers are heading home now in preparation for Monaco. Y/N L/N P2, Charles Leclerc P4.
user88293 y/n looks so happy 😍
user92832 Don't ever tell me that they're no in love... LOOK AT THEM
ynusername We go again!
user36483 ik they're not officially a couple but i've never seen two drivers have so much chemistry
user63733 brocedes
user38283 carlando
user54738 Maxiel
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once again struck down by the limit of photos on a post 😔 lmk if you like this or want to be tagged in the next part, i loved making this hehe (thank god for so much charles bf content fr)
PART THREE
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yuwuta · 7 months ago
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the best stereotype to assign to toji is that he is the dude who is defensive about and honestly a little nerdy when it comes to grilling. he will guard that grill and he will deliver perfectly cooked hamburgers and steaks no you cannot help him and he knows he shouldn’t call it a “man’s job” but it’s his job and your job is to sit in the little beach chair he pulls out for you when it starts to get warm and sip your drink and keep him company and tell him what you think of the new spice rub he tried out and sure if you wanna kiss him on the cheek that's fine too he won’t object 
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