#failed. absolutely failed. not working at all

[bejeweledinterludes]

blame it on the alcohol.

OR dean’s drunk— and makes it your problem!

「 pairing 」 : drunk ! dean x reader

「 word count 」 : 1.6 k

「 content / warnings 」 : fluffy fluff / comedy, alcoholic!dean, drunkness, NOT violent— purely just my thoughts of goofball drunk dean winchester off his rocker with reader hehe

‧˚₊⋅ ──── faith’s tell-all. welp i got drunk off my ass the other night and finished this draft that’s been rotting for actual months but i love the way it turned out. i hate to drop then dip immediately— but ‘if i wrote this then y’all need to see it’ has always been my policy around here (with finished works at least), and that includes regardless of my mental status. idc y’all are my ride or dies for life, no take backsies! that being said though, i still need to respond to everyone who reached out to me over the last month(ish)— which feels overwhelming rn, so i promise to do it at some point.

and for anyone that was wondering, things are pretty okay for now— but i still don’t plan on coming back back on here anytime soon. it’ll probably be more just me posting works here and there since i don’t really write like i used to + don’t really feel like i belong on here anymore yk? i’m sorry to let everyone down, but just know i appreciate and love every single freakin’ one of you that interacts with and (hopefully) enjoys my writing. it means the absolute world— it always has and always will. enjoy this one, miss you all dearly <3

( p. s. ) . . . this should be obvious, but: DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ ABOUT ALCOHOL OR DRUNKENESS !!!

𖤐 ────────────────────────

you were cozied up in bed at your motel room for the night, pretending to be reading a book on the lore of a specific hybrid of werewolf— god, don’t even ask. it was like pulling freakin’ teeth trying to get through a page, even the words. you were debating lighting the while thing on fire— and maybe sam, too, for suggesting that you decipher it.

but the sudden and loud-ass bang against the door had gotten your attention, and you instinctively snatched your gun off the nightstand, expecting the worst. fight or flight kicked in— and of course, fight reared it’s head immediately.

but there was no need, since the door swung open— and dean was attached to it, leaning on it as it hit the wall with a thud.

“stupid fuckin’—” he lifts himself off the handle, looking offended at the thing, like the door was the reason he almost fell face-first into the room and not himself.

then, he meets your gaze.

and the only way to describe it was like if the freakin’ sun just came out and hit dean’s face.

“hey!” dean bursts your name out, somehow kicking the door shut behind him— while smiling. like, full-blown, teeth and all. at you. and you know he’s never been that happy to see you in your life, ever.

it’s about now you realize he’s absolutely hammered beyond belief.

of course you knew that dean had his… issues with alcohol— and everything he’d been through? shit. you probably would, too. but still, you never pushed him to talk to you about it. not like sam does— yeah, no, that wasn’t your place. you were a good friend, sure, but still, you didn’t need a ‘okay, mom’ from dean, or a cussing out. so you weren’t about to try and force him to tell you anything. that was a line you refused to cross.

“hi,” you give your own smile back— because come on. your eyes clock how dean was swaying on his feet, so you slide off of your bed, meeting him halfway and grasping his shoulder gently— because you knew if you didn’t take action right now, he’d end up face-first right on the carpet. “you havin’ a good night?”

and dean’s glazed eyes seemed to sharpen for a moment as he took in your presence— now he could smell you, foo. his lips curved into a lopsided, drunken grin as he attempted (and failed) to focus on your face.

“jus’ livin’ the dream,” he quipped, trying to muster a cocky smirk— but the way he leaned right into you standing up told you otherwise.

“needed sum company. your room was t’closest, thank god— ‘n sam’s bein’ mean.” dean explained, almost pouted at that last part, his words being pretty much incoherent. dean somehow got an arm around your shoulders, the other waving floppily at the door— most likely, at sam.

of course you’ve seen dean drunk before, but he’s never sought you out while completely wasted like this. not that you were complaining or anything like that— it was just new.

you were trying not to think about what that meant.

you now realize that you can’t exactly sustain holding dean up like this, with just your own body weight— so your arm wraps fully snug around his shoulders and your free hand presses onto his chest, holding him upright.

“i see,” you guide dean in your grasp towards the edge of your bed. “well, come and sit down before we both end up face-planting, huh?”

surprisingly, as you guided him toward the bed, dean stumbled along more willingly than you’d expected him to, even as his movements were jerky and completely uncoordinated. he flopped right onto the edge of the bed, head lolling momentarily as he fought to focus on you, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

then, as if that wasn’t enough shock factor, dean reached out, his hand clumsily searching for something to hold onto— his fingers found your hand and wrapped around it a smidge too tight, as if to ensure you wouldn't leave.

a beat passes, then—

“yer my favorite, y’know that?”

damn.

maybe you needed to sit down, too.

so you do.

“your favorite, huh?” you inquire softly, sitting next to dean. you never took him to really be sentimental drunk, but hey. at least he wasn’t upchucking. a smile tugs on your lips, too. “like, ever? or just right now?”

you’d think you’d asked for the equilibrium constant of freaking iron, the way dean huffed and actually thought about it, hard.

a beat, and then, he nodded, confirming.

“yeah, ever. well, ‘cept sammy... or m’baby.” he said slowly, trying to form the words through his inebriated brain, looking back to you. “but yeah. ever.”

while listening, you glance over at the clock as you’re sitting on the edge of the bed— well, you’re sitting. dean’s now just kinda… more slumped against you than anything.

but you didn’t mind it.

“well either way, i’m honored,” you lean a little into dean playfully, but your voice is still quiet. “and you know somethin’? you’re my favorite, too.”

oh, damn.

if dean was sober, he'd probably scoff and play it cool— find some sort of joke to spin off of it. but drunk dean was a different man. instead, he squints at your face, cheeks flushed for a different reason, his expression… hopeful.

“really?” he slurred, looking unconvinced and squeezing your hand like it would help. it did. “not sammy or baby?”

“i like you both,” you clarify with a soft laugh, voice still quiet, eyebrows scrunching together as you remind him: “and baby’s your girl, dean.”

“true,” that got a chuckle out of dean, “baby’s m’girl, and you…”

dean paused, his mind taking a moment to process the thought. and people say that drunk people had no filter. he lifted his head slightly, his gaze attempting to focus on your face.

“y’somethin’ else.”

dean finally said, his words barely above a whisper. his fingers fidgeted a little with yours, lightly tracing patterns against your skin.

damn damn.

even drunk, dean sure was vague when he wanted to be. his tone was genuine as ever, though— so that made you feel a little better.

“‘somethin’ else’, huh?” is what you respond with to dean as you smile again, eyes flicking between his. “well, thank you— i think.”

dean manages a lopsided smile back. he’s uncharacteristically quiet now, a stark contrast to earlier.

“mean it. you’re special,” he murmurs after a moment, his voice dripping with sincerity.

now how the hell were you supposed to respond to that.

you weren’t used to compliments— in general, but from dean? that was essentially nonexistent. it was like he made a point not to compliment you sometimes— and now this? it wasn’t just a random compliment.

he called you special.

so you just kinda… stare at dean for a second, your cheeks heating up a little as you look down at your entwined hands, trying to ignore the warmth in your chest before you get the courage to look up at him again. 

dean, however, doesn’t seem to notice the way you reacted— if he did, he didn’t point it out. his fingers continued tracing small patterns on your hand, almost absentmindedly. the gesture, despite the alcohol swimming through his body, was still somewhat… deliberate.

gentle. 

“thanks, de.” you managed to get out, glancing back down at your hand in his.

dean’s somewhat half-lidded gaze follows your glance down to where his fingers are tracing patterns on your hand, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he lifts his gaze to meet yours again.

“love when you call m’that,” he murmurs, a soft, albeit, drunken honesty to his voice. “feel s’like a hug.”

you knew that sober (and definitely hungover) dean would be absolutely losing it if he could hear himself, but you don’t dare call him out on it.

you gape at dean again for a second, your chest doing that thing, more intensely now as your cheeks flush a little harder.

the chest thing usually happened daily, hourly around dean: whenever he said your name, wiggled his brows at you from the rearview window of baby, or got right into your personal space— but it felt so much more with his words.

and it didn’t help that you were holding hands.

“i’ll try and say it more often, then,” you affirm to dean with a nod, giving his hand a little squeeze.

“good,” dean nods back, like he was in a haze— but he couldn’t tell if it was from you or the alcohol. “i’ll hold y’to that.”

oh, yeah. you knew he would.

even drunk, that might be the only thing he remembers— but you’d take it.

it was bittersweet. knowing that this dean seemed to have all the troubles off of his mind, the burdens off of his back for once in his goddamn life— but you knew the reality. the one deep down, the monster under the bed:

the fact that dean needed alcohol to do so.

and a lot of it.

maybe someday, you’d talk to him about it in that way you always did, like a deep conversation, but not really; one that left him all light and drunk on something very much you instead of a brewski— and maybe he’d even listen. 

but you knew tonight wouldn’t be the night.

tomorrow wouldn’t be the day.

so you’d let him have tonight.

you’d let him have you. 

if he wanted.

──────────────────────── 𖤐

🏷️ : @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlejackles @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @lunaleah @saintfaux @kimxwinchester @bettystonewell @honeyyxxbee @harlekin705 @megara0224 @ej13928 @missus-ackles + if i missed anyone or you want to be added / taken off, please let me know <3

[livelaughlovesubs]

if your requests are open could you do hsr men (your choice but maybe aven gallagher and sunday?) with a reader whose mostly numb to sex but enjoys the intimacy of it? like service top vibes for reader? /nf

Dom!reader x Sub!aventurine/Gallagher/Sunday

Warning: teasing, pet names, pet play (a little), dacryphilia, body worship (?), blushy characters hehe

Sure, I think a little mix of a fic & hc would fit. But I’m not sure if I captured what you wanted that well?

Aventurine

- oh he’d be into a service top, absolutely

- he’s brat in bed and loves having your attention on him, likes being on the receiving end too

- not quite a pillow princess yet, but close

- and he loves to have you take care of his every need like that

- to have someone who takes all the time in the world just to make him feel good? Isn’t that just perfect?

- would take it a bit too far and order you around, it’s up to you if you want to humour him

- tries to stay composed for a while, but after hitting his limit, his grinning while grinding back against you

- would also tell you all his favourite spots

- he kind of gets addicted to the pleasure, to the fleeting thrill and happiness

- but the thing he likes the most would be your devoted gaze, the way you focus on him

- probably because you aren’t taking from him, and just giving

“Ah- not there, haha~ a little lower.” Aven chuckled, guiding your hand from his hip to his thigh, smirking, “now’s perfect. Hold me there.” You did as he wanted, since it wasn’t such a big deal. He was laying on his back, legs spread out shamelessly. Though the faint blush on his face betrayed his confidence, lips trembling as he asked, “Whats wrong? You aren’t saying anything. Cat got your tongue?”

You pulled one of his legs up, just enough to make him fold it, the other hand lingering on his inner thighs. “I’m trying to remember all this.” His brows twitched, and he narrowed his eyes teasingly. “Taking in the view, huh?” The Blondie shifted, causing you to dig your fingers more into his thighs. “Don’t be shy, you can touch properly.” You moved that hand away to stroke his face while holding his gaze, “I can’t deny it’s a beautiful sight,…”

Yet you took a small break before finishing your sentence, smiling, “…but I meant how to satisfy you the best.” Aven’s blush deepened, and he hesitated, averting his eyes for a moment to whisper ‘fuck’ beneath his breath. When he turned back, he smiled cheekily, failing to make it look real as he groaned, “you are really dedicated…huh?”

Gallagher

- he’s just an old man, don’t let him work too much /j

- jokes aside, he only acts lazy, though the one thing he’d always do is probably performing oral

- anyhow, he’s got no problem doing both, he likes what you like, but it might get awkward when you ask for feedback

- “I’m sure I must have liked it” - like wdym you must have?! Do you not know??

- getting taken care of does embarrass him a little, he’s not used to it

- the tingles make him a bit nervous, and when he gets nervous he laughs, chuckling while teasing you

- I can see him liking it, but the thing he likes the most is seeing you satisfied/happy

- so he follows orders really well! And might ask you if there’s really nothing he can do for you

- wouldnt make many comments, doesnt have any mentionable none-erotic-zones (his sensitivity is averge, maybe a bit more in his chest)

- really, he likes what you like

“Well, you seem to enjoy it, so I do too.” Gallagher said, sitting upright with you positioned between his legs. Your hands were groping his chest. “…I was asking what you liked.” You repeated, fingers squeezing the tender flesh. He still seemed quite composed as he replied, “and I’m pretty sure I answered.” Tsk, such a cheeky response when he knew you weren’t content with his answer.

When you manoeuvred your hand to slide down his chest, stopping once your fingertips reached his pelvis, his the corners of his sheepish smile twitched upwards. “You sure you want me to lay back and do nothing?” After a while, he asked, already pushing himself up with his arms. “I’m sure of it.” You’d say while pressing down on his chest, the other hand slowly dipping underneath his pants. “So keep your hands over your head, hound.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice for him to obey, arms stretched above him, clenching the sheets to ground himself. His expression revealed a tad of unease, and he glanced down at your hands, stroking him, prodding at his skin. Then he turned his attention back to you, observing your smiling face. “..What now?” He almost whispered the question, muscles straining under his effort to stay put. “Now? All that’s left is for you to be a good dog.”

Sunday

- that’s actually a pillow princess

- he could deny it, try to be more active, but at his core? He is one

- gets overstimulated so easily, and when he does, he just lose control of his body, so he literally has horrible coordination

- the best course of action is to lay him down while doing everything for him

- and he moans so prettily while looking embarrassed~

- so yea, a service dom would fit him quite well, wreck that cute little thing

- he’s really into praise too, wants you to compliment his looks, what he does and reassure him

- guess he’s still kind of obsessing over his looks, huh?

- cries while muffling his voice, and he just takes everything you give, doesn’t make demands

- well, mostly because his poor little bird brain melts too fast once your hands are on his body

- but he’ll ask if there’s anything he can do for you, and nod in understanding if you say no

“W-wait.. that tingles—?!” Sunday hugged the pillow even closer, smashing his face into the softness of it. His legs buckled under him as you made him raise his ass up. He was still wearing his pants, with only his upper body exposed. Seeing him on the verge of tears already before you even began made you wonder what face he’ll make at the end of the session.

Your hands traced the line down his spine, which was what made him gasp and tremble. Once you reached his hips, you rubbed his sacrum a little, squeezing the dip of his waist, before clawing at his waistbands. “As sensitive as ever, how cute.” His wings fluttered at the small praise, and he curled his toes when you stripped him bare. You were starting to feel bad, because he was shivering so much, it was making you seem like the bad guy.

“Relax, Sunny. You’ll hurt yourself otherwise.” Your hands gently stroke his thighs, over the curve of his butt, and a shaky exhale escaped him. “I-I’m sorry..” he said, turning his head to take a peek at you. Which ended with you kissing the corner of his eye, whispering, “don’t worry so much, you look pretty, just enjoy it.” His cheeks flushed a deeper pink while your hands roamed his delicate frame, voice small as he whispered to himself, “pretty… huh?”

[hadesoftheladies]

“no hope for women” is genuinely absurd to me. it reveals an androcentric worldview that simply doesn’t belong in feminism. like one one hand, yes, men have been ruthlessly sadistic toward women for millennia. absolutely. but some of you genuinely have little to no acquaintance with women’s history and political work. the nuances to political life for women in different regions and points in history. you are so cut off from women’s history, you have delusions of somehow being the first generation of women to “get it.” there’s so much women have done and are doing around the world. and they keep winning, btw. like the struggle might be eternal, but the progress is also evident. women globally go to school and work now. like in industrial places, that’s the NORM. do you know how fucking huge that is? compared to a lot of pre-industrial history? for fuck’s sake!

also, men would not be scrambling to maintain power so brutally if women have always been easy to subdue. men would not be so desperate to police feminist language if they were not so deeply ashamed of themselves and afraid of those voices. when we say men are human, we mean men are not impassable beings. they are capable of guilt because guilt is a human mechanism. they are so deeply guilty, that they scream and whine when you call them “pedophile” or “rapist.” that to me is one of their greatest defeats. that they must and will be forced to acknowledge the shame they feel for being failed human beings. that the economic threshold has changed for all of us in the advent of technology and even globalism. how human beings think has been evolving for centuries because of the space we occupy at this point in time.

It does not guarantee a utopia. but to be so despondent when women have the means to liberate themselves? when the odds have never been more in our favor? it just shows how isolated so many of you are from the culture. because you think that you’re the only ones awake or struggling and that’s just not true. isolation is how you kill your spirit and most of you would realize how much power you have if you just decided to MOVE with other women or to start moving and pull women along. I am not part of a feminist organization as of yet, but I have been deliberately consciousness-raising and community-building with women who at one point NEVER used to think like me but are now talking about living with their female friends instead of marrying a man, or deliberately opting out of motherhood, or co-parenting with women. radblr is not the last frontier of feminism. it’s the fucking beginning for so many of us. you are far too aware of the violence of men and not the victories of women and that has to change.

bless ✌🏾

[nebulousfishgills]

This works in college, too. I'm a habitual procrastinator, so when I hear the word "extension," that just gives me more time to breathe before I panic write essays three hours before they're due.

This past semester, one of my professors was kind about offering extensions, but put due date times at like... 4 PM? 2 PM? Some bullshit like that rather than the standard 11:59 PM deadline. And whether from undiagnosed ADHD or the state of the world making Political Sociology impossible to listen to, I would go into assignments with two or three sarcastic quotes from my professor I happened to zero in on and his very sparse slideshows (because the content is in the actual lecture, you see).

And for whatever reason, I refuse to take notes during any of my classes. My brain refuses to let me actually sit down, listen, and write notes. I've coasted through three years of college having written a total of maybe 2? Pages of actual notes? And yet I remain in good academic standing with a 3.0 GPA (which might've been higher had I not started out as a chem major and repeatedly slammed my head into walls failing tests, but that's besides the point). I never had gotten a C in my life prior to college, but after twelve years of academic pressure I've had to learn it's okay to fail sometimes (I'm still learning).

Back to my point, this particular paper had to be five pages long about... something, I don't remember. Five pages with absolutely nothing in the tank, a 4 PM deadline that I cut to a noon deadline because I had errands to run with friends I'd set up days prior. And with nothing but hopes and dreams and pure bullshit on my side, I wrote all those five pages in less than two hours.

I got a 78 on it and a note that said it was a brilliantly written essay, it just didn't entirely follow the prompt. The other two essays I wrote in that class (one five page, and an 8 page paper), and my final presentation, I got 89s across the board. With my own two hands and a brain full of bullshit. I didn't know what I was talking about half the time.

Or in another class where we had to write weekly reflections. I got a 22/25 on one of these papers with a note that said my professor could clearly see where I'd brought in knowledge from the textbook and used it well. Points lost for not citing the textbook...

...The textbook that I never bought or read a single page of. College textbooks are expensive and after my first semester of freshman year where I bought all of them and only used maybe one, I refuse to buy textbooks at all. Not second hand, not paying for pdfs. I wait until I'm certain I absolutely need it and then I scour the web for a less than legal upload (if our library doesn't have an online copy I can get easily). Remember, save for that first semester I've made it through classes with mostly As and Bs. Without textbooks.

You could subpoena my search history across all my devices, and not once have I even looked up ChatGPT or any other AI writing or image generating websites. My extremely lazy and heavy procrastination style of schoolwork without notes and playing Star Wars: The Old Republic instead of any actual study (because I find that studying psychs myself out and makes me overthink when my gut instinct is usually right anyways) is 100% authentically man made.

Education is bullshit, so you have to bullshit back. The world is bullshit, so you have to bullshit back. And it has to be your bullshit. You'll have to pry my man made, probably ADHD powered, bullshit out of my cold, dead hands. Put the generator down and use your fucking brain, even if what you produce sucks. It's still yours.

[shroominalong]

Not to get on my soap box or anything, but I'm getting a weird amount of hate rn and being accused of like, engaging in a full on harassment campaign, because of one reply I made to a post, pointing out that we cannot boil down Greta's situation to just a "normal detainment" when Israeli propaganda sites are proudly declaring her and other activists are going to be forced to sit through a 43-minute-long propaganda-infused literal snuff film showing footage of October 7th from body cams of the Hamas attackers.

So, I've had some time to think about it, and if I'm gonna get hate about it, I'm going to be clear on all topics so you can hate on me and post weird comments on my pinned post bc my asks are closed accurately.

1.) The claim this was just a publicity stunt. Yes. It was a publicity stunt. I am not disagreeing with that, but to boil it down to "just a publicity stunt" in a derogatory manner severely downplays the point behind said publicity stunt, which I will get into in a moment.

Did Greta know this was a situation where she was going to be detained? Yes. She did. Is she purposefully using inflammatory language? Yes. She is. But that's the point. Which I will expand on in a moment.

2.) The reminder that Freedom Flotilla is not a sanctioned aid organization permitted to have access to the Gaza Strip. Some people went as far to say "If Doctors Without Borders weren't even allowed in, what made them think they would be permitted?" I daresay that was the point. If you pay attention, almost every humanitarian aid organization operating within Gaza at the moment is Palestinian run. I could be wrong on this point, but I am 90% sure there are no major international organizations "permitted" to operate within Gaza at this time. That is going to be brought up in a moment.

3.) The point everyone made that Israel has promised to deliver the aid from the Freedom Flotilla, and the implication that we should take that at face value. Israel, who has a rich history of not only blocking aid, but actively using relief supplies as a means of marking out drone strikes and massacre sites. They have repeatedly either failed to let aid they promised would be let through to actually make it into the strip, even stolen it, and have also used relief supplies as literal bait.

Listen. I've thought about it. A fucking lot. Yes, what Greta did was a publicity stunt, and she made the entire voyage extremely loud and public, spread it all over social media. You can say that was a publicity stunt. But that was very much intentional.

The vast majority of humanitarian groups operating within Gaza right now are run by Palestinians. No foreign nationals are really permitted in the strip. Why is that? Maybe it's because of Israel's habit of targeting medics and aid workers and journalists and hospitals. Perhaps. Maybe it's because if a couple of foreign nationals die, other countries can wave it off with a "strongly worded email" and let it die, because that's just one citizen being an idiot, and they can spin it that way in the media.

"She absolutely knew she was going to be detained, sailing into a war zone like that without the proper permits." Maybe that was the point. Maybe this was less about Israel, and more about pointing a gun at all of their governments and saying do something, you sniveling cowards. Maybe it was to force them to finally get the gears working.

It has been made very clear from the start that everyone should be putting pressure on the individual governments involved to act. This was not solely about Israel. It was about the collective failure of the international governing body. That's why a member of the EU Parliament was there in the first place. Or did we forget one of the detainees was an actual sitting politician in all of this, not just some random activist private citizen?

We can go in circles saying it was a legal detainment. Sure, it was, but laws often function in the favor of the governing bodies, and we have to consider how Israel is exploiting those laws to their benefit right now.

The claim she was doing it for clout, of all the things, is absolutely fucking insane. This is not on the same level as a random YouTuber rage baiting, my gods, what the hell is wrong with you all. Greta and the other activists knowingly and intentionally sailed into an active warzone controlled by a government with decades of war crimes going entirely unimpeded under its belt, and you all want to cry she was doing it for clout. Insane behavior. What is wrong with all of you.

Overall, I was very polite in the post, and when I saw it was not going to be a productive conversation, I disengaged. But, I just blocked my second person on my pinned post spewing vile comments at me to circumvent my closed ask box, equating to one single post like I was leading some kind of mass harassment campaign.

I am very sorry to the Jews around the world being targeted and attacked in the name of "Free Palestine". At no point did I indicate that was correct behavior, or that I agreed with it, nor did I ever indicate that was an acceptable sacrifice in my eyes. I understand the extremely valid concerns that this incident will instigate further attacks. But, the solution to dispelling the building antisemitism right now is not to downplay the actions of the Israel government, shame the aid workers trying to force their governments to act, and boil down an instance of activism as nothing but "a publicity stunt she knew would go wrong."

Yes, Greta likely did know the consequences of her actions. But to play it all as selfishness and a desire for attention is really not okay.

I am no longer interested in being polite.

If you want to come at me, come at me. Here's allllll my thoughts on the matter. If you got a problem with it, fuck it, I'm opening my ask box, but I'm not turning on anon for any of you. If you want to say something, say it with your chest.

[freewinnie]

NOT MIND.

your obsession with the void ends today.

yes! you no longer have to separate your consciousness from your physical body during hypnogogia. stop doing all that!!

what we're told about the void is simple; it is a space of thoughtlessness, where affirmations directly impress the subconscious mind and bring our desires into our reality, or for others, a place to shift from. we enter the void because it is thoughtless, but thoughtlessness can be found in other ways too.

now i want you to pretend that you nothing about the void. for a moment, be a baby shifter/baby manifestor, and if that actually is you, then this message is absolutely perfect for you.

i want to introduce you all to 'NOT MIND'. NOT MIND is your new void.

first thing you probably wanna ask me: wtf is NOT MIND?!

NOT MIND is pure consciousness. it is the void itself, but in the easily accessible form of the space between thoughts.

‘what do you mean by that?’ essentially, all you have to do is become thoughtless for short amounts of time in order for desires to come rushing to you and instantly manifest in your reality. our minds constantly have to process information. the mind loves to create work for itself; it makes us feel as if we need to reprogram and eliminate every single doubt, that we need to constantly align with our desired realities and persist from the end.

NOT MIND is an extension of us, just as we are pure consciousness. don’t think of it as a tool, because it is you. you don’t think of your hair as a tool because it is part of you. NOT MIND is a part of you.

i prefer NOT MIND because i can enter that state with ease at any and every time of the day, even with my ADHD. all i do in my mind is ask the question, ‘what will be my next thought?’ and then focus in that state for as long as possible. when doing this, i hear my breathing louder, and background noises are more intense. i remain indifferent to them.

you may also wanna ask, ‘how do you use NOT MIND?’

you can:

simply enter thoughtlessness with no aim (great for practice, desires will still manifest)

clearly set an intention before entering (this works best for me, and replaces what you would usually do in the void which is affirming whilst you’re there)

simply trust that everything will work out in your favour and then enter

the best thing about NOT MIND is that you can remain doubtful and you can question everything but as long as you take the time to become thoughtless every so often, things will still work out in your favour. this is because when you enter a thoughtless state, your mind remains indifferent to everything around you for as long as you can maintain it. you can also dip in and out of this thoughtless state. i can usually handle bursts of 10 seconds before my mind starts to wander, and then i return to asking the question ‘what will be my next thought?’ and the pure consciousness returns.

think of NOT MIND as your little pocket void state. whatever desire you want will manifest because NOT MIND is not affected by overthinking, vibrational levels etc. it is okay to worry about where your manifestation is with this because NOT MIND is an extension of you. it is not fazed or affected by the way you think or feel.

you cannot fail with NOT MIND. it is not possible. there is also no set amount of time you have to stay thoughtless for.

i know that this may be the first time you’ve heard of this, so please please PLEASE talk to me if you have any questions! i hope i explained it well enough 😭🙏🏾

i also recommend this video that may explain it a little better than i have - i just had to bring this to tumblr! (credit to brendan woods!)

with love,

winnie 💖

[luceleste]

The Devil You Chase

oneshot

pairing – Toji Fushiguro x f!reader monsterhunter!toji x vampire!reader summary – Toji knew how to kill monsters. He didn’t know what to do when one moaned his name and begged for him instead. She was supposed to be a danger to the world—but she was its last defense. He was supposed to finish her—but he wanted to fuck her until he forgot what he came for. Now, with his blood in her mouth and the truth clawing at his instincts, Toji has a choice to make. And it might just ruin him.

warning – MDNI, explicit SMUT, blood and violenece, biting, blood drinking, clawing, combat, dark themes, injuries during sex, possessive behavior, torture, murder, enemies to lovers, overstimulation, marking and bruising, monsters!AU, vampire!reader, monsterhunter!toji.

word count – 10.5k

notes – Toji and the reader are absolute feral freaks in this one! It’s definitely a big shift from my Duke story. Hope you guys enjoy it—let me know what you think!🤍

art by deltapork on IG! divider by @hyuneskkami

Toji knew he’d fucked up.

He should’ve killed you the first time he had the chance — when your throat was right there, bare and vulnerable beneath his blade.

But he hesitated. For a fucking split second. Something he’d never done before. Something he’d laughed at other hunters for — letting their instincts fail when it mattered most. But with you? Fast, wicked, smiling like a devil dressed in silk and red — you took that moment and ran.

You walked away with his blood on your fangs and a smirk carved across your face like you’d just won some cruel little game he hadn’t known he was playing.

You could’ve killed him.

You didn’t.

And that — that pissed him off more than anything else. That’s what got under his skin.

You knew who he was. Everyone in your world did. The ghost of a man who killed monsters for fun and cash — who left nothing behind but corpses and silence. No one escaped Toji Fushiguro.

But you did.

And you let him live.

Letting him bleed, stumbling in rage while you vanished into the night — that was your version of mercy. Or maybe it was mockery.

Maybe you just liked watching him lose.

Three fucking years of chasing your scent through alleys reeking of piss and neon, through ruined cathedrals choked in ivy, through forests where the fog never lifted and the trees bled when they cracked. Through city slums, ancient ruins and godless highways.

He’d slaughtered vampires just for breathing the same air as you — left entire covens burning in your wake, convinced he was getting closer. But you were always one step ahead. Always waiting with that smile, always prepared to disappear before he could close the distance.

A cat and a rat.

Some days, he wasn’t sure which one of you played which role.

And fuck if you didn’t look at him like you enjoyed it.

He still saw it—felt it—when he closed his eyes. That look you gave him the last time: your back to the wall, one of his blade shoved up against your ribs, and you had the audacity to laugh.

Like it was a joke. Like you were amused by it all.

He told himself it was about the bounty. Half a million to deliver your pretty little head on a platter. Bloody work, but easy.

At first, that was enough. But then the client changed. Then disappeared. Another name took their place. Then another. And with every new contract, the price went up. Doubled. Tripled.

He started asking questions—not because he gave a shit, but because the math didn’t add up.

The price on your head was high—even for someone as good at killing as Toji. He didn’t usually care about reasons. But this time, curiosity stuck.

You weren’t powerful. You weren’t royalty. Hell, you weren’t even all that savage— compared to some of the monsters he’d gutted, you were practically a puppy.

The questions wouldn’t leave him alone. They curled in the back of his skull like smoke—thick, toxic, persistent.

He didn’t give a shit about politics or vampire hierarchy, but something about this hunt had started to rot. The price, the silence, the way names kept changing without reason. And your face—always your fucking face— grinning like you knew something he didn’t.

So he started carving answers out of anyone who might’ve brushed shoulders with you. Biters. Leech nobles. Black-market blood traders.

Tonight, he’d gotten lucky.

The city never really slept, but this part of it had long been forgotten.

Four levels beneath a crumbling shopping complex, the air in the old parking garage was thick with oil, mildew, and blood. Fluorescent lights overhead flickered in broken intervals, humming like dying insects. Water dripped from a cracked pipe in the ceiling, echoing off concrete like a metronome for violence.

Graffiti stretched across the walls—gang tags, occult symbols, angry smears of red that might’ve been paint. Or not.

Broken glass crunched beneath Toji’s boots as he moved. The whole structure felt like it was holding its breath.

He didn’t care. He’d dragged the leech down here to bleed in private.

The vampire was slumped against the stained concrete, wheezing through broken ribs, arms twisted wrong, one fang missing—knocked out when Toji’s knuckles shattered his jaw.

Toji crouched in front of him. Bloody hands resting on his thigh, knife spinning lazy between his own fingers.

“You get one chance.” He said flatly. “You give me something useful, you walk outta here with your spine still inside your body.”

The leech spat blood, trembling. “You’re not gonna let me walk.”

Toji smiled, slow and humorless. “No. But you might crawl.”

He pressed the blade just under the vampire’s chin, lifting his face. “Now talk. You’ve seen her. You’ve heard things. I want everything.”

The vampire coughed, tried to laugh —but it came out cracked and wet. “I don’t know much… just rumors. The pretty one—they say she’s connected to Sukuna.”

Toji froze.

That name didn’t belong in this timeline.

It was myth. Legend. A warning scrawled in dead languages and sealed temples.

A simple bloodsucker like you? Connected to that?

His voice dropped, sharp and dangerous. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“I don’t know how.” The vampire choked, flinching as the blade nicked his skin. “But they say she’s trying to unseal Sukuna. That the seal’s breaking because of her—because she’s close to it, or tied to it, or… I don’t know, man. I’m just telling you what I heard."

Sukuna had been sealed away for centuries. No one knew where. No one knew how. And no one dared ask.

Because the only reason the world still turned—the only reason people still breathed, loved, fucked, and feared in peace—was because that monster stayed buried.

Toji grinned.

So that’s why your name was worth a fortune. That’s why this job smelled like blood and secrets.

But still… not enough answers.

“Is that all you know, leech?” His free hand fisted in the vampire’s blond hair and yanked his head back.

The leech’s breath hitched. His voice cracked with panic. “That’s all I know—I swear! Please, man, I told you everything. I don’t know anything else. Don’t kill me, please!”

Toji didn’t blink.

He looked down at the trembling wreck of a body in front of him—bones shattered, face caved in, blood pooling like a slow tide—and felt nothing.

Begging never moved him. Especially not from a bloodsucker.

“Yeah.” He said, almost thoughtful. “You did good.”

The vampire’s eyes flickered—hope sparking in them just for a second.

But he didn’t even get the chance to hold it.

Toji drove the knife up under his chin, straight through soft palate and skull.

The body jerked once, then slumped forward in silence.

He wiped the blade clean on the dead man’s shirt and stood. No ceremony, no pause. Just business. Almost boring, honestly—he didn’t even know how to fight back. Probably too young to have any real power.

Now things made sense.

A mission this big—tied to something as massive as Sukuna—deserved more than half a million. Hell, it deserved a few extra zeros.

Toji pulled out his phone, blood still drying on his knuckles, and scrolled to the encrypted number in his contacts.

If his client wanted to play games, they’d have to pay more. And start giving real answers.

You weren’t just a mark now—you were a fucking threat.

So now he knew what had to be done. You had to die.

This was a fucking catastrophe in the making.

And he was going to end it before it started.

—

The forest outside the city was quiet—too quiet for a place so close to civilization.

The moon hung low, filtering silver through a canopy of black-barked trees, and the earth was soft underfoot, rich with rot and moss. It was the kind of silence that only came before something violent. Toji knew it well.

He’d tracked rumors here. Whispers of a woman luring men from the town’s edge, vanishing with them into the trees. None had turned up dead, which was strange. Stranger still — none remembered what happened. Just fragments. A voice. A smile. The scent of flowers and blood.

Not in the city. Not in the ruins. Not in the cathedrals where monsters liked to kneel.

Here—where the roads turned to dirt and the fog never lifted. A fitting choice for someone like you.

Toji moved through it all like a shadow.

He didn’t make a sound.

The only thing keeping him company was the pulse—steady and mortal—of a man walking just ahead. Stupid. Clumsy. Laughing nervously as he followed a voice into the dark.

And just beneath that voice… was something else.

No heartbeat. No warmth.

Just that scent again.

He hated how much he liked it.

It clung to the trees like perfume and sin—sweet, iron-rich, with a whisper of something older underneath. Like blood spilled on roses left to rot. It didn’t belong in the living world. But it belonged to you.

He’d smelled it before. First time he tracked you, you left it behind on a pillow soaked in someone else’s blood. It had burned into his lungs, into his memory.

He hated it because he wanted more.

The deeper he went, the worse it got. The forest closed in around him—trees too tall, too close, bark split like old scars. Moonlight barely clawed through the canopy overhead, making the world below feel starved and breathless.

You were close now.

He could hear the human up ahead—chuckling nervously, caught in whatever spell you’d wrapped around him. “You sure this is the right way?”

Toji stayed low, moving with practiced silence through the trees.

Your voice came a beat later, smooth and dark as velvet. “Of course, baby. You’re not scared, are you?”

And there it was again.

That cadence. That ease.

No heartbeat to betray you. No breathing. Just sound and motion—like silk brushing over stone, like shadow sliding over skin.

Toji crept closer, boots muffled by moss. His spear was already in hand, fingers resting lightly on the guard. The blade—custom-forged for bloodsuckers like you—gleamed faintly in the dark. In his other hand, he carried a handgun loaded with bullets soaked in holy water.

Still, no sound. No breeze.

Just that scent again—richer now.

Goddamn.

It hit him like heat. Blood and dark fruit, sweet and spoiled and ripe with something rotten underneath. The kind of scent that crawled into your head and made you forget why it was dangerous. The kind of scent that begged you to chase it anyway.

He hated the way it made his pulse spike.

Toji reached the edge of the clearing and saw you before you saw him.

Or maybe you saw him first—and just didn’t care.

You walked half a step ahead of your latest victim, red silk clinging to your body like it had been made for you and you alone. Your laugh curled through the night like smoke, soft and seductive.

Toji’s eyes dragged over you. He didn’t mean to. Couldn’t stop.

You looked like trouble. You always did.

Your fingers grazed the man’s arm like a lover’s touch, gentle enough to make him forget himself. Your lips hovered close to his ear. He was smiling like a fool, drunk on the idea of being wanted.

“Don’t be scared, baby.” You whispered, fingers trailing up to his collarbone, easing his shirt open with a teasing flick. “If any big bad wolf comes to spoil our fun, I’ll protect you.”

Then, with a grin, you tilted your head—just enough to glance toward the shadows.

Toward him.

“Though between you and me.” You added, voice velvet-slick, still locking eyes with the hunter hidden in the dark, “I think the wolf might need protecting from me.”

Toji chuckled.

You were enjoying the game.

He moved—no warning, no words. Enough watching. You were dangerous. Not just to the fool in your grasp, but potentially to the whole world.

He stepped into the clearing like a blade being drawn—deliberate, heavy, precise. The moonlight caught the edge of his spear, glinting cold. His silhouette carved through the trees like a promise: sharp, inevitable.

You smiled, slow and unbothered.

That same goddamn grin that had haunted him for three years. Like none of this mattered. Like you’d expected him, and still found the whole thing amusing.

“Toji.” You said, voice soft as smoke. “Missed me?”

He didn’t answer.

He just stepped forward, grabbed the man by the collar, and shoved him hard toward the trees. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The human stumbled, blinking in confusion. “What? Who the hell—?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” Toji growled, flashing the blade at his side.

The man didn’t need a third warning. He turned and bolted into the woods, crashing through the underbrush, muttering something that sounded like “freaks” as he ran.

You sighed, watching him go. “Shame. He had such a pretty neck.”

Toji already had the gun half-raised, his eyes never leaving you. He didn’t expect you to run.

That was what made it worse.

You lingered.

Just like the scent you left behind. Like heat that refused to leave his chest.

A breeze stirred the clearing, catching the hem of your red dress—fluttering it like a dying flame. You looked more alive here, in the dark.

More dangerous.

Toji’s grip on the spear tightened.

“You were gonna drain him?”

You shrugged, slow and lazy. “Only a little. I don’t waste food.”

That fucking tone—like you were discussing dinner plans, not murder.

“You gonna kill me?” You asked, stepping closer without fear, bare feet brushing over the moss. “Or are you just here to cockblock?”

Toji took another step, closing the distance.

“Oh, I’m gonna kill you, leech.” He said, low and cold. “But not before you tell me everything. About Sukuna. And why the fuck you’re trying to bring him back.”

Your eyes flickered—just a flash. Surprise. So that’s what they told him. That’s what he thought this was all about.

Your gaze dropped to the blade in his hand, then climbed back up to his face. Steady. Calm.

Then that grin returned—sharper now. Something cruel behind it.

“Make me.”

Your smile lingered like a challenge.

Toji didn’t wait for you to strike first.

He lunged.

Fast as a bullet, spear slicing through the air in a deadly arc aimed straight for your ribs—but you ducked, barely, and your nails scraped across his forearm as you slipped past. Blood welled where you touched him—hot and immediate.

You were faster than he remembered.

He pivoted on instinct, elbow cracking toward your jaw. You caught it—barely—and the force still sent you stumbling back a step, breathless. Your feet skidded over moss, dress whipping around your legs. He didn’t give you a chance to breathe.

He pressed forward, blade flashing in the moonlight, slashing low to gut you. You jumped, twisting midair, and landed on all fours like an animal—feral and grinning.

“Oh, you really missed me.” you teased, fangs flashing.

He didn’t stop. He never did. He was already moving again, gun raised in his other hand, aimed, and fired—multiple times.

But you were gone in the blink of an eye, and not a single bullet hit you.

Then you were on him.

A blur of red silk and bare limbs—you slammed into his chest, knocking him back against a tree. Your hand closed around his throat, nails digging in. Your voice dropped to a purr near his ear.

“I remember you being quicker, hunter.”

His knee came up���hard into your ribs. You gasped, and he shoved you off, driving the butt of his spear into your stomach. You hit the ground with a thud, leaves and dirt flying.

You hissed—not in pain, but in pleasure.

“Fuck, so strong.”

You rolled to your feet in one fluid motion, already bleeding from a gash above your brow. But the scratches you gave him were red too.

“You’re bleeding.” You said, tongue flicking over your teeth like the sight thrilled you. Like you could taste it.

“So are you.”

You charged each other.

Flesh on flesh. Steel on bone. The clearing became chaos—grunts and growls, dirt kicked up, trees cracking under the force of bodies slamming into them.

Your claws tore across his ribs, and his already ruined shirt shredded completely beneath the strike— fabric ripping apart in your hands, baring hot skin and the surge of muscle underneath.

Blood sprayed. Breathing turned ragged. Neither of you yielded.

It was brutal, beautiful — like something that shouldn’t exist outside nightmares or need.

Toji landed a blow to your jaw that sent your head snapping sideways—but you retaliated, slamming your forehead into his and making him stumble back, dazed.

You pounced.

He caught your wrist mid-air and twisted—until something in your arm popped—but you just hissed through your teeth and sank your fangs into his shoulder.

“Fucking—!” he roared, slamming you into the forest ground.

Branches cracked beneath you both. You clawed at his chest—he punched the side of your ribs. Blood spilled, hot and fast. You gasped. He cursed.

His hands gripped hard on your throat.

And then—staring down at you, eyes burning, blood dripping from both your bodies—he hesitated.

Again.

Because your mouth was red with his blood, and your smile was still there, even through the pain. Because you looked alive. Because you looked at him like you knew him. Like you had him exactly where you wanted.

His hand was still pinning you down by your throat. Tight. Unrelenting.

But he didn’t press.

Didn’t finish it.

He just stared— face shadowed, blood trickling from the bite on his shoulder, chest heaving like he hated every breath that kept you both alive.

You tilted your head against the moss and smiled. Not sweet. Not kind.

Wicked. Bloody.

“What’s wrong, hunter?” You rasped, voice hoarse but smug. “Too scared to finish me off?”

That did it.

Something snapped in him—finally, violently.

Toji moved without thinking.

He grabbed your jaw, dragged your face up to his, and crashed his mouth onto yours like it was the last fucking thing he’d ever do.

Like he hated himself for it. Like he needed it more than air.

Your gasp was swallowed in the kiss—hot, rough, teeth clashing. It wasn’t romantic. It was war.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, reopening wounds you’d just left there. His fingers twisted in your hair—pulling, anchoring, devouring.

He tasted blood. Yours, his. He couldn’t tell.

And he didn’t care.

Your lips moved as eager as his, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw more blood, then licking it from his mouth like it was wine.

His blood tasted like your favorite dessert.

“Fuck.” He growled against your lips. “I should kill you.”

“Then do it.” You whispered, still breathless, still smiling. “But kiss me first.”

And so he did.

Again.

Harder.

Because nothing made sense. Because he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Because the line between killing you and craving you had finally shattered—

—and he was too far gone to care which side he landed on.

His mouth was still on yours—relentless, punishing, like each kiss was a sin he meant to commit all the way through. Desperate. Eager.

Your legs curled around his hips without thought, pulling him closer until there wasn’t a breath of space between your bodies. Heat. Blood. Cloth torn in too many places. Nothing else.

One of his hands stayed tight around your throat—firm but not crushing, like a leash he refused to let go of. The other slid down, rough and unhurried, dragging over the curve of your ribs to your waist. He gripped it hard. Like he needed to feel you to believe this was real.

You arched into him, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered, voice dark with amusement.

“You look like you’re enjoying this more than you should, hunter.”

Toji let out a low sound — half-growl, half-laugh — and dragged his mouth down to your neck. No biting. Just the scrape of teeth against skin too hot, too sensitive, too alive. His breath burned where it landed.

“Shut up.” He muttered, voice frayed. “You talk too much.”

Then his hand slid beneath your dress.

His fingers found the bare skin of your thigh, slick with blood from the fight, but he didn’t hesitate this time. He gripped you tighter, dragging your leg higher over his hip as his mouth grazed your collarbone—and bit down, hard enough to bruise.

You gasped—clawed at his back. Rolled your hips up to meet the weight of him, teasing. Demanding.

He hissed through his teeth.

“You want this, leech?” He breathed, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. “Say it—say you want me to fucking ruin you.”

You didn’t answer him right away.

Instead, you smirked.

Then you rolled your hips again—slow this time, dragging the pressure right against him, knowing exactly what it would do.

Toji’s jaw flexed.

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Why ask if you already know the answer?”

His hand snapped back to your thigh—gripping harder now. Fingers digging into soft skin as he dragged them upward until they reached the edge of your panties.

He groaned—low, guttural—like he hated how soaked you already were for him.

“You fucking tease.” He muttered, brushing over the fabric, fingers pressing just enough to make you squirm. “Big talk for someone this wet for the man sent to kill her.”

And then he moved—parting your thighs, pushing the fabric aside, dragging a calloused finger through the mess he found.

His gaze flicked down to your face, watching.

You sucked in a breath—shivering, eyes fluttering for just a second—and he saw it. That flicker of need. Hunger. Want.

“Say it.” He growled, voice rougher now. “Say you want this.”

You locked eyes with him—bloody, beautiful, unafraid.

“I want you.” You whispered, defiant and honest. “Ruin me, hunter.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth crashed back onto yours—messier this time. Lips, teeth, tongue—no rhythm, no patience, just need. And his fingers slid into you without warning. Deep. Rough. Curling just right.

Your moan hit the back of his throat, and he swallowed it greedily.

Your body arched, chasing the pressure—desperate for more. And Toji gave it. His thumb dragged slow, brutal circles over your clit while his fingers fucked into you like he wanted to make you come from his hand alone.

“Fuck—you feel like sin.” He muttered against your lips. “You were made for this.”

Made for him.

You writhed beneath him, gasping into his mouth, hips bucking into his hand—but Toji didn’t let up.

But this time, he didn’t give you more.

Instead, he slowed down.

His fingers moved cruelly slowly now—deep, yes, but lazy. Controlled. Just enough to make your body beg for friction that never quite came.

You growled in frustration, fangs bared, eyes burning. “Don’t fucking play with me—”

He cut you off with a rough press of his thumb against your clit, just enough to make your breath hitch—then stopped again.

“Oh?” He smirked, his voice dark and low. “But I thought you wanted me to ruin you.”

“Toji—”

He dragged his fingers out of you entirely, slow and wet, making sure you felt every inch.

You bit back a moan—barely.

He lifted his hand between you, fingers slick with your arousal, and stared at it for a beat—he couldn’t decide whether to lick it clean or rub it across your mouth just to see you suck it off.

And instead, he smeared it across your inner thigh, possessive, like he was marking you.

“Dripping for me already—and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Then fucking touch me, hunter.”

That pulled a dark chuckle from him. His hand shot back up, wrapping tight around your throat again—firm enough to still your breath, but not stop it.

“You don’t get to order me around, leech.” He growled, eyes blazing. “You’re the one pinned under me.”

You didn’t flinch. You leaned into the grip like you liked it. Like it fed you.

“Then do something about it.” You hissed.

“Oh, pretty. I don’t think you deserve me already.” He muttered, voice thick. “Not after everything.”

He lowered his head.

You gasped as his mouth met your pussy—hot, open, greedy.

He didn’t ease in. He devoured you. Tongue dragging through the mess he’d already made of you, lips sealing over your clit and sucking with no mercy.

Your back arched again.

Toji groaned into you, fingers digging more bruises into your thighs to keep you spread wide, like he didn’t want to miss a single twitch of your body.

“Fuck—you taste so good.” He rasped against you before diving back in, slower this time, deliberate.

He licked you like he was memorizing the shape of your pleasure.

Flattened his tongue against your clit, sucked until your legs trembled—then backed off just before you tipped over the edge.

Again.

And again.

The way his mouth worked over you left no room to control. Every flick of his tongue was too fast, too sharp, and your body was beggining to quake.

You were almost embarrassed by how close you were already—God knew his ego didn´t need the boost.

You bit down hard on your knuckles, trying to resist the pull. But he groaned into you, low and hungry, and the sound vibrated through your core. Your thighs clenched around his head, helpless.

“You gonna come like this?” He teased, mouth slick, voice wrecked. “On my tongue like a desperate little thing?”

You couldn’t even answer—not with your body coiled that tight, not with the way he was licking into you like you were the last thing that could save him.

And when he slid two fingers back inside you—curling just right to press against the spot that made your vision blur— while his mouth stayed locked on your clit, you knew it was over.

Your body seized beneath him, a choked cry tearing from your throat. Legs trembled, toes curling, your fingers tangled in his hair as his name broke from your lips — gasped, half-muttered like a prayer turned curse.

Toji held you through it—mouth never leaving you, he wanted to taste all of it.

Even when you were shaking.

Even when you tried to push him away.

He kept going.

He wasn’t done ruining you yet.

“Too much—Toji.” You gasped, thighs twitching around his head, hand fisting in his hair like you didn’t know whether to pull him closer or shove him away.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

Instead, he growled into your cunt again—deep, approving—like the sound of you breaking apart beneath him only made him harder.

“You think I care?” He muttered against your skin, voice muffled by your soaked heat.

Then he sucked—hard and focused—tongue circling your clit in a filthy rhythm while his fingers curled exactly where you needed.

Your moan shattered in your throat.

Every nerve lit up. Every breath felt like a scream you couldn’t let out. Your second orgasm hit faster than you could brace for it—violent, blinding, your entire body locking up beneath him.

“Fuck—look at you.” He rasped, finally pulling back just enough to speak—lips wet, chin dripping, eyes dark and wild. “Cumming so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh—mock-gentle—then bit down, hard.

You jerked.

“Want me to stop?” He asked, too soft to be kind, fingers still teasing lazy circles over your oversensitive clit.

You met his eyes—wrecked, trembling, still high from release—and hissed through your teeth.

“If you stop, I’ll kill you first.”

Toji grinned.

“Yeah.” He muttered, voice thick with need, reaching up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s what I fucking thought, leech.”

You were still gasping, body trembling from the aftershocks, but your smirk was already creeping back.

“You look proud of yourself.” You murmured, voice raw.

Toji hovered over you, licking his lips, still tasting you.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

You dragged your nails down his chest, slow and dangerous.

“Cocky bastard.”

He caught your wrist mid-motion and slammed it into the moss beside your head.

“You came undone on my tongue like a slut, and you’re still mouthing off?”

His hips rolled forward, the thick press of him grinding into your slick heat. And this time, you couldn’t hold back the sounds you made.

Toji’s hands slid under your thighs again, rough palms gliding upward as he shoved your legs farther apart with zero grace. His lips clashed with yours again— punishing—while his fingers caught the hem of your dress and dragged it higher.

But the fabric clung. Damp with sweat. Blood. Heat.

He grunted against your lips, tugged harder—but the layers wouldn’t move fast enough. Wouldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Fuck this.” He growled.

And then you heard it—the sharp tear of fabric, loud in the stillness. He yanked the dress in two like it offended him, shredding it down the middle until it fell open beneath you like ruins.

You gasped, half from shock, half from the sudden rush of cold air on your overheated skin.

“Better.” He muttered, eyes dark as they dropped to your now-exposed chest. “So much better.”

His hands weren’t gentle—they were merciless.

They cupped your breasts like he’d been dying to touch them, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked under his touch. And when he leaned down to suck one into his mouth—hot, wet, greedy—you arched off the moss with a gasp.

“Toji—fuck—”

He groaned low, teeth grazing just enough to make you flinch. Then he sucked harder. His other hand rolled your other nipple between his fingers—slow, rough, deliberate.

“You moan like this for every man who makes you bleed?” He rasped, breath hot against spit-slick skin.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged.

“Only the ones who do it with their mouths.”

He chuckled—low, dangerous—and sank his teeth in again, harder this time. The pain made your folds clench around nothing, desperate and raw.

“You’re fucking insane.”

But he couldn’t stop touching you.

Wouldn’t stop tasting you.

And the way he was devouring your chest—lips swollen, jaw tight, breath ragged—made it damn clear:

You were driving him mad.

“I’m in no rush to fuck you.”

He leaned in, grazing your cheek, breath hot against your ear.

“Unless you beg for it.”

Your breath stuttered—but your eyes gleamed.

“Oh?” You whispered, lips brushing his. “Maybe you should be the one begging, hunter.”

Before he could taunt you again, you moved—quick, fluid, catching him off guard. One sharp twist of your hips, a push to his shoulder, and suddenly Toji was flat on his back against the dirt, and you were straddling him.

His eyes widened—then narrowed.

But he didn’t stop you.

Not yet.

Your fingers dragged down his chest, slow and confident, nails grazing over every muscle like you owned them.

“You think I can’t break you?” You purred, grinding down against him, deliberately slow. The drag of your slick heat over his cock made both of you hiss.

You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw, licking a stripe up the side of his neck.

“Fuck, Toji… you’re so fun when you’re trying not to lose control.”

His breath hitched—and still, his hands stayed at his sides.

Still not stopping you.

Your teeth grazed his collarbone.

Your hips rolled again.

“You gonna be good for me, Toji?”

Then—too fast to react—his hand shot up, fisting in your hair, yanking your head back to bare your throat.

“You’re playing a dangerous fucking game.” He growled, voice pure gravel, lips hot against your pulse.

And you barely had time to blink.

One second he was beneath you—the next, he’d grabbed you by the waist, hauled you up, spun you around, and slammed your back against the nearest tree.

Moss scraped your spine. Bark dug into your shoulder blades. Toji’s massive frame caged you in—one hand hooking under your thigh, lifting you, the other braced beside your head.

His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

“You really think you can ride me, pretty?” He hissed, teeth bared, pupils blown wide. “You don’t even get to touch me unless I say so.”

You opened your mouth, but he didn’t give you a chance to speak.

He hooked both your thighs up, spread you wide, and lifted you higher like you weighed nothing. Your back scraped against the tree as he settled between your legs, hips grinding up—slow, punishing, all heat and threat and dark, dirty promise.

You choked on a gasp, your hands scrabbling for purchase—his shoulders, the bark, anything.

“Toji—”

He wasn’t gentle.

He devoured your mouth as he rocked against your core, not bothering to hide how hard he was, how much he wanted to ruin you. Tongue fucking into your mouth like he owned it, biting your lower lip until you whimpered, tasting blood again on your tongue.

“You beg.” He growled, lips trailing down your jaw. “You fucking beg me for it, or I’ll keep you like this all night.”

His mouth dragged down to your neck, biting.

“Pressed to a tree, dripping down your thighs, aching and empty while I don’t give you what you want.”

His cock—still covered—dragged through your wet folds again, making your back arch, your lips part on a trembling breath.

Just rubbed.

Teased.

Denied.

Your breath was ragged now, chest heaving, nails digging into his arms.

“Toji, please—”

His hand shot up and grabbed your breast—rough, possessive, mean. Pain bloomed through the heat, and your gasp was half-moan, half-snarl.

He leaned in closer, voice wrecked.

“Say it right, slut.”

Your pride screamed.

But your body?

Your body was already shivering, already breaking.

And he smirked against your throat.

“Beg, pretty thing.” He murmured. “I want to hear you fucking plead.”

You tried to hold his stare—tried to keep the smirk on your lips, the bite in your voice—but it faltered.

He was dragging over your clit with maddening precision. Just enough pressure. Never enough to satisfy.

Your nails raked down his back, scratching over wounds that were barely scabbed.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

“Toji.” You gasped—again, useless, desperate.

He just kept grinding, slow, brutal, unforgiving.

Your thighs trembled around his waist, every nerve lit up and begging.

And still—still—he held you there, pinned between bark and muscle, his mouth cruel against your jaw.

“Look at you.” He growled, voice low and dark. “Fucking soaking me through my pants. You want it that bad?”

You bit your lip—hard. Blood beaded, dripped. Pride clenched in your gut. But your body… your body was done fighting.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whispered, breath shaking. “I want you inside—now.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?”

One hand dropped to his waistband, and he shoved his pants down just far enough, hissing as his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, leaking from how long he’d been holding back.

He shifted his hips—just enough to drag his cockhead directly against your entrance. You shuddered, thighs twitching to close, but he held them wide.

“Toji—fuck—please. Please fuck me, I need it—need you.”

His eyes flared.

And in the next second, the feral thing in him snapped loose.

“That’s more like it.” He snarled.

He thrust into you in one brutal, perfect stroke—no warning, no mercy, just depth.

You cried out—loud, raw, ruined—as your back slammed into the tree. Your legs locked around his waist instinctively, trying to take it, to anchor yourself as he filled you to the hilt.

Toji groaned like it hurt, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck.” He growled against your skin, voice cracked and strained. “You’re so damn tight, pretty.”

He didn’t wait.

Didn’t give you a second to adjust.

He pulled back and slammed in again, harder, his pace feral from the start. Bark scraped your spine with every thrust, and you didn’t care—couldn’t care. You wanted him to make it hurt.

“Say it again.” He rasped, teeth dragging along your throat. “Say you need me.”

“I do—fuck, Toji—I need you—”

And the sound he made wasn’t human.

It was hunger.

It was possession.

He should’ve kept the rhythm steady. Controlled.

Should’ve made it last—made you suffer.

But the way you moaned his name—wrecked, breathless, honest—knocked the air clean out of him.

“Toji—”

Your voice cracked around it, full of need, of surrender. It wasn’t a weapon anymore. It was a plea.

His pace faltered. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to try and rein it in.

“My name sounds so fucking good on your lips, pretty.” He rasped, breath hot against your neck.

You tightened your legs around him.

“Toji.” You whispered. “Please—Toji, harder.”

His grip on your hips turned bruising—you knew it’d be purple by morning.

With a guttural growl, he slammed into you hard enough to make your teeth clack, his pace turning punishing, feral—like he needed to fuck the sound of his name out of your throat.

“This is wrong.” He growled. “So fucking wrong…”

You couldn’t form words. Just gasps, sobs, desperate clutches at him as your body took every brutal thrust and still wanted more.

Toji’s mouth found your jaw, your neck, your lips—biting, licking, devouring you like he was starved.

“You’re mine when you say my name like that.” He snarled, voice trembling with the force of his unraveling restraint. “Don’t you fucking stop, leech.”

You whimpered it again, cracked and broken on your tongue—“Toji…”—and it only drove him harder.

He fucked into you like stopping would kill him.

Every thrust was deeper, rougher, until the tree behind you shook with the force of it, until your moans turned into broken gasps, until your mind blurred with the sheer intensity.

“Toji—ah—fuck—”

Your head fell back against the bark, sweat-slick and aching, your body quivering with the edge he kept you on—again and again, just out of reach.

He was groaning now, deep in his chest, the sound of you unraveling was doing something to him. It hurt.

“Shit—fuck—you’re—” His voice caught.

He wasn’t supposed to lose control.

Wasn’t supposed to want like this.

But your cunt was gripping him like a vice, slick and hot and perfect, and the way you cried his name—

He was past reason.

And you—

You were trying so damn hard not to sink your teeth in again.

Your fangs ached, instincts flaring with every pulse of blood under his skin. His throat, his shoulder—so close, so vulnerable.

Your mouth hovered there, open, shaking, every thrust grinding you harder against the bark, each friction-soaked drag of his cock pushing you closer.

He noticed. Of course he did.

His pace didn’t falter—but his voice dropped, a low, dangerous murmur against your ear.

“Go ahead.” He growled. “You wanna bite me again, don’t you?”

You whimpered, shaking your head, but he chuckled darkly.

“Trying to be good for me, pretty?” His teeth dragged along your jaw.

You clenched around him, a sharp gasp catching in your throat.

He groaned—loud, ragged—and picked up speed.

You were already shaking, body too sensitive, every thrust sending sparks ricocheting through your nerves. But he didn’t slow down. He chased the sound of your moans, chased the heat, chased you.

And deep inside him—

Somewhere past the lust, past the chaos—

Something twisted.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Not with you.

Not with someone he was paid to hunt.

But when you cried out his name again, voice shattered and begging—he couldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t.

“Toji—please—I can’t—”

“You can.” He snarled, hand tightening under your thigh. “You fucking will. I’m not done.”

And still—your mouth trembled, teeth bared as instinct warred with restraint.

You didn’t want to bite him.

But he was breaking you.

And you were so close to breaking him too.

Your body betrayed you before your mind could stop it.

Overstimulated. Shaking. Ripped raw by the force of him—his cock pounding into you, his breath hot against your neck, his grip bruising, brutal, possessive.

You’d tried.

Tried so fucking hard not to bite.

But your head turned—mouth open, gasping—and when he hit just the right angle, when the tension snapped—

You sank your fangs into his shoulder with a cry.

The moment your teeth broke skin, he froze.

Not in shock.

Not in pain.

But in something else.

Toji’s whole body went rigid, a low, guttural sound clawing out of his chest like it had been buried under every wall he’d ever built.

It wasn’t a groan.

It was a fucking moan.

Rough. Wrecked. Almost worshipful.

“F-fuck—”

His blood soaked into your mouth—hot, thick, feral. His heartbeat slammed against your tongue, wild and addicting. And his cock—God—he throbbed inside you like your bite set him off. Like it unleashed something.

His hips slammed forward again, deeper, harsher, chasing.

“That—fuck—that feelin’—” He rasped, voice wrecked, panting. “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were still biting down, still sucking greedily as he kept fucking you, harder than before.

And he let you.

No—he wanted it.

His hand tangled in your hair, holding you to him like he needed the pain.

“Shit, pretty thing—your mouth’s fuckin’ dangerous.” He growled, head tipping back.

His pace turned animalistic—like he was chasing release through the pain, like your fangs drove him higher than anything else could.

The tree behind you shook violently, your moans muffled against his skin, his blood hot on your tongue, his cock dragging ruthless and perfect inside you.

He was losing it.

And loving it.

“Mark me—tear into me—I don’t care. Just—fuck—don’t let go.”

He liked it.

He liked the hurt.

And the way your teeth sunk in again—deeper—sent him barreling straight to the edge, no brakes, no shame, just ecstasy.

You didn’t know who was shaking more—you or him.

Toji was slamming into you like he needed it to live, your bite driving him wild, every thrust punching broken sounds from your throat. His blood was thick on your tongue, metallic and addictive.

You drank his blood like you were starving.

His breath was ragged in your ear, voice hoarse and barely human. “Fucking leech… you taste me like you’re in heat—shit—”

You could feel it in his pulse—every beat pounding into your mouth. He was close. So were you.

Your jaw unclenched.

You pulled back with a sharp gasp, fangs sliding free, mouth open and dripping, smeared in crimson.

His blood clung to your lips, your chin, glistening down your throat like something unholy.

Toji stared.

Eyes blown wide. Chest heaving. Still buried deep inside you—but stunned for a heartbeat.

“Fuck.” It came out low, reverent. A prayer in one breath.

You blinked at him—dazed, trembling, blood-slicked and ruined.

And it broke him all over again.

He grabbed your face—fingers smearing his own blood across your cheek as he kissed you like a fucking animal. Tongue licking into your mouth, tasting himself on you, groaning like it drove him insane.

“Messy fuckin’ girl.” He growled against your mouth. “You are the Devil.”

His hands grabbed your ass, hauled you up higher, hips snapping into you with a new kind of desperation. Your blood-soaked mouth lit a fuse in him he couldn’t put out.

“Wanna fuck you ‘til there’s nothing left of me.”

And from the sound of it—

He meant every word.

Maybe it was his pace—ruthless, faster now, his cock dragging over every spot inside you with maddening precision. Maybe it was the way his blood still coated your tongue, metallic and warm, your lips tingling from the bite. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you—

Like he was seconds from falling apart.

“Toji—” You gasped, voice slurred, head falling back against the tree. “Fuck—please—”

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, bruising, grounding himself in your flesh as he drove deeper, rougher, sweat and blood slicking your skin where it met his. His jaw was clenched, brows furrowed in something close to agony.

“You gonna come, leech?” He panted, mouth brushing yours—raw, desperate. “You gonna soak my cock with that tight fucking pussy?”

You whimpered, your walls clenching hard around him at the filthy sound of his voice. It dragged a groan out of him—low, ruined, dangerous.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He growled, slamming into you again, harder, meaner. “Not yet. Not until I say.”

“Toji—” Your voice cracked, and you clung to him, arms tight around his shoulders, nails dragging more blood down his back. “too much—”

He hissed into your ear. “You’ll take it.”

His hand snuck between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, rubbing circles that were just shy of cruel.

Your back arched. Your breath caught.

The edge hit like a freight train—and held you there. Quaking. Gasping. Your whole body tightening around him as he kept you right there.

Toji’s head dropped to your shoulder, his voice guttural, choked. “You feel that? Fuck—you feel how close I am, pretty?”

You nodded frantically, tears slipping down your cheeks, chest heaving against his.

“Good.” He rasped, still fucking you like he meant to break you. “Then fucking hold it. I wanna hear you scream my name when you fall.”

He was right there too.

Barely holding on.

Your body was already unraveling—but he wouldn’t let you fall.

He kept you pinned, suspended, every thrust cruel with restraint. Your thighs trembled around his hips, your breath coming in short, broken gasps, his name half-choked on your tongue. Your whole world had narrowed down to the pulse between your legs and the brutal rhythm of his hips against yours.

Toji’s jaw clenched, sweat sliding down his temple, muscles flexed and twitching with the effort of holding back. You could feel it—the tremor in his arms, the way his thrusts stuttered every time your cunt fluttered around him, the animal noise that kept building in his throat every time your voice cracked.

He was losing it.

But so were you.

Your nails raked down his back, raw and blood-slick from where you’d clawed him earlier. His blood still coated your tongue, warm and electric, and when you opened your eyes to look at him—really look—he was already staring at you.

Wild.

Ravenous.

Gone.

“Toji.” You whispered again, wrecked.

And that was it.

He slammed into you with a growl, the sound feral, tearing from his chest like he’d been holding it back for hours. He didn’t stop this time—couldn’t. He fucked you like he was possessed, pace brutal, cock driving into you so deep your entire body jolted against the tree with every thrust.

You screamed.

Couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your come like a wave of white fire—spine arching, mouth falling open, legs locking tight around him as your walls clenched hard and refused to let go. You sobbed his name—over and over—mind blank, body quaking as pleasure tore through you so violently it almost hurt.

Toji snapped.

He growled something guttural, unintelligible, and suddenly his hand was in your hair, yanking your head back to bare your throat. But it wasn’t dominance anymore—it was desperation. Worship.

“You fucking—gods, you’re squeezing me so tight—” His hips jerked, rhythm lost, every thrust now a frantic, sloppy drive for release. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

His whole body seized—then shuddered.

With a broken groan, he slammed in to the hilt and stayed, cock pulsing deep inside you as he emptied himself in thick, hot spurts. You could feel it. All of it. Every twitch, every tremor, his cum flooding your already aching cunt, leaking out around him from how hard you were still clenching down.

He was loud.

Raw.

The kind of sound you only make when you’re being ruined.

Toji’s forehead dropped to yours, his breath shaking against your lips, chest heaving. His arms trembled where they held you, legs locked, body still flexing with aftershocks as he kept thrusting small, shallow movements—dragging it out.

Drawing every drop of pleasure from both of you.

He was right. You were a mess.

Blood still smeared across your mouth. Skin slick with sweat. Your core still fluttering around him like you didn’t want to let him go.

You moaned softly, dazed, and leaned in—mouth brushing his cheek.

“You came so deep.” You whispered, voice ruined. “I can feel you everywhere.”

Toji growled again, but it was softer this time. Like surrender.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t speak.

Just pressed you tighter to the tree, his body still inside yours, heart pounding so hard you could feel it through his chest.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Breathing each other in.

Wrecked.

Changed.

The forest was still now.

Silent, save for the rough, uneven sound of your breathing and Toji’s heart thudding loud against your chest. The bark bit into your back with every small shift of his body, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to move.

And neither did he.

His forehead was still resting against yours, skin damp, mouth slightly parted like he couldn’t catch enough air. His arms, always strong, always brutal, now just held you—steady, grounding, as if letting go would undo something neither of you were ready to name.

You blinked, slowly, dazed. A little high. A little wrecked.

Toji… Toji was staring at you like he didn’t know what the fuck he’d just done.

And he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Your hand slid up, shaky fingers brushing through the mess of his hair. He didn’t stop you. He leaned into it, just slightly. And when your blood-slick lips pressed the softest kiss to his cheek—gentle, not hungry—his eyes fluttered shut for a breath.

“You okay?” You whispered.

It came out hoarse, almost too quiet. But it cut through the haze.

Toji didn’t answer right away. His hand slid down from your thigh, tracing your skin slowly, almost reverently, like he was grounding himself in the reality that you were still there. Still in his arms. Still wrapped around him.

“I should be asking you that.” He spoke—rough, low.

You let out a breathless huff—half a laugh, half a sigh—and let your forehead fall into the crook of his neck. You could still feel him inside you, thick and warm and unmoving, like he was staking his claim with more than just words.

“I’ll live.” You murmured, letting your lips graze his pulse.

Toji let out a quiet grunt, but he didn’t pull away. He just shifted enough to ease you from the tree, cradling you like he didn’t trust your legs to hold. You hissed as the movement made you feel everything again—every inch of stretch, every bruise, every pulse of afterglow that hadn’t faded yet.

“Shit.” You muttered. “You’re gonna make me limp back out of this forest.”

He smirked—tired, but cocky. “Could carry you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers curled into his chest anyway.

“Shut up.”

Toji’s hand smoothed over your lower back, slow and rough. Protective. Almost absent. Like he didn’t realize he was doing it.

For a long, quiet moment, you both just breathed.

The sky above you was dark now, dusk settled deep into the trees. The only light came from moonlight filtering through the leaves—and the way it caught in Toji’s lashes, the sharp line of his jaw, the blood still drying along his neck.

Right now, like this—half-naked, breathless, ruined in each other’s arms—you weren’t thinking about the seal, or the enemies, or how fucked this all was.

Just him.

Just this.

Just the way his thumb now stroked your hip, slow, like a promise he didn’t know he was making.

Eventually, Toji moved.

Not far—not away. Just enough to pull out slow, making you both shudder, and lower you gently to the mossy ground. It was softer here. Cooler. Damp with night, but you didn’t flinch when your bare skin touched it.

He didn’t leave.

The frenzy had passed, but your body still hummed with the aftershocks—nerves raw, skin flushed, blood cooling in sticky streaks where your mouth had found him, where his hands had left their claim. Toji lay beside you on the moss, one heavy arm slung across your stomach, chest rising and falling against your side, damp with sweat.

You stared at the canopy above—leaves rustling, moonlight slanting through in thin, trembling beams—trying to gather your thoughts, your breath, your self.

But everything was tangled now. Lust. Blood. Him.

Toji exhaled deeply, almost like he’d forgotten how.

His voice came low, gravel-rough and tired. “Fucking hell…”

You almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, you turned your head toward him, eyes half-lidded. “So…” You murmured, your voice hoarse. “Are you still going to kill me?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t tense. Didn’t move.

Just stared at the same canopy you had, his jaw tight, expression unreadable in the dark.

Then—

“I think so.” He said.

Quiet. Almost too quiet.

You blinked. A hollow sound echoed in your chest, too deep to be surprise.

“I mean…” He went on, eyes still fixed on the stars. “That’s why I came here, isn’t it?”

You didn’t speak. Just waited.

His fingers twitched on your stomach.

“But I don’t—fuck.” He shut his eyes, rubbed his face like the words themselves burned. “I don’t know what the hell this is. What you are. What we just did.”

He turned to you, finally, face shadowed but eyes burning.

“You’re still a threat.” He muttered. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

But his hand didn’t move.

Didn’t leave your skin.

“You can’t fucking release that demon back into the world. I have to kill you.”

And yet… his eyes didn’t look like those of a man ready to finish a job.

They looked lost.

Like someone already breaking the rules.

Like someone who’d tasted something forbidden—and was already addicted.

You didn’t speak right away. The silence between you felt sharp, like a blade hovering between your throats, waiting to fall in either direction.

But his palm still rested over your ribs, steadying you. Feeling the rise and fall of your chest.

So finally, quietly, you spoke.

“They lied to you.”

Toji didn’t flinch. But his fingers stilled.

“I’m not trying to weaken the seal.” You said, voice soft but unwavering. “Because I am the seal.”

He blinked, slow. His brow pulled taut.

“They’re the ones trying to release Sukuna.” You continued, each word low and measured. “But I’m the only thing keeping him in. My blood. My body. My life. That’s what holds him back.”

Silence.

Not denial—just tension. The pause of a man who didn’t know how to respond.

“If I die.” You said, quieter now, “it’s over. No spell, no ritual, no backup. I’m the last thing between him and the world.”

His jaw tightened. You could see him trying to cling to what he was taught—what he was paid to do. But his grip on that certainty was slipping.

And you saw it—the flicker in his eyes. The start of doubt.

The start of belief.

“I’ve spent centuries containing him.” You whispered. “I’ve bled for it. Starved for it. Hunted and hidden and given up nearly all my power to maintain it. And I’ve killed anyone who came too close to disrupting that balance—except you.”

You looked at him fully now, eyes bare and steady.

Toji swallowed hard. Slowly.

“His worshippers were the ones who hired you, I suppose. They claim he’ll purify the earth.” Your eyes deviate for the night sky. “But I’ve seen what his purification looks like.”

And you said the final truth, quiet but sharp:

And then, with a quiet certainty that cut deeper than any threat:

“If you finish the job… he comes back. And everything burns.”

At first, his jaw clenched tighter, fists twitching as if struggling against the pull of your words. The world he thought he knew was unraveling before him, shaking him more than he wanted to admit.

His dark, stormy eyes flickered between suspicion and doubt, searching your face for a lie—but finding only raw truth.

Slowly, he pulled his hand back, like letting go of a fragile thread he wasn’t ready to lose but couldn’t hold any longer. He sank down to sit on the floor.

His voice was rough, low, edged with frustration—and something almost like pain.

“Why should I believe you?”

You sat down beside him, voice steady. “I don’t know if you should, Toji. But it’s the truth.”

“After everything I’ve done? After all the blood I spilled, thinking I was stopping a threat?”

His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. “They lied to me. Used me like a damn tool.”

His chest heaved, eyes wild yet searching yours—as if he wanted to hate you, but couldn’t quite.

“This whole time, I was killing for a lie.” His voice cracked with bitterness and confusion. “And you… you’re the one keeping that demon locked away?”

Toji’s anger slowly dissolved into exhaustion. His body slumped against the rough bark of the tree, eyes closing briefly like he could shut out the weight of the truth you’d just laid bare. The silence between you stretched — heavy, but no longer hollow.

Carefully, you crawled closer, your fingers slipping into his hair. You brushed through the dark strands gently, a quiet gesture meant to soothe the tension still coiled in both your chests.

He tensed at first, instinctual, then let out a ragged breath and leaned into your touch. His eyes cracked open, just enough to find yours. There was a storm behind them — confusion, pain, rage — but beneath all that, something softer flickered. Something like trust.

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore.” You whispered, voice low but steady. “We’ll find the bastards who set you up… gut them for trying to use you.”

His breath hitched.

And for the first time, the sharp edge of him dulled. Toji let himself fall against you, his arms coming around your waist — hesitant at first, then tighter. Desperate.

You held him just as fiercely, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. The world beyond this moment — the lies, the blood, the threat of Sukuna — it all slipped away. Here, there was only the warmth of his skin, the thundering of your heart, and the fragile hush of survival.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m feeling.” He muttered, voice rough and muffled against your skin.

You smiled faintly, your lips brushing his collarbone. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

And in the quiet, with his breath on your neck and your heart in his hands, something shifted. Not a declaration. Not safety. But something real.

A fragile promise. A tentative beginning.

The night had thinned into silence, and the trees no longer felt like they were holding their breath. Toji sat beside you, one knee bent, head tipped back against the bark, as if trying to breathe in something other than blood and regret.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

For the first time in years, maybe centuries, you weren’t holding the seal alone.

And Toji wasn’t just a weapon anymore.

The air grew lighter by degrees. You could feel it in your skin. In your bones.

The sun was coming.

You turned your face to the east, eyes scanning the silver horizon.

Then you felt it.

His hand—rough, warm—closing around yours.

You looked over, and Toji was already on his feet, hair tousled, eyes still dark but steadier now. Not soft. But clearer.

“Sun’s almost up.” He muttered. “We should go.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Go where?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just offered you his hand again.

And when you hesitated—just a breath, just a beat—he gave you a look. One that said this isn’t over, but I’m not walking away from you.

“You were the one saying you’d help me cut those pricks open, weren’t you?” He said, a real smile tugging at his lips — not smug, not cruel. Just… honest. “Let’s go home.”

You couldn’t say what made you believe it — that this time, home might actually be real.

But you took his hand.

And as your fingers closed around his, stained with blood and forgiveness, you knew: Whatever came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

[miajooz]

hello my loves! i’d like to talk about something important going on in america because it’s not okay AT ALL. as of recently, ICE (immigration and customs enforcement) has been raiding LA in a horrific way. children are being taken, families are being separated, friends are disappearing, it’s absolutely fucking disgusting what is happening. there’s no defense for this at all, arresting people without a warrant IS AGAINST THE LAW. IT IS UNCONSTITUTIONAL. this is the exact thing kamala and the harris administration warned us about, i am ashamed of all the people in my life who have voted for this sick, inhumane treatment being inflicted upon fellow people in this country. In no way is such lack of empathy and coldness against HUMAN BEINGS okay. the children, the families, it’s SICK.

recently, ICE has been targeting hard working families and innocent people. trump claims to be targeting violent criminals which is BULLSHIT. was that pregnant woman a violent criminal? what about the children being separated from their families? what about the hard working immigrants who literally helped america be what it is in the first place. if you open a history book or did research you would know that. you can’t claim to be getting rid of violent criminals WHEN YOU ARE A FELON. TRUMP WASNT PROVEN INNOCENT, HE IS A CONVICTED FELON. how can you support this shit but vote for a criminal to run our country? YOU CANNOT BE ILLEGAL ON STOLEN LAND. EVERYONE IN AMERICA IS AN IMMIGRANT BESIDES THE NATIVES. this country was stolen, and anyone who says otherwise is ignorant.

ICE has been raiding and sent to places that are densely populated with immigrants, JUST TO ARREST THEM. rounding people up who have legal documents, who are US citizens, who were born here. rounding people up because of the color of their skin is inhumane and absolutely repulsive. criminals aren’t being targeted, and have you seen the prison in el salvador? it’s HORRIFIC.

in LA, there have been a lot of protests, most of which were peaceful. california’s OWN officers were went to keep things peaceful which was partly successful. protesting is a first amendment right, but the freedom of speech has been violated ever since trump has went into office. tear gas, rubber bullets, flash bang grenades, all of that have been used on protesters. and without consulting any california law enforcement members, trump deployed 2000 state national guard members to the streets of LA. that is also ILLEGAL. THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE. and to the troops who were deployed, YOU SWORE AN OATH TO SERVE THE COUNTRY AND PEOPLE AND PROTECT THE CONSTITUTION. NOT A FACIST FELON WHO IS CAUSING A CONSTITUTIONAL CRISIS. deploying troops without the consent of the state is federal aggression, and shouldn’t be tolerated. you guys are bitching about immigrants and saying they’re violent criminals? look at all the shit trump is doing! many veterans are absolutely devastated and it’s so sad to see. sending troops to attack american citizens is absolutely disgusting. this is the most obvious violation of the first amendment.

america’s democracy is at risk. donald trump doesn’t want a constitution, he’s a man child who bitches and uses violence when people don’t agree with him or oppose him. social media is being censored, he is targeting education, he is filtering everything—he literally DEFUNDED THE BOARD OF EDUCATION. education is the most dangerous weapon against dictators, so that checks out. if this isn’t a start to a dictatorship i don’t know what is, it’s here. these 4 years could be absolutely horrific, not to mention how he wants to ignore the precedent and “run again.” WHO WANTS THAT?

to all the people who have been affected by this, i am so, so sorry. it is repulsive what is happening, and i am sending love to all the families and individuals who have been hurt. to all the protesters who have been hurt, and to everyone this country has literally failed. to the women being denied life saving treatment in emergency rooms, to the women in my state who can’t get an abortion, it’s just horrific. to all the people who have been hurt during protests in LA, you deserve to be recognized. thank you for being a voice, you are valid and you are amazing and you deserve to be heard.

despite all of this, DO NOT STAY SILENT. that’s what he wants, he doesn’t want opposers. you are free to speak, that is the first amendment and cannot be violated. talk about it, don’t be scared to talk about it. the people are what makes a country, we shouldn’t be separated and on the brink of a civil war. it’s not right, why are we looking at people in such a selfish, ignorant way? this isn’t about being red or blue, this is our DEMOCRACY and the fact we are in a human rights crisis. this is about the fact that people are scared, communities are traumatized. people should be joining together and helping each other, do not normalize apathy. people are meant to love and join together, nobody should have this kind of power and influence on human lives in such a horrible way.

we are all people, you are all valid people. keep protesting, keep using your voice because it is POWERFUL. i love you all so unbelievably much, please, please don’t be ignorant.

Speech from Governor Newsom this addresses california!

[syluslvrgirl]

lads men as professors

content: fluff, suggestive, think of the lads men as young professors!! notes: thank you to @sylusqt for inspiring this, particularly for professor caleb xia’s bit!! this is my first time writing anything for xavier and rafayel so please let me know if it’s alright! plus this was all word vomit so it's semi proof-read T-T i hope everyone enjoys ;) <333

PROFESSOR XAVIER SHEN

teaches astronomy with a special interest in stellar astronomy; absolutely enamoured about stars and will go on some beautifully voiced lectures about their life cycle, evolution and so much more!

not only that but the way he taught left you wanting to excel. he was lax but definitely worked hard on his lectures and carried an air of royalty around him. he came to class often wearing a white or cream button up paired with grey slacks and always carried the cutest star charm around his bag!!

however professor shen is definitely known for always sleeping before class. the poor man is usually buried under paperwork on his desks as the students roll in, wondering whose turn it is this time to wake him up.

this time you figure you might as well do it (not because you want to take a closer look at him at all!) and as you lean down to tap his shoulder, he stirs and turns his face in your direction, eyes slowly opening and you internally feel your heart skip a beat, because this man was gorgeous despite having been just woke up.

you let out a little 'sorry professor, it's nearly class time', before scurrying to your seat in the lecture hall, too stunned to say anything else and too taken aback by the way his sparkling blue eyes had bore into yours. you swear it’s just a tiny little crush but the way his eyes continue to find yours during his lecture make you crumble in the best way possible on the inside.

and then there was that other occasion, a small class trip to the local observatory where you had to learn how to find different constellations in the night sky. you were struggling with figuring out where to look, frustrated with your lack of constellations found until professor shen came by offering you help.

he adjusts your telescope before motioning for you to have a look inside, and there you see the beautiful cygnus staring right back at you. as you talking about how stunning it is, his hands seem a little too close to yours and so does his face. before you can say anything he's gone off to help another student, leaving you with the lingering feeling of his hand that was guiding yours to hold the telescope.

when your back in class again after that incident, you CANNOT tell what that man was thinking. the way he’s looking at you seems normal and it’s like he’s pretending that nothing happened, but you definitely felt something there! determined to get to the bottom of this case, you email him to see him during his office hours….

PROFESSOR RAFAYEL QIN

who teaches fine arts and has a great interest in fine arts history, is ALWAYS going on rants about the greats, his favourite artists and who he thinks are the biggest flops of the centuries! he has some great takes and a majority of the time everyone is agreeing with him.

not to mention he himself has so much artwork that he’s produced, making him semi-famous on campus, whenever he holds an exhibition he’ll give free tickets to his class. however none of you can tell whether he’s joking or not when he says he’ll mark attendance at the exhibition and that he'll fail anyone who doesn't come....

has a great relationship with his students but is still quite stern, very critical of any artwork or essays you submit, this man does not hold back only because he wants the best for everyone and is determined to be the birthing ground for the artists of your century.

when he reviews your first piece of artwork you are absolutely terrified about hearing his critique, but when he gives you a “this one is amazing y/n, i can’t wait to see your hands produce more works of art” you almost cry of joy. a compliment from THE PROFESSOR QI, you’d treasure that until the day you die. you even write it down in your calendar as a way to commemorate it.

determined to get another compliment from him, you work day and night, often staying late in the art rooms just to adjust your sculpture, add a few more tweaks to your painting or typing up another essay on the reproduction of art or how art can be involved within political movements. you're normally coming home at late hours or sometimes turning up to his class with paint on your clothes!

and one night you stay back only to bump into…professor qi! he's there working on his latest piece and you can't help but stare in awe and marvel as he paints the strokes on the large canvas, that almost covers the whole wall of the room from left to right and top to bottom. it's almost like he's dancing with the canvas, the way he swirls the paintbrush about and moves from section to section.

he notices your presence and thus begins a long few nights of commenting on your work whilst you listen to him tell tales of his many exhibitions, how he gets his inspiration and much much more. you can't tell whether you're feelings for this man are blossoming or not, but something in you tells you this is much more than just admiration....

PROFESSOR ZAYNE LI

not only is he a renowned professor who has written several top notch research papers on the cardiovascular system and contributed to other medical research, but he himself has a reputation at your medical school as one of the youngest professors holding a doctorate title.

this not only makes him a tad intimidating because of his constant rbf but also a little awe-inspiring. like hello this man started young and even took half the time to gain a doctorate than a lot of other doctors have done?? he's either insane or super dedicated to his work, or even both. not to mention doctor/professor li is quite a legend at your medical school.

at first when you were in his class you WERE SCARED. you had barely scrapped by with your grades in college but had managed to successfully pass your exams in order to enter into akso medical school. you knew professor li was not only a harsh marker but he would only pass the best of the best, with many failing his classes and having to retake them.

determined to not fall behind you worked your ass off, not only on your essay assignments but on your practical work as well. studying day and night even pulling all nighters at some point. you excelled at your work even receiving a small smile from professor li as you rattle on in your presentation about the need for proper medical research on women experiencing different heart attack symptoms to men.

but those all nighters did come with a cost, not only was your energy draining but a lot of the times it was hard to stay awake in class despite the fact that you were downing at least two cups of coffee before heading in. several times you've dozed off within professor li's class, not because his voice is boring, moreso his voice had a calming effect on you.

oftentimes, professor li would end up having to wake you up, slightly tapping on your shoulders, murmuring your name. he would give you a little warning that "you should try your best in making sure you get enough sleep, because how are you going to save lives if you can’t take care of yourself." (what a gentleman!!)

it gets to a point where he does let you sleep a little longer after each class, not only because he knows you pour your heart and soul into his class and your work but because he worries a little about your lack of sleep and your wellbeing.

so when you wake up and it is almost dark outside the room you’re situated in, you scramble to grab your things, cussing at yourself for missing yet another class of professor li's. it's not until you look up that you notice he's also still in class, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

as you're trying to motion him awake, whispering his name, he wakes up and his hazel eyes behind his glasses just seem a little more handsome than you expected them to be. you apologise for falling asleep but professor li just nods. instead he asks "how about you help me with some research i've been doing on heart attack symptoms in women? i could use another expert on the case," and you can't help but feel your heart flutter just a bit at the grand opportunity he's offered you!

PROFESSOR SYLUS QIN

head professor of the international business course and also the most ruthless, mean and scariest professor on campus. not because of his killer looks and glare but because he absolutely loves to put his students through torture. you had heard the many horror stories and you were begging to anyone out there to let you survive the wrath of professor qin.

going into his class you were scared out of your wits and you really wanted to drop his class for something else, but unfortunately his class was a requirement for your course. you were determined to do your best and hopefully end up as top of the class. you had a good record with your grades and you weren't going to let that get ruined just because of one class!

it was just your luck that you ended up coming in late on your first class with him and so began professor qin's torment on little old you. at first it was making you answer questions in front of class, correcting your every little mistake with a smirk riddled on his lips as he pushed his glasses up on his hot evil face.

then it inflicted onto your grades, first it was getting a 65% on your report about how neoliberalism puts a dent on the international market and trade relations, which fair enough you hadn’t really put much work into that one. then on one of your major assignments there's big fat crosses everywhere and you can't tell if you're actually that bad or he just absolutely hates your guts!

you two are definitely the type to argue over things in class, not only is professor qin a big nerd, but you consider yourself an even bigger nerd who's read through ALL the readings including the optional extra reading material. so when he gives a lecture on a theory that you think differently about, you're raising your hand faster than you can say 'professor qin'.

it gets to the point where everyone else is betting in class on who would be winning the argument next. so far its been a tie between the two of you but everyone's hoping you end up on top because it's finally time for an underdog to defeat the big dog professor qin!

fast forward to another day in class and to everybody's surprise (not really, everyone's used to it now), you and professor qin are at it again!! but this time you're fuming and furious, only because you've had a bad couple of days....professor qin isn't making it any easier especially with his intellectually, lowkey sexy (but you won't admit it) sneering remarks. maybe it's your tired fuming brain talking but it doesn't take long until the words "you'd be hotter if you kept your mouth closed!" leave your mouth and you're absolutely flustered, slinking back down into your seat wishing the ground would swallow you up.

this only earns you a chuckle from professor qin who asks that you refrain from such comments in class, making you hid your face within you hands. you mumble a “sorry professor qin” before you try and pretend as though you hadn’t made the most embarrassing comment ever to your professor. no one was going to ever let you live this down and apparently that included professor qin, who had slipped you a note in your returned test to ‘see him in his office outside of his office hours’…

PROFESSOR CALEB XIA

not only is professor xia an amazing aerospace engineer professor, but he is super chill and friendly with his students. class is always welcoming, he's cracking a few jokes to ease tensions during exams and he's always prepping something super cool for each class to make learning fun!

he's got a boyish charm to him that has a lot of the girls swooning!! also probably has a little fanclub running for him too where all the people in there are trying to get at least one photo of him in his farspace fleet uniform. everyone knows he's been in the farspace fleet but he has yet to show anyone a photo or pull up to class in his actual uniform. (please professor xia, just spare the club one photo!!!)

as an aeroplane lover, you loved being in professor xia's class. not only because his way of teaching was so captivating but it was clear he loved doing his job and that made you enjoy the class even more. it did help a little that he was easy on the eyes. who wouldn't want a hot professor talking to you about the aerodynamics of the f-22 raptor fighter jet. and his hotness definitely helped you concentrate just a little better too!

however like many college students, you were broke and so the only way you were able to salvage yourself any bit of money was through your writing. writing was only a hobby for you but after submitting a simple but meaningful short story into a small writing contest, you soon found yourself under a publishing company with your very own editor and agent. at first you meddled in writing fantasy, a little poetry and some young adult work but your best-received work yet was, your erotica.

you were hesitant to write erotic novels. who in the world was going to read this?? however after seeing how well your first erotic novel did, you thought that it wouldn’t be too bad to give it a try. plus it paid the bills very well and it helped that you were writing it under a pen name so that your real identity wouldn’t be exposed. unfortunately with both college and writing, that meant that you were constantly hit with deadlines.

so one night, with an upcoming deadline for a draft of your latest erotic novel and an essay for professor xia’s class due, you were feeling hounded as you frantically worked on the both of them. you're making sure you've set up for the absolute hottest, thirstiest sex to end your novel, and that your essay is perfectly written in academic language and referenced. finally, at the early hours of 5am, you submit your essay and your draft novel despite barely being able to keep your eyes open.

crashing into bed, you’re happy and content after finishing both. until you wake up receiving a call from your editor wondering why on earth you’ve submitted to them an essay about how to effectively ensure wingspan of an aeroplane does not impact on its flight. you’re scrambling out of bed, checking your emails and an email from professor xia sits right at the top of your inbox. in said email, professor xia says he’d like to see you after class regarding the work you’ve submitted and that he’ll let it slide just this once if you let him correct a few things in your ending scene….

[raiseyoursong]

Um.

WHAT THE.

I'm not even Jewish and I'm completely baffled why anyone would do this.

HEY I JUST HAD AN INTERESTING THOUGHT. WHAT IF WE DIDN’T.

[mattsangelbaby]

⋆.˚✮ taste . . matt sturn.

𝜗᭪ warnings ! smut, oral (fem. receiving), etc.

in which . . matt can’t help but be needy in wanting your taste on his tongue.

SHORT N’ SWEET writing marathon . . fic #1

“baby, please,” matt mumbles between hot, opened mouth kisses. “just a taste. that’s all i need, please.”

you softly sigh into his mouth — your wet muscle tangling with his. you two were currently tangled up in matt’s sheets, hot sweaty bodies moving against one another. matt the second you made it into his room practically was on his knees begging to taste you. it’s not that you didn’t want it — you didn’t want anything more.

one slight problem was both of his brothers were home. normally, it wouldn’t be a problem as you both would just choose to wait until they weren’t present. but, matt physically can’t take it any longer.

the need to taste you on his sweet tongue, the need to feel your plush thighs wrapped around his head while you squirm and whine all just from his mouth was something he couldn’t wait for anymore. “sweetheart, please.” matt begs from ontop of you, his mouth making it lower and lower down your body.

“y’just gotta keep quiet, hm?” you softly whimper as he leaves a soft kiss right ontop of the waistband to your panties. you had to admit — you were soaked. you yourself have been feeling needy all day, but shut it down knowing chris and nick were here. but now? who cares. “matt— please.”

matt lets out a shaky breath at your words, before a slight smirk appears onto his face. “knew my girl would give in eventually,” his fingers hook onto the sides of your underwear, slowly lowering them down your body. “gonna be a good girl, yeah?”

you nod as your hands make their way to his brown locks. matt lets out a light groan as he begins leaving feather-light kisses on your inner thighs. close but not close enough. “please— baby, please.” matt’s hands wrap around your thighs, bringing them to wrap around his head.

matt leaves the tinest, feather-light kiss right on your clit — your hips bucking at the slight action. “i gotchu’ sweet girl. i got you,” he mumbles in that tone that never fails to make your head spin before licking a long stripe up your slick folds.

you whimpered in response, your hands tightening in his hair as he groans against you, spreading your thighs apart more to get even deeper, practically suffocating himself in your pussy. “y’taste so good baby, s’good.”

matt continues to work his tongue against you — flicking his tongue up and down your slick folds, devouring you like he’s been starved for days. you let out a loud moan as matt never stops — even when you begin to arch into his mouth, even when you begin to shake and squirm just like how he wanted you.

he tilts his head against you to get even deeper, his tongue moving in circular motions along your pussy, your sweet taste nothing less than absolute heaven. “god sweetheart, could stay here all day,” matt whines against you, his nose moving and bumping your clit, “best thing i’ve ever tasted.” and he meant that.

you gasp, your hands pushing his head even deeper into you. the pressure in your lower tummy only kept growing, knowing you were getting close. “close — please baby,” you whine with your head thrown back against his pillow, “need t’cum.”

his pace never falting, only groans against you as he begins to only work his mouth faster against you — fucking you relentlessly with his tongue. with a final shaky moan you release all over matt’s tongue, coating his lower chin and lips with nothing but a smirk on his face.

his tongue begins lapping around your folds, cleaning up the rest of your arosual, leaving a gentle kiss to your clit — before beginning to bury himself back into your sweet pussy.

“c’mon, baby. gimmie another one, know you can.”

© mattsangelbaby

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ·˚ ༘ ꒱ first fic for this marathon and i am so unbelievably excited !! i hope you all enjoyed this one <3

ꪆৎ˚ marathon concept and all other credits go to @delilahsturniolo :)

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

so glad to see you’ve been doing well!! SO SO SO excited for the return of the lando series ive missed it dearly

(6) Day Off - Lando Norris

<word count - 7221>

Things were finally back to normal, and Lando didn’t feel like anything could stop him. Even if you weren’t together in school at all, he didn’t care in the slightest. His routine was now: get home from school, have a quick shower, really quickly eat tea with his family and go upstairs to phone you. 

He did that every single day, without fail. You always teased him about it, often remarking that it was like he couldn’t relax if he didn’t hear your voice. He hated to admit that you were right, but he always just laughed it off and said ‘you wish’. 

Things at school had also been cooling off. No one had said anything to Lando about you, and no one had said anything to you about Lando. You and Lilly still hated each other with a burning passion, but she had stopped with the snide remarks. You still received your fair share of dirty looks, however. 

After a lot of begging, you had let Lando sit back next to you in maths again. Miss Kennedy was surprised, and was waiting for Lando to be sent to the back row again with a sulk, but the day never came.

Today was a Wednesday, and you were waiting at your desk for Lando’s phone call. You kept replaying your little scene in the milk aisle, and your heart always warmed at the thought of Lando’s arms around you.

You didn’t feel like you deserved for him to have taken you back so quickly and on multiple occasions, but you wouldn't complain in the slightest. Now that you had him, you were keeping him around for the long haul.

You had started to make work on your maths homework, getting a few questions done before your phone buzzed on your desk. “Hey,” you greeted, picking up the call and placing your phone back down on the wood top of your desk.

“Heya, I swear if you’re doing homework I am coming to your house and forcing you to have a break.” he replied, knowing that you were doing homework every time he spoke to you over the phone.

“One of us has to maintain our perfect reputation, Lando.” you mused, and you could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“You’re perfect all the damn time, can’t you let loose and have some fun just this once?” he whined, but he knew that you wouldn’t listen to his pleas. Not even Lando could stop you from doing the homework that you needed to do as soon as you could get it done.

“Oh yeah? And what are you doing right now, Norris?” you asked.

“As a matter of fact, my dad has just let me know that he has glued together your flashcard holder and it is drying in the garage,” he smugly explained, and you couldn’t suppress the smile that grew on your face as he spoke. 

Since you had made up, Lando had taken it upon himself to finish your flashcard holder that you had tried to make in that fateful DT lesson. At the thought of it, your fingers on your left hand flexed, the skin that made up the scars across the digits still taut. 

You had tried to protest to Lando that he didn’t have to finish it and that you were perfectly capable, but he had put his foot down and shown how stubborn he could be. Lando brought all of the pieces home that he had painted, and he and his dad had put on all the bells and whistles. 

There was a closing lid with a clasp, 11 perfectly sized dividers, a drawer at the base where you could store a few pens and pencils, plus a couple other bits and bobs that the duo had come up with. Lando had been bigging it up for the few days that he had been working on it, and you trusted him fully.

“Your dad is busy, Lando. I don’t want him to feel like he has to make it for me…” you trailed off, thinking about all of the work that they were doing for you while you just got a good grade and a useful product. 

“He doesn’t have to. He does it because I ask him to and we do it together. And I do it because I want to do it for you and I know that you’re absolutely hopeless in the workshop. I am never letting you near a saw again if I’m not watching,” he sternly said, and he couldn’t hide the hint of protectiveness that had crept into his voice. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” you said, your statement instantly met with a scoff from Lando. 

“Wasn’t that bad? You nearly chopped your fingers off and you gave me a heart attack!” he exclaimed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling at him. 

“God, you’re dramatic,” you laughed. 

“Dramatic? I’m dramatic?! Yeah, well, we’ll see who’s being dramatic when I nearly chop my fingers and you have to drag my ass over to the nurse’s office and you’re terrified that I’m going to pass out and hurt myself even more and that you won’t be able to catch me in time and- you get the point.” he cut off his ramble, not wanting to reveal the true depths of the fears he had when you had sliced your fingers. 

In his head, all the way to the nurse’s office, he was planning what he would do if you did pass out. He’d have to catch you so you wouldn’t hit your head, and he’d probably have to lie you down on the floor and go find a teacher. 

But, he wouldn’t want to leave you alone just in case you woke up and he wasn’t back to comfort you, so he assessed where the nearest staff personnel was as you walked through each corridor. He was also perfectly prepared to take his blazer off and use it as a pillow for you if it came to it.

Lando did tend to be observant, but he was scrutinising your every move on the short work to the medical room. He had never seen someone he cared about so much be in so much pain, and it scared him. 

All he wanted was to hold you close and wrap you in bubble wrap so that there was nothing that could hurt you ever again. It hurt just as much when he had to leave you by yourself with the nurse. He remembered what the fresh cuts on your fingers looked like, and he hadn’t had a chance to look at the scars that the incident had left on your hand.  

“Yeah, I guess it was pretty scary, hey?” you acquiesced, not wanting him to think about it anymore. 

“You’re damn right it was.” he agreed, calming down from his little outburst. The two of you talked for the rest of the night, as you always did, and Lando found it especially funny when your mum had come into the room and told you that it was time to go to bed and you had to hang up. 

He’d get to talk to you tomorrow, so he wasn’t overly concerned about saying goodbye for now. Yet, as the next day rolled around, Lando couldn’t spot you in the school halls. You weren’t by your locker in the morning, you weren’t in the library at your breaks or lunch, you weren’t in maths with him at the end of the day. 

You just weren’t there. 

You were never not there, never. You always showed up to school on time and he had never known you to take a day off, even before you had started talking. He had sent you a few texts, asking where you were and if you were alright, but he hadn’t received a response. 

Just as he got in his mum’s car, his phone pinged with a text. All he could do is hope that it was you, and his prayers were answered. You had responded and said that you had thrown up the night before and thought it would be best to rest for the day since you still weren’t feeling very well.

Lando’s first instinct was to ask if you needed anything, but there was another burning question at the forefront of his mind. He asked if there was anyone taking care of you for the day, since he knew your parents were gone for work early and back pretty late. From his knowledge, they would only be back at around seven, which was nearly four hours away from the current time. 

Your grandma had been over for a bit at lunchtime to make you food and ensure that you were resting, but that wasn’t enough to pacify Lando. Someone had been taking care of you for an hour, two hours max, and you had been left to deal with your own illness all day without someone to help you.

Without thinking, Lando offered to come over for a few hours. He just wanted to comfort you in your time of need, as any good friend would do. Naturally. 

You weren’t keen on accepting the offer, since you didn’t want to give him whatever bug or virus you had contracted. The thought of having Lando over was intriguing, though. It would be nice to laugh with him, or have him sit with you while you watched TV…

And that was the exact reason you finally sent through the text to tell him that he was allowed to come over to yours. Lando was stunned when he saw you approve of his request. He was actually going to get to spend some time with you. Real, quality time without anyone else there.

Initially, his mum was not happy with the idea at all. It was expected, since letting a teenage boy go over to the house of the girl he likes all by himself with no parental supervision was traditionally a recipe for disaster. Hormones were running rampant, and it wasn’t far-fetched to assume what might happen. 

His dad had had the same thought, trying to convince Lando to take the condoms that he got from sex ed class with him while his mum wasn’t listening. It was safe to say that he had never been more mortified at anything his dad had ever said to him. 

He wouldn’t do that with you, not yet anyway. Had he thought about it? That was a completely different story, but that was a topic for a whole different day nonetheless, and he certainly didn’t think about that right now. It would have caused a whole world of problems. 

But, after plenty of begging and promising to be on his best behaviour, Lando’s mum relented. She said she needed to see you first to check that you were actually sick and not just using it as an excuse for him to come over, but she trusted the two of you.

Lando had also texted through to tell you not to make yourself dinner, since Lando’s mum had made extra food for him to bring over for you. A hearty beef stew, just what a sick person would need to warm their soul.

Him and his mum left their house as soon as he had gotten changed, and she had finished boxing up the stew that had been slow cooking all day. They also made a snack stop off on the way, Lando picking out some of your favourite chocolates and sweets that he knew you liked. 

On the more practical side of things, his mum forced him to take with him a box of paracetamols, ibuprofen and anti-nausea tablets. He was sure that you would already have those in the house, but she was right when she said it was the thought that counts. 

With his snacks and medicine stashed in his backpack, Lando got out of the car and walked up the path to our front door. His mum was watching with her eagle eyes from the car, ready to suss out a lie from a mile away.

As you opened the door, it was very clear that you were telling the truth. You were sick. You were wrapped in the biggest hoodie she thought she had ever seen, your face white as a ghost. Your eyes appeared a bit puffy from a distance, and it looked like you were holding tissues in your hand with one arm crossed over your stomach.

She was happy that you wouldn’t be up for anything with Lando anyway, even if it was meant to be that type of meeting, so she put the car into drive and headed home. 

Lando stood in front of the door for a second. He just let himself drink in the sight of you, clearly sick and uncomfortable. Somehow, though, you were still gorgeous as ever to him. You being ill hadn’t deterred him in the slightest. If anything, he wanted to be near you more so that he could take care of you like he knew you deserved.

“Come on in. Sorry, the place isn’t very tidy, I would’ve cleaned but I couldn’t really be arsed.” you said, standing aside to let him through the door. Even when you were sick, you still had that sass that he found so endearing. Your voice was deeper, more gravelly from throwing up. It wasn’t bad sounding, not by any means. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t care about that. I just care how you’re doing.” he softly smiled, following you through to the living room. Instantly, he spotted your safe haven for the day. In the corner of the L-shaped settee, pillows were expertly set up for you to be as comfortable as possible, as well as a blanket tossed to the side that probably ended up there when you had gotten up to answer the door.

You sat back down in your spot, Lando sitting next to you. He didn’t sit too close, not wanting to seem overbearing. Even if he knew that you would fit perfectly if you were snuggled into his side. 

“Do you want food now or would you rather wait a bit?” he asked, watching your reactions closely. He knew that you probably weren’t in the mood for eating right now, since there was no doubt that you were feeling nauseous. 

“Whenever you want is good, I don’t really mind,” you said, glad that Lando was going to make food for you. Cooking was not at the top of your list of activities you wanted to do.

“I also brought snacks, but I’m not sure if you really want those,” he chuckled, glancing over at his bag where your favourite chocolate was. “Do you want me to get you anything? A drink, another blanket, medicine for anything?” he offered, ready to spring into action if you needed anything.

“Just water, please. The glasses are in the kitchen to the top left of the sink. And you can get whatever you want out of the fridge or anything, you’ve got free reign.” you told him, and Lando was straight off the couch and straight into the kitchen.

He did as you asked, getting two glasses out of the aforementioned cupboard and filling them with tap water. “Do you want ice?” Lando called to you, earning a hoarse ‘yes please’ as a reply. You thought it would do good for your sore throat.

He found the ice in a drawer in the freezer, popping a few cubes into each glass with a plink. “Here,” he smiled, handing you the glass. You gave him a small smile as a thank you. Lando sat back down on the couch beside you, fully content with the silence that had settled between you. 

He couldn’t stand how pale you looked, how much he wanted to make you feel better. He felt completely useless. All he could do was sit there and try to help you to the best of his ability, but his attempts felt futile. “Are you sure there’s nothing-” Lando started, but was cut off when you rested your head on his shoulder. 

You didn’t know what had come over you, but you needed the comfort and his shoulder was the perfect height for your neck to be comfortable. You also didn’t stop yourself from snuggling into his side. He was warm, and he was a very good thing to cuddle up to, in your opinion. 

After a few moments, Lando felt less frigid with you. He was tense to start off with, the sudden affectionate gesture throwing him off guard somewhat. But, he quickly settled into it. He relaxed more, and he even let himself sling a comfortable arm over your shoulder. 

“Are you too warm?” Lando quietly asked, bringing a hand up to your forehead as he felt the heat of your body through your clothes. You were hotter than you usually would have been, but you didn’t have a high fever.

“Just a little, but it’ll go,” you told him, making no effort to move from the position you were in. You were extremely comfortable with your makeshift human pillow. Both of you sat there for  a while, and Lando could feel himself getting hungry.

He didn’t want to push you to have dinner, since he didn’t want to move you away from his side. This had been all he had wanted with you for ages, even if he was sure that it was just in a completely platonic, friendly way. 

“Hungry?” you broke the silence after hearing his stomach rumble. If you were looking at him, you would have seen the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Yeah, but we can eat whenever you want to,” he reassured, not wanting to rush you. He would do everything on your terms, since you were the sick one and you were the one he was meant to be taking care of.

“No, dinner sounds good right about now. What did you say your mum made?” you asked, resting your chin on his shoulder so that you could look at him properly. He turned to look at you, and he was barely centimetres away from you. 

He could notice every freckle on your skin, every last rivet on your face, each tiny speck of colour in your eyes. He just wanted to lean in and steal a kiss, but he knew he’d be pushing his luck. But damn did he want to try.

“Beef stew. She also made dumplings but you don’t have to have those if you don’t want,” he told you.

“But the dumplings are the best bit,” you chuckled, getting up and starting to walk to the kitchen.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asked, getting up as well and approaching you. In his eyes, you were a fragile china doll who he just wanted to love and swaddle and protect. He already missed the warmth of you by his side, but he was sure he’d be back, cuddling up with you. 

“I was going to do the food?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No, you’re not doing the food. I will. Go sit,” he said. You couldn’t even protest when he put a hand on the small of your back and gently pushed you back towards the couch. “Please, I’m here to help you, not make you do all the work yourself. That’s not fair. And, the food is in my bag so you won’t know where it is,” he told you, and you collapsed back into the cushions.

Lando smiled to himself, going to his backpack and producing the two containers of stew that he had packed. “Where are the plates?” he called to you as he popped them both in the microwave to warm up.

“Cupboard to the left of the fridge,” you shouted back. Well, it wasn’t really a shout. It was an attempt at one, the soreness of your throat not helping with your projection. 

Lando found the plates, scooping out the stew and dumplings out in even proportions. He wasn’t wanting to overface you, but he also didn’t want to give you a tiny amount that it seemed patronising.

He found the knives and forks himself, placing them on the plates and carrying them through. “Are we eating on the couch or do we have to eat at the table?” he asked.

“Normally we’d have to eat at the table, but I really don’t want to. As long as we don’t spill, it’s fine,” you said, shuffling closer to the arm of the chair so that you could balance your plate on it. 

“OK,” he nodded, putting your plate down next to you as he sat beside you, pulling the coffee table closer so that he could put his plate on there. “Eat whatever you want, I get that you’re probably not hungry,” he reassured, not wanting you to feel any pressure.

“Thank you, tell your mum that it’s absolutely delicious,” you said after scooping a forkful of stew and dumplings into your mouth. It was exactly what your body needed. Simple on the flavour, but warming to the soul. 

“It’s a favourite of mine,” he smiled, glad you like his mum’s cooking. It was nice to be able to share one of his favourite family dishes with you, especially in a setting so precious as your own home. 

The two of you ate in relative silence apart from a few passing comments as the time went by. You had the TV on quietly in the background, but neither of you were really watching it. Lando leant back on the couch when he was done, his plate fully cleared.

You, on the other hand, had left about a quarter of your food. Lando didn’t take it to heart, since he was sure that nausea wasn’t making eating the most pleasant experience for you. He watched as you put your knife and fork to the side fully before assuming you were finished.

“Again, tell your mum that that is absolutely delicious. I would have finished it on a normal day,” you smiled, and he appreciated the consolation that you would’ve eaten it. 

“I’ll go and do the dishes,” he said, picking up both of your plates. If only his mum could see him now. Doing the dishes. He never offered to do the dishes at home, him and his siblings working on a rota throughout the week. So to see him doing it voluntarily, she would have been proud of him. 

“You can just put them in the dishwasher. Under the microwave,” you told him, and he found the larger drawer and opened the dishwasher. He slotted the plates in, before closing the machine back up and going back to sit with you. 

“Do you want dessert or would you rather give it a miss?” he asked, bringing his backpack over to where he was sitting with you and rooting through the crinkly packets of sweets and bars of chocolate. He dumped them all out on the table, and you couldn’t help but smile. He had brought all of your favourites.

“Ugh, I wish I could but I really don’t think it would be the most sensible idea for my stomach…” you said, feeling bad that you wouldn’t even be able to eat the stuff he had brought for you, and so thoughtfully as well.

“It’s OK, I’ll leave them here and you can have them when you’re feeling better,” he said, slinging an arm back around your shoulders. He was glad to have made the first move this time, and you snuggled into his side yet again. 

He had never been so comfortable with someone, never been so content. This was what he thought a relationship was meant to be. A real relationship. Cuddles, conversations and taking care of each other. 

Lando pulled the blanket from the back of the couch over your shoulders, making sure you were tucked in and cozy. Without thinking, like many things he did when he was around you, he planted a quick but soft kiss on the top of your head. He hoped you hadn’t noticed, but the way you tensed in his arms told him the opposite.

“Tell me if you get too warm, OK?” he mumbled, trying to distract from the sudden gesture of affection. In truth, he wanted to do it again. 

“I will,” you confirmed, relaxing in his embrace again. Your mind was racing though. Lando. Kissed you. Lando had just kissed you. You’d wanted him for so long and then he had just kissed you. Yes, it was only on the top of your head, but it was a kiss nonetheless. 

Both of you tried to focus on the TV rather than the storm of feelings that was swirling inside the both of you, unsure of what to do next. Ignoring it seemed like the least awkward, but tackling it head on seemed like the mature option. And, it would probably have a better outcome.

But, you felt the feeling of nausea creeping up on you. The one that had become awfully familiar over the last couple of days. Lando felt you tense up again, unsure of what was wrong. Before he had the chance to ask, however, you were on your feet and striding towards the bathroom. 

As he heard you start to wretch, it felt like his heart was breaking. He couldn’t stop himself as he followed you in, kneeling down your hunched over form. “It’s OK, you’re OK, let it all out…” he soothed, reiterating the words that his mum used to say to him when he was sick. 

His hand found a place on your back, rubbing up and down to try and offer some comfort, and trying to show that he was there for you. “I’m sorry, this is really gross,” you said, feeling unbelievably embarrassed that Lando was having to see you puke your guts out with his own beautiful blue eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m not phased. I’ve got younger siblings, I’m used to a hell of a lot worse,” he joked, not wanting you to feel ashamed that you were sick. If anything, he was glad that you were throwing up when he was around so that you had someone to comfort you.

Lando noticed how you kept tucking your hair behind your ears and how it kept slipping back in front of your face, so he held it all back with his free hand that wasn’t rubbing circles on your back. “You’ll feel so much better in a few minutes,” he consoled.

“I promise it’s not your mum’s cooking,” you mumbled, not wanting him to feel like you didn’t like it. 

“I know, it’s OK. You’re sick, this is bound to happen,” he chuckled, letting go of your hair as you sat back against the tiled wall of the bathroom. 

You looked even more pale, and you looked tired. “Do you want a water? Cold compress?” he asked. 

“Water, please,” you hoarsely said, your throat scratchy from throwing up. Lando retrieved your glass off the coffee table, filling it up in the kitchen and dropping in some ice cubes. “Here,” he said, handing the glass to you and making sure you had a proper grasp of it before he let go. 

As you drank, he picked up a wash cloth off the counter and wet it with lukewarm water. Lando knelt down in front of you, tilting your chin up with his finger. He gently cleaned around your mouth, before letting your head drop back down. 

There was something so intimate about the moment, about letting him take care of you. You were glad that he was so comfortable with being close to you, with touching you and helping you. It was also a miracle that he actually knew what to do. 

Lando remembered from all the times his mum looked after him when he was sick, or when he had to look after his siblings. It was different with you, though. It was better with you. “I think you should go to bed,” he said, offering a hand out to help you up from your spot on the floor. 

“No, no. The couch is good,” you dismissed, not wanting to be sat in bed while Lando was just chilling in the house. 

“Please? You really need more comfortable rest. Plus, you’ve been on the couch all day and a change of scenery would be good for you,” he pushed, eager to get you more settled in bed. “I don’t have to come in with you if you don’t want, I just want you to be more comfortable,” he added, suddenly conscious of the fact that you might not want him in your bedroom with you.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind you being in there. As long as you’re not in there by the time my parents get home, we’re all good.” you sighed, taking his hand and hauling yourself up onto your feet. Lando stood close to you, ready to assist if you felt wobbly on your feet or if you needed to be sick again.

You lead him through to your room, and he couldn’t help but look around. In many ways, it was just what he expected to see for your room. A desk pressed up against the wall with a cork board hanging overhead. It had revision lists, to do lists, and even a few photos with your nearest and dearest friends. He was surprised to see a photo of you and him up there, one that he had sneakily taken in the library when the librarian wasn’t looking.

This was during the time that you spent revising together, or doing homework, or just messing around. You were buried in your work, and it looked like maths homework while he looked at it. Half of the picture was occupied by Lando pulling a silly face into the camera. 

He remembered that it was one of the first things he had ever sent you after he had finally gotten your number, but he didn’t think you’d go to the effort of getting it printed and putting it up on your board. “You’ve put that picture up, huh?” he asked, looking at the other pictures there. 

Most of them were with people he didn’t know, the odd few with people he had seen around school. The others, he assumed, were of you and your family at birthday parties and get together. His eyes were more drawn to a picture of you and another boy. You had your arms around each other, goofy smiles plastered on your faces.

He didn’t know why he felt a pang of jealousy ripple through him, but he didn’t like the thought of another guy with his hands on you. Or having a space on your cork board. “Who’s that?” he asked, pointing to the boy in the image.

“That’s my cousin,” you said with a small smirk. You could tell he was envious of the boy, and you saw his shoulders sag in relief when he heard that there wasn’t any competition for you. Well, there wasn’t any competition. He had been declared the winner a long time ago, he just hadn’t realised yet. Not realised completely, anyway. 

“Ah, cousin, right…” he said, feeling like a complete and utter idiot. Of course it was your cousin, he’d know if there was another guy in your life. 

You crawled into bed, pulling back the covers to shuffle under. Lando watched as you propped up the pillows to your liking, and all he wanted to do was get in there with you and hold you until you fell asleep. “Would you like anything?” he asked, trying to distract from his jealousy. 

“Another water, please,” you said, and Lando was right on the case. You were so glad to have invited Lando over today, since it really was your saving grace. He was brilliant at taking care of you, and it seemed like he genuinely wanted to.

Plus, the little moments that you shared along the way were like golden nuggets along a path. You loved them. From leaning into his side and snuggling him, to when he kissed you on the head, all the moments with him were perfect. You still weren’t over the fact that he had kissed you, but there were zero complaints coming from you. 

“There you go,” he smiled, walking bag in and placing the glass of water down on your nightstand with a clink of the ice. He took in your cozy form, all snuggled up in that blue hoodie and- wait.

That was his hoodie. He had lent it to you a couple days ago when his mum had picked you up like she did a couple times a week. And now, you were wearing it when you were sick and were in need of comfort. 

“My hoodie, eh?” he said with a teasing tone to his voice. He was glad you were in it, and he didn’t want you in anything that wasn’t his hoodie at this point. The sudden possessiveness wasn’t unwelcomed completely, but it was out of nowhere for the most part. 

“Yeah, it’s really comfy and warm. But I’ll get it washed and back to you,” you said, snuggling down into the covers even more. 

“You don’t have to give it back, keep it. Looks better on you than it does on me,” he smiled, liking the idea of you always having one of his hoodies on standby. It was one of the most classic cliches in the book, and now you two were living it out. 

“Really? I don’t mind giving it back,” you dismissed, enjoying the idea of keeping the hoodie, but also feeling bad that he was just giving to you, seemingly without much thought.

“No, no. Seriously, it’s all yours,” Lando reassured, still standing by the bed. His stance was slightly awkward as he fiddled with his fingers, since he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He could take a risk and get in the other side with you, but he didn’t want to push it since he was already in your bedroom to begin with. 

He could pull up your desk chair to sit beside the bed, but then he also ran the risk of invading your space if you wanted to nap without him just sitting there and watching you. 

“Do you want to sit?” you asked, answering his question for him as you patted the empty space beside you on the bed. Lando felt like his heart was in his throat as he rounded the bed without thinking. His legs just carried him before his brain had time to protest. 

Lando sat against the headboard beside you, not wanting to get under the covers with you. Well, he did want to, but that definitely felt like he would be pushing it. You turned over to look at him, lying on your side as you looked up at him. 

God, how he just wanted to run his fingers through your hair and hold you until you fell asleep in his arms. Your cheeks were still flushed and your nose was slightly red, but it just made you even more adorable in his eyes. 

“You should really get some rest,” he softly said, wanting you to get better. At the same time, he knew he’d have to leave if you fell asleep. Your parents would be getting home within the hour, and he didn’t want to be found in your room while you were asleep.

He was expecting you to protest, but he was sure you still weren’t feeling well after being sick and dealing with the trials and tribulations of your illness. All you did was nod, shifting a little to get comfortable before closing your eyes.

“Thank you for today, Lando. I really needed it.” you mumbled, keeping your eyes closed. 

“Anytime,” he replied, glad that you had appreciated his efforts. He knew you would, but to be thanked was nice regardless. 

“I would let you stay, but I don’t know how my parents would react to me having a boy in my room. You’re welcome to stay for now though, they should be getting home in about 45 minutes,” you told him, and he had made the split second decision to stay for around half an hour. 

“That’s OK, I don’t want you getting in trouble,” he said. It was nice knowing that you wanted him to stay, but he understood what might have been assumed if he stayed and if your parents had caught him there. 

You didn’t respond, just letting your sick and weary body rest. Your breathing evened out, your chest rising and falling as you slept. Lando pulled his phone out of his pocket to text his mum, and she replied in due time to say that she would be there to pick him up in half an hour. That would give him a bit more time with you, but he would be gone with plenty of time before your parents returned home.

You just looked so peaceful, your illness not giving you any hassle as you were protected by your slumber. He wanted to take a picture to keep it forever, but he just had to be content with a mental snapshot for now. 

All he did was watch you sleep for the next twenty minutes, before he had to prepare himself to go. He didn’t want to leave your side in case you threw up again, or in case you needed him, but he had to. 

Lando collected the tupperware that he had brought the stew in and put it back in his bag, also making sure that no traces of his presence were left behind. Then, he let himself sit with you for a little bit longer. 

He had to keep checking his phone every few minutes, before the text that he was dreading came through. His mum was here and he had to leave you behind. Sure, your parents would be home soon and you’d have someone to look after you, but he preferred to do it himself. 

He left the sweets and chocolates that he had brought on your desk. Also, he tore a piece of paper out of one of your notebooks and wrote you a short note. He left it on top of the snacks, before standing in the doorway to your room and looking back at your sleeping form. 

Lando allowed himself to walk back over to your side, leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Get better soon, I miss you.” he whispered, thinking back to how dull his day was without even seeing you in the halls. 

He couldn’t stop himself, there was just something about the feeling of your skin under his lips that he was getting a little obsessed with, and he definitely needed to rein it in before it got out of hand and he did something that took it too far. 

Then he had to go. He had to focus on walking down the stairs and out of the house so that his self control wouldn’t slip and so that he wouldn’t end up back in your room and back in your bed, where he knew he could keep you safe.

His mum was waiting outside, smiling as he got in the car. “How was she, sweetheart?” she asked, also being concerned about your wellbeing ever since Lando had told her about your current condition. 

“She isn’t feeling great. She was sick after dinner, and she just looked overall… flat.” he said, unsure on how to describe the state that you were in. 

“Bless her, that’s not good. Do you think she enjoyed the company?” she asked, pulling away from the curb and starting the drive home.

“I think she did, yeah,” he kept his answer short, not wanting to divulge into the fact that the two of you were practically snuggling on the couch and that he was suddenly so comfortable with kissing you on the head whenever he felt like it. “I might go back over tomorrow, she definitely won’t be in school tomorrow.” he said, hoping that you would be on board with the idea as well. 

“I think she’d appreciate that,” his mum agreed, smirking internally. It was obvious how smitten Lando was, but it was also absolutely adorable. His desire to take care of you was obvious, and  she was happy to encourage it as much as she could. He really was growing up into a fine young man. 

— 

As Lando predicted, you weren’t in school the next day. He was sneaking off to the bathroom to text you constantly throughout the duration of the school day, and he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. 

You told him how you were doing a little better and how you were able to eat the snacks he had left behind. It was good for him to know that he was providing you comfort, even when he wasn’t by your side. 

He still missed not seeing you around, though. It wasn’t the same without those stolen glances from across the corridor, or sitting with you during maths. He was longing for you, and he wasn’t afraid to admit to himself that that was the case. 

And finally, the next day rolled around and he was ready to endure another day without you. That was, until, he walked into maths and nearly stopped in his tracks. There you were, sitting in your seat with your books out in front of you. 

“You’re back…” he said in the otherwise empty classroom, Mrs Kennedy smirking to herself as she saw his reaction to your return. She was confident that Lando was absolutely besotted by you, and this only confirmed her suspicions. 

“Yeah, I didn’t want to miss much more,” you nodded, and he came to sit down beside you. Lando’s eyes scanned you up and down as if he were checking you over. He wanted to make sure your illness was fully gone, and he wasn’t opposed to trying to get you sent home if you weren’t feeling well. 

You looked a lot better than you had the other day, albeit still tired, but a lot better. The colour had returned to your cheeks and your eyes looked brighter. “Good, I was getting bored without you,” he smiled, his mind wandering back to the few hours he spent taking care of you.

How he longed to go back to that, to holding you and making sure you were alright. But, he had to focus on the fact that you were better. You were back, and you were better. That was what mattered. 

It didn’t take away from the fact that he wanted to be like that with you all the time, but he would take what he would get for now. The fear was that your vulnerability had only exacerbated his feelings for you, and he’d need to do something about it, and quickly. 

Lando was in too deep, and there was no turning back now. 

A/N - Here we are my loves, as promised! Thank you all so much for all of the excitement for the return of this series, it really means the world! Drop some ideas in my inbox for the next parts in this series, I wanna know where you guys want to see this story go! Love y'all💖

|masterlist|the full series|

[dioslesbianwife]

saw your lovesick Jofoes. Can we also have lovesick JoJo's?

(and maybe their reaction to getting a kiss on the cheek pls?)

sure! hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting <33

Jonathan Joestar

Internally combusts.

Your kiss is soft, brief, and on his cheek, but Jonathan is completely floored.

His breath hitches, his hand hovers near the spot like he wants to preserve it.

“Ah… you’ve honored me more than I deserve…”

You’re like “Jonathan it was just a kiss” and he’s like “To you, maybe… but to me…”

Literally lays in bed that night thinking about how warm your lips were. "I must protect them at all costs now..."

Joseph Joestar

“WHOA WHOA WHOA- ”

You kiss him on the cheek and he instantly short circuits and stumbles back like you slapped him.

Tries to act cool. Fails.

“I mean- pff- of course you’d kiss me, I am extremely kissable- ”

Lies awake that night giggling like a schoolgirl. Kicks his feet under the sheets. Murmurs “I’m gonna marry them” into his pillow.

Next time he sees you: “So like… you wanna do that again or was that a one-time cheek coupon thing?”

Jotaro Kujo

Frozen.

You give him a quick kiss on the cheek while saying bye and walk off like it’s nothing.

Jotaro just… stands there. His soul leaves his body for a second.

Blushes like crazy, but hides it under his hat.

Tries to play it cool, mutters “yare yare daze” even though he’s internally screaming.

Stares at the ocean dramatically for like 20 minutes afterward thinking “They kissed me… They actually kissed me… What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

Josuke Higashikata

SCREECHES. Internally.

“UhhhHHH wh- HUH?!”

You kiss him on the cheek and he gets so red so fast it looks like he’s got a fever.

Freaking out about whether you could feel how warm he got.

Keeps touching the spot over and over again like “did that really just happen???”

Can’t stop thinking about it all day. Tells Okuyasu like “Bro. BRO. I GOT KISSED. Not a full kiss, but a cheek kiss!! That’s a whole category!!”

Giorno Giovanna

Blinks. Visibly stunned.

He’s composed… but you broke his brain a little.

“Oh…,” he murmurs.

Then you see the tiniest hint of a smile curve his lips as he touches his cheek.

That kiss becomes his Roman Empire.

Later that night, he writes about it in his journal and tries to imagine what it would feel like on the lips.

Lowkey starts daydreaming about you more. Starts plotting how to get you to do it again- but this time twice.

Jolyne Cujoh

Pauses. Visibly flustered.

“Wait. Waitwaitwait. You just- ?”

Laughs off how red her ears get.

“Okayyy, smooth criminal. I see you.”

Instantly goes from tough girl to giggling puppy. She punches your arm way too hard out of pure flustered energy.

”You tryna start something orrrr…?”

She brings it up CONSTANTLY.

“Remember that time you kissed me on the cheek? ‘Cause I do. Every second of every day. Just saying.”

Johnny Joestar

You kiss him on the cheek and he straight up glitches.

No words. No breathing. Just a very still, very pink Johnny.

“You… kissed me,” he mumbles under his breath after like 3 full minutes.

For the rest of the day, he’s quieter than usual. Totally distracted.

Keeps running his fingers over his cheek like he’s checking if it’s still there.

Eventually tells Gyro. “They kissed me, man.”

Gyro: “Where??”

Johnny: “On my face.”

Josuke Higashikata (Gappy)

Absolute shellshock.

You press a kiss to his cheek and he flinches like you poked him with a taser- but then his whole body just melts.

Touches the spot with both hands like he’s holding a butterfly there.

“…W-what does that mean?” he blurts. “Are you trying to ask me out? Do you do that to everyone?? Should I kiss back- wait, no, I didn’t mean- ”

Gappy.exe has stopped working.

Avoids eye contact for hours while sneaking glances at you.

“That was the best day of my life,” he says to Yasuho with a spaced out smile. “I think I’m gonna faint.”

Jodio Joestar

Stunned… but thrilled.

Tries to act cool like “Oh damn. You’re bold. I like that.”

But he turns to Dragona 5 minutes later and goes “BROOOOOOOOOO- ”

Blushes every time he remembers it. Smiles like an idiot whenever someone says “cheek.”

He starts trying to recreate the moment: leaning close, angling his face just right, pretending to point out something near you like

“Yo, is that a bird or-”  accidental cheek proximity intensifies

“If I stand like this, you might be able to kiss me again. Just sayin’.”

[ablobwhowrites]

Btw person who sent in request relating to overworked y/n and can't help bit think...Pretty sure blueberry pie would never get mad at y/n...maybe y/n saw them angry because they were angry at y/n's boss. And I also dropped this idea but thought to expand...maybe after one bad experience with the exercise cookies...they realize y/n had a bad time when they, including blueberry pie, notice y/n not speaking up and well voicing their opinions like they should...

All the cookies probanly want y/n to be open and honest about their needs and wants so they can spoil and care for y/n properly...cue cookies encouring y/n to speak up...and cue exercise cookies being more gentle with y/n and disguising the workouts as games and letting y/n feel like they are winning every time to help boost confidence even more...

Imagine first time they spoke up to blueberry pie...whether blueberry pie decides to actually change schedule or talks it out with y/n to learn why they want that change and shapes it into something enjoyable for y/n or something like that or something else...

Blueberry pie is silently celebrating because 'YES! Y/N IS SLOWLY NOT BEING AFRAID ANYMORE AND IS GETTINF COMFORTABLE! THEY ARE GETTING COMFY ENOUGH TO LEARN TO USE THEIR VOICE! HOORAY!!!' heck...maybe whenever y/n speaks up they give y/n a treat...like a piece of y/n's favorite candy or ice cream or some reward!

Y/n is always kinda scared to speak up for themselves as having a shitty boss that constantly ridicules them if they make one mistake or if you speak up on why this is problem but is shut down before even getting to talk because 'you aren't paid to talk back, especially after you failed to even do the simplest of requests' but these request aren't simple as the dates always change in the instance that y/n gets it on time finally. Their boss just brushes it off saying that it's one minute later but it was two hours early.

Y/n tends to just let themselves be pushed around as it's easier to do than talk back. If the cookies met them before their job, y/n would be using their voice a lot and making more suggestions and wanting to do things more but current y/n just has the mentality of letting people complain first so that it's just easier to do their job or just live their life. Of course the cookies don't really know office life except a few of them who canonically work in a office but in much different conditions than y/n did so some of them get that y/n doesn't like going out of their comfort zone but do try to gently nudge y/n into speaking up or just trying to do things they want to do.

Y/n isn't necessarily scared of blueberry pie cookie as a whole but more of a certain look or tone she has sometimes that copies the same as their boss. Y/n tends to watch people's facial expressions or tones as they dealt with customers a lot so they picked up the habit so blueberry pie cookie is fine in y/n's eyes it's just they get scared of being yelled at or ridiculed again if she looks frustrated or has a angry tone but over all of she doesn't have that then y/n does like being around blueberry pie cookie. Y/n with the athletic cookies being more experienced as y/n has worked in a office for a good chunk of their life and couldn't have hobbies or anything cause of that but they do try at least even if they are tired, sweaty and wheezing after. But once got absolutely decked in the face by Choco Ball Cookie after he accidentally kicked the ball to hard and y/n got distracted by something and didn't see it before it was to late but they were fine though just their face hurt a bit after and just a small bruise on their cheek as the same think kinda happened with Cherry Ball Cookie but wasn't as full force as Choco Ball Cookie.

But does get a little hurt sometimes but kinda just y/n got being inexperienced and falling or just doing something dumb kinda like Skating Queen Cookie having y/n ice skate but they fell and landed on their side from panicking about falling down and then ballet, holy shit y/n didn't know that being a regular cookie and having to walk normally but now it's harder with this kind of ballet!? Whipped Cream Cookie helped y/n a lot with some simple and complicated dance moves but y/n's joints were sore cause they kinda understand all the limitations to the cookie body but Whipped Cream Cookie was nice about it and tries his best to help y/n. Plus the idea of y/n being able to get free food from Sandwich Cookie at the sandwich shop in the city and she makes sure she makes it to y/n's liking and her boss likes y/n as well so they can come by anytime and are welcome to do so.

Sometimes y/n doesn't have a ride and Fruit Punch Cookie has a car and loves to drive y/n around if they need it. Street Urchin Cookie doesn't really like it because her and Kiwi Cookie drive y/n around if they need to and Fruit Punch Cookie taking that away cause y/n is more comfortable in a car and that the two cookies have motorcycles which y/n gets freaked out about because how fast they can go.

(Anyways that's it for my yap session! Hopefully you guys like this and if you want more please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's! But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[cultkinkcoven]

“It’s just the way that you record your conversations makes it seem like Lucifer is talking to you directly and that’s not possible.”

I’m gonna ask you all something that might sound really wild.

Have you ever tried it? Like no, seriously.

Have you ever actually just written everything down? No filler, just pure communication. Ask. Answer.

Actually. I’m serious. Have you done it? How many times have you attempted it, how consistently?

Have you ever entered into the ritual space, into a meditation, into a trance, into an operation, with the intention of recording whatever you receive, regardless of if it makes sense? Have you ever just listened?- not just with your ears, but with your everything?

Do you trust your God?

Can you truly submit to them without needing to have control?

Do you trust yourself? Have you learned how to?

Are you comfortable with the possibility of getting it wrong? Of failing and having to try again? Of having to be consistent and keep practicing until it is right?

Are you comfortable with the prospect that sometimes, there really is nothing? Sometimes, you are unsuccessful, and you have to take that failure and try again tomorrow.

Are you comfortable with the prospect that it takes devotion?

Don’t get me wrong, you should be using tools. I use tools: tarot, dice, sticks, pendulums, etc. Results that are replicable across multiple mediums are stronger than those that aren’t. Messages that I am unsure of can be verified with tools and tests. People who aren’t able to or uncomfortable channeling or sensing using their bodies are just as capable of doing great work with tools.

But have you ever genuinely just tried to strengthen that muscle? Your own ability to perceive and locate. Your ability to identify your God’s voice and differentiate it from your own?

How often have you practiced that?

My writings sound direct? Thats the goal. To filter through all of the other noise and get down to the most important point, the symbol, the message, the reason why I came in the first place. When I experience these conversations or events they are abstract, messy. When I write them down and read them out in plain text, it becomes clear. Individual insights reveal an entire message, an entire concise conversation- and that is what is valuable for me to document. When it tracks, it tracks, and there is infinite value in recognizing when it tracks.

I enter into a space of trust. I ask him. I record what I receive. Not necessarily the image, the sensation, the synchronization, the result of the dice roll, but the idea. The message, the core. What is he trying to tell me? What is he revealing now that I previously did not know? What can I learn from this response?

Later I get to interpret. I get to realize “that shit made absolutely no sense” or “holy shit this makes a lot more sense now” or even, “nope, that was me not him, I got distracted, I influenced too much, I need to try that again.”

If you think these things are impossible, maybe just try it. Maybe it won’t be for you, maybe that’s not the kind of craft you’re personally meant to partake in, maybe you have other talents. But I always think it’s so interesting when people claim this act is impossible. 1 because, offline, in very established cults and organizations- this is very common knowledge- everyone kind of understands how this works- but 2, because it usually comes from people who would never really be in the position to experience it even if it was real.

At some point in my practice I stopped caring about proving magic. It’s one of those 101 things, proof is great, don’t get me wrong. But impact, that’s the gold. Can I prove in any real way that Lucifer said anything to me? No- not really. But I do feel my mind shift and I do have that “holy shit- wait” moment, and I do learn something, I do leave that ritual different than I entered. And my questions are answered. And I return because I trust he will answer me again. That’s faith.

So yes, my communication does seem direct. I challenge you, even just as an experiment, to record your next communicative session in a very plain and direct way. What did you want to know? What do you think they said? Take as long as it takes. Sometimes you won’t get an answer for a whole hour. Sometimes it’ll feel like there’s so much you can’t write fast enough. Sometimes you fail and need to try again later. That’s the beauty of the game.

Try it.

[sweetcherrybby]

The Void you fill

Rafe Cameron x reader

Word Count: 747

Rafe never wanted pity. He never asked for help, he never expressed his emotions other than anger.

He never knew how. So when that empty ache filled his chest every night, he thought he could just ignore it and it would go away. Or he could busy himself with work and parties and it wouldn’t show back up. 

But it did, every night without fail.

He tried filling that endless void within his chest with drinks, work, sofia, but nothing ever filled that space within him that consumed him at night.

When someone would ask him ‘what’s wrong with you?’ All he could muster up was an angry ‘nothin’, or a fist to the face if someone pushed him too far.

That was until he met you. 

“Sunny” they’d call you because of how you light up a room.

“Pretty” because your beauty and charm encapsulated anyone’s attention just by being in their presence.

“Island sweetheart” because it was true, anyone could see it. No matter who you were talking to, whether they were a pogue or a kook, you treated everyone with kindness and dignity, accompanied with a small sweet smile on your face.

You were the complete opposite of Rafe, he knew it, the whole island knew it, but you didn’t care. You didn’t look at Rafe with hatred or disgust or fear when you first spoke to him that one quiet night on the beach.

Instead, he was met with a soft gaze and a sweet smile. Your name slipped softly off your lips as you introduced yourself, making room on the blanket you brought with you to the beach, and offering a seat next to you.

You were known for a lot of things, but starting that night, to him, you were the reason he could fully fall asleep at night without an ache in his chest.

You were the reason his nights were now filled with soft laughter and quiet confessions instead of the feeling of endless hopelessness.

Nights alone in his room slowly became nights on the beach next to an angel from above.

Nights on the beach with just you and him slowly became days and nights with quick, flirty remarks and laughter so beautiful he thought he was dreaming.

And a night that started off as just two strangers on the beach slowly bloomed into a sweet, interesting friendship that grew into a quiet, compassionate, lovely relationship, one Rafe never knew he could have or wanted.

Everyone around you both were shocked at first to see you two together. Hell, some people didn’t even know that the kook prince could show any emotions other than anger.

But when they saw Rafe with you one day on the beach, holding the island sweetheart in his arms, chin on your shoulder as you went on about some bakery owned by this sweet elderly woman whom you were helping in the mornings, all anyone could see was the pure love Rafe had in his eyes as he looked at you with absolute adoration.

Like you were the most sacred thing in the world. As if you were a gift from above that could do no wrong, and to him, you were.

You were the gift from above that could do no wrong. You were the reason he laughed more, smiled often, and felt a love so pure he never knew how he lived without it.

As you continued to go on about something else that Rafe wasn’t completely listening to, he just looked at you with a lovestruck gaze.

And when you turned to him, a smile on your face and a soft warmth rising on your cheeks as you’ve caught yourself once again droning on about something random, you ask,

“What?”

And all Rafe could do was smile softly, pressing a kiss to the shoulder closest to his lips, shaking his head and letting out a quiet, 

“Nothin baby.”

Raising a playful, confused eyebrow at him, you playfully rolled your eyes, muttering a quiet

“Okay then mystery secret man.”

Before wrapping both arms around his neck, kissing his cheek, and settling against him as you both start watching the sunset.

And Rafe just held you tighter, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then cheek, then softly on your lips.

As the sun continued to set and as your eyes slowly starting drifting shut, all Rafe could do was stare down at you with soft eyes, thinking to himself, “ I love you.”