#and did a ton more weaving

[teenagefeeling]

idk why i just now thought of this but my elementary art school teacher was genuinely so good at her job and like i did love her then but i don't think i fully appreciated how much she was actually teaching me until years later

[p-seduonym]

Switched At Birth (Part Five)

A/N: So I've been a little busy. Work, school, etc. This one's a bit shorter but hopefully you guys like it. Wanted to get more into the yandere aspect of the story with Melissa's thoughts. Also sorry if my taglist is a mess, I'm still figuring out Tumblr etiquette.

Taglist (I'll add you if you ask):@luludeluluramblings, @von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia, @ch1cky-093, @toxicthotsyndrome68

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

It was only after Melissa had gone home, with a bag of thrifted clothing and another solely for her new dress, that she noticed it.

You left your scrunchie with her.

It felt like satin and was a baby blue color.

You had used it to pin her hair back as you did her makeup with some drug store brands. “Totally a spring— I knew it”, you said as you gently dusted blush on her cheeks, your breath curling around the nape of her neck.

The most reasonable thing to do would be to give it back to you, the next time she saw you. 

But…when would “next time” be?

She had heard that plenty of times. “Next time”, Dick promised when she asked if he could go out with her.

“Next time,” her father had said about dinner.

Next time. Next time. Next time.

So she didn’t give it back. 

Turning it over in her hands, her thumb brushed over the faint warmth still trapped in the fabric. Just a whisper of it— but your presence was within the weave. 

It wasn’t much. Just a scrunchie.

But you’d worn it. You touched her while wearing it. You laughed while twisting her hair up like it was second nature. And that laugh was still there, somewhere in the soft folds, if she listened closely enough.

She slipped it around her wrist, let it rest there like a bracelet.

Just until she saw you again, she told herself.

Only—she didn’t take it off.

The satin was cool against her pulse, a pale ribbon of proof.

Proof that you had been real.

That you had chosen her, even if just for an afternoon.

And maybe it was stupid, maybe she was reading into everything too much—but she didn’t care.

You saw her. You picked her. When no one else even noticed she was there.

Of course you didn’t mean to leave the scrunchie. But that didn’t matter.

Because now it was hers.

A thread that tied her to you.

In the inky stillness of her room, she fell asleep with it intertwined in her fingers.

The next morning, Melissa came down for breakfast. Everyone was gone, as usual, but Alfred was already waiting  in the kitchen.

He always was.

However, today, there wasn’t just the morning paper—opened to the financial section— on the table. A laptop, it looked like Barbara’s, sat opened to the trending page on a tabloid site. A picture took up the screen: Melissa, standing awkwardly in a thrift store. You beside her, grinning like you owned the world. A blur of pink between you—the dress.

Alfred looked up when she entered the kitchen. Not judgemental or stern. Just… watchful.

He closed the laptop carefully.

“Miss Melissa” 

She paused halfway to the fridge, “...yes?”

“May I assume your outing was enjoyable?”

Not what were you thinking? Not that was inappropriate. Just a simple question. Yet she hesitated.

“...Yes,” She answered carefully, halfheartedly scanning the contents of the fridge. “It was”

She didn’t elaborate further. Didn’t ask why Alfred was interested in social media for once, or why the tabloids thought teenagers hanging out was suddenly front page news. It must have been such a slow news day for the site that they actually remembered the Forgotten Wayne. Barbara always knew when one of them was mentioned anywhere on social media, so it must have been recent, too.

But…her chest tightened. Why did they have to know about you? Why now? When she found someone who chose her? It’s not like they knew who you actually were; just the “girl with cat socks” or “a public curiosity”. 

Still, she didn’t like the way it felt. The way your name might now sit on the tongues of strangers, twisted and misinterpreted, picked apart by people who didn’t know you.

Alfred’s tone was light as he poured her tea—green with a dash of sugar, just how she liked it: “She seems like a nice young lady”

That made her think to herself as she stirred her tea aimlessly: did she know you either?

You told her the basics at the diner— you went to a public school, average grades, some friends, a house in the suburbs. Did you tell everyone else that? Did everyone know you the way she does?

The tea tasted more bitter than usual. 

You weren’t for them. You were hers.

She didn’t say anything, at first. She didn’t plan for possessiveness. She didn’t get to plan far before everything seemed to dissolve in your wake. Plans seemed to just be like that—crisp and clean until they got wet and tore. 

“She is,” She admits, finally. “Nice.”

Alfed inclined his head, accepting this answer. He pauses and waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. His eyes soften, in a way that grates at her skin, and lets the silent question dissipate.

Poor, little Melissa, she almost heard him think. So worried about her one and only friend.

She was used to this; as used as one could be. People just saw her as someone—something— to feel bad for.

Her warped reflection stared back from the tea cup.

They never really saw the rot just below the surface— and she was glad for that. No one had to see the disgusting bitterness she kept hidden. Even Alfred just saw her as yet another tragedy within the Wayne Manor,

Still, that wasn’t entirely useless.

If there could be yet another thing to tie her to you— her hand grazed the scrunchie on her wrist — wouldn’t that be even better?

Alfred watched her, not pointing out how the hair tie clashed with her uniform, and made a passing note. 

“She does look strikingly similar— to who, I can’t quite say”

Melissa paused.

That’s right, she thought, you did look like that person.

She didn't leave her tea when she stood up, rather she took with her and walked past Alfred. In a practiced tone of submissiveness, Melissa confessed,

“I don’t know when I’ll see her again. We don’t go to the same school after all…”

And Alfred responded, his ever kind and patient self: “I will see if your invite to this month’s gala can be extended to one other person”.

Perfect.

As she retreated, she pulled out her cell phone. Typing and retyping, she sent out a message to you.

Hi-

Hello-

Hi, there’s a gala coming up– can you go with me?

She watched as the three little dots appeared and then disappeared before reappearing.

“If you want another makeover, you can just ask lol”

Melissa smiled to herself.

A/N: hehehe who's "that person"? It's probably pretty obvious if you follow @luludeluluramblings's posts but let's forget that and pretend I'm clever for now, okay? btw if you are waiting for some more Cult of the Lamb X Batfam stuff I'll be posting something soon. It's small but it's something.

[luvrrszn]

match point

STANFORD!ART DONALDSON x STANDFORD! FEM READER

summary art goes a little too far in ensuring that nothing ruins your friendship

warnings angst, nsfw (smut), erm probably a shit ton of challengers inaccuracies, happy ending though no worries

a/n guys i'm going crazy i think i play too much block blast...i see blocks when i close my eyes at night

masterlist

Art was a mean, mean person when he wanted to be. He was the sweetest boy growing up, always making sure you were okay after Patrick teased you, always walking you home at night. But after the night the two of you hooked up, everything changed.

His demeanour, and the nuances of your relationship.

Casual, you promised. It was the only thing he would agree to.

No strings attached, no feelings involved. Those were the conditions he set when he agreed to fuck you.

You'd realised you liked him when you were 14, and you'd never stopped since. So, when you promised Art you wouldn't get attached, you did your best to control your feelings.

Mean Art, who secretly has feelings for you too, but doesn't want to ruin your friendship.

—

Mean Art, who constantly reminds you that there are no strings attached.

You lay there on your dorm bed, cunt still dripping his cum as he redresses, pulling his Stanford tennis t-shirt over his head. You grumble, "Are you sure you won't stay? We can put on a movie or something."

His gaze is cold. Condescending, almost. He reminds you, "I'm not your boyfriend. This isn't what we agreed to."

Tears sting at your eyes, and you feel your heart sink. You say, "Yeah, yeah I'm sorry. Forget I said that. Sorry." You turn away, tears dripping down your face as you hear the soft 'click' of the door closing behind Art.

Still, you hold out hope. You've liked him for so long, giving up now would be stupid...right?

—

Mean Art who starts going out with other girls in hopes that you get the hint.

Even though he has absolutely zero interest in anyone but you.

You walk past Art in the dining hall. He's sitting across from some blonde girl, who's eating something off of the spoon in his outstretched hand.

You can feel his gaze trained on the back of your head as you walk off. You hurry off, sick to your stomach, unable to shake the sight of him acting so domestic with someone he had just met.

Because that meant he was capable of being a boyfriend. Just not yours.

In the next few weeks that follow, he's everywhere.

Every time you see him, he's talking with, flirting with, or touching some girl. You see him so often that you start to think that it's only because that you're wishing more than ever to not see him right now.

Or maybe it's because he's making sure you would see him.

—

You decide to go to a frat party to get your mind off of Art. You'd been avoiding him all week, after deciding that you needed to take some time for yourself.

You danced with your roommate, and talked to a few guys from the frat. You barely even noticed when Art walked in. Keyword: "barely".

You've been nursing a bottle of cheap beer for the past half hour, the music suddenly getting too loud, the space getting too crowded.

You need space.

You head upstairs, looking for a bathroom to lock yourself in while you take a breather. Pushing the nearest bathroom door open, you find your gaze meeting Art's.

It doesn't take you long to realise the....situation he's in. He's leaning against the sink, a girl kneeling before him with her lips wrapped around his dick, and his hands tangled in her hair.

Art, being the asshole he is, does not break eye contact with you.

You immediately spin on your heels and slam the door shut.

Anger and frustration boil deep in your chest, but what is the most painful is how hurt you feel.

You beeline straight for the front door, weaving through a mess of dancing, yelling college students. You don't notice Art who follows a few paces behind, and you don't notice how regretful he looks.

"Hey, wait up!"

You don't stop walking. But you don't speed up either. Art catches up to you easily, both of you walking down the driveway. You refuse to look at him because you know if you do, you'll cry. But the anger in you bubbles over as you turn and yell at him, "What the fuck do you want now? What more could you possibly want from me?"

"I just want to talk." He replies, voice soft.

You let out a bitter chuckle, "Art, I think you've made it clear you'll do anything but talk. Actually, no. You've made it clear you don't want to do anything besides fucking me and leaving me feeling like the most pathetic person on earth."

You turn to walk away again, but he grabs your arm before you can leave. For some reason, you don't shake him off.

"Please. Just hear me out." Art begs. His heart sinks, seeing the broken and defeated look in your eyes. Your eyes had always been something he loved about you. How expressive they were, how they always seemed to betray you when you were trying to hide your feelings.

You sigh and nod.

Art hesitates a little, before saying, "Look, I’ve been a total jerk, and I know it. I’m sorry—I mean, really sorry. You don’t deserve that. No one does. But I need to say this because it’s been eating at me. I think—I know—you might feel something for me. And… I feel the same. I do. But here’s the thing. I’m terrified. If we try this and it doesn’t work? I can’t lose you. I can’t risk messing up what we have. You mean too much to me, and I don’t know if I could handle that. So yeah, maybe I’ve been pushing you away because I thought it’d be better for both of us. I just—I don’t know. I’m sorry."

You take a while to process everything he says. He looks at you with the softest gaze you've seen from him in the past two years, and it finally clicks in your head.

He likes you back.

You finally reply, "Yeah, you have been a jerk. And I don’t think you get to decide what I deserve or how I should feel about it. What you said… I appreciate the honesty. But if you think treating me like crap was some noble way of protecting our friendship, you’ve got it backwards. You don’t get to push me away and then expect me to be okay with it just because you’re scared. If you like me, then show it by treating me with respect—friendship or more. If you’re not ready for that, fine. But I deserve better than games and excuses."

His face falls before you add, "But if you’re willing to actually step up—to stop playing it safe and meet me halfway—then I’m here. I’m not asking for perfect, but I won’t settle for less than real. So, it’s your call. Just know that if you’re in, I’m in too."

The grin that spreads across his face is a wide one.

"Oh, I'm definitely in."

[brokenmenswhore]

hate | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

summary: hate sex kink :)

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), sexual harassment (he flips her skirt up, nonconsensual), remus is mean

────── ☾ ──────

“You know I can’t go to a Gryffindor anything,” you pleaded, trying to get your best friend to stop pushing you into attending the party.

“There will be a ton of people there! Remus won’t even notice you,” she bargained.

You sighed. “I’m really, really not in the mood for his shit tonight,” you started, closing your books and cleaning up your schoolwork, “If I agree to go, I’m making it your responsibility to keep him away from me all night.”

Your best friend squealed and jumped up, hugging you in excitement.

You and Remus Lupin never got along. In first year, he and his friends would mercilessly tease you about the length of your hair. You were young, and you ignored it, but he always found a reason to tease you. In fifth year, his best friend Sirius began to taunt you, nonstop asking you about how sexually experienced you were and how Remus could help you. In sixth year, Remus became mean. He would throw your stuff around, spread rumors, turn people against you, and more. He became ruthlessly mean and you did everything you could do to avoid being anywhere near him. You even pleaded with professors to switch your classes if he was in them.

Your friends constantly teased you about him, claiming he was into you, but you never paid much attention to it. Sure, he was hot, but so were his friends, and that didn’t overshadow the fact that they were horrible.

You hated him. You physically recoiled at the sight of him. In private, sometimes your hand would find its way in between your legs, and you would think of Remus and some of the ways he would touch your hair or pinch your skin, but everywhere apart from the privacy of your bed, you loathed him.

The moment you stepped into the Gryffindor common room, you scanned the room for Remus, not spotting him or his usual crowd of Sirius, James, and Peter. You felt relieved, allowing yourself to relax a bit.

You grabbed a pumpkin juice, sitting on the common room couch. Your dress was shorter than you were used to, and sitting down almost exposed you in it, so you crossed your legs to protect your modesty.

“Who the fuck let you out of the house in that?” Remus said, plopping down next to you.

“Who the fuck let you out of the house at all?” you retorted, leaning forward to stand up. You were not in the mood for him.

Remus grabbed the bottom of your dress as you stood, trying to pull you back down. You swatted at his hand, half-standing. “Let go of my dress, Remus.”

“Oops,” Remus said, flipping the skirt up and briefly exposing your backside.

You instinctively quickly pushed your dress back down, turning your ass away from Remus. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked, trying to keep your cool.

“Just wanted a peek,” Remus laughed.

“You’re sick,” you said, starting to walk away from the couch.

Remus stood up when you began walking away, following you around the room. You noticed, trying to weave your way around the mass of bodies to lose him, but he was too quick for you.

You ducked out of the common room, sneaking down a corridor and deciding this wasn’t worth it. Going back to your common room would be the only thing to give you solace, because Remus was incapable of leaving you alone, ever. The second he saw you, he had to torment and tease you until you found a way out of his sight. You were going to kill your best friend, how did she let him sit down right next to you?

“Walk any faster and you’re gonna fall in those heels,” he spoke from behind you.

You stopped short in the darkened corridor. You were sick of this. It was time to stop.

“What’s your problem, Remus?” you snapped.

“You’re my problem,” he answered, “I thought you were at least smart enough to put that together?”

You sighed. “You’ve been bullying me for seven years Remus. Seven years. Based on what? What did I ever do to you? Huh?”

“You do things like walking around in those stupid little short dresses,” he replied, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” you spat back, trying your hardest to keep your voice quiet and avoid getting caught.

“Sheesh, language,” Remus scolded.

“Remus,” you said, taking a deep breath and evening out your tone, “you’ve been abusing me since we were like eleven. Why can’t you just get sick of me already?”

Remus moved closer to you, invading your personal space. He began to twirl a tendril of your hair in his fingers. “I enjoy you too much.”

You threw your hands up. “Why do I even try-“

Remus clasped a hand over your mouth. “Shut up.”

You protested from under his hand, trying to pull his hand away.

“Shut up, someone’s coming.”

You froze, immediately giving in to Remus’s efforts to quiet you down. Footsteps were approaching, and Remus pulled you into a nearby broom closet to avoid any potential run-ins. The closet was small, and you were too close to Remus for comfort. When Remus stopped hearing footsteps, he uncovered your mouth.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” you warned, “I’m so sick of you.”

“Sick of me, are you? And you don’t think I have my reasons for treating you the way I do?”

Your eyes widened. “So why don’t you just tell me what those reasons are? Let me fix them so you can get out of my life.”

“I just really, really, hate you,” Remus spat, your faces too close.

“Oh, I guarantee I hate you more,” you responded.

You and Remus stared at each other for a moment, both worked up, before he pressed you against the wall, kissing you roughly. Your first instinct was to push him off and fight, but it felt too good, and you found yourself kissing him back.

The kiss was anything but intimate, full of pure hunger, lust, and hatred.

Remus quickly began to kiss down your jawline and on your neck, sucking a sweet spot right below your earlobe. You whined, the sound escaping your lips before you even knew it was coming.

His hand traveled downward, slightly lifting your dress as his fingers played with the waistband of your underwear. He stopped kissing your neck for a moment, searching your eyes for approval.

You nodded your head slightly to prompt him to continue, and he immediately dipped his fingers into your underwear, roughly rubbing circles on your clit.

You tried to control your moans, not wanting to get caught, but also not wanting to allow Remus the satisfaction. He noticed, and it only made him rougher.

Without warning, he shoved two long fingers inside of you. You let out another whine, your head thrown back against the wall, allowing Remus access to your neck again. He sucked and bit at the skin, marking you as his fingers fucked in and out of you.

“I hate this dress,” he sighed, increasing the pace of his fingers and curling them inside of you, “I hate how you always know better than me, I hate how you always blush when James talks to you, I hate your stupid superiority complex, and I hate hate hate Meadowes for kissing you in the greenhouse in fourth year.”

He said all of this without letting up, continuing his assault on your cunt. When he felt you begin to squeeze his fingers, he pulled them out of you, sucking your juices off of them before hoisting one of your legs up to his waist.

“I fucking hate the way you taste,” he added, dropping his pants and lining up his cock with your hole as fast as possible.

He slammed his entire length into you at once, causing you to moan out at the intrusion. He begin to thrust into you immediately, not giving you time to adjust to his size. He held your leg around his waist, allowing him easier access to ruthlessly pound into your cunt.

You wanted to respond, to make it clear that you truly loathed him, but all words escaped you as he fucked you against the broom closet door, his face buried in your neck as your body rocked against the wood.

He was becoming feral. He spoke with each thrust, “I. Fucking. Hate. You.”

Tears began to fall from your eyes at the intensity. He was fucking you harder than you ever thought possible. His cock was nearly splitting you open, the length and power combined reaching spots in your cervix you didn’t think possible.

“Rem-“ you whined, beginning to squeeze around his cock.

A hand wrapped around your throat as his eyes finally met yours. “I hate how fucking pretty that sounds coming from you,” he growled, placing another desperate kiss on your lips.

You were whimpering and crying, Remus taking full control of your body. “Rem, please-“

“Tell me what you think of me,” he demanded.

“Rem, I can’t-“

“Tell. Me.”

You tried to keep your eyes open, your face level with his. “I loathe you,” you breathed out, adrenaline taking over, “I absolutely f-fucking hate you.”

With that, Remus brutally lifted your other leg, wrapping it around his waist, the angle changing without him ever pulling out. He braced himself against the door, a hand next to your head as he slammed into you as fast as he could, chasing his own high as you came around him, milking him until he reached his own apex.

“Fuck,” he moaned, and after a few more thrusts and violent snapping of his hips, he came inside of you, breathing heavily and the air hot.

He pulled out of you, dropping your legs, causing you to nearly fall over. You caught yourself, stumbling as you smoothed out your dress.

You and Remus exchanged a look, sweaty and panting, and you broke the silence first.

“I’m going back to my common room,” you told him, “to forget that just happened.”

Remus pouted. “I don’t think you want that, doll,” he teased, “there’s some desires only Rem can fulfill.”

You almost slapped him. He fully just fucked you, and was already teasing you.

“I hate you,” you reassured him, swinging open the broom closet door and walking back to your common room.

[beardedalcoholic]

Space Cowboys

The humans had abandoned them. After seemingly endless cycles of fighting the battle was about to be lost and the war with it, and the humans had left them to fight for themselves.

‘So much for the legendary pack-bonding of humans.’ Krillna thought to himself as he leaned around his bunker to lay down some suppressing fire on the enemy. Tungsten rods magnetically accelerated to near supersonic speed ripped into the battle field and enemies died by the dozens…but it wasn’t enough.

Seemingly endless waves of the reptilian enemies known as the Slentine seemed to crawl and slither towards their position. Fields of scales and fangs greeted him every time he looked around his barrier, looks of desperation and hopelessness looked back every time he turned away from the battle.

“You would think the humans could have at least left us the weapons before they ran like cowards!” cried out one soldier before he was cut down by enemy fire.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’

“Did anyone else hear that?” Krillna asked after firing another salvo of rounds towards the slowly advancing enemy. Looking at his ammo counter and seeing it was empty, Krillna threw his weapon to the ground and grabbed the ceremonial bone dagger the warriors of his people were gifted upon maturity.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’

Holding the blade to his chest and breathing the prayers of his youth, Krillna begged the seven skies of his homeland for the power of the mighty storm, pleaded for his spirit to be flown on the winds to his ancestors. Finding himself at the end of his prayers and ready to face the enemy head on and to fight tooth, bone and claw in the ways of his ancestors, Krillna couldn’t help but think he heard something on the wind again. Looking to the forest side of the battlefield, Krillna felt a rumbling through the pads of his clawed foot.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’ RAWHIIIIIDE!

With the sound of thunder and snapping trees, Krillna felt all three of his hearts stop and fall.

Gierophants, mighty horned beasts weighing several tons with great crests of hardened skin behind the skull to protect the neck and a row of spines extending the length of the spine, each one several times as tall as Krillna’s seven foot frame. Easy to anger, nearly impossible to outrun, harder to damage and often found in herds of fifty to one-hundred the gierophant was this world’s largest inhabitant, but Krillna thought he saw something on the back of the lead beast.

Humans.

Humans were riding the gierophants…a herd of what looked to be sixty or more and each one had a human standing on the snout of the creature and even more behind the crest or between the dorsal spines.

RAIN AND WIND AND WEATHER

The humans were either lashed to a spine or each other with lengths of rope and each one was firing wildly into the horde of enemies, hanging sideways from the flanks of the great beasts, weaving between the spines, crouching behind the crest and all were firing their rifles.

HELL BENT FOR LEATHER

“Sir? Am I having a substance dream or are those humans riding Gierophants into the Slentine ranks in a stampede while singing what sounds like a human battle song?” A young warrior asked in disbelief as the battle field seemed to come to a stop. The pause didn’t last long as the slentine soldiers quickly turned their weapons on the stampede of human madness and animal rage.

WISHING MY GIRL WAS BY MY SIIIDEEE!

“You are most definitely seeing this pup, the crazy humans went and did the impossible again…WARRIORS OF CANTRAXA!” Krillna called out to the stunned warriors behind him, filled with a renewed hope for victory.

“DRAW YOUR BLADES AND RELOAD YOUR WEAPONS, THE HUMANS HAVE GIVEN US THIS CHANCE AND BY THE FIRE PLAINS OF OUR HOME WORLD I WILL NOT STAND BY AND MAKE NOTHING OF IT!” Holding his blade high above his head the Pack-Master let loose the battle cry of his ancestors with such ferocity that it seemed to ring from the very heavens, turned from his comrades and ran face first into the chaos of the newly evened battle.

ALL THE THINGS IM MISSIN’

Three hardened battle packs of Cantraxa warriors, thought to be beaten down by sheer numbers and attrition, thought to be defeated and simply too stupid to understand… howled. Each and every one felt what the humans referred to as battle lust and with the feeling of fire singing in their veins each and every one reached deep into their souls and called the ancient war cries of times long past. GOOD VITTLES, LOVE AND KISSIN’

The humans sang on, swinging wildly from the sides of the Gierophants or hanging on with one hand and firing with the other, seemingly oblivious to the rounds of enemy’s fire flying past them. With every human felled the others seemed to sing louder. Krillna was in awe of these small hairless creatures as he ran towards the battle, they rode the great beasts of this world like they were born to it, they faced a horde of enemies without fear and sang their defiance in the face of death and defeat. ARE WAITING AT THE END OF MY RIIIIIIDEEEEE~

================================================

The battle was won, the slentine ranks had been broken in half by the stampede and when the front ranks turned to fire on the new threat they were drowned in an avalanche of fur and fang, bullet and bone from the Cantraxa warriors.

The humans had run over and shot down much of the enemy, the field had been churned to a bloody mud pit of broken bodies and weapons, the Gierophants were long gone by then, the humans had dismounted and returned to base.

Krillna watched in curious amazement as the humans went about their post battle chores.

Groups of humans combing the battlefield for survivors, pulling bodies from the muck and determining if they could be saved or not. Slentine and Cantraxian alike were given final honors or medical aid…mere hours before these small hairless maniacs were riding juggernauts of death into battle while singing and laughing and now, they were providing aid and respect to not only their comrades but the enemy as well.

Amazing graaaceee

A hauntingly sad and seemingly profound song floated like fog over the battle field from somewhere among the humans.

How sweet the sound

Funeral pyres and graves were dug according to cultural wishes, wounded were cared for regardless of species or alignment in the war. Bodies counted and tears were shed that day and as the last sun in the sky fell below the horizon, Krillna found himself surrounded by his warriors and humans.

Holding a strange liquid in his cup, the humans called it beer…or maybe stout?...Krillna looked to the leader of the humans as she stood upon a table laden with food and drink.

“Tonight, we celebrate our victory!” The humans cheered and the Cantraxans yipped and howled like pups.

 “Tonight, we mourn our glorious fallen!” With a silence that choked the very soul, every human raised their drink to the memory of those they had lost and drank deeply. Krillna and his warriors all mimicked the humans in their silence and honors.

 “Tonight…we honor our worthy enemies.” The commander of the humans raised her cup one last time and as one all the humans followed. Krillna could not see the reason behind the last one but was not about to comment on it while surrounded by humans.

Instruments were tuned and soon employed to their fullest extent as humans began dancing and singing, wagers were made, games were played and for a few moments Krillna could almost believe that they were simply back in his homeland celebrating the lunar convergence festival.

Spotting the human leader on the outskirts of the revelry Krillna silently approached the human as she slowly drank and watched those she had shed blood with. Stepping on a fallen can of some kind alerted the commander and as she whipped her head towards Krillna, he froze in place…the look in her eyes was not that of a celebration, but rather that of battle mad soldiers. Items within reach categorized as weapons, responses and plans ranging from peacefully violent to disturbingly chaotic flashed through her face in seconds. Her grip on the cup she held and the tensing of her muscles told Krillna that she had to stop herself from launching the cup at his face.

Raising his clawed hands in a sign of peace Krillna approached the commander slowly. As he approached the tiny human, no more than five feet tall, Krillna noticed tears leaking from her eyes in a steady stream cutting tracks through the remaining dirt and grime upon her cheeks. Hands shaking the commander raised the nearly impromptu projectile to her mouth and took a steadying sip before addressing the large warrior.

“What can I do for you Pack-Master?” Asked the commander as she turned her eyes back to the celebration before her.

“You do not celebrate victory like the others? Why do you spill tears so freely War Mother?” Krillna asked, using the honorific of the greatest female warriors of his people.

“I uh…it just takes a little time for me to wind down from battle and get into the spirit of things, eventually I’ll head out and show these youngsters how to really party but for now I will just have to deal with the aftermath of the adrenalin.” The commander said with a small shake to her voice.

“I have heard of this adrenalin, most species would simply die if exposed to it but you humans produce it naturally?” The Pack-Master asked.

“Yes, our bodies naturally produce it and well…it dissipates quicker for some and for others it sticks around longer. Battle madness, bloodlust, berserker rage and more are just different names of the same thing, active or excess adrenalin…our minds are changed and muscles freed of restraints while under its influence but afterwards we have to put the beast back in the cage and deal with the mess it made, physically, mentally and spiritually.” The commander responded with a look in her eyes that said she was looking deep into the past.

“How did you humans tame the Gierophants? It was previously thought impossible to even safely approach them never mind ride them or direct them.” Krillna asked in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the maudlin thoughts the commander seemed to be sinking into.

With an almost visible brightening of her features the commander looked up at Krillna.

“We didn’t actually tame them, we were trying to find either a good escape route to get everyone out or possibly a way to ambush the Slentine army, make them fight on two fronts as it were. We ran across the herd of Gierophants by accident and sort of came up with the plan on the spot, we figured if they started to stampede in our direction the base would be destroyed but if they went just little to the side they would hit our enemies. Jackson over there used to be what we call a ‘Cowboy’ and said if you can point a bull’s nose in one direction the body would follow, so we made some lassos and climbing rigs and well, the rest is history.” The commander finished with a small shrug and a decidedly less shaky sip of her drink.

 Krillna was almost to shocked to breath.

“You found a herd of the planet’s largest and most dangerous animal, decided to irritate them into charging you with the enemy directly behind, hoping that they would run over said enemy and while they did that you threw ropes on them so you could climb onto them and ride them…you humans are insane.” with a shake of his great furred head Krillna could only thank the seven skies that these lunatics were on their side.

With a laugh the commander tipped the last of her drink back and wrapped her hand around one of his fingers, his hand being large enough to completely encompass her own, and began to pull him towards the firelight of the bonfires, a mischievous light in her eyes and a smile that spoke of wicked delights to come on her lips.

“Oh you haven’t even begun to see the madness of humanity, come and we shall sing you songs of our people.” The commander laughed as the crowd enveloped them, music wound through the air like smoke, soldiers and warriors alike danced and spun and Krillna could only laugh as he downed the rest of his drink and threw reservations to the wind with a final thought.

‘Humans are weird, but wonderful.

[soleilpinto]

To Marry a Duke (Lando Norris) ⚜️ ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

“I never meant to—fall for you. But I have. And it is ruining me.” ⚔️⊹₊⟡⋆

Synopsis: In a season ruled by status and scandal, your heart belongs to the one man you should not love—Duke Lando of Bristol. But when passion proves stronger than propriety, secrets unravel, and love dares to rewrite society’s script.

Genre: Slowburn, Angst, Romance

AU: Bridgerton!au

Pairing: Duke!Lando x Bridgerton!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Lando having rumors surrounding him, being bullied by Lady Whistledown (😭), PAINFUL yearning

Note: Leaning into the fantasy aspect of my writing. Took awhile since I’m already at my wits end since my graduation is on Wednesday and I have college applications, so stress and writer's block took a huge toll on me. As always, happy reading, every like + reblog and feedback comment is appreciated. Love you all and congrats to Lando for winning Monaco.

The London season began like a waltz—predictable in its rhythm, expected in its elegance.

Debutantes filled the parlors of Mayfair with laughter and lace, hopeful mamas arranged introductions like battle strategies, and eligible men surveyed the room as though it were a market.

You, however, sat unmoved in the chaos of it all.

As the eldest Bridgerton daughter of your generation—niece to the famed Daphne, Duchess of Hastings—you were no stranger to the dance of courtship.

You had received suitors each season since your coming out, and as of last season, you sent them away with practiced grace and mild disinterest.

You were admired, certainly—renowned for your wit and celebrated beauty—but you were hardly easy to impress.

It was not that you were cruel, only… resolute.

You believed in marrying for love, not convenience, and though your family’s standing made you an undeniable prize, you refused to be won like a trophy.

And so, as you stood beside your mother in the ballroom of the Featherington estate, you watched the swirling dancers with an expression that betrayed only mild curiosity.

Until he walked in.

The doors opened wide and in stepped him—Lando Norris, the Duke of Bristol.

The buzz in the room was immediate and unmistakable. He was not a stranger to the ton, nor to its gossip.

Known for his rakish smile, whispered escapades with barmaids, and a suspiciously frequent presence at one of London’s more notorious gentlemen’s clubs, the Duke was a man often discussed behind fans and teacups.

Though he was recently betrothed to Lady Magui Corceiro of Arleshire—elegant, obedient, and, by all appearances, a perfect duchess-to-be—none in the room could ignore the sharp, magnetic presence of the man himself.

Lando was trouble.

And yet—he was beautiful trouble.

He was all dark curls and striking eyes, a crooked smirk playing at his lips as he surveyed the room, his hands clasped behind his back like he owned the very floor upon which he stepped.

When his gaze swept across the crowd and landed on you, something sparked—sharp, electric, and undeniable.

Your posture did not change, but your breath did. Just slightly.

The music swelled again, another dance beginning. Suitors came and went, offering their hands, their compliments, their family names.

You obliged politely. You smiled, curtsied, laughed at appropriate moments—but your mind remained with the Duke of Bristol, who now stood near the refreshment table, engaged in an idle conversation with Lord Featherington. His eyes, however, remained elsewhere.

On you.

“He’s looking this way,” your younger sister whispered beside you, nudging you playfully.

“I’m aware,” you replied, tone neutral.

“And he’s coming this way.”

You turned just in time to see Lando Norris weaving through the crowd with the grace of a man used to parting seas.

He stopped before you, bowed deeply, and said with a voice smoother than sin, “Lady Bridgerton. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

You curtsied, your expression unreadable.

“Duke Norris. I was beginning to think you were merely a ghost spoken of in scandal sheets.”

He laughed, charmed instantly, as though your words were the first true ones he’d heard all night.

“I am very much flesh and blood, I assure you.”

“So I’ve read,” you returned, letting your gaze linger just a second too long.

Around you, the air shifted. The room hadn’t gone quiet, but it felt quieter. As though the ballroom itself held its breath.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, extending a hand.

You paused—long enough for him to wonder if you’d decline—before placing your gloved hand into his.

“Very well, Duke. I still have space left on my dance card, but do try not to ruin my slippers.”

The orchestra began anew. As he led you to the floor, you felt it again—that current, that pull.

The way your hand fit in his, the subtle strength in the press of his palm to your back, the way his eyes never seemed to stray.

“You’re not at all what I expected,” he murmured, his tone intimate though his words were innocent.

“Do you often expect women to faint at your feet, Your Grace?”

“Not always. But I was warned of your… indifference.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear. Especially in drawing rooms.”

“And yet, I want to hear everything from you.”

You raised a brow, amused. “Such a dangerous line for a man with a fiancée.”

He faltered, just briefly, before offering that infamous smile.

“She and I are… a match on parchment, not in person.”

“And what are we, Duke Norris?”

He studied you for a moment too long. “An interruption. A welcome one.”

You did not answer. You didn’t need to.

The song ended, and as you stepped away from him, the room resumed its rhythm—but your heartbeat did not.

Somewhere, beneath lace and velvet, sparks had turned to embers.

And Lady Whistledown, no doubt, had already begun to write.

The morning sunlight spilled gently across the pale carpeted floor of the Bridgerton drawing room, filtering through embroidered curtains and dappling the upholstery in soft gold.

The air smelled faintly of spring jasmine and black tea, and the peaceful clink of porcelain cups echoed in companionable rhythm with the rustling of newspaper print and idle conversation.

You sat by the window in a sky-blue and cream colored day dress, flipping through a book you had no true intention of finishing.

Across from you, your younger brother was attempting to charm your eldest cousin into a chess match he had no chance of winning, while another sibling picked at the piano keys absently, humming a tune that had long gone out of fashion.

The scene was delightfully domestic—until the door burst open.

“Have you seen it?!”

Your cousin Emma’s voice rang out like a hunting horn, and all heads turned as she stormed into the room, skirts swishing in her wake and a half-folded paper clutched in one gloved hand.

“Emma,” you said slowly, raising an eyebrow, “should you really be making an entrance that dramatic before tea?”

But Emma was already waving the paper about as though it were aflame. “Lady Whistledown. Page two. Top of the column.”

Your fingers froze over your book. The entire room shifted in energy.

Your brother reached for the paper first, snatching it from Emma’s hand and reading aloud in his best impersonation of Whistledown’s tone:

“Though the Featherington ball sparkled with expected elegance, it was a single waltz that drew the ton’s breath into their fans. One must ask: what is a Bridgerton doing wrapped in the arms of a Duke already promised to another? And more importantly—why did they look as if the rest of the ballroom had disappeared entirely?”

A chorus of gasps and stifled laughter broke out among your cousins, your youngest sister squealing and swatting the arm of her twin.

You, however, merely closed your book with deliberate calm.

“She must be running out of scandal if she’s resorting to printing dance cards.”

Emma plopped into the seat beside you, eyes wide and sparkling with mischief.

“Don’t be coy. You were practically glowing that night.”

You gave her a look. “I was overheated from too many quadrilles.”

“Please. The Duke of Bristol looked like he would devour you where you stood.”

Across the room, your oldest brother choked on his tea.

“Emma,” you warned, though your cheeks had grown suspiciously warm.

She leaned in, all feminine conspirator and far too pleased with herself. “Tell me the truth. Was it just a dance?”

You gave a long-suffering sigh, smoothing your skirts.

“It was one waltz. Barely three minutes long.”

“Yes, and that’s all Lady Whistledown needed to light the entire city aflame.”

There was no denying it—the article had consequences.

While you had maintained every measure of propriety during the dance, the intimacy, the spark, had been… undeniable.

You had felt it. Lando had felt it. And so, apparently, had everyone else.

The ton wasted no time.

By midday, the invitations to luncheons arrived not-so-subtly addressed to you and the Duke, and your mother had already received no less than four veiled inquiries into whether your dance with Lando had been sanctioned by his betrothed.

You felt yourself recoil slightly at the word.

Betrothed.

A barrier you had not dared to cross, yet somehow, found yourself drawn toward again and again.

Even now, your thoughts betrayed you—replaying the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand at your waist, the deliberate slowness with which he had spoken your name.

That afternoon, you made a silent vow.

No more dances. No more rooms full of whispers. No more proximity that might invite ruin.

And yet, the very next evening, you found yourself at the Ashbourne estate for their annual spring garden soirée—and there he was.

The Duke of Bristol.

He looked absurdly good, as though carved for moonlight, dressed in deep emerald silk that set his eyes aglow.

Lady Magui was not with him—word was she had taken ill and remained in the countryside—but Lando was very much present. And he wasted no time seeking you out.

“Lady Bridgerton,” he said as he appeared beside you, his voice a velvet thing in the hush of twilight.

“Your Grace.” You kept your posture stiff, your expression unreadable. “I assume you’ve read the paper.”

He smirked. “Ah. So we are addressing the matter directly, then.”

“I’d rather not,” you replied coolly. “Especially if we are to avoid becoming the subject of tomorrow’s column.”

“And yet, here I am,” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer. “Drawn like a fool to candlelight.”

You stiffened, your fan fluttering nervously in your hand. “You should not say such things.”

“I shouldn’t,” he agreed. “But I have never been particularly well-behaved.”

You met his gaze. “Perhaps that is why your name appears more frequently in scandal sheets than invitations.”

His grin deepened. “And yet you still accepted my dance.”

“You asked.”

“And you said yes.”

Your breath caught. It was infuriating—the way he could disarm you with a smile, undo weeks of practiced composure with a single glance.

You looked away, toward the hedges, the flickering lanterns, the safety of anything else.

“I’m not a woman who will be hidden behind doors or whispered about in corners,” you said finally, voice steady.

“You are engaged. And I will not be some tragic footnote in your family’s history.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then:

“You are no one’s footnote.”

You turned back to him, startled by the sincerity in his tone.

He looked at you as though you were made of starlight. And you hated that you liked it. That it made something within you soften, ache, want.

“I cannot be the reason you ruin yourself,” you whispered. “Even if… even if I wish it could be different.”

He reached for your hand, and though he barely brushed your glove, you felt it like a flame.

“I would ruin myself a thousand times,” he said lowly, “if it meant I could be yours.”

You pulled away then, heart pounding, before propriety could snap under the weight of such a confession.

Before your name became not just rumor, but scandal.

You disappeared into the rose gardens alone, breath caught, thoughts aflame.

And somewhere in the city that night, Lady Whistledown had dipped her quill into the ink pot.

Night had long since fallen over.

The Bridgerton manor sat quiet, shrouded in a soft hush that only the late hours could bring.

Candles had been extinguished room by room, replaced by the flicker of moonlight that spilled in through gauzy curtains and danced across polished floors.

Yet you were not asleep.

You paced softly in the gallery above the entrance hall, a robe of pale lavender silk drawn over your nightdress and slippers muffling your steps.

The household had retired for the evening, and still sleep evaded you.

Perhaps it was the dread of morning callers, the unbearable weight of unsolicited offers of courtship, or perhaps it was the latest column from Lady Whistledown tucked in the drawer of your writing desk—its words still echoing in your mind.

“One of our more eligible daughters remains shockingly unattached. But word among the housekeepers and coachmen is that she waits for someone—someone who already belongs to another. And he, reckless creature that he is, keeps appearing like a ghost when all others have gone to sleep. Tell me, dear reader, what keeps a lady from accepting a proposal unless her heart has already given its answer?”

You had crumpled the paper in your palm before you could finish your tea.

And yet—every word had rung true.

Your gaze fell on the front door. You had not meant to descend the stairs. You had not meant to slip outside. But something—something inevitable—pulled you forward.

The chill of the garden air kissed your skin as you stepped onto the terrace, drawing your shawl tighter around your frame.

The scent of roses hung thick in the night. Above, the moon cast silver shadows onto the stone, the stars sharp as needlepoints in the vast navy sky.

That was when you saw him.

A figure in the darkness, shoulders cloaked in black, stepping through the break in the hedge with the confidence of a man who had trespassed here before.

“Your Grace,” you breathed, startled by the wildness of your own heartbeat.

Lando stopped a few paces from you. “I was hoping you’d still be awake.”

“You should not be here.”

“And yet,” he said softly, “here I am.”

The night swallowed your protests.

You should have fled back inside. You should have told him to leave, to forget you, to go back to the woman he was meant to marry and leave the foolish whispers of affection behind. But something in your heart stilled as he drew closer, the hem of his coat catching on the gravel.

You could not look away from him.

“You’ve read the paper,” he said, voice gentler now. “Whistledown. Always precise with her daggers.”

“She may not name names,” you replied, tone brittle, “but the world is not blind.”

“I do not care what the world says.”

“But I do,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Because I have to.”

You turned from him, clutching your arms to your chest as you gazed out at the garden, its roses ghostly in the moonlight.

Behind you, Lando stood still, as if tethered to some invisible string pulled taut between you.

“I am not like the others,” you continued. “You know that. I was not raised to cause scandal for sport, nor would I—could I—betray my own name.”

He said nothing. And so you spoke again, barely more than a breath:

“Then why do I want to let you?”

It was an admission, as dangerous as it was honest. The night seemed to still with it, the breeze itself holding its breath.

You heard him step toward you then, each footfall deliberate, until he was standing close—so close, you could feel the warmth of him even through the cool air.

“Because,” he murmured, “we are already lost in this, you and I.”

You turned to face him. His eyes met yours, and in them was everything you feared and everything you craved—desire, ache, devotion.

A man slowly unraveling.

“I feel like I am losing my mind,” he admitted, voice hoarse.

“They push me toward her, toward Magui, and all I can think of is how her hand does not fit in mine. How her laugh does not echo in my chest. How she is not you.”

Your lips parted, but the words would not come.

“I never meant for this to happen,” he continued. “I never meant to—fall for you. But I have. And it is ruining me.”

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest. “Then why not stop? Why not walk away before we both shatter?”

He reached for you then. His gloved hand brushed your cheek, and you let him—for just a moment. For just this breath between the before and after.

“I cannot,” he said. “Because the only time I can breathe is when I am near you.”

The night pulsed with the truth of it. The silence that followed was not empty, but full of things unspoken. Things felt.

You should have stopped it there.

But instead, your fingers found his lapel.

You tilted your head, rested your brow to his. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you like you were a secret he could not bear to part with.

No kiss was exchanged.

But everything else was.

And when he pulled away—slowly, painfully—you were left breathless.

“I must go,” he said, voice ragged.

“Yes,” you whispered. “You must.”

But neither of you moved for a long time.

Eventually, Lando stepped back into the shadows, vanishing as quietly as he had come, swallowed by the very night that had hidden him.

You stood alone beneath the moon, heart in your throat, shame clashing against longing like thunder in a storm.

Above, the windows of the manor remained dark.

And somewhere in the shadows, Lady Whistledown was lurking—ready to set fire to everything you thought you could keep hidden.

It began with distance.

Not a loud, dramatic withdrawal, but the quiet sort—measured, precise, and maddening. The sort that makes one question if they had only imagined everything that came before.

In the days following that moonlit confession in the garden, you did not see the Duke of Bristol.

Not at your aunt’s musical evening, nor at the Ridley’s spring fête, nor even at the bishop’s charity breakfast where half the ton gathered.

Your eyes sought him in every room, in every carriage that passed, in every drawing room filled with polite chatter and tittering laughter.

And yet, Lando Norris was nowhere.

He had disappeared into his obligations, back into the arms of his duty. Back into the orbit of Lady Magui, the delicate, quiet beauty whose every movement was approved by society and whose name elicited smiles from even the most difficult dowagers.

You told yourself you were glad.

You told yourself that it was for the best, that perhaps the silence between you was a mercy—a clean break before your emotions bled too deeply into places they should never reach.

But your heart betrayed you. It ached.

And Lady Whistledown, that ever-watchful specter, had not ceased her musings:

“It seems our midnight mystery continues to haunt the halls of Mayfair. The Bridgerton diamond sparkles at every ball, but perhaps it is only a clever polish hiding the cracks of a broken heart. Meanwhile, her Duke grows colder by the day, seen with his betrothed but never quite of her. How long before something shatters?”

You’d burned that issue.

Still, when in public, you wore your finest silks and your brightest smiles.

You laughed with your cousins and took your turn at the pianoforte. You smiled at Lord Dewhurst’s forgettable jokes and danced the cotillion with Sir Edwin Baines, though his feet resembled a drunken pony.

Your poise did not falter.

Not even when Prince Luke Browning—a distant relative of the royal family with a dazzling uniform and a reputation for wooing women—arrived in London and requested a dance from you.

The ton hummed with speculation, and your mother beamed so widely that the pearl comb in her hair threatened to fall loose.

You agreed to the dance.

And when you turned beneath the flickering chandeliers at Lady Ashcombe’s masquerade, you caught the gaze of him.

Lando.

Standing on the edge of the ballroom in a coat of deep navy, his jaw set tight, his posture stiff, his eyes locked on you with the intensity of a man barely containing himself.

Magui stood by his side, her gloved hand resting lightly on his arm. She did not notice how still he’d gone, or how his gaze never left you.

You turned your face from him and smiled at the Prince instead.

And yet, your skin prickled. You felt him watching.

The next morning, the tension broke.

It was a grey-skied affair, the weather perfectly matching the storm that brewed within Lando’s chest as he paced his family’s London townhouse.

He had left the ball early, ignoring the questions Magui had begun to ask, ignoring the gnawing of his own conscience.

He could not forget the image of your laughter with Prince Luke Browning. The soft pink of your lips as you smiled at someone else. The curve of your arm in his grasp.

It haunted him, poisoned him.

And suddenly, the life he had agreed to live—duty, name, legacy—all felt like a shackle around his neck.

Magui found him in the drawing room, standing by the fire, hands clenched.

“Lando,” she said gently. “You’ve been… strange. We should speak.”

He turned to her, and for the first time, saw her clearly.

She was beautiful. Graceful. Kind. A woman any man would be fortunate to call his duchess.

But she was not you.

“I owe you the truth,” he said at last, voice hoarse.

She blinked. “What truth?”

“I cannot marry you.”

There was a silence so loud it became a roar in his ears.

“You—what?”

“I have tried to be the man everyone expects me to be. For my estate. For my name. For the House of Lords and the papers and every grandmother in Mayfair,” he said.

“But I can no longer lie to you. Or to myself.”

She stared at him, pale and quiet.

“There is someone else,” she said finally.

His silence was all the answer she needed.

To her credit, Magui did not scream, nor cry. She only nodded once, stiffly, her shoulders drawing upward in practiced dignity.

“I hope she is worth the scandal,” she said.

“She is.”

Magui left the room without another word.

Lando remained by the fire long after she had gone, breathing like a man who had just shattered the glass walls of his own prison.

He had no plan. No speech. Only a certainty that no title, no alliance, no approval was worth living without you.

And somewhere, across the city, you sat in your family’s drawing room, pretending not to be affected, pretending not to care.

But you did not know—not yet—that the Duke of Bristol was already on his way to you.

The morning after the ball, London awoke not to the gentle rustle of society’s carriages or the distant toll of chapel bells, but to chaos — or rather, the sweetest kind of chaos: gossip.

Lady Whistledown’s latest column had arrived at breakfast tables across the city like a cannonball through crystal.

“Dearest readers, if the art of scandal were a season sport, the ton would be on its way to the championship. For it seems our infamous Duke of Bristol has committed a most shocking act: he has ended his betrothal to Lady Magui…without offering a reason. But those with eyes at Lady Ashcombe’s masquerade might suspect his heart beats for a different beauty—one whose name has danced through these pages before.”

Your name.

The moment Emma slammed the paper on the breakfast table, you felt the blood drain from your face.

You skimmed the lines, throat tightening, hands trembling just slightly as you set your teacup down with forced calm.

The room erupted around you — your sisters gasping, your mother going stiff with silent horror, your brothers exchanging sharp looks.

Only Violet Bridgerton, your graceful grandmother, regarded you with quiet strength, her gaze calm but knowing.

It was true, wasn’t it?

The ton’s whispers grew louder by the hour. At Gunter’s, ladies lowered their parasols to whisper behind fans. At Hyde Park, gentlemen on horseback eyed you curiously.

The Bridgerton name carried weight — but not even centuries of honor could shield you entirely.

By the time invitations for the Queen’s charity gala arrived that afternoon, you were exhausted. Your reputation, once spotless, now walked a tightrope.

You knew all it would take was one more misstep — one careless glance, one whisper in the wrong ear — to undo everything.

And so, you dressed for the royal gala in defiance.

In a gown of Bridgerton blue, you entered the ballroom like a goddess descending through the clouds — head held high, lips painted in delicate rouge, a practiced smile in place. But the air was sharp.

Conversations paused when you passed. Glances lingered. The glittering chandeliers above did not shine as brightly as the judgement in every pair of eyes.

Until Lando appeared.

The Duke of Bristol strode into the ballroom like a storm. Dressed in black and gold, hair tousled, his jaw set in unwavering determination, he looked nothing like the polished, pliable man society once praised.

He looked like a man on the edge of something monumental.

And then he walked straight toward you.

The music faded. The chatter dulled. The crowd seemed to part for him, curiosity rippling like the tide.

“Lady Bridgerton,” he said, voice low but clear.

You met his gaze — eyes dark with something unspoken, heart in your throat.

“Your Grace.”

There was a beat.

And then Lando dropped to one knee.

The ballroom gasped.

Gasps, whispers, even a shriek from the Duchess of Norwich somewhere near the card tables.

“Forgive me,” Lando said, eyes locked on yours.

“For being a coward. For waiting too long. For letting duty drown out what I already knew.”

“Lando—”

“I have loved you since the moment you turned away from me at that first ball. You are impossible, brilliant, and maddening. And you have every right to hate me.” He paused, breath caught.

“But if I let you walk away now, I will be haunted for the rest of my life.”

Tears burned at your lashes.

“Marry me, before every hungry eye in this room. Before Whistledown can write another word. Before anyone else dares cast a shadow over your name. Not to save your reputation—” His voice broke.

“But because I want you. I choose you.”

A hush fell over the room like snowfall.

Your family was frozen across the ballroom — your mother clutching your father’s arm, your siblings slack-jawed. Somewhere, Lady Magui watched from the corner, her expression unreadable.

And you…?

You knelt to meet him, your gloved hands curling into his as the ballroom erupted around you.

“Yes.”

Lando surged to his feet and kissed your hand, then your cheek — his restraint razor-thin, but holding.

The Queen, amused and watching, gave a faint clap. And as violins swelled again, Lando whispered against your ear:

“We leave them speechless, don’t we?”

You smiled through your tears. “We always did.”

From the corner of the room, Lady Whistledown’s latest informant scribbled furiously. But for once, no scandal could taint what had just occurred.

The Duke had chosen his Duchess.

And the ton would never forget the night love defied reputation — and won.

“Though I have chronicled many tales of scandal, deception, and heartbreak this season, it appears there is still room—however begrudgingly—for true affection to bloom amongst the roses of society. And bloom it has, most spectacularly. The Duke of Bristol and Miss Bridgerton shall soon wed, and though tongues will continue to wag and pens continue to scribble, this author dares to admit…they may just deserve their happy ending.” — Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

For once, her tone lacked its usual venom.

There was a pause to her words, an almost reluctant grace — as if even the most infamous gossip in all of London had run out of reasons not to root for you.

The world had shifted since Lando’s public proposal. The ton, in its fickle way, had turned the scandal into celebration.

Seamstresses worked around the clock to replicate your gown from the gala. Poets attempted sonnets inspired by the drama.

The Queen herself had summoned you both for a brief word — and, with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, given her approval.

Now, the sun cast a warm golden hue across the hills as the Bridgerton estate prepared for the wedding of the season.

Beneath it all, however, the house hummed with stillness.

You had asked for a few moments alone before the final fittings, before the guests arrived, before the orchestra began to tune their strings.

You slipped away through the garden, skirts gathered gently in your gloved hands, your heart already aching with the anticipation of the moment to come. And as if by fate’s gentle hand, there he was.

Lando, leaning against the ivy-covered archway, jacket open, waistcoat slightly askew, the breeze tugging at his hair.

His eyes found you instantly.

“No chaperones,” he said, smirking. “How scandalous of you.”

“I believe we’re beyond worrying about scandal now, Your Grace.”

“I believe I told you to stop calling me that.”

“And I believe you enjoy it too much when I do.”

He laughed, that warm, quiet sound that curled into your chest. You walked toward him slowly, aware of every step, every heartbeat.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

You smiled, even as you lowered your gaze. “I’m not even in my wedding gown yet.”

“You could be wrapped in a curtain and I’d still lose my breath.”

He reached for your hands, his fingers brushing your gloves like they were sacred things. For a long, quiet moment, neither of you spoke.

“I never thought it would be this,” he admitted.

“Not with the way I grew up. Not with the way I was taught to keep everything buried — to play the part of the duke, never the man.”

“And now?”

“Now…” He looked at you. Really looked. “Now I know that love doesn’t ruin duty. It gives it meaning.”

Your throat tightened. “And you’re not scared?”

“Terrified,” he said, smiling. “But only of tripping over my vows.”

You laughed, the sound catching on the breeze like music. The garden shimmered in late afternoon light, the flowers in bloom, the roses opening wide as if in blessing.

“I’ll be your wife in less than an hour,” you whispered.

“And I’ll be yours,” he said, pulling you gently into his arms. “Entirely. Eternally.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest.

The world felt still again. No whispers, no papers, no masks. Just the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the heat of his palm against the small of your back.

“I hope Whistledown is fuming,” you said quietly.

“Oh, she’s furious,” Lando teased. “But even she had to admit defeat.”

“And Lady Magui?”

“Left for Paris last week. Sent her best. I believe she intends to marry a count.”

“Good for her.”

“Great for us.”

He kissed your temple, soft and reverent. “Are you ready?”

You pulled back enough to meet his eyes — golden-brown, unwavering.

“I’ve never been readier.”

The bells tolled in the distance. The orchestra’s first notes floated faintly through the hedges.

And hand in hand, you walked back toward the manor — not as a secret or a scandal, not as a rumor or a possibility, but as the beginning of something true.

The season ended not with disgrace, nor a duel, nor a tragic parting.

It ended with love. Bold, scandalous, extraordinary love.

And in the next morning’s paper, nestled beneath Lady Whistledown’s formal farewell for the season, was one final line that needed no embellishment:

“Dearest gentle reader, they married for love—and for once, I approve.”

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[iliketangerines]

body worship/praising

a/n: consider this a part 3 to drunk sex. also, thanks to @neteyamsoare and @inlovewithpandora for hosting this event! it was a ton of fun to write for, and i'll have to catch up on reading all of the fics underneath this event!

pairing: tsu'tey x afab!dreamwalker!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), porn with feelings, pussy eating, public sex, praise kink (sort of)

Tsu’tey watches you as you stand proudly next to Jake, his face and body painted in the familiar swirls of white paint that proved he was one with the Omatikaya Clan

he watches as you smile brightly and place a hand on his shoulder, the others quickly joining in to create an interconnected circle of all of them

his hand hesitates above your shoulder, and then he places it down, feeling you stiffen underneath the pressure

your tail curls down low and around your leg in an effort to self-sooth and your ears pin back to your head, but you keep that bright smile on your face as to try and not disrupt the ceremony

what he had done back at the celebration was wrong, he knows it was, but somehow he cannot find the bravery to confront you, to talk to you about how he felt

a great warrior, felled by his own emotions, it was almost embarrassing, but Tsu’tey squashes the feeling and instead gathers the pride of Jake being accepted

he still didn’t like the dreamwalker, even if he had completed his Iknimaya before you, because even if you had none of the physical abilities, you were fully and completely Na’vi in your heart

Tsu’tey had yet to determine whether Jake’s heart truly belongs with the Omatikaya clan

the ceremony ends in a a blur and before he can even reach out to speak to you, you shrug off his shoulder and walk over to Neytiri, your new mentor after that night

you give her a quick greeting, lips moving in a conversation that Tsu’tey cannot hear, but he wants to so desperately, to be near you

but never once do you even spare him a glance, simply walking away in the direction opposite from Tsu’tey

he approaches Neytiri afterwards, congratulating her on how her student had passed the Ikinimaya and that Jake was now finally a warrior

she only gives him a scowl, pushing at his shoulder and telling him to go and make it up to you, that whatever he had done all those weeks ago had affected everything you did

the warrior can only look down in shame, and Tsu’tey says that he knows, that he should apologize to you

Neytiri sighs and says that you’ve gone off to the pali fields, that the animals brought you great comfort and that you needed a little more practice in riding

Tsu’tey nods in thanks and goes off to chase you, weaving through the crowd and into the sounds of the forest as he looks for you by the pali training fields

as he brushes past a large leaf, he finds you riding calmly on one of the pali, gently guiding it in a circle around the field, eyes focused on the path in front of you

you’ve greatly improved since you’ve come here, but he doesn’t ever remember telling you that you had done well, that you were doing better

clearing his throat, he says that you’ve improved, voice echoing in the air

the pali noticeably stiffens before grunting and growing agitated, hooves stomping into the ground and head shaking in irritation

you quickly unmount the pali and break tsaheylu, muttering to him that you didn’t want to talk to him, and you try to brush past him

he reaches out for you, words failing in his mouth as he watches the view of your back slowly disappear into the foliage

calling out for you, he says that he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, that he never meant to hurt you

it gives you pause, your hand holding onto a leaf blocking your path, and your ears flick in interest at his apology

but you don’t turn around, and Tsu’tey takes it as a signal to continues

he walks closer toward you, each step slow and careful as he speaks, saying that he regret that he had left you like that, that he knows he hurt you and that he shouldn’t have done that

slowly you turn around, just as Tsu’tey stops in front of you, and he purses his lips, taking just a moment to think before saying that you were one of them, that he knows of the effort you had put in to learn their ways and the patience you had to deal with his short temper

those past few weeks without you had been torturous, slow, and he missed you, he had missed your smile, your voice, the sound of your footsteps behind him

Tsu’tey drops his head slightly, casting his gaze downward, and he says once more that he’s sorry, if you would forgive him

there’s no answer from you for a second, and he waits, trying to sooth the nervousness raging in his stomach

your voice is like a lullaby, cutting through the noise of the darkening forest, and you say that you forgive him, that you know where he’s coming from, that your people has done a lot of harm to his people

every word you say is slow, careful as you speak in na’vi, and Tsu’tey barely breathes, trying to absorb your every word and sound that you make

he lets out a breath when you finish, closing his eyes and thanking you, that you truly were a pure soul, just as the atokirina had shown

the night he met you flashes in his head, the way you had looked so soft and confused, clinging to yourself, the way that a single atokirina floated down from the sky as the tsahik judged you and landed perfectly in your palms, the way you had stared at it with wide eyes and with a held breath

that night, Tsu’tey should’ve known you were not a demon but just someone who had come from a system that hurt and killed, an unwilling puppet in a destructive system

he breathes out that you are a pure soul, that you were better than he would ever be, and he hears you let out a huff

opening his eyes, he’s met with your slight smile, your freckles glowing in the darkness of the night, and he wants to do nothing more than trace the patterns on your face

his hands slowly come up, and he brings them to cup your face, thumbs rubbing your cheeks up and down as he counts the stars on your skin

you let him, hands coming up to hold onto his wrists, but you don’t move from his grip, letting him do as he liked

his eyes wander your face, drinking in every detail, and his gaze flickers to your lips for just a brief moment before he lets out a quiet whisper that you’re beautiful

your cheeks heat up underneath his palms, and your gaze drops away from his, almost as if you were embarrassed, and you whisper out a quick thanks

silence envelops the two of you, only the sound of your soft breaths and Eywa surrounding the two of you as you two stand there unmoving

Tsu’tey breaks the silence first, asking you if you would let him make it up to you, to make-up that night and to give you what you deserved

your hold on his wrists tighten, but you only lean in closer to him and then let out a small yes

he brings one hand down from your face to hold onto your waist and leans his head forward until his lips brush against yours

it’s soft as he presses forward, lips soft and slow in their movements, but you sigh into the kiss and melt into his touch, hands resting on his shoulders

your kiss is somehow much better than he remembered, sweet, honeyed, all and completely you without the taste of alcohol stinging his tongue

humming into the kiss, he draws you in a little tighter, wishing he could have you all to himself, to never part from you

you let him hold onto you tighter, and Tsu’tey parts from you to just admire you, to stare at your beauty, to just see you

always such a beauty in his arms, gorgeous and beautiful, and he tells you as much, that you’re beautiful, brighter than the stars in the sky and as breathtaking as the views from the clouds

he can feel you warm underneath his touch, the way your lips slightly part, how you pupils slightly dilate at his words

one more time, he leans forward to kiss you, his hands moving to slowly untie your clothing from your body

his hands are careful, just in case you decided to pull away, but you never do, keeping your hands on his shoulders as an anchor to this reality

slowly, your top and your tewng come away from your body, and Tsu’tey parts once more from your sweet lips to drop to his knees and look at you

he kisses at your thighs, eyes focused on you through his hazy vision, and he mumbles into your skin that he could look at you forever, taste you forever

his hands grip onto your thighs as they slightly part for his head, and Tsu’tey groans in delight at the taste of you on his tongue

how he had deprived himself of you, he would never know, but you taste clean, sweeter, better than the fresh waters of eywa’eveng

Tsu’tey groans as his tongue presses into you, tasting every part of you, worshiping every part of you with his mouth

he how wrong was he about you, no one so evil could ever taste like this, no one who would harm others would sound so sweet as you moan and whine into the air

your thighs tremble and twitch underneath his palms, and he thinks that he could die like this, on his knees before you, your softness surrounding his

gripping on tighter to your knees, he presses his face forward to taste you better, to bury his tongue further into your heat, to bring you to your high

you moan into the air, hands digging into his braids, and Tsu’tey only groans at the pressure, fucking his tongue and moaning into your heat

your hips buck against his, clit grinding against the flat of his nose, and you whine out his name, hips rutting against his face as you come

Tsu’tey could be like this for forever, your sweetness on his tongue, your thighs trembling underneath his grip and around his head, your moans filling his ears like the holiest music he could ever hear

grunting into your heat, he ignores the own ache in his pants and brings you through your orgasm, lapping at your pussy and collecting every drop of you

as you come down, he moves his face away and kisses at the inside of your plush thighs, staring up at you until you look down at him

he tells you that you’re so good for him, too good to him, and he rises up to his feet to kiss you once more, your moans filling his body with a pleasure he would never be able to recreate by himself

this time, you part from him first, pressing your forehead against his, hands gripping onto his shoulders, and your hands tug at his tewng cautiously

Tsu’tey hums and says that he wants to do this properly, to not just make this so simple, to have you in every way and not next to the pali

you laugh slightly, saying that he had just tasted you right next to them, and Tsu’tey just lets out a huff of amusement in response, saying that if he wanted to mate with you, that he wanted to feel all of you and this place was…not the most romantic of sights

if he could have his way, he would take you right now, to feel all of you right now, to have all of you right now, but this was not the right place

there’s a soft sigh from you, and then you mumble out an agreement, saying that the two of you near the pali pastures would not be a good story to tell to Neytiri

Tsu’tey looks up at you in amusement, and you roll your eyes and say that he wouldn’t understand before telling him to look away as you redressed

he laughs at that, saying that he had already seen all of you, traced your skin with his lips and his tongue, and you glares at him with those strange brows and hiss at him to look away

turning around, he sighs and crosses his arms, but a small smile plays on his face

you were strange, but you were his strange love, and he wouldn’t change it

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Bakugou, Kirishima, Midoriya, and Kaminari with a S/O that Has a Motorcycle

Katsuki Bakugou

Bakugou loves anything that gets his heart pumping, and when he sees you pull up on a motorcycle, he's immediately impressed. The roar of the engine? The sleek design? Yeah, that’s his kind of thing. He’s all about speed and danger, and now that you’ve got a motorcycle, he’s more than eager to hop on for a ride.

Bakugou doesn’t ask for rides—he demands them. He’s always in control, so it takes him a bit to get used to sitting behind you. But eventually, he comes to enjoy the thrill of you weaving through traffic or speeding down an open road. Of course, he’ll never admit that he trusts you enough to handle it.

It’s only a matter of time before Bakugou starts pushing to get his own motorcycle so he can race you. You can bet he’ll be cocky about it, bragging that there’s no way you can beat him in a head-to-head race. It turns into a competition for who’s the better rider, with lots of teasing and banter along the way.

Despite his tough-guy attitude, Bakugou can’t help but worry about your safety. He’ll nag you about wearing your helmet, making sure your bike’s in good condition, and even insists on checking the brakes himself. He won’t say it outright, but it’s clear that he wants you to stay safe while you’re out riding.

Eijiro Kirishima

Kirishima’s eyes light up when he sees you on your motorcycle for the first time. “That’s so manly!” he exclaims, completely in awe. He’s always thought you were cool, but this just takes it to a whole new level in his eyes. He loves how fearless you are, and it makes him admire you even more.

Kirishima is all for jumping on the back of your bike. At first, he’s a bit nervous, but the second you take off, he’s whooping with excitement. “This is awesome!” he shouts over the sound of the engine. He’s all about that thrill and loves holding on tight to you, feeling the wind rush past him.

Kirishima knows a little about mechanics, so he offers to help with maintenance. Whether it’s oiling the chain or checking the tires, he’s eager to pitch in. It’s another way for him to bond with you, and he wants to make sure everything’s safe so you can keep riding together.

Riding a motorcycle takes confidence, and Kirishima is always your biggest cheerleader. “You’re so brave for doing this,” he’ll say, genuinely proud of how cool and bold you are. He’s always hyping you up and never gets tired of watching you in action, whether it’s riding around or handling a tricky situation with the bike.

Izuku Midoriya

Midoriya is both fascinated and worried when he finds out you have a motorcycle. His first thought is about safety—he’s read tons of statistics on accidents and can’t help but fuss over you. But he’s also amazed by your confidence and skill, and he respects you for doing something so bold.

After finding out about your bike, Midoriya goes into full research mode. He starts learning all about motorcycles, from how they work to the best safety gear. He’ll send you little messages like, “Did you know this helmet is rated the safest?” or “I found some tips for riding in bad weather!”

Midoriya isn’t sure about riding with you at first. He’s nervous about the speed and the lack of protection compared to a car. But once you convince him to try, he realizes how exhilarating it is. He’ll cling to you at first, but after a while, he loosens up and starts to enjoy the ride, even if his heart’s still pounding.

Even though he trusts you, Midoriya can’t help but worry every time you head out on your bike. He’ll ask you to text him when you arrive safely and remind you to stay hydrated and be cautious. His concern is sweet, and it shows just how much he cares about you and your well-being.

Denki Kaminari

When Kaminari sees your motorcycle, he’s instantly excited. “Oh man, this is so cool!” he’ll gush, practically bouncing on his feet. He’s already imagining all the fun things the two of you could do with the bike—road trips, racing, and just showing off to your friends.

Kaminari is not shy about asking for rides. “C’mon, take me for a spin!” he’ll beg, hopping onto the back of your bike without hesitation. He loves the thrill of speeding down the road with you and is constantly asking when you can go out for another ride.

He loves bragging to his friends about your motorcycle. “Yeah, my S/O rides a bike. It’s super cool,” he’ll casually drop into conversation, like it’s no big deal. Kaminari thinks it makes both of you look awesome, and he takes any chance he can get to show you off.

Kaminari’s a bit of a goof, so he might try doing silly things while riding—like taking selfies or sticking his arms out to pretend he’s flying. You have to remind him to hang on properly so he doesn’t accidentally fall off, but he just laughs it off, trusting you completely to keep him safe.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[fervidgrey]

Ok I'm obssed with Jo. I have a request. Reader is being annoyed by some creepy guy in the street and Togame just sneaks up and puts him in a sleeper hold. Dude taps out but Jo makes him take a nap anyway. If he did some shit like that in front of me, I'd drool. I love him. Send help 😩❤️❤️

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 Please enjoy my love! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

LONG DAY, LONGER NIGHT

Pairing: Togame Jo x Reader

Rating: Mature.

Word count: 6400~

Note: Assault in the beginning (not with Togame), no use of y/n, no beta, biting, mating press, drinking, cream pie, overstimulation.

The beeping of your phone timer was the signal your closing tasks needed to end soon. You swipe at the timer, and set one more for the next 10 minutes- then you would be free. You had spent all day working at a cafe alone, both of your coworkers calling out over some family emergency for the 5th time in two weeks. While you understood people had stressful lives working alone until closing was awful in this area, especially on a Friday night.

With a huff you quickly close out the register, seal up the money earned, then drop it in the safe in the back office. Taking one last glance around you, smile as your timer goes off. While you did not appreciate doing this work alone, you were rather fast at it. You walk over to your phone, swipe off the final timer then head over to the company computer to clock out. Your punch reads OUT: 10:48PM making your grumble, the store had closed back at 9PM. A huge sigh escapes your lips as you come to terms with it being partytime on the streets at the moment. Tons of people would be bar hopping right now, and your tiny apartment happened to be next to a long string of bars.

As you reluctantly lock yourself out of the cafe's front door, and safely, then face the darkening street. You can already hear the distant thump of music and the buzz of tipsy laughter floating through the cool night air. Immediately, a drunk man bumps into your arm, muttering something about his kids but continues on without speaking to you. You stare at the man making sure he doesn’t turn around.  With a soft huff you glare at nothing in particular, fully annoyed at the world before setting a steady pace to your home. There was a small part of you that would love to sit down and drink with someone, but your solo shift zapped away all of your energy, and you had no one to call. So now, all you want now is a hot shower, some snacks, and the comfort of your bed.

After several minutes of walking down the poorly-lit sidewalk you finally see the street your modest second-floor apartment resides on. However as you get closer, the louder the party sounds become. Groups of rowdy bar patrons stumble past, a small handful spill their drinks while loudly sharing drunk stories. Your spine stiffens as you prepare to enter the fray. While you didn’t think anyone would bother you, it has happened several times- and each time ended with the police being called to walk you the rest of the way home.

With a deep breath you step forward and march into the crowd, trying to blend in. You weave, and dodge a few hands that come your way with ease, after all, most of them were already piss drunk. You glance up, noting the bar you are passing, 10 left to go. You step over a man's legs as he lays on the ground, mumbling to himself, and this seems to be where your smooth travels end. While looking down at the man’s legs you do not notice the man walking right at you, likely assuming you would move- and slam into him. The collision was enough to make you blink, and feel a bit dazed but his hand snapped you back to reality. You look at the man confused, even angry as he grabs your forearm with enough force to make your body curve down- trying to relieve pressure.

"Hey, fucking watch where you're goin’!" the man slurs, his grip tightening on your arm. You wince, trying to pull away, but his strength holds you in place.

"I'm sorry." you mutter, not wanting to escalate the situation. "I didn’t see you."

His blood shot eyes narrow as he looks you up and down. "Wait a minute," he says, swaying slightly. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" Your heart races as you scan the crowd, hoping someone will notice and intervene. But everyone seems lost in their own drunken revelry.

"No, I don't think so." you say firmly, attempting to twist your arm free. "I need to get home. Please let me go." you beg, trying to appeal to his better nature, but finding nothing.

“No, I have seen you before. Are you a pornstar?” He asks with a wide grin, pulling you in close. The smell of his breath makes you retch and you attempt to yank free again.

 “No, get the fuck off of me!” You nearly spit at him, focusing on removing his hand. The impact of his slap does free you, but not as you had hoped. The size difference between you and him becomes all the more apparent as your body hits the ground. Your head wobbles on your shoulder as you struggle to get your bearings back. Just as your mind got less foggy his arm was back on your forearm, dragging you into the alley around the corner. 

Panic surges through you as the man drags you deeper into the alley, away from the crowded street. Your heart pounds in your ears, drowning out the sounds of the nearby bars. You struggle against his grip, legs finally back into position enough to slow him down, but his drunken state seems to have only amplified his strength.

"Let go!" you shout, hoping someone will hear you over the noise of the nightlife. Tears are spilling down your cheeks as he laughs, digging his blunt nails into your arm.

“To think I have a moment with my favorite pornstar!” He rambles to himself, already jingling the buckle of his pants. Horror washes over you. You knew these things could happen- sometimes, awful people happen. But you didn’t want these things happening, not if you could help it. You stomp on the man's foot as hard as possible, and yell at him all while yanking the arm he was holding towards your own body.

For a moment it felt like your efforts would be rewarded but all it did was make him angry. The second slap feels closer to a punch. For a brief moment it feels like your head might fall off. You crash into the concrete wall behind you groaning out in pain. Your vision blurs as your head throbs from the impact. The world spins, and for a moment, you think you might pass out.

The sound of a zipper is what begins to make the bile shift in your stomach. Your arms hug against your body, overwhelmed by the physical pain and mental trauma happening at the same time.

“Please, don’t-” was all you got out before a blur of orange, and the man hit the ground. The sound that left your attacker's mouth was horrifying. Your attacker wails for a moment before he starts to gurgle. A tall man with black hair, and green eyes stares down at your attacker with a look you’ve never seen before. He looked far too calm for a man choking another human being with enough force to possibly kill. Your attackers fingers reached out for you seeking aid, making you squirm- did you really care if this man died? You looked back at your violent defender, and spoke before thinking.

“Um, I think he’s trying to tap out.” You offer while watching your attacker struggle unsuccessfully against the man's head lock. To your surprise the defender smirks and squeezes harder.

“Nah, better if he naps all this off.” His voice is deeper than you thought, his cadence was oddly relaxed despite holding a large struggling man in his grip.

You watch in stunned silence as your attacker's struggles grow weaker, his movements becoming sluggish until finally, his body goes limp. The stranger releases his hold, letting the unconscious man fall face first to the ground. He turns to face you, his green eyes now scanning you.

"Rough night." he states casually, his voice softer now. "Did he hurt you?"

You nod, still trembling from the ordeal. "I think I'm okay. Just shaken up." Your cheek stings where you were struck, and your head throbs from hitting the wall, but you didn’t think he would care all that much, considering he just dropped a man on his face.

The stranger takes a step closer, his hands raised slightly as if to show he means no harm. "Names Togame Jo. Figured you needed a hand." He reaches down, latching onto your arm. 

Normally you’d love his attention, he was incredibly attractive, but right now your nerves were shot. As he hoists you off the ground a hiss leaves your lips and you push his arm away. “Watch it.” You hadn’t meant to be so rude but the arm he had grabbed was extremely tender, all your adrenaline long gone. His posture switches immediately, his full height suddenly looming over you as he steps in close. For a moment it looks like he will slap you like the man before him, but instead his fingers grip your wrist, pulling you arm towards himself, he examines your forearm with a frown.

Togame's frown deepens as he inspects the bruises forming on your arm. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he turns your wrist, examining the damage.

"Bastard really did a number on you." he mutters, his green eyes flicking up to meet yours. "You need medical attention?"

You shake your head, wincing slightly at the movement. "No, I'll be fine. I just want to go home."

Togame nods, releasing your arm. "I'll walk you there." he offers, though it felt like an unrefusable offer.

For a moment, you hesitate- weighing the risks. After what just happened, the idea of trusting a stranger seems foolish. But something about Togame Jo's demeanor puts you at ease. Maybe it's the way he effortlessly took down your attacker, or the gentleness in his touch as he examined your injuries. Whatever it is, you find yourself nodding.

"It's not far." you say, gesturing vaguely down the street. "Just a few more blocks."

Togame falls into step beside you as you leave the alley, his tall frame creating a buffer between you and the rowdy crowds still milling about. You can't help but notice how people seem to give him a wide berth, their eyes darting away when they catch sight of him. Once you had calmed down more things made sense. His jersey was famous around these parts. While you didn’t know who he was specifically, the Shishitoren emblem was unmistakable.

"So," Togame says after a few moments of silence, "what's a nice person like you doing out so late in this neighborhood?"

You sigh, rubbing your sore cheek. "I just got off work.”

"Work, huh?" Togame raises an eyebrow, his green eyes glinting with curiosity. "Must be a late shift."

You nod, feeling a mix of exhaustion and lingering anxiety wash over you. "Yeah, I work at the cafe a few blocks back. Had to close up alone tonight."

Togame whistles low. "Tough gig. Especially in this area."

As you walk, you can't help but steal glances at your unexpected savior. His relaxed demeanor contrasts sharply with the dangerous aura he exudes. You wonder what kind of life he leads, being part of the notorious Shishitoren.

"So," you venture, curiosity getting the better of you, "do you often rescue people in dark alleys?"

A smirk plays at the corner of Togame's lips. "Only the cute ones," he quips, then chuckles at your startled expression. "Nah, I was just in the right place at the right time."

You feel a blush creep up your neck, unsure how to respond to his casual flirtation. "Well, thank you," you pause for a moment, reliving the hits to your face all over again. "I appreciate your help.” You manage to mumble out. He smiles, humming back in response.

As you approach your apartment building, a sense of relief washes over you. The familiar sight of the worn brick facade and flickering porch light feels like a sanctuary after the night's ordeal. You pause at the bottom of the steps, turning to face Togame.

"This is me." you say, gesturing towards the building. "Thanks again for walking me home."

Togame nods, his green eyes scanning the area before settling back on you. "No problem. You gonna be alright from here?"

You hesitate, suddenly aware of how empty and quiet your apartment will be. The events of the night replay in your mind, sending a shiver down your spine. "Yeah, I'll be fine," you lie, forcing a smile.

Togame's eyebrow quirks up, clearly not buying your act. "You sure about that? You look like you could use some company."

Your heart races at his suggestion. Part of you wants to invite him up, to not be alone with your thoughts. But another part reminds you that he's still a stranger, albeit one who saved you.

"I don't know..." you start, uncertainty filling your voice.

Togame holds up his hands, a disarming smile on his face. "Hey, no pressure. Just thought you might want someone to talk to after all that. But if you'd rather be alone, I get it."

You bite your lip, weighing the options. The thought of facing the empty apartment alone suddenly seems unbearable. "Actually, care for a drink?" you ask sheepishly.

Togame's eyes light up, a hint of surprise in his expression. "Wouldn't say no." he says with a casual shrug, but you catch the subtle eagerness in his tone.

You lead him up the creaky stairs to your second-floor apartment, fumbling slightly with your keys as you unlock the door. The familiar scent of home washes over you as you step inside, bringing a sense of comfort after the night's chaos.

"It's not much." you say, flicking on the lights and gesturing around the modest space, "but it's home."

Togame follows you in, his tall frame comically filling up the small living room. His green eyes scan the space, taking in the mismatched furniture and the small collection of plants on the windowsill. "It's cozy, I like it." he says, a hint of approval in his voice.

You head to the kitchen, grateful for the chance to collect yourself. "Make yourself comfortable." you call over your shoulder. "What's your poison?"

"Whatever you're having," Togame replies, settling onto your worn couch.

You pull two beers from the fridge, popping the caps off before returning to the living room. Togame accepts the bottle with a small nod, his fingers brushing yours as he takes it. The brief contact sends images of his hands on you, reminding you of how long it's been since you got laid. 

You sit beside him on the couch, leaving a respectable distance between you. An awkward silence falls between you both, the room suddenly smaller than you remembered from this morning.

As you sip your beer, you can't help but steal glances at Togame. He was certainly taller than the average man, and his arms will thick as hell. You notice his eyes roaming over the various knick-knacks and photos adorning your walls.

"So," Togame says, breaking the silence, "you always invite strange men up to your apartment after they rescue you?"

You choke a little on your beer, caught off guard by his directness. "No," you sputter out, "this is definitely a first."

Togame chuckles, a deep rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. "I'm honored." he says with a wink.

You feel your cheeks flush and quickly take another swig of beer to hide your reaction. "What about you?" you ask, trying to regain your composure. "Do you often end up in strangers' apartments after playing hero?"

"Nah," Togame replies, leaning back into the couch. "Usually I'm the one people are running from, not towards."

His casual admission of his dangerous reputation should probably alarm you, but instead, you find yourself intrigued. "Because of Shishitoren?" you ask, gesturing to his jersey.

Togame's eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something dangerous passing over his face before his relaxed demeanor returns. "You know about us, huh?"

You shrug, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Not much, really. Just that you guys have a reputation around here."

Togame's expression softens, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "A reputation, huh? Well, can't say it's undeserved." He takes a long swig of his beer, his gaze never leaving yours. "But tonight, I'm just a guy having a drink with a cute barista. That alright with you?"

Your heart skips a beat at his words. The way he looks at you makes you feel seen in a way you haven't in a long time. "Yeah." you say softly, "that's alright with me."

As the night wears on, you find yourself relaxing more in Togame's presence. The conversation flows easily, ranging from your work at the cafe to his vague allusions to life in Shishitoren. You can't help but be drawn in by his charisma, the way his green eyes light up when he laughs, the casual grace with which he moves.

Before you know it, you're on your third beer, a pleasant warmth spreading through your body. The events from earlier in the night feel distant now, like a bad dream fading in the light of day. You find yourself studying Togame's profile as he recounts a particularly funny story about a misunderstanding at a local ramen shop.

"What?" he asks, catching you staring at his arms.

"Nothing," you say, a little too quickly.

Togame's lips curl into a knowing smirk. "Admiring the view?" he teases, flexing his arm slightly.

You feel your face flush, equal parts embarrassment and attraction. "Maybe." You admit, the alcohol makes you bolder than usual. "You did use those arms to save me earlier."

Togame's smirk widens into a grin. "Well, they're not just for show," he says, leaning in closer. His voice drops lower, sending a shiver down your spine. "Want a closer look?"

Your breath catches in your throat as he closes the distance between you on the couch. The warmth radiating from his body makes your skin tingle with anticipation. You find yourself nodding, unable to form words as Togame's hand gently cups your cheek.

"You sure about this?" he murmurs, his thumb tracing your jawline. "After everything that happened tonight..."

The concern in his eyes touches you, melting away any lingering reservations. "I'm sure." you whisper, leaning into his touch.

Togame's lips meet yours in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens with intensity. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You lean into the embrace, your fingers tangling in his dark hair as the kiss grows more passionate.

When you finally break apart, both breathing heavily, Togame rests his forehead against yours. "Damn," he says with a low chuckle. "If I'd known saving cute baristas led to this, I'd have done it sooner."

You laugh deeply enjoying his charming banter."Well, I'm glad it was me you saved." you reply, tracing patterns on his chest through his shirt.

Togame's eyes fill with desire as he watches your fingers trail across his chest. In one fluid motion, he pulls you onto his lap, his strong hands gripping your hips. "Me too." he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck.

A soft gasp escapes you as he trails kisses down your neck and collar bone. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer. The solid warmth of his body against yours makes you feel safe and wanted in a way you haven't experienced in a long time.

"Togame." you breathe, arching into him as his hands slip under your shirt, caressing the bare skin of your lower back.

He pulls back slightly, his green eyes dark searching your face. "You okay?" he asks slowly, his thumbs tracing circles on your hips. "We can stop if you want."

The tenderness in his voice, contrasting with the dangerous aura he exudes, makes the heat in your core double. You cup his face in your hands, marveling at how someone who had so effortlessly taken down your attacker could be so gentle with you.

"Just, fuck me." you demand of him, leaning in to capture his lips in another kiss.

A low growl rumbles in Togame's chest as he stands suddenly, lifting you with him. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist as he carries you towards the bedroom, his strong arms support you effortlessly. He kicks the door closed behind him then gently lowers you onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

"You're sure about this?" he asks one last time, his green eyes searching yours intently.

You nod, pulling him closer. "Stop asking." you breathe against his lips before kissing him deeply.

Togame responds with fervor, his hands roaming your body as he settles between your legs. You tug at his shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours. He breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it off, revealing a toned chest marked with a few light scattered scars.

Your fingers trace the lines of his muscles, marveling at the strength contained within. Togame watches your hands explore, his eyes darkening with desire. He makes quick work of your own shirt, his calloused hands gentle as they map your newly exposed skin.

"Beautiful." he murmurs, pressing hot kisses along your collarbone.

You arch into him, gasping as his lips find an extra sensitive spot on your neck. Your hands tangle in his hair again, holding him close as he lavishes attention upon you. The rest of your clothes soon join the pile on the floor, leaving nothing between your bodies.

Togame takes his time, his touches alternating between gentle caresses and firm grasps that leave you breathless. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire between your legs. 

"Jo." you gasp, arching into him as his mouth finds your breast. He leaves hot kisses along  your skin, sending sparks of pleasure through you. His hand trails down your stomach, teasing at the curve of your thighs. You spread your legs wider, silently begging for more.

He lifts his head, making eye contact with a smirk. "Tell me what you want." he commands, his fingers tracing tantalizing patterns on your inner thigh.

"You." you breathe, pulling him closer. "I want you inside me."

A low growl rumbles in Togame's chest as he positions himself between your legs. He enters you slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. You moan at the delicious stretch, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Fuck," Togame groans, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he stills inside you. "You feel amazing."

While his size was impressive, years of self care had prepared you for him.  A moan fills the room as your body accepts him with ease. You wanted to share also how incredible he felt but all you could focus on was his cock spreading you wide. Instead you roll your hips, urging him to move. 

Togame takes the hint, setting a steady rhythm that has you gasping with each thrust. His strong hands grip your hips, pulling you closer with each movement. The room fills with the sounds of your shared pleasure, soft moans and gasps mingling with the rustle of sheets.

Togame's powerful body moves against yours, his hips rolling in a hypnotic rhythm. You cling to his broad shoulders, loving the sensations coursing through you. His lips find yours in a passionate kiss as he drives deeper, hitting just the right spot to make you cry out in pleasure against his lips.

"That's it." he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot on your skin. "Let me hear you."

You moan louder, unashamed as waves of pleasure wash over you. Togame's pace increases, his movements becoming more urgent. You can feel yourself getting close, teetering on the edge of release.

Togame's pace increases, driving deeper into you with each thrust. You wrap your legs around his waist, changing the angle and crying out as he hits a spot that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Right there," you pant, your fingers digging into his back. "Don't stop."

Togame grunts in acknowledgment, his rhythm becoming more intense. You can feel the tension building to a breaking point, a coiling heat in your core that threatens to snap any second. 

"Jo, I'm close," you gasp, your body trembling beneath him. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck” you mutter, barely able to keep yourself together. 

He slides a hand between your bodies, his rough fingers press into your clit, rubbing in tandem with his thrust. The added stimulation pushes you over the edge harshly. You cry out Togame's name as waves of pleasure crash into you, your body arching off the bed. The sight of your pleasure sends Togame over the edge as well. He buries his face in your neck, groaning deeply as he finds his own release inside you. Normally, you’d yell at a man for not asking to come inside you but just this once you’d let it go- after all he was your hero. 

For a moment, you both lie there, breathing heavily, bodies intertwined. Togame presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before carefully pulling out and collapsing beside you. He gathers you into his arms, your head resting on his chest.

"Fuck, I needed that." you puff out, still catching your breath.

"Same." Togame chuckles softly, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your back, sending pleasant tingles across your skin. You lie there in comfortable silence for a few moments, basking in the afterglow.

You nuzzle closer, inhaling his scent - a mix of his exertion, and cologne. It reminded you of fresh brewed black tea and musk. If you were honest, you hoped his scent would linger on your sheets for a while, it was intoxicating.

"So," you venture, propping yourself up on an elbow to look at Togame. "Does this mean I get protection from the notorious Shishitoren now?"

His green eyes sparkle with amusement. "Careful what you wish for." he teases, his fingers tapping the bottom of your chin, "Once you're under our protection, there's no going back."

You lean into his touch, a small smile playing on your lips. "Promise?"

Togame's expression turns serious for a moment. "I can."

"I wouldn’t mind seeing you around." you reply softly, thinking of the long hours and difficult walk home every Friday night.

Togame's eyes shift at your words, but his face is unreadable. He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your cheek. "I wouldn't mind that either." he murmurs.

You settle back against his chest, feeling safe. The events of the night - the fear, the violence, and now this unexpected connection - swirl in your mind. Part of you wonders if you're making a mistake, getting involved with someone like Togame Jo. But as his strong arms wrap around you, you find it hard to care.

"So," you say, tracing patterns on his chest "do I get a cool jacket like yours?"

Togame laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Nah, the jacket's for members only. But you’ll get my protection." he pauses, his hand running up and down your arm. "It means no one messes with you. Not if they know what's good for them."

You shiver at the hint of danger in his voice, completely thrilled by your new guard dog. "And what about you?" you ask, looking up to meet his gaze. "Will I be seeing more of you?"

Togame's lips curl into a smirk. "That can be arranged," he says, his hand sliding down to cup your ass. "Someone's gotta make sure you get home safe from those late shifts, right?"

"I'd like that." you murmur, a smile playing on your lips. The thought of Togame waiting for you after your late shifts makes you giddy.

He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."

His words ignite a fresh wave of desire in you. You shift, straddling his hips and looking down at him with a mischievous grin. "Oh really? And what did you have in mind?"

Togame's hands settle on your waist, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. "Well," he says, his voice low and husky, "Let me show you a few more of my talents."

You lean down, your lips hovering just above his. "Show me what you’ve got." you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. Your hips grind down on his semi-hard cock, torturing him.

In one swift motion, Togame flips you onto your back, pinning your hands above your head. His green eyes are clouded with desire as he looks down at you. "Challenging me?"

Togame's sudden move catches you off guard, sending a buzz of excitement through your body. You gasp, looking up into his intense gaze. The weight of his body pressing you into the mattress makes your pussy wet again. Just the display of his strength makes your body ache for him.

"Maybe I am." you say breathlessly, a hint of defiance in your tone. "What are you going to do about it?"

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Togame's face. "Oh, I've got a few ideas." he murmurs, his free hand trailing down your body. His touch is feather-light, teasing, making you squirm beneath him.

You arch into his touch, craving more. "Care to share?" you ask, your voice raw.

Instead of answering, Togame captures your lips in a wet kiss. His tongue explores your mouth as his hand continues its tantalizing journey down your body. When he reaches the valley of your thighs and rubs them gently, you moan into the kiss, spreading your legs wider in invitation.

Togame breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck. "Patience." he murmurs against your skin, nipping lightly at your collarbone. "I plan to take my time with you."

His words send a shiver down your spine. You tug at your pinned hands, wanting to touch him, but he holds firm. "Jo.." you whine, frustrated by his teasing.

Togame chuckles at your whine, his breath hot against your skin. "Ah ah, not yet." he murmurs, his free hand ghosting over your inner thigh. "I want to hear you beg for it."

His fingers trace patterns on your sensitive skin, purposefully avoiding where you need him most. You squirm beneath him, desperate for more contact. "Please!" you gasp, your hips lifting off the bed seeking friction.

"Please what?" Togame asks, his voice low and husky. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Touch me, please." you breathe, your body trembling with need. "Please, Jo, I need you."

Togame hums against your skin, considering your plea. "Since you asked so nicely." he says, finally releasing your hands.

Before you can react, he's sliding down your body, settling between your legs. His strong hands grip your thighs, spreading you wide. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching with hooded eyes as he lowers his head. You had never had a man eat you out after he came inside you, but it was incredibly fucking hot Togame was unbothered by such filthy work.

The first swipe of his tongue against your sensitive clit has you crying out in pleasure. Togame's skilled mouth works you expertly, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping tightly as waves of pleasure wash over you.

"Fuck, Jo.." you moan, your hips rolling against his face.

Togame's tongue works magic between your thighs, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His strong hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he devours you with singular focus. You writhe beneath him, gasping and moaning as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Jo.." you pant, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. "I'm so close."

He hums against you, the vibration sending sparks of sensation through your dripping pussy. His tongue circles your clit with increased pressure, and you feel the tension building to a breaking point. Just as you're about to tumble over the edge, Togame pulls back, his tongue hovering just above you clit. You whimper at the loss of contact, your hips chasing his mouth unsuccessful.

"Not yet," he murmurs, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "I want more."

Before you can protest, he slides two fingers inside you, curling them to hit your g spot. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking gently as his fingers work you from the inside. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, and you feel yourself rapidly approaching climax once again.

"Please, fuck" you beg, not entirely sure what you're asking for. "Jo, please."

Togame's eyes lock with yours, dark with desire. "Come for me." he demands, his voice low and husky. His words, combined with the relentless attention of his mouth and fingers, send you careening over violently. Your thighs snap closed against his body, struggling against his still moving fingers. Your pants come out hard while your hands fly up to search for leverage. He chuckles as he continues to pump his fingers into your tender pussy.

Your body trembles with aftershocks as Togame slowly withdraws his fingers. He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh before moving back up your body. His lips capture yours in a deep kiss, letting you taste a bodily fluid cocktail on his tongue.

"Fuck." you pant when he finally pulls away, still breathless from your intense orgasm.

"Doing alright?" Togame finishes with a smirk, his green eyes still mischievous. He positions himself between your legs, the hard length of his cock pressing against your sensitive flesh.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Never better, I got all night." you challenge, with a cheeky grin.

Togame's response is to thrust into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. You both groan at the sensation, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

He sets a brutal rhythm, each thrust going deeper than the last. His hands find your thighs and press them down hard against your body. The man was putting you into a full mating press and it was glorious. Your mind was beginning to blur, completely overworked by your moans, panting, and the pressure from his heavy body.

Togame's powerful thrusts drive you into the mattress, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain through your overstimulated body. The new angle allows him to hit spots deep inside you that make your toes curl and your vision blur. Your hands scramble for purchase on his sweat-slicked back as you struggle to match his intense rhythm.

"You feel so fucking good." Togame grunts, his voice strained with effort. His green eyes are glassy as they lock onto yours, watching every expression of pleasure that crosses your face.

You can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Each thrust pushes you in a direction of an orgasm you don’t think is reachable. "Jo" you manage to gasp out, "I can’t.." your words are cut off by an incredibly hard thrust.

His hips slam against yours with bruising force. His long body arches towards you, for a moment you think he is going to kiss you but instead his teeth sink into the tender flesh of your neck. He laps at the bite, groaning with abandon while finding a new place to sink his teeth into.

The dual stimulation becomes too much. With a cry that's almost a scream, you come undone beneath him. Your body arches off the bed, trembling violently as waves of intense pleasure crash over you again. Togame doesn't let up, fucking you through your orgasm, and prolonging the sensation until tears begin to form in your water line.

Your vision blurs as the intense orgasm washes away all thoughts, and leaves your body trembling uncontrollably beneath Togame's powerful form. He continues to thrust into you relentlessly, drawing out his pleasure but pushing you to almost unbearable heights.

"That's it," he growls, his voice ragged. "Take it all." he moans out

You cling to him desperately, your nails digging into his damp back as you try relaxing into his thrusts. Just when you think you can't take anymore, Togame's rhythm falters. With a deep groan, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his body shuddering as he finds his own release.

For a long moment, you both lie there panting, bodies intertwined and slick with sweat. Togame's weight presses you into the mattress making it difficult to breathe. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before slowly pulling out and collapsing beside you.

"Fuck." you breathe, still trying to catch your breath. Your body feels boneless, pleasantly sore in all the right places, and some areas a bit less pleasant. Togame chuckles, pulling you against his chest. "Might have to save you nightly." he groans into your neck. His tongue laps out again, soothing the deep bites he had placed in your neck, which were already forming shiny red and purple spots.

You nuzzle into his warmth, feeling utterly spent but enjoying his mouth's attention. "I think you broke me." you mumble against his skin, only half-joking.

Togame chuckles, his chest rumbling against you. "Nah, you're tougher than that." he says, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. You smile, nodding in agreement with his assessment of you, granted your sore cervix had different opinions.

As your breathing slows and your heartbeat returns to normal, a comfortable silence falls between you. Togame's hand continues its gentle caress along your spine, occasionally drifting to brush against the marks he left on your neck.

"So," you murmur after a while, tilting your head to look up at him. "Is this a one-time thing, or...?"

Togame's green eyes meet yours, a hint of vulnerability flashing across his face before his usual confident smirk returns. "Depends," he says, his voice low. "You want it to be?"

You consider his question, weighing the potential complications against the undeniable connection you feel with him. "No," you admit softly. "I'd like to see you again."

Relief flickers in Togame's eyes, quickly masked by a playful grin. "Good," he says, pulling you closer. "Because I wasn't planning on letting you go that easily."

[tinyproprodigy]

𖤐 ִֶָ 𓂃 🧷

"Staggered to meet you"

Neito Monoma x reader (F)

Neito Monoma swaggered into the Gym Gamma training arena, his blond hair perfectly coiffed and his U.A. uniform impeccably pressed. Flashing his trademark smirk, he scanned the crowd of students until his gaze landed on you - a relatively unremarkable member of Class 1-A.

"Well, well, if it isn't little (Y/N)," he drawled, sauntering over. "I was hoping to spar against one of the elite students today, but I suppose you'll have to do."

You narrowed your eyes as Monoma lazily twirled a lock of hair around his finger. His incessant teasing and constant attempts to rile up your class had become tiresome. But today, you were determined to wipe that smug grin off his face.

"Bring it on, Monoma," you retorted, cracking your knuckles. "Maybe you'll finally get that ego of yours knocked down a few pegs."

Monoma let out a derisive laugh. "My, my, such confidence! Though I can hardly blame you for being starstruck in my presence." He assumed a fighting stance, his eyes glinting with Challenge. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

The match began, and almost immediately, Monoma's copied quirks gave him the upper hand. Bursts of fire scorched the arena floor as he unleashed a barrage of attacks. You dodged and weaved, biding your time as he continued his relentless assault.

Then, just as Monoma began to tire, you saw your opening. With a speed he didn't anticipate, you closed the distance between you, your fist connecting squarely with his chiseled jaw.

Monoma's eyes went wide with shock as he stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and crashing to the ground in an undignified heap. The entire class erupted into raucous laughter and cheers as the great Neito Monoma found himself flat on his back, staring up at you in disbelief.

"Impossible..." he mumbled, gingerly prodding his soon-to-be-bruised jaw. "How could I, the elite Neito Monoma, be floored by someone from the inferior Class 1-A?"

You offered him a sarcastic smile and a hand up. "I guess all that ego finally caught up to you," you quipped, trying (and failing) to stifle a giggle at his ruffled appearance.

As the days passed, Monoma found his thoughts continually drifting back to that fateful sparring session. No matter how he tried to rationalize it, he couldn't shake the image of you standing over him, your (h/c) hair tousled and a triumphant grin on your face.

It was... oddly captivating.

He started noticing little things about you that he'd never paid attention to before. The way your nose scrunched up when you concentrated in class. The melodic lilt of your laugh as you joked with your friends. The confident sway of your walk as you strode down the hallway.

Monoma caught himself staring more than once, only to be met with a quizzical look or a teasing remark from his classmates. He tried to brush it off, but the truth became increasingly difficult to ignore.

Neito Monoma, the self-proclaimed "elite" who looked down on Class 1-A, had developed a massive, all-consuming crush on you.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks one afternoon as he watched you sparring with Midoriya. You moved with a grace and power that

left him slack-jawed, and when you caught his eye and flashed him a lopsided grin, his heart did a traitorous little flip in his chest.

Monoma was officially smitten.

From that day on, his attempts to get under your skin took on a new, almost flirtatious undertone. He went out of his way to seek you out, always finding an excuse to be in your vicinity. Mundane things like watching you take notes in class or eat your lunch suddenly became fascinating displays worthy of his utmost attention.

"Eyes up here, Monoma," you'd tease whenever you caught him staring, causing his cheeks to flush a vivid shade of crimson.

His classmates mercilessly ribbed him about his not-so-subtle infatuation, but Monoma couldn't bring himself to care. He was a man on a mission - a mission to win your heart, no matter how bruised his ego became in the process.

After all, he reasoned to himself, a little humility was a small price to pay for the affection of someone as amazing as you. And if getting knocked down a peg or two was what it took, then Neito Monoma would gladly kiss the ground you walked on.

[awaggaa]

something about the flowers reflecting how each character expresses love,,,,

mizi gives full flower crowns to sua, and vice versa, but sua is also depicted giving flowers more often(??) but in less quantities to mizi. this could reflect how mizi unabashedly gives love to sua, while sua doesn't believe she should be burdening mizi (my heart is the greatest poison something something).

at the same time, she gives smaller but more consistent acts of love (in mizi's letter to sua she cites a ton of acts of service including eating her tomaos for her and just generally spending time with her).

ivantill is like. ivantill?? everything that could be said about them atp has already been said LMAo

till is a tried and true flower boy and ivan knows this. 'eating' or crushing flowers WILL get tills attention. ivan also entertains tills little flower games. "cheer up" WHAT IF I TROUT? (obscure reference pay me no mind) DID HE REALLY HAVE TO SAY THAT IN THE INTERVIEW? REALLY?

are ivan and till foils of each other? i dunno! anyways ivan doesn't really know what to do with his love for till so he just. plops it on his head. badabing badaboom. it's a careless way of expressing it, but the flower crown itself has had time and care put into it. he does his best.

tills also often depicted chasing, hiding, or letting go of flowers. he tries to contain his love and also doesnt know how to handle it. wowie

luka has been yearning for longer than tills been alive isnt that crazy

anyways hyuna is intentional and careful with her love for luka. rather than a flower crown being tossed onto his head (this is not a callout post in any regards. coughs ivan coughs), she weaves flowers into lukas hair. just like counting his fingers, this action reminds luka he's alive. yay

luka treasures, preserves, holds on to, etc. hyunas love. im not sure if these were the flowers hyuna gave him but judging by how his room is LITTERED with hyunas posters they probably are..

interestingly, not only are these flowers preserved, theyre RIGHT NEXT TO his alien stage medal. in other words, hyunas love and his win are of equal value. they both represent his literal state of living. he's the version that survived alien stage. he's the version that was loved.

the medal is also of the great anakt,,, something something make me your god i can give you everything,,, something something if you were in my arms you'd be safe,, i dont know,,

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

headcannons of the jackass crew on valentines? i think johnny would be soooo romantic!

Valentine’s Day with the Jackass Guys! ♡

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader, Bam Margera X Fem!Reader, Steve-O X Fem!Reader, Chris Pontus X Fem!Reader, Ryan Dunn X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, kissing, lingerie, PDA, cuddling, alcohol

An: Thank you for the request! I had a ton of fun coming up with these cute date ideas for the guys! Fun fact: Bam’s section is inspired by the trip to Paris he took his then girlfriend as mentioned in his book! Anyways, thank you for the request, and please keep sending them!

Johnny

Charged silence buzzed between you and Johnny as you waited at bar of that fancy restaurant everybody in LA had been fighting tooth and nail for a table at,

But from the stuffy, stuck up atmosphere and the snotty, well to do customers, one thing was becoming very apparent:

“I really don’t think this is our scene.”

Thank god you said that first. Paying for your drinks, he wrapped an arm around you with a grin,

“I’d reckon it ain’t.” Patting you on the back, Knoxville assured you as you weaved through tabled, “Ah, well don’t think I didn’t have a plan B prepared for this sorta thing!”

In actuality, he didn’t have anything resembling a backup, but it couldn’t be too hard to come up with…

Within the hour, you were back Johnny’s his place, not bothering to take off your fancy clothes as you cuddled up on the sofa.

Some romantic, French film you would’ve never guessed he’d know murmured quietly in the background as you picked through the Chinese takeout you picked up on the way home,

“I feel like I’m in a movie or somethin’…” Your flustered chuckle made that charming, Hollywood smile spread a mile across his ruggedly handsome face…

Knoxville pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Only the best ‘fr my girl…”

Bam

Now, most girls would be over the moon that their boyfriend took them to Paris for Valentine’s Day. However, keep in mind that your boyfriend was Bam Margera.

Take, for example, that morning you visited some fancy bakery. “Hey- hey, Y/N!” Turning away from some display, you just sighed as he gave you the eyebrows, giddily holding a baguette in front of his crotch.

Or when you nearly had a heart attack when your boyfriend got down on one knee and pulled out a little box in front of the Eiffel Tower. “Oh my god-“

“Wait- it’s a promise ring!” Seeing your face fall, Bam held up the silver, heartagram band and added, “See, I promise not to fuck any other chicks while we’re together.”

Way to ruin the moment…“What’re you, twelve?” You spat, to which he retorted, “Hey! I paid good, French money for this!”

But it’s not like Bam didn’t have a a single romantic bone in his body! I mean, he did take you to that fancy French lingerie store, but as you could guess, that was more fun for him than it was for you.

“Cmon, do a twirl!” He giggled as you tried on the thousandth lacy, black set he picked out in this demented Pretty Woman montage,

Thinking fast, you spun around and put on you best seductive coo, “When am I gonna actually get to buy these, babe? I’m real eager to, uh- test ‘em out…tonight.”

Of course, that’s what made him wrap it up, “Well, now youre speakin’ my language!”

Steve-O

Steve was broke. Dead broke, but he’s not the kinda guy to let that stop him from getting something for his girl!

“It’s a coupon book!” He excitedly showed you his handiwork, flipping through pages of shitty handwriting, “Y’can use ‘em whenever you want!” Oh, now you had to test that.

But you thanked your boyfriend and went about the day he had planned, making sure he was none the wiser

That is until you were halfway through your walk in the park and ripped out the ‘snuggle’ coupon. Okay, little weird, but there’s a lot worse you could ask Steve to do, so fuck it!

No blanket, no picnic basket, you were the weird cuddle couple in the park. But it wasn’t the end of the world for him

And if you thought the stares you got there were bad, you could only imagine the looks on the faces of the mall food court patrons when you tore off the slip of paper that read ‘back massage’.

“I’ll do it. No, really- I’ll do it!” Steve was testing your gall, but you didn’t back down.

You grinned, proudly wagging the paper in the air, “Coupon! No restrictions apply!”

Face down, on a table, you hid your smile as you could feel your boyfriend physically staving off the urge to say you owed him because no, you didn’t owe him jack!

He just went along with the program, an embarrassed smile creeping across his face as he worked out the sore muscles in your shoulders.

You sat up just enough to ask, “Ooh! What about couple’s portraits after this?”

Chris

This man is COMICALLY romantic like. Oh my god.

Rose petals scattered about, the room bathed in warm candlelight as the of scent of vanilla wafted through the air as cheesy, romantic RnB played softly;

Chris planned a whole ass romantic spa day for you! There he was, lying ‘paint me like one of your French girls’ style on the floor, waiting for you.

“Oh my god! I…this is so sweet!” But for a moment, you smile flickered as you looked your boyfriend up and down, “What’s with the robe?”

Grinning, Chris shot you a wink as he sat up and slinked it off one shoulder, “Well, you can’t have a couple’s spa day by yourself!”

What followed was the most confusingly sexy Magic Mike routine you could have ever conjured up! Giggles, giggles, more giggles…

But when you actually got to the spa stuff, it was a bit of a tight squeeze for the both of you to Tetris your legs together in the small tub, the mountains of bubbles not helping at all. But you made it work…

Raking his fingers through your wet hair as you laid back against his chest, Pontius explained all the fun he had on tap,

“We got mani-pedis, massages, face masks…” Chuckling low, he added, “Y’know, the homemade kind?”

You laughed, playfully shoving him away, “Ah! You are so nasty…”

Ryan

You would never expect that he’d be one for wine and paint night, but it tracked after you found out Bam billed it to him as, “that paint thing April goes to with booze”.

But, to your surprise, you started having a really fun time! I mean, after a few glasses, of course…

When you weren’t gushing over him being such a good boyfriend, you and Ryan were sneaking kisses when you didn’t think the instructor was looking. God, you felt young…

But then, in the midst of all this love, you caught something out the corner of your eye… Dropping your voice to a whisper, you asked your boyfriend, “Hey, what’re you paintin’?”

Shrugging, Dunn gestured to the abstract, pale blob (which was not what the instructor was painting) with a finger,

“Oh! That’s us. Having sex!”

He’s fucking with you. He had to be- but if you squinted and turned your head to the side…

“Ryan!” Your eyes flashed wide as you whispered yelled, hiding behind your canvas, “That is embarrassing!”

Grinning, Ryan sling an arm around your shoulders, “It shouldn’t be! You’re hot!” As sleazy as that sounded, it was a genuine compliment! At least, he intended it as one

Leaning back, he signaled with one hand, “Can this painter get another bottle’a wine?”

[555aturn]

Whispers of Zaun⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

chapter three

chapter two if you haven’t read it

summary- Two days pass since Sevika was at the shop. Apothecary receives interesting intel and she spends some time at the local brothel and gets an unexpected visit.

warnings- SMUT THIS CHAPTER!! sesbian lex, fingering+oral (oc!recieving), reader is gettin the job done (she’s a giver) Sevika is her own warning:)

words- 3.5k

a/n- yes smut witchy!reader is finally gettin some and sevika tension omggg i was biting my lip while writing their scene and ofc readers brothel scene🫦👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 this is my first time writing smut so bare with me annnd I recommend listening to "slow like honey" by Fiona Apple while reading

minors don’t enter for real this time!!

It has been two days since Sevika’s last visit. I tidied up the shop a bit to distract myself; I bought Hex a little lilac collar; I got tons of new herbs and flowers, and Seraphine came by before opening to have tea and breakfast with me. Now I’m alone, alone with my thoughts again.

I shake away the uneasy feeling that swarms around me and go to light my candles instead. I have candles that line almost every flat surface in the shop. Not just for the aroma and decor but for Janna. Janna is the ancient wind spirit that has kept me and many citizens of Zaun strong and holding their heads high. 

In the depths of Zaun, where smog chokes the sky and the wind fights to weave through rusted metal and crumbling stone, the lighting of a candle is more than a mere act of illumination—it is an offering. A whisper of flame against the dark, a plea carried on the smoke to something unseen, something ancient.

Janna does not ask for worship, nor does she demand tribute, but those who still believe in her—those who feel the faint kiss of a breeze when all should be still—light candles in her name. They are sacrifices of warmth to the wind, gifts of fleeting light in a place where daylight is scarce. The flame flickers, wavers, and dances, feeding the unseen currents that coil through the city’s veins. Some say she listens to the prayers carried in the curling wisps of smoke, that she breathes them in like a promise, like a memory of the world before Zaun sank into shadow.

And when the wind howls through the alleys, tearing through the smog and carrying away the heavy air just long enough for the desperate to take a full breath—those who know Janna’s name whisper their gratitude and light another candle.

At least that’s what my father told me before his end. 

As I am lighting the last candle, my bell rings. “Hey,” I hear from behind me. It was Ran.

“Well, hello dear, long time no see. What does the boss want?” I ask while crossing my arms over my chest. 

“Oh, I'm here to actually chat this time.” They chuckled. “So what’s up withcy? I got some free time before I have to pick something up for Silco.” I chuckled. Ran came up with that nickname after their first visit to the shop. “Oh, are you now? Well, what would you like to talk about, Ran?” I asked them. Ran took a seat on my sofa with a huff and pretended to ponder in thought at my question. “Hmmmm. Oh! Actually, I heard that Sevika came by a couple of days ago… She was hurt pretty bad, and she came to the shop, right?” I swallowed but kept my cool and nodded. “Yes, that is right, she did. Let her sleep on the sofa, and she left at dawn before I could check her wounds.”

Ran nodded while stretching out their limbs. “Wow, I am shocked, honestly. She’s usually pretty stubborn when Singe tries to help her out, but it’s rare that she gets really hurt, you know.” Ran kept talking, but I wasn’t really listening. I just stared into the pillow that’s placed next to them on the sofa. I tuned back in when Ran let out a little yelp. I looked at them, and it was just Hex terrorizing them. 

“Aw honey, that’s my new cat, sorry. Hex! Stop that.” I scolded the feline. Ran laughed and petted the cat on her small head. I could have sworn I saw Hex glare at them. 

“So, uh, did Sevika say something, or did Silco mention it?...” I asked Ran. Ran leaned back and put an arm behind the top of the sofa. “A bit of both? I was in Silco’s office when she walked in, and she said she went to you, but then I got kicked out, so I don’t know what they talked about. Sorry.” 

All I did was nod. “Don’t be sorry, hun, I was just… curious.” I said with a small smile.

Time to run some errands.

The streets of Zaun hum with life as I weave through the crowds, my satchel bouncing against my hip. The scent of damp metal and distant oil fires mingles with the sharper tang of herbs hanging from vendor stalls. I pluck a bundle of dried lavender from a familiar cart, the old woman behind it nodding in silent recognition as I drop a few coins into her wrinkled palm.

Further down, I stop at a rusted-out pharmacy, ducking under a low-hanging pipe to step inside. The air is thick with incense, sharp and medicinal. I run my fingers over rows of glass jars, selecting a fine white powder I know will mix well with my own remedies. The shopkeeper doesn’t ask questions—he never does. I hand him his payment and leave without a word.

My last stop is a small, tucked-away stall near the Sump. The vendor, a man with ink-stained fingers, hands me a wrapped bundle of thick parchment. Good paper is hard to find here, and I’ve learned to take it when I can.

With my errands complete, I make my way back, the familiar hum of the Lanes settling into the background. It’s only when I push open the door to my shop that the bell jingles softly and then I pause.

Sevika is here.

She’s sitting on my couch like she never left, one arm draped over the backrest, her mechanical fingers tapping idly against the fabric. Her boots are kicked up on my table—on the same spot where her lipstick-stained mug sat days ago.

She glances up, unimpressed. “Took you long enough.”

I blink at her, then sigh, closing the door behind me. So much for a quiet afternoon.

I set my things down onto the counter and then go back to flip the sign in my window to ‘closed.’

“What are you doing here?” I asked calmly but sternly—or attempted to, at least. I was still in shock. She stood up from the couch, her red cloak hanging on her shoulders as she did so. “Silco wants a few things.” Sevika replied bluntly. “Well, why didn’t he send Ran?” I asked back, genuinely asking since they were in the area earlier.

She shrugged. “Why? Not happy to see me?” She walked closer to me. I stepped back slowly and hit my counter, successfully pinning me against the wood. Sevika now loomed right over me, just looking into my soul. Without looking away from me, she reached into her pocket, unfolded a piece of paper, and gave it to me. At first I just stared blankly at it, but then I shook it off and read that it was a supply list. Sevika stood still, almost caging me in, leaving me against the counter, but I squeezed out and pretty much ran to the back. 

I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. What in Zaun just happened? What was that about? What is this feeling? I just stood there for a long minute trying to recollect myself and snap out of whatever daze I was in. 

After what felt like hours, I emerged from the beaded curtain with a basket of everything Silco wanted. Sevika was leaning against the counter, the counter she practically pinned me against. I walked behind it and set the basket down loudly. 

“20 coins, please.” She smirked and reached into her pocket and pulled out a little chain purse and set it down next to the basket. “Thanks, doll, I’ll be sure to tell Silco of your cooperation.” And with that, she grabbed the basket and walked out. I stood there dumbfounded. Was this some sort of test? A test of my patience? Janna, she is infuriating.

After that, the shop remained empty and quiet. It was just Hex and I doing nothing on a Friday night. Until I got an idea. Was it a good idea? Probably not. I wanted to take a visit to the Gardens. The Gardens is the most popular brothel in Zaun and another place that fell to Silco’s advances, which is why I have not been there for… pleasure. Sometimes I will go because one of the girls fell ill and needed a remedy for small things like that only in business. 

But tonight I wanted a distraction; no, I needed a distraction. My encounter with Sevika would not leave my head, and I don’t know why. It made me livid. 

So I went to my room to rummage through my drawers and my closet for something sexier to wear. My eyes landed on this velvet burgundy dress I stole from a boutique up in Piltover. I was doing business and conducting research there two years ago. I never had an event to wear this little number to. Until now. 

I locked up the shop and put my coat on, then made my walk over to the Gardens. I always keep a pocket knife on me when I walk out at night. Even though most people avoid me since I am known to be the ‘weird lady who still worships Janna’ or because I sell poisons so abused women can murder evil men. 

When I arrived at the double doors, two burly men walked out, clearly high out of their minds, and cackled loudly. Gross. Men literally irk me to my core. I walk in the building, and it’s just like I remembered. The atmosphere was warm and cozy, the soft magenta lighting all throughout the place, and the women talking in sultry tones. Exactly what I needed. I see Babette at the front desk. She recognized me immediately.

“Wow, darling, is it really you? Come, come, let me get a good look atcha.” She said with her low, raspy voice. It made me smile; it’s good to see an old friend. “Why yes, Babette, it is me in the flesh.” She smiles with her signature crooked grin. “None of the girls are ill, so what can I do for you?” I bit my bottom lip for a moment, mentally preparing myself for what I am about to ask. “Well, I was hoping I could spend an hour with one of your beautiful girls.” I said, low but loud enough for her to hear me. This made Babette smirk. She surveyed the room to see if anyone was free or roaming around alone, and while she was doing so, I felt someone’s presence behind me, taking my coat off. I turned around; it was a beautiful tan woman with this deep red hair that almost looked like blood. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you, taking my coat.” This made the woman blush. She bit her lip. “Hmm? Can I at least get a name, sweetheart?” It was like I was back in my element. This made me realize how long it has been since I have been with a woman. It felt good. 

“Cherry, my name is Cherry, but you can call me whatever you want.” She said with a pretty smile. She had such plump lips. “Oh, Cherry, very pretty; that explains your hair too.” I said to her, and I took her free hand that wasn't holding my coat. “Would you lead the way to your room, sweet thing?” She nodded rather enthusiastically. I chuckled under my breath as she dragged me away. Babette winked at me. 

She brought me to a small, cozy room with a mini bar and a bed flush against the wall. Cherry hung my coat on a hook near the curtain. “Would you like a drink?” I nodded. “Sure hun, what do you have for me?” I said in a sultry tone. She squatted in front of the bar, examining the bottles on the last level of the cart. “Bourbon, vodka, tequila, and rum.” I walked over to lean against the wall so I was standing in front of her crouching form. “Hm, I will have a glass of bourbon, please, dear.” She nodded with a grin and stood up to pour it for me. “Thank you, darling.” She nodded and blushed. She stood in front of me closely. I took this as an opportunity to admire her little outfit as I sipped the strong liquor. She had on black lingerie and a black sheer babydoll dress over it. Cute. 

“You look very pretty, Cherry.” She blushes a deep shade. “Thank you, miss.” I chuckle mid-sip. “No, honey, you can call me by my name.” I tell her my name, and she repeats it, testing it on her tongue. It sounded like a melody coming from her lips. Cherry came closer towards me; now I can feel her warm breath against my lips. With the heeled boots I am wearing, I’m a little over two inches taller than her. 

“What would you like tonight?” She practically purred. I set my drink down onto one of the coasters on the bar top. “Oh sweetheart, I just want to explore you, take care of you, and feel your gorgeous body under mine. If that’s alright with you, of course.” I said flirtatiously. She was back to blushing. Not surprised since I’m sure she didn’t get this treatment a lot. Always having to please others, and the poor girl doesn’t get taken care of the proper way she should. “Really, baby? Is that what you want?” She was closer to me now, her body almost completely flush against mine. Caressing my velvet-clad shoulders. I nodded slowly. “Mhm, sweetheart. Just wanna make you feel good.” I said simply. And with that she reached behind me to untie the strings that kept the top half of my dress up. When it fell, I felt her trace her dainty fingers across all the intricate patterns and lines of my back tattoo. I got a hold of her waist and brought her back to standing in front of me. 

“Can you strip for me, darling?” I asked in a soft, sensual tone. She nodded and slipped her sheer dress over her head and got to work on unclipping her bra. Holy Janna, her breasts were beautiful. It has truly been too long. When she was completely nude, I gently guided her to the bed and pushed her onto it. She caged me in between her smooth legs. I leaned down and started to softly kiss her jaw and her throat. She was so soft against me. She let out a soft moan of my name as I bit the spot behind her ear.

“What do you want?” I asked, muffled into her neck. She whined. “I need words, baby, just tell me it’s okay.” I said, moving away from her neck and looking into her brown eyes. Cherry took one of my hands that held her waist and interlaced our fingers. “Want you to touch me, p-please with your fingers.” She stuttered and blushed. How cute. “Yeah, that’s what you want? All you had to do was ask for it, my love.” I cooed. And with that I stood on my feet to shuck off my dress fully this time. Revealing my bare body to her. She unashamedly licked her plump pink lips. Almost made me blush. No one has looked at me like she was right now in years. I crawled back on top of her and roughly kissed and bit at her neck. Not too hard, though, because I knew the rules around here. No marks. 

I eventually kissed my way down to her tummy and gave her soft kisses and licks around there and towards her hips. I nibbled there too. I couldn’t resist. While I gave small, almost feather-light kisses to her thighs, I trailed my fingers to her core. But not touching, almost taunting her to ask for it again. She whined, and I smirked. “What is it, baby? I told you to use your words if ya wanted something.” She squirmed under me. “Your fingers, please; I want them so bad, baby.” She said in a desperate tone. Exactly what I wanted. With that I spread her pussy with two of my fingers. Gosh, she was so damn wet. Getting my fingers all sticky and slicked up. 

“Hmm, so wet, honey, is this all for me?” I teased her. She nodded rapidly and bucked her hips into my hand. Urging me. That’s all it took. I gently eased my middle finger into her warmth. I pumped it for a few seconds, then curled it on her sweet spot and held it there. She moaned and bucked her hips more. I chuckled, then kissed and sucked at her thighs. I eased my pointer finger into her pussy, then curled it to meet the other one. She arched her back and howled my name. 

I kissed her inner thighs and then kissed her clit, gently teasing her. Then sucked hard. She grabbed at my hair and moaned louder than the last time. I smirked against her bud and pumped my fingers harder and faster into her. I can feel her clenching around my digits, so I licked at her clit before taking it into my warm mouth again and curled my two fingers into her g-spot until she evidently came all over my face and coated my hand. I let her ride her high, and I gently eased my fingers out of her. I placed one last kiss on her clit and leaned back onto my haunches. 

I licked and sucked my fingers that were covered in her sweet essence and moaned louder than I wanted to. I swear she tasted like a cherry pastry. She was panting softly and very flushed in her face and chest. But she locked her eyes onto mine as I sucked on my fingers like it was a lollipop. I let go of my fingers with an audible pop and smirked down at her. 

“How was that, darling?” I asked. She laid her head back against the comforter and had a dopey smile on her face. “Mmm, very good.” I smiled and leaned down to leave a soft kiss on her lips. 

I got off the bed and found our discarded clothes. I folded up her outfit and placed it next to her on the bed. I redressed myself and put my boots back on. Cherry watched me hazily. I walked over to the side of the bed she was lying on and kissed her cheek. “Take care of yourself, baby. I’ll see you again, I’m sure.” And with that I opened the curtains and walked back to the counter and found Babette. She had a knowing grin on her wrinkled face.

“So how was your time with Cherry?” She asked as she was organizing papers. “Wonderful, do I pay with coins or papers?” I asked. “Oh, coins please, dear; let me go fetch her bin.” I nodded. I leaned against the counter and observed all the little trinkets that adorned her space. I was so in my head that I didn’t notice the presence looming over me. Until I heard her voice. “Oh well, look at what we have here.” Sevika. Fuck me. I slowly looked up at her. She had her usual red cloak covering half of her body, and she had a smug grin on her face. She raised an eyebrow when I wasn’t responding and just looking at her. “Piss off.” That’s all I could come up with. 

“Oh? That’s how you greet me? I thought we were friends, sweetheart.” She kept that smug grin on her face. “I’m shocked you came to a place like this, doll; didn’t know you could get down and have fun.” She kept going. “Who did ya, see, huh? Bet it was Miguel, or do you like a big man? Was it Ezra?” She wouldn’t shut up. Luckily, Babette came to the rescue. “Alright dear, how much are you givin' Cherry?” That shut Sevika up really quick. Guess she wasn't expecting me to sleep with a woman. 

“25.” I answered simply. I was desperate to leave as quickly as possible. “Have a good night, dear.” And with that I adjusted my coat and started to make my way towards the exit. But Sevika got a hold of my arm. “What the hell?” I said to her in a gruff tone. “You have a smudge there.” Before I could figure out where and what she was talking about, she used her flesh hand to wipe at my lip. Then let me go and walked to the desk. Like she didn’t just touch my lips. What the fuck.

The walk home was cold and long. I unlocked the door to my shop and lay on the couch with a defeated sigh. No matter what I did or who I did, Sevika just won’t leave me alone.

[classicalsongbirdknits]

Scrappy socks are a fun way to clear out your stash and use up any remaining bits of your favourite colourways. Here are a few ideas you can play with when deciding how you want to knit yours up!

For more about scrappy socks, including how to avoid weaving in ends and colour jogs, check out the full blog post here.

(Text for infographic below the cut)

Ideas for Scrappy Socks

01 - contrasting cuffs, heels, and toes: If you want some semblance of matching between your two scrappy socks, you can knit the cuffs, heels, and toes in the same colour on both socks, like I did. You’ll need at least 45 yards for this, such as a full mini skein.

02 - same-sized stripes: While sometimes scrappy socks involve knitting with a colour until it ends, if you prefer to mete out yarn in a regular fashion, you can also knit with each colour for a set number of rounds. 3-6 rounds is a common choice, and provides nicely sized stripes. For mine, I changed colours every 6 rounds.

03 - repeating colours: This is a good option if you have a decent amount of at least two colours. Simply choose a stripe size and then rotate through them in the same pattern. I lined mine up and then knit in that order until I finished both socks.

04 - coordinating colour palettes: If you have a ton of scraps to choose from, you can knit your scrappy socks in coordinating colours. You could choose one colour, like all blue or all green scraps, or browse through, find one you like that matches with your stash, and go from there! I did blues, greys, and browns for mine.

[bokettochild]

Yo. If you're still in a chatty mood, can I get your thoughts on Sky's reaction to finding out Legend is his blood descendant? Like, what's your favorite idea? Immediate papa bear mode? Cries and shows him off to everyone in his era because that his baby? Does Sky keep it calm? Doesn't wanna overwhelm Legend so he just leaves the ball in the veteran's court? What's your absolute favorite version of Sky's reaction?

(Mine is Sky becoming an instant dad and lifting Legend up, Lion King style, to show off to Sun XD)

As much as I adore the idea of Dad Sky (as we've seen in Flight To My Heart) I think the most in character option is for him to sort of struggle with it. Not immediate acceptance but more confusion of what his relationship should look like now, because if Time and Twilight are any indication, he should be taking a paternal role in Legend's life, right? Except, wait, they already have a brotherly relationship, so does he have to give that up now? Will Legend even accept that?

I think he'd have his moments where he sees Legend as his equal and even someone to look up too, because Legend's so smart and he knows a LOT about the world Sky is still new to, and he's got a ton of experience. But, there are other times where he glimpses where Legend's weak or struggling and he tries to be his rock, because that's his brother! But the reality is that they're not that far apart in age. I like Legend being 16-17 and Sky being early twenties; 20-21, and as someone in their early twenties with younger siblings in their late teens, I can say for a fact that it's too small of an age gap to act in any sort of parental role, especially to a kid who's not looking for a parent! Which we all know Legend won't be (especially with all his abandonment issues and lack of consistent parental figures during his growing up years).

I actually was working on something Sunday that cover this, so I'll share a snippet below (its technically for TBoHH, but shhhh, it's relevant!)

(Warriors POV for context)

  Sapphire blue slip away, downwards, brows heavy over the top and shading them as they draw tight together. “Should my feelings have changed when I found out? Should I be- I don’t know- Legend's-”    Warriors isn't aware he’s reaching out until he’s done it, hand resting on a broad shoulder only a moment because he still needs both to speak, but the moment his brother is meeting his eyes again, the captain is answering. “You’re still young, Sky. Legend’s young too, but he’s not young enough to be your actual kid. He’s your brother, and though you share blood, you have no obligation to start treating him like Time does with Twilight. Honestly, I doubt he’d appreciate it if you did.”     Because Legend is like Mask. The vet is sharp and harsh, but he trusts Sky for some reason, and looking at the two, it’s not unlike the behavior of his own two charges. Sky, like Wind, braves the storm that is his little brother and betters him by doing so. Legend, like Mask, feels free to lower his guards before the other, but he doesn’t rely on him for his needs, for guidance and wisdom, not like their rancher does with their leader. They're brothers, and though a bloodline says otherwise, they’re best that way.    “Legend doesn’t look to you as a father, though I dare say that boy needs one. If anything, I think he’d be pissed if you tried to change what you do have.” And despite himself, despite his better judgement saying not to put anything on shoulders already heavy with new weight, Warriors finds himself continuing anyways. “The vet trusts you. I don’t know what you did, but he looks at you different then he looks at us. Taking away that to change it, to make it what Time and Twilight have, that will break it. Trust isn’t a thread we can weave how we want it; it’s a blade you have to wield with care, and any change you make can’t simply be unraveled, it’s permanent.” 

[utilitycaster]

I mentioned I had more thoughts on "party of NPCs" in a recent ask, and I'm about to do a little Nein Againing, so: the original mention, from an early 4-Sided Dive (covering up to 3x21) from Taliesin, was mostly about two things: the fact that the characters (other than Imogen) were offbeat and felt like statblock archetypes (weird fey quest giver! undead witch in the woods! Guard #2!) and that only Imogen and maybe Dorian had a "feeling of intense destiny."

It did not mean they had uniquely tragic backstories (and I do not think they did); it did not mean they were uniquely impoverished and lacking in resources (indeed, they had tons of resources very early on compared to any other low-level party on CR); it did not mean they were uniquely othered by society (and I found that while that was part of their backstories, it didn't play out very strongly during the campaign, less so than frankly either the Mighty Nein in a number of places, or Vox Machina in specific locations such as Syngorn). It was literally just "wacky or archetypal, and lacking in a feeling of intense destiny."

As for lacking in destiny - I don't think that's a problem, and indeed I like characters who make their own destiny! But I think that "party of NPCs" increasingly gets quoted by people who are leery of D&D characters exercising their free will and who defend a lack of direction. I feel Bells Hells often seemed to wait around for direction, and again, that's a whole discussion that's been had many times and which gets into the meta level, but between that and the actual intended meaning Taliesin had, it doesn't make them more special to me; it makes them less.

PC vs. NPC is itself not a perfect dichotomy (in that PCs of one campaign become NPCs of another; or that someone can adopt a character like Cerkonos and make him a PC), and all it means is player character vs. non-player character. Ludinus is an NPC, but he certainly makes choices. However, EXU Divergence does a brilliant job of showing what makes a player character a person who has levels and not statblocks. Almost everyone starts as an NPC; they become a PC through the events that occur in their lives. This again is not unique to Bells Hells. Fjord and Veth were very much the Sailor and Commoner statblocks until a life-changing event occurred to them; Percy was a Noble statblock; Vex and Vax were hunters or bandits until they decided to be more than just mercenaries and join up with a group, and so on.

The issue I always had was in fact that lack of destiny - which I am taking to be external and narrative, not internal and literal. It's hard to say in a world where fate and destiny are quite real, but I think what's also important is that other campaigns actively discussed destiny vs. free will at length (in particular, Percy's conversation with the Raven Queen, and Fjord, Caleb, and Caduceus in episode 84 of Campaign 2) and engaged with it thematically in a way Campaign 3 never did. But when the Nein are introduced as a "handful of wandering destinies" I don't think the intent is to say that what they do is pre-ordained (and indeed, it's an improv medium and there's an unexpected PC death; we know it's not). I think it's more in reference to the fact that these are all people with some intent - to learn about their powers, find their family, or undo what has been done to them. Many of Bells Hells lack that (Laudna never has any clear nor consistent goals of her own that she works towards), or their motivations (free themself from Jiana and learn more about who they are, deliver the weave lens and learn about their parents, find the Gorgynei) are either over quite early or rushed past to make way for a plot that most of them are poorly grafted into, and never quite takes. I suppose that is what most makes them feel like NPCs, but that is not complimentary - it feels like they are in someone else's story, and that we're waiting for the PCs to arrive the entire time.

I think the fact that this comment is from just after episode 21 and people still cling to it for Campaign 3 is perhaps the most telling thing of all; it was a party of NPCs by vibe, and at episode 21 that's not a bad thing, but it never fails to shed that over the course of the next hundred episodes.