#almost every game I play but listen

[loregoddess]

finished the final map for Unicorn Overlord (well, not the final final Lv. 45 map in the epilogue section but ah, it's late so I'll do that tomorrow)

the ending was so good, and the final battle sequence was so cool, probably one of the coolest final boss sequences for an srpg that I've yet played (it's hard to get srpg final bosses on the same level of coolness as can be found in jrpg final bosses or just, final boss fights for most other genres of game in general)

Absolutely astonished by how much I loved this game. At first it was a bit baffling that a few people saw the game trailer and came to me like "Hey, this looks like a You game", enough so that I did actually go pick up the game bc I kept hearing good things about it, and then it was a bit embarrassing that not even fifteen minutes in I was like "Ah shit, this is exactly my sort of game" bc I really am just that predictable, but honestly? UO went above and beyond even those first impressions.

Like yes, this is one of the most "things I love in a narrative, and super fun game mechanics that I adore" my type of games I've ever played, but it's also genuinely so well-crafted and fun, and so much more than I imagined it would be from my initial impressions. Absolutely excellent game, excellent gameplay, excellent narrative, excellent characters (maracas are no longer enough, I need to stick these characters in a centrifuge). Can't wait to finish up the epilogue and see the final-final conclusion to everything.

some more thoughts under the cut bc spoilers

as part of my revised attack plan, I had spent a few hours grinding aux battles for gold so I could buy a shitton of healing/revival supplies which I then.......did not use at all. Didn't use a single item, except I think a strengthening serum once, during any phase of the final map.

Apparently? being a couple of levels higher due to those gold-seeking aux battles and rearranging Alain's unit for peak damage output and debuff negation (instead of balanced defense/offense like I had it all game) was enough that when I went to fight Galerius I was uh....able to finish his battle in one go, while only losing like, 20 hp for the entire unit. The same was true for Batlro during the third phase, the unit I had arranged for Galerius was able to one-shot Baltro and his six-party unit in one battle (but damn his special spell had such a cool attack animation).

So alas, I spent all this money and hunted down so many curative items.....for nothing (although maybe not, I have no idea what awaits me in that epilogue map battle).

I had actually seen a spoiler out of context so I knew about Illenia, but it's still really cool that she was alive like, that entirely upends the "dead parent" trope in a really weird way, and given how Not Okay Alain was about missing his mom, it's like, well this is nice actually. Probably a bit awkward, there is a lot of baggage to unpack, but nice. Glad she did not suffer the dead parent fate to its fullest potential.

(Also knew about the two endings beforehand, which was good bc I would have had a minor crisis if I had seen that decision w/out spoiler knowledge, bc until this point choosing the "1" option was always the best outcome, for the entire game except this one decision, where the "1" option actually leads to the bad end and also sounds a bit worse than the "2" option; but yeah I would have been pausing the game and running off to search for a guide if I had gone in entirely blind).

I ended up choosing Scarlett for the rite bc it seemed to fit the story beats the best (my temptation to go for Lex bc he also fit the story beats in a weird way aside), although seeing Scarlett foist the pontifex role onto Sanatio was kinda funny (sure, give the role to this guy who's so guilt-ridden he makes Renault's not-great coping w/ guilt look okay, and not I dunno, Nigel, the guy who was running things for a bit; I unsurprisingly love Sanatio so I say this all in good humor of course bc that was the wildest outcome honestly).

I wasn't unhappy w/ the Scarlett ending though, although now I'm curious about all of Alain's other paired endings since he can marry (or uh, become life partners with) basically every single character including characters he only has one rapport convo w/, which I was not expecting but which is super funny (everyone's a little in love w/ Alain, whether romantically, platonically, or in a familial way).

Gotta say I was not expecting Gilbert to marry Virginia though, that ending card hit me out of left field bc I would have sworn, based on the RCs, that he would have married Leah in absence a paired ending w/ Alain, but eh. All the other endings were either what I was expecting, or if they weren't, something really neat that still fit the character (Hilda becoming an apothecary was not on my bingo card, but damn does it actually fit her so well; thought Clive and Monica might hook back up, but it's cool that they each go on to rule their respective domains each in their own way while still remaining close friends). Really enjoyed all the character endings actually. Totally forgot the coliseum was a thing so I uh, never picked up Amalia, so I dunno what her deal is, but I'm sure I'd like her just as much as I do all the other characters.

Honestly really loved the entire story and all the characters. I'm surprised how well-balanced the narrative feels, since in my experience with other large-cast srpgs, there's usually a bit of narrative imbalance (minor characters only get minor character arcs or minimal extra writing, sometimes worldbuilding gets out of hand and details get lost, etc.), but everything about UO feels like it ties together really nicely, there weren't any loose ends or glaring ???s I had about anything regarding either the main storyline, the lore and worldbuilding, or even the side-stories and character arcs for the playable characters who weren't part of the main cast. (Although I do definitely want to review some of the exposition stuff from the endgame, bc hot damn that was interesting and tied into the story well, but it was a lot, and I'm still not over the nuclear unicorn).

(Okay there were some questions I had but they're uh, useless questions like, "Do angels have hollow bones and larger lungs to be able to fly so high?" or "How the fresh hell does bestral anatomy work?" or "Why are there human NPCs who are very open about wanting to hook up w/ the elves, but none who want to hook up with the bestrals or angels? bc I KNOW there would be humans who would want to" and not like, questions relevant to the main narrative).

Even when things were more hinted at then outright stated (i.e. Lex being in everyone's business bc he shows up as a guest in so many random RCs that are not his own), it felt organic in a "yeah well, they're all part of the same army so makes sense they'd show up in each other's RCs even if they're not directly involved" way. Even the late-game recruits who have the fewest RCs feel well-written and fleshed out.

And honestly, what a cast of characters. Usually w/ larger character casts I end up kinda indifferent towards like, 25-50% of the characters, but the UO cast gets the writing right in just such a way that I surprised myself by enjoying basically every single playable character in some way or another, and all the non-playable ones as well (the villains, despite starting off seeming generic, ended up being really cool from a narrative perspective, and I love that Baltro is the actual final boss bc like, he should be! fucked up scientist-mages doing unethical experiments are untapped potential for final bosses).

Loved the game so much, will be thinking about it for a long while yet I'm sure.

[puppppppppy]

learning abt friendship decay and "not reaching out to your friends for months at a time unprompted is not neurotypical behaviour" has me feeling a certain way

[protagonist-art]

"Uh- I'm Arnold. Bennett. It's profoundly difficult to get your lifes works and studies accepted if your name isn't... yes, oh! Are you a fan of moths, sir?"

NEW RDR2 OC!! a reclusive, clumsy entomologist and bug collector; cooped up in his study of uniformed clutter

[maraschinotopped]

ive been staring at the naqtube channel page just doing analysis thoughts in my head for like 15 minutes and ive just been hit with the realization that Damn this is not normal. normal people dont do this. either the mental illness or the mild sickness is doing something to me right now.

[dyketennant]

oh i can already tell i’m about to have some really unpopular opinions about the edge of sleep tv show

[luminisvii]

with how the splat 3 fanbase is acting about splatfests, you'd think there's something real and tangible on the line and not like, superficial bragging rights and a few extra snails. idk why people are sitting here and getting angry at shiver as if she's a real person who has any actual will to do anything and not just pixels on a screen, especially when there are legitimate issues with how splatfests are designed and run in splat3, and that's the devs and nintendo's fault, not shiver. she's not real and she can't do anything to you. and i've seen way more complaining about the concept of "toxic shiver stans who always pick shiver and ruin it for everyone" than i have any actual evidence that these kind of people exist on a mass scale. it really feels like that kind of person is a guy that the fanbase made up to be mad at every time they lose. i agree that there are huge problems with splat 3 but the moment someone lays the blame on shiver they throw all credibility out the window. it's not shiver, there's no evil cult of shiver stans manipulating the splatfests, and don't get me started on how people are talking about the asian playerbase with these splatfests.

[puppppppppy]

u know when youre bored of everything and it feels like theres a hole that youre trying to close but it just keeps sucking everything up

[troublcmakcrs]

//what if i gave craig my specific brand of aromanticism where he rarely gets crushes or feels romantic love but when he does he's an absolute deranged little freak about it

[youredreamingofroo]

when in doubt, play far cry 5 🫡

[running-in-the-dark]

I'm just so tired

[asfdhgsdkjhgb]

thinking about the fact that i can fairly confidently say that within this year ill get to be at a point where i get to live with some of my favoritest people and share a space with them and also their cats.. maybe i am glad ive stuck around this long

[suguann]

Possessive!Gojo who makes you wear his jersey when you go to parties at his fraternity after games, openly admiring the way you dwarf inside his clothes. He leans forward on the edge of the bed to get a better look, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes raking over every inch of you from head to toe. 

"Toru, it's too big," you pout, checking out your reflection in the floor-length mirror on his closet door. “I look silly.”

The tent growing in his sweats says otherwise—all the blood in his body rushing from one head to the other just from seeing two things that are his coexisting—and he gives you another once-over, thinking of several ways to describe you, silly not being one of them.

"You’re so pretty, baby.” He swears he’s a little drunk from the sight of you, but he means it.

Possessive!Gojo who pushes you up against the door inside the locker room before a game—slightly jealous from the guys looking at you as they filed out into the hall, and equally turned on because he knows they can’t have you—telling you he can't play with a hard-on before he's pressing into you from behind.

He can feel your tummy quivering under his hand where he holds you close, feels how his cock is carving its way inside of you, and you both moan when he presses down lightly. It makes him dizzy how tight and small you are; pulsing, wet, and swollen-soft velvet that gives every time he buries himself into you.

"You gonna hold all of my cum in this cute cunt until after the game, y-yeah?" he sucks the question into your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll lick it out of you afterward. Just keep it warm for me, ’kay?”

You answer him with a high-pitched whine as you clench down hard around him, cumming with a muffled scream against his palm and nearly pushing him out of your warm, fluttering heat.

Possessive!Gojo makes sure to stuff his cum back into your drooling cunt with two thick fingers, curling them into your front wall to pull another soft orgasm out of you—just a little more, ah, there you go, always so good for me—before he helps you fix your panties to trap it there.

His arms wrap around you before he presses a tender kiss to your temple. “Don’t forget to cheer for me.”

Possessive!Gojo whose smirk from watching you squirm in the stands, melts into a glare when a guy takes the empty seat beside you, sitting almost too close for his liking.

“Stop staring at your girlfriend and hit the fucking puck already,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning against his stick.

Possessive!Gojo who makes sure to fuck you in the backseat of his car afterward with the windows cracked in hopes that the guy from the stands would walk by to you moaning Gojo’s name, and he eats you out just like he promised—bending you over the center console, smiling to himself at how shy and squirmy you get—only to fill you up again.

Possessive!Gojo who pouts whenever Nanami manages to steal your attention with something sciency and nerdy (something entirely up your alley) whenever you come over on weeknights. 

“That’s so neat, Nanami,” you smile, hearts practically in your eyes as you listen to him talk about his latest research. “Maybe I can stop by the lab and check it out sometime.”

Possessive!Gojo who doesn’t miss the way Nanami’s ears turn a shade of red from your praise—color high in his cheeks—how he gives a sheepish smile whenever you talk to him.

“Toru,” you say, finally bringing your soft, pretty gaze on him again. “Are you even studying?”

Yeah, he is, but something else entirely, he thinks as he watches how your shorts hug your ass while you walk around the house’s common room—and he’s not the only one staring.

Possessive!Gojo who slaps your thigh, making you jolt in his lap. "Did I tell you to stop, huh, baby?"

You shake your head, biting your lip and avoiding the pair of eyes watching both of you (intently) from across the room—especially you—a quiet observer as you slowly sink onto your boyfriend’s cock while Nanami thrusts his own into his fist. 

"Ah, fuck—b-but–"

Your words break off into a choked moan when Gojo thrusts his hips up underneath you, pressed as deep inside as he can get, and when he looks down, he swears he can see the imprint of himself pressing against your stomach. 

"Tell me what I said,” he says through gritted teeth as he starts bouncing you, the couch continuing its steady squeaking under your knees.

Possessive!Gojo who can tell that it's hard for you to concentrate with the way his cock moves inside you, and you’re unable to answer with anything other than babbling nonsense. He decides to take mercy on you and stops to grind you in his lap instead.

He kisses your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can get his mouth on. "I said, don't stop until you cum, and you’re going to let Nanami see how fucking pretty you look when you do."

The next sound out of your mouth is a squeal when he holds your inner thighs to keep you open as he thrusts up into you again and again—letting Nanami see what can never be his.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “So good for me. Go on, show him how my good girl takes cock.”

Possessive!Gojo who locks eyes with Nanami just as he’s about to cum, burying his groans of pleasure into your neck as white-hot sparks shudder up his spine and heat pools in his gut.

Mine, he tries to say, but Gojo thinks his frat brother gets it when Gojo’s the one cumming inside you and Nanami’s spilling all over his fist.

Masterlist

[horchatakoo]

PLAYER 97 | JUNGKOOK ONESHOT

Synopsis: In which Jungkook fucks you in the locker room when you showed up to his game wearing his jersey after a heated argument.

Themes: established relationship, make-up sex, smut, nsfw, cock riding, creampie , big dick jungkook, dom jungkook

You’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone, a visible frown pulling at your face as the memory of last night replays in your head on an endless loop.

Ten missed calls. Seven unread messages. All from Jungkook.

You haven’t opened a single one. You didn’t even have the guts to clear the notifications.

Yana, your friend—and the owner of the apartment you’re currently slouched in—glances over from her spot on the couch, noticing the way your expression keeps twitching like you’re about to either cry or throw your phone.

“You good?” her voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah,” you say too fast, staring at your screen. “It’s just… Jungkook and I fought last night.”

Yana snorts, connecting the dots almost instantly. “Ohhh, is that why you’re here instead of being cuddled up with your boyfriend in your guys’ apartment?”

You groan and toss a pillow at her, face heating. “Stop it, Yana. It’s not funny. He got really mad at me, you know…”

“Well?” she grins. “What happened? You two barely ever fight.”

You hesitate, chewing the inside of your cheek as you reminisce about the events that happened last night.

“…It was about the party.”

“Why are you at that party?! When I told you not to go!” Jungkook’s voice was loud as he slammed the apartment door shut as soon as the two of you stepped inside.

He had dragged you out of Jimin’s frat party without a word, and now he’s pacing, all tense and pissed, barely looking at you.

“Relax, Koo… I was with Jimin,” you say, trying to play it cool as you leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the alcohol buzzing in your veins, making you feel a little light-headed.

“You were with Jimin,” he spits, emphasizing Jimin's name like the name alone is enough to make him lose it.

“You know that guy brings nothing but trouble. And a frat party? Seriously? God knows what could’ve happened to you—getting drunk, drugged, or some creep trying something on you while you’re too out of it to even notice.”

He said, looking straight at you, his tone still laced with anger as he paced around the small living room, as if trying to calm himself down, a hand running through his locks in frustration.

And maybe, yeah, you get where he’s coming from. Deep down, you know it’s not just about Jimin. It’s about him being scared of the possible dangers you could’ve encountered in a place like that—filled with alcohol and frat boys.

But your pride is too high to give a damn, and you refuse to acknowledge that your boyfriend is 100% right.

"You're fucking controlling!" you shouted at him in defense, refusing to lose the argument—even though you were already out of things to say.

Knowing there's nothing left to add, you turn around and storm into your shared bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind you, leaving Jungkook standing alone in the middle of the living room with no choice but to sleep out there.

Yana stares at you, half-pitying, half-annoyed. “Girl…”

"You know that was kinda your fault, right?" she continued, trying to not side on anyone, since you're her best friend, but misserably failed.

You shoot her a glare. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on the right side. And you know damn well Jimin’s a walking red flag in skinny jeans.”

You stay quiet.

That’s honestly true. Jimin is a troublemaker—but he’s still your friend.

You know you were wrong for not listening to Jungkook, even though he had every reason to be concerned about that party. Which is why you planned to say sorry first thing in the morning…

But when you woke up, the apartment was empty.

No Jungkook.

Just a plate of breakfast waiting for you on the counter.

“I know, Yana… but I just don’t know how to make things right between us when everything feels so awkward now,” you admit in defeat, hoping your friend might come up with something better than your own half-baked plan.

“All I can say is: go home and say sorry to him,” she says, simply.

And so you did.

When you got back home, he still wasn’t there, making you sigh unconsciously.

Your eyes wandered around the empty apartment, taking in how quiet and lonely it felt without Jungkook here—no laughter, no teasing, no arms wrapping around you from behind while you cooked. Just… silence.

Maybe waiting for him and making dinner would be nice, you thought, as you started skimming through the kitchen cabinets for anything decent to put together.

That’s when your eyes landed on the small schedule stuck to the side of the fridge.

Right… Jungkook has a championship game today.

And just like that, a bright idea lit up in your mind.

The rink was loud, the energy buzzing with cheers and chants, but Jungkook’s mind was somewhere else.

He hadn’t invited you. He didn’t even expect you to show up after everything that happened last night, thinking that you're still mad at him.

But still, as the game started, his eyes couldn’t help but wander across the bleachers—scanning, searching, hoping.

Just one glance.

Just to be sure.

And right as he was about to look away, to focus back on the game, he saw you.

There.

Sitting alone, tucked among a few scattered fans from his team. And for a second, he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining you.

But then he saw what you were wearing.

His jersey.

The same one he gave you during his first game, the one he practically begged you to wear even though you told him oversized jerseys weren’t really your thing.

You wore it anyway. And now, here you are—wearing it again, in the middle of the crowd, like some silent apology stitched in fabric.

His eyes locked with yours.

You smiled at him. A small, slightly awkward smile—but it was enough to assure him that everything's gonna be okay again

And just like that, something in his chest loosened.

For the first time since last night, he let himself breathe freely—the stress and the thoughts of how he could possibly fix things between the two of you were already out of his mind. Now, he could focus on the game.

Jungkook was on fire.

Gliding across the ice with sharp, effortless precision, he moved like he owned the rink—swift passes, clean shots, total control. Every time the puck touched his stick, the crowd held their breath.

The scoreboard kept climbing, the gap between his team and the opponents growing wider with each passing minute. It wasn’t even close.

By the time the final buzzer echoed through the arena, the place erupted.

They won.

Cheers exploded from every corner of the stands—and yours was the loudest.

“Let’s go, Jungkook!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, hands cupped around your mouth, heart pounding like you were the one who just scored the winning goal.

And even in all the noise, you swore he heard you.

By the time the game ended, the energy in the arena was still buzzing—cheers, laughter, the sound of people flooding out into the night.

You had already planned to meet him in the parking lot, just like before. our legs felt weak from all the jumping and screaming his name, and now that the adrenaline was dying down, all you could think about was seeing him up close again—talking, maybe hugging, maybe—

Buzz.

Your phone lit up.

Koo: Don’t wait in the parking lot. Meet me at the locker room love.

You were a bit confused after receiving the message, wondering why he wanted to meet up there of all places. What if his teammates were still around? What if it’d be awkward?

But your thoughts were cut off when another message came in.

Koo: Don't worry no one's around.

It was as if he read your mind.

Your breath hitched, and your cheeks flushed red at the sudden—very perverted thought that crossed your mind.

You immediately scolded yourself internally for even thinking that way

As you neared the locker room, a few of Jungkook’s teammates passed by, giving you casual nods as they exited, laughter still lingering in the air.

Turns out the team was heading out to celebrate at some restaurant—everyone except Jungkook, who apparently decided to skip.

“Hey, Y/N. Jungkook’s waiting for you back there,” one of them said with a knowing grin.

You barely managed to smile before a few others chimed in—whistles, low chuckles.

“Damn, someone’s in trouble,” one joked, earning a round of snickers.

Your face flushed instantly, the heat crawling up your cheeks to the tips of your ears. You nodded quickly, mumbling a quiet, “Okay,” before speed-walking past them, not even daring to glance back.

When you finally stepped inside, the room was quiet—almost too quiet compared to the usual chaos of his teammates.

Jungkook was already there, freshly showered, hair still damp as he stood by his locker, shirt half-on while he fixed his things.

You took a few slow steps toward him, smiling gently. “Hi,” you greeted, voice soft but hopeful.

And before you could even process what was happening, he turned and smashed his lips against yours.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he muttered between kisses.

It was messy, rushed, needy—your mouths moving fast, tongues tangling in a sloppy, breathless kiss that had your knees weak and your heart racing.

You pulled back just slightly to catch your breath, lips swollen and eyes wide.

“Silly,” you whispered, a little breathless, “we just haven’t talked for a night.”

“Yeah, I know… but still,” he murmured against your lips, then trailed down to your neck.

His mouth latched onto that one spot—the spot—and it made your breath hitch, a soft moan slipping out before you could stop it.

He smirked at the sound, knowing exactly what he was doing, fingers already finding the clasp of your bra with practiced ease.

In one motion, he unclipped it and slid his jersey off your frame, leaving your skin burning.

You tried stopping him, hands pressing lightly against his chest. “Jungkook… w-we’re in public… someone could walk in…”

But he just leaned in, lips brushing against your ear, voice low and cocky.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he whispered, “no one’s gonna come.”

Jungkook’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he turned you around to face the lockers, pressing your front against the cool metal.

You barely had time to react before he pushed your skirt up with one hand—and froze for half a second.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “What a slut you are for me… no panties under this little skirt, huh?”

You could only whimper in response, body trembling under his touch.

A sharp smack landed on your ass, making you gasp—partly from the sting, mostly from the way it sent a jolt straight between your legs.

You whimpered, your palms flattening against the locker, cheek pressed to the surface as you tried to catch your breath.

“Already this wet for me?” Jungkook murmured as he deliberately dragged his fingers in your pussy, rubbing slow circle on your clit.

It made you moan uncontrollably, your voice echoing through the empty locker room, no longer able to hold back any of the sounds spilling from your lips.

Without a word, he slid two fingers deep into your dripping core, the wet sound of each thrust obscene in the quiet space, your body bent over helplessly against the locker.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, eyes locked on the way you clenched around him. “You’re swallowing my fingers—so fucking greedy for me.”

His words only made you wetter—needier—and your hips bucked into his hand without even thinking. The two fingers weren’t enough anymore, not with the way your body craved him.

He slid in a third without warning, and you gasped, the stretch making your knees weak.

“Ahhh… I need—I need your cock, please, Kookie,” you whined, voice shaky and wrecked, eyes fluttering shut.

That confession made him smirk against your neck, lips brushing your skin.

He curled his fingers deep inside you, watching the way you squirmed under his touch, desperate for more.

“Shhh,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your ear. “Gotta prep you first, baby. Can’t just stuff you full yet.”

You whimpered, your hands gripping the locker door like your life depended on it.

“You can ride me later, alright?” he added, voice low and full of heat. “Gonna let you fuck yourself stupid on it after I open you up nice and good.”

With a few more thrusts and a curl of his fingers, you felt your release building fast, your body tensing as you gasped out, “I’m gonna cum—”

But he stopped. Just like that.

You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, frustrated and breathless.

“Not yet,” he said firmly, licking his lips as he looked up at you. “You can only cum on my cock, baby.”

And with that, he moved to lie down on one of the benches, legs spread, cock hard and heavy against his abs. You stood frozen for a second, flustered, heat burning across your cheeks.

But then he looked at you—through you—and reached out.

“Come here, baby. Fuck your greedy cunt onto my cock now.”

Your breath hitched. He looked so good—messy hair, flushed skin, toned chest rising and falling with every breath. And that thick length standing proud, waiting for you.

You walked toward him on shaky legs, heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you straddled his hips, knees pressed into the bench as you reached down, guiding him to your entrance.

You both gasped as you sank down on him, inch by inch, your walls fluttering around his thick length.

“God, you missed me that bad, huh?” he chuckled darkly, watching the way your lips parted in a silent moan. “Bet you were thinking about this the second you saw me today.”

Once you were fully sank on his length, he couldn't help but notice how his cock is bulging on your lower belly as reach out to palm the outline of his length, making you moan.

“Look at that,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “you're really shaped to fit my cock huh?”

The pressure made you moan, your thighs tightening around him. You started slow, rolling your hips, adjusting to the stretch—even though fucking was practically a routine for your both, he still felt overwhelming every time.

But soon, slow turned to eager. Desperation took over as you began to bounce on him, each movement slick and loud in the quiet room. Your moans turned lewd, needy, and so loud he had to bite his lip to keep from losing control too soon.

Your chest bounced with every thrust, and he reached up, gripping one of your breasts, fingers tugging and pinching your nipple just to hear that sweet cry fall from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, thrusting up to meet you halfway. “Ride me, baby. Just like that.”

You kept riding him, your pace starting to falter, thighs trembling from the effort. Your moans turned breathy and weak, hips stuttering.

“I—I’m gonna cum,” you cried out, and before you could even finish the sentence, your body gave in, the release crashing through you in waves.

You slumped forward against him, breath ragged—but he wasn’t done.

Strong hands gripped your hips tight, keeping you in place as he began to thrust up into you from below, deep and fast, chasing his own high.

The overstimulation made your eyes roll back, small sobs slipping from your lips as you clung to him, your body twitching from the aftershocks.

“F-Fuck, baby—” he groaned, voice wrecked. “I’m gonna cum.”

Your mind snapped back. “Koo, you don’t have a condom,” you whispered, eyes wide, the haze of lust momentarily clearing.

He barely slowed, bucking his hips harder. “It’s fine, baby,” he growled. “Let me fill you up. Gonna make you full of me… give you my fucking kids.”

And just like that, your brain short-circuited again. The thought—his thought—broke whatever resistance you had left. You didn’t or couldn't protest.

With a few more deep, rough thrusts, he let out a low groan, his body tensing as he spilled everything inside you, filling you to the brim.

Both of your hips twitched in response as he gave a final thrust, making sure not a single drop of his cum spilled. You collapsed onto his chest, completely spent, your limbs heavy and trembling, breath uneven.

His cock was still buried inside you, keeping his release exactly where he wanted it—deep in you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your face buried into the crook of his neck, skin flushed and warm. Silence filled the locker room, save for your shared breathing, still coming down from the high.

“Koo…” you whispered, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

He let out a low chuckle, his hand gently stroking your hair, his other arm wrapped protectively around your waist as he held you close, while pressing a soft kiss to your temple before saying; "It's okay princess, you're already forgiven."

[atrwriting]

shouldn’t have — lumberjack!logan x fem!reader

listen usually i would hate this plotline but like ?? are yall seeing what im seeing ?? feminism exists and is alive and well until we see this man and suddenly we’re all damsels in distress

as always, warnings: reader was in an abusive relationship, logan the savior (i have issues ok), dom logan, bratty reader, choking, slapping, rough p in v sex, swearing, breeding kink tee hee

mdni!!!1!!1!1!1!11!

————

you had been with your boyfriend — well, now ex-boyfriend — for about three months before you had noticed something was wrong. just a few things, you thought. nothing bad. nothing to worry that much about. it felt like he was doing so many things too much; sleeping, drinking, smoking, video games… yelling…

you thought by getting him a job with some men you knew would be fine — that it would solve every problem. why would it not have? he just needs a job, you thought. just something to get him up in the morning… something to give him purpose…

you were wrong — oh, you were so wrong.

at first, everything was fine — up every day, home every night, and only so many hours at the end of the day could be dedicated to all of those bad little habits you hated so, so much. he was drinking, smoking, playing video games so much less — you almost forgot why you were so annoyed and insistent on this new job in the first place.

...until he stopped coming home before midnight.

...until the yelling got worse.

until he got worse.

you almost left him — almost. until, one night — he asked if you could pick him up from the bar after work so he wouldn’t have to wait before he could drive home. you could've squealed you were so relieved, so happy. it seemed like a step in the right direction, and you were hopeful. you thought the kinks were working themselves out, making it so you could finally work out your issues with him. like the good girlfriend you were, you drove to the bar promptly for half past ten and waited in the parking lot for him.

after a few minutes, you sent a text.

a set of ten minutes had passed as you sat there, waiting.

...then another.

...and then another.

you called him, but there was no answer.

no fucking answer.

you ground your teeth when the call was sent to voicemail. voicemail? fucking voicemail? you stared down at the screen like it mocked you — showing you the reflection of your face in the glass like you were some joke, and embarrassment flooded through you.

all you could think about was self-respect — how if you didn't have any respect for yourself, how could your boyfriend respect you? how could anyone respect you?

it brought tears to your eyes, but you blinked them away.

and there went the last straw…

you got out of the car and slammed the door. you were buzzing with anger, shivering like you were cold. anger filled you, but adrenaline was what carried you on its back through the doors of the bar and past its threshold. it was the only friend you had in that moment, and you grasped at its hand — letting it lead you to your doom.

what you didn't expect what form your doom would take.

…your doom came in the form of a hot blonde with legs and cleavage for days.

she laid horizontal across the bar — shot glass in her belly button, line of salt up her abdomen. you watched a man, dirty from the work day, eye the blonde with hunger in his eyes. he wrapped his dry lips around the rim of the shot glass, and threw his head back. almost immediately, he licked the salt trail with a flat, heavy tongue. the blonde above him giggled at the texture of his tongue on her tanned skin — and once he was done, she grasped both sides of his face and pulled him towards her.

that’s when you saw the guy’s face — smiling and drunk — your boyfriend’s face. men around them hollered as he pushed her against the bar top, kissing her hard. all you could do was stare — adrenaline left you high and dry when you needed it most. you were just cold now — cold, lonely, and embarrassed. so embarrassed. so fucking embarrassed.

“you’re his ol’ lady… aren’t you?”

your head cocked to a stool near you, occupied by one of his coworkers. he had a cigar in his mouth as he cocked an eyebrow at you, barely looking at you. his hand was around two fingers of whisky — and it had never looked so tempting.

“was,” you whispered, politely correcting him and locking eyes with him.

“good,” was all he said before he threw back the rest of his whisky and stood from his chair.

you were still in shock, frozen in place. all you could do was watch as the man pushed through the crowd, and stood in front of your boyfriend. you stared at the man's shoulders — covered by thin flannel that would never stand a chance against the muscles underneath. you gulped as he stood toe to toe with your ex-boyfriend, but the man didn't look half as scared as your ex did.

“you’re fired," was all the man said.

everyone around the man, including the blonde and your boyfriend, went silent. jaws were on the floor — no one knew what to do. what could they do? they weren't expecting this — not when the fun had been going on for so long. the man couldn’t have cared less — he waited for a split moment, awaiting any sort of rebuttal from your ex-boyfriend… and that was when your ex noticed you, staring at him. instead of running to you, begging for forgiveness… he started begging the man that had fired him for his job back.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes. of course.

“not happening, bub,” he spat. “now — i’m going to go buy your ex-girlfriend a drink with your last paycheck. ask your buddies for a loan on the tab with the blonde."

and with that, the man turned on his heel back towards you. when he turned, he didn’t bow his head or look at the floor — he looked straight at you. and for the first time that night, you saw what he really looked like — a man. the man radiated masculinity like he was the poster child for the hard working all-american man. worn jeans, work boots, faded flannel… the works. his body was thick with muscle, and impressive sight that was definitely thanks to his job. the years showed on his face — but in a way that was handsome and reliable. life seemed to have chewed him up and spit him out, but he didn’t look the type to go down without a fight.

with a moment or two, he was in front of you. he sat down on the stool, and patted the one next to him — gesturing to you.

“what’re you having, sweetheart?”

you stared up at him with confusion and surprise in your eyes, but a blush across your cheeks. your mouth fell open, stammering — as if you hadn’t been embarrassed enough tonight. your eyes darted to your ex — the intoxication starting to wear away as realization set in. he lost his job, girlfriend, and ego all in a matter of a moment — and you knew how these things ended.

“i think i should —“

“he won’t bother you,” the man responded, gesturing to the bartender for two more drinks.

you took a cautious step back — eyes on your ex who was talking with his work buddies now, eyeing you and the man. the blonde had been discarded, scoffing as she found herself in a similar position as you — chewed up and spit out, but not willing to fight.

you were fumbling for your keys now, anxiety beginning to take over. you were shaking as you took several steps back, not knowing whether to run or start crying was the better answer.

the man who had stood up for you then stood, sighing. he saw your ex walking towards you now, and he rolled his eyes in the way an owner would be annoyed with a dog going back for something they were explicitly told not to. the man drank his whisky, and handed you the other glass.

the man only had a take one step towards your ex before your ex had stopped in his tracks, eyes and mouth wide.

“got all the time in the world, bub,” the man spoke. the man had his fists balled at his sides — and, within an instant, sharp bones almost two feet long had sprung from between his knuckles. the man didn’t wince — but everyone else did. with a cocked head, he then continued, “do you?”

when your ex didn’t move, and the man was satisfied that none of his friends were going to make a move… he turned on his heel and stalked back toward you.

“finish your drink, sweetheart — we’re leaving.”

within five minutes, you had finished your drink before you went outside. there was logan — same bone swords unsheathed, but now stabbing into black tires on a familiar truck. you smiled — now your ex didn’t have a ride home.

“can i give you a lift?” you asked.

few hours later — there you sat with the man, who you now knew as logan. you were on one side of the couch — you curled in the corner on the end, and him in the middle turned towards you. the alcohol was flowing, so you didn’t need a blanket over you to keep warm. now, sat across from logan, both of you appearing to feel the effects of whisky — all you wanted was his warmth.

“good hostess,” he spoke as you refilled his whisky glass.

you blushed. “nothing compared to what you did for me back there — least i can do.”

“i gotta ask —“ he said, taking a sip. “why him?”

you shrugged. “guess i learned the hard way you can’t change someone who doesn’t want to change.”

he looked at you then — almost through you. you wondered if he could see the same ghosts in your eyes that you could see in his.

he shook his head then, chuckling — appearing to want to break the heavy air. “you’re too young for talk like that, doll — won’t allow it.”

you returned his laugh, realizing you were happy for the subject change. “not every man is like you, logan — first one i met that would’ve done what you did.”

he set his glass down then, and you were struck with the realization of how broad his chest and shoulders were. how the fabric of the stretched across his muscles. how heavy the scent of whisky, maple, wood, and cigar smoke hung on his clothes. you stopped staring at him to meet his eyes then, but he was already looking at you.

logan caught you staring. a blush rose to your cheeks.

“there was a time where men i knew would’ve killed to be served whisky by a pretty girl like you,” he spoke, voice gruff. “time where i would’ve.”

you smiled, insecure under his gaze. “you’re easy on the eyes, lo — can’t imagine you had to put much effort into getting with someone you wanted.”

“oh, doll —“ he spoke, leaning in towards you. his face was barely inches from you, and you wanted him to touch you. you wanted those big, calloused hands on your soft skin — wanted it so fucking bad — but he wouldn’t put them on you. not yet. not quite yet. “sweet, pretty things like you? worth all of the effort in the fucking world.”

you felt one of his hands — his large fucking hands — slide down from your knee, to the side of your thigh. he squeezed lightly on the flesh, loving the feeling of your soft skin. you met his eyes then, dark and hungry. he wasn’t hesitating — he was waiting for your approval or disapproval. he wanted you to know he wanted you, but also that you had the final say.

“y’gonna let me show you how a real man’s supposed to treat a woman?” he asked, tucking a hair behind your ear. “hmm, sugar? climb in my lap, and i’ll show you.”

curiosity killed the cat, but not before it found out what the secret was.

logan fell back against the couch — man spreading, hands on the tops of his thighs with his eyes on you. only on you. there was no more of the adrenaline from earlier, no — but there was the confidence from the warm, dark liquid flowing through your veins. it gave you the push you needed, making you throw a leg over his hips, and sit your ass down right over the tent in his jeans.

“that’s a girl, yeah…” he spoke, his hands ran up and down your thighs. his eyes were raking up and down your body in the way that your ex had looked at the blonde, and it only added to your confidence. you wanted to be wanted — and logan made you feel more sexy than your ex ever had. “tell me, sweetheart — when you look at me, what do you see?”

“a man,” you respond, before you can stop yourself.

he raises his brow then — surprised, but not displeased at your answer. “ — yeah? and what makes me a man?”

you thought for a second, as the alcohol clouded your ability to be witty. you couldn’t pinpoint why — you just knew. while you were thinking, almost stammering — you felt his hand snack underneath your skirt and find your lacy panties. you were struck with the sudden realization of how badly you wanted to show him what they looked like, convinced he would like them — but he wouldn’t let you take off your skirt. you eyed him, confused.

“not yet, doll,” he spoke, voice hoarse. his eyes never left yours. “not taking off this skirt — no matter how much i want to — until you know for sure that i deserve to.”

“logan…!” you grumbled, throwing your head back in mock laughter and frustration. “y’gonna make me beg? come on —"

“beg? not tonight, darlin’,” he laughed. you felt one of his fingers prod at your folds through your panties, poking through your lips to find the hidden sensitive parts of you. you sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling — curious and turned on. “but you are gonna tell me everything you’re going to look for in a man from this point on. when i’m satisfied, then i’ll let you cum.”

“didn’t think you liked games,” you breathed, curiosity, pleasure, and anxiety mixing in your blood.

“i don’t,” he said with finality and sincerity. “i teach lessons, sweetheart — and now i’m gonna teach you how a man should treat you."

“yeah?” you breathed, keeping your lips barely centimeters from his. “and how are you going to accomplish that?”

“rock those pretty hips against my hand, baby —“ he spoke, pressing his fingertips against your clothes core. “and tell me types of guys you're goin' to avoid."

you went to question him, confused — but he pulled you right back in. he pressed two finger tips against your panties, creating the most devious fiction against your sensitive bud. you jumped at the feeling, but he kept your hips steady.

“there’s one —“ he chuckled. “didn’t know how to touch you, yeah? so sensitive — ‘s like he never did.”

“he didn’t know how,” you whined, rolling your hips against his fingers and letting your eyes drift close.

“not surprised,” he grunted. “never a good worker either. so, what’re we avoiding next time, sugar, huh? tell me.”

“i don’t know… i don’t…” your mind was warm and fuzzy now, leaving you unable to answer.

he swatted at the flesh of your ass then, causing your hips to jerk and your eyes to open in shock. he looked up at you, unfazed. “you don’t wanna cum, do you? want me to use you just like him — leave that pussy wet and wanting?”

you giggled. “don’t tempt me.”

his hand reached for your throat, an evil smirk on his lips. “you’re a naughty fucking thing.”

you nodded feverishly, loving the grip on your throat. “for you, lo. i’ll avoid lazy men, i promise —“

“you better,” he warned, his eyes looking up at you with hunger. his wingers were rubbing hard against your clit, and you wanted him oh, so badly to dip into the fabric and roll around your clit or supple hole. “another — tell me. now.”

“careless,” you whined, your hips jerking. “i’ll avoid careless men, logan, i promise —“

“fuck that,” he spat, the grip tightening on your throat. “you’re mine, darlin’.”

he threw you down onto the couch then, landing on your back with a thud. he gave up on his own game, and your confidence bloomed within you. to be so sweet, so pretty — to make a man like logan stumble? forget what he was doing, all because he wanted you so bad? to be in between your plump thighs, round lips, and encircles in those pretty arms? your cheeks were burning pink as your gaze came back into focus above you. there stood logan, on his knees on the couch, as he unbuttoned his flannel with an animalistic chase in his eyes. you couldn’t help but put yourself on your elbows, rubbing your thighs together to keep the friction and heat up. but your eyes? oh, your perfect, big eyes? they were on logan’s. they told you everything you needed to know as he tore off his belt.

“you want me to use you, baby?” he asked as he unzipped his belt. “that’s what my girl wants?”

“by you, lo — a real man,” you breathed, stroking his cock and lining his cock up with the entrance of your pussy.

“good fucking girl,” he growled, plunging his cock into your pussy.

his hips snapped against yours, causing you to jump into the arm rest. you held onto the arm rest, your pillow, to keep you steady. logan liked the sight — pretending that you had your hands tied up above your head as your breasts lifted with your arched back, preening upwards just for him. he watched the shivers run up and down your spine, causing your nipples to peak. he watched them hungrily as they bounced for him and only him, wanting to pull both into his mouth and show you just how greedy real men are.

and when he saw you release the grip held by one hand, and watched it travel down the length of your abdomen, with the end goal of your clit — he swatted your hand away, angry. his gaze — it screamed how fucking dare you?

“fuck off with that shit —“ he spat, pushing your hand back down to hold onto the head rest. “this first time, darlin’? i make you cum — and you lie there, and you take it.”

you whined at his words, your big beautiful eyes on his hungry irises. you folded your lip in between your teeth before you curled your hips up to meet his, wrapped your legs around his hips. never had you been treated with such confidence, such ease — but you wanted him to work for it, see how far he could go to prove to you that he was the best. “you promise, old man? you can keep up?”

the air went still then — but your smirk didn’t falter. it should've, you would realize later. you should've been afraid of the man, knowing what he was capable of when someone tested him. the difference was... logan welcomed the spice in you, as long as it was his to silence. logan’s eyes went wild and dark then, realizing the challenge. he held back so much with you, trying to keep the man awake and the beast dormant — but the greedy girl in you just kept knocking.

he flipped you then — forcing you onto all fours. he bent you over the arm rest, your throat in the crook of his elbow. his free hand groped and pulled at the flesh of your ass, letting go only to smack it. smacksmacksmack. his tough and calloused skin would leave marks, you were sure of it — but it only made your pussy wetter. the sounds were pornographic, filling the room and his nose and ears.

“wasn’t much of a brat tamer, was he?” he spat, fucking into your puffy pussy. his grip on your throat wasn’t tight, but it kept you in control. there was no moving, and there definitely wasn’t enough air to mouth off. “nothing sweet about you — just a greedy fucking girl with the neediest fucking pussy. i'll get'ya there, doll — don't worry now."

you held onto his forearm for dear life, trying to keep your balance as you arched your back up into him. you felt your juices leak around around your sopping wet cunt and down both of your thighs and logan’s. the air was thick with your scent and sounds, pricking at logan’s heightened hearing. your whines — oh, your whines, your fucking whines! — were filling his ribcage and warming every part of him that wasn’t touching you. his lips were sucking at your neck, nipping at the skin . he felt the vibrations of your moans against his lips and he had to fight every instinct to sink his teeth into your shoulder, ruining you for everyone else.

“please — please —“ you choked, smacking against the arm rest. he pulled your free arm back behind your back, forcing you to take everything he gave you.

“not stopping until that pussy creams, baby,” he spat into your ear. his hips were relentless against yours, plunging in and out of your wet folds as he kept them tight and controlled for his use. “when that dumb fuck comes back, to get his stuff? i want him to know who’s pussy this is now. that fucked out look on your face? yeah? that’s all that sack of shit is gonna see before i slam the door in his face.”

“fuck, logan —“ you whimpered. “i’m so close. f-feels so good. please, don’t stop —“

“i know, baby, i know….” he moaned. you reached underneath him, grabbing at his heavy sack and rolling his balls with your finger tips. he jumped at the feeling, curious how a fucked out little thing like you still had so much energy to tease. “never ends with you, huh, does it? always wan’ more?”

“cum with me, lo —“ you choked out. “come on — make me feel it.”

he smacked your ass once more, grasping onto the rippling skin. you could feel your tight muscles, like cement — knowing they would be sore in the morning. you rolled his balls in between your fingers, keeping as controlling of a grip on him as he kept on you. his breaths were ragged against your neck, broken and feverish. your eyes were screwed shut, trying to find his lips in the darkness as you fought with and against logan.

“fill my pussy, baby,” you whined, reaching to any part of him you could grab.

when he saw your eyes, most of the begging in them rather than your tone — he couldn't help it. it took over him before he could even realize it was happening. how could he deny you so,ething you wanted so badly? asked for so sweetly? logan came before you did — much to his dismay, but only for a moment. he felt his skin shiver before his hips snapped forward once to meet yours, trapping you against the arm rest. he rutted into you as the walls of your pussy were coated — dressed in his seed, his spend, his claim. you could hear a growl rumble low in his chest, tearing up at the sound of such a big and strong man at his most vulnerable, his most peaceful state — only for you.

when you reached for your clit again — whining and wanting, ready to take advantage of hearing his satisfied moans in your ear — he smacked your hand away. you scoffed at his movement, but he shut you up quickly. his own fingers found the spot, and his fingers felt better than yours. you should’ve known they would, with the way they attacked you through your panties.

“pussy’s filled to the brim, sugar —“ he grunted. “now i wanna feel it shake while you’re full of me.”

he was so tired, but not his muscles — definitely not his muscles, nor his grip. it held you tight and upright — forcing you to take it in your weak, fucked out state.

“you want me to fuck my cum farther into you, darlin’?” he rasped, fighting his exhaustion through gritted teeth. “i’m too deep, aren’t i? i’ll fuck my cum into your womb if i’m not careful… but you'd like that, wouldn't you? dirty little thing..."

his warning was a threat, but your mind was too soft to realize. too pliant, too ready for him. all you could do was stare off into space as he held you close to him. his fingers spun circles around your puffy clit, his still hard cock piercing into you. “so very deep, lo…”

and when he smacked your clit once before continuing the assault, you came. you came harder than you ever had before — alone, or imagining something in your head as someone else fucked you. it was like your primal nature was being ripped from you, wanting to show and present itself to match logan’s — to show logan you were his match, that you were his equal. you bucked your hips back to meet his, letting the tip of his sensitive cock graze your sensitive walls as you screamed his name. it filled the room more than anything had for him — and it was all he would think about in the days to come. this woman, so worthy and so ready for him — only for him, and all for him.

“that’s it, sweetheart. work for it, that’s right…”

and as his seed slipped into your womb, open and ready for him as you came, you felt his lips press hard, sloppy kisses against your jaw. your own mouth was open, cries falling from it.

“my good girl learned her lesson, didn’t she?” he rasped. “don’t matter now, anyway — no one but me is gonna be in your bed. i'll burn his shit later."

———

i need to touch grass - L xoxo lmk what u think

[yzzart]

⋆˙⟡ BOYFRIEND!DANTE ── HEADCANONS! ── PART TWO

── content warnings: F!reader, reference to the anime, jokes and puns with demons, mention of Eve and Vergil, a little bit of angst, content with some mature but light words and part one is here!

── word count: 744!

⭑.ᐟ Dante tells the worst, stupidest jokes you could ever hear in your entire life; and which, as time goes by, become the best. — He couldn't live without them, and he made sure you couldn't either. — His creativity and ability even in the face of extremely and frighteningly dangerous situations was admirable.

⤷ Since the first day of your relationship, you think that Dante has, keeps — or thinks about creating — a notebook full of puns, jokes and, sometimes, laughs alone and exults with them. — Nothing bizarre, it's just Dante. — Just like he sends messages during his “work” to tell you about them.

what’s a demon hunter’s favorite kind of tea? i don't know, sweetie ;P — what is it? EXORCISTI! ya know? it sounds like exorcist tea ;)

⭑.ᐟ Seeing you wearing some of his t-shirts, since there are very few of them, is something he will never get used to and will never be able to focus on, pay attention to anything other than you. — However, seeing his red coat with scarlet details on your body is enough for Dante to recognize his wild, animalistic side.

⤷ By heavens, that man worships, contemplates you by nature; as if he was born to adore your presence. — And every time you ask to use it, or just take it boldly and shamelessly, he melts, completely. — His eyes conveyed pleasure and so much desire.

“I’m starting to think it looks better on me.” — Of course, you couldn’t let the teasing go; running your hand along the sleeve, adjusting the reddish fabric, and deeply smelling your boyfriend’s scent on the coat. — “Don’t you think so, big boy?” — You bit your lower lip, hiding, and failing, a shy and so bold smile.

“I agree with everything that comes out of your mouth, my love.” — Dante was transfixed, acting as if he were hypnotized, he confirmed with greater pleasure that he was, in you. — “I really agree.” — That man was obsessed with you.

⭑.ᐟ This damn demon hunter — with a high chance of being the son of a demon, and without knowing anything about it — flirts with you every day, hour, minute and second. — Dante lives for comments, compliments and flirting with his beautiful girlfriend. — You don't have to admit it, he knows very well that you love him and can't resist all of them.

⤷ Oh, even while he's killing demonic creatures and beating up some idiots who try to ruin his work. — Dante doesn't waste time, he needs to let it be known that he's a committed and faithful guy.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” — He pointed one of his pistols at a demon, transformed, disguised as a lady who asked for his help; wow, a typical trap that never changed. — “I’m committed to my girlfriend, then.” — About to be attacked, he pulls the trigger. — “It’s so bad to be requested and desired by everyone.” — He let out a breath, picking up the phone and dialing a few digits, waiting patiently. — “Hey, my girl.”

⭑.ᐟ In that old, filthy and almost finished building — which, with your countless visits and almost becoming a resident, has gained a better appearance — you and Dante listen to music, chosen by the boy, until the last volume; it bothers the person who lives on the street in front, but who could care?

⤷ Your pool games, card games and days of just eating pizza are always accompanied by the jukebox. — Dante pretends to be at a concert, imitating playing the guitar next to you, soon, the two of you burst out laughing.

⭑.ᐟ Dante manages to hide the anguish, an unbearable tightness he feels when he remembers the loss of his mother and brother; the memory of his mother putting him in the closet, Vergil disappearing and the fire spreading disturbed him daily. — The heavens knew, they witnessed how much you wanted to help him with all this suffering; but Dante contradicted himself, saying that just by having you by his side, this pain disappeared.

⤷ It wasn’t a lie. — Dante would never dare do that to you. — He felt so good and grateful, thankful, just for your presence. — So, always after a long, boring, and extremely tiring night, Dante would cuddle up to you; specifically, he would bury his face in your neck and wish, even pray, to stay there forever.

what’s a demon’s favorite exercise? >:) baby, it's 3 AM… :/ but i'm curious, what is it? ;) possession presses—really strengthens the grip!

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Ah, kinks—something all humans have, especially those who read fanfics. I mean, who doesn’t love them? Whether it’s the soft, the spicy, or the downright unhinged, there’s always something that hits just right.

Let’s be real: scrolling through AO3, Tumblr, or Wattpad at 3 AM, looking for that one specific trope that scratches the brain itch?

Yeah, we’ve all been there.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet.

Hope you enjoy reading!

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with the man himself—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. Though the details are still unclear, he exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy. 

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…) 

For Crowe preferences!!

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished. 

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender. 

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after. 

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.  

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.  

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment. 

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.  

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.  

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.  

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment. 

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew. 

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore. 

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer. 

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable. 

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy. 

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down. 

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions. 

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous. 

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache.

You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you with his cock, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His fingers tease your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want, love. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing down lightly as if testing the waters. 

A soft moan released from your lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His soft gin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory. 

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears running down your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him. 

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.  

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you. 

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences. 

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.   

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor. 

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.  

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability. 

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there. 

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed. 

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching. 

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.  

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares. 

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away. 

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break. 

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior. 

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable. 

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable. 

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.  

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it. 

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.  

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.  

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.  

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.  

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

✑ Somnophillia 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend. 

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you. 

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.  

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you. 

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.  

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.  

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.  

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.  

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.  

God, he was losing it.  

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further. 

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly.

Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it? 

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry! 

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything. 

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special.

So sacred.

There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Even the shadowed obsession that came with it.