#this might be a tiny bit passive aggressive

[angst-fairygodmother]

Hello friends,

I have not watched season 4 of The Umbrella Academy.

I will not be able to do so until this weekend.

Please do not message me requests, especially not with spoilers in them, until at least then. (Also my requests are technically closed at the moment, so please don't message me any until I decide if I'm going to reopen them for this.)

Thanks!

EDIT: I have now watched the season. I am still not ready for requests. But I will probably write...something, at some point.

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒻 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Lately, things have been feeling off. You’ve been getting way more attention than usual, and not from anyone you’d expect. Someone’s been sneaking around your place, and you’re done just sitting back.

Here’s the twist, though—what if this person actually wants to be your dog? Yeah, you read that right. With a few clues, a little digging, and hanging out, you’ll know.

And you might just be hearing a “woof” real soon. 

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

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: This one's for @1heartsubm1ssivemen. Sorry for the delay, dearest, but I wanted to make sure I wrote the best smut possible for you. Honestly, when I read that request you sent me in the middle of lecture, it totally made my mood—it was so out of pocket, and I absolutely loved it. 

I’ve woven a bit of my own lifestyle into this, shaping it into how I personally see myself treating Sol.

Trust me—you’re gonna love every second of it.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: Sol x afab!reader, sub-Sol, dom!reader, gn!reader, smut, bdsm, possessive Sol, teasing, manipulation, power dynamics, pet play, praise kink, control, dominance, vulnerability, kink, intimacy, emotional intensity, slow burn, forced proximity, teasing, obsessive behavior, body worship, raw tension.

Look, living alone in an off-campus apartment?

Absolute dream. 

No roommates leaving passive-aggressive notes about dishes, no weird smells wafting in from a shared fridge, no one side-eyeing you when you stumble in at 3 AM with a suspiciously large tote bag full of things you probably didn’t need but absolutely had to buy. 

Just you and your perfectly curated chaos.  

And your place? It’s whimsical as hell.

The walls are covered in mismatched tapestries and posters—half of them vintage, half of them weirdly cryptic, like something out of an indie horror film. Fairy lights snake around the ceiling, tangled in ways you weren’t there last night, casting a soft, golden glow over everything.

There’s a collection of odd little trinkets scattered across the shelves—porcelain dolls with unsettlingly glassy eyes, tiny jars filled with things that look like cursed relics but are probably just cool rocks, and a slightly suspicious music box that sometimes plays a note or two on its own.  

The floor? Funky rugs galore. Every single one is different—one looks like an old Persian carpet stolen from a museum, another swirly like a fever dream from the ‘90s, and somehow, they all just work. The furniture is a mix of antique finds and comfortable, overstuffed pieces that you’ve practically melted into over time. 

Your couch? More of a nest at this point, covered in plush blankets, embroidered pillows, and at least three half-read books that you keep meaning to finish.  

The kitchen? Tiny, but absolutely drowning in charm. Mismatched mugs line the shelves, each one with its own little backstory—some stolen from diners, some gifted, some picked up because they spoke to you in some inexplicable way.

There’s a jar of honey on the counter, a half-melted candle that smells like cinnamon and something vaguely magical, and a fridge covered in postcards, weird magnets, and cryptic notes to yourself that even you don’t fully understand.  

And the best part?

The sheer vibe of the place. It’s cozy, it’s eerie, it’s you. 

A space that feels like it exists just slightly out of sync with reality, like if you turned a corner too fast, you might step into another world entirely. You love it here. You adore it here. It’s your little haven of weirdness, your own personal fairytale that doesn’t always make sense but always feels like home.

Except… there’s one tiny problem.  

You, uh… kinda have a stalker.  

Not in the full-blown, ‘call the cops and get a restraining order immediately way—at least, not yet’. But in the ‘this is getting really weird, and I might have to start locking my doors properly’ way.  

It started off small. Little things. Things that made you question your own memory more than anything. A book on your shelf slightly out of place, turned the wrong way when you swore you hadn’t touched it.

Your favorite mug—you know you left it in the sink, crusted with juice from your all-nighter, but somehow, it was mysteriously washed and put away. Annoying, but whatever. College was melting your brain, and maybe you were just forgetting things.  

And then there was the fridge.  

At first, you thought maybe you were imagining it, but no—there was more food. Not just any food, but your food. Your favorite snacks, the stuff you had literally run out of, were just… back. Sitting in the fridge like they had never disappeared in the first place.

The expensive cheese you told yourself you wouldn’t waste money on anymore? Back in the drawer. A brand-new carton of oat milk? Sitting pretty on the top shelf like it had always been there.  

You almost convinced yourself it was a roommate thing—except you don’t have a roommate.  

Then, the underwear went missing.  

Yeah. That’s when you started losing it a little.  

One missing pair? Weird, but maybe it got lost in the laundry. Two? Annoying. But three? Okay, no. Now you’re pacing around your apartment, flipping through your drawers like a lunatic, muttering under your breath, "There’s no way I’m imagining this. There’s NO WAY." 

That’s when it hits you.  

Somebody has been in your apartment. Somebody who knows your habits. Somebody who washes your mug stocks your fridge, and—apparently—has an interest in your underwear.  

And that? That’s when things stop being weird and start being a problem.

Because it’s not just the missing underwear anymore. It’s not just the fridge stocking itself or your mug getting mysteriously cleaned like you’ve got a ghost maid.

It’s the dreams. At first, you brushed them off. Everyone has weird dreams. Stress-induced nonsense, sleep paralysis, the occasional why the hell did my brain come up with that? kind of dream. But these?

These weren’t just dreams.

These felt real.

Someone holding you. Not the fleeting, vague sensation of a dream-hug, but something solid. Firm. A grip that lingered, too warm, too sure, like whomever it was had done this before. Like they belonged there.

Breath—soft and even, ghosting against your skin. The press of lips, deliberate and lingering, trailing from your temple down to your cheek, your jaw, lower.

And the worst part? The voice.

Not some faceless dream-stranger, not the usual nonsense whispers that fade upon waking. This was clear. Intimate. Kinda hot?? Like someone was right there, mouth pressed against your ear, speaking just for you.

"So pretty like this."

"Mine." 

"You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll always take care of you."

And yeah, normally, you’d just blame it on sleep deprivation. Stress. Maybe even some weird subconscious bullshit messing with your head. But last time you checked? You don’t wake up with bruises.

This is exactly why you’re standing in your bathroom right now, one hand holding your hair up, the other gripping the sink like it might do something to fix this entirely unacceptable situation. Your reflection stares back at you, looking just as pissed and exhausted as you feel.

Yeah. Those are fucking bruises.

Upper neck. Side of your throat. Deep enough to linger, tender enough to ache under the brush of your fingertips. Right where someone’s lips would have been.

Like the kind of mark a lover would leave. Slow. Intentional. Possessive.

Your stomach twists, a sick feeling creeping up your spine like ice-cold fingers pressing between your shoulders. You prod at the bruises again, wincing when a sharp sting shoots through your skin. Yeah—definitely real.  

Unless you’ve somehow started aggressively making out with your pillow in your sleep or developed a habit of sleepwalking straight into a damn wall, there’s only one explanation.  

Something’s been in your apartment.  

Someone’s been touching you.  

The air feels thick now like the walls are closing in, the dim glow of your lamp suddenly too warm, almost suffocating. Either you’re being haunted by the horniest ghost imaginable, or—  

Your stalker is getting real fucking bold.  

You exhale sharply, raking a hand through your hair. "And what the hell were they even after?" you mutter, scowling at your reflection. If he wanted to actually do something while you were asleep, he could’ve. But they didn’t. Why? Was he holding back? What the fuck is thier game?

Ugh. You shouldn’t be this used to this. Shouldn’t be thinking like this.   

"This is getting ridiculous…" you grumble, shaking off the chills running down your spine. Stepping out of the bathroom, you do a quick sweep of your windows. Still locked. Deadbolt on the door? Secure. No signs of forced entry. And you live on the third floor, so it’s not like some creep is climbing in through the damn balcony.  

So how the hell is they getting in now?

Now, you could call the police. That’s an option. But, uh… what exactly would you say? "Hey, officer, someone is mysteriously cleaning my dishes, refilling my fridge, and also swiping my underwear? Please help." Yeah. No. That sounds insane. You’d be laughed out of the station.

You could move out. That would be the smart thing to do, right? Pack up, break the lease, disappear into the night like this is some low-budget horror movie.

Except… yeah. That’s not happening.

Your lease isn’t up. And even if it was—this apartment is a steal. Literally. Because you’re not paying rent. At all. Your landlord? Super chill. Too chill, actually.

All you have to do is work your very specific (and slightly questionable) job, and in return? Free apartment. Free utilities. And best of all? He’s paying your tuition. This setup is golden. Platinum, even. You are not about to throw it all away just because some weirdo with boundary issues decided to play Domestic Phantom.

Still, if some creep thinks they can mess with you—thinks they can slither into your life like some discount horror movie villain—they’ve got the wrong one. Because you? You’re not about to be the dumbass who ignores all the red flags and ends up in a true crime documentary. Nope. Not happening.  

There’s gotta be a way to handle this.

A plan. A solution. Something.

But for now? You’re staying put. You wander into the kitchen, rip open a box of Pop-Tarts, and bite into one straight out of the foil—because, honestly, you’ve got bigger things to deal with than toasting the damn thing. Later, you’re changing the locks. And as for protection… your eyes narrow.  

Yeah. That might not be a problem.

You shove the paranoia down and focus on what you can control.

You get dressed. Something comfortable, something you. Mary Janes with soft knit socks, and a flowy black maxi skirt that moves like a whisper with every step. A black and red v-neck top sprinkled with delicate floral prints—subtle, but enough to make a statement.

Over that, a knitted wool cardigan, loose and cozy, its sleeves hanging past your wrists. A thin black choker wraps snugly around your neck, a long beaded pendant resting over your chest.

Your hair? Down. Messy but intentional. Just enough to veil the bruises. A bit of makeup, too—not too much, just enough to cover what needs covering.

Then? You’re out the door. Today’s agenda? Thrifting.

Something to take your mind off the weirdness crawling under your skin. You love thrifting—not just for the thrill of the find, but because it’s how you build your world. Your space, your aesthetic, your armor.

The thrift shop itself? A dump, but in the best way.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzz and flicker, the one in the far-left corner struggling like it’s gasping its last breath. The air is thick with the scent of dust, old paper, and cheap lavender air freshener, the kind that doesn’t actually freshen anything.

The racks are overstuffed, clothes jammed together in a chaotic mess—vintage jackets crammed against grandma blouses, faded band tees fighting for space with outdated prom dresses.

And the shelves? A fever dream.

Antique picture frames missing their glass. Stacks of yellowed paperbacks nobody’s touched in decades. Rows of porcelain dolls, their glossy eyes following you no matter where you move. It’s a treasure hunt and a haunted house rolled into one.

And, like always, Sol is here. 

He’s become some sort of guard dog. You invite him thrifting, not because you love hanging out with him—okay, maybe you do, but you’ll never admit that to his face—but because no men come up to you and he’s always there when you inevitably find yourself hauling way too much stuff back home.

Stuff you absolutely cannot carry alone.

Plus Sol? He’s freakishly strong.

Like, ’s so strong it makes no sense for a guy who dresses like he just crawled out of an indie film. Ripped sweaters, and oversized band tees, and his hair always looks like he’s just rolled out of bed—he looks like he spends most of his time listening to sad guitar riffs in his bedroom. Not exactly the type you'd expect to lift heavy furniture with one hand like it’s nothing.

But there he is, standing near the iron-metal-and-glass bedside table you’ve been eyeing for the past few minutes. 

You test its weight in your hands—yep, heavy. Not happening by yourself.

“Hey, loser boy,” you call over your shoulder, already planning to rope him into doing all the hard work. Sol, who’s busy inspecting a studded belt like he doesn’t already have three of them, looks up with that signature nonchalant expression. “What?”

You point at the table, a wicked grin creeping up on your face. “Think you can carry this for me?”

He sighs dramatically like you’ve asked him to do something impossible, but without skipping a beat, he steps forward. One hand easily slides under the table’s base, lifting it as if it weighs nothing. The action is almost effortless, making your smug grin falter slightly as you watch him handle the furniture with way too much ease.  

His rings catch the bad fluorescent lighting in the store, glinting like they’re part of some mysterious charm he’s wearing for the day. Sol effortlessly shifts the weight to one arm and starts moving without even blinking.  

“You know,” he mutters, voice dry, “you could just get a shopping cart.”  

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t need you.” 

His lips twitch like he wants to say something sarcastic, but the flush creeping up his neck betrays him. He’s embarrassed, or at least he’s trying to hide it, but you can see right through him.  

You take full advantage of the moment, your smirk widening, the kind of victorious grin that makes you feel just a little bit too smug. You know he hates it when you tease him like this. And yet, he always falls for it.

“Whatever,” Sol mutters, carrying the table toward the checkout area with a resigned look on his face. But you know, deep down, he doesn’t mind it. Not really. Because as much as he pretends like you’re a pain in the ass, it’s obvious he’s got a soft spot for you.

And that’s exactly why you keep him around. 

It’s not just the heavy lifting—although, that’s definitely a perk. It’s the way he’s always there when you need him, even if you don’t need him. You like having him around, even if you refuse to admit it out loud.  

At first, Sol's offers to pay for everything were just part of the routine, but then—he never stopped. Every. Single. Time. The way he’d shove his hand in his pocket, and pull out that crumpled bill with a look that said, ‘I’m paying and you can’t stop me’ was almost endearing. Almost.  

But you can’t let him.  

“I’ve got it,” you’d say, always with that perfect blend of aloofness and stubbornness.  

But Sol? He wasn’t backing down. You’d seen him try, so many times. At first, you thought it was just politeness—he didn’t want to feel like the moody guy who makes everyone pay for their own stuff. But no, there was persistence behind those actions. He genuinely wanted to pay for things, especially when you were involved.  

And, well... if he’s going to be so damn insistent about it, who are you to say no?  

Lowkey, you knew it wasn’t right to use him like this. You didn’t need to feel bad, though. After all, he was a volunteer. Mostly. You couldn’t help the way your mind wandered to the fact that well… Sol was cute. Tall, with that broody vibe that somehow always made him look like he was plotting something dangerous. He was the kind of guy who probably made people think twice before messing with him, though you knew better than to make assumptions.  

But more than that? The strength. The kind of strength that didn’t make sense for someone who seemed so out of place at times. He wasn’t one of the rich, perfect students walking around campus, acting like they owned the world. He wasn’t a golden boy who had everything handed to him. No, Sol had muscle. 

You liked that.  

That’s why, one day while sorting through cheap jackets in the thrift store, you asked him, “So, uh… ever been in a fight?”

He gave you that same annoyed look he always did, that eyebrow arching like you were the last person he expected to ask him that question. Then, slowly, a little smile formed. “Yeah. A few.”  

Of course, he had. He was the kind of guy who could handle himself in any situation, no matter how chaotic.  

“What about teaching me?” you asked casually, tossing another item into your pile. 

That got his attention. He stopped, looking at you like you had just asked him to walk on water. “Teach you?” he repeated slowly, like you were joking.   

“Yeah. You know, protect myself and stuff?” You shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve seen the way some of these rich assholes treat the first-gen and lower-income students around here. They think they can just push us around. Some of them even bully people or treat them like pets.”  

He went quiet.  

“I don’t want to end up like that,” you added, quieter now. You didn’t want to explain the deeper reasons behind your request—didn’t want him to see too much. But he must’ve gotten it.  

After a moment, Sol nodded. “All right. I’ll teach you.”  

You almost didn’t believe him at first. Sol teaching you how to defend yourself? You had assumed it was a joke, some offhand comment he made while trying to sound tough. But here you were, weeks later, in the middle of moving furniture around in your living room, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the dusty blinds, casting long shadows across the floor.  

The truth was, campus life isn’t exactly a cakewalk. You’ve seen the way people look at you when they think you’re beneath them—like you don’t belong, like you're just another person to brush aside. You could keep pretending it’s all fine, playing it safe, and hoping it’ll never happen to you, but the truth? The truth was too obvious to ignore.  

If you don’t start learning how to protect yourself now, you might risk becoming just another target. A victim of the system. Of people who think they’re untouchable like they own the world simply because they’ve got the privilege and the right connections. 

So, here you were. 

Your apartment is quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional creak of the old hardwood floors beneath your feet. A soft light flickers from the lamp in the corner, casting long shadows that stretch across the walls and the floor. 

It’s not much—just a regular night. Except it isn’t.  

You moved the coffee table aside, and now the center of the room is cleared, the space a little too open, a little too exposed for comfort.

Normally, this would be the part where you'd curl up on the couch, maybe grab a snack, or settle in with some comfortable TV show on your laptop. But tonight? Tonight, you're standing here in the middle of your living room, hands balled into fists at your sides, trying to ignore the slight discomfort crawling up your spine.  

Sol stands a few feet away, leaning back casually against the wall. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes? They’re locked on you, sharp as ever. Red-orange irises gleam in the dim light, intense and calculating. You swear he’s looking right through you like he's already analyzing every tiny movement you make.  

"All right, so, it’s all about balance first," Sol says, voice low and controlled. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, his expression hard to read. But then again, it’s always hard to read Sol. 

You swallow, trying not to make it obvious that you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how awkward this all feels. You're not exactly a fighter. You never had to be. Back in high school, you had a few run-ins and a couple of moments where you needed to stand your ground, but those were more the exception than the rule. 

Still, here you are, in the middle of your apartment, standing in a stance you’ve only ever seen in movies, bracing yourself not to look like a fool in front of the guy who, for whatever reason, agreed to teach you how to throw a punch.  

You nod, straightening up, trying to mimic his calm, practiced demeanor. The last thing you want to do is look like you’ve never lifted a finger in your life. Your fists are tight at your sides, the feeling of them somehow grounding you, even though they don't feel natural. You flex your fingers for a second, then tighten them again.  

Sol watches you for a moment, then his gaze softens, just for a second. You catch it—an almost imperceptible flicker of something in his eyes that makes you pause. It’s... amusement? You’re not sure. But before you can think too hard about it, he motions for you to step forward.  

“Shift your weight,” he says, his voice steady. “Lead with your hips.”  

You try, trying to remember what he said. Shift. Hips. Balance. It feels unnatural like you’re trying to bend in a way your body wasn’t built for. You step forward tentatively, unsure of where exactly your weight should go. It’s like every part of your body is working against you, your legs are unsteady, your torso stiff, and your movements jerky. You hate how awkward you feel. You feel ridiculous.  

Sol, however, doesn’t flinch. He just watches, those sharp eyes following every shift you make.  

“Better,” he mutters. “A little more fluid.” His voice is low, quiet, but still firm. “Don’t be stiff. Relax. You’re not trying to break something.”  

You nod, trying again, focusing on letting your body flow more easily, trying to mimic the ease with which Sol stands. But every move feels like it’s taking more effort than it should. Your legs don’t want to cooperate, and your arms feel like they belong to someone else.  

"Just focus on moving like you’re part of the room," he adds, voice softer this time. “Everything in here is in balance. You should be, too.”  

His tone shifts, becoming less like a drill sergeant and more... encouraging? Weird. You didn’t expect that from him, but it helps, just a little. You inhale deeply, steadying yourself. 

Sol’s still watching you, his stance casual but observant. There’s a subtle shift in his expression—a hint of satisfaction, maybe? It’s hard to tell. You try again, and this time, it feels a little more natural. Your weight shifts more fluidly; your posture loosens up. You’re not perfect yet, not by a long shot, but... it’s better. It’s not as awkward.  

"Good," Sol says, giving a small nod. "One more time. But this time—" He steps closer, just a fraction. His eyes lock onto yours, almost expectant. "Just let go. Don't overthink it."  

It’s hard not to. Hard not to get in your head about every movement. But somehow, with him so close, you feel a spark of determination, and before you can stop yourself, you let it all go. Your stance shifts, your weight flows, and your body moves more naturally. You feel it this time—your body, your balance, your control. It’s not perfect, but it’s... close enough.  

Sol takes another step back, his gaze lingering for a moment before he lets out a low breath. “Not bad. You’ll get there.”  

For a brief second, his tone is... softer. Like he's genuinely impressed. You can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment, even if it's only the first step.  

You glance up at him, not entirely sure what to say. You're not used to this—being taught by Sol. Hell, you’re not used to feeling like you can stand up for yourself, physically or otherwise. But here you are, one step closer to something you didn’t think you needed.  

Suddenly, your stomach dropped when you heard the rumble of Sol’s stomach. You both stopped mid-lesson, realizing you’d been at it for a while. He tilted his head toward you, his mouth pulling into a half-smirk.  

“Want me to order dinner?” he asked casually like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m thinking Chinese food. Like, the good stuff. Rice, bourbon chicken, sweet orange chicken…”  

Your eyes narrowed, half-worried he was trying to get out of finishing your lesson by offering food, but at the same time, the thought of not having to cook yourself was tempting. Your stomach growled in agreement.  

“You’re paying, right?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.  

“Obviously,” he said with a smirk that almost made you roll your eyes.  

“Fine. I’ll make room for your… generosity”  

You helped him with the call, and after a few minutes of placing the order, you shuffled back to the center of the room to keep practicing. Sol leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, and you could tell he was silently judging your form—but there was something in his expression that told you he wasn’t *all* that serious about it. You weren’t the most graceful person in the world, but at least you were trying. And honestly, that was more than a lot of people ever bothered to do.  

Soon, the smell of food started wafting in from the front door. The delivery guy had arrived. Sol made his way to the door, leaving you to do some last-minute stretching as you mentally prepared to eat your weight in takeout.  

When he returned with the bags of food, you felt a sudden wave of relief wash over you. Sol’s presence had a way of making you feel oddly safe, even though you were still pretty sure half the world would probably see you as just a piece of trash to kick around. But right now, right here, you had something for yourself. A plan. A way to stand up for yourself. 

And for once, maybe it wouldn’t feel like the world was just out to get you.  

You started setting up the food on your kitchen counter, the familiar scent of takeout filling the small space, making everything feel just a little bit warmer. Maybe it was the food. Maybe it was the lesson you’d just gone through with Sol—his unspoken instructions that made you feel just a little bit more capable. Or maybe, just maybe, it was him. There was something comforting about having him around, even when he was gruff, his usual silence hanging heavy in the air. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

“All right, dinner’s here,” Sol said, rubbing his hands together with a playful glint in his eyes. “You ready to actually fight someone yet?”

You glanced at him sideways, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Maybe. But only if they start with the orange chicken.” You pointed your chopsticks at him for emphasis, “That’s non-negotiable.”

Sol’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he rolled his eyes, stepping past you to the counter. You moved to the cabinet to grab the plates, feeling oddly lighter. Everything just felt easier in this moment, even with Sol hovering around.

The dull hum of the refrigerator, the quiet flicker of the overhead light—it was all just normal*, for once. Not a single thing felt out of place.

You reached for the plates, your fingers brushing the cool ceramic. But then, as if by instinct, a sudden movement behind you made you freeze. 

Before you could even process it, Sol’s large hand reached right next to yours, his fingers brushing against your skin as he grabbed the plates instead. His proximity was close enough that his shoulder grazed yours, and for a split second, you felt your heartbeat skip. You didn’t even realize how startled you were until the breath caught in your throat.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you out,” he muttered, a little too quickly, the words slipping out as if they were forced, like he didn’t quite expect his sudden action to unsettle you.  

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, his next words caught you off guard. He was so close now that his voice seemed to vibrate against your ear. 

“You know if you ever actually want to learn to fight... it’s not always about hitting first.”

His words, casual and low, sent an odd shiver down your spine. Not because of the content itself, but because of the way his voice sounded—soft, but with something else. Something deeper. 

Unsettlingly familiar.

You blinked, your hand stiffening on the counter, unsure of what exactly had just happened. Was it just the way his voice was wrapped in that strange intensity? You'd always known Sol had a low, gravelly voice, but now that it was right against you, so unexpectedly close, it sounded different. Almost like—whispering to you. In a way that felt a little too personal.

For a brief, inexplicable moment, you wondered if he knew the effect his voice had on you. Maybe he did.  

You shook your head and tried to shake off the odd feeling creeping up your spine. It was probably nothing. Just Sol being Sol—gruff, distant, and surprisingly close when you least expected it.  

But still, something was definitely... off. 

Or maybe just on—in a way you didn’t want to think too hard about.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable blur. You and Sol settled on the couch, the two of you sharing the takeout containers, laughing over your less-than-adequate attempts at chopsticks. The usual tension between you seemed to melt away, replaced by something... easier. 

Sol wasn’t exactly the warmest person, but you’d learned over time to appreciate the way he didn’t expect you to be anything other than yourself. Even when he was being annoyingly gruff, he somehow managed to make you feel... well, normal.

You leaned back into the couch, feeling the weight of your full stomach and the quiet warmth of the room. The soft hum of the fridge, the distant sound of traffic outside—it was oddly peaceful. 

“So,” you said, glancing over at him. Sol had already pushed his food aside and was staring at the half-finished puzzle on the table—something you'd long since given up on. “Where do you even get your outfit ideas? You’re always looking so... put together. I need some tips.”

Sol gave you that side-eye like you were asking him about the meaning of life. "Outfits? What, you wanna dress like me or something?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Nah, not really. Just curious. You’ve got that... thing, you know? That whole alt vibe. It’s kinda cool."

He shrugged, his usual “I don’t care about anything” face back in place. "Doesn’t really fit with your... vibe. You're too, I don't know, whimsical for it."

"Whimsical?" You rolled your eyes. "Dude, I'm not a damn fairy."

Sol didn’t even blink, keeping his eyes on whatever he was staring at. "Not exactly emo like me either. You’re more like... whimsical goth, you know? Mixing those flowery, goth vibes with a little playfulness. All those lush florals, patterns, moody colors, layers, and random little celestial shit. Doesn’t match." He paused, then added with a dry smirk, "You can't exactly wear black leather and chains and still call it cute."

“Cute…?” You raised an eyebrow at him, suddenly getting the feeling he was messing with you. “And I don’t even smell like a hippie, okay? I’m not out here smelling like patchouli.”

Sol leaned back, smirking like he knew something you didn’t. “Nah, you’re all about that herb life, I can tell. It’s like rosemary and lavender. You’re probably one of those people with a whole stash of essential oils or some shit.”

You stopped mid-bite, fork still in your hand. “Rosemary? I don’t... use that stuff.”

He gave you a lazy look, clearly unfazed by your surprise. “Yeah? Well, you kinda do. It’s not overpowering or anything, but it’s there. Like, maybe it’s in your hair?”

You blinked, taken aback. Lavender you could explain—you used that stuff occasionally with your shower routine, especially when you were winding down for the night, but rosemary?

You hadn’t exactly been using it religiously. You had a bottle of rosemary oil you mixed into your hair care routine on occasion, but it was a once-in-a-while kind of thing. Something that you do only at night,

"Really?" You asked, feeling a slight heat rise in your cheeks. "Is it that strong? I barely even notice it."

Sol just shrugged. "It’s not like it’s overwhelming or anything. Just... normal. You know, like some people have a scent that’s, well, theirs. Yours is herbal. Rosemary, lavender. You just feel like... fresh air."

It was strange hearing him describe you like that—like something natural, even pleasant. You wanted to argue, to brush it off, but for some reason, his words stuck. You never really thought about your scent beyond the occasional self-care routine. You’d never imagined someone would notice it so specifically. 

It felt oddly personal, but not in a bad way. 

You leaned back, trying to shake off the weird, almost embarrassed feeling that was creeping up your spine. "I’m not a freaking herb garden, Sol," you muttered, more to yourself than anything, but of course, your voice carried. 

Sol just let out a low chuckle, the kind that sent a little shiver down your spine, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. "Sure, whatever you say. But hey, if you ever want outfit advice, I’ve got you. Just don’t expect me to foot the bill. No way I’m going shopping with you," he said, sounding way too smug for his own good.

You raised both hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Deal. But you’ll owe me one for not making you teach me your ‘grumpy badass with a whole wardrobe of black’ look.”

His smirk only grew wider. "Yeah, well... you'd probably look ridiculous in it anyway." His voice had that unmistakable tease to it, the same one that made you want to roll your eyes and laugh at the same time.

"You're lucky you're cute," you muttered under your breath, trying to keep the teasing tone going. You shot him a playful glance, your lips curling up just slightly.

Sol didn't immediately respond, which was a little weird. Usually, he'd fire back with something sarcastic or just give you that deadpan stare. But this time? He just shrugged it off and leaned back into the couch like it was no big deal.

Not wanting to let it go, you suddenly got an idea. With a mischievous smile, you crawled over to him on your knees, careful not to knock over the empty takeout containers still sitting on the coffee table. Sol glanced at you like you were out of your mind, but you didn’t care. 

You tapped his nose gently, just enough to make him blink and look at you in surprise. "Cute," you said with a wink, leaning in closer, your breath a little shaky but definitely playful.

Sol raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed by your closeness, but you couldn’t help it. You weren’t gonna back down now. As you hovered over him, your eyes naturally dropped to his neck, and that’s when you saw it—the green choker he was wearing, snug against his throat.

You couldn’t help it. A smirk slid across your face as you leaned back slightly, grinning. "Nice choker, emo boy. You trying to start a band or something?" you teased, your voice dripping with that sarcastic sweetness you knew would get under his skin.

His face went from mildly amused to instantly irritated. "Shut up," he muttered, leaning his head back just enough to avoid your gaze, clearly trying to act unaffected. But you could tell—he was annoyed, and maybe even a little embarrassed.

"Aw, come on," you teased further, tapping the choker lightly with your finger, "I didn’t know you were such a dark soul." You joked

"You're really pushing it now," Sol grumbled, but you could see the corners of his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. He looked away again like he was pretending he wasn’t at least a little amused by your antics. 

You laughed, enjoying the playful tension. "Okay, okay," you relented, leaning back slightly and giving him a little space. "I guess you do look kind of badass in that choker, but—" you paused, narrowing your eyes teasingly, "—just don’t start trying to summon demons in my living room, all right?"

Sol rolled his eyes, but there was a faint, exasperated smile tugging at his lips. "You’re a real pain, you know that?" he muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, but you love it," you shot back, grinning widely. "Or at least, you put up with it. Big difference."

You couldn’t help it. With a playful smirk, you leaned in a little closer, your finger sliding under the clasp of his choker. You gave it a subtle tug, just enough to create tension, just enough to make him shift in place, but not enough to hurt. The motion was lighthearted, almost teasing, as you kept your eyes locked on his reaction. 

"Careful there, puppy," you teased, your voice sweet with mock innocence as you tugged on the choker once more. "You might wanna think twice about who you’re calling cute. Last time I checked, I’m a grown woman in college, and I can handle myself just fine."

Puppy? 

You could see his reaction before it even hit his face. Sol froze for a split second, and you could feel the air around you shift. His breath came out a little sharper, a little more ragged. His chest puffed up like he was trying to keep it together, but the tension in his jaw gave it all away. 

His usual, icy ‘don’t mess with me’ glare was nowhere to be found today. Instead, you got something darker—a mix of irritation and maybe a little something else that he was clearly fighting to suppress. 

You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

For all his tough guy persona, it was clear that ‘puppy’ had hit a nerve.

He chuckled, but it sounded more like a nervous little exhale. "Says the one who asked me to teach them how to fight," he shot back, trying to sound all tough and detached. But there was this subtle hitch in his voice that you caught.

You didn't break eye contact. Oh no, you were in full tease mode now, smirking like you’d just found a secret treasure. Slowly, you tugged on the choker again—just enough to make him squirm, watching him closely for any sign of cracking.

"Yeah, I did," you said, as casually as you could manage, even though your grin was practically stretched across your face. You leaned in a little closer, closing the space between you two. "But hey, it’s the least you could do for me, right?" you added, letting your words hang there like a little trap. "I mean, I’m just using you for your skills."

His chest gave a little hitch, and for a second, you thought he might drop the whole ‘I’m too cool for this’ act. His lips parted just slightly, like he was gonna say something, but couldn’t quite manage it. You could practically feel the internal struggle. 

Oh yeah, you were definitely getting under his skin now. 

Sol’s hand reached up toward your shoulder, and you followed his movements, almost mesmerized. It was like he was fighting with himself, trying to keep that icy composure. But you could see it—the tension in his jaw, the way his grip tightened, like he was trying to resist something. 

A smug grin spread across your face. Oh, this was good. You gave the choker another playful tug, just enough to make his breath catch, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Like what?" you asked innocently, feigning confusion.

Sol let out a low, frustrated sigh, leaning in closer, his eyes narrowing in on you with something that was definitely not just irritation. No, there was something else there now—something darker, like he was starting to unravel. His voice dropped an octave, rough and raspy. 

"You know exactly what you’re doing."

Oh, you heard it—the strain in his voice, the rough edge he was trying to mask. It wasn’t working. And you were loving every second of it. "Do I?" you asked, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper, just barely audible. 

"Maybe I do… or maybe I don’t…” 

Your eyes narrowed as you slid off the couch with a casual stretch, giving him just enough time to let it sink in. You stretched your arms over your head with an exaggerated yawn, finally deciding to show Sol a little mercy. “All right, all right, I’m done messing with you,” you said, pushing yourself up off the couch. “I need to clean up and crash early anyway.”  

Sol blinked a few times like he was still trying to shake off whatever the hell just happened between you two. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah?” His voice sounded a little off—like he was still recovering from you messing with him.  

You nodded, already gathering up the empty takeout containers. “Yeah, there’s an estate sale happening in the morning, and I want to be the first one there.” You shot him a grin over your shoulder. “They always have the best jewelry and vintage clothes—velvet, lace, the whole deal. I’m not risking some old rich lady snatching up everything before I get there.”  

Sol snorted at that, standing up and grabbing some of the trash to help. “Yeah, sounds totally worth losing sleep over,” he said, rolling his eyes. But then, after a beat, he asked, “You going with someone?”  

You paused, thinking for a second as you tossed a takeout box in the trash. You hadn’t really planned it out, but now that he asked…  

“I haven’t hung out with Crowe in a minute,” you said, turning to look at Sol. “Might text him later, see if he wants to come with.”  

It was subtle, but you caught it—the way Sol’s shoulders tensed just slightly, the way his fingers curled against the counter before he quickly shoved them into his pockets. His usual frown deepened, his mouth pressing into a thin line.  

“…Right,” he muttered, nodding a little too quickly like he was trying way too hard to seem unbothered. “Makes sense.”  

You raised a brow, amused. “What? Jealous?”  

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Pfft. As if.” But his tone was just a little too defensive, and you didn’t miss the way he definitely wasn’t looking you in the eye.  

You smirked but decided to let him off the hook this time. 

For now, anyway.

As you started gathering the trash and stacking the empty containers, Sol—surprisingly—didn’t bolt like he usually did when chores were involved. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and started washing the dishes without a word. You side-eyed him but didn’t say anything, just smirked to yourself and kept cleaning.  

The silence between you two wasn’t uncomfortable, just filled with the quiet clatter of plates and running water. Then, midway through scrubbing a pan, Sol spoke up. “I made you chamomile,” he said casually like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s on the counter.” 

You blinked, looking over to see a mug of tea steaming gently next to a little bowl of freshly washed fruit. Your gaze flicked back to him, a little thrown off. “Uh… you made this?”  

“Yeah?” Sol didn’t look at you, focusing way too hard on rinsing off a plate. “I mean, you always eat it before bed, right? Figured I’d save you the trouble.”  

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms, a slow grin creeping up your face. “Huh. Didn’t know you paid that much attention to my nightly routine.”  

He clicked his tongue, finally looking at you with a glare that didn’t quite reach his usual level of menace. “Don’t get weird about it.”  

You chuckled but didn’t push it—he’d already looked about five seconds away from regretting saying anything at all.  

Once the kitchen was spotless, Sol muttered something about heading to bed early and, true to form, made a swift exit—like he couldn’t leave fast enough. You watched him go, amused at how suddenly eager he was to disappear.  

Finally.  

You let out a deep sigh, rolling your shoulders before heading to the bathroom. A hot shower sounded perfect right now—just you, the steam, and no one hovering or throwing weird energy into the air.   

The water was bliss, washing away the long day, and whatever lingering tension still clung to you. After drying off, you slipped into your favorite tank top and matching shorts, the soft lace trim brushing against your thighs as you moved. It was nice—cozy, comforting. Just what you needed.   

You grabbed the small bowl of fruit and the still-warm chamomile tea from the counter before flopping onto your bed, letting out a content sigh as you scrolled through your phone. Mindlessly, you popped a blueberry into your mouth, the burst of sweetness barely registering as your thoughts started drifting back to earlier.   

You squinted down at the cup of tea in your hand before sighing and setting it on your nightstand. Normally, you’d drink it, let the warmth settle in your chest, and let it lull you into sleep like it always did. 

But tonight? You weren’t feeling it. 

The night had settled into that eerie kind of silence—the kind that made everything feel heavier like the world had momentarily paused. No cars passing by, no distant hum of city life, just the quiet hum of your apartment and the occasional creak of the building settling.  

Wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, you lay on your side, staring at the ceiling. Your room was dimly lit by the soft glow of your bedside lamp, casting long shadows along the walls. The scent of chamomile still lingered in the air, mixing with the faint traces of rosemary and lavender from your hair.  

Sleep was creeping in, slow and heavy, but your mind had other plans. You had this weird way of thinking in the in-between—half-asleep but not quite dreaming, like your subconscious was having a conversation with itself. Thoughts came and went without effort, lingering just long enough to make you wonder if you were awake or not.  

And right now, those thoughts were circling back to him.

Sol paid more attention than you ever gave him credit for. That much was obvious now. The fruit, the tea—hell, even the way he noticed your bedtime habits. It was weird. Not bad weird… just interesting.

You weren’t sure what to make of it yet.  

But that moment—the way his voice wavered, how his whole demeanor shifted the second you mentioned Crowe?  

Mhm.

That says everything.  

You turned over, pulling the blankets tighter around you. At some point, exhaustion won, and you drifted off, the weight of your blankets making your body sink into the mattress, warmth cocooning you. Everything was still. Comfortable. And then… Something changed. A shift. 

Subtle. Small. But enough to pull you from the depths of sleep, your subconscious whispering that something wasn’t quite right. The air around you felt heavier like something unseen had crept in, pressing down on the room itself. Your subconscious stirred before you did, that primal instinct kicking in, whispering that something was off.  

You were not alone.

You didn’t move—not yet. Your breathing remained slow and steady, the perfect mimicry of deep sleep. But something was off. It was like something air felt different, charged with an unnatural stillness like the world was holding its breath.  

And then, you felt the stare.

Not touching you, not yet, but hovering just above—too close, too present. A shadow pressed against the darkness, an unseen figure dressed in black standing at the very edge of your space, watching. Studying. The fine hairs on the back of your neck prickled, a slow, creeping chill sinking deep into your bones. 

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that whatever it was, it hadn’t moved. It was waiting.

Carefully, slowly, you shifted beneath the blankets, rolling just enough to press your face further into the pillow. The movement was subtle, natural—the kind of mindless stirring someone might make in the depths of sleep. But beneath the act, your mind aware, calculating.

Your fingers slid beneath the pillow, brushing against the cool metal tucked away underneath. The weight of it was grounding, a quiet reassurance against the uncertainty pressing down on you. Your breathing remained steady, even—controlled—but your pulse told a different story, hammering quietly against your ribs.

Still, the presence above you remained unmoving.

Whoever—or whatever—it was, they were patient.

If it were planning to kill you in your sleep, they'd have to get closer. You knew how this worked—hesitation was a killer. Worst comes to worst, the second they touched you—And then you felt it.

A subtle shift in the bed, a slow, deliberate movement that crept over your body, causing your heart to beat just a little faster. 

“Fuck… you smell so good as always…” The words came out in a low, almost reverent murmur, sending a ripple of heat through your spine. So human after all unless the demon can speak…

Your breath caught in your throat as something—someone—shifted, climbing over you with ease. Their weight settled above your back, warm and steady, and the air around you thickened, pressing against your skin as if the very space you occupied had shrunk. It was suffocating, but not in the way you were used to. 

“Let’s see…” the voice mumbled softly, each word vibrating against your skin as they gently moved your arm, lifting it with slow precision before letting it flop back down like a feather touching a surface. You barely moved, still lost in the haze of sleep, your senses tingling at the intimate gesture. “Like always, deep in sleep…”

A soft, almost teasing nibble landed on your neck, followed by a kiss, and then another, lingering longer this time, until the sensation made you involuntarily let out a soft whimper. The warmth of his lips left a trail of heat on your skin, and you could almost feel the ghost of his smile against your neck, something possessive in the touch.

He didn’t stop there, though.

The kisses kept coming, gentle at first but quickly growing more urgent, more insistent. A few more laps of his tongue, the wetness lingering on your skin as a mark slowly began to form—a visible reminder of his closeness. “I wish you were already mine,” he mumbled, his voice thick with a mix of frustration and desire.

You barely had time to react before you felt his hands—large, warm, and deliberate—sliding over your sides then through your tank top before cupping your bare breasts, and squeezing gently. His touch was slow as if savoring the warm sensation, his palms pressing against the soft body fat.

“We had such fun this week…” Sol murmured, his voice thick with something unreadable, his body flush against your back. Every inch of him was pressed into you, a heavy, unmoving weight that kept you caged beneath him.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead burying your face deeper into the pillow, hiding the deadpan look threatening to cross your face. Not that he would’ve noticed—he was far too preoccupied with you. He didn’t try to remove his hands, didn’t loosen his grip, just held you there, his fingers flexing slightly as he pulled you even closer as if that was physically possible.

His breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of your neck before he nuzzled into it, his hair tickling you just enough to make you squirm. He exhaled a shaky sigh, his lips brushing against your pulse. “So warm…” he muttered, voice low, almost dazed. His thumbs lazily circled your nipples through your tank top, drawing a sharp, involuntary shiver from you.

Then came the pressure—slow, deliberate, and completely overwhelming. His hips rolled against yours, a steady, unrelenting grind that had you sinking deeper into the mattress, trapped beneath his weight. Every shift, every movement, pressed you further down, his body practically molding to yours like he had no intention of letting go.

Your heartbeat hammered in your chest, breath caught somewhere between shock and something dangerously close to pleasure. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even think straight. The realization of just how powerless you were in this moment sent a strange thrill up your spine, one you weren’t sure you wanted to acknowledge.

Then—his hands tightened. His fingers suddenly pinched down hard on your nipples from inside the thin fabric of your tank top, sending a sharp jolt through you. A muffled gasp escaped, but you bit down on the pillow, silencing yourself. The last thing you wanted to do was react—at least, not in a way that would give him more satisfaction.

But god, no matter how absurd, how insane this situation was… the way his breath hitched, the way he whined against your neck, it was impossible to ignore the way it made you feel.

“But you just had to bring him into everything, didn’t you?” His voice took on a sharper edge, and you felt the grip on the edge of the bed tighten, the sheets crumpling beneath his hand with an intensity that made your stomach drop.

His breath was heavier now, almost ragged. “Why…? You’re supposed to be mine. No one else.”

A sharp, metallic zip cut through the silence—too close to your ear, making you tense instantly, every nerve in your body screaming. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. 

“You belong to me.”

Your stomach lurched. 

Oh, hell no.

In another world, in another life where you were just a normal person, you would have screamed. You would have thrashed, kicked, fought with everything in you.

But here, now, at this moment, you were frozen—trapped in the paradox of something so inherently wrong yet laced with a twisted kind of exhilaration. It was sick, it was deranged, and yet, some primal part of you couldn’t deny the way your body reacted, betraying every rational thought screaming at you to move.

But enough was enough.

The suffocating weight of him, the heat of his breath against your skin, the way his hands roamed like he had some kind of right—it was pathetic. The creeping tension thickening the air, the sheer audacity of being cornered in your own bed by someone who had no business touching you—it had all gone too far.

Before he could whisper another possessive word, before he could dare push this delusion any further, you acted. Fast. Instinct took over, that survivalist part of you finally snapping out of its trance.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you reached beneath your pillow, your hand gripping the cold steel of the knife that had become a silent protector in your room. In a single fluid motion, you pulled it out and pointed the blade at the shadowed figure hovering over you, your knees digging into the bed as you spun to face them. Your breath came fast, adrenaline surging through your veins.

“What in the hell are you—!” You barely got the words out before a hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a vice-like grip. Your pulse raced as they overpowered your attempt to retaliate, their fingers digging into your skin like a vice.

You couldn’t believe it. Your mind scrambled to process what you were seeing, but your body reacted first—stiffening, every muscle tensing as your breath hitched. Your narrowed eyes locked onto the face hovering above you, the weight of the moment pressing down like a vice.

You blinked, once. Twice. The air in your lungs stalled.

…Sol?

Draped in all-black—shiny jeans catching the faintest glint of light, a hoodie pulled just loose enough to shadow his face, and that unmistakable green-and-black striped hair tumbling down around his sharp features.

Your stomach lurched.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, the word barely more than a whisper, but the weight behind it was heavy. Reality hit like a slap to the face, sinking deep into your gut as your heart pounded against your ribs.

The knife trembled in your grip, muscles taut as you fought against the force pressing down on you. Sol’s hands wrapped around yours, strong—might you add—moving back with enough urgency to make your arms strain.

But you weren’t weak—you could feel the resistance, the way your strength shocked even him as the blade hovered dangerously between you both, a sharp, gleaming threat trapped in the tension.

Then came the weight—his body bearing down on yours, shoving you back against the mattress. Your breath hitched as his legs straddled you, pinning you beneath him with an overbearing heat that had your skin prickling. His chest almost pressed against yours, the rapid thud of his heart hammering against your palm where you still clutched the handle of the knife. It was erratic, unsteady.

His face was so close now—red-orange eyes wide, pupils blown with something unreadable. Shock? Confusion? There was a flicker of something frantic beneath it all, something desperate, something almost wild.

For a moment, the chaos in the room dulled. The air hung thick and unmoving. Your breaths, his heartbeat, the overwhelming rush of emotions—you were drowning in it.

The knife was just inches beside your neck, the cold steel almost grazing your skin, but you couldn’t even move it, even as you tried to hold your ground. His eyes were locked onto yours, filled with something almost like guilt—but something darker, too. 

A strange, terrifying silence followed as your free remained pressed against his chest, the other still gripping the knife, but completely helpless in his hold. His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pressing them hard.

And yet, despite his forceful position, despite everything that was happening, there was an unsettling calm in his eyes. He wasn't angry. He was shocked, thrown off balance. Caught in a moment of pure disbelief. The usual coldness of his gaze was gone, replaced with an unfamiliar, confused vulnerability that rattled you to your core. 

It was as if he was seeing you for the first time—like he'd never expected this. Never wanted this.

His lips parted in something between a gasp and a murmur, but the words never came. There was nothing but that intense, breathless stare, his grip tightening just a little more on your wrists as if trying to make sense of the situation.

Your mind was a chaotic whirlpool of shock and confusion. You couldn’t quite process it all—the shock of seeing Sol's face so close, lips almost touching—so overwhelming, the knife still a hair's breadth from your skin. And then the words came, so casually, as if this entire situation was something he had been expecting. 

"Shit, you scared me. You were awake this whole time?" Sol’s voice was rough, tinged with something between frustration and genuine surprise.

Your eyes—wide, almost bugged out—narrowed sharply at him. 

Who the fuck asks that type of question?

You couldn’t help the incredulity that bubbled up in your chest. "You're the one who scared me, dumbass." you snapped, irritation lacing your tone as the reality of the situation set in. The breath that had been held in your chest finally exhaled in a short, sharp burst of air. 

Sol seemed to snap out of whatever dazed state he had been in, his posture shifting as he let go of your wrists and lifted his body off yours. He cursed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Oh, sorry, that was kind of a reflex," he muttered, his hands still slightly trembling as he gently moved you, guiding you back onto your knees on the bed.

Your body, still wound tight with the fight or flight instinct, barely had time to process when he asked, almost too nonchalantly, "Seriously, sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?" The sheer absurdity of another question was enough to make your blood boil. Like this was all just some casual misunderstanding. 

As if you hadn’t just almost killed him for scaring the living daylights out of you. You felt your grip on the knife loosen slightly, but then, without thinking, you grabbed a fistful of his hair with your free hand and yanked it back—hard. He grunted in pain, eyes widening as you forced him to look up at you, his expression shifting from confused to slightly pained.

"I'm gonna kill you," you growled through gritted teeth, aiming the knife close to his neck—your voice low, but dangerously calm. "How the fuck did you get in here?"

Sol stuttered for a second, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in power. He tried to collect his words, his lips moving but his voice barely rising above a murmur. "I, uh… I used aluminum foil to make a replica key and some string to take care of the chain door..." He trailed off, his eyes flickering to the side in embarrassment.

You blinked, dumbfounded for a moment. Aluminum foil? Your mind raced as the pieces slowly started to connect. 

“You damn criminal…” you muttered, more out of disbelief than actual anger. You couldn't even figure out if you were mad or just genuinely shocked. You hadn't expected him to be that resourceful—or reckless.

Sol winced, letting his shoulders slump in a mix of guilt and embarrassment. "Look, I didn’t mean to freak you out," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just… I just wanted to… see you."

Your breath came out in a slow exhale, still trying to process everything. The initial fear was starting to wear off, but the unease lingered in your chest. You'd thought you were dealing with a creepy stalker—and you kind of were—but this? 

This was something else entirely.

You let go of his hair slowly, your fingers slipping from the strands as you watched him wince, his body stiffening before he straightened up. He seemed almost... unsettled, unsure of how to process everything that had just happened. His eyes were wide, his breath still heavy, but there was a strange, almost fragile tension about him that you couldn't ignore.

"Y'know what?" You said, your voice steady and cold, a stark contrast to the mess that had just unfolded. "Sit right there on the floor. You're getting a lecture."

You pointed firmly to the ground, watching as Sol blinked in confusion, his brow furrowed in that typical, defensive way. "The floor?" he asked, clearly thrown off by your calmness, by the way, you were handling this whole situation as if it were just another normal day.

"Sol," you said, a slight edge to your voice now. "I will call the police if you don’t get your damn outside clothes off my bed and sit."

The tone in your voice left no room for argument, and within seconds, he was quick to obey, taking a seat on the floor with an uneasy expression. His movements were jerky, almost like he wasn’t sure what kind of punishment he was in for. 

"On your knees."  

Your voice was steady, but the look you gave him? Pure judgment—like he was some guilty puppy who just got caught chewing up your favorite shoes. You sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching him with the kind of unimpressed stare that could make anyone squirm.  

He hesitated, just for a second like he was debating whether he could still push his luck. But in the end, he obeyed, sinking down like some reluctant, defiant dog waiting for its scolding.  

Your patience? Gone. Shattered.

There was no point in playing nice anymore.  

"I'm done trying to use big concepts like 'crime' and 'common sense' with you," you deadpanned, your voice flat with irritation. "Clearly, that doesn’t sink in."  

Sol looked up at you, something between guilt and stubbornness flashing in his eyes, but you weren’t interested in whatever weak excuse he was cooking up. Not tonight.  

"For a stalker," you continued, tone sharp but eerily calm, "you really suck at this. First off, your voice. You talk too damn much. Every word practically screams ‘hey, it’s me, Sol.’" You tilted your head slightly, watching as his jaw clenched. "And your face? You flinched the second I mentioned Crowe, like you had something to prove."  

Then, as if casually dropping the final nail in his coffin, you added, "Oh, and nice touch with the fruit. Real subtle. Using it to hide the fact you drugged the chamomile tea. Let me guess—sleeping pills?"  

His reaction was everything. Just a flicker, just the smallest crack in his expression, but you caught it. His pupils dilated, his breath hitched—not enough for the average person to notice, but you weren’t average, and this wasn’t your first rodeo.  

You let the silence hang for a moment, let him feel the weight of it pressing in. Then, you drove the knife in deeper.  

"This whole time," you murmured, eyes narrowing, "you’ve been drugging me through my tea, haven’t you?"  

His gaze flickered, darting to the side for just a second—just long enough to confirm what you already knew.  

"Pathetic," you muttered, exhaling slowly as if you were genuinely disappointed in him. "You’re not good at this. And I’m done pretending I don’t know what’s going on."

Sol didn’t say anything at first, his lips pressed together as he took in your words. You could see his mind racing, trying to find the right thing to say, but for once, he was quiet. Completely still.

Your mind was still reeling from the chaos of everything that just happened—the weight of Sol on top of you, the knife almost glazed your neck, and the shock of realizing it was him who had been lurking in your space. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you kept your gaze locked on his—definitely not letting him off the hook. 

“Now, next subject,” you said, keeping your voice steady and unyielding, though your mind was still racing. You had to know why, had to understand this twisted mess. “Why in the hell were you trying to do me?”

Sol went stiff like you just smacked him upside the head with reality. His whole body locked up, and for a second, the air between you both felt suffocating. His mouth opened, but no words came out—just a slow swallow, his throat bobbing as his eyes darted downward like he was hoping the floor would just swallow him whole.  

“It started…” he finally muttered, voice strained like it physically hurt to admit. “How you’re always around Crowe whenever I see you.”  

You blinked. What?  

“And I thought…” he hesitated, shifting uncomfortably before finally meeting your gaze. “Leaving bruises across your skin would show that you’re taken.”  

You stared. Just. Stared.  

“…I’m sorry, what?”  

There was no way you just heard that correctly.

Ain’t no damn way.  

Sol's eyes flickered, guilt flashing across his face before he kept going—because apparently, things weren’t insane enough yet. “Which made me start… visiting. At night. While you were asleep.” His voice was quieter now, but not quiet enough to miss. “To leave those bruises.”  

Your stomach twisted.  

“And I—” He exhaled sharply, like even he knew how fucked this sounded. “I used those sleeping pills so you wouldn’t wake up during the process.” A beat. “Plus, that way, I could… look at you all I want.”  

Oh.  

Oh, hell no.  

Your entire body locked up as the reality of his words crashed into you. “Sol…” Your voice came out shaky, but the disbelief was firm. “You do realize that, like… literally everything you just said is beyond illegal, right?”  

A stalker.  

Your stalker.  

The one who had been making your life somewhat hell for weeks. The one who left those bruises, the one who drugged you, the one who had you spiraling, trying to figure out who the hell had been creeping around your home. Also, to mention that he’s been stealing your underwear—which is expensive may you add. 

And it had been him.  

Always him.  

You exhaled sharply, forcing your pulse to settle as you leveled him with a look. “I could have you arrested for this,” you said flatly, letting the weight of your words sink in.

Sol flinched at the weight of your words as if he finally realized the severity of what he had done. His face twisted with something like regret, “Please wait, I... I didn’t think it through,” he mumbled, his voice cracking under the pressure. “I just... I couldn’t help it,”

You shook your head, still processing, still trying to make sense of it all. 

"Couldn't help it?" you echoed, voice dripping with disbelief. "Couldn't help it?"  

Your hands clenched into fists as the weight of everything crashed over you again—every bruise, every unsettling feeling of being watched, every sleepless night where you knew something was off but couldn’t prove it.

And now? The proof was sitting right in front of you, looking like a kicked dog, as if that was supposed to make any of this okay.  

Sol’s jaw tensed, his fingers twitching at his sides. His usual cold, unreadable mask was crumbling, revealing something desperate underneath. “I know it was wrong,” he said, voice raw. “I know I shouldn’t have… but every time I saw you with him, I just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into his movements. “I wanted to make sure you were mine.”  

Your stomach churned. “So your big-brain solution was drugging me? Marking me without my knowledge?” Your voice sharpened, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?”  

“I wasn’t thinking straight!” His voice rose slightly, frantic before he caught himself and sucked in a breath. He looked down, hands gripping the fabric of his hoodie so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “I just—” He stopped, struggling for words. 

“I just wanted you to see me.”  

You couldn’t even look at him right now. The shock of it all, the violation of your trust, the utter betrayal—like a rush of cold water had splashed over you, freezing you in place. Your mind was still reeling, trying to comprehend what had just happened. 

The man you’d trusted, the one you’d laughed with and joked around with, was now on top of you, his hands constricting around yours, pinning you down with a knife at your throat. The betrayal ran deeper than any wound he could have physically inflicted.

You couldn't understand it. 

Your grip tightened around the knife’s handle as you fought to steady your breathing, but the weight of it felt alien now, placing it on your nightstand. What was once a tool for defense had become a useless object in your hand. 

The rush of adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a creeping, suffocating clarity that made your stomach twist. The weight of everything that had just happened pressed down on you, but instead of fear, something sharp and cold settled in its place. You scoffed, shaking your head as a humorless smirk pulled at your lips.  

“Oh, trust me, I see you now.” You flicked your fingers at him in a lazy, dismissive gesture. “And let me tell you, puppy, the view from down here? Not your best look.”  

Before he could process that, your hand shot out, gripping the collar of his hoodie in a tight fist, yanking him down toward you. His breath hitched, and his eyes widened for just a second—just long enough for you to see the flicker of surprise before he masked it.

But he didn’t fight it. If anything, his weight sank further onto you, his chest rising and falling against yours, heart hammering like a drumline.  

You lifted your chin, gaze locked onto his with a dangerous kind of calm. “Woof for me, Sol.”  

Silence.  

His pupils flickered, something unreadable swimming in that fiery gaze of his. Disbelief? Annoyance? Shame? You weren’t sure, and honestly, you didn’t care. What mattered was the way his body stiffened like you’d just flipped the entire dynamic on its head.  

After all,

Punishment is needed for a bad puppy.

His pulse was wild beneath your grip, his breath warm and uneven against your face. But this wasn’t about fear or retaliation—it was about control. A reminder. A boundary carved into stone. You weren’t some weak little thing he could toy with. He had crossed a line, and now? He had to face the consequences.  

“I…” His voice cracked slightly before he swallowed thickly. “I—what—”  

You tugged his collar tighter part from his hoodie, bringing him so close your noses almost brushed. Your voice was even, unwavering, not a trace of amusement left. “Woof, Sol. Or I call the cops.”  

That hit something. You saw it—the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way his jaw clenched like he was biting back something ugly. The frustration flickered through his expression, tangled with something deeper, something messier.  

His breathing came heavier, nostrils flaring, hands tightening at his sides like he was debating whether to push back or fold. And then—  

A low, guttural growl rumbled in his throat, sharp and reluctant.  

You tilted your head, unimpressed. “Didn’t catch that.”  

Sol let out a slow, shaky breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to pull himself together. His muscles, once taut with tension, eased just a bit, and he averted his eyes, licking his lips before hesitantly murmuring, “W-Woof?”  

You stared. Blank. Unmoving.  

…Did he seriously just question-mark bark at you?  

A deep sigh left your lips, exaggerated and dripping with disappointment. “Wow. That was sad.” You shook your head, crossing your arms. “Sounded more like you were asking for permission than actually committing. Maybe you’re not cut out for this after all. Maybe you’re not fit to be my dog—”  

“No—wait!” He stiffened, desperation flaring in his eyes as a soft whine escaped his throat, almost involuntary. “I can do it! I swear.” His voice wavered, but the need in it was unmistakable. He looked up at you, wide-eyed and eager, like he’d just been threatened with abandonment.  

And damn it, the whimper got to you.  

Your smirk faltered just a little as you reached out, fingers tracing along his cheek. “Oh, Sol…” Your voice softened, just enough to make him lean into your touch, his head tilting slightly like he craved it. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”  

But then—because you couldn’t resist—you let your smirk return, amusement lacing your next words. “But… I gotta admit, seeing you like this is kinda cute.” Your fingers trailed down, ghosting over his jaw as he pressed into your palm like a touch-starved puppy.  

His lips parted, breath hitching, but his eyes… oh, his eyes were full of determination now.  

He needed to prove himself. Needed to show you he was worthy of this. Worthy of you.  

And so, with far more confidence, he straightened up, held your gaze, and—  

“Woof.”

You had to bite back a laugh at how fast he reacted—it was honestly too damn funny. Sol, all broody and distant most of the time, but the second you threw him a little attention? A whole different story. 

And that tiny, earnest little woof he let out? Oh, so adorable. 

"Good boy," you murmured, your voice coming out softer, maybe a little breathier than you intended. 

The second the words left your lips, his whole body shuddered. Like the damn phrase physically did something to him. The satisfaction on his face was instant—like a puppy finally getting the praise it had been dying for. And god, that lovesick little smile of his? Paired with the way his red-orange eyes practically sparkled, pupils blown wide and pleading? Yeah, you were toast. 

How the hell were you supposed to say no to that?

With a soft sigh, you ran your fingers through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp. 

That was all it took. 

“Please…” he whispered, his voice barely holding together.

You tilted your head, pretending not to notice the way his whole body was trembling. “Please what, Sol?" 

His breath hitched. He knew exactly what you were doing, but he still took the bait. He had to. 

"Please," he rasped, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. "Please… praise me more… call me a good boy again… just—just touch me, please.”

You know what? Hell yeah.  

Your eyes flicked down, taking a deliberate glance at the hard bulge straining against his black skinny jeans before looking back up at him. The pout on his lips? Adorable.  

"Fine," you sighed, acting like you were doing him a favor.  

That was all it took. A grin split across Sol’s face, his whole demeanor flipping in an instant. “R-Really?” His voice cracked slightly, full of disbelief and excitement.  

You smirked. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he had a tail, and it was wagging at full speed. "Mhm," you hummed, dragging it out just enough to make him squirm. "But first, we start where you already touched."  

With deliberate slowness, you peeled off your tank top, tossing it aside to reveal a lace bra that hugged your skin just right. Still sitting, you let your fingers slip under the waistband of your shorts, teasing just a little before sliding them down to reveal the matching underwear.  

Sol stayed on his knees, watching you like the eager little puppy he was. His gaze was fixed, his lips slightly parted, and the pink on his cheeks deepened. He looked like he was about to start panting at any second.  

You sighed dramatically, tilting your head. “You do realize this is my last good set, right?”  

His eyes snapped up to yours, confused.  

“Because, you know, somebody keeps stealing my underwear,” you accused, raising an eyebrow.  

He swallowed thickly, nodding, looking almost guilty. “I… I understand.”  

You grinned. “Oh, I know you do.” The tension crackled between you and him, thick and electric. You knew exactly how badly he wanted this—how much he wanted to touch, to feel, to worship you.  

It didn’t take long before he was right where you wanted him—kneeling in front of you, completely bare, having shed every last piece of clothing just for you, braless. His boxers were the only thing keeping him from pressing fully against you, but even that thin barrier wasn’t enough to stop the way his hips instinctively ground against the side of your bed. His breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling like he was barely holding himself together.  

“Oh, Sol~” you murmur, your voice dripping with faux sweetness as you reach into your nightstand. His head snaps up, his dazed eyes following your movements, and then—oh, then—he sees it. 

The collar and leash. 

His breath hitches, his gaze locking onto the items like he’s both terrified and mesmerized.  

“Oh dear,” you tease, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “You didn’t think you were getting off that easy, did you? After all that stalking? Oh no, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”  

"Time for you to make up for it."  

And you meant every single word.  

You sank back onto your bed, the softness of the pillow cradling your head as you let out a slow, deliberate breath. Your legs parted almost instinctively, knees bending as your hands slid down your body with a practiced ease. Your fingers are hooked into the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your thighs and letting them fall to the floor in a careless heap. 

The cool air kissed your skin, but it did little to temper the heat pooling between your legs. You spread yourself open with two fingers, exposing your glistening folds, and waited.

Sol’s gaze snapped to you, his eyes widening as if he’d been struck. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he seemed frozen—caught between awe and the overwhelming urge to close the distance. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his pupils dilating as he stared at your pretty, wet cunt.  

“Come here,” you commanded, your voice low and firm. You gave the leash a sharp tug, pulling him forward with enough force to make him stumble. A faint whine escaped his lips, but he didn’t resist. He couldn’t. His body moved as if drawn by an invisible thread, his knees hitting the edge of the bed as he leaned in closer, his face now inches from your heat.  

“Have you ever done this before?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, your tone teasing but not unkind.  

He shook his head quickly, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. His hands fidgeted at his sides, unsure where to land, his entire body radiating a nervous energy that was almost endearing.  

You smirked, reaching down to tap your clit lightly with a fingertip. “Sooo… You lick and suck here,” you instructed your voice steady but laced with a hint of amusement. Then, you dragged your finger down, circling your entrance before sliding back up in a slow, deliberate motion. “You can stick your tongue in here too, or use your fingers if you want. Got it?”  

He nodded vigorously, his eagerness almost comical. Without hesitation, he hooked his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer until your hips were flush against the edge of the bed. His breath fanned over your wetness, hot and uneven, as he leaned in, his nose brushing against your inner thigh.  

For a moment, he hesitated, his inexperience showing in the way his hands trembled and his breath stuttered. But then, as if something primal had taken over, he dove in. His tongue swiped up your slit in one long, clumsy stroke, and the sensation made your back arch off the bed.  

That first taste seemed to ignite something in him. His movements became frantic, almost desperate, as if he’d been starved for this. His tongue lapped at your clit with a messy, unrelenting fervor, his lips sealing around the sensitive bud to suck hard. Saliva dripped down his chin, his face a wet, glistening mess, but you didn’t mind. The sloppiness only added to the raw, unfiltered intensity of the moment.  

He was relentless, his focus singular. His tongue flicked and circled your clit, alternating between broad, wet strokes and sharp, precise flicks. Every now and then, he’d plunge his tongue deeper, exploring your entrance with a curiosity that bordered on obsession. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as if he were afraid you’d pull away.  

You let out a breathy laugh, your fingers tangling in his hair as you guided him, encouraging him to keep going. “That’s it, oh my” you murmured, your voice thick with approval. “Just like that, such a good pup.”  

The praise seemed to spur him on.

His lips wrapped around your clit again, sucking with a rhythm that had your toes curling. His tongue worked in tandem, flicking and swirling until the room was filled with the sound of his messy, wet kisses and your soft, shuddering moans.  

You loved watching him—the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his cheeks hollowed as he sucked, the way his entire body seemed to vibrate with the effort of pleasing you. He was a quick study, his movements growing more confident with every passing second.  

His arms tightened around your thighs, pulling you even closer as he buried his face deeper, his nose pressing against your mound. His tongue dipped inside you, curling and probing, before retreating to lavish attention on your clit once more.

The alternating rhythm was driving you wild, and you could feel the tension building low in your belly, coiling tighter with every swipe of his tongue.  

“Good boy,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.  

The words sent a shiver through him, his hips jerking involuntarily against the bed. He moaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. His hands slid up to grip your hips, holding you steady as he devoured you with an almost feral hunger.  

You let your head fall back, your eyes fluttering shut as you gave yourself over to the sensation. His tongue was everywhere—flicking, sucking, probing—and you could feel the heat building, spreading through your body like wildfire.  

Sol’s mind raced, his thoughts a jumble of heat and hunger as he remembered your earlier words about fingers. His arm shifted, sliding back as he pressed a single digit against your slick entrance. You were already so wet, and the way your body clenched around him as he pushed inside made his pulse spike. 

He curled his finger experimentally, and the sharp twitch of your hips told him he’d found the right spot. A low groan rumbled in his throat as he repeated the motion, his finger hooking inside you while his tongue dragged messy, sloppy strokes over your clit.  

The sounds were obscene—wet, hungry, and utterly unrestrained. His tongue flicked and sucked at your sensitive bud like he was starved for it, his lips sealing around you as if he could drink you in. Your legs shook, thighs trembling on either side of his head, and you let out a breathy moan as your head fell back against the pillows. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, surrendering to the sensation, but the noises kept you tethered to the moment: the slick slide of his finger, the filthy slurping of his mouth, the way he devoured you like he’d been parched for days and you were the only thing that could quench him.  

Sol’s gaze flicked upward, his eyes locking onto your chest. Your bra clung to you, the fabric doing little to hide the hard peaks of your nipples. They seemed to taunt him, begging to be freed, and his free hand moved almost on instinct. His fingers trailed up your stomach, slow and deliberate, until you felt the warmth of his palm near your breast.  

Your eyes snapped open, and you looked down just as his hand inched closer. With a sharp tug on the leash, you yanked him back, forcing his mouth to leave your clit with an audible pop. His lips were glistening, his expression a mix of frustration and guilt as he scowled up at you.  

“Sorry, no tits for you,” you reminded him, your voice dripping with lazy amusement. “Remember? You already touched them earlier. No touching.”  

Sol’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he watched as you reached behind yourself to unhook your bra, letting it fall away. Your breasts bounced free, and you couldn’t help but tease him, your hands moving to cup them, fingers rolling and pinching your nipples just enough to make him groan.  

“Eyes down, pup,” you chided, though your tone was more playful than stern. Reluctantly, he obeyed, his mouth returning to your clit with renewed focus. His tongue swirled and pressed against you, and you moaned, your hips rocking forward to meet his face. The heat of his mouth, the way his slender tongue worked you over—it was too much and not enough all at once.  

You tangled your fingers in his hair, guiding him as you moved against him, chasing the pleasure that coiled tighter and tighter in your core. Sol’s hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as he devoured you, his every movement a silent plea for your approval. 

And as your moans grew louder, your body trembling on the edge, you knew he’d do anything to keep you right there—teetering between control and chaos.  

Sol’s brain was still playing catch-up. Like, seriously, was this real life? He, Sol, the guy who’d barely figured out how to flirt without tripping over his own words, was here—between your legs, giving you head as his life depended on it. 

And holy hell, you were hot. Like, unfairly hot. If he could’ve paused time right then and there, he would’ve snapped a mental picture of the view: your legs spread wide, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, and your breasts right there, practically begging for his attention. It was almost too much to process, but hey, he wasn’t about to complain.

Then you moaned his name, and his entire world tilted.  

“A-ah… Right there, Sol.”  

Your voice was like a jolt of electricity straight into his system. If he’d had a tail, it would’ve been wagging so hard it could’ve powered a small city. Instead, he’s humping your bed—to get off as much as he can.

He doubled down, his tongue working faster, more deliberately, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. One hand gripped your thigh, pushing it up to give him better access, while the other slipped a second finger inside you, curling just right to hit that spot that made your breath hitch. And his hips—god, his hips—are hammering against your bed like he’s trying to drill a hole through it.  

All from the way you reacted—arching your back, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer—was enough to make his head spin. And when you started rocking your hips against his face, chasing your release, he felt like he was floating. Or maybe combusting…?

Honestly, it was hard to tell at this point.  

“F-Fuck, good boy,” you gasped, and wow, if that didn’t just short-circuit his brain entirely.  

You heard a low, guttural whine that vibrated against your clit. His eyes roll back, his body locks up, and then he’s cumming, just like that. It’s messy and raw and completely out of his control, his hips stuttering as he spills into his already ruined boxers. 

His chest heaves, his face flushed a deep red, and for a moment, he looks like he’s not even sure where he is. Like he’s just been launched into some other dimension where the only thing that exists is the aftershocks of whatever the hell just happened to him.  

Sol collapses against you his body completely spent. He’s trembling, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he lets out this shaky, broken groan that sounds like it’s been dragged out of the deepest part of him. His mind is a foggy mess, his limbs feel like jelly, and his cock? 

There’s was intoxicating about knowing you’re the only one who’s ever reduced him to this—who’s ever made him fall apart so completely that he can’t even form a coherent thought. 

It’s a power trip, really, and you’re not ashamed to admit how much you love it.  

But of course, you’re not done with him. Not even close.  

You tugged on the leash, pulling him up until his face was level with yours. His lips were a mess—glossy with your slick, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes wide with a mix of pride and desperation. And then you kissed him, deep and hungry, your tongue sliding against his like you were claiming him all over again.  

When you finally pulled away, a thin string of saliva and your cream connected your lips, and Sol couldn’t help but stare, dazed and a little smug.  

“Such a good job,” you murmured, your voice low and approving, and he felt like he could’ve run a marathon right then and there.  

You slowly pinned Sol to the bed with a firm hand on his chest, your fingers splayed over his rapidly rising and falling ribcage. His breath hitched as you leaned down, your lips brushing against his collarbone before trailing lower, leaving a trail of soft, teasing kisses down his torso. His skin was warm, slightly damp with sweat, and every touch made him shiver beneath you. 

When your fingers hooked into the waistband of his soaked boxers, he let out a shaky groan, his hips lifting instinctively to help you slide them off. 

His cock sprang free, already half-hard again despite the mess he’d made earlier. You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight—he was average in length, sure, but the girth of him was something else entirely.

Thick and heavy in your hand, it twitched as you leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the tip. Sol’s entire body jerked, a strangled sound escaping his throat as his hands fisted the sheets.

“N-not fair,” he managed to choke out, his voice wrecked.  

You chuckled darkly, your breath ghosting over his sensitive skin. “Oh, sweetheart,” you purred, your tone equal parts teasing and commanding. “You’ve already come once. Now it’s my turn. And here’s the rule: you don’t get to come again until I do. Got it, puppy?”  

He nodded frantically, his eyes wide and pleading, but you could see the flicker of determination in them.

Good.

You wanted him desperate, but you also wanted him to try.  

You climbed over him, straddling his hips, and took him in hand, guiding him to your entrance. The first press of his cock against you made you both gasp—him from the overwhelming heat, you from the sheer stretch of him.

Even though you’d prepared yourself, the girth of him was still a lot to take. You bit your lip, sinking down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully sheathed inside you.  

“Fuck,” you breathed, your head tipping back as you adjusted to the feeling of him. He was stretching you so wide it almost hurt, but in the best way possible—like he was made just for you.  

Sol’s hands flew to your hips, his grip tight but not controlling. He was holding on for dear life, his chest heaving as he fought to keep still. “Y-you’re so tight,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “I—I don’t know how long I can—”  

“You’ll last,” you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Because if you don’t, I’ll make you regret it.”  

You began to move, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles, savoring the way he filled you so completely. Every drag of his cock against your walls sent sparks shooting up your spine, and the way he looked beneath you—eyes blown wide, lips parted, every muscle in his body taut with restraint—only fueled your own pleasure.  

“That’s it,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “Such a good boy for me. Just hold on a little longer.”  

Sol whimpered, his fingers digging into your hips as he fought to obey. But you could feel the tension coiling in him, the way his cock twitched inside you as he teetered on the edge. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and picked up the pace, your movements growing more urgent as your own climax began to build.  

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you moaned, your voice breaking as the pressure inside you reached its peak. “But don’t you dare come yet. Not until I—” Your words cut off with a sharp cry as your orgasm hit, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses.

Sol’s restraint shattered the second he felt it, his hips bucking up into you as he spilled himself inside you with a broken groan.  

You yanked the leash still connected to his collar, forcing him to face you. Both of you were panting, trembling, but you couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that tugged at your lips.  

“I said not to come yet,” you warned, your voice low and dangerous, though your eyes sparkled with mischief.  

Sol let out a breathless laugh, his arms wrapping around you as he pressed a clumsy kiss to your shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “You’re just… impossible to resist.”  

You shoved him back onto the pillow, your hand pressing firmly against his chest to keep him in place. “You’re lucky I’m on the pill,” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Thank god I can do this now…”  

Before he could respond, you shifted your weight, lifting yourself off him just enough to slide back down onto his cock in one smooth, punishing motion. He gasped, his hands flying to your hips, but you slapped them away.  

“No,” you said firmly, your voice leaving no room for argument. “You don’t get to touch me. Not after disobeying me.”  

Sol whined, his head falling back against the pillow as you began to ride him in earnest. Your movements were relentless, each bounce of your hips driving him deeper into you, the stretch of his girth still overwhelming even as your body adjusted. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep them off you.  

“P-please,” he stammered, his voice breaking as his hips twitched upward, desperate for more friction.  

“Please what?” you taunted, slowing your pace just enough to drive him mad. “Use your words, Sol.”  

He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a strangled moan as you clenched around him, your walls fluttering deliberately. You smirked, leaning forward to grab the discarded pair of your underwear from the side of the bed. Without warning, you shoved them into his mouth, muffling his whines and moans.  

“We don’t need the neighbors hearing you,” you said, your tone light and teasing despite the intensity of your movements. “Wouldn’t want a noise complaint, would we?”  

Sol’s eyes widened, a mix of humiliation and arousal flashing across his face as he nodded obediently. You could feel the way his body trembled beneath you, the way his cock twitched inside you as he fought to hold back another orgasm.

You picked up the pace again, your thighs burning with the effort as you rode him harder, faster, each movement calculated to push him closer to the edge without letting him tip over. His muffled cries grew more desperate, his hips bucking weakly beneath you, but you kept him pinned, your hands braced on his chest for leverage.  

“You’re going to learn to listen to me,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your pleasure was building again. “Or I’ll stop.”  

Tears welled in Sol’s eyes, “N-no, please don’t…” his body writhing beneath you as he struggled to hold on. The sight of him like this—completely at your mercy, tears streaming down his cheeks, his cock buried deep inside you—was almost enough to push you over the edge. But you held back, determined to make him suffer longer.  

Finally, when you could feel him teetering on the brink, his muffled whines turning into broken sobs, you leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear.  

Even as his body shuddered beneath you, his hips twitching weakly, you kept moving, riding him through your high and his, your pace unrelenting. His hands, which had been gripping the sheets for dear life, now lay limp at his sides, his strength completely spent. His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared up at you with glassy, unfocused eyes.  

“P-please,” he managed to choke out, his voice barely audible. “I—I can’t…”  

“You can,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the way your own body trembled with exertion.

“And you will. Because you’re mine, Sol." You started, “My puppy. My guard dog. My pet. And you don’t get to stop until I say so.”  

You shifted your weight, grinding down on him in slow, deliberate circles, the overstimulation drawing a broken whimper from his lips. His cock, still half-hard despite the exhaustion wracking his body, twitched inside you, and you smirked, leaning forward to trail your fingers along his jaw.  

“Look at you,” you murmured, your tone equal parts teasing and adoring. “So desperate, so wrecked. And all for me.”  

Sol’s eyes fluttered shut, a tear slipping down his cheek as he nodded weakly. “Y-yours,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “Always yours.”  

You kissed him then, deep and possessive, your tongue sliding against his as if to claim him all over again. When you pulled away, his lips were swollen, his face flushed, and his body trembling beneath you.  

You might’ve come like three times? Four? Honestly, you lost count at some point, too lost in the haze of pleasure to keep track. But Sol? He hadn’t come at all. Not once. And the fact that he’d held himself back like that, with his cock buried deep inside you, was nothing short of impressive. 

You could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way he trembled beneath you, his self-control hanging by a thread. It was intoxicating, the way he fought to keep himself in check, all because you hadn’t given him permission yet.

You leaned down, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead, your touch almost tender despite the relentless pace you’d set. Your fingers trailed down the side of his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before coming to rest on the collar that still sat snugly around his neck. The leather was warm from his skin, and you gave it a gentle tug, just enough to remind him—even as he teetered on the edge—of who he belonged to.

“Such a good boy,” you murmured, your voice low and sated, a purr of satisfaction that seemed to echo in the quiet of the room. Your heart-shaped pupils dilated as you admired him, your gaze sweeping over his prone form. He was a masterpiece of submission, every inch of him marked by your control, your desire, your ownership. The sight of him like this—so vulnerable, so utterly yours—sent a shiver of pride and possessiveness through you.

But you weren’t done with him yet.

You began to move again, your hips rolling in slow, deliberate motions, each one designed to drag another broken sound from his throat. His hands twitched at his sides as if he wanted to touch you but didn’t dare, and the sight of him like this—completely at your mercy, completely yours—was almost enough to push you over the edge again.

“Please,” he choked out, his voice ragged, barely more than a whisper. “I can’t—I can’t take it anymore. Please, let me—”

You shushed him gently, your fingers tightening around the leash as you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear. “Not yet, pup,” you whispered, your voice soft but commanding. “You don’t get to come until I say so. And you’re going to take it, aren’t you? You’re going to be good for me.”

He nodded frantically, his eyes squeezed shut as another wave of pleasure—or maybe it was torture—rippled through him. His cock twitched inside you, and you could feel the way his body fought to hold back, the way he clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. It was beautiful, the way he struggled, the way he gave himself over to you completely.

You kept going, your pace unrelenting, each movement calculated to push him closer to the edge without letting him tip over. His begging grew more desperate, his voice breaking as he pleaded with you to let him come, to give him release. But you just smiled, your heart-shaped pupils gleaming with satisfaction as you watched him unravel beneath you.

“Now you can come, pup,” you whispered, your voice soft but commanding.

The second the words left your mouth, Sol’s body convulsed, his cock pulsing inside you as he came with a muffled cry. You followed him over the edge, your own orgasm crashing over you in waves as you clenched around him, milking every last drop from him.

It was with a force that left you breathless, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses. Sol’s body jerked beneath you, his cock twitching inside you as he came again, his release spilling into you with a broken groan.

You rode him through your high and his, your pace unrelenting even as his body went limp beneath you, his eyes fluttering shut as he passed out from the sheer intensity of it all.

When you finally stilled, both of you trembling and breathless, you looked down at him with a satisfied smile as the leash was still in your hand, the collar around his neck a stark reminder of his place.

You shifted slightly, feeling the slickness between your thighs, the evidence of his release still dripping from you. The sensation only deepened your satisfaction, a tangible reminder of the power you held over him.

You could still feel the faint twitch of his cock inside you, even as it softened, and you clenched around him once more, savoring the way his body instinctively responded, even in his unconscious state.

With a soft sigh, you finally pulled yourself off him, your movements slow and deliberate. Sol’s body twitched at the loss, a faint whimper escaping his lips, but he didn’t wake. You stood, stretching languidly, your own body humming with the afterglow of pleasure. Your gaze never left him as you reached for a nearby blanket, draping it over his prone form with a surprising gentleness. 

Even in his submission, even in his wrecked state, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of affection for him. He was yours, after all, and you took care of what belonged to you.

You picked up the leash from where it had fallen beside him, running the soft leather through your fingers as you considered him. He looked so peaceful like this, so completely at ease, and you couldn’t help but smile. This was where he belonged, where he thrived—under your command, under your care. 

Your guard dog, your loyal pup, your Sol.

As you turned to leave, you paused, glancing back at him one last time. “Rest now, pup,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm. “You’ve earned it.”

And with that, you slipped out of the room, leaving him to his dreams, knowing that when he woke, he would be just as eager to serve, just as desperate to please. Because he was yours, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Completely wrecked, completely yours.

[euthymiya]

part one ; office mate! gojo ; company heir! gojo ; female intern! reader ; fluff ; pre getting together

Satoru is good at getting things he wants. It’s not because he’s spoiled (although he’s that, too) but rather, it’s because he’s persistent. Annoyingly so. Persistent in that way where he doesn’t necessarily earn what he wants, but scores it just because the other party is tired enough to cave for the sake of some peace.

Case example: you.

You sit across from him as he happily sips on his excessively expensive coffee from all the extra syrups.

“How can you have that much sugar?” You cringe.

He raises an amused brow as he hums, “Because I don’t choose to be miserable. You should try it sometime.”

Glaring, you roll your eyes before taking a sip of your own coffee. Satoru is at least nice and chivalrous enough to pay for your coffee—although, knowing what you do now, it’s not exactly as though he can’t afford it. You’re pretty sure being the heir to the company you intern for means he’s loaded in enough money that a simple iced coffee isn’t too much of a dent in his pockets.

You give him an unimpressed frown before getting to the heart of the matter. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad owns the company?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” you hiss, “I’ve been passive aggressively calling you a lazy asshole for two months!”

“Do you change your mind about that?” He asks infuriatingly calmly.

“No,” you admit. You take a long look at him before nodding in confirmation as you repeat, “No, I don’t.”

He pouts a little at that, still cute and aggravating at the same time. “Hey,” he says, only a little wounded and a whole lot excessively dramatic. You can tell he didn’t get a lot of attention growing up with the way he pulls theatrics. Something about the psychology of unmet emotional needs as a child from your one semester of psych in college comes back. “You don’t have to say it so condescendingly.”

“Well, you are lazy,” you point out. He shrugs because…well, it’s a fair point. “But now I know why.”

“So what, if you knew my old man was our big boss, you’d be nicer to me? Is that it?”

You crinkle your nose and give him a look of disbelief. “No,” you say—it’s almost amused. The first ounce of humor you’ve shown around him at all. “But I wouldn’t have wasted my energy caring that you’re a deadweight in the office.”

“Ouch,” he pouts, “I bought the coffee machine on our floor!”

“It’s getting rather faulty,” you hum, “You should consider investing in another one for us.”

Satoru likes that about you. You’re interesting. Interesting not because you’re exceptionally smart or all that impressive—not that you’re bad by any means. Being accepted as an intern here must mean your resume has a degree of prestige to it, but you’re just like any other person in the building. Except, instead of shrugging off his bratty, obnoxious self, you seem to care a great deal about what he does.

It greatly amuses him enough that you’ve sparked his interest.

“You’re fun,” he chuckles, “I like you. You’re not boring.”

“Just what every woman wants to hear,” you bat your lashes, sarcastically giving him a dreamy sigh, “Not boring. How charming of you.”

He grins wider, and something in your heart does a little bit of a clench. It’s so…pretty. Everything about him is pretty. The clean, pristine button down with perfectly ironed pants. The soft, messy hair that somehow adds to his expensive look rather than take away. Those bright, piercing blue eyes that feel like you’re lost in infinity when you look into them.

He’s pretty. Pretty annoying, too—but pretty all the same.

“I’m working on it,” he murmurs.

“What? Your manners?” You snort.

“My charm,” he corrects.

“We might be here for quite some time then,” you tease. You don’t know what it is. Falling into a bantering back and forth with him is so easy—so amusing and, if you’re honest, a tiny bit exciting.

Maybe a background of wealth and fortune makes a man appealing like that. Or maybe he’s just likable. You’re not sure yet.

“You’re saying you’ll be here waiting for me to get there?” He raises a brow, winking as he adds, “So maybe you’re charmed after all.”

“That’s a stretch,” you pretend to scoff. Nevermind the hardly hidden smile on your face—that means nothing. “I just want to watch you fail, that’s all.”

“And if I succeed?” He challenges, looking at you expectantly.

You roll your eyes, deciding to indulge him in whatever petty games he has going on. “In what, being charming?”

“Yes,” he nods, “What if I succeed in being an irresistible dreamboat of an office neighbor?”

“I doubt that’ll happen,” you bite your lip in an attempt to fight back a large, dimpled grin. It’s funny, you think—just up until a few hours ago, all he ever managed to do was pull your lips into a scowl. Now, it feels like it’s impossible not to stretch them into a smile. “But, if it does, I suppose I’ll eat my own words.”

“No,” Satoru shakes his head, lips curled into a serious, unsatisfied frown, “No that simply won’t do. I need better than that.”

“Okay,” you finally laugh. It’s radiant. It comes from your belly and vibrates through your chest. He’s somehow good at it—just one coffee grab during your lunch break, and he’s already managed to earn the sound of your joy so easily. Something about that tickles a weird, unfamiliar spot under your ribcage. “Lay out your terms.”

“You have to be my girlfriend if I manage to make your eyes turn into hearts over my handsomely unbeatable appeal.”

It’s cheeky, his grin. Wide, confident, and still boyishly hopeful. You start to wonder why you ever disliked such an easy to fall for smile.

“That’s pretty bold,” you note.

“I’m bold about the things I want.” You pretend that those words don’t make your heart do a helpless flutter.

“Okay,” you nod, agreeing as you take a final sip of your coffee and hand him the empty cup, “I’ll agree to these unlikely terms. You can start by bringing me another coffee.”

“You got it, boss,” he salutes before doing a giddy little jog to the counter and ordering you another coffee. It’s cute. It has your heart in a scarily fast chokehold.

Somewhere in the heat of the moment, as you watch him fumble over his wallet and almost drop his card while he goes to pay, you think he may have already won the terms to this ridiculous agreement.

But you won’t tell him that, you think. Just to drag out the eager, hopeful look in his eyes that dart over at you and shoot you a sly wink.

———————————

here is part two as promised for @enyathedrakaina bc they sent me cat pics

[vevobly]

Yellowjackets Jealousy Headcanons!

A/N: This has you being romantically involved with them in mind, but you can interpret it however you want. Devour and enjoy as always!

Jackie Taylor:

Jackie thrives on attention, especially yours. So when it goes to someone else? Oh boy, you are in big trouble.

Jackie would practically be steaming. Whether you're aware or unaware of what you're doing to her, she'd be pissed.

Her jealousy would be subtle but to those who knew her well, it would be clear as fucking daylights.

Jackie would either resort to making passive aggressive comments or trying to one-up the person she's jealous of.

Like, if someone compliments you too much—she would just appear out of nowhere and insert herself between you guys.

Now, I'm not antagonizing Jackie here! But I fully believe the girl has some sort of popular complexity. So when you hang out with someone she deems "beneath" her social circle, she gets especially jealous.

Shauna Shipman:

Knowing Shauna, her jealousy would definitely be felt more than heard. Oh, and she'd probably bottle it all up until she explodes.

She’ll watch the way you interact with others, her eyes narrowing whenever someone else makes you laugh or smiles at you in a way she doesn’t like.

Shauna won’t confront you directly (unless she's forced into a corner into doing that) about it.

But she will subtly manipulate certain situations so you spend more time alone with her.

Shauna will definitely feel guilty about it. And very insecure at the same time that she'll ask you stuff like — “you’re not… bored of me, right?

Taissa Turner:

Jealousy does not get to Taissa. And if it did, she would not be jealous openly. I mean, she's confident in her relationship with you.

But if someone does start "flirting" with you, she's immediately stepping right in. Cool and collective.

She won't lash out or anything like that, she'll just remind them (and maybe you) who's in charge.

If jealousy really does get to her? She'd just go up to you and discuss it. That's about it.

Unless she's extremely jealous, then she might start controlling your time with other people for a bit. No worries! It won't last for too long.

Van Palmer:

Van would act like she’s all cool with it, but she's not. She would get extremely protective of you in a certain way when she's jealous.

Like, this girl will joke about you “breaking her heart” but also hover near you whenever she senses someone else than her vying for your attention.

Now, Van trusts you. But her insecurities have their own little way of just wiggling into her head, especially when someone attractive or successful tries to get your attention.

She’ll become more affectionate with you, using that to ward off any people trying to make their moves on you.

If you question it, she'll just laugh it off. Insist you're being a little silly because she knows better than anyone else just how much you love her.

Natalie Scatorccio:

Natalie's jealousy is explosive, and she definitely would not try just one tiny bit to hide it at all.

She wouldn't be afraid to confront the person making her jealous. And this girl's anger is not something you want to be directed at you (unless you're into it).

Because Nat's anger comes out in sharp words or her just being destructive.

If you’re being too friendly with someone else; she’ll lash out and tell you “why don’t you just go be with them, then?” — better grovel for her.

Since Nat has issues with being abandoned or betrayed, she'd probably pull back from you emotionally. Just becoming distant or reckless to protect herself from being hurt, especially by you.

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie's jealousy would just be strangely calm. Similar to Jackie and Shauna, she'd be pretty subtle about it.

Like, she'd just give off vibes that make the person making her jealous uncomfortable. Just thus quiet unnerving way of making them back off without saying a word.

With Lottie, I feel like you wouldn't even know she's jealous unless she tells you that herself or you just know her too well to know it.

If the person she's jealous of isn't backing off. One way or another, this girl will stir you away from that person no matter what.

She'll make certain stuff up so you go far from this person. Like someone needing you for something and so.

Laura Lee:

This girl would just be battling her jealousy! Like, she'd try so hard to suppress any feelings of jealousy because she sees them wrong.

But she still can't help it get to her sometimes. She'll feel sad, hurt when someone gets too close to you.

Like, she'll pray for strength and try her best to rationalize her feelings, but then it would still get to her and she'll end up saying stuff like “I guess I’m just not enough for you”

Laura Lee would feel guilty as hell when she's jealous, and when she ends up saying those words to you.

I feel like Laura Lee would be the type to go out of her way to be even kinder and more supportive to you when she feels jealous, just hoping that makes you choose her over anyone else because of how loving and faithful she is to you.

Misty Quigley:

Now this girl, you just don't make her jealous ever, okay? Misty’s jealousy is intense and can literally turn dangerous if it flares up through the skies.

When Misty is jealous, she’ll go to extreme lengths. From manipulating situations to outright sabotaging other people trying to get close with you, she will do anything to get rid of any competition.

This girl would manipulate you so much. Mostly painting herself as a wounded person who has no one else but you.

Misty doesn’t like sharing your attention with anyone else. So when you do, she'll become increasingly clingy and demanding of your time.

If you even start spending too much time with anyone else, she’ll guilt-trip you and say things like “don’t you care about me anymore?”

[quarterlifekitty]

Hey stepdad Nik gal here again, so my idea might be a little half baked but imagine if Nik decides it's finally time to settle down and meets a woman a little younger than him but not by a lot maybe max 4 years. He's mentioned having kids or adopting and she seemed on board with it if a bit disinterested but it's when they get married it goes downhill. He finds she was just really good at playing into what he wanted and changes a lot but not enough to leave her because well it's someone to keep the house and she's not terrible just not exactly what he thought she was. Until her daughter shows up. Her adult daughter in her last few years of college who's extremely surprised to find out she has a stepdad considering she was never even invited to the wedding, her mother's excuse? "Well you're just so busy!" And Nik expects at least a little bit of anger but his apparent stepdaughter just deflates a bit, nodding before turning to him with a sweet smile and introducing herself. He had no idea this girl existed, there's no photos of her in the house, no keepsakes, he honestly believed his wife had no children by her behavior. And he quickly sees why, his wife is fine on her own but seems to have a personal issue with her own daughter. Passive aggressive comments, piling chores on her, even restricting where she can go, in general treating her poorly. Meanwhile she's the sweetest thing he's ever met. Checks every single box of his, and she's so sweet when he does things for her like she cant fathom someone wanting to care for her or help her. He gathers from his sweet stepdaughter that she was an oops baby and that her mother never let her forget it either and had been like this her whole life and had kicked her out the night before her 18th birthday and only really demanded her home on holidays(for appearances) or when she needed money. Everything he learns makes him wish he'd rethought marrying this woman, but oh well, at least it led him to the sweetest thing he's ever met. Now he just has to go about winning her over while secretly getting things ready to divorce the mom. Stepdaughter for sure has a huge crush but doesn't wanna mess things up and that goes well until her and Nik are alone one day and somehow baking him something turns into him pressing her into the couch and fucking her stupid. I dont really know how he'd go about it or anything but my brain wouldn't let this leave. Sorry it's so long and probably not coherent but take this and do what you want with it lol <3 Love your writing, it's delicious thank you for feeding me <3 <3

I’ve been sitting on this one for a bit bc it’s SO GOOD and I wanted to come up with a halfway intelligent response

I think he’d play into your crush and just set up all of these tiny boundaries that you’ll beg him to cross. Like— we can cuddle, malýshka, but no kissing. Which moves to we can kiss, just not on the lips. We can touch— just keep it over the clothing.

Until eventually his cock is sliding against your slicked up panties, teasing your folds through the fabric until they’re soaked and sticky with a mix of your cum and his, his tongue in your mouth the whole time. And then you’re rutting against him bare— well… maybe just the tip? That would be okay, wouldn’t it? And of course you ask so sweetly— you’re never anything less than the sweetest thing to him— how can he say no?

[atalienart]

Sometimes I really wonder if I can actually communicate with people and if my understanding of things that are being said is similar too other people's understanding of those things. Are my emotions or the way I see stuff correct? And I know people are different but when you hear "no one understands you", "you shouldn't have said that", "this sentence with a smiley face reads passive aggressive, delete it" you start to think "do I communicate wrong?", "what can I say", "isn't 'this might help' with a smiley face supposed to be friendly?". It's tedious to watch every word you say. But what if someone tells me I'm a horrible person because I had said "this is a solution to your problem" before I said "sorry to hear that" again? Or what if I hear again I should maybe overthink a tiny bit more before I react to anything ever? And am I actually too emotional or too cold?

[yuusishi]

hi could I pls request malleus and Leona headcanon with spouses who are best friends (preferably this takes place alittle bit in the future) my and my friend both love the each and where just talking about how funny it would be for them to have to put up with eachother for their spouses :3

. . . JUST BEAR WITH IT!

pairings : Leona Kingscholar , Malleus Draconia (sep.) x gn!reader

genre : fluff + time skip !

cws/tws : none

a/n : I'm sorry if this might be ass this is the first req I'm working on after my small hiatus 😭

Leona Kingscholar !!

He didn't know if he should be impressed by you being best friends with the literal spouse of Malleus Draconia or the fact they were able to pull him in the first place.

But one thing that he does know is the fact he.does.not.want.to.be.here.

You'd notice that neither Malleus or Leona have changed since graduation. Still the same old tired cat from savanaclaw and the imposing but mainly socially inept fae from diasomnia.

As much as he'd like to bicker with the old prince, he'd prefer not to have (older) Sebek yelling into his ear how "ungrateful" he is for insulting Malleus during their "reunion".

So he sticks to the most passive aggressive jabs you can think of, ones that just almost fly over the fae prince's head. Almost.

These two were one of the smartest third years in their batch after all...

When their side of the table is stuck in a slightly tense silence, he just stares at you and your friend who had the totally opposite atmosphere around you two compared to him and Malleus.

He's glad you're enjoying yourself at least. He doesn't realize it himself but he's unexpectedly enjoying this get-together with old 'friends'.

Honestly you thought he'd be grumbling to himself once you got in the car about how much he dislikes Malleus, but you realize he's in an unexpectedly happy mood (with his resting bitch face still in tact), even agreeing to indulge in co-op gaming or having a movie marathon at home at the cost of staying up late :).

Malleus Draconia !!

😊

He's not one to purposefully rile up others for the sake of his own enjoyment, but if the other person starts it then who is he to reject the invitation to a fun little "argument."

To tell the truth, he was excited for this hang out with your friend. He's glad to meet your bestie and he doesn't mind catching up with a college friend (in his words).

After graduation he doesn't get to be as free as he was in NRC since he was the king now, so this meet up is like a breath of fresh air in the usual stuffy halls of the Briar Valley castle.

He isn't that different compared to Leona, their minced words against each other betraying their friendly smiles while you and your friend continued catching up.

You'd think the words Leona threw at Malleus would annoy the fae at least a tiny bit, but the sky remained as clear and sunny as it was when you left the castle for the day.

He enjoyed this atmosphere that the gathering brought, sometimes even wishing the other NRC students he studied alongside with were present.

Once your back inside the castle, you watch Malleus do his paperwork in his study with a little more pep in his step. He really is still that housewarden of diasomnia you've come to love.

[nekomuraaoi02]

I had this concept for a while, so i'm just going to yap abt it under the cut but... these three as wacky magical girls-

So, basically it's a Looney Tunes Magical Girl show starring Lola Bunny, Melissa Duck, and Petunia Pig. It would be a fun mix of classic slapstick, meta-humor, and magical girl tropes, where they're not their animal selves but anime girls with animal motifs. It's like a parody animated in japan, like PPGZ.

Looney tunes: Magical Mayhem

Lola, Melissa, and Petunia are just regular high school students in a futuristic city like in "rocket squad", one day they get called to be heroes by mistical mentor tweety bird, now they must protect their town all while dealing with their ridiculous daily lives. The problem? They are absolutely terrible at being magical girls.

Their Dynamics:

Lola Bunny (The Overenthusiastic Leader) -

bubbly, hyper, over-the-top, energetic, and way too into the magical girl aesthetic. She thinks she’s the perfect protagonist, but in reality, she’s an absolute disaster—reckless, overly dramatic, and easily distracted. Somehow, she also got classic bugs wits and "toon force" to defeat the villain.

Melissa Duck (The Snarky Rival) -

The "cool" one—or at least she tries to be. She insists she’s the "lone wolf anti-hero," but she’s just as chaotic as the others. She complains a lot, is a bit grumpy and acts above it all, but deep down, she cares about the team.

Petunia Pig (The Reluctant One) -

The shy, sweet one who just wants a quiet life but keeps getting dragged into magical nonsense. She loves sweets and tries to follow the "responsible hero" role but constantly gets overwhelmed by the other two’s nonsense.

Supporting Cast & Villains

Tweety Bird (The Sassy Mentor)

A tiny, floating, magical guide but super passive-aggressive and constantly roasts them for their mistakes.

Love Interests:

Bugs Bunny (Mysterious & Unbothered) - "Cool Guy in the Shadows"

Similar to tuxedo mask. Shows up occasionally, but refuses to join in on their nonsense. Might secretly know more about the magical world than he lets on. Often trolls them by pretending to be a villain.

Daffy Duck (Wannabe Villain?)

At first, he tries to be a magical boy rival, but fails spectacularly and ends up their biggest headache instead. Might actually a real villain by accident.

Porky Pig ( Dependable Gentleman)

Porky is a senpai petunia has a crush on, he is a sweetie but is completely oblivious to petunia's affections. So, that'd be a cute comedic romantic subplot.

Villains:

Elmer Fudd (The Clueless Big Bad)

a Mojo Jojo-style villain means he can have long-winded monologues, overcomplicated evil plans, and constant frustration when the magical girls (intentionally or not) ruin everything. He could even have a group of incompetent alien minions who constantly mess things up for him.

He just wants to catch a "mythical magical creature" but Keeps getting defeated in the most embarrassing ways possible.

And some aliens appear to be villains too, like in "space jam" and "duck dogers".

Having both the Martians and Elmer’s alien allies as villains will allow for a mix of recurring antagonists and one-off alien threats, keeping the story fresh and chaotic.

Marvin the Martian – The Straight-Laced Commander

Marvin is a soft-spoken but highly dangerous alien who always tries to destroy Earth with advanced weapons. Marvin could be the primary Martian leader, taking himself very seriously despite constantly being outmatched by the chaotic magical girls. He’d be the "straight man" to their slapstick antics, reacting with deadpan frustration while his minions fail him.

K-9 – Marvin’s Loyal Alien Dog

A big green dog-like creature who is extremely loyal to Marvin, though not particularly bright. He could be a giant, overpowered alien beast that Marvin treats like a cute little lapdog.

K-9 could secretly love the girls, constantly trying to befriend them even when Marvin commands him to attack.

The Martian Queen Tyr’ahnee – The Elegant & Dangerous Ruler

She’s the ruler of the Martians, regal and poised but with a sharp temper. She could be a major antagonist or a rival to Elmer, trying to conquer the Earth before he does.

Instead of being an outright villain, she might have her own mysterious agenda, sometimes helping the girls when it benefits her but remaining an unpredictable force. She might mock the girls for their childish antics while secretly enjoying their chaos and shenanigans.

The Martian Army (Generic Soldiers / Minions)

Small green Martians in Roman-style armor, extremely loyal to Marvin and the Martian Queen.

Martian X-2 – Marvin’s Rival

He’s a Martian general who competes with Marvin for recognition. He could be another villain faction, making things even worse for Marvin and Elmer by interfering with their plans.

Marvin & his Martians are a serious sci-fi empire, while Elmer is more of a goofy villain who constantly gets in their way.

Anyway, i might actually seriously draw this AU later. But i'd be over the moon if someone actually enjoys this idea and makes their interpretation/fanart for it, so.. feel free to and tag me so i can see it! ^^ and if you want to yap together send me an ask abt it!

[sealofarchives]

Hello, could you create a headcanon for ROTTMNT about what it would be like to date Leo, Raph, Mikey, and Donnie (separately) and what the pros and cons of a relationship with them would be?

Headcanon: GN!Reader dating the Rise!Turtles (Separate) (Requested prompt with established relationship)

A/N: This was really fun to work on and ended up surprising myself with how this turned out!!!

Donnie

Pros:

Since you take the time to listen to whatever he says, he'll do the same for you.

Even before you started dating him, he took some notes on what you liked and disliked. (He used to have a tablet for that said purpose but eventually, retooled as a backup photo album storage between the two of you)

- I personally think he's not one for the usual icebreaker conversations with stuff like "how's your day and etc"

So most conversations start with some tangent on his mind or about your favorite things then eventually discussing daily stuff that happened within the day.

Even though he struggles trying to cheer people up, but he's not gonna ignore your well-being when you happened to have a bad day.

- Like he makes sure you had something to eat or drink. And if talking about the problem makes it worse, already noted and tries to pull you towards light stress free activities. (Letting you borrow one of his headphones to listen to your music, sort and try out a box of fidget toys, or setting up a small space in the lair as the designated chill zone)

While there might be some technical mishaps, he always has good intentions trying to fix your phone or other electronic devices you have trouble with.

Cons:

Imo I feel like during the first few weeks in the relationship, he'll be awkward towards pda. (don't constantly pester him about it)

- He'll eventually come to it maybe near the end of the first month of dating. (With his personal quota of handholding and hugs that last a few seconds)

Until realizing your needs are just as important to maintain that special relationship.

- However, If some creep doesn't get the message you're already taken, its one of the rare times he'll force himself into initiating pda for your own safety.

Easily gets jealous and refuses to admit it with some snarky remark.

When he refuses to take breaks, you probably have to step in so he doesn't accidentally hurt himself or gets sick.

- When you do so, it often ends with him passing out on you.

(And tiny bit of scolding from his brothers [namely Raph and Dr Delicate Touch] after Donnie recovered from overworking himself on a large scale project)

Can be very passive aggressive and it could lead to some unpleasant arguments towards something very trivial.

- He's definitely the most stubborn out of his brothers and probably won't hear you out until your feelings get hurt.

It might take him a few days to think up of a proper apology. And during those days, he slowly regrets yelling at you along with letting his anger get the best of him.

Leo

Pros:

He won't admit it but, your level of honesty around him really puts him at ease whenever he's lost in thought about something.

- The leader can name a least few things about his brothers' special talents but during a few nights where he can't sleep, because of a nightmare from a past enemy. (either Shredder or the Krang)

He didn't have the energy for one of his usual portals but, really wanted give you a hug for saying such kind words through a phone call.

He'll instantly back off if he accidentally made a joke that offended you.

- The last thing he wants is to upset you. So he really tries working some type of compromise between the two of you, so it doesn't happen again.

He has a strong memory sometimes, like remembering the little details. It will usually happen when you least expect it.

- Casually bringing up a past event from one of the photos saved on your phone. Often being one of the early hang out sessions, before you started dating him. He'll lightly tease you about it but, mostly grateful that you took a chance to build up that relationship with him.

If you happened to have a case of bad luck, he's very determined to end that streak's rein of terror by his own hands.

- And if you can't visit the lair, he'll let you borrow his lucky rock as a good luck charm.

Cons:

He still has a bit of that competitive energy in him and can be a sore loser when he doesn't win.

- It could take him a while to realize that the playful showboating upseted you and to why you're refusing to give him any attention.

This also adds on to that he's not the best at genuine apologies.

- Like the first sorry has no feeling to it until the guilt weighes down on him.

I don't think he could last a few days with you giving him the cold shoulder + silent treatment (Imo, he has the type of desperate embarrassment that would be hard to watch)

Sometimes his "surprise planning" ends up in a panic since he waits until the last minute to get you something.

- Given how some of his strategies usually works towards his advantage. (Often not telling the others about it and another similar manner along those lines)

His ego can 100% break the relationship.

- Like there's only certain amount of patience you can handle with his nonsense and his brothers will absolutely not stand for that kind of behavior. The moment he realizes he was in the wrong, he scrambles trying to avoid a potential break up.

Raph

Pros:

Almost has the same level of patience as Mikey's. (Also a result of being the oldest brother and dealing with some of Splinter's shenanigans)

Will often ask if you need help with the heavy lifting. (Even towards small stuff like when you can't reach for something on the top shelf. He will immediately grab said item for you.)

Gives the best teddy bear hugs

- Not too tight or too close to his spiky scales. Just right enough where it can easily put you at ease, stopping any stressful thought plaguing your mind.

Can easily motivate you into short exercise routines.

- It doesn't even have to be the daily recommended 30 minutes. Often being close to under 5 minutes is still worth it.

When both of you were done following that one morning aerobics exercise from animal crossing, his brothers immediately teased him about it. But he doesn't care, he was just happy you got to stay up for a little bit before lazily resting your head near his plastron.

Cons:

While the big guy means well, he can be a bit overbearing.

- Especially if you got a small injury, after a brief night patrol fight from an unexpecting bad guy attack.

He will absolutely be a mother hen if you end up getting sick. Drops whatever he was doing and rushes over to make sure you're okay. Which often results in him getting sick after you fully recovered because he forgot to bring the protective gear for his own safety.

(This is a personal headcanon of mine) but he's definitely close to a morning kind of guy. Light stretches to start the day before he eats breakfast.

- So if you have a similar night owl schedule like Donnie or Leo, he won't say much but, he will judge you for it unless its related to some medical reasons.

If you decide on borrowing clothes from him, a lot of the shirts he has, will have a few holes because of his spiky shell. So pack some extra clothes (like a spare tank top or something similar) if you're not into the torn up clothing look.

You're bound to see Savage Raph at least a few times.

- Please approach with caution and take Leo's advice seriously. However, still be gentle around Raph and comfort him by the time he returns back to his usual self.

Mikey:

Pros:

The fact he knows how to cook is already best boyfriend material.

- He can probably cook up your favorite food if you ask for it.

Another plus is proper communication skills.

- Dr Feelings will always be there to help and will accommodate what's best suited to your needs.

Can be your personal cheerleader when you happened to be stuck at starting something.

- After all, he is the best hype man for a reason. But, can easily tone down the energy if you start to feel overwhelmed.

There will always be a lot of creative thought in whatever gift he makes for you.

- Very heartfelt and he will be a blushing mess if you ended up displaying it in a place where he can see it. (either in your room or a place in your house where there's a lot of care in preserving it)

Cons:

Imo I feel like the Dr Delicate Touch persona leans towards some of that passive aggressive energy.

- Namely the anger tone, (which might have some influence from a certain purple turtle) so Mikey still needs to be careful about that.

It won't happen all the time but, if you forgot to eat breakfast. (or any of the other important 3 meals of the day)

- Mikey will pester you into eating some food he made. He usually does this to Donnie and the box shell turtle won't budge until you finish the meal. Or at least half of it, so it can be saved for later as leftovers.

The sad puppy eyes trick is present in all the turtles but, Mikey's more dangerous since he's a master at it. So try your best not to give in to the temptation. (If you can help it)

He's the second turtle to make a beeline into danger. (and him being commited to be the bait as a distraction [like dressing up in a hippo costume with a cologne that attracts said animal or the time he wore a cucumber suit to tease Repo Mantis' mutant pet cat for one of Donnie's vlogs])

- Be prepared to patch him up as result of his rowdy energy.

[the-kr8tor]

Bad Idea, Right?

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Synopsis: A visit from your ex makes you question the break up.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (she is mentioned wearing heels though), ex! Hobie, CW injury, TW blood, Hurt/comfort.

Navigation

Hobie Masterlist

Your ankle hurts like you've run a marathon. The new heels you've bought doesn't help one bit, you should've chosen a more comfortable pair if you only knew your date was about to ditch you in the middle of dinner. Now your wallet is lighter and you didn't even get a proper date in. You could've taken a taxi home but just thinking about the surge prices has you risking the dimly lit streets.

You sigh as you finally see your front door, hobbling to it, you unlock it quickly so you could change into your PJ's, watch that new episode and have your feet up with a hot compress right over your aching feet.

The smell of iron and the familiar leather smacks you right over your face. You haven't smelt that in months, turning the corner, you already know who's waiting for you. But you wouldn't have foreseen the state that he's in.

“Holy shit, Hobie!” You run to him, blisters be damned.

Kneeling next to him, you assess the damages like you always used to. He's currently sitting up, his back slouched. His face has seen better days but there's still that charm you've always loved behind his eyes. The suit looks worse, marred by bloodied slashes and tattered cloth.

“‘m okay,” he holds your elbow, the feeling so familiar it brings you back to five months ago, a time before you broke up, before *he broke it off, inevitably shattering your heart into tiny pieces.

“Just a scratch, love.” Hobie looks softly at you, his eye bruised and battered as he clutches at his bleeding side.

“You're bleeding all over my new couch.” Sure enough, your once white couch has specks of blood on it. “What are you doing here? You should go to a hospital in the state you're in!”

He heaves a shaky breath. “I didn't know where else to go.” Squeezing your elbow, his head hit the cushion in a quiet thump.

You hold his cheek gently. This is a bad idea, right? But you know if you don't treat him his wounds would fester, you know him enough to know that he really won't go to a hospital no matter how much you beg.

“Okay, okay, just–” you fight the tears in your eyes. There might not be a relationship between you two anymore but you can't bear seeing him in pain. “I'll get the kit.” Standing up, before you could rummage for the first aid, Hobie catches your hand in his. Thumb rubbing softly over your palm, you swear you felt electricity pass through you.

“Y/N, I–”

“I'll get the first aid.” You cut him off without looking at his face, if you did you might've collapsed to your knees in front of him, kissing him like you used to. Sliding your hands off him, you walk off without looking behind.

Going over to the piles and piles of boxes in the corner, you open one that's labeled ‘medical stuff’ immediately, your eyes zero in on the things you needed.

“You haven't unpacked?” Hobie croaks out, “it's been six months–”

“Five, just five actually.” Turning around, your arms are full of bandages, painkillers and antiseptic and anything else you might need, your tone is full of passive aggressiveness.

“Felt like six to me” he coughs out.

You walk briskly to him, you've got to get your priorities straight rather than biting back at him.

“Stop talking, you're making it worse.”

“My injuries or our relationship?”

You pause, kneeling down to set the materials on the floor as gentle as you can with your arms full. “Both, now shut it, Hobart.”

“‘m sorry”

“Hobie, please.” You look at him, your eyes glistening in the light. “Please just– let me work, okay?”

“Okay” he nods, observing you prepare the materials just like you always do it. But this time you're not completely calm and not making jokes to keep him smiling and awake. You're silent, fingers shaking while you sanitize your hands.

The sound of the clock in the living room becomes annoying as the silence goes on. Hobie's suit now lay discarded on the floor leaving him in only his boxers. He grimaces with every stitch you do in his abdomen. Your touch keeps him awake though, sending little sparks as you gently put the needle in his skin, your gloves bloodied, face fully concentrating, only showing emotion with a frown when he sucks his teeth in when the pain flares up again.

Hobie doesn't want you to hurry up though, because once you're done, he'd have to leave and he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to leave you again since he made the biggest mistake of his life five months ago because of a stupid argument. He admits it to himself every morning he wakes up without you beside him, your side of the bed cold, your things not where they usually are. He can't help but look beside him, wishing the space isn't empty anymore.

He was wrong and he wants you back. He'd be lying if said he was doing well these past five months, he'd be lying too if he said he wasn't thinking of you when he was being pummeled to the ground.

You hate seeing him like this, hell it was the main reason why the fateful fight happened. With a shuddered breath from Hobie, you look up at him to check, maybe you shouldn't have when he looks at you like the last five months didn't happen. Like the last three years together still continued on to this day.

“You look nice.” He flicks his eyes down to your new shoes. “Fancy. Did you go on a date?” He mentally readies himself for your reply.

“I did.” Thinking of getting him back, you could say ‘yeah, I did and it went so well! We're getting married tomorrow by the way!’ or ‘yeah and he's right outside right now waiting for me’ but you don't, you don't have the heart to hurt him with your words, even if he did do that to you.

“Didn't go well” you continue without looking at him, concentrating on closing his wound. “He left me during dinner.”

“That fuckin’ wanker.” He clicks his tongue, his words full of venom for the man. “You deserve better, love”

You look at him directly in the eyes. “Yeah I do.”

His face drops, anger dissipating. “Y/N–”

“What are you really doing here, Hobie? You have friends that could help you better than I could and you still went to me.” Your bottom lip wobbles but you bravely continue on. “You said it yourself, you don't want to do anything with me” your voice wavers.

“I didn't mean it.”

“Then why did you say it? I only told you to be more careful because I hate coming home to you beaten and bloody. I would never tell you to stop being spiderman, I know the city needs you more than I do, but my god, I needed you too.”

“‘m so fucking sorry.” He reaches out to hold your cheek but retracts it back apprehensively.

“I came home tired and angry and I let it all out on you.”

You want to hold him, you do but it's a bad idea, you're trying to move on, you're currently failing at it based on the number of dates you've rejected and all the boxes of things you haven't even tried to unpack because of that damned bit of hope. You'd do anything to see the dimples of his cheeks again. You know it's been hard being spiderman for him, juggling his personal life with being a vigilante; and you hate how you added in another problem for him, but you know the space was needed even though it wasn't wanted. One thing is for certain though, you still love him.

Closing his wound, you pack it in with bandages, the awkward silence is deafening. The package of medical tape crinkles as he watches you with a frown and broken heart.

“You called me selfish” you break the silence, your hands staying over his wound gently, the bandages acting as a wall between you and his skin.

“I did, ‘m sorry” he thinks twice before holding your hand over his bandages. His fingers intertwining with yours slowly.

Unsurprisingly, you let him. Your eyes flicking over to his shining one, his frown makes you crave his smile.

“But…” You continue with hitched breath, “you said you love me in the same breath.”

“I meant it, I still love you.” Hobie takes your hand, lifting it to kiss your knuckles. You feel his dry broken lips, you want to hurt the one who did this to him.

Coming closer to him, you lay your forehead atop his carefully so as to not exacerbate his injuries. “I still have no idea how you made that whole sentence hurtful but full of love.”

“I'm a lyrical genius, love” he chuckles lowly, raising up to chase your lips.

“Not much of a genius that day though.” You lean away but his hand on the back of your head prevents you from getting away. For the first time in months, you smile.

“I'm a blubbering idiot then.” Hobie slides his hand down to your shoulders, just holding you like it's supposed to be. He has every curve of you memorized, roaming his hand, kneading to ease your muscles.

“That you are, Hobie Brown, my lovable idiot.” You close the distance, kissing him like you've never kissed him before.

Maybe this isn't such a bad idea after all.

[7ndipity]

When Their Crush Has a Crush

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: In connection with the Secret Crush HCs, how they would react/get jealous to finding out that their crush has feelings for someone(or even another member)

Warnings: angst, swearing

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! We’re back with more of that unrequited angst that y’all apparently love lol! This also kinda reminded me of this jealousy reaction I made awhile back, so there’s that if you want to check those out too!

Masterlist

Requests are open

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Jin:

Oh, he HATES it. And does not hide it, though he’s giving you five different reasons why he hates it, and none of them are the truth, at least not entirely.

“They don't strike me as the relationship type.” “I think they might be a murderer.” “They’re just not good enough for you.”

Tries to make himself look better in comparison.

But he’s not trying to make a move! Nonono, he would never do that. He just wants you to know what a better option looks like.

Yeah, that’s it.🙄

Yoongi:

Tries to not let it bother him, and by that I mean he’s like “of-course-you-would-find-someone-why-wouldn’t-you?-it’s-not-like-he-ever-told-you-how-he-felt-but-it’s-totally-fine-and-not-haunting-his-every-waking-moment-but-omg-what-if-you-actually-get-with-them-”

Yeah, no, he’s going to majorly overthink the whole situation, like it’s bad.

Would probably withdraw for a bit, but then realizes that he can’t stand the distance and gets kinda clingy.

Which clingy Yoongi is like? A whole different person?

This would probably be one of the few moments that would tip you off about his true feelings.

Hobi:

Tries not to be bothered at first, bc it’s just a crush, it doesn’t mean anything… Right?

Queue him getting in his head and starting to worry about literally everything.

Throws so much side eye though and knit picks whoever's caught your attention, but he can’t quite help it.

Would end up slipping up and saying something about he doesn’t think they’re a good match for you. Which leads to you asking who would be a good match for you then?

And then he either just says idk, or ends up basically describing himself and hoping you don’t notice how desperately he’s trying not to confess right then and there.

Namjoon:

Gets jealous super easily, you already know, though you don’t quite know why.

As I said before, if you so much as even mention being into somebody, he’s pulling back and distancing himself a bit as a kind of defense mechanism.

Or else he tries to avoid being around them or bringing them up in conversation, though he’ll deny that’s what he’s doing if you ask.

Is so fucking passive aggressive about anything relationship related, you end up thinking that he must’ve got dumped or smth and feeling kinda bad for him.

Which ends up triggering this weird sort of truce between you where you just don’t talk about it for a while.

Jimin:

Lowkey panicking inside. Because yeah, hypothetically he wants you to be happy and live your best life, but does it have to be with them? Or anyone?

Would want to try to dissuade your feelings for them a bit, but he doesn’t want to come off as manipulative or disrespectful of your opinion.

“They don’t seem like a good match for you.”

He’s mostly kinda mad at himself, cause if he’d just told you how he felt earlier, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

Would probably start seriously considering actually confessing, cause he cannot stand being in this weird limbo state with you.

Taehyung:

Ngl, he’s so dramatic, even if it’s just a tiny crush, he’s going to be kinda heartbroken, like you might as well have kissed them in front of him.

Okay, maybe it’s not that bad, but you get what I’m saying. He’s not cool with this.

Does not hide his feelings of disdain for whoever’s caught your attention.(they are not passing the vibe check)

Gets hella clingy and wants to be with you constantly, so that you don’t really have time for them? If that even makes sense?

Tries to find things to impress you and get you to take notice of him cause don’t you think he’s nice too? Don’t you think he’d make a good partner too?

Jungkook:

The sulkiest man to ever exist.

He can not stand it, even if it's a purely theoretical situation, like all you said was that you thought some guy was cute, and now he’s imagining all the worst case scenarios where he could lose you to them.

Like Tae, he’d get soo fucking possessive and clingy, trying to prove himself to you, though he might not exactly be sure what he’s trying to prove.

Would actively try to put himself between you and them if at all possible.

As I said before, this would probably be his achilles heel that pushes him over the edge and leads to him confessing, even if he knows it’s the wrong time.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @captainorangegoose @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis

[chaifootsteps]

the show's discomfort with its own plot beats is so buzarre to watch. like once Stolas became Viv's favorite the full moon deal had to go, but it had to be done in a way that would make Stolas look better instead of having him grow and change, because Viv's writing is allergic to both character development and accountability. this of course accidentally resulted in him looking worse, but there's something else that I find a contradiction in terms

so the basic implication is that there just hasn't been a meetup since Ozzie's, right? As far as I can tell none of the text messages in the show mention it and Blitzo says it's been a few months. This feels like it's supposed to represent Stolas respecting Blitzo more because he's not forcing him to visit anymore (read: not raping him every month, and I'm kind of blindsided that the show's logic is that we should give Stolas a cookie for managing this bare minimum level of decency).

Here's the thing though: in his texts he says stuff like 'you don't have to come but I'd still like to see you'. So by the show's logic he still has this deal where - as far as Blitzo knows - he has to do what Stolas wants to get the book. But since Stolas is feeling a tiny bit bad about it he gives Blitzo outs so he doesn't have to see him…but then passive aggressively asks him to come anyway?

How exactly would that work? Suppose Blitzo had been anxious that Stolas was being weird with him and went to see him anyway.

Would Stolas still expect Blitzo to sleep with him? If Blitzo made a move thinking that's what Stolas wanted, would Stolas take that as proof Blitzo actually wanted him even though Blitzo would just be doing it because it was how the whole deal worked? Would Stolas think that this was 'better' than what he was doing before because he gave Blitzo a choice this time, even though Blitzo might not actually want to do it anymore than he did at the start but was just playing it safe?

I don't know, the whole thing is so odd. If we're supposed to think Stolas actually learnt that he had coercive power over Blitzo and had been taking advantage of him, you'd think he'd be horrified with himself. And I mean actually horrified, not just lip service in a duet number that he forgets about when he acts shocked that Blitzo doesn't think highly of him.

You'd think he'd give a flat 'you don't need to come for the next few months' sort of statement while he was arranging the crystal.

You'd think he'd question his entire self perception and worldview.

But he doesn't. Just like the writing he doesn't really commit to the idea he's done wrong because he still wants to have his cake and eat it too. He doesn't truly understand the power imbalance because if he did he wouldn't be doing the passive aggression routine at all. He'd leave Blitzo alone until he could get the crystal or make it very, very clear that his 'still come over if you want' invite does not include sex.

Despite giving lip service to the idea he's a monster he obviously still thinks of himself as a good person because he starts with the whimpering and crying about how Blitzo doesn't think highly of him. It's just so back and forth - does he understand he raped Blitzo or not?

even during the start of his full moon speech when Blitzo panics and immediately comes on to him Stolas blushes and looks like he got within an inch of giving in and just enjoying sex with Blitzo again. this on a night when he's supposed to be breaking off the arrangement and should find the way Blitzo immediately tries to sexually appease him horrifying if he actually understood the coercive power he held over him all this time

and honestly 'sex addict who has wrecked his life through poor impulse control' would work as a character profile in a dark comedy sketch show like hb was supposed to be, but in an oh so serious adult show that Addresses Abuse (TM) it seems reasonable to suggest Stolas be sent immediately to rehab and to someone who can teach him the ABCs of consent, since he's apparently in dire need of both

All of this. Stolas has canonically already learned the ABCs of consent and understood how imbalanced and horrifying his treatment of Blitzo was, only to immediately turn face and become worse than ever the instant Blitzo didn't kiss his feet. But according to Viv and according to the standom, there's no limit to how many "chances" he deserves to redeem himself. As long as he puts on a flimsy veneer of "trying" to get better, he can rape Blitzo as many times as he wants and it's all Blitzo's fault.

[nancy-reads]

you belong with me

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: fred wakes up after a wild night with his team to his phone buzzing nonstop after his latest tweet. Turns out he accidentally invited his old chemistry partner (and long-time crush) to the second game of the season. pining and fluff ensue.

warnings: a tiny little bit of spice at the end (it's really not that much i just want to warn you guys)

authors note: i promise the sequal to am i the one you think about will come out, i just got a bunch of inspiration to write this all of the sudden and wanted to share it with you guys!!

CROSSPOSTED TO AO3

As soon as Fred woke up, he regretted everything. His head was pounding, his throat was dry, and his muscles ached. Every part of him wanted to lie back down and never get up again. 

His memories of last night were fuzzy at best. He was hanging with some of the boys from his team, celebrating after their first game of the season. Many beers were passed around, and for some reason, Fred had a vague memory of the team shouting at him over and over to do it.

Strange. They probably wanted him to take a bunch of shots or something. Usually, he’d be down, but not during football season. He had games to win, and Superbowls to play at. 

Fred opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. As the world came into focus, he realized that his phone was buzzing, and had been for a while. He rolled over, chugged a glass of water, and grabbed his phone.

His jaw dropped as he saw the flood of notifications. 

Fred Weasley’s Secret Crush?

Fred Weasley Invites Mystery Girl to Sunday’s Game Over Twitter

Football Hearthrobb Fred Weasley Has a Girlfriend?!

Holy shit. 

There was only one person this could be about, and he might just die from embarrassment if he was right. You had probably completely forgotten about him, while he still liked all of your Instagram photos on his private account. 

Fred scrolled through his notifications to see what looked like a million from Twitter alone, and a text from nearly everyone he knew. 

Taking a deep breath, he tapped the Twitter app and clicked on his profile.

Fred Weasley @thebetterweasley

never would have gotten to the nfl without my college chem partner @ynln… tickets to the next game on me?

Fred’s eyes widened as he reread his tweet over and over again. He could feel his entire body heating up as he fought the urge to bury his head in his hands. 

He just blew it. Entirely. You would never be interested in him now. You’d just think he wanted the attention, or worse, just for a quick fling.

Fred couldn’t imagine ever only wanting a fling from you. You and your gorgeous hair, beautiful eyes, and the way you talk way just mesmerizing. He could never focus during Intro To Chemistry because you’d be sat right next to him, eyes sparkling and pen flying as you took notes. 

And he saw your grades. You were basically a genius, acing every test and perfecting every project. You were probably in grad school right now or in some sort of job for brilliant people who are saving the world. 

You probably had no idea who he was. 

*

After an embarrassingly long time spent moping, Fred got out of bed and reluctantly headed to the gym to work out. In between reps, he responded to the thousands of texts that he received, either congratulating him or calling him an idiot. 

He definitely knew which ones were right. 

His tweet had millions of likes by now, so there was no chance that you’d missed it. He’d been contacted by loads of news outlets, asking for a quote or an interview or anything about you, and he’d denied all of them. The passive-aggressive text from his manager, Alicia, was enough to make him want to delete every social media account he owned. 

Fred had just finished his last stretch routine and was headed toward the showers when he got a notification.

Y/N L/N @ynln

maybe i’ll swing by…see if we still have chemistry

Fred could feel the heat spread from his neck all the way to his hairline. He wanted to giggle and kick his feet like a lovesick teenager. Maybe he didn’t ruin everything after all?

You tweeted it a minute ago..would it be weird for him to like it immediately? 

Yes. Yes, it would. 

That didn’t make him want to do it any less. 

As Fred headed to the shower, a massive smile adorning his face, he immediately hit the call button because he had to tell someone about this. You responded to his tweet. He wanted to jump around and squeal like a kid with a crush. 

Which was pretty accurate, to be quite honest.

 “George,”

“Freddie, I just finished my workout, is this really that imp-”

“She responded to my tweet!!” Fred nearly shouted. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes shining with excitement. He didn’t recognize himself as he looked in the mirror. His smile was too big for his face, and his ears were bright red. 

“It did have more than a million likes, Fred. I think she kind of had to.”

“Don’t ruin this for me George. I’ve liked her for so long, what do I even do now?”

Fred could hear George’s exasperated smile from miles away. “First, you are going to take a deep breath. You are a cool NFL football player, not a horny teenager. “

“Right. Yes.”

He took a deep breath, but his heart was still racing and the butterflies in his stomach would not go away. Come on Fred, you are gonna be normal about this. You can do it.

“You got that Fred?” George asked. Fred murmured an affirmative. “Okay, now you are gonna get tickets to the VIP booth, four of them.”

“Four? Why-”

“Because one of them is for Mum, as you know she will get there somehow if you’ve invited a girl.”

“That’s fair, actually.”

“Also, the public loves her so I assume that your girl will want to meet her too.” Fred pointedly ignored how his heart raced at the words “your girl.” George continued, “You’re also not going to be the asshole who makes her go alone, so give her a couple tickets for her friends.”

“When did you get so smart with girls?”

George chuckled. “Oh this is all Angelina. I don’t know anything.”

“Yeah, that makes a lot more sense, Georgie.”

“Hey!”

Fred hung up as he orders four VIP tickets for the game. He immediately sends one to his mum, but he pauses before sending it to you. 

see you at the game! you better be wearing red and gold…

Fred added a winky face, then immediately deleted it. He didn’t want to seem too juvenile or worse, weird. His thumb hovered over the blue send button, rereading the DM over and over. At last, he admitted defeat and sent a screenshot to Geoge.

F: does this sound okay?

G: yes. stop worrying.

F: you act as if you were not the same way when you asked angelica to the yule ball

G: shut up

Fred snorted as he switched back to Twitter. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and pressed send.

*

For the rest of the week, Fred practiced harder than ever. All eyes were gonna be on him this week, and he needed a win. More importantly, you were gonna be at this game, and he knew who he wanted to dedicate his touchdown to.

He’d been thinking about it since that freshman year chemistry class when he was nothing but a rookie tight end, and the NFL was nothing but a dream. The crowd goes wild, but the only person he’s looking at is you.

Christ, when did he become such a romantic?

He felt a smile split across his face when his phone buzzed during a break.

Y: i looked through my closet and i don’t know if i have any red and gold…might have to steal something of yours

F: stay after the game and maybe we’ll see

The two of you didn’t text often, maybe a couple of times a day, but it was always a highlight. Locker room talk had devolved into just making fun of Fred’s puppy dog eyes and lovesick smile whenever he opened his phone. 

Someone from the press got a picture of him smiling at his phone, and the internet exploded even more. 

Fred Weasley Caught Blushing At His Phone During Practice

Fred Weasley’s Smile Has the Internet Swooning

Fred Weasley’s Mystery Girl: Who Is She?

Part of him wanted to feel embarrassed with all the attention, but he was too grateful that you had finally given him the time of day to really think about it. He was laser-focused on every play and worked extra hard at the gym. They would win the game this week, even if it was purely by his will.

*

Fred had never been this nervous for a game before. Every single playoff game, championship, or even the Superbowl hadn’t prepared him for this feeling. 

His girl was up there, and he had to impress you today. 

The crowd screamed louder than ever as he ran onto the field with his team. There were signs everywhere, asking if you were here and making jokes about Fred being a loverboy. He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face as he looked around the stadium, taking it all in.

There was nothing he loved more than football, and having other people love him for it was even more special.

Still, Fred tried to catch your eye in the VIP booth, and his smile widened when he saw you talking to his mum. Embarrassing as it was, everyone loved her, so she was probably the quickest way to your heart. Eventually, though, his mum took pity on him and pointed him out to you.

And shit, your smile when Fred finally looked into your eyes. The two of you were far away, so it was hard to tell, but he already knew it was beautiful. He stared at you, probably for longer than was considered normal until the whistle blew and he was forced to follow his team.

*

This was probably the best game his team had ever played. Everyone was in sync, and the plays they’d worked on all summer were gaining them yards across the field. Everyone could feel the energy in the stadium as people cheered his name.

The only problem, Fred hadn’t yet scored a touchdown. Halftime had just ended, and the team was up thirty-one points. He could feel the coaches wanting to pull him out and let the best people rest while they had such a great lead, however, he silently begged them to let him stay in. 

Just one good play and I’ve got this.

And his chance finally came halfway through the third quarter. They were only a few yards away from the endzone, and Fred knew that this was his chance as Oliver called the play. 

The whistle blew, and Fred didn’t even see the other players as he sprinted into the endzone, dodging anyone who attempted to get in his way. He and Oliver were in perfect sync as he threw the ball straight into Fred’s hands, securing another six points for the team.

The crowd screamed as the touchdown was announced, and Fred couldn’t stop himself from doing a little victory dance. His eyes found your booth as he headed to the sideline, and he blushed from head to toe at your reaction. You were jumping around and screaming with joy (he hoped) and you looked adorable. 

In a moment of confidence, he caught your eye, placed his hand on his chest, and held out half a heart, mouthing “This one is for you.”

Part of him wondered if he was coming on too strong, but the other part was enamored with you as you clasped your hand over your beautiful smile and held half a heart back. 

The crowd let out an “aww” as you showed up on the screen beside him, and he couldn’t stop himself from beaming at the nearby camera. He could feel people tapping away at their phones to post on social media, but he didn’t care. You were cheering for him.

The game continued, and Fred was mostly put on the sidelines to give some of the rookies a chance to play, as it was looking pretty good for his team. He couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances at your booth, so much so that the team was beginning to notice.

“Fred, loverboy, the game is this way,” Lee Jordan teased. 

“Staring at your mom, Weasley?” Andrew Sloper asked.

Even Oliver, who usually had a stick up his ass, joined in on the fun. “God, Fred, you’d think Taylor Swift was here or something.”

Fred was happy to laugh with them. He hadn’t remembered feeling this giddy in a long time, and he couldn’t push the smile from his face. Part of him was eager for the game to be over, so he could go see you. 

Still, his hands shook and butterflies erupted from his stomach when he thought about heading up to your booth. Would conversation flow? Would you even like him in person after all these years? Did you only come for free tickets or for internet clout?

That wasn’t it, he knew. You were too kind, too good to do that when it was obvious how head over heels he was for you. Still, part of him worried.

*

Fred was sure his team was sick of him by now. He’d been agonizing over his hair for the past thirty minutes as he prepared to leave the locker room and finally see you. He’d blown you a kiss as he left the field, and he was wondering if he’d come on too strong, and clearly if his hair was wrong it would ruin everything. 

Maybe he was panicking a little bit. He’d texted you a few minutes ago, giving you instructions on how to get to the family and friends area outside the locker room. He hoped his mum would guide you there, as the last thing he wanted was for you to get lost and attacked by rabid football fans. You didn’t deserve that. 

After a few more minutes, he realized that his hair was hopeless (it looked fine) and decided he would rather not leave you waiting. With a last look in the mirror and a deep breath, he headed out of the locker room.

The area was crowded; full of girlfriends, wives, children, and all sorts of family and friends of the team. There was a buzz in the room of people talking, laughing, and generally celebrating the win. The sounds got even louder as he entered, and Fred could see people acting like they weren’t staring at him.

Still, he wasn’t paying attention to anything but you as you locked eyes across the room. You gave him a shy smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from beaming as he headed straight for you. 

“Hey,” you said. Your eyes were piercing, and very distracting. He couldn’t seem to form a thought as he stared into them.

“Hey,” he said back, stupidly. He hesitated for a moment as the butterflies felt more like stampeding wildebeest in his stomach. “Did you enjoy the game?”

There was a teasing lilt to your voice as you responded. “I don’t know. It was alright, I suppose.”

“Alright?” Fred asked in mock annoyance. He placed a light hand on your back as he guided you out of the family area. “I guess next time I’ll give my free VIP tickets to someone else.”

You snorted. “As if you have someone else to give them to.”

“Hey! I have plenty of people to give tickets to.”

“Like who?” you asked. “Your mom?”

Fred smiled and placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “You dare insult Mother Weasley?” 

You smiled and stared at the ground as you shook your head. “Never. We had a great time hanging out tonight.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I’m glad. I have a feeling that you’re going to be her new favorite.”

As the two of you neared the press area, Fred straightened and pressed his hand slightly closer to your back. He didn’t want to be too forward, however, he knew how aggressive the press could be. “For this next part, just be careful of the reporters. Our security is really good, and honestly,” he chuckled a bit, “I could take most of them, but I don’t want anyone making you uncomfortable.”

You nodded and pressed a bit closer to him, making him blush even harder. 

It was a small hallway, and the press was kept behind some silver barriers that allowed the two of you some space to walk. Cameras flashed and videos recorded Fred and you walking past. You had the prettiest smile in the world, and Fred couldn’t stop looking at you as you gave an especially beautiful one to the cameras.

He’d have to find that photo later. 

Fred was desperate to grab your hand as the two of you walked toward his convertible, but his hands were sweaty and shook at the thought. You looked gorgeous in the moonlight, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to your lips.  

As the two of you sped off, you looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “I believe I was promised a jersey after the game.”

He smirked. “I’m pretty sure I said we’ll see.”

“So you don’t want to see me in your jersey next game?”

“Who said you were getting invited to my next game?”

“Seemed like someone enjoyed having me there tonight,” you said, looking away from him, a teasing smile on your face.

Fred smiled. “When did you get so confident? I remember it took forever for us to actually talk when we met.”

“I know it may surprise you Freddie, but some of us grew up a bit after college.”

“Really?” he gasped, dropping his jaw. “That's crazy.”

“And,” you added, “some of us have learned how to tell when someone is flirting with us.”

That's when Fred’s jaw dropped for real, and red spread all the way to his ears. He turned back to the road, focusing on driving as hard as he could. Letting you see the giddy beam on his face was not an option. Your hand moved toward the center console, right next to his, and every part of him itched to hold it.

He cleared his throat. “So, uh…how have you been?”

He listened to you describe your life and your job as if he had not been stalking you on Instagram since he met you. It seemed like you had thrived since college, and Fred felt his heart soar when he heard how happy you were. You deserved everything, and Fred silently hoped he would be there to see you get it.

As the two of you pulled into the parking lot, Fred caught you staring at him, biting your lip as he backed into the spot. He smiled to himself as he got out of the car and opened the door for you. 

“Dinner?”

*

Dinner was perfect. Fred couldn’t stop laughing and smiling in your presence, and it seemed like you were having a great time as well. Every so often the conversation would lull, and he would catch you staring at him as the two of you enjoyed your meal. 

He did his share of staring as well, but he hoped that he was less obvious about it. 

(He wasn’t.)

Fred finally found the courage to grab your hand as the two of you were leaving the restaurant, with your head thrown back in a laugh that rocked his world. You just looked so adorable that he had to hold you, even if it was just your hand. 

He knew it was the right choice when you immediately squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, which caused you to do it again, beginning an all-out hand-squeezing war that only ended when the two of you were laughing too hard to continue. 

Christ, your laugh was just so beautiful. You looked so free and so happy when you simply threw your head back and laughed, letting your joy overtake your entire body. Fred could feel himself staring, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be a part of your sunshine. 

Too soon, you stopped laughing and just stared back at him. He held your gaze for a moment, letting his eyes flick to your lips every so often. He stepped closer to you. Close enough to touch you. Close enough to lean in…

Close enough to kiss you. 

You’re eyes slid shut as Fred leaned in and placed a hand under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his. Slowly, so terribly slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

Your lips were soft, and they seemed to meld with his perfectly. Fred could feel his pulse racing as you tugged on the lapels of his jacket to get closer. Christ, he just wanted to be closer to you, closer, and closer.

You opened your mouth slightly, and Fred took that opportunity to part your lips and deepen the kiss. He felt you inhale sharply and panicked for a moment until he heard your small moan at the movements of his tongue. All Fred knew was that he wanted to hear that sound again, and again, and again until you couldn’t make it anymore, until you were tired and sick with pleasure-

You gasped as you pulled away from him. Your lips were raw and red, matching the blush that colored your cheeks. It was silent for a moment as the two of you gazed at each other. 

Fred smirked. “So…do you think we still have chemistry?”

[d0zuki]

Can I request akitoya with A, B, C, D, F, I and J please :) separate btw

“True Beauty” -"Remember to treat yourself"

⋆˚࿔ a gown from Kuro𝜗𝜚˚⋆ :: a gown to dance with your love

― ʚ summary ɞ ― Akito & Toya A,B,C,D,F,I,J

― ʚ words ɞ ― 722

― ʚ warning ɞ ― designer found no danger in her creation

― ʚ author note ɞ ― certainly you can, honestly there nothing much to say except enjoy dear reader!

―𐙚 Akito Shinonome

Affection

Akito is well, he will give you affection but not in public unless it's holding hands and that's because you might run off no other reasons, it's not like Akito loves the feeling of holding your hand

Beauty

Everything, Akito loves everything about you but if he had to choose it would be you laughing, Akito just gets a bubbly feeling when he sees you laugh especially if it's because of him, whenever he has a bad day and you laugh at his misery he might be a little mad but he's also happy you because of him

Cuddles

He does, he might not say it but he does and speaking genially he likes being the big spoon but if he has a shitty day, he just wants to be held by you also Ena might have got a few pictures secretly

Dream

Him beating rad weekend with VBS and you watching it happen, he wants you to see all of his big moments not a single one being missed

Feeling

He's open but not fully I say, by that I mean he doesn't want you to know what he did to Kohane and An performance he knows very well you will be mad, and he doesn't want that other than not being open about that silly little thing he's open

Injury

Akito literally panics how tf did you get injured so badly?! He will immediately get someone to help you if it happens around him, if not and he just visits you and sees you injured he stays with you and looks after you until it's late and you get tired, a little cuddle session probably happened

Jealous

Akito well, he's jealous but not too bad in my opinion he genuinely trusts you but if it's someone he knows enjoys flirting he just has to take you away from them because of pure jealousy he's just worried you leave him for someone better

―𐙚 Toya Aoyagi

Affection

Toya is definitely more affectionate than Akito, he doesn't mind pda and if you want he doesn't mind kissing you in public, half of the VBS knows you are dating, but speaking truthfully physically touch is Toya second love language first being an act of service

Beauty

Smile, Toya loves your smile if he knows how he will definitely make you smile a true one of course, knowing that he made you happy is the best feeling according to him, he doesn't mind acting like an idiot for you

Cuddles

Yes, Toya likes cuddles 100% speaking truthfully Toya probably sneaked out a few times just to go and cuddle you, most of the time when he and his father just have a tiny passive aggressive argument not an argument but having the looks screaming "I want to yell but I can't"

Dream

Just like Akito, him beating Rad weekend with vbs with you watching him and also his father being proud of him, and his father accepting you as his partner and feeling free to have you over to his place even when his parents are home

Feeling

Yeah he's open, if Toya wants to tell you something he will but not without having 5 minutes of "how should I say this" you probably know everything if you met Akito while you dating Toya you probably knew how Akito tends to act

Injury

Worried bb, if this happened around him he feels a bit guilty knowing he didn't protect you but if this happened somewhere else, Toya rushes to your side immediately and looks after you, he's dad probably received a message that he won't be home for a week will his dad know why? No unless he stalks Toya or asks you by having you number, I let you decide how he got it

Jealous

Jealous he's not jealous, and when Toya is he tell you unless he's too embarrassed and then it's Akito who tells you that Toya is jealous, why would he be embarrassed to tell you? Well if you have a brother you spending a lot of time with he feel embarrassed to say "oh yeah, I'm jealous of you brother"

[silentium-symphony]

Work of Art Modern AU (Link x Reader) II

(a/n) hooray i'm finally done w the second chapter! thank you for being patient <3 i'm hoping to wrap up this lil series in the next chapter, so please stay tuned! i also left the hair/makeup/clothes rather vague so you can imagine what you usually wear :)

i do plan to open up requests soon, but i want to finish some other fics beforehand! i need a lil break from this series, so i'll post a few one-shots before picking it up again, okay? i have a general idea of where i wanna go, but i need time to sit on it some more. hope you understand :)

as always, i hope you enjoy!!!

read the first chapter here!

cw: fluff, some swearing, afab!photographer!reader, kinda made groose a villain sorry, also link and zelda went to jail lmao (specific crime not mentioned), may/may not have proofread this half asleep so there might be some typos lol

wc: 3.2k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The aggravating, strangling chorus of cars sounding the start of their day blended oddly with the melodious, persistent whispers of the few songbirds residing in your city's park. You groaned, splitting your eyes open to meet the beam of sun pouring through your windows and stretching across your ceiling. You sat up with a huff, staring blankly at the wall in front of you as your half-slumbering senses slowly began loading in your surroundings. The familiar parchedness of arousal pecked and prodded at your throat and you blindly grabbed for the water bottle by your nightstand, relishing the clarity the aqua elixir breathed into you.

After setting down your water bottle, you reached for your phone to check the time only to be greeted with the silhouette of an empty battery cell. You groaned, ducking under your nightstand and glaring at the charger that had popped out of your socket (which you shoved right back in). As you sat right-side up, a rather... noxious smell pervaded your nostrils and you grimaced, eyes flashing to the trashcan brimming with old leftover containers and scraps of food skins that have darkened past recognition. You swung yourself out of bed, waddled to the bathroom, and came out shortly after brushing your teeth and doing your business. You silenced your retching thoughts as you neared your trashcan, swiftly tying the biohazardous thing and hauling ass to your door.

As your hand wrapped around the doorknob, the yellow-creme of a folded note tucked almost inconspicuously by your doormat harkened for your attention. Brows knitting, you stooped over and scooped the thing into your palm, inspecting it briefly; you placed it on your countertop and picked up the trash bag. Whatever it was, it could wait.

Fortunately (and unfortunately sometimes), you lived right by the garbage room, so disposing of your trash took literally seconds. You bid adieu to the squishy bag as it tumbled into the deep, dark abyss of the garbage chute and headed back inside, beelining for your sink before turning your eyes to the folded note. Your eyes bore into the tiny thing as you dried your hands, not picking up anything that could be considered threatening. If it wasn't your landlord making passive-aggressive comments about your ability to pay rent, what could it be? You unfolded the note, mentally bracing yourself.

Good morning! Wanna grab some coffee?

— Link, your neighbor :)

Oh...

You could physically feel your heart swoon (was that normal?) and it took quite a bit of effort to not start maniacally giggling in the center of your room. Your body was not made to process so much energy first thing in the morning, so your feet began pacing in circles as you read the note over and over.

Okay... Calm down, (F/N). It's not as if it's a love letter or anything. Just a... friend. Who wants to grab coffee with you... Wait a minute, what time was it?

Your head whipped to the digital clock carved into your stove, the numbers '11:45' blinking in dull, green flashes. Your head swiveled back to the note and clock, your zeal transfiguring to horror. A screech of sorts ripped out of your throat and you tumbled towards the bathroom, slipping on your apartment's waxed wooden floors and flumping into a drawer with a clattery thud. You hissed, rubbing the part of your arm that collided with the wood and hobbled to the bathroom, wary of its slick tiles.

When in the world did you wake up?! Gods, by the time you’re done preparing it won’t even be morning! You did your best to channel your anxious energy into something productive as you styled your hair how you liked it and popped some color on your lips.

You tumbled out the bathroom and skidded to your wardrobe, throwing some tried and true outfits onto your bed and pressing others flush against your frame. You heard the gentle ding of your phone coming to life and you dove for it, fingers gliding across the smooth screen and opening the weather app.

It was… a bit chilly, but nothing you couldn’t handle. You filed through your top contenders, and ultimately decided on one of your favorite outfits! You twirled around in front of your mirror, pressing one hand to your chest and smoothing out the wrinkles with the other. After adjusting your hair for the final time, you threw a peace sign and puckered your lips before speed walking to the door, slipping your essentials into a purse and forcing on your shoes.

You zoomed out your apartment, turning on your heels in a dime and rasping a few quick knocks against his door. A couple seconds ticked by before you heard the metal ka-chink! of the lock; out peered Link, who hid half his trembling?? reddened?? face behind his palm. Your half-baked (but still very genuine) apology lodged in your throat as a million and one thoughts raced through your brain.

“… W-What?” You carded your fingers through your hair and fiddled with the edge of your clothes. “Is there something on me?”

“You made…” He cleared his throat, rubbing his chest. “Quite the noise earlier.”

… Noi—?

Oh.

Oh.

You had forgotten just how thin your walls are.

“Oh gods, you heard that...?!” Mortification enfeebled your voice into a wavery cry. You buried your face in your palms, your skin melting from shame.

“It’s okay! I-It was funny, I swear!”

Panic wrought your frame into a quiver and Link hurriedly changed the subject.

“So, uh, d-do you still wanna get coffee?"

"Y-Yeah!" You piped, distress vaporizing into bashfulness. "Sorry for waking up so late."

"Not at all," he smiled, slipping past his door, "it's Saturday after all."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The bright, ringing ting of the bell hanging by the door preluded the cozy murmurs of a slow, cozy Saturday afternoon and the grinding, hissing machinery of coffee grinders and milk frothers. The robust, earthy notes of coffee streaked with airy hints of creme and vanilla wrapped you in a sense of warm nostalgia only coffee shops seemed to hold.

Hints of faded brick peeked out from bouquets of hanging dried flowers and the junction where wall met floor was littered with legions of potted plants, many of which you had never seen before. The look of awe on your face filled Link's heart with enthusiastic amusement; the chatter of the next stream of patrons sounded in his ears and he quietly beckoned you a little ways past the counter with a graze on your arm.

"I've tried pretty much everything on the menu, so let me know if you need any recommendations." He breathed close to your ear, wedging his body between you and the newly formed crowd congregating behind you. Your heart lurched to the base of your throat, his baritone voice rumbling in your ear; a shuddering, imperceptible breath left your lips.

"What do you usually get?" You hummed, turning your head to look back at him and almost teasing the tip of your nose along his cheek. A flit of blue met your (E/C)s; you got front-row seats to his color-changing cheeks.

"S-Sorry... It's a bit crowded here, so..."

"No worries." You beamed, hoping to laugh off some of the tension. You wrought your fingers into tight balls and turned your gaze towards the menu.

"I usually get black coffee." He mumbled, his voice dropping a little ways past a whisper. "Wakes me right up."

"Damn, really?" You choked out, scowling at him as if he had three heads.

"Yes! Gods, it's really not that bad once you get used to it." He bellowed heartily, a toothy grin splitting his lips.

After some more mental deliberation, you both slipped into line. The barista greeted you with a smile as warm as her coffee.

"Hey there, it's nice to see you again. The usual?" She motioned to Link, who just nodded with a smile of his own. Her hands flew across her screen, logging in his order before turning to you. "And what can I get you, hun?"

You relayed your order, but not without raising your voice past the prepubescent squeals of the rowdy teenage boys circusing behind you. As she confirmed your order, your digits sifted through your wallet to pull out your card, and during the second you spent looking at your hands you heard the card reader beep a confirmation. Your head whipped up just in time to see the waxy receipt churn out of the printer before being handed over to Link.

"Oh Link, I could have paid!" You exclaimed, watching him crease the receipt into a neat rectangle and shoving it in his pocket. He waved you off and stepped to the side, allowing the couple behind you to order.

"Don't worry, I got it."

"Thank you..." (E/C) eyes cast downward and honed in on the way your shoes scuttled the wood. A faint, rosy blush powdered your cheeks and warm, fuzzy timidness hooked your lips just enough to crinkle your nose most softly; Link mentally clutched his chest. You were just too cute!!!

A sudden force jammed between his shoulders knocked the breath out of his lungs. His body blurred towards you; a guttural grunt echoed in your ear before you felt something firm tighten about your waist. Link's frantic corrections caught you both just before you fell. He snapped his head at his aggressor.

The snickering simpers of those obnoxious boys peeked past his shoulders, crestfalling at the young man's deathly glower. His heart rumbled in your ears as his arms tensed you further into him. The idle, leisurely air fractured into something cold, calculated fury licking past the cracks of the broken peace. Everyone's attention was lasered in on you and the boys.

One of the boys at the back of the pack tapped the larger boys' elbows and, with a stammer of an apology, scrambled out of the cafe. Link watched their fleeing figures in total silence until the last of them disappeared past a street corner. Everyone creaked back to their own conversations, hushed whispers about what happened leaking into your ears. Link slowly glimpsed down at you, eyes softening.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah..." You murmured, your heart palpitating to the faint smell of pine and amber wafting to your nose. "Thanks for catching us."

He nodded and slowly unhooked his arm from your waist, taking a few steps back with a lovely red tinting his pearly skin. Before he could say anything, the velvety purr of the barista buttered the air.

"Order for Link!"

He met your gaze with a small smile before taking a few steps back and collecting your drinks. With a confident crook on her lips, she slipped a thin paper bag along with your drinks. Link eyed it, head tilting and brows crinkling.

"My treat. As thanks for taking care of those goons for me."

Link's eyes brightened, slipping a gleeful 'thank you' before nabbing the drinks and free snacks. He handed you your drink and turned to his friend, bowing his head in thanks.

"Come again, Mr. Hero. You too, (F/N)."

Was the last thing you heard before the door-mounted chime silenced the idyllic cafe setting. You stared at the string of cars that jived down the road; the whole city was teeming with the bit-back enthusiasm that awaited release the moment the sun dipped past the hills. It was Saturday, you supposed.

"... sorry..."

"Huh?"

"Sorry our da— hang out didn't go quite as expected..." He breathed out, just barely louder than the passing cars.

"What? Don't apologize!" You turned to him fully. "What happened back there wasn't your fault. To be honest, I think you handled it pretty well."

"Really...?"

"Yeah! I could tell those boys were getting on everyone's nerves. You made everyone's day just a little bit better, Link."

"Ah..." His eyes caught the sun rays that flickered off the nearby buildings. "Thanks..."

"And plus, the day is hardly over. We can still hang out iif you'd like!"

"Yeah," a stiff chuckle, "I was hoping we could chat in the cafe, but I wasn't very comfortable staying there any longer than necessary after what happened... Sorry about that."

"Not at all." You slotted his arm between your fingers and gave it a squeeze. "Let's just find a nice park or something, yeah?"

He eyed your hand almost long enough to regret your decision to touch him, but his gentle disposition and even softer voice answered,

"Let's go to the one by the apartment."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"Holy shit, and then what?!" You wheezed, smacking a hand on his knee as you fought for your next breath. Link's hearty laughs ruffled through the trees, the setting sun and falling leaves traipsing through scattered branches.

"Zel and I got caught, of course. Imagine how furious my dad was when he got called into the station—on his day off—to see his son and his best friend sitting in jail."

"Christ, I can't believe you pulled that shit." You sputtered, thumbing a tear from the corner of your eye.

"I was... a wild child, for sure." He abashed, a hand rubbing the back of his neck with boyish glee. "Totally worth it though. Groose was giving Zelda a hard time after she rejected him, so of course we had to do something about it."

"Gods..." You exhaled, giggles fringing your breath. "Is your dad a cop?"

"Yeah. I guess that's what inspired me to do what I'm doing now, y'know?"

"For sure," you thumbed your cup, fingers slicked with thick condensation, "what does your mom do?"

"She was a civil servant." His lips crooked up, tilted in a manner that tugged at your heart. "She cared about the city and our family deeply."

A breeze blew through the two of you, one that bordered refreshing and chilling. You turned your head up and filled your lungs with air that crisped your lungs.

"She..." You began, eyes focused on the insignificant happenings that usually caught one's attention during such moments. "Sounds like a wonderful person."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "she was."

A serene, reflective somberness filled the air; for a moment you both relished in the silence. A family of robins twittered softly overhead, the mother singing hushed whistles to her rowdy chicks and soothing the ringing in your ears caused by constant traffic.

"What about you?" He turned. "What do you do?"

"I'm a photographer." You met his gaze with a grin that thinly veiled the excitement you had when talking about your livelihood.

"That's so cool!" Link's lips widened into a broad smile. "Do you work for a company or...?"

"Nope! I'm a freelancer. It can be tough finding gigs at times, but there's always something happening in the city."

"Yeah, I can imagine. What events do you do?"

"Anything really--concerts, weddings, corporate events... But weddings are pretty popular. Actually, I got a wedding gig tomorrow!"

"Nice! So what got you into photography?" He leaned in, his blue pools reflecting the nearby streetlights. The way his eyes sparkled as he listened to you talk about your passions made your heart melt.

"Well, back in middle and high school I competed in a bunch of school competitions and realized that not only did I love taking pictures, but I was pretty good at it too! There's just something so... intimate about capturing small, seemingly insignificant passages in time, y'know? I think sometimes we get so caught up waiting for our lives to begin when really, life happens in the small, fleeting moments of our existence. Or... something like that."

You mumbled through the last bit, heat rising in your cheeks. Darkened sapphires stared back at you, storming with thoughts you couldn't quite decipher; panic started settling in your gut and you opened your mouth to apolo—

"You're absolutely right." His head cocked slightly, eyes crinkling lovingly slowly. "I never thought about it that way."

You mentally breathed a sigh of relief for not ruining this moment with your innermost thoughts.

"Do you enjoy your job at the art museum?"

"I mean, it's a pretty easy job, so no complaints there." His laugh failed to reach his chest. "But... It isn't why I became an officer. Don't get me wrong, I love helping Zelda, and seeing her succeed in her dreams makes me really happy, but... I became a cop so I could help people. And sometimes, I don't really feel like I'm doing that by standing guard over a painting all day."

"That's valid," you kicked the space under the park bench to abate the prickly feeling in your lower half, "what would you rather do?"

Link kicked the pebble he had been dribbling between his shoes, the little stone skittering away, forgotten, after a long kick; his eyes rested on an arbitrary crack in the path.

"Honestly?" He began, "I wanna become a detective."

"A detective?"

"Yeah. Bringing peace to a family who lost a loved one, who never got the closure they needed to heal... Spending hours solving a cold case, one that everyone has given up on... That's what I wanna do."

"It's sweet of you to think of the family first," you smiled softly, "I think most people would be focused on locking up criminals, and justice served to the families is just a bonus."

"Yeah... We can't forget the families. Their lives have been turned into a living nightmare and they're just expected to continue living as if nothing had happened. It's cruel."

"Oh, absolutely. I think--"

You felt your phone buzz in your lap and your eyes habitually met the lit screen, scanning the text your bridal client had sent. Your internal, guttural groan came out as a curt huff, eyeing the word 'early?' with a tired bitterness.

"Everything okay?"

"Oh yeah, uh..." You shuffled your phone back into your pocket and met his concerned gaze. "Sorry. My client wants me to come in earlier than I expected and it's getting late so..."

"No worries! We can head back if you want. Grab some takeout on the way." He popped right up, tossing his empty cup in the trash and swinging his arms above his head, a satisfied groan lapsing out of him wow that was kinda hot.

"I'd love that." You followed his previous actions and stretched too, feeling... well, feeling return to your sore butt and limbs.

"Wanna head back to that Gerudo restaurant?"

"Yeah!" You joined him in wide strides, barely keeping yourself from booking it to your now-favorite restaurant. Your babbling self hardly noticed the slowing male until a gentle voice pulled you out of your culinary rambles.

"(F/N)?" He called a few steps behind you.

"Mm?"

"Thanks for today... It was a lot of fun." His gloved hand scratched the side of his scarved neck, unintentionally bunching the fabric into little fistfuls. The flickering park light tricked your brain into thinking his cheeks were... pinker than usual. His gaze shifted from the ground to the bush to the tree and back--anywhere but you, really. That fluttery, buttery feeling in your gut alighted your cheeks a similar color and your eyes undertook a similar trip of avoidance.

"Of course. Thanks for inviting me... I had a lot of fun today."

His tight, slightly flustered expression loosened, his lips turning up into a gentle curve. In a few short steps he was by your side again, commencing your journey to 3rd Street.

"Let's grab some poultry pilaf."

[sgiandubh]

While we're talking about secondary players, what about Grandma? Did you see that there was a drop in his business? BWF published a standard text on IG, worthy of being on LinkedIn leaving the company. This partnership didn't really last long...

Dear BWF Anon,

BWF did not publish anything in its own name. Bourbon With Friends (BWF) is just Paul Novielli and Connor Gilbert's podcast. But it is certainly Paul Novielli who jumped boat out of Grandma's BBB (Big Booze Business) project, three days ago, after one year and one month of serving as its CEO and co-founder.

With this statement, released on both Instagram and LinkedIn:

If you ask me, I'd say the 'reflecting on a journey' and the need (itch?) to release a 'Farewell Message' (almost in spite of something and someone) have such a passive-aggressive undertone, that it would be very easy to conclude the 'don't forget to write' part happened in bitterness and perhaps even a tiny bit of drama-drama. Here's a clearly frustrated chap, whose efforts might have remained unacknowledged. And whose suggestions might have been vertically filed into the dustbin, before he decided enough is enough and time has come to look for better pastures.

Why am I such a nosey woman and suspect this also might have something to do with Lady McGrandma, French Influencer Extraordinaire?

At any rate, McGrandma didn't like, didn't comment and promptly fubar'd the Team page of the BBB's website, which is now a wonderful 404 digital cul-de-sac:

As Novielli was an Executive Bourbon Steward by the Kentucky-based Stave & Thief Society (https://moonshineuniversity.com/introducing-the-stave-thief-society/), some of the brand's cachet was lost, or at least dented.

Interesting. Let's see what gives. It smells like a resounding flop, yet tempted as I might be, it's too early to determine exactly what that means, long term.

Thanks, Anon. We'll see and I'll keep an eye.