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vibelladonna · 4 months ago

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❛ 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒻 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!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.

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back vn #tkatb #solivan brugmansia #the kid at the back sol #tkatb sol #tkatb vn #sol brugmansia #sol x reader #tkatb smut #the kid at the back #sorry not sorry

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flwrkid14 · 6 months ago

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The Batfamily’s Christmas List Tradition (and how Tim gets lost in it)

The Batfamily has a long-standing Christmas tradition: the List. With so many members in the family, it’s a necessity. Everyone writes down what they want (within reason, of course), and the list serves as the ultimate gift guide. It’s efficient, especially for such a big family, and it ensures no one ends up with seven pairs of socks or the same gadget twice.

Tim takes the list seriously. It’s his chance to ask for the small, thoughtful things he wouldn’t usually splurge on for himself. Things like:

New makeup brushes. His old ones are worn out and falling apart, and it’s not until he’s on a mission that requires cross-dressing that he realizes just how bad they’ve gotten. Having a new, high-quality set would make everything feel a little smoother—and maybe even a little fun.

Cozy hoodies. Between Wayne Enterprises business casual and his Robin gear, Tim rarely gets the chance to wear something soft and comforting. His favorite hoodies are all fraying at the edges, with loose threads on the pockets and fabric that’s stretched too thin. A fresh one would feel like a luxury.

A new game console. Tim is rarely ever not working, but on those rare days off, he realizes he doesn't have much to entertain him that's not work related, that doesn't require him to leave his nest. Plus, it’s a great way to connect with his siblings during low-stakes, playful nights.

Nice coffee cups or tumblers. His caffeine habits are legendary, but the chipped and mismatched mugs he uses don’t exactly scream "Tim Drake." A sleek, stylish tumbler or a high-quality ceramic mug would elevate the most important part of his day.

Random indulgences. Books, stationery, weighted blankets, maybe a nice figuring from his favorite movie, a cool gadget he wouldn’t think to buy himself—little things that spark joy and make him feel cared for, anything he knows his own parents would have never bought for him to help heal his inner child. He's never had the luxury of writing such lists before becoming a Wayne.

Tim doesn’t just take the list seriously for himself; he makes sure to go the extra mile for his family, too. He’s always had a knack for gift-giving, and he loves curating the perfect presents for his siblings. For Dick, it might be a rare vinyl of his favorite band. For Jason, an antique first-edition book he’d mentioned once in passing. For Damian, something handmade and unique, like a custom leather-bound sketchbook or a rare art supply. Tim remembers the little things—the throwaway comments, the subtle preferences—and builds his gifts around them, ensuring every box under the tree feels deeply personal.

But Christmas rolls around… and none of the thought Tim puts into his gifts is reflected in what he receives.

Instead, he gets tech. More tech. External hard drives, cables, chargers—things he already has backups for because, well, he’s Tim. He doesn’t need more, and he didn’t ask for more.

And the worst part? It’s not that they’re bad gifts. It’s that the family assumes they know him so well that they don’t even look at his list.

“Tim’s the tech guy,” they think. “Of course he’d want more tech.”

But he doesn’t.

He’s grateful, of course—Tim is always grateful—but there’s a hollowness that creeps in every year when he unwraps another stack of USB drives and ethernet cables. It’s not about the gifts themselves. It’s about the realization that the people he loves, the people who should know him best, don’t see him the way he wants to be seen.

In a way, it feels painfully familiar. Janet had always made sure his presents as a child reflected her vision for him, not what he actually wanted. New tailored suits instead of the hoodies or tees he longed for. Sleek, professional office stationery to replace his Robin-themed pens and notebooks. Vintage collectibles meant to sit on a shelf, collecting dust, instead of toys he could actually play with. The gifts always came with a message: who he should be, not who he was. And now, even with the bats, the gifts still feel like expectations—like they see him as "the tech guy" rather than Tim, with all his quiet wants and overlooked needs.

So, Tim starts dreading Christmas. Not because he doesn’t love his family or the season, but because it reminds him of how little they seem to notice the little things about him.

And maybe one year, he stops adding personal things to the list altogether. Maybe he starts asking for tech, just to avoid the disappointment.

But deep down, he wishes someone—anyone—would surprise him with a new hoodie, a weighted blanket, or a set of makeup brushes. Something that says, “I see you, Tim. I really see you.”

#tim drake #batfam #christmas traditions #found family fails again #tim would be a thoughtful gift giver #tim gets them custom personal items and he gets cables and USB drives #how is that fair?

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daydaydayrk420 · 9 months ago

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Muzzle that dog

Logan Howlett (wolverine) X male reader

⚠️bondage, bottom Logan, dog muzzle, dog play (?), male reader, collar and leash⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

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Since Logan has mutated he's become more animal-like. Sometimes he goes feral. He turns into a feral wolf. Especially when he's in heat. Yes. He has heat seasons. Once to two times a year. And by feral I mean feral.

And what does he do when that happens? He locks himself in his cabin that was gifted to him by his friends from Xaviers when he almost broke the school kitchen.

Recently though. His heat has been worse. There's this new guy in the school named Y/n. And he and Logan grew close almost instantly. Logan thinks he's starting to fall in love with him. But he doesn't want to accept it. Not when all the people he loved got hurt because of him.

Now it's October. And to Logan's luck. His heat is starting. And his heat lasts for as long as possible. So he'll have to inform Ororo so she doesn't plan a birthday party as she likes to do because he'll definitely still be in heat during his birthday.

Ororo understood immediately and cancelled her already plan in the works and just gave Logan his birthday present early. Y/n on the other hand. He had a lot of gifts. And he couldn't just give them to Logan in the open. So he waited.

He had a plan.

A horny plan.

Eventually, the date hits October 12th. Logan's been in his cabin for a week now. Currently he's in the middle of the empty room whose flooring is just mattresses. There's a wooden floor underneath obviously but most of the floor is a mattress. Besides the bathroom which is separated by a door opposite of the front door, a kitchen corner that has a classic wooden floor, and a fireplace that is built into a wall but still has enough of a wooden floor in front of it so the mattress wouldn't catch.

It's kind of like a kids dream pillow fort. Other than that the cabin is pretty modern. Obviously paid for by Charles to get it as comfortable as possible.

Logan is sitting in the nest of pillows and blankets. Sweating even though the fire isn't on. He's just staring at a wall. That's until he hears footsteps near his cabin. He doesn't think much of it at first but then he catches a familiar scent. He growls and watches the door hoping that they're not stupid enough to walk in.

Now the cabin is locked yes. But the door is on a password lock. Only Charles and Logan know it. At least that's what Logan thought before the door clicked and opened. And in walked y/n with a big box.

"Morning birthday boy." Y/n grins and closes the door that automatically locks. Logan growls. "What are you doing here Y/L/N."

"Came here to celebrate with my favourite boy." The other mutant said with a smirk and set the box down in front of Logan. "Happy birthday sweaty boy." He joked about Logan's current state.

Now Logan may not look the best. But y/n's isn't complaining. He doesn't mind sweaty body hair and that delicious-looking erection that's standing between Logan's legs. Yes, he's not wearing underwear. He feels like his skin is on fire. Of course, he's not wearing anything.

Logan just watches the other mutant debating if this is a joke or not. Eventually, he reaches for the big box that could fit an old box TV. In the meantime, y/n removes his jacket and looks around the cabin.

Logan looks into the box and sees more boxes, but these are wrapped with birthday-themed wrapping paper. He raised an eyebrow and briefly looked at the other mutant before looking back at the gifts.

He reaches for one of the gifts and rips the paper off. He can feel y/n sit behind him. He's so close Logan can feel the heat radiating off of his body. He also feels that y/n is now shirtless. Logan's hands stopped moving as all of his senses focused on the man pressed against his back.

The other mutant looks over Logan's shoulder. He breathes against his neck and talks in a low murmuring voice "Why aren't you opening it?" Logan shivers at the closeness and feeling of y/n's breath against his neck.

Logan takes a shaky breath and focuses back on the box. Once he fully removed the wrapping paper he used one of his claws to cut the box.

Inside was a handmade leather collar with a loop at the front of it. Logan flushes beet red. His breath hitches as he feels the leather under his fingers. Y/n smirks against Logan's neck. "Open the next one."

The older mutant shakily reaches for another present. He rips off the paper and cuts the box open. Inside is a matching leash. It looks sturdy enough for a good rough tug. Logan's dick twitches at the thought.

Y/n kisses the crook of Logan's neck. Which causes Logan to whimper. But it doesn't sound like a moaning whimper. It sounds like an actual sad dog whimpering.

He reaches for another box wanting to be done already so he can jump on the other mutant's dick. He grabs the present, rips off the paper, and tears the box open. Inside is a dog muzzle.

That's enough for Logan. He pushes the box back and turns around to pounce on y/n. The other mutant laughs and catches Logan. The force of the wolfish man causes them both to fall back on the mattress floor.

Logan whines like a dog as he claims y/n's lips with his own. Y/n caresses his thighs and flips them over. "I take you're happy with your gifts?" He murmured against Logan's lips. The wolfish man whines in response and pulls y/n's face closer.

"Even though you haven't opened the rest of them yet?" He murmured between kisses. Logan huffs. "Just tell me what they are."

"More collars." Y/n hummed and kissed Logan's neck. The wolfish man only shivered and whined. Logan grabbed y/n's head and pulled him into an open kiss. He fought y/n's tongue like an animal.

The other mutant let go of Logan's thigh with one hand and patted around on the floor for the collar. Logan could feel the heat in his body starting to calm down but he still felt like he was on fire because he was being touched by y/n.

Logan suddenly let out a gasp when he felt cold leather wrap around his neck. He looked down and saw the o ring dangling from the front of the collar. He looks up and is met with y/n's hungry eyes. Logan whimpers and squeezes his thighs together.

"Look at you. So beautiful." Y/n murmurs and traces the collar. Logan whines. "Such beautiful sounds. I wonder what sounds you'd make if I..." Y/n's words trail off as he hooks two fingers into the o ring and tugs. Logan gasps and cries out. Those sounds go straight to y/n's groin.

Y/n kisses the collared man and pushes him onto the floor/bed. He reaches for the leash and attaches it to the collar. "Be a good boy for me okay?" Y/n murmured as he kissed down Logan's body. Logan nods.

The other mutant makes his way towards Logan's leaking cock and gives it a kiss. Logan whimpers and bucks his hips up. But y/n pulls back. "Ah ah ah. No moving."

The collared man whimpers and fights the urge to thrust up. So he bites into his hand without much worrying about how hard he's biting. He'll heal. Which he does right after he bites deep into his flesh by accident when he feels y/n's fingers against his hole.

Y/n pushes one lubed finger in which goes in with ease because Logan's wet with slick. As he fingers the whimpering man he kisses and licks his dick. "You taste as delicious as you sound."

Logan whines and thrusts up again. Y/n grumbles and tugs at the leash. The collared man gasps and stops moving. "I said no moving pup," Y/n said as he hovered over Logan. Logan whimpers again.

The other mutant adds a second finger and kisses Logan's neck. The room is filled with whimpers and whines. Each one was louder with each added finger. "Good job pup. Do you think you can ride?" Y/n murmurs as he sits down and pulls Logan into his lap. The collared man nods eagerly and lines up.

Y/n chuckles. "So eager." Y/n teased but let Logan do what he wanted. Logan sank almost instantly the moment he felt the tip enter him. He whines loudly and starts bouncing. The other mutant mons at the instant movement and grabs onto Logan's thighs. "Holly shit pup you're tight."

The collared man whimpers and rests his hands on y/n's shoulders. He bounces and rolls his hips wanting as much friction as possible. Whenever he's in heat it's like he has a constant itch from the inside. And the way y/n's dick is rubbing against his walls it's like the best back scratch anyone could wish for.

Y/n tugged at the leash to pull Logan closer so he could devour his lips. Logan angled his hips in a way that abused his g-spot almost perfectly, and he accidentally bit y/n's lip harshly. Y/n hisses and pulls back. He licks the blood off his lips and his eyes darker with lust.

Logan whimpers out, repeated apologies, but keeps bouncing. The other man growls and reaches for the muzzle. "Bad dog. Who told you you could bite?" That gets Logan to whimper louder. Y/n tugs at the leash. "Stop." He ordered.

Logan whines in protest and keeps bouncing. Y/n shakes his head and tugs again but this time harder. "Don't disobey."

The collared man whines and forces his body to stay still so Y/n can put the cage around his mouth. "Dogs that bite without permission get the muzzle. This is what you get for being a bad puppy." Y/n scolded as he made sure the muzzle is on tight but still comfortable for Logan.

The said man only whimpered in response and looked at y/n with sad puppy eyes and a pouty lip. The other man only shakes his head and leans back on his hands. "Go ahead. Fuck yourself on my cock."

Logan doesn't hesitate to lift and drop down again. He searched for that angle again. Fortunately, it doesn't take long before his head throws back and his cries fill the room. He's so close, but he doesn't want to cum yet, so he holds back.

Y/n has a tight grip with one hand on Logan's thigh and the other hand tightly holds the leash. The muzzled man looks so beautiful like this.

All deliciously wet and red. He's wet for multiple reasons. Sweat that makes his body hair stick together and his hair stick to his forehead, pre cum that's covering his belly due to his dick smacking against it so much, spit on his lips and chin because he forgot how to close his mouth, and tears running down his cheeks due to his amount of overwhelming emotions.

Y/n groans and watches Logan like he's an angel sent from heaven right for him. "Fuck you're so beautiful like this." He praised. "I imagined beauty but not like this." Y/n shamelessly confesses that he's been dreaming of doing this for a while. Logan whines and scratches at the other man's chest.

Y/n hisses and throws his head back. "Fucking beast." He grunts and digs his nails into Logan's thigh that immediately heals any signs of it.

The muzzled man whimpered. "I want to taste you so bad." He said with a sniffle and looked at y/n begging. The other man smirked and sat up. His nose is against the metal of the cage muzzle. "What was that pup?" He teased.

Logan whines. "Wanna taste you." He sounds so sad. Y/m though only smirks wider and licks one of the rods of the metal cage that's keeping their lips separated. The collared man whimpers and pouts.

"aww. Look at you you gorgeous puppy. I almost want to take this muzzle off." He teased, hooked his fingers through the cage, and tugged him closer. Logan cries out at that. He watches the other mutant with desperation.

Y/n kisses the bars and licks the side of the muzzle until he's able to kiss Logan's cheek. "Next time you behave and you'll get what you want." He let go of the muzzle and leaned back again.

The collared man whimpered but kept bouncing. Y/n runs his hand up Logan's thigh until it reaches the round goods of his ass. "I'm going to stuff you so much you won't be in heat for a year." Y/n grunts and meets Logan's bounces by thrusting up into him.

Logan whimpers. He's so close. "I can't hold it anymore." He cried out and spilled all over his belly. Y/n chuckles and watches how the muzzled man shakes with overstimulation because he's not stopping yet. "Just a little more. I'm almost there." Y/n murmurs and lays Logan on his back so he can rest as Y/n does the work.

Which he doesn't do much because his hips are so fucking sore from Logan's adamantium weight. But he makes work with what he can and chases his climax. Which also doesn't take long.

Without moments y/n spills into Logan and collapses on top of him. They both pant and catch their breath. Eventually y/n rolls off of Logan and onto the comfy mattress floor. He pets Logan's hair and slowly removes the muzzle so they can cuddle easier.

This was a mistake because Logan immediately latched himself onto Y/n's chest and started marking. But y/n is too tired to bother and just caresses the collared man's hair. "Alright pup slow down." He gives a weak chuckle.

Logan whines but stops his marking. For now anyway. Instead he just nuzzles into y/n. He's as close as much as he can and still not satisfied. It's like he wants to be absorbed by y/n he wants to be close to him in ways that aren't possible.

"it's alright pup I'm not leaving you can rest." Y/n said and lazily caressed Logan's hair. The collared man relaxed and lets his body fall into much needed sleep.

#x male reader smut #top male reader #male reader #logan howlett x male reader #wolverine x male reader #x male reader #marvel x male reader #mcu x male reader

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surielstea · 1 year ago

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Heated Traditions

Pairing: Bat Boys x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader joins the three males in the sauna during solstice and things get more heated than just the steam.

4.2k words

Winter solstice had come upon Velaris like a cold gust of wind, bringing powdery snow and the hectic holidays.

When I woke up to my mate's side of the bed being empty I knew exactly where he was, out in the cold, playing with snowballs like a child with the rest of his brothers.

I, however, hadn't been expecting the small wrapped box that was perched on his untouched pillow.

I sit up excitedly, running my hands through my nest of hair a few times before picking up the box and tearing it like a toddler on her birthday.

I come across a black velvet box, a note taped to the top of it and I smile as I recognize the neat handwriting.

I'm sorry I couldn't be with you this morning but I promise to make up for it later, here's your first gift of many, happy solstice darling.

- the most handsome High Lord

I giggle at the obnoxious title he gave himself and set the note down, then crack open the top of the jewelry box, revealing a stunning violet gem connected to a silver chain that glinted beneath the morning light. I smile, running my fingers along the chain that moves like liquid. The color of the gem reminded me so substantially of Rhysand's eyes, the familiar violet I saw every night before I went to bed and every morning when I awoke, except this morning, this morning when he gifted me the ability to feel seen by him at all times.

I can't contain my grin as I fasten the necklace around my throat, wishing he was here to help as I struggle with the clasp, but eventually, I get it, and it seems even more beautiful on.

I build my outfit around the necklace, putting on a floor-length gown of lilac silk, adorned by silver rings and a sterling bracelet to match the chain.

I do a light makeup look and fix my tangled hair into a simple style, leaving the now-tamed locks going down my back.

I exit my bedroom, toying with the jewel on my necklace as I do so, walking out into the hallway before entering the kitchen where Morrigan resided, sipping a steaming cup of cocoa. "Morning," I smile softly and she returns it, silently offering me a cup of the seasonal beverage.

"It's too early to look as good as you do," She claims after a moment of silently sipping our drinks. I shrug with a smile.

"Nonsense, I just always look good," I toss her a wink and she shakes her head with an amused grin. "When did they leave?" I ask, walking over to one of the many windows in the large house, peering out at the powdery snow and the white-capped mountains.

"Hours ago, they should be back soon," She joins me at the window, staring into the abyss of blinding white that took over the entire landscape. The two of us had been so caught up staring at the outside we hadn't even noticed the door open, and hadn't realized who walked in either.

"What are we looking at?" A familiar cold voice chimes from behind me and I jump, whirling around to face Amren who had a large bag filled with what seemed to be presents.

"Gods, you scared me," Mor presses a hand to her chest and I nod.

"Likewise," I mumble but the eldest of us just flashes a smile.

"It's my craft," She shrugs with a grin that wasn't entirely fae.

"We were just looking for the boys," Morrigan says, glancing at the window once more.

"You think you'll be able to see them?" Amren scoffs, moving past me and unlocking the sliding window before pushing it open.

We wait a moment in silence then suddenly, lo and behold, Cassian's raucous laughter from the distance cuts through it. A smile spreads over my lips at the familiar sound but it's quickly wiped away as a frigid breeze gusts in, causing the three of us to huddle closer to the fire on the other side of the room. My entire body trembles against the below-freezing weather.

The low temperature sends a shiver down my spine, resulting in an overwhelming cold sensation that overstayed its welcome. I found that even minutes after the window had been pushed shut again I had still been caught shivering.

"I think I'm going to take a hot bath, I'll see you guys for presents," I say with a soft smile, and the both of them nod, waving me off as I back away from the window and pad back to my bedroom to run the bath.

I make sure the water is steaming before I plug the drain and allow the tub to fill up, I was still cold, and taking off my clothes before I was ready to get in turned out to be a horrid idea.

"If you're so desperate for warmth you could join me in the sauna," my mate hums in the back of my mind and I startle slightly, forgetting he had the ability to see through my own eyes.

"Were you looking while I was staring in the mirror?"

"Would you think anything less of me if I was?" He hums and I roll my eyes, sending the message through the bond.

"That's not an answer, and no, it's expected of you by now," I retort, crossing my arms to provide some sort of body warmth while the tub slowly fills.

"Come join us, I won the snowball fight and I wish to celebrate," He claims and I scoff, sending my displeasure to his side of the bridge between us.

"Keep it in your pants." I toss back.

"I'm afraid we don't wear pants in the birchin." He reminds and I freeze, remembering the fact that all three of those tanned, muscular males are all sitting in that cedar-lined shed naked, but most importantly, sweaty. Gods it would feel so damned good to feel that warmth at the moment.

"Darling," He drawls, pulling me back to reality and away from my enticing daydreaming.

"I thought mates were supposed to be territorial," I state, holding my ground despite the slight waver in my voice.

"I've shared before, and you never seemed entirely opposed to my brothers either," He argues as if I was to blame for his fantasies. And perhaps I was because it would be a lie if I said I hadn't thought about all three of them at once, more than once.

"I can feel your arousal, just join us we won't bite," My mate continues. "Unless you want us to," He adds and I couldn't find it in myself to deny that kind of pleasure any longer. So I grabbed my robe and tied it tightly around myself.

"Atta girl," He muses and I slam my walls up, blocking his annoying triumph out as I make my way towards the Sauna connected to the side of the house.

I had to fight back the thoughts telling me not to do this while approaching the door, but Rhys was pacing back and forth on the edge of my mind, reminding me he was waiting with just his presence.

Before I can psych myself out, I unlatch the door to the birchin and slide it open, unleashing a gust of boiling mist. But once it clears I'm met with three tan, winged males looking up at me expectantly, entirely naked.

I attempt to avert my eyes as I step into the steaming room, looking at Rhys only as I slowly untie my robe and let it dip off my shoulders. They've all seen a female's body before, this was no different. I let my robe fall to the floor but I didn't dare bend over to pick it up, their gazes were already predatory the last thing I wanted was to tempt them. I settle onto the bench right beside Rhys, facing Cassian and Azriel.

"You still cold?" My mate hums and I look up at him, silently shaking my head. A feline smile stretches over his features. He doesn't say anything else, only tilts his head back and shuts his eyes, letting the hot steam absorb him.

I look at the log-built structure of the bathhouse, the walls compacting me in here with sweating, Illyrian warriors. I tried and keep my gaze away from the two males in front of me but the task was torture and I was weak. I hadn't realized I was staring at Azriel's rippling abdomen until he shifted his hips and my head snapped away. And I definitely didn't notice when I was staring at Cassian's arms until he cleared his throat and I opted to just look at the floor.

Rhys chuckles, and even though he was looking up at the ceiling I knew he could feel both my embarrassment and my arousal.

He slings an arm around my shoulders and the touch almost burned with how damned hot it was in this room. Or had I been imagining it? Was it me who was flushed or had it been the steam?

"You have a staring problem, darling," my mate purrs, and the smile of his two other brothers grows.

"Sorry," I frown.

"Don't be," Cassian speaks up and Azriel silently smirks.

"Is it too hot in here? We could always go back to the bedroom and cool off?" Rhys suggests, pecking up the side of my jaw. I blush at the idea of our bedroom, it was so innocent yet my mind could only morph into something inappropriate.

"No, I'm okay," I shrug him off and he pecks my cheek.

"Just let me know if you change your mind, alright?" He says, and I translate it in my head that he was giving me an escape if I needed one, between the three of them he was telling me to leave before it's too late. But gods, why would I ever take myself away from this?

I only nodded, then returned to my unsolicited staring. My eyes widen a fraction when I notice Cassian was semi-hard, his heavy cock slowly rising as his eyes run up and down my nude figure and I swallow thickly, attempting not to stare for too long at his angry tip, or the vein pulsing underneath, and perhaps it was sick of me to want to run my tongue up that very vein.

Azriel's wings ruffle and it steals my attention from Cassian straight to him. He was in the same boat as Cassian, a bead of precum pearled at the head of his cock, he was much longer than the other two males I sat with, and I wanted to know just how deep he could reach inside my throbbing cunt, wanted to feel him release in my very womb.

"Darling." Rhys's voice in my head makes me jolt, earning a few concerned glances from the others. "Do you want to tell them what you've been thinking or should I?" He hums aloud and I look up at him with concern, my brows scrunched as I shake my head in panic. "You want me to?" He suggests and again, more fervently this time, I shake my head. "Then go on, tell them," He nods encouragingly and I tear my eyes from his violet ones, looking to hazel instead.

"I," My words get stuck in my throat, I couldn't even think anymore without it being utterly lewd.

"Tell them what you want to do to them, what you want them to do to you," Rhys croons, tilting his head back and delighting in the shameful torture he was putting me through.

"I want," I'm left breathless, words come up short and I can barely conjure thoughts against their carnivorous stares.

"Spit it out sweetheart," Cassian adjusts his hips and my eyes dip down to his now fully hard member, thick between his thighs. My nails dug into the bench that I was gripping so hard I thought it might snap.

"I want to wrap my mouth around your cock," I confess and if he wasn't hard before he certainly was now, his tip angry and pulsing red.

"And, Az I want you inside me," I murmur.

"Where?" Rhys cut in.

"My cunt, please I need all three of you inside me," I beg, my body glistening with sweat as they all stare at me with equally starving expressions.

"Is that right?" Azriel finally speaks and something inside me snaps, I don't feel shame anymore, only a relentless need for all three of them.

"Mhm," I nod, biting at my lower lip anxiously at the idea of them denying me and leaving me humiliated.

"Let's give her what she wants," Rhys tips his head down to look at me.

"She's been so patient, haven't you my good girl?" He asks and I blink up at him with a nod, agreeing to whatever he wants me to.

Cassian and Azriel both stand and my head whips towards them, their hardened cocks pressed against their abdomens as they approach closer. I'm wobbly as Rhys helps me stand, before he comes behind me, trapping me in a circle of all three of them. Their frames towered over me and their dark, large wings created a shield around me so any which way I turned I was met with one of their bodies.

"Who do you want in control?" Rhys tilts his head and I look between all three of them before returning to my mate.

"You," I press a hand to his abdomen.

"Yeah?" He arches his brow a fraction and I nod.

"Then why don't you go let Az stretch you out, just how you wanted hm?" He offers and I nod. Shadows twist around my limbs as Azriel's scarred hands meet my hips, guiding me closer as he sits on the bench, his legs spread as I straddle him and the others watch.

My cunt was pulsing with need as his hands travel anywhere they can reach, spending a particular amount of time at my breasts. I look back to Rhys, spotting the two others as they simply watch, their hands fisting their own cocks. My mate nods and I align myself before slowly, so slowly, sinking down onto him.

Azriel groans, tossing his head back in ecstasy as I make my way further down his impressive length. He pinches my nipples and I mewl at the intense feeling. It was so fucking hot in this room and something told me it wasn't because of the steam. I dip further down, clenching around him as my nails dig into his shoulders.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well," He praises and I cry, he was pressing hard into that perfect bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of me.

"Hurts," I choke out and a sadistic smile spreads across Azriel's face.

"Yeah? Am I too big for your tight little pussy?" He purrs and I nod, my bottom lip pouting out. He grips my breasts in his large hands, groping them as I squirm, loving the way I forced myself further down onto him even though it was painful, all because the pleasure outweighed everything else.

I marveled at how there could still be more of him, my cunt was being stretched beyond capacity and he loved every second of it. My moans filled the room, Azriel's grunts joining in with every roll of my hips.

Eventually, he couldn't take my slow pace and thrust up into me, all of him sheathing inside me like I was a mold for him and him alone. He turned me into a cock sleeve as he began to pummel into me and I was left wailing into the side of his neck, unable to form words as he fucked me senseless.

"Fuck," He curses, tilting his head back as I swallow him in my pussy, dripping onto him.

"More," I whimper. "Want Cass," My words were so weak that it was a wonder how the others heard me over the lewd slapping sounds of skin between me and Azriel as he drove his cock deeper and deeper with every thrust.

Azriel shifts to the side as Cassian approaches, allowing me to look at the tall male, his cock directly in line with my mouth in my seated position.

"Suck him off, baby," Azriel grunts out, his words lustful as he watches my hesitant kitten licks down the length of Cassian's girth. I flitted my gaze up to his as I get to the base of him, then run the flat of my tongue up the protruding vein of his cock all the way to the tip, just like I wanted. He groaned at the feeling as I began to swirl my tongue around his slit, slowly forming my mouth around the head of his thick cock. Azriel continued to pummel into me so much that it was hard to focus on just Cass. I began to moan on his cock, forcing myself to take him deeper into my mouth, sloppily swirling my tongue around his member.

"Don't be shy, fuck her mouth," Rhys instructs. Cassian looks down at me with raised brows and I nod, whimpering on his dick as he grabs the back of my hair then pushes all of his length halfway down my throat. I fight back a gag and instead suck on him harder, hollowing my cheeks as my mate's best friends fuck me simultaneously, leaving me drooling from both holes.

My slobber is used as a lubricant for Cassian's cock, allowing him to easily take himself in and out from between my swollen lips.

"Gods, you're so pretty choking on my cock," He hums and I can't help but moan, sending vibrations up his spine. He groans at the feeling, his head tilting back, looking up at the ceiling as his heavy cock twitches against the soft walls of my throat.

"I want you too," I beg Rhys through our mental connection. "Please." My whines are met with his compliance, silently coming behind me. I arched up, originally for his entrance only but Azriel was now hitting so much deeper at the slight change of position.

"You sure about this baby?" Rhys asks from behind me, his large hands kneading the fat of my thighs in his hands and I nod.

"Mhm," I gargle against Cassian's cock, and the male hums with pleasure, while Rhys presses a soft kiss to the side of my neck, he then runs his fingers through my neglected folds, gathering my arousal before smearing it against his length, using it as a natural lubricant until he was covered in my slick from base to tip.

He prodded at my third entrance and I gasped out, unsure if I really could take all three of them at once, I've dreamed of this situation a multitude of times but this was somehow reality and I doubted I could fit all of them.

Rhys pushed into me anyway. I moan loudly around Cassian, my mouth clamping down onto his base and he grunts, tossing his head back. Rhys felt so damned big, continuing to push into me deeper and deeper. It felt euphoric the way Azriel and Rhys brushed up against each other inside of me through my gummy walls, pushing against them beyond capacity.

Azriel's hands tweaked my nipples, bringing me back to him and how good he made me feel, but it wasn't long until it was Cassian who had my attention, gripping the base of my hair and pulling at it whenever I sucked him too hard. But Rhys stole it quickly, his member finally sheathed entirely inside of me, leaving me helpless between all three of them.

Cassian twitched inside of my mouth and I knew he was close so I focused as best I could on him, hollowing my mouth around him and sucking hard. He looked down at me in a haze of lust, his hand on my hair loosening as he spurt his seed down my throat without any warning. I swallow, my throat squeezing around him as I do so. He begins to slowly pull out but before he can get away fully I suck eagerly at his tip, milking every last drop from him, reveling in how good it tasted beneath my tongue.

He smiled lazily down at me, seeing how just much I delighted in drinking him for all he's worth. I was drunk on his seed, warm and salty and so fucking delectable. I swirl my tongue around his overstimulated tip once more before pulling away fully, letting my attention fall to Azriel beneath me and allowing Cassian to clean himself up.

The shadow singer is strategic. He knew where every perfect spot inside of me was, and he tortured the areas like one of his victims. He didn't slow for a moment, he only went faster. He had me wrapped around him first and I had a feeling he'd get me last.

I panted, falling down onto his chest, my elbows giving out. Rhys gripped my hips and held me up in an impressive arch, my back forming a crescent moon as they both continued to pump into me and I laid there like an overworked doll, sandwiched between their sweaty bodies.

I don't know how many times I had came at this point, they were both so damned good it felt like the orgasm was a never-ending flow of euphoric bliss. "Gods," I mewled. "S'too much," My pleads didn't seem to reach their ears, they were too busy listening to the noises my cunt made as Azriel pressed into me.

"Shh, you're doing so well for them," Cassian kissed the top of my head, reaching down with a large hand and immediately finding my clit. I gasped, clenching tightly around both of them, to which they both twitched inside of me, the movement foreign yet so pleasurable. Cassian began rubbing my clit in tight, rough circles with his calloused fingertips, adding so much more friction.

"Cass, tell them I can't," I look up at him with teary eyes and pouted lips.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, but this is what you wanted hm?" He kisses down the side of my face. "You wanted all of our come stuffed inside you, isn't that right?" He smiled. "Our perfect cum slut.”

I nod, my nails scratching down Azriel's chest as he rolls his hips up at a certain angle. None of them relent from their movements and I was overflowing with pleasure, my legs jolting as I writhed between them.

"Rhys," I moaned, throwing my head back onto his shoulder.

"I'm close, don't worry baby," He whispered and I nodded, a breath of relief escaping me. My hand reached up and cups Azriel's jaw, leaning down and placing my lips onto his.

He twitches at the action so I continue. I slip my tongue between his sensual lips, brushing it against any expanse I could reach, loving the way he met each flick of my tongue with a stroke of his cock running through my cunt. "Mph— are you close?" I lift slightly, looking at Azriel and he looks up at me in a haze, nodding his head. "Fill me up, please Azriel I've always wanted your cum inside of me," I purr into the shell of his ear.

"Me too," He sighs out, clawing at my waist. "Ever since I saw you I've wanted to put my seed inside of you," He confesses and I smile, delighting in how much harder this was all making Rhys which he pushed deeper and deeper into my ass.

"Yeah? Do you want to put a baby in me? Breed me?" I softly suggest and Rhys groans from behind me, my filthy words spurring him into an orgasm.

"Fuck, yes," Azriel grunts, shifting his hips and beginning to press his tip into my cervix. I cry out at the sudden change of pace, my eyes welling with tears again. Rhys' warm release pumps into me as I squeeze tightly around him, milking him of it as he slowly pulls out and Azriel goes utterly feral, bouncing me on his cock with his tough thrusts, eager to put a baby in me.

"You're going to look so pretty with your tits leaking milk," He hums. "Can't wait to get your belly all round," He adds and I let out a lewd moan at his words and how much truth they held.

"Please, feels so good," I sigh, rubbing up and down him.

"Yeah? Can't wait until I can fuck another one into you, give you a big family hm?" He suggests and I nod dumbly. "Maybe we'll all get a turn with you until you're left with all our kids," He grins at the idea. "You'd like that wouldn't you?" He says as I kiss up his jaw, reveling in how fucking good it felt every time he pressed into my cervix.

"That's right, 'cause you're just our bunny who loves to be bred," He hums, cock twitching inside of me as my cunt twitches at his words.

"Yes, fill me, wanna be your bunny," I murmur onto his hot skin and he obliges with my request, his release spurting up into my womb.

I clenched tightly around him at the feeling of his warm seed continued to pump into me with his thrusts that began to slow until coming to a stop and pulling me off of him, leaving me with hot cum drooling out of each of my holes, just how I wanted.

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foxxypaws · 7 months ago

Text

How to feel more like a kitten / cat

sitting in a cardboard box / having a cardboard box

drinking milk

fish foods

cat toys

mouse plushies

being pampered

making blanket nests

purring

getting your nails done

being curious

wearing collars

layout in the sun

dangly toys

heated blankets

play chase

scratching posts

laying in your caregiver's lap

drinking like a cat

long nails

cat ears

eating out of actual cat bowls/plates

eating chicken

brushing your "furr" (hair)

meowing

rubbing up against objects / your caregiver

giving your caregiver gifts you found around the house

head pats and chin rubs

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notarmedandnotdangerous · 7 days ago

Text

there's nothing chill about this stream trust me. also HI boss anon ure cool man

+18 mdni! faceless desire; a fic where bucky finds out about reader's little secret

cw: camboy!switch!m!reader, switch!bucky, use of toys (double ended dildo. wtf.), multiple orgasms (like three), slight voyeurism (cuz they're on stream)

word count: >3.5k

[1] [2] [3] [4]

!! @swiftie-fault

-------------------------------------------------------

the stream opens with warm lighting. bucky was curled up beside you on the bed, and his hair’s loose tonight. the camera was tilted just enough to not film your faces.

“okay. fan mail time!” you said, holding up the first box.

bucky grins, tucking one leg under himself as he eyes the pile.

“you really weren’t kidding about the mail.” he says, nudging your side. “you really let this build up.”

“thought it’d be fun to celebrate on stream. you guys sent way more than i expected.” you laugh, grabbing the first box.

“i’m scared.” bucky laughs.

you pulled out a handmade sweater in deep navy, simple, and soft-looking, with a little red star stitched on the cuff of the sleeve.

“no way.” he freezes, staring at it.

user1:

‘THAT’S MINE OMG I MADE THAT i’m so nervous omg i hope it fits’

“wait they’re here? you made this?”

bucky slowly reaches out, and ran a hand over the crochet.

“give it here.”

you handed it over, without any fuss, and he pulls his t-shirt off right there on stream, while the viewers go feral, he just tugs the sweater on.

user2:

‘HELLO??? there will be more people sending in clothes if THIS is the reward they get.’

user3:

‘i’m convinced i just saw god himself’

“you really just took your shirt off.”

“they’ve literally seen my cock, are we really pretending a shirt matters right now?” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

you just gawk at him, because what the actual fuck?

user4:

‘HE’S SO..’

user5:

‘I’M GOING TO VOMIT’

“next time, i’m putting you in a robe before we go live.”

“next time i’ll start naked to save time.”

you sigh, giving him a playful nudge.

the both of you continued going through the gifts, until you spot it.

there was a box, bigger than the rest. there were hearts printed on the tape, and no return address.

you tug it into your lap slowly, and bucky immediately stiffens.

“that’s a murder box.” he crosses his arms over his chest.

“or an extremely thoughtful gift.”

“or a murder box.”

you sighed, before popping it open, and the both of you freeze.

inside, there was a carefully organised nest of toys, made of all different materials. leather, metal, rubber, glass. some of them were familiar, while some were worryingly complex to say the least.

“oh.” you said blankly, pulling out a steel hook with a curved end. “what the fuck.”

user6:

‘WHY IS IT SHAPED LIKE THAT???’

“this is bigger than my forearm-”

“nope. nope.” bucky’s face was bright red. “put that down. right fucking now.”

you’re already digging deeper.

“oh my god, this one locks. wait why does it lock?” you started laughing at the sheer disbelief.

user7:

‘to whoever sent that: you scare me, and i want your number.’

you held another toy up, turning it in the light.

“what.. even is this?”

bucky’s mouth twitches.

“that’s got to be at least third-degree felony shaped.”

you were about to respond when you pull out the next item.

it’s somehow worse. sleek, black, with a cord, and a remote.

user8:

‘THERE’S AN APP BYEEE’

user9:

‘BANDAGE GUY PLS THROW THAT INTO THE OCEAN’

bucky immediately shifts.

“that has bluetooth, i’m not fighting that. i’m begging you to not give them that kind of power.”

you’re crying with laughter now.

“oh my god- there’s more. there’s a manual.”

“there’s diagrams for fuck’s sake!” he spoke, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically.

you pulled out a dark collar, with silver studs.

the both of you make intense eye contact.

“i’m not putting it on.” he says, instantly defensive.

“i didn’t say anything?”

“you looked at me!”

you smirked, then continued to dig around, before finding something weirdly long.

“oh.”

“is that-?”

you lift it out, holding it with both hands like it was a sacred relic. it was a clear, slightly flexible double-ended dildo.

user10:

‘oh finally something i don’t need holy water for! ..sort of.’

user11:

‘somehow this is the tamest thing in the whole box??’

bucky leans in.

“that’s actually kind of..”

“wholesome?”

“i was about to say low-effort, but sure, that works too.”

“no batteries, no remote, just hopes, and prayers.”

“sounds like most of our early hookups.”

and you fucking wheeze at it.

“okay, okay. it’s actually kind of nice. could do a lot with this, hands-free, face-to-face.”

“at least it’s not as psychotic as the vibrating one with like thirteen settings.”

you winked at him.

“no. absolutely not.”

“you sure? the viewers seem excited.” you grin at him.

user12:

‘PLEASE.’

user13:

‘ITS FOR SCIENTIFIC PURPOSES TRUST’

user14:

‘he’s pretending he hates it’

bucky takes a glance at the screen, reading the comments.

“i do hate it.” he insists. “look at it! looks like it’s made to ruin someone’s life!”

you wave the toy at him.

“so dramatic.”

“i’m not using it. i’m not-”

—

fifteen minutes later.

the camera’s angled low. now bucky’s on his back, legs loose around your waist, mouth slack, and already flushed, all because you took your sweet time with the lube, with kissing down his stomach.

the dildo’s buried beneath the both of you, one end nestled inside you, while the other pushed deep into him.

his fingers twitched against the sheets, and he’s still trying to lie about it.

“this is- fucking dumb.” he mutters, but his voice cracks halfway through, and when you roll your hips just a little, pushing in, he whines. “oh, oh fuck.. so big.”

user15:

‘fucking dumb.. sure..’

user16:

‘he’s so bitchy it’s perfect.’

“still hate it?” you murmur, leaning forward to mouth at his throat.

bucky scoffs, tries to at least.

“mmh, yeah. hate this. hate your stupid- ugh.. stupid idea.” he chokes on his own words when your hips press forward again, the toy shifting inside the both of you slow.

you hum like you didn’t notice the way his toes curled.

“uh huh, i’ll make a note. you definitely don’t like being full at the same time as me. not at all.”

his head tips back slightly, mouth open.

user17:

‘SLUT’

user18:

‘he says he hates it WHILE BREATHING THROUGH HIS MOUTH’

user19:

‘he’s whining every time it pushes in.. liar’

“i don’t-” he breathes. “i don’t like this-”

you grind down again, and this time he clutches onto your hips, nails digging into your soft skin. the dildo slides just a little deeper into the both of you, and his hips stutter helplessly.

“you are so bad at lying.”

bucky bites his bottom lip. his eyes were glassy, and half-lidded already. the way his cock was pressed in between the both of you tells the truth even louder than his mouth ever will.

still, he hisses.

“too deep- i don’t like.. mmh.. stop doing that-”

you rock your hips again, and he gasps, throwing his head back, even as he denies it.

“fuck, no-”

“sure.” you murmur. “you hate it, that’s why you’re dripping all over yourself.”

user20:

‘THE WET SPOT FUCK’

user21:

‘he’s so hot i hate him so much’

you adjust, just a little, and he gasps loud enough to startle the both of you. his hand flies to your back, grounding himself.

“fuck fuck fuck- i can’t.. too much..” he breathes, but keeps moving. his hips chased the drag of fullness, the pressure that makes his thighs quake, and his voice go high.

“you’re taking it so well, and you hate it, right?”

bucky nods quickly, but the motion stutters when you roll your hips again, and he almost wails, clamping down around the toy, and whimpering like he had been split open.

“tell them how much you hate it then.”

“i- i hate-”

you kiss his flushed cheek.

“not going to- fuck, not going to cum from this.”

“of course not.” you move again, slow, and deep.

he chokes, voice cracking, body jerking as his cock pulses, thick spurts spilling across his stomach. he sobs through it, still rocking on the toy.

“came without being touched, huh?”

user22:

‘he says he hates it then cums untouched.. all men do is lie’

user23:

‘he’s going to ask for it next stream.’

you don’t stop.

bucky whimpers.

“no-no wait, i can’t!” he’s panting against your neck. the toy was stayed deep inside the both of you, and he’s still trying to collect himself.

“you’re still hard, you sure you hate it?”

his entire body shudders, and his cock twitches. he doesn’t answer you.

you glance down, his chest is heaving. his mouth keeps twitching like he wants to say something but can’t get it past the breathless little gasps he keeps choking on.

“you good..?” you murmur. “came pretty hard for someone who hates this.”

bucky groans, low.

“i’m fine.” he mumbles.

user24:

‘HE’S NOT FINE’

“yeah?” you shift your hips just slightly, just enough to make the toy nude deeper into him, pressing firmly into that spot he’s so sensitive from already.

his entire body jerks.

he tries to swallow the sound, but it still comes out. it sounded like it was punched out of his chest. his hands scramble up to yours now, grabbing tightly like he needs something to hold on to.

“fu- f-fuck.”

you blink down at him sweetly.

“what’s wrong?”

bucky glares at you. tries to, at least.

“nothing, it’s just.. so deep. not- i’m not used to-”

you hum, and settle back over him again, the both of you still joined. you don’t even move, just let the toy stay in place, solid, and firm, right up against that perfect bundle of nerves inside him.

and he just melts. he tries to stay still, but his hips keep twitching. his thighs squeeze around yours. his voice was almost confused as he whispers.

“you’re not moving- it’s not-”

“i know.”

“then why- why’s it still..”

user25:

‘ohh he’s GONE alright’

user26:

‘he can’t even finish sentences’

you kiss under his jaw, slowly.

“pressing right there, huh?”

bucky lets out a wrecked moan, and his head tips back once more.

despite everything, he’s still trying.

“it’s not- fuck, it’s not that good..” he mumbles, even as his cock kicks up again, and leaks against his stomach.

you reach down between the both of you, and brush your knuckles against it.

his hips buck.

“oh yeah, you hate this.”

“i do.”

you rock your hips, not even moving, just letting the toy shift slightly deeper, and he cries out. his voice cracked as he clamps down around it, head slamming back down into the pillow.

“fuh- fuck fuck fuck-”

now he’s babbling as real tears prick his lashes. his hands are in your hair, on your back, everywhere, like he doesn’t know what to hold onto.

“you don’t have to cum again, just let it stay there. let it press right there, nice, and deep, yeah?” you whisper right in his ear, and he shivers.

bucky nods, then shakes his head. he doesn’t know anymore.

he does cum again though, minutes later, just from the pressure, as he whines into your mouth, and you hold him down, and kiss him through it.

user27:

‘HE CAME FROM THE PRESSURE ALONE’

user28:

‘wrap it up boys he’s done’

you’re both still connected. he’s laid out under you, wrecked, and flushed. his legs were shaking, every muscle trembling. you haven’t moved in minutes.

because bucky’s just laying there, whining into your neck. his cock was still hard, still twitching between the both of you, and your hand’s just resting loosely over his stomach, feeling every tremble, every aftershock.

you kissed his cheek.

“you came again.”

he whines, softly.

“you said you hated it?”

he nods, then immediately contradicts himself.

“didn’t mean to..”

“didn’t mean to cum from pressure alone?”

bucky breathes through his teeth, still flushed bright red.

you blinked down at him.

“it’s not that good. it’s too big, too deep. i hate- hate this.”

“..you came twice.”

user29:

‘he says he hates this WHILE HE’S CUMMING??’

user30:

‘he’s fucking delusional’

bucky groans, pressing his face into your shoulder again, as if he could hide from the reality that his thighs were still twitching, and the way he’s still fluttering around the toy.

you sit up just slightly, sliding your hand in between your stomachs, and wrapping it around his cock. you don’t even stroke, just held it.

he moans, quiet, and broken.

“i-i’m not going to cum again.” he says, instantly unconvincing as his cock twitches in your grip. “i’m not- i’m not going to- fuck-”

you tighten your grip, just barely.

his cock leaks, thick drops running down your knuckles.

“so soaked. can’t even think straight.”

bucky’s thighs twitch, his breathing quickens, and still he tries to deny it.

“i h-hate it. not even- ngh.. not even that good..”

you push your hips forward just slightly, letting the dildo shift inside the both of you, and he fucking screams.

“no- n-no, stop, i- fuck!“

you pull his head up to look at you.

his eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, and his lips trembled. but still, he tries to lie.

bucky opens his mouth, then clamps it shut again as a full-body shudder rolls through him. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was having a seizure.

“don’t- don’t want to- i hate this fucking thing.”

“really now?”

user31:

‘JUST ADMIT IT??’

user32:

‘WHY ARE U CRYING IF YOU DONT WANT IT???’

he whines, trying to hide his face.

“i-i do! i swear. i’m not- fuck, i’m not-”

“not what? not a receiver? not a pretty little mess sitting on a toy he clearly loves?”

bucky moans, loud, and broken.

“since he definitely hates this, i think it’s only fair if he gets a chance to explain himself.” you turned your head towards the camera.

his eyes widened.

“come on, tell them. convince them.”

user33:

‘SURE..’

user34:

‘can’t wait for this oscar-worthy performance.’

you angled your hips again, slow, and he jerks.

he’s gasping when he tries to speak.

“i don’t- i don’t like this, okay? i’m not into- fuck, not into being used l-like this-”

you hum, rolling your hips slightly, just enough to drag the dildo across that aching spot inside him, and tears spilled down his cheeks.

“i hate it, i hate how it feels, i hate- nngh.. how big it is, how f-full i- mmh..”

“keep going, tell them more.”

“i’m not supposed to take things- fuck! i’m.. i give, i don’t get used like t-this.”

you rock forward again, shifting the toy once more, and he sobs this time. an honest to god, wet, needy sound that leaves his mouth without permission, and then you feel it.

bucky’s cock jerks in your hand once, twice, then he’s cumming again.

there was no stroking, just your hand on him, the toy in him, and the relentless pressure pressing right where he can’t resist it anymore.

you held him through it when he broke, writhing under you, nails raking down your back as he whimpers.

“no- not again, n-not again-”

the viewers lost their shit, obviously. who wouldn’t?

user35:

‘THREE TIMES. THREEEEE’

user36:

‘HE SAYS HE HATES IT BUT CUMS THREE TIMES. THE FUCK??’

when it finally ends, bucky slumps beneath you, completely boneless. his whole body’s twitching like he had just been exorcised.

you slid your hand up to cup his cheeks.

“does that sound like someone who ‘hates it’ to you?”

bucky groans, and hides his face in your neck. he’s barely conscious anymore, twitching, and slick with sweat beneath you.

“you did so good, so so good.”

his eyes flutter half-open, and the corners of his lips twitch like he’s trying to smile.

“mmh, th-thank you..”

“you okay?”

he nods, weakly.

“want to tell everyone how much you hated it?”

bucky opens his mouth, but all that left it was a broken noise, as the dildo shifts slightly inside him again.

“still want to pretend?”

he’s still whining into your neck.

“please, i can’t- it’s too much.. feels too good, i don’t want it- anymore, i swear i don’t, i can’t take it-”

you smile, because he doesn’t even realise what he had just admitted.

user36:

‘HE JUST CONFESSED’

user37:

‘SCROLLING BACK RN TIME STAMP 2:02:53 I HAVE PROOF.’

you figured it’d be a shame to waste how soft, and pliant bucky was. he’s too dumb to stop you anyway.

“mm, say that again?”

he barely lifts his head, just shudders.

“i can’t.” he spoke, voice cracking halfway through. “it’s too much- i can’t.. breathe. can’t think- just keeps pressing, and- and feels so good..”

user38:

‘he really said it like we wouldn’t notice.’

user39:

‘bro confessed then gaslit himself LMFAO’

you hum again, a little louder this time.

he nods blindly, eyes still squeezed shut.

you nudge your hips just a little, just enough to shift the thick toy inside the both of you, and his entire body locks up.

“aah- f-fuck!”

“still too much? still.. uh, what was it you said? still ‘feels too good?’ is that it?”

bucky tenses, and you could practically feel him sober up.

“what? wait i didn’t mean-” his voice cracks again. “i didn’t mean it like that- i didn’t say that out loud.. did i..?”

you tilt your head, feigning innocence.

“you.. didn’t know?”

“i was- i was saying i hate it!”

“that’s not what it sounded like.”

bucky stares at you, horrified, as your fingers slip lower to his inner thighs. you dragged a finger over the mess and he keens.

“so wet, you’re dripping.”

“i didn’t mean to-”

“to cum three times?”

“i don’t like it, for fuck’s sake.”

you lean in, and sigh.

“you’ve been leaking around this toy for an hour. now you’ve said it felt good. do you want to lie to them again?”

bucky stares, wide-eyed.

“do it, come on. look towards the camera, and tell them this doesn’t feel good.”

the thick silicone slides free from his aching hole with a slick, wet sound.

“such a mess.”

“not fair- you’ve had.. more practice..”

you cup his jaw, and tilt his face up.

“you’re not done yet.”

“w-what?”

“you’re going to use it on me.”

bucky stares at you like you’ve asked him to lift a car.

user40:

‘HOLD ON???’

user41:

‘THE WHIMPER??’

“i can’t- i don’t even know how-”

you sit back, spreading your thighs slowly.

“put it in.”

he shivers, but he listens, he always does.

bucky’s uncoordinated at first, fingers a little shaky as he works the toy against you, but it doesn’t take long for him to get lost in it. he loved watching your breath hitch, watching your hips rock into every thrust he gives you.

user42:

‘this is like handing a caveman fire, and telling him to go nuts.’

user43:

‘why is bro blushing more than the person getting fucked??’

“that’s so hot- no, i’m still mad. could’ve been my cock instead of this stupid toy.” he’s biting his lips, eyes locked on where the dildo was pressing into you.

you grab the back of his hair, and pull his head down until his face was buried into your neck.

“you want to make it up to me? then make me cum. you know how.”

he chokes.

“you’re impossible-”

“get on with it.”

and he does.

bucky pushes the toy in deeper, and starts moving it, trying to find the rhythm, trying to not collapse as you gripped his wrist, and guided him through it.

you’re moaning now, low, and filthy, letting him know how good it felt.

“fuck, you’re so- god, i get why you lasted-”

“faster.” you growl.

he obeys.

user44:

‘he’s fucking WHINING every time you maon.’

user45:

‘if he starts rutting into the bed I SWEAR’

the worst part was that bucky was actually rutting into the sheets without realising. his eyes were locked onto the way the dildo entered you. every sound you made makes him twitch.

your back arches when he pushes the toy in deeper, and you grip his wrist tighter. your hips lift, chasing the motion as he fucks the toy into you harder.

“going to cum?” he whispers, clearly starstruck.

“yes- fuck, keep going.”

he does, silently.

then your whole body arches, and tenses. your cock pulses untouched as you came hard, all over your stomach, loud, and finally satisfied.

and bucky? he just stares.

you grab his jaw, and pull him in for a kiss, your tongue down his throat, and your cum in between your stomachs. when you break the kiss, you glance towards the camera.

“thanks for the toy, we’ll keep it in rotation. maybe.”

click. the stream ended.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x male reader #x male reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes #bottom bucky barnes #sub bucky barnes #top male reader #dom male reader #top bucky barnes #dom bucky barnes #bottom male reader #sub male reader #buckfics

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